(and now I lay myself down) and hope I wake up young again

by cjwritesfanficnow

Summary:

The Council had had less than three full days’ notice that Initiate Kenobi had been demanded back by his parents before the date their “emmisaries” were going to arrive to claim him. Three days hadn’t been much, not nearly long enough, but they’d tried.

Three days went by—more than enough time to reach Stewjon from Coruscant, even with the hazards in the densely populated Deep Core... Yaddle started to feel a sense of disquiet, of unease.

Something had gone wrong.

-

Sure, keeping the Jetii’adiik really would be a bit dini’la, but… Well, Jango had always wanted to be the ori’vod, for once.

“You want to… adopt me,” Obi-Wan said slowly, blinking at Jaster.

-

No, Ben thought, this hadn’t gone quite to plan, but looking at his new family (sweet Force), Ben was more than satisfied with the outcome.

-

An expansion from the one-shot collection, because I have zero self control and all of you lovely readers are enablers! XD

Title comes from the song "False Confidence" by Noah Kahan

Chapter 1

Notes:

I love all of you wonderful enablers so very much, encouraging my ridiculousness and lack of self control... XD Thank you to everyone who egged on the continuation of this fic! I have another chapter just about ready to post for Star Wars Day tomorrow as well. :) Hope you enjoy!

Original beginning note on the one-shot collection:

Hi! I hope everyone who sees this is having a good day. :) I got a bit sick again, stayed up way too late with a bit of a fever, and this came out... Whatever this is.

It's crack, basically. That's what it is. XD Apparently I have a habit of writing strange, crack-ish ficlets when I'm under the weather, and under the influence of cough syrup...

So, three notes on this one...
1. The usual Obi-Wan Kenobi fanon name-meaning content warnings (child abuse and violence against children is mentioned throughout, but not shown) apply here.
2. The Republic in this fic is far shittier already than it was in canon...
3. I don't have the brainpower right now to do the Mando'a translations, but they mostly repeat themselves in Basic since they're speaking mostly to non-Mandos... (Unless it's swearing, but it's pretty clear when they are, LOL)

On that note, I hope you have fun with whatever this hot mess is! XD

Jango.

Jango did read the mission brief—carefully and thoroughly, three karking times, so kriff off, Myles —but he still didn’t understand why they were taking this job, especially since it would take them to the kriffing Jetii’yaim on Coruscanta. The brief had said that a couple of parents, years ago, had given up their child to the Jedi, hoping for a different life for them. But, eventually, those parents had gotten back on their feet, growing far more stable. Still, they hadn’t asked for the child back—at least, not until the rest of their siblings tragically died in an accident. Only then did they feel the pain too keenly of their remaining-yet-missing ad, and demand them back.

Which, well… Alright. Jango was Mando’ad, so of course, he wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of the Jetiise. He’d heard a lot about them, and how they were said to be cold, unfeeling, detached, callous—he could go on and on. But even he knew how Jetiise were said to feel about ad’e, protective and fierce and terrifying in the face of a threat to an ad, the one commonality he could point to between their peoples. So, much as Jango hated even to think it, he could— very grudgingly, mind you—understand why desperate buir’e might give the Jetiise their ka’ra’tigaanla. If they were hoping to save them, to help them, to give them to someone who’d care for them when they couldn’t… There were worse options, even Jango could admit that.

So that much made sense. It was… not ideal, but it was fine. Those parents had given up their adiik, and now they wanted the kid back, and the Republic’s laws gave them the power to make that decision, and retake custody of them from the Jetiise. So the Jetiise were going to hand them over, just like that.

All of that made sense, on its own. What didn’t make any sense was where the Haat’ade came into this. It just didn’t seem… logical. The parents needed someone else to collect the child, they said. They had species-specific health conditions that, while completely manageable on their homeworld, would kill them if they left its atmosphere. Which, sure, alright, there were a lot of strange, foreign quirks to the species that were found throughout the galaxy. Kel Dor couldn’t even leave Dorin without wearing masks all of the time, due to the common elements in most habitable atmospheres that were highly toxic to them.

So the parents needed help to collect the kid—that was fine. That much made sense, too.

But where in the seven Hels had they gotten the idea to ask the Haat’ade to do it? And for such a ridiculous amount of credits?

“I still think it’s a trap,” Jango grumbled, for perhaps the tenth time that day. Jaster sighed, and though he didn’t bother looking over at him, he did lean over to gently nudge their spaulders together.

“It’ll be fine, Jan’ika,” Jaster murmured, still focused on Myles’s piloting as he directed them down over Coruscanta and towards the Temple. “We have confirmation that we’re cleared to land, and they’re already waiting to meet us. We’ll retrieve the ad, and be gone within ten minutes. Even Republic law agrees with our right to be here, this time.”

Grudgingly, Jango ceded, “‘Lek, buir.” He didn’t protest again, no matter how much he wanted to, instead silently growing ever more tense as they came in to land in the hangar. Through the viewport, Jango could see a gaggle of Jetiise, and stiffened even further.

Jaster didn’t say anything to address it, just put a hand on his shoulder for a beat as he rose from the co-pilot’s chair in quiet reassurance. Then the moment was over, and Jaster was turning away, towards the main hatch and the descending ramp. Jango fell in just behind him.

As they came down the ramp, Jango surveyed the collection of Jetiise in the hangar: there were three adult Jetiise, one near-human, one Twi’lek, and one small, wizened… green thing with floppy ears and a walking stick, and then there were another eight adiik’e, five humans-or-near, one distinctly Kiffar given the facial tattoo, a Dressellian, and a Mon Calamari. Jango wondered which one of them they were here for.

Jaster came to a halt at the bottom of the ramp, Jango stopping just behind him. The Jetiise looked… tense, and several of the adiik’e had red-rimmed eyes, like they’d been crying not long ago. Jango didn’t know what to do with the discomfort that made him feel.

“Su cuy’gar, Jetiise,” Jaster said, nodding to them. “I am Jaster Mereel, and this is my son, Jango Fett.” Jango managed a nod, thankful that Jaster was content to do all of the talking. The adult Jetiise nodded, but said nothing, at first. Jaster gave it a moment, and then prompted, “We were sent for Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Though that was a necessary thing to say, it was also absolutely the wrong thing to say, apparently. The Mon Calamari and the Dresselian both burst into tears; the Kiffar and a little blonde human adiik both stepped protectively in front of the small group, teeth bared, like they could actually do any damage against fully-trained, adult Mando’ade (and yes, Myles, he did count, he’d already passed his verd’goten so kriff. the kark. off.); the rest of the children looked like they were torn between joining the crying or the feral kids in the front. One of the adult Jetiise, the Twi’lek, moved to comfort those who were crying while the dark skinned near-human put one hand on the shoulders of both of the ad’e who looked ready to do their best to rip out Jaster and Jango’s throats. The… troll (what else was Jango supposed to call them?) simply watched them both impassively, though they hadn’t made to move any closer.

Except… There was one adiik who hadn’t reacted at all like the others, Jango finally noticed. A small, pale little thing with a shock of bright copper hair and big blue eyes, just standing there, looking a bit tired, watching them with a quizzical sort of expression on their face.

…huh.

“The Senate request was approved, and the… message that you would be coming was duly noted,” the darker skinned human-or-near said flatly. Even they looked a bit angry. Jaster simply nodded.

The red-haired kid moved to take a step forwards, but was immediately swarmed by the rest of the adiik’e, hugging them and tugging on limbs and petting their hair. The red-head sighed.

“I know, I know,” they said. “I’ll miss you, too. But it’ll be alright.”

“No, it won’t,” the Kiffar said.

“Yes, it will,” the red-head said. “Have a little faith, Quin.”

“Obi,” the Mon Calamari half-said, half-sobbed.

“I know,” the red-head, almost certainly Obi-Wan Kenobi, said again. “I know. Me too, Bantling. I’ll write.”

“But ugh,” one of the near-human children said in undisguised disgust. “Reading.”

Obi-Wan laughed softly, more like a chuckle than a real laugh. “I’ll comm sometimes, too.”

“That’s better.”

Obi-Wan let the other adiik’e continue clinging onto them for another long moment, and then gently but firmly began the process of extracting themselves from the twisted gaggle of limbs. Finally, they’d gotten free, and went to stand in front of the adults. They bowed, and the Jetiise bowed back.

“Welcome here, you will always be,” the little troll croaked. Jango blinked, parsing the backwards speech in his second language not quite as easy when he was already wrong-footed. “Return to us, you always may.”

“Thank you, Master,” Obi-Wan said softly, sounding a bit emotional for the first time.

“May the Force be with you,” the darker skinned one said, still grave, but no longer so angry. Almost more… resigned.

“And also with you,” Obi-Wan answered. They spent another moment looking over the Jetiise gathered around, then nodded. They bent down and picked up a duffel bag almost as large as they were, and then turned away, walking towards Jaster and Jango, who hadn’t moved from the bottom of the ramp.

The adiik came to a stop right in front of them, and Jango only caught Jaster’s hesitation because he knew him so well, but after a moment, his dini’la buir knelt down in front of the kid and removed his kriffing helmet. For the love of Manda, they were still in the morut of the karking Jetiise! What was Jaster thinking?

“Su’cuy gar, Obi-Wan,” Jaster said. “It’s good to meet you.”

Obi-Wan tilted their head, those blue eyes darting over Jaster’s face, an oddly calculating sort of look in them that never meant anything good when worn by a child. “Mand’alor,” Obi-Wan said, and several of the adiik’e behind them who’d heard it startled, as if they hadn’t known. Jaster hadn’t used his title in his introduction, no, but really, how bad could their knowledge of Manda’lase be, not to know at least that? Jango knew who the Chancellor of the Republic was, after all, so why wouldn’t they know Jaster was the Mand’alor? “So, you’re still alive.”

Jaster laughed. “It sounds like an odd greeting when it’s translated, doesn’t it?” he said. Obi-Wan hummed in response, still just staring at Jaster. “Do you have everything you need?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re ready to go, now?” Jaster asked.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said again. Jaster smiled and slipped his helmet back on before rising.

He nodded politely to the Jetiise again. “Jetiise. We will see Obi-Wan safely delivered,” Jaster promised. “No need to worry. They’ll be back with their family soon.”

Again, though Jaster had meant that to be polite, and comforting, several more of the ad’e joined the Mon Calamari and the Dressellian in crying, this time, and the adults looked angry again.

“The Force will be with you,” the Twi’lek woman called, and Obi-Wan turned just enough to smile and nod to them before turning away again, back to the ship.

“Time to go, then?” they said. Jaster nodded, and ushered them up the ramp, and into the ship.

---

Getting the kid settled was easy. Obi-Wan was… weirdly polite, incredibly well-spoken for their age, and unnaturally calm. They didn’t seem to have any of the fear of them that the other Jetiise had had, either. Jango had trailed after Jaster as he led Obi-Wan to the bunk that would be theirs for the trip as they lifted off and navigated out of the Jetiise’s hangar, out of both habit and curiosity.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, nodding, and settling the duffel bag on one of the shelves in the little bunkroom. They turned around again, tilting their head, which gave off an impression of a curious tooka, peering up at Jaster. “Where are we going?”

“Stewjon,” Jaster said slowly. “Ah, ni n’e —apologies, ad’ika. I thought they would have explained it to you. Your parents want you back, and the Jetiise had to give you up. Your buir’e —your parents—can’t leave the planet, so we were hired to take you to them.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said, nodding. “Well, that’s… not good news.”

“How do you mean?” Jaster asked slowly.

“Do you know what my name means?” Obi-Wan asked, and Jaster shook his head slowly. “In Stewjoni, it means ‘No-One, Child of Nothing.’” Jango started to frown, because who would name their ad something like that? “Stewjoni think Force-sensitivity is a curse, a sign that a child has been possessed by demons. Each tribe has their own tradition for culling them—”

“Culling?” Jaster growled, low and angry, and Jango was right there with him, his heart skipping a beat.

“—since they believe that the ‘demons’ will bring bad things. Floods, famines, other disasters. A Jedi found my mother trying to drown me in a river—”

“Me’ven?” Jaster growled again. Jango’s hands clenched into fists.

“—and took me from her. If they’ve asked for me back, it’s probably to finish what they started,” Obi-Wan finished, shrugging nonchalantly. “It’s a matter of honor to them. They could be shunned by the other tribes if they realized they let me live.”

Jaster dropped to one knee, ripping his buy’ce off and staring intently at Obi-Wan, who stared, still strangely placid and almost-blank, back.

“I am going to go, right now, to look into that,” Jaster said. “If what you’ve said is true, then we are absolutely not allowing you to go back to Stewjon. Haat, Ijaa, Haa’it.”

There was no way Obi-Wan could have understood the weight of the vow Jaster had just made, with those words. Still, the adiik finally smiled, a small, barely-there little grin, but a smile nonetheless, and Jango’s hands relaxed.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said.

“We’ll find somewhere to dock while we look into… all of this,” Jaster said.

“Keld’ika?” Jango suggested, and Jaster turned back to nod to him.

“‘Lek, that would work,” he said. Jango nodded, tapping at his vambrace to comm Myles, still up in the cockpit. Jaster turned back to the adiik.

“I’ll stay here,” Obi-Wan said, nodding. “I’d like to meditate.”

“Alright,” Jaster said. “We’ll come get you once we… know more.”

Obi-Wan nodded, and Jango thought it was… a little weird, how calm they’d been about all of this, especially when their fellow adiik’e hadn’t been, but… Well, Jango wasn’t a mir’baar’ur, so he couldn’t even begin to guess at why they were reacting to all of this trauma as they were. Add that to the whole raised-by-the- Jetiise- to-use-Force-magic thing, and it was no wonder Obi-Wan seemed a little… strange. A little off.

…the little, serious Jeti’ika was pretty copik’la, though.

---

Jango stared at the datapad Jaster was reading, peering at it over his buir’s shoulder. He got about three lines into the text there before he couldn’t read any further.

“Iba’shabuir’e! Kriffing demagolkase —”

Jaster, for once, didn’t have a word to say about Jango’s language. In a rare show of anger, he threw the ‘pad across the room, where it hit the wall before falling onto Jaster’s bunk proper. Jaster closed his eyes, taking a slow, deep breath to calm himself. Jango kept clenching and unclenching his fists.

“No wonder the Jetiise were angry,” Jaster finally sighed. “What they must have thought about us… And the adiik’e were so upset. I thought it was just because Obi-Wan was leaving them.”

Jango’s own rage spiked again, and he turned and punched the wall. “Buir, I knew it was strange how they asked us to go get them. It’s because they feared going themselves, and they must have believed the stories. They thought that even if we found out about Stewjon, and realized what was actually going to happen, that we wouldn’t care even though they’re just an adiik because they were a Jetii —”

“I know,” Jaster said, grim but steady. “I know, Jan’ika.” That sort of insult to their honor couldn’t go unanswered, and the fact that there was a planet of demagolkase who killed their own children just for being stars-touched demanded its own action and retribution.

Stewjon was in the Deep Core; it would be logistically complex for them to assault. Still, they would find a way. They had to; honor demanded it.

But first, there was an adiik to see to.

---

Obi-Wan was floating, when they entered. Jaster had tried knocking, but didn’t get an answer, and decided to peek in after calling out to them, assuming they were napping. Instead, they were sitting, cross-legged, eyes closed, on nothing. Just hovering there, a few inches off the floor.

Jaster and Jango exchanged looks, and then turned back to the adiik. It only took a few moments before Obi-Wan blinked their eyes open, gently sinking back down onto the floor, and peered up at them with those big blue eyes.

“Hello again,” Obi-Wan said, and Jaster tried for a smile that was really more of a grimace. Jango hadn’t even wanted to try, and had left his helmet on. He didn’t want to scare the poor kid even worse than they must’ve already been with what he was sure was a bloodthirsty sort of expression.

“Su’cuy, Obi-Wan,” Jaster said, and moved to kneel in front of Obi-Wan again. He turned very serious once more, so grave, as he added, “Ni ceta, ad’ika. I’m so sorry; we hadn’t known, before. Now that we do, you won’t be going anywhere near Stewjon, ori’haat —I promise. I’m sorry—I know we must have scared you.”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, and then smiled slightly—again, barely more than a twitch of their lips. “It’s alright. Thank you.”

Jaster nodded. “We’ll take you right back to the Temple, then—”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said. “Well, all that would end up with is me back on Stewjon anyway.”

Jaster started to frown. “Why? The Jetiise clearly wanted you to stay.”

“The Senate won’t allow it,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s the law. If parents want to reclaim their children from the Order, they have to go.”

“Surely there are exceptions, when their families are…” Jaster trailed off, undoubtedly unable to come up with a word suitable for young ears to describe those sorts of demagolkyc ge’hut’uun’e.

“No,” Obi-Wan said. “There’s no exception, for me. My mother was never actually charged with any crime, and there’s no other argument the courts will accept. If there had been, the Jedi wouldn’t have let me go with you in the first place, would they?”

Jaster’s eyes fell shut again, a vaguely pained look on his face. Finally, he reopened them, and the look on his face made Jango’s stomach flutter. Jango knew that look—his buir was about to do something absolutely insane.

“I understand.” Jaster paused for a long moment, looking at Obi-Wan, and then said, “We could help find you another home, with a new name, so they can’t find you as easily. Wherever you want to go, whoever you choose, we’ll see it done. And if…” Jango knew what was coming, and he grinned under his buy’ce. 

Sure, keeping the Jetii’adiik really would be a bit dini’la, but… Well, Jango had always wanted to be the ori’vod, for once.

“If you’d like to stay with us,” Jaster said, “I would do everything in my power to keep you safe, and do my best to ensure you can have at least some contact with your vod’e, your… Jetii siblings.”

Obi-Wan hummed, tilting their head, not immediately answering. Jaster darted a glance back at Jango; they hadn’t properly discussed this, and Jaster looked apologetic as well as questioning. This wasn’t quite the way they’d expected this to go, though in hindsight, they really should have. The Jetiise wouldn’t have just given Obi-Wan to them, knowing what would happen, if they could have avoided it.

Jango wondered why that stupid rule existed. Surely they had to know that kind of rigidly upheld law would be abused?

But that didn’t matter right now, Jango decided, and nodded to Jaster to signify his approval. Jaster smiled at him, and turned back to Obi-Wan, still just watching him curiously.

“If you’d like to stay with us,” Jaster said, “I know there are plenty of Mando’ade who would jump at the chance to Claim you. But I’d like to be the first to offer.”

“You want to… adopt me,” Obi-Wan said slowly, blinking at Jaster.

“‘Lek —yes,” Jaster said.

Obi-Wan blinked at him again, and then looked up to Jango. He nodded, and Obi-Wan looked back to Jaster. “I… Well… Alright,” they finally managed. Then, a little more firmly, a touch more confident, they added, “Yes.”

Jaster smiled, his shoulders dropping as much of his tension left him, and Jango finally smiled again, too. “That just leaves your new name,” Jaster said.

“Ben,” Obi-Wan said immediately. Jango wondered if that was a nickname they’d gone by or something, for them to have that ready so quickly.

Jaster nodded. “Ni kar’tayl gai sa’ad, Ben Mereel.” Obi— Ben, Jango’s new vod’ika —finally showed a crack in that unnatural calm, breath hitching, though they didn’t start crying. Jaster set his buy’ce down on the floor beside them and held out his hands. Ben went immediately, letting Jaster bring them in close for a hug.

Jango felt a little tug, pulling him forward, and he stumbled before catching himself. It immediately happened again, what the kark — Oh. Oh. Ben had his little hand stretched out over Jaster’s shoulder, reaching towards him. His new vod’ika had been trained by the Jetiise to use their magic Force.

…this was going to take some getting used to.

Still, Jango obeyed, now that he understood what O—Ben wanted. He knelt down beside them, and took off his buy’ce, setting it on the floor as Jaster had. Ben pulled back from Jaster to look at Jango’s face, staring at him for a long moment before they finally gave him one of those barely-there smiles. Ben reached towards him again, and Jango went, joining the family hug.

“We’ll look after you, vod’ika,” Jango promised, making a very conscious choice to make Jaster’s promise his own, too. “We’ve got your six. Haat, Ijaa, Haa’it.”

---

They waited until they’d just barely crossed the border, safely out of Republic space but as quickly as they could after that, to comm the Jetiise back. Neither Jaster, nor Jango, could imagine leaving Ben’s Jetii’vod’e in fear for their life, not with how close they’d proven they were, not when they were just adiik’e. It wouldn’t have been right, not to tell them. And it couldn’t hurt to let the Jetiise in general know that they weren’t actually demagolkase.

Ben rattled off a commcode for them, and they waited for it to connect. His vod’ika had gone back to looking so unnaturally calm, though their lips were ever-so-slighty upturned at the corners. As they waited for the signal to reach Coruscanta, and for the Jetiise to answer, Jango made another vow in the privacy of his own mind that he would make Ben’ika actually smile, like the adiik they were, within a month.

Finally, the comm connected, displaying tiny holos of the troll they’d seen in the hangar, and the dark skinned near-human, and a Kel Dor. Jaster had carefully arranged it so that he, Ben, and Jango were all immediately visible, and he saw the Jetiise exchange looks with each other.

“Mand’alor,” the troll said. “Unexpected, this is.”

“Jetiise,” Jaster said, nodding. “I thought you might wish to be informed that your former charge, Obi-Wan Kenobi, is now safely with their family.” Jango bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. But, well, it wasn’t a lie, was it?

“Hmm,” the troll hummed, ears flapping.

“On an entirely unrelated note,” Jaster added cheerfully, “I also wanted to request any materials you might have that would help with raising, ah—”

Jaster floundered for the Basic words, the Jetii term, and Ben helpfully supplied, “Force-sensitive.”

“‘Lek, vor’e, ad’ika,” Jaster said, smiling down at them for a moment. “I wanted to request any materials you might have that would help in raising a Force-sensitive ad. For my child, Ben Mereel.”

“Hmm,” the troll hummed again, smirking, and sounding terribly amused from that noise alone. The Kel Dor beside them coughed suspiciously, no doubt smothering a laugh, and shoulders visibly slumping in relief. The near-human on the other side reached up to rub at their temples, grimacing as if warding off a headache.

“The Educational Corps of the Order has such materials prepared already,” the Kel Dor said. “We can pass it along to this frequency, if you wish.”

“‘Lek —ah, yes, thank you,” Jaster said, nodding. “And I’d wondered if it’s… healthier for Force-sensitive adiik’e —children—to socialize with each other? If so, perhaps you might be willing to allow a few comms with some of your own ad’e?”

The troll outright cackled, ears flicking up, and the Kel Dor coughed again. The near-human groaned and covered their face with one hand.

“Of course,” the Kel Dor agreed. “Why, I believe I have just the group in mind. Bear Clan would do very nicely; they’re around the same age as your son, Ben.”

“Ori’jate,” Jaster said, grinning broadly. Even Ben’s smile had gotten marginally larger. “You can send along a good time for it to this frequency as well, with the materials. We’ll schedule something soon.” The Kel Dor bowed their head in acceptance. “Thank you for your time, Jetiise.”

“Thank you,” the Kel Dor said sincerely. “Mand’alor.”

The holo cut out, and Ben’s stomach chose that moment to growl audibly. Jaster and Jango both looked down at him, and Jango barked a laugh, seeing Ben glaring down at their stomach like they were offended by it.

“I suppose it’s time for latemeal,” Jaster said. “This way, ad’ike.”

---

Yaddle.

The Council had had less than three full days’ notice that Initiate Kenobi had been demanded back by his parents before the date their “emmisaries” were going to arrive to claim him. Three days hadn’t been much, not nearly long enough, but they’d tried.

Masters Nu, Sinube, and Dooku cloistered themselves in the Archives, spending that time combing through every bit of Republic law that applied to the Jedi Order, from obscure and rarely-enforced to rexamining the mundane and familiar regulations. Masters Gallia and Koon had stalked through the halls of the Senate dome, seeking out those few Senators they knew to be moral and kind-hearted, searching for allies. Masters Tyvokka and Windu had contacted other Temples, and the Service Corps, while Yaddle coordinated with her Shadows.

Their last meeting on the matter had taken place three hours before the arrival of the Mandalorians the Stewjoni had sent to take their Initiate from them. It had gone as they’d feared, but also as they’d expected.

Because Initiate Kenobi’s parents had never actually been charged with any crime against him, the Order had no grounds to refuse to return him to them. Even common knowledge of Stewjon’s cultural views on the Force was not enough to force the courts to lift the order that would send Initiate Kenobi back to his parents.

The order that would send him to his death.

The Council had bowed to Yaddle’s wisdom, at that point. As the Master of Shadows, she had come up with the best plan for his survival they had been able to put together on such short notice, coordinating with Mace and Tyvokka.

There was no way to refuse without endangering the rest of the younglings (and Force, how awful it had been, realizing that centuries-old laws were still in effect, laws that would allow the Senate to take their younglings from them if the Order broke any of the laws governing them). They all realized that they would have to appear to comply. They would have to send Initiate Kenobi away on the ship with the Mandalorians, they all knew that.

Yaddle’s plan was simple: they would tag both Initiate Kenobi himself with a tracker in his boots, and the Mandalorians’ ship, if they could manage to do so stealthily enough while they were in the Temple hangars. They would say their goodbyes, and let them go.

Right into the waiting arms of the Shadow teams they’d sent to surround Stewjon, of course. These Shadows could pose as pirates or slavers, when they needed to do so, and the Deep Core was rife with both, making it easy to blend in. Their three small ships would attack the Mandalorian vessel, board, and retrieve the youngling. From there, they all knew that there was no way they would be able to bring him back to the Coruscant Temple—that was the first place anyone would look, if and when his parents reported to the Senatorial Office of Familial and Custodial Affairs that he’d never made it to them.

In that, at least, they could give the young Initiate a choice. There were numerous places within their Order to hide a Jedi youngling—the Green Jedi on Corellia had offered to take him in, as had their technically non-affiliated but friendly cousins on Jedha. The Service Corps, too, were an option, at least until he was eligible for an apprenticeship. It would mean separating the Initiate from his Clan, taking him from his home, and forcing a new name onto him, but it would save his life. It had to be done.

They had told Initiate Kenobi the barest facts of their plan, Masters Yaddle and Yoda taking him aside to explain it. He had to go with the Mandalorians, they said, but he would not stay with them. They were sending other Jedi to get him back; once they made orbit around Stewjon, the Shadows would pounce.

The Initiate had been very… calm about the whole thing. He’d nodded along easily as they explained, as they’d promised that the Force would be with him, always, and that they would be, too, and he could still be a Jedi, just not a Coruscant Jedi. The Masters had all teared up a bit, floored by the Initiate’s trust in them, and the Force—he must have had great trust in both, to be so calm in the face of this trial.

There had been some bleak discussions about the Mandalorians, several Councilors fearing what might befall the Initiate before they even reached Stewjon. If they knew that Initiate Kenobi returning to his homeworld was a death sentence, and they were taking him there anyway, that didn’t say anything good about them. Coupled with their bitter history, it painted a grim picture.

But then Yaddle, watching from her perch atop one of the air ducts near the ceiling of the hangar, saw the two Mandalorians who emerged from the ship. Covered in beskar as they were, with its Force-muffling properties, none of them had been able to sense much, at first. The Force itself, however, had been… calm. Light.

And then Jaster Mereel, the Mand’alor himself, had knelt down in front of Initiate Kenobi and removed his helmet to speak to him face-to-face. Yaddle, and every other Master in the hangar, visible or hidden as she was, watching the Mandalorians like shriekhawks, had finally been able to sense him.

The man’s strongest emotions, at that moment, had been put on display for them: there was confusion, and wariness, but those feelings were swallowed up by warm-affection-delight.

It had been obvious to her, then, that Mereel found the Initiate adorable.

Yaddle had breathed a sigh of relief, concluding then that he likely had no idea what Stewjoni thought of the Force, and the danger Initiate Kenobi would be in if he was taken back there. Yaddle had decided that Initiate Kenobi would be safe enough with them for the journey to Stewjon, at least, and perhaps Mereel could be persuaded to hand him over to the Shadows willingly, if they could only get a moment to explain…

She had watched them go, and then, without bothering to get down from her perch, Yaddle had pulled out her commlink and amended her orders to the Shadows.

[Attempt negotiations first. The targets holding the asset may be more reasonable than we assumed.]

Yaddle had gotten back an acknowledgement from each of her teams, and then they could do nothing more than wait. The trackers’ signals were lost, unsurprisingly. They couldn’t pick up the beacons while the ship and its occupants were in hyperspace, after all. They were all tense, but not quite alarmed, not yet.

Three days went by—more than enough time to reach Stewjon from Coruscant, even with the hazards in the densely populated Deep Core—and the Shadows reported that there was still no sign of the ship. The trackers had yet to come back online. Yaddle started to feel a sense of disquiet, of unease.

Something had gone wrong.

Outwardly, they were forced to pretend that everything was business as usual, to keep the Senate’s suspicions and eyes off of them. Yaddle and the others attended Council sessions, as always, and only spoke of the Initiate outside of the Chambers, just in case. Sometimes, the Senate demanded meeting footage, and, among the others on the very long list of demands they were not allowed to refuse, if they did ask for it, the Council would have to hand it over.

They were in session when the Council comm chimed—not an unusual event, in itself, but the Force had sparked with… something elusive, but Light. They had set aside their conversation about the next stages of the MediCorps’ aid to Frengellkan, a small world in the Mid-Rim, and answered.

The holo projected in the center of the room showed three immediately recognizable beings: the Mand’alor, helmet off and held under their left arm, their still-armored child, Jango Fett, and Initiate Kenobi between the two of them. Yaddle studied the boy, relaxing slightly as she found he looked unharmed. Subtly, she picked up her datapad and checked the trackers, confirming that both had just come back online.

They were outside Republic space, now. Not quite within Mandalorian space, but certainly heading that way.

“Mand’alor,” Yoda greeted them, ears flicking. “Unexpected, this is.”

“Jetiise,” the Mand’alor said, nodding. “I thought you might wish to be informed that your former charge, Obi-Wan Kenobi, is now safely with their family.” Yaddle tilted her head; the Force chimed like bells, like laughter, in her ears.

How… curious. What was the Mand’alor playing at? He was right there.

“Hmm,” Yoda hummed, ears flapping again.

“On an entirely unrelated note,” Mereel added cheerfully, smile a bit smug, “I also wanted to request any materials you might have that would help with raising, ah—” They floundered for a moment, words out of reach, and Initiate Kenobi spoke up to provide them.

“Force-sensitive.”

“‘Lek, vor’e, ad’ika,” Mereel said, turning to smile so softly, so gently, down at Initiate Kenobi before looking back to the Councilors. “I wanted to request any materials you might have that would help in raising a Force-sensitive ad. For my child, Ben Mereel.”

Oh. Oh. Yaddle smiled, the tension bleeding out of her. It was a terrible loss for the Jedi—particularly for his crechemates; that Clan had been incredibly close—that Obi-Wan Kenobi would no longer be counted among their number. And it still must be terribly upsetting for him, leaving the Temple and his Clan and his home behind…

But he was safe. He was alive, and safe, and now under the protection of the Mand’alor himself.

“Hmm,” Yoda hummed again, smirking, leaking amusement into the Council Chambers, not bothering to shield it. Plo coughed suspiciously, no doubt smothering a laugh, his shoulders visibly slumping in relief. Poor Mace reached up to rub at his temples, grimacing as if warding off a headache.

“The Educational Corps of the Order has such materials prepared already,” Plo offered. “We can pass it along to this frequency, if you wish.”

“‘Lek —ah, yes, thank you,” Mereel said, nodding. “And I’d wondered if it’s… healthier for Force-sensitive adiik’e —children—to socialize with each other? If so, perhaps you might be willing to allow a few comms with some of your own ad’e?”

Yoda cackled, ears flicking up, and Plo coughed again. Mace groaned and covered his face with one hand; no doubt this was quite the Shatterpoint, this moment here and now. Yaddle’s smile grew, and she pulled out her commlink, now secure enough in the outcome for the Initiate to send the all-clear to the Shadows who had been waiting, on-edge, horribly worried and so grim, for Initiate Kenobi to reach Stewjon.

“Of course,” Plo agreed. “Why, I believe I have just the group in mind. Bear Clan would do very nicely; they’re around the same age as your son, Ben.”

“Ori’jate,” Mereel said, grinning broadly. Initiate Kenobi smiled, more softly, but no less genuine, where he stood beside the Mand’alor. “You can send along a good time for it to this frequency as well, with the materials. We’ll schedule something soon. Thank you for your time, Jetiise.”

“Thank you,” Plo said sincerely. “Mand’alor.”

The comm cut out. For the next few long moments, the cameras that recorded every session got only a silent pause on holo; in the Force, the network of Council bonds pinged rapidly back-and-forth. All of them shared their relief, and their grief, and happiness, sadness, anger, joy, fear, and wonder with each other.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was safe. He was alive, and safe. Out of their reach, now, yes—but also out of reach of Stewjon, and the Republic which would have sent him to his death.

With a slow, deep, collective sigh, the Council let it go, and refocused their attention on the discussions about Frengellkan for the cameras.

(In the background, the network of Council bonds continued to light up between them, all of them wondering the same thing. One Initiate had been endangered, and saved. But, if and when it happened again… could they save the next one?

Would their subservience to the Republic Senate allow them to? Or would it force them to make an attempt in secret—just like this one, an attempt that, technically, had failed?

Could they live with the possibility?

What must they do, to protect their children? How far would they have to go to see it done?

No outcome was decided, but the entirety of the High Council met in Yaddle’s quarters, afterwards. For after-session tea, of course. Just a visit between twelve close colleagues, so far as anyone whose whispers might reach the Senate knew.

Keeping their voices hushed despite the privacy they were then afforded by the change in venue, more and more, their own whispers agreed.

We cannot allow this to happen again. We must protect our young, no matter what else might happen.

If the Republic stands in the way of that goal…

(Dooku, hissing angrily, eyes narrowed, had said, “Clearly, they will, as they already have. A precedent has already been set.”)

Then, if the Senate does not agree to reforms...

We must hide the younglings.

 

We will all have to leave Coruscant.)

---

Ben.

Ben really hadn’t meant to be adopted by the Mand’alor. Truly, he hadn’t. He’d realized that the chances of him being adopted by some Mandalorian, given his plan, were rather high, and he’d made peace with that (though, honestly, the thought was still bizarre, because he was a sixty-year-old Jedi Master, for all that he looked like he was just six again. For Force’s sake, he was older than his new buir, mentally speaking; it was… kriffing odd). But so, too, were the chances of him continuing on with the Jedi—but not on Coruscant, at least. He had made his peace with that possibility as well.

But he hadn’t expected Jaster Mereel to come. Frankly, he’d thought Mand’alor the Reformer—his buir, now, little gods—would already have been dead at this point. That he wasn’t yet was a pleasant surprise.

So, while it was true that this hadn’t worked out… quite as he’d expected it to, he’d still accomplished what he’d hoped to with this convoluted plan.

Ben had known that there was no way he could remain in the Temple (not when he saw bodies everywhere and terrified Quinlan with the echoes of his night terrors, not when he couldn’t even look at his fellow Jedi without remembering when and how they’d died, not when he was in the creche and all he could see were the dead younglings killed by a lightsaber and blaster fire from unwilling, manipulated, enslaved executioners —), but he’d also known that there was no way the Council would have let a six-year-old leave of their own volition. Since Ben hadn’t even wanted to contemplate trying to explain it to any of the Masters (they still thought Force apparitions were heresy, and the Sith were extinct, so Ben had also known that in telling them about his life and death and rebirth and the kriffing time travel, he would be accomplishing nothing more than branding himself madder than Master Sifo-Dyas had been considered last time), Ben had realized he would need to manipulate the Council into sending him away (which they’d already done, before; how hard could it be to get them to do it again? And, preferably, about six years early instead of three months early?).

The plan had come together during one of their creche activities: researching their homeworlds. Master Shari-Ta, just as she had in that last life, had quietly encouraged Ben to research Coruscant instead of Stewjon. He had taken her advice, this time, but in his first life, that was when he’d learned what his name meant, and how he’d been Found.

In his second life, that’s when he’d gotten an idea.

It hadn’t been difficult to swipe an unlocked datapad, wipe it, and put his own encryptions on it. Nor had it been difficult to slice into the petty cash accounts meant for the Knights and Masters’ miscellaneous expenses, and take just a small portion—not enough to be missed, but enough to be getting on with. It had been just as easy to multiply those funds quickly, and he refused to feel badly about using his foreknowledge to make a few key investments, and a slew of high-stakes bets (mostly on podracing; he still had nearly a century’s worth of racing stats memorized, thanks to A… thanks to his former-apprentice’s constant chatter about the sport). It had been so easy to forge the documents, one to the Haat’ade, with “his parents’” request, which he knew the pay on offer would make irresistible, even with the involvement of Jedi, and another to the Republic Senatorial Office of Familial and Custodial Affairs.

The Jedi had gotten the notice that Obi-Wan Kenobi was to be taken back to Stewjon two hours after Ben got confirmation from the Haat’ade that they were accepting the job.

He’d known that the Haat’ade wouldn’t take him back to Stewjon—he’d read the Codex, in his last life, more than once. Ben knew very well how they felt about children, and they had more honor in one of their verd’e alone than the entirety of Kyr’tsad. So his gambit had… Well.

It had meant his freedom.

It had meant breaking his crechemates’ hearts, if only temporarily.

It had meant the first meeting of the Jedi and the True Mandalorians had not been on a battlefield.

It had meant that the Jedi would be forced to confront the consequences of an unjust law unfairly imposed by the Senate.

It had meant that the Jedi would have to face how powerless they were, even now, against the Senate.

All of those things were consequences Ben had known would come, and they had, just as he had predicted. Ben’s crechemates had already been informed of Jaster’s change in plans, he was sure; the Masters wouldn’t make them wait when they could soothe their worries. They were just younglings, after all. The hurt and fear would likely linger amongst the younglings and the Masters alike, and Ben hated having to do it to them, but… it was necessary.

It was necessary to remind the Jedi of the consequences of their lack of independence, the choices they had made in shackling themselves to the corrupt, callous Senate. It was necessary to make them feel it, to spur them to act. It was also necessary to remind everyone of a little, Deep Core planet called Stewjon, and what they did to children there. Ben would not allow any more Force-sensitive younglings to be harmed simply for being touched by it, not if he had any chance of stopping it.

He hadn’t overlooked the fact that Jaster and Jango (Jango Fett, his ori’vod, and Force, what the kriff was he doing?) had already started debating various plans to “take Stewjon” when they thought he couldn’t hear them. Ben hoped the Jedi would help, or that they would do something before Jaster and the Haat’ade did, because that would not look good for Mandalore in the eyes of the Republic, but he would take what he could get, and do his best to help.

“Tion’mirdi, Ben’ika?” Jaster asked, drawing Ben’s gaze back up from where it had wandered down to his plate, idly stabbing at his food rather than eating it. “What are you thinking about?”

“A lot’s happened,” Ben said, perfectly honest. Only ten weeks ago, he’d woken up, six years old instead of sixty, and most certainly not dead anymore, in the home that he’d seen destroyed, surrounded by people who’d been dead for decades by then.

It had been a lot.

Jaster and Jango both gave him twin soft, sympathetic looks. “I know, ad’ika,” Jaster said. “I know this is all… sudden, and different, but you’ll be alright. Ori’haat.” Ben nodded. Yes, he knew the lengths of his own stubbornness, and his own resilience by now. Even this upheaval, he would endure. “Now, finish your food, and then we’ll get to sleep. We’ll have a busy day tomorrow, once we reach Manda’yaim.”

“Yes, buir,” Ben said, and smiled, just a bit, when Jaster practically preened with pleasure at the title. Jango kept smiling so broadly that Ben was sure his cheeks would hurt, later, no trace of the angry, bitter, hateful man he’d become, by the time they’d first met on Kamino.

No, Ben thought, this hadn’t gone quite to plan, but looking at his new family (sweet Force), Ben was more than satisfied with the outcome.

Notes:

Mando'a:
Jetii'yaim - the Temple (lit. "Jedi home")
Mando'ad - Mandalorian (lit. child of Manda)
Jetiise - Jedi, plural (singular Jetii)
ka'ra'tigaanla - stars-touched (made up word for Force sensitives)
Haat'ade - True Mandalorians (lit "True children")
adiik - young child (between the ages of 3-13)
'Lek - Yeah (short for elek)
buir - parent (gender neutral, means either mother or father depending on context)
Su cuy'gar - So you're still alive (greeting)
verd'goten - coming of age trial for a Mandalorian (lit. "soldier birth")
dini'la - insane
Me'ven? - What? (Expression of disbelief, shock)
Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it - Truth, honor, vision (said to seal a pact)
copikla - cute/adorable (never ever used for women, just kids and animals, LOL)
Ni ceta - I'm sorry (serious, groveling apology)
ori'haat - honest/it's the truth/no bull
ori'vod - older sibling (gender neutral)
Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad - I know your name as my child (adoption vow)
vod'ika - little sibling (gender neutral)
Vor'e - Thanks
Ori'jate - Excellent
Tion’mirdi - What are you thinking (about)? [Thanks to Felsong771376 for pointing that one out! :) ]

Original end note on the one-shot collection:

Alternate summary: Old Ben in Baby-Wan's body just woke up there one day, right back in the place that now screams Trauma to him, and went nope. Per Star Wars canon normal, no communication is attempted, and instead, a very convoluted plan is made to sow utter chaos.

We'll see how I feel about this one and how much sense it even makes when I reread it later, LOL! For now, I hope you enjoyed the crackish dramedy! :P

Chapter 2

Notes:

Just a heads up/explanation: in chapter 1, Jango uses “they/them” pronouns for Obi-Ben. This is partly because a) his first language of Mando’a has no gendered pronouns, so that’s what he defaults to, and b) he doesn’t know Ben’s yet. In the second chapter, both he and Jaster use he/him for Ben. It’s not explicitly shown/stated because I couldn’t really find a good place to put it, but in the time in-between, they asked what he prefers and Ben confirmed he/him for them. :)

Some of the details about Keldabe and Sundari are technically non-canon, given the latest season of The Mandalorian and what it told us about Mandalore proper. Gentle reminder that I'm not a stickler for canon. ;)

Jaster.

Honestly, it hadn’t been the frankly ludicrous pay offered for this job that had made Jaster take it. The fact that an adiik was involved had weighed heavily in his decision, yes, because anyone who was ka’ra’tigaanla was worth a fortune to slavers, and adiik’e touched by the ka’ra were worth even more than adults, so Jaster had wanted to accept if only to make sure the adiik would be in good hands for the journey—but even that wasn’t the full reason.

Jaster had never met a Jetii, before. He’d seen one, once, when he was barely old enough for training beskar’gam, getting a glimpse of a beige-robed Togruta, Jetii’kad lit so as to leave no doubt about what they were, bouncing from rooftop to rooftop as they chased after… someone, Jaster hadn’t known who. He and his buir had been perusing one of the markets on Taris, a world close enough to Manda’lase that fully-armored Mando’ade were a common enough sight, and also a world whose… negative history with Mando’ade had been long enough ago to pass from memory. As long as their credits were good, they were as welcome as anyone else.

He’d been distracted by the Jetii, staring after them, just like everyone else in the market at the time, and wondering what they were doing, who they were chasing, what they’d done. He’d ached to go after them, to satisfy that curiosity; his buir knew him well, though, and put a staying hand on his shoulder, clapping him hard enough to be felt even through his pauldron.

“Nayc, Jas’ika,” Je’bu had murmured. “Leave it.”

“Did you hear any chatter on the comms? Who do you think they were chasing? And why?” Jaster asked.

“I don’t know,” she’d answered evenly. “But what I do know is this: our history with the Jetiise makes things… tense between us, even now. But if you leave a Jetii alone, they will leave you alone.”

Jaster had nodded obediently and dropped the subject. The Jetii had already darted out of sight, by then, anyway. But questions had lingered in his mind, after that—their kadau had been orange, but he’d thought the Jetiise all had blue or green ones, and the Dar’jetiise had all had red ones. Why was that Jetii’s a different color? Who had they been after, and why? What would they do when they caught them? Arrest them, fight them, kill them?

The list of questions Jaster would have jumped at the chance to ask a Jetii got longer, and more complex, as he grew. Questions about their history, their culture, their beliefs, their training—he was curious by nature, and a scholar at heart. In a more just world where he wasn’t needed as a warrior, Jaster might’ve become an Archivist, or a teacher. True to form, Jaster had written out his list, making sure that, if he ever got the chance to talk to one of them, he wouldn’t forget any of his questions.

Many years had come and gone, since that first glimpse. So much had happened—Je’bu marched on ahead of him; Jaster was thrown out of the Protectors after confronting their widespread corruption; he started the True Mandalorian Mercenary Company, and it grew into a full faction; he was declared Mand’alor; he Claimed his ad —and he found he had far too much to do to think much about the Jetiise anymore.

Then this job had come through, and Jaster had only taken the time to verify in the Republic’s Senate Archives that the custody transfer had already been ordered for Obi-Wan Kenobi, the order for the Jetiise to give him back to his tal’buir’e, before he’d accepted. He’d copied his list onto a datachip, slipping it into his belt, and quietly vibrated with excitement the whole way there.

He was going to get to talk to a Jetii. He might even get to talk to multiple Jetiise. He was going to have a Jetii’ad on the ship with him for a few days, plenty of time to make conversation and learn about how they grew up, what their earliest training looked like. Jango was in a foul mood, insisting something was wrong, that something was off, but Jaster didn’t back down. He added seventeen more questions to his list on the trip there, growing ever more eager with each parsec they crossed towards Coruscanta.

And then they’d actually arrived, and Jaster had immediately realized that this was not the forum for his questions. The Jetiise had been so tense and judgemental, and that had caught Jaster wrong-footed from the start. He’d figured they might not have been happy about having to give up the adiik, but not like that. He hadn’t expected them to be angry, or for the Jetii’adiik’e to be so distraught, but they were, and Jaster resigned himself to leaving his questions unanswered, for now. He saved the commcode he’d pinged for their landing clearance, hoping that the Jetiise would be more amenable to answering his questions after he commed back to confirm for them that the adiik had been safely delivered, and left.

Everything had gone to Hel so quickly, after that.

Once the rage flowing through him had been subdued to a dull roar, the matter of an entire planet of dar’buir’e reluctantly relegated to the “later” list, and Jaster had been able to think straight again, he’d understood why the Jetiise had been angry, and he’d understood why the Stewjoni had asked them to go retrieve their ad. It was just as Jango had said: they must have been too afraid to visit the Morut be’Jetiise themselves, and figured that since they were Mando’ade and the adiik was a Jetii, they wouldn’t care that the adiik was being sent to their death. What they’d said in their request had likely all just been made up, for public appearances. An excuse for both the Haat’ade and the Stewjoni, a flimsy smokescreen for the truth.

Things started looking up, though. Jaster had a new ad, making Jango an ori’vod, and his elder son seemed to adore his younger son. It was still heartbreaking, knowing that Ben’ika had had to leave his home, his Jetii’aliit, everything familiar, behind, but he seemed to be coping well. He meditated a lot, which the manuals the Jetiise had sent over said was a good thing, and helped them stay calm and level-headed (the young ones, the manuals said, could ideally use about three hours each day of meditation, though it also acknowledged that it didn’t have to be done at once, since adiik’e rarely could sit still for that long, and one hour per day, split into two half-hour sessions, morning and night, was the acceptable minimum).

Good and bad, so much had happened, and Jaster’s questions, and finding a way to ask them, had taken a backseat after all of it. Getting Ben safely outside Republic space and settled back home was the first priority, of course.

It wasn’t until he received the manuals the Jetiise had sent over to him that Jaster thought about his questions again. Plo Koon—the Kel Dor from their comm to the Council, Ben had told him—had sent over the files from their EduCorps personally. That meant Jaster didn’t just have the general commcode for flight path and landing instructions, or the general code for the Jetii’alor’e. No, now he had a direct line to a Jetii Master, on their governing Council, no less. And one who seemed… pleasant. Personable.

In between sections in the Jetii manuals, when Jaster’s eyes started to cross and his head began to pound sluggishly from struggling to understand such foreign concepts (ka’ra, there had been an entire thirty-page section on Force-empathy, and the importance of teaching a Force-sensitive adiik to question every strong emotion they felt, even if only after the fact in “reflective meditation,” because that would help determine if it was even their own feelings or just something they sensed too deeply from another person; that section had then gone on to discuss the importance of mental shielding techniques and how all of that tied into meditation and its balancing effects, and Jaster had felt a migraine coming on by the time he reached the end of that one), he turned back to his questions. Jaster carefully began editing the list, first by sorting them into acceptable and unacceptable questions to ask, and then he went back to consider the wording on each query.

Ben spent the trip alternately meditating, following Jango around (which pleased Jango to no end; Jaster had never seen him so happy to work on simple maintenance tasks around the ship as he was then, narrating and explaining what he was doing to Ben, standing just behind him, watching it all with those big blue eyes, or pulling Ben’ika into his lap while he played cu'bikad with Myles and whispered his strategies to Ben so Myles wouldn’t overhear), or sitting mosty-quietly with Jaster, each of them occupied with a datapad (Ben, when Jaster had asked, said that he was working on a timeline for the Jetiise; he thought it was likely some sort of history project, something the Jetiise assigned and Ben had kept working on even after his departure, and Jaster had been content to leave him to it), though Ben did ask more than a few questions about Mandalore during breaks in their respective work. Overall, Ben had remained calm and rather quiet through the journey, and seemed so easily entertained and occupied.

And that all meant Jaster had plenty of time for that last day of travel back to Manda’yaim to work on both his little side-project and the daunting manuals.

By the time they came out of hyperspace once again, this time about to make their final approach to Manda’yaim, Jaster was ready to send a message to Plo Koon, a list of fifty-seven questions he’d found both interesting enough to prioritize and polite enough to actually ask.

Jaster had quickly sent it off, hoping he’d get a response soon, and then turned his attention back to his ad’e —he wanted to see Ben’ika’s face when he got his first look at his new home, and it was Jango’s turn in the pilot’s chair.

---

A day passed, and then two, and Jaster started to forget that he’d even sent that message. Especially given the internal investigation Ben’ika had sparked on his first morning there. Yet again, Jaster found that he simply had too much to do to think about the Jetiise.

Finally, though, on the third day, he got a reply. It was an impressive forty-five page… well, frankly, it was an essay, addressing each of Jaster’s questions. It was capped off by an easy thank you for Jaster’s curiosity and initiative in asking, a polite inquiry as to the quality of the journey back to Manda’yaim, and another question as to when Ben’ika might be available to speak to Bear Clan.

Jaster smiled to himself, glad he hadn’t taken Je’bu’s advice, this time, about leaving Jetiise alone. This certainly went a long way to improving his mood.

Still grinning, Jaster had sent back his thanks for the Jetii’s thoroughness, several questions he’d thought of while reading Plo Koon’s answers to the first set, a few other questions he had after reading certain sections of the manuals, a polite fine, vor’e to the Jetii’s first question in return, an answer of several times they could make a comm work (a more difficult set of calculations than Jaster would have liked, given the awkward time difference between Keldabe and the Morut be’Jetiise), and a polite inquiry in return as to Plo Koon’s health, as Core Worlders did when making conversation for its own sake.

Communication established, he’d mentally crowed as he hit send. And somewhere in the ka’ra, Jaster was certain his buir was swearing at him, asking what the kriff he thought he was doing—though probably through peals of laughter, knowing her.

---

Ben.

Mandalore— Manda’yaim, Ben reminded himself; he was Mando’ad, now (the younger son of the Mand’alor, no less—what the kriff was he doing?), and making an attempt at “learning” Mando’a (which was a far harder task than it should have been, for someone fluent in the language, but it was admittedly difficult to appear to be learning a language he already knew)—looked much the same as Ben remembered it to be as they approached. The vast deserts covering the majority of the planet dotted by several large domes, large enough to be visible from space, the two space stations in orbit around it that served as their customs stations… Yes, Ben remembered this quite well. But, for all that it looked the same, to his eyes, it felt… different. It felt Lighter.

Ben hadn’t protested when Jaster had pulled him into his lap, too short to see much from the co-pilot’s chair they were occupying without the boost. Jango was piloting, now, giving Myles a break; Jaster, apparently, didn’t handle any of the flying himself, save for keeping watch over the controls and indicators while the autopilot guided them through hyperspace. 

Ben watched as they turned, banking at an angle that would take them away from the dome enclosing Sundari, and he tilted his head, surprised. Wouldn’t the Mand’alor live in the capital?

Realization dawned a moment later: Sundari wasn’t the capital. Not now, not yet —after the massacre of the True Mandalorians at Galidraan, there had been a massive resurgence of Death Watch in the sector. Once those who were actually capable of standing against them, and willing to do so, were neatly removed from the board, Tor Vizsla and his followers had been free to rain down terror and destruction on Mandalore. The Old Clans had taken a stand against them, eventually, those who had been neutral, but would have sided with Jaster if that push had come earlier, but the damage had been done.

By the time Ben had first set foot on Manda’yaim, Keldabe had been destroyed, and the Kalevalan “New Mandalorians” had taken control of the sector, under the protection of the Old Clans, whose “barbaric, violent ways” the New Mandalorians tolerated only because the majority of them did not live on Manda’yaim proper, and because they were the only line of defense against Death Watch they had left.

But none of that had happened, yet. Jaster was alive, and still the Mand’alor. The True Mandalorians numbered in the millions, if one counted all of the Clans and Houses sworn to Jaster, and not only those who served in the mercenary company itself. The New Mandalorians made up a sizeable portion of Sundari’s population, but Sundari was the second largest city on the planet, and it wasn’t the capital itself. An important city, still, given that the largest beskar mines on Manda’yaim proper were there, as was the Great Forge (though Keldabe, Ben remembered reading, housed the First Forge—the ancient forge built by the Taung themselves when they’d first discovered beskar, while the foundations of the Great Forge had been constructed several years later, after much refinement in the processing and smelting of beskar) —but it wasn’t the capital.

With a bit of luck— jate’kara, as they said—and the aid of the Force, perhaps they might be able to keep it that way.

“Home at last,” Jaster sighed, both sounding and feeling content. “And there it is: Keldabe.” Ben leaned forward, a bit, straining to see, and found himself surprised yet again as the city came into view, growing ever closer as they descended.

There was no dome enclosing Keldabe itself, and, even more shockingly, there was vegetation. The center of the city was composed of tall towers, old stone closer to their bases transitioning to durasteel and transparisteel higher up, speaking to something new having been built over the old. The other districts of the city fanning out from the center were mostly lower, and mostly made from some sort of stone, or plaster or mudbrick, the latter two both painted in bright, vibrant colors.

And, surrounding and permeating it all, there was life. Green, growing things, what looked almost like a jungle, stretched out until he could barely see it taper off into the desert he remembered, in the distance, and with two rivers (or one that forked? Ben couldn’t see enough to tell) flowing through the city and the jungle both—but how? Had Keldabe looked like this before its destruction, last time?

Had Tor Vizsla and his Death Watch hut’uun’e really killed off the last of the vegetation on their homeworld, just to strike a blow at the heart of Mando’ade, and Manda’yaim? It wouldn’t have surprised Ben to learn that was the case, but it did lower his opinion of them, which was a bit of a shock on its own. He hadn’t thought it could sink any lower.

“It’s so green,” Ben said. “And there’s no dome?”

“Nayc, not anymore,” Jaster said. “Keldabe fared better than much of the rest of Manda’yaim, and Manda’lase, in the Dral’han —what the Republic calls the Excision. Much of the original works were either made with a beskar skeleton, or from stone that they purposefully left the beskar veins in. It didn’t come through unscathed, but it was still mostly-habitable with only about a year’s worth of clean-up and reconstruction.

“After the Dral’han,” Jaster continued, his tone starting to take on that of a lecturer; Jango groaned softly to himself, and Ben wondered if this sort of impromptu history lesson was commonplace, with Jaster—he had seemed particularly happy to answer the questions Ben had voiced about Mandalore, during their journey, “there was a dome put up to safeguard the vegetation that remained, and to protect Keldabe and its people from the worst of the radiation. But once that came down to acceptable levels, they started expanding—they built other, smaller domes, interconnected with the main cover for the city, and worked on rehabilitating the soil in each one and replanting them before moving on to the next.

“All of the major domes around Keldabe were taken down a little more than a century ago, when they confirmed the radiation had fallen enough to be safe. We’re still working on expanding the ‘green zone,’ as we call it, pushing a little farther each season, but that’s done in smaller domed greenhouses—domes that are more easily moved every ten years or so, when they’re ready to go on to another area. The work will take countless generations to complete, but we know it can be done. We all do our part, knowing that someday, our descendants will see it done.”

Ben thought of Taris, bombarded by a force of Sith-commanded Mandalorians, and nodded. Taris had only taken three hundred years to be recolonized after the bombardment, and vegetation had already sprung up everywhere, by then; it had been far longer than that since the Dral’han. Still, that there was any of the original vegetation left was… remarkable. He wondered if the AgriCorps would have any data that might help accelerate the timeline for the rehabilitation of Mandalore’s surface; it was likely, he thought. Perhaps he could find a way to reach out—though the Senate would never approve the funding or resources needed for the AgriCorps to help Mandalore themselves, there was still no law against any of the Service Corps sharing data with worlds and systems outside of the Republic.

Not yet, anyway. That hadn’t come until later, just before the… the war. The Senate had used the excuse of the “Separatist crisis” to cripple the Order’s ability to aid anyone who did not owe allegiance to the Republic, no matter how the Council had tried to argue that sending some aid might help bring those planets and sectors back into the fold. Their hands had been tied, under far too much scrutiny by then to take any action not officially approved.

And Sidious had already held the power he needed to rip the galaxy apart while putting on a far too convincing show of trying to keep it together. The Jedi had been ensnared in the Sith’s trap far earlier than the dawn of the war, their end written long before that.

Shaking his head to clear it, steering his thoughts away from that, Ben refocused on Keldabe as they came in to land. Much like Sundari, there were landing pads coming off of the towers, allowing them to dock in the city center instead of having to place the bulk of the landing platforms outside of the city, though Ben had seen several mid-sized-to-large cruisers and gunships on landing pads on the outskirts of Keldabe. Jaster stayed where he was, waiting for Jango to finish the post-flights before they disembarked, no doubt.

Ben heard footsteps and turned to peer around Jaster, smiling at Myles. Jango’s best friend, as he’d been introduced to Ben, appeared mostly-human, but probably had some Zabrak or Devaronian heritage, given the red tint to his skin, and the sheer size of him. He was far taller and broader than the average teenaged human, Ben having also been told that he was nineteen, and hybrid children were common on Mandalore. It was a sensible explanation, though he hadn’t asked.

Myles smiled back for a moment before turning his attention to Jaster. “I already grabbed Ben’s bag for you, so you’re all set, ‘Alor. I can finish this up for you.”

“Much appreciated, Myl’ika,” Jaster said, and rose, smoothly shifting Ben onto his hip, prompting him to cling on like a monkey-lizard. He wanted to protest that he was too old to be carried, and he could walk, but Jaster felt so warm-delighted every time he allowed himself to be picked up, and Ben’s legs were very short. Ben was, he could admit to himself, small for a six-year-old child. He supposed he could endure this for a little while.

Jango stood, swapping places with Myles and taking Ben’s duffel bag for him, and then Jaster led the way towards the hatch, pausing only long enough to slip his helmet back on.

“We have one stop to make, before we can head home and get settled in,” Jaster said, sounding a bit apologetic. Ben hummed, a wordless question, looking around as they exited the ship. He smiled to himself as he saw only a few speeders and far more Mandalorians using jetpacks to navigate the air flying around them. That was certainly something that had disappeared by the time Satine had taken control of the sector, and it was both fascinating and a bit funny. There was nothing quite like Mandalorian pragmatism, and their tendency to choose the direct route. “The Registry Office. It shouldn’t take long—it’s only a few floors down from here. We’ll have to get your name added to the Register, and Clan Mereel’s records updated.”

Jaster and Jango both let out flares of happiness-excitement strong enough to be felt even with their full beskar’gam on, and Ben smiled to himself. A large part of him was still wondering what in the name of the Force he was doing, but… Well.

It was nice to feel so wanted, at least.

---

Jango.

Getting back to Keldabe had already worked wonders for Jango’s mood—he’d been on edge since Jaster had told him about this job, and it had only gotten worse once they’d picked Ben up and found out about the rest of the osik going on behind the scenes—but he knew he wouldn’t fully relax until they were safely back in their own home, settling Ben in with them. Still, he knew that seeing to the Register was a necessary first step, and an important one.

He still remembered when his name had gone into the Register, first as Jaster’s foundling, though they’d updated it a month later, when Jango finally agreed to the gai bal manda. Jaster had wanted to give him time, after the deaths of his maan’aliit, and had left it up to Jango what he wanted, and when he’d be comfortable giving him his decision. If he’d wanted to go with another of the Haat’ade instead, Jaster would’ve seen it done. If he’d wanted to go back to Concord Dawn to live with another family of farmers, then Jaster would’ve honored that choice, too. The fact that he would have let Jango go if that was what he’d wanted had finally been what swayed Jango into staying with him, in the end.

Jango’s memories of this floor in the Alori’ya, the central government building attached to the barracks where they actually lived, were bittersweet. As he remembered, there were others already there—not too many, but there were a few small groups clustered around the room. The foundlings waiting to be registered, the orphans brought to be formally Claimed by other living relatives or family friends, and a few couples who were waiting to submit the datawork for their riduurok’e… The mix of joyful and painful circumstances represented by those in the office, waiting to be seen, only added to the bittersweet quality to it.

As always, the entire room quieted as they noticed Jaster, and realized who had just come in. For a long moment, everyone just stared at him, and Jango beside him, and Ben still balanced on Jaster’s hip, looking around with those big blue eyes. Finally, one of the uniformed staff—a Kryze, given the blonde hair and aliik on their pauldron, and the fact that they were only wearing a chestplate and pauldrons as far as beskar’gam went, overtop of the uniform shirt offered to those who worked there but didn’t wear full beskar’gam —stepped forward.

“Mand’alor, Ad be’alor,” they said, dipping her head and pressing a closed fist over their chest. “Ner gai Asylia b’aliit Kryze. I’ll be happy to assist you, if you’ll follow me?”

Jaster nodded. “‘Lek, vor’e,” he said. Asylia smiled, looked at Ben again for a long moment, and then spun on their heel to lead them back out of the waiting room to one of the offices. Jango felt a bit bad for jumping the line like that, but the sooner they were finished here, the sooner they could get home with Ben’ika.

Asylia’s office was pleasant, with a nice view overlooking the south side of Keldabe, and the river there, just where it wound around the base of a hill. Jaster settled himself down on one of the chairs in front of her desk, shifting Ben into his lap again, and Jango took the other.

“Now, ad’ika,” they said, looking at Ben again, “tion’gar gai? What’s your name?”

“Ben Mereel,” he answered promptly. Asylia smiled.

“Jatne urcye, Ben,” they said. “Well met.” They looked up at Jaster, then, and added: “I see why you’ve come, in that case.” Jaster nodded, and Asylia pulled out a datapad, no doubt bringing up the forms for Ben’s registration. “Just a few questions, and you can be on your way. How old are you, Ben?”

“Six.”

“And your species?”

“Near-human,” Ben answered promptly. “Close enough, besides the extra organs.”

Huh. That was good information. Jango made a mental note to ask Jaster if he could get Ben’s medical records sent over by the Jetiise, if they hadn’t already. “Extra organs” were definitely the sort of thing his new aliit needed to know about, and the baar’ur’e would, too.

“Alright,” Asylia said easily. “Planet of origin?”

“I was born on Stewjon, but brought here from Coruscant,” Ben said.

Asylia nodded again, and then there was a longer pause between questions than there had been. Because Jango still remembered this, he knew that they were coming up on the more difficult questions, now.

“Previous guardians?” Asylia asked.

Ben remained quiet, this time, and Jaster squeezed him a bit before answering for him. “The Jetiise. He came from their Temple, on Coruscanta.”

Asylia’s head snapped up, and they blinked at Jaster rapidly for a moment, going a shade paler. “...I see,” they finally said. “And the… transfer of custody?”

“Complicated,” Jaster said, and Jango repressed a snort, because that was an understatement if there ever was one, “but amicable, as far as the Jetiise go. Though if you could do us all a favor and just note that Ben’ika was given to us willingly by his previous guardians to… protect him, that would be best.”

Asylia nodded. “Of course, Mand’alor,” they agreed, and didn’t ask any further questions about that. “And the gai bal manda?”

“Already offered, accepted, and spoken,” Jaster confirmed.

“I was witness,” Jango said, and Asylia looked up to smile at them, nodding again before looking back down at the ‘pad.

“And you, Ben,” they said, looking up at him again. “You accepted the gai bal manda? The adoption?”

Ben nodded. “Yes.”

“Ori’jate,” Asylia said, tapping at the datapad again. “Now, I just need two signatures and a print scan, and you can be on your way.”

---

Ben.

The Mand’alor, apparently, once had a formal residence on the top few floors of the main governmental complex in Keldabe. It was one of the tallest buildings in the city, and would boast a fantastic view of the capital and its surroundings. But when Jaster had been named Mand’alor, he’d ordered it gutted and remodeled into twenty smaller sets of living quarters, meant to house important guests (visiting Clan leaders and foreign diplomats, mainly), or families who had been displaced for some reason and asked the aid of the Mand’alor until they were resettled somewhere else.

Instead, he and Jango—and Ben, now, too—lived in much simpler quarters in the family wing of the barracks connected to the main governmental complex. It was a much lower building, only six stories, and held more traditional-style barracks for the verd’e who didn’t have their Clans with them, or had no direct Clan, as well as separate halls with the quarters meant for families, like theirs. Those halls were far less occupied than the communal barracks, Jaster told him, because most of the Haat’ade proper—those who served in the mercenary company which doubled as the main fighting force deployed for any conflicts within Manda’lase, protecting the citizens from pirates or Death Watch, or whoever else might have been foolish enough to have wanted to try their hand against Mandalore (which Ben had thought was more in line with the work of the Journeyman Protectors, though they were more like local law enforcement, apparently)—served on seasonal rotations. The majority of them had homes of their own on other worlds throughout the sector. Many of them, like Jango, came from farming Clans, and others from trading Clans, or artisans, like the weavers of Harswee. They returned home as the seasonal schedule for their homeworld dictated, for the most part. There was always a minimum of two hundred verd’e active at any given time, but the force in its entirety numbered far larger than that.

Jaster had happily explained all of that to him on the walk there, when Ben had asked. That had eased a bit of tension Ben hadn’t quite realized he’d been carrying, truth be told. When he’d become the son of the Mand’alor, he had half-expected to be living like royalty, remembering the posh Sundari palace Satine had lived in and ruled from, and that was an… uncomfortable notion for someone who’d lived an entire life as a Jedi, eschewing possessions and finery and the like. But, Ben mused, he should have known better. Mando’ade were practical above all else, and everything he’d ever heard about Jaster Mereel pointed to him being a man who couldn’t have cared less for the trappings of a head of state traditionally found throughout the rest of the galaxy.

The Haat’ade they passed in the halls on the way to their rooms all paused, nodding deeply to Jaster, though neglecting the rest of the formal salute, and then stared at Ben, usually from behind blank visors, almost all of them in their full beskar’gam. Still, none of them tried to stop them, and Jaster didn’t pause except to nod back to them all in return, apparently just as eager to get home as Jango was. They made good time, and soon enough, Jango was letting them in, giving Ben his first glimpse of his new home.

Jaster gave him a tour first thing while Jango went to change. There were four separate bedrooms (“Mostly used for storage, honestly,” Jaster said, shrugging. “Jango and I both prefer to sleep in the karyai, at the end of the hall.”), three ‘freshers, a large kitchen with a table big enough to seat ten, and, finally, the karyai.

It was… cozy. Homey, and comfortable, with a long, low couch along one wall, windows set above it (and it didn’t escape Ben’s notice that the angle of those high-set windows would make it very difficult for anyone to shoot into the karyai at anyone inside of it, and knowing Mando’ade, it was probably blaster-resistant tempered transparisteel, anyway), several piles of cushions, a fire pit in the center, shelves filled to bursting with datapads taking up an entire wall, tapestries on the others depicting ancient Mando'ade and the jungle surrounding Keldabe, and a large terminal in one corner.

But it was the little things that really caught Ben’s eye in this space—the obviously hand-made blankets draped over the couch and laid out on the bedrolls already set out beside the fire pit, the framed holos on another shelf against one wall of Jaster and Jango and several others Ben couldn’t identify, a few cushions at the top of the small piles with the obvious lumpiness that spoke of an old, well-used favorite they weren’t willing to part with—and Ben smiled.

“I like it,” he said when he was done looking it over. Jaster chuckled softly and ran a gentle hand over his hair, as he’d taken to doing on the trip here.

“I’m glad,” he answered. “Now, I’ll go get changed and then we’ll see about dinner, ‘lek?”

“‘Lek, buir.” Jaster smiled, a little flare of happiness-delight flowing from him into the Force, as it always did when Ben called him that (and Jango, too, even after so many years, which was… sweet), and he knelt down to give him a quick kov’nyn before turning to leave.

Ben took the opportunity to continue looking around, still smiling. This wasn’t the Temple (thank the Force—he’d once thought he would have given anything to have that back again, as it was, until he had, and then he just… couldn’t, though it soothed something in him to know that it was still out there, and so were the Jedi who called it home), but it was… peaceful, in its own way.

It would do very nicely for a new home.

---

The easy, peaceful feeling only lasted until the next morning.

By the time Ben woke, both Jaster and Jango were already up (and Force, Ben still wasn’t used to how much more sleep this young body needed than he’d gotten on Tatooine, and that wasn’t even considering the fact that he hadn’t actually slept in years, the dead having no need of such things). Ben woke slowly, feeling calm despite the immediate awareness that he was not somewhere familiar. Memory caught up to him quickly enough that there was no panic over his location or safety: he was in the karyai, where he’d chosen to sleep between Jaster and Jango, rather than his own separate bedroom (which had greatly pleased both his buir and ori’vod); it helped that both Jaster and Jango were calm and relaxed, and their presences were now becoming familiar, after four days on a small ship together.

He was in his home, with his family.

Ben took his time waking up, slowly stirring and blinking his eyes open, letting the quiet murmur of conversation from the other side of the room float around him—at least until he heard what they were actually saying.

“...shouldn’t need more than three squads for this job,” Jaster said, keeping his voice quiet, no doubt in an attempt not to disturb Ben. “And the Korda system isn’t too far.”

Kriff. Fucking Sith-Hels, he’d only just gotten here, and this was happening now?

Ben, still only half-awake and his usual composure and self-control hampered by the developmentally six-year-old brain his knowledge and memories had been shoved into, couldn’t have helped his reaction once he realized what they were discussing. He sat bolt upright, looking over at Jaster and Jango, sitting on the couch with mugs in hand, quietly discussing the job proposal like it was any other normal request, and shouted at them.

“No!” Ben yelled. They both immediately startled, looking over to him. “Absolutely not.”

They exchanged looks, and then Jaster set his mug down on the low table in front of the couch, then rose, going over to him and kneeling down beside him.

“‘No’ what, ad’ika?” Jaster asked slowly. “Are you alright? Did you have a nightmare?”

“No,” Ben said, frowning at Jaster. “You can’t go to Korda 6.” Jaster hummed, looking like he was about to say something, but Ben didn’t give him a chance. In for a credit and all that, he supposed. “If you go, you’re going to die.”

---

Jango.

There was no way Jango would ever admit it, but Ben had scared the osik out of him, waking up screaming like that. He and Jaster had both startled, attention snapping over to Ben, and Jango immediately thought he’d been having a nightmare, one that woke him up screaming. Manda only knew how many of those Jango had had when he’d first been adopted, and maybe the trauma of the whole situation he’d just escaped was finally catching up to Ben?

“No! Absolutely not,” Ben yelled, eyes narrowed and scowling as soon as he finished shouting. The hard, grave look clashed with his still sleep-rumpled red hair and tunics, and Jango thought yet again that an adiik that young shouldn’t be able to look so serious and so karking cute at the same time. Jaster immediately went to him, asking the same questions Jango had been wondering about.

“‘No’ what, ad’ika?” Jaster asked slowly. “Are you alright? Did you have a nightmare?”

“No,” Ben said, still frowning so hard, still so serious. “You can’t go to Korda 6. If you go, you’re going to die.”

Jango startled again, nearly spilling his caff. He quickly set the mug down on the table beside Jaster’s, starting to frown himself, because what the kriff?

“Do you… have haa’it’e, Ben’ika? Ah—” Jaster paused, the Basic word eluding him. Giving up on it, he rephrased: “Are you a Seer?”

“I’m naturally stronger in the Unifying Force than the Living Force,” Ben said, and Jaster tilted his head, no doubt giving him a quizzical look, though Jango couldn’t see it, with Jaster’s back to him. He didn’t need to, though, to know what face his buir would be making.

“Can we get back to the part where you think Jaster’s going to die?” Jango asked, hands clenching, his heart still pounding double-time, as it had been since Ben had first woken up screaming.

“In a moment, Jan’ika,” Jaster said, infuriatingly calm about this. Jango huffed and folded his arms over his chest (only partly to hide them shaking, when he wasn’t balling them into fists), but didn’t protest again. “I’m not entirely sure what that means. The… Unifying and the Living?”

“Different aspects of the Force,” Ben explained, nodding. “The Unifying Force is what ties everything and everyone together, on a large scale. How what has been and what is leads to what could be, and how all beings are tied together, and all places. The Living Force is the kind radiated by life itself, in that moment, and the bonds between living beings and things when they’re together.”

“I see,” Jaster said, and then he paused. “I’ll have to see if the manuals say anything about how the differences could affect, ah… Force-sensitive—” Ben’s lips twitched in an almost-smile, seemingly pleased by Jaster’s ability to recall the Jetii term for it, and Jaster paused again momentarily, no doubt to smile back. Jango bit the inside of his cheek to keep from having another outburst, demanding to know what the kriff Ben was talking about, what he might’ve seen. “— ad’e. I’m assuming what… aspect you’re more closely connected to gives you different abilities, and different challenges?”

Ben nodded. “‘Lek, buir,” he said. “Exactly.”

“And your strength gives you visions,” Jango said, trying to get them back on track.

“That’s the word,” Jaster muttered under his breath, though still loud enough for him to hear. Jango groaned softly, scrubbing a hand over his face. His buir was definitely not focusing on the important part of this conversation.

“I’ve seen a lot of the future,” Ben said, and both Jaster and Jango stilled, staring at him. There was… something about the way he said it, a sense of weight, a sort of gravitas a six-year-old shouldn’t have been able to manage. But, then, Ben’ika was… odd like that. A good kid, of course, sweet, easy-going, generally calm, and so copikla, but… really kriffing weird, sometimes.

Jango’s attention snapped back to Ben himself, instead of his wandering thoughts, when his vod’ika added, voice soft and grim, eyes unfixed like he was staring at something only he could see: “It wasn’t a good future. Before.”

Jango shivered, cold slithering down his spine. Kriff, it was a good thing he wasn’t more superstitious, because in certain circles, that would be seen as a curse, that declaration.

And what the kark had Ben seen that was so bad? How and why was Jaster going to die? If they knew that, they could stop it —

Jaster held out his hands; Ben’ika’s eyes cleared, some, and he managed a miniscule little quirk of his lips as he let Jaster pull him close. After hugging him for a long moment, Jaster scooped him up and took him over to the couch, settling Ben on his lap.

“I’m sorry you’ve had to see such things,” Jaster murmured.

“It’s… The Force did it for a reason,” Ben said, and Jango definitely picked up on the fact that he didn’t manage to finish his usual, knee-jerk platitude of “it’s alright.” “It sent me here to stop it.”

Something about his phrasing was a little… odd—but maybe he’d meant the ka’ra had “sent him here” as in Manda’yaim? Or, well—Jango thought he remembered hearing Ben say something about the religious beliefs of the Jetiise, how they believed that they all came into being from the Force, and would return to rejoin with it once their physical forms passed on. ‘Lek, Ben’ika had said something about “luminous beings, not this crude matter.” It was… sort of like the Manda, from what Jango could figure—only the Jetiise viewed it more as an infinite exchange of energy from one form to another, not quite reincarnation, but maybe something close to it?

Okay, so he didn’t really understand, but that still wasn’t the important part of this.

“Please don’t go,” Ben said, leaning back to look up at Jaster, those bright blue eyes wide and pleading. “Gedet’ye.”

“It’s alright, ad’ika,” Jaster said. “I wouldn’t be going anyway. Not when I have a new ad to settle.”

That didn’t appease Ben, though, who still stared up at him with that pleading look. “Don’t take the job,” he insisted. “Don’t let anyone go. It’s a trap. The Death Watch will be there, and the Kordans would’ve been in on it, and… someone in the Haat’ade.”

Jaster and Jango both stiffened. A traitor in their ranks? A Kyr’tsad aruetii, no less? They’d had “infiltrators” from some of the Evaar’ade Clans, before, settling in Keldabe and pretending to be aspiring Haat’ade, or refugees, trying to spy on them and fully expecting to be drafted immediately. They always made them quickly, but never treated them any differently than they did the real refugees, or anyone else who moved to Keldabe. The Evaar’ade were mostly-harmless, anyway (what were they going to do? Take their weapons and armor by force? Ha). Jaster gave them the same choices and rules he imposed on everyone else: none of them had to become verd’e, but they had to learn self-defense. How they went about that was their business—some combination of stunners only if they had to use a blaster, staffs instead of blasters or blades when possible, and basic hand-to-hand were all acceptable options—so long as they learned to defend themselves and their aliit, and upheld the Resol’nare.

But they’d never had one of their own betray them to Kyr’tsad. They’d never let a Kyr’tsad spy into their ranks.

“I don’t know who,” Ben murmured softly.

Jaster squeezed him gently. “I appreciate the warning, Ben’ika,” he said. “We’ll look into it, and I’ll steer clear of this contract.”

“Good,” Ben said, finally starting to smile, a bit. “That’s good. I don’t want you to die.”

Jaster huffed a bit of a laugh. “I’m not planning on it,” he promised dryly.

“I’ll make a list,” Ben declared, and Jaster blinked at him.

“A list of… suspects?” Jango prompted, tilting his head and peering intently at Ben. He didn’t know how that would work—Ben hadn’t even been introduced to any of the Haat’ade besides Myles, yet.

 His vod’ika shook his head. “Planets,” Ben clarified. “Planets you should never take a job on. Some you shouldn’t even visit.”

“...alright,” Jaster said again. Ben nodded firmly, starting to move, to try to get down from Jaster’s lap, but Jaster didn’t let go just yet. “You chose a good time to wake up, Ben’ika. It’s just about time for breakfast.”

It was a blatant, unsubtle close to their previous topic of conversation, and one Jango was glad to take, for now. Otherwise, he would just keep circling the thought of a traitor within the Haat’ade, and work himself up. He couldn’t think like that, when he was just too angry —he had to keep a level head, especially if there was a Kyr’tsad spy lurking within the Alori’ya.

“I’ll start,” Jango volunteered, just to give himself something to do. Jaster gave him a grateful smile, and Ben did that… thing, where he hugged Jango with his brain (he wasn’t sure how else to describe it, the warm-pleasant-tingling feeling that passed over his skin, and somehow felt like Ben’ika). Jango smiled back and ruffled Ben’s hair as he got up, chuckling at his vod’ika’s indignant squawk.

They knew, now, Jango reminded himself. They knew to be on guard, thanks to Ben, and they would find the traitor.

---

The idea of not believing Ben never even crossed Jango’s mind. Nor did it cross Jaster’s, though he did send a small, trusted squad to Korda 6 to recon and gather proof. Not because he felt he needed proof to believe Ben, but because they would need it when they confronted the traitor, after they eventually found them.

And Seers… Jetii trained or not, Seers were important to Mando’ade. Ignoring the warnings of a Seer was a good way to get yourself killed, or worse.

It took some… deliberate vagueness, explaining to Montross why they weren’t going to take the job he’d brought before Jaster for his consideration, but Jaster had come up with some excuse about a “source” who said it was probably a trap laid by Kyr’tsad, and, thankfully, Montross accepted that, and didn’t ask for any other details.

Jaster and Jango were incredibly careful in putting together a small squad for the internal investigation, hunting for the traitor Ben insisted had infiltrated the Haat’ade. The two of them, of course, would oversee it, and they’d added Myles, a young Pantoran slicer named Afra, and Liika, third in the Haat’ade chain of command. All three of them had joined the Haat’ade after losing most of their aliit’e in Kyr’tsad attacks, and they were the only ones within their ranks Jaster and Jango were both absolutely certain would rather die before they helped the dar’manda hut’uun’e.

Ben seemed quietly relieved, when they told him, and offered to do some sort of… Jetii thing, if they brought him a list of suspects. Something about the magic Force “pointing him in the right direction.” It was, just like so many other things about Ben’ika, a little weird, but Jaster had taken it in stride, smiling and thanking him again for the help, and the warning, and Jango…

Well, his copikla vod’ika might be strange, but if he could use his Force magic to save Jaster’s life and uncover a traitor within the Haat’ade, Jango vowed to himself never to say anything bad about the mystical Force powers of the Jetiise ever again.

Notes:

Jaster: Okay. Ben says I’m going to die. My new son saw me die? That’s awful. For both of us. But I’m going to hold in my freakout until after I’ve made sure he’s alright, and we… figure this out.
Also Jaster, the instant he was alone: Kriff kriff kriff kriff kriff, what the fuck?! Okay. No, this is fine. This is absolutely fine. Ben fixed it, and I’m not going to die. Not yet, anyway. Kriffing fuck.
Ben: …huh. So he’s not going? Just like that? Well. Okay. That was easy. I suppose I’ll make a list, since it seems he’s willing to listen to me.
Jango: Nope. No, no, no. A kriffing traitor??? Absolutely fucking not. Just try me, shabuir. You go for my buir, or my vod’ika, and I will rip your still-beating heart out of your chest with my bare kriffing hands and feed it to the strills in the yard.
Ben: …hey bro, u good?
Jango: Yup. Everything’s fine, nothing to worry about. I’m just gonna go make breakfast and fantasize about murdering Kyr’tsad spies. No big deal.

Chapter 3

Notes:

MAY THE 4TH BE WITH YOU!!! :D :D :D
Happy Star Wars Day, my friends!

I'm glad you all liked the continuation of this one! Crackish, chaotic Old Ben in Baby-Wan's body has been a blast to write so far. :) Thank you for the comments and kudos letting me know you liked it!

Jaster.

Two days after the initial briefing for the squad they’d put together for their internal investigation, Ben’ika delivered his promised list.

The grouping of planets seemed random, at a glance, though it was explained when Jaster looked at the color-coding key Ben had added. Red was for the planets they should never so much as visit for refueling, and included seemingly-random places like Galidraan, Telos IV, and, of course, Korda 6; orange was for planets that they should never take a job on, but should be safe enough for a quick pit-stop, like New Apsolon and Geonosis (though Geonosis’s safety also came with an expiration date, strangely enough, and Jaster wondered what sort of changes Ben had seen in the future); yellow had a note beside it, “Ask Ben when it becomes relevant,” and that one included more seemingly-innocuous places like Naboo, Tatooine, Jabiim, and Chalacta; and then there were the green planets. That color was labelled “Planets that need, or will need, help.” Again, it looked random, all of the planets in different sectors, spread out across the galaxy: Melida/Daan, Phindar, Gala, and Kalee sat at the top of that section.

There were a total of forty-one planets and another eight moons on the list, pulled from every corner of the galaxy. Jaster wondered just what it was Ben had seen, to know all of this, but he knew better than to push a Seer for any details they weren’t ready to give. Instead, he’d thanked Ben’ika again, praised the organization of his work and his thoroughness (making Ben’ika blush, and ka’ra, that was just so copikla), and flagged each planet and every moon in the Haat’ade’s request system with an appropriate tag, though taking Ben’s name out of it.

They kept things moving, behind the scenes. Afra was kept busy analyzing comms records, looking for any transmissions from the Haat’ade in Keldabe to Korda 6, or known Death Watch strongholds. Liika was on background checks, looking for any out-of-place behavior or sudden life changes recently in any of their verd’e. Jango and Myles were looking into the families of the Haat’ade, since there were more than a few with Clan members known to work with the Watch. But, then, there were many Clans that’d been divided by that terrorist faction, and that was a long list, so they were cross-referencing with Afra’s work, looking for any comms that might have gone to, or been received from, Kyr’tsadiise and their Haat’ade relatives. Jaster oversaw all of it, leading the debriefing at the end of each day, slowly narrowing down the list of suspects—which, at first, everyone not on their little hand-picked squad was on, no matter how personally painful it was to consider their brothers-and-sisters in arms were potential traitors. No one else was excluded. 

And, in the meantime, he kept up appearances. He did have a new foundling to settle, which was common knowledge, now that they’d had Ben’s name entered into the Register. Jaster took him to meet the most immediately important people, first—namely Jorin, Jaster’s ba’vodu and Goran be’Mereel; Shakka, their Chief Medic; and then Syldar, his Chief Archivist. Jaster found himself completely incapable of moving Ben from the forge for a solid few hours, Ben entirely too busy asking Jorin questions, and then the procedure was repeated a few days later in the Archives.

That day, though, Ben’ika… stirred up some osik again, and Jaster started to get the feeling that he should try to get used to it. Once was happenstance, twice was concerning, and three times was a sign that his well-mannered, calm little ad’ika was actually a menace in disguise. Not so different from his ori’vod after all, Jaster thought, but at least he knew by now how to deal with ade who found trouble everywhere they went.

---

Ben.

When Ben had fallen in love with Mandalore, a lifetime ago, it had been a slow process.

His first introduction to Manda’yaim had been the New Mandalorian-controlled Sundari, which had seemed almost like the capital of any other Core or Mid-Rim world, with a few foreign influences. Then, of course, things had blown up (literally, unfortunately), and Qui-Gon had ordered him to run and protect Kryze’s daughter, meaning only Satine—neither of them had had any idea that Bo-Katan even existed, at the time. Duke Kryze hadn’t said a word about her, and neither had Satine. Ben couldn’t help but wonder why, and if that was something he could change, if he could stop her from joining Death Watch and, perhaps, steer her towards the True Mandalorians instead… Though, looking back, she’d likely chosen Death Watch because the True Mandalorians had no longer existed. The choices for Mando’ade had become Satine’s pacifism or Pre Vizsla’s rabid cruelty. At least this time Ben could help to ensure that those like Bo-Katan Kryze had a choice.

But that was a problem for later, given that Bo-Katan was a literal baby, at the moment.

To return to his previous line of thought: Ben had fallen in love with Mandalore on the run. They’d gone undercover, seeking aid from any who might help them, which turned out to be mostly moderate traditionalist Clans—those who were True Mandalorians, or at least supporters of them, in the here-and-now.

He’d learned Mando’a from their hosts, in broken bits and pieces; he’d eaten more Clans’ versions of tiingilar than he could count; he’d learned how to put on their armor, and how to strip the paint from the beskar, and how to repaint it—the beskar’gam he’d taken from the Death Watch verd he’d been forced to kill just to get them out of Sundari had been, by Mandalorian law, his to do with as he chose. Those who had become dar’manda did not receive the honor of having their beskar’gam given to their closest living relatives to be passed on, after all. Not even Satine had argued against him wearing it for the duration of that mission, though neither of them had wanted him going around in Death Watch colors and insignia, hence the repainting.

Ben had fallen in love with scraps and pieces of Mandalorian culture, gifted by those willing to help them. Even the little he’d come to know at that time had been enough for him to realize that, if he hadn’t been a Jedi (if she’d asked him to stay), he could have been quite happy as a Mandalorian. And that impression had only gotten stronger in his first few days in Keldabe, this time around.

Jaster had quietly pulled a few of the Haat’ade —those they knew were trustworthy in the fight against Kyr’tsad, he’d assured Ben seriously—for an audit of sorts, trying to track down the traitor through out-of-place movements, exchanges of credits, or transmissions. And, in the meantime, they appeared to go about their business as usual, trying not to tip whoever it might be off.

His first full day in Keldabe, Jaster had taken him to the forge in the Alori’ya. It wasn’t the First Forge—that was mostly ceremonial, these days, since its technology was vastly outdated by then—but the large forge used by multiple goran’e to serve the Haat’ade. Jorin, as Goran be’Mereel, had his own separate area within that forge, as did most of the fully-fledged armorers; the apprentices did their work in one large, open space, overseen by one or two of the full armorers. Jaster had led him in without knocking or announcing themselves, and then taken him over to a bench off to one side of the forge while they waited for Jorin to acknowledge them.

Looking around the forge was fascinating in itself. Before, Ben had so rarely seen full beskar’gam on anyone besides Kyr’tsadiise, and he’d never seen beskar worked. But here, in Jorin’s forge, there were pieces on racks on the walls, set on various tables and work benches, and it was obvious at a glance that not all of them were meant for humans-or-near. The slant of a faceplate sitting on the nearest workbench to them, while still obviously Mandalorian given the T-visor, signalled that it was probably meant for a Trandoshan. The chestplate another table over was far too broad for any human, and probably meant for a Devaronian or a Zabrak.

And, there in the corner, was the armorer, hammering away at a piece of beskar. Ben honestly hadn’t realized that so much of the process was still manual; there was a press, of course, no doubt to help mold molten beskar, but the finer shaping was still done by hand and hammer. The distinctive, ringing clanging of beskar- on- beskar sounded each time the goran brought the hammer down, and Ben realized that it, too, was beskar. But, then, that made sense, he supposed; beskar was far too hard, too strong, to be forged and shaped with much else besides other beskar, or perhaps phrik.

Finally, Jorin stopped, setting the hammer aside and lifting up what looked like it would become a vambrace. Nodding to himself, he set it down on the nearest workbench, and then turned to his visitors. As Jorin approached, he took off his buy’ce —a convenient faceshield during the forging process, no doubt—shifting to hold it under his left arm, and Ben took his first opportunity to study him. The resemblance to Jaster was immediately apparent, their eyes nearly the same color, the same narrow, oval shape to their faces. Jorin’s hair was dark, liberally peppered with silver, and he had more wrinkles from smiling than frown lines on his face.

“Mand’alor,” Jorin said, greeting Jaster formally, complete with the salute. Ben wondered if he always did that, even though they were family, or if it was because he was present as well.

“Ba’vodu,” Jaster returned, sounding, and feeling in the Force, ever-so-slightly exasperated. Ben decided Jorin’s formality was probably a habit, given Jaster’s reaction to it.

Then Jorin’s attention was on him, staring silently for a long moment as he looked him over, and Ben openly studied him in return, turning his attention to his beskar’gam. It was mostly green, with blue striping outlining the edges and curves of the armor: duty and reliability. Finally, Jorin smiled, and came closer, crouching down to be something close to level with Ben (whose feet, he’d realized immediately and a bit sourly, didn’t even touch the floor while sitting on the bench).

“Su’cuy, ad’ika,” he said.

“Su’cuy, Goran,” Ben answered, and Jorin’s smile grew wider.

“You must be Ben,” Jorin said, and Ben nodded. “Well met. I’m Jorin, Goran be’Mereel, our Clan and House’s armorer, and Jaster’s ba’vodu, his uncle. You just arrived yesterday, ‘lek?” Ben nodded again, and Jorin’s smile grew wider. “You must have many questions, then. We goran’e are more than just armorers; we are lore and history keepers. I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have.”

Ben finally smiled back. “Vor’e. I did wonder about the changes in the faceplates between the Crusaders and the Neo-Crusaders,” he said, diving right in, more than happy to take the opportunity to ask some of the questions he’d always been curious about, but never really gotten the opportunity to ask. “I know that part of it was for more standardization, but the angle of the visor also changed around that time; how much of that was because of declining Taung numbers and increased human-or-near numbers?”

Jorin tilted his head. “An interesting question. ‘Lek, you’re correct that a large part of the reason was the population shift, but it also had a great deal to do with the HUD technology of the time,” he explained. “As that evolved, so, too, did the shape. Aruetiise —outsiders—often wonder how we can ‘see anything’ in our buy’ce’se —our helmets. The key is the HUD, of course. In the time of the Neo-Crusaders, they had switched from small mounted cameras integrated into the buy’ce to pick up the surroundings to transmit onto the HUD to something closer to what we use today. In modern designs, the visor itself acts as a camera lens, and the HUD magnifies and expands the field of view.”

“Interesting,” Ben said. “And the spikes that Crusaders usually had, but disappeared with the Neo-Crusaders—did they have some function, or were they just decorative?”

“They were mostly for decoration, though they also served to tell others about the Mando’ad wearing that beskar’gam,” Jorin answered. “In that time, paint was more rarely used; Mando’ade then preferred to cover the bare beskar with bone enamel. The bone usually came from an animal, or an enemy, that they had killed, most often during their verd’goten —their coming-of-age ceremony, literally a ‘soldier birth.’ Therefore, the bones upon the armor showed others at a glance what their earliest accomplishments were.

“The bone enamel tradition,” Jorin continued, “was Taung-influenced. When they still inhabited their original homeworld of Coruscanta, before they had found beskar, the Taung made their armor from both metal and bone. That tradition changed somewhat once they discovered beskar after claiming the Mandalore system; they began incorporating the bones of the mythosaur, one of the main reasons its skull became the symbol of Mandalore. One of them would go a long way towards providing materials for an entire Clan, and they had not yet refined the process for working beskar to its full effect, in those early days. A combination of beskar and the hard bones of the mythosaur served them well in the meantime.”

“Fascinating,” Ben said, and Jorin hummed. He glanced at Jaster, who shrugged one shoulder, and Ben wondered what that was about, but moved on to his next question as Jorin looked back to him. “I’d also noticed that there weren’t many jetpacks shown on most Mando’ade until after the Neo-Crusaders. Does that have anything to do with the transition away from Basilisk war droids after the end of the Wars?”

“‘Lek, it does,” Jorin said. He rose from where he’d crouched, heading off back to one of the work benches to retrieve a stool, apparently settling in for a longer conversation. “Though it also has a great deal to do with the fuel available at the time, and the other power components needed for beskar’gam, in those days. I’m sure you’ve seen the external tubing on many older armors, ‘lek?” Ben nodded. “That served several purposes: strength enhancement and powered life support systems were the main two. But those power systems were more delicate than they are today, as they’ve since evolved to be largely internal on most sets of beskar’gam. Back then, before such changes, they were too fragile to be mixed with a separate power system for a sen’tra —a jetpack—particularly when there were Basilisk war droids available…”

---

Jorin.

Jaster and Ben remained within his forge for four hours. The first two hours had passed quickly, Jorin answering Ben’s many questions—though when he’d invited the adiik to ask them, he had expected the normal questions new foundlings asked. What were the various pieces of beskar’gam? What functions did the embedded weapons and systems each serve? How was it forged? How did they see out of their buy’ce’se? How did the HUD work? When would they get theirs?

He hadn’t expected to be prompted into a multi-hour lecture on the history and evolution of beskar’gam. It sparked many questions for him, though most were explained by the fact that Ben had been raised by the Jetiise. The majority of what they knew about Mando’ade would undoubtedly have come from the histories of the Expansion Wars and the Crusades, what they simply called the “Mandalorian Wars.” It made sense that Ben’s questions would be more historically-rooted than other foundlings’ were.

The next two hours, once Ben’s questions on that topic had petered out, Jaster and Jorin had steered the conversation in a more personal direction, both of them trying to learn more about Ben. That was a more difficult task than expected, the adiik surprisingly good at deflection, and seemingly harboring some dislike of talking about himself.

“Such things will remain a secret of our aliit, until you’re older, but Jaster tells me you’re a Seer, Ben?” Jorin had asked. Ben had hummed, tilting his head and peering at Jorin with those wide blue eyes.

“The Force shows many things,” he’d answered vaguely. “The ka’ra, you call it, ‘lek? I’m not sure how Mandalorian Force traditions work, or what the relationship actually is between the Manda and the ka’ra?”

Yes, Ben’ika was good at deflecting, giving a vague answer and then immediately finding a way to ask a question in return. Why he wanted to, or felt some need to, Jorin didn’t know, and Jaster’s intermittent shrugs told him that he didn’t understand it, either. Still, it was far too early to press Ben, so neither of them pushed for clearer answers, simply following the conversation as Ben wished to direct it and accepting the answers he was willing to give them.

Finally, after nearly four hours, Ben’s answers had started taking a bit longer to come, his blinks growing closer together, until his eyes stayed closed, and he stopped answering entirely, slumping over to lean against Jaster as he fell fast asleep. It was a reminder that, for all that he was as well-spoken and intelligent as any adult, Ben was only six, after all.

Jorin studied the sleeping adiik for a long moment. There was… something strange about him, Jorin could tell that much from this conversation alone, though he couldn’t identify what it might be. Ben’s level of intelligence was uncommon for one his age, that was true, but not unheard of, and that intelligence he’d displayed throughout that lengthy conversation also explained how articulate he was. Perhaps, Jorin thought, the rest of that strangeness to him could be explained by his origins, and having been raised by the Jetiise. They’d had little contact with them (contact that wasn’t akalenedat, at least) overall, and even less contact with any of their ad’e. Perhaps he only seemed strange to Jorin because he had no frame of reference for the rest of his first people.

Still, strange or not, Ben was a thoughtful, sweet-natured, and even-tempered child. He would do well with his new aliit.

“When is his birthday?” Jorin asked, keeping his voice soft so as not to disturb Ben’s nap.

“A little over three months from now,” Jaster murmured back. Jorin nodded.

“Plenty of time to teach him about modern beskar’gam, then,” Jorin said. “He’ll be seven, ‘lek?”

“‘Lek,” Jaster said, glancing down at Ben, still pressed into Jaster’s side, tucked under his arm, now. Jorin smiled again: their adiik’e began receiving their first pieces of training armor at seven, usually beginning with vambraces.

“Ori’jate,” Jorin whispered. “Though I will have to speak to several of the ka’ra’tigaanla and have him go through several test rounds to determine the best alloy for his final beskar’gam.”

Jaster chuckled, cutting himself off quickly as the sound, or the movement, made Ben start to stir. A quick, gentle brush of Jaster’s fingers through Ben’s hair stilled him again, though, and Jorin’s smile grew wider. Already, it appeared, they were forming a close bond. That boded well.

“We have a few years before we have to worry about that, ba’vodu,” Jaster said.

Jorin raised an eyebrow at him rather pointedly. “I am a goran, Jaster,” he said. “‘Worrying’ about such things is at the core of my purpose, no matter how far off on the horizon. Now, you should take him somewhere more comfortable to rest.”

Jaster smiled and nodded, and Jorin graciously pretended he didn’t see Jaster’s exasperated eyeroll. He easily scooped Ben up, the adiik still rather small for a six-year-old near-human, and still, Ben didn’t stir as Jaster whispered his goodbyes and left.

---

Syldar.

Syldar was Mando’ad before he was anything else. He wore his beskar’gam daily, even now, cleaned and cared for it meticulously, said his Remembrances each night, he upheld the Resol’nare, and he abided by the Mand’alor’s Codex in battle. None of that had changed when he’d semi-retired at the relatively young age of forty, except that he saw far fewer battles in the literal sense of the word, these days. Keldabe, thankfully, was well-guarded, and almost all of the threats to the people inhabiting the capital were ended before they could cross either side of the Great River to get to them.

A bad fall after his sen’tra had failed him had resulted in a shattered kneecap. He’d had replacement surgery for it that had gone quite successfully, and during his recovery, he’d begged and pleaded to be allowed to be useful, to do something. He was Mando’ad, and he’d never met any of their people who did well with inactivity and uselessness. His baar’ur’e had argued the point, but Syldar had argued back that if they didn’t give him something to do, he would get up and find something to do.

Syldar had been put to work in the Alori’ya’s Archives shortly after that, and took to it like a bogling to a tunnel. Two years passed in the blink of an eye, and when the previous Chief Archivist retired, they’d recommended him for the post. Syldar had taken it. He’d always had a love of books, a love of history and knowledge for its own sake, and had fully internalized the meaning of “bajur” in the Resol’nare as a reminder that “to live is to learn” well before he’d ever joined the Archivists. It was a good fit for him, and he was more than contented with his lot.

Aside from his official duties, tending to the Archives and helping those who came to find what they sought, Syldar was also a collector of far more mundane knowledge. He was probably the best informed gossip-monger in the Alori’ya, or perhaps even the whole of Keldabe, save for the goran’e (though they didn’t properly count, since a goran would never reveal any secrets to others that those who’d told them didn’t want known).

So, naturally, Syldar had already heard about the Mand’alor’s new foundling. The most copikla, big-eyed and redheaded, strange little adiik, the others said. Strange? Syldar had repeated, and received shrugs in answer from those he’d asked for clarification. Raised by the Jetiise, was their universal answer, as if that was explanation enough as to how and why they considered the adiik to be “strange.” And perhaps it was; Syldar had yet to meet them, and had never met a Jetii before in the first place. He had no basis for comparison.

Then, this particular morning, four days after the arrival of the dar’jetii Ad be’Alor in Keldabe, Jaster walked into the Archives with a little redheaded adiik holding his hand.

Syldar had immediately rounded his desk, making a beeline for them, eager to meet the newest arrival. Jaster spotted his approach and smiled, the expression visible with his helmet under his left arm, and guided the adiik towards him.

“Jate vaar’tur, Mand’alor,” Syldar greeted him, bowing his head, and then turned immediately to the adiik. It was, perhaps, poor manners not to wait for Jaster’s reply, but he was a curious creature. Jaster was much the same himself, so Syldar was certain he would understand the impulse. “Su’cuy, ad’ika. Tion’gar gai?”

He paused, waiting to translate if needed, but also wanting to see how the adiik’s Mando’a was coming along so far. The adiik smiled at him, a bit… shy, almost, just a small little quirk of his lips. “Su’cuy. Ner gai Ben Mereel.”

Syldar smiled back. “Jatne urcye, Ben. Well met. I am Syldar, aliit Spar. I serve as the Chief Archivist here, so if there’s anything in particular you wanted to find…?”

Ben’s eyes lit up, though the rest of his expression didn’t change much, still sporting that tiny grin. “Oh, yes. Vor’e. I wondered if you had any analyses of the tactics used in the Expansion Wars, and the New Sith Wars?”

Syldar blinked at Ben for a moment, and then glanced up at Jaster, who just shrugged one shoulder, a silent “don’t look at me, I have no idea what that’s about.” He looked back down at Ben, still smiling blandly up at him. “An interesting request,” Syldar said slowly. “We do indeed have such things here in the Archives, but I believe the majority have yet to be translated into Basic, and even more of them are in either Middle or Archaic Mando’a.”

Ben nodded. “If I could see them, and get a dictionary, I can figure it out,” he said. Syldar blinked at him again.

“Alright,” he said, because he’d learned better, by now, than to fight an adiik on their choice of reading material, if their buir approved. But he could make other suggestions… “Though perhaps you might want a few other books as well, to speed along your Mando’a progress?”

Ben smiled again. “Nayc, vor’e,” he said politely. Syldar hummed.

“As you say,” he said, and figured he would get to give them the look that said “I told you so” soon enough—not that he would ever verbally say that to an adiik, but he would absolutely point the equivalent expression at them. “This way.”

Jaster’s comm chose that moment to chime, of course, and he grumbled “a moment, gedet’ye,” as he reached for it. He sighed, shaking his head, and then said, “We’ll have to come back later for those, I’m afraid. An important briefing I can’t miss was just called.”

Ben hummed, looking vaguely disappointed, and Syldar offered on impulse: “I don’t mind looking after him for a while, ‘Alor. We’ll stay here unless it gets too close to midmeal, and then I can take him back to your quarters.”

Jaster smiled. “Vor’e, Syldar. Ben’ika?”

“‘Lek, gedet’ye,” he said immediately. Jaster nodded, then knelt for a quick kov’nyn before finally letting go of Ben’s hand.

“I’ll message you if I’m going to be more than two hours,” Jaster promised as he rose. Syldar nodded, and then both he and Ben watched him go until he’d passed through the double doors and out of sight.

Syldar turned back to Ben, smiling, and held out his hand; Ben took it after only a moment’s hesitation. “This way, Ben.”

The materials the adiik had requested were all near the back of the Archives, and Syldar knew exactly where they should start. He wound them through the stacks, nodding to those they passed, and soon enough, they’d reached the correct section, near the back wall. Syldar moved to take another step forward, towards the shelves, but Ben didn’t move, tugging on his hand as he resisted Syldar’s gentle attempt to pull him along. Syldar turned to him, pausing as he saw Ben staring at that back wall, frowning slightly, his eyes narrowed.

“Me’vaar ti gar, ad’ika?” he asked slowly. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Ben said absently, not turning to look at him. “What’s behind that wall?”

“The Vaults,” Syldar said slowly. “That’s where the oldest artefacts are kept.”

“The Sith artefacts,” Ben added, and Syldar frowned. Was that just a guess made based on their history? Or had his Jetii magic told him something? Ben turned to him, still frowning. “You have unshielded Sith artefacts in your library?”

“Not in the Archives themselves, nayc,” Syldar said. “In a separate Vault, though they do share a wall. And what do you mean ‘unshielded,’ ad’ika? They’re behind a door of solid beskar.”

“But the rest of the walls are stone,” Ben said. “They must be. Beskar muffles the Force, but stone doesn’t. I can sense them; I probably wouldn’t be able to, at least not this clearly, if the entire Vault was lined in beskar.”

Syldar blinked at him. “You can… sense them?”

“‘Lek,” Ben said, nodding. He paused for a long moment, then, before adding: “Can I see them?”

“I don’t think that’s wise, Ben,” Syldar said, and Ben… pouted at him, there was simply no other word for it. Those big blue eyes went impossibly wide, an almost pleading sort of look on his face, and Syldar stifled a sigh. “Why do you wish to see them?”

“From the feeling of it, I’d guess there are at least a few holocrons in there,” Ben said, “and those would be interesting, but there’s also… a lightsaber.” Ben paused again, tilting his head as though listening to something only he could hear. “Several of those, too, I imagine, but… There’s one that’s particularly… loud.”

Syldar blinked at him again. “The kadause are… loud?”

“Mm,” Ben hummed, gaze wandering back to the wall. “Not the lightsabers themselves, but the crystals inside them. They’re semi-sentient; the ones that the Sith must have manufactured crystals for feel… off, they feel wrong, but the fact that they were manufactured already runs counter to the natural Will of the Force, so they’re not… particularly unhappy about their state of being. They were made for that purpose, and they feel like it. But there’s one that… It must have been a Jedi’s crystal, at some point. A natural crystal of some kind, taken from its bonded owner and Bled by the Sith.” Ben paused again, and then added, a touch more grimly than before: “It’s still screaming, even after all this time.”

And, with that, Syldar abruptly understood why the others he’d asked about the new Ad be’Alor all described Ben as strange, and put it down to him having been raised by the Jetiise. Still, that knowledge didn’t help him to form a response to any of that, or understand what Ben had said.

Deciding to start with the most important questions, Syldar said, “You’re able to… hear? Sense? You can… interact, somehow, with the objects inside the Vault from here.” Ben nodded, looking back to him again. “And you hear them… screaming.” How inanimate objects could scream, Syldar didn’t know, but he wasn’t ka’ra’tigaanla. He doubted he could understand much of what Ben was trying to say. Ben nodded again. “Is it hurting you?”

“No,” Ben said. “It’s not a nice feeling, but that’s what mental shielding is for.” He shrugged easily, and Syldar relaxed just a bit, somewhat reassured that he hadn’t inadvertently harmed the adiik by bringing him into contact with Dar’jetii artefacts.

“If it’s not a ‘nice feeling,’ then why would you wish to see them more closely?” Syldar asked.

“I think I could help the crystal,” Ben said. “A Bled crystal can be healed, and attuned back to the Light again. I’ve never heard of anyone healing a manufactured crystal, but I know the natural crystal could be helped.”

“How do you ‘heal’ a crystal? What does that mean, ad’ika?” Syldar asked.

“Through meditation with it, mostly,” Ben said. “Though time and getting it away from the other Dark artefacts would also help. To you, I guess it would look like a lot of sitting quietly with my eyes closed while the crystal floats around me.”

“...I see,” Syldar said.

“And I would probably be able to give you better shielding recommendations if I could see what’s actually in the Vault,” Ben added. “Leaving them like this is dangerous. If anyone Force-sensitive who hasn’t been trained to shield, and wasn’t wearing haat beskar’gam, came down these rows… It could hurt them.”

Syldar frowned, considering that. Though these stacks were far less frequented than others—the reason Syldar had put these little-used volumes in the back of the Archives in the first place—Ben did make a good point, one that Syldar wouldn’t have been able to think of on his own, lacking that “sense.” Still, Ben, a six-year-old adiik, entering the Vault wasn’t something he was going to approve without speaking to the Mand’alor, first.

“We can revisit this later,” he said firmly. “After I speak to your buir.”

Ben just nodded, brightening again, as if he already fully expected Jaster to endorse the idea. Then again, Syldar thought, he’d somehow gotten Jaster to approve of him checking out volumes on ancient wars between his first and second peoples, so who knew what Jaster would agree to when it came to Ben.

The adiik did have a very good, very convincing pout, after all. That power combined with his well-spoken arguments… Ben was a dangerous adiik, he decided. It would be best to keep a close eye on this one.

“This way,” Syldar said, dragging them back on topic, tugging gently at Ben’s hand. This time, he went easily, and Syldar turned his attention back to what had just become the less concerning request from the adiik.

The adiik, copikla as he was, was strange indeed.

---

Jango.

Things had gotten… chaotic, after they brought Ben home. Jango had known it would take some adjustment, having a Jetii’adiik as his vod’ika, and that was before they’d even known he was a Seer. That was before he’d started them on a hunt for a Kyr’tsad spy within the Haat’ade, before he’d apparently interrogated Jorin for hours on the evolution of beskar’gam, before he’d told Syldar there were screaming magical rocks inside the laserswords in the Vault…

Yes, a lot had happened since they’d brought Ben home, and it hadn’t even been a week, yet.

Jango hadn’t had as much time as he would’ve liked to spend with his new vod’ika, since he was kept very busy helping to coordinate the task force hunting down the traitor within their ranks. But Jango heard quite a bit about him, and everyone seemed to have drawn the same conclusions Jango had: Ben’ika was incredibly copikla, very, very strange, and probably some sort of genius, given that he sounded far more like a fully-grown adult when he spoke (if you just listened to his words and ignored the high-pitched voice, anyway) than a six-year-old child.

Jaster had quietly told a bare-bones, slightly modified version of the story of how Ben had come to be with them, Jorin helping to spread the word. They’d said that Ben’s tal’buir’e were dar’buir’e, and the Republic had been about to force the Jetiise to give him back, so they’d given him to Jaster instead, to keep him safe. That had gone a long way to reassuring the Haat’ade that there wouldn’t be any retribution from the Jetiise for “stealing” one of their adiik’e, and so there was no resistance to his presence.

But questions about him… Those ran rampant through the Alori’ya. Were all Jetii’adiik’e so well-spoken? Were they all so calm? Were they all so strange —was Ben a normal Jetii’adiik, and he just seemed strange to them because they had no context? Jango heard the questions repeated everywhere (though never in front of Ben himself), and, as Ben’s ori’vod, had those questions directed to him frequently.

“I don’t know” was his most common answer (though “stop asking,” “kark you,” and “kriff off” were also fairly common, directed mostly at his Grunts, who were particularly obnoxious about it). Jango hadn’t actually talked to any of the other Jetii’adiik’e, and Ben’ika’s first comm with them was set for another few days from then, so he had no idea if the others were like Ben. The Jetii’adiik’e, when he’d seen them, definitely hadn’t been calm, but they’d also had every reason to be upset, with one of their vod’e forced to leave them.

Still, strange as they all found him, they all liked Ben, which was the important part. He was sweet, even-tempered, curious, and polite. Plus he was adorable, which didn’t hurt his cause. So after the first few days, when the shock of the Jetii’adiik adopted by the Mand’alor and the oddities of said adiik wore off, all Jango started hearing were verd’e bemoaning the fact that Jaster had gotten to him first, and been the one who got to adopt him.

Jango tried not to be too smug about it, though he didn’t always succeed.

---

Four days after their investigative squad was formed, Montross went missing.

When Montross didn’t show up for the morning briefing, Jaster had just sighed and grumbled something under his breath about having a talk with him about drinking too much the night before an early duty shift, and the other verd’e who heard it snickered and didn’t think much more about it.

When Montross didn’t show up for midmeal, either, Jaster started to get concerned.

When Montross didn’t answer his comm, Jaster went to his quarters.

When Montross didn’t answer the door, Jaster used his override.

Montross wasn’t there, and neither were most of his belongings. That, at least, told them that Montross hadn’t been taken, and he wasn’t laid up in a hospital somewhere after an ill-advised drinking binge in Keldabe’s bars, or a speeder accident or something.

He’d just… left.

Much as Jango didn’t like Montross (too brutal, though never where Jaster could see, too callous, too aggressive even by their standards, and… well, Jango had always had a feeling about him, a bad one, but since Montross didn’t like him, either, and never had, he’d thought it was just that mutual dislike), even he hadn’t thought the man could be the spy. Montross was Jaster’s karking second, he’d been with the Haat’ade since the formation of the Company, he and Jaster had saved each other’s lives in the field more times than either of them could count. They were akaan’vod’e, battle-brothers.

But when Montross disappeared, the timing sickeningly suspicious when combined with the investigation, and Jaster telling him that he had a “source” that told him Korda 6 was a Kyr’tsad trap… They had no choice but to consider it, especially since he’d been the one to bring the job up in the first place. The squad’s attentions turned to Montross, who had been a low priority, before.

They found suspicious comms to Concordia, the holdings of Clan Vizsla, made from one of Montross’s burner comms, meant to be used for aruetii contacts.

They found holorecordings on the security cams of Montross sneaking out of the Alori’ya after major briefings, for assignments that, looking back and cross-referencing the reports, had all gone wrong, somehow.

That was enough to make Jaster order his accounts frozen and reviewed. Montross had drained them, by then, no doubt moving his credits into other accounts that they didn’t know about, maybe even into banks headquartered outside of Manda’lase, where Jaster couldn’t reach them. But the records were still intact, and they found suspicious transfers into those accounts logged after each of those missions-gone-awry, going back four years.

They’d found the traitor, and they’d lost him.

The task force was expanded, and ordered to look into Montross’s direct reports and closest friends, and Jaster met with his remaining officers to rewrite their entire security policies and codes. Liika was promoted to become Jaster’s second—some good news, at least. Jango had always gotten along well with her; she was smart, and kind, with a wicked sense of humor that never failed to make him laugh.

One concern had been resolved, and they’d identified the traitor Ben had seen, but there was still so much to be done. They were all kept busy by this, though Jaster still, somehow, managed to make a fair bit of time for Jango and Ben—but that was hardly surprising to Jango. When he’d first been adopted, Jango had half-expected Jaster to be a bit absent, given his position and the many demands on his time. But he’d always made room in his life for his ad, and that hadn’t changed now that he had two of them.

But the fact that they were so busy was, just maybe, partly to blame for the way Jaster responded to Ben’s latest request. Jaster had just had too much on his mind to really question what Ben’ika had said.

“Buir?” Ben had hummed, pushing his food around more than eating it, again —he had a habit of doing that, and both Jaster and Jango had taken to watching him more carefully during mealtimes.

“‘Lek, Ben’ika?”

“There’s a Jedi’s crystal in the Vault,” he said. “I sensed it, when I was in the Archives. Syldar said I could see it, and work with it in my meditations, if you said yes. Could I, please? Gedet’ye?”

“A Jetii crystal?” Jaster repeated, raising an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t realize we had any Jetii artefacts. I thought they were all from the Dar’jetiise.”

“‘Lek, buir,” Ben said, nodding. “It’s definitely a Jedi’s crystal. Or, well, it was, a very long time ago.”

“Well,” Jaster said, shrugging one shoulder, “I don’t see much harm in letting you work with it, if it was a Jetii’s.”

Ben’s eyes lit up, and he smiled, one of those tiny grins he always gave everyone. (And Jango hadn’t forgotten about his vow to make Ben’ika actually smile, a wide, goofy grin like the adiik he really was, but, well. They’d been busy.)

“Vor’e, buir!” he said. “I’ll probably go down to the Archives tomorrow, then.”

“Alright,” Jaster agreed easily. “I’ll take you down to let Syldar know I’ve agreed, and pick you back up around midmeal. Now, will you please eat your dinner, Ben’ika?”

“‘Lek, buir.”

(…in hindsight, Jaster really should’ve asked a few more questions about the “Jetii crystal” in the Vault. But at least that particular… incident had clued them into the fact that Ben’ika was a manipulative, insane little chaos gremlin.

Jaster had started moaning to himself about grey hairs, but Jango was thrilled. He had the best vod’ika ever. Once he was just a little older, they were going to cause so much trouble together—Jango vowed that, too.)

Notes:

A little treat for anyone who's read the Jetii'Manda Side-Stories, LOL :P
If all goes to plan (which, haha, it's me, so take that as you will XD), we should have a few more chapters of very young Baby-Wan, and then a two or three year time skip. ;) Next chapter, we'll see a bit more of Ben's chaos, and what the Jedi are up to!

Ben: Selective truth telling is not the same thing as lying. (…it’s not, right?)
Jango: HA! I knew it, I knew my little vod’ika was going to be a chaos monster. I am OVERJOYED about this development. :D
Jaster: …I’m exhausted. It’s been four days since we got home, and I’m already exhausted. *deep breath* Maybe I’ll ask Ben if he can teach me that meditation thing that keeps him so calm. (Also, at least if he's meditating, I know he's not out somewhere getting into trouble…)

Also Jango: Fucking. Montross. I always hated that guy. Should’ve gutted him when I had the chance—I wanted to stab him the first time I met him! I really should’ve just done it.
Jaster: …you were eight, Jango.
Jango: Yeah, and I helped you try to blow up Tor Vizsla, sooo…?
Jaster: …touché.

Chapter 4

Notes:

Hello again! :D Thank you so much for all the love for this ridiculous fic! It's a blast to write, and a good break from some of my more serious stories (or at least the stories going through more serious arcs at the moment).

(Not all updates are going to be this fast; I have one more chapter mostly-written, and then it'll be in "update limbo" like my other stories, until I can write more of it. Just a heads up!)

We did not get to the Jedi stuff, since Quinlan had more to say than I'd originally planned. Baby!Quin is a talker, apparently, LOL. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the continued adventures of fake-baby!Ben! :P

Ben.

Ben was settling into his new life in Keldabe quite well, if he did say so himself.

As he’d hoped, his age seemed to carry more weight with the Haat’ade than his origins, and though they thought him strange (though no one had actually said as much to his face, Ben perpetually used the Force to enhance his hearing and other senses, a habit he’d formed during his first war on Melida/Daan, and had never given up, so he heard the questions they whispered to each other—and besides that, whenever they took their helmets off during interactions with him, Ben could sense their confusion and a sort of… wrong-footed, awkward feeling clear as day), they were kind to him.

And they’d rooted out the spy within the ranks of the Haat’ade, and Jaster had dutifully flagged each planet on Ben’s list in their request system. The red planets would cause an automatic rejection of any request that came in through the client line, the orange and yellow planets would ping Jaster with an immediate alert, and the green ones would be moved up the priority list of requests. It was far more than Ben had hoped for—among Jedi, visions were considered a sort of trial to be overcome at worst, and a warning to be mindful of at best. They never simply acted upon them.

So Ben had been more than a little confused when Jaster and Jango had both believed him so easily, and heeded his warnings. He had thought that he would be dismissed (if very gently, because that was the sort of person Jaster was) for either his age or the unreliable nature of visions. Ben had fully expected having to beg and plead to get any concession from Jaster on Korda 6; he hadn’t expected immediate agreement, or the formation of the task force so quickly after his warning about a spy.

A few more conversations with Jorin had cleared up much of that mystery, however. Apparently, within Mandalorian Force traditions, those that they called “ka’ra’tigaanla,” which literally meant stars-touched, were considered blessed. The Manda, Jorin had explained, was a sort of… collective soul, what Ben thought might be close to an aspect of the Force specific to Mando’ade. That much, he’d already known, and that explained why their adoption ceremony was called the “gai bal manda”—literally “name and soul.” By knowing someone’s name as family, that made them Mandalorian, and they were accepted into the collective soul of Mandalore.

Then there was the other component to Mandalorian Force traditions and beliefs: the ka’ra. Though it literally meant “stars,” Ben had only ever known its other meaning as the “mythical ruling Council of ancient, dead kings.” But that term meant more than he’d realized as well—in terms of Mandalorian Force traditions, Force-sensitives were said to be “ka’ra’tigaanla,” or stars-touched, because they were blessed with a more direct connection to the Manda by the ancestors, the spirits of the Mandalorians who came before them. The ka’ra, the spirits of the dead, those who were already marching on within the collective souls’ afterlife, acted as a bridge between those Force-sensitives who were yet alive with the Manda.

It was fascinating, and completely at odds with everything Ben had ever thought to be true about Mandalorian views on the Force. He’d thought they viewed using the Force in battle as dishonorable, as cheating, and beskar muffled the Force anyway. How could a Force-sensitive become a true Mandalorian if they couldn’t wear haat beskar’gam?

Those questions had derailed their conversation for a while, sparking another history lesson from Jorin: “Before Mando’ade were as they are today, when they were exclusively Taung, there were no ka’ra’tigaanla. All Taung were completely blind to it,” he’d explained. “Therefore, it was seen as dishonorable when it was used in battle against them, because they had an unfair advantage, and they did not gain victory through skill alone. Those views first began to shift when the Taung found Mandalore, and beskar, to level the playing field and rise to the challenge.

“Greater changes came as the Taung began to champion the concept of foundlings, and the idea that anyone could become Mando’ad, so long as they embraced the culture and ideals of Mandalore. Most other species are not entirely blind to the ka’ra, the… Force, as you call it, and so, naturally, there started to emerge more and more Mando’ade with their own connections.

“It is still considered ‘cheating’ of a sort to use it in a proper honor duel or a formal Challenge unless both combatants are ka’ra’tigaanla, since the belief is that if both parties meet on equal footing, the ka’ra will favor the rightful victor. It is generally acceptable on the battlefield, particularly if it is used to save the lives of other Mando’ade. And we handle the matter of beskar’gam for those who are ka’ra’tigaanla on an individual basis; most are able to wear some form of beskar alloy, with only those strongest in the ka’ra needing a very small percentage of haat beskar.”

That had been a relief. Ben had been fully prepared to use the Force only in inconspicuous ways, once he was old enough to begin formal training, but apparently he didn’t need to worry about that, at least. And he had also been concerned about being stuffed into Force-muffling beskar, which he already knew he simply couldn’t stand. The buy’ce he’d worn while protecting Satine during that year on the run had been haat beskar, and he’d hated every second of it, though it had been necessary to blend in, at the time.

Once those worries were laid to rest, Jorin had circled back to his point: “Seers,” he had said very seriously, “are considered particularly blessed, and even closer to the ka’ra, and the ancestors, than others. The visions they receive are warnings sent from the ancestors themselves, which marks them as ‘favored children,’ you might say. We take such warnings from the ka’ra very seriously, Ben’ika. I would hope that you won’t hesitate to tell someone when you do have a vision; I promise that we will listen, and heed what you say.”

That had made Ben feel just the slightest bit guilty about implying that his future-knowledge had been gained through visions. He hadn’t realized he was propelling himself into some culturally important role in doing so, but it was good to know that they would listen to his warnings. And nothing he had actually said to Jaster when he’d explained it had been untrue, though he’d known he was being misleading in his selective truths, as he was wont to do. Ben made a point of never lying, though he was quite skilled at telling the truth from a certain point of view.

And it wasn’t a complete misdirection—when Ben had truly been young, that first time, he had had a great many visions. Most of them had come to him in dreams, and they were confusing and vague, at least until much, much later. He’d seen the Temple on fire, smoke rising from it; he’d seen countless Jedi strewn about in the halls, unnaturally still; he’d seen a vast, empty desert, the light of its suns far too bright and the galaxy, the Force, far too Dark. The Masters had told him that “the future is always in motion,” and “focus on the here and now, you must,” and “to the Living Force, you must look, for balance.”

Perhaps if they had shared the Mandalorians’ views on visions, they might have been able to avert the disasters of his last life.

Though he thought that, in his more… bitter moments, Ben knew that wasn’t fair. It was true that the Dark Side clouded everything, for those who devoted themselves to the Light, and the galaxy had grown so terribly Dark by the time Ben joined the Jedi Order, and was old enough to explain in words what he saw at night. There had been so little to take from those visions—from Ben’s or the visions Sifo-Dyas had suffered—that was useful besides a warning of destruction. What else had they been meant to do besides set them aside, and try to help one of their Initiates stop having disturbing dreams?

The galaxy was still Darkened, here and now. The Sith were still out there. The Dark Side was still shrouding the galaxy, growing stronger and stronger the closer one got to the Core.

The closer one got to Coruscant.

Though there was one major difference already to the last go-around: Ben knew all of that, now. And he had time enough to do something about it, like planting the right seeds with his buir, who, as Mand’alor, had the power to take action, and dropping hints to the Jedi when he had contact with them, as Jaster had promised he would. His first comm with his crechemates was set in two days, as a matter of fact, and now that he had a bit of… distance, he was actually rather looking forward to it.

But, for now, Ben Mereel was just a six-year-old, rather unusual Mandalorian foundling, being raised as the son of the Mand’alor. He had time to act, yes, but it would still take quite a bit of time before anyone other than Mandalorians who apparently revered their Seers took him seriously.

At least, in the meantime, he had a project to occupy him. Several projects, really, though this was the most interesting of the lot. And it soothed another of his worries—he’d wondered how he would get his hands on a lightsaber, without access to Ilum to gather a crystal for himself. This would neatly solve that problem. He could scavenge or fabricate the rest of the parts, if he could just get his hands on a crystal. He’d had to make do with what he could scrounge up on Tatooine, when his ‘saber had needed repairs. He was used to it.

Jaster, as promised, had dropped him off with Syldar, telling the Chief Archivist that “Ben told me about the Jetii crystal in the Vault, and that you wanted my permission for him to have it. I’d rather he didn’t enter the Vault, but if you could get the crystal and give it to him, I’ll give my blessing.”

It was enough, and the Force was with him: Syldar didn’t question Jaster further, so he didn’t realize that Ben hadn’t told him quite the full story about the crystal, and the… circumstances. Syldar had looked a bit tired and exasperated, but dutifully nodded.

“‘Lek, ‘Alor,” he’d said. “As you say.”

Jaster had smiled at him, then, as always, knelt down to bump foreheads with Ben, and then left them to it. Syldar had eyed him suspiciously, and Ben had given him his best “I know what I’m doing, you can trust me” sort of smile in return. That had gotten him a huff, a shake of Syldar’s head, and a finger wagged at him.

“Stay right there,” he’d ordered. “I’ll be back.”

Ben had been waiting for twenty minutes already, and he thought he could guess the problem: Syldar likely couldn’t tell which lightsaber held the crystal he’d been referring to, one of the many reasons Ben had wanted to enter the Vault for himself. But that was alright—as he’d thought to himself so many times over the last few days and weeks, he had time to wait, even if Syldar ended up bringing them out one by one. He had all the time in the galaxy, right now.

(He had time to save Mandalore, he had time to save the Jedi, he had time to stop the corruption of the Sith from spreading ever further until it had a stranglehold on the whole galaxy, he had time to see them put to a pyre so they could no longer go on to hurt anyone else—)

Syldar emerged at last, holding a small box, looking rather grumpy. Ben, who’d been sitting in Syldar’s chair at his desk as he waited, leapt up, already hearing the screaming of the Bled crystal and the unnatural, disonnant drumming-eerie-cackling-and-rumbling-thunder of the artificial crystals.

“We have a… small problem,” Syldar said, setting the box down on his desk. He reached in and pulled out one of the lightsabers—not the one Ben was going for, he could sense.

“You couldn’t tell which one I meant?” Ben asked, and Syldar sighed.

“Nayc,” he said. “And, more than that, we don’t even know how to take these kadause apart. They’re somehow resistant to tools, or heat, and they have a tendency to fling people across the room when they try.” Far more quietly, Syldar added, “One of the many reasons this is a terrible idea.”

“That’s alright,” Ben assured him. “I’ll be able to tell which one it is, and get the crystal out. I won’t even have to touch any of them, if that makes you feel better.”

Syldar frowned at him. “Nayc,” he sighed again. “That does not make me feel better, ad’ika. But your buir approved, and I have a couple of baar’ur’e standing by. Just in case.”

Ben smiled. “That’s thoughtful of you,” he said. “But it’ll be alright, ori’haat.”

The Mando’a seemed to go at least a little ways towards soothing Syldar’s concerns, or at least his grumpiness, and he set the lightsaber he’d been holding back in the box, gesturing for Ben to go ahead.

Closing his eyes, Ben took a deep, slow breath in, and out, and lowered his shields just enough. The screaming-pain-pain-pain-horror was immediately recognizeable, and far louder than the strange thrumming of the manufactured crystals. Ben reached for it, wrapping the Force around the hilt of the ‘saber surrounding that particular crystal, feeling the shape and weight of it in his mind as he lifted it up. Distantly, he heard Syldar make some sort of strangled noise, but pushed away the distraction.

It was so easy, by now, to take apart a lightsaber this way. Ben gently tugged each component free: the casing, the emitter, the switch, the pommel, the grip, the power pack, the focusing lenses—and, finally, the crystal.

Ben carefully set the other components back down into the box Syldar had brought out, and tugged the crystal towards him, still screaming, crying out in unbearable pain.

Hello there, he projected to it, wrapping a bit of his presence around it and suppressing a wince at the screaming, now projected straight into his mind (still, it had nothing on Zigoola, and the Dark screams he’d had in his head then, or Rattatak, and that karking hood, and how it had taken everything else from his mind except for the Dark and the pain). The crystal itself felt like… a wound, half-healed, but poorly, no longer dripping blood, but oozing pus.

I know. I know. It hurts, doesn’t it? But it’s going to be alright. I’ll help. I was… hurt, too. By the Dark. But I’m still Light—do you see? Do you feel it? I’m still Light. And you can be again. I can help you heal.

The crystal’s screams grew ever-so-slightly quieter, and Ben decided that was good enough to be getting on with. He held out his hand, palm-up, and let the crystal drop into it.

Ben smiled as he opened his eyes, and then blinked in surprise at the sight that greeted him. It wasn’t just Syldar, standing there watching him: there was a gaggle of another ten Mando’ade all blatantly staring.

“...su’cuy,” he said.

“Su’cuy, ad’ika,” at least four of them chorused together, modulated voices overlapping.

“What was that?” one of them asked, a fully-armored Mando’ad in orange beskar’gam, trimmed in purple, waving a hand at him.

“It was a lightsaber,” Ben answered. “Now it’s just parts. I have the most important piece.” He looked over to Syldar. “It won’t work anymore, even if it’s put back together.”

“...I see,” Syldar said. “And you’re going to… meditate with the crystal?” Ben nodded. “And you said that involves a lot of ‘sitting quietly and floating things,’ ‘lek?”

“‘Lek,” Ben said, nodding to him, and then turned to smile to the group still watching them. “It won’t be very interesting, but you’re welcome to watch, if you’d like.”

“...alright,” one of them said, sparking a round of nodding.

Ben turned back to Syldar. “Is there somewhere I could do this where I won’t be in your way?”

Syldar sighed again. “‘Lek. You can take one of the reading rooms. This way.”

---

Syldar.

It didn’t take long before the ten Haat’ade who’d followed Ben into the reading room filed back out again. Syldar waved Vlek and Pao over to him, the last two to leave the room, and quietly demanded, “What is he doing?”

“Exactly what you said he was going to do,” Pao said, shrugging. “He’s just sitting there with his eyes closed, and the rock is floating in front of his face. That’s about it.”

“He didn’t seem to be… in any pain, did he?” Syldar asked, and Pao and Vlek both exchanged looks.

“Nayc,” Vlek said slowly. “Why would he have?”

“He said he could hear the… Jetii’ruus ‘screaming.’” Again, the pair looked at each other, and then turned back to Syldar. “I agree. But the ‘Alor, who is also his buir, said that he could have it. I’m sure he already must have known that it wouldn’t cause him any pain. Ben did say something about ‘mental shielding,’ and how it helps.”

“...huh,” Pao grunted. “He’s a strange ad, that’s for sure.”

“Pretty copikla, though,” Vlek said, and both Syldar and Pao nodded their agreement. “But it is weird to hear him talking like an adult when he doesn’t even come up to the bottom of my shar’tas.”

Pao snorted, and Syldar’s lips twitched in a smile. “That might be normal, for the adiik’e of his first people,” Syldar said, and both Pao and Vlek shrugged in unison.

“Doesn’t really matter, does it?” Pao said. “Ben’s just an adiik, and Ad be’Alor, now.”

“Gar serim,” Syldar agreed. “Now, I think I’ll take my own turn looking in on him, since he did offer.”

“Well,” Vlek said, a smile in his voice apparent even through his vocorder, “you have fun with that.”

Syldar waved them off, and then went back to the reading room. He slipped in quietly, letting the door close behind him, and stood there for a long moment, watching Ben.

Ben was firmly on the ground, at least, kneeling with his eyes closed, head slightly bowed. But his tunics and his hair seemed to flutter with some sort of breeze Syldar couldn’t feel, which was… slightly unsettling. And, as promised, the Jetii’ruus was hovering within arm’s reach of Ben, several feet off the ground. Already, it looked a bit different: when Syldar had first seen it, the rock had been such a dark red that it was nearly black, but now it had lightened, some, turning more thoroughly red with only a few spots of concentrated black.

Ben didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge him, so Syldar took the opportunity to study him more closely. He looked… peaceful, features relaxed, no tension in his shoulders, and he decided the adiik likely wasn’t in any pain. Satisfied that Ben was safe enough, Syldar slipped back out again, leaving him to his task.

---

Ben.

Siphoning the worst of the Darkness from the crystal was easier than he’d expected. Ben had known, in theory, how to heal a Bled crystal, though he’d never actually attempted it before. The first step was already nearly complete, taking on the crystal’s absorbed Darkness, giving it to the Force, and pouring Light in its wake.

But, then, perhaps that was easy enough for him because Ben had practice at that, if not exactly in this context. On Tatooine, he’d used that very same technique to hide himself—it was true that the Darkness clouded the Light, but that ran both ways. Ben had used that to his advantage to hide his presence, taking the Darkness around him and making himself a conduit to cleanse it, building a shield of Light around himself, and ensuring that when he reached for the Force, he wouldn’t be met with a feedback loop of Darkness, if and when he was trying to let go of his negative emotions (and there had certainly been a lot of that during his life in exile).

Though Ben’s sense of time, his sense of the here-and-now, was distorted during meditation, he guessed he’d been at it for several hours by the time he felt that first step to be complete. The second… That would take far longer. What the crystal really needed, now, was time, and to come to trust a new bondmate.

Satisfied with his progress for the day, Ben had started to withdraw, away from the crystal and the Force, back into his physical form—only for the crystal to chase after him. It reached out, clinging on, the strands of the Force tying them together pinging—

Ben was too slow to pull away, too slow to bring his shields back up. When the crystal reached for him, he didn’t, couldn’t, resist and—

For generations of Light Ones, coming and going, the crystal waited. Others around it were found, bonded, but it waited. And waited.

And waited.

The right one would come. The Force promised, and so it waited.

The crystal knew its bondmate before it was found, as it always happened. It knew as soon as they set foot in the caves.

The Force had finally led its bonded to it.

When its bonded touched it, the Force sang of Light, of standing against the Darkness, defense and protection, a shield.

(It did not sing of peace.)

It became a lightsaber crystal. Its bond with its bearer was strong, rooted in the Light. Together, they stood against the Darkness, to defend and protect, as the Force had promised.

But the Force’s song had changed, growing… ominous. Dark.

Then Darker still.

The bond wavered.

Its bonded wavered.

In the face of the Darkness, the unrelenting onslaught—

Its bonded wasn’t the first to Fall, but they followed soon enough. Its bonded always followed that One, Light or Dark, right or wrong, its bonded would follow them anywhere.

(Even now, after all this time, the crystal still couldn’t tell if the Fall was a choice, or the tampering of the Dark One.

But did it matter, in the end? The path still led them here, to this. It still left them both broken, shattered into pieces—)

The crystal was broken not long after its bonded.

It hurt.

The hate, the anger, the fear, pressed in closer and closer, heavier and heavier, until something in it snapped and it cried and screamed in pain pain pain but there was no one to help no one to heal no one to stop it and its bonded was gone, replaced by one of the Dark Ones—

And it hurt.

And then its bonded was gone, no longer a Dark One, or a Light One—no longer anything at all. The Dark had swallowed them up, taking everything from them and of them, not allowing them to join with the Force.

The crystal was alone.

It was interred with the rest of the Dark Things, left to its pain and its memories and the knowledge that its bonded was gone, not even within the Force.

It was alone.

It was alone, in the Dark, for so long —

Ben jerked back as the crystal finally let him go. His landed hard on his backside, having reeled back when the crystal’s visions ended. He took a shaky breath, shaking his head to clear it, he finally opened his eyes, and his stomach sank at the sight that greeted him.

Jaster was crouched in front of him, staring intently. And he did not look happy, either physically or in the Force, radiating concern-frustration.

“Su’cuy, buir,” Ben said, trying for a smile. Jaster took a deep breath, and then slowly let it out.

“Me’vaar ti gar, ad’ika?” he asked, his voice falling just the slightest bit flat. Even upset with him, Jaster was still so gentle.

“Naas,” Ben answered promptly. Jaster’s brow furrowed, obviously displeased with his answer.

“You missed midmeal, Ben’ika. You weren’t responding to anyone,” Jaster said. “Syldar, Jango, Pao, and Vlek all tried to wake you up. When it didn’t work, they called for me. And I was about to call for the baar’ur.”

“Oh,” Ben said, feeling himself flush. “The crystal showed me its original bondmate. That’s all.” Jaster took another slow, deep breath, another tendril of confusion-concern-frustration flaring around him into the Force. “It was… like a vision. It wasn’t something I could just end if I decided to; I had to wait for it to finish before the crystal, and the Force, would let me go.”

Jaster peered at him for a long moment, no doubt gauging his honesty, and trying to understand what he said. Finally, the protective-not-quite-anger dissipated, leaving only exasperation-concern in its wake.

“Suvari,” Jaster said. “But if this is going to happen when you meditate with the crystal, maybe that isn’t such a good idea—”

The crystal shouted into the Force, expressing its dislike for that very, very loudly, adamantly not wanting to go back into the Vault. Ben looked down at it and smiled.

It was not-quite-halfway clear, now. There were several darker, cloudy spots still left, occlusions of a sort, but… It was already starting to heal.

Well. That had been more successful than he’d even thought to hope. He knew the rest of it would be more deep-seated Darkness, harder to root out, and would almost certainly need time before it would dissipate, but… with this sort of progress, he had faith that he could heal it.

“Nayc, buir,” Ben said. “I don’t think that will happen again. It knows me, now, and it told me, and showed me, what it needed to.”

Jaster stared at him again, and then he sighed. “You can keep the crystal,” he conceded, “but the next two or three times you meditate with it— at least the next two or three times, and maybe even beyond that, depending on how it goes—another of the ka’ra’tigaanla will have to be there with you. The rest of us don’t know how to help, and wouldn’t be able to tell if something was happening. But we have a few who’ve been trained in the Haat’ade, at least enough to be able to tell if you get… stuck.”

Ben perked up. “Trained?”

Jaster hummed, lips twitching, but apparently not quite ready to smile yet. “‘Lek,” he said. “We don’t test for those, ah…”

“Midichlorians,” Ben supplied.

“‘Lek, midichlorians. We don’t test for them, but the ones who are strong enough to lose themselves in it are trained, usually by other Mando’ade, but we’ve had a few make the trip to Jedha, when they needed more help than our own knew how to provide.”

“Oh,” Ben said. “What’s the training like? For both Mando’ade, and on Jedha. The Order is friendly enough with the Temple of the Kyber, but they aren’t technically affiliated. I don’t think they do things quite the same way.”

“I’m the wrong person to ask about that, ad’ika,” Jaster said. “I’ve never been, myself. But I can find a few who have, and ask them to watch over your meditations. You can ask them then, ‘lek?”

Ben nodded. “‘Lek, buir,” he agreed. Jaster finally smiled, then glanced down at the crystal. Ben quickly picked it up, slipping it into his pocket; he wondered if he could find a cord of some sort, or a strip of leather, to fashion a necklace for it. Carrying it with him would both keep it safer and allow it to acclimate to him more quickly, helping along the healing process. Perhaps he could ask Jorin for some scraps of material to work with.

His stomach chose that moment to rumble (and dear Force, this young body needed to eat so much more than he was used to; at times, it felt like all he wanted to do was nap and eat), and Ben flushed again. Jaster chuckled, shaking his head.

“Come on,” he said, standing and holding out a hand. “Jango saved you some food.” Ben smiled and took Jaster’s hand, letting him pull him to his feet. “You scared your ori’vod, you know, Ben’ika.”

Ben winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that would happen, but it wasn’t dangerous. Ori’haat.”

Jaster glanced at him and shook his head again, letting out another little sigh. “Just… Be careful, gedet’ye,” he said.

“I will, buir. I promise,” Ben said, and a bit more of Jaster’s grumpiness and lingering concern faded.

Jaster nodded. “Jate. Now, we’d better get back before Jango calls for a search party,” he said, and then leaned down, stage whispering to Ben. “Or the baar’ur’e.”

Ben chuckled. “‘Lek, buir,” he repeated, and let Jaster lead him back for their promised lunch, the crystal a wary, wild, only half-tamed presence in the back of his mind, and a heavy weight in his pocket.

---

Quinlan.

Obi-Wan had always been a little… different. That wasn’t a bad thing, though—the opposite, in Quinlan’s mind. He’d been the only Initiate who hadn’t asked where he’d come from, why he’d joined the Order so late, why he was just an Initiate even though he already had a Master, why he already had a Master even though he was still too young for one…

No, instead, the third day Quinlan had been in the Temple, and his Clan had gone to the gardens with Obi-Wan’s Clan, Quinlan had kept some distance from the others, just… needing some time, and Obi-Wan had come right up to him. He hadn’t said anything, at first, just handed Quinlan a frog he’d caught, and then sat down next to him. Beyond giving each other their names, they hadn’t said a word during that first interaction, using the Force to try to keep the frog calm and asking it to jump for them.

At the end of that hour, when it was time to go back to their separate creche rooms, Obi-Wan had finally said something else: “Our Clans play together a lot, so I’ll see you later. Bye, Quinlan!”

And… that was it. That was all he’d said. Obi-Wan hadn’t asked any questions, he hadn’t looked at Quinlan with confusion and whispered to each other about him like the others did, and Quinlan…

Well, he decided then and there that Obi-Wan was going to be his best friend.

And he was. Obi-Wan made a very good best friend, always helping with his pranks (after he failed to convince Quinlan not to try it), sitting quietly with him when he would come down from an echo, reminding him to wear his gloves when Master Tholme wasn’t around to do it, and expanding Quinlan’s own circle of friends to include his crechemates. Plus, Obi-Wan might not have had psychometry like Quinlan, but he understood in a way few other Initiates could, since his visions did the same thing to him, making him distant-foggy, and all too often showing him such Dark things, just like Quinlan’s echoes.

They made a good pair, though the Masters probably wished they’d never met, with all the pranks they pulled, all the trouble they got into.

Eventually, Quinlan told Obi-Wan about his parents, and Obi-Wan told Quinlan about his visions, and it got to a point where there wasn’t anything they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell each other. Obi-Wan knew Quinlan best, and even though Obi-Wan had lots of other friends, Quinlan was the one who knew him best, too, the one who knew everything he wasn’t willing to tell the others.

So everyone else might not have really noticed it when Obi-Wan… changed, but Quinlan did.

A little more than a week before he left the Temple, Obi-Wan was just… different one day. He’d always been kind of quiet, at least compared to Quinlan and their other crechemates, but all of a sudden, he was even more so; his laughter got softer and less frequent, and he didn’t talk even as much as he had before. Obi-Wan also started meditating more than he used to, which was weird —Obi-Wan might’ve always been a little quieter and a little calmer than the rest of them, but even he couldn’t sit still for very long before the need to run and jump and play, burning off energy, made him lose his concentration and forced him to get up.

And there had been more than a few times before when Quinlan had accidentally seen the echoes of Obi-Wan’s visions. They were always horrible, little flashes of fire and smoke and death, but they used to be… vague. Just little flashes, and not much more. But then, after Obi-Wan started to get quieter, started staring off into space and meditating more… The flashes Quinlan got were so much clearer, and so much worse.

(A fire planet, so hot with all the lava but so cold from the Darkness smothering it, and someone was burning, dying, screaming I hate you! A presence Obi-Wan loved suddenly winking out, a no-one, now, barking Blast him! The Temple in ruins, smouldering, and all of the Jedi who inhabited it gone into the Force, killed in their own home.)

It was terrifying, and if the echoes of those visions scared Quinlan, he was sure Obi-Wan was upset by seeing it all in the first place. Quinlan had tried to talk to him about it, but Obi-Wan had just shaken his head, his eyes unfocused, like he wasn’t even really seeing Quinlan, standing there in front of him.

“It was just a possible future,” Obi-Wan said. “It won’t happen.” Not this time —Obi-Wan hadn’t said that out loud, but Quinlan heard-felt it, through their bond.

“Have you been talking to Master Yoda about your visions again?” Quinlan asked. That line about “possible futures” was definitely something the Grand Master would say, he thought. Obi-Wan smiled, but it looked and felt fake.

“I’ve been meditating a lot,” Obi-Wan said with a shrug. “It helps, but… I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

“Okay,” Quinlan agreed, because Obi-Wan was his best friend, and they told each other everything, at least eventually. When Obi-Wan was ready, Quinlan had no doubt that he would tell him.

Only, he never got the chance. Ten days after Obi-Wan had started to seem different, he got sent away from the Temple. The Masters didn’t want to do it, all of them could feel that, but they didn’t have a choice. The stupid Senate was going to make Obi-Wan go back home, even though everyone knew what “home” had been like for Obi-Wan, what his parents had tried to do to him.

The Masters had a plan, though. They didn’t have a choice about sending Obi-Wan away, but they were sending Shadows to get him back. They’d keep him safe, but… He couldn’t stay in the Coruscant Temple, not when that was where the Senate would start looking for him. He would go to another Temple, or hide with one of the Service Corps for a few years, the Masters said. He would be safe, but he couldn’t live on Coruscant anymore.

One way or another, Obi-Wan was going to leave. Quinlan didn’t like it, but he understood—it wasn’t like Obi-Wan had asked to go back to his parents (ha, as if he would do that when he still remembered what they’d tried to do to him before his Finder had rescued him and brought him to the Temple). Obi-Wan didn’t have a choice.

Quinlan was mad at the Senate for it. Everyone knew what they did to Force-sensitives on Stewjon. It was on the Order’s list of planets Jedi should never, ever visit (except for the Shadows, Master Tholme had told him, like the Jedi who’d Found Obi-Wan; Master Yaddle sent Shadows to Stewjon twice a year, to pose as traders and search for Force-sensitive younglings to bring back to the Temple, to save them). So why would the Senate even think this was a good idea? Why would they make him go back?

Eventually, he’d decided that it must be because the Senate just didn’t care about Obi-Wan.

They didn’t care about the Jedi.

Quinlan decided then and there that if the Senate wasn’t going to care about someone like Obi-Wan, then Quinlan wasn’t going to waste time or energy caring about them, either. It might not make him a very good Jedi, that anger, but…

For all he cared, the Senate could burn just like Obi-Wan’s vision of the ruin of the Temple.

---

The Masters had come and sat them all down, Quinlan’s Clan and Obi-Wan’s old Clan, and told them what had happened to him. He was safe, they promised, and it felt true in the Force, but… He wasn’t a Jedi anymore.

The Mandalorians who’d taken him away had adopted him. Obi-Wan was a Mandalorian, now.

Quinlan started to lose hope, thinking he’d never see his friend again. Because just like everyone knew what Stewjon did to Force-sensitives, everyone knew that Mandalorians hated Jedi.

Only… Master Plo visited again, a few days later, to tell them more about Obi-Wan. He was on Mandalore, now, doing just fine. He even had a holo to prove it, a still shot of a dark-haired, tan-skinned, near-human teenager Quinlan didn’t know napping on a couch, one arm wrapped around Obi-Wan, who was fast asleep on their chest.

He really was okay.

But… how had Master Plo gotten that holo? When he asked, Master Plo had laughed.

“Mand’alor Mereel sent it to me,” he said. “We’ve exchanged several messages with one another.”

“The Mand’alor?” Quinlan had repeated. He remembered Mereel, the one who’d come to take Obi-Wan away, and how confusing it had been when he’d taken off his helmet. Before, when he had all of his armor on, Quinlan hadn’t been able to sense anything from him (which Master Tholme had explained was because beskar, the special metal only found in the Mandalore sector that they made that armor out of, muffled the Force, and resisted lightsabers; Quinlan had immediately started worrying, wondering if they were going to make Obi-Wan wear that armor now that he was a Mandalorian, cutting him off from the Force, but Tholme didn’t have an answer to that question). But when Mereel had taken his helmet off, he’d felt… warm. Light. It’d been weird, with everything Quinlan had ever heard about Mandalorians telling him they hated Jedi, and the whole reason the Mandalorians were there in the first place.

“Yes,” Master Plo said. “As a matter of fact, he wanted to know when you might be available for a comm with his son. In just a few days, we’ll speak to him again.”

Bant, Garen, and Reeft, who hadn’t stopped being so sad ever since Obi-Wan had left, had finally smiled again; Siri, who was angry like Quinlan was, had finally relaxed a little bit; even Bruck and Aalto, who’d tried to act like they weren’t feeling anything about it at all, were relieved.

Obi-Wan wasn’t a Jedi, anymore, and he was a Mandalorian instead, but even though Mandalorians were supposed to hate Jedi, they would get to see him again, even if only through a holo. Quinlan could hardly believe it.

The Masters had told them the rules again and again, making sure they remembered, and would follow them. They were going to use one of the comms the Senate didn’t know about, but that didn’t mean it was completely safe. Just in case, they would have to call him Ben instead of Obi-Wan, and they couldn’t talk about him leaving the Temple. Questions about Mandalore were fine. Questions about his new family were okay, too. But they couldn’t talk about how he’d been a Jedi, until they’d forced him to leave.

Quinlan got a little bit angrier at the Senate for that, but he understood. Again, it wasn’t like this was Obi-Wan’s—Ben’s— choice, or his fault.

Those four days had passed so slowly. Quinlan had a hard time paying attention in their lessons, but at least he wasn’t the only one, and their creche Masters understood.

Finally, though, the day came. Quinlan had been included even though he wasn’t in Bear Clan, because he was Obi—Ben’s best friend, no matter how far away he was or what his name was now. The Masters took them to one of the comms rooms, and they all packed in together in front of the transmitter, waiting for it to connect.

When it finally did, three people appeared on the holo: the Mand’alor, with his helmet off and the rest of his armor on; the teenager Quinlan hadn’t recognized before, but now, with their own helmet off and the rest of their armor on, he realized that was the Mand’alor’s son—his other son, Jango; and, there between the two of them, was “Ben.”

He looked… fine. He had a little smile on his face, his eyes wide and bright even over the holo. It was weird to see him in regular clothes instead of Initiate tunics, but it was so good to see him anyway that Quinlan didn’t even care about that, and the fact that it was just another reminder that he wasn’t a Jedi anymore.

“Su’cuy, adiik’e,” the Mand’alor said, smiling at them.

“Hi,” they chorused back, and then all of their focus was on Obi—Ben.

“O—Ben!” Bant said, almost fumbling his name right from the start, but catching herself in time. “It’s so good to see you! Are you okay?”

“Yes, Bant,” he said, his smile getting a little bigger. “I’m alright. It’s good to see you, too. How are things in the Temple?”

“Okay,” Bant said, “but not the same, without—anymore.” Garen had shoved at her, stopping her from finishing that, remembering the rules better than she did.

“What’s Mandalore like?” Garen asked. “Do you like it? Where do you live?”

Ben smiled. “Slow down, Garen,” he said, a hint of laughter in his voice. “I like it very much. We live in Keldabe, the capital, on Manda’yaim —that’s what we call the planet Mandalore…”

They all settled in, asking questions about Mandalore, and their former-crechemate’s new life; Ben seemed happy to tell them all about the capital, and the jungle around it, and the giant Archives (he always had been such a bookworm). The Mand’alor and his other son, Jango, interjected here and there to help explain things, and asked a few questions of their own (“What’s a normal day like, for you, adiik’e?” “What kind of lessons do you have?” “How long do you usually meditate every day?”). The Mand’alor pulled Ben into his lap after the first half hour, even though there was a chair between his and Jango’s for Ben to sit in. Ben didn’t protest, just kept talking, focused on his friends.

Quinlan was quiet, mostly, too busy watching Obi—Ben, and listening, to say much (even though there was so much he wanted to say, but… well, he didn’t want to say much of it in front of anyone else). Ben still seemed different, though he wasn’t as quiet as he had been before he’d left, and he didn’t seem as… sad. He wasn’t zoning out, eyes unfocused while they talked, like he had before. He seemed… calmer.

And he really did look… happy. He really did sound like he liked Mandalore, and his new family.

Finally, the Masters gave them a gentle warning that their time was nearly at an end—for now, anyway, but both the Masters and the Mand’alor promised they could comm again in just a few weeks. Ben looked over them all, his gaze pausing on Quinlan, and he smiled.

“How’re your dreams?” Quinlan asked, knowing Ben would know he really meant his visions.

“They’re better, now,” Ben said. “Calmer.” Quinlan nodded.

“Good,” he said. “That’s good. You promise you’re really okay?”

“Yes, Quin,” Ben said, smile getting a little bigger again. “I promise. Are you okay?” Quinlan nodded; it wasn’t even really a lie. He was a lot closer to being okay again now that he’d actually seen the proof with his own eyes that Ben was okay. “And you’re wearing your gloves?”

“Mostly,” Quinlan said. “Master Tholme’s been around more, to remind me when I forget.”

“Good,” Ben returned. “Don’t get into too much trouble, Quin.”

He laughed, unable to help himself. “No promises,” Quinlan said, and Ben laughed, too, shaking his head.

“We’ll have to leave it there, for now,” Master Plo said, and all of them groaned and protested, but he just chuckled at them. “Give it another few weeks, and we’ll be able to make more time to speak again. Alright?”

“Okay,” several of them sighed back together, turning in unison to Ben again.

“It was good to talk to you,” Reeft said.

“You, too,” Ben answered, still smiling.

“We’ll speak again soon. May the Force be with you,” Master Plo added. Ben bowed his head, not able to actually bow since he was still sitting on the Mand’alor’s lap.

“And also with you,” Ben returned. “Ret’urcye mhi —that’s how we say goodbye.”

The entire Clan tried to repeat it back to them, stumbling clumsily over the unfamiliar words, and the Mand’alor’s smile got so much wider, looking genuinely delighted by the attempt, and even Jango smiled, too. Ben laughed again, waving to them, and then the holo winked out.

Quinlan let the others go first, filing out of the room, chattering excitedly to each other about everything they’d learned about Mandalore from that conversation. He didn’t join in, instead taking a second to think about everything he had learned.

His friend was okay. He was alright, and he was safe, far away from the Senate that didn’t care about what happened to him. He still seemed… weird, different, somehow, from the Obi-Wan Quinlan had always known, but…

Ben’s visions were better, now that he wasn’t in the Temple anymore—which wasn’t really a surprise, since Quinlan knew what he’d been seeing, the Temple on fire, all the Jedi dead… And he really did seem happy with his new family, comfortable with them, and they obviously liked him, too.

Plus, Ben becoming a Mandalorian had made them talk to the Jedi for the first time in… well, probably longer than even Master Yoda could remember. The Force was calm, and Ben had been, too, and even though he really, really missed his best friend…

Quinlan finally started to think that maybe everything actually would be alright. Ben was right—he probably should have a little more faith. The Force was with them, and he had to trust it to take care of his friend when he wasn’t there to do it.

Notes:

Mando'a:
Jetii’ruus - Jedi rock (what they call the crystal, LOL)
shar'tas - chestplate (the bottom plate of the chest armor)

Ben: Yay! Bled crystal, gimme gimme gimme, I can fix it!
Crystal: FINALLY I’VE BEEN ALONE FOR SO FUCKING LONG *clings*
(Several hours later)
Jaster: You worried me, ad’ika! You worried Jango! You worried the Archivist! You worried my verd’e! You’re not doing that again!
Ben: But but but— *Makes a pouty face and tooka eyes* But daaaaaaa-aaaaaaad—
Jaster: …okay, fine. You can do that again, but you have to have *supervision.*
Ben: Hmm. Not ideal, but fine. I accept your terms.

Jango, in the background: Fucking Force osik. It’s always gonna be *something* with Ben, isn’t it??? I can already tell. Fuck my life. …at least he’s cute tho.

Quinlan: The government tried to send my BFF back to an abusive home and parents who tried to murder him, so I’m becoming an anarchist. BURN DOWN THE SENATE! LET’S START A JEDI RIOT!
Tholme: *sighs* Calm down, Quinlan. Your friend is fine. Plo promised—and look, he has holos.
Quinlan: …huh. Well, at least he’s okay.
Also Quinlan: (I still hate the Republic Senate, tho. We should really do something about those guys.)
Jango: Murdering your problems with fire, huh? I think I like you, Jeti’ika. ;D

Will Syldar regret not talking to Jaster and telling him what Ben *actually* said about the crystal? Yes, yes he will. Very soon, as a matter of fact. ;)
(Also if you can guess whose crystal that was, you’ll win all of the internet points! :P Ben’s not going to be able to figure it out for quite some time, though…)

Chapter 5

Notes:

Aaaah, thank you so much for all the comments and kudos on this ridiculousness! :D It's been fun to write, so I'm glad it seems like it's also been fun for you to read! And the guesses about whose lightsaber crystal that was made me grin. It'll be another few years for Ben before he figures it out... :P

Just a heads up, there are a few small time skips here, one after the first section and another time skip near the end of the chapter, though nothing huge. We still have some time with Baby-Wan to go yet! ;D

With that, I hope you enjoy!

Korr.

Having been on leave for the season with his Clan back on Harswee, Korr had had no idea that the Mand’alor had adopted another foundling until he’d returned two days ago. While that in itself wasn’t much of a surprise, the rest of what he had learned about Ben Mereel had been quite… unexpected.

The explanation for how the Mand’alor had come to adopt a Jeti’ika had made him curse the Republic’s incompetent and cruel government, though he couldn’t have honestly claimed to have been shocked by their actions. Experience had taught him to expect the worst from the Republic, after all, and they’d certainly delivered this time.

As for the rest of what Korr had heard about Ben… The other Headhunters had been all too happy to gossip about the newest Ad be’Alor, telling him what the adiik had been up to in the month he’d been with them so far, and describing him for Korr. Copikla topped that list, though strange came in just below it as the most common descriptor, though that was put down to him having been raised by the Jetiise, and what they all described as a startling intellect, especially for his age. Sweet, generally calm, even-tempered, and curious had been the other notable descriptors they gave.

When Jaster had reached out, asking if he would be willing to work with Ben, Korr had immediately agreed. He was already off of the deployment rotations this season anyway, remaining in Keldabe to teach, and as one of the Haat’ade  who were always left behind in the capital for its protection, and he was one of the few who’d had intensive training for his connection to the ka’ra. Assisting their ad’e in such skills was both a duty and a pleasure. Jaster had been relieved when he’d accepted, and Ben had apparently been quite eager to begin, their first session starting barely a full two days after Korr had returned.

Now, Korr stared down at the adiik in front of him, and he stared openly back, the two studying each other intently. As promised, Ben was indeed very copikla, a small, pale near-human with bright copper hair and wide blue eyes. Korr reached out to him in the ka’ra, getting a sense of warm-Light, but not much more than that—at least not until Ben reached back, brushing up against him.

Greeting-excitement-questioning was projected at him; Korr smiled, returning greeting-warmth to him. Ben’s eyes lit up, and the miniscule smile on his face grew wider.

“Su’cuy, ad’ika,” Korr finally said. “Gar gai Ben Mereel, ‘lek?”

“‘Lek,” Ben confirmed immediately, nodding. “Bal gar gai Korr Neda, ‘lek?”

Korr nodded. The adiik’s Mando’a was coming along well, everyone reported, especially given that he’d been in Keldabe for less than a month so far. Still, Korr decided to continue in Basic, at least for now, to make things easier on him.

“I think we’ll go down to the gardens for this,” Korr said. “If you’ve no objections?” He directed the question towards Jaster, standing behind Ben and watching the two of them, obviously hovering while still trying to give them space to interact on their own terms. Ah, to have a new foundling, the struggle to balance the mix of protectiveness and encouraging their curiosity…

“Nayc,” Jaster said. “Comm me if you’re going to be late for midmeal, ‘lek?” Korr nodded. “Jate. Have fun—but not too much fun, ad’ika.” Ben chuckled, shaking his head. Jaster tugged him back for a moment, kneeling down to hug him, and then gently pushed him towards Korr.

It wasn’t a long walk to the lift, though they went rather slowly, given Ben’s small stature and short steps. As Korr had half-expected, the questions started as soon as they started walking.

“Jaster said that you trained on Jedha?” Ben asked. Korr hummed and nodded. “What’s their training like?”

“That depends on your goals, and needs,” Korr said. “There are many seeking their help who only want to control their gifts, and their connections to the ka’ra, or the Force. Then there are others who want to develop certain skills, and others still who wish they could be rid of it entirely.”

“Trying to suppress it doesn’t usually end well, unless they’re not strong enough to notice their sensitivity in the first place,” Ben murmured.

“Nayc, it doesn’t tend to go well at all,” Korr agreed.

“I imagine there’s a great deal of shielding and meditation lessons for those who want to control their connections,” Ben said. “But what about those who want to develop their skills?”

“There are several different sects on Jedha, and even a handful of sects sharing the Temple of the Kyber in the Holy City,” Korr said. “They all work together, referring each other students as needed. The Guardians of the Whills handle the bulk of it, though, splitting their focus between the philosophy and physical training. Though they do not wield lightsabers, and tend towards staffs themselves, they do have other uses for kyber crystals. Healing crystals and focusing crystals in particular.” Korr paused, thinking about what Jaster had told him about Ben’s new “project,” and how blunt he should be with the adiik. Finally, he added, “What do you intend to do with the crystal you got from the Vault?”

“Make a lightsaber with it, eventually,” Ben said. “It’s… very opinionated, and it always felt it was meant to be a lightsaber crystal.”

“I see,” Korr said. “And you know how to make a lightsaber?” Ben nodded, humming an affirmative as they entered the lift that would take them down to the main level. “Interesting. How young do the Jetiise teach that?”

“Well,” Ben said, sounding somewhat hesitant, “though I’ve had some training in lightsaber forms, Initiates don’t usually go to find their kyber crystal until they’re about ten. But we’re taught that the Force will guide us in the process, so I’m sure when the time comes, I’ll be able to do it, if I trust in the Force.”

“I see,” Korr repeated. “And how soon do you plan to attempt it?”

“I don’t know,” Ben said. “It isn’t entirely up to me; I’ll have to wait for the crystal to acclimate to me before I try it. Otherwise, the results could be… explosive.”

Korr laughed. “Gar serim. I’ve seen what happens when those who are driven towards kyber out of greed get their hands on it,” he said. “Trying to force a kyber crystal to do anything it doesn’t wish to is… unwise.”

“‘Lek,” Ben agreed. “What did the Guardians teach you? Have you taught any others since then?”

“I have, ‘lek,” Korr said. “Several of my own Clan’s ad’e have needed such instruction. Ner vod’ad’e —my brother’s foundlings. We ka’ra’tigaanla seem to be drawn to each other, one way or another. As for the Guardians… I initially went to Jedha to learn to control my gifts. I presented later, when I was about ten, which isn’t necessarily uncommon for Mando’ade from more traditional Clans. We theorize that it’s the abundant presence of beskar that stifles it in the early years.” Ben hummed again, tilting his head. “We first learned I was ka’ra’tigaanla when I shattered a window from across the room while upset. Not even a week later, I began having visions, and ner buir’e feared that I would get myself stuck, lost in the ka’ra.

“One of the others in our Clan who is sensitive tried to help me, but when that wasn’t sufficient, one of my buir’e —my mother—took me to Jedha. She stayed there with me for the two years I studied with the Guardians. When I arrived, and began the outreach meditations—the Jetiise teach that one as well, I believe, ‘lek?” Korr asked.

“‘Lek, they do. It’s one of the earliest meditations we learn,” Ben said. Korr nodded.

“Once I began the outreach exercises, learning how to reach for the ka’ra more deliberately, my visions grew even worse—both more frequent and longer in duration,” Korr said. “So I was referred to several of the more senior Guardians, those among them who are ka’ra’tigaanla themselves, since not all of the Guardians are. They taught me to ground myself, and how to shield myself from the visions when necessary, but also how to reach out to sense the shape of the future. My visions have grown less frequent, over time, and when I deliberately attempt to reach out to sense the future, what I see is even more vague than what I see when the ka’ra sends a vision to me of its own accord.” Korr leaned down, giving Ben a bit of a smirk. “And, I admit, I did spend a bit of time learning to jump, fall, and use the ka’ra while fighting.”

Ben smiled. “Force leaps and falls are fun, aren’t they?” he asked, and Korr laughed.

“‘Lek, they are,” he agreed. “Though I’d recommend warning your buir before you demonstrate or practice such skills, lest he have a heart attack.”

Ben laughed, looking, for a moment, like the adiik he actually was instead of the too-serious, too-articulate miniature adult he presented himself as. “That’s probably wise,” he said as the lift doors open. Korr offered his hand, and Ben took it, letting him lead him towards the gardens. “I didn’t realize that the Guardians of the Whills aren’t all Force-sensitive.”

“Nayc, they aren’t,” Korr said. “The Guardians of the Whills are a Force religion, not an organization of Force-sensitives themselves. Their current Alor isn’t sensitive at all, and it’s split about half and half in the rest of the ranks. I’m sure that in itself lends to some differences in their teachings and practices from the Jetii’tsad.”

Ben hummed again. “And what did the Guardians think of Mandalorian Force traditions? Were they compatible?”

“The Guardians of the Whills are very open to other beliefs, much like the other Jedha Anchorite sects,” he said. “They believe that all Force traditions are true simultaneously, just different interpretations of the same cosmic energy. They believe that all beings, places, and things are connected in a network of sorts, and the ka’ra, or the Force, is a key to enlightenment, and seeing those connections. By studying all of the various interpretations, they feel that they grow that much closer to understanding that ‘cosmic energy.’”

“That’s fascinating—and quite dissimilar to the Jedi,” Ben said. “There is some room for interpretation in certain things, but many aspects and teachings are… written in stone, shall we say.” Korr grunted an acknowledgement, tugging Ben’s hand to take him down the correct path towards the exit. “The Jedi think that Force apparitions, or Force ghosts, are heresy, as one example.”

Korr couldn’t quite help himself, laughing again. “Oh, ad’ika,” he sighed. “That must be strange for you, then, learning about Mandalorian beliefs.”

Ben laughed then, too. “Not particularly,” he said. “Force apparitions are absolutely real, no matter what the Council says. It’s just an extension of the Code: ‘There is no death, there is only the Force.’ And if Force apparitions are real, and one can keep their individual consciousness after death and reach out to the living world, then I don’t see why Mando’ade couldn’t do it from within the Manda.”

“You’re very open-minded,” Korr said. “Did the Jetiise know that you believe in Force ghosts?”

“Not the Council, nayc,” Ben said, slower, almost hesitant again, “but it was a Jedi Master who told me they were real, and described how to manifest after death. Though he wa— is seen as something of a… maverick. I don’t think his belief is widely shared. He did tell me, though, that he learned about it from the Guardians himself.”

Korr hummed again, rather stuck on how Ben had phrased that. He’d nearly said “was” instead of “is,” as if having to remind himself that this Master was still alive. Interesting—perhaps something to do with one of Ben’s visions? If he was losing his sense of time, his sense of the present, like that… It wasn’t a very good sign. Korr made a mental note to pay attention to that, to see if it would persist, or if it was just a one-off.

“What would you like to learn, Ben?” Korr asked. “I may not be able to teach you everything, but there are other ka’ra’tigaanla among us I have contact with who could help.”

“Anything and everything that I can,” Ben answered immediately, and Korr laughed. “Though not Dark Side techniques. Learning about them is one thing, to be able to combat it, but attempting them is… Well, it’s not something I’d be willing to do.”

“Given that your Jetiise think ghosts are heresy,” Korr said carefully, “I have to wonder if their views will have an impact on what you consider ‘Dark?’”

“Nayc,” Ben said, shaking his head. “The Light Side of Force is rather clear when it doesn’t want you to do something. It will tell me if simple logic doesn’t. I would be interested in learning that meditation the Guardians taught you, to deliberately sense the future. That sort of thing was… distrusted, and discouraged, in the Order.”

“Alright,” Korr agreed, pausing at the door that led directly into the gardens. “You aren’t usually overwhelmed by too much life, are you?” Ben shook his head again, and Korr smiled. “Jate. Here we are, then: the gardens.”

He opened the door, looking at Ben rather than at the vibrant, flowering space in front of them. Jaster had already told him that he hadn’t yet had a chance to show the gardens to his newest foundling, and the look on Ben’s face was wonderful. His eyes went wide, a delighted—if still rather small—smile on his face, and he bounced briefly on the balls of his feet, looking out at it all: the little waterfalls, the towering trees providing shade, the lower, thick bushes and flowers, the tall grass…

“It’s beautiful,” Ben said. “The Force is singing, here, with all of this greenery.”

Korr laughed again and gently tugged on Ben’s hand. “Come, this way. I have the perfect spot in mind for our meditation.”

---

Once they were settled, and Ben drew the crystal Jaster had told him he’d been working with out of his pocket, Korr immediately wondered why he hadn’t been able to hear it, to feel it. The crystal was murky, muddied, with darker spots on it, and he knew what that meant: the crystal had been at least partially Bled, harmed in some way, to some degree. He had seen a few like it on Jedha, and knew that he should have been able to feel-hear it screaming, angrily buzzing against his skin. But, truthfully, Korr hadn’t had any idea that Ben had even had the crystal with him, until he’d pulled it out of his pocket.

How… strange.

Still, Korr intended to allow Ben to proceed as he intended, keeping an eye on his presence in the ka’ra, waiting to feel the ripples that signalled trouble or distress. Ben set the crystal down between them, both of them sitting cross-legged in a clearing, surrounded and hidden by the tall grass, and then, in unison, they both closed their eyes, taking slow, deep breaths.

It was easy for Korr, by now, to reach for the ka’ra. His training on Jedha had been over thirty years ago, now, and he’d continued his exercises diligently ever since then. It seemed just as easy for Ben, looking at his presence, watching him gently slide from alert-aware into gentle-floating-bobbing-on-the-currents in a matter of minutes.

But Korr still couldn’t feel him reach for the crystal, still couldn’t even sense it even though he knew that it was there. Intrigued, Korr started reaching, probing to try to find it. He skirted Ben’s presence, first, that feeling of warmth-Light-calm, until he met the adiik’s shields. He gently felt the shape of them, projecting his intent as he did so, that he only wanted to see what sort of progress Ben had made on that front already, and met no resistance as he mapped out the shape and scale of them.

They were… immense. Staggering. Frankly, not even the majority of the Guardians who were ka’ra’tigaanla had these sorts of shields.

Because Ben didn’t view him as a threat, and understood the inherent request in Korr’s search, he allowed him to peer at the outermost defenses, not paying him any mind and continuing with his task. They were so broad, so thick, that Korr knew it was only because Ben had wanted him to that Korr could even sense that he was ka’ra’tigaanla at all. The few “weaker” points he found felt like quicksand, or the feeling the ka’ra had sent him that time he’d been on Vanqor, and unknowingly standing next to a gundark’s nest, leaping away and hitting his sen’tra just in time, before it could actually hit him.

Those weren’t weak points, those gaps in Ben’s shields—they were traps.

Where had a six-year-old adiik learned to shield like this? Were all Jetii’adiik’e so… competent when it came to shielding techniques?

Those questions were chased from Korr’s mind as he suddenly realized why he hadn’t sensed the kyber crystal Ben had carried here: the adiik had extended his own shields to the crystal, hiding it from others’ senses.

Korr pulled back, then, behind his own shields, trying to keep his emotions from reaching Ben as he turned over that realization. He could accomplish the most important task Jaster had asked his help with, and keep watch over Ben in his meditation, ensuring he didn’t slip away too deeply into the ka’ra, but he had a feeling that he could learn just as much from Ben as he could teach the adiik—if not more, in some areas.

Perhaps, Korr thought, he would ask Jaster if he would consider sending Ben to Jedha, at least for a while. Next time Korr wrote to his old mentors, he could also ask if they had any advice on this… unusual situation.

But for now, Korr let it go with a slow breath, and turned his attention back to the adiik’s now focused-warm-bright-determined presence. Korr nudged himself into a deeper trance, and attentively watched for any of the ripples that signalled trouble heading their way.

---

-One month later-

Jango.

Ben was… smart. Really, really smart. Not “smart for his age,” he was just… smart. In general. It was a little weird, but then, a lot of things about Ben were… odd. Even for a Jetii’adiik —the handful of comms they’d had so far with his Jetii’vod’e, his… “crechemates,” as they were called, had been enough to tell Jango that much. The others had all been… adorably, normally childish. Not like Ben.

The first time Jango had left Ben alone for five minutes in the Archives in the Alori’ya, he’d come back to find his vod’ika deep in a very animated discussion on the comparison of Mandalorian architecture before and after the Dral’han with Syldar. The next time Jango had left him alone in the Archives, when he’d gone back to get him, he’d found that Ben had checked out a stack of datapads on mixed-unit tactics and guerilla warfare.

Mere minutes after that, Ben had made Jango very seriously regret asking if maybe Ben’ika wanted to check out a few other books, like Dannen Goes to Keldabe, a… normal children’s book. Ben had gotten so far into a lecture on how crucial it was to be exposed to as wide a variety of tactics as possible, and the importance of studying it from as many different angles as you could, that Jango had felt like he was back in grumpy old man Skirata’s lessons.

So, ‘lek, Ben was… smart. Not just smart compared to the average six-year-old, but really, really intelligent. If Jango closed his eyes, and didn’t pay much attention to how high his voice was, he could almost imagine that Ben’ika was an adult already. Looking at him, with his round cheeks and big blue eyes and tiny hands, was definitely enough to dispel that illusion, but, still.

Which was why the rare… outbursts, those few times when he actually acted like the adiik he was, always came as such a surprise.

“Me’vaar ti gar? Are you hurt?” Jango knelt down beside him, carefully looking Ben over. Kriff, if he’d managed to hurt himself in their rooms, Jaster was never going to let him babysit again.

Ben was still sitting where Jango had left him, on one of the cushions in the karyai in their residence in the Alori’ya, though he had been reading one of his books. Jango had left to make shig, and come back in to find his vod’ika staring off into space, crying, his little face scrunched up in a way that made Jango want to kill whoever or whatever had put that look there.

“N-no,” Ben hiccuped through his tears, blinking up at him.

“Are you… sad?”

“N-no?”

“Um, then… Why are you… upset? What’s wrong, vod’ika?”

Ben sniffed, fat tears still rolling down his cheeks. “I’m six,” he finally said. “M-my prefrontal c-cortex isn’t fully d-developed, yet.”

“Oh.” Jango floundered, for a moment. “Um.” He was reminded yet again that Ben was not a… normal child. How was he even supposed to respond to that? Would the usual methods work to cheer him up? Kriff, what was Jango supposed to do?

Thankfully, Ben put a stop to his rising panic for him. He’d set aside his datapad already, one of the ones on historical examples of notable, effective stealth manoeuvres in the context of guerilla warfare (seriously, Ben’ika was not a normal child), and raised his little arms up. Jango knew, at least, what to do about that, and immediately scooped up his vod’ika, and then sat them both down on his cushion, settling Ben in his lap.

Ben leaned into him, and Jango spared a moment to be grateful that he’d already taken his beskar’gam off for the day, making it more comfortable for him. Ben sniffled and hiccuped for a while, and Jango rubbed his back.

Finally, Ben asked, “Will you r-read to me?”

“You mean you want me to read your book to you?” Jango asked, not at all certain that reading a book about warfare to an adiik who was already crying was a good way to make them stop crying.

“‘Lek.”

“...okay,” Jango agreed anyway, because, not so deep down at all, he was a soft touch. At least for Ben’ika—his vod’ika was so… small, and squishy, and copikla. Jango didn’t want to meet the sort of chakaar who could say no to Ben and not feel at least a little bad about it. So Jango leaned over to grab the datapad, powered it back on, and started reading.

If Jaster had any… questions, when he got home and found his older son holding his younger son, reading a historical tactical manual aloud instead of literally anything else, he didn’t ask them. Instead, he simply stood there for a long moment, leaning against the wall just inside the door, smiling softly as he watched, waving a hand for Jango to keep going when he looked up in silent question.

At least until Ben picked up his head from where he’d tucked his face into Jango’s shoulder, smiled at their buir, and held out a hand in a silent but clear demand. Then, Jaster proved he was just as soft as Jango was, and immediately went over to join his ad’e.

---

Ben.

Ben was a Jedi Master. He had sixty years of life experience (relatively speaking, though those last three years, he hadn’t exactly been alive), and he knew how to sink so easily into the Force that it was just as instinctive as breathing, by now, to release his feelings when his turmoil became too much for him to handle alone. Or—well.

He had.

While he still had the memories of his former life, good and bad, and he still had his connection to the Force, he was no longer Ben Kenobi, Jedi Master, Wizard of the Jundland Wastes, Wanderer of the Dune Sea. He was Ben Mereel, the six-year-old adopted son of the Mand’alor.

All of those memories, all of that knowledge, had been shoved into this body. But this body was six, not sixty. And there were definitely times when Ben was reminded of that fact. His mind remembered, yes, but it hadn’t yet developed. His emotional regulation left much to be desired, his connection to the Force hadn’t fully deepened into what he knew it one day would (though it had already expanded from what he knew it had been like when he truly had been six), and, perhaps most embarrassingly, he loved hugs.

Ben had wondered, a bit, about how convincing his performance of a child might have been. He had already resolved not to try to pretend, however, because, at some point, if he slipped up, and revealed something he shouldn’t, that would only bring more questions. No, best to be himself, or as close to it as this six-year-old self could manage. Still, he had wondered: would Jaster, Jango, or any of the Haat’ade they were surrounded by eventually realize that he wasn’t quite what he appeared to be? If they did, how long would he have before they started to figure something out?

As it turned out, he needn’t have bothered trying to plan for that eventuality. Though Ben had overheard more than a few whispers about how “smart” he was (the word “genius” had been thrown around, a few times, which made him snicker to himself; he wouldn’t call himself an idiot, most days, but he was far from a genius —though how else were they supposed to explain the sort of knowledge and understanding of complex, nuanced topics he had?), none of them seemed suspicious.

And why should they have been? Yes, Ben was well-spoken, generally calmer than the average child, polite, and intelligent, but, just like any other six-year-old, Ben had his… moments.

Such as this one, crying and sniffling into his ori’vod’s shoulder, sitting in his lap.

(Force, Ben was crying into Jango kriffing Fett’s shoulder. Some days, this second life was still… so strange, so utterly ridiculous.)

The flood of tears had come on so suddenly —he’d felt a little tug on his bond with Quinlan, the most either of them could manage when they were so far away from each other, and then he’d just… burst into tears. Ben didn’t even know why it had made him cry—was it just that he missed Quinlan? Was he mourning his old life as a Jedi? Was he touched by Quinlan’s thoughtfulness, and the fact that he still tugged on the bond every day, at least once (even though it had been a month already since they’d last seen each other in person—an eternity, to a real child)? Was he still reeling from the knowledge that all of those Jedi he had once known had died, just as he had, and now he had them back, only to have left them again, even though he knew he couldn’t have stayed, and this was just another reminder of it all?

He hadn’t even had time to examine the feelings, the first step of his usual process of releasing them into the Force, before he’d felt his face crumple, tears burning at the back of his eyes, which had then fallen before he could make any real attempt to calm himself down. That, of course, was when Jango had walked back into the room.

His ori’vod’s not-quite-panicked concern for him was touching, and a bit funny, in a way; still, the tears had refused to stop, and Ben himself hadn’t even known the answers to the questions Jango asked him. Only half-aware of making the decision to do so—likely spurred at least in part by this body’s conditioning, its muscle memory, its existing neural pathways telling him what to do by force of habit—he’d raised his arms up, and quickly found himself cuddled in Jango’s lap.

Jango had been patient, waiting for the waterworks to be over, though it felt like hours until Ben finally started to calm. Once the crying actually stopped, leaving him with those intermittently hiccuping breaths, Ben had been utterly wrung out, and reminded yet again of another difference: this body had virtually no stamina.

Force, he was so tired. Being six again was exhausting.

But he really had wanted to read that book, and he’d reached such an engaging passage before Quinlan had distracted him… His head was pounding sluggishly, his eyes still prickly, no doubt red and swollen, and reading didn’t seem to be in the cards anymore.

Unless…

“Will you r-read to me?” He sounded pathetic and small, even to his own ears, still hiccuping, a bit.

“You mean you want me to read your book to you?” Jango asked, sounding dubious. Ben wondered if he thought that reading about guerilla warfare had made him cry. He hoped not; he’d prefer it if that book wasn’t taken away from him. It really was incredibly interesting.

“‘Lek,” Ben said—or, well, mumbled, really, face still mostly-buried in Jango’s shoulder.

“...okay,” Jango finally agreed. Ben had settled in to listen, and quickly regretted his request.

Force, it could have been Alpha-17, or Cody, in that moment, or even Rex, planning for a campaign, drudging up one of the strategies they’d studied on Kamino that they thought they could adapt—

Ben felt the sting of tears behind his eyes again and quickly turned to the Force (even as he sniffled a bit pitifully again), and then steered himself towards Jango’s presence, easily felt without his beskar’gam on. It was so different, now, to how it had felt on Kamino, the first and only time they’d ever actually met, last time. There were a few strands of Darkness, but they were like old scars, mostly healed over—the loss of his birth family, no doubt. But outside of those few traces, Jango was warm, and Light, and unique, just as all individuals were, in the Force.

That made it easier, and Ben no longer heard the ghosts of his Commanders, or Captain Rex—then, it was just Jango. His ori’vod. He squirmed, a bit, until he was more comfortable, one ear pressed against Jango’s chest, over his heart, listening to the steady and soothing thump of his pulse, and the other ear listening to Jango’s words as they floated around him.

Before he turned his full attention to what Jango was reading, Ben took just a moment to resolve to do a bit more research, next time they took a trip to the Archives, on human and near-human anatomy, physiology, and development. He needed to recon, to figure out how long this horrible lack of emotional regulation would last.

…but, in the meantime, he supposed this part wasn’t so terrible.

---

 

-Two months later-

Yan Dooku.

[Su’cuy, Plo-

Me’vaar ti gar? Things are going well on the home front, for us. We’ve been busy, so I haven’t gotten a chance to finish that treatise you sent me on Jedi neutrality and how that fits into your emotional compartmentalization, release, and expression in public versus private settings, but I’m about halfway through it, and it’s a fascinating read so far. I’ve also attached one of the studies from the university in Sundari that I thought you might find interesting, related to our last discussion on how your people honor and express ties to their birth cultures. Mando’ade tend to do the same; once foundlings started to join with the Taung, they began borrowing and adopting traditions and beliefs from their cultures, tying them into our own. We have our versions of the kalikori, Clan and House-specific tattoos, and several different holiday and festival traditions we’ve adopted, just to mention a few examples. The paper I sent is far more exhaustive.

I did want to ask you something, though. In our conversation on your lightsaber colors, you’d listed blue, green, orange, yellow, and very rarely purple and pink as the possible colors for the blade, and what those mean to you. I looked back at that message, but I don’t see anything about a white blade. Ben’ika just built one, and he eventually stood still long enough for me to get a good holo for you, so I’ve attached that. I’m not sure what it means that it’s white? I asked Ben, but his answer was a little… vague, something about the Light and healing and Darkness. Any clarification you could give me would be appreciated.

Now that he has his own lightsaber, Ben’s started practicing with it, and it’s impressive, but also the most terrifying (and the most adorable) thing I’ve ever seen. Is it normal for him to be able to jump so high already? I know you said your Masters can Force leap incredible heights, but Ben’ika is still not-quite-seven, so I wasn’t really expecting that from him. Anyway, I also attached a ‘vid of some of his practice; we can give him general feedback on his form, but the styles he’s using aren’t familiar to us at all, so we wouldn’t know if he’s doing any of it incorrectly. He’s also been trying to convince me to let him use a few of the droids to practice “deflecting blaster fire,” which even on a stun setting, I’m not terribly comfortable with. Is that a normal exercise for your young?

I do have a message for you from Ben personally this time, before I sign off. He had another vision (and ka’ra, do they ever get less disturbing? Even knowing what’s happening, it’s still frightening to have my ad stop reacting to the rest of the world for several minutes at a time), and he wanted me to tell you that you need to find someone named Xanatos du Crion. A former-apprentice, I think he said? He told me that you would know who he was talking about. Apparently, if he’s not found soon, he’ll go on to cause suffering and meet a “Dark end” (and ‘lek, he insisted I use the capital dorn for that; he was very specific). I hope you know who and what he means.

All of that said, I hope you’re doing well. I couldn’t help myself, so I attached a third holo that I hope brightens your day.

Ret’urcye mhi
-Jaster]

As promised, there were four attachments: the first was a clear, still shot of former-Initiate Kenobi, now Ben Mereel, son of the Mand’alor, looking up at the camera with wide blue eyes, holding up a white-bladed lightsaber in the opening stance of Soresu; the second was a holovid—2D, not a full holo—of the child working his way through Ataru katas; the third was another still image, a teenager and young Ben standing side-by-side in a kitchen, both of them covered by what looked to be flour from head to toe, the kitchen around them an equal mess. Yan thought the older child was likely Mereel’s other son, Jango Fett. The final attachment was the promised paper from Sundari University, and Yan saved that one to review at a later time.

Yan stared at the holos for a long moment, then finally closed the message, setting his datapad aside. When Plo had forwarded this to the entirety of the High Council’s personal comms (the comms the Senate was unaware they had, of course), Yan hadn’t known what to expect. He had known, of course, that Jaster Mereel had reached back out to Plo after he’d returned to Mandalore with their former member, Plo having shown them that message as well. The list of questions Mereel had asked was impressive, both in terms of sheer volume and in the depth and nuance of those questions. The Council had been pleased by his interest, and the specific questions he’d asked of them, the Mand’alor proving himself to be quite an intelligent being, far from the brute many assumed would lead Mandalorians.

Though Yan hadn’t been aware that Plo had continued corresponding with Mereel for the past three months since Ben had left them, it didn’t surprise him, nor did he think it was a bad idea. Keeping tabs on Initiate Kenobi this way and building a personal relationship with the Mand’alor were important goals, of course—particularly the latter. Given their plans, the steps they were taking to ensure their Order’s freedom and safety, they could use every ally outside the Republic’s influence they could find.

But this message… The revelations were nothing short of astounding.

Ben Mereel, formerly Jedi Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi, had purified a Bled crystal and constructed his own lightsaber. And he had done so at the age of six, without the guidance of a Master.

Ben Mereel also demonstrated a knowledge of lightsaber forms well beyond anything they taught to Initiates that young. Before he had left the Temple, he had had two introductory lightsaber classes, both using training ‘sabers, and focusing only on Shii-Cho, the first form. But the ‘vid the Mand’alor had sent showed the youngling working through Ataru as if he already knew these katas, and the first holo was clearly a Soresu stance. Neither form was one the child should have known well enough to practice on his own.

Then there was the final revelation, one that was somewhat more… personal for Yan. Two years prior, Qui-Gon had returned to the Temple without his apprentice, their bond in tatters, obviously having been roughly broken, crudely severed. Qui-Gon had told them that Xanatos had perished on that mission to his homeworld, what had been meant to stand as his Trials.

And yet, Ben Mereel had had a vision of Xanatos, alive and well enough to cause trouble.

Yan took another deep, slow breath, and then stood. Tea was in order, he thought, and then he could formulate a reply to all of that.

---

The mysteries surrounding “Ben Mereel” only deepened once Yan read through his Temple files. He had only been with them for three years before he had left. That he had visions was noted in his file, though they were usually described by his creche Master, and Master Yoda, who had gone down to the creche in the middle of the night several times when the youngling’s visions were disturbing enough to warrant it, as “vague.”

How had Ben been able to determine that his vision had been about Xanatos du Crion, a person he had never met? How had he been able to heal a Bled crystal? How had he been able to construct his own lightsaber without any instruction? How had he come to know several lightsaber forms he had never practiced before?

There were a few documented cases in the Archives of Jedi, from younglings up to Knights, suddenly gaining new skills after deep communion with the Force, though in every one of those cases, the beings in question had had incredibly high midichlorian counts. Ben’s count was on the higher side at 13,000, over twice the minimum requirement for admission into the Jedi Order’s Knight Corps, but it wasn’t what Yan would call astronomical. Given this message, and the evidence before him which no other theory could explain, however… Yan had to wonder if they had been wrong about his count, either some error with the scanner or an error in his documentation by the Healers.

By the time Yan was finished with his tea, he had decided what course of action he would like to suggest. His request to meet in Yaddle’s quarters for “tea and another rousing debate on Force theory” (their usual excuse put in writing when they wished to meet without having their conversation recorded to be reviewed by the Senate, later, in all probability) was met with immediate agreement by all of the Councilors.

---

Twelve Jedi in a single set of rooms made for a tight fit, but they managed, all of them packing into Yaddle’s living room, seated on cushions with their knees brushing, the circle far closer here than in the Chambers.

These informal Council sessions went more smoothly and more quickly than usual—Yan had been pleasantly surprised by that development. Since they had chosen their course, the new direction they would take the Order in, the Force had been Lighter. That in itself had proven to all of them how necessary this was, sensing the Force’s approval of their actions, and arguments between them were far fewer, with the Force feeling suddenly so much clearer than it had in decades. Matters that, only a few months before, would have been debated for weeks before a vote was called and action taken were now decided in an hour or less, over tea in Yaddle’s quarters.

“And the search? How goes it, hmm?” Yoda hummed, and Yan steered his wandering thoughts back to the meeting.

“We have several promising options,” Yan said. He tipped his head towards Yaddle herself, who had been assisting him in this arena. “Master Yaddle and I have narrowed down three locations likely to work well, though personal investigations will still need to be conducted to judge the feasibility, and suitability, of these places. As a matter of fact, I would like to depart within the next week to investigate our forerunner for a primary location. It is a jungle moon, entirely uninhabited, and unclaimed: Yavin IV. The Yavin system is close to both Serenno and Mandalore, and though the former is a member of the Republic, at present, I have heard that they are looking for any excuse to leave it. Though there are two Sith Temples on Yavin, they haven’t been inhabited for several millennia. With the Living Force surrounding it in such a way, and so much time having passed since its occupation by Darksiders, I believe it would have been cleansed well enough, by now.”

“Hmm,” Yoda hummed, tilting his head and shooting out a questioning ping in the Force through the network of Council bonds. The Force whispered encouragement, and waves of agreement were returned in short order. Yoda nodded, his ears flicking. “Yes, yes. Go to Yavin, you will. If suit, it will, visit Serenno, you should. Wary of most Jedi, they are, but know you, they do.”

Yan tipped his head. “As you say, Master. Yavin would also make a convenient starting point for a visit to Mandalore as well, I believe.”

Yoda’s ears flicked again, this time straight up in a sure sign of interest before falling back into a relaxed position. “Hmm. Yes, much to see and do, there is on Mandalore. Accepting of a visit, do you believe they would be?” he asked, directing that to Plo.

“I believe so,” he said. “Mand’alor Mereel has been quite courteous and friendly in our messages thus far, and he reports that there are no negative feelings towards his new son among his people for his origins.”

“Then done, it will be,” Yoda declared. “Visit Yavin, Serenno, and Mandalore, you will. And the other locations?”

“Our second choice would be Lothal,” Yaddle said. “It’s a small world, out of the way, off of most hyperlanes, and not part of the Republic. It’s largely agrarian, and there is a Jedi Temple there already.”

“I can visit Lothal,” Jocasta offered. “A joint team from the EduCorps and the ExploraCorps can accompany me to explore the old Temple, to justify it to the Senate.”

“Good, good,” Yoda hummed, nodding again. “And the third?”

“Lasan,” Yan said. “Another small world in the Outer Rim, unaffiliated with the Republic. I would suggest we send Master Tapal, as that is his homeworld, and he has already returned twice since joining the Order.”

“Done, it will be,” Yoda agreed. “Know young Master Tapal, I do. Summon him, and explain his mission, I will.”

“Then we have our next steps,” Mace said. “And all that remains is the logistics.”

“The Service Corps will need to be involved,” Yaddle said. “There is simply no other way to accomplish the plan we have made without their assistance. I will visit the AgriCorps on Taanab, and Master Nu can explain it to the EduCorps and ExploraCorps during the journey to Lothal. With their help, we will have both enough ships at our disposal, and enough locations to use until we have everything in place at our new permanent Temples.”

Another ping of agreement flowed through their bonds, and they all nodded. The Force practically sang with Light, with the rightness of their actions and decisions, and most of them smiled.

Yan, having too many other matters on his mind, didn’t join them. “There is one… other matter,” he said, looking to Plo. “We have all seen Mand’alor Mereel’s latest message, I presume?” Another round of nods confirmed that they had. “Then what are we to do about the child—the skills he should not have, and the vision he described?”

“Summoned Master Jinn back to the Temple, we have already,” Yoda said. “Question him further about that mission, we will. Then the Shadows, we will send, to search for du Crion.”

“As for the youngling,” Yaddle said, “you will have the opportunity to speak with him during your visit, I’m certain. By all means, inquire about his advanced knowledge and skills, but don’t press overly much. If that crystal truly has been healed, and is bonded to him, then all indications would show that he is still very much of the Light. If that is the case, then we cannot risk alienating the Mand’alor over this, no matter how interesting a mystery this presents. Confirm that he hasn’t gained such knowledge through… unsavory means—” Sith holocrons or Dark-leaning Mandalorian Force-sensitives, Yan knew she meant, and he nodded. “—and accept what answers they are willing to provide.”

“As you say,” Yan agreed. The discussion on that topic came to a close, with nothing more to be said. They all wanted answers, but couldn’t afford to force the child to give them, if he was unwilling to do so. Still… Yan could be persuasive, when he put his mind to it.

“Now, Master Nu,” Yaddle said, steering them onto the next topic, “how are your preparations going?”

“The first two copies of the Archives databanks are progressing well,” she reported, “and the digitization of the rest of the collection that hadn’t yet been added has been more heavily prioritized. The Archivist droids are working around the clock; if I could enlist the help of the EduCorps in that as well, then our progress would come even more quickly…”

Yan sat back on his cushion, content to listen to the discussion, his part already decided. Still, he couldn’t help his thoughts wandering to his upcoming assignment. He was rather looking forward to it, and all that he might learn about Ben Mereel.

Notes:

Korr is a Chagrian in his mid-forties. I intended to write that first part from Ben’s POV, and then an end section from Ben’s POV with Korr, but Ben just wasn’t cooperating after his tantrum. Poor not-a-baby-baby needed some time, I guess! Anyway, so I was going to give a physical description of Korr in this chapter, but it’s being pushed off to the next. Those who’ve read my other fics know how these things tend to balloon on me, LOL! XD

Hope you enjoyed! :D

Korr: Jaster adopted a Jetii'adiik? ...well. Okay. He wants me to watch him? ...well. Okay.
Ben: A Force-sensitive Mandalorian trained on Jedha?!?! Wow! Cool!
Korr: ...wow, Ben's got this Force-stuff down already. What are the Jetiise teaching their kids???
Ben: I love learning, let's get to it! What can you teach me???
Korr: ...not as much as I expected, but... okay.

Jango: FUCK FUCK FUCK MY BABY BROTHER IS CRYING WHAT DO I DO??? What do I do, Ben, why are you sad? Who am I shooting to make it better???
Ben: I'm not sad? I'm not sure if I'm sad? I'm just... six. Children cry. I'm a child, now. ...hugs?
Jango: Okay. I can do that. But seriously, tell me if I need to shoot somebody, or break a few kneecaps.
Ben: ...sure, ori'vod. Will (definitely not) do.
Also Ben, internally: Why? Why am I like this? I hate being six. I don't like crying. Also, I miss having a beard. How long do I have to wait for facial hair? (And how long do I have to wait before random crying spells are no longer a Thing???)

Dooku: Oh, look, the Jedi are finally doing something about the corruption and Darkness I've been trying to warn them about for decades. This is good. (And it's about damn time.)
Jaster: Yeah, that's great, good stuff, the Republic is a bit shit and all that. But hey, so, my son built a lightsaber and it's not a color you guys have told me about, what does that mean??? It's white???
Dooku: ...what?
Jaster: Yeah, and he's an absolutely adorable, terrifying menace with that thing! Just look at him, those flips scare the osik out of me! Is that safe? Should he be doing that? Also he wants droids to practice shooting at him, is that normal??? He's SIX??? I feel like that's too young. Is that too young??? Please tell me that's too young!
Dooku: ...what??? That's it. I'm going to Mandalore. NOW.
Plo: Oh, wonderful! Tell Jaster I said hello, won't you? And take him these cookies I made, if you please. :D
Dooku: -_-

Chapter 6

Notes:

Hello there! I'm glad you all liked my take on a mentally older person in a very young body, LOL, and Jango and Ben's brotherly bonding, and *Dooku!* I'm fond of him, he's such a fun character to play with. We'll see him again very soon (the next chapter, if all goes to plan, but hi it's me so, yeah XD ). Anyway, thank you for all of the comments and kudos on this! I'm so jazzed that you all seem to like this mostly-fluffy ridiculousness. :)

This one turned into a pile of mushy Mereel-family-Feels, and I hope you enjoy! :D

Ben.

After three months on Mandalore, Ben had developed a comfortable routine.

Every few days, either Jaster or Jango would take him back down to the Archives to return and then replenish his stack of ‘pads. Syldar had stopped questioning his choice of reading materials, and Jaster’s only prohibitions had been against anything that was too “graphic” or too “adult.” Ben didn’t mind that, perfectly content to continue with the historical volumes and tactical treatises, both of which the Archives here had in abundance.

Jaster had told Ben that he needn’t worry about formal classes until he was seven, an important age for Mandalorian children. That was when they began to receive the first pieces of their beskar’gam, and, apparently, when they started in school. Up until that point, it was the responsibility of their individual Clan, or their House, to see to the beginnings of their education. Jaster had sighed to himself and muttered something under his breath about placement testing and Ben’s agemates, which Ben hadn’t needed him to repeat to understand. He would certainly be in classes with those far older than his physical self (and still far younger than his mental self).

And he was rather looking forward to it—he’d looked at the courses on offer in the capital, mostly taught by the verd’e who were off of the deployment roster for the season, like Korr, though there were a handful of dedicated teachers as well. There were a great many subjects they didn’t teach at the Temple, ranging from various weapons classes (skills Jedi generally weren’t taught beyond basic blaster safety, unless they were on track to becoming Shadows, and would need to know how to use other weapons proficiently to hide their status as Jedi) and tactics courses to field medicine. There was still quite a lot for Ben to learn, so much room for him to build on the knowledge he’d already gained in his first life.

Every few weeks, they went down to the communications center for a comm with his crechemates. Jaster and Jango both went with him, having grown fond of the younglings themselves, and somehow always keeping track of what each of them was up to. It was… bittersweet, even still, seeing them all so young, and childish, but it was worth it to be assured that they were alive and well, no matter how far from him they were.

Three days each week, he and Korr would go down to the gardens, where Ben spent part of that time meditating with Korr, and the rest focusing on the crystal while his “minder” focused on him. After the first few weeks, Ben could feel the beginnings, the foundations, of a bond forming between himself and the Chagrian. It was… odd, but nice.

He’d spent so long without any bonds at all, many of his bonds snapping during Order 66 and its immediate aftermath, and then having been forced to cut the rest himself all at once, playing dead to protect the twins. Then, when he’d finally let himself go, expecting to truly join with the Force, he’d been flung back in time instead, and suddenly his mind had felt almost… crowded by the number of bonds he had—all of his crechemates (even Bruck and Aalto, this far back, before they’d shut each other out and let the bonds fade), Quinlan, creche Master Shari-Ta, Master Yoda… For someone who had spent nineteen years without any bonds at all, and then the following three years dead, it was… overwhelming. It was easier to bear, now, with the distance, those bonds nothing more than a faint sense of each of their presences pulsing alive-Light-far-away.

Still, Ben felt… steadier, more settled, after each meditation with Korr, and he liked him, liked his steady-calm-good-humored-protective presence and his dry wit, and so he did nothing to halt or hinder the bond’s progress, and neither did Korr himself.

In the two weeks between his initial meditation with the crystal and Jaster coordinating with Korr to begin watching over his meditations with it, Ben had carried it around in his pocket, and that had helped, to an extent. While the Darkness still within the crystal hadn’t budged during that time, its presence had become less… wild, less feral, as it acclimated to Ben. By the time he was able to resume his task, he’d made progress much more quickly, the crystal far more willing to work with him than it had been before.

Within three months, Ben had purified the crystal. Building the lightsaber had been a rather easy task, especially compared to the process of purifying the crystal, aside from hunting down the power pack. The other components had been easily scavenged from Jorin’s forge, the goran rather perplexed by what he wanted with the scraps he asked to take, but willing to let him have them. The power pack he had eventually found had come from a custom electrostaff, put into the communal weapons storage. Jango had explained that that was where the weapons that weren’t claimed by surviving family members went after their owners retired or died. He had very strongly protested Ben having it, at least until he’d explained that it wasn't the staff he’d wanted. Ben had seen very similar weapons before, during the Empire’s reign, and the few he’d claimed from stormtroopers had held powerpacks compatible with his lightsaber, with only a few tweaks. Thankfully, that one had as well. With that find, he had gathered all of the parts he’d needed, and built it the following day, during his meditation with Korr.

It soothed something in him, knowing that he had his weapon of choice at hand, and the crystal was a good match for him. Ben knew it wasn’t the same as it had been before it had been Bled, but he wasn’t the same, after the Darkness he’d encountered in his last life. He knew how the crystal felt, and it sensed that kinship—honestly, Ben thought that was the only reason he’d been able to heal it as quickly as he had.

Well, that and the fact that the crystal could sense Ben’s intentions. It knew that Ben meant to use it, and that they could give each other back their core purpose: to act as a shield, to stand against the Darkness, to defend and protect, as the Force had promised them both so long ago.

Yes, Ben’s new life was going quite well, all told. He found a sense of calm in his routine, and joy in his new family and their earnest attempts to learn about “Jedi things,” as they put it, and teach him Mando’a and more about Mandalorian culture, and his meditations and ever-strengthening bond with Korr, and Jorin, who never sent him away when he wandered into the forge to do nothing more than watch him work.

His suspicions were turning out to be correct: he was quite happy as a Mandalorian.

(Though, somewhere deep in the back of his mind, Ben thought things were going a bit too well. Knowing his luck, he was certain it was only a matter of time before something went wrong.)

---

The instant he woke up, Ben could tell that something was amiss. As usual, even before he opened his eyes, he began stretching out his senses, probing with the Force. He already knew that he was in the karyai, that he was home, but it was a deeply ingrained habit by now, and not one he could easily break—nor did he see any need to. Ben’s awareness crept out over the rest of their rooms, finding that Jango was already gone—unsurprising, given that this was one of his days to attend lessons (and something about that was still a bit funny, sad, and strange all at once—Ben knew that, in his time, Jango Fett would have been a fifteen-nearly-sixteen-year-old Mand’alor right now, struggling to keep the Haat’ade together after Jaster’s death, but in this time, he was just another teenager, a young adult, to Mando’ade, attending classes with his friends and coming home to his aliit in the evening to complain about homework).

Jaster’s presence was easily felt, so close to him, on the couch in the karyai, and it was that sense of him that made Ben pause, that made him think something was wrong. Normally, Jaster was so calm, mostly-steady, a reassuring, steadfast sort of presence. But now, he felt like… static, his frustration and not-quite-anger buzzing around him in the Force.

Ben’s eyes flew open, and he immediately sat up, turning to his buir, finding Jaster already looking at him. “Me’vaar ti gar? What’s wrong, buir?” he asked, and Jaster took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“Come here, Ben’ika,” Jaster said, tone even, but voice not quite as gentle as usual, a bit… gruff. Ben went immediately, already bracing himself for bad news—something to do with Death Watch, perhaps, and Jaster’s former-second they’d lost before they realized he was the spy…? “Sit down.” Jaster patted the couch next to him, and Ben obeyed, climbing up onto the couch (instead of sitting down on it, Force, how long did he have to wait until he didn’t have to climb onto couches and chairs, and could just sit?) and angling himself to look at Jaster.

For a long moment, they simply stared at each other, Jaster’s presence swirling and a pit starting to open up in Ben’s stomach. Whatever it was Jaster was working up to saying, it wasn’t anything good.

“There’s… something we need to talk about,” Jaster finally said, and Ben tilted his head in silent question. “A few days ago, in one of my messages to him, I asked Plo about your kadau.”

Ben blinked at him. “You talk to Master Plo?” he asked slowly, and Jaster nodded. “Oh.” He hadn’t expected that, though that was obviously an oversight on his part. Plo had been the one to send over the EduCorps data to Jaster, after all, and if anyone on the High Council was a candidate for an unconventional friendship of sorts with the Mand’alor, it would be Plo. He was so kind, so gentle, and nonjudgemental.

“I hadn’t quite understood your own answer about the color,” Jaster said, and Ben’s stomach twisted. Oh. He saw where this was going already, and this… wasn’t ideal. “And I’d asked Plo before about the different colors, and what they mean, but he hadn’t said anything about a white blade. You know what he told me when I asked, don’t you?” Ben didn’t bother trying to lie, and simply nodded instead. Jaster nodded back. “You told me that it was a Jetii crystal.”

“It was,” Ben said. “A very long time ago.”

Jaster took another deep breath, his presence swirling again before starting to settle. He had a masterful control over his emotions—it made Ben a bit envious, admittedly, longing for the day when he would be old enough that his mind didn’t have to battle his still-growing body to maintain his emotional equilibrium.

“Maybe so,” Jaster said, “but after that, it was a Dar’jetii crystal.” Ben couldn’t argue that, either, and so he simply nodded again. Jaster stared at him for a long moment before continuing. “You may not have lied, but you deliberately misled me. And Syldar, too, making him think that I knew all of the facts before I agreed to let you have it. And then you did the same to Korr, I’m sure.” Ben winced, but, again, couldn’t deny it.

“Ben,” Jaster said, “I am your buir, and you are my ad. It’s my responsibility to make sure you’re protected, and cared for. I know you didn’t tell me the truth because you thought I would tell you no, and you didn’t want to risk it.” Again, Ben could only wince, looking away. “Ad’ika, if I do tell you no, it’s because I want to keep you safe.

“You’re going to have to start trusting me with the full facts, Ben’ika, because there are things you can do, things that you know about, that I won’t know, and many that I couldn’t even understand,” Jaster said. “I’m willing to listen to you—but if, after I listen to everything you have to say, I still say no, then that’s the answer. Okay?”

Ben squirmed. The cognitive dissonance that inspired in him was… uncomfortable. A large part of him was insisting that he was a Jedi Master, and that he knew what he was doing, and that he shouldn’t need supervision, or a minder, or someone else to dictate his decisions and actions. But the part of him that actually was mature knew that that reaction was the reasoning of a child, the knee-jerk obstinance younglings all went through, at some point, when it came to listening to the authority figures around them, testing boundaries.

Jaster meant well, and Ben knew that. And Jaster meant everything that he’d said—he was willing to hear Ben out, and willing to try to understand Ben’s Force-related requests and conundrums, but he wanted above all to keep Ben safe.

Force, the last time anyone around Ben had wanted nothing more for him than his safety and protection was… Well, his Commanders—all of his men, in fact. Ghost Company, the 212th—even the 501st… And before that… His creche Masters, perhaps. Qui-Gon had also meant well, but, looking back, most of their missions had heaped more responsibility, strain, stress, and danger on Ben than he ever would have put on a Padawan, at least before the war had changed everything—though it had forged him into the person he had needed to become, and he would never regret his apprenticeship, it had been… turbulent, and even as a very young Padawan, his safety had so rarely been a priority.

It was… touching, once Ben got over his initial irritation at the idea that he needed coddling. Again, frustratingly, he felt the tell-tale burn of tears at the back of his eyes, and blinked a few times to try to clear it.

“Okay,” he finally said. “I understand. …and I’m sorry.”

The unhappy, staticky buzzing around Jaster in the Force started to clear, and Ben looked up. Jaster smiled, not quite as strong as usual, but it was enough. On impulse, still feeling a bit… rattled by that emotional rollercoaster, Ben scooted towards him, holding out his arms. Jaster chuckled and obliged, easily reaching out to pick him up, settling him on his lap.

They sat like that for a long moment, Ben sinking into Jaster—both physically and in the Force, grounding himself in his buir’s now-familiar, warm presence—and Jaster seemingly content to hold him.

“We’re aliit, Ben’ika,” Jaster finally murmured. “We’ll look after you, but you have to learn how to let us.”

“...’lek, buir,” Ben muttered back. Jaster squeezed him, a bit, and then sighed again.

“Well,” he said, “that went better than expected. I’m glad you understand, Ben’ika, but… Actions still have consequences.” Ben pulled away, not far, but enough to look up at Jaster, who raised an eyebrow at him. “Plo explained the importance of the bond between a crystal and its ka’ra’tigaanla, so I’m not going to take it from you. You can meditate with it, and carry it with you—but you won’t be practicing katas with it for two weeks.”

“Buir!” Ben said, aghast. He’d only just gotten his hands on a ‘saber again, and he was so terribly behind in the conditioning this body needed, all the practice it would take to relearn those forms, and forge the muscle memory needed to use them effectively—

“I can make it three,” Jaster said, and Ben huffed, but stayed his protests. “And you owe Syldar an apology. Korr, too, I imagine.”

Ben wilted, and nodded. Two weeks, he reminded himself, was hardly the end of the galaxy. He had time, now. “‘Lek.”

“Jate,” Jaster said, and stood, picking Ben up as he went and shifting him onto his hip, as he was wont to do. “Now, we’ll see about breakfast, and then we might head down to the Archives. You’ll need to talk to Syldar, and pick up a few extra books to fill the time you won’t be spending practicing, ‘lek?”

Ben huffed again, tilting his head down, slumping to rest against Jaster’s shoulder in defeat. “...’lek, buir.”

---

Jango.

After three months, Ben’s oddities started to become the new normal. All in all, Jango would say that they were settling in very nicely, Jaster and Jango adjusting to the newest member of their aliit, and Ben adjusting to them, and Manda’yaim.

Most of the time, when Jango would get home from his classes, Jaster already cooking in the kitchen or sitting in the karyai doing datawork, Ben would be doing… something weird—a one-handed handstand while he watched a holodocumentary upside down, or floating a few inches above the ground while meditating, or reading through datapads that should’ve been far above his skill level for his age, and on subject matter no normal six-almost-seven-year-old should even have wanted to read about (though usually tucked into Jaster’s side on the couch, snuggled up with their buir, if Jaster was also in the karyai —it was just another reminder that, for all that he was mature and smart, he was still just an adiik, and very tactile).

Jango didn’t even blink anymore, just greeted his buir and vod’ika before settling in to do his homework (and he was an adult already; that he still had homework was… frustrating, but he understood the importance of a proper education, so he did it mostly without complaint. Usually. …he tried not to complain, ori’haat). Jaster didn’t usually say anything about it, either, just calmly asked Ben to be careful when he was doing his acrobatics and insane stretches (seriously, Jango knew adiik’e were more flexible, but he wondered just how close to human Ben even really was, since he moved and bended like his spine was made of rubber, though Ben claimed that an extra kidney and an extra liver were the extent of his differences to baseline), and answered whatever questions Ben thought to ask about the histories and tactical guides he seemed to like reading so much.

Three days each week, Ben’ika went off with Korr for a few hours, a Chagrian who was one of buir’s verd’e, one of the Headhunters who reported directly to Jaster, and Ben always came back… calmer, and happier. More settled, which actually made some sense to Jango. Not the meditating part, but the fact that it was a reminder of and a connection to where he’d come from. It made Jango feel the same way, after all, when he spent time in the rehabilitation gardens, helping whoever was volunteering in the dome that day with the soil conditioning and the replanting. The connections to their roots might have been very different, but the grounding effects were the same.

New holos appeared on the shelves and walls, Jaster and Jango adding in Ben’ika there, too. Sandwiched between the best holo of Jango’s tal’aliit they had and the holo of him with Jaster and Jorin just after he’d finished his verd’goten was Jango’s favorite of Ben’ika so far. He had his head thrown back, laughing hard, a flush on cheeks, and dimples on full display. That was the first time Jango had ever seen those dimples, the first time he’d ever made him laugh. He didn’t really remember how the conversation started, probably with him commenting on Ben’ika’s odd choice of reading material, on their way back from the Archives one day, only a few weeks after he'd gotten here. Jango had given up on trying to convince his vod’ika to read something more… age-appropriate, and finally conceded, “I guess you just have an old soul, vod’ika.”

For some reason, that had made Ben laugh uproariously, as if it that was the most hilarious joke he’d ever heard. What about it had been so funny, Jango still didn’t know, and he only remembered what he’d actually said because of Ben’s reaction. Jango had been wearing his full beskar’gam, and he’d had the presence of mind to grab a still from his HUD footage of Ben laughing like that, certain Jaster would want to see it. He’d been right: Jaster had had it framed and put it up on the shelf, adding the first holo of Ben to their rooms.

That had quickly been followed by another holo of Ben sleeping sprawled on top of him on the couch, both of them having fallen asleep during a marathon of Oya Manda, the only holodrama they actually followed, because everyone did. Then there’d been another, of Jaster and Ben curled up together on the couch, each of them peering intently at a datapad, Jaster with one hand resting on Ben’s head, idly stroking through his hair, and Ben wearing an expression not unlike a contented tooka. And then another, of Jorin and Ben looking at scraps together in the forge. And then another, this one of Ben and Korr in the pools inside the Alori’ya proper, using the ka’ra to make massive waves and trying to dunk each other beneath them. Finally, after just over three months, there were almost as many holos of Ben on display as there were of Jango and Jaster.

They would be adding yet another new set of holos soon, Jango knew. Ben’ika’s seventh name day was coming up, and that was an exciting one, when he would get his first pieces of training armor. Jango had asked if he had any colors in mind already, and Ben had said yes, though he’d also refused to tell Jango, apparently wanting to make it a surprise. Jango was absolutely intending to be ready to grab a holo of the big reveal, and he was looking forward to taking a few more of Ben’ika in his little beskar’gam practicing with his Jetii’kad. The image of a tiny, copikla, overly-competent Jetii’adiik in beskar’gam was sure to melt at least a few peoples’ brains.

Jango was very much looking forward to it.

---

Ben was taking forever.

Jaster had left it up to him, whether he’d wanted to visit the forge first thing after breakfast, or wait until later, and Ben had seemed adorably eager to go down to get his first few pieces of armor. Jaster and Jango had both gone with, watching (and taking a few holos each, admittedly) while Jorin helped him settle the vambraces, showing him how to put them on correctly, and demonstrating the controls for the embedded commlink. They were plain grey, bare durasteel, waiting for Ben’s paint. That was when Ben had shooed both Jaster and Jango out, insisting that he wanted to surprise them.

He’d been in there forever, now. Painting vambraces shouldn’t take this long, not with Jorin to show him how to do it properly.

“He’ll be finished when he’s finished, Jan’ika,” Jaster said. “You know how he gets, the little perfectionist that he is.” Jango grunted his agreement, shifting a bit on the bench just outside the forge before stilling himself again.

Finally, the doors opened again, and Jorin was there, smiling at them and gently pushing Ben forward. “What do you think?” he asked, and Ben held out his arms so they could see. Jango tilted his head, then pulled off his buy’ce, trying to see the actual colors, unfiltered.

Ben had left them mostly white, though he’d added a straight line down the center, and patterns, swirling and delicate, around the edges. The patterns themselves reminded Jango of the few sandstorms he’d seen, that time they’d been on Tatooine, or the snow flurries they’d gotten in the winter back on Concord Dawn. The color of those accents was difficult to pin down, somewhere between orange, yellow, and gold. Interesting choices, Jango thought, and he wondered what significance that orange-yellow had to Ben. Was it for shereshoy? They’d taught him about the meanings of different colors to Mando’ade, and that shade wasn’t quite like what was associated with shereshoy, but it also wasn’t quite the gold of revenge, or the yellow of bravery…

“Meshla, ad’ika!” Jaster said, kneeling and gently taking a hold of one of Ben’s arms so he could better peer at it. “This is very well done.”

“No wonder you took so long,” Jango teased, and Ben rolled his eyes. “That’s a lot of detail. And a pretty specific color—you had to mix that up yourself, didn’t you?”

Ben nodded, eyes bright and smile a little wider than normal, staying still for Jaster as he continued examining his work. “‘Lek.”

“Well, ad’ika,” Jaster said, letting go of Ben’s arm and standing, “you did a very good job with these.” Ben flushed, cheeks going adorably red, and Jango grinned at his vod’ika’s bashfulness. Jaster reached out, gently tugging Ben forward until he was pressed up against Jaster’s side.

“Vor’e, ba’vodu,” Ben said, nodding to Jorin. “For your help, I mean.”

“Ba’gedet’ye, Ben’ika,” Jorin answered, radiating happiness and contentment so strongly even Jango could practically feel it. “Now, I’ll see you tonight. Until then, I believe your buir has something planned.”

Ben shot a questioning look up at Jaster, who just squeezed him for a moment, pressing him closer into Jaster’s side. “‘Lek. Ret’, ba’vodu,” he said, and Jorin smiled and nodded to them, retreating back into his forge.

“What plans?” Ben asked, and Jaster smiled.

“You’ll see,” he said. “This way, ad’ike.”

---

Jaster.

Since Ben’s arrival, they hadn’t had much of a chance to show him around Keldabe proper. He knew his youngest was curious, and wanted to see the rest of the city beyond the Alori’ya, but they’d been busy, and Jaster had also been waiting for Ben to start acclimating a bit more before taking him out around that many unfamiliar people. He was doing well, though, and seemed to be a little more settled each day, more and more often mixing Mando’a into his Basic, switching between the two fluidly as-needed, and picking up more of their mannerisms instead of those he’d come to them with (Manda, he’d spent the first two weeks bowing to everyone for any little thing—in greeting, in thanks, to say goodbye—and it was only because the Haat’ade had known where he’d come from that they didn’t assume he was a former-slave; Jaster had definitely wanted him to break that habit before he took him out into the city, where his origins weren’t common knowledge).

Ben’s name day had seemed as good a time as any to take him out, making an event of it. And Jaster had known exactly where they should go.

Jango’s maan’aliit had had their own traditions for name days. Whoever’s day it was got to “make the rules” for the day, choosing where they went and what games they played, what holos they watched, where they ate, any and every little choice they could make for the day was theirs. It was something Jaster had done his best to continue for Jango, on his name days, and Jango insisted on following in return for Jaster’s. Ben hadn’t been in Keldabe long enough to choose where they went out to, but Jaster hadn’t needed to ask him to know what his first choice would have been.

Ben’ika’s eyes were wide and bright as he stared out the window of the speeder at the city, and Jaster and Jango both chuckled as a Mando’ad —not someone Jaster recognized by their colors, but their aliik told him they were aliit Spar—slowed down while crossing their path, using their sen’tra to keep pace beside their speeder for a moment, waving at Ben. Ben waved back, and they flew off.

The speeder came in to land not too far from the Alori’ya in the city center, in front of a ten-story building that was very familiar to Jaster, passingly familiar to Jango, and completely new to Ben. Jango, Jaster knew very well, didn’t have nearly as much interest in this as Jaster did and Ben would, but he wasn’t about to complain—not today, anyway. Those were the “name day rules,” according to him.

“This,” Jaster said, nodding to the building, and then picking Ben up to help him down out of the speeder (completely unnecessarily, he knew, having seen how high Ben could jump and still land as lightly on his feet as a leaping nexu, but he enjoyed doing it, and he didn’t want Ben showing off his abilities in public like that if he could help it), “is the Keldabe Museum and Archives.”

Ben perked up, starting to smile. “Really?”

Jaster chuckled. “‘Lek, ad’ika,” he said. “The bottom floors are the museum, and the upper floors are the Archives; aside from the top floor. Did you see the dome?” Ben nodded, peering up at the building. “That’s the planetarium.”

Ben’s smile grew even brighter. “The planetarium used to be my favorite place in the Temple,” he said. Jaster smiled and ran a hand over his hair, Ben leaning into it, as he always did.

“We’ll make sure we leave some time for it, then,” he promised. “Now, they currently have exhibits on Archaic and Middle-era beskar’gam and weapons, the extinct animals native to Manda’yaim, and the Taung. Which would you rather start with?”

Ben hummed, tilting his head in thought. “Well, if we go in chronological order, we should start with the Taung,” he said, and Jaster nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “Follow me, ad’ike.”

---

It didn’t take long at all for Jaster to confirm that he’d chosen well. Ben’ika was absolutely fascinated by everything, lingering over the placards to read all of the descriptions, and asking more questions of Jaster and the docents before moving on. Ben stared intently at the Taung pottery, bone jewelry, skeletons, and the few holorecordings they had of the Taung, and watched the short vid explaining the Taung migration from Coruscanta to Manda’lase intently. All of that took nearly an hour, before they managed to move on to the next section. Jaster had expected Jango to be bored, since he was usually disinterested in history and academics, but he seemed entertained enough by Ben, snapping holos of his vod’ika almost constantly, and Ben’ika alternately held Jaster’s hand and Jango’s, which also seemed to calm Jango.

The most crowded part out of all of the exhibits was in the next section: the mythosaur skull. It was massive, and unmistakable; there were families and a gaggle of adiik’e just a bit older than Ben all gathered around, taking holos with it, probably on a school trip. Jango insisted they do the same, flagging down one of the docents to ask them to take the holo. Jaster probably should have seen it coming, but he was a bit startled by the sudden hush and stillness around them once he and Jango took their buy’ce’se off for the picture, the others around recognizing them.

Thankfully, those around them didn’t do much more than stare—while Jaster normally would have been more than happy to stop to talk to his people, today was Ben’ika’s day, and he knew his ad was eager to see the rest of what the museum had to offer. The other visitors parted to let them through easily, gazes lingering on him, and then on Ben, who simply smiled at them and drifted closer to Jaster, holding his hand. Jaster thought he heard a few coos, and he agreed. Ben’ika really was incredibly adorable.

The final exhibit was where they lingered the longest, and even Jango’s interest was piqued by the ancient weapons and armor. Ben seemed just as enraptured by this as he had been everything else, seeing the progression over the ages from the oldest sets of beskar’gam to more modern sets. Not that that surprised Jaster, given the questions he’d asked Jorin the first time they’d met; he was sure Ben was excited to see the physical examples of that discussion with his own eyes. Jango took a shine to a display of ancient plasmacannons and Ben stared at the beskad’e, unsurprisingly, which led to the two of them having a light-hearted, if spirited, debate over how practical plasmacannons and beskad’e actually were in the field. A few other Mando’ade passing through that part of the exhibit chimed in, and so did the docent, when they came around. Jaster stood back and filmed it all.

Finally, Ben’ika started to droop a bit, despite his obvious interest and excitement, his little body reminding him that he’d done quite a bit of walking. He had better stamina than most adiik’e his age, which both Korr and the Jetiise told Jaster was a natural consequence of channeling the ka’ra, but he was still very young. Jaster picked him up, and Ben didn’t protest when he suggested they head up to the planetarium.

The planetarium was programmed to display the Taung migration from Coruscanta to Mandalore, the winding path they took through the Core and Mid-Rim until they finally reached their new home planet, and then their expansion into the rest of Manda’lase. It wasn’t very long, but Ben had to have been more tired than he’d been letting on, because he drifted off to sleep minutes after he’d sat down, slumping over to lean against Jango.

Jaster pinged Jango over their private channel, keeping his external speaker off so they didn’t disturb anyone else, interrupting the narration that went with the program. They’d both seen this before, after all, more than a few times, Jango indulging him in trips to the museum for Jaster’s name days.

“He had fun, didn’t he?” Jaster asked, certain Jango could hear his smile in his voice even through his vocorder. Jango chuckled.

“‘Lek, he did,” Jango said. “I’ve gotten more holos of him smiling today than I have in the last few months.”

“Ori’jate,” Jaster said. “Do you think he’ll be up for dinner tonight?”

“‘Lek, he bounces back quick,” Jango said. “You’re worrying too much, buir. Let him nap now, and then in the speeder on the way back, and he’ll be back to his normal levels of energetic chaos.”

Jaster laughed and nodded. “Gar serim, ad’ika.” The program ended, the lights coming up, and Ben stirred, shaking his head and blinking blearily.

“Come on, ad’ike,” Jaster said. “I think it’s time to head back.”

Ben looked a bit disappointed, but didn’t argue, which only confirmed for Jaster how tired he actually was by then. Before Ben could get out of his seat, Jaster scooped him up, settling him on his hip again.

“Vor’e, buir,” Ben murmured, obviously still sleepy, words a bit muffled and indistinct. “I liked that.”

“I’m glad,” Jaster said honestly, patting his back. “You just rest for a little while, ‘lek? We’ll be home soon.”

“‘Kay,” Ben mumbled, squirming a bit until he was settled more comfortably against Jaster’s armor, tilting his head so he could rest his cheek against Jaster’s hal’cabur. Then, through a yawn that made it take an extra second or two before Jaster realized what he’d said, Ben added, “Love you, buir.”

Jaster squeezed him a bit tighter, thankful he was wearing his buy’ce so no one could see the soppy, misty-eyed expression he was sure he had on his face. “I love you too, Ben’ika.”

(Jaster pretended not to notice Jango taking another holo of them, and his eldest’s own cooing, telling him that Jango had heard that exchange, too.)

---

Ben.

It had been… quite a day. A good day, yes, but it had been so busy, and a bit… strange.

In the Temple, their birthday celebrations had been calmer, just a little more attention on them during latemeal, where they all got to have extra dessert, and their creche Masters would lead them in expressing their gratitude to the Force for having brought them together, gratitude for having brought them into being at all, and that was that, so far as the actual celebration went. Between crechemates and friends, there was some gift-giving, though, as crechelings, they were generally restricted to what they could make for each other—which, to be fair, was quite a lot, in the Temple. They were a self-sufficient, self-sustaining community, producing their own food, clothing, pottery and tableware, their own blankets, anything and everything they needed. Gifts among Jedi were, generally speaking, rather practical. For his last birthday before he’d left the Temple, Ben had received a new blanket, a lopsided hand-made mug, and a sweater (all of which, of course, he’d brought with him when he left). What made those gifts special were the feelings they could literally sense imbued into the objects, the care and affection for the receiver that had gone into the work.

Compared to the Temple, the way Mando’ade, or at least the way his new aliit, celebrated birthdays, was… a lot. Fun, yes, but very… active. Still, Ben had very much enjoyed the museum—they’d chosen well for that, certainly. Ben had half-expected Jango to complain that he was bored, especially when Ben had lingered over the skeletons of the extinct fauna native to Mandalore, but he hadn’t uttered a word of complaint the entire day, even when Ben could sense his listless, prickly feelings, boredom trying to drive him to move them on, though he’d resisted it admirably. If Ben hadn’t had the Force, he wouldn’t have been able to tell that Jango hadn’t enjoyed it as much as he and Jaster had.

Ben only vaguely remembered the flight back to the Alori’ya, having fallen asleep in the planetarium (much as he’d used to in the Temple, at this age; some nights, after visions woke him, Ben had snuck out of the creche to the planetarium, sitting there staring at the stars until he finally fell asleep again, curled up on the floor, where a Knight, Master, or one of the Temple Guard would find him, and carry him back to their Clan rooms), and Jaster had indulged him, carrying him back out and to the speeder, letting Ben have his much-needed nap.

(Force, being seven, now, was exhausting.)

The parallel to a… bittersweet memory didn’t escape him. He remembered when Anakin had been his Padawan for only a few months, and he’d started developing mysterious “stomach aches” before his classes every morning, what Ben knew to be anxiety his Padawan simply refused to admit to feeling. One day, Ben had finally had enough, and looked Anakin in the eyes while he commed his teachers to let them know Anakin wasn’t feeling well, and wouldn’t be in class that day, and then he’d smuggled him out of the Temple. Ben had taken him to a museum just a few grids over from the Temple, one that had an exhibit on the development of single-pilot fighters through the millennia, and Anakin had been fascinated. He’d run around looking at everything so intently, asking Ben questions he hadn’t known the answers to, forcing them to find a docent to guide them through the exhibits to answer his Padawan’s many queries.

Anakin, too, had been dead on his feet by the time they’d gotten through it, truly worn out for the first time that Ben had ever seen. He’d fallen asleep in the speeder, after that, on the way to Dex’s, and again on the way back to the Temple. Ben had carried him all the way back to their rooms, and to his bed; Anakin hadn’t stirred at all.

Ben half-remembered, half-dreamed that memory, during his own nap on the way back home. Jaster gently woke him up when they arrived, telling him that he could go back to sleep after dinner, and he’d felt a strange mix of nostalgia and joy, those parallels clearly getting to him.

Dinner, in itself, turned out to be quite the event, and quite the surprise.

Jaster had led them away from their rooms, only telling him that they were having latemeal somewhere else for the night. “Somewhere else” had turned out to be one of the dining halls, already occupied by a smattering of Ben’s favorites among the Haat’ade: Jorin, of course, and Korr, Syldar, Pao and Vlek (another pair of buir’s Headhunters, and together so often they were referred to as if they were a single entity, much like how Ben had always heard “Kenobi-and-Skywalker” paired together in a single breath in the Temple, after the dawn of the war), Liika, and Myles. As soon as they’d entered, they’d all chorused a loud “briikase gote’tuur,” their happiness and excitement and fondness so loud in the Force that it tingled pleasantly against Ben’s skin and made his eyes tear up.

And then Ben had noticed the portable holoprojector in the center of the room, just as Jorin switched it on, the motion drawing his attention to it. Each and every one of his crechemates appeared, with Master Shari-Ta beside them, beaming at him, and seated at a table themselves, obviously about to eat.

Their calls of “Ben!” and “happy birthday!” had overlapped as soon as they’d connected, and Ben realized what must have happened, what Jaster must have done. His buir had asked how Jedi celebrated their birthdays, and then just… made it happen, despite the logistical difficulties. It might have been time for dinner, in Keldabe, but on Coruscant, this was a late firstmeal for them—and they’d even pulled Quinlan away from his own Clan to join them, and as his crechemates babbled greetings and well-wishes at him, talking over each other, Ben… burst into tears.

“No, no, you’re not supposed to be upset!” Bant cried, and Ben laughed, shaking his head.

“No, nayc, I’m n-not upset,” he’d said, still crying. “I’m happy. They’re h-happy tears, Bantling. This is w-wonderful.”

Jaster chuckled softly behind him, and then Jango scooped him up and sat him down in front of the projector, the others physically in the room with him taking their seats in a ring around the projections of his crechemates, and Jaster slid a plate over to him, filled with all of his favorites, and he laughed again, interrupted by a hiccup from the tears that were still falling.

“Why don’t you show your vod’e your new kom’rk’e, Ben’ika?” Jorin prompted him.

“What’s a comm-erkee?” Reeft asked—with his mouth full, and Ben laughed, holding up one arm to show them his vambrace, though the colors weren’t likely to come through quite as well over the blue-wash of the holo. The 212th’s colors hadn’t been part of the standard selection available, and mixing just the right shade had taken the bulk of the time he’d spent in the forge with Jorin, his ba’vodu patiently helping him until the paint was to his satisfaction—and never once asking why he wanted that color specifically, seeming to sense that it was something Ben wasn’t ready to share. His aliit never pushed him for more than he was willing to give, and he appreciated that more than he knew how to express.

“Wow,” Garen said, leaning forward in his seat. “That’s cool! Are you gonna get more soon? How does it work? What are those buttons for?”

Ben laughed again, nodding, and Jaster, Jango, and Jorin helped him answer so that he could start eating, the others all chiming in here and there, falling into easy conversation.

It was… surreal, Mando’ade having dinner with Jedi younglings over a holocall just to celebrate his birthday. He was… touched, and almost overwhelmed, and he marvelled at the care for him this showed, how important he seemed to be to them, for them to do all of this, and he missed his crechemates—even Bruck and Aalto, who were there too, and they were even smiling —but he loved his new family so much. Several times, throughout the meal, the tears had started up again, and he had to reassure Bant and Quinlan in particular each time that they were from an abundance of good feelings.

Force, this young body’s intense emotions were so magnified, and so confusing, so conflicting. But, Ben realized as he watched and listened while Syldar and Liika took turns asking about Jedi holidays and celebrations, he really was happy. The Force felt just as warm and Light and content as Ben himself did, and he smiled through yet another bout of happy tears.

Notes:

Mando'a:
kadau - sword
meshla - pretty
aliik - sigil
hal'cabur - one of the upper chest plates

Jaster: Good morning, son. We need to Talk.
Ben: ...uh-oh.
Jaster: So, about your sword... My dear friend Plo Koon said—
Ben: ...what???
Jaster: Yeah, my Jetii BFF, Plo. The Kel Dor?
Ben: I remember him, but... what???
Jaster: Not the point. He said there was some Bad Juju on that crystal. You lied to me, ad'ika.
Ben: I don't lie. I tell partial-truths creatively.
Jaster: ...you're not wrong, but that's still lying.
Ben: ...oh. Kriff.
Jaster: I'm not mad, ad'ika—
Ben (internally): Oh no. No, please don't say what I think you're about to say—
Jaster: I'm just disappointed.
Ben (Internally): Oh no. He said it.
Jaster: Also, you're grounded.
Ben: I'm *sixty,* and I'm being *grounded?!?!*
Jaster: ...what?
Ben: Nothing! I accept my punishment with due penitence and humility. ...hugs?
Jaster: Always.

Jango: Museums. Ugh. Boring.
Ben: This is AMAZING! I want to see everything, and hear about all of the history, and—
Jango: Museums might be boring, but Ben is definitely not. Just look at his cute, little, squishy face! I'm going to take a million holos.
Jaster: Make sure you send them to me, too! I'll pick out a few to send to Plo later. :D
Jango: Uuuuh, sure.

Jaster, Jango, Jorin, Syldar, Korr, Liika, Pao and Vlek, Myles: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Ben: ...oh! Oh, wow, there are a lot of people here to celebrate the fact that I was born. I have... Feelings about that.
Jorin: But wait... there's more! *hits the projector*
Shari-Ta, Bant, Quinlan, Reeft, Garen, Bruck, Aalto: Happy birthday!!! We get to continue our tradition even though you're a Mandalorian, now, and we have to pretend you weren't a Jedi when we call!
Ben: I have... Too Many Feelings about that. (TдT)
Ben's crechemates: NO NO NO YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO CRY, SITHSPIT!!!
Ben: No, it's okay, they're good tears, promise! (...I think? My emotions are too big for my stupid, tiny body.) This is... actually great! I'm... not drowning in infinite sadness? I'm... What is this feeling? Oh. Right. I'm... actually happy. ...wow. Okay. ... :D

Chapter 7

Notes:

Hello again! :D Thank you for all the comments and kudos letting me know that you liked the Pile of Good Feels last time! <3 This fic is so much fun to write, I just love the Good Chaos Vibes happening!

And thank you to the handful of people who pointed out I left out the time travel tag on this one! TBH, I thought I’d clicked the “Time Travel Fix-It” tag instead of the “Fix-It of Sorts” tag. XD The fix-it tags are now fixed! LOL

I will also give you all one hint about Ben's crystal before we get there (in a few years in-fic, LOL): it is *not* the same crystal from the Darksaber. ;) A certain slimy someone (*cough*Tor Vizsla*cough*) still has that 'saber. This one was just very heavily bled, you could tell it was red when the light hit it, but it was so dark it was nearly black at a glance. It didn't produce a black blade, though.

We will see Korr again! Next chapter we'll get some interaction with him and a Jedi or two. ;) Anyway, on with the show, and hope you enjoy!

Ben.

A few months after his arrival on Mandalore, just after his seventh (and sixty-first, in a way) birthday, Ben started having honest-to-Force visions.

It came as something of a surprise to him—the last vision (in his first life, anyway; Ben couldn’t recall what vision he’d last seen in this life, before Old Ben, Wizard of the Jundland Wastes and Wanderer of the Dune Sea, had taken over this young body) Ben had had was the day of his death. The Force had shown him what would come of that confrontation, signalled to him that it was finally time to let go, and move on to the next phase of his existence. It hadn’t upset him—he’d been training for it with his Master’s ghost for years by then, of course—though he’d wished that he could have had more time to train Luke, first.

Before that vision, the last Ben had had was just before the mission to Naboo. It had been little more than a flash of a red ‘saber, and a scream, and Qui-Gon’s stricken face. At the time, Ben had thought it to be nothing more than a memory of Xanatos, distorted into a nightmare.

And now, the Force seemed to have pressed visions on him again. True visions, not his future-past knowledge, not just nightmares and figments from his memories.

Ben supposed it was his just comeuppance for pretending that his knowledge—Korda 6 and the traitor, Xanatos, and what Jaster now simply called “Ben’s List,” those places he’d warned them about—had come from such visions. Not to mention that he’d been asking for it, in a way, practicing the seeking meditation with Korr, to learn to sense the shape of the future more deliberately. Those meditations had been… strange, though, the Force mostly showing him his own memories, but overlaid by a sense of urgency and importance, telling him to try to make some change now. That was how he’d actually known to warn the Jedi about Xanatos earlier than he had initially planned to, after all.

But this time, Ben hadn’t been reaching out at all. He’d been in the karyai, lounging on a cushion while Jaster and Jango worked on reports and homework, respectively (and with a bit of grumbling and many sighs from Jango over the latter). Ben had been reading over one of Jaster’s histories (a fascinating volume detailing the period of what they called the “Great Return,” the first large migration back to Mandalore after the Dral’han, the scattered Clans returning to reclaim their home system), when the words blurred and the world around him tilted —

Through the red mist and the tall grass, he could see the cloaked figure, so Dark, even Darker than the Sisters, their face shrouded. The figure reached out, grabbing a small wrist in a hard, bruising grip, and his brother cried out, familiar black-and-red features twisting in pain and fear —

“No! Brother—” he shouted, but one of the older Brothers held him back.

“He is too powerful,” the Brother whispered to him. “We cannot stop this. Just like when the Sisters come, we have to sacrifice one to save us all.”

“No! He can’t leave, he’s my brother —”

“We are all your Brothers,” the older one said, tugging him back towards the hut. “Come, Savage. Help me look after Feral.”

He struggled, staring at the Dark one trying to take his brother from him. They both struggled, reaching for each other, but the cloaked figure grabbed for his brother and twisted away, into the shadows, and disappeared completely.

“Brother!” he screamed. “No, no! Don’t leave me! Don’t go! Maul—”

When Ben came to, blinking to refocus on the world around him, he immediately jerked back, a bit. Both Jaster and Jango were crouched down in front of him, giving him near-identical looks of concern, radiating worry, like a feeling of static in the air, in the Force.

“Ben’ika? Are you back with us?” Jaster asked, and Ben nodded. Jaster made a valiant attempt to smile, but didn’t quite manage it. “Well, that’s a relief. You weren’t responding to either of us. What happened, ad’ika?”

“The Force sent me a vision,” he said, and Jaster and Jango exchanged looks. Without waiting for any further response, Ben added decisively: “I have to go to Dathomir. We’re going to save Maul.”

Jango sputtered, and Jaster started to frown again, both of them pulsing even more concern into the Force around them.

“Ben, ad’ika,” Jaster said slowly, and then he paused, sighing softly. “Who is Maul?”

“A Night Brother. I think he’s… six, maybe?” Ben answered, and wondered how much he should say, how much he should reveal. The person he’d felt like he’d been, in that vision—Savage Oppress, Force, his memories of that Night Brother were nearly as Dark as his memories of Maul—hadn’t recognized the “Dark figure,” but Ben had.

Sidious.

“And why do you think you need to save him?” Jaster asked.

“Someone… Dark is going to take him from his brothers,” Ben said, deciding not to dive into the particulars of the Sith just yet. Dropping hints was one thing, but telling his buir outright what was coming… No, he couldn’t do that. Not yet, anyway. “But the Force warned me, so I can save him.”

“Oh, Ben,” Jaster sighed, and Jango swore under his breath. Jaster held out his hands, and Ben blinked at him, but let himself be pulled into Jaster’s lap again as he shifted to sit cross-legged on the floor. “Dathomir is a dangerous place, ad’ika. And you’re still very young, yet.”

Well. That was… disappointing. Given what Jorin had said, and their reactions to his previous warnings, Ben had hoped they would agree. But it seemed that “taking warnings from the ka’ra seriously” had its limits.

Maybe he could… borrow a ship, and a droid to help with the piloting, since he would undoubtedly be unable to reach all of the necessary controls by himself—

“Can’t we just send them a warning?” Jango asked.

“The Night Mother isn’t easy to contact, unless you go see her in person,” Ben said. Though there was another way, Ben wasn’t going to suggest it, since it wasn’t feasible anyway. Connecting to her from here would require using the Dark Side, and conducting a Sith ritual, which Ben certainly wasn’t capable of, nor willing to do even if he’d had the necessary knowledge. “But the Force showed me enough. I’ll know where to go.” He’d been there before, after all, that village of Night Brothers. He remembered the way. He could fly straight there, land on the outskirts of the village, and—

“Ben,” Jaster said seriously, shifting until he could look Ben in the eye, though he was still in Jaster’s lap, “you’re barely seven. You’re just an adiik, and the planet of the witches is a dangerous place, even for fully-grown and fully-trained Mando’ade.”

“But the Force wants me to go—”

“Udesii, Ben’ika,” Jaster sighed. “I’m not saying that we shouldn’t do something about this. But I’m not going to let my seven-year-old ad run off to Dathomir. We’ll… figure something out.” Ben hummed; he appreciated Jaster’s efforts, trying to meet him halfway, but this would be so much easier if he could only speak to the Night Mother himself—

“Ben,” Jango said, and he looked to his ori’vod, who had such a serious look on his face. Force, the resemblance to Cody giving him a dressing-down after some stupid stunt during the war was eerie, in that moment. “We’re your aliit. We’ll help you, but you need to help us help you, suvari?”

Ben studied him for a moment, and then glanced up at Jaster, who was still radiating worry despite the small smile on his face.

“Alright,” Ben finally agreed, sighing softly. “Fine. If you can find me a map, I… I think I can mark the village.”

“Jate,” Jango said, giving him a crooked smile that was all Waxer, for a second. “We’ll start with that, then.” He rose, hopefully to go find a map for them, and Ben sighed.

His buir squeezed him a bit, leaning down to whisper in his ear: “We talked about this, remember? We’ll help, Ben, ori’haat. But you have to trust us.”

Ben felt the slightest bit guilty about that, and slumped back against Jaster, turning his head to bury his face in his buir’s shoulder as he liked to do, voice muffled as he sighed again. “‘Lek, buir.”

---

Jaster.

Jaster knew, by now, that there were certain things he could just… take Ben’s word for. When Jango and his Grunts returned from their first solo job last month, their squad going alone without the support of any of the other Haat’ade, Ben’ika had leapt up from the pile of cushions he always preferred over actual furniture and insisted it was time to head to the landing pad a good ten minutes before Jaster got the ping telling him they were back. When Jaster would get a new request in on the Haat’ade client line, he would give Ben a brief summary of the location and the work, and Ben would close his eyes for a few seconds and then give Jaster a yes or no on whether it would be wise for them to accept.

Yes, by now, Jaster was used to his youngest making strange declarations and predictions, and he was used to them all turning out to be right. So when Ben jumped up from his pile of cushions, eyes wide and head tilted like a curious tooka, Jaster had already known that he was about to make one of those odd, unexpected statements-of-fact.

“There’s a… Jedi here,” Ben declared, without turning to look at Jaster. “No… Two Jedi.”

“Oh?” Jaster hummed. That would be odd, if it was true; he would’ve thought that he would have heard from Plo, or the rest of the Jetii’alor’e, if some of them were going to be visiting. But the odds that Ben could be wrong were slim-to-none.

Jaster’s commlink chimed before Ben could respond, and he pulled it out, peering at it. Sure enough, it was a message from the control tower that a Jetii ship had just been allowed to land. They’d tried to jump to Bandomeer from Serenno, apparently, but their navicomputer had developed a few problems; the miscalculation had led them to Manda’yaim, at least, instead of jumping them into a gas giant. Well, that at least explained why he hadn’t gotten any warning from them before they just showed up.

“Do you know the Jetiise, Ben?” Jaster asked, looking back up at his ad. Ben’s brow furrowed lightly, head still tilted, and then he nodded slowly.

“One of them,” he said, flashing a bit of a smirk at Jaster before falling back into that contemplative look, and he couldn’t help but wonder what had caused that reaction. “And the other… We haven’t actually met, but I think I recognize that presence.”

“Alright,” Jaster said, and paused for a moment before adding, “The comm I just got said they were having some troubles with their navicomputer, and jumped here by accident. Do you want to go with me to greet them?”

“‘Lek,” Ben said, expression clearing. Jaster smiled and stood, holding out a hand. Ben took it, and Jaster led them from their rooms, pausing just long enough to grab his buy’ce and put it on before activating his comm, calling flight control.

“Mand’alor,” Pao’s familiar voice answered quickly.

“Alor’ad,” Jaster returned. “Ben’ika and I are on our way to greet our… guests.”

“Jate,” Pao said. “They’re playing nicely enough, but they declined the help of the verd’e we sent to offer to fix it for them.”

“Alright,” Jaster said. “Just keep everyone calm for a few minutes, until we can get there.”

“‘Lek, ‘Alor.”

---

The ship sitting on the landing pad was definitely a Jetii ship, considering the fact that their sigil was painted on the hull, large and bold, stark white set against the matte black of the ship, but it wasn’t like the crafts Jaster remembered seeing in the hangar when he’d docked in the Jetii’yaim on Coruscanta. It was larger, definitely a luxury cruiser, though meant for only one or two people to be able to pilot on their own. As they drew closer, Jaster saw the Jetiise standing at the bottom of the ramp, speaking to a few of his people, though they all quieted as Jaster approached.

…huh. Jaster definitely recognized one of them, and what were the chances of that? Though… What was it Ben’ika always said? “There is no such thing as coincidence, only the Will of the Force.”

That was looking to be more and more likely to be true.

The second, though, wasn’t anyone he’d spoken to before; they were human-or-near, with dark hair liberally shot through with silver, rather pale skin, dark brown eyes, and a regal sort of bearing. They weren’t wearing a cloak, as Jaster had seen from most of the Jetiise, but a long dark grey cape instead, over the standard tunics.

The Jetiise turned to look at them, and Ben tugged at his hand, trying to pull him along faster. Jaster chuckled and tugged back gently. “You do recognize them, then?”

“‘Lek,” Ben answered, but he gave no further explanation. Jaster’s verde turned to look at him, saluting briefly, and then backed off to let him and Ben approach the Jetiise.

“Su’cuy, Jetii,” Jaster greeted the unfamiliar one first. “Su’cuy, Plo.”

“Jaster,” Plo said, bowing his head, voice the same low rumble Jaster remembered, through his breather. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.” Jaster smiled.

“Bal gar, burc’ya,” he returned, and then looked to the stranger.

The Jetii bowed their head as well. “Mand’alor Mereel. I am Jedi Master Yan Dooku. You have our thanks for your hospitality and aid.”

Jaster tipped his head in return. “Ba’gedet’ye. We’ll help get your ship fixed up.”

The Jetii sighed and waved a hand. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid it will take specialized parts to repair the damage,” Dooku said. “It should take no more than a week to have them sent to us here.”

Jaster hummed. “We might be able to fabricate them, if you’d be willing to let us look at it,” he offered. Dooku exchanged a look with Plo, and Ben tugged at Jaster’s hand again. He looked down at Ben, who raised an eyebrow at him pointedly, and then tugged at him once more. Sighing himself, Jaster held up a finger to the Jetiise, silently asking for a moment, and then he knelt down on one knee, lowering himself enough that Ben could whisper to him.

“Their ship is fine,” Ben murmured. “This is one of the cover stories they use when they want to visit someone, or somewhere, without having to justify it to the Senate. If it was real, he already would have let the verde look at it.”

“Ah,” Jaster hummed. “Suvari. Vor’e, ad’ika.” He rose again from his crouch, clearing his throat. “I understand the… problem, now. We’ll be happy to host you until the parts arrive.”

Dooku smiled, and then hid the expression by bowing his head once more. “Again, you have our thanks.”

Jaster nodded again as the Jetii picked his head back up. “We’ll have rooms prepared for you; in the meantime, we could see to latemeal.” Dooku, still smiling, simply nodded again, as did Plo. “Jate. This way.”

---

Jaster didn’t protest when Ben nudged him back in the direction of their rooms instead of towards one of the communal dining halls. If he thought this Dooku was trustworthy enough to be let into their home, then Jaster would trust his opinion, and he already knew Plo well enough to trust him. They saw relatively few Haat’ade in the halls, though the few they did pass stared rather openly. Unsurprisingly, of course—knowing that Jaster had adopted a Jetii’adiik was one thing, but seeing two fully-grown Jetii Masters in their morut was quite another. Still, there was no hostility, just surprise and curiosity with just the slightest undercurrent of unease, so Jaster let it be, just nodding to them as they passed.

The Jetiise were both quiet, looking around with obvious interest as they wound through the halls; Ben kept glancing back at them throughout the walk, as if to make sure they were still there. Soon enough, they reached their rooms, and were safely secured away from any prying eyes or ears primed for overheard gossip.

“Have you ever had tiingilar?” Jaster asked, fully expecting a negative.

“I haven’t had the pleasure, no,” Dooku answered, and Plo shook his head.

“Well,” Jaster said, smiling, “we can fix that, now. Make yourself comfortable; I’ll get started. There’s a pressurized room in the dining halls you can use, Plo, before we get you set up in your quarters.”

“Thank you,” Plo said. “That’s quite considerate.”

“We have plenty of Kel Dor here, Master,” Ben said.

Dooku hummed and sat down at the table, Plo going with him, Ben immediately going to sit across from them. Jaster shook his head in amusement at his youngest's eagerness, slipped off his buy’ce, and then took a moment to ping Liika, asking her to get one of the diplomatic suites ready for the Jetiise, preferably one with a pressurized air chamber for Plo to sleep in without having to wear his breath mask. Once that was done, he stripped off his vambraces and gloves, and then went to start their meal.

“We’re as secure as we can be, here,” Ben said. “If there’s anything you wanted to say that you couldn’t, before.” Jaster sighed, glancing back over his shoulder at Ben. For someone who had such a way with words, most of the time, his ad’ika could be as blunt as a hammer to the head, when he chose to be.

Plo simply chuckled. “You catch on quickly, young one,” he said. “As you told your… buir —” The Mando’a was spoken carefully, the word obviously still relatively unfamiliar to him despite his exposure to Mando’a in their messages, but Jaster still smiled at the effort. “—we did come deliberately. There are several matters of great importance, and some urgency, the Council wished us to speak to you about.”

Jaster glanced back over his shoulder again. “How urgent, exactly?” he asked. “I’m not sure how Jetiise do things, but here on Manda’yaim, it’s traditional to share a meal, first, before discussing any business.”

Plo chuckled again. “It can wait that long,” he assured them, and Ben huffed, obviously impatient and eager to know what they were here for.

“In the meantime,” Jaster said, hoping he could prompt them into a topic that would sufficiently distract his little Helion of an ad away from pestering them into telling them sooner, “I did have—” He paused as he heard the front door open, smiling as he glanced back. “Ah, that’s Jango. Jan’ika! K’olar, ad’ika. We have guests.” Jaster heard Jango enter, turning to smile at him, and then nod to the Jetiise seated at the table across from his brother. “Jango, you remember Plo from our comms with the Council and Bear Clan, ‘lek?”

“‘Lek,” Jango said, nodding to Plo, who nodded back. Jango’s attention then turned on the unfamiliar Jetii.

“This is Yan Dooku,” Jaster said.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Dooku said, and Jango nodded again. He hesitated for a moment, then finally took off his buy’ce, setting it on the counter on the other side of the kitchen so it wouldn’t be in Jaster’s way before going to sit down next to his brother.

“How are your spice tolerances?” Jaster asked, contemplating the usual assortment of fresh peppers, pepper sauce, and pepper flakes he usually added to tiingilar. Ben had taken to their spices well, and seemed to love it, so he hadn’t had to adjust his cooking any to accommodate his youngest. But Jaster didn’t know if most Jetiise could handle it as well as his ad could.

“I fare rather well, for the most part,” Plo said, “though the food of Haruun Kal is the spiciest I’ve had, and I’m uncertain how that compares to Mandalorian dishes.”

Jaster hummed. “I wouldn’t know,” he said. “I’ve never tried it, myself. And you?” He nodded to Dooku, who smiled again.

“The people of my homeworld tend to prefer their food smothered in dendarra sauce,” Dooku said, and Jaster hummed.

“I’ve had dendarra peppers before,” he said. “If you can handle those, you should be fine. Still, we’ll make sure we have plenty of milk for you both—just in case.”

“Quite considerate of you,” Plo said, and Jaster nodded.

“Of course. Now, I have been wondering about how Bear Clan’s been doing,” Jaster said, glancing back at the table again before turning back to the pot on the stove. Jango and Ben both perked up, and he smiled. “It’s been a few weeks since our last comm with them.”

“‘Lek, Bant and Reeft were both so nervous about their Jetii’kad class they were about to start, and learning the new forms,” Jango said. “How’s that going?”

“Very well,” Plo answered, radiating fond happiness so strongly that Jaster didn’t need to be ka’ra’tigaanla to feel it. “Bant in particular has taken well to the form, though she still prefers Shii Cho. Garen has also taken a shine to it, so between those two, Reeft has two good partners to practice with, and he’s growing more comfortable by the day. Bruck is also adapting well, seemingly naturally gifted when it comes to ‘saber work, and he’s been working with Aalto to bring him up to speed.”

“Jate,” Jango said, sounding pleased.

“What forms do you prefer, Ben?” Dooku asked, and Ben hummed.

“Well, I would prefer Soresu, but that’s… impractical, at least for the moment,” he said. Jaster wracked his brain, trying to remember which one that was. The mostly-defensive one, maybe? ‘Lek, that was it—that was the form that relied on endurance and good defense to wear out their opponent until they started to make mistakes you could take advantage of. It required a great deal of patience, something most adiik’e didn’t possess in abundance, though it didn’t surprise Jaster by now that Ben’ika did.

“Impractical? How so?” Plo asked, and Ben laughed.

“Well, I’ve been practicing Ataru for the same reason Masters Yoda and Yaddle chose it, I imagine,” he said, and Plo laughed. Dooku huffed, and when Jaster glanced back, he was smiling ever-so-slightly. Jaster tried to remember who those Jetiise were—one of them, he thought, might have been the one Jango called a “troll,” the little one who’d seen Ben off when they’d gone to the Temple. But which one, he couldn’t remember.

“Because they would be unable to reach their opponent otherwise,” Dooku drawled. “A good reason. Quite practical.”

“Do all Jetiise specialize in just one or two forms? Or do you know all of them?” Jango asked, and Jaster smiled to himself—trust his older ad to be interested in any discussion involving combat forms, even such unfamiliar ones.

“All Jedi are taught forms one through six as Initiates and Padawans,” Plo explained. “During the later years of their apprenticeship, and in early Knighthood, they choose one or two to specialize in.”

“Smart,” Jango said, nodding, and then there was a pause, long enough that Jaster glanced over again. Jango had that look on his face, the one that said he really wanted to say something, but he was trying to figure out whether it was a rude question or not. Finally, he said, “Maybe while you’re here, the two of you could spar. That would be something to see.”

Plo laughed. “I would be pleased to indulge you, though I’m afraid it wouldn’t be much of a contest,” he said. “Yan is renowned for his skill with a lightsaber.”

“You sell yourself short,” Dooku said. “You always have a trick or two up your sleeves.” Plo simply hummed in response, and Ben laughed again.

“I heard a rumor at one point that you’re one of the few Jedi sanctioned by the Council to use Emerald Lightning,” Ben said, and Plo chuckled again.

“The rumor mill was correct, this time,” he confirmed.

“Emerald Lightning?” Jaster and Jango both prompted simultaneously.

“The Light Side equivalent of Sith lightning,” Plo explained. “Because of its similarity to, and, therefore, association with the Dark Side ability, particularly given the process to utilize it, its practice is heavily restricted by the Council…”

---

Ben.

Ben had seen, and done, many strange things throughout the course of his previous life, including an unplanned visit to Mortis, the realm of Force entities. Up until now, he probably would have classified that experience as the most surreal he’d ever had—but this absolutely topped it. Force, it sounded like the beginning of a bad joke: the Mand’alor and his two ad’e, one of whom was a former-Jedi, were sitting down to dinner with a one-time Sith Lord who hadn’t yet Fallen and the Mand’alor’s Jedi comm-pal…

How this was now his reality, Ben didn’t know.

The time before and during dinner was occupied discussing various Force abilities, Jaster and Jango’s curiosity prompting the conversation along. Plo (who insisted he’d eaten not long before they disembarked since he’d known it might be a while before he found another opportunity to unmask, prompting Jaster to package his food for later) and Dooku took turns answering, and with his buir and ori’vod dominating the conversation with the two Jedi, that gave Ben the opportunity to observe. He knew Plo well, and the Master’s presence here made Ben’s heart both ache and sing.

But Dooku…

By the time Ben had met Dooku, before, he’d already Fallen and become a Lord of the Sith, pledging himself to Sidious. (And Force, that was yet another reason he was grateful for Master Plo’s presence; if Dooku had come alone, Ben feared his reaction to the man might have been… combative. But seeing the two of them side-by-side, without a trace of tension between them, had helped to remind Ben of what was his present versus his past.) With how many missions he and Qui-Gon had been sent on during Ben’s apprenticeship, they’d hardly been back in the Temple to run into him, not to mention the fact that Dooku himself had hardly been in the Temple by then. He’d resigned his Council seat after a brief stint among them, in that time; that he still sat on the Council now boded well.

As did the man’s presence. There were still strands of Darkness, some that were like Jango’s, old wounds that had long since healed and scarred over, but then there were others that seemed to come from outside of Dooku himself, pressing down on him from without. It was the unmistakable sign of a Shadow, that feeling—and one that Quinlan had also always had, with how many Dark things his echoes showed him. Beneath that, however…

Dooku felt mostly of control-calm-sharp-attention, and he was unmistakably Light. There was no sense of power-corruption-predatory-stalking in him, as there had been on Geonosis, or any of the other times they’d encountered each other during the war.

He was still a Jedi.

Dooku noticed his attention, and openly studied him in return when he wasn’t answering Jaster and Jango’s questions—both physically and through the Force, gentle, brief touches of that oddly warm-Light-controlled presence. Ben didn’t mind; he’d checked his shields thoroughly, once he’d sensed that there were Jedi nearby, and knew that they would give away nothing more than the fact that he was talented in shielding.

It wasn’t until near the end of the meal that the conversation turned back towards Ben’s crechemates, Jaster prompting that shift by asking what their Clan was currently learning in terms of Force abilities. Ben was thankful when Plo derailed the conversation, tutting to himself, knowing that continued discussion on that topic would only serve to point out how advanced his own practice was.

“How silly of me,” Plo said. “I nearly forgot.” He drew out his comm, setting it on the table, and activating it. A holo of Ben’s crechemates immediately appeared, all hanging on to each other, bunched up together, and smiling broadly at the camera. “I told Bear Clan that I would be coming to see you, and they sent me with a few holos. But Master Shari-Ta also gave me a few more… candid holos as well.”

Plo hit the switch, and the next holo that appeared had all of them laughing (save Dooku, though he deigned to crack the smallest of smiles). This one must have been taken in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, or one of the aquatic levels, Ben couldn’t quite tell. The image itself showed Bant, eyes barely peering out over the water, as Garen and Reeft clearly attempted to use the Force to push a great wave towards her.

“They finally got tired of losing the ‘splash wars,’ didn’t they?” Ben asked. Something in his chest ached with a bittersweet sort of feeling—he remembered days like that all too well, visiting the various pools and swimming laps, racing against Bant, and helping each other cheat to overcome her unfair, inherent advantage—tugging on her ankle to try to slow her down, and pull her under entirely, blocking her path for each other, trying to use the Force to create currents to push her back… Force, he’d even done much the same with Korr, only a few weeks ago—who, as a Chagrian, also had the same sort of unfair advantage Bant had always had in such games.

“It would seem so,” Plo said, sparkling in the Force with amusement. “There are quite a few others; I copied them onto a datachip for you.”

“Thank you,” Ben said, blinking a few times to try to clear the tears from his eyes that were gathering.

“Of course,” Plo said, the edges of his presence turning a bit… mischievous. “I did need to repay Jaster for all the holos of you I’ve been able to share with them, after all.”

“What? Buir!” Ben groaned, and Jaster laughed, reaching out to run a hand over his hair.

“I can’t help sharing, ad’ika. It’s a buir’s right to brag about their ad’e, and how copikla they are,” Jaster said, and then he turned back to Plo while Ben, in his mortified outrage, sputtered, trying to form a response to that. “There are a few others I hadn’t sent yet.”

“I’ve got one you probably haven’t seen so far,” Jango immediately offered, sounding smug. “And it’s a good one.”

Ben turned to him, narrowing his eyes. Jango shot him a smirk, leaning over to the counter to swipe his datapad, switching it on and tapping at it. Ben could feel his delight-glee spike in the Force and groaned. He didn’t know what picture of him Jango was about to show them, but if it warranted that reaction…

Finally, Jango slid his ‘pad over, and the rest of them leaned in to peer at the picture. It wasn’t quite as bad as Ben had been expecting, just a still image of him at the museum on the trip they’d taken for his birthday, eyes half-open, leaning on Jaster’s chest while his buir carried him. That must have been at the end of the day.

“Isn’t he just so copikla?” Jango cooed. Ben glowered at him, but that got him nothing more than a smug sort of look from his ori’vod and an amused chuckle from his buir.

“Quite,” Plo agreed, proving that he had at least some knowledge of Mando’a—which was far less surprising now that Ben knew he and Jaster exchanged messages, since Ben was well aware of Jaster’s tendency to forget Basic words and resort to Mando’a, mixing it into his Basic—and peering intently at the image, amusement-joy radiating into the Force around him. “Might I have a copy?”

“‘Lek, sure,” Jango agreed, and Ben groaned again softly, dropping his face into his hands, ignoring how that made Jaster laugh at him again.

Deciding that he ought to try to redirect the conversation now, lest his aliit dig up even more embarrassing holos of him, Ben picked his head back up and clapped his hands together. “So!” he said. “I believe there was something you wanted to tell us?”

“Indeed there is,” Plo said, and Jaster sighed, a dramatic, drawn-out, put-upon sort of sound.

“I suppose we’ll have to exchange holos later,” he said, and then leaned over to Plo to stage whisper, “After the ad’e are in bed, and not around to protest.”

Plo laughed, and even Dooku’s lips twitched in another smile. Ben glared at Jaster, to which his buir only responded with a wink and an unrepentant smile.

“To come to the point quickly,” Dooku said, taking charge of the conversation, steering them back on topic, and Ben shot him a grateful look (and Force, that was odd, feeling any sort of gratitude towards Dooku, of all people; Ben paused, taking a moment to remind himself that, here and now, Dooku was a Jedi Master, not a Sith Lord doing his damnest to destroy the Republic and the Jedi), “are you familiar with the Yavin system?”

“‘Lek, it’s not far from here,” Jaster said easily. “Why do you ask?”

“Before Serenno, we had visited Yavin IV, one of the gas giant’s moons,” Dooku said. Ben perked up; he vaguely remembered Yavin IV. Yes, the Rebellion had had a base, there. It was after his death, so his memories of it were vague, since he had only “visited” it when he was called to appear to Luke.

“The Council is considering a new Temple there,” Plo added, and Ben blinked at him.

“What?” he said. “The Order is starting new Temples?”

Dooku nodded. “Three in total, though one is technically a resurrection of an ancient Temple, and not an entirely new one,” he said. “Yavin IV is currently our forerunner for a new primary Temple—”

“What?” Ben said again. “A new primary Temple? What about Coruscant?”

Dooku actually smiled, and Ben blinked at him. “The Council has been making preparations,” he said. “If all goes to plan, within the next six months, there will not be any Jedi left on Coruscant.”

What? Ben didn’t vocalize it, this time, but… It was so… It was unfathomable. The Coruscant Temple was home (and now they had it back, or, well, now they’d never lost it in the first place) and they were going to leave it? Just like that?

Why? Force, why would they even do such a thing? He had hoped that they would make changes, yes, but this was so… drastic.

“We had come to ask how you might feel about having a Jedi Temple so close to Mandalore,” Plo said, and then, somewhat more slowly, not quite tentative, he added, “And what, if any, support you might be willing to provide.”

Jaster hummed. “I’m not opposed, but I would need further details on that,” he said carefully, all business, now. “What sort of support are you talking about?”

“Political support, largely,” Dooku said, and Jaster tilted his head. “The Order will need allies. We have tried, and failed, to reason with the Senate. Each and every reform proposed by those few Senators who have some amount of sense and any shred of morality left has died in committee, before it can even reach the floor for a vote, and the last three Chancellors have refused to lift a finger to help our cause.

“To ensure our freedom, our survival, and our safety,” Dooku said, and something pinged in the Force, a sort of weighty feeling that said pay-attention-this-is- important, and Ben tensed, “the Council has decided to overturn the Ruusan Reformation. Since the Senate will not vote to lift those restrictions, and the others that followed it over the last millennium… We plan to sever our relationship with the Senate.”

Ben felt his heart skip a beat, the blood draining from his face, feeling dizzy for a moment. “What?”

If Ben had thought that that announcement had been startling, the next tilted his entire view of the galaxy on its axis.

Plo sent him a tendril of warmth-peace, and said, very calmly, “The Jedi Order is leaving the Republic.”

---

Plo.

Though they hadn’t initially planned for him to accompany Yan to Yavin IV, Serenno, and Mandalore, Plo was quite pleased to have been able to join him. Yan’s initial report to the Council on Yavin IV had been optimistic, reporting that the planet itself was lovely, very habitable, if a bit on the warm side, and just as devoid of other sentients as they’d hoped—though, as always, there had been “one small problem,” as Yan had put it.

Plo wouldn’t agree that the spirit of the ancient Sith Exar Kun haunting the Temples was a “small problem,” but it was one they had handled easily enough. Yaddle and Mace had been dispatched to assist Yan in banishing the spirit and cleansing the Temple, and Plo had seen an opportunity, requesting to be sent along with them. Once they’d seen it done, Yaddle and Mace had taken their ship towards Taanab, to meet with the AgriCorps, and Plo had gone with Yan.

Their trip to Serenno had been quick and productive, though also a bit… tumultuous, given Yan’s strained relations with the current Count, his older brother, Ramil. His sister, Lady Jenza, had been far more reasonable, and convinced the Count to hear them out. Apparently, Count Ramil had been encouraging the calls for secession and votes on the matter that swept through Serenno every few years—votes that had only failed because of the protection Serenno received from the Republic. They had no standing military of their own, only a small royal guard consisting mostly of purpose-built droids, and pirates were a common problem in that region.

But with the promise of a Jedi Temple close by (the exact location had not been revealed to Ramil, at Yan’s insistence—“Ramil would reveal us to the Senate just as easily as he would ally with us, depending upon which would better favor him,” he’d explained—though they had told Jenza), and an offer of protection from those pirates in exchange for Serenno’s political support of the Jedi as an independent people, both Ramil and Jenza agreed. They were certain that once the Jedi declared their independence from the Republic, Serenno would not be a member much longer.

Plo had stood back and let Yan handle things on Serenno, for the most part, as he was certainly the most qualified for the task, given his family ties to their leadership. Once that was finished, it had been time for the trip Plo was most excited about.

Exchanging messages with Jaster—who had insisted on the informal address only a few letters in—for the past few months had taught Plo much about Mandalore, and its ruler. Jaster was intelligent, patient, kind-hearted, curious, and he had a strong sense of justice. Frankly, Jaster Mereel would have made a wonderful Jedi, had he been Force-sensitive, and not a Mandalorian. As it was, Plo had a great deal of hope for Mandalore’s future, with Jaster steering their course.

After these last few months, Plo would even go so far as to count Jaster as a friend.

Their discussions had also ranged from Jedi traditions and philosophy and the Mandalorian equivalents to history and politics. Plo knew Jaster’s thoughts on the state of the Republic well, by now, and he knew that Jaster and those who counted themselves as True Mandalorians were not nearly so opposed to the Jedi as they might have assumed from their history. Plo had already known that they would be far more focused on the details and the logistics of an alliance than on convincing Jaster that it would be a good idea.

Plo had been correct in his conclusions. Once Jaster had seen his children to bed—and it both pleased and soothed Plo to see how much their former-Initiate had warmed to his new family, the trust and care that there was between them, Ben soaking up Jaster’s affection like a sponge—Plo and Yan had lingered in the kitchen with him, drinking a round of a liquor called tihaar, Jaster providing a straw for him to slip through his breather, and discussing the Order’s future prospects.

“I don’t see much harm in openly offering our support to you after you leave,” Jaster said easily, shrugging one shoulder and chuckling softly. “What would the Republic do, attack us? They have no military, which is the entire reason the Haat’ade are called on so often in Republic space to deal with their problems for them.” Plo laughed, and Yan even smiled, amused. “Nayc, my only concerns would be what they might do to our imports. Things have improved in the last few decades, but we still rely on imported foods quite a bit. Our agriworlds can’t quite keep up with their own demand plus Manda’yaim proper.”

“We have a solution for that,” Plo said. “Yavin IV is a jungle world, and will be well-suited to an AgriCorps base. It may take us a matter of months to get the Temple and AgriCorps base themselves up and running, but the AgriCorps also runs largely on its own ships complete with greenhouses. If the Senate did decide to penalize you in that way for your support, we could be prepared rather quickly—within eight weeks, the Council estimated—to make up the difference.

“And, in the longer term,” Plo continued, now coming to the point he was most eager to discuss, “we would be happy to send several teams from the AgriCorps to help rehabilitate the surface. That project can begin as soon as our new base is settled on Yavin.”

Jaster perked up for a moment, as Plo had thought he would, but then immediately started to frown, sighing and shaking his head. “It’s an exciting idea,” he said, and Plo tilted his head, wondering what “but” was coming, “but one we might have to sit on, for now. I couldn’t guarantee your safety outside of Keldabe proper, at least not right now. You remember what I told you about Kyr’tsad —the Death Watch, ‘lek?”

“I do, yes,” Plo said slowly, “though I had thought that they had been dealt with years ago, during the battle on Concord Dawn.”

“So did we,” Jaster sighed. “Well, truthfully, we knew they were still around, but we thought they’d fractured into several different factions, lessening their power and reach, since they’ve been so quiet since then. But Ben’ika set us straight on that one. They’re still strong enough to cause trouble, and we nearly walked into one of their traps, until he warned us.”

“He is still having visions, then, I would assume?” Yan asked lightly. Plo’s mandibles tittered in amusement; he knew very well that Yan had been happy to allow him to take the lead with Jaster in their discussions, leaving him free to focus on the mystery presented by young Ben’s suddenly advanced skills. Plo himself wasn’t worried about that—not when he’d felt Ben reach out to him in greeting as soon as they’d landed. His presence was certainly different, still unmistakably him, but… expanded. Still, he was also unmistakably Light.

“‘Lek,” Jaster agreed, and then he paused, tilting his head. “Actually, that reminds me of something else I think you might be able to help with… Do either of you know anything about Dathomir?”

---

Ben.

Ben couldn’t sleep, his mind too active, thoughts racing, after what he’d just heard. Force, the Jedi Order leaving the Republic, and doing so this early, could and would change so much.

How much of Ben’s knowledge of the future would be rendered moot by this drastic change? How much easier would it be for the Sith, Sidious and his hidden Master (who, Ben was fairly certain, was still alive and unidentified at this point) to manipulate the citizens of the Republic into viewing the Jedi as their enemies even earlier than they had before? How much more danger would they be in, and so much sooner?

The Force was a warm, comforting presence at the back of his mind, doing its best to soothe him, whispering of rightness. It didn’t help as much as Ben would have liked, his mind running wild with worst case scenarios.

Without the Jedi there, to keep things in check (well, at least to force the Senate to keep up a pretense of morality), how much easier would it be for the Sith to take control of the Senate, and the Republic by extension? And, once they did, how long would it before a kill-on-sight order was issued for any Jedi? How long would it take before orders to capture them and return them to Coruscant were issued, delivered into the hands of the Sith to be broken and twisted into Falling?

How long would it take before the Republic itself fell, under the unchecked Sith, to become an Empire?

Peace, the Force whispered. Peace.

But peace felt hard to come by, at that moment—at least until Ben heard Jaster’s voice in his head: “Oh, ad’ika. I know you want to help, but to help others, you have to help yourself, first. Suvari, ‘lek?”

He took a deep, slow breath, and then let it out, and repeated that a few times, trying to slow his racing heart. Much as Ben hated to think it, Jaster’s advice was correct, and immediately applicable. To save the galaxy from the Sith, the Jedi would first have to save themselves. He knew where the path would lead if they remained within the Republic, with only a small margin of error to save both themselves and the Republic.

If they could only save one… Ben knew that the Jedi would gladly lay down their lives to save the Republic and its citizens. But Ben had seen the galaxy without the Jedi in it, and… He wouldn’t choose the Republic, not anymore.

He would choose the Jedi instead, every time.

And this path, this uncharted, unknown course… Well, that was what bothered Ben the most, he realized. If the Jedi went through with this plan, so much of his knowledge, so many predictions he could have made, would be rendered moot. The help he could provide would be so drastically limited.

Lay down that burden, the Force seemed to urge him. Let go. Let go.

Why did you bring me back? Ben asked in return. If not for this, if not to save them, with my future-knowledge, then why?  I don't understand, what am I meant to do?

The Force gave him no answer, at least not one he could understand, though it was still there, pressed in close to him, warm and comforting. Ben didn’t know how long he laid there on his sleep mat, peering into the Force, questioning, searching for answers, when Jango stirred.

“Still up?” he murmured, voice rough with sleep, and Ben couldn’t help the flash of memory, the many times on so many different worlds he’d been bunking with Cody, unable to sleep, only for Cody to wake and realize— “C’mere.”

With that, Jango did something Cody never had, grabbing the edge of his sleep mat to drag it closer to his own, and then unceremoniously scooped him up, pulling him close, wrapping him up in a hug. Ben blinked, startled, but didn’t resist.

“Sleep, vod’ika,” Jango murmured, already drifting off again himself. “Stop thinking so loud, ‘lek?”

Ben huffed a bit of a laugh, and obediently settled, squirming in Jango’s arms until he was arranged more comfortably. Focusing on the comforting weight of his ori’vod’s arms around him, his warm-familiar presence so near, and the Force so soft and soothing, Ben decided that this would be a problem for tomorrow’s Ben, and let go of his worries at last with a soft whoosh of breath.

Finally, he slept.

Notes:

Mando'a:
burc’ya - friend
K'olar - Come here
I think that's it for the new Mando'a? Let me know if I missed anything! :)

Jorin, repeatedly, over several meetings: Seers are Very Important to Mando’ade, you see.
Ben: …oh. Oops? Um… Selective truth telling isn’t the same thing as lying? (Maybe if I say that to myself enough times I’ll start feeling like it’s true??? But Jaster says it’s still technically kind of lying, sooo…?)
The Force: I mean, I can make it the truth…
Ben: Oh, no, that’s quite alright—
The Force: Too late! ;D

Plo and Dooku: Surprise! We’re here!
Jaster: Oh, hey Plo! Glad you could come for a visit! Who’s the new guy?
Dooku: Jedi Master Yan Dooku. Quite a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mand’alor.
Ben (internally): …huh. This is a weird pairing for a Jedi mission. I get why the Council would send Plo to Mandalore if he talks to Jaster, but why Dooku??? (He’s still a Jedi, he’s not a Sith, he’s still a Jedi, he’s not a Sith, *don’t attack the Jedi Master—*) Oh, they came from Serenno? Oh. I guess that makes sense. But what do they want???
Jaster: Oookay, new guy is weirdly formal. Plo, are the rest of you just *like that,* 'cause he kinda sounds like Ben??? (My ad'ika is a stuffy old man in a baby-body and isn't it just the CUTEST THING???)
Plo: Some of us are just Like That. Anyway, just wanted to let you know that we’re saying peace out to the Republic—
Ben: What???
Plo: —and to express our hope that we can have a deeper friendship between our peoples, especially once we won’t have to use double-speak in all of our communications in case the Senate ever finds them and slices their way in.
Jaster: Of course! That’s great! Good on you guys! (Internally vibrating with excitement: This is amazing! I won't have to sneak around to talk to my Jetii BFF anymore using burner comms with numbers from Corellia because we're afraid he'll get In Trouble with dumbass politicians if they find out! :D :D :D )
Ben: …WHAT?!?!

Jaster: So now that you’re here and I don’t have to worry about attachment sizes in my messages… Wanna see EVERY picture of Ben’ika we’ve taken in the last few months? :D
Jango: Oooh, I got one, I got one! ;D
Plo: I’d be delighted! :D I brought pictures of Bear Clan, too!
Dooku: I will indulge this to earn goodwill, as part of my plans do involve attempting to engineer time alone with the child, though I’m not, generally speaking, a “child person.”
Ben: Buir, you’re embarrassing me! (Force, I am a SIXTY YEAR OLD MAN, and I’m being embarrassed over holos of myself by my dumbass nerd father who’s YOUNGER THAN I AM, mentally speaking, and my older brother who in my last life was called the JEDI KILLER. And they are showing these pictures to KRIFFING DOOKU??? What even is my life anymore?!?!)

Ben: So if the Jedi leave the Republic, that should be a good thing, but it will make so many changes I won’t know as much about the future anymore and what’s going to happen—
The Force: Which is fine. You’ll have to live through it just like everyone else. And besides, I gave you back your visions, so you’ll still know *some* of the future! But making changes is what it’s all about!
Ben: But but but, how could they possibly save themselves without that future knowledge??? We couldn’t even see the Sith Lord sitting RIGHT IN FRONT OF US until it was too late!
The Force: Don’t you think it’ll help a little bit when they aren’t literally sitting on the Sith Lord and letting his stanky Darkness cloud up their senses? Look, BB, I know you have No Chill, but please try, k?
Ben: …
Ben: …
Ben: …what could this POSSIBLY MEAN??? WHY WOULD THE FORCE DO THIS TO ME???
Jango: Okay, that’s enough. You’re thinking too fucking loud, vod’ika, and I can’t sleep. You seem to respond well to cuddles, so I’m going to smother you in hugs until you’re unconscious.
Ben: …acceptable.

Chapter 8

Notes:

Hello again! :D Thank you all for all the comments and kudos screaming about this one with me! It's so much fun to write, and a good break from working on the heavier arcs of my other fics, so I'm glad you're all having fun, too!

Also, as far as those "end summaries" go... Those are actually my "chapter outlines" on this fic! XD I don't pre-write before I post, but I do plan, and for this one, that became the little snippets that I thought were funny enough to share. I'm glad you're all entertained by them, LOL!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy as Plot starts to heat up... ;)

Ben.

Ben wasn’t sure what to think when he woke up the next morning to find Jaster, Dooku, and Plo all sitting at the kitchen table, drinking shig and speaking quietly, at least until he came in. The odd and frankly suspicious way they all fell suddenly silent as he walked into the room made him narrow his eyes at them, pausing in the doorway to peer at them intently. He didn’t sense any tension, as such, but there was an odd sort of heaviness in the Force around them, as if they’d been discussing something important.

“Jate vaar’tur, Ben’ika,” Jaster said, smiling at him and waving a hand to beckon him over. Ben raised an eyebrow at him, silently asking what that was about, but he obeyed, going to take the seat beside Jaster. His buir immediately reached over and started smoothing his hair, which was no doubt standing in all directions.

“Jate vaar’tur, buir,” Ben returned. “Good morning, Masters.”

“Good morning, Ben,” Plo returned, while Dooku simply nodded, though he did manage a small smile.

“Did I interrupt something?” Ben asked lightly, and Jaster sighed. Plo hummed, but Dooku actually chuckled. Ben blinked at him, almost a bit startled by that. It wasn’t that he’d never heard Dooku laugh, before, but then, it had always been a little… crazed.

“You’re quite perceptive,” Dooku said. Ben didn’t scoff, or roll his eyes, but it was a near thing. That hadn’t been difficult to pick up on. “We were discussing your progress in your practice of various Force techniques, and lightsaber forms.”

“Oh,” Ben said, blinking at him again.

“They asked if they could watch some of your practice, and meditate with you,” Jaster explained as he smoothed down the last of Ben’s banthalicks. “I don’t mind either way, but it’s up to you.”

Ben tilted his head, thinking that through. He was already going to have to come up with some explanation for his sudden leap in his skill level, something to tell both Jaster and the Jedi, and this really would be easier on them all if the Jedi could be assured that he was still Light. That would best be done through meditation, though he would have to pay particularly close attention to his shields, keeping anything they should not see locked way.

Still, the idea of meditating with Dooku—even knowing, logically, that he was still a Jedi, that he was still Light—was… uncomfortable. Plo would make a good buffer, but there was also another option…

“Alright,” he agreed. “I was going to go down to the gardens after breakfast to meditate with Korr; if you’d like to come along, I can ask if he doesn’t mind.”

“That would suit very nicely,” Dooku said, tipping his head. “The offer is appreciated.”

Ben managed a smile and turned to Plo, who sighed, a bit of disappointment flaring around him in the Force. “I’m afraid I have other commitments already. Perhaps later today, or tomorrow,” he said, and Ben’s stomach fluttered.

Well. Now he was very, very glad that he’d thought to invite them along to meditate with him and Korr. Meditating alone with Dooku would be… difficult.

“I’d like that,” Ben said honestly, and Plo sent him a little tendril of warmth that made his smile grow a bit stronger, a bit more genuine.

“Plo and I are going down to meet with the Council,” Jaster explained. “We’ll need their help to hash out the details and logistics for a formal agreement, and what help we can be with the escape plan itself.”

Ben couldn’t quite help himself, laughing at Jaster’s phrasing. Escape plan. Force, the fact that his buir had no idea how on the nose he was with that was funny. Jaster looked pleased, radiating warmth-affection so strongly that Ben was almost embarrassed, knowing both Jedi could feel that, too.

“I’ll ping Korr for you,” Jaster said, and Ben was grateful for the redirection, half-afraid that his buir was going to devolve into showing the Masters more holos of him being “adorable.”

Turning his thoughts away from that as Jaster pulled out his commlink, Ben looked to the Jedi again. “What does the rest of the Order think about your plans, Masters?” he asked.

Plo laughed, the familiar deep, warm sound making Ben smile again. “There are many who are displeased and discomforted by it, but the Force has not been so clear in decades,” he said, and Ben blinked at him. “The Force itself tells us that this the right course, and, as Jedi, who are we to question its Will?”

“I’m glad,” Ben said honestly. “I had worried about the Green Jedi in particular.”

“They will be staying on Corellia,” Dooku said. “They are already safe enough; the agreements governing them tie them to Corellia itself, and only Corellia. Thankfully, the laws applying to them specifically do not tie them so tightly to the Senate as the rest of the Order is. The other satellite Temples within Republic space will be closed, for the most part, and those Jedi relocated to one of the new Temples. Those that are located outside of Republic space may be preserved, though we have yet to decide on that.”

Ben nodded, and Jaster’s comm chimed, derailing their conversation. “Ah, that’s Korr,” Jaster murmured, reading the message over quickly. “He said he doesn’t mind, either. I suppose we should be getting down to breakfast, then, or we’ll all be late.”

“‘Lek, buir,” Ben agreed, hopping up. “I’ll go change.”

As he left, the table was quiet, but once he was just outside the doorway, he heard murmuring start up again. Sighing to himself, but deciding it wasn’t worth trying to use the Force to eavesdrop, and risk at least one of the Masters sensing it, Ben headed back to his room to prepare himself for the day, and the daunting prospect of a meditation with Dooku, of all beings.

---

Yan.

Ben Mereel was the strangest youngling Yan had ever met, there was no doubt about that. He was far too composed, too articulate, too intelligent, too observant, and, given the evidence Jaster Mereel had given them, the recordings of his practice with his white-bladed ‘saber, far too skilled for any seven-year-old.

It was fascinating— he was fascinating—and Yan couldn’t help but be intrigued.

What he could sense of the child was Light, yes, but his shields were yet another area where he was far too advanced for any normal youngling. There was quite a bit kept hidden, and what lurked beneath the heaviest of those shields, Yan couldn’t even begin to guess. He hoped their meditation would be an opportunity to better familiarize himself with Ben’s presence, and, if he carried it with him, to see the bond between him and his healed, formerly-Bled crystal.

Yan was also looking forward to meeting this Korr Neda young Ben had been meditating with so often. A Mandalorian trained in both their own Force traditions and those of the Temple of the Kyber on Jedha would be fascinating in his own right.

He was very glad, truth be told, that Plo had invited himself along on this visit. He needed no help from Yan in negotiating with Mereel (though, in truth, there was hardly any “negotiation” happening between them; it seemed more like an easy discussion between two friends about how they might help each other, and Yan couldn’t help but wonder just what Plo had said in his messages to the Mand’alor to make the two so comfortable with each other already), and that left Yan free to focus on the matter he found more interesting.

After firstmeal, their party had split up, Mereel taking Plo to the “war room,” what he apparently called their Council Chamber (amusingly, in Yan’s opinion, and very stereotypically Mandalorian of him), and Ben leading Yan down to the gardens where they would meet Neda for their group meditation.

Finally, Yan had a moment alone with Ben Mereel.

As soon as the child’s parent and Plo were out of earshot, Yan said, “I had seen it noted in your Temple files that you have visions, Ben. How frequent have they been since your arrival here?”

Ben hummed. “Not infrequent, but not overwhelmingly often,” he said easily. “The… quality of many of those visions has changed, but I think that might be partly due to the meditations Korr has been teaching me that inspire them.”

“Oh?” Yan hummed in return.

“‘Lek. He’s also stronger in the Unifying than the Living, and the Guardians taught him what they call a ‘seeking meditation,’ to sense the shape of the future more deliberately rather than waiting for the Force to impart a vision of its own Will,” Ben explained, and then prodded Yan down another turn. The main governmental complex where they had been given quarters, and attached to the barracks which housed the Mand’alor’s home, was a large, sprawling structure, and one of the tallest in the city, from what he’d seen during their landing approach. If not for the Force’s aid, Yan thought he might have become hopelessly lost in this place, particularly since he couldn’t read the signage, all of it in Mando’a.

“I see,” Yan said. “There are very few who practice the Jedi equivalent within the Order, these days, though I do know one who does.”

Ben hummed again, giving Yan a look he couldn’t quite parse. “Master Sifo-Dyas?” he asked.

“Indeed,” he confirmed. “When you say that the ‘quality’ of your visions has changed, what do you mean?”

“When I look into the future purposefully, it’s… vague. Flashes of information, places, people, events,” Ben said, and then shot Yan a bit of a smirk. It was a strange look, one that seemed to belong on a much older face. “What Master Yoda seems to think most visions are like.”

Yan chuckled, startled by the teasing, fond irreverence of the child. “Just so,” he acknowledged, because irreverent or not, Ben wasn’t entirely incorrect in his assessment. Yan did recall that Yoda had gone down to the creche to provide counsel to the boy on his visions more than a few times, so between that and Yoda’s time spent with all of the Initiate Clans, Ben likely knew him well. “Your other visions are clearer, then?”

“When the Force sends me a vision, it’s… like a dream. It feels slightly off from reality, in a way, and, much like in dreams, I have some automatic and innate understanding of the situation and events happening around me,” Ben explained. Yan hummed; that sounded quite a bit like Sy’s own visions, those that he’d shared with Yan over the years.

Those same visions had also grown steadily Darker as time passed—until recently, anyway. As a matter of fact, it had been just after Ben’s departure from the Temple that Sy’s visions had begun to grow Lighter, more hopeful. Though that didn’t surprise Yan overly much; as he’d said, he’d been arguing against the continued necessity of adhering to the Reformation’s terms with the Council for years. The Senate was a pit of Darkness, and if the very heart of the Republic had become so corrupted…

Well, Yan had lost faith in the Senate, and the Republic, decades ago. He was pleased that his fellow Jedi had finally come to see the truth as he had, and were taking action at last.

Yan turned his wandering thoughts back to the child, noting idly that he hadn’t seemed at all discomforted by the extended silence. That, too, was unlike other younglings his age, in Yan’s experience. Even Jedi younglings didn’t tend to sit well with silence, and often began babbling to fill it.

But he had spent enough time woolgathering. There was yet another matter he was eager to discuss with Ben. “Your father told us that you had a vision about a Night Brother of Dathomir,” he said, and Ben hummed, peering up at him intently for a moment, as if weighing his next words carefully.

“‘Lek,” Ben said, and then hesitated for a second longer. “If you’d like, I could project it to you, during our meditation.”

“That would be most helpful,” Yan agreed. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Ben said slowly, tilting his head as though curious, or confused. “But why would it be ‘helpful?’”

Yan smiled. “Your father asked for our assistance in resolving the situation you saw, and aiding this Night Brother,” he explained. Ben came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the hallway, looking up at him with narrowed eyes.

For a long moment, Ben simply stared, and Yan waited patiently for whatever it was he might say. Finally, Ben’s expression cleared, and he smiled back.

“Alright,” he said. “I appreciate whatever help you might be willing and able to provide. Buir refused to let me go myself, so I’m afraid I’ll have to rely on others to take care of it for me.”

He sounded almost… petulant about that, and it was the most like any other seven-year-old Yan had yet heard him sound. Yan chuckled again. “Your father is very wise to forbid it,” he said. “Dathomir is a dangerous place, and strong in the Force or not, you are still very young, yet.”

Ben sighed, a rather put-upon sort of sound. “‘Lek, buir said much the same,” he agreed, and then gestured Yan onwards, resuming their course towards the gardens. They fell silent again, for a time, as Ben led them into a lift to take them down to ground level. Just as before, Yan let him have his silence, for now, his own thoughts full enough to occupy him.

This little youngling was presenting an ever more interesting mystery—one that Yan had only a week to solve, a task that, at present, felt near-impossible.

But, perhaps… Yan smiled, the beginnings of an idea starting to form. Yes, perhaps… Given their other plans, and the matters Plo was discussing with Mereel and his Council… There might be a way to rectify that, and gain enough time to solve the riddle that was Ben Mereel.

---

The gardens were lovely, and reminded Yan rather strongly of several areas in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. There were others there, milling about the space, some of them simply walking through and enjoying them and others gardening, and their gazes lingered on Yan, for a moment, though none of them stopped their progress. Yan followed Ben’s lead, the youngling leading him down an obviously familiar path towards a little clearing nestled between the large roots of two tall trees, forming a hollow surrounded by tall grass. Much as Yan preferred a meditation mat in a formal chamber to sitting or kneeling in the dirt, this was admittedly lovely, ringing in the Living Force.

The Chagrian they were there to meet was already waiting for them, leaning against one of those large roots, and Yan studied them as they approached. Neda was tall and bulkier than the average Chagrians Yan had met before, with vibrant blue skin, though most of it was covered by armor—an interesting puzzle in itself. If Neda was Force-sensitive, then the armor could not be beskar; Yan wondered what other materials they made their armor out of, though he doubted he would get any answers from them on that, given how secret they kept such practices. The armor itself was painted primarily dark green, with accents of yellow and red. Yan remembered that colors all had quite specific meanings to Mandalorians, though he couldn’t recall them from memory, and noted it down as another question to ask. Neda’s helmet was also quite interesting to him, apparently designed in two pieces, to accommodate the horns and tentacles he sported, as a Chagrian, with a fitted back plate that a front faceplate would attach to while leaving space for the appendages to come through.

Neda smiled and waved to them as they drew nearer, and then knelt to greet Ben with a gentle headbutt, the two murmuring to each other quietly in Mando’a for a moment. Finally, they both turned to Yan, who managed a diplomatic smile for them.

“Korr, this is Master Yan Dooku,” Ben introduced him, and Yan bowed his head. “Master Dooku, this is Korr Neda b’aliit Mereel.”

“Jatne urcye,” Neda said, bowing his head. “Well met.”

“Likewise,” Yan said politely.

Ben cleared his throat and gestured for them to sit, apparently eager to begin; Neda and Yan both chuckled, but obeyed. It was, Yan noted, just yet another oddity about Ben Mereel—he’d never seen any child so happy to meditate, most younglings struggling to achieve even a light trance, unable to sit still. Even so, Yan thought it polite to exchange at least a few more pleasantries with Neda before diving straight into a group meditation, and Neda, apparently, seemed to think the same, still studying him. He reached out in the Force, a gentle brush against Yan’s presence, projecting questioning-welcome-greeting towards him. Yan smiled and answered in kind.

“I’ve been told you’ve taught Ben a ‘seeking meditation,’ to sense the shape of the future through the Force?” Yan asked lightly. Neda hummed and nodded.

“‘Lek —yes, it was one of the first we worked on,” Neda said, shooting a look paired with another projection at Ben, both conveying fond-amusement-warmth. “He was excited to learn, and already had a good grasp of the more basic outreach and grounding meditations, so I saw no reason to put it off. It was one I learned from the Guardians, when I trained on Jedha for a few years.”

“At the Temple of the Kyber?” Yan confirmed.

“‘Lek. Have you ever been?” Neda asked, and Yan nodded.

“I have indeed, though I did not have the opportunity to train with the Guardians, at the time,” he said. “I spent the majority of my visit consulting with the Keepers of the Hall of Prophecy, though my Padawan—my apprentice—enjoyed training with the Guardians quite a bit.”

“Matters of prophecy can be heavy,” Neda said. “And it isn’t just anyone the Keepers allow into those Halls. You must have impressed them.”

“I was… particularly motivated, and they found my reasons compelling enough,” Yan said vaguely. It was one thing to hint to Ben Mereel about Sifo-Dyas’s visions, since he was a former-Jedi and had already heard of him, but quite another to speak of it to Neda, a relative unknown. Sifo-Dyas had been unable to make the trip himself, but they had both felt strongly enough that the patterns in his visions matched too many prophecies heralding great Darkness that someone had had to make the trip. The Council had accepted his petition for an “academic sabbatical,” and allowed him leave to visit, taking Qui-Gon with him, his Padawan, at the time.

Neda simply hummed and nodded. “It’s a beautiful place,” he said, “both physically and in the ka’ra —the Force, as you say.”

“Quite,” Yan agreed. “I would very much like to return, one day.” Jedha had been peaceful in ways the Coruscant Temple was not; no matter how calm the Jedi within the Temple were, they still inhabited an ecumenopolis. They could never quite block out the rest of the background noise, and Jedha, with its vast deserts and much smaller, scattered cities, had been far quieter, far more peaceful. Yan hoped that Yavin IV would prove to feel much the same, since the Jedi would become its only inhabitants.

Neda smiled, a nostalgic-fondness flaring from him in the Force, and then he turned to Ben. “Your buir said you had another vision, ‘lek? About Dathomir this time?” he asked.

Ben nodded. “‘Lek. I offered to project it to Master Dooku, and to you, during this meditation,” he said, and then that arch look reappeared on his face. “Apparently buir asked for the help of the Jedi in handling it, since I’m ‘too young’ to go myself.”

Neda laughed, reaching out to put a hand atop Ben’s head, stroking his hair for a moment. “We’ve talked about this, Ben’ika, and I know Jaster has talked about this with you more than once as well,” he said, dropping his hand. “Some struggle to learn how to be independent, but others struggle to learn how to let others help and care for them.”

Ben sighed, wilting slightly. “‘Lek, Korr. I know.”

Yan filed that away as well, and the details it gave him about Ben’s personality. With his level of intelligence and skill, it wasn’t terribly surprising that he was more independent than most others his age, but that it sounded as if it was a genuine problem was interesting.

Ben clapped his hands together, redirecting them. “So! Shall we get started?”

Neda chuckled again, and Yan even smiled at the blatant change in subject (and noted that, though Ben Mereel did seem far older than seven, on the whole, there were times when his age shone through), but both allowed it, nodding. In unison, the three of them closed their eyes, focused on their breathing, and reached for the Force.

---

Cygan Ordo.

Cygan, like most of Aliit Ordo, had never held as much anger and hate towards the Jetiise as many others had. Justifiably, from their point of view, after the Dral’han. But Cygan had long since realized something that most Mando’ade hadn’t: the Jetiise were nothing more than dangerous weapons, aimed and fired by the Republic. In their efforts to avoid “control” and “power,” the Jetiise had given those things to the Republic, allowing themselves to be used in ways that didn’t reflect their own Code. Cygan knew that the Dral’han wouldn’t have been their idea, their plan, but the power they’d given over to the Republic had forced them to go along with it, to participate in the decimation of as many Mandalorian worlds as they could reach.

But Cygan didn’t have the time or energy to hate the Jetiise here and now for something their ancestors many generations over had done. Instead… He pitied them, and their blindness, their complacency.

Still, though he didn’t hate them, it was startling to see a Jetii walk into their Council chamber, led by the Mand’alor himself. Ben Mereel was one thing—he was just an adiik, rescued from unpleasant, dangerous circumstances, just like so many other foundlings. But an adult Jetii, a Master of their Order, openly welcomed not just in the Alori’ya, but into the very heart of their government, was… something else altogether.

The usual pre-session chatter abruptly ended as they entered, the Chamber and all twelve of them falling silent to stare at the Kel Dor. What they were was unmistakable, with those robes, the cloak, and the Jetii’kad hanging from their belt. Jaster led them up to the head of the table, pulling an extra chair over from the side of the room for them to sit, though Jaster himself remained standing, for the moment.

“Jate vaar’tur,” he greeted them easily, like this was any other normal session. They all continued silently staring, forgoing their usual chorus of answers in kind. Jaster’s smile faded quickly into a more serious look as he glanced over the table. “What we discuss here today will require your utmost discretion. We can’t have any leaks, suvari?” Jaster paused, waiting for a response, and they all nodded slowly. Cygan wondered just what it might be that a Jetii had to tell them that would demand such secrecy, but didn’t speak up to ask. They would be told soon enough, he was sure.

“This,” Jaster continued, nodding to the Jetii seated on his left—and he’d made quite the statement with that choice, “is Jetii Master Plo Koon.” Again, he paused, and again, they all simply nodded. Apparently deciding that was good enough, Jaster nodded back, and then sat, waving a hand towards Koon.

“Jate vaar’tur,” the Jetii said, the words stilted, but that he made some effort was a good diplomatic choice. “Mand’alor Mereel allowed me this audience to make an announcement: if all goes to plan, within six months, the Jedi Order will be leaving the Republic.”

For a long moment, there was dead silence in the Chamber. Al’aliit Shon Spar was the first to break it, naturally, bursting out laughing. Several others joined him, but Cygan wasn’t one of them.

The Jetii had been serious.

“Tion’jor? Why?” Cygan asked, the laughter dying down into quieter chuckles. “And why now?”

“For several decades, the Order, and the Council in particular, have attempted to see to reforms in the laws governing us, and our relationship with the Republic Senate,” Koon said. “We have allies, Senators sympathetic to us, but they alone are not enough. The reforms introduced by our Senatorial allies have all died in committee before they even reach the floor for a vote, and the courts have summarily denied each of our petitions. No Chancellor in the past four decades has been willing to assist us in the attempt, either. If the Republic will not work with us, as they have demonstrated already, then we are left with no other choice.

“As to your second question,” Koon continued, the Chamber so quiet, now, that his voice echoed a bit, the assembled Councilors all falling silent, no longer laughing, as they realized what Cygan already had, that the Jetii was completely serious, “the recent incident regarding our former-Initiate was the final straw.” A wave of quiet, unhappy grumbling met that, unsurprisingly. Once they had heard how Jaster had come to adopt a former- Jeti’ika, they’d all been disgusted by the Senate, and, to some extent, the Jetiise who’d let it happen. “Though they haven’t been actively enforced in many years—two centuries, from our records—there are laws still in effect which would allow the Republic to take custody of our younglings if we should break any of the regulations we are bound by. Therefore, to keep our most vulnerable members safe, we have no other choice but to leave.”

“Why would you agree to something like that in the first place?” Senna Ito asked.

“That law was introduced as part of the greater Reformation almost one thousand years ago,” Koon said. “At the time, there were a myriad of changes made, all aimed at ensuring that the Jedi would not Fall—becoming like the Sith. The custody transfer protocol was meant to be used if we in the Order ever lost our way. It was intended to be used to protect the younglings from Fallen, Dark Jedi.”

“Instead, they used it to threaten you,” Cygan said, and Koon nodded. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Politicians aren’t the sort of people you want to give control over a group of powerful ad’e. But I understand the position you Jetiise were in at the time.”

“Me’ven?” Shon sputtered, and Cygan sighed. Sometimes, it seemed as if only he and Jaster had ever studied greater galactic history among those who sat upon the Council.

“When the old Empire the Dar’jetiise built had just fallen, that left the Dral’akaan’ade, the… Army of the Light, led by the Jetiise, as the only true military force left in the galaxy,” Cygan said. “The Republic feared that the Jetiise would turn into more Dar’jetiise, using that army to conquer unchallenged. I don’t agree with the decisions their ancestors made, but I understand why they did it. They were either going to be seen as a tool, or as a threat. There was no good answer.” Without waiting for any response from his fellow Councilors, Cygan turned back to the Jetii. “The question that interests me most is what you plan to do now.”

“The Order has found several locations suitable for new Temples; one of them is in a nearby system, entirely neutral, and the location in question is completely uninhabited, for now,” Koon said.

“Just how ‘nearby’ is it?” Shon asked, starting to frown.

“Under a day’s travel through hyperspace,” Koon answered.

“So, what, you came to make nice with your new neighbors?” Senna asked. Koon chuckled.

“That is one way of putting it,” he agreed. “The Council sent me to ask for your help—” That started up another round of muttering, and Cygan had no doubt it was about to slide into shouting, but the Jetii finished before they got the chance to really get started. “—and to offer our own.”

“Your help?” Senna scoffed. “What kind of help could we need, or even want, from the Jetiise?”

“I had come prepared to offer the Agricultural Corps’ aid in rehabilitating the planets in the Mandalore system, to heal the damage dealt,” Koon said, and murmuring started up yet again, “though I’ve recently been told that would not yet be feasible—not until the faction known as Death Watch is quelled. When my mission partner, and myself, informed the rest of the Council, we all agreed that we should offer our assistance in that endeavor as well.

“There is also, as I understand it, a third faction,” Koon continued before they could respond, “the ‘New Mandalorians,’ who are pacifists. The idea agreed upon by our Council was for a Watchbeing to be stationed in the Mandalore sector, a Jedi whose primary task would be to assist the Mand’alor in stabilizing the sector. If that can only be done by rooting out this Death Watch faction, and negotiating with the New Mandalorians, then it will be done.”

Cygan hummed to himself, sitting back in his seat as the others started whispering to each other, mostly in Mando’a, so the Jetii wouldn’t catch on to what they were actually saying. The murmuring around the table started to get louder, and Jaster looked about ready to call them all to order, but Cygan beat him to it. He raised his arm and slammed his kom’rk against the metal edge of the table, the ringing clang catching their attention. All eyes turned to him, then, and he smiled.

“Just to be clear, Jetii,” Cygan said, “from what I know about your ‘Watchbeings,’ one of their duties was to support the Republic’s interests in their assigned sector. Given that you’re leaving the Republic, that will no longer be the case, ‘lek?”

“That is correct,” Koon said. “Instead, their focus will be on assisting the planet, or sector’s, leadership in maintaining stability there, and fostering good relations with the Order.”

“And the other primary duty of a Watchbeing is to identify… Force-sensitive ad’e, and encourage their families to give them to you, ‘lek?” Cygan asked. More grumbling started, but Cygan shot a look at the others, and they fell silent. At times like this, he quite enjoyed being the oldest member of the Mand’alor’s Council, certain it was one of the main reasons the others listened to him as much as they did. Surviving to become an old warrior did have its benefits.

“That depends very much upon the sector, and the situation,” Koon said easily. “In some cases, if younglings are not trained to at least control their gifts, it can cause them harm. But that does not necessarily mean that they must join the Jedi Order; much like how your own travel to Jedha, in some cases, but eventually return, Jedi are sometimes sent to teach younglings control in their homes while they remain with their families. We have a recent example of a Jedi Watchman training a Force-sensitive youngling who resided with their family at his posting, within the past three years. It isn’t at all uncommon, and the decision to become a Jedi is one made between the Jedi, the child, their family, and the Force.” After a brief pause, Koon added, a bit drily, “We do not ‘steal’ children unless their guardians are… unsuitable.”

That quieted them down, some, all of them thinking about Ben, no doubt, and his tal’buir’e, the story they’d all been told about Stewjon, and what they did to ka’ra’tigaanla there. Deciding that was enough of an explanation to proceed, Cygan hummed again and leaned forward.

“So you’re offering to come help to stabilize the sector, train our younglings when they need it, and, eventually, heal our damaged worlds,” Cygan said. “What is it you want in exchange for all of that?”

“Your open support of us after we make our announcement,” Koon said. “The Jedi aim to become more than just an Order; we intend to establish ourselves as an independent people. To do so, and to be taken seriously in the effort, we will need allies.”

More murmuring started up, but the tone had changed, less hissing and more curious, now. Cygan hummed again.

“Frankly, I think we’d be getting the better end of that bargain,” he said, which garnered a few dubious looks, but no glares, at least. “The Republic itself has no army, no soldiers, besides you Jetiise when they decide to use you in that way, and Judicial, who are more like law enforcement, and are scattered throughout the Republic, not coordinated in the way an army would need to be. Another attack on us from that quarter would be… unlikely.”

“Indeed,” Koon agreed, and then nodded to Jaster again. Cygan wondered, for a moment, why Jaster hadn’t taken more control over the session, but then realized it was a test. He wanted to see how they would handle the Jetii themselves; if they were too hostile, then even Jaster’s explicit mandate wouldn’t forge this partnership between them. “Mand’alor Mereel did express some concern over economic penalties from the Republic, which does seem more likely. A higher tax rate would be the most likely outcome, I would assume; the corporate sector would be in an uproar themselves if they were forbidden from exporting to Mandalore entirely.”

“They’d starve us out,” Shon grumbled. “If it didn’t line their pockets, selling to us, they would’ve done it already.”

“Our Agricultural Corps could be prepared to make up the difference quickly,” Koon assured them. “Though it will take some time to establish our new Temples, and the Service Corps bases there, the AgriCorps does most of their growing aboard their ships, in specialized greenhouses. Given the close proximity between Mandalore and one of our proposed new Temples, it would be a simple matter to resolve that concern.”

Another round of murmuring went around the table, and both Cygan and Jaster looked over the others. Jaster finally stood again, calling everyone’s attention to him.

“If you’re all at least open to the idea,” he said, “then we should hash out a formal agreement before we vote on it.”

There was a beat of silence, and then another round of nods started up. Cygan, however, still had one important question to ask—the Jetii had said that they would need “allies,” and Koon had also said that there would be multiple new Temples. Cygan doubted they would all be clustered in the same sector, and that meant there must be others the Jetiise had approached as well.

If that was the case, then the opportunity this presented was far greater than what the Jetiise alone could offer them.

“Have you approached other independent worlds and systems before us?” he asked, and Koon hummed and nodded to him.

“Indeed we have,” he said. “We began by contacting those nearest to our new Temples’ proposed locations. There are several others currently in the process of drafting formal agreements—and, in several cases, their own secession from the Republic.”

“Which worlds have agreed to your alliance already?” Cygan asked, and Shon, Teemani, Sabban, and Vomar all perked up, a bit, likely starting to catch on to the reason he was asking after this in particular.

“Serenno, Lothal, Garos, Garel, Utapau, Lasan, Mon Cala, Felucia, and the entirety of the Subterrel sector,” Koon answered. Cygan nodded, starting to smile. It wasn’t much, not yet, but there was a distinct pattern to those worlds. They were all Outer Rim planets, those who either weren’t part of the Republic to begin with, or had been treated poorly by them. It was obvious to anyone who was paying attention that for all the Republic’s pretty words about democracy and equality, the farther out from the Core their members were, the more neglected they were—if not outright abused, bled dry for their raw resources to feed the greed and opulence in the Core. As an added boon, several of them even sat at the juncture of several important hyperlanes.

They would be starting small, but Cygan saw the promise in this. It had been a very long time since Mandalore had had any true allies outside of their own space. But if they agreed to support the Jetiise, they would, in essence, become part of a new alliance. To weaken the corrupt Republic at the same time would be a much appreciated bonus.

“What sort of agreements have already been put in place with those worlds?” Vomar, Al’aliit be’Farr, asked. Cygan got the impression that Koon was smiling, pleased by the question and the obvious interest behind it, though it was hard to tell with the mask on.

“They are still undergoing final negotiations, but I have the most recent drafts from several of those worlds, if you would like to see them,” Koon said, and that garnered a round of nods. Jaster handed over the datapad that was synced to the holotable’s controls, and Koon withdrew a datachip from his belt.

Cygan started to smile himself, then. Despite how… unlikely it sounded, Mando’ade allying with the Jetiise, this insane proposal held so much potential, and he was certain the others would see it as well. This was far, far bigger than just Mandalore, or the Jetiise.

What they decided here could shape a new future for Mandalore, the Jetiise, and, just maybe, the entire Outer Rim. Seeing a few of the other Al’aliit’e around the table with the same contemplative look, Cygan’s smile grew a bit wider, and he settled in to turn his attention back to the Jetii.

---

Korr.

When Jaster had messaged him to ask if he would be willing to add one of the Jetiise to his meditation with Ben, Korr hadn’t hesitated to accept. Meditating with Ben’ika had been so novel, and they’d both learned and grown much from their differing knowledge and approaches; how much could a Jetii Master add to that, for both of them? He’d been too curious, too intrigued, to refuse.

At first, for quite some time, their trio had drifted on the currents, all three of them dropping into the ka’ra easily, and then slowly letting down enough of their shields to be able to sense each other more clearly. They let their presences brush and mingle at the edges, getting a feel for one another. Ben’ika was quite familiar to Korr by now, that feeling of warmth-Light-steadfast-starlight he radiated an easy one to reach for; after a quick greeting with each other, fond-warm-hello-there-my-friend, they’d both turned their attentions to Dooku.

The Jetii felt warm, and Light, and Korr also sensed a sort of beskar-will that spoke to a strong mind and deeply rooted convictions, not unlike the stubborn-determination-faith-will in Ben. But, beneath that rigid control of Dooku’s, the Jetii felt like a storm, almost, sitting in the eye of it and letting the howling wind and rolling thunder whirl around them. It was… more chaotic than Korr had expected from one of the Jetiise. Dooku’s presence flared with amusement at the thought, telling Korr that he’d caught it, and projected to him: Chaos —

— yet harmony. Both Ben and Dooku finished that together, and Dooku’s amusement increased even as he sent a tendril of approval towards Ben.

They spent some time feeling each other out, learning each other’s presences, at least on a surface level. Just as Dooku had allowed Korr to press up against him, to get a sense of him, Korr stepped back, metaphysically speaking, and allowed Dooku to do the same. The Jetii’s brushes were light, easy touches, politely distant, not reaching for anything Korr didn’t immediately offer up. His estimation of Dooku rose a bit.

When Dooku turned his attention to Ben, the adiik also tugged at Korr. He followed Ben’s pull a little deeper than usual into Ben’s presence, deeper into his mind, and then felt Ben prompt both him and Dooku to pull their shields down just a bit lower. As soon as they did, Korr found himself standing in a strange place, a Dark place—both literally lacking in light to see by and Dark in the ka’ra, tainted, in a way. He looked around, examining their surroundings: red mist covering what looked like a desert, and several empty huts nearby. This, Korr belatedly realized, must be the beginning of the vision Ben had had.

As soon as that image settled, figures appeared. There were several older Zabrak nearby, but the focus was on two children, one with red skin and black markings, and the other with green-tinted yellow skin and brown-black markings. Korr watched and listened as the yellow-and-black adiik cried out for their vod, and the red-and-black adiik desperately reached out to them, pulled away by a hooded figure, face too shadowed to identify.

His first reaction to seeing adiik’e treated in such a way, under any other circumstances, would have been righteous anger. How dare they harm ad’e? How dare they separate the adiik’e when they so clearly loved each other, sharing such a strong bond? Those thoughts had flitted through his mind, but they weren’t, in fact, what Korr focused on, at first.

Ben wasn’t only projecting the images to them of what had happened, including the impressions and feelings he’d felt from the Force in that vision. The planet was Dark, yes, but in a wild, untamed sort of way. That hooded figure, though… They reeked of Darkness, deliberate and heavy, pouring off of them in waves, slimy-oily-piercing-sharp-cold in a way that made Korr’s skin crawl.

The projection, the vision, ended quickly. Ben didn’t let them linger there long, guiding them gently but firmly back up to the surface, closing his shields behind them, some. Dooku, too, drew back, but even further, back to the surface, the physical world. He thrummed with… something strange, a feeling almost like suspicion, though who or what it was towards, Korr couldn’t identify.

After a few moments, Korr followed the Jetii’s lead, as did Ben. When all three of them opened their eyes, they simply stared at each other for a long moment, as if silently asking “what did you make of that?”

“Thank you for sharing that with us,” Dooku said, nodding to Ben. Korr’s estimation of him rose yet again. “Have you ever seen any of the beings in that vision before in other visions?”

Ben hummed, tilting his head. “It’s possible,” he said. “The Dark figure seemed… familiar, in a way. Though I can’t tell you anything more than that about them.”

Dooku nodded again. “The Force felt rather urgent,” he said. “I believe this event might happen very soon. We may have to depart within the next day or two to arrive in time to have any impact on its outcome.”

The ka’ra pressed down against Korr, buzzing against his skin, whispering-yet-voiceless in the back of his mind, and he sat up a bit straighter. The faces of those two little adiik’e, and a third, just an ikaad, who he hadn’t actually seen in Ben’s vision, with yellow skin, black markings, and the smallest of nubs, not yet grown into horns, all flashed in front of his eyes, and he knew what the ka’ra wanted of him.

“Your official story is that your ship is grounded here due to mechanical issues, ‘lek?” Korr asked.

“It is,” Dooku confirmed, and Korr nodded.

“Then you’ll need another ship to use to maintain that cover,” he said. “I will take you to Dathomir; that will leave the other Jetii to continue their work here, and… I feel that I must go as well.”

Dooku hummed again, staring at Korr for a long moment, the ka’ra around him swirling as he drew on it, likely asking it if this truly was the right path. Finally, the Jetii smiled.

“Your offer is much appreciated. Allow me enough time to discuss it with my mission partner, and then I will be ready to leave when you are,” Dooku said, and Korr nodded, starting to smile himself, then. Dooku chuckled softly, shaking his head. “A joint mission between a Mandalorian warrior and a Jedi Master—these are strange days indeed.”

Ben made a strangled, startled sort of noise, eyes wide when Korr glanced at him; Korr just laughed. “You know, Jetii,” he said, “I think we might get along better than expected.”

Dooku smiled. “Indeed. Let us hope that it is an omen of good things yet to come between our peoples.”

Korr nodded and held out his hand, and Dooku, proving that he’d been paying attention, clasped his wrist as Korr did the same. “Ka’ra willing. To Dathomir, then.”

The Jetii nodded, sounding solemn despite the small smile still on his face, when he echoed, “To Dathomir.”

The ka’ra pinged between them, excited and urging and warning and hopeful all at once—but, above all, it felt right.

Notes:

Ben (internally): The "Adults" are being suspicious. They're probably talking about me.
Ben: Sooo... Were you talking about me?
Dooku: Yes. We have questions. Would you be willing to meditate with us?
Ben: "Us" as in *you?*
Dooku: Who else would I mean?
Ben: ...
Ben: ...
Ben: ...okay. (Here's hoping I don't have a flashback or a panic attack and have even more to explain later. Please, Force, let me be stable for *one meditation!*) But we need *supervision.*
Dooku: Hmm. Acceptable.
Korr: Huh. Jetii? ...okay. This could be interesting.

Jaster: Good morning!
Plo, peeking out from behind Jaster's shoulder: ...good morning!
Mandalorian Clan leaders: ...WTF? Is that a Jetii hiding behind you?
Jaster: Yes. He has something to tell you all, and it's Super Duper Secret!
Plo: We're leaving the Republic! No, it's not a joke. We really are leaving.
Clan leaders: Um? I mean, that's nice and all, but we care because...?
Plo: Well, now Jaster and I won't have to hide our Bromance—
Clan Leaders: UM???
Plo: Apologies, I meant that now our peoples can develop a partnership—
Clan Leaders: That's *definitely* not what you said.
Plo: Well, it's what I meant. Jaster, a little help?
Jaster: Nah, you were right the first time. Let's not bother lying about it.

Dooku: Ben is Interesting. Korr is Interesting. This meditation, and that vision, are Interesting. I think I would be Interested in staying longer on Mandalore, if I can make that happen...
Korr: Huh. Dooku is polite, and interesting. Ben's vision is interesting. The ka'ra obviously wants me to hop on over to Dathomir and turn my rabid, feral love of children on whoever is trying to hurt those kiddos. So, Jetii, you in?
Dooku: Naturally.
Korr: Sweet. Go team!
Ben (internally): I was not prepared for Dooku, of all people, to show up and also become BFFs with a Mandalorian. I was not prepared for the two of them to immediately agree to take off for Dathomir to deal with my vision and save Maul. The combined powers of a trained Force-sensitive Mandalorian warrior and *Dooku* are going to be terrifying.
Ben: ...
Ben: ...
Ben: Force, what have I DONE???
The Force: Remember how I said to chill, BB?
Ben: You know that's not an option.
The Force: *Heavy sigh*

Next time, Dooku and Korr will arrive on Dathomir, Plo will continue his discussions with the Mandalorian Clan leaders, and Ben will encounter another familiar face in Keldabe... ;)

Chapter 9

Notes:

Hello again! :) Ah, I finally got some inspiration for this particular fic when I took a break from banging my head against the wall trying to shake out the final arc of love the one you're with, LOL! (That one should hopefully be finished soon; I'm really hoping to wrap that up before NaNoWriMo starts next month, but that's a whole 'nother can of worms. XD ) Thank you all so much for all the comments, kudos, and your patience with my super unpredictable update schedules, LOL! I promise that I don't abandon my fics; some may take a very long time for me to circle back to, between Real Life and the unpredictability of my inspiration, but I'll always come back to them eventually. <3

So, I’ve been asked by a couple people if this fic will eventually have a pairing, particularly for Ben. The answer, frankly, is that I don’t know. He’s currently seven, so if there eventually is a relationship written in for him, it will come much, much later. There will be several people he will get particularly close to, but almost all of that will happen when everyone is a kiddo, not just Ben, so that’s not something that will develop into a romance anytime soon. There’s also the consideration of the moral quandary posed by the age difference between Ben mentally and the others who are actually physically his age. That makes things a little Awkward.

I will guarantee here and now that this will *not* be an Obitine fic. I don’t write that, LOL, and, honestly, I almost exclusively write slashfic when I do go for pairings (there are het couples in my stories, but most of them are very much in the background). So if there is a relationship for Obi-Ben, it will likely be with another male character; I'll warn you all if that's the route I end up deciding to go, but given my current plans for the direction of this fic, it's not super likely that I will ever explicitly show a romantic relationship for Ben, though there are some characters you might be able to put on your ship goggles and make your own assumptions with, LOL. No matter what happens with Ben’s love life, the focus of this fic will not be romantic relationships.

Also, side note, if you want to read Jaster and Plo’s bromance as a romance instead, knock yourself out! XD

Whew, okay! All of that said, on with the show, and I hope you enjoy! :D

Plo.

Plo had come to realize, over the course of his correspondence with Jaster, that Mandalorians were quite pragmatic people. They were incredibly emotional, feeling everything very deeply, but, much like the Jedi, they would never allow their own personal feelings to stand in the way of the greater good—here meaning, of course, anything that would benefit their Clans, and Mandalore itself. Though Plo doubted they were yet at a point where these Mandalorians would appreciate the comparison, it was obvious to him nonetheless.

It had only taken five hours to draft an agreement—far less time than any of the other worlds they had approached, amusingly enough. But, as Plo had already realized, Mandalorians were decisive and very straightforward when it came to such matters. Once they had decided to proceed with this plan, it took very little time to decide on the specifics.

Naturally, each world they had already allied with had something to offer the Jedi, and something the Jedi could offer them. Mandalore was no different. Figuring out what the Mandalorians might want from them had been an easy, simple task; determining what the Mandalorians would be willing to offer them in return was far more difficult. In the end, what they had settled on for their proposal was far more than Plo had expected: the recognition of the Jedi as an independent people, of course; a mutual protection pact, bound to come to each other’s aid if they were ever attacked; those scattered Clans who did not live within Mandalorian space, spread all across the galaxy in communities known as Coverts, a majority of which claimed Jaster as their Mand’alor, would take over what was currently one of the duties of Republic Judicial, running search and rescue missions for Jedi who went missing while on assignment, and providing immediate backup to any teams who encountered difficulties beyond their ability to resolve themselves, at least until other Jedi could reach them.

Jaster’s Council had voted quickly once that draft was finished, giving their approval on behalf of their Clans—the leaders of twelve of the largest Houses of Mandalorians, in fact, representing a sizeable majority of Mandalorians, sat on this Council—and all that was left on that front was the approval of the Jedi High Council. Plo had no doubt that they would agree, though that would have to wait until his return, all of them wholly unwilling to risk sending it back to Coruscant over a transmission, lest it be intercepted by the Republic.

They weren’t quite finished, after that, however. Cygan, the leader of Clan and House Ordo, a shrewd, older human, had then called for midmeal to be brought in so they could continue uninterrupted, including something called pog soup and straw for Plo so he could remain as well.

“So, Jetii,” Cygan said, smiling at him as he leaned back in his chair, “tell us more about these other worlds who’ve agreed to join your alliance.”

Plo’s mandibles twitched in amusement. “I suppose I should start with those closest to you, and work my way around the ‘Rim,” he said, and Cygan nodded. “Serenno is rather near. They are currently led by Count Ramil of House Serenno. They have a strong economy, though they have had trouble with pirates and raiders in their sector. Their position at the juncture of two hyperlanes brings them a great deal of trade, but also trouble…”

---

It took another four hours before they called the session to a close for the day, and Plo was pleased by the work they had done. The Clan Leaders had agreed to their proposal only partly because of what the Jedi themselves could offer—the chance to forge a slew of new alliances had done the rest of the convincing. By the time Jaster called the session to a close for the day, they had drafted and voted on proposals to send to Serenno, Garos, Mon Cala, and Felucia. The other worlds and sectors were farther from Mandalorian space, and they had all agreed that they would need to speak to the scattered Clans who inhabited worlds closer to them before making any offers.

The Clan Leaders, and Jaster, were all in a good mood by the time they were finished, their excitement and hope warm and buoyant in the Force. Even the Clan Leaders who had buzzed unhappily in the Force when he’d first entered the room with Jaster felt contented and pleased, by the time the session was called to a close, any remaining traces of hostility washed away.

Plo wasn’t at all surprised when Cygan Ordo hung back as the others left; the older man had been the voice of reason, and seemed well-educated when it came to both Mandalorian and Jedi history. No doubt he was curious, and Plo, admittedly, was as well.

“Jetii,” Ordo said, nodding to him. Jaster was still seated, tapping away at his datapad, no doubt making notes for himself on the session they had just finished as well as reminders of what still needed to be covered in upcoming discussions, and what they would need to discuss next. Still, he glanced up when he heard Cygan speak, studying them for a moment before turning back to his datapad.

“Alor b’Ordo,” Plo returned, earning himself a twitch of Ordo’s lips at the proper Mando’a title and address.

“Given the secrecy we’ve been sworn to,” he said, diving right in; blunt and to the point, Mandalorians seemed to be, and it was strangely refreshing compared to the politicians Jedi usually interacted with, “I’m assuming the Republic has no idea that you’re leaving.”

“Indeed not,” Plo confirmed, and Ordo hummed, nodding.

“You have a plan to get yourselves out?” he asked.

“We do,” Plo said, debating whether or not he should reveal it. The Force whispered encouragement-trust, and Plo listened. “The Service Corps are under far less scrutiny than the Knights Corp based on Coruscant. We plan to use that to our advantage, bringing their ships in and leaving with more passengers than they began with. The youngest will be evacuated first, of course, and then the others.”

Ordo tilted his head, starting to frown. “Is it normal for your ‘Service Corps’ to come and go like that from Coruscanta?”

“Not entirely, no, though it isn’t unheard of,” Plo admitted. “They have a fair number of large ships, meant to act as mobile aid stations. It will only take a few trips to get the majority of the younglings off-world.”

“But the Senate might take notice of unusual activity by then, leaving the rest of you in danger,” Ordo said.

“It is a risk, yes,” Plo agreed. “But one we must take.”

“There are Mando’ade on Coruscanta, you know,” Ordo said, and Jaster looked up again, listening intently, now. “In Keld’ika—Little Keldabe, in Basic. They come and go frequently, since many of them are bounty hunters and mercenaries, though they don’t take jobs on Coruscanta itself unless it’s for Judicial.” Plo nodded; that much, he had already known. In exchange for causing them no trouble, Republic Judicial and CorSec stayed well away from the Mandalorian sector on Coruscant, leaving them to their own affairs. Still, he wasn’t certain why Ordo would be bringing this up now. “Their ships are smaller, but short trips away, constantly coming and going, are normal for them. You could position those larger ships of yours just outside the system, and the Mando’ade there could ferry you to them.”

Plo hummed. “You believe they would agree? As I understand it, they are not entirely tethered to Mandalore proper, not unlike the undeclared Coverts.”

Ordo grinned, a toothy sort of expression. “I know my people would. Aliit Ordo makes up about a third of the Mando’ade there, and we have since the time of Mand’alor the Preserver.” He paused, turning to nod to Jaster. “And there are more than a few Clans who will answer if you Call. A large part of the reason they haven’t been more active in our politics and traveled back to Manda’lase at least occasionally is because you haven’t Called for them to be.” Jaster shot Ordo a weary sort of look, one that told Plo that this was a debate they’d had before, and probably several times over.

“We would need to be very careful,” Jaster said. “There are those who would claim Aliit Vizsla for their House in Keld’ika. They wouldn’t hesitate to betray the Jetii’tsad to the Senate, if they found out.”

“If we make the Call in person,” Ordo said, “then that would be more secure. Less risk of a transmission being intercepted, either by Kyr’tsad sympathizers or the Senate.”

Jaster nodded, looking thoughtful, and then turned to Plo. “Do you think the other Jetiise would be alright with this plan?”

Plo hummed. “The Council, and quite a few of the younglings themselves, yes,” he said. “Stories and rumors about Bear Clan’s friendship with the son of the Mand’alor have run rampant in the creche, and the Council knows enough to trust your word by now.”

Jaster smiled, and then looked back to Ordo. “We would either need to do this very quietly, which would be unlikely, given our purpose once we arrive,” he said, “or we would need an official excuse.”

Ordo smiled back, far too toothy, a flare of impish-glee leaking through his incredibly good mental shielding. “I think I have just the thing, ‘Alor.”

---

Ben.

Much as it still rankled to have been sidelined for this, especially for something so important, Ben was relieved to know that help was heading Maul’s way. It felt like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, some invisible, intangible, heavy burden lightening bit by bit as Ben watched Korr’s ship take off, growing smaller and smaller until he could no longer make out its shape.

Jaster had seemed happy, after that Council session, which was a good omen for how those negotiations had gone, and he’d promised to tell Ben more about them once they’d settled back home for the night. Master Plo, too, had seemed pleased and relaxed himself, another promising sign.

For the first time since Ben had had that vision of Maul, he felt like he could breathe again, choosing to focus on his sheer relief instead of the knowledge that he had just put Maul in Dooku’s path, of all beings. Putting that from his mind, turning his attentions to the knowledge that Maul would have a choice in his future… Well, it put him in a very good mood, as had Master Plo’s assurances that he would join Ben in meditation the following day, after the next round of Council negotiations, before he’d retired to the rooms they’d given the Jedi for the night.

And that had left Ben and Jaster alone for the walk back home, which Ben had suddenly found himself immensely grateful for.

Besides Jango, for obvious reasons, Ben hadn’t expected to see any familiar faces among the Haat’ade. He had recognized a younger Vhonte Tervho than the one he remembered, part of the larger House Kryze and a Mando’ad he’d met and worked with during that year on the run (and who had become one of the Cuy’val Dar, he’d eventually found out; Vhonte Tervho had apparently been both rational enough and loyal enough to House Kryze not to join in the Death Watch’s attempts to overthrow Satine and her government, but Tervho hadn’t been able to stand the pacifistic restrictions, and had gladly taken the excuse to leave the sector), but even she was only passingly familiar to him, and he’d only gotten a brief glimpse of her, thus far. Ben hadn’t been expecting to see anyone else he knew well enough to identify on sight. Most of the Haat’ade around now, after all, had either been on Galidraan or had splintered after Jango’s apparent death, many Clans leaving the system entirely. So few of the moderate tradionalists had even been left in Manda’lase by the time Ben had first visited it, last time.

In spite of his expectations, Ben did indeed see a very familiar face—two confusingly familiar faces, as a matter of fact. More Haat’ade were gathering, as they apparently always did at the transition from one season to another, switching off. Some who had been grounded in the capital for the previous season would be heading home, while others would join the deployment roster; some who had been home with their Clans would deploy, and some had come to stay in the capital for the season. It was a rotation that worked well, always ensuring protection for the capital, and enough serving Haat’ade to take any contract that might come their way, while still giving them all time off-duty with their Clans.

As the numbers swelled, the Alori’ya growing busier, Ben consequently met more and more Haat’ade. For the most part, Jaster and Jango still escorted him around, at least for now, and more than a few times, they had paused to introduce him to the newcomers. This particular day, heading back to their rooms from the hangar where they’d seen off Dooku and Korr before parting ways with Master Plo for the evening, Ben had been the one to stop, coming to an abrupt halt as he caught sight of two bewilderingly familiar people.

One was immediately identifiable to him: human-or-near, tall and lithe, blonde with a matching, neat beard, and wide blue eyes… Honestly, it took longer for Ben’s mind to realize why Adonai Kryze would be in the Alori’ya, wearing beskar’gam, than it did for Ben to identify him.

Adonai Kryze hadn’t yet made any vow of pacifism. He was still a Haat’ad, and a high-ranking one at that, as the leader of an entire House sworn to Jaster. But, Ben realized, if Adonai wasn’t yet a pacifist, if he was still a verd, an al’akaan—a war leader… That meant Satine and Bo-Katan’s mother, Adonai’s riduur, must still have been alive.

Which explained the incredibly confusing person standing just beside Adonai, also human-or-near, with short red hair and green eyes, like Bo-Katan, but set in a face that was a near identical match for Satine’s.

That was Lionia Kryze, the woman Ben had heard stories about from Satine during that year on the run, the woman whose assassination by Death Watch had led to Adonai Kryze’s renouncement of violence (after he’d taken his vengeance for her death, of course), the woman the Haat’ade and other traditionalists remembered as a fierce warrior, and the woman the Evaar’ade had held up as a martyr.

Adonai and Lionia Kryze were alive, and they were here, and that meant… Well, it meant Satine and Bo-Katan still had two moderate traditionalist parents, not a single, pacifistic role model.

…oh. Oh.

Ben quickly started rifling through his memories, trying to recall everything Satine had ever told him about her mother, trying to remember when she had died, last time. Satine had said that it happened when she was eight, and she was just under a year older than Ben…

That meant it would happen soon, unless Ben had already changed enough by stopping Jaster from going to Korda 6 to prevent it. Still, he remembered enough of the details that he could warn them, at least—

“Ben?” Jaster murmured, leaning down towards him. “Me’vaar ti gar, ad’ika?”

“Naas,” Ben said, still staring at Adonai and Lionia Kryze, standing near the end of the hall. “I recognize them.”

“Do you?” Jaster hummed, and Ben nodded, thinking quickly about how much he should say. Jaster dropped his voice as he added: “Holos, or haa’it’e?”

“The future,” Ben answered softly, and then he corrected himself: “A possible future. I’ll tell you about it later.”

Jaster hummed. “Alright,” he agreed easily. “Do you want to meet them?”

“‘Lek,” Ben immediately agreed, because he was too curious not to. He’d only met Adonai once, at the beginning of that mission to Mandalore. His assassination by Death Watch had spurred him and Satine to run while Qui-Gon tried to hold things together and root out Death Watch in the capital, trying to stop the system from falling apart around them during the Clan Wars. Adonai had also been someone Satine had told him stories about, but all of those stories had come from after his vow of pacifism. Ben had no idea what the man had been like as a warrior.

Jaster gently tugged on his hand to prompt him into moving again, and Ben started towards them. Both Kryzes looked up not long after, expressions lighting up as they saw who was coming.

“Su’cuy, Mand’alor!” the woman who simply had to be Lionia Kryze called out. “Bal evaar’la Ad be’Alor, ‘lek?”

Jaster chuckled, waiting until they were a bit closer to answer. “Lionia, Adonai,” he said, confirming what Ben’s logic had led him to infer. “‘Lek, this is ner ad, Ben Mereel. Ben, meet Lionia and Adonai Kryze.”

“Jatne urcye, Ben,” Adonai said, smiling at him.

“Bal gar,” Ben answered. He took a moment to study both Kryzes’ paint, the colors they’d chosen for their beskar’gam. Adonai’s was largely blue with yellow accents—reliability and bravery—while Lionia wore mostly-red armor with accents in gold—honoring a parent or leader and a quest for revenge. Ben couldn’t help but wonder what it was she hoped to claim vengeance for, but he knew that wasn’t the sort of question he should ask within minutes of meeting her.

“How have you been settling in?” Lionia asked, and Ben was barely able to suppress the urge to wince at the kindly smile on her face, the ghost of Satine etched into it.

“Very well, vor’e,” Ben said. “It’s only been a few months, now, but the transition has been easier than I might have thought. It helps that everyone here is so kind, and welcoming.”

Both Adonai and Lionia’s smiles grew, and Ben felt a little flare of happiness-satisfaction from Jaster that made him smile, too. “I’m glad to hear it,” Lionia said. “You know, we have an ad about your age, Satine. She’s due to join us here for the New Year celebrations, and I’m sure she’d like to meet you.”

Ben’s breath hitched, and he could feel that his own smile had grown a bit forced, a little stiff—but, thankfully, it didn’t seem as if any of them noticed it. “That would be nice,” he said. “You’ll both be staying for a while, then?”

“I will be,” Adonai said. “But Lionia is going to help with one of the smaller contracts.” The Force swirled, and Ben straightened, his hand tightening around Jaster’s.

“It’s just a protection detail, one that shouldn’t take too long,” Lionia said. “Once I return, we should make dinner plans. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen Jango.”

Jaster started to say something, but the Force swirled again, pressing in against Ben more insistently, a bad feeling starting to curdle in his stomach, and Ben interrupted his buir.

“No,” he said, perhaps a bit more emphatically than he’d meant to. All three of the others turned to look down at him again, Adonai and Lionia looking a bit startled, but Jaster just looked and felt worried-resigned, no doubt already having come to the correct conclusion about what had prompted Ben’s outburst. “Don’t go, gedet’ye. It… won’t end well, if you do.”

“Ben—” Jaster started to say, but Lionia spoke up at the same time, and Ben didn’t turn to look at his buir, focusing on her, for the moment.

“What do you mean, ad’ika?” Lionia said slowly.

“It’s… I don’t have all of the details, but it’s a trap of some sort,” Ben said, ignoring Jaster’s soft, exasperated sigh. “One set by Kyr’tsad —” That drew anger-dismay from Adonai, Lionia, and Jaster alike, but Ben didn’t pause to let them process that, barreling on instead. “—and I don’t know if the contract is real or not, but they’re going to use the opportunity for an assassination attempt against you—”

“Ben,” Jaster said again, more firmly, more insistently, this time. Ben finally stopped, turning to blink up at Jaster. His buir sighed roughly, reaching up to scrub the hand that wasn’t holding Ben’s over his face, as if he didn’t know what to say to that.

“How do you know that, Ben?” Adonai asked, and Ben turned back to the Kryzes. Adonai looked worried, features drawn tight in concern, but Lionia was just studying him carefully, expression so neutral and her presence so quiet in the Force, now, that Ben hadn’t the slightest idea what she was thinking, or feeling.

“Cuyi Haa’taylii, ‘lek?” Lionia asked, voice pitched soft, even though they were alone in this hallway, for now. Ben nodded, and Lionia slowly nodded back. Jaster just sighed again—Ben knew he was exasperated with him, he knew that his buir had wanted to keep it a closely-kept secret until he was of age, but this was too important, and he trusted the Kryzes, given everything he knew about their actions and honor.

“I don’t know much more than that,” Ben said apologetically. Satine, for obvious reasons, hadn’t been too inclined to speak about either of her buir’e’s deaths, and Ben had hardly had the opportunity to ask Adonai about it, either, let alone the desire.

“But Kyr’tsad?” Adonai said, still looking so grim, so concerned. “‘Alor, we had thought them gone, too disorganized to be a real threat, these days. If that is true…”

Jaster pursed his lips for a moment, a little flare of resignation-weariness flaring from him, before answering. “So did we, until recently,” he said. “There was a contract just a few months ago that we nearly took before Ben warned us not to that turned out to be a trap laid by Kyr’tsad, and Tor Vizsla. I had intended to tell everyone at the all-hands briefing the day after tomorrow.”

He turned to shoot Ben another exasperated sort of look, but it was edged in soft fondness, so Ben just gave him his best angelic smile in return, having learned, by now, how to take full advantage of his current appearance.

“Oops,” he said. “Ni n’e, buir.”

Jaster huffed, not quite a chuckle, but Lionia barked a much louder laugh. And, really, she was taking this rather well, Ben thought. “You have your hands full with this one, don’t you, ‘Alor?” she said, and Jaster must have made some face in answer, because she just laughed again. “Vor entye, Ben, for the warning. Truth be told, I can’t say I’m surprised—this would mark their fifth attempt on me specifically.” Ben blinked at her, and Adonai grimaced. Lionia just smiled at him and leaned down, dropping her voice again, whispering conspiratorially: “I think it might have something to do with the fact that I rejected Tor’s proposal. Though you’d think he would have let it go after nearly a decade, ‘lek?”

Ben blinked at her again. He opened his mouth to reply, but found he couldn’t think of anything to say to that, and shut it again. Force, the idea of Tor Vizsla, the leader of the Death Watch, hoping to marry Satine’s mother was…

Lionia chuckled again at the look on his face and straightened up, nodding to Jaster. “I can ask my squad’s slicers to dig a little deeper into this contract, to see if we can figure out what their angle is,” she said. “If we can determine what their plan of attack would be, then perhaps we could use this to our advantage.”

“Lionia—” Adonai started to protest, but she ignored him entirely, still looking at Jaster.

“We’ll see what your slicers can find, and discuss it then,” Jaster said. Lionia nodded, and Adonai pursed his lips again, obviously displeased.

“‘Lek, ‘Alor,” Lionia agreed easily. “It was very good to meet you, Ben, and thank you again for your warning.”

“Ba’gedet’ye,” Ben answered, still feeling so wrong-footed, so awkward, after what she’d said.

“I’ll see you at the briefing, if not before,” Jaster said, and both Kryzes nodded.

“Mand’alor,” they said, and Jaster tugged Ben’s hand again, getting him moving.

When they were a fair distance away from Adonai and Lionia, who were lingering in the corridor, watching them as they walked away, Jaster sighed yet again. “You just couldn’t wait, could you, ad’ika? Ah, nevermind. Let’s get you home, where we can hopefully have a nice, quiet evening, with no more talk of Kyr’tsad and their plots.”

Ben hummed his agreement, shelving the matter of Tor Vizsla’s attempts to woo Satine’s kriffing mother from his mind, for the moment. Instead, for the rest of the walk back, he let himself wonder—perhaps even daydream, a bit—about how this might change things, if he could keep Lionia alive.

What would the Kryze sisters be like, if both of their buir’e lived? What would they be like if neither of them took a vow of pacifism? His mind’s eye conjured an image of Satine in beskar’gam with the weapons to match and all the conviction and righteous fury she’d had last time, and Ben finally decided that that would be terrifying.

Still, he wouldn’t have had it any other way, and would never have chosen any differently.

---

Yan.

Conversation during the relatively short journey from Mandalore to Dathomir was stilted, though that wasn’t due to any awkwardness or tension between Yan and his unlikely mission partner. Korr—the Chagrian had insisted on an informal form of address only minutes after declaring his intention to accompany him to Dathomir—was a pleasant companion, after all. His presence in the Force, on a superficial level, flared and flowed and roiled with his emotions, but beneath that, there was a deep core of steadiness that none of those surface emotions seemed to touch. It was, Yan thought, a reflection of his own presence, in a way: chaotic at an outward glance, but harmonious if one peered deeper.

The quiet and distraction weren’t inherent to their interactions themselves, but rather the impressions they were both receiving from the Force. The closer they came to their destination, the more insistently the Force pressed in against them. It did not, at least, feel like a warning of mortal danger, but rather a weightiness, a sense of gravitas and importance.

“We’ll be coming out of hyperspace in five minutes for our final approach,” Korr said, finally drawing Yan back out of his thoughts, and his light meditation, skimming the surface of the Force, reading its currents. Yan reached for the projector built into the console in the cockpit, bringing up the map of Dathomir for them. Mand’alor Mereel had passed on this particular map after hearing that they would both be making the trip, and on it was the approximate location of the village Ben had seen in his vision, marked by the child himself.

“The maps available for Dathomir are rather light on topographical data,” Yan said, studying the projection as he zoomed in on their destination, magnifying it.

“Then we’ll have to hold position for a moment, once we reach orbit, to take a few scans,” Korr said. “Hopefully, we can find a large enough area to land at near the village, but on the outskirts. Both the Night Brothers and the Night Sisters are… territorial, to say the least, from everything I’ve ever heard about them.”

That gave Yan pause, and he hummed as another thought occurred to him. “I wonder if we should visit the Night Mother prior to making our way to the village,” he said. “I fear we may cause offence and create additional problems for ourselves, should we neglect to do so.”

“I feel you might be right,” Korr sighed. “But do we have time for that?”

Neither said anything further, for the moment, both of them reaching for the Force. That sense of weight-importance and a general feeling of urgency remained, but it had not grown so much as to make Yan believe they did not have time to pay their respects to Dathomir’s matriarch.

“If we are brief, then I believe we may,” Yan said, and Korr nodded his agreement, though he had a light scowl on his face.

“I agree,” he said. “Even though I don’t like it. Dathomiri don’t tend to like outsiders much, and the Night Mother and the Sisters like men even less.” Yan hummed again. The little he knew about Dathomir and its people told him that Korr was correct, but there was little to be done about it now. “Exiting hyperspace now.”

The swirling lights of hyperspace were replaced by the clearer view of realspace, and Dathomir loomed before them. The planet was a mass of red, rather unremarkable, at a glance, but it sent a chill down Yan’s spine. The sheer Darkness radiating from it was staggering—frankly, while Yan had heard the rumors that the entire planet was a Dark Side nexus, he had not believed it, not until now, feeling its Dark power for himself.

Yan felt Korr’s presence dim slightly as the man brought up his shields, and quickly followed suit. The sharp-oily-cold feeling emanating from this world grew somewhat more bearable, after that, though Yan knew that his discomfort and tension wouldn’t ease until they had left this place behind, and he could settle in for a long meditation.

Korr brought them down into the atmosphere at a gentle angle, then stopped, letting the ship hover there. “Now the question is this: how do we find the Night Mother?” Korr murmured.

“Her powers are said to be great; perhaps we could follow the strongest surges of Dark Side energy to her,” Yan suggested. Korr was about to reply when both of them felt it.

Outsiders, a voiceless-yet-echoing-voice, made entirely of the Force, projected to them. Come to me.

“...or we could follow her call,” Korr said, voice falling flat, obviously not at all pleased by this development.

“That does simplify matters somewhat,” Yan said, vaguely amused despite himself. Korr grunted, turning the ship, letting the Force and that vague whisper-echo guide his path.

The Force was still urging them onward, but it still lacked any feeling of true urgency —they had time enough, then, for this visit with the Night Mother. Yan sent a brief hope into the Force that this wouldn’t take long, and that it would go well enough for them to accomplish the rest of their purpose on Dathomir afterwards; the Force responded with a sensation that almost felt like a snicker, and Yan’s eyebrows inched up. That wasn’t entirely promising—but neither was it terribly ominous.

Either way, Yan thought as Korr brought the ship in ever closer to the planet, this was bound to be interesting.

---

Ben.

That night, Ben dreamt of Cody.

It had only been a matter of time before that happened, he knew. At the height of the war, just before its awful end, Ben would have counted himself nearly as close to Cody as he had been with Anakin, and only less so for the fact that they couldn’t have shared a Force bond; that he dreamt about someone he’d been so familiar with wasn’t surprising, particularly given his situation, who he was living with, now. Truth be told, he was somewhat surprised it hadn’t happened sooner, since he saw a face so like Cody’s each and every day.

On Tatooine, too, he had dreamt of Cody so often, especially in those early years. At first, the dreams had taken place on Utapau, Obi-Wan dreaming that he’d done something differently, that he’d stayed and managed to pull Cody aside, to ask him why-why-why? The condemnations he’d heard in his dreams then, in Cody’s voice, had been the same ones he’d thought to himself during the war: we’re no more than slaves, General, and what have you ever tried to do to change that? What help have you and your Order ever been to stop my brothers from dying unjustly in an unjust war for a corrupt Republic that doesn’t care about us? It was only a matter of time before we saw the truth, only a matter of time before we’d had enough —

And then Ben had learned about the chips. The information had come in a rare message from Bail, contact between them kept to a bare minimum, and supposedly reserved for emergencies only. But Bail had known just how much that knowledge would have meant to Ben, and so he’d risked it. But any relief that had brought, telling him that he hadn’t been mistaken, that he hadn’t imagined the friendship, the kinship, he’d shared with Cody and all the rest of his men, that it had been real, had been eclipsed by horror at what had happened to them. His men had been made into the very fleshdroids too many “natborns,” as they’d called them, had always seen them to be, everything that made them them stripped away until there was nothing inside them but their base training and a calculating, cold, compulsive need to follow orders.

Ben had still dreamt of Cody, after that, though the dreams had changed—if very little, if only in the specific condemnations and accusations that fell from his Commander’s lips. Why didn’t you stop this? Why didn’t you save us? Why why why —

This particular dream had, thankfully, been neither of those, instead just a selection of their interactions, memories from across the war, the little moments that had piled up and built upon each other until the trust and understanding between them had become something comforting, something Ben had thought was unbreakable—until it wasn’t, until it had been shattered by three little words from the Sith Lord at the heart of their crumbling Republic.

Even though the dream itself hadn’t been unpleasant, Ben still woke with a start, skin cold and clammy in a way that told him that he’d been sweating. It was dark and quiet in the karyai, aside from Jango’s staccato snoring—whenever he rolled onto his back, he snored just like Waxer always had. Most of the time, Ben found that amusing, endearing, but now… Well, his attempts to ground himself, and his attempts to meditate, were unsuccessful, his mind latching onto the sound of that familiar snore, hearing the ghost of his favorite Lieutenant in it instead of his older brother, and Ben got up and slipped out of the karyai as quietly as he could, heading for the kitchen to make tea. Jaster had gone to the trouble of ordering most of his favorites, save for those with caffeine, given how young and undeveloped this body of Ben’s still was, in the here-and-now.

He was too small, too short, he realized, to put the kettle on. Ben stared at the stove for a long moment, holding the kettle he’d already filled, before deciding kriff it. With an admittedly frivolous application of the Force, Ben set it on the burner and turned on the stove. It might have been easier to pull over a chair, but that might have been too loud, and he was trying very hard not to rouse his buir or his ori’vod. It was a weak justification, even in his own mind, but he was too tired to bring himself to care.

Ben glared at the kettle as if that would speed its progress; when it finally boiled, he’d just lifted it off of the stove with another bit of frivolous Force-use when Jaster appeared in the doorway. Ben froze, and the kettle froze along with him. His buir had a bleary, still half-asleep sort of look on his face, his hair mussed and an indent pressed into one cheek where a fold in his pillowcase must have dug in, and Ben’s lips twitched in a smile. Jaster smiled back almost reflexively, as he always did, and then seemed to take in the scene, blinking at the kettle hovering there in the air.

Without a word, Jaster moved to turn off the stove, and then grabbed a second mug from the cabinet before turning to look at the kettle again. Gingerly, cautiously, he moved to grab the handle, plucking it from the air as if touching it might have made it explode, or at least might have made Ben drop it. He smiled to himself again and let go, watching as Jaster poured tea for them both before turning to set the mugs on the table, silently ordering Ben to sit with a pointed look. He obeyed, climbing up onto the chair—and, for once, he was grateful for that rather than irritated, the reminder that things were different, now, that he had another chance, an appreciated one.

“Me’vaar ti gar, Ben’ika? Are you alright?” Jaster asked, keeping his voice soft. Ben hummed.

“I had… a dream, and couldn’t go back to sleep,” he said honestly, hoping that Jaster wouldn’t ask after the contents of that dream. His buir grunted an acknowledgement, blowing across the top of his tea in an attempt to cool it faster.

“Okay,” Jaster said, falling silent again. He finally took a tentative, small sip of his tea, now that it had cooled somewhat, and immediately made a face. Ben quickly looked down at his own mug to hide his smile. “Was it a bad dream?”

Ben’s smile melted away at the question, and he sipped at his own tea to buy himself time before answering. “Not… inherently,” he said. “It was just… I saw someone I… someone I miss very much.” Softer, he added, “Someone I know I won’t see again.”

It was a fact he’d been trying to avoid thinking about since he’d first woken up in his own past. But this time, there would be no clone army. Ben knew that he had to stop that—Hels, the Jedi leaving the Republic would already put a stop to that plan. Saving Jaster and stopping the Battle of Galidraan from coming to pass would also have changed things, and so Ben knew that even if he failed, and there still were any clones created, they would not be of his brother. They would be different, if they were ever born in the first place, which seemed more and more unlikely every day.

And that thought hurt. The thought of the galaxy without Cody in it, without Alpha-17 and Waxer and Boil and Crys and Longshot and Wooley and Trapper and Gregor and Rex and all of them —it hurt in a bone-deep sort of way, an ache that Ben didn’t know if he would ever be able to truly ease, only one he would eventually find a way to live with, as he had the decimation of the Jedi that first time.

But he also knew that, in their right minds, there wasn’t a single one of the men who would have blamed him for averting their creation to save the galaxy, not a single one of them who would have wanted to live to be doomed to that same fate they had suffered before rather than to have never existed at all. And Ben couldn’t in good conscience let that happen the same way, couldn’t subject them to the lives they’d lived, couldn’t subject Jango to everything that had driven him to agree to it in the first place.

But even though Ben knew that, it still hurt. He found himself cursing this young body yet again, with its lack of development, its under-cooked brain and its subsequent lack of emotional regulation, as he found himself sniffling softly. Still, thankfully, he didn’t descend into outright tears, yet.

Jaster’s hand came to rest atop his head, drawing Ben out of those maudlin thoughts, and he gently combed through Ben’s hair. “I’m sorry, ad’ika,” his buir murmured. “Tea helps?” Ben hummed an affirmative, and Jaster smoothed over his hair once more before withdrawing his hand. “Alright. Just… do me a favor, ‘lek?” Ben’s hum was questioning, this time, and Jaster flashed a smile at him, more a hint of white teeth in the dark and the accompanying sensation in the Force, rueful-amusement, than any truly visible expression. “Please just wake me up next time. You’re still a bit young to be using the stove by yourself.”

Ben laughed, but it was cut off quickly by the ghost of his Commander’s voice in his head again: please, sir, next time, just ask one of the men for help. Wasp gave you strict instructions not to lift anything over five pounds for the next week after that last stunt wrenched your shoulder —

Lifting it with the Force doesn’t count, my dear —

Ben sniffled again and didn’t actually respond to his buir’s request, returning his attention to the tea. Jaster let him have his silence, the two of them drinking their tea, Jaster’s reaction to it chipping away at his melancholy. With each sip, Jaster’s presence flared with a bit of disgust, but he didn’t outwardly react, didn’t voice it, and just kept sitting there and drinking in silent solidarity with Ben.

This body, Ben mused, his thoughts starting to slow, was so young, and small, and it still had so little endurance. No matter how much he didn’t want to, he found his head tipping forward, his eyes starting to slide shut, only for him to realize and jerk himself upright. He hadn’t even finished half of his tea before he couldn’t keep it up anymore, feeling his eyes close and stay closed, his body starting to pitch slowly towards the table—

A moment later, he was gently lifted up out of his chair, cradled against Jaster’s chest. He tried to protest the wasting of good tea, but he had a feeling it came out unintelligible, given that Jaster’s only response was a gentle, soothing shushing noise. Ben gave in, too tired not to.

There wasn’t much conscious thought happening in his mind, after that, just the feeling of Jaster’s warmth and being held and carried, the feeling of being settled back down to sleep, still tucked against Jaster’s chest. His buir curled around him protectively, a wall, a buffer, between the rest of the galaxy and Ben, he let go, and drifted off into true sleep again.

He didn’t dream for the rest of the night.

---

Korr.

Dathomir was just as cold and just as Dark as it had felt in the projection of Ben’s vision. On instinct, Korr felt himself drifting a little closer to Yan’s presence, seeking out an anchor in the warmth-Light of the Jetii’s presence, and he felt Yan doing the same, both of them cracking their shields open just enough to be able to sense each other clearly.

The ominous, creepy, echoing whispers directed him, and Korr brought their ship in to land on a plateau. Not too far off, just up a winding path through some dense foliage (and that, too, was red, because of course it was, and it, too, was creepy, the red mist and dense brush keeping him from seeing much with any great clarity), Korr could vaguely see a rocky tower, though whether it was a structure or a natural formation, he couldn’t see enough to determine. Korr felt flickers of Darkness heading for them, fanning out to surround their ship, and heard Yan hum, his presence flickering.

“It seems the Night Mother has sent a welcoming committee,” Yan said, voice laced with a dry sort of humor. Korr shot him a flat look in response, though he could tell Yan had felt his flicker of amusement when he smirked.

“Let’s hope they are feeling ‘welcoming,’” he said, and rose, the bare minimum of the post-flights done, checking the most critical systems. “Let’s go; it would be rude to keep them waiting.” Yan nodded, leading the way towards the hatch, and Korr paused only long enough to attach his faceplate, locking it into the rest of his buy’ce, before following.

As soon as the hatch opened and they descended the ramp, five figures descended on them—Night Sisters, Korr assumed, given that they were all female-presenting. They all wore some variation on the same red clothes with red, hooded capes, and all of them were holding the plasmabows the Night Sisters were known for, though most had them pointed at the ground.

“Outsiders,” one of the Sisters said. “You felt the Mother’s summons?”

“We did indeed,” Yan said, tipping his head.

“Come, then,” the Sister said, turning away, fully expecting them to follow. They did, and Korr tried not to tense as the other Sisters fell in around and behind them, boxing them in. He sensed hostility from them, but not the urgent-pressing-boiling-over sort that indicated an immediate threat, and a buzzing undercurrent of unease, but they were still pointing their readied bows at the ground rather than at them, and Korr tried to take that as the reassurance it was, for now.

The Sisters guided them up that winding, dusty path towards that possible-structure Korr had seen. Drawing closer, it became clear that it had started out as a natural rock formation, but one that must have been carved over time. The top of the mountainous outcropping had been shaped to look like one of the hooded Sisters, or perhaps the Night Mother, though Korr couldn’t quite tell. And, as they rounded the last bend, he saw an opening: a cave.

The Sisters kept walking, leading them deeper inside—which was a far larger space than Korr had expected from the way it had looked from without. The ceilings were high, and there were buildings set into the walls that also looked to have been chiseled out of the rock and painted, mostly—naturally—red and purple. Korr sensed other presences in and around those buildings, though he didn’t actually see anyone else. Switching his HUD over to infrared confirmed what the ka’ra had told him, identifying other Night Sisters watching carefully from the windows, rooftops, and doorways of those structures, though none revealed themselves or made any attempt to attack as they passed.

Ka’ra, this whole place was creepy. Besides the urgency of the vision Ben had had, the feeling that those events would happen soon, Korr hoped they were finished with the Night Mother in short order just for the fact that he wanted to leave this place again as quickly as possible. He felt a sympathetic, agreeing pulse from Yan at the thought and sent back a little tendril of chagrined-amusement.

Finally, they reached a more ornate space, with what looked like an altar, and a much taller figure appeared, approaching the other side of that slab-like ritual table. She was older than the others, with a more pointed hood and more ornate clothing, and Korr guessed that this was the Night Mother.

“Outsiders,” she said, and ‘lek, that was the same strangely echoing voice they’d heard that had guided them in. “Leave us, Sisters.” The Sisters bowed and departed, though the Night Mother didn’t watch them go, instead continuing to stare at Korr and Yan intently. “A Jedi and a Mandalorian, coming before me together. How… curious.”

“Night Mother,” Yan said, bowing his head. Much as he didn’t want to, Korr followed suit, though he decided to let Yan take the lead on the diplomacy, for the moment. “We appreciate the audience, though I must also apologize. We do not feel that we have much time, however much we would like to pay our respects properly.”

The Night Mother hummed, clasping her hands together. “And what urgent errand has driven a Jedi to work with a Mandalorian, and brought the two of you to Dathomir?”

“The protection of one of your own,” Yan answered honestly, and the Mother hummed again, tilting her head, though she didn’t react beyond that, expression still inscrutable, both physically and from what Korr could sense in the ka’ra. “A young Night Brother from the village nearby, by the name of Maul.”

“And from what or whom do you believe Maul needs protecting?” she asked. Yan turned to Korr, pressing a wordless, questioning sort of pulse against his presence, and Korr nodded. The Night Mother must have sensed that interaction, because she hummed again, her own presence flaring with amusement-understanding.

“Someone Dark—and not in the same sense you and the rest of Dathomir may be considered ‘Dark,’” Yan clarified, and the Mother flared with a stronger feeling of amusement at that. “—will come to try to take Maul, to spirit him away from his home and into a life lived in the shadows. That is no life for a child.”

“How did you come to know this?” the Mother asked, voice so even and calm.

“The Force imparted a vision,” Korr spoke up to offer, not wanting to bring any mention of Ben into this conversation if he could avoid it. The Night Mother turned to him, then, the weight of her attention making his tentacles tingle and a shiver run down his spine, a whispered warning of danger. He breathed through it, and then set it aside, ignoring that feeling for now.

“You are a curious one,” she said. “So unlike your brethren from eons past.” Korr fought not to bristle at what was obviously a reference to the ancient alliances between Mandalore and the long-gone Sith Empire, but the Mother was already moving on. “Show me this vision.”

She didn’t wait for any reply, beginning to murmur under her breath, that strange echo to her voice growing stronger, a sense of Dark-cold-power radiating from her as she waved her hands over the altar. With a flurry of green light, she finally stopped, a large green orb hovering just above the altar.

Kriffing witches. Korr was ready to get this over with already.

“Focus on the vision,” the Night Mother said, “and reach out to the orb.”

It was Korr’s turn to direct a questioning pulse to Yan, and he received an almost immediate agreement. Fine. Korr still didn’t like it, but he knew they had very few options at this point. The Night Mother was playing nice, for now, though that could change at any moment, and they were running out of time.

Dragging his thoughts back to the task at hand, Korr did as instructed, closing his eyes and replaying his memories of that vision, and the feelings Ben had projected along with the images. Turning that over in his mind, he reached out with the ka’ra, suppressing another flinch at the Dark-cold feeling of the Mother, the orb, and the entire kriffing planet. Beside him, he felt Yan doing much the same, and distantly, Korr heard the Mother hum again.

Korr and Yan both went through it several times before they felt a command echo out from the Night Mother, a wordless order to stop rippling through the Force. Obediently—and gratefully—they both immediately listened, retreating behind their shields as quickly as they could. When Korr opened his eyes, the Night Mother wasn’t looking at them, anymore, but down at the orb instead, which now seemed clouded by the same sort of mist naturally found all over Dathomir.

“The magicks of my people are far more ancient than either of yours,” the Night Mother said. “It gives us power you do not, and could not, understand. I recognize your ‘Dark one’ already, and foresaw his coming. I also foresaw that he would seek revenge upon me, but bearing that small wound would prevent the ruin of Dathomir. As is our way, I saw that one must be sacrificed to save us all.”

Korr started to frown, feeling righteous-anger starting to rise up at the idea that she had known what was going to happen to one of Dathomir’s children, and had done nothing to stop it, but it was Yan who answered first. “I see. I realize that we are your guests, and have no right to ask anything of you, but if you could identify this ‘Dark one’ for us, and tell us what you might know of them, that would be greatly appreciated.”

The Night Mother chuckled, and that, too, echoed so strangely, as if the sound had come from several different people at once instead of just the Mother. “You are well-mannered, at least,” she said. “He came only a day ago to attempt to forge an alliance with Dathomir, and the Sisters. I foresaw that agreeing would bring the ruin of Dathomir, just as openly opposing him would, and refused his partnership, though I promised the neutrality of Dathomir in his plans. After he left my sight, that is when I foresaw his vengeance. He kept himself covered by a hooded cloak, and so I did not see his face, and if he has any other names, I do not know them. What I may tell you is this: that visitor introduced himself to me as Darth Sidious, a Dark Lord of the Sith.”

Even with as cold and clouded as the ka’ra felt here, with the Dark so heavy and oppressive on a world entirely in its grasp, it was clear enough to Korr that he felt the immediate assurance of the ka’ra, chiming truth-truth-truth-pay- attention —

Korr took a deep breath, shoving that down to think about later. That was an important revelation, one that would have significant consequences and implications if it turned out to be true, and he felt Yan’s shields slam down even more heavily than before, the Jetii likely reeling from that claim as well—but, as they’d been saying from the start, there was a far more time-sensitive matter at hand. There would be time enough to worry about dar’jetii osik later.

Yan obviously seemed to agree, and he did a remarkable job of outwardly appearing to be calm, even in the face of what the Night Mother had just told them. He tipped his head to her, and said, “Thank you, Night Mother. The information is appreciated. But what of the more immediate problem of the child?”

The Night Mother smiled, a too-sharp, too-toothy expression that sent another tingle down Korr’s tentacles. “The Brothers and the Sisters may not oppose him,” she said. “As I have said, I foresee that fighting against him will bring about our ruin, and I have already promised our neutrality. But you are not Dathomiri; you are not bound by my vow. Your actions are your own to choose.”

Yan bowed his head more deeply at that. “Thank you, Mother.”

The ka’ra pressed in again around Korr, swirling-urging-prodding, and he spoke up again, doing his best to be diplomatic: “As my companion said, I know that we are your guests, and have no right to ask anything of you. But what will be done with Maul, if we succeed? And his brothers, Savage and Feral?”

A faint flicker of surprise made it past Yan’s shields, but the Mother only had eyes for Korr, then, and her smile was gone, replaced by the blank, stoic expression she’d worn at the beginning of their conversation.

“You know nothing of these children beyond their names,” the Night Mother said. “Do you?” Korr shook his head, because saying that he knew what all three looked like wasn’t enough additional information to warrant an argument. “And yet you care for them, and their fates. They are not even your people, Mandalorian.”

“Ade cuyi vencuyot,” Korr said. “Children are the future. All young lives are precious to us, and any can become my people, should they only wish to.”

“Maul is the only Night Brother whose fate is in question,” the Night Mother said. “What do you care for the others?”

“There is a saying that we have, in Mando’a: vod’e an —brothers all,” Korr said. “It can be used to refer to blood relations, or chosen family, or battlefield comrades—whatever the connection, it doesn’t matter. The phrase is an expression of unity. But these three are clearly close to one another, and separating them seems… cruel. All three are already so attached to their brothers, and I feel that none of them will be whole should they be parted.”

The Night Mother hummed again, studying Korr more intently, now, and he forced himself to remain still as he felt the icy-chill-Darkness pressing against his presence, the Night Mother reaching out to him more directly, getting a sense of him in the ka’ra. She withdrew quickly enough, and Korr let out a soft sigh of relief.

“All Dathomiri are my children,” the Night Mother said. “Sisters and Brothers alike, and each has their own role to play in service to Dathomir. But these three are mine in more ways than even that sacred connection: I bore these three myself. Therefore, they are mine to give, or to keep. Should you succeed…” The Mother paused, eyeing Korr again, and then she waved her hands towards him. “You may take them all.” Finally, she smiled again, that too-toothy, bloodthirsty sort of expression. “Consider this a gift. Now, the Sisters will see you back to your ship. I foresee that you are correct: you do not have much time.”

With that, without waiting for any proper response, the Night Mother was engulfed in more of that sickly-bright green, what almost looked like flames, the visible signs of their magicks, and then she disappeared entirely. Despite the fact that part of his mind was starting to run wild with worst case scenarios, picturing having to fight a real life dar’jetii to protect these ad’e, Korr smiled beneath his buy’ce.

That certainly could have gone worse, all told. And, frankly, if they did have to fight a dar’jetii here… What better team was there to do so than a Mando’ad and a Jetii?

Notes:

Ben: Oh oh OH!!! Both of Satine's parents are still alive?! That's wonderful! More people I can save! :D :D :D
Lionia: Fucking Tor. You'd think he would've gotten over a measly little romantic rejection by now.
Ben: UM EXCUSE ME MA'AM BUT WHAT?!
Adonai: *Heavy sigh*
Jaster: *Identical heavy sigh* Ad'ika, you know that your visions are supposed to be a secret. Can you please be more discreet? Please?
Ben: I will take your request into consideration, though once I form my own opinion on the best course of action, it will likely not be the one you want.
Jaster: *Even heavier sigh* I figured, but it was worth a shot.
Also Ben, internally: Oh wait oh shit, does this mean that Satine is going to grow up to be a warrior?! Oh, Force, that is terrifying. What have I done?! I couldn't just let people die, I know that, but... I may come to regret this, just a tiny bit. O.O'

Yan: Standard Jedi mission protocol dictates that when operating on any sovereign world, we must make every effort to approach its regent diplomatically and gain their agreement before taking action whenever and wherever possible.
Korr: ...sure, I'll roll with it, but mostly because this is the kriffing Night Mother we're talking about, and I don't like thinking about what she'd do to us if we tried to sneak around on her planet without her permission. I've never been to Dathomir before, but I've heard Stories.
Yan: Indeed. I'm quite pleased that you share my point of view on this matter.
Korr: Great. So, follow the creepy Dark voice sounding like it's trying to lure us to a painful death? ...sounds like a plan.

Ben, internally: I miss Cody. I miss everyone, all of my men. And the people I miss share my brother's face. It's A Lot.
Jaster: Aww, ad'ika, what's wrong??? Wait, what are you doing???
Ben: Making tea. Nothing's wrong. I had a dream and I couldn't go back to sleep.
Jaster: ...uh-huh. Sure. Nothing's wrong.
Ben: Nothing, not even a little bit. I'm sniffling pathetically for no other reason than the fact that I'm seven and I had a totally normal dream. Everything is fine!
Also Ben, internally: And I'm definitely not going to try to explain to my buir that my ori'vod's face makes me Sad because he was technically sort of the father of a bunch of the men I trusted with my life who all met tragic fates just like the Jedi. ...yeah, that is not a conversation we're gonna have anytime soon. Probably never. Never is good.
Jaster: Right, well, I believe that everything is fine just about as much as I believe a bantha can fly, but I'm not going to argue it with you in the middle of the night when I want you to sleep again and I only have about three brain cells firing. Nah, I'll just sit here and drink this disgusting leaf water with you in solidarity.
Ben: You are the best buir, and I love you so much.
Jaster: I love you too, ad'ika. Now please don't use the stove unsupervised. In case you hadn't noticed, you're both too short and too young for that.
Ben: ...seriously??? I can't even make myself TEA unattended? Force, I can't wait to grow up. Proper caffeinated tea, a beard, and using the fucking stove... Oh. Well. I guess the hugs and sleepy-cuddles might make this whole Child Thing worth it. Just a little bit. ...I still want Real Tea, though. How long do I have to wait for that???

Mother Talzin: Oh, that creep? Yeah, that's the Sith, Darth Sidious.
Dooku: ...a Sith.
Mother Talzin: Uh-huh.
Dooku: ...a real life Sith Lord.
Mother Talzin: Yeah, please keep up. I've only said it like twice now.
Dooku: A SITH LORD???
Korr: Yeah, look buddy, I get that's A Lot for you, given the whole "sworn blood enemies bound to oppose each other for the rest of eternity" thing. Mandos are pretty serious about our grudges against our enemies, too. I feel you. But there's something WAAAAAY more important that needs our attention.
Dooku: Did you not hear that our enemy is supposedly a SITH LORD???
Korr, to Talzin, ignoring Dooku's existential crisis: Sooo... How 'bout dem kids?

Next time, we'll see what Chaos Cygan has suggested they go create on Coruscant, some Ben and Plo and Jango bonding time, and the rest of Korr and Dooku's mission! :D Hope you enjoyed the most recent chaos dump. <3

Chapter 10

Notes:

Hello there! :D Aaaah, thank you all for all the comments cackling and screaming about Maul and his brothers and Dathomir and Sidious! Many of your comments made me burst out laughing, so that was very much appreciated. :P

As usual with me, I did not get to all the stuff I wanted to this chapter because it kept ballooning on me, so Cygan's Coruscant Chaos™ will be coming next chapter instead. But we do have a resolution on some of the more immediate Important Plot Points... ;) I also posted most of my chapter outline notes at the bottom this time because they all made me laugh and I couldn't choose which ones were funniest to me, so you get more of them this time!

Anyhow, I hope you enjoy! :D

Plo.

Meditating with younglings had always been one of Plo’s favorite activities. In the very youngest of the Jedi crechelings, it both amused and warmed him to sense their restless-boredom-sleepiness, all younglings going through the same basic struggles, fighting to sit still and to reach out to the Force deliberately. Just as delightful, if in a slightly different way, was the sense of their excitement-accomplishment-awe gently sliding into focus-calm-drifting when they finally managed true meditation, communing with the Force. In Plo’s experience, meditating with a youngling involved more guiding than anything else for him, helping to settle and lead them. Typically, it was quite unlike meditating with another Knight or Master, though both experiences were enjoyable in their own sort of way.

But, as Plo was beginning to understand, Ben Mereel was rather far from a typical youngling.

It wasn’t necessarily the fact that Ben was able to sink so deeply into the Force, and so quickly, that startled Plo. That was somewhat expected, given the other skills they knew he had gained, including his ability to heal a bled kyber crystal. That in itself required a great deal of persistent focus and many deep meditations. No, far more surprising to Plo than that was the fact that Ben Mereel was able to be so quiet and so still, for one so young as he was.

The second surprise Plo got from this meditation came when Ben reached out to him. He had felt the child’s presence before, when they first arrived, Ben reaching out and brushing up against him with a charming, heartwarming sense of familiar-fond-warm-greeting-excitement-welcome, but that had been too brief to sense much more than the fact that it had been Ben, and that his presence felt… weightier, more expansive, than it had before he had left the Temple. But now, Ben reached out as if holding out a hand, and Plo met him halfway; he found that he had been correct on several fronts. Ben was still very much of the Light, and his presence had most certainly grown exponentially since he had left the Temple.

But anything more than that was obscured, blurred from Plo’s view by shields of immense strength, scale, and complexity—Force, not even the majority of the High Councilors shielded in such a way. He didn’t push, didn’t try to slip through those shields—nor was he foolish enough to try the “weak points,” able to tell from the expertly constructed and held shields around them that those were not weak points, but traps. With a few more years of practice, he thought Ben would likely be able to disguise those well enough that anyone who might actually wish to try it would fall right into that ambush. No, instead, Plo simply memorized the feeling of them, tucking it away to ponder later, and perhaps to project to his fellow Councilors, mostly to ask what all of them made of these techniques. Plo had never seen the like before, and he was eager to hear what the others would have to say about them. He was willing to bet that Yaddle, at least, had seen something similar before, if any of them had; as the Master of Shadows, unusual and restricted Force techniques were very much her field of expertise.

When Plo had finished his rough examination of Ben’s presence—as much of it as he could discern, anyway, as much as Ben was willing to show him—he found the youngling patiently drifting, skirting the edges of Plo’s own presence as he waited for Plo to return his attention to their joint meditation. Plo projected a bit of rueful-apology for his distraction, which was immediately met by a wave of amused-fond-forgiveness from Ben.

They had not settled on any specific matter to work through together, no lesson or event to ponder and seek the Force’s guidance in; instead, they had agreed on a “settling meditation,” as they called them in the Temple creche. “Settle down,” coming from a creche Master, after all, was usually synonymous with “please go meditate.”

Their presences brushing and mingling at their edges, Plo aware of Ben’s starlight-warmth, Plo turned his attentions to their purpose. The first step, as always, was to acknowledge, feel, ponder, and then release his emotions; only then would reaching deeper into the Force bring clarity rather than confusion. From Ben, Plo felt a little spike of grave-concern, though not the sort of intense-overwhelming-fear he usually felt from younglings when they were afraid. Ben held the feeling for a moment, no doubt turning it over in his mind, and then let it go, pulling the Force tighter around himself as he did so, pulling in the Light in its wake. That it was done so easily, so expertly, and so quickly stopped Plo in his tracks again, until another nudge from Ben prompted him to do the same.

As Ben continued going through his own feelings, Plo turned his attention inward, identifying and sorting through his own emotions. There was excitement at the prospect of their alliance with Mandalore coming to fruition; there was amazement at the skill young Ben displayed; and then there was his grave concern, verging on outright fear, for Yan and his Mandalorian mission partner. Plo lingered a moment on each emotion, focusing on one at a time, and acknowledged the reasons behind them—only then did he let go of each, doing as Ben had and letting the Force wash them away.

In Plo’s mind, he always projected an ocean for this process. He stood upon a beach, and letting go of each emotion was marked by the placement of a shell on the sand, and the Force washing it away from him was akin to the surf lapping up and dragging the shells back to the depths along with them. The excitement and amazement were relatively simple to let go of: placing the first shell down, Plo acknowledged his hopes for what could come from their alliance with Mandalore, the good this could do for both of their peoples, and then he let it go. Placing the second shell down, Plo acknowledged just how remarkable it was for one so young to show so much skill and control, reassured himself yet again that Ben was very much of the Light, and then let that go as well. But the third…

That fear was more difficult to release. Yan had related Ben’s vision to him in detail, and not only was Dathomir in itself a Dark, dangerous place—and particularly dangerous for a Jedi—but the “Dark figure” Ben had seen was ominous. The Force itself had seemed to churn and swirl and ping with a sour, discordant note in its usual harmony at the mere mention of them, and part of Plo regretted that he had not been able to accompany Yan himself. Taking a few deep breaths, Plo reminded himself that Yan was a veteran Shadow, quite skilled and very capable when it came to matters of Darkness; he reminded himself that Yan had a Force-sensitive Mandalorian warrior at his back, one who had been trained both in the traditional tactics that had worked so well against Force-sensitives across the millennia, and who had been trained in the ways of the Force on Jedha; he reminded himself that his own purpose here on Mandalore was not yet complete, and it, too, was an important task, and so separating had been the only sensible course of action. Finally, he placed down the last shell, and let that feeling go, too.

And not a moment too soon, as it turned out. He was distracted only a beat later by Ben, the youngling’s presence flaring with a jumble of strong emotions—stronger, in fact, than any impressions Plo had yet felt from him. Sorting through those emotions took a moment, though none of them were negative, at least: there was excitement, and a sense of giddy-realization, an intense feeling of hope, and, underscoring it all, a faint sense of rueful-sheepishness, as if Ben felt that whatever epiphany he had just had should have been one that had come earlier.

Plo was just about to reach out with a question to Ben, hoping the youngling would be willing to let him in on whatever that had been, when yet another impression distracted him. This one did not come from Ben, however—there was a sense of heavy-confusion and vague enjoyment-pleasure, radiating from a presence Plo did not know well enough to immediately place. Ben, apparently, did recognize that presence, because he immediately reached out, projecting so loudly, so intensely—it was the least controlled and subdued Plo had ever felt him, even considering that previous outburst, and it was the most like any other seven-year-old Plo had yet felt him.

Excitement-warm-greeting-acknowledgement-victory poured through Ben’s shields in thick, heavy waves, and it was clear only a beat later that he had come on far too strong. That presence retreated, pulled back so quickly that Plo nearly gave himself psychic whiplash trying to track its progress inward. Ben’s pastiche of variations on excitement slid into more of that amusement-tinged-chagrin, and he tugged at Plo, signalling that he intended to surface early from their meditation. Plo pinged back an acknowledgement, and, in unison, the pair retreated back into their physical bodies and opened their eyes.

And they were just in time to see Jango Fett, the Mand’alor’s older son and Ben’s brother, with a pair of gardening shears in one hand, fall back from where he had been kneeling and apparently gardening just in front of them to land hard on his backside, blinking at them both. Apparently, that presence had been his.

Well, then, Plo thought to himself, feeling his mandibles twitch in amusement: this had just gotten that much more interesting.

---

Yan.

Though it wasn’t a long flight from the Night Mother’s sanctum to the Night Brother village, both Yan and Korr had felt that urgency cresting in the Force. It had them tensing, preparing for the inevitable fight, and another not-quite-uneasy silence had fallen between them.

Yan spared only a moment to hope that the Night Brothers would believe them when they broke the news that the Night Mother had “gifted” all three younglings to them, and then he let the thought go. Another took its place, Yan wondering how Korr had known that the one known as “Feral” was another of the brothers; all they had heard or seen of him in young Ben’s vision had been his name, after all. How Korr had known more than that, Yan had no idea, though it also wasn’t the time to attempt to puzzle that out, the pair of them speeding ever closer to their destination, and he put that from his mind as well.

Yan knew that he would have to remain focused if they were to survive what he knew would come next.

“Take the controls,” Korr said, not waiting for Yan’s reply before getting up and heading out of the cockpit. Yan switched over control to the co-pilot’s chair he was occupying, letting instinct guide him both to their destination and in controlling the ship. The instruments themselves were labelled in Mando’a, of course, and though Yan couldn’t read their alphabet and knew next to nothing of their language, he had flown enough ships to be able to guess at what the basic controls were.

Yan didn’t pay Korr any mind, whatever he was doing in the main area of the ship, whatever preparations he was making, instead keeping his full focus on the Force, that feeling leading him straight to their destination. It didn’t take long before Yan saw the village on the horizon, mostly constructed of lower buildings that looked to be mudbrick, sporting far fewer of those intricate carved stone constructions they had seen in the Night Sisters’ settlement. It was difficult to see much more than that with any clarity from the air, with that same red mist covering this place as it seemed to cover the rest of the planet, and Yan hoped it would be easier at ground-level. With the Darkness so heavy in this place, Yan could only hope that he did not have to depend more on Force-sight than his own eyesight, but they would do whatever they must regardless.

The Force all but shrieked, and Yan winced, bringing them down towards the village at a sharper angle than was perhaps advisable in most cases. Thankfully, just outside the village was a clearing large enough for Korr’s ship, and Yan took only a moment to figure out which set of controls would bring down the landing gears. Without pausing to finish the post-flights, Yan killed the engines and quickly stood, heading out of the cockpit. Korr was waiting for him near the hatch, and Yan spotted a new rifle strapped to his back; as Yan approached, Korr held something out to him, and Yan quirked a brow at it.

“You believe I need… a blaster?” Yan asked, and Korr laughed.

“Oh, that’s not just any old blaster,” Korr said. “It’s a slugthrower pistol, and we’re about to fight a Dar’jetii.” Yan hummed, quickly mulling that over; though Korr had a point in that slugthrowers were far more dangerous to lightsaber wielders than blasters, Yan couldn’t say he was fond of this idea. He found blasters and other projectile weapons to be… crude, and clumsy, though those were opinions he was hesitant to voice to a Mandalorian. Korr rolled his eyes. “We don’t have time to argue. Just take it—if only just in case.”

Yan stifled a sigh, though he knew Korr was right: they didn’t have time to debate the decision, and Yan had a feeling that Korr would be stubborn about this. Nodding curtly, Yan took the weapon from him, already settled in a holster which he attached to the back of his belt, hiding the weapon beneath his customary cape. Korr nodded in satisfaction and punched the control for the hatch, clicking his faceplate back into place as he did so, and drawing both of the blasterpistols kept on either side of his belt. Yan drew his lightsaber, though he left it unlit, for the moment. Korr gave him one last look, one Yan could read even through his helmet’s cover, and Yan nodded. At that signal, Korr turned to speed down the ramp, Yan hot on his heels.

Immediately, Yan recognized the environment around them, every last detail matching the vision Ben had projected to them. With the mist and the sickly, weak red color of Dathomir’s sun, this place was physically Dark as well as reeking of the Dark Side, and the structures, those mudbrick buildings and more crudely constructed huts, were a perfect match. The Night Brothers seemed to have already taken cover somewhere in the village, though Yan saw a pair of older Dathomirian Zabraks just outside the doorway of one of those huts.

“Get inside,” Yan told them, using his best commanding Jedi Master tones and hoping they wouldn’t be questioned. They did not have time to explain themselves, the Force screaming ever louder, churning ever harder as it urged them on. “Take cover, and watch over each other.”

Thankfully, the Night Brothers listened, nodding sharply to him before turning to head back inside the hut. Yan fell in beside Korr, following him through the village, both of them still leaning heavily on the Force to guide them. Yan spared a thought to curse the fact that Dathomir was a Dark Side nexus—the inherent Darkness of this entire place made it difficult to pick out one particularly Dark being from their surroundings, after all.

It didn’t take long before they found what they were looking for. They turned a corner around another of those low mudbrick buildings, and the scene that greeted them was just as Ben had seen it: beside one of the huts, an older Night Brother was struggling to drag a much younger Zabrak inside while the youngling desperately reached out for another child.

The child that a Dark, hooded figure was slowly maneuvering away from the rest.

“I will engage first,” Yan said. “Use the distraction to hide the younglings.”

“Elek,” Korr said. “Oya —good hunting!”

“May the Force be with you,” Yan returned. With that, hearing Korr igniting his jetpack beside him, Yan lit his lightsaber, called on the Force, and leapt towards their quarry.

---

Jango.

It had been pure coincidence—or, a traitorous part of Jango’s mind whispered, the ka’ra —that had brought Jango to the same garden where Ben was meditating with Jetii Plo.

Normally, Ben liked to meditate in the largest of the gardens, the first one Korr had taken him to, though it wasn’t exactly unusual for him to choose one of the smaller ones when he was meditating on his own, without Korr. With classes on recess for the next few weeks, until the start of the following season after the New Year holiday week, Jango had quite a bit of free time on his hands, and less than usual to fill it with. Most of his friends were with their aliit’e, having gone back to their Clans’ traditional holdings, most of which weren’t located on Manda’yaim proper, until after the New Year, so most of his regular sparring partners were gone, and there was only so much time in the shooting range even Jango could stand before he got bored. Plus, with their internal investigation finished, the traitor identified and now only being tracked down (or, well, they were attempting to track him down, but for all the things that could’ve been said about Montross, no one could claim that he wasn’t skilled), and the Haat’ade on hold, taking no more jobs until after the New Year, there was little to be done on that front, either.

That left Jango plenty of time to help in the gardens, taking double his usual number of shifts in the rehabilitation domes, rotating through them each day. It was a nice break from his regular routine, and something Jango enjoyed. It was soothing, grounding, almost comforting, even, to spend time in the gardens like that. The parallels to the farm he’d grown up on were still obvious, watching bare soil slowly change and sprout with life, but it had been long enough that it wasn’t exactly painful anymore, just… a little bittersweet when he thought too much about it.

This particular garden was further along than many of the others, the plants within it more fully-grown, and only one more cover crop cycle would be needed here before they could move on to replanting the native jungle and forest plants; once those had fully grown, it would be time to take down this dome and move it farther out from the main city, pushing ever deeper into the desert, clawing back their land slowly but surely. That progress meant that it was more gardening that needed doing here than anything while they waited for the last cover crops to finish growing before ripping them out and planting over them, and so Jango had been handed a pair of shears and a trowel, and gone off to work.

He’d been at it for almost half an hour by the time Ben and Jetii Plo appeared. Jango hadn’t seen them right away, off in one of the corners trimming a few bushes that had grown a bit wildly and had started to threaten the other plants around them, nearly choking them out; by the time he noticed them, they were already kneeling, and Ben’ika had his eyes closed and head bowed, and Jango had known what that meant, and he’d just shrugged to himself and hadn’t interrupted them, returning to his work instead.

The time had flown by, after that, Jango falling into a familiar rhythm of evaluating each plant and the others around it, pulling up weeds and trimming up plants. As it always did, this particular sort of work eventually had him drifting in the particular sort of haze he got when he was fully immersed in a repetitive task like this. The familiar feelings had seeped in not long after that, a bright, cheerful, gently warm sort of sensation working in the gardens always brought him, and Jango let it take over his conscious thoughts, enjoying himself and relaxing into it.

He drifted over towards Ben and Jetii Plo, eventually—not on purpose, really, but those warm-bright-peaceful-easy sensations seemed to grow stronger as he got closer and closer to them. It felt… sort of like the way Jango always felt when he was gardening or when he hit that particular point in training where his mind went blank but in a too-focused way that was also somehow calm. And Ben, when he meditated in their rooms, always looked so peaceful, and it seemed to make it that much easier for Jango to relax himself, as if basking in his vod’ika’s sense of easy calm. This was sort of like those feelings, only… more.

The tranquility of it all was finally broken, though, by… something weird. Instead of the more-than-nothing-but-just-as-calm-as-feeling-nothing sensation (Jango didn’t know how else to describe it, he didn’t have the words to really express the way it felt to him, though it mostly just felt calm and nice and warm) Jango had been basking in and drawn into, there was a sudden flash of inspiration and hope, but the weird part was… Well, Jango could tell those weren’t his feelings, and that made absolutely no karking sense at all. He started to wonder if Jetiise could put so much emotion out into their Force that it could start affecting other people (because he thought that was how Ben said it all worked, but he wasn’t entirely sure) even as he felt himself smile at the bubbly sort of sensation. And that had sort of felt like those not-hugs Ben still gave him often enough, the warm feeling that tingled across his skin and somehow intangibly felt like his vod’ika. That was probably it, he decided, though Jango knew he would need to ask either Ben himself or Jetii Plo to get a real answer.

Then it changed again, that feeling sliding into something smug, almost, and it still wasn’t Jango’s emotion he was feeling, and it did still sort of feel like Ben… The warmth started to recede, and Jango found himself aware again, though he hadn’t realized he hadn’t actually been paying any attention to what was around him, or looking at what he was doing, running completely on autopilot.

That was… kriffing odd. But, Jango mused, watching Jetii Plo and Ben both start to lift their heads up, Ben’s eyes blinking open, that was just another weird thing to add to the list, when it came to Jetiise.

“I knew it,” Ben immediately said, and Jetii Plo sighed.

“Knew what?” Jango asked, wondering what he’d learned in his meditation this time.

“You felt that, didn’t you?” Ben asked, an adorably excited grin on his face. Jango couldn’t help the way his lips twitched in response—his vod’ika was just so karking copikla.

“‘Lek,” Jango said. “You were… being loud. It was… leaking into the room, I guess?” He cut himself off quickly—Jango knew he didn’t have the right words for this, especially not in Basic, so he forced himself to give up his attempts to explain it rather than keep babbling like an idiot.

Ben and Jetii Plo traded looks, and then, in that slightly unsettling unison Jetiise moved in when they were together, sometimes—Jango had seen that from Korr and Ben, too, once in a while—looked back to him. Ben squirmed, still looking so gleeful.

“What?” Jango asked, starting to get a bit of a strange feeling about all this. Something was up, that much was obvious, though what it was, he couldn’t have said. “What is it?”

“We were projecting into the Force around us,” Jetii Plo said, “that much is correct. But… Not everyone can sense such things.”

“Oh,” Jango said, blinking at him. “So, what, I felt it because I was closest to you?” Ben made a strangled little noise, almost like an aborted, smothered laugh, and Jango’s eyebrows rose.

“You also projected back at us,” Ben said.

“You can feel what other people are feeling, right? Jaster said it was called… ‘Force-empathy,’ I think?” Jango said, and Ben made another little sound, slightly more frustrated this time. Jetii Plo shot him another look, and Ben took a deep breath.

“You can also feel what you call my ‘not-hugs,’ right?” Ben asked, and Jango nodded. “And you woke up a few nights ago because I was ‘thinking too loudly,’ didn’t you?” Jango nodded again. “Jango… Not everyone can do that. Buir doesn’t—he doesn’t feel my ‘not-hugs,’ and even he can’t tell if I’m awake when I shouldn’t be unless I leave the room, and I’m not there when he does his checks.” Jango snorted at that—Jaster always woke up every few hours, like clockwork, to check on them both. He really was a bit of a mother nuna, sometimes.

Dragging his thoughts back to Ben’s actual point, Jango finally shrugged at him. “Okay?”

Ben sighed, looking over at Jetii Plo with a look on his face that seemed to say can you believe this? The Jetii chuckled, reaching out to pat Ben’s shoulder before turning back to Jango.

“What Ben is attempting to tell you is that you happen to be Force-sensitive,” Jetii Plo said, and Jango’s brain screeched to a halt. “Congratulations.”

Jango sat there in silence for a moment, blinking at Jetii Plo, and then blinking at Ben, both of them watching him expectantly, awaiting some reaction. Finally, Jango managed to say, “...oh. Um. What the kriff?”

It wasn’t, perhaps, his finest moment, but it made Ben laugh, that bubbly-feeling-bright-warmth washing over Jango again, and Jetii Plo joined him a moment later, his laugh a pleasant, deep sort of rumbling sound through his breath mask, only adding to that bright-warmth, and— Jango sat up straighter.

“Oh,” he said. “Like that.” Ben nodded, and Jango resorted to blinking at him again while he tried to form a thought about that. “...oh. Well. Um. …haar’chak.” Jango immediately winced, narrowing his eyes as he looked at Ben and waving a finger at him. “Don’t you dare tell buir I swore in front of you.”

Ben promised him nothing, the little imp, instead just laughing again. And yet again, the Jetii followed only a beat later. Much as Jango didn’t want his brain to really come back online, to process all of that osik, as much as he didn’t want to think about what it meant, the fact that he could actually feel it, that vibrant-bright-warmth came back so strongly that Jango couldn’t quite help the smile forming on his own face.

Jango decided, then, that there were definitely worse things than being able to feel his vod’ika’s laughter instead of just hearing it, and didn’t stop himself from joining in.

---

Korr.

Yan didn’t waste any time, descending on the Dar’jetii swiftly, using the ka’ra to jump straight at him like a pouncing nexu. Korr took the opportunity to hit his jetpack, bringing himself down just behind the group. The Dar’jetii was quick to let go of the ad, Maul, in favor of drawing their own kadau, a bolt of sickly-but-bright red springing forth.

Much as he would have liked to take a moment to reassure the adiik, Korr knew that there just wasn’t time. He holstered one of his pistols again as Maul scrambled back, away from the Dar’jetii and Yan as their blades clashed, and the adiik backed straight into Korr, conveniently enough. Maul let out a small, strangled sound, somewhere between a yelp and a growl, whirling around, eyes wide and terror rolling off of him in waves. Korr reached for him, and Maul tried to twist away, but Korr was faster. Wrapping the little Zabrak in a gentle but firm hold that pinned his arms to his sides, Korr hit his sen’tra again as soon as he was sure his grip on the ad was secure, using it to rush forward, slipping by the Dar’jetii and Yan. Maul shouted and thrashed as much as he could with his arms pinned, though thankfully, he only kicked the lower plates of Korr’s beskar’gam.

“Udesii, ad’ika,” Korr said. “I’m not going to hurt you. You need to hide, ‘lek? Go with your brothers and stay out of sight until this is over.” Korr touched down beside the hut the older Night Brother had just wrangled Savage into and let go, dropping Maul to his feet. He stumbled slightly, but Korr didn’t pause to steady him, instead gently shoving him forward, towards the hut’s entrance. A tattooed, orange-and-black hand shot out, grabbing Maul’s wrist and dragging him inside. Korr quickly removed the rifle from its clip on his back beside his sen’tra, setting it down on the ground and then sliding it farther inside with his foot.

“If anyone comes who isn’t me or my friend, use that on them,” Korr said. He didn’t get a response, but he saw that same orange-and-black tattooed hand snatch up the rifle, and nodded to himself.

Satisfied that that was the best they could do for cover for the ad’e at the moment, Korr turned away, back towards the fight, taking a moment to shore up his shields as he did so. The inherent Darkness of Dathomir and the far heavier, more purposeful and crueller Darkness of the Dar’jetii combined were slamming powerfully up against his shields, like giant waves crashing against rocks.

That Darkness now somewhat duller with his shields reinforced, Korr quickly turned his attention back to the matter at hand. Yan seemed to be doing well, holding his own, though with that red mist everywhere, most of what Korr could see were two tall, dark figures moving back and forth across the rocky, dusty ground, and the clash of Yan’s blue blade against the Dar’jetii’s red one. Satisfied that jumping into the fray wouldn’t be more of a distraction and a hindrance than a help to Yan, Korr lifted himself up again, drawing his other pistol as he went, and touched down behind the Dar’jetii. Hopefully, forcing Sidious to split his attention in two directions would give them at least a minor advantage.

Closer, now, Korr was able to see enough that he didn’t fear hitting Yan by accident if he took a shot, and immediately opened fire at the Dar’jetii’s back even as he switched over to his infrared settings— that was much better, giving him a clearer view of the fight and the other combatants. Sidious was quick to respond, and Korr felt the tremor in the ka’ra just before Yan was sent flying backwards; he landed mostly fine, on his feet, skidding back and crouching to use one hand to steady himself while the other gripped tight to his kadau , held out to one side as he prepared to launch himself at the Dar’jetii again. Sidious whirled around to face Korr, leaping forward much as Yan had, and Korr grinned to himself, an expression that he could feel was more teeth and bloodlust than anything truly amused.

Not wanting his plans to be immediately apparent, Korr put on a show of trying to create distance between them again, firing and dodging his own bolts as they were deflected back off the Dar’jetii’s red kadau as he stepped steadily backwards, letting Sidious approach. When Sidious was nearly within reach, he hit his sen’tra yet again, shooting straight up and continuing to fire. This part would be tricky, but if he could get it right, they would gain a major advantage.

As Korr had half-expected, Sidious crouched and then shot upwards, using the ka’ra to jump high enough to reach Korr. He lashed out with the kadau as he did, and Korr angled himself to make sure the strike didn’t land as Sidious had intended it to, aiming for his relatively unprotected middle, the gap between his shar’tas and ven’cabur. Instead, he twisted to one side and brought up one leg, letting the kadau hit the outside of his motun’bur. It wasn’t held there long, the Dar’jetii already falling back towards the ground, but Korr managed to hit his sen’tra controls just enough, matching his pace downwards and throwing out an arm to catch the kadau on his kom’rk, the blade skittering along it as they fell.

It was a risky move, but it worked: after just another moment, the two of them nearly back on the ground again, the Dar’jetii’s kadau sputtered out.

Korr grinned to himself again as he touched back down, faintly aware of the blood rushing in his ears, adrenaline flooding him in full force, and he brought up his pistols again as Sidious snarled wordlessly at him, waves of sharp-cold-Dark- rage pouring off of him, battering against Korr’s shields. Sidious obviously hadn’t expected that—but, then, he had no reason to have thought of that possibility. Haat beskar could block such kadau’se, but it didn’t short them out like that. But haat beskar also muffled the ka’ra, and so Korr’s was more cortosis than beskar —not that the facts that they both had a cortosis reserve as well as a beskar reserve and that they used it for beskar’gam for their ka’ra’tigaanla were anything they advertised to the rest of the galaxy. No, it was better to make them all believe that all beskar’gam was essentially the same, just variations on the same haat beskar and durasteel alloys, only varying in the degree of purity of the beskar.

Korr didn’t have time to get off a shot before the Dar’jetii raised a hand, the other still holding their now-deactivated kadau, and sent out another wave. He wasn’t nearly so graceful about it as Yan—who was already darting forward to reengage the Dar’jetii again—and went flying back.

He hit one of those mudbrick buildings, and he hit hard, the impact knocking the wind out of him with a wheeze that crackled through his vocorder, and he both felt and heard something behind him crack. He had a feeling that meant nothing good. Only a second later, his suspicions were proven correct, the indicator on his HUD for his systems turning red, confirming that that had broken something important. His sen’tra no longer usable, Korr took just a moment to catch his breath before moving forward again, back towards the Dar’jetii.

Yan had nearly reached their opponent again when he suddenly stopped, rising into the air, one of his hands reaching up towards his neck, the hilt of his own kadau slipping from his other hand, deactivating as it hit the ground beside him. Korr felt the Darkness wrapping around Yan, the Dar’jetii doing something to him, and Korr swore under his breath as he picked up speed, calling on the ka’ra to move faster, barreling straight towards the Dar’jetii.

Sidious’s hooded silhouette turned towards Korr as he fired again, the Dar’jetii dodging both bolts without loosening whatever hold he had on Yan, and he raised his other hand, stretching out towards Korr. A second later, kriffing lightning shot from his fingers, and Korr didn’t have time to evade it. It hit—and ka’ra, did that fucking hurt. Korr felt like his bones were thrumming, about to vibrate out of his skin, his teeth rattling and tentacles quivering and throbbing in discomfort. He didn’t scream, but only because his vocal chords had tensed and stuck there, unable to make any sound at all, his breaths even hitching and stuttering, and all he could do was hold on and try not to pass out—

The moment there was a break in that lightning, Korr gritted his teeth, steeling himself, and leapt for the nearest of those mudbrick buildings, pressing his back up against the side of it, breathing hard. Fucking lightning. He’d heard stories of such things, but he’d never seen any evidence that such powers were actually real.

But, then, in their modern galaxy, no one had had any evidence that there were real Dar’jetiise who still existed, either.

Korr shrugged off that thought—it wasn’t helpful, and they were running out of time. Sidious still had Yan in whatever hold had him in the air, choking him out with the Darkness around him, it seemed, and Korr had to move quickly. Sidious’s kadau still seemed to be out of commission, the unlit hilt returned to his belt, but his abilities were… something else. Korr tried to recall everything he’d ever heard about that lightning in the old stories, and perked up as he remembered something helpful, something that could be useful— if it turned out to be true, anyway. He ducked around the corner, finding both Sidious and Yan where they’d been before, though Yan was starting to turn a shade somewhere between red, blue, and purple that usually meant alarming problems in humans. There really wasn’t much time left.

Korr focused hard on Yan’s kadau and pulled as he darted around the corner again. The hilt came flying towards him, which drew Sidious’s gaze back to him. Sidious raised a hand just as Korr’s own hands closed around that hilt, and he barely got the kadau lit and in position in time. The lightning hit the blue blade, and it still made Korr’s teeth rattle and his bones hum unpleasantly, but it didn’t hurt as it had before, when it had actually hit him.

The kadau felt strangely heavy, what Korr knew to be the resistance of the crystal inside it at suddenly being wielded by someone other than its bonded bearer, but Korr ignored it. He only needed it to work well enough to cover his approach, and he was careful to keep the blade up as he started to step forward again, hoping he would be fast enough—

Behind the Dar’jetii, he saw Yan move, but quickly pinned his gaze back to Sidious, not wanting to call attention to Yan and whatever he was about to try, since Sidious was facing Korr anyway. Korr was almost back in range when he heard a loud, distinctive bang, and the lightning suddenly stopped. That had been the slugthrower, and it had apparently found its mark. Sidious shouted in rage as he stumbled back a step, and threw out his arms again, letting out a wave of power that rippled through the ka’ra, one strong and fast enough to make Korr’s tentacles and his horns vibrate.

This time, both Yan and Korr went flying back, along with several large boulders scattered around, some of them impacting the sides of those mudbrick structures. Korr hit the ground hard, and in his periphery, he saw Yan land and roll before coming to a stop, prone on the ground. Sidious turned away, darting off and disappearing in that red mist, and Korr started to try to get up to follow when he heard another crack—

Turning to look showed that one of those two-storey mudbrick structures had been hit by one of those boulders. It had a massive split running up the side, and the whole thing started to lean, about to crumble. Without bothering to rise to his feet, Korr threw out both hands, reaching out with the ka’ra and willing it to hold, at least just long enough, because he could sense several beings still inside of it. Korr’s world narrowed to the ka’ra, and the building, and that need to hold, focusing on nothing else, tuning everything else out. Finally, he tracked the shadowed-Lights of the Night Brothers inside of the building as they left, and Korr slowly let go, only maintaining enough of his control to make sure that it all fell inward on itself, instead of collapsing to either side and falling on another structure—or him.

Finally, there was nothing but an eerie, unnatural quiet and stillness in the village. Korr took a moment just to breathe, cataloging the various aches and pains he felt. His ribs were probably bruised, if not broken, from having been tossed around into buildings and the ground; his bones were still thrumming uncomfortably, what was probably his nerves misfiring some after that karking lightning, and his tentacles were tender and sore, probably swollen from that as well; he had a small but searingly painful spot on his arm, just above where his kom’rk ended, where his kute had melted into his flesh, the Dar’jetii’s kadau apparently having nicked him, though the adrenaline and greater pains of his other injuries had hidden that one at the time.

All in all, it was far better than it could have been for a fight with a real kriffing Dar’jetii. Deciding he would be good enough to stand without medical attention first, Korr staggered to his feet and went over to check on Yan. He, too, was starting to get up, coughing as he knelt there in the dirt, and though he was still pale, it was only a few shades lighter than the default paleness of his regular skin tone. His eyes were bloodshot, blood vessels no doubt having popped from the choking, and when Korr held out a hand, Yan gratefully took it, wincing as he rose, his other hand pressing itself to his own ribs. Korr clapped him on the arm, grinning fiercely behind the cover of his bucket.

When Korr let go, Yan bent down—wincing as he went, pressing his hand tighter to his ribs, and that alone all but confirmed for Korr that they’d both broken a rib or two—to grab the pistol Korr had forced him to borrow, handing it over, and Korr laughed. He opened his mouth to comment on it, but Yan just glared at him and half-rasped, half-wheezed, “If you say ‘I told you so—’”

Korr laughed again, shaking his head, though he regretted that when it made pain flare sluggishly behind his eyes—probably a mild-to-moderate concussion, then, too. Still, he finished the exchange by handing over Yan’s kadau, which was immediately returned to the man’s belt.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Korr said, and Yan’s raised brow told him how much he believed that. “But maybe you should stop talking, for now—at least until we can look at your throat.” Yan grimaced, but nodded again, and Korr smiled again beneath his bucket, confident Yan would hear it in his voice. “Good man. Now, we should go check on the adiik’e we came for, shouldn’t we?”

---

Ben.

It had been a long, long time since Ben had felt like he was going to vibrate right out of his skin out of any other feeling but anxiety. But now… Well, now, Ben almost felt like the seven-year-old he actually appeared to be, lacking in self-control and his emotions so magnified. At the moment, though, he also couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

Force, he was just too excited to be calm just then. Too many good things had happened today for Ben not to be excited about it all.

First and foremost, meditating with Plo again had been so soothing. Plo’s presence was just the same as Ben remembered it, his gentle-steady-warm-inviting-cheerfully-crackling-campfire sensation, and to feel that again had been a great gift. When Ben had been a crecheling, last time, and an Initiate, Plo had been a frequent visitor to the creches—both because he simply enjoyed visiting them, and to drop off the many new arrivals he brought to the Temple over the years. Plo had always been there, a warm, supportive constant, from his earliest days in the Temple to his final days seated on the High Council alongside his fellow Master. To be able to sit with him and meditate just because, not because they were desperately clinging to each other, to any scrap of Light they could find in an ever-Darkening galaxy, or because they were feverishly meditating on their course, on the future, trying so hard to divine what trap they were about to fall into, one they could sense but could never seem to see… Yes, that really had been a great gift.

And, as Ben had said to Jango, Ben had suspected for quite some time now that his ori’vod was at least mildly Force-sensitive, and now there was finally proof. Jango likely wasn’t sensitive enough to have needed training in his first life, or honestly even sensitive enough for anyone to have noticed it that first time around, but living with Ben had had him responding to Ben’s own Force-use in ways Force-nulls just weren’t capable of, and what Ben had actually chosen to describe to Jango was just the barest selection of those examples. Having another Force-sensitive so near to him had drawn out those abilities in Jango this time where they had remained dormant before.

And it explained so much about the Jango Fett of before, giving rise to two different theories that explained how the kind, protective young man Ben knew him to be now had become the cold, calculating individual Ben had so briefly met, but heard so much about. As to the first… Without ever even realizing that he was Force-sensitive, Jango might have Fallen to the Dark. After everything that had happened to him, that series of tragedies that made up the story of Jango Fett as Ben had heard it the first time around, Ben wouldn’t have been surprised if that was the case. He’d seen Jedi Knights and Masters Fall for less, after all.

And the second: those who were mild-to-moderately Force-sensitive, sensitive enough to sense and be influenced by the Force, but not sensitive enough for others to realize, not sensitive enough to obviously require actual training, were far more vulnerable to mental manipulation than even Force-nulls were—one of the many reasons the Order had turned to using midichlorian counts rather than just waiting to be able to sense that someone was strong in the Force.

And as for Jango… It was entirely possible that Tyranus (and Ben forced himself to differentiate the two, now, because the evidence that they truly were two vastly different beings wasn’t something he could ignore, not when Jedi Master Dooku had sat and meditated with him and Korr, allowing them to feel his Light) had twisted his mind, taken the sparks of anger and hate and fear that his experiences had already sown in Jango and fanned them into flames.

But here and now, Ben was mostly excited by that confirmation because now he had a Force-sensitive ori’vod, someone who could share both sets of experiences with him. He could share that much more of his own background with Jango, and they could learn more about Mandalorian Force traditions together. It felt… special, somehow, another layer to the bond they were already developing with each other. It was… nice.

Above and beyond both of those considerations, though, was the realization he’d had during that meditation. Force, he’d felt like an idiot once that epiphany had come, wondering why he hadn’t thought it through from that angle before. Ben had been trying to release the grief-loss he felt for the clones during that meditation, only to realize that there might still be a chance to get them back after all—if only in a vastly different sense.

The fact of the matter was that Ben had lived an entire life before this one, and he remembered it. If he was still able to remember it as clearly as he did now, then Ben reasoned that that had to mean that it was real, it had happened. He had wondered if the Force returning him to his own past would have wiped out that other timeline, but it couldn’t have, not without Ben’s memories changing as he overwrote them, and they hadn’t, so far, instead creating two parallel sets of memories. Therefore, this had to be some sort of alternate universe, branching off from the one he’d previously lived the moment he’d woken up here. More than that, the fact that the Force had brought him here with his old memories intact inherently meant that a connection between them was possible.

And Ben had very much meant what he’d said to Korr upon their first meeting: if Jedi could learn to reach out to those who were One with the Force, he didn’t see why Mando’ade couldn’t do so from within the Manda.

And if both of those facts were true, then… There was a chance that the spirits of the clones still existed, in the Force or in the Manda, and if they did, then there was also a chance—however slim it might be—that Ben could learn to reach out to them.

It wouldn’t be the same, of course, even if Ben could actually accomplish such an outlandish task, but it would bring him so much joy and so much peace to be able to have even that much of them back at his side again. Still, he didn’t dare get his hopes up, not truly, for all that he was determined to try. But the Force had felt amused more than anything by the thought, and that, too, gave Ben a spark of hope that this could actually work.

Yes, it had been a very remarkable meditation this morning, and a very good day. The only thing that could have made it any better was the safe return of Korr and Master Dooku with news of Maul and his brothers, the promise that all three were safe and sound in their village of Night Brothers, just as they should always have been. But the Force felt calm-Light when he thought on the matter, and so Ben hadn’t panicked; he had faith in Korr, and he knew from experience just how talented a swordsman Master Dooku was. They would be alright, he (mostly) managed to convince himself. They would make it, and accomplish their task, protecting the younglings.

Ben had been lounging in the karyai, on the couch tucked securely between his buir and his ori’vod as he mulled over his day, Jaster doing a bit of datawork and Jango seemingly drifting much as Ben was. None of them were quite ready for bed yet, but they were relaxing into the quiet calm of the evening together. But Ben was abruptly pulled from his meandering thoughts as he sensed them.

His awareness of Korr came first, of course, given the bond he shared with the Chagrian, and Ben started to smile, reaching out more intently as Korr made orbit. He could faintly sense Master Dooku as well, though not nearly so clearly, since he wasn’t nearly as familiar to Ben here and now as Korr was, but—

There were three other presences surrounding Korr’s, all of them bright-loud enough to be at least mildly Force-sensitive, and two of them a fair bit stronger than mildly sensitive, and those two were… bewildering. They felt so familiar and yet so foreign at the same time, and Ben wiggled his way out from between Jaster and Jango as he processed what that had to mean.

Somehow, for some reason, Korr and Master Dooku had actually brought Maul and his brothers back with them to Mandalore.

“Ben?” Jaster said, prompting Ben to turn back to him, realizing he’d just been standing there, staring at the air in front of him for a long moment. “Me’vaar ti gar, ad’ika?”

“Korr and Master Dooku are back,” Ben announced, and Jaster hummed, brightening. He never doubted Ben when it came to such things, not anymore, having learned by now that Ben wouldn’t tell him such things until and unless he was certain. “And they aren’t alone. Can we go down to meet them?”

Ben could see the hesitation in Jaster’s eyes, he could feel it at the edges of his presence, and he could practically hear the protest on his lips, that it was late, and Ben was young, and he hadn’t slept well the night before, and Ben decided that simply wouldn’t do. Putting on his best pleading face, eyes widening and adopting the smallest of pouts, Ben added, “Gedet’ye, buir?”

Predictably enough, Jaster folded only a moment later, sighing softly. “Alright. We won’t be able to linger long, since it’s starting to get late, but we can go down to greet them.”

“Vor’e, buir!” Ben chirped, and happily took Jaster’s hand when he offered it as he rose, Jango following along behind them. Ben spared just a moment to be grateful for the fact that he hadn’t yet changed into his sleep tunics, the idea of meeting Dooku, Maul, and his brothers in his pyjamas one too strange for him to contemplate for long, and tugged his buir along, hastening them out the door.

---

By the time they arrived on the landing pad, Korr was just barely bringing the ship in. Jaster’s commlink chimed and he looked at it, grunting an unhappy sort of noise, a discontented-worried sort of feeling flaring from him in the Force.

“Buir?” Ben prompted, and Jaster squeezed his hand.

“They called for medics as soon as they were in range,” Jaster said, and Ben felt a little bolt of alarm. “But the request was only a priority three.” That, at least, had him relaxing somewhat, knowing that that meant there was no need for an operating room for an emergency surgery, or a gurney, just a “sooner than later” level of urgency.

Ben nodded and turned his attention back to the ship as the ramp finished lowering, and the hatch opened. Master Dooku was the first one out, and Ben could already tell that he was walking with a slight limp. He paused halfway down, turning around to gesture at someone to follow, and a small figure darted out after him, running up to him and grabbing at his cloak with one hand. Korr was next, and he had an even smaller child on one hip, and another holding his hand as he led them down, and Ben could only stare dumbly at them all.

Force, they were all so… tiny. Maul was the one holding Korr’s hand, and Ben recognized him immediately, just as he had in that vision, those markings on his face unmistakable, but he was… so much smaller, now, and his horns had barely grown to be an inch long. The Zabrak youngling clutching at Master Dooku’s cape was definitely Savage, and there on Korr’s hip had to be the brother Ben had never met, Feral—and Korr, too, was definitely moving rather stiffly.

“Korr, Jetii’ba’ji Dooku,” Jaster called out when they came a bit closer. “Welcome back. And who are these ad’e you’ve brought along with you?”

Master Dooku came to a stop several feet away, bowing his head before gently pulling Savage forward from where he’d been hiding behind his legs. Savage shyly blinked up at them, but said nothing, and neither did Dooku. This close, Ben could see bandages wrapped around Master Dooku’s throat, just barely peeking out above the high collar of his tunics.

“Mand’alor,” Korr said, nodding to him, though he skipped the rest of the salute since both of his hands were still occupied with the younglings. “Would you like to introduce yourselves, ad’ike?”

The three brothers traded looks with each other, and then Maul and Savage both nodded.

“Maul,” he said, and then shrunk back a bit, leaning into Korr’s leg as though he was shy, and Ben felt his view of the galaxy tip on its axis yet again. The idea of Darth Maul as a shy little child was… truly something else.

“I’m Savage.”

“I Fewal!” the youngest announced brightly.

“It’s good to meet you, ad’ike,” Jaster said, as genuine and warm as he always was when faced with younglings, and his honest delight fluttering around his presence. Both Maul and Savage relaxed a bit, starting to smile, no doubt feeling and being reassured by those sensations in the Force. “I’m Jaster, and these are my ad’e —my children.”

“I’m Jango,” he introduced himself, and Maul and Savage just nodded silently.

Feral, however, stretched out a hand to wave at him. “Hi!” Jango laughed and waved back, and Ben felt Feral’s burst of pleasure at the return of the gesture in the Force and smiled.

Force, this was still so… utterly bizarre, but they were also… sweet. Endearing.

And that was beyond fucking weird.

Jaster’s hand landed on his head, drawing Ben back out of his thoughts. “Hello there,” he said, making sure to smile at them and keep his shields locked down tight over his inner turmoil. “I’m Ben.”

All three brothers’ eyes went wide, and Savage and Maul both let out a heavy sense of realization-amazement that had Ben blinking at them again. That was… odd.

“You sent them to save Maul from the bad man?” Savage asked, and Ben fought down a groan as he realized what had happened. No doubt all three of them had had questions for Korr and Master Dooku, and they had explained just how and why they had gone to Dathomir.

“I saw it in a vision, and when I showed it to them, they offered to help,” Ben said.

Maul’s face scrunched up, his nose wrinkling in obvious confusion. “Why?” he asked. “Nobody helps Night Brothers. Everybody only cares ‘bout the Sisters.”

Something in Ben’s chest ached, but he made sure the smile stayed fixed on his face. “Not everybody,” he said. “You didn’t deserve to have that happen to you, and your brothers didn’t deserve to lose you. I knew it was going to happen, and I knew there was a way to stop it. So we did.”

Though Ben doubted it had been quite so simple as he made it sound, in truth. Both Korr and Master Dooku felt drained, so exhausted, in the Force, and between that and the stiffness to their movements, Ben doubted that they had managed to retrieve these younglings without a fight. Whether that had been against the Night Brothers, the Night Sisters, or Sidious, Ben didn’t yet know, but none of the three options would have been easy.

Maul stared at him for a long moment before finally nodding. “Okay,” he said. “Um. Thank you.”

If Ben thought that seeing a shy young Maul had shaken up his view of the galaxy, being thanked by him, and in earnest, shattered it. He locked his shields down that much tighter, not letting any hint of that escape, and just shook his head. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

There was another beat of semi-awkward silence before Savage finally tugged on Dooku’s cape again, looking up at him and asking, “Um, what… What do we do now?”

“The healers are going to meet us, and we’ll get everyone checked out,” Korr said. “Then I’ll take you back to my rooms to sleep for the night, if you like, or we can find you somewhere else, if that’s what you want.”

The brothers exchanged looks again, and then, in unison, they said, “We wanna stay with you.”

Korr’s smile was broad and genuine as he nodded. “Then you’ll stay,” he said, and Ben didn’t miss the way the younglings all relaxed that much more at the reassurance. “‘Alor, we… We do need to give you our reports as soon as possible. Yan wrote his up on the way back, and I downloaded my buy’ce footage, but we need to… discuss it.”

“The fight with the bad man who tried to take me away?” Maul asked, and Korr nodded, looking grim, presence dulling and turning just a bit cooler with grave-worry.

“I’ll head down with you to the medbay,” Jaster said. “Jango—”

“I’ll get Ben back home,” Jango offered, not needing any further prompting, and Jaster leaned over to bump their shoulders together in thanks.

“But—” Ben started to protest, and both Jaster and Jango sighed.

“Ben’ika, you need to sleep,” Jaster said. “You were up late last night, and you didn’t sleep well, and tomorrow is going to be a busy day for all of us.”

“But buir —” Ben protested, knowing that he sounded like the whiny youngling he currently had to appear to be, but not caring in the slightest. He realized that this was obviously about Sidious, and if this conversation involved the Sith, he had to know what had happened—

A wave of reassurance-warmth swept over him, coming from both Korr and Master Dooku, staying Ben’s protests. “We can tell that you’re worried,” Korr murmured, and Master Dooku nodded. “But everyone’s well enough, and no lasting harm was done to any of us. We’ve talked about this, Ben: let the adults worry about things for now, ‘lek?”

Master Dooku pointedly raised an eyebrow as if to punctuate Korr’s request, and the ghost of Ben’s own former-Master in the expression had him looking down, feeling rather chastened.

“‘Lek,” he reluctantly grumbled. Looking back up, though carefully avoiding Dooku and Korr’s gazes, Ben smiled once more at the brothers. “It was good to meet you all, and I’m glad you’re safe. I’ll… see you later.”

Maul and Savage both nodded solemnly, so seriously, and even that expression on such young faces was unfairly cute. Feral, though, stretched out a hand to wave again, at Ben this time, and he laughed, waving back.

“Come on, vod’ika,” Jango said, moving to take his hand and tug him along. “It’s already past your bedtime.”

Ben huffed, ignoring the way that that only made Jango laugh at him, and wondered how long he had to wait before he no longer had a bedtime. Still, he tugged on Jango’s hand just enough to slow him, automatically stepping to one side along with Jango as the medics arrived, brushing past them. He turned to take one last look at Maul and his brothers, and smiled to himself.

This might very well have been the most surreal experience Ben had ever had, topping even that dinner in their rooms with his aliit, Master Plo, and Dooku, but… Well, at least if Maul, Savage, and Feral were here, Ben could be assured that they were safe.

Ben had a feeling that he would rest easier tonight, and he didn’t resist any further as Jango tugged him along.

Notes:

Plo, internally: Hmm. Meditation with this youngling is far more relaxing and yet also far more amusing and interesting than it usually is with younglings. How intriguing.
Ben, internally: PLO! IT'S PLO! Ah, the dad vibes are strong with him. It's nice, very soothing. I missed him.
Jango, internally: Plants are nice and relaxing. Oh, Jetii Plo and Ben are here too! That's nice, and also relaxing.
Also Jango, feeling Ben's *outburst*: ...the kriff was that?!
Plo and Ben: Oh, you felt that?
Jango: Uh, no duh? It was freaking *loud.*
Plo and Ben, exchanging *looks* and silently asking each other: ...so who gets to tell him what that means???

Jango, internally, after learning he's Force-sensitive: Wait, so, in theory, I could do all the freaky weird shit that Ben does??? Do I *have to?* How does this *work???* I'm so confused. My brain hurts. Can I go back to my plants now??? They make way more sense than these two weirdos.

Ben: HOLD UP A FUCKING MINUTE! So if I came from an alternate universe but I remember that alternate universe, it must, in some sense, still exist! And the fact that I'm here and remember all of that means that a connection can be made across universes! And I already learned how to reach out to spirits in the Force, so if I can connect to that other universe again and connect with the spirits *there,* does that mean I can see the clones again??? Even if they're all see-through and 501st blue??? :D
The Force: ...ambitious little one, aren't you? That's cute. You're a cutie pie. *Smooshes his cheeks*
Ben: ...hmm, the Force doesn't seem to be *discouraging* the idea. I have no idea if it will work, but I'm gonna try it 'cause I really really really WANT IT TO WORK SO I CAN SEE THE CLONES AGAIN!!! :D
Long-suffering 212th troopers, somewhere in another galaxy's Force: ...why do I get the feeling The General is Up To Something again???

Yan, internally: I was reduced to shooting a *Sith Lord* with a *Mandalorian's slugthrower.* I am a Master of Makashi, the purest of lightsaber forms! How has it come to this?!
Korr: Soooo...
Yan: Don't.
Korr: But—
Yan: I *mean it.*
Korr: Yeah, but I—
Yan: *Sighs* Fine. You can say it *once.*
Korr, gleefully: I told you so!!!
Yan: Have you gotten that out of your system now?
Korr: Yup! Let's go check on my new kids!!! :D
Yan: *Sighs again* ...Mandalorians.

Ben, internally: ...I was somehow not expecting them to bring back baby Maul and his baby brothers. I really should have, because *Mandalorians,* but... didn't. Force, they're fucking *tiny.* Is this what other people see when they look at me???
Maul: So you're the one who made them come save me?
Ben: Uh. Yeah.
Maul: ...hmm. Okay. Thanks, I guess?
Ben: ...what the fuck?! O.O
Maul: What?
Ben: Nothing! No thanks required!
Maul: You're weird. ...but I think I like you.
Ben: *That's* fucking weird. Just like it's weird how adorable you are.
Maul: Um?
Ben: Um. Bye?

So this Sidious is powerful and scary, but we're still well over a decade away from the events of Episode I. He was definitely Not Expecting a Jedi and a Mandalorian to show up, and he wasn't on his game. Thanks to that element of surprise and the fact that this is Sith Apprentice!Sidious, not Sith Master!Sidious, everyone lived with only temporary injuries. Whew! But now Sidious has to go tell his Master about this... Uh-oh. ;)

On that note, I hope you enjoyed! :D

Chapter 11

Notes:

Hello again! :D Thank you all so much for the love on this fic, and BB!Maul and his BB!brothers. They are such fun to write as little ones!

Since many of you seem to read multiple fics of mine, this announcement may be redundant to some of you, buuut... It's NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month)! This year, as I did last year, I assigned each of my WIPs a number and I'm using a random number generator to pick the "fic of the day." So far, it's been fairly effective at getting me to update my fics, and this is the third chapter post in four days (across three different fics)! :D I'm having a blast so far, haven't yet hit the point where I start banging my head against the desk yet... It will come, at some point. XD

One Mando'a note for a new word: "traat'alor'e" is a word I mashed up together to mean "squad leaders." Traat'aliit is a squad, so I just shoved the word for leader at the end. :)

Anyway, I hope you enjoy more of this not-quite-crackfic!

Jaster.

Jaster made it home far later than he’d hoped to, thoroughly exhausted, drained, and with the beginnings of a headache starting to form. Ka’ra, what a mess this was.

A Dar’jetii. A real kriffing Dar’jetii, alive and seemingly just as terrifyingly powerful as the old songs claimed.

Sighing softly to himself, Jaster forcibly set those thoughts aside. Not only did Ben tend towards insomnia when his own thoughts were too busy, he also woke up much of the time when anyone else was “thinking too loudly,” which usually ended up waking Jango as well—a habit that made far more sense now that Plo and Ben had identified him as ka’ra’tigaanla.

And a whole slew of other quirks about his older ad had been explained with that revelation, too: Jango had always shrugged off Jaster and Jorin’s offers to reforge his beskar’gam with a higher beskar content, claiming that he was “just more comfortable” as it was, and it was high enough to protect him from most weapons, so they left it alone; Jango had a tendency to hyperfocus and zone out when he was doing something repetitive, one of the signs of sinking into the ka’ra; his moods tended to follow those around him, and others seemed to mirror his own mood as well; he was prone to “gut feelings,” his intuition right more often than wrong. None of them were obvious signs, nothing that Jaster would have been able to flag for himself, though now that they knew, he would have to make sure that Jango got the training he needed for that, too. Both Korr and Ben had offered to work with Jango, which took one worry off of Jaster’s plate, at least.

Though the fact remained that with two ka’ra’tigaanla ad’e waiting for him in the karyai, hopefully asleep, Jaster needed to make sure he was calm and settled when he went to join them, lest he wake them up by “thinking too loudly.” Sighing to himself, Jaster went down the hall and ducked into his bedroom, rarely used except for the wardrobe and the armor rack. Stripping off his beskar’gam, Jaster went through a mental checklist of all of his immediate concerns.

First and foremost, Korr, Ba’ji Dooku, and all three of the Zabrak ad’e had made it to Keldabe without any lasting physical harm done to them.

Dooku had been ordered not to try to speak for at least the next day, because even with bacta, the swelling was rather severe, but the damage done to his throat wouldn’t be permanent. Besides that, he’d had a few broken ribs, now helped along by a few bacta injections and on their way to healing, a minor concussion, and a pair of light burns from the Dar’jetii’s kadau, though Jaster had also been told that those burns wouldn’t even scar, they had been so minor, just the briefest of touches to his arm. Dooku would make a full recovery within two weeks at most, and only because his ribs would take that long, even with bacta.

Korr was in much the same boat: he’d had a nastier burn of his own, though they’d gotten bacta on that as well; it would probably scar, but it hadn’t done any permanent damage to his arm, at least. His concussion had been a bit more severe, but not so much as to be a real concern, after being hit with a bacta spray for a few seconds. He, too, had broken his ribs, and he was looking at the same timeline Dooku was on that front. Korr would be just fine in a few weeks.

And the ad’e were well enough—the older two were a bit on the thin side, but Baar’ur Unixe had said that they’d just had growth spurts, so that wasn’t terribly surprising. Feral was still adorably round-faced with baby fat, and obviously well taken care of. All three were physically well, save for a few minor scrapes on Maul’s hands from having fallen while trying to escape the Dar’jetii and catching himself on the rocky ground. That, too, was a blessing from the Manda.

As for Jaster’s second concern… They’d done all they could in regards to the Dar’jetii tonight. Korr had given him a rough run-down of his report and handed over his buy’ce footage of their meeting with the Night Mother as well as the fight before whisking his new Foundlings off to bed, and Dooku had given him his written report, though given the state of his throat, anything verbal would have to wait. Jaster had called for Liika, giving her all of the intel as well and asking her to add it to the all-hands briefing agenda for the following day. There was no more that could be done tonight besides sleep on it.

All in all, things had gone as well as they could have, given the involvement of an actual Dar’jetii. Jaster tried to focus on his gratitude for that fact—and his thankfulness for the timing of their alliance with the Jetii’tsad. Now that there was at least one Dar’jetii active in the galaxy again… Well, who better to defend against someone like that than the combined forces of the Jetiise and Mando’ade?

Jaster nodded to himself, tugging on his sleep tunics and deeming himself calm enough to join his ad’e. Though he slipped into the karyai as quietly as he could, almost immediately, he heard Ben make a little noise before starting to stir. As Jaster had expected, Ben’s sleep mat was pushed up against Jango’s, the pair curled up together. Both Jaster and Jango had long since learned that one surefire way to beat Ben’s insomnia was to cuddle the thoughts right out of his head, and Jaster had hoped he’d walk in to this very sight tonight. He was thankful he’d been right, and both of his boys had gotten some sleep.

“Buir?” Ben murmured, voice thick with sleep. “Everyone’s okay?”

“‘Lek, Ben’ika,” Jaster assured him, going to crouch down beside him and run a hand through his hair. As always, Ben pushed up into it like a contented tooka, and Jaster smiled. “They’re a little worse for wear, but everyone’s going to be just fine.”

“‘S good,” Ben mumbled, already drifting off again. “Come sleep now?”

“‘Lek,” he agreed, heading for his own sleep mat not far away. Ben made an unhappy little noise, and Jaster looked over to find him with one eye cracked open, giving Jaster a rather disgruntled sort of look, and stretching one little hand out.

“Come sleep,” Ben demanded, and Jaster huffed a bit of a laugh.

“Alright, alright,” he said, pushing his own mat over to his ad’e. Immediately, both Ben and Jango shifted, bracketing Ben between Jango and Jaster, and one of Jango’s hands searching out Jaster’s sleeve, clinging to it as he sometimes did in his sleep. Jaster smiled to himself, content to focus on this moment for now. “Jate ca, ad’ike.”

---

Jaster sighed, then reached up to scrub a hand over his face before forcing himself to refocus on Liika. “You really mean to tell me that there’s not a single usable frame in all of that footage?”

“Nayc, ‘Alor,” Liika said, grimacing faintly. “Our analysts were up all night going over it, and the best we have is a total of three frames where you can see the tip of their chin. At no point did we get a good look at the Dar’jetii’s face, and we definitely don’t have enough to go on to run it through any database.”

“Haar’chak,” Jaster murmured. “How is that possible?”

On Liika’s other side, Dooku made a little noise, and they all looked to him. He held up a finger, silently asking for a moment, before turning to his datapad, tapping at it quickly. That somewhat awkward, anticipatory silence stretched on for a little while as they waited for the Jetii to finish whatever he wanted to say, and then he slid the ‘pad over to Liika, looking back up. Her face scrunched up as she read it, obviously confused and a bit disbelieving, but she dutifully began reading it aloud for him.

“‘I believe the Sith was using a Force technique to hide himself,’” Liika read. “‘What you would likely be familiar with is the technique known as “Notice-Me-Not,” where Force-users use a widespread mind-trick to divert attention from themselves. But this technique works differently; among the Jedi, it is only taught to a select group. It works by using the Force to bend the light around themselves, making it far easier to hide entirely or obscure their features. I have even successfully used it myself to hide from security cameras, in the past.’” Liika paused, looking back over at Dooku as she handed his datapad back. “Seriously? It can affect cameras?”

It was Plo who spoke up on Dooku’s behalf, nodding to Liika. “Of course. Because this technique bends the lightwaves around the Force-sensitive who makes use of it, it is capable of hiding them from droids and cameras as well as sentients. That would explain why the HUD footage shows no more than what they actually saw during that confrontation.” A quiet wave of murmuring went around the table, all of Jaster’s people shifting uncomfortably at that thought. He sympathized, this time.

Manda, but the more Jaster learned about Jetiise, Dar’jetiise, and their abilities, the more insane this all got.

“...osik,” Liika sighed, and Jaster couldn’t help but agree. “So we know that there’s a Dar’jetii out there somewhere, that their Dar’jetii name is ‘Sidious,’ and they were on Dathomir to try to make nice with the Witches. But literally nothing else?”

“Precisely. Though that is a great deal more than we knew only a few days ago,” Plo rumbled, his usual calm, deep tones soothing Jaster and visibly calming Liika. Ka’ra, Jaster was grateful for Plo’s presence during this briefing, helping to keep their little group from descending into shouting. “Until now, the Order has believed the Sith to be gone. To have proof that they are not is a boon in itself. Now that we have that knowledge, we will know what we must look for.”

Jaster nodded to him and Dooku. “I’m inclined to let your people handle the investigation into the Dar’jetii from here, at least for now,” he said. “But Liika, put the same travel restrictions on the Zabrak ad’e that we put on Ben: none of them leave the sector without a full squad with them, at the very least. We have no way to know if the Dar’jetii would come after them again specifically, but it’s not a chance I’m willing to take.”

“‘Lek, ‘Alor,” Liika agreed, dutifully noting it down on her ‘pad.

Jaster let the silence sit for a beat, looking over those at the table. Both Jetiise looked as calm as they ever did, though Dooku still looked rather worse-for-wear and weary; Liika and the few Councilors Jaster had summoned to join them for this all looked tense and unhappy, but not likely to begin shouting, at least. It was good enough for now, he decided.

“Since we can’t do much more on that front at the moment, let’s move on,” Jaster said. “Cygan, how are the preparations going?”

“More slowly than expected, ‘Alor,” Cygan said, expression twisting a bit. “Apparently, the soonest the Senate could schedule a ‘diplomatic envoy’ to speak is four months from now.”

Jaster’s eyebrows rose, but both Jetiise looked entirely unsurprised. Apparently giving up on typing everything out, Dooku turned to sign something at Plo, who hummed and nodded. “We may be able to accelerate that timeline,” Plo said. “Any Senator may use their time in-session to introduce another speaker, and they have a tendency to book their slots so far in advance that even they often don’t know what they will wish to say when the time comes. The Order does have its allies within the Senate, however few they may be. One of them may be willing to introduce your party.”

“Are any of those Senatorial allies of yours opposed to the Banking Clan in general?” Cygan asked, and Plo hummed, looking to Dooku again. Dooku frowned slightly, obviously thinking it over, and then signed something else to Plo.

“A few, apparently,” Plo said, still watching Dooku as he signed and translating for them, since none of them were familiar with Galactic Basic Sign. “Bail Antilles, the Senator for Alderaan; Korva Bitherres, the Senator for Chandrila; and Juvo Kunrilli, the Senator for Pantora.”

Cygan hummed, nodding. “Three Senators from important planets to the Republic,” he said. “You believe at least one of them would be willing to bring us in to speak?” Dooku and Plo both nodded. “Then I suppose it’s just a matter of finding out who, and when they’re next scheduled for speaking time.”

Dooku held up a finger again, turning back to his datapad. He tapped at it for a moment and then handed it to Plo, pointing out something on it. “Senator Bitherres is scheduled for time in ten days,” Plo said, and then Dooku pointed out something else. “If that is too soon, and you require more time, then Senator Kunrilli is scheduled to speak in three weeks.”

Cygan looked to Jaster, who mulled that over. “A tenday is a bit short notice, but we could make three weeks work,” Jaster said. “Could you facilitate a meeting between us and their Senator?”

“Of course,” Plo agreed.

“Would you trust them with the full plan? Or only what we actually intend to say publicly in the Senate?” Jaster asked, and again, Plo looked to Dooku. Jaster started to get the feeling that of the two of them, Dooku had more experience with the Senate than Plo did.

Again, Dooku turned to signing, and Plo translated for him: “I would recommend keeping the rest of our plans a closely-guarded secret. Not because of a lack of faith in Pantora’s Senator and their loyalties, but because speaking of such things in the Senate would come with inherent danger.”

“What if we spoke somewhere outside the Senate?” Jaster asked. “Do you think they would be willing to meet us in Keld’ika?”

Plo hummed, exchanging another look with Dooku, and then he nodded slowly. “They very well might,” Plo said. “If that is the plan, then it may be best to invite all three Senators. I have no doubt that the corporate representatives in the Senate will attempt to object to your statements, but if we can have the Senator for Pantora introduce you, and the other two endorse your petition, that would streamline things nicely.”

“Jate,” Jaster said, nodding to the Jetiise. Though the idea of petitioning the Republic Senate for action taken against the Banking Clan had come about to provide Jaster and his officers and Councilors an excuse to be on Coruscanta, there was no reason not to try to give it the best chance of success they could. Their complaints against the Banking Clan, after all, were valid, and they had plenty of proof—they had also, until now, thought it to be a moot point. But with the knowledge that Kyr’tsad was still an active threat, with Tor Vizsla still alive… That had changed things. “We will leave when you do. Liika’s prepared a set of encrypted commlinks for you; they’ll run through our ships and the independent systems in Keld’ika rather than Coruscant’s planetary systems, so it should be harder for the Republic to slice in. That should make it safe enough to coordinate a meeting once you’ve spoken to these Senators.”

“Very well,” Plo said, bowing his head. “We will leave in two days as planned, then.”

“I know they won’t be able to come until after you’ve made your move to leave the Republic,” Senna spoke up, “but what of the Jetii you’re going to send to us? The sooner we can get a briefing on them, the smoother we can make this. Our Council agreed to it, and our Clans are aware, but having some time to get used to the idea and get to know some about them will make this easier.”

“The Council will likely choose several candidates once we meet upon our return to the Temple,” Plo said. “We could arrange for the proposed Jedi to meet you in Keld’ika as well, so that you may be more involved in the final decision.”

“A good idea,” Jaster agreed. “That will give us a chance to plan the escape as well.” Plo tipped his head in acceptance, and Jaster glanced down at his own ‘pad, looking over his agenda. This meeting, at least, was almost over—though Jaster was dreading the all-hands briefing this afternoon. Everything he would have to tell the Haat’ade would be… intense. Between Kyr’tsad’s resurgence, the changes within the Jetii’tsad and their budding alliance, and the threat of the Dar’jetiise —well, Jaster had good reason not to be excited about this briefing. He had a feeling they were all too likely to start shouting, and from there, he would be lucky if it didn’t descend into an all-out, free-for-all brawl.

But, for now, Jaster turned his attention back to this meeting. “Does anyone else have anything we still need to cover?” That got a round of “nayc, ‘Alor” from his people, and the Jetiise both shook their heads. “Ori’jate. We’ll reconvene for the all-hands briefing this afternoon, then. Dismissed.”

---

Ben.

Maul was staring at him again.

Ben couldn’t quite help but notice, couldn’t help but feel it—that gaze was… oddly intense, particularly given the fact that Maul was still just a youngling. But the weight of his attention in the Force wasn’t something Ben could quite ignore, setting off too many instincts that had kept him alive for decades in his last life.

Still, Ben tried to make a show of ignoring it, continuing to pick at his breakfast. Jaster and Jango had convinced Ben to sleep in a bit this morning, and by the time he’d woken up, Jango had hurried him along in getting dressed and then led him to one of the communal dining rooms to meet Korr and his new Foundlings for firstmeal. Thankfully, since it was later than the usual firstmeal hours, they were currently the only occupants in the hall, aside from the droids who were cleaning up around them.

Korr and Jango were having a quiet conversation while the Chagrian helped Feral with his food, cutting it up into small little bites for him, and Savage was entirely occupied by his own meal, but Maul just kept staring at Ben and nibbling slowly at his own food while Ben tried so unsuccessfully to ignore it. At least, he thought to himself, there was no malice in it, just a sense of deep curiosity.

Finally, the doors opened and Jaster appeared, Masters Plo and Dooku just behind him; Ben smiled, thankful for the distraction. “Buir, Masters,” Ben called to them. “How did it go?”

“Well enough,” Jaster answered briefly, and Ben huffed softly. He’d been hoping for more detail than that, but Jaster seemed determined to leave him out of the loop. But that hardly mattered at the moment; Ben was certain that he would have a chance to wheedle more information out of his buir later.

Jaster led the Jedi over to join them, settling himself down on Ben’s other side and both Jedi sitting at the end of the table. That prompted Korr and Jango to break off their hushed conversation, looking up at the new arrivals.

“Jate vaar’tur,” Korr said. “How’s your throat?” Master Dooku signed better, thank you, and Master Plo translated for him. Korr nodded. “Ori’jate.”

Master Dooku nodded and looked around the hall carefully before turning back to the table, signing again. Since we are all here, there is one important task left to accomplish. Ben tilted his head curiously as Master Plo again spoke for his fellow Master, and both Korr and Jaster grunted questioningly.

Master Dooku smiled and held up a scanner, continuing to sign one-handed. I believe several tests are in order. While I am aware that you do not generally test midichlorian counts, it’s wise to have a baseline on file. Tracking any changes can become very important in cases of severe Force exhaustion, to cite our foremost reason for it.

Jaster hummed and nodded. “‘Lek, I do remember the manuals saying something about that,” he said.

Korr shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t mind, but it’s up to them,” he said, and then turned to his charges. “Would you mind if he gets a count from you?”

“All it would involve is a single drop of blood, just a small prick of the finger,” Master Plo added. Maul and his brothers looked so uncertain, exchanging glances with each other again, and Ben hummed.

“I’ve done it before,” he said. “It’s just a little pinch, it doesn’t even really hurt.”

“...okay,” Maul finally agreed.

Excellent, Master Dooku signed. Thank you. He turned to Ben, then, and added: We do need a calibration count, of course. Would you mind?

Ben smiled, realizing that Master Dooku was putting his endorsement to use. Having him go first would hopefully put Maul and his brothers more at ease. “Not at all,” he said, and leaned into Jaster to hold his hand out to Master Dooku across the table. “It should be just about thirteen thousand.”

Master Dooku nodded and pricked his finger, and Ben kept it outstretched until he heard the soft beep that indicated the scanner was finished, and then he took his hand back. Jaster pointedly nudged him back in the direction of his plate, and Ben fought not to roll his eyes.

Seeing how easy that had been for Ben, Maul was far less hesitant about it, putting his hand out when Master Dooku motioned for him to do so. Soon enough, Maul was finished, and it was Savage’s turn. When he was done, Master Dooku had to get up and go around to the other side of the table to get Feral’s.

Thank you for making that so easy, Master Dooku signed to them, and they all gave him shy little smiles when Master Plo translated for him again. Ben still couldn’t help but find that cute, even with as weird as it still was. Finally, though, Master Dooku turned to Jango, who blinked up at him. And you?

“Uh,” Jango said, looking to Ben. He just smiled and shrugged at his ori’vod, and Jango shrugged back. “Sure?” He held out his hand, letting Master Dooku take his sample, and then he was truly finished, slipping the scanner back into one of his pockets.

I’ll be sure to send the counts along to the healers and your guardians, Master Dooku signed, and they nodded easily after Master Plo’s interpretation.

That task done, Jaster moved them on, turning to Korr. “You’re excused from the briefing later,” he said, and Korr nodded. “And Ben, perhaps you’d like to spend the afternoon with Korr, Maul, Savage, and Feral?”

All three of the brothers perked up, their excitement-hope flaring in the Force, and Ben shot Jaster a dirty look that only made his buir smile at him, wholly unrepentant. Of course Jaster knew exactly what he’d just done, and realized that Ben would be hesitant to dash their hopes, despite how much he needed to know what went on in that briefing. But… Well, there could be another way to find out, if Ben could manage it…

“‘Lek, buir,” he agreed, and turned to Korr. “Maybe we could go down to the gardens?”

“A good idea,” Korr agreed, nodding to him.

“Jate,” Jaster said, sounding more than a little smug. “That’s settled, then. Ba’ji Dooku, I’ll leave it up to you if you want to come or not. I’m sure everyone will have questions for you if they see you, but they wouldn’t be very easily answered at the moment.”

Quite right, Master Dooku signed, Master Plo automatically interpreting for him again. I think I shall take the scanner back to our ship to finish gathering the readings, so that will be done by the time your briefing is finished.

“Alright,” Jaster agreed easily. “Jango, most of your squad is still away for the holiday season, and more than a few other squads are in the same position. Will you put together a summary at the briefing and compile a written report to send out?”

“‘Lek, buir,” Jango agreed, earning himself a smile of thanks from Jaster.

The official business seemingly over for now, everyone slowly turned back to their food and conversations. Ben looked down at his plate and smiled to himself.

So Jango was going to be putting together a written report and summaries for the briefing? That sounded like the ideal opportunity for Ben to figure out just what was going on, and what the Jedi and Jaster knew so far. And all Ben would need to do to get his hands on it was to take a peek at his ori’vod’s datapad—a simple enough task to accomplish.

Perfect. The less time Ben spent in the dark, the more helpful he could be—there was simply no way he was going to sit back and let them take on the Sith by themselves, after all.

No matter what they said about “letting the adults handle things.”

---

Yan.

Looking over the results displayed on his ‘pad, Yan hummed to himself and reached up to stroke his beard, sitting back in his seat in the cockpit of the ship. Interesting— very interesting.

First and foremost, his senses had been correct when it came to the Dathomiri younglings. Maul had the highest count of the three at thirteen and a half thousand; Savage came in just below him at twelve thousand; Feral had the lowest at just under ten thousand, though given his young age, that number had the potential to climb quickly, though it would likely settle in just a few more years.

Second, Jango Fett’s count had come in at ten and a half thousand. Not particularly high, but still well over the minimum count required for admission into the Jedi Order. Plo had told him already about their discovery of young Fett’s Force abilities—an amusing anecdote—and that none had noticed Fett’s potential before now. Young Ben, unsurprisingly, had immediately jumped in to offer his help in teaching his older brother the basics of meditation and control, and given his abilities, Yan was confident that Fett would progress well, and had little fear of him losing control drastically enough to harm himself or any of those around him now that his previously-dormant abilities had been woken.

But the final revelation… That was most interesting to Yan. When he had asked to test young Ben’s midichlorian count, the child had given him a knowing, indulgent sort of look, no doubt assuming that Yan had intended for the Zabrak brothers to see it, and for that to put them at ease. Which, of course, had been part of his intent, but it had also been an easy, discreet way to take another count from Ben.

Though Ben had fully believed his count to match that of his official Temple file at thirteen thousand, that was not the case. Yan had been right, his theory confirmed: either the Temple healers had made an error in his documentation, or the scanner they had used to take his count had been poorly calibrated, because thirteen thousand was rather far off the mark. Yan had run Ben’s sample three times after calibrating the reader with his own sample, his own known count, and the results had come back the same each time.

Ben Mereel’s midichlorian count sat just under nineteen thousand—eighteen thousand and seven hundred, to be precise.

It wasn’t the highest count ever recorded, nor was it even the highest count of any currently-living Jedi. Yan’s own former-Master took that distinction at nineteen and a half thousand, and Master Yaddle followed him at a nearly even nineteen thousand—unsurprisingly, of course. Midichlorian counts tended to climb rapidly in a being’s early years before levelling off around the developmental age of six in humans-and-near, or their species’ equivalent, though it still slowly rose over the course of their lifetime, assuming those abilities were developed; the opposite was true as well, and a count could fall if a being’s Force-abilities were left dormant. Given just how long Yoda and Yaddle had lived, it was hardly a surprise that their counts had grown so high, even if only rising incredibly slowly year over year.

But young Ben, a barely seven-year-old child, had a count that would indicate that he had the potential to be just as strong in the Force as those great Masters, and he had no idea. This strange little youngling with his unnatural articulation, poise, and intellect, this youngling with his deep understanding of and faith in the Force, this youngling who was selfless to a fault at an age where children were often unthinkingly selfish… Force, he had such a deep potential. He was already incredibly skilled for one so young, and Yan could only imagine what he would be able to accomplish if he continued to develop his abilities.

Frankly, Yan thought, it would be a great tragedy if Ben Mereel was not properly trained in the ways of the Force. That would have been a simple task to accomplish prior to his departure from the Jedi Order, but now… Now, Ben Mereel was the child of the Mand’alor, not a Jedi Initiate just waiting for a Master.

Thankfully, their circumstances had already provided a solution: with the agreed upon alliance between Mandalore and the Order would come the posting of a Jedi Watchbeing to the sector, and the Mand’alor and his Council had already agreed to allowing that Watchbeing to train those who were strong enough in the Force to require it, and whose guardians agreed to it. But that Watchbeing was, as yet, undecided, and Yan sensed a great opportunity.

He found Ben Mereel to be quite interesting, so intriguing, after all. And Yan’s stay on Mandalore thus far, and his interactions with Mandalorians, had been interesting in themselves. Yan quite enjoyed Korr’s company, and the two of them had made a strong team, which was a promising sign. There was such potential here on Mandalore, and Yan could not in good conscience let it pass him by.

With a smile, Yan turned to grab his datapad, opening a new document, and began composing his petition to the rest of the High Council.

---

Maul.

Mandalore was… weird.

Not bad, Maul didn’t think, just… really weird. Everything and everyone here was so warm when Maul was used to everything being so cold. Korr had said that was because Dathomir was a Dark place, a place where the Force, or the ka’ra as Mandalorians called it, was naturally Dark. The Dark, he’d said, was cold, and Mandalore and the people Maul had met so far were different because they were Light, and that was what made them warm.

And the one they called Ben was the warmest of all of them.

When Korr and his Jedi friend, Dooku, had answered their questions on the ship and explained it to them, it had sounded like one of the stories the High Brother, the oldest Brother in the village, used to tell them around the bonfires at night—the childrens’ stories that Maul didn’t believe were real anymore, even though he’d never said that because he didn’t want Savage and Feral to stop believing in them just because he didn’t.

It had just sounded so… wrong. A magic baby, one with powers like the Sisters, had become a Mandalorian prince, and that prince had used his powers to save Maul and his brothers from an evil Dark man? Yeah, right. He might’ve been young, but Maul wasn’t stupid. He had thought there was no way that could’ve been true, because nobody cared about Night Brothers besides other Night Brothers—and even then, they’d give each other up for the Night Sisters, or when sacrificing one Brother saved the rest of them.

Like they were going to give up Maul to save his village, to save the rest of the Brothers from the Dark man.

It was weird enough that Korr and Dooku had come for him at all, but to be sent for him by a magic Mandalorian prince? It didn’t make sense, it couldn’t have been real. No one cared about Night Brothers, especially not someone as important as a prince.

But then there was Ben, who was real, and who was so warm, and twinkled like starlight. And, as weird was it was, he cared about Maul and his brothers. He cared about the Night Brothers, even though he wasn’t one.

Maul still couldn’t figure out why he cared, or why Korr cared, or why Dooku cared, but he knew they did. He could feel it, and they weren’t lying.

It was still weird, but Maul didn’t think it was bad.

“Ready, ad’ike?” Korr said, and Maul looked up at him. He’d been thinking—and staring at Ben again, because he just couldn’t help but stare at something so bright-warm, someone so different to all the cold he’d known until now—while he followed Korr through the halls, until they finally stopped in front of a big set of doors. For a moment, Maul just blinked up at him, and then he looked at Savage, and then Feral, silently asking if they were ready. They nodded, and Maul looked back up at Korr and nodded, too. Korr smiled, and Maul could see it since he had his face-covering clipped to his belt, and then he turned away, leading them through those doors.

Maul couldn’t help his little gasp, and he heard Savage make a little noise, too, almost like an “eep!” And Feral outright squealed, squirming in Korr’s hold to be put down.

It was so bright here, and so warm. The sun overhead was so bright, the light and heat of it so different, and all around them, everything was green. There were plants everywhere, big and leafy instead of gnarled and woody, like everything was on Dathomir. This whole place was singing to him, bright and happy and warm-warm-warm, and Maul could only stand there for a moment, frozen in place as he tried to take it all in.

“What do you think, ad’ike?” Korr asked.

“Wow!” Feral said, clapping his hands together and wiggling more determinedly until Korr laughed and set him down. Feral immediately wandered off the path, running his little hands over the broad leaf of a bush nearby, and Korr watched with an amused smile on his face, warmth coming from him, too.

“Are there animals?” Savage asked, and Maul perked up. He should have thought to ask about that—on Dathomir, there were lots of animals that could hurt them, from Bane Back Spiders to Nydaks. Being outside the village, being outside at all, was dangerous. Maul wondered if that was why Korr still had all of his armor on except for that helmet, even though this was his village, where he should’ve been safe.

“‘Lek, just a few in this part of the gardens,” Korr said easily. “Several different types of lizards, some small rodents, butterflies, and the invasive species: a clowder of roaming tookas.”

“Oh,” Savage said, and then he shot Maul a wide-eyed, questioning look. He didn’t know what some of those were, and neither did Maul. He’d heard about tookas, but there hadn’t been any on Dathomir, so he’d never seen one. But the others…

“Are they safe?” Maul asked, and Korr nodded. “Oh. The lizards on Dathomir could hurt us if we got bit.”

“The lizards here won’t hurt you,” Ben said, and Maul nodded. Ben smiled, bright-warm like the sunshine overhead. “Do you want to see my favorite place in the gardens?” Maul nodded, and Ben’s smile grew even bigger and brighter. “This way!”

“Savage?” Maul asked, and Savage nodded, deciding he’d go, too. They both shot a concerned look back at Feral, their littlest brother still looking at all the plants around him, but Korr waved a hand at them.

“Go on, ad’ike,” Korr said. “I’ll watch Feral, and we’ll come find you in a little while, ‘lek?”

It went against every instinct Maul had to let Feral out of his sight, but Korr was so warm, and it didn’t make any sense for him to have saved them from Dathomir and the bad man only to bring them here to hurt them, so he nodded, took Savage’s hand, and followed after the bright-starlight that was the magic Mandalorian prince, Ben.

Mandalore was absolutely, definitely weird. But Maul was starting to think…

Maybe it was also good.

---

Jaster.

Usually, the all-hands briefings were Jaster’s favorite parts of the year. The verd’e who had spent the season on the deployment roster would stay for the briefing before heading back home for the following season, or taking up their posts in Keldabe, and the verd’e who had been off-duty and were about to be active on the deployment roster for the coming season would join them—four times a year, at the changing of the seasons, the greatest numbers of verd’e congregated in Keldabe. It was certainly a sight to see, the capital swelling with visitors while everyone was still there, and being surrounded by so many of his own always brought a well-contented sort of feeling to Jaster.

But this particular briefing… Well.

It had been a long, long time since one of these major briefings had ended in an all-out brawl.

Back when the Haat’ade had been just a budding mercenary company, it had been a far more common occurrence. Now, though, this counted as the first in four years. It hadn’t been borne out of any anger, Jaster knew, just a need to blow off some steam, emotions running too high—and for Mando’ade, the most common response to emotional tension was to hit whatever, or whoever, was in front of them. They’d gotten through the majority of the important intel, and everyone had been surprisingly well-behaved and attentively quiet while Plo and Cygan had taken the lead in announcing the changes within the Jetii’tsad, and the new proposed alliances, but the moment Jaster had finished playing the footage from Korr’s HUD of that fight with the dar’jetii for the assembled verd’e, someone had thrown their datapad, hitting another verd right in the bucket, and all bets had been off.

Jango, Plo, Liika, the Al’Aliit’e, and Jaster himself had all been spared the worst of the fighting, thankfully, up on the platform and mostly out of reach. And none of the verd’e had gone too wild, though Jaster was sure he would be summoned by the baar’ur’e as soon as they’d finished with this influx of patients to be berated for “letting this happen” and “ruining such a good run.”

Still, despite that, it certainly could’ve gone worse. And, admittedly, Jaster was grateful to be able to call the briefing to an early end, sending out the rest of it in written form. Had that melee not put an early end to things, Jaster thought they might well have been there well into the evening, given everything they had to report. The chance to escape early and get back to spending time with his aliit was a welcome change in plans.

Though there was still one bit of unpleasant news he had to break, yet… Sighing softly to himself, Jaster waved Plo and Liika on, his second providing Plo with an escort back to the landing pad where their ship was docked, since that was where Dooku had retreated to and Plo hadn’t been here long enough to make much sense of the labyrinth that was their morut, nor was he familiar enough with the Mando’a alphabet to read the directions posted in various hallways.

“I’ll find you later, for latemeal,” Jaster said, and Plo nodded. “And if any of the traat’alor’e —ah, the squad leaders—have any questions about the parts of our plans involving the Jetii’tsad, I’ll forward those to you as well.”

“Very well,” Plo agreed easily. “Until then.”

“‘Til then,” Jaster agreed, watching as Liika herded Plo away again, leaving Jaster and Jango alone there in the hallway.

“Buir? What’s wrong?” Jango immediately asked. “You’ve got that look on your face again.”

“I have no idea what you mean, Jan’ika,” Jaster said, mostly out of a reflexive desire to tease. Jango huffed and rolled his eyes, and Jaster smiled, though it faded quickly. He sighed to himself softly as he saw Jango start to tense—he always had been so sensitive to Jaster’s moods, another of those facts that made far more sense now that they knew he was ka’ra’tigaanla. “It’s nothing bad, Jango. Just…”

It was just something he knew his eldest was going to hate, no matter how necessary it was.

“Buir,” Jango said again, more firmly this time.

“I’m going to need you here when we go to Coruscanta,” Jaster said, ripping off the plaster.

“You’re benching me?” Jango said, just as offended and aghast as he’d expected his ad to be. Jaster huffed.

“Nayc —I meant it exactly the way I said it, Jan’ika,” Jaster insisted. “I’m going to need you here, doing your part while we do ours. It’s still too dangerous to take Ben back into Republic space, and now that we know Kyr’tsad is still an active threat… His adoption was public, and we know they wouldn’t hesitate to stoop to going after an adiik. Liika will be going with us, as will quite a few of the traat’alor’e, and that means you’ll be one of the few left behind here in the capital.”

Jango stared at him for a long moment and then finally sighed, shoulders slumping ever-so-slightly, and Jaster knew he’d chosen the right way to present his argument. He’d meant it, yes, even if he also had other reasons he wasn’t quite as inclined to list for Jango, but his eldest had taken to his new role of ori’vod well. He took Ben’s care and protection just as seriously as Jaster did.

“‘Lek, buir,” Jango grumbled. “I don’t like it, but I understand.”

Jaster nodded, reaching out to clap his pauldron. “Jate. Tomorrow before we start the final preparations before we leave the day after that, we’ll have to call another security briefing,” he said. “Just to make sure everyone is aware of the new protocols.”

Jango scowled, this time likely because of the reminder of Montross’s betrayal. They’d reworked all of their security protocols, their codes, and their plans once they realized the truth, and though the rest of the Haat’ade had received them, Jaster would feel much better about leaving if they all confirmed it in person one last time.

“On the bright side,” Jaster said, “Korr will be remaining here as well for his Foundlings, so at least you’ll be able to get a head start on your own new lessons.” His ad wrinkled his nose, letting out a little “ugh” of disgust, and Jaster just laughed. Clapping Jango once more on the shoulder before he let go, he beckoned him on. “Let’s go see what trouble your vod’ika has found this time, ‘lek?”

---

Ben.

Ben made himself rather scarce that afternoon after the chaos that was the briefing (or so he’d heard, since he hadn’t been allowed to attend), two days before the Jedi were set to leave with several ships of Mando’ade following after them. He hadn’t slept very well the night before, waking up after yet more strange dreams, and his thoughts too full, processing everything that had happened in such a short span of time.

The fact that Maul and his brothers were here, on Mandalore; the proof both the Jedi and Mandalorians now had of the return of the Sith in the galaxy; the Order’s plans to leave the Republic, unknowingly saving themselves from the destruction they’d suffered in Ben’s last life (at least saving themselves from allowing that to happen in the same way—Ben wasn’t nearly naïve enough to believe that they were truly out of the woods just yet, not when the Sith had been plotting for a millennium behind the Order’s back, under their very noses; he was certain they had some sort of plan in place for this eventuality); the new partnerships that would come from the Order’s plans, what the member worlds and sectors were proposing to call the Galactic Alliance; the advanced warning that the Haat’ade now had of Kyr’tsad’s return to an active threat in the sector…

Yes, quite a bit had happened in such a short time. And while so much of it was good, it was also… a lot. Ben had decided to give himself the afternoon to retreat and mull it all over, and just after midmeal, he quietly slipped away to one of his usual hiding places, the destination he chose when he needed peace and quiet of a different sort from that which proper meditation brought him.

Jorin didn’t seem surprised to see Ben in his forge—though, to be fair, he never did. As always, he seemed to be able to sense what Ben had come for, and greeted him with a quiet, soft sort of smile and a nod before returning his attention to his work, hammering away at a long sheet of beskar- alloy as Ben settled himself on the bench against the far wall, idly watching his ba’vodu work. There was something about the forge that Ben found peaceful despite the loud noises; he didn’t know if it was the abundance of beskar here, quieting the Force without blocking it out completely, just turning it rather hazy around the edges, almost blurry, or if it was the presences of the goran’e throughout the larger forge, all of them bearing similar veins of steadiness-quiet-determination-attention-focus, or if it was the quiet reverence that everyone who visited the forge seemed to radiate. But whatever it was, Ben found visiting the forge soothing when meditation just didn’t seem to do the trick.

It took Ben a few moments to realize that he’d unconsciously synced his breathing with Jorin’s hammerfalls, his lips twitching in a smile as he did, and then he set the thought aside, turning his attention to… everything else.

Force, so much had happened in so short a time. For better or worse, the galaxy was rapidly careening away from the paths Ben had trod before, and though the fact that so much of his future-knowledge would become a moot point still bothered him, the Force was steadfast, pressing in close and warm, reassuring as it always was. It whispered promises of a brighter future, one so different from what he’d known before—not free from conflict and suffering, because life never was, but… It would be better, and that, at least, was a comfort.

Even so, better did not necessarily mean that they would see the best outcome for the galaxy at large. There were still so many worries to consider: the Order’s departure from the Republic brought concerns about how the Senate would treat them after this, and Ben feared that the Sith would be able to inspire fear of the Jedi so much earlier than they had before. The fact that the Order was now essentially sparking the Separatist movement was also not lost on him, and the Senate had very effectively painted them as enemies, before, and Ben doubted that enough had changed to alter sufficient numbers of the hearts and minds among the citizenry of the Republic that they could no longer be manipulated into seeing them as adversaries, as traitors.

And though the Haat’ade now knew about Kyr’tsad, though they now had advanced warning of their resurgence, there was still danger inherent in that situation. Ben had a feeling that, sooner or later, it would devolve into the outright war it had before, the same war he had spent the entirety of his seventeenth year fighting. He wished there was some way to put an end to the threat Kyr’tsad and Tor Vizsla represented without the situation devolving into outright war, but both Ben’s instincts and the Force seemed to whisper that it was inevitable. Ben had already had quite enough of war in his first life (Melida/Daan, the Stark Hyperspace War, the Mandalorian Civil War, the Invasion of Naboo, the Clone Wars, the Rebellion against the Empire—for Force’s sake, nearly half of Ben’s entire life had been spent at war), but there was no way he would stand back and let it happen without him. He had the knowledge and abilities to help, and so that was his duty. Ben might no longer have been a Jedi, but he still believed in helping others as selflessly as he could, and so he resigned himself to yet more fighting.

The Clone Wars… Well, Ben knew that everything that had happened, everything that had changed, thus far had already prevented that war from happening in quite the same way. There would be no Battle of Korda 6, no Battle of Galidraan, and so there would be no clones of Jango Fett. Ben’s ori’vod had changed so much already that Ben knew he would never agree to the Siths’ plans as he had before. The thought still hurt, but…

With a soft sigh, leaning back against the wall and watching as Jorin quenched the beskar he was working, Ben gratefully turned his thoughts away from the unknown of this new future and back to the old one. He still hoped to make contact with his men, and he knew the basic process to attempt to accomplish that feat. Ben had stumbled through all of this once before, after all, alone and slowly growing crazier in the Tatooine desert, desperately reaching for his old Master, clinging to the last shreds of the Light in a galaxy that had gone so Dark —

Ben took another deliberate breath and steered his thoughts back to the matter at hand. The first step, Ben knew, was to visualize the presence of the person he wished to reach out to. In this case, there were literally millions to choose from, but Ben decided to narrow that down to give himself the best chance of success, choosing one of the few who had been most familiar to him: Alpha-17, Waxer, Boil, Longshot, Crys, Trapper, Wooley, Rex, and, of course, Cody.

Over the course of the war, all of the men had become very dear to him, but Cody had been the closest to him, the man he’d spent the most time with. A bit of a smile on his face that Ben could feel was bittersweet, Ben continued watching Jorin’s work without truly seeing much of it, and thought on his Commander, picturing his presence. Cody had always had a deep, steady core to him, one that grounded his more excitable brothers, one that had made him a source of calm even in the heat of battle. Reliable, dependable, calm, caring, with such a keen, curious mind, noticing so much even when he held his silence and didn’t remark on his observations. It had made him such a good tactician, but it had also made him a good friend, and a good brother. Just as he noticed little details about a battlefield that could help them in their plans, Cody had noticed little details about people.

Cody had always seemed to know when Ben was having another bout of insomnia, and had often shown up at his quarters with “urgent datawork that needed to be signed,” even though they’d both known that it could have waited until morning, and it had only been an excuse for Cody to join Ben in his quarters. Cody had always seemed to know when he needed someone to share a cup of tea in silence with, and when he’d needed another to tell him stories to distract him, and when he’d needed to speak instead of listen.

And throughout it all, the particular warm-steady-comforting-Light that was Cody had never wavered, the essence of what made him Cody unchanging—

Until it had winked out, of course, between one moment and the next. The euphoric, giddy sort of joyous disbelief both Ben and all of his men had felt at the prospect of the end of the war had met a sudden end when those Lights had simply vanished, becoming voids instead—and his Commander had been first.

Three little words had taken Cody away from him, had taken Cody away from his brothers, away from himself until Cody hadn’t been Cody, but CC-2224.

“Execute Order Sixty-six” had been all that it had taken to rip Cody apart, down to nothing, all it had taken to strip away the bonds between brothers, and the bonds between the Jedi and their men, and feeling those voids in the Force open up where the Lights of his men, the Light of his dear Commander, should have been had been made that much more horrifying by the mounting Darkness in the Force as the Lights of the Jedi winked out across the galaxy, a cascade that swept from each battalion of clones to their Generals, their Jedi, until all that was left was an aching, empty, jagged hole where all of their Lights had once been—

Ben jerked, opening his eyes again and only just realizing that he’d closed them as he felt gentle hands on his own. Jorin was crouched in front of him, his figure somewhat blurry, and only then did Ben also realize that he’d been crying. Both Jorin’s physical expression and his presence in the Force were filled with a quiet but deep concern, and Ben sniffled a bit pathetically even as he tried for a smile.

Force —Ben had thought he’d cried himself out over that years ago, making an uneasy sort of peace with his grief in the desert wastes. But, he remembered a bit sourly, this young body’s emotions were so magnified, so much larger, and his control was not yet that of a Jedi Master.

Fucking Hels. He couldn’t wait to grow up.

“Me’vaar ti gar, Ben’ika?” Jorin murmured.

“N-naas,” Ben said, and Jorin quirked a brow at him. Ben sniffled again. “I’m f-fine.”

Jorin hummed. “What were you thinking about, ad’ika?”

“The f-future,” Ben said honestly, and then he looked away, down at their hands, where Jorin still held his. “A f-future that w-won’t be.” For better and for worse, that future would never come to pass, now.

Jorin squeezed his hands gently, prompting Ben to look back up at him. “Come here,” Jorin said, rising and letting go as he did. Ben blinked at him, but slid off the bench, sniffling again and hoping that his tears dried up soon.

Jorin nodded to him in satisfaction and led him over to the workbench, gesturing at several small sheets of metal. “I’ve been experimenting with different alloys, to begin preparing for your final beskar’gam,” Jorin said, and Ben blinked at him. He was still physically seven, and so Ben’s final beskar’gam wouldn’t come to him for another six years. Jorin just smiled at him and continued: “I think now is as good a time as any to begin seeing how they feel to you in the ka’ra, ‘lek?”

Ben’s eyes narrowed as he realized what his ba’vodu was doing. It was the same technique Ben had used on Anakin, the same technique he’d used when he took time in the Temple creche: redirection. One of the quickest ways to soothe an upset youngling was to redirect their attention to another task, usually something they enjoyed. For Anakin, that had been tinkering, and in the creche, that had often been a story of some sort, usually a humorous mission anecdote, or a game.

But Jorin wasn’t deterred by Ben’s look, simply continuing to stand there and steadily watch him. Finally, Ben sighed softly and nodded.

“‘Lek, ba’vodu,” he agreed. Jorin smiled again and turned to pluck one of those small sheets up, handing it to him. Ben slowly took it, turning it over and brushing his fingers along its cool surface.

Ben sniffled once more, and took just a moment to think on the task he had set for himself. He knew how to try to reach out to the spirits of his men, but… Well, frankly, he had skipped a step. Before he could truly meditate and ponder Cody’s presence, or any of his men… Ben would have to come to terms with everything that had happened.

It seemed so unfair— Ben had already done that once before, in his last life, slogging through the arduous process of dealing with his grief. And yet, now he would have to do it all again.

It just wasn’t fair, Ben thought to himself, and felt himself flush, embarrassed by the childish thought.

But there would be time later for the mission he’d set himself, Ben knew. Despite how much was happening, now, Ben had time. He was stubborn, and he could be patient—eventually, someday, he would find a way. Ben would see them again—he could feel it.

He would.

“How does it feel to you, Ben’ika?” Jorin asked, and Ben finally allowed himself to be redirected. Letting go of the thoughts of his men and his old, never-quite-healed grief, for now, Ben turned his attention to the piece of metal in his (far too small) hands.

There would be time for the rest later.

Notes:

Mandos: So, we have legitimate grievances against the Banking Clan. That's a good reason for the Senate to let us speak, right? And speaking to the Senate is a good excuse to be on Coruscant, isn't it?
Jedi: Yes, that's perfect! :D And maybe we can even rope some of the few moral Senators into our plans, too! This is GREAT!
Plagueis, somewhere on Coruscant: ...why did I just feel a sudden *shiver* run down my back? Hmm. Odd.

Maul, internally: The magic Mandalorian prince is... very bright. It's weird. ...but I think I like it?
Ben, internally: Maul is a *child.* Remember that Maul is just a *child.* He's not staring because he's thinking about different ways to murder me, he's staring because... Well, I don't know why he's staring, but it's not that. He's a *child.*

Jaster: So... Death Watch is still active. ...more active than we'd thought.
The Haat'ade: ...kriff.
Jaster: Also, the rest of my Council is following my example, and the Jetiise are about to become our new BFFs.
The Haat'ade: ...what the kriff?
Jaster: Great, glad you agree! Also, on that note... You know what, actually, here, just watch this recording. I'll wait.
The Haat'ade as soon as the HUD footage finishes: Seriously??? Kyr'tsad, the Jetiise, *and* the kriffing Dar'jetiise? This is just *too much.* We can't handle this. What are we supposed to do??? We're far too used to being able to punch our problems!
The Haat'ade: ...
The Haat'ade: ...punch our feelings away? Hmm. Okay!
Jaster: *Heavy sigh, turning to Plo* Despite what people assume about Mando'ade, I promise it's actually not usually like this...

Ben: I want Cody, and all the rest of my men. I'm going to dive headfirst into this Project and try to make it happen RIGHT NOW.
The Force: Ooookay, sweetie, maybe you should just... slow down a little—
Ben: Oh, wait, why can I not think about Cody and my men without being reminded of *infinite sadness???* This makes no sense!
The Force: ...yeah, look BB, maybe you should deal with all that Trauma first, like I *specifically gave you the opportunity to do by bringing you so far back*—
Ben: Well. Maybe I should... deal with my trauma?
The Force: HE'S LISTENING! IT'S WORKING! :D I'M SO PROUD!
Ben: ...or I could just pointedly *not think about it* and let my ba'vodu distract me. That sounds good!
The Force: *Heavy sigh*

Jorin, during the exchange above as he watches Ben, internally: ...hm. My new vod'ad seems to be struggling emotionally with some heavy Issues that he doesn't seem comfortable talking to his aliit about. And Jaster is about to leave, and Ben will be staying here with Jango, which means that I will be the ranking member of his Clan still here.
Jorin: ...this is perfect.
Jorin: *Quietly starts messaging mind healers to shove at Ben*

Chapter 12

Notes:

Holy crap, I seriously can't believe how this story has blown up! :D I'm glad you're all enjoying the ridiculous not-quite-crack that is this fic, LOL, and thank you so much for all the comments and kudos letting me know you like it! This one was rolled again, and I had some extra time this weekend for writing, so I have a rather long chapter to offer you this time. <3

In this one, we finally have our Mandos arriving on Coruscant, and Ben endures a few trials... Also, some random Little Keldabe (Keld'ika in Mando'a) worldbuilding snuck into the Plot. Sorry (not sorry XD )? Also another random OC or two, because canon did not give us nearly enough named Mandalorians in this time period. Sigh, the things I suffer as a Star Wars writer obsessed with this particular time period... XD

One Mando'a note before we start (the end note is pretty long this time, LOL): mir'baar'ur is a technically made up word to mean a therapist/Soul Healer/mindhealer/whatever term you want to use. I just combined mir for brain and baar'ur for medic. :) Other than that, I don't think there should be any new or uncommon Mando'a in this one. :)

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Edit to add, since people have mentioned this: I won't say how because Spoilers, but what's going on with Ben's maturity slipping and his rational reasoning and emotional control backsliding will be resolved soon! When Ben stops to think for a second, he's going to realize some things, and his family/the other people around him are going to learn some stuff. That's about all I can say without giving stuff away with the Plot, though, but they are going to deal with that soon... ;) Anyway, just wanted to reassure you that this won't be a real problem for much longer! (This resolution/realization should come in Chapter 14! In the meantime, just know that Ben is more childish than he consciously realizes right now, there is a reason for that, and he will realize it soon!)

Jaster.

Leaving his ad had never been easy, and it certainly hadn’t gotten any easier now that he had two ad’e, but the first separation after a new adoption was the hardest for both buir and ad.

The first time Jaster had left Jango with Jorin in Keldabe while he went on assignment, Jango had thrown an impressive fit—of course he had, given that he’d been eight, fairly freshly adopted after watching his entire maan’aliit die, and still so insecure about his place in Jaster’s life. It had broken Jaster’s heart to do it, to turn around and get onto the ship without him, but he’d also known that the best balm to Jango’s fears wasn’t to just stay forever, but to teach him that Jaster would leave and then come back while simultaneously showing him that he didn’t always need Jaster there to be and to feel safe.

It had gotten easier, over the years, until Jango turned ten and was old enough to have his full set of training beskar’gam, and old enough to go on certain missions with them, carefully chosen to be appropriate for an ad who was still learning and still preparing for their verdgoten. Now, it was rare that Jaster left Manda’lase without Jango (though Jango and his Grunts had, just a few months before, taken their first job without Jaster and the Headhunters with them, and Jaster had been the one to feel that not-quite- panic over Jango leaving without him. Even knowing that Jango was capable, that he was a blooded warrior and a squad leader, now, Jaster sometimes couldn’t help but see the little eight-year-old boy he’d first adopted, and that had made it so hard to let him go).

Now, Jaster was shipping out for the first time since Ben joined their aliit. It wasn’t, at least, to head out to a physical battlefield (though the battlefield of politics counted, in a way; still, it was thankfully rare that those sorts of battles devolved into physical violence), and Jaster didn’t really expect Ben to react the same way that Jango had—but, truth be told, that was where a large part of Jaster’s concern came from.

Ben tried so hard to be composed, independent, and helpful, as if he didn’t realize that he was just an adiik who needed—and deserved —to be cared for and supported himself, as if he thought his worth was defined by what he could do for others. Jaster thought a large part of it came from his intellect, and how that greater understanding of the world around him had led him to notice things adiik’e weren’t meant to, but another part… Well, he thought that might’ve been the Jetii’tsad, and their teachings. That selflessness that they preached, putting the goal of serving others above all else (ka’ra, Jaster couldn’t even have begun to count how many times he’d heard the phrase “we come to serve” just in the short time Plo and Dooku had been here), was noble, and something to strive for, but Ben might’ve internalized that a little too well, Jaster thought. He didn’t seem to understand that in order to help others, you had to help yourself, first.

(Manda, but Jaster was already dreading the day his youngest turned thirteen, and completed his verdgoten. Once Ben was truly allowed out in the field… Well, Jaster had a feeling that if his hair hadn’t gone completely grey by then, it would shortly thereafter, if he didn’t tear it out in frustration and worry, first.)

It was a work-in-progress, trying to convince Ben to accept that his only duties right now were to grow and learn, convincing him that they neither expected nor wanted him to “help” in the fight against Kyr’tsad, or the dar’jetiise. Hels, even getting Ben to stop telling people about his visions was an uphill battle, one that Jaster had only made any progress in when he sat Ben down and explained, far more bluntly than he would have with any other adiik, why those rules existed. (“Those who can see the future are valuable, Ben’ika, especially for those who would try to use your abilities for personal gain—or even Kyr’tsad itself. If this gets out, you will become an even greater target than you already are just by virtue of being ner ad. We can still help others based on what you see, but, gedet’ye, just tell me or Jorin first, and let us send the messages, ‘lek? Don’t spread that knowledge around and turn yourself into a nice, tempting target for our enemies, alright?”)

But they were working on it. Jaster, Jorin, Jango, Korr—and, interestingly enough, Dooku, while he’d been here—were all doing what they could to convince Ben to stand down. And Jaster was pleased to see that the longer he was here in Keldabe, the more he was acting and reacting like the adiik he really was—that impressive vocabulary of his was still out in full force, and he still retained his knowledge and understanding of complex, nuanced topics most adiik’e couldn’t even begin to grasp, but in many ways, the adiik he really was had started to shine through. The more comfortable Ben became here in his new home, the more he seemed to relax and allow himself to be the adiik he was.

Even so, Ben’ika still had a tendency to be far too serious and too stoic for his age. So, nayc, while Jaster hadn’t expected his youngest to throw a fit when he said his goodbyes the way Jango had that first time, he was worried about his reaction in other ways, mostly concerned that Ben would backslide again, trying to be more independent than someone his age should. But Jorin had shared his own ideas with Jaster about what to do, how to handle this, and he trusted his ba’vodu’s judgment. (Not to mention that Jaster had had the same thought more than a few times before, but even getting Ben to talk to any of his new aliit, or even Korr, was already a struggle; a relative stranger… Well, Jaster had thought it best to wait a while, but it had been several months by now.)

And besides, Jaster wouldn’t be gone more than four weeks at most. All told, Jaster fully planned on returning just before the New Year’s celebrations began in earnest, and he reminded himself several times over that it wasn’t that far off on the horizon, that this wouldn’t be a long trip, that he wouldn’t be gone too long.

As Jaster had predicted, Ben was mostly-calm as they stood on the landing platform, saying their goodbyes. They’d already seen the Jetiise off just a few minutes before, and now, Jaster and a fair few of his traat’alor’e would be following just behind them.

Jaster gave Jorin another smile and leaned in for the kov’nyn he knew his ba’vodu wanted when he leaned forward, and then drew back, turning to Jango, next. His eldest, he pulled into a full hug, still dwarfing him for now, but he was getting so tall, growing up far too quickly.

“I’ll be back soon, Jan’ika,” Jaster promised, murmuring quietly into his ear.

“‘Lek, buir,” Jango agreed. “You’d better be. There’s only so long I think I’ll be able to keep Ben from causing chaos.”

Jaster chuckled, drawing back far enough to look at Jango properly. “You’ll have help with that, at least,” he said, nodding to Jorin, and Jango smiled. “I’m sure you’ll all be just fine. But don’t forget, you, Korr, and Dennor will be sharing primary responsibility for and leadership of the traat’aliit’e left here to guard the capital.”

It was an important job, but one Jaster was confident Jango was up to, and one he would have help in. Thankfully, that responsibility had quelled the last of Jango’s irritation and upset over being left behind for this, his ad taking his duties—both to their people in general and to his vod’ika more specifically—as seriously as he ever did.

“‘Lek, buir,” Jango said, nodding. “I will.”

“You’ll do well,” Jaster said, leaning in to give him a kov’nyn, too, and he couldn’t help noticing yet again that he didn’t have to lean down nearly as far anymore to do so. “I have faith in you.”

Jango was still smiling as Jaster pulled away, and he smiled back before turning to his youngest. A light furrow between Ben’s brows and a small frown on his face were the only signs of his discontent about being left behind, though he hadn’t actually fought Jaster on the decision, not once he’d explained his reasoning. (“I’m still not willing to take you back into Republic space so soon after we just got you out of it, ad’ika,” Jaster had told him. “So far, no one’s made a fuss about your ‘disappearance,’ but if they realize where you are… Well, I’m not looking to make an even bigger target of you or give the Republic more ammunition against us politically.” Those weren’t arguments Jaster would have brought up to an adiik, normally, but there were times when he had to be more blunt with Ben than he would’ve preferred to be, his ad accepting nothing less than the full truth, Jaster’s real reasoning.)

Jaster went down to one knee to be closer to Ben’s height and reached for him. Ben went as easily as he always did, his little hands finding the gaps in the back of Jaster’s beskar’gam to fist his kute, tilting his head just so to tuck his face into Jaster’s neck.

“Be careful, buir,” Ben murmured. “The Senate is… Dark.” Jaster could hear the capital dorn when Ben said it, and he hummed. “There are several very good reasons the Jedi are trying to get away from them, and the Banking Clan is dangerous, with all of the power they hold—”

Jaster squeezed him a bit, sighing softly. “Suvari, Ben’ika,” he murmured. “I know. But you trust me, don’t you?”

“‘Lek.”

“Then trust that I’ll be fine,” he said, and he both heard and felt Ben huff. “Try not to worry too much about us. You’ll have plenty to distract you while I’m gone, after all. Jorin told me about your new project in the forge, testing different alloys, and Korr’s Foundlings look up to you, and they’ll need your help adjusting, and I know you and Korr are going to be starting on Jango’s training in the ka’ra soon. You have plenty to occupy you until I get back, don’t you?”

“‘Lek, buir,” Ben sighed, and Jaster could tell he’d conceded that particular point when his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I just… worry.”

“Believe me, I know,” Jaster huffed, and tugged Ben far enough away that he could look him in the eye, putting one hand on his cheek. “But that’s my job, not yours. You said you trust me, so trust me, ad’ika. Trust that I know what I’m doing, and that I’ll do what I have to do to get back home to you, ‘lek?”

“I know you will,” Ben said, “but I can help—”

“You’re just an adiik, Ben,” Jaster reminded him, and clamped down hard on the urge to smile as that made Ben’s eyes narrow and his lips purse in obvious displeasure. That grumpy expression was just so utterly copikla, though he was very well aware that his youngest wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment. “What kind of buir, what kind of Mando’ad —much less what kind of Mand’alor —would I be if I put these problems on you? Nayc, ad’ika, it’s my job to protect you, and it’s your job to trust me to do it.”

Jaster watched Ben wrestle down his reflexive response, fighting not to argue the point further. Finally, Ben sighed again, reluctantly nodding. “‘Lek, buir.”

“Ori’jate,” Jaster murmured, and moved his hand to the back of Ben’s neck, gently pulling him forward for his own kov’nyn. “Try not to cause too much trouble for your ba’vodu and your ori’vod, ‘lek?”

“I have no idea what you could possibly mean, buir,” Ben said far too innocently, and Jaster laughed. He let go, rising to his feet, and nodded to all three of them.

“We’ll send confirmation once we’ve arrived on Coruscant,” Jaster promised, and got three nods in return. “And we’ll be back before the New Year’s celebrations start.”

“Can’t miss those,” Jango agreed easily, throwing one arm around Ben’s shoulders and tucking him close to his side. Ben leaned into his ori’vod, sinking into the comfort, and Jaster smiled.

They would be alright, he told himself yet again, and he wouldn’t be gone long. Everyone and everything would be just fine until he got back. With one last smile at them, ignoring Jorin’s formal salute and address, knowing well by now that he was just like that, Jaster slipped his buy’ce on, and turned towards the ship.

---

Ben.

Ben hated that he’d fallen into this trap, though he hadn’t seen any way out of it—and, most unfortunately, he still didn’t.

“Korr’s new Foundlings will need help adjusting to their new home and our culture,” Jorin had said. “And they trust you a great deal already; they follow your lead, and your example, ‘lek?” Ben hadn’t been able to deny that, so he’d just nodded (and Force, it was still so incredibly strange to have Maul and his brothers, of all beings, following him around like little ducklings). Jorin’s smile had turned pleased, and the feeling of satisfied-triumph fluttering around the edges of his presence had made Ben’s eyes narrow, a bad feeling settling in his stomach.

“Ori’jate,” Jorin had said. “I’m glad you understand, Ben’ika. We’ll be starting them in group sessions with a mir’baar’ur soon, and it will help them ease into things and open up more quickly if you go as well, won’t it?”

Trapped. Ben had been trapped. It was galling, just how easily Jorin had manipulated him into this. But there was no way out, not that he could see, and so he’d resolved to face this… undesirable situation with as much dignity and grace as this young, impulsive version of himself could muster up.

It did, admittedly, help him maintain his composure to know that Maul, Savage, and Feral were all taking their cues from him. They were still so nervous, so unsure of themselves, and every new person they met here set them that much more on-edge. So Ben did his best to smile and relax on his cushion, seated on the floor in front of the dreaded mindhealer, acting as if he wasn’t at all bothered by being here.

The room was colorful, but soft, the teal of healing painted onto the walls and various pictures—mostly painted or drawn by children, from the looks of them—were hung up throughout the space, and a selection of bright, colorful toys sat in the middle of the loose circle formed by Ben, the other three children, and the healer.

The mir’baar’ur was an older Mirialan man named Annan who both looked soft and felt so in the Force. He was only wearing partial beskar’gam, as Ben had grown used to seeing from other sorts of baar’ur’e, just lower armor and vambraces over light teal tunics embroidered with both the aliik of the Haat’ade and the universal symbol for healers, the uniform the other sorts of healers here preferred as well.

Annan had only initially spoken up to introduce himself and invite them in, though he waited to say anything else until they were all settled on their cushions. “Tion’gar gai’se, ad’ike? What are your names?”

The Zabrak brothers all exchanged looks with each other before turning to Ben in unison. Still keeping that smile plastered on his face and his shields up to keep any of his own irritation from being noticed by the others, he went first: “Ben b’aliit Mereel. Jatne urcye, Annan.”

Annan smiled, a genuine, so soft sort of look, the expression tugging at the tattoos on his cheeks. He nodded to Ben with a little, “vor’e, Ben,” and then looked to Maul.

Ben felt Maul’s flash of near-panic in the Force, but then the youngling took a deep breath and said, “Maul— ja… Um, Jat-nees or-shay?”

Annan’s smile grew that much wider at the attempt, and he nodded to Maul as well. “Vor’e, Maul. Jatne urcye —well met.” He turned to Savage, then, who wasn’t nearly quite as nervous as Maul, having seen both Ben and his older brother go first.

“Savage. Jatee or-shee?” he said, and Annan repeated the same procedure, nodding to him with a little “vor’e,” a repetition of his name, and the correct “jatne urcye.”

Finally, it was Feral’s turn. He was young enough not to truly understand what had happened, and he was Force-sensitive enough to be able to feel that this place was warm, Light, and welcoming in all the ways Dathomir wasn’t, and so he was adjusting far more quickly than either of his brothers were, even in just the few short days they’d been here so far.

“Hi! I Fewal. Ja-nee-or-cee!” Feral completed his introduction with a little wave, just as he had done with Ben and Jango, and that had Annan laughing and waving back.

“Vor’e, Feral, and jatne urcye —well met,” he said, and sat back, looking over all of them again for a moment before continuing. “Has anyone explained who I am and what I’m here for?”

“Um, Korr said you’re somebody for us to talk to. Somebody who will help us figure out how things work here?” Maul said, and Annan smiled again.

“‘Lek, yes. Exactly,” he said. “I’m here to help you adjust to Mandalore, your new home, and get used to everything.”

“Why Ben?” Feral interjected. “Why Ben here?”

“Ben’s been here a little while longer than the three of you, but he’s still relatively new here himself,” Annan said. “And even once you’ve settled in here, and you’re more comfortable, if there are things that are bothering you, I’m here to help. Sometimes, whatever is upsetting you might not be something you want to talk to your guardians about, and that’s alright. Sometimes you need someone with a little more distance to help.”

“Like the Listener,” Savage said, a flash of realization-understanding accompanying that in the Force. “They’re the Brothers who we go t’ talk to when we’re scared or confused.”

“‘Lek, yes, that does sound similar,” Annan agreed. “While we’re just getting started, is there anything any of you want to talk about? Anything upsetting or confusing you?” The Zabrak brothers all exchanged looks again, shrinking back, shoulders hunching as they tried to make themselves smaller, none of them wanting to go first, not even bubbly, outgoing Feral. Ben gritted his teeth even as he kept the smile fixed on his face, because he could already see where this was going to go. “What about you, Ben?”

Oh, yes, of course; there’s quite a bit I should probably talk to a mindhealer about, Ben thought to himself, sarcastic and bristling even in his own thoughts. The time travel, naturally, and the genocide, and dying, waking up in the place I remember as a tomb even though it was also the place I grew up in, the place I most closely associated with safety until I couldn’t, anymore, and oh, yes, watching all of the men I trusted with my life have their minds and their very selves stolen from them and forced to kill the only people who had really cared about them, but who had also been the ones to enslave them in the first place —

Ben cut off that train of thought and tightened his shields that much more, just in case; Annan wasn’t Force-sensitive, Ben could sense that much, but the Zabrak brothers very much were, and he certainly didn’t want them to feel any hint of that.

Instead, he cast about for something more innocuous to say, something more appropriate for the seven-year-old he appeared to be to worry about. “Ah, well… Jaster just left, and I’m… a little worried,” he said. It was even true, too. Ben had a feeling churning in his stomach, on ominous sort of fluttering that told him that something was coming—though good or bad, he couldn’t tell, only that it would be something important.

Annan nodded. “It’s the first time since he adopted you that you’ve been separated, isn’t it?” he asked, and Ben nodded. “‘Lek, I can see how that would worry you. What is it that you’re worried will happen?”

“I’m not sure,” Ben admitted. “I just… have a feeling that something will happen, something important. But I’m not sure if it will be good or bad, but…” He trailed off, not sure how to rephrase “but all of my experiences have taught me to expect the worst,” given that he was supposed to have the experiences of a seven-year-old child. Instead, Ben shrugged, and just repeated, “Well, I’m a little worried.”

Annan hummed, nodding. “Your buir is strong and cunning, Ben,” he said. “He can take care of himself. But I think you already know that, don’t you?” Ben nodded; he did know that, he was very much aware that his buir was the Mand’alor, a fierce warrior, and incredibly intelligent and observant. But he could’ve said the same about so many of his fellow Jedi, before, and they had still fallen into the Sith’s trap— “What do you do about it, when you’re worried?”

“Meditate, mostly,” Ben answered honestly. “Try to come to terms with that worry so that I can give it to the Force.”

“Is that working?” Annan asked, and Ben squirmed. It wasn’t, in truth, and he thought that was yet another problem that circled back to his age. His emotions were just so magnified, and trying to speak logically to himself, to reason through his feelings, didn’t work nearly so well as it had before.

“Not… as much as I’d like it to,” Ben admitted. “But… I can always make more time for meditation—”

“Or,” Annan gently interrupted him, “you could try something else. Doing the same thing the same way over and over again but expecting a different result… That doesn’t sound like a very good idea, does it?”

“It just takes practice, that’s all,” Ben protested, and Annan hummed again.

“That might be so,” he conceded, “but that still leaves you with worries you can’t seem to ease in the meantime, doesn’t it?” Well. Ben couldn’t quite argue with that, so he just nodded tentatively, and Annan smiled again. “What other kinds of things do you do that help you relax?”

“I like reading, and practicing my katas,” Ben offered, and Annan nodded, that small, gentle smile still on his face.

“What about a creative outlet? Writing, drawing, painting…?” Annan asked, and Ben shrugged helplessly. “Well, why don’t you give one of those a try later? Expressing your feelings is a good way to help soften them.” That wasn’t terrible advice, Ben could admit, and he did have some vague memories of drawing at this age the first time; before he’d outgrown his visions as he became more balanced between the Unifying and Living aspects of the Force, Ben had taken to drawing much of what he saw, and it had helped.

“Alright,” he agreed. “I’ll try… something. Maybe drawing.”

Annan smiled again and nodded. “Let me know if it helps,” he said, and Ben fought to keep the smile on his own face, his mood souring at the reminder that he would have to come back, that he would have to continue attending these sessions—at least until the Zabrak brothers were comfortable enough to get through them on their own. Still, he just nodded, and Annan just kept smiling at him for a moment (he seemed to do a lot of that, just smiling, and Ben could tell how habitual it was by the laugh lines and the small wrinkles around his eyes) before turning to the others. “What about you, ad’ike? Is there anything you wanted to talk about? Questions that you have, anything you’re worried about?”

Yet again, the three exchanged looks, and then Maul glanced at Ben before pinning his gaze to the floor even as he spoke up: “I… I don’t know what we’re s’posed to do here? In the village, we were s’posed to help with the hunts and other things, but Korr didn’t ask us to do anything yet?”

“Well, eventually, you’ll be expected to go to classes with the other ad’e,” Annan said. “A large part of your ‘job’ right now is just to learn; education is very important, and it helps prepare you for the rest of your life, when you grow up. You should also listen to the adults around you when they tell you to do something, or not to do something, because they’re trying to keep you safe. But other than that, you’re not expected to do anything. You’re adiik’e —you’re just children. It’s our job to do things for you, and to take care of you until you can take care of yourselves.”

“...oh,” Maul said, looking up with wide eyes. “But… why?”

“Mando’ade treasure children very much,” Annan said, his smile turning a bit sad, little hints of it flickering at the edges of his presence. “Young ones are very important to us.”

“But why?” Maul repeated, and despite the disturbing, difficult, and frankly depressing implications of this concept being so confusing for him, Ben found himself fighting down the urge to laugh. Younglings this age just loved that question, constantly asking why-why-why?

“Ad’e cuyi vencuyot,” Annan said. “Children are the future.”

“But we’re not your children,” Savage said, and Annan hummed.

“Why don’t I tell you all a story, then?” he suggested, and all three brothers nodded, suddenly looking far more comfortable, as if this was expected behavior from an adult. Annan’s relief at being on safe conversational ground with them shone in his presence, though he didn’t show it physically, still just smiling gently at them all. “To explain the concept of Foundlings, we have to go all the way back to the Taung people many, many years ago…”

---

Jaster.

Jaster hated Coruscanta with a passion. He’d hated it before, but given what had happened to bring Ben’ika to them… Well, it made it that much harder to ignore the corruption and moral failings of the Republic’s leaders, especially whenever he caught a glimpse of the towering Senate Dome.

The Senate was visible on his way down to Keld’ika, the Mandalorian district on the Republic’s capital world surprisingly close to the Senate district, though blessedly just far enough away for the politicians to ignore them. Most outsiders ignored them, many too intimidated by the idea of venturing into the Mandalorians’ space, and Republic Judicial and CorSec had all come to an unofficial peace agreement with them a few hundred years ago: in exchange for causing no trouble, and not taking any bounties on Coruscant proper that weren’t officially posted by the Senate, Judicial, or CorSec, they were allowed to police themselves, dealing with their own affairs internally.

Even more conveniently, even with as frustrating as it sometimes was, Keld’ika was the closest thing to neutral ground all Mando’ade shared. In Keld’ika, it wasn’t uncommon to see verd’e with the aliik’e of House Vizsla on their armor sitting in the same restaurants and bars as those with the sigil of the Haat’ade, and the Evaar’ade even had their own pockets of representation here; many of the Evaar’ade sent their ad’e to the Core for schooling for a few years, and housed them in Keld’ika. All manner and types of Mando’ade mingled peacefully here, if not always in a very friendly fashion—but any encounters rarely developed beyond a fistfight when tempers flared too hot, all of them mindful of the fact that any real action taken could result in the Republic’s officials sticking their noses into Mandalorian matters.

Outsiders rarely ventured in any farther than the outer ring of the district, where it butted up against the other “foreign sectors,” as the Republican humans called them: the Aqualish quarter, the Ithorian district, the Iridonian sector, and the Ryl quarter, as the Twi’leks there preferred it be called. (And the Twi’leks were braver than many others, venturing deeper into Keld’ika; they’d started hiring hunters, Haat’ade, and those who might’ve called themselves Haat’ade if they’d cared a little more about the politics of Manda’lase proper, decades ago. They’d realized quickly that Mando’ade weren’t afraid of going against the Hutts or the corrupt politicians, and sentient trafficking was alive and thriving on the Republic’s capital world, for all that it was supposedly banned. Twi’leks were, unfortunately, a common choice. When their people went missing—particularly their children—they braved Keld’ika to hire Mando’ade with both the skills to find them and the willingness to do so.)

But as far as the majority of Keld’ika went… Well, that outer ring was comprised of shops, restaurants and cafes, and markets all catering to outsiders. The signage was all in both Basic and Mando’a, the spices in the food toned down to levels tolerable to most aruetiise, and Basic was also spoken there more often than Mando’a. But deeper in… Well, when he’d been twelve, still preparing for but close to his verdgoten, Jaster’s buir had brought him to see Keld’ika for the first time, and when Jaster had seen all of those different kinds of Mando’ade interacting with each other like that, living side-by-side—ka’ra, that had lit such a fire in him, sparking questions and kindling hope.

Because if traditionalist Mando’ade who also forswore their history as conquerors, traditionalists who wished to return to conquering, and Evaar’ade could all coexist here… Why couldn’t they do it in Manda’lase?

They landed without incident, setting down on one of the rooftop landing pads atop one of the buildings owned and occupied by Aliit Ordo. As Cygan had told Plo, Aliit Ordo comprised many of the Mando’ade who had made permanent homes in Keld’ika, and they had since Mand’alor the Preserver. That was an interesting bit of history, in Jaster’s opinion: Revan had, technically speaking, become Mand’alor once he’d defeated Mand’alor the Ultimate, and, later, the future- Mand’alor the Preserver had become one of his traveling companions, helping to save the galaxy from some threat lost to history, though that it truly had been serious enough to threaten the entire galaxy had been heavily implied. They hadn’t realized, at the time, just who Revan was, given that his memory had been erased by the Jetii’tsad of that era; when it returned later, Mand’alor the Preserver had first sworn to Revan, and then listened to Revan’s encouragements to take on the title for himself, the Jedi-turned-Sith and then back again even helping to find the lost Troan be’Mand’alor to cement his friend and follower’s claim to the title. It was a fascinating tale, and one that held more truth than fiction, given all of the records that had survived, safe in the hands of Aliit Ordo on their namesake world in Manda’lase.

Later, of course, when Revan had returned to the Jedi Temple, many of Aliit Ordo had followed him to Coruscant. There was no way they could’ve inhabited the Temple with him, of course, so they had taken up residence in what had then been a much smaller version of Keld’ika. Because those who had come swore an allegiance of sorts to a Jetii, the Republicans had tolerated their presence, and the district had grown over the years until it became as it was today, one of the few well-known safe havens for Mando’ade in the Core.

Jaster pulled himself out of his thoughts (he couldn’t quite help himself; history was fascinating, particularly the intersections of the histories of Mando’ade with the Jetiise, in both war and peacetime), shaking his head to clear it, and took out his commlink to send off the promised update to his ad’e and ba’vodu, first, and then a confirmation that they’d landed safely to Plo and Dooku, also serving to test how well the commlink they’d given the Jetiise worked.

That done, Jaster rose and nodded to Cygan. “What’s our plan of attack?” he asked. Jaster had left the details of this trip, at least those concerning their people, to Cygan, considering the clout he held in this place, given how many of his own House lived here.

“First,” Cygan said, a smile on his face, “we’ll go for a drink.”

---

Despite its name, the Lararyc Dinii (or “Drunken Lunatic,” in Basic, though Jaster thought that translation didn’t quite do it justice) was one of the better, more reputable cantinas in Keld’ika. Naturally, of course, given that it, too, was run by one of the members of Aliit Ordo; given that fact, Jaster wasn’t surprised that that was where Cygan led them.

Jaster had been here once before, during that first trip to Keld’ika his buir had brought him along on all those years ago; despite how long it had been, it didn’t seem to have changed, much. There were murals in the classic post-Neo Crusader style, most of them depicting old battles that hadn’t been against Jetiise (a pragmatic choice, given that the Mando’ade here shared the world with the primary Temple; it wouldn’t have been wise to remind them of that old enmity when their chances of running into them were that much higher) or other scenes. Jaster’s favorite hadn’t changed since he’d been here as a child, he decided as he looked around, still preferring the one showing a goran working beskar while the far-off figures of the ka’ra high above them looked on. There were tall booths around the edges of the room against most of the walls with only a space left for the bar itself, and a ring of tables of assorted sizes around them with an empty circle left in the center of the large room, either for music or fights, depending on the night.

Conveniently enough, they’d arrived at an off-peak time, after the lunch rush was over but before dinner, which would give them an opportunity to settle in before turning their attentions to their business. Cygan had called ahead when they’d hit one of their hyperlane transitions, letting Sheena, one of his many vod’ad’e and the current owner and operator of the Lararyc Dinii, know that they were coming. Blessedly, they weren’t met with any fanfare; instead, as soon as the lift they’d taken down from that rooftop landing pad into the cantina itself stopped and opened, there was a partially-armored Twi’lek with vibrant blue skin throwing themself at Cygan.

“Ba’vodu! Ka’ra, it’s been far too long since you made it out this way,” they said, and Jaster realized that this must’ve been Sheena. Cygan laughed, catching her and hugging her back for a moment even as he walked her backwards out of the lift, Jaster, Liika, Si’lon, and Hasha, the squad leaders who had flown here to Coruscanta with them, on the same ship, following behind them; the others would meet them later, after attending to some other business for them after they landed.

“I’m happy to see you, too, Sheena,” Cygan said. “But you know we’ve come on business.”

“Oh, come on, you can let me have just a minute to greet you properly first,” she needled, and Cygan chuckled again. Predictably, he gave in, patting her back for a moment before gently guiding her away from him. Sheena beamed at Cygan for a moment longer, and then turned her attention to the rest of their group. Her lekku twitched in recognition as her gaze fell on Jaster, and she saluted properly. “Olaram, Mand’alor.”

“Vor’e,” Jaster returned, nodding to her. “Your hospitality is appreciated.”

Sheena waved off his thanks easily and then clapped her hands together. “I’ve prepared quarters for you all upstairs, and the back room is ready for you to use for your meetings. I sent out the requests yesterday, and I got confirmation this morning that all but two will be able to come. Olenn and Naakar are both off-world on jobs right now.”

Jaster and Cygan both nodded their thanks, though they weren’t given much of a chance to respond as Sheena ushered them off to the back room, through a door behind the bar. Instead of several smaller tables, there was one long, low one surrounded by cushions, and a mural on the far wall of this room as well, this one depicting Mand’alor the First taming and riding a mythosaur. Sheena slipped off as they settled themselves around the table, all of them setting their buy’ce’se on the shelf along that back wall left there for this purpose.

“If Olenn and Naakar are off-world, then that will leave fifteen for us to see,” Cygan said. “That should be enough to help spread the word while also keeping it quiet. We staggered the meeting times, so there should be three groups of five.” Jaster hummed and nodded; that was doable, manageable. “How do you want to break the news about the Jetiise?”

“I’ll just tell them the story,” Jaster said with a shrug. “It worked on the rest of the Haat’ade, and it’s not like I could hide the fact that I have a second ad. His name was entered into the Register the day we got him back to Keldabe.” Cygan nodded easily, signaling his approval. Ad’e were always the top priority, and if they could make the Mando’ade here understand that the Jetiise were doing all of this for their own ad’e, then Jaster had hope that that would ease their way considerably.

Jaster’s commlink chimed, and he paused to look at it, smiling to himself at the message. “That was Plo; they’re just starting with their Council meeting now, and once that’s over, they’ll message those Senators for us, and let us know who their candidates are for the Jetii they want to post with us.”

“Jate,” Cygan said. “Our first group will be arriving in an hour.”

Jaster’s smile grew as he nodded. One more hour, and then it would be time to plan the (consensual) kidnapping of the entire Jetii’tsad.

The Republic would never know what hit them.

---

Ben.

Ben couldn’t quite keep the discontented frown from his face—in fact, he was barely resisting the urge to scowl outright. Just after firstmeal the following day, less than a full day after their first “group therapy” session, most of which was spent just getting them all comfortable with each other in that setting, Ben found himself back in that room, and he was alone with the mir’baar’ur, this time.

“How did it go?” Jorin had asked, and Ben had shrugged.

“It was fine, I suppose.”

“And how did you and Annan get along?” his ba’vodu had persisted.

“Fine,” Ben had repeated, and then he’d realized he made a mistake, though not what mistake, when he felt another of those satisfied-triumphant flares from Jorin.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Jorin said, “and in that case, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind going to see him a bit more often, ‘lek?”

None of Ben’s protests had moved Jorin. “I don’t think I need to” had been met with an explanation of how all foundlings had to visit the mir’baar’ur’e, at some point or another, though sometimes they waited until the ad’e were more comfortable and more likely to open up, as they had with Ben; even Jango, Jorin had said, had had to go, and Ben’s ori’vod had jumped in to confirm that. “I don’t want to” had been met with a raised brow that had made Ben flush, recognizing the childishness of that protest, and its invalidity; doing things one didn’t want to, but were also necessary, wasn’t something Ben was any stranger to. “I think the group meetings are enough” had just prompted Jorin to tell him that he was well aware of Ben’s tendency to pay more attention to others than himself, and his ba’vodu expressed a belief that Ben would spend the majority of those sessions making sure that Maul, Savage, and Feral were comfortable than he would working to be honest and thinking about his own problems.

And, Force damn it all, the worst part was that Jorin wasn’t wrong, and Ben knew that. But he very much did not want to be here.

“You don’t seem like you want to be here, Ben,” Annan said, as if he’d plucked that thought straight from Ben’s mind. That had him looking away, down at the floor, and shrugging one shoulder.

“It isn’t that I dislike you,” Ben said, and Annan actually laughed.

“I didn’t assume that was the case,” he said. “You’re just not very comfortable talking about things like this, are you?” Ben shook his head, and Annan hummed. “Then why don’t we start with something you’ve already told me?” Ben shrugged, because he didn’t want to be here, and he didn’t want to talk about anything, and—

And he was behaving like a child, Ben realized. He was acting like the child he appeared to be, not the Jedi Master that he was. Mentally chiding himself for that, Ben looked up and sat up a bit straighter.

He could do this. He could have one conversation with Annan, convince the man that he was fine, that he was adjusting well, and then this would all be a non-issue.

“Well then,” Annan said, “I think you’re more than a little worried about Jaster leaving, aren’t you?”

Ben nodded reluctantly, but hastened to add, “I know that he’s capable, and very strong and intelligent. But Coruscant, and the Senate… There are dangers there that Mando’ade aren’t… used to.”

“And you are,” Annan said lightly, not quite a question. Ben shrugged.

“I’m more familiar with them than buir is,” he said. “I… I could have helped, if he’d let me go with him.”

Annan hummed again, and Ben could tell from the way the edges of his presence swirled lightly that he was trying to decide how to respond.

“First things first,” Annan said, “you understand why he didn’t take you with him, ‘lek?” Ben nodded reluctantly, ignoring the bit of guilt fluttering in his stomach. Jaster didn’t think it was safe to take him into Republic space, because of the way he’d been “forced” to leave it, but… Well, considering that the request to return him to his biological parents had come from him and not them, Ben didn’t think that would be a real issue. No one was going to follow up on that, of course.

But how was he supposed to convince Jaster of that without telling him the truth?

“He wants to keep you safe, Ben,” Annan said, and Ben sighed.

“I know,” he murmured. “I know he does.”

“Even if you don’t like it,” Annan finished, and Ben huffed, but nodded. “That’s a buir’s duty, Ben, and something you’ll have to get used to. But beyond that… The Jetiise, the Jetii’tsad and their leaders, are going to be there to help your buir navigate the Senate. Do you trust them?”

“Well, yes,” Ben said, and Annan raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sensing a ‘but,’” he said, and Ben huffed, looking away again, and feeling his cheeks heat. He knew exactly how egotistical this was going to sound.

“I just… I know more about the dangers than they do,” Ben said. “I’ve seen so much of it.”

“Visions are very important,” Annan said carefully. “They’re messages directly from the ka’ra, and should be heeded. But Seers, like you, are still just sentient beings who are trying to do their best to interpret the omniscient and omnipotent ka’ra through fragments of scenes and knowledge pieced together. They, and you, aren’t all-powerful, Ben, and you’re just an adiik, yet. It’s the duty and the purpose of the adults around you, including and especially your buir, to take care of you. You may pass on knowledge that is helpful to them, at times, gained from your visions, but you can’t expect yourself to bear the full responsibility for everything just because of that additional knowledge you have.”

Ben gritted his teeth, trying to think of a response to that, but—Annan just didn’t understand. That wasn’t really his point, of course; no, Ben’s point was that he had the knowledge and experience of a sixty-year-old Jedi Master, one who’d fought in and lived through four wars, and he’d even survived to see the culmination of the Siths’ plots—and then, of course, he’d spent nearly two decades successfully hiding and surviving in a galaxy controlled by the Sith who had actively hunted him specifically.

He knew what was coming in a way that others simply couldn’t, not even other Seers, and those experiences had given him skills that any vision wouldn’t, couldn’t, have.

But there was no way for him to explain that, no way for him to make Annan see, aside from telling him the truth, and… Ben wasn’t about to do that.

“You have something of an overdeveloped sense of responsibility, don’t you, Ben?” Annan said, tone still light and easy. “I’m sure you remember the story I told yesterday, about how and why the philosophy of ‘Foundlings as the future’ came to be among us. But the reason for the care and protection of ad’e beyond that is that it’s simply a pleasure and a joy to see children being children. There’s something pure about it. But you’ve forgotten, haven’t you? You’ve forgotten how to be a child, and how to trust others to take care of you.”

“I trust my aliit to take care of me,” Ben protested, and Annan chuckled softly, somewhat ruefully.

“It’s just everything else you don’t trust them with, then?” he said, shaking his head. “I suppose it’s not just a responsibility issue, but one of control. You’re uncomfortable and afraid when important things are outside of your control, aren’t you?”

Ben looked away again, finding that that comment hit a little too close to home—but also finding that, yet again, Annan didn’t understand the reason for that. So far as Ben knew, he was the only one who’d come back and remembered that future-past. He was the only one who knew what they were facing—

Lay down that burden, the Force pressed in to whisper, that same message again, one it had been murmuring to him ever since he heard about what the Jedi were planning. Let go.

Ben clenched his jaw again, focusing on his breathing for a moment and trying to ignore the feeling of Annan’s gaze on him. Why? He asked the Force again. If I can’t help, then why would you bother bringing me back?

The Force sent back a feeling that was both comforting and chiding at the same time, and Ben felt appropriately chastened.

He’d… Well, he had already helped, hadn’t he? Things were already changing so drastically from the future-past he’d known: in that life, of course, the Jedi had remained shackled to the Republic until it was far too late; the Haat’ade had been met by the Jedi as enemies, and slaughtered; Jaster had died on Korda 6… Yes, things certainly were different already, weren’t they?

And all of that had come about because Ben had just wanted to flee the Temple, because he couldn’t stop dwelling on that future-past, and… everything he’d seen, everything that had taken what made his home comforting and turned it into his worst nightmares. Everything that had changed since he’d had himself spirited away had been the work of others, the ripples from the first stone he’d cast.

“I… I suppose I could stand to learn to… loosen up, a bit, and… trust others to do their part,” Ben finally conceded, and found himself practically smothered in warm-approval from all sides, radiating from both Annan and the Force itself.

“Ori’jate,” Annan said. “Why don’t we start small? What you told me about meditating—that helps you manage your emotions, ‘lek?” Ben nodded. “Then how about that creative outlet? We can start there, and work our way up to the bigger ideas once you can manage to calm your worries a bit more in the moment.”

Ben sighed, his shoulders slumping a bit, but he nodded again. Until he was old enough that he didn’t have to fight his own body and brain to keep his emotional equilibrium, he would take whatever help with that goal he could get. “Alright. I… I’ll try it.”

The Force’s approval-satisfaction-warmth kept lapping at his presence like waves, still a perfect mirror image of Annan’s presence, and as the mir’baar’ur rose to head for one of the shelves along one wall, to grab them a few sheets of flimsi and styluses, Ben huffed to himself again softly.

He knew why the Force had brought him back so young, he realized that the younger he started his campaign to save the galaxy from the Sith, the more time he would have to counter their plans, but…

For Force’s sake, Ben could not wait to grow up, he couldn’t wait to be able to get out there and help, to do his part. Until then, though—well, for now, Ben was seven, and Annan had the right of it in one respect: Jaster and everyone else around him had shown him time and again that they weren’t going to let him help, and that meant…

For now, he would have to learn to rely on others—no matter how uncomfortable an idea that was.

---

Veira.

Ord Mantell was just as much of a skughole as Veira had remembered it to be—if also a weirdly refreshing skughole. Corruption ran deep here, and it had been so enshrined as a way of life on this planet that none of the locals even bothered trying to hide it anymore. Bribes were simply expected here, a normal fact of everyday life; honor and loyalty were practically nonexistent; official intelligence was openly bought and sold everywhere from street corners to cantinas… Honestly, Veira had been to worse places, and she preferred this honesty to the two-faced lies of other worlds.

Because of its nature, Ord Mantell sat in a strange, nebulous intersection of lawful and lawless, and that made it a perfect place for a Bounty Hunters Guild office. Ord Mantell City, the very creatively named capital, boasted the largest and most active Guild office for parsecs in every direction; that fact plus its relative closeness to Manda’lase meant that Veira and her kind weren’t an uncommon sight here, and she got far fewer looks in her full beskar’gam than she did other places.

After a rather long string of hunts, Veira had hoped to relax a bit after turning them in, taking a few days, at least, before picking up a few more. She’d picked a cantina that she’d been to a few times before just a few blocks away from the Guild office and settled into a booth, waiting for one of the server droids to come around so she could order, but…

Before she could pull off her buy’ce, the HUD lit up with an alert: an active bounty had just walked in. As she pulled up the alert to look at the file and the bounty posting, Veira wondered why the other hunters around them weren’t eyeing the person who’d just walked into the bar. Waiting for the posting to load, Veira studied the target her HUD had automatically flagged for her: human-or-near, pale skin, dark hair, relatively young, she guessed, maybe in their twenties—but that was a big maybe— and nervous, or paranoid. They kept looking back over their shoulder, hands flinching towards their belt, where their blasters were holstered, even as they approached the bar itself.

The posting loaded; Veira set another tracking alert on her HUD, making it so that it would ping at her if it lost track of the target, and then turned her attention to the file displayed for her. The bounty had been issued directly by the Mand’alor —that, at least, explained why no one else in the bar had taken much notice of the target despite the fact that she recognized more than a few fellow hunters, since she was the only Mando’ad there at the moment.

The bounty had been posted a few months back, and the bare-bones of a file uploaded for the target: Xanatos du Crion. Not quite nineteen years old. Former- Jetii’ad, just an apprentice when they left the Jetii’tsad. Considered armed and dangerous, but the posting specified taken alive and as unharmed as possible to be turned in to the Mand’alor himself in Keldabe. Given that that could be challenging under normal circumstances, and it would only be even more so when it came to Jetiise and others who were touched by the ka’ra, the reward was hefty. What he was wanted for, though, the file didn’t say; it was just a retrieval bounty.

Veira hummed to herself and dismissed the file, returning her attention to the target. When the serving droid finally came around, she absently ordered a brandy; though she wasn’t willing to take off her buy’ce now, with a target in sight, she had straws in her belt pouches. She’d make it work.

Thankful for the fact that, so long as she didn’t turn her head, her buy’ce masked her gaze, and beskar helped combat their Force abilities, Veira kept her attention on the nervous young man at the bar. They kept taking small sips of their drink, what looked like just an ale, and after examining each of the other patrons in there, du Crion kept looking over at the entrance, and Veira smiled. So he was waiting for someone, then.

Keeping her hands below the table where no one could see them, Veira got her tranq gun ready—that had been pricey, but a good investment. So long as she knew her target’s species and estimated weight, the risks of poisoning them or causing cardiac arrest were low, and it was a blessing from the ka’ra under these sorts of circumstances, so very helpful in bringing combative targets in relatively unharmed. In the meantime, her drink came, and she slipped the collapsible straw into it and started drinking even as she kept fiddling with the tranquilizer settings and watching du Crion.

He got through two ales, and Veira had nearly finished with her own drink, when du Crion pulled out a commlink and scowled at it for a moment. Finally, he put it away, slid off of his stool, slapped a few credits on the counter with unnecessary force, and started to turn to leave. Veira smiled, realizing that whoever he’d been waiting for, they’d called off the meet.

Well then. So much the better for her.

Veira followed his example, fishing out enough credits to pay for her drink and give them a nice tip—she liked this cantina, and wanted to make sure she was welcome back again, after all—and then slid out of her own booth. She took a meandering route through the maze of other tables and booths, not making straight for the exit, trying not to bring du Crion’s attention to the fact that she was following. It was easy enough when she knew many of those at the other tables, slowing her steps to call out to her fellow hunters, either greeting or heckling them (“Aww, Voster, what’s with the look? Still mad at me for beating you out on that job on Kiros a few months back?” “Hey, Graal, good to see you! Heard you got shot a while back—you doin’ okay, now? Oh, it was just your arm? Good, glad to hear it, and good to see you back in the game!” “Ah, you’re the newbie, aren’t you? Heard you got Meiros to take you under his wing, that true? Huh. Impressive. You might shape up to be something after all, kid.”).

Again, du Crion looked back over their shoulder a few times, and Veira made sure that he saw her talking to another hunter every time he turned. Finally, he slipped out the doors, and Veira booked it, hastening to follow. The kid wasn’t too far ahead of her when she left, but far enough that Veira had a good chance to move without him noticing. Hitting her sen’tra, Veira took herself up and landed lightly on the low rooftop on one side of the street; most of the buildings here in this part of the city were long and low, only three stories at most; the city center was denser, with more towers, but here, the rooftops were perfect for staking out a target and stalking them.

Veira kept on du Crion as he wound through the streets, heading in the general direction of the nearest spaceport. She smiled—that would make things easier for her, at least. The shorter the distance she had to haul his unconscious body back to her ship, the happier she’d be. It didn’t take long before du Crion made a mistake, and gave Veira the opportunity she’d been looking for: he cut through an alleyway, unoccupied by anyone else, and passed almost directly below her. Veira quickly brought out her tranq gun and called out to him.

“Hey, kid! Yeah, you—du Crion, right?” She called down, and, as she’d been hoping, the kid froze in place, and then his head whipped up to look at her. “Sorry about this, pal.” With that, she fired three times: risky, but a move that usually paid off when it came to ka’ra’tigaanla. One shot straight towards him, and then to the left and the right: as she’d expected, du Crion moved, dodging the first as the ka’ra warned them and gave them reflexes faster than any human should’ve had—and he moved straight into one of the other shots Veira had fired. It hit right in the chest, perfectly in his center of mass, and du Crion let out a surprised little cry.

Veira jumped down, hitting her jetpack just enough to slow the fall, landing next to him. The kid lunged at her, but the tranquilizers she’d used were fast-acting, and she could tell his depth perception and balance were already shot. She caught his wrist when he tried to punch her, and then his other hand went for his belt. Veira kicked, knocking his blaster right out of its holster, but—she’d miscalculated.

It wasn’t a blaster the kid had been going for. Instead, he reached around to the back of his belt, bringing out a metallic silver cylinder that set off all kinds of alarm bells for Veira.

Oh, kark.

She jumped back just in time as the kid lit the kriffing Jetii’kad —but it was a red one? That was weird, Veira had thought that those were Dar’jetii blades, not Jetii ones, and the kid had been a Jetii, hadn’t he?

Whatever, it didn’t matter at the moment: only not getting hit until the tranquilizers worked and the kid went down really mattered just then.

She narrowly escaped having her arm sliced off near the elbow, where her lower kom’rk ended, and shifted her arm so that the next wild swing came down on her kom’rk proper. She could feel the searing heat of it, not quite burning since her armor protected her, the beskar standing up to the blade, and then pushed. The kid stumbled back a step, and then lurched forward again. This time, Veira just stepped out of the way—okay, she could do this. Just keep dodging until he went down. Right. Good plan.

Again, du Crion stumbled, staggering to the side, and tried to bring the kadau back up—it went wide, as if he wasn’t able to control it very well—and that was no kriffing surprise, given how much she’d dosed him with in that one tranq shot—and scorched a line across the side of one of the buildings.

“Careful with that, kid!” Veira said. “You’re gonna hurt yourself—”

“Wha’ d’you want from me?” du Crion slurred even as he swung at her again. Veira brought up her other arm, letting it hit that kom’rk, shoving it back again and sending the kid swirling around in a circle, he was so off-balance by then. She didn’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed: the dose she’d given him had been specifically calibrated for ka’ra’tigaanla, so for him to still be upright at all was kind of impressive.

“I’m a hunter,” Veira said. “Thought you’d’ve noticed that, by now.”

“He sssaid ‘e’d take care of any bountiesss,” du Crion slurred once more, an utterly betrayed sort of look on his face. Veira sighed.

“Yeah, well, this isn’t a Guild posting,” she admitted. “Now, before you really do hurt yourself or cause some incredibly expensive property damage, could you please just give in already and pass out?”

The kid’s expression twisted into one of deep anger, and he steadied himself again—actually, it started to look as if he was shrugging it off somehow.

Double kark.

Veira did the math: they were close enough to the spaceport and her ship, and she had enough bacta and other medical supplies there… It wouldn’t kill him, she knew, not if she got him back fast enough. Shrugging to herself, Veira slipped her tranq gun back into her hand and waited while du Crion came at her again, charging with an incredibly desperate, stupid overhand grip on the kadau.

It was a dumb move, leaving his torso open like that. Before du Crion could get close enough to bring the kadau down on her, Veira shot again. The next tranq hit him in the chest again, not far from where the first had, and he stopped short. Swaying again, the kid then dropped to one knee, the kadau tumbling from his hand to land in the dirt beside them, deactivating itself.

“There you go,” Veira said. “Just enjoy the nap, okay, kid?”

“I dunno who y’are,” du Crion slurred again, his expression still twisted up in pure rage, “but I hate you.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Veira sighed back. “At least get to know me before you decide you hate me.” The kid tried to answer, but whatever he mumbled was incomprehensible, so Veira didn’t bother responding. He’d be out in just a few more seconds.

True to her prediction, it didn’t take much longer before du Crion slumped down, landing face-first on the ground of that dirty alleyway. Veira didn’t turn him over just yet, instead taking her beskar cuffs off of the back of her belt and snapping them on the kid, leaving his arms behind his back. Then, she grabbed his kadau, stuffing it into her own belt a bit awkwardly since she didn’t have a clip to hang it from like the kid apparently did, and only then did she pick him up.

Veira tsk’d to herself—he was too thin, even for a human kid with this kind of lankiness, indicating a recent growth spurt. She’d have to do something about that when he woke up—it’d be a couple days to Mandalore, so she’d have some time. Though they weren’t too far away, they’d have to change hyperlanes to get there halfway through, which would add a bit to the journey.

She was thankful for her reputation during the trek back to the ship, all of the locals taking one look at her, taking in the unconscious human in her arms, and giving her a wide berth, leaving her to continue unhindered back to her ship. The port authorities charged an “extradition fee” for taking her target with her without asking any questions, and she gladly paid, more than willing to shell out the small price to keep business easy for her here next time. Once she’d gotten du Crion settled in the special bunk she used for bounties, with a ray shield in place of a door, leaving the cuffs on for the moment, knowing that the beskar would make it hard, if not impossible, to use the ka’ra, she started whistling to herself as she headed up to the cockpit. One more “takeoff fee” later, another bribe to the control tower for letting her head out without logging her destination, and Veira was off, entering the coordinates for the first jump point to Mandalore.

She’d always thought Jetiise would be harder to fight, but that hadn’t been bad at all. Less than four hours in total spent on Ord Mantell, this time, and she was headed back to Mandalore with a nice, easy, lucrative bounty in tow.

Veira knew she’d liked this skughole for a reason.

Notes:

Jaster: Ben, please just… behave, while I'm gone.
Ben: I'm always well-behaved.
Jaster: …Jango, Jorin, please try to make sure Ben behaves while I'm gone.
Ben: Maybe you didn't hear me—
Jaster: Oh, I heard you, ad'ika. But anyway, please also try not to worry too much, okay?
Ben: I would never—
Jaster: You know what, nevermind. Jango, Jorin, please just… help do something about him while I'm gone?
Ben: This is so uncalled for—
Jango and Jorin: Already on it! ;D
Ben: -_-

Ben: Group. Therapy. Group therapy for and with children. Oh, the indignity, the horror! How has it come to this???
Jorin: I used your compulsive need to help other people against you in order to help you. Sorry, not sorry.
Ben: BETRAYED! I am BETRAYED!

Maul, Savage, and Feral: We're not really sure what this is, how this works, or why we're all here... Ben, savior of us from the Evil Bad Man, bright-warm Magic Mandalorian Prince, will guide us, right?
Annan and Jorin: Oh, we're sure he'd be happy to. Right, Ben?
Ben, internally: I mean, I suppose I could benefit from a mindhealer's help—just a bit, with only a couple of things... You know, help in coming to terms with the genocide I lived through, watching all of my beloved 212th men become meat-droids and unwillingly shoot the Jedi I know for a fact they loved, losing my Master to a Sith and taking a Padawan the same day giving me no real time to grieve, that same Padawan turning to the Dark Side, becoming a Sith himself, and then helping commit that genocide I mentioned first, and then fighting him, thinking I killed him for years, and, well, those not-quite-two-decades of near-isolation on Tatooine aside from the Force ghost of my Master whose death also had already traumatized me probably weren't the best for my mental health either, really, and my apprenticeship was kind of… unorthodox, and a bit crazy... Well, there was just a whole lot of infinite sadness, wasn't there?
Ben: …
Ben, internally: Kriff. I can't bring any of that up, or there will be Questions. But I have to say something, huh? Um, what do real seven-year-olds worry about???
Ben: Um. Well. I mean… My dad left the planet for important work stuff and I wish I could've gone with him because I'm kind of worried about how this is going to go? (Internally: There, that wasn't even a lie! I can do this! :D )
Annan and the Force, simultaneously and internally: …we'll take it!

Jaster, after having arrived on Coruscant several hours before: …wait just a damn second. How did Ben know we're coming to lodge a complaint with the Senate about the Banking Clan??? I didn't tell him that! Jango didn't tell him that! Nobody told him about that!
Jaster: …
Jaster: …oh, that little chaos gremlin, he probably stole Jango's datapad and read the all-hands briefing report.
Jaster: …that child, I swear. I'm going to have so many grey hairs. -_-

Veira, internally: Huh. Former baby Jetii. And there's a bounty to take him back to Mandalore.
Veira, internally: …okay! I'll take him. Dibs! :D
Veira, internally: Wait, but his lasersword is red? Is he a Jetii or a Dar'jetii???
Veira, internally: Eh, doesn't matter. There's still a bounty.
Xanatos: I HATE YOU—
Veira: Tsk, you're too thin, ad'ika. I'll have to fatten you up.
Xanatos: DID YOU NOT HEAR ME? I SAID I HATE YOU—
Veira: Passionate, determined, too skinny...
Veira, internally: He's ripe for adoption, huh? I'll have to see what that bounty was for, and ask the Mand'alor if I can maybe keep him…
Xanatos: I AM FORCE-SENSITIVE AND CAN FEEL YOUR THOUGHTS, STOP THINKING ABOUT THAT!!! I STILL HATE YOU!!!
Veira: Well, we've got a few days together in a confined space to change that... We'll see if you still hate me by the time we get there! :D

So at this point, Xanatos's whole *deal* only happened like two-almost-three years ago; he was sixteen on Telos and eighteen (almost nineteen) now! Still so young, and still pretty adoptable... ;)
(Wookiepedia was referenced for years and Math was done, but I'm bad at Math, so, if that's wrong and doesn't make sense... Sorry? XD )
Edit: That last part of the notes was edited due to some reader concerns. I get it, even though these are intended to be sarcastic and just my outlines LOL! I took some parts out because of that though. <3

And that first real, not group, therapy session for Ben was basically just Annan getting him to admit that there are things he needs to work on that he could use a mindhealer's help with, making him more cooperative in future sessions. (He hopes.) (Poor Annan. He has no idea what he signed up for when he agreed to treat Ben...)

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! :D Next time, we'll see Jango's training and more of Coruscant, and Xanatos!

Chapter 13

Notes:

Hello again! :) Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos and love for this fic. This crack has been so much fun to write, and I'm glad you're enjoying reading it! <3

Hope you enjoy some more chaotic!Obi-Wan! ;)

Yan.

Yaddle’s quarters were still, and utterly silent.

Their most important meetings all took place there, now, away from the cameras the prying eyes of the Senate used to keep watch over them. They still met in the Chambers, of course, for appearances’ sake, but they were incredibly careful about what they spoke of there. Their days had grown longer as a natural consequence of having to conduct two separate sets of Council meetings, of course, but it was well worth it given all of the progress they had made thus far.

Now, the twelve of them sat in Yaddle’s rooms once more, in that tight circle with their knees brushing, still and silent, all of them staring down at their datapads. Yan could and did empathize with their shock—despite having been there himself and taken part in these events, even he could hardly believe it.

Plo and Yan had debated whether to show the Council the recordings Korr had given them in chronological order; Yan had feared that if they watched the recording of that meeting with the Night Mother first, they would begin bickering over the “so-called Sith,” and it would be difficult to turn their collective focus to the second recording. But Plo had had a pragmatic solution for that, extracting a promise from the collective Council not to interrupt until both recordings had finished; though their fellows had been bemused, and somewhat wary, given the pulsing undercurrent of warning the Force had begun to carry to them since Plo and Yan had arrived back on Coruscant, they had agreed easily enough.

As the second recording cut out just after Korr had helped Yan to his feet, each Councilor sat frozen in place, staring down at the datapads the recordings had played out for them on. Finally, Yaddle recovered first, looking up at Yan across the circle; her eyes were guarded, her shields up high, and to any who did not know her species so well, she would have been unreadable. But Yan could easily translate the downward slope of those ears, the slight hunch in those shoulders, and he knew she was resigned.

“Do you believe that was a Sith, Yan?” she asked, and her voice came out soft and almost hoarse.

“I do,” he said, and murmuring broke out across the circle. He didn’t bother to try to listen to it. “I have never felt such… powerful or purposeful Darkness before in my life. Even Dathomir’s Darkness felt differently to this ‘Sidious,’ and even the Sith Temples and artefacts I have studied before did not feel as purposefully, heavily Darkened as that being did.” Yan waved his ‘pad, a grim little smile on his face. “And besides, I should think the abilities they displayed should be evidence enough. That Force Lightning was certainly not borne of a hunger for justice.”

More murmuring broke out, and the Force around them swirled with their feelings of surprise, denial, and dread, magnified by so many Force-users in close proximity experiencing the same strong emotions at once, before they began releasing them.

Into the sudden silence, Yoda spoke, looking as downtrodden as Yaddle had, and as ancient as he truly was: “Explain much, this does. The veil of Darkness in the Force that, until recently, we could not see through… Cloud everything, the Dark Side does. And that much stronger, the Darkness is on Coruscant, hmm? Felt this, we all have. The inaction and corruption of the Senate, we had thought it to be, but… more purposeful Darkness than that, it may be, hmm?”

“I believe so, Master,” Yan agreed, both surprised and pleased to hear Yoda voice the conclusions Yan had come to. He had thought his old Master would be one of the staunchest deniers of a Sith return; to hear him voice his acceptance so easily was an unexpected boon.

“We’re already taking the best course of action, I believe,” Shaak said. “Removing ourselves from Coruscant and their influence is the wisest move—especially since the Sith now knows that we know of their return. If they do have some influence over the Senate, that may drive them to take further, more pointed steps against us through official channels.”

“Yes,” Yaddle agreed. “We may need to accelerate those plans as well.”

“Return to this topic in our next session, we will,” Yoda declared. “After long meditations, hmm?” He received grateful nods of agreement from around the circle, and Yoda nodded back.

“Which does lead us nicely into our next topic,” Plo said, sounding almost inappropriately cheerful after their last talking point. “You’ve all had a chance to review the agreement Mand’alor Mereel and his Council drafted?” A wave of nods confirmed that they had, and Plo gave the distinct impression of a smile in the Force, for all that they couldn’t truly see the expression. “Then I suggest we determine who we will send to Keld’ika, as they call their sector of Coruscant, as our candidates for the Watchman posting in the Mandalore Sector.”

“Yes, yes,” Yoda agreed, his ears flicking up, apparently just as grateful as the others were to set aside the topic of the return of the Sith, for now. “Plo, Yan: to Mandalore, you have now been, and interacted with them most, you have. Your thoughts on a suitable Jedi, we would ask.”

Plo, well aware of Yan’s designs on the post, turned to him, and Yan smiled.

“As a matter of fact, Master,” Yan said, “I intend to try for the posting myself.” More murmuring broke out, and Yan raised a hand. “I realize it would put us short a Councilor, though, to be frank, I do not see that as a problem. With the proposed new structure for the Order, particularly given that we will be splitting up to different locations, a Councilor performing other permanent duties separately from the rest of the Council will become a normal part of our operations.”

“Hmm. Went well enough for them to accept you, you believe your visit did?” Yoda asked.

Plo chuckled. “Once the encrypted link Mand’alor Mereel gave us was confirmed to work, I received several other messages from him,” he said. “And Yan already has something of a reputation amongst them as ‘the Jedi who shot a Sith in defense of younglings.’”

“Hmm,” Yoda hummed again, his ears flicking, and Yan knew he didn’t imagine the tendril of amusement that reached him through the echoes of the bond they shared—a bond that had been slowly growing ever stronger again since Yan had taken a seat on the Council, and had been strengthening that much more rapidly since they had decided upon their new radical course for the Order. “Go, you shall. But other candidates, we should still select, just in case. Other suggestions, does anyone have?”

“Before Yan announced his intention to try for the post, I did have several ideas,” Plo said, and Yoda waved a hand for him to continue. Yan turned most of his attention away from the discussions, then, and joined Yaddle as he felt her slowly drawing in Light to clear the room of the powerful emotions they had all felt when watching those recordings.

This debate mattered little to him, after all, and did not require his attention. Yan had already chosen his course, and he was determined to see it through. Across the circle, Yaddle sent him a knowing sort of look and a smile, and Yan smiled unrepentantly back. Despite the turmoil of the last few minutes, Yan felt a strong sense of hope and optimism taking root. The return of the Sith was troubling indeed, but it only explained the Darkness they had already known to exist, and Yan was disinclined to panic over it.

Instead, Yan gratefully turned his thoughts back to Mandalore, the future of the Order, and the strange, bright little youngling there he hoped to train.

The rest, he decided, would wait.

---

Ben.

Ben had been trying to meditate on Cody— again.

This attempt hadn’t ended in tears, thankfully, but perhaps that was simply because he hadn’t gotten anywhere. He couldn’t seem to focus his mind on Cody, on his memories, on picturing that presence he’d once known so well. Ben was continually distracted by himself.

Something felt… off. Something felt out of place, almost wrong, in his own mind.

And fuck, that was an uncomfortable, ominous feeling. Ben hadn’t been able to shake off that sensation, even though a quick but thorough scan of himself revealed no Darkness coming from outside of himself pressing down on him, no attempted Force manipulation of his mind by the Dark. Which was good news—or it should have been. But Ben couldn’t think of another explanation for this feeling, and that only made it all the more uncomfortable.

Giving up on his attempts at meditating on his dear Commander, if only for the moment, Ben turned his attentions inward, studying his own presence. It still wasn’t nearly what it had been by the time he’d died, hadn’t expanded and solidified that much, though it was different, deeper, than it had been when he truly had been this young. Those facts made sense to him by now: though he’d returned to the past with his memories intact, this body’s neural pathways weren’t the same ones that had already learned those things. But this young self couldn’t have possibly remained the same after having an old and slightly mad Jedi Master’s memories shoved into them.

That was all the “new normal” of this new life. It was expected, and logical. But where was that subtle feeling of something-is-off coming from?

Ben scanned himself again, more carefully and slowly, but he still found no outside influences. All that he found was himself, in both senses, the familiar presence of Ben Kenobi, Jedi Master, Hermit, Wizard of the Jundland Wastes, crazy old Ben, and the half-remembered, much Lighter, far less broken, presence of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Initiate —

Oh. Oh.

…fuck.

Ben jerked right out of his meditation, coming back to himself with a start and a soft gasp, eyes flying open to look at the karyai around him. His heart was pounding, his skin felt clammy, and his breathing was choppy, uneven, but Ben was too busy, his thoughts too full, to take much note of his physical state.

Force. Force —why hadn’t Ben thought of this before now? Why hadn’t he thought through the consequences of all of this?

Why hadn’t he considered what might have happened to Jedi Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi when Old Ben had unceremoniously been shoved back into that younger self?

Ben realized, now, what it was he’d been feeling, that subtle shifting in himself, that odd feeling of something familiar and yet unfamiliar in his own mind. And it also explained why he found no traces of outside influence despite the feeling of an almost-stranger in his own head.

What Ben had been feeling was the slow process of the Obi-Wan Kenobi who had inhabited this mind and body melding itself with the Obi-Wan Kenobi whose memories had been sent back into it. Ben’s memories must have pushed out that younger, weaker self—or mostly pushed him out. But enough of that Obi-Wan Kenobi had remained in him that he had unconsciously integrated the two, his mind protecting itself from the madness being two different people at once would have caused by stitching the two together. Old Ben had mostly won out, given the strength of his personality and his far greater mental discipline, not to mention that he remembered living the life that had made him who he was, but—

But parts of that child remained.

The younger version had exerted little influence, at first, almost dormant, likely pushed down, until things started to settle. And now that Ben thought of that, too, he realized there had been other signs of that, signs he hadn’t recognized for what they were. The way he would sometimes (more and more often as the months ticked by) pout at Jaster genuinely and not just because he knew the expression was cute on such a young, small face and he was a manipulative old bastard when he wanted to be; the way he had begun to argue with the authority figures around him when he didn’t want to do something or didn’t want to be told no even when he knew their reasons and arguments were logical; how clingy he’d gotten, enjoying and even actively seeking out physical affection—the list went on and on, all the little examples piling up.

Upon reflection, Ben had been sliding into more childish behavior for a while now—though he still retained the memories he’d returned with, he was becoming more like the child he appeared to be as the intensity of his arrival faded, and he reached a sort of equilibrium between the two Obi-Wans he both was and had been.

Force.

It had never occurred to Ben before to wonder what had happened to the real younger Obi-Wan when he’d arrived here. He’d gone down nearly every other black hole of thoughts and considerations and ponderings on the consequences of his posthumous kriffing time travel, but he’d never stopped to think about the Obi-Wan Kenobi who had ceased to exist when Ben Kenobi woke up in his body.

That child hadn’t been fully taken over when Old Ben’s memories had slipped into that body. It wasn’t all just ingrained habit that had had him acting more like the child he appeared to be.

No, there were parts of him that still truly were the child he appeared to be, parts of his mind, his presence, his soul, that hadn’t been pushed out with the arrival of those memories in this brain.

A much larger part of him was still Ben Kenobi, that… personality, that will, for want of any better descriptor, a far stronger one, but… Jedi Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi had been slowly exerting ever more influence as his subconscious mind found its balance between the two, between what it remembered and what it had actually lived so far.

Now, he finally realized that… Well, he wasn’t truly Old Ben in a younger Initiate Kenobi’s body—he was Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi with Old Ben’s memories shoved into this mind and body. It sounded like it should have been a distinction without a difference, but—

Oh, how different he was now discovering those two things to be.

Fucking Sith-Hels.

Ben tried to get a hold of himself—and he was distantly grateful that Jango was out and Jorin was in the kitchen. They both would have been terribly concerned if they’d seen him have this… episode. Shaking his head to clear it, Ben closed his eyes and focused on his breathing for a long moment until he felt his pulse slowing down, his chest aching a little less as his immediate panic eased.

This was… fine.

It was manageable, and therefore fine. Ben had already known that there were many things he would have to do to return to who he had been in full: years of training would be needed before he could truly develop the muscle memory and reflexes to fight the way he remembered he could; years of training would be needed before his mind would carve out the neural pathways that would make all of his Force-use as easy and instinctive as breathing, as it had been before; years of waiting would be necessary before Ben’s mind grew up and his body’s hormones stabilized, allowing him to maintain better emotional control.

And if he now realized that, as far as that last one went, it was at least partiaully due to the fact that part of him was still a child who still needed to grow up, did that actually change anything?

…no, Ben decided. It didn’t.

Though he felt a pang of guilt over what had happened to this universe’s, this timeline’s, Obi-Wan Kenobi, he recognized that, at any age, he had been self-sacrificing, and would have agreed in an instant if he’d thought it would allow more people to be helped and saved. And it wasn’t as if Ben had been given a choice in any of this—the Force had simply done it, and so Ben tried to let go of his personal guilt for that.

As for the rest of it… Ben had already known that he would have to go through the arduous process of growing up all over again. He had already realized that while he had the memories of a Jedi Master, he did not have the experience or the presence of one. He had already known that there were things he would have to learn for a second time, and learning this only gave him another explanation, another reason, for doing what he already would have had to do in the first place.

It was… fine. This was fine. Even if this was utterly insane, and yet another reason for Ben to wish he could grow up faster… Well. Ben would manage, he would just have to be more mindful of himself and his behavior, and so it was… fine.

(And with the Force pressed in so close, so warm and buoyant and comforting, Ben could almost believe that, too.

…still, he couldn’t wait to grow up again.)

---

Jaster.

Though they’d already shared their plans with the Al’aliit’e in Keld’ika—at least those they trusted, those not sworn to House Vizsla—and had the message relayed to their Clans in turn, it was still startling for everyone to see the “diplomatic party” arrive. Jaster was able to track their progress through the secret passages in the Lower Levels into the sector, and then towards the Lararyc Dinii, via the chatter on the comms.

“Wayii,” one voice said. “I knew they were coming, but it’s still kriffing strange to see three Senators and six Jetiise in Keld’ika.”

“They look about as surprised to be here as we are to see them,” another said. The chatter continued, allowing Jaster to track their progress towards the cantina; soon enough, he got the ping that they’d arrived, and Sheena was leading them up. Jaster rose to greet them properly, Cygan following his lead.

It was something of a relief to see two familiar faces at the fore of the group, both Plo and Dooku having come with this party. Hopefully, their obvious familiarity would put everyone at ease that much faster.

“Plo, Dooku,” Jaster said, nodding to them as they bowed. “Olaram —welcome.”

“Mand’alor,” they chorused before stepping aside for the other Jetiise and the Senators entering. Jaster recognized one of the other Jetiise, the little troll called Yoda who served as the leader of the Jetii’tsad, and he nodded to them as well.

“Jatne urcye,” Yoda hummed. “Good, it is, to meet you in person.”

“Likewise,” Jaster said, and then turned his attention to those he didn’t know. Three Jetiise, one a Togruta, another a Tholothian, and the third human-or-near, marked for what they were by the robes and hilts on their belts, stood on either side of the three Senators; the Jetiise looked calm and serene, but all three Senators were a bit tense.

“Council Master Shaak Ti, this is,” Yoda said, waving a hand towards the Togruta, who took the cue to bow. “And Council Masters Sifo-Dyas and Adi Gallia.” The other Jetiise bowed, too, and Jaster nodded to them. “Brought with us, we have, Senator Bail Antilles of Alderaan—” One of the human-or-near Senators smiled tightly at Jaster, nodding. “—Senator Korva Bitherres of Chandrila—” The other human-or-near Senator followed suit. “—and Senator Juvo Kunrilli of Pantora.”

“Jatne urcye —well met,” Jaster said. “And thank you for coming.”

“When the Jedi Council contacted us to ask if we might have some interest in a quiet diplomatic meeting with the Mand’alor, how could we have refused?” Kunrilli said, eyes bright and smile genuine. “Though we may not yet know what it is you wished to discuss with us, such a meeting presents an unprecedented opportunity.”

Jaster fought down a snort—they really didn’t know the half of it, and what kind of “opportunity” was really in front of them.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable, and we’ll explain the situation,” Jaster said, waving a hand towards the table. He went back around the other side to his seat, Cygan sliding in beside him, as the others settled themselves down. He glanced at Plo, who sat himself down across from Jaster, between Dooku and Yoda, wondering where they should begin.

“It would be best to start at the beginning, I believe,” Plo said. “It will explain how and why the Jedi Council has been in contact with Mand’alor Mereel.” Jaster nodded, hoping they would start things off with their perspective of events; thankfully, they did, the Tholothian, Gallia, continuing on for them.

“Given that all three of you attempted to offer aid to us at the time, I’m certain you recall the… troubling matter of Initiate Kenobi’s parents demanding his return,” she said, and all three Senators nodded. Kunrilli was frowning, Antilles had his lips pursed and eyes narrowed, and Bitherres let out a little hmph and folded his arms over his chest; given those reactions, and what Gallia had just implied about their more immediate reactions to that situation, Jaster tentatively added them to his “decent” list, which was incredibly short on Republic politicians. “Officially, we reported that we ‘saw Initiate Kenobi safely with his family.’ That was not, technically speaking, a lie.” She looked to Jaster, next, and he picked up the thread.

“Given how little Stewjoni leave the planet, and their feelings about, ah, Force-sensitives—” Jaster paused to smile a little, rather proud of himself for remembering the term in Basic; Ben had been patiently teaching him the terminology he’d been taught, and Plo and the manuals had helped quite a bit as well. “—his parents hired us to retrieve him from the Temple. Once we actually got him onboard our ship, and he explained the rest of the… situation, there was no chance of us returning him there. Given that returning him to the Temple would’ve just resulted in another attempt to force him to go back to Stewjon, I offered to adopt him, and he accepted. ‘Initiate Kenobi’ is now Ben Mereel, my younger son.”

The Senators exchanged looks, but Plo didn’t wait for them to react before continuing on. “As soon as they were safely outside of Republic space, Mand’alor Mereel contacted the Council to inform us of the outcome,” he said, and understanding started to flicker across the Senators’ faces. “We have since remained in contact; though it began largely for the youngling’s benefit, our own diplomatic relations have seen drastic improvement since then.”

“I’m pleased to hear that it worked out well,” Bitherres said. “We had attempted to file an injunction on the order, to give the Jedi more time to fight it in the courts, but we were summarily denied. Though I will admit to some confusion: if you wished to establish stronger and more formalized diplomatic relations with the Republic and the Senate in particular, then I’m rather baffled by the… circumstances of this meeting.”

Jaster laughed, shaking his head. “Nayc —no,” he said. “Frankly, I have little interest in treating with the Republic and the Senate as a whole. Though there do seem to be some good ones among you, this entire situation has only proven to me that most cannot be trusted to act in a reasonable, moral fashion. The primary reason we’ve asked the three of you here is to see if you might be willing to help us present a petition to the Senate.”

Again, the Senators exchanged looks, and Bail Antilles leaned forward, resting his arms on the table and folding his hands together. “That would depend greatly upon what sort of petition you mean to present.”

“I’m assuming you know fairly little about the situation in Manda’lase —Mandalorian Space?” Jaster said, and they all nodded. “Then this requires a bit of background, first. The faction I lead is known as the Haat Mando’ade —the True Mandalorians, or Haat’ade for short. We represent a bulk of the population with a moderate traditionalist platform. We’re allied with the Evaar’la Mando’ade, or Evaar’ade, who are the pacifists the Senate likes best.” There was a bit of uncomfortable shifting, and Jaster smiled to himself before continuing on, his smile fading fast with what he was getting to now. “But there is a third faction: Kyr’tsad —the Death Watch. They are extremist traditionalists; a large part of their platform rests on glorifying our past. They want a return to conquest—if they managed to win, then you would undoubtedly find yourselves at war again with Mandalore.” That garnered more uncomfortable shifting.

“And what is it you would ask of us?” Bitherres said. “Your petition involves that situation, I take it, but I’m not certain what you would ask the Senate to do about it.”

“Several years ago,” Cygan stepped in to say, “we discovered evidence that Kyr’tsad has been receiving funding from groups outside of our sector. We thought their leader dead, for a time, and they had been relatively quiet, and so we hadn’t acted on that information. Recently, however, we learned that their leader is still very much alive, and Kyr’tsad is taking steps to reignite the civil war.”

“That ‘outside funding,’” Jaster continued, “is funneled through the Banking Clan. We have direct evidence showing that Kyr’tsad has been receiving support from them for over a decade now, and we also have plenty of evidence to show that they’re a terrorist organization. All we’re asking of you is the chance to present this evidence to the Senate, and petition them for action taken against the Banking Clan.”

“I, for one, would appreciate a chance to review this evidence,” Kunrilli said. “If all is as you say, then I would be happy to assist you in the effort. But I will warn you that opposition to the motion will be fierce: the Banking Clan is incredibly powerful, and that gives them many allies in the Senate.”

“There is also a chance that the petition will be summarily dismissed because Mandalore is not a part of the Republic,” Antilles said. “But, as Senator Kunrilli says, if the situation is as you say, then I would also be happy to assist you, and do what I can to ease your way in the Senate. Even if it accomplishes nothing more than shining a light on more of the Banking Clan’s corruption, that would be well worth it.”

“Jate,” Jaster said. “That chance is all we’re asking of you. We’re hopeful that the Banking Clan will cut off the funding as soon as it becomes public; even if nothing more than that happens, it would still be quite a boon for us. I have copies of the evidence for you, and I’ll send it along with you when you leave, to give you a chance to review it.”

“I am set to speak in a tenday,” Senator Kunrilli said. “I had planned to use the time to weigh in on legislation we will soon be voting on, but I can easily do that in committee meetings instead. This is far more important. Once I review this evidence, I will reach back out to you with confirmation. Is that enough time to make your preparations?”

“It is,” Jaster agreed. “Thank you.”

That had been easier than Jaster had expected, even already knowing that all three of these Senators had their own grudges against the Banking Clan. Still, he’d thought that would take longer, that he would have to do more convincing, though he was pleased by how reasonable these three seemed.

But that task seen to, Jaster looked to the Jetiise, silently asking them if and how they wanted to reveal the rest of their plans. Adi Gallia smiled when she met his gaze, a tight sort of expression, and nodded.

“I will admit,” Jaster added, turning back to the Senators, “that though the petition is very much real, we have another reason for being here.” They started to frown, but Gallia didn’t give them a chance to say anything.

“In addition to your assistance in attempting to stop Initiate Kenobi’s return to Stewjon, all three of you have aided us in attempting to repeal many of the terms of the Reformation, and the ensuing laws and regulations governing the Order,” she said, and they nodded slowly. “We appreciate that assistance greatly, and count you and your peoples as our allies and friends. But that has not been enough; we have made little to no progress, and the situation with Initiate Kenobi proved to us that we can no longer wait for the Senate as a whole, or the courts, to see reason. Our children were endangered—one directly, and all of the others by the threat of being forcibly taken from us should we not comply with the Senate’s orders—and our hands were tied.”

“The situation with Initiate Kenobi was the final straw,” Dooku said, and he was smiling, a bit, his eyes bright. Though that was no surprise to Jaster; he’d come to realize fairly quickly that Dooku hated the Republic Senate and their courts almost as much as Jaster and his people did. “The situation served to show us that we must take action now.”

“Allow us, the Senate would not,” Yoda said. “Before tell you our plans, we do, ask for your secrecy, we would. Trust you, we choose to, because our allies, you have always been. Tell you these things lightly, we do not.”

“Of course, Grand Master,” Bitherres said immediately. “I have great respect and admiration for your Order, and it has always saddened me to know that the Senate shackled you and hobbled your effectiveness out of fear of your powers, and a desire to control you.” The other two nodded their agreement, and Yoda bowed his head.

“Thank you, we do,” Yoda said. “Allow us to make the changes needed, the Senate would not. Therefore, only one choice do we have: leaving, we are.”

“Leaving Coruscant?” Antilles said, and all three Senators were gaping at him. “Force. I can scarcely imagine the Republic’s capital world without the Jedi.”

“We are doing more than that,” Dooku said, still smiling. Sifo-Dyas glanced at him and huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head, apparently exasperated by Dooku’s near-glee; Dooku didn’t acknowledge him. “We are leaving the Republic entirely.” The Senators stiffened, obviously alarmed, but again, the Jetiise didn’t pause to let them respond, Dooku continuing on: “The Jedi aim to establish ourselves as an independent people. In time, when we have settled and have the resources to do so, we will make our return to the galaxy, and our wider purpose of aiding those in need.”

“Rather than treating directly with the Senate as a whole,” Gallia said, picking up the thread, “we hope to negotiate with its member worlds and sectors directly, forming individual treaties with any worlds or sectors who would be willing to do so—Republic members or not. We had hoped that the three of you and your peoples might be willing to be the first we come to agreements with. That will go very far in both bolstering our own legitimacy as an independent people as well as setting the tone for future negotiations with Republic members.”

There was finally silence at the table, and Jaster felt a little flare of sympathy for the Senators, who looked so utterly overwhelmed and shocked. The Jetiise had helped to found the Republic, they had always been there, and having this sort of change dropped on their heads after millennia was… a lot for them.

“Little Gods,” Kunrilli murmured. “I can’t believe the situation has come to this, that things are so dire that you would leave.”

“Abandoning you, we are not,” Yoda said gently. “But to help others, help ourselves, we must first, hmm? When established ourselves, we have, return to our work, we will. Available to all again, we hope to be, though some time, that may take.”

“I will have to speak with Chairman Nemok and the Assembly,” Kunrilli said. “Though, given the secrecy surrounding this, it would be best if I travel back to Pantora to do so in person.”

“I would need to do much the same,” Antilles said. “Though the royal family and the people of Alderaan hold the Jedi in great esteem; if you feel that this is truly necessary, however much it saddens and pains us, I cannot see them opposing you.”

“Governor Kuso is likely to feel much the same,” Bitherres said. “And I agree: having these conversations in person with our governments and leadership is likely best. You’re truly certain there is no other way?”

“Our children were and are endangered, Senator,” Gallia said, a thread of durasteel in her voice, “and we were not allowed to defy the Senate orders that put them in danger. If the Senate as a body has become so lost and corrupt as to fail to see that such a thing is wrong, then we can no longer allow ourselves to follow their orders and direction. We hope that we will be able to maintain the friendships and alliances we’ve formed—particularly with your planets, as some of our oldest allies—but Master Yoda said it best. The purpose and duty of a Jedi is to help those in need, but we cannot do so without helping ourselves first.”

“I see,” Antilles murmured. “This is a dark and troubling time for the Republic, then. I can only hope that the Senate and the people of the Republic will take this as a call for change, and open their eyes to the problems we have been attempting to bring to their attention for so many years, now. Alderaan will not give up on the Republic, but… I cannot say that I don’t understand why you feel you must leave.”

Gallia bowed her head in thanks and acceptance, and they sat in that stunned silence for another few moments before Kunrilli spoke up again.

“I doubt you’re simply intending to announce your intention to depart, particularly with the secrecy surrounding this,” she said.

“We cannot risk the Senate attempting to force us to remain,” Gallia said. “We plan to leave in secret and send a small group of representatives to the Senate to make the formal announcement after the rest of our Order has departed.”

“Trying to keep such large movements among you hidden will be… difficult,” Bitherres said. “But I take it you’ve already considered that.”

“Oh, no need to worry,” Jaster said, grinning broadly. “We have a plan for that, and that’s where my people and I come in.”

“Oya!” Cygan called, lifting his tankard, downing the rest of his drink in one go, and then thumping it down on the table twice. The Jedi looked amused, but the Senators…

The Senators did not look reassured, and Jaster couldn’t help but laugh.

Notes:

So now you know what’s been going on with Ben! To summarize it, he’s not really Old Ben *or* Initiate Obi-Wan. He’s Initiate Obi-Wan with Old Ben’s memories stuffed into his head. That’s had a large influence on his personality and actions, but he is, in essence, still actually a child. He has a child’s body, a child’s impulse and emotional control, and a child’s brain—it’s just also stuffed full of an adult version’s memories. But physically, in the ways that matter, he *is* a child, and he now realizes that. Poor baby’s gonna have to grow up all over again, and he knows that now. He’ll see the bright side of that soon, though. ;) Enough people had questions about it that I flip-flopped that scene into this chapter, and Xantos’s arrival (and finding out what he’s been *up to* already that he thinks a bounty was likely to come even without the Mandos doing Mando things, LOL) on Mandalore will come next chapter instead.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed! ;)

Yan and Plo: Here, take a look at these recordings. We'll wait.
The Council: Oookay...
The Council: ...
The Council: ...was that a motherfucking SITH?!
Yan: Yes.
Plo: Now, about Mandalore—
The Council: A SITH?!?!
Yan: Yes, that was a Sith. Yes, I was reduced to the indignity of shooting a Sith with a slugthrower. And that leads us here to the present moment, and back to the youngling— I mean, it leads us to Mandalore—
The Council: A SITH???
Plo: *Ahem* So, about Mandalore...

Ben: There's something... weird going on here, in my own head. That's... ominous.
Ben: ...
Ben: I have a bad feeling about this.
The Force: How many times do I gotta say it, BB? CHILL, everything's gonna be fine—
Ben: ...wait a second. Those parts of me don't feel like *me,* but they... also do? This makes no sense.
Ben: ...
Ben: Oh. Oh no.
The Force: C H I L L, BB, please—
Ben: Oh, fuck. Fuckitty fuck FUCK—
Ben: ...
Ben: I'M A FUCKING CHILD
Literally everyone who has seen smol!BB Ben: ...uh, yeah? You're a really cute one, too.
Ben: I KNOW YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY BUT THIS IS PANIC-WORTHY. I SHOULD NOT BE A CHILD—
The Force: Yeah, I disagreed.

Jaster, internally: My baby boy Ben is my new metric for measuring how shitty outsiders are. These three Senators seem kinda pissed about the whole thing. That bodes well.
Jaster: So... You feel like helping me fuck with some terrorists' funding and giving the middle finger to the Banking Clan you all hate at the same time?
Three of the Ten Moral Senators in the Republic: Hell yeah. With pleasure.
Jaster: Great, thanks.
The Jedi: Now that that's out of the way... We thought that, as Three of the Ten Moral Senators in the Republic, you should probably know that we're breaking up with you. But we really hope that we can stay friends.
The Senators: What?!
The Jedi: It's fine, it's totally fine, promise! We're just leaving and never coming back, that's all.
The Senators: WHAT?!
The Jedi: And we've got a plan already and everything. We promise, it's all gonna be totally fine. <3
Jaster: Yup! That's where I come in. We're going to stage a mass kidnapping. It's gonna be great!
The Senators: W H A T?!?!

Chapter 14

Notes:

Hello again! :D Thank you for all the comments and kudos last time! Poor Ben, but also, that was fun to write, LOL! I've been planting the seeds of him actually being child!Obi-Ben with Old!Ben's memories for a whiiile, so it was satisfying to finally get to the explanation.

And I have so many Plans for Ben yet! One we should get to fairly soon-ish, actually, involving his attempts to reach Cody and his other clone besties. I'm so excited for that arc, and I wrote SO MUCH of that during NaNoWriMo. Going back to fill in the blanks is taking some time, but I'm getting there!

Anyway, we'll get back to Coruscant next time and get some more Jaster and Jedi perspectives, but for now, we'll check in with Jango, Ben, and the one you've been waiting for: Xanatos! LOL, hope you enjoy!

Jango.

Ben was acting weird.

Which, to be fair… Ben was always weird. Oh, Jango loved his vod’ika, of course, and he’d stab anyone (repeatedly) who so much as looked at him wrong, but—there was no denying the fact that Ben was weird.

He was definitely the strangest adiik Jango had ever met, though he thought a lot of that could be put down to Ben having been raised by the Jetiise and the rest was a result of his genius-level brain. Whatever the reason, all Jango knew for sure was that Ben was definitely weird, and he always had been.

But now, Ben was acting weird in a different way than he usually did.

Classes weren’t due to start until after the New Year, and though they’d scheduled meditation and playtime with Korr and his Foundlings and regular sessions with the mir’baar’ur for Ben, their days were left mostly-open for now. With Jaster on Coruscanta, Jorin still needed in the forge, and the Jetiise gone, too, that left Jango to look after Ben a lot of the time. Which he didn’t mind, not at all, just… Sometimes, he really wasn’t sure what to do with his vod’ika.

For an hour after Jorin first left that morning, Ben had sat on the floor in the karyai and just… stared at a box of toys. Jaster had brought them in not long after Ben’s adoption, preparing their household for a then six-year-old adiik, but the box had quickly been relegated to a corner of the room when it became clear that Ben was more interested in reading historical tactical manuals and watching holodocs than playing with toys other adiik’e his age liked.

Ben had never touched the box before, and Jango had immediately noticed when he dragged it out of the corner. For a long time, all he’d done was stare at it, and Jango had wondered what he was thinking, but— Well, something told him not to address it, not yet, and he was also pretty sure that if he said anything about it, Ben would just shove it right back in the corner. So he’d stayed silent and kept staring at his own ‘pad, for now (okay, fine, he was pretending to stare at his ‘pad, but it was just an excuse to pretend he wasn’t staring at Ben instead).

Eventually, Ben had carefully started lifting each toy out of the box, staring at it for a little while before setting it aside. He repeated that again and again, staring at everything in the box (the simple little model ships with tiny repulsors to make them fly, puzzles, stuffed animals, and other various and sundry items adiik’e his age could usually, normally be found enjoying), and then lining them up neatly, in orderly rows. Once that was done, Ben had just kept staring at it all, making a bit of a face, his nose slightly scrunched as if he was… confused, or maybe uncertain.

After a little while longer, Ben had sighed heavily, sounding far more like a weary old man than a seven-year-old, and then carefully put it all back in the box before returning it to its corner. What that had been about, Jango had no idea, but something (the ka’ra, probably—he’d admit that much to himself, though this wasn’t the time to think about… all of that) still told him not to draw any attention to it, so he didn’t.

Ben had moved on, then. He pulled out the flimsi sheets and colored pencils they’d gotten for him after the mindhealer got him to admit that he liked to draw (and he had flatly refused the wax crayons most adiik’e his age preferred, but that was the kind of weird that was baseline normal for Ben, so none of them had thought much about it) and neatly arranged a drawing area for himself on the low table in front of the couch. As he’d done with the toys, he took out each colored pencil first, lining them up in an orderly row beside the flimsi in gradient order; then he’d stared at the empty, blank page for a while the same way he’d stared at the toys.

Finally, though, he’d picked up a black pencil and carefully, slowly started drawing an outline of… something. Jango was across from him, still lounging on the couch while he pretended to read and watched his vod’ika (and tried not to fret about how weird he was acting), so he was looking at it upside down as Ben drew. But the shapes became clearer and clearer, and Jango eventually realized he was drawing some kind of armor. It wasn’t beskar’gam, lacking the kar’ta beskar in the center, and the buy’ce was wrong, but it was similar enough to intrigue Jango. Whatever Ben was drawing, whatever image he had in his head that he was trying to get out onto the page, he knew specifically what it should look like.

Once Ben had finished his outline, he’d set the black pencil back down in its place in the rainbow row he’d made with of all the others. Then Ben had peered at several others for a moment as if debating what color he wanted to use before finally taking orange and yellow. With those two, he started trying to blend them together to draw little patterns on the otherwise-blank figure. The pauldrons were filled in completely, and then he drew three lines on their stomach, angled and heading up towards their chest, a few more stripes along the legs, and then he went to work with that same meticulous care on the helmet, nearly doubled over the page so Jango could no longer see the picture as he worked on it.

From what he had seen, though, the colors Ben had chosen and tried to blend together looked almost like the color he’d picked for his kom’rk’e. Something (both simple logic and the ka’ra, this time) told Jango that that was significant, but what it meant or who he was drawing or if it was even a real person he’d seen or just something he’d come up with on his own, Jango had no idea—nor did he have any idea how to ask about it. Ben kept at it, making delicate little movements with the pencils, alternating between them and creating finer details than normal adiik’e his age usually could—but, again, that was baseline normal for Ben, and Jango started to relax just the slightest bit.

Right up until Ben suddenly shot upright, his eyes going wide and the pencils he’d been holding clattering down onto the table. Jango jumped a bit at the sudden noise—sue him, he’d already been tense because of how weird Ben was acting this morning—and dropped his ‘pad.

“Ben? Me’vaar ti gar?” he asked, and Ben scrambled up onto his feet.

“We have to go to the landing pads,” he said. “Right now.”

“Why?” Jango asked, because he’d learned his lesson from those first few times he hadn’t asked enough questions when it came to stuff like this with Ben. It was better to wrangle all of the details out of him before letting him do anything.

“Because there’s someone coming I need to see,” Ben said slowly, drawing each word out like Jango was an idiot. He huffed and rolled his eyes at his little brother.

“Tion’ad, vod’ika?” Jango asked.

“Someone,” Ben chirped back. Jango scrubbed a hand over his face.

“You are going to sit back down for a minute,” Jango said, folding his arms over his chest and trying for stern. He had a feeling it didn’t work as well coming from him as it did Jaster, though, because Ben just sniffed delicately and raised an eyebrow at him as if to say oh, really? Am I?

Grumbling softly to himself about chaos monsters and how this was not nearly as much fun when he had to stop the chaos instead of participating in it, Jango picked his ‘pad back up and fired off a quick message to the verd’e on duty in the control tower, asking about incoming ships and who might be landing. They sent along the log of current requests and scheduled landings, and Jango looked it over quickly. There were a couple of supply ships that were expected soon, normal, routine deliveries; a few more Haat’ade coming back early to supplement the security in Keldabe while Jaster and so many others were away on Coruscanta and so many more than even that were still with their Clans for the New Year; and…

There. Veira Rook. Beroya by trade, though she usually jumped into the Haat’ade duty rotation at least one season each year. She had just requested landing clearance, and with her was a bounty she’d just caught, apparently—one Jango recognized the name of.

Xanatos du Crion.

…oh shab no. No, there was absolutely no chance of Jango allowing Ben anywhere within half a klik of Xanatos du kriffing Crion.

It had been Ben’s vision that had alerted them all to du Crion, and when Jaster had reached out to the Jetiise about it, they’d taken the warning seriously. Xanatos du Crion had been a Jetii’ad, a Padawan, but he’d supposedly died on a mission with his Master. Clearly, that wasn’t the case. That was disturbing enough in itself, and the Jetiise had wanted to find their missing kid and figure out why he’d wanted to play dead—understandable, of course, and the only reasonable reaction to that sort of news. So they’d kept digging, and Jaster had started with a bounty on information about Xanatos du Crion. What they’d found was… not promising.

After the whole… thing with du Crion’s father, uncovering his corruption and overthrowing him and plunging the planet into widespread rioting, a new Governor had taken over, and things had started to stabilize. But now… Well, a few of the Haat’ade- aligned hunters had dug up some dirty laundry on Telos.

Xanatos du Crion and somebody named Vox Chun were plotting to assassinate the new Governor, fabricate evidence to clear du Crion’s father of the crimes he really had been guilty of, and take over the planet.

The Jetiise, when they’d passed the information and their proof on, had seemed incredibly disturbed. They’d said something about Falling, whatever that meant (and Jango had been able to hear the capital forn when they’d said it, the way he and Jaster both could sometimes when Ben said Dark), and that they would send their own people after him. Jaster had said that he’d have his keep an eye out as well, and try to bring him in, if they could—and that, for the last few months, had been that.

Of kriffing course Xanatos du Crion had to be found and brought back when Jaster wasn’t even here, and the karking Jetiise had just left.

Jango didn’t question how Ben had known they were arriving, having already seen him pull the same trick when Korr and the Jetii, Dooku, had come back, and several other times already. It usually happened with familiar people, but… Well, Ben had seen him in a vision—maybe that had been enough to tell Ben what he… “felt like.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jango saw movement and sighed heavily. “Nayc, vod’ika,” he said. “Oh, no you don’t. You are staying right here, and I’m calling Jorin.”

Ben turned that utterly lethal pout on him, and Jango huffed, quickly turning back to his datapad to message Jorin (partly because it was necessary and urgent, yes, but also, admittedly, at least in part to escape that look). That done, he looked back to Ben, fully intending to keep a very close eye on him to make sure he didn’t sneak out to try to go see the crazy Jetii would-be assassin.

“Jango—” Ben tried again, and he recognized that tone, the one that said can’t we talk about this like civilized people? (Which, ‘lek, was a phrase he heard frequently from Ben, both explicitly and implied.)

“I know you know who’s coming,” Jango said, and Ben nodded. “He’s dangerous, Ben’ika. What kind of ori’vod would I be if I let my baby brother anywhere near that sort of person?”

Ben frowned at him. “If I’m willing to wait until he’s… settled somewhere secure—” A secure holding cell, Jango knew he was just too polite to say. “—then would you or Jorin take me to see him?”

“This isn’t a negotiation, vod’ika,” Jango said, and Ben’s expression tightened. “With Jaster gone and Jorin busy in the forge, I’m the one in charge of keeping you safe for now, and I’m saying nayc. I know you don’t like it, but that’s the answer.”

Ben let out a frustrated sounding noise, looking for all the world like he was about to argue, and Jango braced himself for a fight. But as soon as Ben opened his mouth, he snapped it shut again and took several deliberate breaths.

“We’ll discuss it later, when Jorin gets back,” Ben said. That was… better than Jango had expected, so he just nodded.

(The answer, of course, wouldn’t change. Jorin would be in complete agreement with Jango, and that would be the end of it.

Ben was just going to have to learn to deal with people valuing his safety and care above anything else—including the messages he got from the ka’ra.)

---

Xanatos.

The cell the Mandalorians had shown him to as soon as they’d arrived was… surprisingly comfortable—in fact, it barely deserved to be called a cell. If it weren’t for the fact that every bit of furnishings in the space (the bed, two chairs, and a small table) was bolted down to the floor, and one wall was comprised of a red rayshield, Xanatos would have been more inclined to call it a bunk. There was even an attached ‘fresher, though it had a frosted sort of panel in place of a door; it would maintain some privacy, but they would still be able to see, for the most part, what he might be doing in there, and there was no mirror within it, nothing he could break to form into a weapon.

“You comfortable enough for now, kiddo?” Veira asked, leaning against the wall just on the other side of the rayshield. Xanatos could hear the sincerity, the genuine concern in her voice—despite having kidnapped him, she seemed just as earnest in her care now as she had been during the journey to Mandalore.

And Force, was that infuriating.

Xanatos forced himself to breathe through it, not to snap out a biting reply as he wanted to. He hadn’t been able to best Veira when she had been a lone Mandalorian intent on capturing him, and he was well aware that they were now in the Mandalorian capital, and therefore surrounded by large numbers of capable warriors. Mandalorians were incredibly skilled when it came to fighting Force-sensitives, and apparently well-prepared for it. There was no way he would be able to fight his way out—particularly without his lightsaber, which she had also taken from him.

No, he had only one option left to him to find a way out: however much it rankled to play nice with these people, he would have to rely on diplomacy for now.

“Fine,” Xanatos ground out, managing to keep his voice mostly-level instead of snarling or snapping at her as he so dearly wanted to.

“Good, good,” Veira said. “You hungry yet?”

“No.”

“Alright then,” Veira said, still so inappropriately cheerful and also so patient, just as she had during the journey to Mandalore. “Dinner will come around in a couple of hours. In the meantime, you want anything?”

“To leave, perhaps,” Xanatos said, again able to keep his voice even through conscious effort. Veira sighed.

“Sorry, kid, but that’s not happening anytime soon,” she said. Xanatos looked up, feeling his lips twitching, but he wrestled down the scowl that wanted to appear and instead just narrowed his eyes at her. She was still in her full armor; he had yet to get a glimpse beneath it, and had no idea what Veira looked like under the armor.

Under the beskar, of course. Force-muffling beskar played a large part in Mandalorians’ suitability in combatting Force-wielders, and Veira was smart enough, it seemed, to keep herself surrounded by it when anywhere near Xanatos.

And he wasn’t certain how they had done it, since he hadn’t been drugged again and the cuffs had been removed after he’d been transferred to this cell, but they were restricting his sense of the Force down to a trickle. He wasn’t entirely cut off, the Mandalorians seemingly aware that completely severing someone’s connection to the Force was something akin to torture, and could even have adverse effects on their physical health, but…

But they had restricted it just enough to ensure that Xanatos wouldn’t be able to draw on it to escape this place. If one of them would just approach him without their helmet on, then perhaps he could manage enough control for a mind trick, but until and unless that happened… Well, without the Force and his lightsaber, as he’d already realized, the only weapon left to him was his words.

“I was thinking more like one of the offline ‘pads,” Veira continued. “What do you like reading? Or watching, I guess—could download a couple holos for you, if you want.”

“Not right now,” Xanatos said, because he was trying to be at least somewhat diplomatic, given that it was his only real choice at the moment, and he had a feeling that if they gave him a ‘pad now, one that couldn’t even connect to the outside, he might very well destroy it. And that certainly wouldn’t do, not when he was trying to create a certain impression of himself, not when he was trying to convince them that this was some unfortunate misunderstanding, and they really should just cut him loose.

“Alright,” Veira said. “If you change your mind, let me know. In the meantime…” Veira moved, ducking around a corner—only to return with a chair a moment later. She scooted it over to the wall she’d been leaning against, angling it so that she would be facing Xanatos, still staring at him through the rayshield, and settled herself down. “I’ll keep you company.”

Xanatos clenched his jaw, biting back the various sharp replies that wanted to come out. “Why?”

“You remind me of my vod’ika —my baby brother,” Veira said with an easy shrug. “‘Sides, it seems cruel to just leave you here to rot, no matter how comfortable these holding cells in particular are.” Xanatos huffed under his breath, but again, bit down on the angry retort that threatened to fall from his lips.

Looking around again at the cell, Xanatos finally succumbed to the inevitable, going to one of the chairs and settling down in it. Veira let out an approving sort of hum and Xanatos looked down to hide his answering sneer.

“I’ll admit,” Xanatos said slowly, “that I’m still rather… bewildered by all of this. I haven’t the faintest idea what I could possibly have done to earn such attention from Mandalore.”

Veira made some sort of noise, difficult to identify through her helmet, but might have been a grunt or a snort or perhaps even a huff. “I got a little more intel on that when I commed to let them know we were on our way,” she said. “What, exactly, you were planning on doing, what the plot was, I’m not sure—that’s a little above my paygrade, y’know? But the list of charges you and your friend Chun racked up… It’s a pretty impressive list. Conspiracy to commit murder, soliciting an assassin’s services, fabricating evidence, espionage, not to mention the money laundering and extortion… Chun’s going away for a long, long time—now that we’ve located and secured you, they’re finally moving on him, too.”

Xanatos felt the blood drain from his face and quickly looked away from Veira, down at the durasteel floor (which seemed to be heated a bit, Xanatos able to feel its mild warmth through the socks they’d left him with, taking his boots when they’d transferred him here and leaving him in a simple pair of tunics and pants, soft enough but able to hide nothing, without even pockets).

Two things were becoming clear very quickly: as to the first, the Mandalorians knew entirely too much. And the second… It seemed Vox Chun was having problems of his own, now. That meant that Xanatos’s protection was gone.

And it meant that there was a distinct possibility that Xanatos wouldn’t be able to talk himself out of this one.

Unless… He could tell a few twisted truths, perhaps make them believe that Chun had manipulated him, lied to him… It had been Vox Chun’s idea, after all—at least, it had in the beginning, though Xanatos had expanded upon it and made his own alterations.

“Things are… a little more complicated for you, though, I guess,” Veira said with an easy shrug. “You might be legal-aged for a human in both the Republic and Manda’lase —ah, Mando space—but I guess you’re still technically a Jetii’ad?”

“What?” Xanatos hissed. He wasn’t entirely certain what she had just called him, but he recognized Jetii, close enough to the proper word to be discernable.

“Yeah, I guess you were presumed dead after a mission gone wrong,” Veira said, and there was something… sympathetic in her voice. It was so grating —he neither wanted nor needed her pity. “But then they realized you were alive and started looking for you. Whatever actually happened, though, I guess they still technically consider you one of theirs because you never formally left and you were never kicked out. So even though you’re technically considered an adult in most places, because the Jetiise still consider you a Jetii’ad —a, um… Paderwan? Padawin?”

“A Padawan,” Xanatos spat, and Veira nodded.

“‘Lek, one of those,” she said. “And I guess no matter how old they are and whether they’re legal for their species, all of the… Padawans are considered minors. So the Governor on Telos is moving forward with charges against Vox Chun now, but he agreed to let the Jetiise deal with you, ah… in-house, shall we say.”

Xanatos stared at her. Part of him—a large part of him—was enraged, feeling his pulse start to creep up, his heartbeat a tangible thud in his chest, then. The Jedi had killed his family and then abandoned him, and now they chose to stake a claim?

Utterly infuriating.

But another part was… confused. There was no way Qui-Gon fucking Jinn could have misunderstood what had happened. There was no way he hadn’t realized that Xanatos had divorced himself from the Order and everything it represented—and especially his former-Master. The High Council should have known already that he had died or he had left the Order, and therefore, either way, he should not have been their problem or their concern anymore.

Then again… Qui-Gon had always been terrible when it came to communicating with the Council about his missions, his methods, and their outcomes. He was surprisingly terrible at communication for someone with a reputation as an excellent negotiator.

And, more pressing than that… Why and how were Mandalorians in contact with the Jedi Order? Why and how had one of their “missing Padawans,” as they apparently considered him to be, become a concern for Mandalorians?

How had that ended with a bounty on Xanatos that saw him taken to Mandalore and a surprisingly comfortable holding cell instead of turned in to the Governor on Telos?

“I wouldn’t be too worried,” Veira said, apparently misunderstanding the reason for his continued, mute staring. “The Jetiise are sending a couple people—they should be here in just a week or two. The new Je’tsadii and a couple of baar’ur’e —ah, the… The Jetii who’s coming to stay here and a few… medics? Doctors? Whatever you call them in Basic. They’ll be here soon enough, and they’ll get you sorted.”

“What?” Xanatos repeated. Fierfek, this was worse than he’d thought. Not only were the Mandalorians in communication with the Jedi Order, they were also sending a team to Mandalore?

…fuck. Fuck. He had to find a way out of here before the Jedi arrived.

The alternative was unthinkable. The idea of spending even a second in the same room as one of the holier-than-thou Jedi, preaching peace and Light and harmony and tolerance while he knew what sort of murderers they really were…

It was intolerable.  

“‘Lek,” Veira said, nodding again. “Honestly, I’m not too sure what they’re planning on doing with you, but like I said, I wouldn’t be too worried. They’re supposed to be nice and forgiving, aren’t they? And you’re still one of their kids. I’m sure it’ll work out fine.”

“This,” Xanatos said, feeling his pulse start to climb ever more rapidly, rising from the chair and balling his hands into fists, “is anything but fine.”

Oh, how he wished he could feel just a bit more of the Force, enough to harness it, enough to use it. As it was, he sensed only whispers and faint swirling, nothing like the cold, raging storm he’d gotten used to whirling around him in the time since… since one father of his had murdered the other.

Xanatos wanted to reach out with nothing more than a thought and twist the metal around him until it was unrecognizable in shape, until he’d carved a hole in this cell with nothing more than his own will and his own power. He wanted to reach out and wrap that Darkness around Veira, smothering her in it, and then every last one of them he came across until he carved a path of destruction towards some means of escape, but—

But the Force wasn’t responding. It was still there, still present in the back of his mind, just barely pressing against his skin, but it was so faint, and—

“You alright, kid?” Veira asked, suddenly sounding a little uncertain.

“You’ve kidnapped me, shoved me into a cell, taken my lightsaber from me, restricted my access to the Force, and then told me that the people I despise most in this galaxy still consider me to be one of their children, and they are coming for me,” Xanatos snarled. “None of that is alright— Nothing has been alright since my Master murdered my fucking father—”

There was a familiar pressure in his chest, a weight that wanted to burst. Normally, these days, that meant an explosion of power, letting the Dark take hold of him and using it to twist and rend and break and tear whatever or whoever was before him, again and again until the pressure finally eased, falling back to that low simmer that never seemed to leave him, now, but—

But the Dark wouldn’t answer him. The Force wouldn’t answer him, and Xanatos didn’t know what else to do with that weight.

Veira was saying something, but the blood was rushing in his ears, and he didn’t—couldn’t—hear her. Instead, he turned and crossed in two large, quick steps to one of the metal walls of this cell. With another snarl, he raised a fist, drew it back, and slammed it into the wall.

The metal didn’t give, didn’t so much as dent or buckle, not as it would have if he’d had the Force behind him. The pressure refused to ease; Xanatos did it again, hitting harder this time, hard enough to make his hand hurt, but that weight in his chest was still clawing at him, trying so hard to escape, and so he did it again.

And again. And again. And again.

Veira was shouting something now, though he still wasn’t listening to her, unable to listen as his focus narrowed to that pressure inside him trying to break free, that all too familiar rage, the wall before him, and his attempts to let that pressure out against it. Xanatos kept going, kept on hitting it, even though it was doing nothing—nothing to the wall and nothing to ease that feeling inside.

But without the Force, without the Dark… What else could he do?

Xanatos kept going even when he started to lose feeling in that hand. He kept going even when he started to see splotches of red appearing on the wall where he hit it.

He kept going even as some part of his mind, the small corner of himself that hadn’t been consumed in his rage, realized that something was wrong.

He kept going and going and going until, finally, he swayed. He felt dizzy, all of a sudden, and he stumbled, but managed not to fall. It was only then that he realized that his cell was filling with some sort of gas. He turned to snarl at Veira, to demand that she tell him what this was, to order her to stop it, but—

The words wouldn’t come, and his eyes felt so heavy. His hand throbbed—his entire arm throbbed—and the rest of his body quickly followed his eyelids, weighing him down. He stumbled again, then lost his feet. Sinking to one knee, he tried to look at Veira, only to find that his sight was blurring, and—

Xanatos wasn’t entirely sure when he slumped over onto the floor. His vision was still so fuzzy, so unclear, but he could see enough to know that he’d toppled over onto the ground. Veira approached, kneeling down just on the other side of the rayshield—she was so close that, with the Force, it would have been so simple, so easy, to kill her with only a thought and a touch of the Dark—

“Easy now, okay? Take it easy. You’ll be alright,” Veira said, and Xanatos tried to snarl at her again at the platitude, but it came out as nothing more than a grunt. “Just a little nap, okay? You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

Xanatos wanted to scream, he wanted to tear this place apart, he wanted to tear her apart, but—

But his body and his eyelids were so heavy, and he felt them slipping closed against his will, and his body felt so heavy, and it wasn’t long before he felt himself slump fully onto the floor, going lax.

After that, there was nothing more than quiet and dark, though not the sort he’d wanted, and Xanatos—however unwillingly—slept.

---

Ben.

Ben fought not to squirm in his discomfort, instead steadily continuing to meet Annan’s gaze. Several long seconds ticked by, and Annan just kept watching him, a small, pleasant smile on his face, and Ben took a deliberate breath, forcing himself to think about the very simple question Annan had chosen to open with: how are you feeling?

“I… I’m… perhaps a bit upset,” Ben admitted, and Annan hummed.

“Do you know why?” Annan asked, and Ben nodded. “Do you feel like telling me?”

“Both Jango and Jorin refused to let me go see Xanatos, when he was brought here,” Ben said, offering up a genuine concern and irritation, if not, perhaps, the one that was currently “upsetting” him the most. “Even though it’s… important to me.”

And there were so many reasons Ben wanted to see Xanatos du Crion, now. The most important of those… Well, the presence he’d sensed approaching was unmistakably the person he knew to be Xanatos du Crion, but it was so… different from what it had been before. But that made sense: Xanatos, in this time, had only Fallen about a year and a half ago. He was still so young, and he hadn’t yet Fallen so far as he had before.

There was still a chance that he could be saved before he went any further down that Dark path. Force, if Vader could do it, turning back from the Dark, then Xanatos du Crion could certainly manage it, if he only chose to.

And—well. Ben had been told before that he could be rather convincing, and his old moniker certainly supported that. It was usually doubly effective now because no one expected a seven-year-old child to be a Negotiator.

If he could just see Xanatos, and speak to him… Perhaps Ben could help him make the right choices, this time.

“Do you understand why they said no, Ben?” Annan asked, and Ben sighed softly.

“Yes,” he admitted, even though he didn’t want to. And even if Ben hadn’t understood on his own, both of them had sat him down and had a rather long talk with him about it after dinner the night before. They had made certain that Ben knew why they had refused his request. “I know they’re trying to protect me, and Xanatos is dangerous.”

Because even if he wasn’t the Xanatos du Crion Ben had known before, the one who had enslaved so many, and even thrown Ben, as a twelve-year-old child, into a deepsea slave mine to die just to hurt his former-Master, and tried to destroy a planet just to kill Qui-Gon, the Xanatos du Crion of this time was still Darkened. Ben knew that Jaster and the rest of his aliit had no idea what he’d done, slicing into their pads regularly to take a look at some of the files most interesting to him, but he’d seen enough to know what Xanatos was up to, and he had to agree that Xanatos was dangerous, even here and now.

“And do you understand why they want to protect you, Ben?” Annan asked, voice still so even, with that edge of gentleness to it that always set him on edge because it was the same kindly, well-intentioned sort of tone all healers of all sorts always took up, and Ben, as a general rule, did not much care for healers.

“Yes,” Ben admitted, forcing his thoughts back on topic. Annan hummed again and nodded to him, wordlessly urging him to go on, and Ben stifled a sigh. “I’m… young. I can’t defend myself as well as they could—” And oh, how that rankled. Ben was so used to being the protector, the guardian, and to have that reversed now… It chafed. “—and because they… They care about me.”

“Yes,” Annan agreed. “That’s part of it. But think of it this way: do you think any child should be put into a situation where they need to protect themselves, or need someone else to protect them?” Ben blinked at him and Annan smiled again. “What about Maul, Savage, and Feral? They were left to protect themselves until the Jetii and Korr showed up to protect them—and that protection, their help, was well-deserved, wasn’t it?” Ben nodded slowly, starting to feel a bit on edge, because he could sense a trap coming in this argument, but he couldn’t yet see what it was. “And even with the Jetii and Korr arriving to protect them, do you think Maul, Savage, and Feral should have been put in that situation to begin with?”

“Of course not,” Ben quickly said. “They’re just children—”

…oh. That had been the trap.

“Exactly,” Annan said with another nod. “And that applies to you too, Ben. You’re still so young right now, and children are to be cherished and protected, kept from harm and danger whenever and wherever possible. I know you feel like you should be trusted with more responsibility—” Ben nodded his agreement, if a bit tentatively, this time, because a mindhealer agreeing with him and restating his own thoughts never ended well. “—but what kind of guardians would that make all of us if we let you place yourself in harm’s way? Do you think that you deserve to be put in those situations?”

“I— I wouldn’t say that I deserve it,” Ben said slowly. “But I… If others need help, and I can help, then I feel that I should.”

“You do have an over-developed sense of responsibility, compassion, and duty,” Annan said, a rueful sort of feeling coloring the edges of his overall calm-steady presence. “But these things are not your responsibility or your duty—not yet. You can and do help already, Ben. Every time you warn someone about what you’ve seen, you help. But anything beyond that is not your responsibility—and it won’t be for quite some time, yet. What matters far more right now is our duty to you as one of our young.” Gentler, Annan added, “You’re just a child, Ben. Don’t take on the burdens meant for those who are supposed to care for you.”

“But I—” Ben paused, swallowing hard, wondering just how much he should say. This time, he couldn’t quite help himself, shifting his weight a bit, if not quite outright squirming. “I don’t feel like I should be a child. I… I know that I am, but I feel like I should be… an adult already.”

“Why is that?” Annan asked, though Ben could read in his tone that he thought he already knew the answer. Again, Ben debated how honest to be, and quickly made up his mind.

“I’ve… seen things,” Ben said slowly, and he found his gaze drifting down to the floor and that bright, cheerful rug. “I’ve seen so many things that no one should ever have to see, especially a child, and I— I don’t know how to be a child anymore, after that.”

Annan was quiet for a moment, his presence rippling with some feeling that was gone too quickly for Ben to identify it. It was more than he’d planned to say and far closer to the truth than he’d really intended to get, but it was a safe enough admission. Ben knew more, now, about how Mando’ade handled Seers and visions, and no one was going to press him for more than he was willing to say about the contents of his visions. That fact made him secure enough to be a bit… freer, more candid, than he would ever have been otherwise.

“Between that, and your intellect,” Annan said slowly, “I can’t say I’m surprised that you’re struggling to… act your age. Do you want to talk about any of what you’ve seen?”

“No.”

“Alright,” Annan said easily, not at all put off by the vehemence of Ben’s refusal. “Then why don’t we start with some of the other things? I have a few suggestions for you. First, does it seem a little easier to be a child when you’re with others close to your age?”

Ben paused to think about that. In some ways, it did —he sometimes… forgot himself, and simply had fun, playing in the gardens or splashing around in the pools where they’d been teaching Maul and his brothers how to swim, but other times… Other times, he could only see younglings, forgetting that he was one himself, and felt some sort of… duty to them, finding himself looking after them more than enjoying his time with them.

“Sometimes,” Ben conceded.

“Why don’t you let some of the other adiik’e take the lead for a little while, then?” Annan said. “Let them choose the activity, and just join them in what they want to do. You might find that you like what they do as well. Let them guide you for a little while.”

“Alright,” Ben agreed easily. He’d done that often enough before, after all, visiting the creche and letting the younglings choose which activities to pull him into, indulging them for a few hours before he had to return to his duties. “I suppose I can try that.”

Annan’s smile was brighter than before, both physically and in the Force, obviously pleased by Ben’s agreement. It was a simple enough thing to promise, and Ben felt himself relaxing a bit.

“Now, as for the other suggestion I have… I know you meditate often, both with Korr and on your own, so I’m sure you’re already aware of the power our own minds can have over themselves,” Annan said, and Ben nodded his agreement. “I’d like you to try a few affirmations for me, some phrases and ideas you should repeat to yourself—either aloud or in your thoughts, it doesn’t matter. I’ll write them down for you as well, though I’m sure with your mind, you’ll remember them even without that reminder.” Annan paused to wink at him, and Ben found himself tentatively smiling back. “Ready? Alright, then.

“‘I am not responsible for others, only myself.’

“‘As a child still growing up, my only duties are to learn, grow, and communicate my thoughts and needs.’

“‘I am worthy of care and protection.’

“‘I can offer my help, but others may not accept it. If they refuse to let me help, it’s to protect me, and that’s as important as what I’m trying to help with.’”

Annan paused, seemingly finished, and Ben blinked at him for a moment. That was… Well, that was all so contradictory to who Ben was as a person, and who he had been and what he had done as a Jedi Master. Jedi had an inherent responsibility to and for others, and they had so many duties, and they did the caring and protecting, and they were duty- and -oath-bound to help wherever and whenever they possibly could—

But, Ben reminded himself, swallowing hard… He wasn’t a Jedi Master. He had a Jedi Master’s memories within him, a Jedi Master’s understanding and knowledge of the galaxy around him, but right now…

Right now, he was a child. He would have to grow into being that person again.

“Do you think you could repeat those things to yourself from time to time?” Annan asked.

Ben stared at him for a little while, mulling that over. It still felt… wrong, in a way— dissonant might have been the better word, he thought. It was so unlike the lessons he’d learned in his last life, and—

And, Ben realized with a sudden, sharp burst of insight, that… wasn’t necessarily a wholly bad thing, was it? Force, even Qui-Gon, in that ghostly form Ben had eventually learned to reach out to in his exile, had said many times that the lessons that Ben had learned were not the ones Qui-Gon had meant to teach him.

And there was so much he wanted to change, after all, and not all of those changes came down to the events themselves.

How many times had he thought to himself that just maybe, if he’d been better, if he’d been less damaged and more open and kinder and more supportive and more understanding, if he’d set a better example, then perhaps he might have stopped Anakin from Falling? He’d thought to himself that if he’d just been better, then he might have been able to save Ahsoka from her fate and kept her from being driven from the Order. He’d thought to himself that if he’d just been better then he could have saved Qui-Gon, and Satine, and the entire Jedi Order, the Republic, the kriffing galaxy, and—

Cody and all of his brothers.

Ben didn’t want things to go as they had before—but, more than that… The more he thought about it, the more Ben realized that neither did he necessarily want to be exactly the same person he had before.  He had an unprecedented opportunity to do it all again, and to do it better. And he had an opportunity most people only dreamt of: to become someone new —someone better, someone capable of stopping those things and fixing those old mistakes.

He wasn’t Jedi Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi, not anymore—he couldn’t be, after everything he’d seen and lived through that he now remembered despite the fact that none of it had happened here in this universe.

But neither was he Jedi Master Ben Kenobi, Hermit, Wizard of the Wastes, the man burdened by so much loss and so many mistakes and countless intolerable failures.

There were parts of both that Ben wanted to live up to, and grow into again, and develop, of course. But… There were other things he wanted to change, and now he saw the opportunity that was before him personally —not just the opportunity this represented for the galaxy.

Perhaps… Perhaps he could use this opportunity to teach himself different lessons, this time, to learn new things. Perhaps he could forge himself into someone new, someone better, than the man he’d been, who had simply never been enough.

And perhaps he could start by trying to take Annan’s advice. He could try it, at least for a little while, and… reevaluate as-needed.

The Force felt so bright, so warm and downright encouraging—almost pleased, even—when Ben tried for a smile and said, “I… suppose I could give it a try.”

Annan wasn’t a Jedi, and he certainly wasn’t Master Yoda, and so Ben’s answer pleased him. Instead of reminding him to do, or do not, Annan simply smiled back, just as bright and pleased and encouraging as the Force seemed to be, and said, “That’s the spirit, Ben.”

Notes:

Mando'a:
Je'tsadii - My made-up word for Watchman. Je prefix for Jedi (Jetii) and tsad means watch

So this Xanatos is *years* away from the person we saw in the Jedi Apprentice series. In time, he would’ve learned how to calm himself outwardly better, to put on a better front, but right now, his control over the Dark Side, and himself, is less than stellar. He *can* seem charming and poised, but he has a much harder time *maintaining* that front than the older Xanatos who’d developed and grown into himself more. This is still six years off from his first appearance in the novels, and he’s still young, angry, and directionless right now (think Ep. II Anakin). (Also, just preemptively... Poor Bruck. :,( When he finds out about his dad... Oof.)

Jango’s internal narration: Ben is… weirder than usual. …huh.
Jango: By weirder than usual, I mean that my seven-year-old brother is… showing an interest in age-appropriate toys.
Jango: …it’s weird for *Ben,* okay? I should… keep an eye on that.
Jango: …do I ask if he’s okay???
Jango: …no, he’d just tell me everything is fine and immediately stop doing… whatever he’s doing and pretend it never happened. Sigh. I guess I’ll just… keep an eye on it?
Jango: Okay, he’s drawing now. That’s… good. That’s more normal on the Ben-scale. I can deal with that. Whew. Okay. We’re in the clear!
Meanwhile, Ben, internally: …I am a child.
Ben: …I do not know how to *be* a child. What do I do? How do I… child?
Ben: I guess… children like these sorts of toys, right? I guess I could… try it.
Ben, staring at the toys, having an existential crisis over *being a child*: …I can’t do this. I feel ridiculous.
Ben: I guess I’ll… draw? The mindhealer seemed to like that idea. And it seems at least somewhat age-appropriate.
Ben: But what do I draw? Hmm.
Ben: …
Ben, who has recently spent countless hours fixating on his troopers and one person in particular: …Cody! :D
Ben: …I still miss Cody. :,(
Ben: …this activity is not as relaxing as I think the mindhealer hoped it would be.

Veira: Sooo… You’re probably gonna be here a while. Want something to read?
Xanatos: No.
Veira: A holo to watch?
Xanatos: No.
Veira: Some food?
Xanatos: No.
Veira: Huh. Well, since it’s kinda cruel to take an obviously, ah, confused kiddo and shove them in a cell just to stare at the walls, I guess I’ll keep you company! You remind me of my baby brother, you know.
Xanatos: Charming.
Veira: Yeah, he’s kinda feral, too. He used to be a biter—still is, actually, at least sometimes. He fights dirty when he spars. Anyway, lemme know if there’s anything you need, k?
Xanatos: I need to leave.
Veira: …yeah, anything except for that. For now, just relax, k? Your guardians are coming for you, and they’ll help you sort yourself out.
Xanatos: My… guardians.
Veira: Yeah, the Jetiise. Y’know. Jedi. Robes? Laserswords? The people you used to live with?
Xanatos: The Jedi. Are coming. Here?
Veira: Uh-huh. [Watching Xanatos turn a very interesting shade of white] Uuuuh, you good there?
Xanatos: ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY NOT. I thought I hated you, but it has NOTHING ON MY HATRED FOR THE JEDI. FORCE, I WISH I COULD STRANGLE YOU, I WISH I COULD RIP APART THIS ROOM, I WISH— GRRRRAAAH! [Starts punching innocent walls]
Veira: (…yeah, his coping mechanisms are Not Good. The Jetiise are really gonna have their work cut out for them with this one. Yeesh.) Hey, wait, no, stop, you’re gonna hurt yourself—
Xanatos: TOO FUCKING LATE FOR THAT—
Veira: *Heavy sigh* Yeah, we’re gonna need some sedatives in that cell. The fast-acting ones. Like, right now, before the kid permanently breaks himself. [Watching Xanatos go night-night] There you go, just take a little nap. Everything always feels better after a nap, even for adults! It’s like the sentient, organic equivalent of turning a malfunctioning droid off and back on again, step one of troubleshooting— Aaand he’s asleep. Thank fuck. Okay, now… medics, I guess?
Veira: …
Veira: …then hopefully the Jetiise. I am Not Qualified to deal with this on my own. YIKES.

The Force: Did… Did my BB just trick himself into cooperating with therapy and trying to follow the mindhealer’s advice through the vehicle of his absolutely SHIT self-esteem and his tendency to put every single thing that goes wrong down to a personal flaw and therefore wanting to change himself to be *less of a horrible failure*???
The Force: …he did.
The Force: …at least he’s heading in the right direction, now?
The Force: …you know what, I’ll take it. Good job, BB! I’m so proud of you!!!

Anyway, I don’t have room for much more down here, LOL, but I hope you enjoyed! :D

Chapter 15

Notes:

Hello again! :) Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos last chapter! Man, that was a big response to that one. <3 We are starting to pick up steam on this arc as I try extra super hard to get to the next one that I already have written, so hopefully the muse stays with me for a little while longer! :D

One note about Ben before we get started…
Ben’s behavior is going to pretty much stay as it has been. He now has an explanation for some of his knee-jerk reactions and thoughts, the childish impulses and reactions that he’s had, but that’s about it. He’s trying to make sense of what this all *means* to and for him, but he’s still got an adult’s understanding of the world—just in a child’s body with a child’s reflexes, impulse control, and needs (like wanting cuddles, d’aww). In some ways, being *aware* of that actually means that he’s going to do some of that less, like when he stopped himself from arguing with Jango about Xanatos. He won’t always be able to control himself, and the childishness will keep slipping about, but just about as much as it has throughout the fic to this point.

So we will see Ben deciding what this means to him and how he wants to proceed (like staring at the toys before deciding mm, no, still not for me), but overall, his behavior and reactions are basically not going to change a whole lot. And “deciding what this means to him” also means that he’s not just going to take the mindhealer’s advice wholesale, either. Ben hasn’t been anywhere close to completely honest there, so he knows not all of the advice and direction he gets will be applicable. But now he’s actually *trying* to make something out of it, and that’s… better than where he was at before! :P We’ll see the start of that process in the second part of this chapter. He’s trying, and that’s what counts! <3

Whew, anyway, on that note, hope you enjoy the next installment! :D

Jaster.

Jaster was… torn.

He was all too aware of the possible complications that could arise from the plans they were enacting. If the Republic saw through the ruse too early, if they realized that the Mando’ade on Coruscanta were more closely tied to Manda’lase than they’d thought… Well, there was a real and pressing risk of the Senate taking it out of their hides, gunning for the Mando’ade they could reach instead of those safely outside of their influence in Manda’lase.

But while the Al’aliit’e they’d spoken to so far also realized that, it still hadn’t been difficult to gain their agreement. As he’d told Cygan he would, Jaster had started by explaining how Ben had come to him, and how he had come into contact with the Jetii’tsad in the first place, and that had made them angry, just as Jaster had known it would. Ad’e were precious, and to hear how carelessly and callously the Senate was willing to discard them…

Well, suffice to say that Jaster had no problems gaining their agreement in his plans to help the Jetiise escape the Republic, and Sheena’s staff had to clean up after a few of them who’d become so angry they’d thrown their glasses, or gone downstairs to brawl in the designated sparring areas.

But once they’d all cooled down, the questions came: if they helped, what would become of the Mando’ade here in Keld’ika, within reach of the Senate? If and (infinitely more likely) when the Republic’s officials realized their true role in this escape plan, any and all of those of them left on the Republic’s capital world would be left in danger.

But they had a plan for that, too. It was ambitious, and it would require those who lived here to be willing to give up their lives as they knew them, but they seemed to think it was a small price to pay for the safety of children.

The first three Al’aliit’e agreed to the plan Jaster laid out: once the Jetii’tsad was safely away, those in Keld’ika would follow, to head back to Mandalore. Much as he hated to admit it, Jaster and the Haat’ade needed more help, more beingpower, to finally put an end to Kyr’tsad —and, Jaster had realized a bit ruefully, Cygan had been right. The Mando’ade who called Coruscanta home hadn’t been very active in the conflicts within Manda’lase because he hadn’t Called for them to be. As soon as Jaster told them that he needed more help, he had gotten immediate agreement and the promise of more verd’e pledged to their cause sent after them to Keldabe, to report to Jaster and his Al’verde as soon as the Jetiise were safely away.

But… The only Al’aliit’e, and therefore, the only Clans, in Keld’ika who would be aware of what they were doing now and the need to escape Coruscanta before the Senate could aim their wrath at those they could still reach were those who were either sworn to Jaster, or inclined to swear to him if push came to shove—as it now had. That meant that the only Mando’ade left behind in Keld’ika when the dust had settled would be those sworn to Aliit Vizsla.

And that had Jaster torn. Just as the Mando’ade here who were Haat’ade- leaning didn’t generally participate in the politics in Manda’lase proper, the Kyr’tsad- leaning Mando’ade didn’t tend to, either. The war hadn’t reached Keld’ika, everyone behaving… at least superficially cordially towards each other in this neutral space, and… Well, Jaster didn’t know if he could stomach leaving them to the tender mercies of the Republic Senate, Aliit Vizsla or not, when they hadn’t technically done anything wrong —for the most part, anyway.

But neither could he stomach the idea of endangering the Jetiise, the Haat’ade, and their plans by warning them. It put him in quite a predicament, one he had yet to solve, one he had yet to see any real solution for.

“‘Alor,” Cygan sighed, half to Jaster and half into his second tankard of netra’gal, “they’re Aliit Vizsla. They’re hardly paragons of virtue, whether they were directly involved in the war or not.”

“But there are innocents among them, and if I lump them in with the guilty, I will be exactly the sort of shabuir I claim to hate,” Jaster said, for perhaps the eighth time in the last hour alone.

Cygan let out a hmph, taking yet another drink. “Why don’t you ask the Jetiise about it when you speak to them next? They know the Senate better than we do, and they might have some idea about how we can get them to recognize the distinctions between Clans, and not to hold one Clan and House responsible for another’s actions.”

“‘Lek,” Jaster hummed. “That’s likely a good idea. I’m sure Dooku will have his own thoughts on it—he seems quite familiar with the Senate.”

“He also seems to hate them in a way I thought Jetiise weren’t allowed to,” Cygan said, the amusement in his tone mirrored by the crooked, sly sort of grin on his face. Jaster snorted.

“They’re allowed to feel, vod,” Jaster said. “They’re just not allowed to act on those feelings above logic and the greater good.”

Cygan waved a hand in a dismissive gesture, shrugging one shoulder. “You’re the one with a grasp of the finer points of Jetii philosophy and doctrine, so I suppose I’ll take your word for it,” he said. “Now, have you looked over the proposal that other Jetii, Rancisis, sent?”

“I have,” Jaster agreed, fanning out the pile of ‘pads he’d accumulated in their makeshift “command center,” taking over the back room at the Lararyc Dinii. Sheena, like so many others who had forewarning, was already subtly starting to pack everything up—and she’d even found ways to remove the murals from the walls, preserving the ancient art. “Here we are. The phase one reclamation proposal.”

Though they would have to wait on a large-scale AgriCorps project on Mandalore itself until Tor Vizsla and Kyr’tsad had finally been subdued, there were other steps their own people could take in the meantime. Not to mention the difficulties the Jetiise would have committing a large number of their people to the project right from the start, even without considering the necessary waiting period while they dealt with Kyr’tsad.

The Temple here on Coruscanta, Jaster had eventually learned, grew most of its own food and kept numerous herds of animals within its walls, providing for the Jetiise who lived there. But their new locations would need time, too, before they were able to provide for the Jetiise who would live there. There would be much other work to be done in those locations as well, given that they would need time for construction, and there would have to be Jetiise kept there at all times, just as there were in the Temple now, for maintenance as well as defense.

That meant that Jaster wasn’t keen to rely solely on Jetiise for this project anyway, and that Jetii, Rancisis, had been happy to outline several other ways Mando’ade, even those who weren’t ka’ra’tigaanla, could help with the renewal of Mandalore beyond what they’d already been doing under the small garden domes’ cover. There were many things that still needed to be done that didn’t require the ka’ra before they could truly start in earnest: atmospheric testing, mapping the underground caverns where their water was closest to the surface and the deeper water tables, testing that water, constructing interim housing for the Jetiise who would eventually be coming for the project and all of the other workers who would be there in the meantime, beginning the planting of basic cover crops in the areas they would work first…

In sum, there was plenty of work to be done on Mandalore itself. The verd’e would be needed in the fight to put down Kyr’tsad once and for all, and they would need engineers, scientists, and construction workers both to prepare for and to run the AgriCorps project. It would require a great influx of beings on Mandalore itself to make all of this work, and they would be needed just as the Mando’ade in Keld’ika would be forced to leave Coruscanta for their own safety.

With the promise of steady work back on Mandalore, the Al’aliit’e were satisfied that their Clans would be provided for if and when they left Coruscanta, and their agreement came easily enough. The preparations for their own leaving would be subtle, for now, just as they were among the Jetiise —though, despite having lived in this sector for millennia, they were still Mando’ade, and they were nomadic at heart and by practice. It wouldn’t be terribly difficult to pack up their belongings on the ships they already had and scatter to the winds, regrouping on Mandalore as soon as the Jetiise had left. Everything could be moved save the buildings themselves, and most would be able to live out of their ships until housing was completed for them.

If all went to plan, the moment the last ship of Jetiise was safely away from Coruscanta, the Mando’ade in Keld’ika would follow them—and the only beings left there, the only Mando’ade left that the Senate would be able to reach, would be those Clans sworn to House Vizsla. Which sent Jaster’s thoughts right back to the moral quandary he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since it had finally occurred to him, but he forced it away. Cygan made a good point, and he could wait until later, when Dooku came around again, to ponder that any further.

With those plans settled, the meetings with the Senators finished and their approval messages received after they’d had a chance to review the evidence against Kyr’tsad and the Banking Clan, and Dooku settled as their prospective Jetii, Jaster was, overall, in high spirits indeed. Despite the troubling news about the return of the Dar’jetiise, the future looked so much brighter than he would’ve imagined it even a year ago.

And besides—what better ally would there be to have at their sides if the Dar’jetiise made a real comeback than the entire Jetii’tsad?

“You should call for an Al’urcyi when we return,” Cygan said. “The Evaar’ade would likely be willing enough to help with the renewal project, and the prospect might finally sway the last of the neutral Old Clans to us.”

“‘Lek,” Jaster agreed. “A good point. Even if they still refuse to face Kyr’tsad directly on the battlefield, perhaps they would be willing to protect those performing the work. They’ll be out in the wilds between the domes, after all, and Kyr’tsad will be far from the only danger they might face.”

“Gar serim,” Cygan said. “Now, about this proposed treaty and trade agreement from Garos the Jetiise managed to smuggle out to us… I can see several ways we can use this to bolster our renewal project and lessen our reliance on the Jetii AgriCorps at the same time. We’ll have an influx of new workers, that much is true, but our project will undoubtedly call many of our farmers away from their own lands, and that will leave us even shorter on basic staples in the short-term. This might be a feasible way to mitigate that until the Jetiise are stable enough to make good on their promise to ‘make up the difference.’”

“I skimmed that one,” Jaster admitted, “but haven’t had a chance to read through it properly. Walk me through it?”

“Of course,” Cygan said, fishing out the relevant ‘pads so they each had their own copies. With that, they went back to work—though, not so deep down in the back of his mind, Jaster couldn’t quite help that almost giddy optimism he felt.

There would be hiccups, of course, complications to iron out—there always were—but already, the future looked so much brighter than even Jaster had ever imagined it could.

---

Ben.

As he’d promised, Ben was… trying. He was making an attempt with these “affirmations” Annan had recited for him.

But Force, was this a struggle.

I am not responsible for others, only myself.

Ben had carefully dissected that idea—and, in some ways, he agreed with it. He had no control over others, over their choices, thoughts, and behaviors, and seeking control over such things… That was the path to the Dark Side. He was well aware of that. But in other ways, he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He did feel a responsibility for and to others—he felt he had a duty to them, a duty to help those in need because he was capable of it (even in spite of his current… situation —he was physically young, and mentally young in many ways, but he was still capable of so much more than the average child).

He was a Jedi through and through, for all that he was no longer a member of the Jedi Order—but, then, even on Tatooine, when there had been no Jedi Order any longer, Ben Kenobi had been a Jedi. It was as much a part of him as anything else, and Jedi had a duty to help and serve others.

And that idea bled into the next that Ben struggled with most: As a child still growing up, my only duties are to learn, grow, and communicate my thoughts and needs.

Annan had had no way to realize how… off the mark that was—though that was his own fault, of course. Ben had been far less than completely honest with him, and so Annan had no way to take into account all of the… irregularities of Ben’s life and self. But Ben was hesitant to tell the full truth—to anyone —and the Force hadn’t seemed to have an opinion on the matter one way or another, and so he’d kept his silence for now.

So, yes, Ben was a child in many ways, and some of those were important and would have such a great impact on him and his life and where he went and how he developed from here. He was a child who still needed to grow up, but one with an entire lifetime of memories already present, allowing him an unprecedented opportunity to see the shape of the path he wanted to take—and what he wanted to avoid —before he had to grapple with those ideas and situations for what would be the first time in this life. Already, he could draw from one set of experiences and he had a grasp of so much hard-earned wisdom, and both things would aid and guide him in who he chose to become in this life, how he developed and the actions he chose to take.

Ben was well aware that he was more advanced and, frankly, more capable than the average child. It wasn’t only that he had retained his memories, but also that he understood them. He grasped the complexities of the life he’d lived before, and there was no way he could turn off that kind of deep understanding of the galaxy they lived in.

Therefore, Ben reasoned that he couldn’t be blamed for holding himself to higher standards than anyone would ever set for the average child his biological age (and Force, how having to distinguish between his biological age and his mental age brought back even more memories of the clones, who had quickly taken to giving out their developmental age rather than their biological age, once they had seen the horror hearing that they were ten years old inspired in others). With that in mind, Ben had discarded that “affirmation”—at least for now, though he had vague plans to return to it at some point to form his own, more appropriate version, one that would remind him to be mindful of his current limitations while also acknowledging what duties he was currently capable of taking on.

I am worthy of care and protection.

Ben almost didn’t want to admit that he struggled with that one as well. On the surface, it seemed like such an easy concept to agree with. Of course he was worthy of care and protection— everyone was, after all. But peering a little deeper into the implications of that… Well, it forced Ben to circle back to the idea that he was now the protected instead of the protector, the one being cared for instead of the one doing the caring. And that was… uncomfortable.

More than that, even, Ben knew he grappled with… recklessness and self-negligence. It wasn’t entirely purposeful (save for those first few years on Tatooine, when the black void of Darkness that was the galaxy without the Lights of his family and friends had seemed to seep into his very bones and turned self-negligence into something… worse, something more severe, but—Ben tried not to think about those years, and it had eventually become… more manageable, especially once he learned to reach out to Qui-Gon’s spirit), but if others were in need, Ben would throw himself readily into danger, without a thought spared to the harm that might come to him or even, at times, without a thought spared to a plan to get himself back out of danger. And if there was a mission to complete, some duty he had committed himself to, then Ben would ignore his own needs in favor of ensuring whatever it was could be accomplished. His needs were secondary, sometimes even tertiary, and they always had been. (His wants had been considered utterly unimportant, in the face of duty, and what had to be done, of course. His needs, he had at least sometimes considered.)

Annan wasn’t the first person to make him question his treatment of himself, and his sense of self-worth. There had been others last time who had… tried to bring the matter to his attention (and some more gently and tactfully than others)—Master Tholme, during his apprenticeship, who had seen how he struggled, at times, even when his own Master hadn’t seemed to; later, his fellow Councilors, expressing their concerns for him, and how hard he worked himself, how much he demanded of himself; Cody, the 212th’s medics, Wasp and Black, and a slew of others from Ghost Company, had all tried to address it with him; Force, even Anakin had tried, in his own way, to talk to him about it. With all of that in mind, Ben had—somewhat reluctantly—decided to continue with that one as it had been delivered to him, and moved on to the next.

I can offer my help, but others may not accept it. If they refuse to let me help, it’s to protect me, and that’s as important as what I’m trying to help with.

Ben had broken that one down into pieces: I can offer my help, but others may not accept it. The first portion, he accepted with little trouble; that idea circled back to his first contemplations on the nature of control and the slippery slope to the Dark Side. He could offer his help, but others did not have to accept it, and he had to respect their decisions. Forcing his will upon them was the path to the Dark, no matter how well-intentioned he might have begun in the attempt.

But the second portion… If they refuse to let me help, it’s to protect me, and that’s as important as what I’m trying to help with. Ben was—slowly and, admittedly, grudgingly —coming to accept the idea that, here and now, in this form and this self as it was, he was not the Jedi Master he had been. There were positives to that, of course, as he’d already realized, seizing that opportunity to grow into a different version of himself, but there were certainly drawbacks as well. Here and now, Ben wasn’t capable of defending himself or others nearly as well as he had been (though he was rather far from helpless, thank you), and that meant that both what he could do to help was restricted and what help he needed was increased.

And Force, how that chafed. Ben was infinitely grateful to the Force for the gift he had been given, the chance to save so many, the chance to save the galaxy, and he was well aware that the earlier in the timeline he began to make changes, the more he could do to shape a brighter future for everyone. But in coming back this far…

Ben was going to have to learn how to rely on others again, and there was no getting around that fact.

Mulling over all of those conclusions, Ben modified that final “affirmation” as well, splitting it into two pieces. The first, he kept as it had come: I can offer my help, but others may not accept it.

The second, he changed rather radically, though Ben thought it was a far better fit for him as he was now: I cannot do everything alone; I must trust others to do their part. That was still such an uncomfortable idea, but Ben knew how little choice he had in it, the reminder that even without his direct intervention, others could still help him to change events a necessary one—not to mention that as soon as he had settled upon that rephrasing, the Force had swirled around him with such a Light-bright- pleased feeling, as if telling him it approved of his choice.

Ben sat back, looking at the sheet of flimsi on which he’d scrawled both the original affirmations and his own versions—written, of course, in a shorthand code developed by the 212th and used by them alone, and therefore known to no one else, now—and read over his own approved list once more in its entirety.

I am not responsible for others, only myself.

I am worthy of care and protection.

I can offer my help, but others may not accept it.

I cannot do everything alone; I must trust others to do their part.

That was… better. There were still inherently uncomfortable ideas and notions tied up in all of it, concepts he knew he struggled with, but it was… more appropriate for him, this person who was not-quite-Initiate-Kenobi-yet-not-quite-Master-Kenobi.

“You’re working awfully hard on that,” Jorin said, and Ben looked up. He’d seated himself on a cushion at the caff table—far easier for him to sit and reach a level, flat surface than if he had chosen the kitchen table—while he worked, Jorin on the couch and reading over something on his ‘pad. “May I ask what it is?”

“Homework, after a fashion,” Ben said easily. “An… assignment of sorts from Annan.”

Jorin hummed. “Do you feel like telling me more specifically what it is?” he asked, and Ben bit his lip as he considered it.

“Not now,” he said. “But… maybe some other time.”

“Alright,” Jorin agreed easily. And oh, how Ben appreciated that— all of them, Jorin, Jaster, Jango, and Korr, all of those who formed his closest support network, always asked if he felt like sharing, but they never pushed further if he said no. “Jango should be finished with the squad briefing soon; he’s running a few errands for me after that. Is there anything you want him to pick up for you?”

Ben hummed, thinking that over. He knew that he had lost the battle with them over the matter of Xanatos, and being allowed to visit him; if he wanted to do so, he would have to sneak out and go by himself, or wait for Jaster to come back and convince him to overrule their decision. For now, Ben had chosen to accept their refusal, all too aware of the fact that while he had a lightsaber, he wasn’t the Master of Soresu he had been, and while he had the Force, he wasn’t the Jedi Master he had been, either. He couldn’t defend himself nearly as well as he once could have, and if Xanatos was anywhere near as unstable as his actions seemed to suggest he was… Ben could acknowledge that it wasn’t, perhaps, the best idea to visit him unescorted and with others unaware of it.

But there was something else he could do—something that he didn’t think either of them would refuse him.

“I’ll make a list,” Ben said, and Jorin nodded. He looked away, tapping at his datapad for a moment, and then handed it over, a blank message to Jango already pulled up. Ben took it and smiled, immediately starting to list everything he would need for this.

They might have stopped him from seeing Xanatos, after all, but Ben doubted that they would refuse him if he wanted to send something to Xanatos. And he knew just what to send, since they couldn’t stop him from asking after Xanatos, either.

It wouldn’t be enough, not yet—but it was a place to begin, and that, at least, was something.

One step at a time, Ben reminded himself, and returned his full attention to his list.

---

Yaddle.

The Lararyc Dinii was an… interesting establishment. In some ways, it looked like any other cantina: the space was rather dimly lit overall though with several brighter lights around the bar itself, the space filled with booths and tables, patrons chattering away as they drank, creating a low buzz of noise that was generally inaudible over the music playing. But in other ways…

The art on the walls, the murals, were in a classic Mandalorian style, and there were several displays of ancient weapons hung up on the walls. What really caught Yaddle’s attention, however, was the more brightly lit corner apparently dedicated to sparring. There was a small crowd there, circling the two who were in the center when Yaddle, Plo, and Yan walked in. Yaddle had seen her fair share of cantina fights, of course, but this was the first she had ever seen with a dedicated area for such things. It was amusingly Mandalorian of them.

The others in the cantina noticed their entrance, but most of the Mandalorians turned back to their drinks and companions after glancing over to see who had just arrived, as if their appearance here was utterly unremarkable. A few others called out to Plo (“Su’cuy, Jetii Plo!”) and Yan (“Oya! Cuyi Dar’jetii’tracynii!”), though what they said, Yaddle had no idea. Only a moment after their arrival, a young, green-skinned Twi’lek woman hurried over to them, a broad smile on her face.

“Jetiise,” she greeted them when she came close enough to be heard over the music and the general din without shouting. All three of them bowed in unison.

“Sheena,” Plo said. “It is a pleasure to see you again. Thank you for hosting this meeting for us.” That put a name to the face for Yaddle, identifying the woman as the owner of this cantina.

“Ba’gedet’ye,” she said. “You’re right on time— ba’vodu Cygan and the Mand’alor are ready for you upstairs. You remember the way?”

“We do,” Yan confirmed, and Sheena nodded.

“Jate. I’ll be up in a few minutes with drinks. Any special requests?” she asked, eyeing Yaddle. She smiled—that was one of the more polite ways her dietary requirements had been asked after.

“Tea, if you should happen to have any, would be most welcome,” Yaddle said. “But if you should not, my companions mentioned something called ‘shig’ that I would be quite interested in sampling for myself.”

“Coming right up,” Sheena said, clapping her hands together and spinning on her heel, heading back towards the bar.

“This way,” Plo said, beginning to lead them on a winding path between the various tables and booths towards a stairwell in the back. Again, several people nodded to them and called out to them as they passed; the positive reception was still odd, but promising indeed. The Mandalorians all called them “Jetii Plo” and “Dar’jetii’tracynii,” though what that meant, what they were calling Yan, she still couldn’t puzzle out. “Jetii” was fairly obvious, and she thought “Dar’jetii” was their word for Sith, but the other component of it was beyond her.

But Plo, she knew, had learned quite a bit of Mando’a these past few months, corresponding with Jaster Mereel so often as he had since their former-Initiate’s adoption. Once they reached the relative privacy of the stairwell, Yaddle asked after it: “Do you know what they were calling Yan, Plo?”

Plo chuckled and Yan huffed softly, giving Yaddle the distinct impression that they both knew what it meant. “‘Dar’jetii’tracynii,’ which literally means ‘Sith shooter.’ It seems that story spread quickly.”

Yaddle laughed, though the part of her mind that never stopped thinking on such matters with a Shadow’s perspective wondered whether that might be a poor choice. Spreading the word of that story amongst themselves had obviously endeared the Mandalorians to Yan, and to the Jedi in general, but with the return of the Sith becoming semi-common knowledge, its security had to be called into question.

But, she thought to herself, it mattered very little, now. The Sith Yan and his companion had encountered on Dathomir knew that he was a Jedi, and they knew that they had not managed to kill them both. Therefore, the Sith already had to know that the Jedi and Mandalorians alike were aware of their return. There was little point in such strict secrecy, in that case, and Yaddle quickly decided to be grateful for the warning and the help with their reputation amongst Mandalorians that encounter had brought them.

Plo knocked when they reached their destination, and Yaddle recognized the Mand’alor’s voice, calling for them to come in. This space looked more like a meeting room than a cantina’s “back room,” with a long, low table, another mural behind it on the opposite wall, and two Mandalorians seated there, though both started to rise as they entered.

“Su’cuy, Plo, Yan,” Mereel said, and they all bowed again in their own greeting. Mereel looked down at Yaddle, then. “And a new face.”

“I am Master Yaddle,” she introduced herself. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, Mand’alor.”

“And you,” he said. “You’re on the Council, ‘lek?” She nodded, and Mereel smiled. “Jate. This is Cygan Ordo, one of the members of my own Council of Clans.”

“Well met,” Ordo said, nodding to her.

“Likewise.”

“Please, make yourselves comfortable, and we’ll get started,” Mereel said, settling himself back down. They obeyed, Yaddle settling herself down between Plo and Yan.

“I received your message about the political situation here in Keld’ika and the ramifications of our plan,” Plo said, “and I do have a few ideas for possible solutions.”

“Ori’jate,” Mereel said, nodding. Yaddle thought that was meant to be a positive expression, but his smile started to slip, fading into a more serious look, and the Force around him quivered a bit with something like worry. “I’ll be glad to hear them, and grateful for the help, but something more urgent has come up.”

“Oh?” Plo hummed.

“I know I already told you that one of my people got a hold of your missing ad, and took him back to Keldabe,” Mereel said, “and I know we agreed on a few of your baar’ur’e —ah, your… healers?” Plo nodded. “We had agreed that they would join the Watchman and work with du Crion, and that once you were established somewhere with a secure place to hold him, you would take him there.”

“I am sensing a ‘but,’” Yan said a bit drily. His shields had slammed down at the first mention of du Crion, though he hadn’t outwardly reacted. He had never been particularly close to that Grandpadawan of his, but even so, those events had rippled through the entire Lineage. It was still a painful subject for them all. Yaddle sent him a little pulse of comfort-warmth, feeling Plo doing the same, though both of them kept it light, barely brushing against his shields.

Mereel grimaced. “From what I’ve heard from my people who’ve been watching him, they all seem to think that that might make things worse,” he said. “They reported that he’ll seem mostly fine, almost normal, until something reminds him of you all. Then, he starts lashing out—broke his own hand punching a wall the first time before they could get him sedated. They’ve been better-prepared for the… outbursts since then, but from his reactions… They think a Jetii healer would just make things worse. I don’t know what actually happened, of course, but he keeps ranting about how the Jetiise killed his family.”

Plo and Yaddle both sighed softly. “A partial truth,” Yaddle said, her ears drooping, and Mereel tilted his head. “His father was the previous leader of their homeworld, and he was incredibly corrupt. The final mission du Crion took with his Master was to Telos; as we understand it, du Crion’s father attempted to sway him away from the Jedi. When the situation there escalated and the riots began, his sister was killed in the chaos. Crion himself died during a confrontation with his son’s Master. It is impossible to know whether they might have been able to apprehend him without causing him harm, but his death, by all accounts, was accidental.”

“And du Crion saw it, I’d guess,” Ordo murmured, and Yaddle nodded.

“Osik,” Mereel sighed. “That’s a difficult situation, and even if his feelings aren’t rational, if he has even a bit of legitimate cause to feel that way… They might be right, in that case. I’m not sure a Jetii healer working with him would get very far.”

“Perhaps not,” Yaddle said, “but we must do what we can for him. He was one of our children, once. We owe it to him to offer him healing, and we owe it to others to keep him from causing harm.”

“‘Lek, I agree that he needs help,” Mereel said. “I’ve seen a few recordings of his… incidents so far, and he’s definitely unstable. But you aren’t the only option available.”

“Unfortunately, the average mindhealer would likely be unable to help him as required,” Plo said. “He has almost certainly Fallen to the Dark Side, which would require the help of a trained Soul Healer who is Force-sensitive themself to be able to help him properly.”

“We have our own counselors among our ka’ra’tigaanla,” Mereel said. “I understand that part, to an extent—or, well, they’ve tried to explain it to me. I have about as much of a connection to the ka’ra as a rock—the average rock, not one of your crystals.” Plo chuckled, and Mereel paused to smile before continuing. “But I was thinking of another group, one du Crion wouldn’t have had any contact with, and therefore no bad associations.”

“Oh?” Yaddle hummed.

“Our people sometimes make the journey out to Jedha, when they need more help with the ka’ra than they can get from our own guides,” Mereel said, and Yaddle’s ears flicked, the Force fluttering around her, a bit, drawing attention to his words, to this idea. “The Guardians of the Whills would likely be able to help, and I’m going to have to make the trip out there anyway, sooner than later.”

“Oh,” Yaddle repeated. “Now, that is an idea…” The Guardians of the Whills were… friendly enough with the Order, though not affiliated with them. Jedi sometimes visited Jedha to make pilgrimage to the holy sites or study with the Guardians, and the Guardians sometimes visited the Temple, but their doctrine, beliefs, and methods were quite different from traditional Jedi fare.

“I figured we can at least give him a choice,” Mereel said. “Mandalore, Jedha, or the Jetiise. If he chooses where he’s going, he might be that much more inclined to cooperate.”

Plo and Yan both looked to her; it would, ultimately, be her decision, his case under her purview as the Master of Shadows. “I will discuss it with the rest of the Council to see if they have any issues with the suggestion,” Yaddle said, and Mereel nodded easily.

“Jate. Now that unpleasantness is out of the way—” Mereel was interrupted by another knock at the door, Sheena coming with their promised drinks. She left them with a large pot of shig and several cups, pausing to salute Mereel once she had set down the tray, smile at them, and then she crept back out.

“Shall we circle back to the matter of the political ramifications of our plans for Keld’ika?” Plo asked, apparently just as eager to leave behind the subject of Xanatos du Crion as the rest of them.

“The Senate will realize our true role in all of this, at some point—it would be hard not to, once the announcement goes out,” Mereel said. “And that’s assuming they don’t figure it out earlier than that. We aren’t involving any of the Clans sworn to House Vizsla in our plans, but I don’t want to have them take the fall for this once they’re the only ones left behind. But neither do I think it safe to warn them.”

“Yes, and I did have a few suggestions as to how we might convince the Senate that only certain groups of Mandalorians were involved,” Plo said. Mereel nodded, absent-mindedly starting to blow across the top of his shig, and Yaddle settled in.

She had a feeling that this meeting would take a while.

---

Veira.

The kid wasn’t eating.

Veira didn’t know if it was a hunger strike, or if he was just too pissed off to eat—and by Manda, did the kid have anger issues, even by Mando standards. But whatever the reason, the fact remained that Xan’ika, as Veira had dubbed him, had yet to finish a full meal since they’d arrived in Keldabe. The baar’ur’e were getting concerned, now, and so was she. If he kept this up for another day or so, they were talking about resorting to nutrient shakes.

They’d tried everything they could think of to try to convince the kid to eat, and Veira knew that he had to be hungry, but he just wasn’t listening. She’d tried distracting him while he ate, hoping he would mindlessly keep eating while she spoke to him, telling him some of the funnier stories from her and her vod’ika’s training days; she’d tried waiting to eat herself until he had food, too, and eating with him; she’d tried asking if there was something else he wanted specifically. None of it worked.

“Almost time for latemeal,” she said, and Xanatos grunted. He was laying on the bed again, just staring up at the ceiling, refusing to look over at her. In all honesty, he looked… like a kicked akk pup, despondent and sullen and a little bit pathetic with his hand still wrapped up in bactabandages. He’d broken three different bones and turned his hand into a bloody mess with that stunt before they could get him knocked out—but they’d been more careful since then.

A new pair of cuffs had been put on his wrists, though they weren’t chained together. No, those were magnetic cuffs: whenever they needed to enter his cell, to give him more food and water, to give him his medicine, to change the bandages out on his hand, they activated the magnets, and Xanatos’s wrists would either be drawn together or pulled towards the nearest wall, since those were all metal as well. That was also their new go-to plan if and when he had another outburst like that, but he hadn’t so far—Veira was thankful for that small mercy, at least. The others since then had just involved a lot of shouting and swearing, but no more violence against any walls or furniture.

“What’s your favorite food?” Veira asked, and Xanatos grunted again. “Aww, c’mon, there’s gotta be something you like.”

“Andarian caviar,” Xanatos said flatly, and Veira laughed. She could tell that wasn’t true, that he’d just picked something expensive that he knew they probably didn’t have on-hand, but at least he was talking again.

“I’ll get right on some of that,” she said. “In the meantime, you got a second favorite?”

“No.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe you,” she said, and he huffed in response. “You sure you don’t want one of the offline ‘pads? Reading would probably be more interesting than staring at the ceiling.”

“No.”

“I could put on some music for you,” she offered, though she had a feeling she already knew what the answer would be.

“No.”

Veira sighed. “Look, Xan’ika,” she said, “you’re not getting out of here for a while. There’s no getting around that fact. With the evidence they have, there’s no way anyone’s just gonna cut you loose. You’re going to be here for a while no matter what, so you might as well at least try to be less miserable.”

Xanatos didn’t respond in words, just turned his head to give her a withering glare before rolling over, putting his back to her. Veira sighed again and shrugged to herself, pulling out her own ‘pad to get caught up on her messages while she waited for the next meal to be delivered. She looked up every few minutes at the kid, but he hadn’t moved, and Veira thought he might’ve fallen asleep.

Only twenty minutes or so later, Tei came down the hall with the expected trays in his hands, dinner for both Veira and Xanatos. The Zabrak verd paused by Veira first, handing over one of the trays, and then leaned down to whisper to her.

“How’s he doing?” he asked, and Veira shook her head and shrugged one shoulder, grimacing beneath her bucket. It was answer enough, and Tei sighed, the sound crackling a bit through his vocorder.

“Magnet’s coming on,” he called as he straightened, giving Xanatos fair warning. The kid rolled over—so he hadn’t been asleep—and didn’t fight it as the magnets came online, forcing his hands to the sides of the bed, the cuffs attracted to the metal frame beneath the mattress. Tei hit another control on his vambrace, bringing down the rayshield, and went to put the covered tray on the table. “The baar’ur’e will be by again in the morning, ‘lek? After that, they said you can probably go a little longer between patch changes.”

Xanatos grunted again, and Tei nodded to him a bit awkwardly before turning and retreating back out of the cell, bringing the rayshield back up. “Magnet’s coming off,” he said, and Xanatos’s hands were freed again. He sat up, glaring at the two of them, and Tei nodded again. “Eat something, and get some sleep, ‘lek? Otherwise, the baar’ur’e are likely to start taking their own drastic measures.” Xanatos huffed and folded his arms over his chest; Tei shook his head, reaching over to pat Veira’s shoulder. Lowering his voice so the kid wouldn’t hear, he added, “You’ve got your hands full with this one.”

“Don’t I know it,” Veira sighed, and Tei nodded again before padding away. Veira turned to watching Xanatos, still seated on the bed with his arms crossed, and shrugged to herself, lifting the cover off her tray. Inside was a pan of some kind of rolls with icing on them, and Xanatos made a little noise when he saw it. When Veira looked up, she saw him heading for the table and his own tray, lifting the cover and then just standing there staring down at the same rolls Veira’d been given. They seemed like some kind of sweet rolls, better suited to dessert than dinner, but it was something they hadn’t tried before in the rotation of things they sent to try to get him to eat.

For a long moment, that was all Xanatos did, just standing there holding the tray’s cover and staring down at the rolls, and Veira started to frown. “You alright, Xan’ika?”

He slammed the cover back down and slid into one of the chairs, glaring down at the now re-covered tray. “Who told you, and who did you tell to have those brought to me?” he demanded, and Veira’s eyebrows inched up beneath the cover of her bucket.

“I didn’t tell anybody to bring them—I don’t even really know what these are,” she said slowly. “They just brought them. Why? Something you recognize?”

Xanatos was quiet for a long moment, his hands clenching into fists, and Veira made a mental note to keep an eye on his bandaged hand, to see if he reopened any cuts. He was silent long enough that Veira thought he wasn’t going to answer, though he finally did.

“Now I know you’re mocking me,” he hissed, and Veira blinked at him. “Citrus sweet buns—my Master used to make those for me every Benduday.”

“Oh,” Veira said. “Xan’ika, nobody’s mocking you. They probably just told the Jetiise you weren’t eating, and they suggested something they thought you’d actually eat. Is that your favorite food?”

“No,” Xanatos said, raising his head to glare at her, then. “Not anymore.”

Veira frowned, safely hidden behind her bucket. “Maybe just try one or two? You’ve gotta eat something, otherwise the baar’ur’e are going to try shakes next, and if that doesn’t work, they will resort to tubing you, kid,” she sighed. Xanatos stubbornly sat there and glared at her for a while and Veira shrugged at him, turning to her own food. She pulled one of the rolls out, using her other hand to tilt her buy’ce up so she could eat without actually taking it off, and took a bite.

She’d been right: these seemed infinitely more like dessert than dinner, but it was good. Fluffy and sweet with a little bit of tart in the icing from the citrus. Veira let herself make a little noise of appreciation, and she didn’t miss the eyeroll that prompted from Xan’ika.

“These are good,” she said. “Sure you don’t want one?”

“No.”

Veira sighed. “Alright, then. Guess we’ll try a nutrient shake in the morning.” She kept eating, and Xanatos didn’t move, staring at her as she worked through several of the buns. When she was finished, she recovered her tray, setting it on the little table beside her chair and then leaned back in it, arranging herself so her head was resting against the wall. “I’m gonna take a little nap. Wake me up if you need anything, okay, kid?”

Xanatos huffed, but that was the expected answer by now, and at least it confirmed that he’d heard her. Veira closed her eyes, intending to nap, but just when she was nearly asleep, a little noise from Xanatos woke her. She made sure not to move as she opened her eyes, knowing her buy’ce would hide her face and keep the fact that she wasn’t actually asleep from the kid.

Xanatos had uncovered the tray again, and he was staring down at the sticky buns with a different sort of look on his face. He was still scowling, but even from here, even through the red-wash of the rayshield, Veira could see that his eyes were too bright. Eventually, he sniffled quietly, and reached for one of them. For a while longer, he just glared at the bun itself—but then, finally, with another little sniffle, he took a bite.

And then another, and another, until the bun was gone. Taking another moment to glare at the tray, Xanatos sniffed again and then took another, and Veira smiled.

She’d have to find out who thought to make those and send them down—both she and the baar’ur’e owed them quite a bit of thanks.

Notes:

Mando’a:
Al’urcyi - My made up word for Clan meeting/meeting of the Clans. Based on the word I came up with in Dha Werda Verda for meeting hall, urci’ya

Jaster: Sooo, this plan of ours is going to put the people who stay in Keld'ika in danger—unless I warn them to get out.
Jaster: But I can't warn House Vizsla.
Jaster: But I don't just want to leave them to the Senate's tender mercies, either. Kriff.
Cygan: Why are you wasting time worrying about them?
Jaster: I can't just lump the good in with the bad, Cygan. That would make *me* just like the bad ones. You know that, I've only said it like a million times by now.
Cygan: Ah, well. Can we just make this the Jetiise's problem? It's their escape plan causing issues anyway.
Jaster: ...sure. I can't think of a better solution.
Cygan: Great, thanks. I had enough trouble wrapping my head around rescuing the Jetiise in the first place; I really don't need the same headache with House Vizsla.

Ben: So. Affirmations.
Ben: ...
Ben: Yeah, none of these are exactly... comfortable for me.
Ben: ...maybe the fact that these seemingly obvious statements are causing me discomfort is an indication of the *issues* people have tried to talk to me about before?
The Force: Oh, man, look at him go!!! I AM SO PROUD!
Ben: Okay, so... Affirmations. Right.
Ben: ...I think Cody would've approved of these.
Ben: ...I made myself sad again. :,(
Ben: Right, back on topic. So, um. I think my changes still respect the spirit of the assignment?
The Force: YES! GOOD JOB BB! YOU'RE DOING SO GOOD AND I AM SO PROUD OF YOU!!!
Ben: Right, well, the Force seems to approve. So I guess this is good enough for now?
Also Ben: Oh, look, an excuse to stop thinking about my own problems and fixate on someone else again. I will *happily* take that!
The Force: ...you know what, it's progress. You wanna take a break? I'll allow it.

Veira: Sooo, is it a hunger strike? Or are you just angsting too hard to wanna eat?
Xanatos: Kriff you.
Veira: *Sigh* Kid, I really don't want to have to leave you to the baar'ur'e. They're healers, and healers are baseline Scary Capable and Competent anyway, *plus* they're trained commandos. Trust me, you do not want them making your care decisions for you. Please don't make them. You think *I'm* aggressive in caring for you? Wait 'til you see *them.*
Xanatos: Kriff them, too.
Veira: *Heavier sigh* Ugh. Fine. (For now.)
Xanatos, staring at his favorite childhood food: What... is *THIS*?!?!
Veira: Y'know, I don't really know. Whatever it is, it's good tho? Maybe try some?
Xanatos: KRIFF YOU AND WHICHEVER JEDI YOU SCHEMED WITH TO TRY TO APPEAL TO MY EMOTIONS—
Veira: Woah, woah, hey, buddy, yeah, calm the kriff down. It's just food. They want you to eat, so you can't be too surprised that they brought you something they know you actually *like*— Y'know what? Yeah, okay, fine. I will let the baar'ur'e deal with this issue. (I give it less than two days before you'll eat whatever's put in front of you just to get the tube out if it gets to that point, though...)
Xanatos: Hmph.
Veira: Right, well, I ate *my* delicious dinner (which is exactly the same as yours, sooo)... Now I'm gonna take a nap.
Xanatos, believing she's asleep and he's as alone as he could get, internally: ...I haven't seen these since I left the Temple. Master Qui-Gon used to make these for me every Benduday morning even though he hated them just because he knew they were my favorite. Just one of the many things he did that made me think he loved me, until he proved me wrong...
Xanatos: ...kriff him. I hate him.
Xanatos: ...but I really liked those rolls.
Xanatos: ...kriff it all. It worked.
Xanatos: I hate whoever had these sent to me.
Xanatos: ...but I still really like these rolls.
Ben, many floors away in the same complex several hours ago: So, he's not eating, huh? Well, that's fine. I remember enough of Qui-Gon's Heartbroken Monologues about Xanatos to know how to fix that!!! ;D

Chapter 16

Notes:

Hello there! :) Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos last time! <3 And screaming about THE ROLLS! LOL, I had a lot of fun writing that, so I'm glad it seems like you all liked reading it too!

This time, we'll finally see the fruits of Cygan's Coruscant Chaos!!! :D

Also, one note: Sooo, I have no idea who was actually the Chancellor at this point in the timeline. I just Googled it and picked a name (since it's not time for Valorum yet, not until Obi-Wan hits his teens, and it's not time for Kirames Kaj yet either). ...looks good to me! ;P

Jaster.

The Senate was massive —truthfully, it almost seemed bigger on the inside than it did from without. And osik, there were so many people —Jaster had known, intellectually speaking, just how many member worlds and sectors the Republic claimed, but to actually see them assembled here was… impressive. From where they were mostly-hidden inside the Senator’s office where the repulsorpods attached, waiting for their time to come, Jaster could see quite a bit of the Senate, though from this vantage point, the sea of pods and people all looked like mostly-grey little dots with small lumps and splotches of color to mark the Senators within them.

The session had already been going for nearly two hours, now. Jaster had listened attentively, knowing how rare his opportunities would be to see the Republic’s government in action first-hand, and everything he saw and heard made him increasingly thankful that he was Mando’ad, and didn’t have to deal with this regularly. The legal jargon used by and within the Republic wasn’t unfamiliar to him; he was somewhat accustomed to it out of necessity, largely to be able to look over the contracts the Haat’ade took, catching any loopholes or conditions and clauses they wouldn’t want to agree to, but trying to keep up with all of it as they spoke rather than reading at his own pace was more difficult, particularly since Basic was certainly not his first language. It made Jaster indescribably grateful that Mando’ade all tended to be blunt, to say what they meant without dancing around the point, and that the only lawyers in Manda’lase were Mando’ade that had specialized in galactic law in order to help any Mando’ade who took any work elsewhere in the galaxy. The closest things they had to more traditional lawyers were goran’e, the Al’aliit’e, and Jaster himself as Mand’alor, all of them keepers of lore, law, and tradition in Manda’lase, and they were also the closest to politicians they had as well.

More than that, though, Jaster was thankful that he didn’t have to deal with this sort of pettiness. Oh, his people could be just as petty as the rest of them, but they were never so underhanded about it. The Senators seemed to thrive on trading veiled barbs, disguising them as compliments and accolades, though they were obviously meant to belittle the Senators themselves or to weaken their points. It was exhausting, and Jaster wasn’t even part of the conversation, for now.

Being here like this, it was suddenly so easy to see why and how the Republic never seemed to get anything important done.

Finally, the Vice Chancellor, who also acted as the announcer, referred some matter of taxation of a certain class of luxury goods to some sub-committee or another, and Senator Kunrilli turned around to look at them, hidden away in the office, just out of sight of the rest of the Senate. She nodded to them, and Jaster took a deep breath.

It was time.

With that, he edged out into the pod itself, Cygan, Hasha, and Si’lon all following. The movement drew looks from those in the pods nearest to them, and Jaster saw their occupants whispering to each other, but turned his attention back to the proceedings.

“The Chair recognizes the Senator for Pantora,” the Vice Chancellor announced, and the pod detached, floating upwards. The rest of the Senate noticed them, then, and though they were all whispering quietly, several thousand beings doing so all at once created a bit of a din, a buzz of conversation throughout the Senate. Jaster smiled to himself beneath the cover of his bucket; he was distantly thankful that Senator Kunrilli had led them in through a service entrance reserved for the Senators themselves, smuggling them in without being seen by any others. He had a feeling that if they had known he was here from the beginning, more than one person would have tried to address his presence too early. “Order!”

With that reprimand, they all fell silent, and Jaster was grateful he’d chosen to wear his full beskar’gam for this, a buffer between him and the thousands of eyes pointed his way.

“Thank you,” Senator Kunrilli said. “In accordance with Senate Regulation 143-Besh, subsection Aurek, Pantora would like to take this opportunity to introduce another speaker. If it pleases the Chair?” The Vice Chancellor did not look pleased, though the Chancellor, Chasen Piian, just looked curious.

“You may proceed,” the Vice Chancellor said.

“Thank you,” the Senator repeated. “Then allow me to introduce Jaster Mereel, Mand’alor; the leader of the Mandalore Sector.” She stepped aside for him, and Jaster moved up to the podium itself and the microphone there. More murmuring broke out, even louder this time than it had been before, and the Vice Chancellor had to call for “order” again before they all quieted down.

“First and foremost, I offer my thanks to Senator Kunrilli for the introduction, and my thanks to the Senate for its valuable time,” Jaster said, bowing his head. That seemed to soothe a few ruffled feathers, at least, the Vice Chancellor looking a bit less like he’d sucked on a sour mujafruit. “Though Mandalore is not a part of the Republic, neither of our peoples and governments exist in a vacuum. I have come before you today to explain the situation we currently face in Manda’lase —Mandalorian space—and provide evidence to show how the actions of those within the Republic have affected my people outside of it.

“To fully explain this situation, some background will be required,” Jaster said. “To that end, I will explain the various Clans and factions within our space. To begin with those most familiar to you, there are those we call the Evaar’la Mando’ade, or Evaar’ade —the New Mandalorians, in Basic…”

Jaster could run through his explanation of the Clans and factions in his sleep, and he did it mostly thoughtlessly now, only keeping enough of his attention on his words to make sure he didn’t swear, and wasn’t too informal, ensuring he didn’t drift too far from the prepared speech pulled up on his HUD; the rest of his attention was dedicated to the Chancellor, the Vice Chancellor, and the feeling of the massive dome and all of those within it, gauging how they were reacting to what he was saying. Most of them seemed confused, but interested, which was good enough to be getting on with.

He hadn’t initially intended to dive too deeply into an explanation of the various Clans and political factions within Manda’lase, and how they related to those in Keld’ika, but Plo and Dooku had prompted him to do so. And they were right—this was likely the easiest, simplest way to convince the Senate of the differences between various groups of Mando’ade. The seeds he planted now would be easy enough to nurture, and hopefully sprout when the time came; all it would take, later, was one official announcement claiming credit and explaining just who was responsible for aiding the Jetii’tsad, and hopefully, combined with this lesson, it would be enough to show who was—and who wasn’t —involved in the plot.

Taking credit and warning those in Keld’ika once the Jetiise were safely away were all Jaster could really do without endangering their plans, and he could only hope it would be enough.

As he detailed the House structure and listed which Houses were aligned with the Evaar’ade, either in full or in part, he could see many of the Senators looked confused, still, but even more of them were taking notes. That was promising, even if Jaster realized that they were likely only doing so because they realized how few chances they would have to learn anything about Mando’ade and Manda’lase from one of their own.

“…and then, of course, you have the Haat Mando’ade —the True Mandalorians,” Jaster said. “Though our faction shares its name with the mercenary company it began as, it has become far more than that over the years. We are closely allied with the Evaar’ade, each of us taking our own role in ensuring Manda’lase is secure, stable, and prosperous…” He paused to smile to himself again as he saw the Chancellor himself taking notes, subtly tapping at a datapad now and again.

“Time blocks for scheduled speeches are one hour long,” Senator Kunrilli had said. “You’ll have at least that long dedicated to your presentation alone, and likely a bit longer, when the questions and objections come.”

He had prepared this speech carefully and rehearsed it a number of times, both before and after Yan and Plo had both edited it for him, and Jaster intended to make full use of that entire hour. This was the first—and likely the only —opportunity Jaster would have to address the Republic Senate as a whole, after all.

And he fully intended to make it count.

---

Plo.

The Council was silent yet again, all of them still and attentively staring at the holo projected in the center of the circle they had formed in Yaddle’s rooms, as had become normal. Given that it was rather unusual for them to appear in the Senate, even to observe, unless they had been requested, they had decided not to show themselves in the Senate Complex during Jaster’s address. None of them wanted to draw any connections between them too early, of course; it was better this way, though Plo wished at least a few of them had been able to attend to offer their support.

Jaster was quite a good public speaker. The passion that showed itself whenever he spoke about his people and their sector combined with his partiality towards academia made him well-suited to this sort of argument and presentation; though the holo never cut away from Jaster and the Pantoran delegation’s pod they were occupying, the Council continually received text updates from Senators Bitherres and Antilles telling them how the rest of the Senate seemed to be reacting to his appearance. Though most were still bewildered, whispering to one another as they speculated on just why the Mand’alor had found a way to address them and why he was spending so much time detailing Mandalorian politics for them, they were all far too eager for any information on Mandalore to object, and most seemed to be listening intently. It boded well, Plo thought.

“…then you have the faction formed by Tor Vizsla, the leader of Clan and House Vizsla, several decades ago,” Jaster said, finally coming towards the point of all of this. “That faction calls itself Kyr’tsad, or the Death Watch in Basic. I’ve brought with me a selection of written statements, after action reports, and recordings for you to look over in your own time to support our claims, but to highlight a selection of their actions over the years…

“Kyr’tsad has been responsible for well over one hundred bombings in civilian areas, including hospitals built and staffed by the Evaar’ade. They have also been responsible for the destruction of over three hundred farms on Concord Dawn, which made them directly responsible for three separate severe food shortages in an area of Mandalorian Space already struggling to stave off famine. Kyr’tsad has assassinated over seventy New Mandalorian ambassadors and officials over the years. And worse than even all of that, Kyr’tsad has repeatedly bolstered their numbers by kidnapping children from other factions and Houses en masse, indoctrinating them and forging them into soldiers, forcing them to fight for a cause they had no choice in taking up.”

Though the holo itself remained focused on Jaster, even over the transmission, Plo could hear the hum caused by many of the Senators reacting to those statements, the murmuring so widespread that its collective volume could still be heard over the noise isolation of the transmission.

“As I said, I have proof of these claims, and I will be happy to submit our evidence to this body for your own records,” Jaster continued, not waiting for the reactions to die down before pressing on. “To state it bluntly, the Death Watch is a terrorist organization. I’m certain we can all agree that these actions, and terrorism in and of itself, are all inherently wrong. Though I’m certain you’re also wondering why I am presenting all of this information to you, given that this has, historically, been a matter Mandalorians have handled internally.

“Death Watch has not restricted themselves, their actions and their violence, to Mandalorian Space,” Jaster said. “The selection of the evidence I have brought with me to provide to you alone details twenty-seven incidents outside of our sector, and twenty-one of those incidents took place on Republic worlds or within Sectors of space that fall within the bounds of the Republic. It is not only the innocents among my own people that are harmed by the actions of these terrorists, but your own citizens as well.

“And, even more significant than that fact, is the evidence we have obtained showing that the Death Watch is also receiving assistance from other groups within the Republic,” Jaster said. This time, the din was so loud that he had to pause for a moment, and Plo faintly heard the Vice Chancellor calling for order at the Senators’ reactions to that, shouting accusations and denials and general expressions of outrage.

Once they finally calmed, Jaster continued: “I am fully aware that most outside of Mandalorian Space, those who are not Mandalorian themselves, have little information regarding the factions and political climate within our sector. I began with an explanation of our Clans, Houses, factions, and politics for just that reason, after all. Therefore, I am willing to believe that the assistance provided to this terrorist group from outside organizations is an honest mistake. I am not accusing anyone of being in league with these terrorists, only highlighting a lack of information and understanding that has had dire consequences.”

That had been Jaster’s own addition to his statement, and quite generous of him, in Plo’s opinion. They all had a feeling that whoever it was within the Banking Clan who was helping to support the Death Watch knew very well who and what they were, though they had no proof of that. And given that the only thing they could prove was a financial tie, Jaster had thought it best to go this route, taking any accusations of slander and libel out of the equation in response to his statements, and hoping that it would make them less defensive, and therefore more cooperative, Force willing.

“In addition to the evidence of the destruction and terrorism of the Death Watch, I have also brought evidence proving that outside assistance exists, and which organizations are involved,” Jaster said. “Though before I continue, I feel a need to reiterate that I am not accusing any beings or organizations of any direct involvement with these terrorists. I am ready and willing to believe that those who supplied them with aid were unaware of the nature of their group.

“That said, the account ledgers, transaction statements, and other financial records I have brought for this body’s consideration prove a financial tie exists between the Death Watch, through Tor Vizsla himself, and the Banking Clan,” Jaster said.

He was forced to stop yet again at the uproar that caused, so many Senators outright shouting. A moment later, each of the Councilors’ datapads lit up with messages from Senator Antilles and Senator Bitherres, breaking down the reactions of their fellows for them, since they couldn’t make them out clearly enough from the holo itself.

The Senate is split into thirds: the anti-Banking Clan camp is cheering, the pro-Banking Clan faction is shouting denials and accusations, and a much smaller portion seem to feel neutrally about it. The Banking Clan’s representatives are whispering to each other, but seemingly reserving any statements for now.

That was as expected, and Plo hummed to himself as he turned his attention back to the holo, the Vice Chancellor shouting yet again for order, please, order!

Once they finally quieted again, Jaster resumed his address, turning towards the pod where the various representatives of the Banking Clan sat. “I can only state yet again that I believe the Banking Clan was only conducting its business as usual,” Jaster said. “Given how little information regarding the situation in Mandalorian Space reaches those outside of our borders, it seems more likely than not that the Banking Clan did not know what the funds they channeled to Tor Vizsla and his Clan and House would be put towards.

“All that I would ask is that this error is rectified,” Jaster continued. “I’m sure that the Senate and the Banking Clan alike have no desire to prop up a terrorist organization, particularly one that has infringed upon the worlds and sectors of the Republic itself. Now that we have provided both clarification and evidence, I’m certain that the Banking Clan will sever its ties with the Death Watch, and that this body will help to ensure greater oversight in order to prevent such a situation in the future.

“I thank you all once more for your time and consideration. I will be happy to answer any questions you might have of me now, and though I will have to leave to return to Mandalore shortly, I will also provide a means to reach me in the future should you have any further questions or requests regarding this matter,” Jaster said, turning back to the Chancellor and Vice Chancellor’s pod in the center and bowing his head.

There was a beat of silence, and then the shouting resumed. Plo faintly heard calls of “I object!” and “I propose a motion—” though none of it was clear enough to hear anything specific or to determine who was calling out what.

“Order! Order!” the Vice Chancellor called over the din, the holo switching to him. The Vice Chancellor then leaned down to whisper something to Chancellor Piian.

The Chancellor nodded and stood. “The Chair recognizes the representative of the Banking Clan, Chairman San Hill.” The Banking Clan’s pod came forward, and Plo took a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever their response might be.

“Thank you, Chancellor,” the Muun said, bowing his head to the Chancellor before turning to face Jaster. “Mandalore Mereel. This is the first the Banking Clan has ever heard of any… misconduct on the part of our Mandalorian associates. We will, of course, take these accusations seriously, and review the evidence you have offered to provide with the utmost care. Moving forward, perhaps you would be willing to settle this matter in mediation?”

“Chairman,” Jaster returned, nodding to him. “I appreciate your willingness to look into the issues I’ve brought to your attention, but I don’t see any need for mediation. There is nothing to mediate—we aren’t asking for reparations from the Banking Clan. We are only asking for an end to the unwitting support your organization has given to a terrorist group. Of course, if your own investigation finds that anyone within the Banking Clan was aware of Death Watch and Tor Vizsla’s ‘conduct’ prior to this, and continued to provide them with financial support anyway, then we would hope that proper action would be taken. But beyond that, we ask nothing more of you.”

“That is most generous of you,” Hill said. “As Chairman, it is within my power to form an investigative committee to review this evidence you have provided. If all is as you say, then I can personally assure you that all of our business with House Vizsla will cease immediately. Business dealings with terrorist organizations are explicitly outlawed under the laws and regulations of the Republic, of course, and if this ‘Death Watch’ group is classified as such, we will most certainly end our relationship with them. The Banking Clan prides ourselves on upholding the laws of this fine Republic, after all.”

Beside Plo, Yan snorted, and Jocasta scoffed. Plo’s mandibles twitched, the only outward sign of his own disbelief, though the Force was thick with the feeling, radiated from all twelve of them. That was a flagrant lie if Plo had ever heard one, after all.

“I’m certain you do,” Jaster returned, and his voice was kept carefully even, not a hint of sarcasm to be found. “I had suspected that you were unaware of the issues surrounding these ‘business dealings,’ and now that you have been made aware, I am satisfied by your response. Thank you for your time, and willingness to listen, Chairman.”

“Oh no, thank you for alerting us to these issues, Mandalore,” Hill said, and Jaster nodded to him again.

“Mandalore Mereel: you are satisfied with the outcome?” Chancellor Piian asked.

“I believe Chairman Hill when he says that he will investigate and end their support when they have reviewed the evidence provided,” Jaster said. “So long as that happens in a timely manner, then yes. I am satisfied.”

“Very good,” Chancellor Piian said, nodding to him. “If you will provide the evidence you have brought, the Chair will ensure it is logged in the Senate records. These records will be published within the public record of the Senate minutes, which will provide unaltered copies to the Banking Clan for their investigation.” Chairman Hill nodded.

Someone must have reacted, because both the Chancellor and Vice Chancellor looked over at someone else. After a beat, the Chancellor nodded again. “The Chair recognizes the Senator for Alderaan, Bail Antilles.”

“Thank you, Chancellor,” he said, the holo switching to him. “In the interests of conscientiousness and transparency, I must put forth a motion to form an investigative committee within the Senate as well, an independent, objective, and unaffiliated review of both the evidence and the Banking Clan’s conduct in this matter.”

More shouting met that, and Plo could, again, hear the divisions among the Senators. Some of them were railing against the motion, but others were in support of it.

“Order!” the Vice Chancellor called again, and Plo wondered how many times in any given session that had to be said.

“I second the motion!” another voice called.

“A commission must be appointed!” yet another agreed.

“Very well,” Chancellor Piian said. “Chairman Hill, please proceed with your own investigation. In the meantime, a Senate commission will be appointed for a thorough independent review of both the evidence provided by Mandalore Mereel and the conduct of the Banking Clan in this matter.” Voices started to rise again, but the Chancellor ignored them outright, turning back to Jaster. “Mandalore Mereel: is there anything further you wish to say regarding this?”

“Nothing beyond expressing my thanks for this body’s time yet again, Chancellor,” Jaster said, bowing his head again. Piian’s lips twitched in a smile as he nodded back.

“I call for a recess, in that case,” the Chancellor said. “We will resume our normal session in one hour. For now, we are adjourned.”

With that, all Hel broke loose, the Senators shouting again, and the holo cut out. There was silence in Yaddle’s quarters for another beat, though Yan was quick to break it.

“That went far better than I had anticipated,” he said.

“Indeed,” Plo agreed. “Perhaps the committee might even find enough evidence to press charges against the Banking Clan’s officials, for once.”

“I doubt it,” Yaddle sighed, “though I live in eternal hope.”

“As must we all, hmm?” Yoda greed. “Accomplished his most important goals, the Mand’alor has. Clear, the evidence will no doubt be. Outside support to the Death Watch, ended will also be.” He sounded amused, his ears perked up high and eyes wide and bright when he added, “And established a cover for his visit here, he also has, hmm?” Plo chuckled, several others joining him.

“Speaking of our plans,” Shaak said, “there are several other details we must discuss with Mand’alor Mereel before his departure. We still have yet to settle the most important matter, of course.”

“The younglings?” Plo asked, and she nodded.

“Told what is happening, they will not be, until time it is,” Yoda said. “Skilled at secret-keeping, most younglings are not. But ready, they will be. Ready, we all will be—soon. Hmm, yes. Very soon.”

The Force swirled around them, the Light, almost bubbly feeling it had started to take on recently growing ever stronger. They had taken several important steps forward today: helping to weaken the Death Watch was a vital part of both their plans and Jaster’s; explaining the differences between Mandalorian Clans and factions and highlighting the lack of a meaningful relationship between the Mandalorians in Keld’ika and those on Mandalore itself was another; establishing Jaster’s “cover” was yet another important point.

Yes, things were certainly going well, all told. Not for the first time, Plo marvelled at how clear the Force was, assuring them that they were on the right path, doing the right thing. The rest of the Council seemed just as content as he was to sit with that hope for a long moment before taking a collective breath and returning their attentions to their plans.

Soon, as Yoda had said. Soon, it would be time—and they would be ready.

---

Yan.

“Master Dooku? We’re making our final approach.”

Yan didn’t look up or even open his eyes, though he did pull himself from his meditation enough to respond. “Very good. Thank you, Master Kemaan. I shall join you shortly.”

“Yes, Master.”

Yan heard their footsteps as they retreated, feeling their presence moving away, back towards the cockpit of their shuttle, and smiled to himself as he surfaced fully from his meditation. The Light, vibrant feeling to the Force lately was a good omen indeed, and Yan’s meditations had been more soothing to him than they had in years, allowing him to bask in the Force’s own satisfied peace where before he had received so many feelings of dire-warning-caution-Darkness. It was yet another sign that they were on the right path, now, and though Yan had been able to determine as much through logic alone, the reassurance of the Force itself was always welcome.

Rising from his cushion and taking a moment to replace it on the bench in his berth, Yan then made his way out to the cockpit, nodding to his three companions as they turned to look at him.

Master Healer Eri Kemaan had accompanied them as the Soul Healer they had promised to bring along; not only were they hopeful that the Togruta would be able to get through to Xanatos, but there was much they could help to teach the Mandalorians about helping Force-sensitives who were struggling. Though Yan believed Jaster—as the man had insisted upon being called (“If we’re going to be working closely with each other, then you really ought to call me by my name, Yan,” he had said pointedly)—when he said that Mandalorian Force-sensitives largely took care of their own, the addition of a Soul Healer with a perspective and set of techniques that were new to them would be a boon, and perhaps even prevent some of the journeys out to Jedha that had been necessary for them.

Master Idon Vel and Knight Toi Sarr were both representatives of the AgriCorps, added to the roster to assist the Mandalorians in planning the first stages of their wider restoration project. Knight Sarr would remain indefinitely, helping to oversee the earliest stages of the project, while Master Vel was here to strategize with them before moving on. Vel was bound for Yavin, after Mandalore, where he would meet with the AgriCorps team already dispatched to prepare their new home to support a large number of Jedi.

Jaster had easily agreed to the proposed additions, reporting that after the story of Yan and Korr’s joint mission had spread, the general opinion of Jedi amongst the True Mandalorians had improved substantially. Yan had—gracefully, in his opinion—decided that it was a worthy trade for enduring being referred to as “Sith-shooter” for the foreseeable future.

Keldabe quickly came into view, the ship the Mand’alor and those who had gone with him had taken to Coruscant just beside them, and they both came in towards the landing pads jutting from the tower that served as the True Mandalorians’ command center and the seat of the Mandalorian government. Yan left the cockpit in favor of grabbing his bag and heading for the ramp, eagerly waiting to disembark and begin this new mission.

(And if he was also eager to see a certain intriguing youngling again… Well, that was between Yan and the Force alone—and perhaps Plo, who had seen right through him from the start.)

While the others finished the post-flights, Yan lowered the ramp and quickly descended. He had expected the greeting party, of course, but he had not expected the small figure darting towards him and crashing into his legs, wrapping himself around them in an embrace. Yan blinked down at the youngling, and Savage blinked up at him.

“You came back!” the little Zabrak said, and Yan awkwardly reached down to pat him on the back.

“Hello, Savage,” Yan greeted him. “I did indeed ‘come back.’ I shall be staying here for the time being.”

“You’re staying, and you can talk again? Kan-do-sii!” Savage said. “Um, that means great!”

“I am pleased to know that you approve, young one,” Yan said. “Though perhaps I could trouble you to let go for a moment? We are blocking the ramp, after all.”

“Oh,” Savage said, quickly letting go of him and stepping back. “Sorry.”

“It’s quite alright,” Yan said, moving out of the way for the others before turning his attention to the rest of their welcoming committee, Korr holding young Feral in a sort of sling attached to his armor and holding Maul’s hand.

“Su’cuy, Yan! Good to have you back,” Korr said, offering him his unoccupied hand. Yan clasped it hand-to-wrist in the Mandalorian way, and Korr gave him a toothy smile.

“I am pleased I was able to return,” Yan said honestly, and then turned to nod to the others loitering at the bottom of the ramp. Outwardly, they appeared calm and serene, but Yan could feel their nerves fluttering around them in the Force. Korr, apparently, did as well, because he reached out towards them with a feeling of welcome-reassurance-greeting, and all three straightened, eyes snapping to him.

“Su’cuy, Jetiise,” Korr said. “Tion’gar gai’se? What are your names?”

“I am Master Idon Vel of the Jedi AgriCorps,” he said with a bow.

“Knight Toi Sarr, also with the Jedi AgriCorps,” was paired with another bow.

“Master Healer Eri Kemaan,” they offered with yet another bow.

“Jatne urcye,” Korr said. “Well met. I’m Korr Neda b’aliit Mereel. Adiik’e?”

“I’m Maul,” he said, blinking up at the Jedi. He seemed far less skittish and frightened than he had when Yan had last seen him, though that hardly came as a surprise. He had seen, on the journey to Mandalore, how easily Korr interacted with the younglings, and Yan had been certain he would set them at ease in their new situation quickly. He was pleased to see that he had been correct.

“Savage,” the youngling who had reverted to holding onto Yan’s cape with one hand said.

“I’m Fewal!” the youngling said, sticking one hand out of the sling to wave. Master Kemaan waved back, and Feral giggled.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, younglings,” Vel said, garnering a few small smiles from them.

“I’ll show you to your rooms for now,” Korr said, “and ping you with a map of the Alori’ya and Keldabe, since I know you won’t be able to read the signage yet. We’ll reconvene for dinner. In the meantime, since you’re the healer, I’m guessing you’ll want to see du Crion?”

Kemaan nodded. “Yes, please. The sooner I can begin, the better,” they said, and then turned to Yan. “Will you be accompanying me?”

“Not now,” Yan said. “I shall let you speak with him first, and defer to your judgement. If you think it better that we not interact, then I shall keep my distance.”

“Yes, Master,” Kemaan said, all of them starting to walk as Korr led them on. Yan lagged somewhat behind, with Savage still tugging at his cape, and Kemaan dropped back to walk beside him, lowering their voice as they added, “Given the situation, it’s difficult to say whether or not it’s a good idea for the two of you to see each other. Lineage support would normally be my first recommendation during the healing process, especially in the early stages, but given the situation and triggers…”

“Indeed,” Yan sighed.

“Lineage?” Korr asked, turning to look back at them slightly even as he continued leading them inside, towards the lifts. Yan was unsurprised to know that he had heard them despite how quietly Kemaan had spoken, already aware that the audials embedded into Mandalorian helmets allowed them enhanced hearing.

“Though the entire Jedi Order is a family, a Lineage is a Jedi’s ‘immediate family,’ in a sense,” Yan answered. “The line of Master to apprentice, and Padawan-siblings, make up a Lineage.”

“And du Crion is part of yours?” Korr asked, turning fully to him after calling the lift to this level.

“My Grandpadawan,” Yan answered. “The apprentice of my own former-apprentice.”

Korr grimaced. “I see,” he said. “That must’ve been hard on you all, thinking he was dead for so long.”

“Indeed it was,” Yan agreed, deciding not to mention the fact that Qui-Gon had almost certainly known that he was not, in fact, actually deceased—not yet, in any case. There would be time for that later, somewhere more private.

“At least you’re both here, now,” Korr said. “The rest will come, in time.”

Savage tugged more pointedly on Yan’s cape, then; when he looked down at the youngling, Savage asked, “Will you meh-dih-tate with us later?”

“If you like,” Yan agreed, and Savage smiled.

“‘Lek! Korr and Ben teached us how—”

“Taught,” both Yan and Korr automatically corrected.

“Korr and Ben taught us how,” Savage repeated, receiving twin nods of approval from both Yan and Korr, “but we all like different ones. I like the one with plants the best! So does Jango.”

“As does my own former-apprentice,” Yan agreed. “He prefers plants to people most days, as a matter of fact.” Savage giggled, and Yan’s lips twitched in a smile as he turned to Korr, Maul, and Feral. “And you?”

“The, um… Reaching out?” Maul tried, and Yan nodded.

“Yes, the outreach meditation,” he said, and Maul nodded back. “Both necessary and soothing. And you, Feral?”

“Move move move!” the youngling said, obviously referring to moving meditation. He wiggled in the sling as if to punctuate his words, prompting Korr to bring his free arm around to steady him so he didn’t squirm his way right out of it.

“Well, it seems you’re all becoming quite skilled with several different types of meditation,” Yan said approvingly. “It is wise to practice several kinds. If you don’t mind, then I should like to join you.” Particularly if young Ben was to join them, he thought, but didn’t say. Still, from the amused look Korr shot at him, he thought the man knew where his thoughts had gone.

Savage clumsily pulsed a bit of happiness-excitement towards him, and Yan returned it with a pulse of warm-approval that had the youngling flushing and looking down at the floor. Yan still wasn’t entirely certain what he’d done to earn the young one’s favor, but it was… an interesting change, interacting with younglings who did not end up crying in his presence.

It, like so many other things, was a good omen for the rest of his time on Mandalore.

---

Jaster.

Though Jaster was both pleased and relieved by how well his visit to Coruscanta had gone, and everything they had accomplished there, he was infinitely happier and far more content to be back home again. It was never easy leaving his ad’e, and the comms with them hadn’t seemed like enough; setting eyes on them again for himself, in person, was infinitely better.

Jorin, Jango, and Ben were already waiting for them as the ship touched down, along with a few of the others’ aliit’e. Hasha, Si’lon, and Cygan immediately headed for their own Clanmembers, and Jaster did the same, heading for his ad’e. He barely made it three steps before Ben broke formation, heading straight for him, and Jaster laughed. Already seeing where this was going, what he wanted, Jaster knelt down, setting down his bag and opening his arms, catching Ben when he came flying towards him.

“Su’cuy, Ben’ika,” Jaster said.

“Su’cuy, buir. I’m glad you’re back,” Ben said. Jaster squeezed him gently.

“I’m glad to be back,” he agreed. “Were you good for your ba’vodu?”

“Of course,” Ben said, sounding a little miffed. Jaster just laughed and quietly resolved to ask Jorin about it more privately—Ben’s definition of “good behavior” was a bit different from the rest of their definitions of it for someone his age. After another beat, Ben drew back, and Jaster stood, though he left his bag where it was, motioning Jango over. He didn’t have to kneel anymore, after all, to hug his eldest.

“Jate yaim’ol, buir,” Jango said, and Jaster pulled back just enough to give him a kov’nyn.

“Vor’e, Jan’ika,” he said. Dropping his voice, he added, “Your vod’ika cause any trouble while I was gone?”

“Nayc,” Jango said. “Surprisingly enough.” Jaster laughed, shaking his head as Jango pulled away, and he turned his attention to Jorin.

“Ba’vodu,” Jaster said, and he was annoyed, but not exactly surprised, when Jorin paused to salute before coming in for a hug of his own.

“Mand’alor.” Jaster rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored the formal greeting, slapping him on the back as he hugged him before pulling back, holding out a hand to Ben, who immediately took it. Jango, despite his protests, picked up his bag for him, and the four of them started towards the morut proper.

“We watched the holostream of your Senate petition, buir,” Ben said. “That was very well done.”

“Vor’e, ad’ika,” Jaster said.

“Do you think anything’ll come of it?” Jango asked, sounding more curious than concerned. If it worked, so much the better, but if not, that wasn’t going to be the end of the galaxy. Jango and Jorin were aware that it had just been an excuse for him to be on Coruscanta, and though Ben hadn’t explicitly been told that it was, he might’ve figured that out for himself.

“I think it might just work,” Jaster said.

“Still, I’m not sure why you didn’t push for them to investigate the Banking Clan,” Jango sighed. “If they are involved with Kyr’tsad, and they did know… That spells trouble.”

“Ending that support is the most important thing,” Jaster said. “If I had been more accusatory, then they likely would have tried to deny it all and find some way to dismiss the allegations and continue on as they had been. But by offering them an easy excuse in the process and making it clear I’m not gunning for them, they were less defensive.”

“I guess,” Jango sighed. “It just seems like the guilty are going to get away with it— again.”

“Maybe not,” Jaster said. “Not with the Senate committee investigating, too.”

“Do you know who’s heading that, buir?” Ben asked.

“The Senator for Coruscanta—ah, what’s his name…?” Jaster trailed off, wracking his brain, unable to remember it. He hadn’t actually met the man, only heard about the outcome from the Senators he had met, the three messaging both him and the Jetiise before they left.

“Finis Valorum,” Ben supplied, and Jaster squeezed his hand in thanks. “That’s promising. He’s relatively new to the Senate, but Coruscant carries a lot of influence with it, and he’s a fair sort of person. A bit of a push-over, sometimes—he gets too caught up in trying to please everyone, but he genuinely cares, and he does try, and that’s more than most politicians can say.”

“That is a good sign, then,” Jaster agreed. “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see what comes of it.” He wanted to ask if Kyr’tsad had reacted in some way, if they had already retaliated, or if House Vizsla had made any sort of public statement about it, but that would have to wait for the briefing. He wasn’t about to bring that up in front of Ben, who already tried to involve himself far more than they could ever let an adiik his age. Instead, Jaster turned his attentions to another important, pressing matter: “How’s du Crion?”

“Somewhat better than he was when he first arrived,” Jorin said. “He refused to eat, at first, though a certain someone made him his favorite food and had it sent down to him.” Jorin shot a significant look at Ben, who was wearing his best innocent, “who, me?” sort of face.

“You knew his favorite, Ben’ika?” Jaster asked.

“Well, the creche Masters used to let us help make citrus sweet rolls sometimes,” Ben said, “so I knew how to make those, and I figured it would bring back at least some good memories for him. The Force was with me, and I turned out to be right.”

“They are really good rolls,” Jango said.

“du Crion has been eating nothing but those rolls since Ben and Jango made the first batch,” Jorin said, and then he paused to smirk at Jaster. “And ‘lek, I got a few holos of the baking process. How these two always manage to make such a mess in the kitchen, I have no idea.”

“We cleaned it up!” Jango protested, and Jaster laughed.

“I’ll have to try these sweet rolls, then,” he said.

“We still have a few batches, and enough of the ingredients to make several more,” Jorin said easily. “These two went on an all-day baking spree, making as many as they could.”

“That’s sweet of you,” Jaster said, and Ben flushed while Jango just shrugged.

Jaster’s comm chimed and he lifted his kom’rk to look at it, since his helmet was already clipped to his belt and the message couldn’t pop up on his HUD. It was just Korr, confirming that he’d shown the Jetiise to their rooms for now, and confirmation that they’d all meet again for dinner.

“Who were the others who came with Master Dooku, buir?” Ben asked, probably “sensing” something from Jaster, his thoughts going to the Jetiise.

“One of their Healers, mostly for du Crion, and two AgriCorps Jetiise to help with planning the restoration project,” Jaster said, and Ben hummed. “We’ll be having dinner with them tonight, so you can see them all then.”

“‘Lek, buir.”

“In the meantime,” Jaster said as they finally reached their rooms, Jorin letting them in, “there’s something I wanted to talk to you two about.” Both of his boys exchanged looks before turning back to him, and Jaster smiled, waving them into the karyai and herding them onto the couch, unclipping his buy’ce and setting it on the caff table while Jorin helpfully went to take his bag to his room.

Instead of squishing Ben between them, as usual, Jango and Ben bracketed him; Jaster smiled and put one arm around both of them. “I spoke to the Jetiise about du Crion, telling them about the… difficulties he’s having even thinking about them,” Jaster sighed, and Ben made a vaguely sympathetic noise while Jango just grunted. “They agreed to give him a choice, to let him choose who and where he gets help. We’re going to offer for him to stay here, either working with the Jetii’baar’ur, one of our own ka’ra’tigaanla, or both; once the Jetiise have their new morut’e up and running, he could go there; or… We take him to Jedha.

“Given… what happened and how he feels about the Jetiise, I doubt he’ll choose either of those options,” Jaster sighed, and Ben made another little noise. “Instead, if I was a betting man, I’d put my waadas on Jedha.”

“I have a feeling you’re right, buir,” Ben said.

“But whether du Crion chooses Jedha or not,” Jaster continued, “I’ve been talking to Korr about it, and he suggested it’d be a good idea to take both of you there, too.” Both Ben and Jango pulled away just enough to turn to look at him, and Jaster smiled, though he could feel it was a little tight. “If we’re going to make the trip, it will have to be soon, before the Jetiise enact their plans—we’ll be far too busy to leave Manda’lase for a while after that.” And, Jaster knew, but didn’t say, they would soon be busy in the fight against Kyr’tsad; they would undoubtedly respond in some way to Jaster’s maneuver in the Senate, cutting off the bulk of their financial support. “What do you two think about it?”

“It sounds fascinating, from everything Korr has told me,” Ben said, his eyes wide and bright, the excitement on his face making him look like the adiik he actually was, for once, and Jaster smiled back. “I would love to go.”

“Jate,” Jaster said, squeezing his shoulder. He turned to Jango, then. “Jango?”

Jango frowned slightly, but it was the look he got when he was thinking something through rather than an inherently unhappy expression, so Jaster just waited for his answer.

“Sure?” Jango finally said, shrugging. “Ben and Korr have already started teaching me how to meditate, though I’m not very good with most of the types they’ve shown me so far.”

“The Guardians might be able to help with that,” Jaster said, and Jango grunted again.

“Okay,” he said, and then he smiled, a bit of a teasing sort of expression, glancing at Ben before turning back to Jaster. “Who else are we taking with us? Since you’re the Mand’alor, and Ben’s under travel restrictions—”

“I beg your pardon?” Ben cut in, but Jango continued on as if he hadn’t spoken.

“—we’ll need at least one full squad, if not two,” he finished.

“Travel restrictions?” Ben repeated, sounding so utterly indignant. Jaster huffed softly, giving Jango a look, because that wasn’t how he would’ve wanted to break the news to Ben, but it was already done. With that, he turned to his youngest.

“Given the… way you came to us, ad’ika,” Jaster said slowly, carefully, and Ben frowned at him, “and the… concerns we have about what might happen if you reentered Republic Space, I put travel restrictions on you, ‘lek. If you leave Manda’lase, you’ll need at least a full squad with you—at least for now. Maybe when you’re of age, we can talk about modifying that, but I’d rather be cautious when it comes to your safety.”

Ben pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing, and Jaster braced himself for an argument. But thankfully, miraculously, Ben just sighed softly and shook his head, not saying another word about it. Jaster smoothed over his hair once and then put his arm around him again, pulling him back in, and then he did the same to Jango.

“I don’t have anyone in particular in mind now,” Jaster said. “Many of the Haat’ade are still back with their aliit’e for the holidays, and I think we’ll leave right after the New Year. We’ll see who’s still here, and whether or not any of the Jetiise want to go with us, before we choose. Maybe send out a message, asking if any of the Haat’ade or their ad’e need to make a trip there, too. Might as well all go at once.”

“‘Lek, buir,” Jango agreed easily.

“I think Master Dooku will want to go,” Ben said. “He seemed very fond of Jedha and the Guardians, when he and Korr talked about it.”

Jaster hummed. “Not a bad idea,” he said. “And it might not be a bad idea for Korr to take his Foundlings there, too.”

“New Year is just a week away,” Jango said. “And we’re leaving right after that?” Jaster hummed an affirmative. “The Grunts are due back around then.”

“Would you want them to go with us?” Jaster asked.

“I don’t know,” Jango said. “On the one hand, having them there would be nice, but on the other hand… The teasing would be relentless.”

Jaster laughed, squeezing Jango lightly. “That’s vod’e for you,” he said, and Jango sighed heavily.

Jaster heard Jorin puttering around in the kitchen, probably making shig, and the three of them lapsed into silence. Jaster settled back on the couch, getting more comfortable, and closed his eyes, pulling his boys a little closer. Manda, as productive and hopeful as that trip to Coruscanta had been, Jaster felt far better, so much more content, with his own aliit close at hand.

The rest could wait, for now.

Notes:

Mando’a:
Jate yaim’ol - Welcome home (lit. "Good homecoming")
waadas - money, wealth

Edit to add, one other note: In Basic, Mand'alor is rendered Mandalore, just like the planet/sector. :) Those who're closer to Jaster like the Jedi and the Senators helping him try to use Mand'alor, which I headcanon has a very slight pronunciation difference with a brief pause in the middle, but in general in Basic, it's Mandalore instead of Mand'alor, hence them calling him "Mandalore Mereel."

So, next time, we'll get to see reunions between Yan and Ben, and Yan and Xanatos! One of those reunions will go very well. The other one... maybe not. XD
Then, probably the chapter after that, or two chapters from now, maybe, we will be on to Jedha!!! I'm so excited to get there, I can't even. I have Plans there, and a Big Surprise, and so much of that arc pre-written!!! We are almost there, so if the muse can hold on for another couple of chapters, we will be in great shape! :D For now, hope you all enjoyed!

Jaster, internally: Republic politics is even uglier up close. Manda, am I glad to be Mand’alor and not a Chancellor or some osik.
Also Jaster, internally: But I can get flowery with my speech just like you, even when Basic is not my native language! Just watch me. ;)
Jaster: Honorable Senators of the Republic, if you’ll indulge me, I’m going to give you first-hand insight into a people and sector traditionally hostile to you.
Senators: …well, we’re confused, but we’re not going to turn that down. *Taking notes*
Jaster: And, so, yeah, I told you all of that to make a point (and to set up a later plot point, but you don’t need to know that yet). Y’all are funding terrorism, and I’m here to publicly shame you to make sure it stops. ‘Kay?
Senators: Whaaaat???
Jaster: Yeah. I’ll pretend that I don’t think it was intentional because I do not want to fight about it, I just want it to *stop,* but the Banking Clan is up to some Real Shady Shit.
The Banking Clan representatives, whispering to themselves: …oh shit. Did you know about this? Who knew about this?
San Hill: Oh, someone knew alright. That Hego Damask asshole. We’re not taking the fall for his bullshit.
San Hill, seizing Jaster’s excuse gladly: Of course, of course! We had absolutely *no idea* that this was happening, and it will stop at once! We pinky promise.
Jaster: Sounds good. Thanks.
San Hill, internally: I can’t believe he bought that. Whew.
Also San Hill, internally: …but now I have to go talk to Hego Damask. That is *not* going to be a Fun Conversation. Yikes.

Meanwhile, Hego Damask II, AKA Darth Plagueis: I am going to murder my idiotic young apprentice. It can’t be coincidence that he revealed that the Sith have returned to a Mandalorian and a Jedi, and now the Mand’alor himself is coming after me via my activities as part of the Banking Clan. How did he find out who we are??? Sidious said that his Force-shield never slipped… Was he wrong??? HOW DID THEY KNOW HOW TO FIND US???

Yan: Ah, Mandalore. Such a breath of fresh air. Pragmatic, straightforward people, younglings that don’t cry in my presence after two minutes, and *one particular youngling* who I’m most looking forward to seeing…
Also Yan: Ah. Mandalore. That now also means my wayward Grandpadawan.
Korr: The crazy dar’jetii’ad is your bu’ad??? Huh. Well, at least he’s got family around now?
Yan: …sure. We’ll go with that because I do not want to explain our Complicated Family Drama to you, nor do I want you to know exactly why we are called the Disaster Lineage.
Korr: …I have Questions.
Yan: I am going to ignore your questions in favor of speaking to your younglings.
Korr: Ah, the only acceptable form of avoidance to a Mando. I’ll allow it.

Chapter 17

Notes:

Hello again! :) Aaah, thank you all for screaming with me last time about the Senate and the babies Oppress and Yan! I'm having a lot of fun with this arc, and it's going faster than I expected, filling in the gaps between this and the Jedha arc. We'll get there soon! Just one more chapter after this one, and then we'll be on Jedha, and man, am I excited for that! :D

Anyway, hope you enjoy some more Xanatos this chapter! ;)

Yan.

Under other circumstances, on some other planet with some other ruler, three Jedi visitors dining with the leader of a sovereign system would have qualified as a state dinner. Yan had attended many of them before, and he had memorized over sixty distinct sets of rules and protocols for such dinners in various cultures as it had become necessary over the course of his career. They were all universally stiff, stilted, and formal, as much calculating and plotting and maneuvering going into them as any official negotiations.

That was not the case here, on Mandalore.

Yan had, to an extent, expected the lack of any such formality; it came as no surprise when they were directed to the quarters Jaster shared with his sons rather than a formal dining room, though he could tell his fellows were caught off guard by it, feeling a bit wrong-footed when Yan relayed it to them. But they would learn, and adjust their expectations accordingly. In the meantime, Yan could not afford to waste time holding their hands as they acclimated to Mandalore and its ruler. Once Korr had promised to come for the others to lead them down, and after a quick message to Jaster, Yan made his way there nearly a full hour early.

He had important, pressing business there, after all, and this was a conversation that would best be had in a more private setting, before the others arrived.

The door slid open just as Yan reached it, before he had any chance to hit the chime, and between that timing and the Force presence he felt just inside, it was obvious who had answered it.

“Good evening, Ben,” Yan said, bowing to him.

“Jate ge’catra, Master Dooku,” Ben returned. “Please, come in.” He stepped aside for Yan, leading him in. Ben ducked into the kitchen for a moment, and Yan lingered in the doorway.

Jaster and Jango, as the young man had insisted Yan call him, were standing side-by-side at the stove, and Yan smiled to himself at the sight of Jaster wearing an apron with small mythosaur skulls embroidered onto it. Yes, Jaster Mereel was certainly a different sort of ruler than most in this galaxy of theirs. Most others would never be caught dead in such attire, let alone cooking for themselves and their guests.

“Su’cuy, Yan,” Jaster called, and Jango turned to nod to him before intently turning back to the stove.

“Su’cuy,” he returned, taking great care with his pronunciation. The Mandalorians in Keld’ika had been all too happy to assist him in the earliest stages of learning their language, though he had barely scratched the surface yet, a true novice, for now. But, he supposed, learning via immersion was one of the quickest ways to do so.

“Shig?” Ben offered.

“Yes, thank you,” Yan agreed. Ben nodded and started towards the kettle on the counter, though Fett reached out and grabbed it before he could, filling two mugs and setting them aside before going back to their preparations.

“The karyai’s free,” Jaster said with a look at Yan. He already knew, of course, why Yan had come so early, what it was he wished to discuss with Ben. “Make yourselves comfortable—we’ll let you know when it’s ready, and the others arrive.”

Yan nodded, though Ben paused to shoot an almost suspicious sort of look towards his buir; Jaster only smiled in return. With a shake of his head, Ben retrieved the mugs and tipped his head, signalling Yan to head for the hallway again before pulling ahead, leading him into the karyai itself.

Ben settled their mugs down on the low caff table, claiming a cushion opposite the couch, where Yan sat, studying him for a moment. Just as he had before, during Yan’s last visit here, Ben simply gazed back at him, strangely placid for a youngling and not squirming under the weight of his attention as most others his age would have.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Ben,” Yan said, and quite honestly at that. He reached out with a little tendril of the Force, barely brushing against Ben’s considerable shields in greeting-warmth. Ben smiled and pulsed back briefly, just a faint impression of his own warmth. His control was as remarkable as ever, particularly given his sheer strength in the Force; most younglings with a count over fifteen thousand or so tended to have far more outbursts than he had ever heard of Ben experiencing, and few were able to manage such fine control this young regardless of their raw power.

Which led Yan straight to the first matter he had to discuss with young Ben.

“And you, Master Dooku,” Ben returned. He picked up his shig and blowing across the top of it for a moment before giving Yan a knowing sort of look, a faint smile on his face. “I have a feeling you came early for a reason.”

“I did indeed,” Yan said. “There were several matters I wished to speak with you about, and your buir was kind enough to allow me to come early.” Ben hummed, tilting his head; he still didn’t seem anxious, only mildly curious. Again, Yan couldn’t help but take note of that, and the fact that most his age would have been at least somewhat unnerved by any variation of “we need to talk” coming from an adult.

“First and foremost,” Yan said, “I must address the mater of the test results.” Ben blinked at him, no doubt wondering what “test” he was referring to, though Yan saw it the moment he realized, his eyebrows inching up.

“How different is it from my expected count?” Ben asked. Yan smiled, pleased that the young one had puzzled that out so quickly. It was obvious, of course: there was only one “test” Yan could have meant, and the only reason to bring it up at all was if the count was not what Ben had expected it to be. Still, he realized swiftly what was happening for one so young, though that came as no surprise. Ben’s intellect was just as impressive as his control over his abilities.

“You catch on quite quickly,” Dooku said. “The results were rather drastically different. I ran your sample once, and then twice more after recalibrating the scanner. The result was the same each time: eighteen thousand and seven hundred.”

Ben blinked at him once, twice, and then thrice. “I see,” he finally said.

His eyebrows were still slightly raised, the only outward show of any surprise he might have felt, and his shields hadn’t wavered at all, so Yan had no idea how he was taking the news. He had been with the Jedi long enough, and he was certainly intelligent and knowledgeable enough, to understand the implications of such a high count.

“I… suppose that does explain a few things,” Ben said slowly, setting his shig back down. Yan hummed and pulsed a wordless questioning feeling towards him. “Well, I had noticed that my Force-use is… coming more easily than I felt that it should. I might understand, logically and intellectually speaking, what I’m attempting to do, but I haven’t yet formed the proper neural pathways for it. It still takes a bit of focus, but overall, I’ve been more successful than I would have expected in that arena.”

Yan hummed again. “That would be due to your sheer power, I believe,” he agreed. Interestingly enough, Ben flushed a bit, one of a very few failures of composure Yan had seen from him thus far. “In truth, I am more surprised that your control is as great as it already is. Most with your level of power at your age have nowhere near your fine control.”

Ben reddened even further, his blush creeping up his cheeks towards his ears. He quickly picked up his shig, taking a drink to buy himself a moment; Yan followed suit, if only to hide his smile.

It seemed he had found young Ben’s weak point: praise.

“Thank you for telling me,” Ben said as he set his shig back down, not addressing Yan’s last comment. “Besides you and buir, who else knows?”

“The healers here, Master Healer Vokara Che, and the High Council,” Yan said slowly. “I must say, you seem remarkably calm about this.”

Ben smiled and shrugged. “It’s just a number,” he said. “Back in the days before the Ruusan Reformation, there was no midichlorian count requirement to become a Jedi, even though midichlorians and their function were already known and understood within the Order at that time. Faith and focus are what matter; if you have those two things, then the midichlorian count will follow. Some people might start out ahead of the curve, but there are many Knights and Masters with lower counts than my own who are capable of so much that I’m not. It doesn’t mean anything unless we decide it does.”

Again, Yan smiled, admittedly pleased by Ben’s answer. “That’s very wise, young one,” he said. “As a matter of fact, the Council is currently debating whether or not we should repeal that portion of the Reformation’s terms, once we are no longer bound to the Senate.”

“The Guardians of the Whills have no requirement, either,” Ben said. “It might be worth speaking to them about it at some point.”

“Indeed,” Dooku agreed, finally reaching for his shig. “We did, however briefly, discuss the possibility of visiting soon. Unless I am absolutely required here, I would very much like to join you all.”

Ben’s smile grew wider. “I had assumed that you would have an interest in returning to Jedha,” he said. “You seemed fond of it, when you and Korr spoke about it.”

“You are correct on both counts. The perspectives offered by the Guardians are quite varied and different from traditional Jedi fare. I find it to be quite refreshing and illuminating, and I would encourage all who can make the journey to do so, at some point,” Yan agreed. “But to return to the matter at hand, there is something else I wished to discuss with you.” Ben blinked at him again, silently sipping at his shig. “You are quite intelligent and knowledgeable, and not just ‘for your age.’” Ben blinked at him again, the blush starting to make a return. “The discipline and self-awareness your control over your Force abilities implies is staggering—and, again, I do not only mean ‘for your age.’ And your disposition, the calm you can already manage, the compassion you show towards others no matter who they might be or their circumstances… To state it bluntly: you, Ben Mereel, are the most exceptional youngling I have ever encountered.”

Ben was bright red, now, and his eyes a bit wide. Yan paused to smile at him again before continuing on: “Between those attributes and your sheer power in the Force, it would be a great tragedy if you do not develop your abilities and realize their fullest potential. With your agreement, I would like to train you.”

The youngling stared, wide-eyed and still red-faced, at Yan for several beats. Eventually, Ben opened his mouth to reply only to shut it again. Yan patiently waited for him to overcome whatever feelings that announcement had sparked—and even then, when Ben’s face alone had told Yan that his reaction to that request had been significant, his shields had not wavered, and so Yan had no idea how he actually felt about the offer.

“Are you… Are you asking me to become your Padawan, Master?” Ben asked slowly, and Yan smiled.

“Perhaps, in time,” he said, “or perhaps not. You are very young yet, far younger than other Padawans, though your intellect and maturity make your situation rather different. But your situation is also different in that you are not a member of the Jedi Order, and you are, instead, the child of the Mand’alor. Whether or not this might become a formal apprenticeship later on is something we can discuss together, with your buir, when the time comes; for now, I only wish to guide you as your abilities develop.”

Ben swallowed hard, still just staring at him for a long moment. “And… You already spoke to my buir about this?”

“I did. He agreed so long as it is something you want for yourself as well,” Yan said.

(“He has enough control already not to be a danger to himself or others, so I honestly don’t care one way or another,” Jaster had actually said. “If it’s something he wants to develop further, then I’ll support that. If not, that’s fine, too. It’s up to him, and what he wants to learn, since he already knows enough of the basics to keep himself and others safe. Knowing him, though… He’ll want to learn everything there is to know about everything he could possibly learn, including the ka’ra.”)

“I see,” Ben repeated. “I… Yes. It would be my honor, Master.” He bowed, as low and formal as he could make it while seated, and Yan returned it.

“And you honor me in trusting in my guidance,” Yan said, giving the traditional reply. Ben smiled, still rather flushed, but obviously pleased. “You will not be my only student here, of course, but the others will generally not require prolonged individualized attention. Jaster has already told me to expect only those who need more assistance than their own Clan members can provide them; those who need such help and are willing to seek it from a Jedi will be brought here, though they will return to their homes once they are stable.”

Ben nodded easily, starting to truly relax again. It seemed that had thrown him, that it had unbalanced him, though why, what about that explanation and offer had come as such a surprise to him, Yan had no idea. It would take time to unravel the mystery that was Ben Mereel—but that was one thing Yan now had in abundance.

“I’m sure Korr won’t mind helping, too,” Ben said. “And I would be happy to help as well.”

“Yes, I had heard that you had already begun teaching your brother and Korr’s Foundlings how to meditate,” Yan said. “Your assistance, and Korr’s, would be appreciated. It will likely help to set the others at ease. Even those who are willing to seek out my help will likely hold some level of reservation and wariness, in the beginning.”

Ben smiled again, but this time, there was a sharper glint to it, something almost mischievous that had Yan’s eyebrows inching upwards. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll have quite so much trouble with that as you might have assumed,” Ben said, his eyes glittering as he added, “Many Mando’ade already know who you are, Dar’jetii’tracynii.”

Yan huffed, and Ben laughed, a bright, unreserved expression of delight, of a sort that Yan had rarely seen from him to this point. It was one of a few expressions that Yan had seen that made him look the age he truly was.

“I might have hoped for a more dignified moniker, if I had known that I would earn one at all,” Yan said, perhaps a bit drily, and Ben laughed again, “but I will admit that the reputation I have gained has been rather useful already.”

“I’m sure it has,” Ben agreed, the blandly polite tone entirely at odds with the wicked look still shining in his eyes. “Though I wonder if anyone’s told you about the… rumors all of that sparked.”

“Not yet, no,” Yan said slowly.

“Well, for Mando’ade,” Ben said, that gleam in his eyes still so bright, “using each other’s weapons in battle is one of the ritual components of a traditional courtship.” He paused, leaning in a bit. “Between you and me, you and Korr have already made it into the betting pools.”

The thought in itself was more humorous than insulting to Yan, and he didn’t bother to suppress the urge to laugh. Ben blinked at him again, as though he had been startled by the sound—but only a moment later, a high-pitched, surprisingly age-appropriate giggle joined Yan’s own laughter.

Yes, Yan thought to himself, content to sit with this bright moment of good humor for a few beats longer, Mandalore, and Ben Mereel, were quite promising indeed.

---

Veira.

Xan’ika was… better than he had been when he’d first arrived.

Not by much, really, but any improvement was something, at least. He was eating again, though he still only ever touched the rolls the younger ad of the Mand’alor had apparently first made for him before handing over the recipe to a few others (and he kept drinking the water they had started to add supplements to, because sweet rolls were hardly nutritionally complete even though he had to be able to taste what they added to it); Xanatos hadn’t had another episode as severe as that first one, and they had only had to knock him out once so far before it got to that point, the other outbursts all dealt with just by activating the magnetic cuffs and waiting for him to calm back down; Xanatos had even mellowed to the point of accepting one of the offline ‘pads Veira had offered him, reading through the holobooks she had loaded on it after asking after his preferred genres to eat up the massive amounts of spare time he had now.

But this… Well, this had Veira worried. It was necessary, she knew, but given the givens, what Xanatos had eventually told her about what had happened to his maan’aliit and the way he’d parted from his Jetii’buir… This had so much potential to go badly, and to ruin what progress Xanatos had already made.

“Xan’ika?” Veira said, because she couldn’t wait any longer to tell him, not when they were already on their way down to see him. Xanatos hummed, but didn’t immediately look up at her, curled up on his side on the bed, reading something. She waited until he did, distantly thankful for the fact that her buy’ce hid the grimace she could feel on her face.

“There’s… Someone’s coming down to see you soon.” His eyes narrowed, a suspicious sort of look on his face; though he still didn’t say anything, he did push himself up, obviously listening to her. Veira took a deep breath, steeling herself to have to tell him—as much as she wasn’t looking forward to it, she was wholly unwilling to blindside him with this. “The new Je’tsadii —the… Watchman?” Xanatos nodded curtly, and Veira paused to smile, pleased that she had been able to remember the Basic, Jetii word for them that he’d taught her. “They just arrived today, and they brought a few other Jetiise with them. One of them is a baar’ur —a… Um, a Jetii medic?”

“A healer,” Xanatos ground out, and Veira nodded.

“‘Lek,” Veira said. “The healer will be coming down to see you in a bit—” Xanatos stiffened, his entire body tensing, jaw set and hands clenching into fists, the datapad falling to the bed. “—to talk to you. I thought you might appreciate a warning.”

“I would appreciate not having to be anywhere near any of the Jedi,” Xanatos spat, and Veira sighed.

“‘Lek, I know,” she said. “But they are coming. There’s no getting around that.” Xanatos was so tense that he was nearly trembling, his muscles were so tight, and Veira tried not to tense along with him. It had been a while since his last outburst, the last time they’d had to use the magnets to hold him down before he hurt himself again like he had that first time, but this…

This could very well be enough to do it.

“If you want, if you think it would help,” Veira was quick to continue, “I can stay while you talk to them. Or I can go, give you some privacy—whichever you’d rather.”

Xanatos didn’t immediately respond, and Veira couldn’t tell if he was even thinking the offer over or if he was just too angry to think about much of anything else just then. Still, she waited patiently for an answer, mentally counting down from thirty, planning to repeat herself if he didn’t respond by the time she hit zero, while she watched him. He was still so stiff, wound so tight that if his hands hadn’t been balled into fists, Veira was sure they would’ve been shaking.

“Why have you stayed?” Xanatos finally asked when she’d just gotten down to nine, the hard anger on his face starting to edge back into that suspicion again.

“You need someone who cares,” she said easily, honestly. “You need somebody in your corner. You might technically be an adult, but even among Mando’ade, we don’t just turn our ad’e loose when they hit thirteen. They still have support. You got cut off from everyone who cared—your maan’aliit, your… first family, and your Jetii’aliit, your Jedi family—all at once. That’s hard on anybody. I get it. And if Mando’ade are known for anything besides our armor and our fighting skills, it’s taking people in and caring for them when they need it.”

“I neither want nor need your pity,” Xanatos spat, and Veira sighed again.

“It’s not pity, Xan’ika,” she said. “Is it really so hard to believe that I just care about you? That I care about what happens to you?”

“Yes,” Xanatos snarled. “Yes, it is. You hardly even know me.”

“I know enough,” Veira said. “You’re clever, funny, and charming when you feel like it. It’s easy to see the person you could be. And it’s just as easy to see that you aren’t that person because you were hurt too badly. I want you to be able to be that person, Xan’ika, the one I see when you forget how angry and scared and hurt you are for a second and remember how to just be. I care that you’re hurting, and I care enough to want to help.”

Xanatos just stared at her again, still so tense and with that look on his face, torn somewhere between suspicion and anger. Veira gave him a little while, intending to wait him out, but… Her HUD popped up an alert of an incoming message, the final warning that the Jetii’baar’ur was about to arrive.

They were out of time.

“The… healer is already on their way, Xan’ika,” Veira said. “There’s nothing either of us can do to stop them from coming. So, it’s up to you, but I do need an answer: do you want me to stay, or go?”

Something flashed across his face, there and gone again too quickly for Veira to really identify it. After another moment of staring at her, Xanatos ground out, “I don’t care.”

Veira hummed, mulling over that response, and then she started to smile. She was fairly sure that meant that he wanted her to stay, but getting him to actually admit that was still outside the realm of possibility.

That, too, was progress.

“Then I think I’ll stay for now,” Veira said with an easy shrug. “If you decide to form an opinion about it, and you want me to go, just say the word, ‘lek?”

Xanatos huffed and rolled his eyes at her, but the tension in him eased ever-so-slightly, his shoulders dropping marginally from where they’d crept up towards his ears. Veira’s smile grew that much wider, realizing she had interpreted that correctly.

Even if the Jetii couldn’t get through to him, Veira thought, at least she was making some headway. And that, too, was at least something.

The rest would follow, no matter how long it took.

---

Eri.

Xanatos du Crion looked even younger in person than Eri had expected.

That impression wasn’t helped, they thought, by his body language: as soon as he caught sight of them, the instant they rounded the corner to approach the cell, he had folded his arms over his chest, his shoulders tensing, drawing up towards his ears, and he had turned away, scowling at the wall rather than looking at either Eri or the fully-armored Mandalorian lounging in a chair just on the other side of the rayshield making up the fourth wall of the cell. It was, frankly, a pout if Eri had ever seen one.

“Good evening,” Eri said, addressing both Xanatos and the Mandalorian. “I am Master Healer Eri Kemaan. And you are…?” That was directed towards the Mandalorian alone, and they nodded in greeting

“Veira Rook.”

“Well met,” they said with a bow, and then turned to Xanatos. “Would you like them to stay for this, or to leave?”

Xanatos huffed softly and didn’t look over at either of them, the only response he offered. Eri gave it a few moments, waiting for an answer, until Rook finally spoke up: “We already talked about that. I’m staying for now, and he’ll let me know if he changes his mind and wants me to leave.”

“Indeed?” Eri said lightly. Xanatos shrugged, and they decided not to press on that point. There was quite a bit that had to be addressed rather urgently; they would have to pick their battles, particularly in the beginning. “Well then. There are a few important matters I need to discuss with you, Xanatos—if I may call you Xanatos?” He huffed again, still refusing to answer or look over at them. “Please feel free to call me Eri as well, or Kemaan if that is too informal for you.”

Again, that garnered no response. Eri pulled over a nearby chair and settled themself in front of Xanatos, not far away from Rook. They spent a moment just studying Xanatos and mulling over the best approach for this. Normally, Eri would try to get a sense of their patient in the Force, to see just how hard and how deeply they had Fallen, or how close to it they might have been if they hadn’t already, but with Xanatos’s Force-senses restricted down to the bare minimum necessary to maintain his health, he was also much harder to read in the Force.

Though that did come with one blessing: Xanatos had undoubtedly Fallen already, given the red lightsaber reported to be in his possession, the crystal thoroughly Bled, and the Dark plots he had been involved in before his capture. Restricting him from the Force now also meant that he would be cut off from the Well of the Dark Side, unable to tap into its power—whatever he said and did now, it would be borne of his own mind and emotions, not a rush of Dark Side energy. Eri had read the reports, and knew that the outbursts of violence he had displayed since he had arrived had calmed more and more lately, and at least some of that would be due to the fact that he was no longer feeding on the Dark, unable to reach it.

“I’m sure you know why you’re here by now,” Eri said, and Xanatos grunted a small, unhappy sort of noise. “And I’m sure you know why I am here.”

“Before you get started on what I’m sure would be a sanctimonious lecture on the Light and forgiveness and healing, let me make one thing clear: I want nothing to do with the Jedi,” Xanatos spat, finally looking at them, pointing a frosty glare their way.

“And that will be a choice you will eventually be able to make,” Eri said evenly. “I understand why thinking about and interacting with Jedi is difficult for you now—I understand why it hurts. The loss of your birth family was a great tragedy, and compounded with the loss of your relationship with your Jedi family, and your Master in particular, I’m sure it hurt that much more. Your emotions are valid, Xanatos. The pain that you feel after having experienced these losses is understandable.”

Eri paused, though Xanatos, again, went stubbornly silent. “But your actions, your response to the pain that you feel, set you on a path to harm others. That is why you are here. Still, though you were at risk of harming others, Xanatos, the person you have been, and still are, harming most is yourself.”

“The Jedi harmed me,” Xanatos spat.

“And those feelings are valid,” Eri insisted. “They are understandable. But Xanatos, what you must realize is that you are taking that pain and multiplying it, tormenting yourself over it, making it hurt that much more.

“I won’t ask you to forgive your Master. I won’t ask you to forgive Master Yoda, who I know you also blame for the fact that he assigned you and your Master that mission knowing that you would have to face your father. I won’t ask you to forgive any of the Jedi. Forgiveness is yours to choose, yours to grant, if and when you are ready.

“But letting go… That is another matter,” Eri said. Xanatos sneered, though he also quickly looked down to hide the expression. “Many Jedi preach letting go as part of the lessons on attachment, that is true. Many Jedi encourage letting go in order to ‘be the bigger person,’ to ‘turn the other cheek,’ to ‘rise above.’ But I would encourage you to let go of your anger for a different reason: by holding on to anger and fear and hate, the person harmed most grievously by it isn’t the person you’re angry with, Xanatos. It is you.

“We cannot change the past. We cannot undo what has been done. But we can change how we choose to view it, and how we choose to feel about it,” Eri said. Xanatos looked up briefly to glare at them again before turning away just as quickly. “I won’t linger long right now; I can obviously see that you’re uncomfortable with me, likely because I, too, am a Jedi. But I hope that you will think on what I’ve said.” Eri rose again, and Xanatos looked up once more as he realized they were preparing to leave for now.

“What are the Jedi planning on doing to me now?” he spat—fear masquerading as anger. Though one, of course, led to the other.

“That will be your choice,” Eri said honestly. “Several options have been discussed already, and you will be able to choose which path you want for yourself. Not getting help is no longer one of those options, Xanatos, but you will have choices before you. The Jedi, including myself, will be here, ready and willing to help you, if you wish it. But again, I understand your feelings towards us, and why you would feel that way after everything that has happened. We recognize that we may not be the best path forward for your healing, and you will have other options made available to you. And even if you are not ready now, the Jedi will always be there for you.”

Xanatos sneered at them again. “Oh, of course,” he said. “Because the Jedi Order would be loathe to lose another pawn if you could someday get your hands on me again.”

“We are loathe to lose a member of our family,” Eri returned.

“I disowned that family when they showed just how easily they were willing to murder the rest of mine,” Xanatos snarled.

It hadn’t been murder, Eri knew. His sibling had been tragically killed during the rioting and unrest on Telos surrounding that mission, and his father’s death had been accidental. But now was not the time to press on those points.

“That is your choice,” Eri said instead. “I am sorry for the losses you’ve had to suffer, and the trust that was broken—between you and your Master especially. The pain that you’re in because of it is real and natural. But you cannot change the past. The only way to ease the pain that you’re in is to move forward. Choosing to heal, choosing to let go of that anger and fear is all that will end your suffering, Xanatos.”

He huffed and looked away once more. Eri gave him another moment to see if he would say anything further; when he didn’t, they said, “I will leave you for now to think on what I’ve said. But I will be back later, with several others, to present the choices you have moving forward.” Eri paused, weighing whether to mention Master Dooku at all. But of all of his Lineage members, he had seen Dooku the least, and Dooku had also been entirely uninvolved in the events surrounding the mission to Telos. And, more than that, they did not want to seem dishonest; they did not want to have lied to Xanatos, even by omission.

“Master Dooku is here as well,” Eri said, and Xanatos’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowed. “He would like to see you again, if you are willing.”

“As if my opinion truly matters,” Xanatos scoffed. “How could I have a choice when you have a captive audience?”

“If you don’t wish to see him, then he will not come,” Eri said.

Xanatos was still and quiet for a beat, and then his expression twisted into something resembling a smile, but uglier, angrier, his teeth bared. “Oh, by all means,” he said. “Let my Grandmaster come. There are several things I’d like to say to my Lineage.”

Eri doubted that whatever Xanatos wanted to say to any of his Lineage members would be anything good, though they also had a feeling that whatever he wanted to say would be necessary. Facing Master Jinn was out of the question—for both of them; Master Jinn had been ordered to the healers himself before he would be allowed back on the active-duty mission roster, and it was slow going indeed. Neither of them were anywhere near ready to face the other. And a meeting between Master Yoda and Xanatos was an equally poor idea; Xanatos, from the descriptions of the scathing diatribes he’d delivered those first few days he had been held in Keldabe, blamed Yoda just as equally as he did his former-Master for what had happened. Not to mention that Master Yoda was far too busy with the Order’s current plans to make the trip anyway. And his Padawan-brother, Knight Feemor Ladas, was similarly busy with the preparations for their upcoming exodus.

No, there was only one option: the Lineage member who was already here. And Master Dooku… Of all the members of his Lineage, Master Dooku was the only one that Xanatos might feel at least somewhat neutrally about, if only because of that distance between them. It was hardly ideal, but it would be a place to begin, at least.

“Very well,” Eri said. “I will let him know. We will likely return tonight, after dinner, but if not, then we will come tomorrow morning. Until then, all I would ask is that you think on what I’ve said.” Xanatos’s expression reverted to that sneer, though Eri was no longer entirely sure that it was wholly genuine. No, they were beginning to think that it was a front, a defense mechanism to keep him from showing whatever other complicated, messy emotions were buried beneath that veneer of anger and scorn.

“Xanatos, Serah Rook,” Eri said, bowing properly to them both. “May the Force be with you.”

“Ah, jate ca, Jetii,” Rook said. Xanatos, predictably, said nothing.

With that, Eri took their leave, mulling all of that over. Frankly, it had gone better than they had expected, Xanatos not nearly so combative as they had thought he might be, though that was likely because he was no longer able to draw on the Dark Side. But Eri already had a feeling that their other assumptions were correct: the Jedi would not be best suited to help him—and no one would be able to help him unless he decided that he wanted to be helped.

Eri had done what they could to plant those seeds, to begin that process. For now, they did the only other thing they could, and sent a little prayer into the Force, hoping that, if not them, someone would be able to help Xanatos make the choices he needed to in order to heal.

---

Yan.

A heavy silence followed them all the way down to the holding cells. Master Kemaan had reached out to Yan with a bit of warmth, a quiet show of support and reassurance, but had said nothing verbally, no doubt sensing and noting Yan’s tension. Jaster had obviously picked up on the mood as well, knocking their shoulders together briefly in what Yan had come to recognize as an expression of camaraderie among Mandalorians, though he had also remained silent as they walked.

What felt like both too short a time and an eternity after they had left Jaster’s rooms, they finally reached the secure area. There were two Mandalorians in their full armor standing guard on either side of the entrance to this wing, though neither stopped them, recognizing all three of them and simply saluting. Jaster nodded to them, and then they were heading inside, closing the last bit of distance between Yan and his Grandpadawan.

There was yet another fully-armored Mandalorian lounging in a chair just outside his cell as they turned the final corner. They turned to look at them and then leapt up to salute Jaster properly, bowing their head and crossing a fist over their chest, their armor pieces ringing as one hit the other.

“Mand’alor,” they said.

“Veira,” Jaster returned with another nod, and Yan recognized the name. Veira Rook: this was the Mandalorian bounty hunter who had captured Xanatos and delivered him to Mandalore in the first place. “Su’cuy. Me’vaar ti gar?”

“Naas, ‘Alor,” Rook said. Turning to Yan and Master Kemaan, Rook nodded to them as well. “Jetiise.” Without waiting for any proper response, Rook turned away from them; much as he didn’t want to, Yan allowed his attention to follow, and looked into the cell for himself.

Xanatos looked much the same as he had the last time Yan had seen him. He was still on the verge of too pale, that much obvious even throug the red-wash of the rayshield, his dark hair making it all the more obvious by comparison, and he was still lithe, though not desperately thin as he had been several times after growth spurts in his youth. The only superficial change Yan could see was the scar on his cheek, a broken circle, and he wondered how Xanatos had gotten such a strange mark.

And even the glare, combined with a faint scowl, was familiar.

“Same as last time, Xan’ika,” Rook said, and Yan forced himself not to visibly react to that. He knew enough, by now, to recognize that affectionate diminutive. Yan was admittedly surprised that Rook had taken to calling him that—and he was even more surprised to see that Xanatos didn’t snarl or even glare at her for it, seemingly accepting the gesture. “I’ll stay for now, but if you decide you want me to go, just say the word, ‘lek?”

Xanatos huffed, folding his arms over his chest, fingers digging into the opposing arms. The motion highlighted the cuffs around either wrist, the ingenious use of magnetic cuffs allowing Xanatos more freedom than traditional binders while allowing the Mandalorians to restrain him as-needed, when he had his outbursts, his episodes, as they had taken to calling them, or when they needed to enter his cell. Rook shrugged and settled back into the chair when Xanatos didn’t properly respond to that.

Master Kemaan took a step forward, towards the cell, no doubt intending to begin, but Xanatos looked up—straight at Yan. His eyes were narrowed, brow furrowed, his mouth twisting with something that might have been a grimace or a snarl that he was trying to suppress.

“Grandmaster,” he spat, as if the word was a curse rather than a familial title.

“Grandpadawan,” Yan returned evenly. “I am pleased to see you alive and relatively well.”

Xanatos scoffed. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Yan said. “With how little time we were able to spend together in-Temple, we may not have had the closest relationship, but you are still my Grandpadawan. To know that you did not, in fact, pass into the Force was a relief.” A series of complicated expressions and feelings passed over Xanatos’s face, each one there and gone again so quickly that Yan couldn’t identify them without the Force—and given how heavily restricted from it Xanatos was at the moment, he was radiating very little other than a sense of life and a hint of that presence that was unique to him.

“He knew,” Xanatos said, and Yan knew that he had to mean Qui-Gon. “He knew I was alive. You can blame him for lying to you. Tell me, what was it he actually said?”

“‘Xanatos du Crion is dead,’” Yan said honestly, and Xanatos scoffed again. Yan quickly decided not to tell him the rest: after the Council had realized that Qui-Gon had not been wholly honest with them and summoned him for a second report, Qui-Gon had justified it by saying, “The person that Xanatos du Crion was died when he turned to the Dark Side.”

“Well, Grandmaster,” Xanatos said, “since you’re here, there are a few things I’d like to—” Jaster cleared his throat and Xanatos turned to him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And oh my, whatever have I done to earn the attention of the Mand’alor himself?”

“du Crion. We’ll gladly let you have a moment with your ba’buir, your… grandfather, but first, there are a few important topics we need to discuss,” Jaster said evenly, not bothering to address the sarcastic question. He, too, had kept his full armor on, apparently considered “standard protocol” down here in this wing of the stronghold. It was a wise precaution on their parts.

“Given what I was told earlier, I would assume you mean the ‘options’ before me,” Xanatos said. “The illusion of a choice and free will.”

“Your choices are restricted because your actions demanded it,” Jaster said, still so calm, if firm. “But that doesn’t mean you’re without choices at all.” Xanatos sneered again, starting to open his mouth to say something before Master Kemaan broke in.

“As I said before, the Jedi will be here for you, if you choose to accept our help,” they said, and Xanatos actually bared his teeth in a silent snarl. “Should that be your choice, then you will remain here for a little while, working with me, and eventually, we will move you to one of the Temples. Anything more than that would be discussed once you’ve begun to heal.”

“I want nothing to do with the Jedi,” Xanatos ground out. “You—”

“We’d thought that might be your response,” Jaster cut in, still keeping his voice so carefully even, and Xanatos turned to him, brow furrowing again, “so we’ve thought of a few other paths you might take. If you’d like to stay here, there are those among our people who would be equipped to help you.”

Xanatos laughed, a dark, ugly sort of bark. “My options, then, are to allow the Jedi to brainwash me back into one of their mindless, emotionless, murderous drones, or to allow your people to turn me into one of you? Quite the choice.”

“The third option,” Yan said, drawing Xanatos’s attention, his eyes narrowing, “would be to take you to Jedha. The Guardians of the Whills have offered to see to your healing themselves. And, as I’m sure you already know, they are certainly not Jedi.”

Xanatos was still and quiet for a moment, still glaring vaguely in their group’s direction. Then, suddenly, he shot up from the bed he had been sitting on, hands clenching into fists, his face twisting with fury.

“The Jedi took me from my family, tried to strip me of my love for them, and, when that didn’t work, the Jedi murdered them,” Xanatos snarled. “I broke free of you then, I broke my chains and set myself free—” Neither Master Kemaan nor Yan were able to contain their flinches at that, the deliberate allusion to the Code of the Sith. Xanatos briefly paused to smile at them, a warped expression that was nowhere near truly happy or amused, teeth bared and eyes glittering with satisfaction at watching that blow land. “—and you can’t stand that. You can’t stand to know that I’ve broken free of you and your control. You’ll do anything to force me into compliance again, won’t you? You’ll do anything to force me back into your enslavement. Won’t you?”

“Regardless of what the Jetiise did or did not do,” Jaster said, radiating the sort of calm that would befit a Jedi himself, “the issue at hand now is what you have done, and what you will do from here. You aren’t an adiik—a… youngling, so I’m not going to ask if you know what you did wrong, and why it was wrong. You do, and we all know that you do. And actions have consequences, and these are the consequences of your actions and choices. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be for everyone.

“You don’t have to give us an answer right now,” Jaster continued. “We’ll be taking a trip to Jedha soon either way. We’re leaving in two weeks, and ideally, I would like your decision before then so we can plan accordingly. But we’ll find someone to take you later on, if you haven’t chosen by then. And if you decide to stay here, we will discuss a more permanent arrangement for you. In the meantime, I would ask if you would be willing to work with Master Kemaan—” Xanatos bared his teeth yet again in another of those silent snarls, and Jaster sighed. “‘Lek, I thought as much. In that case, we have several of our own people who would be equipped to help you.”

“You’re all so eager to ‘help,’ but your definition of it is vastly different from mine,” Xanatos said. “You don’t want to help me. You want to force me to become what you want me to be.”

“Xan’ika,” Rook said. “Remember what I said earlier?” Interestingly enough, Xanatos turned to Rook and his glare softened—if only marginally, barely enough to be seen, but even so, that was intriguing—before he looked away, down at the floor.

“You aren’t well, Xanatos,” Yan said. “You’ve been gravely injured, both mentally and emotionally. But the fact that they are not physical wounds does not negate the necessity of healing them. Are you at peace with yourself and your life now? Or are there things you would wish to change?” Xanatos opened his mouth to answer, but Yan waved a hand. “We both know the answer to that, Grandpadawan. You do, and what you wish most to change is the one thing you cannot: the past. There is only the path forward, and the only changes you are able to make are in your present and your future.

“And to make any change, you must do something differently. You cannot continue on the way you have been. We have laid your options before you, and it is up to you to choose the change you will make.”

Xanatos opened his mouth again to respond, that glare firmly in place, and Jaster held up a hand. “I don’t need an answer now,” he repeated. “And honestly, I think we would all prefer it if you didn’t answer now. Think it over for a little while and see what you think you might want to choose when you’re less… escalated.” Xanatos huffed again and then pursed his lips, his hands clenching and unclenching rapidly at his sides.

Yan waved the datapad he had brought, drawing Xanatos’s attention again. “This will give you further details on each proposed course of action, what to expect of each one. For security reasons, some portions of the Jedi files are redacted, such as locations, and some of the details of a possible life in this sector for you are vague because they are not yet settled. But otherwise, this should give you the information you require to make your choice.”

Rook stretched out a hand towards Yan. “I’ll take it in to him in a bit.” Yan nodded and handed the ‘pad over.

“Why bother to act like you care, Grandmaster?” Xanatos spat. “Where were you during my apprenticeship? Where were you when your Master decided to send us to Telos, knowing full well what he was forcing me to do and see? Where were you then?”

Yan sighed softly. “As I said: we may not have been particularly close, but you are my Grandpadawan, Xanatos,” he said. “I still consider you to be a part of my Lineage, our family—whether or not that sentiment is, or ever will be, returned.” There was a beat of silence, Xanatos still just staring at him, a silent snarl on his face, hands clenched into fists again, and they all gave it a moment, waiting to see if Xanatos would respond. When he didn’t, Yan bowed, Master Kemaan following suit. “We shall return later; do consider what we have said in the meantime.”

With that, they started to turn away to leave again, but Xanatos finally called out to him: “Grandmaster…”

Yan turned back, immediately suspicious of that soft, warbling tone. The rapid change from the anger Xanatos had just displayed told him that, more likely than not, the vulnerability in Xanatos’s voice and the look of contrition, staring sheepishly down at the floor with his shoulders slumped, was almost certainly false.

“Grandpadawan,” Yan returned anyway.

“Would you… do me a favor, Grandmaster?” Xanatos asked, his voice still soft, tone gently pleading, though Yan still did not trust that impression.

“That depends largely upon what you might ask,” Yan hedged, obviously knowing better than to answer such a question with any sort of promise.

“Oh, it isn’t much,” Xanatos said, glancing up at Yan briefly through his lashes, not picking his head back up. For a moment, he could have been all of eleven again, a brand new Padawan at Qui-Gon’s side, playing at innocence while Yan and Qui-Gon questioned him about his involvement in some prank or episode of bullying directed at his fellows. “It’s just… If you would be so kind, could you please pass on a message to Master Jinn for me?”

Again, it depended very much upon the message, and Yan hummed before answering, “Relay it to me, and I shall consider it.”

Xanatos looked up, his expression mostly blank but his eyes stormy and the set of his shoulders tense again. Softly, without looking back down, maintaining eye contact with Yan through the red-wash of the rayshield, he said, “I would give anything, I would pay any price, if they could have traded places. The wrong father died that day.”

Without waiting for any response, Xanatos whirled around, putting his back to them, and made his way back to the bed, carefully settling himself down while keeping his back to them in an obvious dismissal. Yan let out a long, slow breath as he turned away. Their group nodded to Rook, who nodded back and then fixed their attention on Xanatos once more. As they left, the same heavy silence that had hung over them when they had arrived returned.

Though it was true that Yan and Qui-Gon had their issues, their difficulties, Yan did care for him. And no matter how much he had disapproved of Qui-Gon’s handling of Xanatos—both during his apprenticeship and in the ensuing fallout of it—he would never seek to twist the knife in that wound. If Qui-Gon ever heard that Xanatos had said such things, it would certainly not be from him.

But Qui-Gon was getting his own help, making his own changes and moving forward, back at the Temple. And soon enough, Xanatos, too, would receive the help he so desperately needed. Yan could only hope that he would give up this foolish stubbornness, and make a choice for himself before they were forced to make one on his behalf.

And, in truth, Yan still thought Jedha to be a likely contender for Xanatos’s choice, but he had also seen the way Xanatos had responded to Veira Rook. The Jedi were out of the question in Xanatos’s mind, that much was certain, but Jedha or Mandalore, staying with the Mandalorian he had seemingly bonded with and at least superficially listened to… Yan gave those two options very nearly even odds, at this point.

But for now, there was nothing more to be done besides give Xanatos time and space to calm himself and reflect upon the choices before him, awaiting his decision as long as they could before they might be forced to make one for him. Yan took a deep, slow breath, and let the tension he was carrying go into the Force.

Only time would tell them what he might choose, and how much progress he would be able to make. They had done all they could thus far—the rest was up to Xanatos.

Notes:

Yooo, shout out to dont_panic42 and JustHey! Your comments about Yan and Korr’s friendship appearing to be more than a friendship and how long it might take people to encourage that made me giggle. :P I’d already had the “using each other’s weapons in battle is part of Mando courting” trope planned here, so those were fun comments for me, knowing what was coming! I don’t currently have any plans to explicitly pair Yan up with Korr, though; they’re friends, and they will become very, very good friends during Yan’s time on Mandalore. Much like Plo and Jaster, if you want to read it as pre-relationship or an outright relationship, knock yourself out, though I’m not going to explicitly show it.

And one more note: So Eri Kemaan, the Jedi Soul Healer, is a Togruta who uses they/them pronouns. Honestly I had not planned that, it just came out when I started writing, so they/them for Eri happened. :) (And because I hadn't planned it, there might be different pronouns here and there; I tried to edit to make it consistent but I'm only human and might've missed something, LOL. I don't think I did, but this hasn't been beta'd so what I wrote before I realized Eri wanted to be they/them might have some differences XD )

Yan: So, young one… Your midichlorian count is monstrously high, almost nineteen thousand. I thought you’d like to be made aware.
Ben, internally: Eh, not the highest I’ve ever heard of. *Definitely not thinking about Anakin* And I guess I can’t be too surprised that coming back to life after being a dead Force ghost had some… consequences. This is Fine.™ …it even explains a few things, like why the Force comes so easily to me even though it shouldn’t yet. I don’t have to try as hard. …huh.
Ben to Yan: Oh. Okay.
Yan: You’re being very calm about this.
Ben, muttering: Well, yeah. I, a normal Jedi who had more persistence than raw power in the Force, was made Master to the Chosen One just a couple of hours after I was officially Knighted for (supposedly) killing a Sith after watching my Master die. I had to learn how to be Super Chill about stuff like “monstrous” m-counts really, really fast.
Yan: …what?
Ben: Nothing! Nothing at all!
Yan: Hmm. I don’t quite believe that, but I’m not going to push. Instead, I’d like to ask you something: would you be willing to accept my training?
Ben: …you want me to be your Padawan? I’m not even a Jedi anymore, technically speaking.
Yan: Well, perhaps you might’ve noticed that I am Incredibly Determined and Stubborn, and I know you are as well, and I know that Jaster will be just as Determined and Stubborn when it comes to ensuring you can do whatever will make you happiest. If it is something you want, then we’ll sort the details when we must.
Ben: …you just want another excuse to shake up the Council even more, don’t you? An excuse to create more chaos?
Yan: I came by it honestly, a trait passed down by my Master. And one that you share as well; it *would* make you a natural addition…
Ben: Hmm. Well. I suppose the chances of you getting all Sithy have been greatly reduced by recent events and you certainly don’t seem Sithy now… Hmm. Well then… Alright. Yes.
Yan: Marvelous. Excellent. Splend—wait, did you just say “Sithy?”
Ben: Oh, um… Don’t worry about it?
Yan: Of course I’m going to worry about it, Ben. Your speech is incredibly refined, and “Sithy” is not a word.
Ben: …and here I thought you’d be worried about some other part of that statement. Silly me.

The Xanatos outline snippets weren’t all that funny, this time (apparently that’s some Serious Business LOL), so it’s just the one bit this chapter.

Next time, we’ll see more Oppress babies being peak adorable, a bit of Mando New Year’s celebrations, Xanatos will make his choice, and Ben will have a Very Interesting Dream. And after that, we’re on to Jedha!!! :D

Anyway, hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading! :)

Chapter 18

Notes:

Hello again! :D Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos and love last chapter. <3 Xanatos stresses me out, too. But not for much longer. ;) We'll have a bit of angsty hurt/comfort this chapter to make up for the stress last time!
Oh, and please note that I did double update, yesterday and today, so please make sure you go back to read the last chapter if you're just catching up! :)

The muse managed to stick with me long enough to bang out the rest of this chapter (and boy, was it a long one, LOL)! For once, it actually contains everything I said it was going to, miracle of miracles! XD
Next time, we'll see a little bit more of Mando New Year, and then the second half of the chapter will be the arrival on Jedha! :D For now, I hope you enjoy!

(One other note: I wanted to put this blurb in the end note, but it got LONG on me, LOL)
So, Mando New Year stuffs! We’ll see a bit of the partying in the first half of the next chapter before we skip to Jedha. :) The day before, New Year’s Eve, is a rest day. Everybody spends it home with their Clans, and the only real work done (besides absolutely essential jobs like guard positions, medical staff, and other essential personnel positions, but they all also rotate through that in many short shifts so everyone gets time off for the day) is putting the final touches on the skraan’ikase for the dinner in the late afternoon/evening. (Skraan’ikase is “assorted small snacks like meze or tapas - *small eats* - a celebratory meal for Mandos because it can take hours to eat, and the dishes are often fiddly, a contrast to the easy-to-eat, quick meals necessary in the field,” definition from mandoa.org!) So everyone chills on the Eve, then meets up for larger meals with their House/close friends in different but allied Houses depending on who's around, lingering for hours. When it hits true night, they retreat back to their rooms or somewhere else more private. Right before midnight, they start on their Remembrances, finishing out the year and beginning a new one with the people they keep alive in memory. The following day, the first day of the next year, is when the actual partying happens.

Jaster.

Jaster was just putting the finishing touches on his surprise when Ben finally woke up and made his way into the kitchen. He was as adorable as he ever was first thing in the morning, his hair mussed from sleep and those big eyes of his a little bleary, rubbing at them absently as he stared at Jaster, still on his knees hard at work on the new addition to the kitchen.

“Jate vaar’tur, Ben’ika,” Jaster greeted him cheerfully.

“Jate vaar’tur, buir,” Ben returned. “What are you doing?”

“This,” Jaster said, standing and gesturing to his finished project, “is for you.” Ben blinked at him and then eyed the little shelf Jaster had set up. It was at a more appropriate height for Ben, and he’d pulled out Ben’s tea, one of the kettles, a few mugs, and a hotplate. “I still don’t want you using the stove unattended—with supervision is one thing, but alone… I don’t think that’s the best idea when you still can’t actually reach the burners even with a stepstool without using the ka’ra to cheat—but I know you like tea… at odd hours.”

When you wake up from a vision or a nightmare and you’re upset but don’t want to wake me no matter how many times I tell you that you can and should, Jaster didn’t say, though he had a feeling Ben knew what he meant anyway.

Ben blinked at him again for a moment, and then at the new little tea shelf, and finally, he smiled. “Vor’e, buir. That was thoughtful of you.”

Jaster grinned and went over to him, smoothing down his hair as he always liked to do in the morning. As usual, Ben pressed into it like a contented tooka. “I try. I’ll get breakfast ready if you want to test it out.”

Ben nodded and smiled at him again before eagerly scampering over to inspect his new tea station, and Jaster watched him for only a moment before turning his attentions towards food. Jango wasn’t going to be joining them, Jaster knew—he’d volunteered to help with the last of the preparations for Evaar’simir, and he’d apparently fallen asleep in the hall with a few of his friends, Jorin messaging him to let him know where his missing eldest had gone.

For a while, they worked in silence, Ben as meticulous with his tea preparation as he was with everything else, attention fully on that, and not very talkative first thing in the morning besides. Jaster couldn’t help but glance at Ben every now and then, thoughts circling the matter of his tea and what had prompted Jaster to do this in the first place.

Ben had had another nightmare last night, one that had actually woken Jaster up for once (though for all Jaster knew, it could have been a vision and not a nightmare). The nightmares themselves were growing increasingly rare, the longer Ben was here with them, but last night’s had been… something. Normally, Ben barely made a sound when he was having a bad dream, just breathing a little quicker than usual, his face the only real tell, scruched up in obvious distress.

But last night… Ben had been calling for someone loudly enough to wake Jaster up—several people,  in fact, but there was one name that had featured more heavily than the others. Jaster wondered if they were another Jetii, and, if they were, if he could ask Plo and the other Jetii’alor’e to put them in touch with Ben.

“I’d like to ask you something, ad’ika,” Jaster said, concern prompting him to broach the topic, and Ben hummed in response, still laser-focused on his tea. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, I just wondered…”

“What is it, buir?” Ben asked almost absently, still not turning to him and instead staring into the still-steeping tea as if it would be ruined if he looked away for even a moment.

As Jaster spoke again, Ben was finally satisfied, it seemed, and turned off the hotplate. “Who is Cody?”

Ben whirled around, his eyes wide but the rest of his face carefully blank. “How do you know about Cody?”

“You had a… dream last night,” Jaster said, considering and dismissing the descriptors nightmare and vision quickly. “You were calling for them. I’d wondered if it’s someone you actually know, or someone you’ve just seen, someone the ka’ra showed you. But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“Oh,” Ben said softly. He stared at Jaster for a moment and then shook his head, turning away, back towards his tea.

“You don’t have to say if you don’t want to, Ben’ika,” Jaster assured him again. “You can tell me to drop it, if you want.”

Several long seconds ticked by while Ben stayed quiet, and Jaster was about to say something else, to change the subject, when his ad finally sighed heavily, sounding more like an old man than a seven-year-old adiik. He turned around, taking his tea to the table. Softly, without looking up at Jaster, he said, “He’s… He’s someone I was— would have been… He would have been very dear to me. But he won’t… The events that… led to his birth have changed, so he won’t… He won’t be here, now. I won’t get to see him.” Ben paused, sniffling softly and still staring down at his tea. “I won’t get to know him, in this life. But I remember him so clearly, and…”

Ben trailed off and Jaster turned away just long enough to take the pan off of the stove, unwilling to leave it unattended as much as Ben had been unwilling to leave his tea unsupervised, and turned to his son.

Manda, he didn’t even know where to start with that.

It was obviously some sort of… something with the ka’ra, and it sounded like it might have been a vision—or maybe a series of them, because he shouldn’t remember someone that clearly he’d only seen in one vision, or so the manuals said. Jaster was suddenly reminded of the conversation they’d had after one of those first nightmares that had woken him up and driven him to the kitchen for tea, when Ben had said that he’d seen “someone he missed very much,” someone that he “knew he wouldn’t see again.” And Jaster couldn’t help but wonder just how much and how often he’d seen this person, and what that might mean—

Ben sniffled quietly and Jaster reminded himself that the how and what and why of that didn’t matter as much as Ben did in that moment. He went to Ben, kneeling down to hug him, and his son immediately clung back.

“I’m sorry, ad’ika,” Jaster said. “I can tell that hurts you. But thank you for telling me.”

“I miss him,” Ben whispered. “I miss so many people who won’t ever be, not here, but— But Cody…”

He trailed off and sniffled again, and though he didn’t start crying outright, his breathing hitched now and then. Jaster kept holding him until he calmed, and then he drew back, giving Ben a smile and turning back to their breakfast. After the comfort, Jaster knew, Ben liked to have a moment of space and quiet to “compose himself.”

Jaster still didn’t know what to make of… any of this, whether it was a series of visions or something else. And while Korr had been helpful in keeping Ben steady, what Ben was willing to say to him about the actual contents of his visions was rather limited, and the same was true for the Jetiise and his mir’baar’ur.

But with their upcoming trip to Jedha… Jaster had heard from more than a few of their ka’ra’tigaanla that they had a certain way with people, able to put them at ease so quickly, and that they “saw so much,” whatever that meant. Perhaps when they got there, Jaster could quietly have a word with one or two of them and see if they could find someone Ben would really open up to. Whatever he was carrying, it was heavy, and it hurt him, and he shouldn’t have to carry it on his own.

Nodding to himself, Jaster thought about his son’s needs here and now, and refocused on getting him fed and ready for the day ahead of them.

---

Maul.

Maul was nervous. He was… maybe even a little scared. He tried hard to make sure it didn’t show so he didn’t scare his brothers, but… 

He just had such a bad feeling about this.

He might’ve left Dathomir, but Maul was still a Night Brother. He knew how to be quiet and listen and watch, figuring out things for himself because no one was just going to tell them the truth—the Sisters never had, and even some of the older Night Brothers tried to hide things from them. Even though they said it was to help them, to keep them from being scared, not knowing things was much, much scarier than just knowing was.

So Maul had heard the adults talking, Korr and the not-Father (because Mandalore didn’t have a Mother, but Korr had said it wasn’t always a man who ruled them, either, so their leader wasn’t a Father, but Maul didn’t yet understand what else they could be, especially since everyone called him “Mandalore” just like the place), about going away somewhere else. Korr had said that he wanted to go, he wanted to leave, and he’d kept looking at Maul and Savage and Feral out of the corner of his eye, thinking they were too far away to understand what they were saying, but Maul heard enough.

Korr was going away. He was going to leave Mandalore. He was going to leave them.

And now… Now, Korr was going to admit it, Maul thought. When they’d woken up this morning, right after breakfast, Korr had asked them all to go wait for him in the karyai until he was finished cleaning up, because he needed to talk to them, and Maul knew that phrase, and it never meant anything good—

Savage leaned over slightly towards him, pressing their shoulders together, and grabbed his hand. Maul liked it—of course he did, he always felt better when his brothers were close—but it also made him upset, knowing he’d been obvious enough to make Savage notice it. Feral, thankfully, seemed to be paying more attention to the stuffed bantha toy Korr had given him.

It felt like forever before Korr finally came in, but it probably hadn’t really been that long. It was a relief when he finally joined them, in a way, putting an end to the waiting, but it was also even scarier, because whatever was actually wrong, Korr was finally going to tell them, and—

And Maul couldn’t help but think that this was when Korr was finally going to tell them he didn’t want them anymore. Then they would have to go away, just like they’d been sent away from Mother to be with the other Brothers, and then they’d had to go away from the Brothers because it wasn’t safe and they had to leave, and they never got to stay with anyone.

Korr smiled at them, the same gentle, bright smile he always did, and settled himself down on the cushy rug just in front of them. He pointed that smile at Feral, first, and then at Savage, and finally Maul.

“Me’vaar ti gar, ad’ika?” Korr asked. “Are you alright?”

Maul nodded without saying anything, not wanting to admit that he was scared, and he also didn’t think he could’ve lied well enough to keep the truth from his brothers. Korr hummed, tilting his head and just looking at him for a little while, and Maul fought not to squirm. It didn’t seem like Korr believed him, and it was only then that Maul remembered that Korr could feel him. He already knew Maul was lying, and that was even scarier, because getting caught lying never meant anything good, but—

But Korr eventually just nodded, that smile still on his face, and looked over all three of them again before he spoke again. “I wanted to talk to you about a few important things, ad’ike,” he said. “First of all… How do you like it here, on Manda’yaim?”

“It’s good,” Maul said immediately, both because it was true and because he hoped telling Korr so would make him change his mind about keeping them here with him. Savage nodded, and Feral giggled; Korr seemed to think that was a good enough answer, nodding in return and moving on to his next question.

“You’ve been with me for long enough now to get a feel for how things work here, and to get used to me,” Korr said. “Though there will be some changes once the school season starts again: you’ll all be in classes with other adiik’e your age. But for the most part, you already know what life here is like. And you’re happy with that? You’re happy here?” Again, they all nodded, and Korr’s smile grew a little wider, like he was happy with their answer. “I’m glad. The most important thing I wanted to talk to you about…

“You’ve been my Foundlings for a little while, now, but most Foundlings don’t stay Foundlings forever. Most are adopted,” Korr continued. “I talked to you about adoption before, remember? What that means and how it works?”

“It’s when a person says they’re our buir, and that means we stay with them, and they take care of us,” Savage said. “They say the special words and then put the names on the… Um…”

Savage turned helplessly to Maul, unable to remember the word. “Re-gi-ster,” Maul said, and Savage squeezed his hand in thanks while Korr nodded again.

“‘Lek, ad’ike,” he agreed. “Exactly. Now, since we’ve known each other for a little while now, I thought it was about time to talk about it.”

Maul tried not to let that scare him, but it was hard, because he was pretty sure that meant that Korr was going to find someone else to adopt them and they wouldn’t get to stay with him just like always—

Korr looked over at him again, and Maul squirmed a little, looking down at the pretty blue rug, knowing he’d felt that. But Korr didn’t tell him that Night Brothers couldn’t afford to be afraid, like the older Brothers always had; instead, Maul felt that steady-but-bubbly-warm-bright-Light that just felt like Korr reaching out to him, pressing up against him like a hug, even though neither of them had moved.

“I care about you very much,” Korr said. “You’re wonderful ad’e, and I think we get along nicely with each other. And since you like it here, and we do well together… I don’t need an answer right now if you want to think about it, but I thought it was time to ask: would you do me the honor of letting me become your buir? Would you like for me to adopt you?”

Feral squealed with delight, dropping his stuffed toy in favor of clapping his hands together; Savage sat up straighter, his eyes going wide and his hand squeezing Maul’s again, that much harder, this time; and Maul…

Maul burst into tears.

“Udesii, ad’ika,” Korr said, leaning over to pat his knee. “It’s alright—you’re alright. Just take a breath, ‘lek?”

“I— I thought we were g-gonna have to go a-a-away, like a-a-always,” Maul said through the tears he just couldn’t stop. “We n-never get to s-stay, an’ I h-heard you t-talk ab-bout l-leaving—”

“Oh, Ma’ika,” Korr sighed. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t what we meant, not at all. You don’t have to go anywhere if you don’t want to, and you don’t have to leave me if you don’t want to, either. I’d like you to stay—if you want to.”

“Y-yes,” Maul said, as firm as he could with such a shaky voice, still crying. He didn’t need to ask his brothers if they wanted to, either—just like Korr could feel Maul, Maul could feel him and his brothers. He already knew they wanted to stay, too—and they definitely all wanted to stay together.

“Vor entye, ad’ike,” Korr said, and then he spread his arms out. Already knowing what that meant, all three of them darted forward: Feral latched onto one of Korr’s sides, the stuffed bantha smashed between him and Korr, and Savage carefully tucked himself in on the other side, and Maul, like always, made sure he was firmly in the middle, surrounded by both his brothers and Korr. He wasn’t wearing his armor yet, so it was very comfortable, pressing up against him, and Maul buried his face in Korr’s chest while he sniffled, his tears starting to dry up.

They could stay! Korr wanted them to stay—Korr wanted them!

Maul could hardly believe it, even though he could feel how much warmer and brighter Korr got when they said yes. That meant he’d liked their answer, it had made him happy. It made Maul and his brothers happy, too.

But there was still one thing… Without picking his head up, his words a little muffled, face buried in Korr’s chest as it was, Maul said, “If we all get to stay, why were you talking about leaving?”

“I’ve talked to you about Jedha before, where I learned much of what I know about the ka’ra,” Korr said, and Maul let out a little grunt, since he couldn’t nod like this but wasn’t willing to move away. “Several of our people are taking a trip there, soon. They asked if we wanted to go with them. I think it would be good for you three to visit, but if you want to stay here, then we’ll all stay. I won’t go without you, and we won’t go at all unless you want to. Ori’haat.”

“If we go, we go with you?” Savage asked.

“‘Lek.”

“But if we stay, you stay?” Savage said.

“‘Lek.”

“If we go,” Maul added, still refusing to move from where he’d wedged himself into this hug shared by the four of them, “are we going to come back?”

“Of course,” Korr said. “This is cuun yaim, our home.”

Our home. Our home. Our home! Maul was nearly dizzy, feeling so bright and light at the way Korr was sharing home with them. Even the Night Brother village, before, hadn’t really been home. It was just the village —his Brothers had always been home, and they were gone, now.

Well, not all of them. Maul still had his Brothers, the ones with blood-ties, and they had Korr now, too, and—

And they had a home!

“Can we think about it?” Savage asked.

“Of course,” Korr repeated. “We wouldn’t be leaving for almost another week—you’ll have plenty of time to choose.” He squeezed them all again, using the ka’ra to squeeze Maul, too, since he was harder to reach with his arms like this. “Now, there was something important we were going to do, ‘lek?

“Ni kar’tayl gai sa’ad, Maul—” Korr paused to press his forehead to the top of Maul’s head, unable to reach his own forehead the way he was still hiding his face, and Maul knew by now that that was how Mandalorians showed that they liked and cared about somebody, and he felt even dizzier with how warm that made him. And he thought he knew what Korr had just said, what that meant, and that made him even happier.

“—Savage—” Again, Korr paused, and though Maul didn’t pick his head up to look, he was sure Korr was bumping him with his forehead, too. “—Feral.” Another pause, and then Feral giggled. “I know your name as my child, Maul, Savage, Feral.”

“That’s it?” Maul asked. “It’s done?”

“That’s it,” Korr said. “We’ll still have to make sure to update the Register so everyone else knows, too, but it’s official, now.”

“You’re our… buir?” Savage said, and Maul felt even more of that floaty-bright-warmth, so strong coming from all of them at once.

“‘Lek, ad’ika,” Korr said. “I’m your buir.”

Maul didn’t mean to, really he didn’t, but he just couldn’t help it. He was too relieved, too happy, too much of everything, and he started crying again—but this time, it was because he was too happy and he didn’t know what else to do with that. And this time, it didn’t take long before Savage and Feral joined him; Korr wasn’t mad, didn’t tell them to stop acting like babies because they were Night Brothers and they had to be stronger than that. Instead, he just pulled them all a little closer.

Mandalore, Maul thought to himself, was absolutely, definitely the best. And so was Korr—but no, Maul thought. That wasn’t right.

Buir was absolutely, definitely the best.

---

Ben.

Ben had known that Evaar’simir, the New Year according to the traditional Mandalorian calendar system, was an important holiday for all Mando’ade. Celebrations tended to be on the quieter side for this particular occasion, the time spent among one’s own Clan and House—at least for the last day of the year. It was a day of rest and reflection, and tomorrow, the first day of a new year… That would be when the real partying happened.

He had also known that things were slightly different for his aliit, given Jaster’s position: it wasn’t only their own aliit they would be observing this day with. Jaster was the leader of House Mereel, of course, which the vast majority of the Haat’ade claimed, but many of them had broken back down into their smaller Clans for the festivities. But there were others who weren’t part of their House who were invited to the celebration, alternating each year whether they spent it among their own aliit’e or with Jaster. Ben had known—he’d been told weeks ago, now—that there would be another familiar face around when the New Year came.

But even so, Ben felt like there was simply no way he could have prepared himself properly. After the dreams he’d had the night before, the conversation that morning, and now this…

Today, it seemed, was a day full of ghosts.

It was still early afternoon, and they were just beginning to gather in one of the stronghold’s cavernous meeting halls, filled with comfortable cushions and low tables surrounding the enormous firepit in the center of the room, food and drink already spread out across the large, long tables at the outskirts of the room. Strings of lanterns and banners hung from the high ceiling, and combined with the skylights and the large bonfire roaring in the center of the room, it created a warm, vibrant, yet calm atmosphere.

Jaster, Jango, Jorin, and Ben himself had been among the first to arrive, only beaten by those who had volunteered to help set the last of it all up, bringing the food in. Jaster led them to one of the low tables and piles of cushions near the central firepit and they settled themselves down, waiting for everyone to join them.

Korr, Maul, Savage, and Feral had arrived with the Jedi in tow, and the former four were radiating a strong, unified feeling of happiness-pleasure-satisfaction, the emotions far too strong to simply have been due to the holiday itself. Korr saluted formally as he approached them, and the three younglings beside him had clumsily tried to follow suit. It had Ben resisting the urge to coo.

“Olaram, vod, ad’ike,” Jaster greeted him. “Ni me’dinui ner kajir, kai’tome, bal Aliit ti gar.” It sounded like a ritual phrase, the way Jaster said it: Welcome. I share my table, food, and family with you.

“Cuyi ner ijaat, ‘Alor,” Korr returned. It is my honor —that was far more formal than Korr ever was with Jaster, which strengthened Ben’s suspicion that this was a ritualized exchange.

Jaster smiled and gestured for them to sit and Korr ushered his Foundlings over to the cushions, tugging Feral into his lap. Maul seemed momentarily torn between sticking close to Korr and wanting to be near Ben, eventually compromising by sitting himself between the two of them; Ben made sure to smile at him and reach out with a little pulse of warm-greeting in the Force. Maul’s honest delight met that feeling, and Ben’s smile grew a little stronger. Here and now, like this, it was growing ever easier to remember who and what Maul was now rather than dwelling on what he could have been. Ben was grateful for that.

Turning next to the Jedi, Jaster nodded to them. “Olaram, Jetiise,” he said. “Ni me’dinui ner kajir, kai’tome, bal Aliit ti gar.” He paused, then started to speak again, no doubt to translate for them, when the Jedi bowed in unison and Master Yan spoke for them.

“Cuyi cuun ijaat, Mand’alor,” he said, slow and careful. Jaster was pleasantly surprised, that particular smile on his face and the sparkling-bright feeling at the edges of his presence giving that away. “I do hope I haven’t butchered that.”

“Not at all,” Jaster said, gesturing for them to sit as well.  It didn’t surprise Ben in the least when Savage, on the other side of Korr from Maul, stretched out a hand in a silent plea to Master Yan. He chuckled and obeyed, going to sit beside Savage. Those two were bound to become rather close—ironically enough, Ben thought, given their relationship in his alternate future-past, such as it had been.

“You all seem particularly happy today,” Ben said, turning to Korr and the Zabrak brothers.

“We made it official earlier,” Korr said, the broad grin on his face matched by the fiercely bright and warm flare of his presence. “They’re no longer Foundlings, but ner ad’e.”

“Kandosii!” Ben and his Clan all chorused, both Jango and Jorin punctuating it by picking up their tankards and hitting the table with them twice.

“It’s about time,” Jorin said a bit teasingly, and Korr laughed.

“I thought so as well,” he said. “And now we’ll start the next year off right.”

Everyone smiled, indulgently pleased and so warm and fond, and the easy peace of the moment was soothing. Ben started to relax again—after last night’s dreams and this morning’s conversation with his buir, he’d been… unsettled. And though meditation and a day of lazing had helped, this helped, too.

They broke off into their own conversations after that: Jango eagerly engaged Knight Sarr and Master Vel in conversation about farming techniques; Savage immediately grabbed Master Yan’s attention with a conversation about different Force techniques Master Yan might be persuaded to teach them soon; and Korr, Jorin, Jaster, and Master Kemaan all started in on an overview of who would be coming tonight and who was still at their Clan strongholds—which left Maul and Feral looking at Ben.

“I’m happy for you all,” Ben said, and Maul ducked his head, shyly pleased, while Feral giggled, prompting Korr to absently smooth a hand over his head. “Korr is a good person. He’ll make a very good buir for you.”

“He’s the best,” Maul said. Ben fought not to laugh.

“That’s a good thing to think about your buir,” he said. “It shows they’re doing something right.” Maul looked up again, a little smile on his face, and he nodded.

They were soon interrupted by several more arrivals—Pao and Vlek, always together, those two—who came up to repeat the same formal exchange with Jaster everyone else had. Ben got the feeling that everyone who came would do the same.

He was right. Over the next hour or so, the hall slowly filled with people, those who were formally Haat’ade and those who were close friends alike, and they all came to see Jaster before drifting away again. Jango, Jorin, and Korr enlisted Master Yan and Master Vel to help them grab food for everyone, explaining the concept of skraan’ikase to them, explaining the many and varied smaller dishes to them as they picked through the line, what each of them was and which ones to avoid if they couldn’t handle their spice. The longer that cycle repeated, Haat’ade and trusted friends coming over to greet and be greeted by Jaster and going back for more food, plates piled high with all manner of smaller pieces, the more Ben began to relax.

And then another familiar face appeared. Ben felt them before he saw them, zeroing in on the doorway immediately as they entered: Adonai and Lionia Kryze were just coming in, and Adonai was holding the hand of a familiar redhead—just a toddler, now, Force —and Lionia holding the hand of… Well.

Ben had recognized Satine instantly, and from her presence alone. It was so different, so much Lighter, the emotional and psychological scars she’d carried last time not yet present here and now, but it was unmistakably, undeniably her. Her hair was just the same, still a bright blonde, and those large eyes were the same, and he could see in her face as it was now how she would grow into the woman she would become one day, and—

And it felt an awful lot like looking at a ghost.

The Kryzes came forward to repeat the exchange, the formal greeting, and then they lingered for a moment to speak to Jaster. Both Bo-Katan and Satine were quick to perk up as they caught sight of other children, and they tugged away from their parents, coming around the table—

Straight to Ben and the others.

“Su’cuy,” Satine said politely while Bo-Katan started in on Feral, the one closest to her own age, while Korr looked on and radiated fond-amusement. “Cuyi Satine b’aliit Kryze. Tion’gar gai’se?”

They all knew what that meant by now, even the Zabrak brothers having learned the most basic phrases so far—though they didn’t seem to want to introduce themselves. Maul and Savage exchanged looks over Korr and Feral, leaning forward to see each other past them, and then ducked their heads.

Ah. Right. Ben had nearly forgotten what impact their… upbringing would have had in a situation like this.

“Ner gai Ben b’aliit Mereel,” he introduced himself. “Jatne urcye, Ad be’Kryze.”

“Bal gar, Ad be’Alor,” Satine answered. She turned away, looking to Maul and then Savage, but neither of them looked up.

“Ad’ike,” Korr murmured. “It’s alright. She’s asking because she really wants to know.” More softly, he tacked on, “There are no Sisters here, not like that.”

After another beat of hesitation, Maul took a deep breath and muttered, “Maul.”

“Um, Savage.”

“Tion’kar’tayli Mando’a?” Satine asked. “Or is Basic better?”

“They’re new here, and still learning,” Korr offered, and Satine brightened.

“I can teach you, if you want,” she immediately offered, that same desire just to help Ben had seen in her so clearly before still shining through. He wanted to laugh—he wanted to cry—he wanted to…

He didn’t know what he wanted to do.

“Um… Thank you?” Maul said, risking a look up at Satine, who beamed at him.

“Ba’gedet’ye!” she answered, flopping down onto a nearby cushion. “That means you’re welcome. What else do you wanna say?”

“Um…” Maul glanced at Korr, and then ducked his head again, but leaned in towards Satine. Dropping his voice, clearly trying not to be overheard, he added, “I want to tell my buir he’s the best.”

“That’s sweet,” Satine said. “It’d be buir, gar cuyi jatne!”

“Buir, gar coo-ee jaht-nee,” Maul repeated, and Satine nodded, still beaming at him. “Thank you.”

“Vor’e,” Satine said. “That’s how you say it in Mando’a.”

“The older Brothers used to tell us to be good and say please,” Savage finally spoke up again. “How’s it go?”

“Gedet’ye,” Satine said.

Ben didn’t take in much of their conversation after that point, too busy feeling his view of the galaxy crack and splinter, turning on its head. Force, that was something he never would have guessed he might see, Satine making friends with Maul and Savage, seated right next to Dooku and Jango Fett and several other Jedi—

It was almost too much, and Ben felt a (probably slightly hysterical) laugh bubbling up inside of him, but then he felt several brushes against his mind in the Force, three familiar presences reaching for his own: Korr, Master Yan, and Jango. His ori’vod was a bit clumsier about it, but his Force-empathy had developed so quickly, and he was already very good at reading people. Still, Ben knew he must have been truly rattled if even some of that had slipped through his shields—

The little touches became somewhat firmer, still not trying to slip through his shields, but reaching for him in an offer of support, as if propping him up. Ben gave in, closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing and the feeling of those Lights in the Force. They let their edges mingle for a little while, just brushing against each other on a still fairly superficial level, just quietly saying I’m here, we’re both here, we’re all here.

It helped. Ben had forgotten, during those long years on Tatooine, what it had felt like to have other Force-sensitives around him. Then, when he’d first… arrived here, the sheer number of his bonds and the number of Force-sensitives around him in the Temple had been so overwhelming that he hadn’t even truly been able to enjoy the feeling.

He did now. Ben let himself drift for a little while, just basking in it, letting it soothe him. He felt himself calming again and pressed warm-thanks-affection to the others before bringing the rest of his shields back up and blinking his eyes open—

Only to find Satine staring straight at him with a curious look on her face, the conversation between her and Korr’s new sons seemingly over for the moment.

“Are you okay?” she asked, and Ben managed a smile for her.

“‘Lek, vor’e,” he said. “Ah… Your aliit is from Kalevala, aren’t you?” Satine blinked at him and nodded. “Would you tell us about it?”

Her eyes lit up and she straightened somewhat, sitting taller in obvious excitement. “Of course! It’s so beautiful—there are oceans and cliffs with green grass plains and forests and on some of the tallest mountains, it snows all the time…”

Maul and Savage were still listening intently, taking all of it in, likely unable to even picture some of the things Satine was describing, having only ever seen Dathomir and Mandalore, but that was alright. They were obviously curious, eyes wide and leaning towards Satine slightly as she fell further into her descriptions of her homeworld, and Ben’s smile grew a little easier.

He really had missed this, listening to her enthuse about something she loved, something she was passionate about. Ben had missed her.

This still wasn’t the Satine he’d known, not quite, and yet she was, at the core of her. And perhaps… Ben reached out again, feeling that almost wholly innocent Light that made up her presence, feeling Maul and Savage, still shadowed and slightly scarred from their early lives, but already healing, and bright, innocent-yet-mischievous Feral and Bo-Katan…

None of them were quite who and what they had been, and they would likely never grow into those same people, this time. But feeling all of this Light, seeing all of this potential between people he never would have thought could get along with one another…

The Force pressed in close, warm and comforting and approving, as if reminding him itself to look for the good in all things. Ben let out a slow breath, and then breathed in that peace; with that, he refocused his attention on Satine, so bright and animated and happy as she chattered on and on about Kalevala, absently accepting a plate of food Adonai leaned down to hand her without even looking at him, and with Maul and Savage hanging on her every word.

Yes, Ben thought. It was better this way. They could all be better, this time—together.

---

Veira.

“Briikase Evaar’simir!” The guards posted on either side of the entrance to the Mirci’t’ya paired the greeting with knowing looks that Veira could read even through their buckets, and she grinned beneath her own and nodded to them, not even slightly sheepish.

“Bal gar, vod’e,” Veira said, pushing the hovercart she’d brought through the door as they opened it for her. Frankly, she had no idea if this would actually work, but she wanted to try. She was hopeful, at least, that Xan’ika would understand the meaning behind the gesture, at least once she explained.

Xanatos was stretched out on the bed when she entered, staring at the ceiling—he’d been doing a lot of that since the Jetiise and the Mand’alor had come by to talk to him. It seemed more like he was thinking than plotting or stewing, though, so Veira had mostly left him to it, for now. He did have an important choice to make soon, after all. He looked over as he heard her approach, sitting up and raising his eyebrows at the cart.

“Briikase Evaar’simir, Xan’ika!” she said brightly. “Happy New Year.”

Xanatos’s eyebrows stayed raised. “It isn’t time for that, yet.”

“The Mandalorian calendar and dating system is different from Galactic Standard,” Veira said with a shrug. “It’s New Year’s Eve, today.”

Xanatos hummed, still looking at her and the cart with an expression that seemed torn between curiosity and suspicion. “And what’s all this?”

“Skraan’ikase,” Veira said. “It’s food. I know, I know, you only eat the rolls, and I brought some of those, too, but… This is important to us, and I wanted to… try.” Xanatos just stared at her, still and quiet, and Veira decided that was good enough for now, barreling on. “So skraan means food, and ‘ika means little, and the se at the end is plural. So it’s lots of little eats— skraan’ikase is… We save it for special occasions. A lot of it’s pretty fiddly and complicated to make, and more effort than any of us would ever put into it in the field, you know? So it’s only for calmer, peaceful times at home, or maybe celebrating at the end of a successful campaign. You’re supposed to just keep snacking for hours and hours on this stuff, lingering during a big dinner that goes on for hours, or a party.”

“And you do this for your New Year,” Xanatos repeated, and Veira nodded.

“‘Lek. Everybody gathers together with whatever family and close friends— vod’e or at least burc’ya’se —they have nearby,” Veira said. Xanatos’s brow furrowed lightly and he moved to cross his arms over his chest, just staring at her for a moment. Veira waited him out, knowing he would crack first and ask whatever was on his mind.

“You aren’t joining them,” Xanatos said slowly, and Veira smiled and shrugged.

“I’ll have next year to do that, and the year after that, and the year after that—as long as I live, really,” she said. “I figured you needed company more this year than I need to be with my Clan, y’know?”

For another long moment, Xanatos just stared at her, and then he looked away—but Veira caught the slight slumping of his shoulders, tension going out of them, and the way he tried to hide the softening of his expression by looking away from her, and she grinned.

Progress.

“So, I’m gonna come in and make sure you have some food,” Veira said. Xanatos looked back up and rolled his eyes at her, but he moved so that his hands were on either side of him near the edge of the bed, ready for the magnetic cuffs to activate and attach to the bedframe, holding him there. Veira hit the control—now synced with her kom’rk, since she was here so often; the guards had decided it made more sense to give her the minor controls—and then brought down the rayshield. She pushed the cart into his cell, took back one tray from the bottom level of it, and then stepped back out, bringing the shield back up and deactivating the cuffs.

“Haili cetar’e, Xan’ika!” Veira said. “Eat up. Or, literally I guess, ‘fill your boots.’”

Xanatos huffed, not quite a laugh, but that too was something, and Veira grinned to herself again. Resettling in her usual chair, dragging over another to put the tray on it, she took a few moments to watch Xanatos. He glanced at her and then moved to the cart, starting to take the lids off of the trays, staring at it all.

“I didn’t bring anything too spicy for you—I went easy on the sauce on most of it, so don’t worry about that,” Veira said. “And there’s blue milk for you on the bottom one, just in case.” He kept investigating the food for a few moments, looking over everything, and then got up and moved to the table, still able to reach the cart from there. “The kabobs on the top—yeah, those—I think you’ll like them. They’re shatual with a kind of sweet glaze.”

He looked up at her again, just staring, face blank in a way she’d rarely seen from him, and then he turned back to the cart. Ever so slowly, he bypassed the plate of rolls that had become his usual meal and picked up the plate of kabobs. Veira’s grin turned triumphant, so broad and toothy that she thought her cheeks might hurt later if she kept that up. Xanatos took one of the kabobs, inspecting it carefully, and then took a bite. His brow furrowed as he chewed, as if he couldn’t decide what he thought of it, but then he took another bite, and Veira started to relax.

She looked around, noting that the usual guards were still posted down the hall at the central command station and the sentry droids were still on patrol. She’d already gotten clearance to do this if she thought it was a good idea, so she didn’t fear any consequences for breaking protocol. Still watching Xanatos, who was paying more attention to his food than her at the moment, Veira uncovered her own tray—she’d already eaten some with those of her Clan who were here instead of back home on Aspens, but she’d saved most of her own favorites to eat with Xan’ika—and set the lid aside. Next, instead of tilting her helmet up to eat as she had been every night since they’d discovered Xanatos would eat the sweet rolls, Veira lifted it off entirely and set it on the floor beside her.

Xanatos obviously caught the motion, freezing in place and staring at her, eyes narrowed, and Veira smiled at him as he looked over her face. She was well aware of what she looked like—light blue skin, lavender hair (kept short, because dealing with long hair under a helmet was not a headache she needed or wanted), a scar on one cheek tugging the yellow marks slightly out of balance, golden eyes—but she wondered how she compared with what Xanatos might’ve pictured of her. He just kept staring for a long moment, still holding up the kabob, and Veira laughed a little and waved, wiggling her fingers at him.

Finally, Xanatos huffed and looked back down at his food, quietly starting to eat again. Veira joined him, starting in on her own favorites—some of which she’d brought for Xan’ika as well, though many of them had been made specifically for him, set aside before they were spiced because she wasn’t trying to kill him and she knew how aruetiise usually reacted to their spices.

Xanatos broke the silence, eventually, glancing up at her before turning back to his food. “Why now?”

“The helmet, you mean?” Veira asked, and Xanatos nodded, still without looking at her. “I just… felt like it was time, I guess. Evaar’simir is important to us, and I wanted to share something nice with you.”

“Your family is Pantoran, then?” he asked, and Veira knew it was a deliberate choice on his part not to address that last comment.

“My maan’aliit —my first family—was Pantoran, ‘lek,” she said. “My parents were spacers, long-haul pilots and traders. We had a run-in with a pirate crew when I was an adiik still—I was five, barely remember it. If my buir’e hadn’t happened on us right then, I probably would’ve either been killed or kidnapped for them to sell. The Mandos took me in, after that, and adopted me into Clan and House Rook. My vod’ika came along later, when I was eleven. He’s a Twi’lek. Our buir’e —and most of the rest of our House—are mostly-human, the sort of mixed-gene near-humans you find on Mandalore, given how many different species and how many hybrid children’ve been born in the Sector for millennia.”

Xanatos nodded, glancing up at her again, face still mostly-blank, before turning back to his food, finishing the first kabob. Veira felt that heady sense of victory as he looked over the rest of it with more interest than he’d shown in any food besides the rolls so far.

“Try the pastry, next—that one, ‘lek,” she said, and Xanatos obeyed after only a moment’s hesitation. He started to actually relax, then, shoulders dropping further even as he sat up a little straighter, no longer hunching in on himself. Veira decided to take a chance, knowing she’d have plenty of time and opportunity to distract and deescalate him if needed. “Have you thought any more about where you might want to go?” Xanatos stiffened again, and Veira stifled a sigh. She’d seen him reading over the ‘pad, at least, the various plans they had made already depending on where he might’ve wanted to go. “If you want to stay, my Clan offered to take you in. We could go back to Aspens, to our morut —our Clan stronghold, our compound.”

“I don’t want to be Mandalorian,” Xanatos said, voice tight.

“Fair enough,” Veira said easily. Xanatos looked up at her again, frowning, and she shrugged. “It’s not for everybody. I get it. What about the other option?” He quirked an eyebrow and Veira chuckled, knowing what he was thinking. “The only other option, singular. I think we all knew from the start that the Jetiise were never going to be your choice. So, Jedha. What do you think?”

“I don’t want to go to Jedha,” Xanatos said, voice tight, face blank again. “I don’t want to stay here. And I certainly don’t want to go back to the Jedi.”

“I know,” Veira sighed. “I know, Xan’ika. But you can’t go back to what you were doing before, either.” Xanatos huffed and shook his head, looking away again, and Veira thought all of that over. He didn’t want to be Mando’ad, which was fair, and meant that he wouldn’t be joining their Clan, and he definitely didn’t want to go back to the Jetiise, which left Jedha as the only real option for him. But… There was still something she could do for him. “If that’s what you choose, I can be the one to take you to Jedha. And, if you want… I can stick around with you for a while. I’ve never been before, but I’ve heard there’s plenty of work for a hunter there—mostly protection details, guarding pilgrims on the paths between sites. I’d be a little less glued to you than I am here, but I’d still be around—if you want me to be.”

Again, a series of different expressions travelled across his face, each one there and gone again so quickly that she couldn’t identify any of them. Finally, picking up another pastry, Xanatos shrugged. It was probably meant to look casual, but it was a little too jerky to really pull that off.

“I don’t care,” he said, still refusing to look her in the eye, and Veira smiled again. She knew, by now, what he actually meant.

“Okay,” she said. “In that case, since you don’t mind… I’ll hang around for a while.” Again, that had him relaxing ever-so-slightly, and his next shrug was easier, looser. “So, Jedha, then? That’s what you want?”

Xanatos huffed, setting the half-eaten pastry back down, hands clenching into fists. “I want to… I want…” He trailed off, sighing roughly and still not looking at her. So softly she could barely hear it, he said, “I want to wake up to find that this was all just a nightmare. And if I can’t have that, I wish I could go to sleep now and wake up—different.”

“I know,” Veira sighed again. “I know you do. I wish we could all just go to sleep and wake up better, healed, but people aren’t like droids. A simple reset isn’t going to do the trick, though it can help in the moment. Real healing takes time and effort. It’s work. But I won’t leave you to do all that work alone, not if you don’t want me to.”

“Why? I told you I don’t want to be Mandalorian,” Xanatos said, and Veira shrugged back at him.

“And you don’t have to be for me to care about you,” she said. “It’s true that most Foundlings are eventually adopted into a Mandalorian Clan, but not all of them. But even if they aren’t adopted, the relationship between a Mando’ad and their Foundling is… special. That doesn’t change even if they don’t end up joining their Clan.”

Xanatos huffed and rolled his eyes—which, somewhat ironically, pleased Veira. He was more animated now than blank, which she thought was a good sign. “Do you call all of your bounties ‘Foundlings?’”

Veira laughed. “‘Course not,” she said. “You’re one of a kind, Xan’ika.” He looked away again, busying himself with the rest of that pastry, likely trying to hide his expression at that, and Veira smiled again. “So… Jedha. You and me—what do you think?”

Xanatos was quiet for a while, eating a little more to buy himself time before answering. Finally, refusing to look at her again, he said, “I don’t like any of the ‘options’ you’ve all chosen. But that… At least it would get me away from the Jedi.” Huffing softly, Xanatos looked up at her again and nodded. “Fine. Fine. You can take me to Jedha.”

Veira grinned at him and nodded. “Jedha, then,” she said. “And I’ll stay until you tell me to kriff off.”

Again, Xanatos rolled his eyes, but the tension in his shoulders eased a little more, and he kept picking at his food, and Veira considered that more than progress, this time: that was a definite win.

---

Ben.

Dinner carried on for hours —as it was meant to, when skraan’ikase was involved. Just as staggered and slowly as people had entered the hall, they drifted out in small groups, pairs, and trios. They would reconvene in their own quarters for the last bit of the night’s traditions, since Remembrances were more private, and the rest of the celebrations would be observed the following day, the holiday markets and the various combat tournaments (knife throwing, shooting, and grappling among them) to be convened in Keldabe proper come morning.

But for now… Ben knew that it wasn’t quite over yet, that there was still more to be done, but… But, yet again, he was seven, and he was tired. He struggled to keep himself awake and upright, jerking himself up when he realized his eyes were slipping closed and he started to lean forward, reminding himself that the evening wasn’t quite over just yet. Satine and Bo-Katan were curled up together on a pile of cushions at the next table, already asleep, with Adonai and Lionia speaking quietly with each other beside them, and Savage and Feral were already fast asleep themselves, curled into Korr; Maul was the next to join them.

“Why don’t I take Savage up for you?” Master Yan offered, and Korr nodded.

“‘Lek, vor’e. Ah, but how inconvenient it is to only have two arms and three ad’e,” he sighed, drawing a few chuckles out of those still around them.

“I can take one of them, if you’d like,” Knight Sarr offered, and Korr nodded again. He stood, holding out Feral to Knight Sarr, and then stooped to gently scoop up Maul, who muttered something unintelligible in his sleep and shifted closer to Korr. Ben found himself smiling and, yet again, trying not to coo over how adorable that was.

The Jedi left with Korr and his ad’e, helping him to get them all back to their rooms without waking them, and that left Ben the last technical child standing, so to speak. He pretended not to see the look Jorin gave him, amused and knowing, and stubbornly kept his eyes open—

Until he couldn’t any longer. He felt himself listing to the side, but couldn’t quite stop it, and he couldn’t quite pry his eyelids open, this time. Drat. He hit something soft-yet-solid—someone’s body, his mind supplied, probably Jango, who’d been seated beside him—and felt an arm come around his shoulders.

He took the invitation and burrowed in even as he protested, “‘Mem’br’nces.”

A chorus of soft laughter answered him and a hand smoothed over his hair just the way he liked, the way that made him relax, going a bit boneless, because it was almost exactly the same way Qui-Gon had always smoothed a hand over the rest of his hair when he’d redone his braid.

“It’s alright, Ben,” Jango murmured to him. “I was ten before I could stay up late enough for the Remembrances at midnight. We’ll do it again tomorrow for you, if you want.” Ben tried to say something, but his mind was starting to go distant as he slipped further into sleep. “Jate ca, vod’ika.”

A beat later, Ben felt strong arms picking him up, the familiar presence of his brother so close, and he was coaxed into a deeper sleep by the rhythmic, soothing feeling of being held securely in someone’s arms, swaying slightly as they walked. They had barely made it out of the hall when Ben could no longer track where they were, his grasp of the world around him fading as he slipped into a deeper sleep, and between that breath and the next, he—

He was… somewhere else.

It looked like just a flat expanse of black stretching out all around him, like a too-calm, too-still body of water on a dark night, but there were stars in the sky above him that didn’t seem to reflect properly, and Ben—

“Hello there.” Ben whirled around at the voice, somewhat familiar, but only vaguely, as if he’d heard it only once or twice a long, long time ago. He looked at the person not-quite-standing there before him, hovering just above the inky blackness that served as the ground in this strange dreamscape.

She looked so… familiar, somehow, though he couldn’t immediately place her. Long hair, a long dress, regal features, sharp eyes…

And her entire form was a shimmering, translucent blue. A Force ghost, then—just like he had been.

Memory returned a moment later, and Ben straightened up. He suddenly realized that he was looking her in the eye without having to crane his neck to do so, only barely looking up at her, and a glance down at his own body showed that he was an adult version of himself, here and now.

Looking back to her, blinking at her in confusion, Ben said, “Daughter.”

This was certainly an odd dream.

“This is not quite a dream,” Daughter said, responding to that thought as if he'd spoken it aloud. “Nor is it entirely real. This is one of the places in-between; it was easier to speak here. I have much to tell you, and little time. My hold over your plane is waning.”

“Your hold over my plane?” Ben repeated. “But—you died. I was there.” Even as the words left his lips, Ben realized what a silly thing that was to think, much less say. He had died, too—and yet here he was. But he supposed he could be forgiven, as off-kilter as this had him, as off-guard as it had caught him. Daughter just smiled at him.

“I am an aspect of the Force. Much like you, I did not truly die,” Daughter said. “I only exchanged one form for another. The Light is not dead and gone, and so I am still here. But my powers will take time to recover before I can further influence this plane.”

Ben gaped at her. “You did this? You sent me back?”

Daughter reached out, putting a hand on Ben’s face, and as she touched him, he flickered, suddenly shifting into the child he’d gone to sleep as, and then back into that taller, adult form again, and then again and yet again, switching rapidly between the two forms—

Ben wasn’t surprised when Daughter ignored his question, refusing to give him a straight answer. From what little he recalled with any clarity, that had been typical of the Ones, the Mortis Force Gods. Instead, still without moving her hand away from his face, she said, “But I had enough power yet for one gift for my champion—”

Ben sputtered. “What? I— Force, me? But I’m not— Anakin is, or was, or… He will be—”

“He was, is, and perhaps may be again, Father’s Chosen One, the herald of Balance,” Daughter said evenly. “But you, little Light… You called to me. Even after all that you suffered, your Light never wavered. In a galaxy so cold and empty, you were a single candle holding back the Dark. You have proven yourself worthy of bearing the gift and the burden of my favor. The Force itself agreed, or so it seems. This was not my doing, but we will both take full advantage of the Force’s grace, won’t we?”

Ben just blinked at her, feeling himself settle at last into one form, one with a familiar, if half-forgotten, weight on his arms, shoulders, and chest—his armor. General Kenobi, then. The same form she had last met him in.

Force, he had no idea what to say to that. He thought again, rather inanely, that this truly was a very odd dream. But he wasn’t given any time to dwell on those thoughts, or her words, before she continued on.

“But we do not have much time; as I said, it will take time for me to recover, and my influence here is already waning. Your gift awaits you, little Light. You will know when you find it. Until then…” Daughter leaned forward until their faces were only inches apart, her hand still resting on his cheek, feeling solid despite the fact that he could see that it wasn’t, despite the fact that he knew that she had died and she was now a ghost projected to him in a dream, and not real—

“Have faith that you are not alone.”

Ben jerked awake all at once, shooting upright with a quiet gasp. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he was a child again, and he was— He was in the karyai, he realized, looking around. They’d brought him back home after he’d fallen asleep in the hall. A glance to either side of him showed both Jaster and Jango still heavily asleep, by some miracle not roused by his abrupt awakening. They’d woken for less, before.

Force, that had been… strange. And unsettling. What odd images and words for his own mind to conjure up in a dream. The Force swirled lightly around him as though trying to tell him something, or as though disagreeing with that last thought, but he brushed it off. That was likely just his own unease and bewilderment tainting the Force.

Scrubbing small hands over his equally small face, Ben took a moment to focus on his breathing, keeping up a steady count: in for one, two, three, four. Out for one, two, three, four. In for one…

After a few repetitions, it began to help. His racing heart calmed, and Ben let out one last, long, slow breath before moving to lay himself back down. He would… go back to sleep, and hope that his mind was done with dreaming in any way he remembered or was aware of for a while. Between last night and tonight… Sleep was not as restful as it should have been.

Settling back down on his sleep mat, Ben closed his eyes. He was nearly asleep again—not that it took very long, exhausted as he felt after all of that strange business and the day’s emotional trials—when he jerked upright, wide awake just as suddenly as the last time.

Because he’d heard another familiar voice.

“You look ridiculous.”

Ben shot up and stared at the source of those words, that voice—the voice that, superficially, sounded like Ben’s ori’vod, like Jango Fett, only… Only they’d all had their own way of speaking, their own cadence and inflection, their own tones, and Ben knew this voice. And there, just as transparent and blue as Daughter had been in that dream, just as much as Ben once had been, standing in one corner of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest, was Alpha-17.

Or the ghost of him, anyway.

“You’re practically a tubie now, aren’t you, General?” Alpha-17 drawled, and Ben let out a choked, suspiciously wet laugh.

Force, how he’d wished for this, and now that this moment was here, now that Alpha-17 was here— Ben had no idea what to say. And he couldn’t help but wonder whether he was still dreaming—

“Others will come when they can,” Alpha-17 assured him. “I’m just first, as always.”

Ben just kept staring at him for a long moment, wondering how he was here, how this had happened— Unless…

Unless the dream he’d just had with Daughter hadn’t been a mere dream after all. And if that was so, there was only one reasonable, logical explanation as to why he finally had one of the ghosts of his men appearing to him when he hadn’t even tried to reach them this time—assuming this wasn’t a dream as well, of course.

“This is quite a gift,” Ben murmured, hoping that Daughter would hear him, and that Jaster and Jango wouldn’t.

Alpha-17 barked a laugh. “You haven’t seen anything yet, sir,” he said. Ben had never met anyone who could say “sir” at once so sarcastically and yet somehow respectfully underneath that as Alpha-17 did, and that was so familiar that it hurt. “We’re here because her gift opened the door, but this isn’t it.”

“What gift?” Ben asked.

“That’s classified intel, for now. But don’t worry—you’ll know it when you find it, sir,” Alpha-17 said, giving him one of those too-toothy grins of his, the ones that looked slightly manic and just a little unhinged—but that, too, was so familiar, and that look had become a comfort a lifetime ago. He nodded to Ben. “General.”

“‘en?” a voice that wasn’t quite the same said—Jango. That was Jango. Ben looked over at him, his brother stirring, starting to truly wake up.

Ben idly, inanely, possibly somewhat hysterically, wondered if his Force-sensitive brother might be able to see the ghost of one of his dead clones from another universe lurking in the corner. That would be… something.

“Ke’nuhoyi, vod’ika,” Jango said, reaching out and tugging him closer until Jango could wrap his arms around him. Ben let him, trying to relax even as he eyed the corner again. Alpha-17 gave him a salute that somehow felt less than respectful —how very Alpha of him, Ben thought fondly—and then winked out, disappearing.

Despite his shock and confusion, Ben didn’t keep himself awake mulling it all over. Exhaustion took hold of him again, crashing down like a wave hitting rocks, and he was asleep again in moments.

(Blessedly, he didn’t remember dreaming anything else for the rest of the night.)

Notes:

Mando’a:
Evaar’simir - New Year
Ke’nuhoyi - Sleep
Mirci’t’ya - Holding cells/prison block (Mirci't is prisoner and 'ya is short for yaim, which means home. Technically a made-up word)

Jaster: Ben?
Ben: ‘Lek, buir?
Jaster: Who’s Cody?
Ben, blinking owlishly at him: …how do you know about Cody?!
Jaster: You were calling for them in your sleep. I’d wondered if it’s someone you actually know, or someone you’ve just seen, someone the ka’ra showed you. But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.
Ben: Oh. He’s… He’s someone I would have been… He would have been very dear to me. But he won’t… The events that… led to his birth have changed, so he won’t… He won’t be here, now. I won’t get to see him. (Sniffles) I won’t get to know him, in this life.
Jaster, internally: Oh, ad’ika. Your crazy Force osik scares the fuck outta me sometimes, but I’m just gonna hug you and comfort you and then quietly freak out about this privately where you can’t see it, and maybe corner several of the Guardians to ask them to help make sure you’re good. But for now, I’ll just hug you and you don’t have to worry about a thing.
Ben: You are the Best Buir (no matter what Maul and his brothers say).

Ben: Oh. Shit. I forgot about Satine. How did I forget that SATINE of all people was going to be here???
Ben: …this is fine. This is fine. This is totally FINE!
Ben: …and now she’s making friends with *Maul and Savage* of all people, and this is… This is slightly less fine.
Literally every other trained and mostly-adult Force-sensitive at the table: Ben is Distressed by something. *Force-glomps him*
Ben: *Clings*
Ben: …this is slightly more fine.
The Force: I don’t have to say it quite as often anymore which is GREAT, but BB you need to CHILL!
Ben: …well, I guess this is… better than last time?
Ben: …you know what, I’ve decided this is fine after all. Everything is fine! I’m not Sad or Distressed at all anymore, nope! NOT AT ALL! EVERYTHING IS FINE!
The Force: Uh-huh, and that’s why you’re screeching about it. But y’know what, I’ll take it for now. You’re trying to see the positive, and I guess that’s all I can ask for. (We’ll deal with the rest Later.)
Ben: Ooh, that last part was ominous…

Daughter: Hey! So, you know how you told Vader that if he killed you, you’d be more powerful than he could possibly imagine?
Ben: Um. Yeah?
Daughter: Imagine how powerful the ghost of a Force entity is.
Ben: …oh dear. What did you do???
Daughter: Not this, promise. But I liked the idea so I joined forces with the Force to help you.
Ben: Um. Okay?
Daughter: Hope you like your gift! Peace, BB.
Ben: Well, that was… weird.
Alpha-17: You look fucking ridiculous.
Ben: …Alpha?
Alpha-17: Like a tubie. A fucking cadet. I can hardly believe I took orders from you.
Ben: …Alpha! ALPHA!!! OMG THANK YOU DAUGHTER I LOVE MY GIFT—
Alpha-17: Nah, this ain’t it. You haven’t seen anything yet. ;)
Ben: …I don’t know whether or not *that’s* ominous.
Jango: Okay, vod’ika, you really gotta stop waking me up doing weird shit like having half a conversation with yourself in the middle of the night. C’mere, time to sleep again.
Ben: Oh no, oh boy, I *really* hope he can’t see Alpha-17. I DO NOT WANT to be present for any confrontation between those two.
Jango: S L E E P
Ben: Fine. I’ll… deal with these galaxy-quaking revelations in the morning.
Alpha-17: Nighty-night, sir.
Jango: …the kriff was that?
Ben: ABSOLUTELY NOTHING GOODNIGHT ORI’VOD I AM SLEEPING NOW DON’T TALK TO ME

The next day is actual celebrations: markets in the cities, weapons and sparring contests, demonstrations by craftspeople like the weavers of Harswee, and lots and lots of drinking, dancing, and singing. :) We’ll see some of that in the next chapter, though I’m not going to linger on it this time, because I REALLY want to get to Jedha soon! :D Anyway, hope you enjoyed!

Chapter 19

Notes:

Hello there! :) Aaaaah, all of the screaming last chapter over Daughter and the Surprise and Alpha-17!!! :D Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos last chapter. That was a BLAST, and I have been waiting to get to that for so many chapters now, LOL!

This one fought me HARD, plus I got pretty sick for a little while. I'm good now, but my brain was mush while writing most of this. I also went through and cut a BUNCH of scenes, because I'm trying to work on my pacing and not always dragging out every single day and event, LOL (whiiich is why my fics always end up massively ballooning on me), so this ended up having several POV changes and a small two week time-skip. :) But we did it, guys. We are finally here. In the second half of this chapter, we will make it to JEDHA at last!!! :D

Jango.

Evaar’simir had always been Jango’s favorite holiday, ever since he’d been an adiik.

Even now, some of his favorite memories of his maan’aliit centered around New Year’s, the celebrations the day before with extended family, the holiday markets that sprung up in every city and town, the bonfires that everyone set in the fields, watching the shooting and grappling tournaments, trying so hard to stay up until midnight actually hit only to have Arla or one of his buir’e gently waking him up just a few minutes before so he wouldn’t miss it when he failed… Those were good memories.

Jango had found that the New Year’s celebrations differed some in Keldabe from what he’d remembered on Concord Dawn, but not by that much. In the city, there were few fields available for bonfires, and carefully prepared pits were used instead; the holiday markets were so vast, stretching out over whole sections of the city instead of just a plaza or two in a smaller town; the tournaments saw more combatants trying their hands, and were taken somewhat more seriously. But everything Jango had really loved about it remained the same—spending time with his aliit and his friends was up there, but what really got him was that feeling in the air. The changing of the year represented so much to so many people: so many were hopeful and happy, looking forward to what the next year might bring; many looked back fondly on the last year, a quieter but no less cheerful kind of happiness, pleased by what had happened and what they’d managed to accomplish; others were hopeful because the last year hadn’t been the best for them, and they hoped the new year would bring something better…

Well, there were just so many people feeling the same things all at once, and mostly happy things, that Jango had always had the fanciful thought that everyone’s collective feelings, being felt in unison and in harmony, made them so strong that he could practically feel it in the air around him.

Now, of course, Jango knew that hadn’t been such a fanciful thought after all—because he actually could feel it.

On the actual first day of the new year, Ben woke in the same sort of good mood Jango himself was in, and Jaster was delighted himself to see both of them so happy. And Jango did have to admit that it just added an extra layer of excitement and pleasure for him to be able to spend his first New Year’s with Ben, getting to watch him take everything in, dragging him around to show him Jango’s own favorite parts, and discovering Ben’s own favorites with him.

Jaster couldn’t resist Jango’s outright pleading and Ben’s sad tooka eyes for long, and just after lunch, they’d made their way out of the morut and into Keldabe proper with the Jetiise and Korr and his new ad’e in tow. The streets were busier than usual, families milling around and pausing to talk to vendors or friends they ran into as they made their way around, and Jango couldn’t quite contain his snort when he saw Jaster instinctively reach for Ben’s hand, making sure he would be able to keep him close and preventing him from getting lost in the throngs of people. Jaster had done the same to him, when he’d been Ben’s age. (Jango also couldn’t stop himself from laughing aloud when that movement prompted Savage to drift away from Korr over to Yan, taking his hand; the Jetii blinked down at the adiik for a moment as if bewildered by the action, but didn’t protest it. Korr just smirked at him.)

Ben didn’t seem to mind, instead taking everything in with wide, curious eyes: the lanterns and banners strung up between buildings and hanging from the trees that still wound through the city itself; the demonstrations by the traditional craftsbeings who’d come to sell their wares in the holiday markets; the repetitive sounds of regimented blaster fire signalling the shooting tournament was taking place not far off, probably just a few streets over; a cantina on the main street was already overflowing with people, some of whom were already obviously intoxicated, stumbling around, all of them half-singing, half-shouting songs (and Jango was certain there would be a massive Werda Verda later, and he fully intended to join).

One of the weavers caught Ben’s attention, and he tugged Jaster over so he could watch; several of the Jetiise drifted over with him, and Jango saw others taking notice of the obvious Jetiise with them. He watched carefully for a few beats, and he saw them whispering to each other, looking back and forth between Jaster and the Jetiise, obviously absorbing Jaster’s presence beside the Jetiise and the acceptance that implied. They hadn’t made any official announcement for Yan’s new position as their Je’tsadii, not wanting the Republic to hear about that just yet, but Jaster’s Council had spread the word amongst their own Clans and Houses, and between that and the Haat’ade who already knew, the rumor mill had to have run its course already and spread the word for them. Jango was sure that these people already knew what the Jetiise were doing here and who they were, but hearing about it was one thing, and actually seeing it was quite another. Still, it didn’t take more than a few minutes before they lost interest and wandered away, and Jango started to relax again.

Of course, it didn’t take long before Jango felt too restless to continue standing there watching, the collective energy of the crowds driving him to want to move and do something. Jaster and Ben, of course, both immediately realized, his buir no doubt just familiar enough with him to tell while Ben probably felt it. Ben eventually tore himself away from the demonstration, turning towards Jango.

“You said there were things you wanted to show me, ‘lek?” Ben asked, and Jango beamed at him.

“‘Lek,” he agreed. “This way! The tournaments will be starting soon.” Jango reached out to take Ben’s other hand, and Jaster surrendered his vod’ika to him, letting Jango tug him along while he meandered behind them at a more sedate pace, speaking quietly with the Jetiise.

“What kind of tournaments?” Ben asked, allowing himself to be led along, his head constantly turning this way and that as he tried to take everything in. The city looked even brighter than usual, colorful lanterns and banners strung up between buildings and hanging from the trees lining the streets, all of the other craftspeople they passed hard at work on new projects with their finished wares on display around them meaning that there were tapestries and statues and paintings everywhere, and Jango knew that if Ben had had his way, he would’ve moved much more slowly, taking the time to really take everything in as he passed it. But there just wasn’t time for that now, not with the tournaments starting so soon.

“All sorts,” Jango said easily. “Knife-throwing, hand-to-hand, sharpshooting, beskad’e —anything and everything.”

“Which ones are you competing in?” Ben asked, and Jango laughed.

“I rotate each year, usually,” Jango said. “They all happen at the same time, so you have to pick one. I go for either hand-to-hand or shooting. Jorin usually trounces everyone in the beskad competition, too. Jaster doesn’t compete, given the givens, though.”

Ben hummed an acknowledgement, barely audible over the joyful, raucous noise of the crowds around them. “Is there an age limit on them?” he asked, and Jango shot him a look, trying hard not to laugh at him.

“Why? Thinking of competing?” Jango asked.

“Well, I don’t have a beskad, but a haat beskad would be able to stand up against my ‘saber,” Ben chirped. “It’s difficult to find sparring partners, given the givens.”

Jango did laugh at that, shaking his head. “Well, you’ve still got a few years to go on that, vod’ika,” he said, tugging him closer and letting go of his hand to ruffle his hair, ignoring Ben’s indignant huff. “You have to pass your verdgoten first for that one. But there are separate tournaments for adiik’e for hand-to-hand and shooting. You could try one of those, if you want.”

“Maybe,” Ben sighed, seeming quietly disappointed by the refusal. Jango made a mental note to talk to Jaster and Yan about the possibility of sparring with Ben—the Jetiise would have their own kadause, of course, and he was sure that sparring with adiik’e was as normal a part of their training as it was for Mando’ade. Jango would much rather Ben start with an adult, fully-trained Jetii familiar with their laserswords than random Mando’ade, and he already knew Jaster would agree. The real question was whether or not Jaster would decide against it entirely, given how young Ben still was.

“We’ll see what you feel like doing when we get there,” Jango hedged, and Ben hummed again. The crowd started to flow along with them as they closed in on the park where the tournaments were held, and Jango sped up a bit more. “Almost there, vod’ika!” He tugged a little more insistently on Ben’s hand, making him giggle softly, and a beat later, Jango felt a little pulse of warmth-affection-amusement, one of those light touches that just felt like Ben. Grinning to himself, broad and toothy, Jango didn’t bother to look over at him even as he responded in kind, reaching for him and pulsing back.

Yes, Jango thought, his first Evaar’simir with his new vod’ika was starting off very well indeed.

---

Ben.

“I still can’t believe that Prime is your ori’vod, sir.”

“And I still can’t believe you keep calling him ‘sir.’ Seriously, just look at him! It really is like you’re sir’ing a cadet.”

“He’s still our General, even if he’s a… smaller, cuter version of him.”

“Honestly, the missing beard is almost weirder than the fact that he’s a literal child.”

I can still hear you both, you know, Ben pulsed, the mental projection of his voice a bit dry. He knew better than to respond to them verbally, not now, surrounded by both his aliit and a gaggle of Jedi as he was. That would certainly inspire questions, and he had absolutely no desire to even attempt to explain all of this to them. Frankly, Ben was already trying to think of something to say if and when the Jedi, Jango, or Korr sensed the shift around him in the Force and called him on it. From the looks Master Yan intermittently shot him, Ben thought he might have felt something, some hint of another presence around him, or perhaps just the change in the flow of the Force around him, but he had yet to say anything about it, for which Ben was indescribably thankful.

“We know,” both Waxer and Boil chorused cheerfully, utterly unrepentant, and Ben quickly turned a laugh into a cough.

If I could trouble you to pause for just a moment, gentlemen, I need to pay attention to this particular fight. They obligingly fell silent, for the moment, though Ben could still feel them, just behind him and on either side, flanking him as if they were physically here to guard him.

Despite his words, Ben found that he was still having more than a bit of difficulty truly paying attention to the proceedings, though at least it wasn’t Jango’s turn in the sparring ring, yet, his ori’vod cheering on Myles as he sparred with some Haat’ad Ben hadn’t properly met yet. Instead, his thoughts wandered, circling the men, and that strange dream the night before.

When Ben had first woken that morning, he had almost immediately wanted to cry. He had—reasonably, sensibly, of course—assumed that Alpha-17’s appearance had been nothing more than a dream, something his mind had conjured up given his desperate desire to see them again. Both Jaster and Jango had already been in the kitchen when he’d woken, leaving him mercifully alone, and as soon as he’d sat up, he’d felt his eyes welling up with tears—only to stop short of letting them fall as he was interrupted.

“Oh, kriff,” Boil had said, and that had had Ben’s gaze snapping over to the two of them, standing over him, their figures as familiar to him as Alpha’s had been. “Please don’t cry! I can barely handle… this—” Boil had gestured vaguely at him as if to encompass all of him. “—as it is.”

“Boil,” Waxer had hissed, elbowing him, neatly catching him between his armor plates. “General, sir! It’s… really, really good to see you. Even if you’re… a little… different, now.”

With that, Ben had burst into tears, though they had been out of an abundance of happiness and relief. Boil, predictably, had sworn, masking panic with annoyance as he had always been wont to do, but Waxer had knelt and tried to rub his back, though all that had accomplished was a vague, tingling sense of warmth in Ben.

“Oya! Get him, Myles!” Jango shouted, bouncing on the balls of his feet, drawing Ben’s attention back to the present.

“Jan’ika,” Jaster said, sounding as amused as he felt in the Force, presence practically sparkling with the strength of that feeling, “you know that if he wins, this tournament is just going to end the same way it always does, ‘lek?”

Jango scoffed. “If? Nayc, buir,” Jango huffed at him without turning his attention away from the fight, where Myles now had his opponent on the ground, transitioning into grappling. “When Myles wins, that’ll put both of us in the top twelve.”

Jaster shook his head, grinning broadly, and turned to Master Yan and the other Jedi to explain. “Every time both Myles and Jango compete in this tournament, they end up paired off for the cut round, so only one of them ever makes it to the finals,” he said, and Master Yan hummed, lips twitching in a smile.

“Did he just smile?” Waxer whispered. “I didn’t know Dooku even could smile.”

“Yeah, I still think that’s weirder than Prime being his ori’vod,” Boil huffed. “Dooku is here, making nice with everybody, and so is that other Sith, Maul? I get that this is a different universe, but kark it all, it’s still weird as Hel.”

Ben bit down on the inside of his cheek to stifle his laughter, though something must have made it through his shields, given the slightly raised eyebrow Master Yan shot towards him. Ben quickly looked away, back towards the fight, and he spared just a moment to be grateful for the fact that Jaster, and therefore their group, had been given space at the front of the ring. Otherwise, Ben had a feeling that he would’ve ended up atop Jaster’s shoulders to be able to see it, a position many younglings were echoing with their buir’e around them, and he could only imagine the comments that would have garnered from Waxer and Boil.

“The other tournaments are about to start,” Korr said. “Would you like to go watch the other adiik’e?” As they’d taken to doing, Maul, Savage, and Feral all turned to Ben as if looking for direction, and he shrugged.

“Even after Myles wins—” That got him a clap on the back from Jango for his assumptive language even as he kept shouting encouragements at Myles, who very nearly had his opponent pinned, now. “—it will still be a while before either Jango or Myles is back in the rotation. We could wander over to the other areas, if you want to.”

“Okay,” Maul agreed, looking up at Korr and nodding. Korr smiled, running a hand over Maul’s head in much the same way Jaster always smoothed over Ben’s hair, and Maul pressed up into it as if he was a tooka. Ben suddenly wondered if that was what it looked like when he did that with Jaster, and quickly set that thought aside.

“This way then, adiik’e,” Korr said, gently tugging on Maul’s hand. Savage turned to follow them, though he still had yet to release his hold on Master Yan; as soon as he had finally been forced to let go of Master Yan’s hand when they’d picked up drinks from one of the stalls nearby, Savage had immediately switched to holding onto his cape again. Yan looked amused and nodded to Jaster, who laughed and waved him off.

“Have fun,” Jaster said, and then turned to make pointed eye contact with Ben. “Don’t wander off, don’t eat too many sweets all at once, and don’t get into any trouble, gedet’ye.”

“Who, me? Buir, I would never,” Ben said, blinking wide eyes up at his buir. Waxer and Boil barked twin laughs; Jaster just wagged a finger at him, mock-stern, though he was still smiling and presence still so bright with the strength of his amusement. Ben grinned back and then slipped off after Korr, Yan, and the Zabrak brothers.

“I like him,” Waxer said. “Mereel. Seems like a smart man.”

“He’s already got you pegged, that’s for sure,” Boil agreed, and Ben huffed softly.

It’s hardly my fault that trouble likes to find me, he shot back. It isn’t as if I go looking for it.

“If you say so, sir,” they chorused back. Ben rolled his eyes and didn’t deign to respond to that, putting on a little burst of speed to catch up with the others.

Ben’s cheeks, he knew, were going to hurt later. Still, he couldn’t quite keep the smile from his face—the effusive Light-happiness-joy-hope-optimism-enjoyment of the crowds around them mingling with the earnest-curiosity-interest of the Jedi watching and partaking in the celebrations would have made this a very good day in itself, and it had been made so much better for the addition of Waxer and Boil. Even though they were only present in spirit, it meant so much to him to have them here with him regardless of their form, and Ben thought he agreed with Jango: this was a wonderful holiday, and there was so little that could have been done to make this any more perfect.

---

-Two weeks later-

 

Jango.

Over the last month and a half or so since finding out about his “hidden talents,” as Ben liked to call them, Jango had gotten a little better at feeling and using the ka’ra.

The whole meditation thing was still a struggle, sometimes—moving meditation and the “Living Force” meditations (another of Ben’s terms), the ones with the plants, were alright, but the ones that required quiet stillness were definitely not his thing—but Jango was finally starting to get the hang of this whole ka’ra business, he thought. Sensing other people and their feelings, listening to and interpreting what he’d always thought were “gut feelings,” but were actually whispers from the ka’ra, using it to help him jump a little higher and run a little faster—he was getting there.

Jango was still nowhere near Ben’s level of skill, but that was fine. Jango didn’t necessarily want to be, anyway, but he agreed that it was both dangerous to leave him without any training at all and stupid not to develop a set of skills that could be useful in the field, a set of skills that could save lives —both his own life and the lives of his vod’e. So he went through whatever lessons Korr, Ben, and now Yan decided he should learn without complaint (alright, mostly without complaint, though he always allowed himself a little eyeroll and a huff when he was given instructions like “reach out with your feelings” and “expand your consciousness” and other mystical osik), and he was already seeing results.

His awareness of the ka’ra still wasn’t exactly instinctive, not like it was for Ben. The little tugs in his gut he’d always gotten, the intuition that wasn’t really coming from his own mind, his subconscious—that stayed. Jango could magnify it, he could force it to get a little louder, a little clearer, but he didn’t just feel that all of the time. He didn’t feel how other people were feeling all of the time, either, unless they were feeling particularly… loudly, for lack of a better word for it. So Jango wasn’t really expecting to feel a whole lot from Jedha, even though Korr and Yan insisted that it radiated peace and calm, that there was a certain sort of sense to the place. He’d thought that he might have been able to feel it if he focused hard enough on it, like sensing other people’s emotions when they were feeling at… normal volumes (and even with all that Ben, Korr, and Yan had taught him, they had yet to teach him better terminology for the things he felt and how he felt them, always just nodding when he tried to describe it as if they understood what he meant to say—though anyone who wasn’t ka’ra’tigaanla just looked at him like he’d grown a second head when he tried to explain it. Thankfully, at least, the others reassured Jango that he wasn’t actually crazy when he complained about the “excessive volume” of certain peoples’ thoughts and feelings).

Jango certainly hadn’t expected to know the instant they came out of hyperspace. The little shudder of the ship transitioning back to realspace was hardly noticeable in a ship the size of the corvette they’d chosen to bring (mostly because Jaster had gotten tired of the petty arguments about who would travel together in separate ships, and declared that they would all be going together, save for du Crion, Veira, and the other Haat’ad escort joining them on her ship), but Jango still just knew when they’d arrived—he felt it.

It was like a gentle, tingling sort of warmth nestling in his chest and humming across his skin, like a soft, contented sigh ringing in his ears, like—

“Jango? Jaaaangooooo—” Myles snapped his fingers in front of Jango’s face and he slammed back to reality, blinking at his friend. They were both still sitting there with the dejarik table lit up between them, exactly as they had been when Jango had… zoned out.

“Oh, wow,” he blurted, the first thing that came to mind. “Okay. I get it now.”

“Get what?” Myles asked slowly. On the other end of the bench from Myles, supposedly reading something on his ‘pad, Ben giggled and glanced up.

“It feels like the Temple, only magnified across the entire moon,” Ben agreed.

“What are you talking about?” Myles asked, looking back and forth between them.

“Jedha,” they chorused.

“We just came out of hyperspace,” Ben added. “We can feel the moon.”

“...oookay,” Myles said, still looking a little lost, but at least trying to be normal and casual about it. “Ah… What’s it feel like? I couldn’t ‘feel’ the Temple, when we were there.”

“Light, and peace,” Ben said, and Myles just blinked at him.

Obviously seeing that Ben’s answer hadn’t done much for Myles, Jango decided to give it a try: “It feels like… It… This place makes the ka’ra happy, I guess?”

Myles made a face. “Y’know, I still don’t get it, and I don’t think I’m going to,” he said. “And I’m just now realizing that it’s going to be like this the entire time we’re here, huh? Just a bunch of people talking about mystical osik I can’t understand…”

“Hey, you’re the one who bullied us into letting you come along,” Jango said, and Myles huffed, rolling his eyes.

“The Guardians aren’t all Force-sensitive,” Ben said. “And the Temple of the Kyber also houses the Church of the Force, who are almost universally Force-blind anyway. You’ll be in good company.”

“I still don’t really get how that works,” Myles said. “How people can worship something they can’t see or feel?”

“But they can,” Ben said. He held out a hand, and the empty mug of shig Myles had finished a few minutes ago went floating over to him. “You can’t deny that the Force is real, and if you accept that, then there are other, larger implications inherent in that knowledge. Besides, I don’t see how it’s any different from Mando’ade who can’t feel the ka’ra believing in it regardless. Some have even called the ka’ra and the Manda an aspect of the Force, one specific to Mando’ade, but coming from the same cosmic energy—”

Myles looked a little overwhelmed and a lot like he regretted his question, and Jango took pity on him, cutting Ben off before he could really go into lecture mode. “I’m sure we’ll be landing soon. We should get ready.”

Ben looked slightly miffed about having been interrupted, but didn’t protest, and Myles eagerly leapt up from his seat. “‘Lek! Good idea, Jango. I’ve gotta go… do some stuff.” With that, he all but fled, disappearing from the lounge, and Ben huffed and rolled his eyes. Jango grinned at him.

“C’mon. We really should grab our bags.” Ben nodded and let himself be herded away, back to the bunk they’d been sharing with Jaster.

The feeling didn’t go away, either, even when Jango stopped paying conscious attention to it. There really was just… something about this place, and that sense of it made something in him relax, it made his shoulders drop and the faint headache he’d had (the headache being trapped on a ship for five days with four ka’ra’tigaanla adiik’e, two other ka’ra’tigaanla adults—one of whom was a Jetii Master just as determined to teach him meditation and control as his vod’ika was—and four other adults had caused him) started to ease.

…huh.

Jango had mostly come because his aliit was, and he didn’t want them to go alone, and Jaster had said he thought it was a good idea for him, too—but honestly, he hadn’t thought he would get much out of it. But maybe… Maybe there was something to this whole peace and calm and Light thing after all.

---

Jaster.

It had taken far longer than Jaster had expected to settle the last of their arrangements before traveling to Jedha.

Most things were easy enough to take care of: his Council needed no instruction on what to do while he was gone, since he left often enough for contracts—a Mand’alor was somewhat different from other leaders that way, given that, traditionally, their role was just as often served out in the field as it was at home, and so they were used to it and didn’t need to depend on his input for every little thing; once the majority of the Haat’ade had returned to Keldabe for the changing of the guard that came with the changing of the year, it only took one security briefing to review all of the new protocols before Jaster was satisfied that their people would be well-defended in his absence; choosing who would go with them—two full squads, given the travel restrictions on Ben and Korr’s ad’e alike, and Jaster’s own title—was also quick enough.

But settling the actual travel arrangements… That had been more difficult than Jaster had expected.

Korr’s ad’e universally wanted to stay close to him, though they all also universally wanted both Yan and Ben to join them on their ship. Yan, in turn, wanted to be close to Ben, so they could continue working together with the ka’ra during the journey (and so that they could both work with Jango, though neither of them said that; Jango still wanted to keep his newfound abilities quiet, but everyone who knew already realized that was one of Yan’s considerations), and Yan argued that Korr was perfectly capable of working with his ad’e in the meantime. Jango—and Jaster too, admittedly—wanted to keep his vod’ika close. With both a selection of the Headhunters and more than a few of Jango’s Grunts going, they had certain Haat’ade angling to remain with Jaster and his ad’e, and Jango wanted his friends close if he could have them there. And they all wanted du Crion kept separate from the rest of them—particularly the ka’ra’tigaanla ad’e.

Jaster had listened to them all not-quite-arguing for nearly an hour over who would be on which ship before he gave it up as a lost cause and stood, drawing the attention of everyone at the large, long table in one of the refectories they’d used for this last “briefing” before their departure.

“We’re taking two ships instead of three,” Jaster had said. “Veira, you’ll take your own, and you’ll take one other guard with you and du Crion. As for the rest of us, we’ll just pile onto the Kotep. There’ll be enough bunks for everyone to travel together. Everyone who wants to stay together will get to that way. Any objections?”

“What will the Guardians think about a mid-sized corvette dropping out of orbit to come see them?” Myles had asked, more of Korr and Yan than of Jaster.

“I still have contact with my former-mentors there,” Korr had said. “When we reach our final jump point, I can comm ahead to warn them so they aren’t alarmed.”

“Jate,” Jaster had said, relieved beyond measure to get this over with and get on with it already. “It’s settled, then. Let’s move out.”

After that minor delay, though, things went fairly smoothly. Bunk assignments were settled easily enough, and less than two hours later, they were underway.

The rest of the trip was, frankly, exhausting.

Jaster hadn’t truly thought through the consequences of the arrangements he’d settled on, but four ka’ra’tigaanla adiik’e, three more adult ka’ra’tigaanla, and two squads’ worth of verd’e made for an… interesting, eventful journey. The adiik’e were curious and energetic, of course; the younger verd’e were all Jango’s friends, and when they weren’t specifically on-duty, they kept pulling pranks on each other; the verd’e —universally, disappointingly, meaning Jaster’s Headhunters joined in the Grunts’ chaos, this time—all started trying to find a way to rearrange the cargo hold to create enough space to spar with Yan, since Jaster had forbidden the use of any laser swords while in transit and cited the lack of space for them as his reason.

It was like herding tooka cats: damn near impossible and liable to make them stare balefully at him when he made the attempt.

And that was without even taking into account Ben’s odd behavior the entire way there. It wasn’t anything bad, just… strange—even when measured against Ben’s usual scale of “normal.” He kept zoning out every now and then, attention drifting away from his meal or conversation or whatever it was he should have been focused on, and his gaze would drift over to a bare corner or another blank space, and he’d blink at it for a moment, and then, almost always, he would laugh to himself. Then, when he realized someone had seen that, he’d blush and refocus on them while refusing to address what had just happened. So—not bad, no. Just… odd.

Yan and Korr both agreed that there was something going on with Ben, something new. Jaster couldn’t make heads or tails of what they were saying, something about the “currents” of the ka’ra moving around him in strange new ways, but he noted it as yet another matter to address with the Guardians when they arrived, since Ben refused to admit to knowing what they were talking about when they tried to ask after it.

The journey to Jedha took five days, and Jaster was exhausted by the time they got there, and beyond relieved when they finally came out of hyperspace around the moon. He was looking forward to a bit of time and space while they were here (and Jaster pointedly did not think about the fact that they would have to repeat all of that on the way back when they were done).

Herding everyone out of the ships was an easy enough task, all of them just as eager to set their feet on solid ground and get out of the confined space of the ship—as a matter of fact, the most difficult part was forcing Ben and Jango to wait until it was time to head out. Jaster sent Pao, Vlek, Myles, and Reena off to hire a few speeders, given that due to the size of the ship they’d brought, they hadn’t been able to land too close to the Temple of the Kyber, and forced everyone else to wait. He had, at least, gotten Veira’s confirmation that her ship had landed right near the Temple, and they were taking du Crion in while the rest of them organized their last-leg transport.

Jaster really shouldn’t have been surprised when there was another minor squabble over who got to ride together in the speeders. The Grunts were sniping at each other over who actually got to ride with Jango, and the Headhunters were doing something similar over Jaster (if with more of an attempt at a professional veneer), and again, Korr’s adiike wanted to stay with both Yan and Ben. The argument dragged on for a few minutes, seemingly nowhere close to a resolution, and he decided he’d had enough.

“Kor, you and your adiik’e will go with Yan and Merris,” Jaster cut in, voice coming out flatter than usual in his annoyance. Manda, they seemed to live to give him headaches, the lot of them. Yan and Korr both gave him a mildly amused look, as if they knew what he’d been thinking—and they might have at that. Jaster didn’t care. “Jango and Ben, with me, and Pao, Vlek, and Myles will join us. The rest of you, split yourselves up in the other two.”

There was no grumbling, no complaints, not when they could so obviously tell he was truly annoyed. They moved with the efficiency he’d known they were capable of but had previously refused to display, and soon enough, nearly everyone was seated and ready to go—save for Ben. Jaster was counting heads when he realized Ben wasn’t already in the speeder, and he was grateful he’d made the decision to get in last, looking around for his ad. He found Ben a few meters away, turned away from them, apparently just staring out at the desert stretched out in front of them.

“Ben’ika,” Jaster called. “K’olar! It’s time to go.”

“‘Lek, buir!” Ben called back, though he didn’t turn around, and he didn’t move. Jaster took a deep breath and counted down from ten; when he hit zero, and Ben still hadn’t moved, Jaster flashed the hold handsign at those in the speeder behind him and went to go corral his ad.

“Ben,” Jaster said again. “What’s the hold up, ad’ika?”

“I’m not sure,” Ben answered, still without looking at him. He was still peering out at the horizon, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. “It’s just… a feeling. There’s… It feels like there’s something here… calling to me. Something the Force wants me to see.”

“Sounds like it’s probably the Temple, Ben,” Jaster said, a bit amused, now. Ben just hummed, and Jaster dropped a hand onto his shoulder, steering him around and back towards the speeder. “You can ask the Guardians about it. How about that?”

Ben hummed again, a noncommittal sort of noise, and Jaster made a mental note to keep a closer eye on Ben for a while, and warn the verd’e. He knew his ad’e, and he knew damn well that Ben wouldn’t hesitate to find a way to sneak off if he felt the need to. Ka’ra, this headache was not going to get better anytime soon, was it?

Jaster sighed softly and shook his head, bundling Ben into the speeder, placing him firmly between Jaster and Jango, who immediately slung an arm over his vod’ika’s shoulders. With that, kriffing finally, they were underway on the final leg of their journey to the Temple of the Kyber.

---

Ben.

“Even being ‘One with the Force,’ or something like that, I still can’t feel what’s so special about this place. I mean, I believe you when you say that it is special, I just don’t really know what you mean, sir.”

“Neither do I, vod. I think it’s a ‘Jedi’ thing.”

“It’s not a Jedi thing, it’s just a Force osik thing. Prime can feel it, and he’s definitely not a Jedi.”

“I dunno about that… Dooku seems like he’s giving it his best shot, turning him into one.”

Ben smiled somewhat absentmindedly at Crys and Wooley’s conversation, though he mostly just let it wash over him for now. It was still such a comfort to him, of course, having his men here with him: in the two weeks since Alpha-17’s first appearance, he had been surrounded mostly by a rotating cast of Ghost Company’s members. They kept it to only one or two of them at any given them, thankfully—he had enough trouble hiding this from those around him as it was, and trying to respond to an entire battalion’s worth of men and all of those physically with him at once would have been enough to drive both him and them mad. Waxer and Boil had been first, and then Gearshift and Trapper, and then Barlex and Oddball, and Alpha had circled back a few times in between them all, and then Longshot and Gregor… Every single one of them was such a comfort to him, soothing the ache that came from missing men he knew he would never physically see again in this life, and he was indescribably thankful for each and every one.

(But even so… Ben couldn’t quite ignore or forget and certainly hadn’t failed to notice in the first place that he still had yet to see Cody.

What that meant or why that might be, Ben didn’t know, though he couldn’t help but wonder. He’d asked Alpha-17, during one of his visits, and had received nothing more than a casual shrug for an answer, and not a single one of the others seemed willing to so much as mention his Commander in his presence.

All of the men were so wonderful, so bright and so familiar and such a balm for all of his worries and fears and regrets and anxieties, but Cody…

Well. Though Ben adored each and every one of the men, they all knew, and they had all always known, that the bond between him and his Commander was… different. Cody was… Cody, that was all.

And Ben still missed him so very much.)

“Are you brooding again, General?”

“I think he is, Wooley. Sir, you should probably know that your ‘brooding’ face just looks like a pout when you’re this young,” Crys said. “Just thought you should know.”

Ben pursed his lips to hide a smile and mentally swatted at them both, though that only caused them to snicker. Forcing his thoughts back to the present, Ben glanced at Jango, the only one present now who might have been able to feel the currents of the Force swirling around him with his troopers’ appearances, but he was… otherwise occupied, it seemed. He still had one arm thrown over Ben’s shoulders, but he didn’t seem like he was… all there at the moment. He had a little smile on his face, but his eyes were faraway, almost dreamy, and Ben snickered to himself. Normally, it was Ben who got a bit carried away on the currents of the Force in meditation, but now it seemed that Jango had finally come to understand that feeling.

Reaching for his presence, Ben poked at him, and Jango let out a little squawk and startled slightly. Ben snickered, and Jango just blinked at him; Jaster shot them both a warning look, unsurprisingly. He seemed thoroughly done with everyones’ antics after being stuck in a confined space with all of them for the trip here. Shaking his head, still amused, Ben turned his attentions to the Holy City as they crept up the path towards the plateau and the city itself.

To Ben, it still felt as if there was… something here that he needed to see, something the Force was trying to call his attention towards, and he found that rather distracting even as he tried to take in the city itself. It was obviously ancient, much of it still stone or actual plaster rather than duraplast and durasteel, and the various paths the streets took included staircases, allowing the city to stretch from one level to another in seamless tiers. The buildings were mostly lower, one or two floors, but there were a few domes standing up above the rest—and, of course, the Temple itself towered over the rest of the city. The mostly-grey-and-white stone and plaster was broken up by bursts of color: pilgrims and sages in bright reds, blues, yellows, and oranges were present in ever larger numbers as they edged ever closer to the Temple itself, and there were bits of greenery, bushes and trees, lining the streets and walkways. And, all throughout this place, there was a sort of… friendly calm to everyone they passed.

There were fewer people when they first crested to the top of the plateau from that steep path up the side, but the crowds grew thicker, their speeder forced to slow every now and again for pedestrian traffic. As they slowed again, a humanoid in red called out to them with a smile: “May the Force of others be with you!”

What a curious phrasing, Ben thought, and he made a mental note to question both the Guardians and Master Yan about that, what the intent behind the difference was, even as he smiled and waved to them. “And also with you!”

They looked pleased and nodded to him, and Jaster shot him a little grin, reaching out to run a hand over his hair. It seemed he was thawing, his annoyance and irritation starting to lessen exponentially the longer they were here; despite his lack of Force-sensitivity, even Jaster was affected by the general atmosphere of this place, somehow lively and yet so calm and peaceful. Ben glanced over at Jango and confirmed that he seemed to have slipped right back into the Force, basking in the Light of this place, and Ben smiled. Despite that nagging feeling, that call in the Force, feeling as though there was something he needed to do, somewhere he needed to go, something he had to see… Well, Ben had only just gotten here and still had yet to visit the Temple, but already, he thought he liked this place quite a bit.

Finally, they pulled up near the Temple and clambered out of the speeder, and Ben was too distracted both by the Temple itself, the feeling of this place, and that persistent tug in the Force to be annoyed when Jaster insisted on helping him out despite knowing he was quite capable of jumping down himself (and he likewise ignored the snickering from both Wooley and Crys at that, refusing to let himself be irritated over that and instead just rolling his eyes at them when Jaster had turned away). Both troopers’ blue, translucent forms took up positions just slightly behind him and on either side, as always, and from here, Ben saw Master Yan, Korr, Maul and his brothers, and the rest of those who had come with them standing nearer to the Temple speaking to two others in blue robes that he thought must have been Guardians of the Whills.

But what really caught his attention, now, was the Temple itself. Force, from this angle, it seemed so massive. It stretched up seemingly endlessly from this vantage point, reaching up so much higher than any of the structures around it, thicker at the base and tapering near twin points at the top, though it was curved rather than the ziggurat the Jedi Temple had been built as. And, in the Force, it sang. Ben felt tears tugging at his eyes yet again, because he hadn’t felt this sort of peace and Light, strong enough to blanket him so completely, in so very long —not even the Jedi Temple had felt like this upon his return, his impressions of it too tainted by his memories of it once it had been hollowed out and desecrated.

This place, the Temple of the Kyber… Ben vaguely remembered when he had first been taken to the Temple on Coruscant, and he remembered being awed by the feeling of it, how right and good and peaceful and warm it had felt. And here and now, this Temple felt the same—only stronger, both because this place was older and so the Force had been nurtured here for a greater time and had thus grown that much thicker, and because that feeling was concentrated around the Temple of the Kyber, but it was radiating from the entire moon.

“Haar’chak,” Ben heard Jango hiss as he got out of the speeder. “Okay, okay. Shab.”

“Language, Jango!” Jaster scolded him, and Ben laughed.

“Yes,” Ben agreed, patting Jango’s arm and then turning to Jaster. “The feeling of the Temple is just… a lot. It’s good, but it’s… incredibly strong.”

Jaster eyed him for a moment, and then he turned to Jango. “Me’vaar ti gar, Jan’ika? Are you alright?”

“Naas, buir, bal ‘lek,” Jango said, though without actually looking at their buir, still just staring up at the Temple with wide eyes. “I’ve just… I’ve never felt anything like it, before. It’s… Well, like Ben said: it’s good, but it’s a lot.”

“Take a breath,” Jaster said, and Jango obeyed. “Jate. Let’s go, then.”

They nodded and Jaster held out his hand, and Ben yet again ignored the snickering from Crys and the cooing from Wooley as he took it. Myles immediately fell in beside Jango, throwing an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close, likely in either an attempt at comfort or to ground him. Ben smiled and let his attention turn back to the group they were approaching.

“There you are,” Korr called, his smile audible in his voice, though he’d put his buy’ce back on, likely to avoid having to hold it and Feral simultaneously. “Our last stragglers have arrived.” He gestured to the Guardian immediately beside him, a tall, broad-shouldered, human-or-near with tanned skin and long dark hair, pulled back neatly into several braids. “This is Guardian Derrion Tamm, and this—” Korr nodded to the other Guardian, an Omwati with their typical blue skin, tall and lithe with red feathers. “—is Guardian Qwen Nin. Derrion, Qwen, this is Mand’alor Jaster Mereel and his ad’e, Jango Fett and Ben Mereel.”

“May the Force of others be with you,” the Guardians chorused with a bow.

Ben couldn’t stifle the instinct to bow in return as he replied again, “And also with you.”

They both smiled and nodded to them. “Now that you have all arrived, please come in,” Qwen said. “All are welcome here who come with open hearts and minds.”

“Thank you,” Jaster said. Qwen smiled and turned away, starting to lead them into the Temple itself, and Jaster made to follow, Jango a beat behind him, but Ben hesitated, because—

Derrion looked just behind Ben, where he could still feel Wooley’s projected presence, and then he turned to look to the other side, at Crys. Ben’s stomach fluttered, wondering, feeling both so unnerved, so anxious, and so excited over the prospect that…

Perhaps Derrion could see them.

“Curious,” Derrion murmured, gesturing for Ben to follow, and he forced himself to start walking after a beat. “The Force flows strangely around you.”

“You’re Force-sensitive?” Ben asked, deflecting yet again—because even though he might be convinced to have this conversation with at least one of the Guardians, he certainly wasn’t willing to do so surrounded by his aliit and so many other Haat’ade. “I know that not all of the Guardians are.”

“I am, yes,” Derrion said. “I worked with Korr many years ago when he was first brought to Jedha seeking our aid for his gifts. We’ve kept in touch, after that. And I admit, I’ve heard some about you from him. The two of you have both learned much from each other already, as I understand it.”

“We have,” Ben agreed. “And from everything Korr has told me about Jedha and the Temple, I’m sure there’s much more I can learn here.”

“Of course,” Derrion said, shooting Ben a searching sort of look. “And I feel that you have much to teach us as well. Ah, but first, tradition must be satisfied: would you care for tea?”

“Is that even a question?” Crys chuckled, and Derrion tilted his head as though straining to hear, though he shook it a moment later and refocused on Ben.

“I would like that,” Ben said honestly, because Crys was right: he was rarely one to turn down tea. “Thank you.” Ahead of him, Ben caught sight of Myles and Jango and clocked the look on Jango’s face, his eyes open but unseeing, his expression so calm that it looked almost artificial, almost like he had been drugged, and Ben laughed. “And I think, perhaps, that I ought to check on my brother.”

Derrion just laughed and shook his head again, waving Ben up the last of the steps and into the Temple itself. With the Force singing like this all around them, Ben could almost truly relax—and he would have, if not for that persistent feeling.

Go, go, go, seek, go, find—

Once more, Derrion turned to shoot him that same inquisitive, puzzled look, and he hummed. “Very curious indeed.”

Notes:

The collective 212th: I can't handle this. He's too cute. Also, Prime??? Also, DOOKU???
Ben: I know, I know, that's what I've been saying! How is this even my life, now?! I'm so glad you're here. Nobody else would really Get It.
Also the 212th: So... Do we still call him sir and General? Even though that feels a little silly when he's got *that BB face???*
The 212th: Apparently, we do. ...old habits die hard.
Ben: Even becoming a literal CHILD again will not convince my men not to call me sir and instead use my actual name?! ...sigh. I can't say I'm surprised, TBH.

Maul: Oh, so Ben is going to Jedha, too? ...okay, well. I guess we could go. But I want to ride with you and with him!
Savage: And I wanna stay with Yan!
Maul and Feral: Seconded and thirded. So Yan and Ben are a Must. And obviously you too, buir.
Korr: Well then. We'll see what we can do.
Jango: I'm not letting my vod'ika out of my sight, tho.
Yan: I really should continue working with Ben and Jango on their Force abilities (and also keep an eye on whatever is going on with Ben, because Something Is Up, I can sense it, but not *what* and the child is surprisingly good at evasion and denial).
The Haat'ade: Well, we're specifically here to guard the Zabrak kiddos, Ben, Jango, and Jaster, sooo we have to ride with them.
Jaster: Nope. Forget this. I'm having flashbacks to when I was ordered to create an official seating chart for the party after I was officially named Mand'alor and reminded that such things had Significance, and some Clans couldn't sit together because of feuds and others expected to be seated together. There is enough cattiness and politicking in the rest of my life, and I don't want to have to deal with that from all of you. We'll all just ride together, except for you and your Foundling, Veira. You understand.
Veira: Totally get it, Alor! So will he. And he'll be glad not to have to be on a ship with the Jetiise anyway.
Jaster: Great. It's a plan, then.
Also Jaster, less than ten hours later, stuck on a ship with so many people and so many Mischievous Children (and he does not mean Korr's children or Ben, actually): ...what have I done??? *Heavy sigh* I know I only have myself to blame for this, but kriff, what I wouldn't give for ten minutes of peace and quiet...

Jango: Okay, right, yeah. I think I'm getting the hang of this Force-ka'ra osik. This is Fine.
Also Jango, getting smacked in the face with Force energy as soon as the ship comes out of hyperspace: Oh, holy shit. Okay. I feel like I just took an enormous hit of spice straight to the face. Can you get high on the Force??? Is this how Ben feels all the time when he gets super deep in meditation and doesn't want to come back out??? 'Cause I get that, now. This could be Addictive.

Derrion: Ah, so *you're* Ben! I've heard a lot about you. Both in how skilled and in how *weird* you are.
Ben: Ah... Thanks?
Derrion: He was right about the weirdness. You feel VERY weird in the Force. Not bad, of course, just weird.
Ben: Ah... Well, I have absolutely NOOO idea why that would be...
Derrion: Mmhmm. Sure. Tea?
Ben: Yes please!
The 212th: Aaand that Guardian has already figured out how to bribe the General...
Derrion: ...what was that?
Ben: ABSOLUTELY NOTHING DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT!
Ben and Derrion, staring at each other: ...
Ben: ...so, how about that tea?

Next time, we will get to see much more of the Temple and the Guardians, some more Xanatos and Veira, some more cameos by the clone-ghosts, and an Interesting Conversation between Ben and Korr's old mentor! Not too long later, we will see what the Force is trying to show Ben on Jedha... ;) 'Til then, hope you enjoyed (even though I feel like this chapter is a bit of a Hot Mess, LOL)! :P

Chapter 20

Notes:

Hello again! :D Thank you all so much for all the comments and kudos last time! I'm glad you enjoyed it despite the Hot Mess, LOL. :P My sick writing is very hit or miss, haha!

We'll be on Jedha for a few chapters yet, and we'll circle back to some other characters next time, but for now, we get some more Xanatos-and-Veira bonding, and we're moving Ben's story along! Both Ben and Derrion get to have a Revelation this chapter... ;)

(Also, does it bother anyone else that the tag for Jedha is "Planet Jedha" when it is not, in fact, a planet??? It should be Jedha Moon or NiJedha, LOL...)

On that note, hope you enjoy! <3

Xanatos.

Even as restricted from the Force as he still was, Xanatos had immediately been able to feel the entire moon of Jedha, and the Temple of the Kyber more specifically—and he’d instantly hated it. The sense of this place in and of itself wasn’t uncomfortable or unsettling, of course: it was so warm, welcoming, bright, so peaceful and so calm. It wasn’t inherently unpleasant to him.

No, what he hated was what it reminded him of.

Xanatos had been older than the average Initiate when Qui-Gon karking Jinn had taken him to the Order, and just as he had had clearer memories of his past and family before his arrival at the Temple than most other Initiates, he also remembered his first time entering the Temple. Back then, the Coruscant Temple had felt much the same to Xanatos as Jedha now did, and the obvious parallel was… grating. And, of course, his experiences had shaded his memories differently, and now when he thought back on the Temple, it was tainted by anger and hate for the Jedi who inhabited it, not a sense of longing or nostalgia, and the warmth and Light and calm the Temple had once represented in his mind had been burned away.

He hadn’t actually felt this kind of peace in the Force for a long, long time, and Xanatos couldn’t help but be reminded of what it had been like, how he’d felt, before his galaxy had been shattered, before everything had gone so wrong.

And he hated that.

“We’re in the home stretch, now, Xan’ika,” Veira said cheerfully, giving him a toothy grin. She’d left her helmet off more often than not since she’d first revealed her face to him, and Xanatos… didn’t want to think too much about that, so he didn’t. “About to come in to land. The Guardians already confirmed our landing pad. They’ll be ready for us.”

“Wonderful,” Xanatos said flatly. Veira didn’t seem bothered by his frostiness—she never did.

“It’ll be good to set boots on solid ground for a while,” Veira said. “I don’t mind traveling when I have to, but I’ve never been one of those who longs for open space and the stars, y’know?” Xanatos grunted. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he ground out. Veira didn’t look like she believed him, eyebrows rising marginally, but she just nodded.

“If you say so,” she said. Xanatos felt the slight shudder of the ship as it hit atmo, unavoidable in a ship this small, and gritted his teeth. If he’d felt all of that from orbit and still on Force-suppressants… He wasn’t looking forward to what he would feel when he was physically there. “Xanatos…”

“It feels like the Jedi Temple,” Xanatos spat, and Veira blinked at him.

“In the ka’ra, you mean? The Force?” she asked, and he nodded. “Huh. You just had your last dose of suppressants, so that must be a pretty strong feeling, I guess?” He nodded again, and Veira grunted. “That’s… not a good thing, in your opinion, is it?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry,” Veira sighed. “What’s so… bad about it?”

“It feels like the Jedi Temple,” Xanatos repeated more pointedly, and Veira blinked at him again, brows furrowing a bit as she clearly struggled to process that. Talking to Force-nulls about such things was always… aggravating. It was like trying to explain the color blue to a species that either saw in a different spectrum of light or had no eyes at all.

“What does that feel like?” Veira asked, and Xanatos huffed, looking away.

“I hate that feeling, now,” Xanatos said. “It’s a reminder of…”

“The feeling itself isn’t bad, then? Just the fact that it feels like the Temple, ‘lek?” Veira clarified, and Xanatos nodded again. “Okay. I think that’ll get better with some time. Exposure can help that sort of thing, y’know? Just give it a chance, see if you can stop associating the two so strongly. Give yourself a little bit of time. And, after a month or two, if you still don’t want to stay here—or maybe even before that, if you… backslide—then we’ll talk about another set of options. Fair?”

“None of this is fair,” Xanatos huffed. He half-expected her to retort that the galaxy wasn’t fair, but Veira just sighed.

“I know, Xan’ika,” she said. “You got dealt a bad hand. But we’ve talked about this: I know you don’t have a lot of choices, but you did choose to come here. Give it a fair shot, an honest try, ‘lek? And if it doesn’t work out, then you can come back to Manda’lase with me, to my Clan’s compound. And nayc, no, you don’t have to be Mandalorian for us to help you.”

Xanatos huffed and didn’t otherwise respond, but Veira didn’t seem to need him to. She just nodded to him, smiling a little as though that settled the matter between them. The commlink on her vambrace chimed, then, and she glanced down at it. “Ah, that’s Vikaas. It’s time to land, so I’d better get up to the cockpit. Just… take a minute to relax, ‘lek?”

He watched her go in silence, and then huffed to himself again. This was not at all relaxing —this was torture.

---

Ben.

Ben had known, intellectually speaking, that this had been named the Temple of the Kyber for good reason. He’d heard the stories, seen the descriptions and even a few holos before, but those images—and his own imagination—simply hadn’t been able to do it justice. From the outside, the Temple seemed almost… severe, in a way, though Ben thought its design and the stone-and-durasteel cladding on it had been deliberately chosen: the Holy City weathered just as many sandstorms as the rest of the planet did, and so its exterior had been designed to need less maintenance in this environment. But the inside… That was a different story.

The front entrance led them into a massive entrance hall with vaulted ceilings, a bright, airy space, cleverly designed windows allowing the light in while still being small enough to be easily locked down during the storms, and it was impressive in itself. But its contents… Everywhere Ben looked, there was another kyber statue, refracting the light as crystals always did and casting bright rainbow shadows everywhere, creating effects that mimicked stained glass windows. Force, the fact that there were so many lining this hall, and that they were all so large, and, by all appearances, each one carved from a single piece of massive kyber… Well, it was no wonder the Force sang here: Jedha in itself was strong in the Force, a nexus, a vergence, and kyber channeled the Force naturally. Seeing that, it suddenly made a great deal of sense that the particular feeling of this moon was so magnified here at the Temple.

Ben lagged somewhat behind the rest of their group, led by Guardian Qwen, too busy staring at each statue they passed to keep up. He recognized some of them: there was a carving of Nomi Sunrider, another of Revan, and several more that depicted ancient Jedi Sages. Some of them appeared serene—a few of the Jedi meditating and one holding their lightsaber straight up into the air as if inspecting the blade or drawing attention to themselves—though others… Well, the statue of Revan showed him locking ‘sabers with another figure who could have been a Jedi or a Sith, and the statue of Nomi Sunrider similarly showed her with her ‘saber lit, held in a ready stance. There were others still that Ben didn’t recognize, and he ached to ask after the stories behind each and every one, though he restrained himself. Perhaps there would be time later, though not now.

After a few chuckles over “the General’s academia coming out again,” the men had been considerately quiet, allowing him to focus on his examination of the statues. He could still sense them nearby, of course—and Derrion could, too, he thought. Perhaps the Guardian didn’t know what he was sensing, exactly, but he could feel something, continuing to glance at Longshot’s and Crys’ projections before turning away again. None of the others they passed seemed to notice anything, though beyond the motionless guards standing at attention around the edges of the room, there were few Guardians in here, most of the other visitors appearing to be pilgrims.

Derrion stuck rather close to Ben, allowing him to set the pace, radiating a great deal of warm-fond-amusement as he watched Ben drift from one statue to another, drinking it all in, and occasionally looking towards the ghosts of Ben’s troopers. Eventually, when they neared the end of the hall, Jaster paused under the archway that would lead them out and looked over the group around him as though counting heads. He waved the others off and turned around, looking for Ben.

“K’olar, Ben’ika,” Jaster called. “I wouldn’t want you to get lost.”

Ben laughed, though he also obediently—if reluctantly—tore himself away from the last statue he’d been examining, one he thought might have been of the ancient Jedi Ood Bnar, Derrion still trailing him. “I’m sure the Guardians wouldn’t allow me to become too lost, buir.”

Jaster hummed and held out a hand, and Ben took it easily. “It isn’t the Guardians I’m worried about, ad’ika,” Jaster said.

“I have no idea what you could possibly mean, buir,” Ben chirped, and three chuckles met that. Ben sniffed, half-turning to Derrion and half to Crys and Longshot. “Rude.”

“I agree with Waxer and Boil, I think,” Crys said. “I like Mereel. He really does already have you figured out, doesn’t he, General? If there’s any trouble to be found, you’ll manage to find it somehow.” Ben resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing that both Derrion and Jaster were watching, and instead swatted at them in the Force again, making the men snicker once more as they moved out of the entrance hall and into a smaller space with a number of turbolifts that would take them through the Temple.

“And that Guardian,” Longshot agreed. “I wonder if he can sense that the General is a trouble magnet in the Force? Can you feel that sort of thing?”

Sometimes, Ben grudgingly admitted, projecting at them as he’d been so careful to do rather than responding verbally to them. Some people have a sort of… sense to them, a feeling of chaos around them.

“Like you, I’d assume,” Longshot said, amusement apparent in his tone. “No disrespect meant, of course.”

None taken, Ben mentally sighed back, and he was only met with more snickering. They fell silent again as they joined the rest of their group waiting for the lifts, and Ben noticed that Jango looked the slightest bit more alert, Myles and Master Yan bracketing him. He reached out lightly to his brother, meeting shielding that didn’t feel like Jango, and smiled—Master Yan must have begun helping to shield him, for now. Ben’s ori’vod didn’t usually have much trouble with shielding, given that he was a strong-willed person with an equally strong mind, and those traits naturally led to better shielding. But then again, that shielding had developed naturally before Jango had learned to reach out beyond them to the Force, and Ben found himself wondering how that other universe’s Jango might have reacted to Jedha, had he ever visited. Would he have felt little from it because he hadn’t known how to reach out, or even that he could? Or would that have sparked the realization that he was Force-sensitive?

It was an interesting question, but one Ben had to set aside for the moment, refocusing on the others. Maul edged the slightest bit closer to Ben and he smiled at him. “Are you alright?” Ben asked, keeping his voice low, and Maul hesitated for a beat before nodding solemnly.

“I thought Man-dah-yam was… weird and bright,” Maul said softly, “but this is… even weirder.”

“I can see why you would think so,” Ben answered honestly. Jedha and the Temple were bright in the Force to begin with, but when compared to Dathomir, of all places… “But you’ll get used to it. And besides, it’s not weird in a bad way, is it?” Maul shook his head, and Ben’s smile grew a little wider.

“I like it here,” Savage said decisively—and, amusingly enough, he had retaken his usual position just behind and to one side of Master Yan, clinging to his cape.

“I’m glad,” Qwen said, radiating the same sort of soft-fond-amusement Derrion was. “Now, once we reach the upper levels, I think it would be best to split up for a while— just for a while, and you don’t have to leave your father if you don’t wish to, young ones.” Maul and Savage had both tensed at the first half of that, but relaxed again and edged closer to Korr.

“I wanna stay with Master Yan, too,” Savage insisted yet again.

“I think that might be best,” Derrion said. “At least for now. I’ve already called for He’draas, and he’ll be able to help with your shielding.” Derrion nodded towards Jango, who, after a beat, just hummed, like it had taken him a moment to realize he was being addressed. He still looked a bit… distant, though not nearly so much as he had when they had first arrived at the Temple. “And I believe it might be best if I had… a moment to speak with you, Ben.” Jaster opened his mouth, no doubt to protest letting Ben out of his sight, but Derrion headed him off, looking over and giving him a smile. “We won’t go far.”

Jaster hesitated, but Ben nodded. “Alright,” he said easily. He really did want to question Derrion on just what he was able to sense, but he wasn’t willing to do so around all of the others, and this would be a tidy little solution to that problem.

“If you’ll follow us, then?” Qwen said, waving a hand at one of the lifts as the doors opened. Not all of them would even fit in one, and there was some shuffling as they decided who would head up together; a warning look from Jaster told them he would not be tolerating a repeat of the squabbles over their travel arrangements, and they quickly settled on Korr, his ad’e, and Master Yan heading up first. Maul shot another look towards Ben before the doors closed, and he smiled reassuringly.

“I’ll see you soon enough,” Ben said, and Maul reluctantly nodded before the doors closed, blocking them from view. That only left Jaster, Jango, Myles, and Ben to climb into the second lift with Derrion, and Ben edged closer to his ori’vod. Myles was still plastered to him, and Ben pressed in against his other side, reaching out again and pressing against him lightly, offering an anchor in the Force. Jango immediately latched on, and Ben smiled.

Myles leaned back, lifting a hand to shoot several signs at Ben: Vod status?

Fine, Ben signed back. Just loud.

Myles made a face, no doubt having no idea what Ben meant, because the Temple of the Kyber, like most holy places, was physically quiet, everyone speaking softly, and Myles had no way to feel-hear that chiming and thrumming —strong enough, truth be told, to qualify as singing —in the Force. Ben just smiled at him and turned away, back towards Derrion and Jaster. His buir was watching Jango, no doubt somewhat concerned by that faraway sort of look still on his face, but Derrion was still staring intently at Ben.

The lift started to rise up, and as they left the hall of kyber statues behind, Jango started to look somewhat more aware again, coming back to himself now that the feeling of the vergence that was Jedha wasn’t magnified by Force-channeling kyber, and Ben leaned up against his unoccupied side in a mimicry of how they were leaning on each other in the Force. Jango blinked and then looked down at him, smiling, and Ben smiled back. Despite how tall the Temple was, the lift ride was quick, and soon enough they were heading out, another Guardian already waiting for them; Ben guessed this was He’draas. They were a pale yellow-skinned Mikkian with long tendrils indicating that they were probably about Jaster’s age, and they laughed softly as soon as they caught sight of their group.

“I see why you called me, Derrion,” they said. “I am Guardian He’draas, one of our shielding experts. I take it you’re having a bit of trouble in that arena, young one?”

It seemed to take Jango a moment to realize they were speaking to him, but he finally shrugged jerkily. “Uh, I guess?”

“I can help with that,” they assured him. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll get settled somewhere more comfortable.” Myles nodded and began steering Jango out of the lift and towards He’draas, though Jaster, again, hesitated, glancing at Ben.

“We’ll be just down the hall,” Derrion assured him again. With one more lingering look at Ben, Jaster nodded and went to follow the others. “This way.”

Derrion led him down the hall, again letting Ben set the pace, allowing him to look around and take everything in. It was calmer here, in the Force, and there were various arched doors coming off of the hallway they’d come out into; ahead of them, Ben saw He’draas leading the others into one of the rooms, and Derrion ushered him into another just a few doors down, as he’d promised. Ben followed, automatically stepping aside to give Longshot and Crys room to enter after him—he knew that they could simply go through him, but that was… unpleasant, a strange sort of feeling like a buzzing against his skin. Derrion hummed again, catching the movement, but didn’t comment. He waved a hand at a sunken, circular seating area in the center of the room filled with many cushions, silently indicating that Ben should make himself comfortable while he went off to the side of the room to a tea station. And even here, though it wasn’t as loud given that it wasn’t nearly so large as the others had been, there were kyber crystals strung together and hanging from the ceiling, catching the light and refracting it throughout the room. The effect was just as beautiful as it had been in the entrance hall, and Ben smiled.

At last, they were truly alone, and Ben started to wrack his brain for where he should begin with his questions. In the end, he said nothing until Derrion came to sit across from him, holding out a cup of tea which Ben gratefully took. They were both quiet for a little while, blowing across the tops of their still-steaming mugs, and then Derrion set his mug aside, fixing Ben with a look.

“Now, Ben,” Derrion said, “I sensed that there was much you weren’t willing to say in front of the others—there are many secrets you keep, aren’t there?” Ben hummed noncommittally, widening his eyes at Derrion in his best innocent, who, me? sort of look. Derrion snorted softly, apparently not fooled by that. “Many secrets indeed. The presences I can sense around you, your own presence, that old soul you have, and that urging in the Force, something that it wants you to see… Hmm. Yes, I can see why Korr thought you so unusual.”

Ben gave him a smile and just shrugged. “I couldn’t begin to say why he thinks me so unusual,” he said, another attempt at deflection that was mostly borne from habit by this point, and Derrion huffed.

“Perhaps,” the Guardian said, “it would be best to begin with the tea, and meditation, after that. The Force brings clarity to all things, after all.”

Though Ben was eager to ask his own questions, to see what Derrion was actually capable of sensing and what he had figured out from that alone, he still nodded his agreement immediately. Meditating with one of the Guardians was bound to be an interesting experience in itself. Derrion smiled, relaxing a bit.

In the meantime, Ben focused on his tea, and that soothing feeling still in the air around them—though somewhat less soothing was that damned feeling that appeared yet again as soon as Ben returned his attention to the Force, that urging. Go-go-go, the Force still seemed to say. Seek, find, go—

“Yes,” Derrion murmured again, seemingly more to himself than to Ben. “Many, many secrets indeed.”

---

Xanatos.

Xanatos had half-expected to be taken to a cell upon their arrival at the Temple, and perhaps one that wasn’t even as… accommodating as his cell on Mandalore had been. But that hadn’t been the case.

The Guardians had taken him and Veira up high into one of the twin spires in the Temple, where they had been given a suite of rooms to share. These floors, they had been told, were specifically dedicated to “healing Force connections,” and so three floors of the Temple had been made from a specific sort of stone that muffled and obscured the Force. It didn’t cut it off completely, only dampening it, which made it a viable option, since fully severing a sentient being’s connection to the Force could cause serious harm on its own. Access to and from these floors was carefully restricted, the lifts and stairwells guarded constantly by the Guardians of the Whills, but within this area of the Temple, they had some freedom to roam. 

The rooms themselves were simple, but comfortable: spacious enough, windows (with emergency rayshields that would activate if and when they were broken, preventing anyone from jumping out; despite how high up they were, these floors were dedicated to Force-sensitives, and Xanatos could easily have leapt such a height and caught himself with the Force) letting them see out into the city below them and the vast deserts stretching out around the plateau it was settled upon, with two bedrooms and two freshers for each of them, along with a common area. They were quarters, not a cell.

Xanatos had wondered (feared) how he would feel once the Force-suppressants finally wore off, but he’d noticed no change in that sense of this place despite knowing that the medication would have worn off a while ago. The stone seemed effective enough at helping to dull down the Force, and Xanatos found himself somewhat grateful for that. Had it gotten any stronger, he might not have been able to stand it.

“So, Xan’ika… You settling in okay?” Veira asked, and Xanatos grunted, looking around at their rooms again.

“I’m fine,” Xanatos eventually ground out, since Veira was still pointedly staring at him.

“Okay,” she said, though he could tell that she still didn’t believe him. “So, I talked to the Guardians some already, and you’ll be starting with them tomorrow. After a couple weeks, maybe, I’ll see about putting myself on the roster of available guards for the Pilgrims. But for now, since we have some time to kill… Want to watch a holo?”

“No.”

Veira sighed. “Look, Xanatos… I know you don’t like that… feeling here,” she said, “but there’s no point in dwelling on it, right? You might as well let yourself be distracted for a while, ‘lek? I don’t think that feeling is going anywhere, and I know we won’t be, either.”

Xanatos rolled his eyes. “Fine. If you feel like watching something, go right ahead,” he said. Veira nodded, seemingly pleased, and he huffed to himself again. Heading over to the couch, he laid himself out on it, flat on his back staring up at the ceiling with his hands folded over his chest, much as he had in his cell on Mandalore. Veira went to the terminal, fiddling with it for a little while until she made an excited sort of noise.

“I’m guessing you haven’t seen Oya Manda, have you?” she asked.

“No.”

“They have the Basic-dubbed version,” Veira said cheerfully. “I’ll start over with the very first season—this’ll keep us going for a while. It’s the longest-running drama in Manda’lase, you know, still going strong after thirty-two years.”

“Lovely.”

“It really is,” Veira said, either refusing to indulge his sarcasm or not noticing it in the first place. Knowing her, Xanatos would have bet on the former. Veira went to settle herself in one of the armchairs, and Xanatos looked over at her. She was staring intently at the holo, and with even this much of his Force-sense returned to him, Xanatos could sense the feelings of nostalgia-enjoyment-enthusiasm around her.

She looked… smaller, now, than she always had before, for all that it felt like a silly thing to think. Once they’d actually been settled in their rooms, Veira had actually taken all of her armor off, leaving it in the bedroom she’d claimed and dressing down in a pair of simple tunics and pants, not even bothering with shoes. The yellow markings on her face were matched by tattoos winding down both of her arms, and without the bulk of her armor, all of that lithe muscle was easy to see—but it was… strange, now, to see her like this, as just another person. Her armor had seemed as much a part of her as her voice, and so seeing her without it, seeing that she was smaller than he was, in truth… It was odd.

“So the Clan and House this series follows is fake,” Veira said cheerfully, still watching the holo intently as the opening credits finished up and the actual holo began to play, “but a lot of the events were real. They actually included the formation of the Haat’ade, though they didn’t use the name, of course. And Kyr’tsad, too—though they were smart enough not to attract Vizsla’s attention by calling out the name of their group or Clan, either. But this far back, it all might as well be ancient history by now—but it was real. The more recent seasons get into current events, though I guess this was ‘current’ back then.”

“Fascinating,” Xanatos said, his voice falling a bit flat. He looked away from Veira, back up towards the ceiling, trying not to focus on anything in particular. Veira was quiet for a while, obviously engrossed in the holo, and Xanatos let it all wash over him.

Until he couldn’t, anymore. It really shouldn’t have surprised him, but only a few minutes into the holo, the distinctive sound of an explosion drew his attention, too loud and sharp to truly ignore, and Xanatos found himself looking over.

“This arc is based on the bombing at the capitol building on Rinmar, the eighth moon of Gromas. They changed the setting a bit, but like I said, it’s all based on real events,” Veira said, still just as chipper as she ever was. “And there really were Mandos hired to solve that problem. They were from Clan Mirr, though.”

Xanatos hummed, starting to turn away again, to stare up at the ceiling, but that explosion was quickly followed by heavy blaster fire, another loud, distinctive, and sharp sound that he wasn’t quite able to ignore. Giving in, he turned towards the holo, letting his eyes take it in without truly watching it.

“And that’s one of our two main characters! For the first seven seasons, anyway, until they move on to the next generation,” Veira said. “This first arc is all about this mission, and how Raan meets Elaan.”

Xanatos grunted again, still just staring at the holo. It was… surreal, he thought—everything about this was surreal. Sitting here in a shielded set of rooms in the Temple of the Kyber with the Mandalorian bounty hunter who’d captured him, watching a Mandalorian drama with her, trying not to focus on that feeling in the Force around him that reminded him of times and places best not considered, and trying not to focus on his dread over what the Guardians might think to do to attempt to “help” him tomorrow… It was more than odd.

“Those are Raan’s vod’e,” Veira said, continuing to provide unnecessary background. “Their story arcs are interesting, and I almost wish we’d gotten more focus on Heila than Raan, at least in the first season or two. But watch this part—we’re about to see Elaan for the first time.”

It was clear that Veira was not going to stop, and that the holo itself was too distracting to truly ignore. With a soft sigh, Xanatos gave in, turning onto his side to face the terminal, letting himself be drawn into it. This was still infinitely better, after all, than letting himself focus on… anything else that might have wanted to come to mind in that moment.

No matter how much he still didn’t want to be here, no matter how much he wished everything could be different… There were worse ways, Xanatos grudgingly decided, to pass an afternoon.

---

Ben.

It had been a long, long time since Ben had struggled with meditation, but here in the Temple of the Kyber, it still seemed so much easier to sink into the Force. Ben let himself fall into it happily, and for a little while, he simply basked in the feeling of it, so much Lighter and clearer here than it seemed to be anywhere else. He let himself drift, eagerly soaking up every bit of warmth and peace the Force here in this place had to offer, and at the edges of his awareness, he felt Derrion watching him, and he felt Crys and Longshot still loitering nearby, though they had kindly gone quiet again, allowing him to focus on nothing but the Force and that wonderful, bright feeling to it, here and now.

Ben wasn’t certain how long it took before he turned his attentions to his actual purpose, his concept of time and the physical world washed away within the Force’s grasp. Finally, when he felt ready, he directed himself more purposefully, reaching out towards Derrion. The Guardian immediately reached back, the two of them allowing the edges of their presences to brush against each other, getting a sense of one another in the Force. Derrion was bright, and so steady, the particular feeling of him so reminiscent of a Jedi Knight or Master’s presence, though more… flexible, for lack of a better word. The Guardians, after all, believed in balance, but their definition of such things was rather different from the Order’s. They studied the Dark and the ancient Sith, though they did not use such techniques; among the Jedi, only the Shadows and some Master Archivists studied such things. The Guardians believed that to ignore such knowledge was to ignore aspects of the Force itself, and that true balance and enlightenment would come when they really grasped the Force in its entirety—as much as a mere sentient could, of course.

Drawing his thoughts back on topic as Derrion pulsed more intently at him, Ben let go of those thoughts with a slow breath, releasing the last of his awareness over his physical body. He drifted on the currents again, intending to reach back out to Derrion, to delve a bit further and come to know each other better, but almost as soon as Ben let himself sink that small bit further into the Force, it all but shouted at him, carrying that same message again—

Go, seek, find—

The message was accompanied by a more nebulous feeling, a sort of pull, a call, a pointed tug seizing his attention. Ben, never one to disobey the Force when it was so clear, allowed himself to follow that feeling, and—

He flew out of the Temple, still so high up in the air, floating over the Holy City, and then beyond it. The desert stretched out around him, several enormous, ancient statues carved from the stone here half-buried in the sand as he sped over them, passing them by, and some of them looked like Jedi, hooded, robed figures with indistinct faces, but he passed them too quickly to make out anything more than that, continuing to stretch out, the Force pulling at him, guiding him, directing him over rocky outcrops and sandy mesas until—

A massive temple, carved straight from the rocky outcrop, stretched up and out over its surroundings, and it was so strong in the Force, pillars and archways and other decorations both carved from the same stones and expanded upon by golden metallic accents, so ornate and yet so simple, and this place sang almost like the Temple of the Kyber did, and—

And there was something inside for him, something the Force wanted, needed, him to see, that call growing infinitely stronger, go, seek, find—

A different sort of tug at Ben’s presence had the vision fading, Ben coming back to himself a bit more, though not fully dropping out of his meditation. He felt Derrion pulsing around him, gently surrounding him, trying to ground him, no doubt having felt Ben being pulled so much more deeply into the Force. Ben took a moment just to be here, drifting again, thinking over what he had just seen, and what it meant, the images of that strange, ancient Temple still at the forefront of his mind.

After a few moments, when Derrion’s presence began to settle, no longer pulsing concern though still wrapped gently around him, Ben reached out more deliberately, projecting the image of that Temple to the Guardian. If anyone would know where and what that place was, after all, it was likely to be one of the Guardians who inhabited this place. Derrion pulsed back considering-acknowledgement. Ben sent a questioning sort of feeling—only to have that sense of curiosity-questioning returned back at him, accompanied by an image of Derrion’s own: three figures, two in the same white armor with golden-yellow-and-orange accents, and those two were somewhat hazy and indistinct, but the third… The third figure flickered, first appearing to be a relatively young man, dressed in Jedi robes with a few pieces of the same white armor overtop, and then becoming a much older man with haunted eyes and wispy white hair and threadbare versions of very similar robes, and then—

When the figure finally settled into a single shape, a final form, it was that of the child before him.

Ben jerked right out of his meditation, eyes flying open to stare, wide-eyed, at Derrion in front of him, his heart pounding. The Guardian blinked his eyes open more slowly, gazing back at Ben. For a long moment, they both just sat there, staring at each other as they each processed what had just happened, and what they had both seen.

And, oh, Force, when Ben had let his shields down so thoroughly to allow the Force to sweep him away on its currents, that must have allowed Derrion to peer far too deeply at him—

“What just happened?” Longshot whispered.

“No idea,” Crys muttered back. “All I saw was a bunch of sitting quietly with their eyes closed, just like normal meditation.”

“The Force showed us both the answers we had sought,” Derrion said, and Ben sat up straighter, breath hitching as he realized that— Derrion had just responded to the ghosts of his men. Oh, Force— He couldn’t just sense them, now.

He could hear them. And given what Derrion had projected to him… He could see them, now, too.

“Oh,” Longshot said. “Ah… What kinds of answers?”

“Something in the desert has been calling to Ben, in the Force, since his arrival,” Derrion said, sounding so calm, and his presence still so steady, though Ben could feel his own roiling. “It has now shown him where, precisely, he must go to find what it wishes him to see. And the answers I received… Well, you aren’t quite a normal child, are you, Ben?”

He swallowed thickly, just staring for a beat, and then Ben looked away. “No.”

“You’ve seen much that you were not yet meant to, haven’t you?” Derrion asked, and Ben nodded mutely. “I see.”

“It’s—” Ben paused, hesitating, but… Well, Derrion had already seen it anyway, hadn’t he? The truth behind Ben. “I remember living an entire life before this one. I remember living and dying and being One with the Force, and then I just— I started over.” He paused again, then let out a slow breath before adding, “I… I’m a time-traveler.”

“And the presences around you?” Derrion asked, still so calm. Ben wondered how many strange things Derrion must have seen to be taking this so well, or if, perhaps, he thought it was just a strong vision.

“People I was close to and remember from that past life,” Ben answered briefly, and Derrion hummed.

“I see,” he repeated. “This isn’t the first I have ever heard of Force-borne reincarnation, you know. Some remember their past lives—though I will admit that being reborn into the same life is… unusual.”

“Reincarnation,” Ben repeated, and Derrion nodded.

“You returned to the same starting point, but these are now different lives, and slightly different people, aren’t they?” Derrion said. “It isn’t quite time travel, Ben, so much as it is reincarnation. The essence of your soul was returned to life, but not your body, and not the person you were. I could sense the differences between you as you are now, the armored Jedi, and the old man. Your soul now is… Lighter, less burdened, than it was in either of those other incarnations, though the essence of it remains unchanged. But you are different, in the present, and these are different lives, different paths. That much, I have seen before, though as I said, a soul returned to the same lifetime it has already lived once before to take a different path… That is unusual.”

“This has happened before?” Ben said, and Derrion smiled.

“I myself have encountered three others who remember past lives,” he said. “And meditation with them, communion with the Force, confirms their memories to be true. Not all are reincarnated after death; some do remain eternally within the Force. And not all who are reincarnated remember their past lives. But yes: reincarnation is possible, through the Force. All things are possible, through the Force, of course.”

“Of course,” Ben echoed dully, still so off-balance, so thrown by this easy acceptance.

“The Temple’s Archives do also house several records of other examples of reincarnation, if you would be interested in looking at them,” Derrion offered, and Ben let out a breathless sort of laugh.

“Force, yes, please,” he said. “I’ve been— I’ve thought of it as time travel up until now, as if my consciousness was transported back in time, and it’s been… somewhat difficult, but this…”

Derrion nodded as if he understood. “That was one life; this is another. While there are similarities, these lives are different. Learn the lessons of the life remembered, cherish what is worth keeping alive in spirit, and let go of what grieves you. Rejoice for the ones you loved enough to bring that love with you across lifetimes, and rejoice for the absence of the things that hurt you before.” 

That… Well, that was truly the best advice Ben had gotten since he’d arrived in this time. Thinking of it as reincarnation, as the same soul reborn and unburdened at the same time, the same person at his core but born into a different life, now…

Ben thought that that point of view might just help. He’d been struggling to come to terms with himself and his place in this new life, what he would do and how he would move forward and what would happen now that there had been such radical departures from the timeline he had known before, but—

But this acceptance of the fact that this was a different life, though one being lived by the same soul in the same time… Ben felt another wave of relief wash over him, and he laughed again giddily. Your focus determines your reality, he thought to himself a bit ruefully. His own perspective, his own worries and fears, had been holding him back from true acceptance of this second chance, this second life, but this new point of view…

He felt better already, truth be told.

Derrion smiled, reaching out towards him with a bit of warmth-peace-calm. “You haven’t told anyone else, have you?”

“No,” Ben said. “I wasn’t… I had no idea how to explain any of it. I still don’t, but this… helps.”

Derrion’s smile grew a bit wider. “I understand, and I’m glad,” he said. “I would encourage you to be honest about such things, at least with those closest to you, but I will say nothing of it. It is your secret to reveal to whom you choose.”

“Thank you,” Ben said, bowing his head. Force, his mind was still spinning with all of this, with this simple yet radical change in perspective, and he felt so much Lighter than he had before.

“Perhaps we will head down to the Archives in a bit, to look over those texts and holocrons,” Derrion said, and Ben nodded eagerly. “But for now… I am familiar with the place the Force had shown to you, out in the deserts beyond the city. It is quite some distance from here, and so it will take time to plan the journey, but the place you seek is called Pilgrim’s Sanctuary.” The Force chimed as if confirming Derrion’s words, and Ben’s smile grew even wider. “It is one of the stops along the Pilgrim’s Path on Jedha, and it is currently inhabited by one of the Anchorite sects. They rarely venture into the city itself, though they trek across the deserts to seek out artefacts and knowledge regularly, and they welcome all who come to seek enlightenment or peace.”

“Pilgrim’s Sanctuary,” Ben repeated, the Force washing over him again, go-go-go- seek-find— “Thank you, Derrion.” Ben bowed his head deeply, the closest to a proper bow he could get while seated cross-legged on his cushion on the floor. “Force, I haven’t even been here for a full day yet, and already I… I do feel… better.”

“We come to serve, as our cousins and your first kin say,” Derrion said, bowing his own head in return, the teasing sort of grin on his face matched by the sparkle to his presence. Ben laughed, still a little breathless and giddy, and Derrion smiled. “Now, I think that, perhaps, we ought to find your buir. He was so reluctant to let you out of his sight in the first place, and I would rather we go to find him before he comes looking for you.”

Ben laughed again, feeling so much Lighter and so much more… at peace, so much more hopeful, than he had in a long, long time. He nodded his agreement, rising with Derrion, and he couldn’t help but laugh again when, this time, Derrion gestured for him to leave first, and then held the door until both Longshot and Crys had passed, despite the fact that they could have simply stepped right through the solid door itself.

Yes, he had practically only just gotten here, but Ben had already decided that he liked Jedha, the Guardians, and their Temple, very, very much.

Notes:

Xanatos, internally: Oh, kriff. I didn't think about the fact that this place would probably *feel* like the Temple.
Xanatos: …I hate this.
Veira: You hate everything, but then, you're still a teenager. Maybe you'll grow out of it?
Xanatos: It's like the Temple, and I *HATE* the Temple, now.
Veira: Uh. Okay? I mean, um… Look on the bright side? Exposure therapy is probably good, and this way you don't have to get exposure to the actual Jedi Temple or the Jedi for that therapy?
Xanatos: I HATE THIS.
Veira: Well, I… guess I could try distracting you with trash TV like I always did my little brother???
Xanatos: Ugh. Do what you want, but I'm not going to pay any attention to it.
Also Xanatos, three hours and several episodes into the All My Children of the Mandalore sector later: Veira, we need more popcorn for the next episode!
Veira: I mean, sure, okay, but you really should sleep at some point… Big day tomorrow and all that.
Xanatos: I thought the whole point of this was to distract me from that??? Anyway, hush, I need to see what happens next!

Ben: Oh! All the kyber here in the very aptly and literally named Temple of the Kyber makes this place SING in the Force!
Jango: Oh, yeah, I know. I'm still busy Vibing!
Ben: Have fun with that, ori'vod… Oh, look! So much HISTORY behind these statues… Maybe I can get one of the Guardians to give me a history lesson at some point and explain the ones I don't recognize? Oooh, maybe I can—
Jaster: Ben, ad'ika, my darling baby boy, you had BETTER stick close to me or one of the Guardians. I know you, and you already said that there's something here the Force wants you to see, and I know damn well that if we turn our backs for too long you'll just yeet yourself out of the Temple to go find it on your own. SO. Get back over here with the group.
Ben: Who, me??? Buir, I am WOUNDED, I am INSULTED by these slanderous accusations—
Ghostly-Ghost!Clones: *Snickering* He's so full of shit, isn't he???
Jaster: *Heavy, exasperated sigh* Just get over here, please.

Maul: I think I agree with Jango. This place is WEIRD, and LOUD. It feels like Ben but only a million times MORE.
Jango: Uh-huh. I know. I'm still busy Vibing.
Myles: Yeah, and I'm starting to get Concerned.
Ben: Yeah, he's fine. Just... You know how tookas get when you put tooka-nip in front of them???
Myles: Uh. Yeah?
Ben: Jango's just high on the Force like a tooka on tooka-nip. It's fine, promise!
Myles: Um. Sure? (That does not sound Fine, TBH...)
Jaster, internally: Yeah, I'm with Myles. I love my children, but damn, sometimes they REALLY worry me.

Derrion: Oh, that's what you were worried about? A little reincarnation?
Ben: …you're taking this really well. Also, REINCARNATION???
Derrion: Of course. I mean, the whole coming back into the *same* life and bringing-Force-ghosts-from-another-universe-with-you *Things* are new, but I've seen this before, you know.
Ben: WHAT???
Derrion: Yeah, and we have records of previous examples. Wanna see them?
Ben: Y E S FORCE PLEASE
Derrion: Great. Also, you should probably tell your buir, at least. This is kind of Important, you know.
Ben: …I will consider it once I'm done reeling over the revelation that THIS HAS HAPPENED BEFORE.
Derrion: Fair. Oh, and just, by the way, about that Thing the Force wants you to see… I know where you should go to find it! ;D

So yes, Pilgrim's Sanctuary is the same Pilgrim's Sanctuary from the Jedi: Survivor game! :) You don't have to have played the game for this arc to make sense, I just thought it would be neat to borrow a location from the game, since it's one of the very few bits of content we get more of Jedha than the Temple and the city itself in! This is also MUCH earlier in the timeline than when that game takes place, so the Sanctuary will be different because the circumstances are very different. (Trying to say stuff and things without too many spoilers if you haven't played the game, but plan to, LOL!)

Next time, we'll see more Jango, more Yan and Korr with the babies Opress, Ben trying to convince Jaster that yes, they really should go on a Field Trip, because the Force says so, and how the Guardians are planning to proceed with Xanatos… ;) I guesstimate that the Jedha arc will be another 3-ish chapters, maybe 4? And then, after that, we will finally get to the Great Escape for the Jedi! :D Anyway, 'til next time, hope you enjoyed!

Chapter 21

Notes:

Hello there! :D I'm still so overwhelmed by the response to this particular fic, holy cow. This is the closest to crack fic I've ever written, so I'm so tickled that you're all enjoying this self-indulgent ride! XD

For now, we're following along as everyone settles into the Temple of the Kyber and finds that there really is something for everyone here! <3 Next time, though, we'll see a little more Xanatos and Veira, a smidge more Temple of the Kyber, and then we'll be on to the start of what so many of you have been waiting for, and several of our cast of characters will be taking a little field trip... ;D

I guesstimate that the Jedha arc will be another two or three chapters after this, and then it'll be on to the other arc you've all been waiting for... The Great Jedi Escape!

I don't think there is really any new Mando'a this chapter, and there's not a lot of room left in the end notes this time, LOL, but as always, please let me know if I missed something and you need a translation! :)

This chapter, though, I hope you enjoy the softness! :D

Jango.

I am One with the Force, and the Force is with me.

Jango had heard that phrase a few times, first from Ben, and then from Yan. He hadn’t thought much about it, at the time, just chalking it up to another Jetii mantra, more of their mystical osik. But now… Well, now, Jango almost felt like he got that, like it was the closest he could get to describing how he felt—like he was one with the universe.

It was the strangest feeling he’d ever experienced, but also… incredible at the same time. As soon as he’d actually gotten close to the Temple of the Kyber, he’d felt that same Light and peace pressing in even closer to him, pulling at him, and he’d been helpless to resist it, swept away so quickly. He was still aware, if only when he focused hard on himself, but that was a difficult task when he was too busy feeling all of those different Lights in the Temple: there were so many of those crystals, and they were so bright and so loud, and that made them very hard to ignore, and there were so many people here, too, both in the Temple and in the city itself. And Jango could feel every last one of them, the crystals and the people alike, all of them Lights with varying volumes, some just humming faintly while others chimed and others still all but shouted. There were crystals in that main hall, massive ones that were so loud, and there were smaller crystals here, tinking softly right beside him. And the people… There were so many people around him, and though most were relatively quiet, all of them together was all but deafening.

And each and every one of those Lights were all connected, weaving together, bound together and creating such a loud, glowing tapestry. It felt like it was blanketing him, wrapping him up so thoroughly that he couldn’t tell, anymore, where he ended and where everyone else began—

One of the Lights pressed up against him, gentle but more intentional than what Jango had been feeling on his own—Guardian He’draas, he thought. After a beat, he felt another pulse from them, accompanied by a wordless instruction to reach back. Jango… sort of knew how to do that by then, though his control with it wasn’t always the best. Forcing himself to focus on that feeling of the Guardian, Jango… stretched out towards them, and they met him halfway. The two of them paused there, just getting a sense of each other; Guardian He’draas was a brighter, louder Light than most, and so warm, so steady. It was… nice.

Jango had no idea how long they actually stayed like that, their… edges brushing, for lack of better wording, like they were brushing shoulders with each other and yet able to feel each other’s… essence from that touch alone. Eventually, though, He’draas started to stretch out towards him more deliberately, wrapping themself around Jango—not trying to get in, but surrounding him in almost the same way the Lights had been blanketing him. He’draas pulsed at him again, and this time the instruction felt-sounded like focus on this. Jango obeyed, doing his best to keep his attention firmly on He’draas as they started poking at what Ben and Korr had taught him were mental shields, the barriers around his mind and himself. He’d made most of them subconsciously, as all sentient beings did, if also to varying degrees of strength and effectiveness. Both Ben and Korr had led him through visualizing his shields and strengthening them—though apparently he hadn’t made them strong enough.

The shielding as he’d visualized it… Well, Jango’s first thought had been beskar plating, overlapping and interlocking, forming a literal shield, a wall of solid metal that could withstand nearly anything. Korr had said that that was a common visualization for Mando’ade, especially ka’ra’tigaanla, but… It hadn’t felt quite right. Eventually, Jango had settled on something else, something that was deceptively strong and effective for the mental images he’d chosen for it. He’d taken inspiration from Ben, when he’d shared his own visualization of his shields: endless waves of sand dunes, caught in whirling storms. From there, Jango had known what to choose: wheat fields. The wheatstalks themselves were tall—just about ready to harvest if they’d been real—and Jango made them tall enough to obscure anything beyond them. Anyone moving through those wheat fields would only find more wheat, and endless fields of crops.

He’draas pinged at him again, and Jango forced his thoughts back on topic, pushing away the roar of the collective Lights as best he could and watching the Guardian. They pressed up against his existing shields and then reached out with yet another message: tend to the fields.

Jango looked around at the mindscape that was his shielding, and he noticed that the fields weren’t quite as they should have been. Some sections were wilted, and others shorter than usual, providing gaps for everything else to get through. Understanding He’draas’s message, Jango turned his attention to those neglected sections. It was… strange, he thought to himself even as he coaxed a bit of the wilted wheatstalks into rising again, how this visualization reflected what was happening in his mind, how his shields had faltered in the face of this much intense, resounding brightness. It was just a visualization of what was actually happening, and yet Jango’s subconscious had shifted this mindscape to mirror what damage had really been done.

As he turned to one of the shorter sections, Jango wavered—this section was short enough that there was so much more Light shining through, and it was nearly blinding— He’draas gently tugged at him again, redirecting his attention back to the fields. Jango appreciated the help, and tried to say so with a wordless-yet-not pulse at them; gentle-warmth met that, and Jango thought at least some of that feeling he’d tried to project had made it through to them. With that, Jango turned back to the fields, and willing the wheat to sprout, picturing the way wheat actually looked as it grew, and then letting that process play out at a much higher speed than reality.

With each row and section Jango fixed, the easier it got to focus on this task, and He’draas began to pull back just a little, still there, still wrapped around him, but not quite as tightly. Finally, when it was done, Jango just sat there for a minute, looking around. All of that Light was still there, but… more distant, now, like feeling the sun on his face when he looked up at the sky in the middle of those fields. He felt He’draas brushing up against him more purposefully, examining his shields, and then they started to retreat, tugging at him as they did, indicating that he should follow them.

Jango surfaced, blinking his eyes open, and immediately met He’draas’s gaze. He blinked at them for a moment, pushing himself up from where he’d been sprawled out on the cushions. Then, in unison, they smiled at each other.

“Well done,” He’draas said, nodding to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m actually back in my body, now,” Jango said, and He’draas laughed.

“I’m pleased to hear it,” they said. “The foundations of your shields are very good. Have you had formal training?”

“A little,” Jango said, shrugging one shoulder. “Yan, the—”

Jango paused as he felt… something in the ka’ra. There was a sharp burst of feelings, though they weren’t… bad, just… a lot. There was something like realization and wonder and… Well, there was also something almost… giddy.

And, because of course it did, it just… felt like Ben.

He turned to look over his shoulder as if Ben was actually there to see, and He’draas hummed, no doubt having felt that, too. Turning, though, Jango only saw Myles and Jaster, sitting there at the edge of the circular seating pit. Jaster smiled at him and Myles lifted one hand and waggled his fingers at Jango in a little wave, which had him rolling his eyes.

“Me’vaar ti gar, Jan’ika?” Jaster asked.

“Naas, buir,” he said promptly. “It’s… better, now. Still there, but it’s… It’s like we just turned the volume down, I guess.”

And Jango knew —both from the look on his buir’s face and because he could literally feel it —that Jaster was still confused, that he didn’t understand, but Jaster just tried for a smile and nodded. “I’m glad,” he said.

It was then that Jango realized that things looked subtly different in the room they were in, and what had changed processed after a second: the light was dimmer, the sunshine still filtering in through those small but cleverly-angled windows to hit the little strands of those chiming-bright crystals, but it was later, now. The sun had started to set.

“How long was I…?” Jango trailed off, looking back towards He’draas.

“About two and a half hours, or so,” He’draas said easily, and Jango blinked at them. They smiled and reached out towards him yet again in the ka’ra, another impression of warmth. “In truth, I hadn’t expected you to be able to repair your shields so quickly, given the extent of your reaction to this much stimulus in the Force. That was yet another point that caused me to suspect you’ve had some training already.”

“‘Lek,” Jango said, allowing himself to be steered back to their previous topic, and trying hard to set aside… whatever that feeling from Ben had been. It hadn’t been anything bad, at least, so it was probably fine. (Though some part of him was still concerned, because he knew what kind of chaos gremlin his vod’ika really was underneath that veneer of calm, and if something had him that giddy… Well, whatever it was would probably mean the rest of them were in for a collective headache.) “Yan, the Jetii who came with us, Korr, and Ben have been teaching me.”

“You’ve learned well so far,” He’draas said, pulsing a bit of warm-approval that made Jango feel… sort of bashful, almost, “and they must be good teachers. There are other shielding techniques I would like to show you during your stay here—specifically to cover how you can modify your shields to remain more protected even while meditating and reaching out more deliberately—but that can wait. For now, I believe it’s nearly time for dinner. Shall we?”

“‘Lek, vor’e,” Jaster said from behind Jango. He’draas nodded and rose, the rest of them standing a beat later. “I’ll just need to collect my youngest—”

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” He’draas said, giving Jaster one of those calm, gentle smiles that seemed like it should have felt… patronizing, almost, but didn’t. A split second later, there was a knock at the door, and He’draas called for them to “come in.” Just before the door actually opened, Jango gave that reaching out thing another shot and grinned to himself as he felt two Lights: one was somewhat familiar, one of the Guardians, and the other was very familiar. That was Ben.

The door slid open and Jango got the visual confirmation that he’d been right, Ben standing there in the doorway with Guardian Tamm just behind him. Both of them looked pleased, physically and in the ka’ra, their edges so bright and warm—though their volume was, blessedly, still dulled down to something manageable, with Jango’s shields repaired.

“Su’cuy,” Ben greeted them, and then turned a broad grin on Jango. “You look better, ori’vod. More… ‘with it,’ as they say.”

Jango huffed a bit of a laugh. “‘Lek. The… Well, everything here together was too loud. But once I fixed my shields, that got better,” he said. As always, Ben just nodded as if he’d understood what Jango was trying to say.

“Latemeal?” Tamm said, echoing He’draas, who nodded. Tamm smiled. “Then we’ll just need to ping Qwen and the group with her. Shall we take them down to the main hall?”

“For tonight, I believe,” He’draas agreed. “But perhaps tomorrow, we can guide them in exploring the city itself.”

Tamm nodded his agreement and patted Ben’s shoulder, guiding him back out of the doorway to let all of the others pass. Jaster and Myles both paused on either side of Jango as they started moving towards the door, bumping shoulders with him, and he grinned at them. Before they called it quits, though, there was still one more thing Jango needed to do.

He turned to He’draas, doing his best to pulse at them, and they turned and smiled at him again. “Vor’e,” Jango said. “Thank you.”

“It is our duty, our purpose, and our pleasure to help others,” He’draas said with a little bow. “Now then, let’s get you all fed and settled for the night, and then we can return to our work in the morning.”

Jango nodded, letting himself be herded out the door with the others, still smiling to himself. He could still feel all of that bright-Light-warmth, but it wasn’t quite as loud as it had been—and as nice as the feelings had been, it was even better to be back in control of himself and still feeling it. He had a definite spring in his step, after that, because ‘lek, he really was getting the hang of this ka’ra osik —and his aliit had been right to insist on bringing him here in the first place.

And Jango… He’d figured he would tolerate it, at first, being here and spending so much time focusing on all this mystical banthashit. But now…

Now, Jango was honestly glad that they’d come—and he thought he might just end up enjoying this.

---

Jaster.

Jedha as a whole, and the Temple of the Kyber more specifically, was fascinating.

Jaster had always been something of an academic at heart; had he been born in a different culture, one with less of an emphasis on combat and justice and fighting to see that justice done, he thought he very well might have ended up some sort of professor or archivist. He’d always been curious by nature, and his personal favorite topics were history and foreign cultures—and there was so much of both of those elements to study here on Jedha.

At first, he’d been too tense to truly indulge his curiosity: the trip here had been… chaotic, and then Jango’s reaction to this place upon their arrival hadn’t helped matters, sparking concern and worry too strong to feel much else beyond them, and having his trouble-magnet youngest separated from him when he already had cause to think that Ben might try to sneak off… Well, that hadn’t helped, either. So Jaster had distantly cataloged the Temple as they’d been led through it, taking it all in without really focusing on it, too busy fretting over his ad’e. The first few hours here had been… somewhat tense, admittedly. Both Jaster and Myles had watched, attentive and so uneasy, while Jango and Guardian He’draas just… laid there, sprawled out on the cushions in the room they’d been shown to, both of them opting to stretch out flat, parallel with each other, when He’draas had instructed Jango to “settle into his preferred meditation pose.” For a long time, it hadn’t looked like anything was really happening, and that had left Jaster with far too much time to dwell on the things that were setting him so on-edge.

However much Jaster had tried to remind himself that the Guardians of the Whills were the go-to for his entire people when their own ka’ra’ba’jiise weren’t enough for them, and that Jango was in good hands, and that he should be patient, and however much he reminded himself that Korr trusted Derrion specifically, and Ben was, therefore, also in good hands… It hadn’t soothed him quite as much as he would’ve hoped. From the shifting and soft sighs Myles let out every few minutes, Jaster could tell that he was just as on-edge, just as worried.

But after what felt like an eternity , Jango had come back around, and very shortly after that, Derrion had returned with Ben in tow. Having both of them back within his immediate line of sight, and with both of Jaster’s boys looking so happy, so pleased and somehow… settled, that had gone a long way to settling him in turn. Now, on their trek through the Temple, Jango was far more like himself, joking with Myles as they shoved at each other, and idly pulling Ben in closer, tucking him into his side, and Ben himself made no attempts to pull away from his ori’vod, no attempts to separate from the group, instead just snickering and snorting and occasionally butting into Myles and Jango’s play-fight, snarking at the two of them equally. It was enough like their normal behavior that Jaster really and truly relaxed, the last of his lingering concerns finally eased.

That, of course, meant that Jaster’s mind was finally free to turn itself to his other interests.

Jaster soaked up everything he could about the Temple as the Guardians led them to the dining hall where Yan, Korr, his ad’e, and Guardian Qwen would be meeting them. There were intricate carvings on the walls, swirling designs that seemed to include symbols of some sort, and Jaster wondered if that was some sort of code, or perhaps some language, and what significance all of those carvings held. There were also little figures of what looked like Jetiise included in the carvings, robed and hooded figures holding what were obviously Jetii’kad’e, and Jaster made a mental note of those, too. He was hopeful he could find a moment to ask his questions, and he wondered what the relationships between the Temple of the Kyber, the Guardians of the Whills, and the Jetii’tsad had been like over the millennia. Then there were the crystals: the room they had been led to first had had many strands of those little shards of crystal strung up, and the effect of the light hitting it to cast many multi-colored pools of light on the floor and the walls had, admittedly, been very pretty. But Jaster also knew enough to realize that those were all shards of kyber, as were the crystals that decorated the hallways, some inlaid into those swirling designs etched into the walls and others hanging at semi-regular intervals from the ceiling in much the same way other places would hang lanterns, and Jaster also knew enough to realize how valuable and how special kyber was. For them to have so much of it, and to use it in this way… Well, it was fascinating, and it inspired so many questions.

The dining hall they were led to was a large space with high ceilings, even more of those kyber shards strung up everywhere, and there were planters lining the walls filled with greenery and some sort of desert ivy stretching down from the ceiling. There were quite a few people there already, some who appeared to be Guardians and others who looked to the pilgrims, and though none of them were speaking very loudly, the sheer number of them created a low buzz, though the atmosphere here, too, was so calm. Derrion and He’draas took the lead, showing them over to the food line, and when they went to sit, Jaster wasn’t even surprised, anymore, by the hesitation and minor squabbling over who would sit next to each other. He went ahead and just sat down, pulling down Ben on one side of him and Jango on the other, breaking the stalemate, and the others fell in around and beside them.

Derrion sat across from Jaster, and he was already aching to start asking the questions he’d accumulated, but, as always: first things first. Turning to Ben instead, Jaster said, “How was your meditation, Ben’ika?”

“Productive,” Ben said, “and quite… perspective-altering—in a good way, of course.”

Jaster smiled and reached out to wrap an arm around his shoulders, squeezing briefly before nudging him back towards his plate. “I’m glad,” he said. With that, he turned back to Derrion, though Ben continued on before he got a chance to actually ask any of his questions.

“I saw where the Force wants me to go, to see… whatever it wants me to see,” Ben said cheerfully. “And Derrion was able to identify it for me. It’s a place called Pilgrim’s Sanctuary.”

Jaster hummed, keeping his eyes on the Guardian across from him. “What is this Sanctuary? And where is it?”

“Pilgrim’s Sanctuary is one of the stops along the Pilgrim’s Path,” Derrion said easily. “The Path is a collection of the holy sites most visited by those on pilgrimages to this moon. It’s popular amongst scholars and the religious-leaning alike. Though it is rather far from here—you would certainly need speeders, if not a ship, to reach it.” Jaster started to frown, trying to think through the logistics of a trip like that—though he was well aware that if he didn’t find some way to make it happen, at some point, then Ben would. But Derrion just continued on before Jaster could formulate a response to that: “For now, however, I offered to show Ben to the Archives tomorrow. That will give us a chance to do some research, first.”

Jaster perked up again, smiling, both because that reassured him that he would have a little time before Ben started trying to sneak off if Jaster didn’t move on this fast enough for his liking—and also because that led them neatly right back into the things that interested him. “What sorts of documents or artefacts do you have in those Archives?” he asked. Jango huffed beside him and leaned over to mutter something to Myles, no doubt exasperated by his immediate interest in history and academia.

“Various treatises, histories, and philosophical works on the Force, its nature and the various Force-sensitive cultures the Guardians have been in contact with over the years,” Derrion said. “There are many artefacts from those Force-sensitive cultures as well as the historical artefacts of the Guardians ourselves. There are also a significant number of historical records kept there.”

Perfect. “Would I be able to join you, then? The ka’ra —the Force—treatises and the like… I’m not sure I could make heads or tails of those,” Jaster admitted, and he could feel that his smile turned a little crooked, a bit rueful. “I got enough migraines just from reading over the manuals the Jetiise sent, trying to explain to, ah, Force-blind people what Force-sensitivity is like and how it affects them. But any historical manuscripts…”

“I would be glad to direct you to them,” Derrion said, and Jaster beamed at him. Beside him, seemingly focused largely on his dinner, Ben laughed softly, no doubt amused by Jaster’s enthusiasm.

“Ori’jate. Vor’e,” he said, Derrion nodding in acceptance, and both of them ignored Jango’s not-so-quiet groan. No doubt he was less than excited by the prospect of a full day—and possibly, probably, longer than that—spent in any Archive.

“In the meantime,” He’draas said, “perhaps we could continue working on your shielding. And there are a few other assessments Qwen and I would like to make of your other skills.”

“‘Lek —yes, please,” Jango said gratefully, obviously eager for the chance to escape having to accompany them. That earned him a snicker from Myles, and Jango seemingly absent-mindedly reached over to elbow him in the ribs between the plates of his beskar’gam on pure reflex alone.

“Very well, then,” He’draas agreed. “We have our agenda sorted.”

Derrion’s comm chimed and they looked down to glance at it, chuckling softly and shaking their head. “It seems Qwen and the others won’t be joining us now,” they said. “Once they all slipped into true meditation… Well, the results in children that young are fairly predictable.”

Jaster didn’t know what he was talking about, but Ben seemed to, laughing softly to himself, almost a giggle. “They fell asleep.”

“They did indeed,” Derrion said. “Qwen is showing them to their rooms, and she’ll sort something out for them for latemeal. We’ll finish here and follow them up.” The Guardian gestured for them all to return to their meals, all of them having paused to hear what might’ve gone wrong with Korr, Yan, and the ad’e. Reassured that nothing had gone wrong, Jaster’s thoughts reverted back to their previous course.

“For now,” Jaster said, “I did have a few questions about the Temple.”

“Of course,” Derrion said, another of those pleasant, gentle smiles on their face. They paused briefly, looking somewhere over Jaster’s shoulder, and that small smile turned somewhat exasperated while Ben huffed softly. Jaster wondered what they might’ve sensed in the ka’ra, though he didn’t ask, and Derrion quickly refocused on him again. “We quite enjoy sharing our knowledge.”

“I wanted to ask about the carvings,” Jaster said, choosing to start with one of the things he could point at to give examples and ask more specific questions. Jango groaned again while Myles just laughed at him; Jaster vaguely heard He’draas take pity on Jango, starting to say something about the hydroponics that kept the plants in the Temple alive and thriving, somehow knowing already that he was interested in plants and gardening, but Derrion started to answer at the same time, and Jaster’s full focus was on the latter just then.

“Ah, yes. The carvings are one of my favorite parts of the Temple as well,” Derrion said. “Though many of them weren’t carved so much as they were deliberately shaped, hewn from the rock by those with great focus and control of the Force. And several of those hooded figures depicted are not, in fact, Jedi as we would know them, but from the more ancient incarnation of the Order. Back then, they made no distinction between Light and Dark—there was only the Force. Those attitudes shaped many of the early philosophical ideas of the Guardians of the Whills, and our drive to seek any and all knowledge of the Force we can from every corner of the galaxy. The Force-related legends and fables of many different cultures are pictured here—do you see that one, there? Yes, that one—that was inspired by the legends of the Wind-Whisperers of the native peoples of Markani…”

Jaster settled in to listen, hanging on every word, and only barely remembered to keep eating. Eventually, once he’d finished his own food, Ben started to nod off himself, for all that he’d laughed about Korr’s ad’e doing the same; eventually, Ben’ika gave in and leaned over to press himself into Jaster’s side, accustomed enough to doing this with him in his beskar’gam that it was easy enough for him to find a comfortable position despite the plates in the way. Jaster absently wrapped an arm around him, though his attention was still firmly caught by the Guardian and the fascinating history and culture lecture he was getting, soaking up every word.

At first… Well, Jaster had, admittedly, thought that while the trip to Jedha would do his boys and Korr’s ad’e some good, he might have just been waiting to finish up and get back home the whole time, interspersed with bouts of worry for all of the ad’e. Honestly, he’d agreed with Myles, thinking that he would just have to quietly endure while everyone around them went on about mystical ka’ra nonsense he couldn’t even begin to understand. Now, though, he was beginning to see why so many made pilgrimages to this place, even those who weren’t ka’ra’tigaanla.

There seemed to be something for everyone here, and something about this place. And Jaster, admittedly, was already starting to be glad they’d come.

---

Ben.

When Ben woke, he almost— almost —panicked. His instincts, partially his Force-senses, told him that he wasn’t somewhere familiar: this wasn’t the karyai, where they usually slept, and it didn’t feel like the Alori’ya. It was enough to have him snapping wide awake all at once, his eyes flying open, though he forced himself not to sit up, just in case he was being watched—and there was a feeling of eyes on him, now that he was awake enough to notice it—

“Woah, easy, General,” a very familiar voice said, one that had him relaxing. “Take it easy, sir.” Ben sat up, turning to look at Wooley—and that was Trapper beside him. Both of them were sitting cross-legged just above the floor—projections never could get it quite right, he knew—and grinning at him.

“Good morning,” Ben said, mostly because politeness was a deeply ingrained reflex, at least when it came to those he actually liked, and he reached up to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“Morning, sir,” they chorused, and memory started to return as he looked around. He was in someone’s living quarters, it looked like, small but comfortable and warm. The walls were largely stone, and there was ivy curling along even the inside of them up to the ceiling from a long, thin window set high up in the wall, and the morning light hit the strands of kyber he could feel chiming pleasantly around him, refracting the light around the room like stained glass—and that was enough for his still half-asleep mind to put the pieces together.

Jedha—the Temple of the Kyber. He was still there, and though he didn’t know where this room specifically was, and he didn’t know how he’d gotten here, he could feel that all was well. Ben stretched out with the Force a little more, finding the familiar presences of his buir and his ori’vod in the next room with another presence that felt somewhat familiar but took him just a moment to place: Derrion Tamm, one of the Guardians.

Ben let out a whoosh of breath, sagging a little as the never quite fully-formed adrenaline rush was sapped right out of him. He was fine; Jaster was fine; Jango was fine. They were safe, and the Force was so Light that, for once, Ben almost felt like danger couldn’t possibly reach him here.

(But then, he’d thought that about the Temple, too. And this place felt so much like it that he—)

“You’re doing it again, sir,” Wooley said.

“Okay,” Trapper said, “you were right. It does look like a pout.” Ben wanted to take the pillow behind him and chuck it at them, though he knew it would just go right through them, so he settled for a haughty, offended huff, folding his arms over his chest, and tried to ignore the way that only made Trapper laugh and Wooley coo.

Deciding he should probably get up and thoroughly motivated by the day’s plans, Ben hopped up and then paused to pull the blanket neatly back over the sleep mat before turning back towards the door, and his men. As usual, they fell in on either side of him, and Ben smiled. Force, the only way this could be better was if they had actually physically been there—but this… This was enough, and more than he’d thought he would have.

“So, what’s on the agenda today, sir?” Wooley asked. “More insane Force banthashit?”

“Research, mainly,” Ben said, pausing before opening the door. They could hear him when he projected to them, but he liked to take the opportunity to actually speak to them, when he was truly alone. “Apparently, this isn’t the first time someone’s been ‘reincarnated’ and remembered a past life.” Wooley and Trapper exchanged looks, though what they were actually thinking, Ben, for once, couldn’t have begun to guess—and he wasn’t given much opportunity to figure it out. There was a brief knock on the door, and Ben turned to it just as it opened.

“Vaar’tur, ad’ika,” Jaster greeted him cheerfully, reaching out to smooth down his bedhead, as he always did.

“Aww. That’s sweet,” Trapper whispered, obviously more to Wooley than to Ben, though he still had to fight not to roll his eyes.

“Vaar’tur, buir,” Ben said. “Derrion is here already?”

“Mm,” Jaster hummed with a nod, seemingly more focused on the mess that was Ben’s hair than on what he’d said. He didn’t seem surprised, no doubt well used to the way that Ben could sense these things in the Force. He’d adapted admirably to raising not one, but two, Force-sensitive troublemakers. Nothing seemed to faze him much anymore—at least so long as Ben gave him fair warning before doing any Force leaping or falling. “We’ll go down to breakfast with him now, if you’re ready, and then to the Archives.” Ben nodded, and Jaster smiled. “Jate. Korr, his ad’e, and Yan are going to meet us in the hall. Jango’s splitting off with them, after—Guardian Qwen offered to take them to some training room or another for a bit. Hopefully, that will keep your ori’vod from getting into trouble as I know he would have if we’d left him in the ‘boring, dusty old Archives.’” Ben laughed and Jaster’s smile grew a little wider. He dropped his hand and turned away, Ben following, part of his attention on his surroundings and part on Wooley and Trapper.

“It’s still weird to think of Prime as a teenager getting into trouble if he’s left unattended too long,” Trapper said. “He’s the Prime.”

“I can see it,” Wooley said. “Just picture Boba—you remember what he was like, and he was pure, unaltered Jango.”

“Huh. I wonder if Boba was Force-sensitive, too, and just never realized it,” Trapper said.

Force-sensitivity is more likely with Force-sensitive parents, but not guaranteed, and it isn’t dictated entirely by genetics, either, Ben projected to them. The adjoining room was a little sitting room, it seemed, circular and with four other doors set at regular intervals; behind one of them, Ben could sense Jango and Myles, and assumed that those were other bedrooms.

“Good morning, Ben,” Derrion called, seated on a cushion in a loose pile of them in the center of the room.

“Good morning, Derrion,” Ben answered, but the Guardian was no longer focused on him. Instead, his gaze went first to Wooley’s projection, and then Trapper’s, the two still on either side of him.

“I’m going to go make sure Jango actually got Myl’ika up,” Jaster said, disappearing towards the door Ben had felt them behind.

“They’re different,” Derrion said, tilting his head a bit. “They aren’t the same as those I saw around you before.”

“They take turns,” Ben said easily. “There are far too many of them for all of them to come at once.”

“How many?” Derrion asked slowly, and Ben smiled wanly and just shrugged, not answering. He… trusted Derrion, at least to an extent, but with how perceptive he seemed to be, Ben was wary of giving too much away, worried that he might put too many of the pieces together and figure out just what had happened in Ben’s first life. And it… Well, it wasn’t as if he’d definitively decided not to tell anyone, but Ben just— He hadn’t decided who he might tell, or how much he would be willing to tell them.

Derrion didn’t push, just hummed and stood, turning just as the other door opened again and Myles stumbled out, obviously still half-asleep, with as uncoordinated and bleary-eyed as he was, and Jaster and Jango just behind him.

“Kriff,” Trapper hissed softly, but with feeling. “That’s still weird. Cadet Prime.”

“You get used to it,” Wooley said, as if he hadn’t had much the same reaction for the first few hours of his first and second visits, until the novelty began to wear off.

Jango tilted his head and looked around briefly as if he’d thought he’d heard something, and for a heart-stopping moment, Ben feared that he might actually realize who was there, and begin asking questions. But he just shook his head, brushing off the sensation, and Ben relaxed again.

“Well then,” Jaster said, beaming at them, looking years younger for the excitement obvious in his expression, both physically and in the Force, and Ben couldn’t help but smile back. “Now that we’re all awake—”

“Debatable,” Myles grumbled. Jaster continued on as if he hadn’t heard.

“—let’s get on with breakfast. The sooner we’re all fed, the sooner we can get to the Archives,” Jaster finished. Jango huffed, shaking his head again, obviously just as exasperated as ever by Jaster’s obvious enthusiasm for and love of academia, but the soft smile on his face and the equally soft feelings radiating from him in the Force betrayed his fondness for it.

“‘Lek, buir,” Ben said, focusing on his own excitement. “Gedet’ye.”

Ben had already liked Jedha, from the first moment he’d sensed its unique feeling in the Force. It was a peaceful kind of place, one that recaptured the feeling he’d loved so dearly about his first home, the Coruscant Temple—the feeling that had been stolen from him a lifetime ago, and that he’d never managed to recapture since, not even having been sent back again to see it once more as it had been—

He cut off those thoughts and took Jaster’s hand when he held it out, refusing to dwell on that. Instead, Ben forced himself back on topic, thinking on Jedha once more. He’d liked it immediately, and that had grown even stronger with Derrion’s easy acceptance of his unusual circumstances. Now, though, Ben knew that Jedha held much more in store for him than just peace.

This place promised answers —both to the question of just what had happened to him, how and why he had been sent back, reincarnated, but more than that… The feeling crested as he focused on it, however briefly, that nudging, that urging, in and from the Force: go, seek, find…

Yes, he would find something here, that much was certain, and he had a feeling that it would be far more than peace and knowledge.

---

Jaster.

Jaster had had a feeling from the first summary he’d gotten of its contents that he would like and appreciate the Temple’s Archives, but to actually see it all was… something else. The majority of the Archives proper was kept below the rest of the Temple, which apparently stretched many levels down below ground—“Deliberately placed,” Derrion had explained, “to better preserve the old scrolls, parchment, and paper. And to keep the sand away.”—and when the lift down into them had first opened, Jaster had spent several long seconds just staring at all of it.

The whole space was circularly shaped, and the central area was open, leaving rings of balconies around the edges of the cavernous room to hold all of the various materials—and there was such a staggering amount kept there. As Derrion had promised, there were shelves upon shelves packed with ‘pads pre-loaded with various volumes, the little cases that held datachips that weren’t referenced frequently enough to be pre-loaded, and honest-to-Manda bound paper books. Then there were the shelves across the way, where Jaster could see carefully rolled and meticulously stacked scrolls, sheafs of parchment and actual loose paper, and one level that seemed to glow strangely, a bluish light radiating from whatever was on the shelves down there, not dissimilar to the way the crystals set into the walls and hanging from the ceilings in place of lanterns glowed.

Ka’ra, Jaster had no idea where to even start.

“Oh, this is wonderful!” Ben said, recovering faster than Jaster did, bouncing on the balls of his feet and tugging on Jaster’s hand with the movement. Derrion laughed.

“I’m pleased you think so,” they said. “The statues and historical artefacts are kept down in the lowest levels, and all of the various levels can be accessed by the separate lifts on the other side of the Archives. Mand’alor —”

“Just Jaster,” he said almost absently, still raking his eyes over what he could see of the massive Archives from here, trying to take it all in. He felt that he could live three full lifetimes and still not get through all of the material kept here, which was a feeling he found as wonderful and exciting as he did frustrating.

“Jaster, then,” Derrion said. “I’ll lead you over to the historical records, first; from there, we have several other Guardians who serve as dedicated Archivists. If you have specific interests and questions, they will be able to guide you to the relevant sections and materials.”

“Alright,” Jaster said. “Vor’e.”

“Once you’re settled, I can lead Ben down to the materials we wished to see,” Derrion added, and Jaster nodded. Though he was still hesitant to let Ben out of his sight for too long, still a bit too worried that he would sneak off at the first opportunity, if there was anything that could convince him to stay put, it was a well-stocked and well-tended Archive. Jaster had already lost count of the number of times he’d had to fetch Ben from the Archives in the Alori’ya when he’d been so engrossed in his reading that he’d nearly forgotten dinner entirely. So long as Ben stayed here, and stayed engaged with whatever their topic of research was to be, Jaster liked his odds of keeping his youngest where he should be. …if only for now.

Derrion waved for them to follow and led them to the left, following the curve of the balcony they were on around, presumably to the lifts. Jaster hummed as they passed by those oddly glowing shelves again and gestured to them, Derrion pausing as he noticed their steps slowing. “What is that? Terminals?”

“Holocrons,” Derrion and Ben chorused, and Jaster hummed.

“Like the pyramids in our Archives,” he said. “But those don’t glow, at least not that I’ve ever seen.”

“They haven’t been opened in a very, very long time,” Ben said. “Thankfully, of course. Those are Sith holocrons, and they would be red if they were opened, not blue. The glow is coming from the holocrons those here are actually working with, the ones that are currently being used.” Jaster hummed again and squeezed Ben’s hand in thanks before tugging him along again after Derrion.

“How old is this Temple? How long has it taken to put together this Archive?” Jaster asked. The sheer scale of it was mind-boggling, and even just looking at the place, he had an immense respect for whichever Guardians served as the Master Archivists here. Keeping track of all of this had to be an enormous undertaking.

“The Temple of the Kyber itself is about twenty thousand years old,” Derrion said, and Jaster almost stumbled for a moment, his stride broken as he shuddered to a half for the briefest of seconds in his surprise, and Derrion turned to flash a smile at him over their shoulder. “Knowledge has always been collected and disseminated here, of course. The Archive technically began with the founding of the Temple proper. Beyond our worship and study of kyber, our wider purpose has always been to seek and provide knowledge and understanding of both the Force and the mundane galaxy. We feel that all knowledge draws us closer to a true understanding of the Force.”

“Wayii,” Jaster said. “That’s incredible.”

“The oldest artefacts are kept down in the vaults in the lowest levels of the Temple,” Derrion continued. “Not because they are secret, of course, but simply because they are fragile by now. The vaults are carefully climate controlled for better preservation, though any may request to see those materials if they wish. We do also have digitized copies of the written works and reproductions of the statues and historical artefacts available; that suffices, for many, and keeps the originals in better condition. Ah, here we are.” Derrion gestured to a series of four turbolifts set into the wall, leading them into one and taking them down.

“This level houses the majority of the historical volumes,” Derrion said as the lift came to a stop; when they emerged, Jaster could see that they’d gone down two levels. There were Guardians milling about here and there, some speaking quietly with pilgrims, others shelving materials, and some bent over wide study desks poring over volumes themselves, and Derrion perked up as they saw one in particular. He waved them forward again, leading them towards a Cathar Guardian looking over the shelves. They turned as their little group approached and smiled.

“Good morning, Derrion,” they said.

“Good morning. Sennis, this is Jaster Mereel,” Derrion said, and the other Guardian’s gaze immediately fixed itself on Jaster with a startling intensity. “He shares your interest in history, and I wondered if you might show him around.”

“Of course,” Sennis immediately agreed, still just staring at Jaster. “Jaster Mereel… Very interesting. I indexed your Codex several years ago.”

Jaster blinked at them. “You have a copy of the Supercommando Codex here?” he said slowly—though, on second thought, he wasn’t sure why he found that surprising. So many of their ka’ra’tigaanla had come to visit this place over the years, and more than a few had been Haat’ade; that they’d given a copy of the Codex to people who clearly valued any and all knowledge and artefacts and writings they could get their hands on shouldn’t have been so startling. But it was, for some reason—probably the idea that they’d found it important enough to index in the first place.

“Of course,” Sennis said. “I found it fascinating—quite… illuminating. And your interest in history was readily apparent within it as well. Is there something specific you were looking for today?”

Anything, everything, whatever you have, Jaster forced himself not to say. He could have quite happily just picked a history from random off the shelves and begun there, but he tried to start with what he thought would be most difficult to research once they’d left Jedha. “A history of the Temple itself, to begin with,” he said. “And I’d wondered about your historical relationships with other ka’ra —ah, Force—sects.”

“Yes, of course,” Sennis said. “There are several volumes I would recommend to begin with.”

“It seems you have this well in hand,” Derrion said, sounding vaguely amused. Jaster got the feeling that they’d sought out Sennis deliberately; history seemed to be their area of expertise, and Jaster wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Derrion had known it had been Sennis who indexed the Codex when it was added to the Archives here. No doubt they’d realized Jaster would mesh well with this particular Guardian. “And in that case, I’ll be seeing Ben down a few more levels. We have a few holocrons to reference.”

Sennis made a gesture somewhere between a deep nod and a shallow bow. “May the Force of others be with you.”

“And also with you,” both Ben and Derrion chorused.

Then, Ben turned to Jaster, a smile on his face and mirth in his eyes. “Have fun, buir,” he said, “but don’t get lost in the Archives for too long. Jango would have to come hunt us down otherwise, and you know how much he would hate that.”

Jaster laughed, shaking his head. “You have no room to talk, ad’ika,” he said, reaching out to ruffle Ben’s hair. “Go on; have fun yourself, and I hope you find what you’re looking for.” With a bit of luck, jate’kara… Maybe Ben would find enough here that they wouldn’t have to physically go to this Pilgrim’s Sanctuary at all—though something also told him that was a vain hope. He finally let go of Ben’s hand and nodded to Derrion, who smiled and nodded back before ushering Ben back towards the lifts.

“Well then,” Sennis said, “this way. I think it would be best to start with the memoirs of Rekka-Namaru—a digitization, of course, since the original records are on actual paper, and they’re now twenty thousand years old…”

Jaster followed after the Guardian eagerly, taking in the massive shelves absolutely packed with volumes as they moved past them. Though he’d only just gotten here, and there were important, vital, tasks to see to soon, back in Manda’lase… Well, he hoped that both Ben and Jango would be content to stay a while—they didn’t have infinite time to spend here, of course, but Jaster was eager to eke out every last minute he could get. He still couldn’t quite understand what Jango and Ben felt about this place, but this was enough to inspire an answering sense of wonder and joy for him.

Yes, Jaster thought with another grin, making time to visit Jedha had been a very good call—both for his boys, and for him.

---

Maul.

Jedha was even weirder than Manda’yaim. It was somehow brighter and warmer than Manda’yaim, which Maul hadn’t thought was possible. The place was bright-warm, yes, but so were all of the people —the Guardians, buir had said they were called. Even the women here were bright-warm, and Maul didn’t notice any difference in how they felt about brothers and sisters, their Lights in the Force, the ka’ra (and Maul still didn’t really understand the difference between the two, though he knew that there had to be some difference, because having two different words for the same thing just seemed confusing and silly), feeling exactly the same whether they were talking to a man or a woman.

The first day had been nice, calm and relaxing, just talking to Guardian Qwen for a while before meditating just like they did back on Manda’yaim, just like Korr and Master Yan had taught them to. But the second day… That was turning out to be fun.

Maul hadn’t seen much of Ben since they’d gotten here—his only real complaint about Jedha so far—because Ben was spending most of his time down in the Archives with the Mand’alor, and Korr and Guardian Qwen both said that Maul and his brothers would probably be bored in the Archives, since they were still so little (which Maul didn’t really understand either, because Ben wasn’t that much bigger than they were, but Korr had said that because Ben originally came from the Core, he knew how to read in Basic better than Maul and his brothers did, which… sort of made sense), but Ben’s ori’vod Jango had joined them with Guardian Qwen, buir, and Master Yan in one of the training rooms the second day. It was a big, tall room that sort of reminded Maul of the places on Manda’yaim where Buir had told him they practiced flying sometimes (and Maul couldn’t wait until he was big enough to learn how to fly).

“I’d like to get a feeling for your skill levels,” Guardian Qwen had said, and both Maul and Savage had tensed up, because it sounded like this was going to be a test, and it never meant anything good when the Sisters came to test them. “Just to see what you already know, that’s all. This isn’t a test, at least not the kind you can fail. You won’t get anything wrong as long as you do your best, alright?”

Both Buir and Master Yan had reached out in the Force with warm feelings, telling them it would be okay, that Guardian Qwen was telling the truth. They obviously wanted them to let Qwen test them, but Savage was still nervous, and looked to Maul instead, and then so did Feral, probably still too little to understand why they were nervous, but knowing well enough to follow his brothers. Maul was the oldest Brother here—he was the ori’vod, as Buir said it—so he had to be the brave one.

“...okay,” Maul said. “What d’you want us to do?”

Qwen smiled at him and sat down on the floor. “Let’s make a circle, first; sit down and get comfortable,” she said. Maul sat down right where he was, keeping a good amount of distance between himself and Qwen, leaving Jango to fill in the space between them, and Maul was happy that Buir sat down on his other side. Savage, though, tugged at Master Yan until he sat, first, and then put himself in Master Yan’s lap, which made Yan huff, a sharp, almost annoyed kind of look on his face, but Maul could tell that he wasn’t, really, still feeling so warm and almost like laughter in the Force. Feral was too young to really remember why he should have been afraid of Sisters, so he tottered right over to Qwen and sat beside her; Maul tensed up as Qwen reached for Feral, but she just ran a hand over his head like Buir did, making Feral giggle, and Maul relaxed a little bit.

“Our meditation yesterday showed me quite a bit about your connections with the Force,” Qwen said. “Today, I’d like to see what you’ve learned so far about using it. First…” Qwen reached into a pocket on her belt and pulled out something small, holding her hand out to show it to them: it was a bright blue feather. “Try pushing this back and forth in the circle: when it comes towards you, pick someone else to push it towards, and let’s see how long we can keep it in the air without actually touching it, just using the Force.”

Maul blinked at her, because that sounded like… “Is this a game?”

Qwen laughed—or at least Maul thought it was a laugh, but it sounded weird, more like a bird’s trill than what he was used to, but she felt like she was laughing—and nodded. “Nothing says we can’t have fun while we learn, young one.”

Again, Savage looked to Maul, and so did Feral, waiting for him to decide for them if they were going to play. Maul was still worried about failing, about losing the game, but he glanced at their buir, who was smiling, and he nodded, so Maul looked back to Qwen and nodded too. “Okay.”

“Thank you for playing with us,” Qwen said. “I’ll start. Ready?” She lifted her hand up and the feather rose up, and then started swooping through the space between them towards Master Yan and Savage. Master Yan leaned down and whispered something to Savage, who nodded and held his hands out, though he didn’t touch the feather when it came close enough, instead pushing with the Force. Maul felt it when he did it, and the feather shot up in the air first.

“Oops,” Savage muttered, and his face scrunched up as he thought hard on what he was supposed to be doing. As the feather came back down, Savage pushed it out this time instead of up, and it went towards Jango. He made a face, too, and Maul saw his hands tighten where he had them resting on his knees, his fingers turning paler; when the feather came close enough, Maul felt him reaching for the Force, but nothing happened, at first—it came closer, closer, and then Jango leaned forward and blew on it. The feather floated away, and then Maul felt him using the Force again, and this time, it went sideways towards Maul.

“Is that cheating?” Savage whispered—or, well, tried to whisper, but he wasn’t very good at being quiet, no matter how hard the older Brothers had tried to teach them all to be, and they all heard it.

“I’ll allow it,” Qwen said, and her voice sounded like she was trying not to laugh, and her Light felt all… sparkly. “He didn’t touch the feather, after all.”

Maul had to focus, then, because the feather was getting closer to him. He bit his lip, concentrating hard on that warmth that was always there in his belly and his chest, and he tugged on it, and then pushed it at the feather. It shot off, floating away and looping in circles as it crossed the circle towards Feral and Qwen.

“My tuwn!” Feral said, clapping his hands together. Like Savage, he threw them both out when it came close enough—and also like Savage, the feather shot up first instead of away. Feral squealed and clapped his hands together, his own Light turning even more sparkly than Qwen’s, and this time, both Qwen and Buir did laugh.

“Would you like a little help getting it to go the right direction, Feral?” Qwen asked.

“‘Le- yeh,” Feral said, and Maul thought he’d tried to combine ‘lek and yeah.

“Here,” Qwen said, holding out a hand to him, and Feral took it without hesitation, though Maul and Savage both tensed again, because a woman touching a Brother when they weren’t sparring or healing them wasn’t a good sign. But Qwen just let Feral touch her palm, keeping their hands there, and this time, as the feather sank back down towards them, Maul felt it when Qwen reached out to Feral, wrapping her Light around him, showing him how to pick a direction. The feather gently drifted towards Buir, who sent it back towards Savage again, and the game went on.

Maul wasn’t sure how long they played, but they all got at least five turns pushing the feather around before Feral finally let it drop to the floor. Maul and Savage both tensed, giving each other wide-eyed, almost panicked looks, and Maul held his breath, biting his lip again, because they’d lost, and they’d lost in front of a woman. If any of the Brothers had failed like that in front of one of the Sisters, they would’ve been punished—

But Qwen just smiled at them and held out a hand again, the feather rising back up and floating over to her until she could reach out to grab it. “Very well done,” she said, and Maul frowned at her, because… That didn’t make sense. Qwen seemed to feel their upset and confusion, because her smile gentled, and there was something a little sad around that feeling of her. “You’re all still learning, but you did very well for your first time playing this game. I didn’t expect any of you to be perfect; I just wanted to see where you’re at right now. I promised that you wouldn’t fail as long as you did your best, didn’t I?”

It… actually seemed like Qwen meant that, which didn’t make any sense, but Maul just nodded, not willing to question that when it seemed she was going to let the failure go. Qwen nodded back and slipped the feather back into her pocket. Buir reached out and rubbed a hand over Maul’s head, reassuring and warm, and he relaxed some again. Buir was here with them, he reminded himself, and so was Master Yan. As long as they were around, nobody would be allowed to hurt them.

“Now, knowing children as I do, I would guess all of that sitting might’ve made you want to get up and move for a while,” Qwen said, and Feral clapped his hands together again in agreement, Maul and Savage just nodding. “Why don’t we try jumping now, then?”

“I like up!” Feral said, and Qwen laughed again.

“Then let’s play up, next,” she said, and got up, waving for them to join her. They all scrambled to their feet, and she motioned for them to move away from each other. “Now, look up.” Maul obeyed, craning his neck to look up at the high ceiling. There were more of those crystals hanging from the ceiling—and they were so pretty, both because of the way they sparkled when the light hit them and because they sparkled in a different way, in the Force—but there were also rings at different heights. Qwen raised her hands, and some of those rings came down lower until there were a few only a little ways off the ground, and some that were much higher up. “Now, let’s see if you can jump up high enough to touch these. Don’t worry, young ones: we won’t let you fall. Just focus on going up, for now, and if you can’t get the down part, we’ll help you. Who wants to go first?”

---

By lunch time just a few hours later, none of them were nervous about the games Qwen wanted to play with them anymore—and Maul found that once he forgot to be afraid, these games were so much fun. Eventually, after they’d all jumped high enough to touch at least a few of the rings, Qwen had taken them to a different, smaller room that had squishy padding on the floor and the walls. They’d kept jumping, then, but they also got to run. Qwen had them play something called “tag,” where one of them would be “it,” and they would try to touch someone else; once they did, that person was “it.”

It didn’t take long before they started bouncing off of the walls to jump over each other, trying to get away, or flipping over each other’s heads. It was Feral, of course, who started laughing first, but it didn’t take long before they all joined him—even Jango, who Maul had thought was too big for that sort of thing, was giggling until he almost couldn’t breathe, he was laughing so hard. (And if Maul, Savage, and Jango all let Feral touch them once or twice when he was it… Well, that was just what they did for their little Brothers. And it wasn’t fair not to, because they were so much bigger than he was already. It made it more fun, too.)

Maul had no idea how long they played before Qwen called for them to stop. He was sad when it was over, at least until he did stop for a second, and then he realized how sweaty and tired he was. They all were, even Jango, and Maul wondered if it was nap time, now, and if Jango would nap with them, or if he was too old for that.

“Very good, young ones,” Qwen said, and they all smiled, even Maul. He wasn’t quite so scared of Qwen has he had been, starting to understand, now, that not all women were like the Sisters. “You had fun?”

“‘Leh!” Feral said, and the rest of them just nodded.

“I’m glad,” Qwen said. “Why don’t we stop there, for now? We’ll get you all some lunch, showers, and perhaps a nap. I’ll come by for another meditation before dinner, but take some time to rest for now.”

“Shower and then food feels like a better order,” Jango muttered, and buir snorted, turning sparkly again like he thought that was funny.

“As you say,” Qwen said. “Do you need a guide back to your rooms?”

“I remember the way,” Buir said. “Thank you, Qwen.”

“Of course,” she said, giving them a little bow. Maul froze, not sure if he was supposed to bow back or not, but Buir just nodded, and Maul thought Master Yan, who bowed a lot, only didn’t bow back because he was holding Savage again while Buir picked up Feral. “I’ll see you later, then.”

She turned and left, giving them a little time alone, and Buir turned to Maul, smiling softly. “You liked that?” he asked, and Maul nodded, smiling back.

“That was fun,” he said. “And I don’t think… Qwen’s not so scary, not like the Sisters.”

“Ori’jate,” Buir said. “Let’s get back to our rooms for now and get cleaned up, and then we’ll see about lunch. That might’ve been fun, but it was also hard work; I think Qwen was right, and some food and a nap is in order.”

Buir held out his other hand, the one not holding Feral on his hip, and Maul took it, letting him lead him out of the room. Maul squeezed, trying to get his attention again, and Buir hummed, glancing down at him. “I’m happy we came, buir. I think… I think I like it here.”

Buir squeezed his hand back a little bit, that soft smile still on his face. “I’m very glad, ad’ika. I like it here, too. We won’t be staying forever, of course, but maybe we can come back again, someday.”

“‘Lek,” Maul agreed. He still liked the thought of home, yaim, more, but knowing it was there waiting for them was good enough. For now, that was enough to let him enjoy being here—he had his buir, and his Brothers, and even though he wasn’t here with them right now, they had Ben, too, and they also had a home to go back to. Life outside of Dathomir, Maul decided, was very, very weird, but he thought all the brightness was also very, very good.

Notes:

Jango: I feel SO high right now.
Jaster: ...that's concerning.
Jango: Don't worry about it, I'm just high on the Force.
Jaster: ...that does not make me feel better.
Jango: No, really, it's fine! I just started with a baby tolerance, and now that I've gotten that up, I'm completely fine and normal.
Jaster: Hmm. Well. I guess you do seem normal enough, and the Guardians would say or do something about it if it wasn't fine, so I can stop worrying about—ooh, what's that over there? That carving? What's the significance of them using kyber this way? What—
Jango: *Heavy sigh* I get high on the Force, Ben gets high on Chaos, and buir gets high on knowledge. Guess it runs in the family.

Ben: So, buir, there's... this place I need to visit.
Jaster: Hmm. What is it? Where is it? Is it far?
Derrion: It's a holy site, Pilgrim's Sanctuary. Yes, it's rather far, on the other side of the desert. You'll need speeders or a ship to get there in a reasonable amount of time (and to get there without running into the nasty beasts that might try to eat you on the way).
Jaster: Hmm. Well. That's... concerning.
Ben: But the Force *clearly* wants me to go there, so I'm sure it would be totally, completely, 110% fine! (Looking to Derrion) A little help here? Or at least a distraction?
Derrion, amused by both of them and their antics: We can research it a bit more in the Temple's Archives.
Jaster and Ben: ARCHIVES??? RESEARCH??? YES, PLEASE!
Jango: Oh sweet Manda, please *no...*
He'draas: I'll take pity on you. Wanna learn the fun stuff while they get lost in the Archives?
Jango: Oh sweet Manda, please *yes!* Spare me from dying of boredom with these absolute peak NERDS.

Jaster, upon seeing the Archives: Well. It really is a pity that I'll have to go back to Mandalore and *can't bring these Archives with me...* Maybe we could come back someday. Someday *soon.* Just for another visit. It's good for my boys, after all.
Ben: You just want another shot at working your way through everything in these Archives.
Jaster: ...I'm not fooling anyone, am I?
Derrion, Ben, and Sennis: Nope.

Jaster: *Writes a treatise trying to modernize his people's entire culture and way of life while respecting their history and what makes them who they are*
Also Jaster: ...scholars on a distant moon thought my little project was important enough to add to their massive Archive??? :O !!!

Maul: Oh no. A test.
Qwen: It's not a test, Maul. Promise.
Maul: Hmm. Not sure I believe you, but... okay. What do we do?
Qwen: Just focus on the Force, and try to have fun!
Maul: ...I don't understand, but... okay. If you say so.

Korr, in the background: So that's what it takes to get Jango to stop overthinking the Force and just *use it.* Tell him it's a competition, turn it into a game, and set him loose...
Yan: Why do you think the Jedi start out teaching Force control through creche games?
Korr: Touche. Mandos normally start teaching Force control after the kiddos break something screaming with more than just their voices, sooo... It's usually a little late for that.

Meanwhile, Jango: I should probably feel some kind of way about sticking with the babies while my vod'ika and my buir are haunting the Archives, doing Research like Real Adults instead of playing these kiddie games, but... I'm having too much fun, so I'm not going to question it. TAG! You're it! :D

Next time, we'll see a little more of the Temple of the Kyber, and Ben will finally manage to convince Jaster to get underway on their visit to Pilgrim's Sanctuary! :D In the meantime, hope you enjoyed all the Jedha softness <3 'Til next time!

Chapter 22

Notes:

Hello everyone! :D As you can see, I am alive! Some Real Life stuff made it difficult to write for a while, but it's calmed down now, so I was able to piece this chapter together and finally get it out there. I appreciate your patience with it and all of the comments and kudos while I was having my quiet time. It means a lot to me that so many of you go back and re-read what's already there while waiting for new fic - definitely great motivation to get back to it when I'm able! :D

Anyway, without further ado, here is a whole bunch more of Jango figuring out Force Osik, a little check-in with Veira and Xanatos (and how their storyline became the most cracktastic part of this, I Do Not Know, LOL), and a healthy dose of family fluff! :) Next time, we will leave the Temple of the Kyber for a while. And I'm sure you know what that means by now... Yes, that is coming VERY soon!

In the meantime, hope you have fun with the cracktastic fluff that is this fic, haha! :P

Jango.

It really hadn’t taken very long for Jango to decide that he liked the Temple of the Kyber quite a lot. Once his shields had been repaired and things had stopped being so… overwhelmingly loud and bright… Honestly, it would’ve been hard not to like it here. Jango felt relaxed in a way he usually only did at home, just sitting in the karyai with all of his aliit safe and close at hand. He hadn’t felt this kind of… peace and calm before, and for the first time, Jango thought he actually understood what the Jetiise were on about with that. Even the city itself was calm in a way he wasn’t used to; everyone was so lively and so friendly, but they weren’t quite as… boisterous as Mando’ade tended to be. And since the jobs the Haat’ade took tended to take them to the rougher parts of the galaxy, so Jango had never been to any city, any populated place, that was both this large and this peaceful before. It was… nice. Weird— definitely weird—but… good. Jango wasn’t sure he’d like to live here, but visiting was… Well, he was glad that they had.

Once the Guardians—and Jaster—had been satisfied with his shielding, it hadn’t been difficult to get them to agree to let him wander the Temple of the Kyber without an escort. It wasn’t like there were many areas within it that would be dangerous besides the levels du Crion had been taken up to, and those were well marked and even better guarded—the Guardians made it very difficult to stumble out of any lifts on those levels accidentally. Sometimes Myles stuck with him for that, but more and more often, as various Guardians pulled him aside for impromptu lessons, even Myles was willing enough to leave him to himself (even if that was mostly due to his… lack of patience with what he still insisted on calling “magical ka’ra osik,” much to the amusement of the Guardians who heard him say it). And those lessons themselves… Part of Jango felt like he should have been annoyed about what were essentially classes and lectures being thrust upon him during what was intended largely to be a vacation, but as he figured out more and more about the ka’ra and what he was doing with it, it all got easier—and (though he was more than a little hesitant to admit this to Ben, given how smug he was sure his vod’ika would be about it) there were even things that Jango liked learning, things he wanted to know more about.

Early on after they realized he was ka’ra’tigaanla, Ben had Yan had worked with him on different skills and approaches, and his favorite had quickly become the meditations that involved plants (or the “Living Force,” as the Jetiise put it). At first, that had just meant “sensing” them, something he’d actually already been doing without realizing it: that nebulous warmth he’d always felt when he volunteered for shifts in the rehabilitation domes, the way he’d found it so easy to focus and bask in that feeling… That had been the ka’ra, that had been Jango feeling the living things around him. Even living things that weren’t sentient had their own “signature,” apparently, and Jango was predisposed to feeling them. Doing that more consciously and deliberately had been easy enough, and from there, they’d built on it. Jango had always had a bit of a “gift” when it came to growing things (ha—that phrasing amused him, now), and his tal’buir’e had always told him that he just had “a green thumb.” Now, though, Jango knew that things grew better on his watch because he could interact with them in the ka’ra, even when he hadn’t realized he’d been doing it, and guide more energy to and through them. And even doing that more deliberately was easy enough to learn—and enjoyable, too.

So when, after talking long enough with several of the Guardians and going through their own little crash-courses in the ka’ra, they told him that they had a few other things they could teach him that would build upon the skills he already knew and enjoyed practicing, he was hardly going to say no. It was a human-or-near Guardian named Sei’tarr who came to fetch him after breakfast that day, and Jango had easily said his goodbyes with his aliit and his vod’e as they parted for the day and followed after them.

He realized, now, that he hadn’t even asked where they were going, though—and that… might have been a mistake. Every other place in the Temple and the surrounding city he’d visited so far had felt so peaceful, calm, and warm—but just down the corridor Sei’tarr was leading him through, it felt like… It felt like when you poked at a bruise, a dull but persistent ache.

“Where are we going?” Jango finally decided to ask, and Sei’tarr turned to smile at him, the gold markings around their eyes tugged slightly out of shape with that expression.

“Our Healing Halls,” they answered, and while Jango didn’t go so far as to trip over his own feet or stop dead in the middle of a hallway, he did slow down, Sei’tarr immediately dropping back to match his pace.

“The… Healing Halls,” Jango repeated, and Sei’tarr hummed an affirmative. “I— Um. Well, I mean, I have a basic field medic certification—we all have to get that to graduate from training and become a full Haat’ad, but— I’m not much of a doctor.”

“Perhaps not, but that could change,” Sei’tarr said easily. “Those with a strong connection to the Living Force, as you do, often find that they are naturally gifted healers.”

“Um,” Jango started to protest again and then stopped abruptly, not even sure what he would have said. Sei’tarr stopped, turning fully to him, and Jango stopped, too, just a beat after them.

“You fear making a mistake when the mistake in question could affect someone’s life,” Sei’tarr said, and there was no judgment to be found in them. It was just… a fact, something they must have sensed about him, and that had him fighting the urge to squirm. “That shows a healthy respect for all living things, and confidence comes with practice and experience. There will be seven dedicated Healers and four experienced Apprentices on-duty in the Halls this shift, and one of us will remain with you at all times. Perhaps you might not be willing to make any attempts at healing yourself today, but even observation can teach you a great deal. These are skills that could become quite useful to you, one day, given your line of work. And if you do decide to give it a try, we will be there to guide you. However, if you do not wish to join me, I can take you to meet with Guardians Qwen and He’draas for the day, if you would prefer that.”

He looked away, down at the floor—covered in a bright woven rug that should have clashed horrendously with the rainbow of lights cast upon it from the shards of kyber above, but somehow didn’t, and he mulled that over. A large part of Jango did want to go back to the more familiar Guardians, practicing skills that would only impact him, skills that would only get him hurt if he got it wrong, but… What Sei’tarr had said stuck in his head: these are skills that could become quite useful to you, one day, given your line of work.

That… wasn’t wrong. A good baar’ur was often the difference between life and death for any Haat’ad, and the more tools they had at their disposal, that meant there were all the more people they might be able to help save—all the more people Jango might be able to help save one day.

“Haar’chak,” Jango hissed under his breath, and then he looked back up. Taking a deep breath, Jango met Sei’tarr’s eyes again and nodded. “Alright. I’ll… observe, at least.”

“As you wish,” Sei’tarr said with a warm, pleased smile, and then that same pleased-warmth was pressed against him in the ka’ra. It had him ducking his head again like a bashful kriffing adiik, and Sei’tarr chuckled softly. “This way.”

The Halls of Healing themselves were just as comfortable as the rest of the Temple of the Kyber, and they were vastly different from any hospital or medbay Jango had ever seen before. The small, individual treatment rooms off of the main Halls looked very much like the rooms they’d been given during their stay here and besides the few obvious pieces of machinery, various health monitors, there was little else to mark them as sickrooms. The entirety of the two floors that made up the Halls of Healing were also covered in the same strands of kyber shards and kyber lamps the rest of the Temple bore, though the woven rugs were only found in the main hallways, a concession to cleanliness, given the givens. These Halls still felt… like a distant but tender ache, but it wasn’t terrible, wasn’t unbearable.

Sei’tarr greeted several other Guardians as they passed each other, leading Jango over to one of the rooms and picking up the ‘pad just outside the door, in a holder on the wall. They skimmed it briefly and then nodded, looking up to smile at Jango. “This will be a good initial demonstration for you,” she said. “Guardian Verrix was injured during an accident in training. Nothing too severe, though there is quite a bit of bruising.” Jango nodded and hesitated only briefly before following Sei’tarr inside.

Guardian Verrix was apparently a Nautolan, and already waiting for them inside, sitting cross-legged on the bed rather than laying back on it. Verrix grinned at them both as they entered, bowing their head. “Sei’tarr,” they said, and then looked to Jango, taking his beskar’gam, fully covered in it save for the buy’ce he’d clipped to his belt. “And a new Apprentice?”

“A new Initiate, if anything,” Sei’tarr said, turning to wink at Jango before quickly turning back to Verrix. “I hope you don’t mind, but I would like to explain a bit of the theory behind Force-healing before I begin.”

“Not at all,” Verrix said. “Any opportunity to teach and to learn is an opportunity to be seized.”

“Thank you,” Sei’tarr said with another nod. “In the meantime, if you could please work on removing those tunics?” Verrix shrugged easily and started to strip as Sei’tarr turned back to Jango. “I’m told you have quite the talent with growing plants.”

“Um,” Jango said, not entirely sure what that had to do with healing people. Sure, they were both living things, and connected to the same aspect of the ka’ra, but making something sprout was vastly different from putting a person back together again. “‘Lek? Yeah. Yes.”

“Then that will serve as a good foundation for you,” Sei’tarr said. “How does it work, in your mind? How do you encourage a plant to grow?”

“I reach for it, feel it in the ka’ra, and then send more of the ka’ra to it through myself. Like a… funnel, I guess, guiding it where I want it to go,” Jango said, and Sei’tarr nodded, looking pleased.

“Yes, though I’m certain there is one more step you aren’t quite consciously thinking on,” Sei’tarr said. “It becomes much easier to encourage a plant to grow when you know and understand how it is meant to grow, isn’t it? When you can hold in your mind what it would look like after weeks, months, perhaps even years, of growth.”

Jango paused, frowning lightly as he thought about it. “Like my shielding,” he said, and Sei’tarr hummed, waving a hand to ask him to elaborate. “I used wheat fields. All anyone else will see is just endless fields of wheat, tall enough to block out everything they might’ve been able to see through and around it. When I first made them, and then when I repaired them, I did it by picturing how wheat looks as it’s growing and then just… sped up the process. But you mean I’ve been doing that subconsciously each time I do it for real?”

“Precisely,” Sei’tarr said.

“Okay,” Jango said. “But what does that have to do with actual people?”

“Force healing is an extension of the same technique,” Sei’tarr said. “We channel the Force through ourselves to the person in question, directing it to the injury or illness we are treating, just as you would encourage a plant to grow. And just as you must understand how the plant grows in order to encourage it, when healing a person, you must understand what is wrong. That will tell you what needs to be healed, and how it needs to be healed. From there, the Force that you channel into them, you direct through that process.”

“Oh,” Jango said, blinking at her. “That… seems simpler than I thought it would be.”

Sei’tarr laughed. “There are two fundamental factors in Force healing: first, just as traditional doctors do, we require training in various species’ physiologies in order to effectively treat them,” they said, “and second, understanding how much energy to use. It can be quite easy to overdo it. Force healing can be draining for both the Healer and the patient, channeling so much of the Force to prompt the patient’s body into healing more quickly than it otherwise would.”

“I think I get it,” Jango said slowly. “As much as I can without actually seeing or doing it, anyway.”

Sei’tarr smiled (and they seemed to do a lot of that—though, most of the Guardians did, really), those golden markings tugged out of balance again. “Then I believe it’s time for our first demonstration,” they said, and turned back to Verrix, who had obediently stripped off their top upper layers and was waiting patiently for them to finish. “If you’re ready, Verrix?”

“Whenever you and your Initiate are, Sei’tarr.”

---

At this point, Jango probably should’ve known better than to be surprised by it, but he was: Guardian Sei’tarr was right. It did seem like he had a knack for this healing thing after all.

It seemed like Sei’tarr had chosen the easier cases, for the most part—though they did say that there were few critical cases to be found, given the peace and quiet of the Temple and the surrounding city, so there were rarely any grievous injuries to be dealt with besides those that came from occupational accidents—and after the third one, Jango… watching with his feelings (and even being here for this long already, even with this much practice, he still hadn’t developed better vocabulary to express all of this ka’ra osik, as Myles called it) as the Guardian nudged them into healing. Smaller bruises and sprains, Sei’tarr was able to erase entirely, but a few more serious things like the broken arm on a younger Guardian who, again, had injured themselves in training, required both the ka’ra and a bacta injection. But even with bacta, a broken bone usually took a few weeks to heal, but with the ka’ra and the bacta combined, it took the recovery time down to a few days to a week, depending on what they’d broken.

Jango could already see the usefulness of this skill, and by the time they got around to the fourth patient awaiting treatment in the Halls, he’d let Sei’tarr coax him into trying it out himself. It went well enough, with their guidance, and so he tried it again with the next patient. And the next one, and the next one, and the next, until Sei’tarr finally called for them to stop for the day, announcing that it was time for midmeal. It hadn’t felt like it’d been that long—at least not in Jango’s head. But oh, his body disagreed with him. He felt… weirdly sore, physically speaking, like he’d just spent a day training hard, running the obstacle courses back-to-back five times over and then going ten rounds in hand-to-hand sparring.

He must’ve had some look on his face that gave it away—or Sei’tarr might very well have just sensed it —because they chuckled at him, if not unkindly. “It’s a sympathetic response,” Sei’tarr said. “This is draining, particularly for those who are new to the discipline, but the energy expenditure and effort is all metaphysical. Your physical form does not know how to reconcile and interpret that feedback just yet, though if you continue to practice these skills, that will ease with time and experience.”

“…weird,” Jango said, even though it really was one of the less weird things about the ka’ra so far. Sei’tarr laughed again, shaking their head.

“Shall I lead you back towards the dining halls?” they asked.

“‘Lek —ah, yeah, please.”

“Very well. And, if you are not leaving us just yet, perhaps I shall see you here again tomorrow?” Sei’tarr said, and Jango hummed. He had… actually enjoyed his time down here, something he hadn’t expected when they’d first entered and he’d felt that deep-bruise sense to this place. It was practical, too, a skill he could learn that could literally be a matter of life and death someday, and… Something in Jango’s gut, what he’d always thought of as his instincts, but now suspected to be the ka’ra, was tugging at him, like it was trying to encourage him to come back, like it was trying to draw importance to this. It felt like… It felt like this was something he was supposed to do, and even though he could say no, that felt… wrong, somehow. And… Well, that feeling already agreed with his own logic, so…

What was the harm in listening to it?

“‘Lek —yeah,” he said, and he felt an… odd sort of warmth press against him for a moment as he agreed. “Alright. And… Vor’e —thank you. For teaching me, I mean. You were right—this is something important, something that could help my vod’e in the future.”

“It is our honor, our duty, and our pleasure,” Sei’tarr said with a deeper nod, almost a formal bow. “Now, let us get you back to your family before your legs give out on you.” Jango wanted to protest that he wasn’t really that bad off, but his knees, of course, chose that very moment to try to buckle on him. He flushed, quickly looking away as Sei’tarr laughed again—but Jango found that he was smiling, too.

‘Lek, as kriffing odd as all of this still was, he really was glad that they’d come here.

---

Ben.

[…and though there is no official recorded history of Pilgrim’s Sanctuary, various myths, rumors, and tales have been told over the years to explain its existence and purpose. Many of them hold some grain of truth, and, as is our way, we believe that in studying them, we will come to the fullest knowledge possible, the closest approximation to pure truth.

What is certain is that Pilgrim’s Sanctuary has stood longer than a vast majority of the other structures on this moon, if not always in its current form. In analyzing both the materials and construction methods of the structure’s exterior and upper levels, we determined that it was constructed far more recently than other parts of it, as is common for such temples and sanctuaries, being expanded and built upon over millennia. Down in the depths of Pilgrim’s Sanctuary, the oldest sections are found, carved straight into the base of the mountain with various tunnels carved out to reach those inner chambers from both the base and the top of the mountain.

It is there that the most compelling evidence of its true original purpose and nature is to be found: a series of painted carvings, confirmed by both science and examination through the Force to be at least thirty thousand years old, and likely even more ancient than that… ]

Ben’s breath caught as he looked down at the images below that passage of the text Derrion had found for him. There were various pictures—both two-dimensional photographs and drawings—of those carvings, and many of the things they showed were familiar to him. There were animals: several birds, one the elusive, almost mythical, Shyyyo bird of Kashyyyk, and another, far smaller creature, a convor of some kind, and a Tuk’ata. But what really caught Ben’s attention was a carving of three humanoid figures—three very familiar humanoid figures. In the center was a tall older man with a white beard, eyes straight ahead and expression somewhat stern, dressed in grey robes; on his left was a shorter man, pale and clad in black, sporting red patterns over his head and face; and there, on the other side, was a woman, pale and dressed in white with long, light green hair, eyes closed and face peaceful.

The Father, the Son, and the Daughter. They had had some influence here on Jedha, eons before the Jedi had ever arrived—before the Jedi had even existed. The Ones, the Gods of Mortis, the Force Triad, whatever one wanted to call them… They had been here. And, more specifically, they had been instrumental in shaping Pilgrim’s Sanctuary.

And that sealed it: whatever Ben was meant to find there, it would be Daughter’s gift.

“It seems you’ve found something interesting,” Derrion said, glancing up at him with a smile from across the study table they were occupying, and then he looked to either side of Ben, where Waxer and Boil were leaning over his shoulder to peer down at the book in front of him.

“Everything I’ve found here has been interesting,” Ben said with a bit of a laugh. It was the honest truth, too—everything Derrion had found for him had been fascinating, if not always wholly relevant. Quite a few of the interviews, first-hand accounts, and recordings of the others the Guardians had contact with over their many years who remembered past lives hadn’t matched his situation, but they had still been both intriguing and reassuring, in a way, for the simple fact that he was not alone, not unique, not on some unknown, totally uncharted course; while not all of the histories, anthropological studies, and accounts by visitors to Pilgrim’s Sanctuary had been precisely what he’d been looking for, those had all been thought-provoking as well. “But this is more… relevant than many other accounts. I think I know why I need to visit this place specifically, now.”

Derrion’s smile grew a bit wider and he nodded. “Very good,” he said. “I can copy that volume onto a datachip for you so that you may take a copy, if you like.”

“Yes, please.”

“Of course.” Derrion held out his hand for the ‘pad, and Ben handed it over easily. “I’m pleased your research was fruitful.”

“As am I. And I’m thankful for your help,” Ben said, and Derrion tipped his head in response. “Though I know buir was hoping that with whatever I was able to find here, we wouldn’t have to actually visit the Sanctuary. But I think even he realizes that’s a futile wish.”

“He probably just knows how stubborn you are already,” Boil said, and Derrion laughed.

“It hasn’t really been that long, but Mereel’s got your number,” Waxer agreed. Ben didn’t bother to repress the urge to roll his eyes this time, since it was only the two ghosts of his dear friends and Derrion within sight of him, and both of the men snickered at him. Derrion just shook his head, looking-feeling indulgently amused.

“Now that you’ve all had a bit more time here, perhaps it’s time to bring up the idea of an actual visit again,” Derrion said, and Ben nodded.

It had been just over a week, now, since their arrival on Jedha, and everyone had been settling in quite nicely: Jaster still spent most of his time in the Archives, as did Ben, and Jaster had been shown to a dedicated research room, where he could keep all of his materials together overnight—and the room was also blessedly soundproofed, so it didn’t disturb any of the other pilgrims or Guardians in the Archives when Jaster got into spirited debates with Sennis; Jango alternated between exploring the city with Myles and a few others of the squad of his friends who’d come with them and spending time with Guardians various Guardians, sometimes practicing fundamental Force-skills with Maul, Savage, and Feral, and other times seemingly just wandering the Temple; and Xanatos, Ben had been told, was “compliant with the Guardians seeing to his treatment,” though that had been all they had been willing to tell him when he’d asked after his one-time Padawan-brother.

“I’ll bring it up at lunch today,” Ben said. “Your backup wouldn’t hurt, either.”

Derrion laughed softly, shaking his head again. “Oh, no,” he said. “I’m not getting in-between you and your buir, Ben. But I will make myself available to help answer questions, should the need arise.”

“Fair enough,” Ben agreed.

“Speaking of lunch,” Derrion said, moving to stand up, “it is almost time. We should go prompt Jaster to find a stopping point now, lest he miss it again.”

“And he gives me grief for becoming too absorbed in research,” Ben muttered, and Waxer, Boil, and Derrion all laughed.

“Weird as it is to say it, maybe it’s a good thing that Prime is around to balance all of that academia out,” Boil said.

“He’s not the same person, Boil,” Waxer said. “You’ve seen him with the Gen—with Ben.” Derrion tilted his head, and Waxer winced faintly at the near-slip. Ever since they’d realized Derrion could truly hear them (even if he couldn’t see them in great detail, at least not well enough to realize that they all shared the same face—and that they shared Jango’s face at that), they’d done their best to steer clear of the titles and honorifics, hoping to prevent Derrion from putting too many of the pieces of their past lives together. The Guardian knew that they were holding something back, that they weren’t being fully honest about the… relationships and connections between Ben and the men, but Derrion never pushed when Ben only gave vague non-answers to the questions he asked.

“Well, then,” Derrion said, and Ben shook himself out of his thoughts, scrambling up after Derrion, “let us see if the two of us together can manage to pull Jaster and Sennis away from their work.”

“And then we’ll see if I can manage to convince him that the trip out to the Sanctuary truly is necessary. If he decides we aren’t going, then I doubt anything will persuade him once he’s truly made up his mind,” Ben muttered.

“You will, si—Ben,” Waxer said. “No question about it.”

“There’s nothing you can’t talk anyone into, in the end,” Boil agreed. “They didn’t call you ‘the Negotiator’ without good reason.” Derrion hummed, a hint of curiosity fluttering around his presence in the Force, though he didn’t ask after the moniker.

“Your faith in me is flattering,” Ben said, “but I think, perhaps, that you might underestimate the stubbornness of Jaster Mereel.”

“Well, I’ve always wondered what would happen if an unstoppable force met an immovable object,” Waxer said chipperly. “Guess we finally get to find out.”

“This’ll be entertaining, at the very least,” Boil chuckled, and Ben rolled his eyes again.

“We need to pry buir away from his research before we can even begin this debate,” Ben said. “Now, let’s go—before we become too distracted ourselves.”

---

Veira.

Veira had been determined to see this through, to stick around and do what she could to help the person she’d claimed as something like a vod’ika —however… unofficial and unorthodox that claiming had been—find his way again. And she’d known that the kinds of things Xan’ika had been through weren’t going to be easy or quick to heal from, and, at first, it hadn’t seemed like the place they’d chosen for him to do that healing was going to be much help. Still, though, Xanatos had promised he would give it a try, and he’d been true to his word, making an honest effort to cooperate with the Guardians.

And after the first week… Things were starting to look up.

They’d each settled into their own routines: they had breakfast together, and then one of the Guardians would come to take Xanatos to some other part of the Temple for… whatever ka’ra osik they did (Xanatos had tried several times to explain it, but the metaphysical realm was firmly out of Veira’s grasp, and so Xan’ika had eventually given up on trying to actually describe any of it) while Veira made her way down to what had quickly become one of her favorite parts of the Temple: their ade’ya. She hadn’t exactly expected to find many adiik’e here, but she supposed it made sense, given the whole “scholar monks” thing the Guardians had going on—it only made sense for them to offer schooling for any of the locals who wanted to bring their ad’e to them for the day. Like any Mando’ad worth the name, Veira loved adiik’e, and the Guardians had encouraged her coming back day after day, claiming that “exposure to as many perspectives and attitudes as possible will be helpful as they learn and grow.” It was as good an excuse as any to take over storytime for them, recounting all of the old fables she could remember—and maybe just a few of her… less intense bounty hunts.

When that was done, and the collective attention of the ad’e was guided back to their regular lessons, Veira went in search of lunch. Sometimes, she was able to eat with Xanatos and whichever Guardian was with him that day, but a lot of the time she just found a refectory and found a table of strangers to eat at—and it was still weird, how friendly everyone was; Veira was used to being looked at with poorly-concealed suspicion and maybe a little bit of fear, if not because she was an obvious bounty hunter, then because of her very obviously Mandalorian beskar’gam, but no one here, even amongst the Pilgrims, seemed to care what she did for a living or what culture she came from. To all of them, she was just another person visiting the Temple, nothing more and nothing less. It was… nice. Weird, ‘lek, but… nice.

Veira spent the afternoons in the training rooms with the Guardians themselves: after the first few rounds of sparring with them, they’d invited her to the lessons they held for the younger Guardians, teaching them their unarmed and staff combat forms. She enjoyed that quite a bit, too—staves were an unusual weapon these days, unless you were talking about an electrostaff. But the Guardians went for a much more traditional approach to combat and showed a preference for close-range that she found quite refreshing in a galaxy full of people who preferred to take potshots with a blaster from a fair distance.

Once that was done, Veira retreated back to the suite of rooms she was still sharing with Xan’ika, cleaned herself up, and then started on dinner, when she always asked Xanatos how things were going, and got progressively less irritated, snappish answers in return. Xanatos, despite her initial worries, seemed to be acclimating well enough to Jedha, and the Guardians.

And that was where she found herself now, nearly finished up with their dinner and just waiting for Xanatos to come back for the night. Unsurprisingly, she heard the door swish open right on time. Without turning back to look, she called out a cheerful, “Su’cuy, Xan’ika! Me’vaar ti gar?”

It wasn’t Xanatos who answered her, though—instead, Veira heard a… mrrr-aaawp.

…huh?

That had her turning to look over her shoulder back towards the front door. As expected, Xanatos was standing there just inside the door, which swished shut behind him, but—

The mostly dark purple tooka he was holding was not expected.

For a beat, they just stared at each other, Veira blinking at Xanatos, who scowled lightly back, and the tooka looking around at their rooms. Veira remembered after a beat that she still had the stove on and quickly turned back to it, breaking the spell. Without turning to look again, still attending to their food, she called, “So… You brought back a tooka.”

“Quite an astute observation,” Xanatos sneered, though there was no real bite in it. Veira snuck a glance again, watching as he moved to set the tooka down on the couch.

“Okay,” Veira said. “But why?”

“Blame the Guardians,” Xanatos huffed, coming over to sit at the table for now, though Veira had no doubt that they would migrate to the couch themselves once dinner was ready. They always did, watching another few episodes of Oya Manda while they ate and for a little while after that, slowly but steadily working their way through decades’ worth of episodes. “They decided that having me ‘care for another living thing’ was a good idea. They wanted to give me a few plants, but— My Master liked plants too much not to… It would just be another reminder.” Softer, almost as if he hadn’t meant for her to actually hear it, Xan’ika added, “He liked plants more than he liked most people.”

“So they gave you a tooka instead,” Veira said, turning to watch briefly as the tooka in question jumped down from the couch, starting to sniff at various bits of furniture in the main living space.

“Obviously,” Xanatos snapped, and Veira huffed under her breath, not quite a full laugh—she didn’t want Xan’ika to hear and think that she was laughing at him, of course.

“Alright then,” Veira said with a bit of a shrug. Turning back fully to the stove, starting to really finish up their food, and very purposefully not looking back at Xanatos, she added, “So it’s going okay, then? I mean, if the Guardians think you’re ready for that…”

“It’s fine,” Xanatos said, as he always did—but his voice was just a little less flat and terse than it normally was. Veira thought that was a good sign, and decided to risk pushing just a little bit more.

“Do you agree with the Guardians?” she asked, still deliberately keeping her back to Xanatos. She’d found that Xanatos was usually more likely to answer her honestly if he didn’t have to watch her react to what he said. “That this is a good idea, I mean.” Xanatos was quiet for a few beats, but Veira didn’t give into the temptation to turn around to look at him, instead plating up their dinner—a casserole not quite as spicy as her Clan’s tiingilar recipe, but honestly not far off from it; Xan’ika had liked spicy food from the start, and he was adapting well to Mandalorian spices—while she waited for him to answer.

“You don’t?” Xanatos finally said, voice even but soft, and that had her turning to him, a plate in each hand and a grin on her face. The expression seemed to startle him, given the context of the conversation, his brow furrowing as he leaned back slightly as if recoiling from her.

“That depends on you, Xan’ika,” she said, reaching out to hand over his plate, though he didn’t move to take it. “If you decide that you’re ready, then you will be. So do you think that it’s time for something like this? Did you decide it was a good idea, too?”

Xanatos stared at her for a beat before a smirk crossed his face that had her quirking a brow at him in return. “Veira,” he said, sounding as amused as he looked, though his eyes were as sharp as ever, “do you really think that anyone, including the Guardians, could make me do anything I didn’t want to do?”

Veira laughed, shoving his plate towards him a little more insistently until he took it. “Well, I did manage to make you come with me when you didn’t want to…”

Xanatos waved a hand. “An aberration,” he huffed. “Certainly not the norm. Even you couldn’t make me do something as simple as eat at first, when I’d decided I didn’t want to.”

“Point,” she conceded. Pausing to think through the non-answer, Veira smiled. “So you agree that the tooka’s a good idea?”

“It’s better than plants,” Xanatos said, and she was fluent enough in Xanatos by now to know that that was a yes. She grinned and nodded, looking around for the tooka in question, finding it scaling the shelves on one wall near the door.

“Yeah,” she said, “tookas are definitely better than plants. Oya Manda?” A certain stiffness in Xanatos’s shoulders she hadn’t properly noticed before eased, and only then did Veira realize he’d been tense in the first place. Their previous topic of conversation must’ve been more important to him than she’d first thought—almost like he cared about her opinion on it.

…huh.

“If you insist,” Xanatos sighed, sounding exceptionally put-upon even as he leapt up to start for the couch. That, at least, was normal teenage behavior, pretending to hate something while secretly loving it. Teenage humanoid hormone-storms made them practically allergic to showing proper enthusiasm.

“If we can get through three episodes, that’ll take us through the season finale,” Veira said. “Then we’ll only be three decades behind.”

“Whatever shall we do when we finally catch up?” Xanatos said, a sarcastic edge to it that she knew he didn’t really mean, and she laughed again.

“Wait for a new episode every week like everybody else,” she said. “Now, sit.” He paused to roll his eyes at her, but agreed, the two of them taking their usual places on the couch while Veira hit the controls for the terminal to put on the next episode, and—

Then the tooka jumped up between them, very obviously sniffing out their food.

“...that’s gonna put a damper on things,” Veira muttered. “Down for now, tooksie. We’ll feed you after, ‘lek? Something that’s not drowning in pepper sauce.” The tooka just looked at her and let out another mrrr-aaawp before its eyes fell back down to her plate, and Veira sighed, already starting to resign herself to eating at the table and having to wait to continue their marathon until after they were finished, but—

Xanatos leaned over, getting right into the tooka’s face; it turned and blinked at him, leaning forward towards his plate. But then, Xanatos said, voice unnaturally even and calm, “Get down for now. We’ll feed you something for tookas after.”

Then, surprisingly enough, the tooka turned and got down off of the couch without a fuss.

“Ka’ra —ah, Force osik?” Veira asked, looking between Xanatos and the tooka. Xan’ika, naturally, looked smug again.

“Of course,” he said, and then he pointedly turned towards the terminal. Veira followed suit, and the two of them started on their foot as the opening credits rolled. It was only then, when Xanatos knew she wasn’t watching him, that he added, “My connection isn’t strong enough like this for mind-control, or even a suggestion, but I can get my intent across well enough.”

“Huh,” Veira said. “That’s handy.” And she almost thought to be grateful that she’d built up mental shielding for herself, as all trained verd’e did, just in case, but— Well, she didn’t really think Xanatos would even try that. Not on her, anyway. Another thought occurred to her, then, and she asked, “What’s its name?”

“His name is Kolto,” Xanatos said. “Now hush. If you’re going to force me to watch this, then at least allow me to do so uninterrupted.”

Veira laughed again. “Oh, so I’m forcing you to watch this? What ever happened to ‘no one can make me do anything I don’t want to do,’ huh?”

“Hush.” With another chuckle, Veira let him have his quiet as the opening sequence ended and the show itself was about to begin—only for Xanatos to break it once more. So quietly that Veira barely heard him over the blasterfire this episode started with, he said, “Thank you.”

“N’entye, Xan’ika,” she said, still staring stubbornly forward at the terminal—and the tooka, Kolto, now curled up beneath the caff table in front of the couch, seemingly napping while he waited for his own dinner—and not looking at Xanatos. “No debt.”

“Hush!”

With one last laugh that earned her an annoyed huff—though it was more playfully mocking than truly irritated, she could tell—Veira settled in to watch and eat, as they did every night. And ‘lek, she thought before turning her full attention to the holo, Jedha really had been a good idea after all.

Eventually… The kid was gonna be okay.

---

Jaster.

Coming to Jedha, Jaster thought, really had been an excellent decision.

Korr’s ad’e were starting to come out of their shells a bit more, starting to learn how to trust more adults, and learning how to control their powers. And Jaster’s own ad’e seemed to be enjoying themselves—even Jango, who’d moaned and groaned over having to dedicate so much time to “ka’ra osik” almost as much as Myles had during the trip here. Jaster’s eldest had taken to it surprisingly well for how resistant he’d been in the beginning, though Jaster suspected that it had started largely with him trying to set a good example for Korr’s ad’e, and then he’d genuinely seen the benefits of it (and the fun in it, given some of the games Jaster had heard about them playing) for himself. Whatever the reason, Jaster was just grateful that Jango was both learning to control his abilities and actually having a good time here. And Ben… Ka’ra, despite how… strangely manic he still was sometimes, he’d also been the calmest and drawn in the least chaos Jaster had seen since he’d first come to them (for all that he acted like he was a well-behaved and calm person, Jaster had seen through that front some time ago, now), and Jaster had made a mental note for the future that presenting Ben with a research project was the perfect way to occupy his attention and keep him from getting into too much trouble. And Jaster himself… The Guardians were exceptionally well-educated and had such fascinating and expansive viewpoints—though that wasn’t a surprise, given the way they welcomed visitors from every corner of the galaxy and the massive Archives where they collected and disseminated knowledge from every culture they encountered—and after the first day of research, Jaster’s review of their histories had grown into philosophical debates with a rotating cast of Guardians. Meanwhile, the majority of the other verd’e, those who, like Jaster, weren’t ka’ra’tigaanla spent their time alternately exploring the city proper and sparring with the Guardians, which kept them out of trouble, too.

But even with as much as they were all enjoying themselves… They wouldn’t be able to linger too much longer. It would only be another few weeks before the Jetii’tsad was ready to hatch their plans and make a move, and Jaster had committed himself and his people to helping. That was very much an oath he would be upholding, no matter what other osik landed in their laps. But to be back in position in Manda’lase once it came time… They really didn’t have too much longer to stay here.

And Ben, of course, knew that too. It wasn’t any surprise, therefore, that Ben asked to speak to him somewhere more private than the large dining hall they frequented for their meals—honestly, Jaster had been waiting for this to come. Frankly, he’d been suspicious about how long it had taken his youngest to bring this up again.

Ben didn’t protest when Jango trailed them back to their rooms, taking their food to eat midmeal there rather than with everyone else (though Ben had only averted Korr’s ad’e bursting into tears over it by promising them a bit of time this afternoon to play a few of the games with the ka’ra the Guardians had introduced them to, which had mollified them enough to stop Feral’s sniffling and hiccuping and Maul and Savage’s watery eyes).

So it was just the three of them, settling down onto the cushions in the main room together and Jaster and Jango exchanged looks with each other as they waited for Ben to explain himself. He was picking at his food again rather than eating it, a bad habit that Jaster knew cropped up when he was thinking too hard about something, or worried, or stressed. Eventually, though, when Ben still didn’t say anything, Jaster just sighed and set his own food down.

“Ben’ika,” he said slowly, and Ben hummed. “You wanted to talk to me about… whatever it is the ka’ra wants you to go see, what it wants you to find, ‘lek? The… thing that’s waiting for you somewhere here on Jedha.”

“‘Lek, buir,” he said. “It’s… I’ve been trying to think of a way to explain it, that… feeling that tells me that this is something I truly do need to do, but… It can be hard to explain it to those who can’t feel it.”

“I know what you mean,” Jango offered, shifting a bit uncomfortably when they both looked at him, not quite squirming. “Well, I… Before, hearing you and the Jetiise talk about it, it almost seemed like… Like some kind of higher power starts controlling you and making you do what it wants. But it’s… It’s more like a really strong gut feeling. Like you just… know which path you should choose, and even though you can decide not to do what it wants you to do, you can just ignore it, that just feels… wrong.”

“Exactly!” Ben said, one of those sunny smiles that made him look his real age crossing his face, though it faded some a beat later as he quirked an eyebrow at his ori’vod. “What was it you had that feeling about, Jango?”

“Ah, the healing thing,” Jango said with a bit of a shrug. “I mean, I’m a good enough medic, passable in the field until we can get the verd’e to a haat baar’ur, but it’s… I’ve never really had a specific interest in it. But when they offered to keep teaching me, it just… felt like something I really should do, and not just because those extra tricks in my besbe could help save other people.” He looked between the two of them, and whatever face Jaster must’ve been making had him drooping slightly. “I’m not making much sense, am I?”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Ben said with a nod and a more gentle smile, this time. That, at least, had Jango smiling back, and let Jaster direct his attention back to Ben. One ad and one issue at a time, Jaster thought. Divide and conquer.

“So this… Pilgrim’s Sanctuary you want to visit,” Jaster said slowly. “You said it’s far from here?”

“It is, but Derrion helped me find a way to get there more quickly than having to cross the deserts by speeder—that would take weeks, possibly even months, depending on the storms and the swarm cycles of the creatures between here and there,” Ben said. “There’s no place to land a ship in or around the Sanctuary, but there is a settlement not far away. It’s an old monastery—or, it was, originally. These days, there are still a few clerics of the original founding group, but it’s mostly inhabited by one of the sects of the Anchorites and serves as a trade hub for the pilgrims in the region who—”

“Ben,” Jaster interrupted him, because he knew how his ad could get. If Jaster let him, Ben could and would go on for hours about every fascinating little fact he’d learned about this place and the people who lived there, and while it was the sort of thing Jaster enjoyed, it wasn’t the time for that, now. “You have a plan?”

Ben shrugged easily, though the casualness of the gesture was rather ruined by the sharp, too-bright look in his eyes. “As I said, Derrion helped. From that monastery, it would take less than two hours to get to the Sanctuary, and we could leave the ship there. It would be safe enough, given the sorts of people who frequent that place. Taking the ship over to the monastery itself would only take an hour, if we don’t want to waste fuel escaping atmosphere only to come right back down and fly low. Assuming the visit to the Sanctuary itself is brief, we could get there and back in less than a day. Though, given that I’m not yet certain what the Force wants me to find, it may take a bit longer than that. But not more than a few days, I believe. And I have holoscans of the monastery and the path up to the Sanctuary itself, and I wrote security and threat assessments for both the monastery and the Sanctuary—though beyond the native fauna, the only other real threat would be a storm, and those are obvious in coming.”

Jango let out a strangled, almost choked sort of noise, one that was somewhere between a laugh he’d swallowed and a groan. “You wrote up security and threat assessments?”

“Of course,” Ben said, as if that was a perfectly normal thing for an adiik his age to do—but that, at least, was normal enough behavior for Ben. “That seemed like the correct approach to convince buir to agree.”

“You aren’t entirely wrong,” Jaster said, and Ben smiled. He looked… brighter, now. Hopeful. “This isn’t just something the ka’ra wants you to do, is it, ad’ika? This is something you want to do, too.”

“It really is,” Ben said. “I’m still not sure what the Force intends for me to find, but… It will be good, whatever it is. A gift.”

Jaster hummed to show that he’d heard and continued studying Ben. He didn’t know how much of it was the ka’ra and how much of it was Ben’s own desire to do this, but… Either way, it seemed important to him, and it didn’t seem as if he had one of his “bad feelings” about it.

And osik, Jaster hadn’t had any idea, hadn’t had any way to understand, just what he was getting into when he adopted a Jetii’adiik, but… This sort of thing was going to become a staple in their lives, he just knew it. And he also knew Ben. He might not do it this time, but at some point, if it was important enough to him… Well, if Jaster refused any of these ka’ra- given missions, then there was a very real danger of Ben sneaking off on his own to find a way to do it anyway. At least like this, he would have an escort, backup, adults to watch over him.

Jaster didn’t sigh, but he was sure his exasperation was coming out in his smile. “I want to see those assessments before I really agree to anything,” he said, and Ben nodded, perking up again at even that much of an agreement. “We’d have to wait a day or two before we leave, give me some time to look over those scans and the briefs you put together and decide how we’re dividing the verd’e, who we’d be taking with us and who would stay behind with Korr and his ad’e, but… If this is important to you, and we can do it safely, then, ‘lek. We can go.”

He was very grateful, then, that both he and Ben had already set aside their food, distracted by the conversation as they had been. As soon as the words left his mouth, Ben launched himself forward—and Jaster really wouldn’t have been surprised to know that he’d even used a bit of the ka’ra with how forcefully he flew forward and how fast he was—to wrap his arms around Jaster’s neck. It was instinct alone that had Jaster’s arms coming up to catch him and hold him in return.

“Ori’vor’e, buir, thank you, thank you—”

And some part of Jaster… Well, he had his own bad feeling about this, just as he had since he’d first realized Ben thought there was something awaiting him out in the Jedhan deserts. Knowing Ben, and the kind of trouble magnet he was, there was just no way this wasn’t going to become a clusterkriff of some sort.

But seeing how genuinely happy it made him, Jaster couldn’t find it in himself to regret it.

“Ba’gedet’ye, Ben’ika,” Jaster returned. “I’ll always do what I can to at least meet you halfway.”

Ben’s hold on him tightened marginally, and he turned his head to bury his face mostly in Jaster’s neck, just where his kute peeked out over the edge of his ghet’bur. “I know you will, buir,” he whispered. “I know.”

Jaster let him stay like that for another beat and then squeezed once, firmly, before guiding him away. “Now, if you want to go anywhere, Ben, you are going to eat something.” That garnered the expected response, a huff and a roll of Ben’s eyes, but he pulled away and resettled himself on his cushion again, all three of them picking their plates back up.

“I’m sorry you don’t have more time to study healing with the Guardians, Jango,” Ben said, as if he thought he should redirect them before Jaster could rescind his agreement.

“Don’t be,” Jango shot back. “Sei’tarr said they’ll come visit us. They can’t leave with us, they need more time than that, but in maybe six weeks or so. Between them and the Jetiise who’re going to be in Keldabe, it should be easy enough to keep learning.”

“Ori’jate,” Ben said. “It really is a useful skill, and one I’m sure you’ll have a natural talent for, giving your connection to the Living Force.”

Jango laughed. “That’s exactly what Sei’tarr said. They told me that my practice making plants grow faster and stronger made them think I’d be good at it,” he said. “Though it took a little while to figure out why in haran they thought plants would translate to people…”

That had Ben chuckling, too, and then the two of them were off, chattering back and forth. Jaster only understood about half of it, given that it was largely ka’ra- related, the two of them talking about “reaching out” and “visualizing,” but that was fine—Jaster likely would’ve missed every other word anyway, preoccupied as he was.

It wasn’t… Well, it wasn’t that Jaster had a “bad feeling” about this little excursion of Ben’s, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that nothing was ever going to be easy with him—including, and perhaps especially, whatever this would turn out to be.

But, Jaster thought with a smile of his own, watching Jango lean over to shoulder Ben lightly for some joke he’d made, only serving to make Ben laugh again… He wouldn’t have it any other way. For his ad’e, he could put up with mystical ka’ra- given missions and mysteries. At least this mystery would soon be solved. Giving up entirely on the conversation, Jaster turned his own attention to his food, content just to listen to his ad’e ribbing each other and laughing.

‘Lek, this was—and always would be—worth it.

Notes:

Sei'tarr: So, given your work with the plants in the Temple greenhouses and planters, I think you would be a fantastic Healer!
Jango: ...um? But... Plants aren't people
Sei'tarr: Life is life, right? Some is just more complicated than others. So, wanna give it a shot?
The Force: Yes, yes, yes, do it, do it, do it! This is right. It's right because I said so.
Jango: ...um. Well. I mean, I *am* a squad leader in a mercenary company, so people around me are often in very real danger of getting shot or stabbed or whatever, so. I guess, maybe, that could help? And also that *feeling* that is apparently the ka'ra is telling me I should say yes. So. Ah. Yes?
Sei'tarr: Splendid!
The Force: I appreciate your rationalizations but I am even MORE proud of you for saying yes at least in part because I told you to!!! :D
Ben, when he finds out about that, sniffling and smiling: So proud. Just look at him go. He'll be a Jedi-adjacent Mandalorian in no time!
Jango: Okay, but for real, can someone please explain the connection between plants and people???

Veira: Oh, hello there, Xan'ika! Welcome back!
Xanatos: ..
Kolto the Tooka: Mrrrrrowwwp!
Veira: Oh, ah... Whatcha got there, Xanatos?
Xanatos: A smoothie.
Veira: ...
Xanatos: What does it look like??? It's a fucking tooka.
Veira: I mean, yeah. I see that. But... Why?
Xanatos: It's a therapy animal, but I am not going to say that in so many words.
Veira: ...huh. Okay. I mean, normally Mandos use strills for that, but... You got a tooka instead. Um. Okay then.
Xanatos: I'm done talking about this. Please put on Oya Manda already so we can stop talking about the Very Obvious Tooka in our living room.
Veira: *Gasps* (Internally) He even said please!!! I'm so proud of him! <3

Jaster, internally: So. I'm a little suspicious of how long it's been since Ben mentioned that place he wants to visit. That place the ka'ra wants him to visit? I'm not sure what the difference is, to be honest. I guess it doesn't matter, really... What matters is that if he wants to, he WILL find a way to do it, with or without me.
Ben: So, buir...
Jaster: This is about that Sanctuary you want to visit, isn't it?
Ben: Ah. Well. Yes. The Force really wants me to go there, but I know you can't really quantify that justification, sooo...
Jango: Yeah, but, I mean, I get it. Apparently I'm learning how to be a Force-healer now because the Force said I should. So. Yeah. I'm with you, vod'ika.
Jaster, internally: ...I do not know what to do with my children when they're Like This.
Ben: Again, Jango, I really cannot overstate this: I am SO PROUD OF YOU! But, ahem, anyhow... Buir, I already performed what research and threat assessments for the targets I could from here and created a plan of attack. ...does that help?
Jaster: In a way, no, not at all, because you are seven, and you should not be resorting to briefs to convince me to take you to an unknown location. But, on the other hand, yes. It very much does help.
Ben: So...
Ben: ...
Ben: ...is that a yes?!
Jaster, internally: Ka'ra, it's making him so happy that I'm about to say yes to his crazy ka'ra-driven visit to some unknown location, a visit that will divide the protection details, a visit that we can't properly plan because DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT WE'RE SUPPOSED TO DO WHEN WE GET THERE. But. Just look at that face. Those eyes.
Jaster: ...yes.
Ben: THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!! (Also, that was SO MUCH EASIER than expected. But then, I suppose fortune favors the prepared...)
The Force: It has nothing to do with the fact that he loves you and is wrapped around your finger. Nothing whatsoever, I'm sure.
Jaster, internally: Oh yeah, that was worth it. Even if I still have a Feeling about this. Not a bad one, but... There's Chaos on the horizon.
Jaster: ...
Jaster, internally: What am I thinking, of course there's going to be Chaos. My children are Jango Fett and Ben Mereel. They don't just bring the Chaos, they *are* the Chaos. *Sigh* Oh well. Chaos Monsters though they are, they are *my* Chaos Monsters, and I love them to bits. <3

I know we haven’t seen much of Yan recently, but we will soon! :) He’s been off alternately doing his own thing and working with Korr and Maul, Savage, and Feral. If all goes to plan (which, hi, it’s me! Sooo… LOL, yeah) then we’ll get a little Yan-and-Korr-the-budding-besties interlude next chapter between the Big Reveal of Daughter’s surprise.

This is the transition chapter into the Big Reveal of Ben's Surprise Gift, and after that, we have several more exciting things happening: the Great Jedi Escape, the Republic Break-Up Texts from Multiple Planets Simultaneously, and oh, is that a loose thread concerning the Death Watch and Tor Vizsla? Hmm... ;)

Anyway, 'til next time! Hope you enjoyed <3

Chapter 23

Notes:

Hello again! :D Thank you so much for all the love on the last chapter! <3 So many of you jumping right back into this one after the month+ of silence on it was very encouraging. :)

I did say that I had quite a bit more of this part of the arc already written, didn't I? :D So hopefully the relatively quick update here makes up at least a bit for how long I left you without one, LOL! I know you're all excited to get to the Big Reveal of Ben's Surprise Gift, haha, so I only have one more note before we get into the chapter itself: there wasn't really room in the end note for the summary snippets this time because there were some Things that needed to be addressed (but the next chapter's are HILARIOUS, IMO! I definitely cackled writing them, LOL!).

We'll be on Jedha next chapter as well, but after that, it'll be time to move on to pick up our Great Jedi Escape storyline... ;) Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Yan.

“Why don’t we play the jumping game? You all like that one.”

“…do we have to?”

“Not if you don’t want to, but thinking about something else might help.”

“If we don’t have to, then… I don’t think we really want to right now. Can we just… stay here in the garden?”

Guardian Qwen hummed softly, obviously holding back a sigh, and Yan glanced up from the ‘pad he’d been studying, looking over the latest updates on the Council’s preparations back on Coruscant, meeting Korr’s gaze. Neither of them sighed aloud either, though Yan read the desire to in both Korr’s eyes and his presence. Maul, Savage, and Feral had all been quite subdued ever since the others had left—ever since Ben had left. Their admiration and awe for the young one had slid so quickly into an attachment, and they never liked to be separated from him for long.

“Ad’ike,” Korr said, going down to one knee, “I know you’re worried. But Ben has almost a dozen verd’e with him, including his buir and his ori’vod. They’ll be keeping a close eye out for him, ori’haat —I promise.”

“You really think he’ll be okay?” Maul asked. Softer, he added, “You think he’ll come back?”

“There is little that could or would hurt them and stop them from returning, young one,” Qwen said. “It isn’t storm season in this region, and any of the animals that could possibly harm them wouldn’t stand a chance at doing so against so many Mandalorian warriors. We have no real reason to think that they will not return.”

“Do you promise?” Savage asked, all three brothers turning to stare, wide-eyed, at Qwen. She let out a little chattering sound that he knew was an expression of discontent for her species.

This was going nowhere, just as it had been for the past hour. The young Zabrak brothers had been so subdued, so sullen, all morning, ever since they had seen the other group off. Yan still did not sigh, however much he wanted to, nor did he kneel as Korr had, but he decided it was high time he spoke up. “What does the Force have to say?”

All three turned to look at him, then; Maul and Savage were frowning lightly, no doubt noticing that neither Qwen nor Korr had been willing to make any promises. Feral was too young, yet, to understand just why his brothers were upset, but he was remarkably attuned to their moods, and unerringly followed their lead. The elder two brothers exchanged looks for a moment as if each was asking the other if they understood what Yan had meant, and then turned back to him in unison.

“…what?” Savage finally asked.

“The Force itself will provide a far better answer than the meaningless platitudes we could offer,” Yan said. “What does it say?” Again, that had Maul and Savage looking to each other for a moment before redirecting their attention to him.

“Um. What’s… plad-ee-toods?” Maul asked.

“Something people say to try to make someone else feel better, often without knowing if it’s true or not—and just as often knowing it isn’t true,” Korr explained. That had the young ones faces’ scrunching up in confusion as they processed that, not that it was any surprise to Yan. From the little had experienced and what he had learned from them so far, the Night Brothers were not ones to indulge in something like platitudes, even towards their youngest, all too often blunt and realistic. The truth might hurt, but it was the best way to protect their younger brothers, given the all too real and present dangers inherent in life on Dathomir. They could not afford well-meaning lies.

“Given what we know,” Yan said, turning his thoughts back to the matter at hand, “we have every reason to believe that they will be perfectly fine, and return to us unharmed. But we can never know such things with certainty for ourselves—and yet the Force does. It will have a better, truer answer for you than any of us could give. So take a moment, reach out, and then tell me what it has to say.”

Feral and Savage both looked to Maul, who studied Yan, and then Korr, and then Qwen before finally turning to his younger brothers and nodding. With that, they sat down, leaning up against the wall of the raised planter Qwen and Korr had come to work on in this garden. The three formed a chain, holding each other’s hands, and then closed their eyes. Yan did not bother to do so himself, instead watching the younglings, both with his physical eyes and with his senses. He felt it when they reached out, their presences tangling together—the bonds between them all were so strong that, like this, it almost felt as if they were a singular being rather than three. They complemented each other well, as compatible as the few sets of Force-sensitive twins Yan had encountered throughout his life. That in itself was a fascinating aspect of the culture the Night Brothers had developed, the way they encouraged such bonds of brotherhood to the point where siblings born several years apart from one another felt as strongly bonded as twins who had developed together always did.

The three-made-one reached out, and Yan watched the currents of the Force around them swirl lightly, growing brighter and warmer, and then settling. He smiled slightly, knowing that meant the Force had had good news to relay, just as he had suspected. Both Korr and Qwen seemed to feel it as well, a bit of relief fluttering around their presences as they watched the younglings.

Together in that perfect unison that had ceased to be unsettling and had instead become normal some weeks ago, the three brothers opened their eyes, turning to look at each other before directing their attention back to the adults in front of him. Nodding, Maul said, “It feels… good. Bright and warm. Does that mean Ben will come back?”

“Is that what you were thinking about when you reached for it?” Korr returned, and the trio nodded again. “Then it seems the ka’ra had good news for you. Does that make you feel better?”

“A little,” Savage said slowly, starting to frown again, “but there’s… a different feeling, too?”

“What kind of feeling?” Qwen asked. “Could you try to show it to us?”

They nodded and closed their eyes again, hands still joined, and this time, Yan did close his eyes, focusing as they started to reach out again, this time to himself, Korr, and Qwen. As they began projecting, it took a moment for them to turn their focus away from their lingering concern-fear-worry and towards that “different feeling” the Force had carried to them. As their own emotions faded away, Yan felt the projection slide into something… more energetic than calm, something he thought would be best described as anticipation-excitement. It was a clear sense of something-happening-soon, but it was still a Light feeling with no accompanying sense of dread to be found in it, as there always was when the Force imparted a warning.

Yan, Korr, and Qwen all pulsed back understanding, and Yan opened his eyes, withdrawing back behind his shields once more. It took a few moments longer for the three younglings to pull back from the Force, but they managed it on their own, without any guidance from the three of them, this time. Their skills truly had improved drastically in the time since they had taken them from Dathomir, and they had grown in leaps and bounds in the short time they had been here in the Temple of the Kyber.

“The Force is saying that something is coming,” Qwen said. “Something is going to happen. But ask yourselves this: did it feel like something you should be worried about? Or something you should be excited about?”

“It still felt…” Savage started to say, and then trailed off as if he couldn’t find the right words to express himself.

“Happy!” Feral announced, cutting himself off with a giggle. He was still so much quieter than most other younglings his age Yan had ever encountered, but even he was slowly opening up and beginning to act more like the young child he was, as time went on. Both Maul and Savage nodded their agreement.

“Then there you have it,” Yan said. “The Force has no warnings for you when it comes to young Ben and those with him. In fact, it seems to be pleased and excited about this journey. Something is coming, yes; there is a change of some sort on the horizon. But not all change is bad, is it?”

“I guess not,” Maul slowly, reluctantly agreed.

“The ka’ra itself told you that everything will be alright,” Korr said gently. “So the best thing to do right now is to be patient, and wait until they get back. Then, we’ll see what the change was that had the ka’ra so excited, ‘lek?”

“‘Lek, buir,” Maul and Savage said together, still somewhat subdued, though their presences had calmed somewhat, no longer pulsing worry-fear.

“Ori’jate,” Korr returned. He reached out to Maul, first, drawing him forward to press their foreheads together, and then he did the same to Savage, and finally Feral. The youngest, however, seemed to have other ideas, pulling his hand out of Maul’s to throw himself at Korr, wrapping his arms around Korr’s neck. Korr laughed as he drew back, standing and easily shifting Feral onto his hip in a practiced motion. “It’s easier to be patient and wait when you aren’t just sitting here thinking about what you’re waiting for, ad’ike. So why don’t you go play the jumping game for a while?”

That, yet again, had Maul and Savage exchanging looks for a moment. It was only a beat, a single glance, before they made their decision, turning away from each other and back to the rest of them, pushing themselves up from the ground with another chorus of “‘Lek, buir.”

“I’ll join you in a little while,” Korr said. “I won’t be going anywhere, ori’haat. I’ll be staying right here until I come to find you, so if you need me, you can always come back here or call for me in the ka’ra. Alright?” That garnered another round of reluctant nods, the younglings obviously hesitant to let their buir out of their sight, but believing his promises, willing to trust in a way they had not been when they had first left Dathomir. That, too, was a great deal of progress.

Feral was handed off to Qwen without a fuss, and Maul and Savage only hesitated a moment longer before retaking each other’s hands and allowing Qwen to lead them away, out of the garden and back towards the now-familiar training rooms. Yan and Korr watched them go until they were out of sight, and then Korr sighed, shaking his head, and shifted to lean against the low wall of the planter.

“They’ve made exceptional progress already,” Yan said, and Korr managed a smile.

“‘Lek, they have,” he said. “But the fact that letting people they care about out of their sight has them that worried in the first place… I don’t like the implications that has.”

“Dathomir is a dangerous place,” Yan said mildly, and Korr huffed softly, but nodded.

“Now that the ad’e and the Guardians aren’t around to hear it,” Korr said, obviously keen to change the subject, “you have an update from your people, ‘lek?”

“I do,” Yan confirmed. “Their preparations are nearly complete: the copies of the Archives have been finished and new Temple assignments distributed. The new locations themselves are not quite ready, but with the help of the various Service Corps’ ships, we will be able to sustain ourselves when we leave. They will be ready by the deadline already set. The Council did ask me to check on the progress made at our newest Temple near to Mandalore, and I shall likely do so just after we return.”

“Ori’jate,” Korr said, nodding. “That’s good news.”

“Indeed,” Yan said. “The Service Corps teams already on Yavin did ask if I might be able to convince a few of your people to accompany me. Greater familiarity with one another before we enact our plans would be a boon for all of us.”

“‘Lek, that certainly would make things easier,” Korr agreed. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem. Jaster will bring it up in the next Council session and they’ll relay the request to their Clans. I expect we’ll have plenty of volunteers.”

Yan tipped his head in acceptance of Korr’s assurance and then turned to the other matter at hand. “The full AgriCorps team currently preparing Yavin for our arrival volunteered to join in the efforts on Mandalore proper, when it is time,” he said. “Given the projected timeline, how long it might take to secure the sector, the new Temple should be more than ready to sustain itself by the time they could move on to Mandalore.”

“That’s… What, about three hundred Jetii vhett’e?” Korr asked, and Yan nodded. “Kandosii! I’m sure that news will please the Al’aliit’e. And the artefacts?”

“Master Nu has the transport of most arranged,” Yan said, “though there are several that may prove… more difficult. We do have a fair number of old Sith artefacts kept in the secure vaults, and their transport poses risks. Though none of us are willing to leave them behind.”

“We might be able to help with that, too,” Korr said. “Ben said something about beskar blocking the Force and told us to shield the Vault with it. I’m sure we could rig something up, some sort of beskar containment system, for the journey, at least.”

“That would be most helpful,” Yan said. “If your people are willing—I have come to learn a few things about the cultural importance of beskar for you.”

Korr laughed at him, pushing himself off the wall to stand upright, and then clapped Yan on the shoulder. “You forget, burc’ya,” he said. “You’re our allies, now— cuyi tomad. We don’t do anything by halves. And besides, it’s for a good cause. None of us want dar’jetii osik endangering anyone. Especially not now that they’ve made themselves our enemy—the last thing any of us need is their artefacts influencing people, especially Jetiise.”

“A fair point,” Yan agreed, returning the smile. “Now, I understand that you have updates as well on those who volunteered for transport duty?”

“‘Lek,” Korr said. “But the Keld’ika Mando’ade are hardly classified. We can walk and talk, and I’d rather get back to my ad’e before they start fretting again.”

“Indeed,” Yan agreed, the two of them turning towards the entrance to the garden as Korr began telling him how many Mandalorians on Coruscant had volunteered to help with the evacuation, how many ships it would bring them, and how many they could transport at a time, and Yan didn’t bother to suppress his smile.

It was all coming together, now—they were close, very close, to the culmination of their plans. Their time here on Jedha was drawing to a close, and much as Yan enjoyed being here, much as he had missed this place, he was very much looking forward to what would come after. Soon enough… Things would be changing, drastically so. But this was what Yan had been petitioning the Council to do, what he had been advocating for, for years, now, and he was looking forward to seeing it all unfold. And, given that expectant-excited feeling in the Force, whatever young Ben had set out to find was not the only event the Force was eager to see done.

Yes, things were about to change radically—but this would be a change for the better. Yan, and the Force itself, were certain of it.

---

Jango.

By this point, Jango wasn’t surprised to find that Ben’s briefs had been as perfect as could be, literally everything they might have needed before greenlighting this trip—save, of course, for those things that could only have come from real observation, physical recce, boots on the ground and eyes on the target. But considering Jedha was… Jedha, where the biggest threats were the weather and the wildlife, and the locals were all more than happy to help plan how to avoid the worst of both, that wasn’t as much of an issue as it might have been in a less… welcoming location. Jaster had almost made the call to send out a half-squad ahead of them and report back first, but between Guardian Tamm’s patient explanations and descriptions of the places of interest on this trip and Ben’s alternate pleading and expounding on the intel he’d gotten from his research, Jaster had decided to just get on with it. Ben, of course, had been thrilled.

From there, it hadn’t taken long for Jaster to hand out assignments: he’d split up the Grunts and the Headhunters for this, giving both groups a mix of experienced and not so experienced (but it wasn’t like they were green, either, and anyone who tried to imply otherwise about Jango’s squad would get to taste the fruits of his experience in the form of his fist to their face) verd’e on the protection details. Korr had actually tried to convince Jaster that they didn’t need that many verd’e when they were going to be remaining within the Temple of the Kyber, which was looked after and protected zealously by the Guardians themselves, but Jaster had refused to budge. At least all of the verd’e they were leaving behind had already found things they liked doing in and around the Temple, so they hadn’t grumbled too much over missing what little excitement there was to be found on this moon.

“…and over there, just beside the mouth of that canyon, is the Tomb of the Elder Sage Dalikett,” Jango heard Ben say, though he didn’t look up from the ‘pad where he was still perusing Ben’s brief again. “Dalikett’s order of monks died out a little over a millennium ago, but the Anchorites have kept up the Tomb’s maintenance, preserving it for future generations. There are some fascinating inscriptions in the rock in a dialect of Old High Aurebesh that supposedly died out before Dalikett’s order was even founded, and the historical, social, and etymological ramifications of that are even more intriguing than the order’s philosophy and foundational principles…”

Jango tuned back out, refocusing his full attention on the ‘pad, looking over the scans of the monastery they were headed to first, parking their ship somewhere closer before taking speeders the last bit of the way to the Sanctuary itself. He was doing his best to memorize as much of the layout as he could—just in case, of course—before they arrived, and that seemed a better use of his time than trying to keep up with Ben’s not-quite-rambling. He was acting as an unofficial tour guide, pointing out the different “culturally, religiously, and historically significant sites” as they passed them, things he’d found mentioned in the Temple’s Archives and was excited to see for himself, even at a distance. Jaster was listening, hanging on Ben’s every word, leaning over to peer out one of the viewports each time Ben pointed out something else he wanted to babble about (but that was normal enough; honestly, Jango wasn’t entirely sure what other peoples and cultures thought of Mando’ade these days, but he thought most would be surprised to learn just how big a nerd their Mand’alor really was).

No one else was paying any attention to them, though. It wasn’t a long trip, the flight path Ben had given them—option two, without leaving atmosphere to avoid unnecessary fuel waste; it took longer than it would have if they’d broken atmo and then reentered closer to the target zone, but since they had the time, they all figured they might as well conserve the resources, and it gave Ben a chance to play tour guide and Jaster a chance to enthuse with him—just over an hours’ travel. Around them, the others who’d come with were occupying themselves easily enough: Pao, Vlek, Darra, and Tsendi were playing yet another round of sabacc in one corner of the cargo hold while several others looked on, alternately jeering and cheering; Silas and Mij were with a few of the Headhunters, just chatting while idly cleaning their weapons; Myles, for his part, looked like he was brooding, in his full beskar’gam with his arms folded over his chest, sitting rigidly up against the wall and seemingly staring intently at the opposing wall—but Jango could tell from the specific cant of his bucket, tipped back just slightly against the wall behind him, that he was really asleep; the final three Haat’ade were up in the cockpit while the rest of them loitered around.

Finally, though, it was time: the intercom crackled to life as Venrii made the announcement from up in the cockpit. “Ten minute warning! Time for final gear checks, and then prep for landing.”

Ben shot to his feet from the cushion he’d commandeered from the lounge as if Venrii had said they were literally about to land, cutting himself off mid-sentence. Jaster laughed, reaching out to clap him on the shoulder, gently trying to force him to sit again.

“We don’t anticipate a rough landing, but better to be seated for it anyway, ‘lek? Just in case,” Jaster said. Ben huffed, but obeyed, allowing himself to be guided back down. It was still obvious how excited he was, though—for all that Ben could spend literal hours sitting perfectly still when he was meditating or deeply engrossed in his reading, now he started squirming and wriggling like the seven-year-old he actually was, obviously itching to move already. Jango tried to hide his grin by ducking his head to look back down at his ‘pad, but he still saw Ben look over at him out of the corner of his eye, a not-quite- pout on his face that had Jango stifling laughter.

Instead of teasing his vod’ika, Jango turned to Myles. He found he’d been right about his friend’s napping, as he hadn’t stirred at all despite the announcement. While everyone else was stowing away their ‘pads and the sabacc deck and starting to check over their weapons—more out of deeply-ingrained habit than any real thought that they would actually be needed in the near future—Myles made no move to join them. Jango did snicker to himself softly about that, tucking his own ‘pad away before going over to rap his knuckles on Myles’s buy’ce —gently, of course, but still hard enough that he knew the sound would ring inside Myles’s bucket with the distinctive clang of beskar- on -beskar.

“Osik!” Myles said, coming to with a full-body jerk that had him hitting his bucket against the durasteel wall. Jango knew that wouldn’t have really hurt, just stinging a little (and hurting Myles’s pride more than his head), so he didn’t stop himself from laughing at him. “Kriffing mir’sheb—”

“Hey, you’re the one who decided to sleep through the ten-minute warning,” Jango said. “Sharal shebs—”

“Ad’e,” Jaster called. “Language.”

“Ni n’e,” they both chorused, like they were still adiik’e who hadn’t yet passed their verd’goten’e. Some things never changed, and the innate and immediate response to a parent or authority figure’s scolding was one of them. Jango stood and, as a peace offering, held out a hand to help Myles up. He took it, still grumbling under his breath, but it was too low for his vocorder to pick up, so Jango left it alone. Jango checked the commlink in his vambrace, synced to the timer: about five minutes left. Nodding to himself, Jango turned back to his buir and vod’ika —just in time to see Ben go perfectly still, his squirming stopping abruptly and his eyes narrowing.

“Ben? Me’vaar ti gar, ad’ika?” Jaster asked, pausing to look down at him, rifle still in his hands where he’d been checking it over.

“Naas,” Ben immediately said. “It’s just that I… I thought I felt… something. In the Force, I mean.”

Jaster hummed. “We are close to that place the ka’ra was guiding you to,” he said. “Feeling something would make sense, ‘lek?”

“Maybe,” Ben said slowly, and then he tried for a casual shrug that wasn’t convincing in the slightest. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Frowning to himself, Jango took a deep breath and closed his eyes, reaching out again. It was easier, now, than it had been, but it still took some concentration. The ka’ra felt… warm, and bright—not quite the overly-bright solar flare that the Temple of the Kyber had been to him initially, but still pleasantly warm and bright. But beneath that, Jango felt… something else. It was hard to describe, difficult to explain (but what else was new? Trying to put the mystical osik he just felt into actual words was still just as frustrating as it had been the very first time he’d tried it), but it almost felt like… Well, it made Jango’s stomach clench and flutter, though it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, either. It was more like… It was like the ka’ra was excited about something.

…huh.

Myles returned the favor, then, shouldering him—not too hard, but none too gently, either, rocking Jango to the side and forcing him to spread his feet a little wider to avoid falling over—and snickering. Jango shoved back, rolling his eyes, and they both ignored Jaster’s sigh of “ad’e.”

“You come back down from the clouds?” Myles asked, and Jango huffed. Glancing at Ben, who was still unmoving, quiet, and now staring intently at one of the viewports, Jango turned back to Myles, leaning in and dropping his voice.

“The ka’ra feels… excited, I guess,” Jango said. “I think that might mean that Ben’s close to whatever he’s supposed to find.”

Myles snorted. “I’d hope so,” he said. “I’m not sure how long a mystical game of seek-and-find could take, but I’d rather we didn’t spend too long wandering around these deserts. There’s important, official business about to be on back home.”

“‘Lek,” Jango agreed.

The conversation petered out as they both felt the slight vibration in the ship’s decking beneath them and heard the slight change in pitch from the engines: they were slowing down, dropping in altitude, and coming in to land. This time, when Ben jumped up, Jaster chuckled at him again but didn’t try to stop him. They all watched carefully as Ben darted over to the cargo bay doors, standing before them and bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited for them to open; Jaster followed at a more sedate pace, radiating fond-amusement so strongly that Jango could practically taste it even through his reconstructed shielding. Jango and Myles joined them, and slowly, the others started to congregate by the doors, too. Then there came the small thud that was the ship actually landing, another change in the pitch of the engines’ whirring and humming as they shut down main power, and—

Then the light above the cargo bay doors switched from red to green, and it started to lower. But none of them had hit the controls, and Jaster and their pilots were the only ones with the controls synced to their kom’rk’e, and none of them would do that until the post-flights were finished… Jango realized a beat later what that meant, turning to exchange a look with Jaster before jamming his bucket on. He had a tingling feeling going up and down his spine, the sensation that told him something was about to happen, and that didn’t bode well.

Especially since Ben had just used the ka’ra to open the cargo bay doors before they were supposed to. Still, though, Jaster didn’t try to force them shut, instead sighing again heavily— But they all regretted not doing something to stop him not ten seconds later.

The instant the doors had come down enough to create a gap large enough for him to fit through, Ben bent his knees, and they all had just enough time to realize what he was about to do—but not enough to stop him —before he leapt up into the air, sliding through the gap, and out of sight.

“Osi’kyr!” Jango and Myles said, again in perfect unison, though this time, Jaster didn’t seem to have a word to say about their swearing. Likely, Jango knew, because he agreed with the sentiment.

“That boy is going to cause me so many grey hairs,” Jaster grumbled, already aggressively tapping at the controls on his vambrace. Jango’s HUD lit up a moment later with a grid overlay and a blinking dot, moving away from the ship. “Jango, take Myles, Silas, Pao, and Vlek. I’m already relaying his tracker signal to you. With your sen’tra’se, you’ll catch up to him faster than the rest of us will.”

“‘Lek, ‘Alor,” they all chorused, edging closer to the door as it continued lowering oh so slowly. The amount of space needed for adult verd’e in full beskar’gam was significantly larger than the amount of space Jango’s seven-year-old vod’ika had needed, and he wished that they’d replaced the hydraulics on the cargo bay doors before this kriffing trip—they were definitely still functional, but, in Jango’s humble opinion, entirely too kriffing slow. It felt like a small eternity passed before there was enough space, though it was really only about five more seconds, after that. The others all backed away, giving them more room to activate their jetpacks, and they edged closer to the doors.

“Go get him,” Jaster said.

None of them bothered to respond, this time, with anything other than the sound of five sen’tra’se roaring to life in unison, even louder than usual as the noise of it echoed around the cargo hold. They shot out of the doors, immediately banking to the left, towards the tracker signal, the blinking dot that represented Jango’s vod’ika getting ever farther away from them. Haar’chak —one of these days, Ben was going to get himself hurt with one of his stunts.

Totally unprompted, without him reaching out, the ka’ra suddenly pressed in closer to him—and what he sensed had Jango scowling. The ka’ra was, quite obviously, a kriffing chakaar, because it actually felt like it was laughing at him.

“The ka’ra,” Jango muttered to himself, thankful his vocorder was switched off (as it always was until he needed to say something to the squad for just this reason, because he’d always had a habit of talking to himself aloud when he was safe in the comfort of his shell), “is a fucking asshole.”

That feeling of laughter grew even stronger, and Jango growled quietly. He didn’t have any time to contemplate the mysteries of the magical cosmic energy around them—no, right now, he had a jare’la, dini’la vod’ika to hunt down and catch. He’d never failed a mission yet, and he definitely wasn’t going to start now.

And if Jango ended up interrupting whatever it was the ka’ra had wanted Ben to do or see here… Well, they would just have to deal with it. Nothing was going to happen to Ben on Jango’s watch—despite the best efforts of both Ben and the stupid fucking mir’sheb that was the ka’ra.

The squad let him take point, and Jango was suddenly desperately grateful that he’d spent so much time staring at the scans of this place, more familiar with the layout than he might’ve been otherwise. That made it easier to put the grid with Ben’s tracker signal over his mental map of the place, trying to figure out where he’d gone and where he was headed. Jango lifted up a bit higher, ensuring he’d clear even the tallest pillars and rooftops, the brown stone structures dotted with bits of color from both people and fabrics—rugs and banners and tapestries, from the brief looks at them he got—blurring as they shot by them, and he distantly noticed the way people were staring and pointing and shouting as they caught sight of them, but that was both normal enough and wholly unimportant at the moment. If they scared any of the people here, they could soothe them afterwards, but right now finding Jango’s wayward vod’ika was their first priority.

Jango looked at the tracker signal again, frowning thoughtfully to himself as he watched Ben cut a path straight through where he knew several buildings would be. Grinning to himself—maybe a little grimly, but pleased nonetheless—he unmuted himself. “He’s on the rooftops—has to be. No other way he’s getting through buildings that fast. He has to be going over them.”

“Where do you think he’s headed?” Pao grunted, and Jango looked at the dot, watching for a moment as Ben made a sudden right turn, overlaying his route with the map he’d memorized.

“Looks like he’s heading for the market area,” Jango said. “Bank right, on me.” They obeyed, holding formation, still following Ben’s trail exactly. But… It looked like Ben was starting to slow— jate. Ori’jate. That would give them a chance to catch up with him, snatch him back up, and ask him what in haran he’d been thinking.

“He’s stopped,” Jango said. “‘Lek, in the market. It’s just ahead—prepare for landing.”

“Market’s gotta be pretty busy this time of day,” Vlek said. “Maybe we ought to touch down on a rooftop first, get the target in sight and survey the area.”

“Pao, Vlek, and Silas: spread out and land on the rooftops, survey the area,” Jango ordered. “I’ll go after Ben directly. Myles, cover me.”

Jango only technically outranked the rest of the Haat’ade with him: Pao and Vlek had several decades of experience over him—they’d been Haat’ade longer than Jango had been alive. If they hadn’t chosen to stick with Jaster in Headhunter Squad, they would’ve been leading squads of their own by now, and they could’ve easily taken over this hunt. But there was no question about how they were going to do this: it was Jango’s vod’ika they were chasing, and the others would defer to him until Jaster could catch up. Jango was grateful for that, the others immediately moving to follow his orders.

The market was indeed busy at this time of day, if also still oddly calm and peaceful feeling for how many people there were milling about, but Jango immediately filed that away as NFJ —normal for Jedha—and brought himself down on one of the lower rooftops, Myles just beside him, as the others spread out to encircle the market from other rooftops as best they could. There were quite a few stalls set up in-between stone pillars decorated with painted carvings, and the majority of the people here wore strange hats, face coverings, and odd robes, and Jango thought those must be the Anchorites. There were quite a few others who had to be pilgrims, and, as he did the Anchorites, Jango mentally dismissed them as unimportant, still looking through the crowds, trying to find Ben—

The throngs of people suddenly shifted, moving out of the way, creating a path, and it was enough to announce Ben’s location: he was the one they were parting for. The people he passed turned to look at him curiously, but stepped aside as he barreled through the crowds towards… Jango took in his path, the straight line he was carving through the crowd, and saw another couple of Anchorites with an adiik beside them, facing away from Ben.

“Got him,” Jango said. “Myles, let’s move in. Everyone else, keep watch.”

“Elek,” the others chorused, and Jango stepped off the edge of the roof—and it was only when he heard the sound of Myles’s jetpack that he realized he hadn’t even bothered with his own, instead using the ka’ra to slow and cushion his landing. Apparently, that had become habit already—but that, too, was unimportant at the moment, and Jango refocused on Ben, drawing ever closer to that trio, the two Anchorites and the adiik. But… A second later, Jango’s universe tipped on its axis, and he immediately went still, no longer gently shouldering his way through the crowd to try to reach his vod’ika, because…

Well, when the adiik Ben was heading for turned around to look at Ben, and Jango got a good look at their face… It was almost like looking a kriffing holo taken years before of— himself. It really was like looking at Jango himself when he’d been maybe seven or eight.

His brain screeched to a halt as he just… stared, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, wondering if he was hallucinating, not at all sure how this was possible. The adiik was practically a dead ringer for Jango, save for a scar—old, from the looks of it, but still large and prominent enough to be visible even at this distance, halfway across the busy market—curling around one eye, up to their temple and down a bit of their cheek.

“Are you seeing this?” Jango asked, his voice coming out a little raspy.

“Elek,” Myles said.

Oh. Well. It seemed he wasn’t hallucinating after all. That… should have been good, but it left him with questions that were somehow larger than the matter of his own karking sanity. Who the kriff was this kid? How did Ben know them? And they were obviously related to Jango, somehow, but— He didn’t think he’d had any relatives left alive who were close enough to look this similar…

He still just… stood there, frozen in place, as he watched the… little Not-Jango register Ben coming towards them—and coming in hot; he had to be using the ka’ra to move faster, he just had to be, though Jango couldn’t muster the wherewithal to reach out to confirm that—and then the adiik lit up, a broad grin lighting up their face, and they rushed forward to meet Ben in the middle. The two of them collided and tumbled to the ground, rolling around in the sand and clinging desperately to each other, either utterly oblivious to or completely ignoring the staring of everyone around them in the market, everyone freezing to watch the commotion, and—

Jango had no karking idea what to make of… this.

“What,” Jango said, voice coming out strangled, “the actual fuck?”

“Jango!” Jaster’s voice sounded over the comms. “Language, bal din’kartay!”

Jango opened his mouth to answer, still just staring at his baby brother, blinking rapidly as if what he was seeing might’ve changed if he did, as if he just wasn’t seeing correctly. He snapped his mouth shut again, not even knowing what to say. After a beat, he reached up and clumsily slapped the HUD streaming control on the side of his buy’ce, projecting what his HUD was picking up to Jaster.

“Me’ven? Manda, what? How? Tion’ad?” Jaster sputtered.

Ka’ra, all he could still think was that it really was like Jango was looking at a fucking holo of himself seven or eight years ago, only solid and in color and all too fucking real.

“What the actual fuck?” Jango wheezed again, because it was the only thing he could think to say—and for once, there was no reprimand from Jaster for his swearing.

Then, of course, because apparently Jango’s life actually could get more insane, another adiik rounded a corner, caught sight of the not-baby-Jango still flat on the ground with Ben, wrapped around each other like a pair of clingy octopodes. That adiik, too, ran for the pair of them, and when Ben and… still-not-baby-Jango caught sight of them, they laughed and opened their arms, inviting them to join, and—

And, because of course they did, the other, slightly younger-looking kid also looked exactly like Jango, but with Arla’s hair color.

As it turned out, he had unexpected aliit, Jango thought a little hysterically, a little desperately, because they obviously had to be related to him somehow. And he still couldn’t seem to form any other words, instead just not-quite- wheezing yet again: “What. The actual. Fuck?”

This time, he heard Jaster grunt, and all his buir had to say about his language was, “Agreed.”

For a long moment, they were all frozen in place, too shocked to do anything but stare as Ben and the two damn near perfect fucking copies of Jango clung to each other. It looked like they were crying, too, but Jango couldn’t hear them from here.

Finally, seizing that disconnected sort of calm Jango reached for in the field, when the chaos of a battle threatened to overwhelm him, an effort that took several long, drawn-out seconds, he packed down his emotions to deal with later, took a deep breath, and forced his feet to step forward. He’d only taken three steps when the trio noticed him, and the others behind him—and, now that he was a little closer, Jango could see that their eyes were all red, and they all had very obvious tear tracks down their faces.

Ka’ra, haar’chak, osik, but both of the other two looked so eerily similar to Jango himself. The dark-haired one was a closer replica, but even the blonde one had the same kriffing face. Deciding that he had absolutely no idea where to even fucking start with that, Jango turned to Ben.

“You can’t just go haring off like that, Ben!” Jango said. “You scared the osik out of us—especially buir.” And me, he didn’t add, but Ben just sniffled and gave him a shaky smile, and Jango felt like he heard it anyway.

“Jango, I—” Ben didn’t get any further than that before both of the little not-Jangos exploded into movement. They leapt up, moving in unsettling synchronicity, like verd’e who’d trained together for years and not adiik’e, and the blonde one put themself in front of Ben as though trying to cover him despite the fact that they were definitely smaller than Ben was, and probably younger besides.

Meanwhile, the dark-haired one with the scar reached back and pulled a kriffing holdout blaster off of the back of their belt and why the kriff did an adiik that young have a fucking holdout blaster in the first place—

And pointed it right at Jango.

“Woah, ad, udesii,” Jango said, putting his hands up in the universal sign for not-a-threat-please-don’t-shoot, and he was distantly aware of ripples of gasps and startled cries making the rounds through those in the market, but ignored them in favor of focusing on Ben and… the little not-Jango. The ad didn’t move, just glared stonily at him, hand not even shaking as they held up the blaster. “Easy, take it easy— It’s okay, ori’haat, we’re not gonna hurt you—”

“Cody, Cody, stop!” Ben said, scrambling up. The blonde tried to grab him, but Ben was slippery and twisted away, nearly tripping over himself in his rush to put himself between the ad —maybe Cody? Was that their name?—and Jango. Immediately, as soon as Ben was in the way, the blaster was lowered down to point at the ground.

“He’s—” not-Jango-maybe-Cody started to say, but Ben cut them off.

“He’s my brother,” Ben said, and not-Jango-maybe-Cody blinked at him. Maybe-Cody didn’t take their eyes off of Jango, and neither did the blonde, so he stayed where he was and kept his hands up, just in case—the oddly aggressive adiik was still holding a blaster, after all.

“Your what?” maybe-Cody ground out. Jango vaguely saw the blonde move, reacting to that in some way, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off of maybe-Cody.

“My brother,” Ben repeated. “Jango is my ori’vod.”

Jango jumped with the loud noise that came next, but his knees nearly buckled on him with relief a second later as he processed just what that commotion was: that sound had been Jaster shouting at the top of his lungs just as he turned the corner into the market.

“Ben Mereel, you get your shebs over here RIGHT NOW!”

Ben visibly cringed, and Jango’s buy’ce just barely picked up his little “uh-oh.” It was so normal, such a typical thing for an adiik Ben’s age to do when realizing he was about to be in trouble, that Jango couldn’t help but laugh—and if it was a little hysterical… Well, given the givens, Jango thought he was justified in a bit of hysteria.

Ben definitely had some explaining to do, this time, and Jango could only hope that the explanation was a damn good one—one that, somehow, gave him his sanity back. And Jango also really hoped that the ka’ra stopped kriffing laughing at him.

(But, unfortunately for him, Jango also had a feeling that both his sanity and the ka’ra were lost causes.)

Notes:

Mando'a:
Jetii vhett'e - Jedi farmers
Kandosii! - Nice/Awesome!
Al'aliit'e - I think I've used this before, but this is my made up/smashed together word for Clan leaders
burc'ya - friend
cuyi tomad - (You) are an ally
dar'jetii osik - Sith shit
mir'sheb - smartass
Sharal shebs - Lazy ass/lazy butt
Osi'kyr! - "Strong exclamation of surprise or dismay"
sen'tra'se - jetpacks
Haar'chak - Dammit
chakaar - general term of abuse
jare'la, dini'la - reckless/stupidly oblivious of danger, insane
bal din'kartay - and sitrep
Me'ven? - Huh/what? (disbelief or bewilderment)
Tion'ad? - Who (is that)?

CODY AND REX IT’S CODY AND REX I HAVE BEEN SO EXCITED TO GET HERE FOR SO VERY LONG NOW AAAAAH!!! Many chapters ago, I made myself Sad thinking about how alone Ben was, and decided it’s now a rule that all time travelers need a buddy. Cody was clearly the obvious choice, because Anakin involves too much Trauma and Ahsoka would be more like someone Ben feels a need to protect than a partner in crime. But then I made myself Sad again, because clones aren’t meant to be alone, either, so I decided it was yet another rule that all clones have to have a buddy, too. And thus, we have Cody *and* Rex!!! :D As for the “surprise” here… Show of hands, who was surprised by Cody? Yeah? Nobody? Thought not, based on the comments! XD But Cody AND Rex??? Some of you guessed Cody OR Rex, but shoutout to Jules for commenting last chapter with a guess for both!!! ;D

Ahem. Anyhow, as you can see, I have not yet tagged the Surprise Characters; I like to tag characters for most fics as they actually appear (unless they are going to be a really major part of an eventual arc), especially given my inconsistent updates; I don’t want anyone looking for a specific character to find the story and then be disappointed, so I’ve taken to adding them as they come. I also didn’t want to spoil anything if anyone caught sight of the tags prior to reading the new chapter. When chapter 24 is up, I will update the tags. <3

And one more note, to address the bantha in the room… Shipping.
The only way Ben could get with someone who matches his physical age only or his mental age only, IMO, would be for it to be someone that a) he doesn’t know very well or at all when he’s still in a BB-body and didn’t know when they were children in his first life either, b) for that someone to be a person he met as an adult last time and only first meets as an adult again in this life (like, say, Bail and/or Breha Organa), or c) someone he never met in the original timeline and only meets now when both are adults. Anything else would be off the Creepy charts, IMO. Aaand then you throw another time traveler or two into the scenario.

Now, this is not going to be a CodyWan or a RexObi (or a Cody/Obi-Wan/Rex) fic. They will not be shown to be in a relationship, though it will be obvious that they all deeply love each other; whether that’s platonic and brotherly or more pre-slash is up to which pair of goggles you want to wear, LOL! There will be lots of closeness, both physically and emotionally, shown between all three of them, but no romance will be shown. But I will say that fellow time travelers would be the most viable romantic option(s) for Ben in this ‘verse, if you want to see them that way. If not, then just read it as very close friends or found family style brothers; either way will work for this fic. :)
Also, if this fic works out to my outline, it will end when Ben is, at the very oldest, in his early twenties (around the time Episode I takes place in canon, which I prefer the originally proposed timeline for where Obi-Wan was 20 for that instead of 25 as he was retconned to be), so there won’t be much opportunity for him to date anyone age-appropriate during the time period this fic will take place. There may be an epilogue set much later in this ‘verse, but the focus of that wouldn’t be romantic, either, and any relationship would still depend on how hard you want to squint, LOL.

But anyway! How Cody and Rex actually got here will be explained next chapter, and Jango, Jaster, the others will have to deal with… *waves hands* All of *this.* And we will see how much of an explanation Ben and our two new time travelers decide to give everyone... ;) ‘Til then, hope you enjoyed! :D

Chapter 24

Notes:

Hello again everyone! :D OMG all the screaming on the last chapter about CODY AND REX made me giggle so hard! I'd been planning that for so long, so I was very excited to finally get there! <3 Not a crazy long wait this time for the next chapter, but I will warn you that I have not fully re-read and edited this chapter yet. I know a lot of you were anxious to see more of the reunion and the train wreck that was always going to be Cody and Rex interacting in any way, shape, or form with Jango, LOL, so I didn't want to make you wait any longer. :P

Part of that time was spent working on this, buuuuuut I also discovered the Codywan Week prompts a couple of weeks ago and immediately had my brain hijacked by some of them, haha! I might even actually get them done in time to participate on a few days of the event itself for once. (I am usually the last person to know about that kind of thing because I'm utterly inept when it comes to social media, sooo I usually find out about the event because people start posting for it… XD )

Also! I’ve had a few people request a place for me to post my summary notes somewhere, especially when I don’t have room for them in the end notes like last time. I’m happy to do that for you if you like, but question: would you all prefer that it be posted as the final chapter in this work and I’ll just update it with new notes as I post the chapters, or would you prefer a separate work in a series (“and hope i wake up young again: the crack edition” XD )? Let me know which you’d prefer, and I can get the ones already posted copied over and add the ones from 23. (And some of the ones for this chapter, too—in all honesty, *all* of the summaries for this chapter were hilarious to me even if some of them weren’t *quite* how the chapter worked out being written, but not all of it fit, sadly…) But anyway, as a treat, I put a little "Last time" flashback with one of the summary bits for last chapter at the beginning of this one for you since they had to be cut from the end notes last time! ;)

We didn’t get Rex, Ben, or Jango’s POVs this chapter, but we’ll get some more of them next time! :) For now, Jaster had a lot to say, and so did Cody! (Plus this chapter really started to get long on me, and I had to cut it somewhere, eventually!) Also, I still have plans for the rest of the clone BBs, so we’ll get a little more of them in Ben’s POV next time, though that’s all that I’ll say about those plans for now… ;)
(Also, Jango's relationship to the clones was a little different in this fic to some of my others - that will start becoming clearer a little later on, but for now, you'll see more Mando'a speaking clones than I usually put into my works that include them!)

And now we have: the explanation for the deus ex Daughter I planned to get my clone BBs here—aaand then the two groups will meet back up next chapter, which means Cody and Rex are going to run into a certain Jedi Master and three little Zabraks, two of whom they’re definitely going to recognize… ;) On that note, hope you enjoy!

Last time…

Cody and Rex: THE GENERAL! THE GENERAL IS HERE! Kriff, he’s tiny. I mean, so are we, but… Tiny General Kenobi?!
Cody and Rex: …oh, great. Mandos. Mandos near our Very Jedi, Very Tiny General.
Cody, whose protective instincts are already going off something fierce because His General is Really Fucking Tiny: They’d better not move.
Rex: Huh. Something seems… weird here. The Tiny General doesn’t seem worried about the abrupt arrival of Several Unknown Mandos. …something’s hinky.
Jango, internally: Well, I’m not about to touch my two… long-lost brothers? Cousins? Y’know, man, I dunno who or what they are, but I’m not touching that shit with a twenty foot pole, at least until my brain comes back online. I’ll focus on Ben. Even insane, he’s a safe bet. I’m at least familiar with his insanity. [Takes a step forward, then two, then three…]
Cody, internally: Take one. More. Step. I fucking dare you.
Jango: BEN DON’T YOU DARE DO THAT SHIT AGAIN DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH YOU SCARED US??? YOU’RE GOING TO GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK. I AM SIXTEEN YEARS OLD, THAT IS TOO YOUNG FOR THE HEART ATTACK OR THE ANEURYSM YOU ARE DOING YOUR DAMNEDEST TO GIVE ME—
Ben: Jango, please. There’s no need to be so dramatic—
Jango: Dramatic? DRAMATIC? I will show you DRAMATIC, you little—
Cody: …Jango? …Jango. …Jango.
Rex: …uh-oh.
Cody: Jango… Fett. Jango. Fett.
Rex: This is… not ideal. But… *Sigh* You know I’ll back your move, Cody. Go on. I know you want to.
Cody, calmly pulling a blaster: Thank you, Rex. Now, try taking one more step towards my baby Jedi General, Prime. Please do try it.
Ben: Oh no. No, this is not going to end well… Cody, Cody, Cody, please stop— Rex, please help me stop Cody—
Cody: You never did manage to learn the appropriate response to a Real Threat, sir. Last time you were on the same planet, Prime tried to kill you. Stop, no, putting yourself in the line of fire is also not an appropriate response, kriffing Force, how have you gotten worse—
Ben: He’s not a threat, Cody, he’s my brother, for Force’s sake—
Cody: …excuse you?
Ben: Jango is my ori’vod.
Cody: Your. Sir. Your fucking. Prime is your fucking what now?!
Rex: …General, you only just found us, and I think you already broke Cody.
Ben: Hm. Unfortunate, but he’ll reboot. Oh, and by the way… I’m really, really happy you’re here.
Rex: Yeah. Us too.
Cody: …Prime is your WHAT??? I leave you alone for a few karking months in a different universe, I swear. I’m glad we came, too. You clearly need Supervision.
Ben: Well. I… want to be Annoyed by that, but… It really is just like old times. :,)

---

---

Jaster.

Manda, Jaster’s head hurt. He was, frankly, headed towards a full-on migraine, in fact—though it wasn’t the kind that any medicine could help. Not when the headache had a name, and it was Ben Mereel.

That boy was going to be the death of him someday.

Jaster hadn’t truly been surprised when Ben had taken off. He’d half-feared that was going to happen since they’d arrived and Ben had first told him that the ka’ra wanted him to find something here (something, ha —if only he’d known then that it was someone instead, and several someones at that), and so while he’d had the typical, knee-jerk feeling of panic taking up residence in his belly, his heart leaping up into his throat, because his ad’ika was endangering himself (again) and running off without supervision (again), he had also been at least somewhat prepared for that.

He had not, in any way, shape, or form, been prepared for just what it was the ka’ra had wanted his youngest to find.

Hearing the beginning of it over their comms channel, still stuck with the others who hadn’t had sen’tra’se and, therefore, hadn’t been able to join the initial hunt, had been… concerning, to put it mildly. And then actually seeing it, once Jango had started streaming his buy’ce footage to Jaster and the rest of them… Jaster had promptly stumbled over his feet, too busy gawking at the image that had overtaken the majority of his own HUD to keep his footing on the uneven, sand-swept stone pavers that made up the streets here, and it had only been Tsendi’s quick reflexes that had saved him from falling flat on his face.

Things had not gotten any easier from there.

First, having to watch while an adiik who was practically the spitting image of the little Jango Jaster had first adopted when he’d been eight pointing a blaster at the Jango here and now was… worrisome. (And osik, the way the ad had looked so calm about it, how their hands hadn’t shaken even the slightest bit, how their grip on the thing had been near-perfect and only could’ve been improved by having larger, adult-sized hands… That had been disturbing, immediately setting off all sorts of alarm bells in the back of Jaster’s mind. Mando’ade began training their adiik’e young, that was true, and adiik’e the age this one appeared to be would commonly have some experience with blasters by then, but not… like that. Not with that level of comfort and confidence.) And seeing the way the other adiik, the one who looked just like Jango, too, only a bit younger than Jaster had ever gotten to see him, and blonde to boot, trying to shield Ben, as if they thought that Jango was a threat to him and Ben needed protecting… That, too, was worrisome.

And then Ben had stepped between the ad brandishing the blaster and his ori’vod, and Jaster’s brain had screeched to a halt for a second time in as many minutes, because—

“Cody, Cody, stop!”

Cody. Cody. Jaster knew that name, had heard it from Ben more than once before.

He also knew that Ben had not expected Cody to exist in this lifetime.

“He’s someone I was— would have been… He would have been very dear to me. But he won’t… The events that… led to his birth have changed, so he won’t… He won’t be here, now. I won’t get to see him. I won’t get to know him, in this life. But I remember him so clearly…”

Jaster remembered Ben’s explanation, what he’d said after Jaster had asked after this Cody, one of a few people Ben called for in his sleep sometimes, but the one he called for most. He remembered Ben’s words exactly, because of how… odd, how disconcerting, and how, frankly, painful it had been to hear it all. Ben’s distress, his heartbreak, over it all had been obvious, then, and that in itself had made something in Jaster’s chest ache with a need to soothe him, though he’d known that there had been nothing he could do. He’d thought, at the time, that Ben had seen Cody in some sort of vision, or maybe several of them, and he’d just seen enough to feel like he really knew this “Cody.”

But— No. No, Cody was very, very real. And he looked just like Jango.

And he wasn’t meant to exist, here and now. Jaster’s headache grew worse, thinking about what that might mean, thinking about the implications of all of this—and he wasn’t even touching on the second adiik who also looked just like Jango.

It was ka’ra osik, somehow. Jaster knew that much. He definitely wasn’t qualified to deal with… any of this, but thankfully, they were on the right planet to find an expert or two. Someone could… They would find someone who would… explain it all. Someone would be able to tell them what this meant, how this had happened, and why the kriff these two impossible ad’e looked just like Jaster’s eldest.

But, for now… They were coming up on the market fast, and Jaster took a deep, deliberate breath. One thing at a time, he told himself. That felt like it had become his new mantra ever since he’d first adopted Ben. (And oh, Jaster still didn’t regret it, he never could and never would, but— He did wish that Ben was just a little less of a karking chaos magnet.) For now, he would… He would deal with one thing at a time—and the first order of business was his mischievous, chaotic, heart attack-inducing youngest ad.

As Jaster slipped into the market through one entrance, a wide stone archway—and this whole place looked almost as ancient as the inside of the Temple of the Kyber did, and under… different circumstances, he would’ve been looking forward to studying it all, learning its history, but he had much larger concerns, now. He had Tsendi and Darra just behind him, three others entering through another archway on the opposite side—just to box in Ben, if he tried to run again, and maybe to surprise those two ad’e, Cody and… the other, still-unnamed adiik, if they looked like they were going to actually try to use that blaster; they wouldn’t hurt them, of course they wouldn’t, but they would damn well keep them from taking shots at Jaster’s elder son—and two more taking up more hidden, covert positions ringing the market, just in case.

The instant Ben, Jango, Myles, Cody, and the blonde adiik were actually in sight, barely visible through the throngs of people in the market—all of whom had gone so still and so quiet, pausing to gawk at the spectacle Jaster’s ad’e were making of themselves—Jaster killed the connection with Jango’s HUD, took another deep breath, and then bellowed at the top of his lungs, in a voice he reserved only for the most serious of times, and only for his ad’e: “Ben Mereel, you get your shebs over here RIGHT NOW!”

Jaster saw Ben’s little wince, and though the impossible-yet-somehow- here Cody was still staring at Jango, and Myles lurking just behind him, he also saw Rex startle and turn towards him, gaze immediately seeking out Jaster and the two verd’e behind him. Ben, naturally, did not obey, making no move to come towards him, so Jaster continued storming through the market. The people between them, initially blocking Jaster’s path to his ad’e, slipped aside for him, carving a path on instinct. He distantly felt a bit bad for scaring them; the people—those who actually lived here and the pilgrims visiting alike—were all so gentle and kind, but he also had far more important, urgent things to worry about.

He was barely close enough for his buy’ce to pick up Cody’s muttered, “Excuse me? Ben Mereel?” Ben just made a gesture at him without turning to look, what almost look like a stand down hand signal, his gaze still glued to Jaster. When he got close enough, Jaster resisted the urge to snatch Ben up, because the protective and unstable adiik beside his youngest was still holding a blaster. Instead, Jaster just put his hands on his hips, leveling a hard stare down at Ben that he knew his ad would be able to read even through his buy’ce. He was right, and Ben squirmed a little.

“You,” Jaster said, “are in so much trouble.”

“Buir, I—” Ben started to say, but he was interrupted by the other two adiik’e. Both Cody and the blonde startled, turning to look at Ben, and Jaster was distantly pleased that Cody was finally no longer eyeing Jango like he was a threat.

“Buir?!” both adiik’e repeated.

“Yes, well,” Ben said, still staring at Jaster, not turning to look at either of them, “I could sense them as soon as we got close enough—”

“And you decided that launching yourself away from us knowing we wouldn’t be able to follow immediately was a better way to handle it than using your words?” Jaster said. “Ben, you—”

“I could also sense that there wasn’t any danger, buir,” Ben said, eyes wide and projecting innocence as strongly as he could. Jaster wasn’t fooled by that look any more than he was fooled by the calm, even tone Ben was using, the one that said I’m being perfectly reasonable and rational right now, and I don’t understand why you can’t see my point of view.

An utter menace, this child.

“Is anyone going to address the bantha in the room?” Myles said—over the squad channel, thankfully, and not aloud for everyone to hear. “Y’know, like the fact that Ben just found two adiik’e who look just like Jango, and one of them just pulled a karking blaster on him?”

“Maybe we should have this conversation somewhere a little… quieter, ‘Alor,” Vlek said, over comms only, still perched on a nearby rooftop across from Pao, helping to cover the rest of the market. Jaster glanced around subtly at the crowd around them, still staring at the scene they made, and fought the urge to sigh, toggling his external speaker off for a moment to respond to the squads alone.

“Gar serim,” he grunted, and then togged his speaker back on, looking from Ben to the impossible-yet-real Cody and then the other adiik. Cody had finally torn their gaze away from Jango and, when Jaster looked at him, met Jaster’s gaze through his visor with a deliberately, carefully blank expression; he had also, Jaster noticed, edged that much closer to Ben again. The other, the blonde, also looked up at Jaster when the adiik noticed his attention, but this one gave him a tight, almost commiserating sort of smile and half-shrugged one shoulder.

Jaster turned back to Cody first. “Your name is Cody?” The adiik nodded silently, and Jaster nodded in return before looking back to the blonde again. “And you?”

“Rex.”

Well. Haar’chak.

Because of course it was, that was another name that Jaster recognized, and from the same context as Cody’s: this was yet another person Ben had called for in his sleep during nightmares. Cody had still been the most prevalent name, but Rex had featured enough for Jaster to remember it. Whoever these two were, however they had come to be here, apparently just waiting for Ben to find them, these two people who, according to Ben, should not exist in this lifetime…

This had ka’ra osik written all over it.

Jaster’s head was still pounding sluggishly from the extended adrenaline rush of his youngest running off like that, and then the shock of it all, and then seeing an adiik who was practically a copy of Jango pull a blaster on him, but— Jaster pushed that aside, for now. There were more important things to see to than that at the moment.

“I think,” Jaster said slowly, “that we need to talk.” He directed it at Rex and Cody, looking from one to the other, though Ben also squirmed uncomfortably. “Our ship’s just outside the walls, and we would have… plenty of privacy there.” Rex shrugged again easily while Cody just continued staring at Jaster, blank-faced. Finally, after a few awkwardly long seconds, just when it seemed like Ben was about to speak up again, Cody’s brow furrowed lightly and he looked Jaster over pointedly.

“Mereel,” he repeated. “As in Jaster Mereel?”

“That’s me,” Jaster agreed. Cody blinked at him and then shot Ben a look, full of quiet exasperation.

“Ben Mereel?” Cody hissed softly. “You can’t be serious.” Ben let out a strangled little laugh.

“Ad’e,” Jaster said, drawing their attention back to him. “Do you have any parents or guardians around?”

“We’ve been staying with the Anchorites in the Temple, mostly,” Rex offered. “The… Sanctuary. Since we… got here. We just came down with them for supplies.”

“And those you’re here with?” Jaster prodded. Rex looked back towards two of the robed humanoid figures, with their wide-brimmed hats with various beads hanging from them, faces covered. With that, the two took that cue to approach, and Jaster took a slow breath, trying to stamp down any judgment he immediately wanted to make about their quality as guardians, letting an adiik that young have a blaster and not stepping in sooner. His estimation of them fell a little further, though, when they did nothing more than nod to Jaster as they approached, standing silently by and watching them all. Still, if these were even their temporary guardians… “Any objections to taking them over to our ship to talk about… this?”

“If they have none, then we have none,” one of the Anchorites said. “They are not ours—they never were. They were not intended for us, though we have looked after them until those they were meant for arrived.”

Definitely temporary guardians then—that was good. Maybe their real guardians were more responsible. (Even as he had the thought, though, Jaster knew he was being ridiculous. Everything he knew already told him that these two adiik’e should not exist right now, and worrying about things like their proper guardians likely wasn’t going to be fruitful.)

“Those they were meant for?” Jango repeated a little dully, still tense, obviously off-kilter—not that Jaster could blame him. The Anchorite tilted their head and then looked pointedly at Ben; despite the covered face and continued silence, they managed to convey a sense of disbelief, easy enough to read for those who were used to interacting with others in full beskar’gam.

Yes, Jaster got the message, too—he knew who they were “meant for” already.

“Alright,” Jaster said, nodding curtly to the Anchorites before looking back to the adiik’e. “Cody, Rex: would you come with us for now, back to the ship?”

Cody and Rex exchanged looks with each other, Cody raising an eyebrow and Rex grinning at him, and then they turned in unison to Ben, who immediately nodded. All three looked back to Jaster, then.

“Alright,” Cody agreed, slipping the blaster back into the holster on the back of his belt.

“Vor’e —thank you,” Jaster said, because impossible adiik’e who should not exist or not, they were still just adiik’e. Quieter, he grumbled, “I have a feeling this is going to be enough of a speeder wreck without an audience.” Ben clearly heard him, wincing again faintly, but Jaster just shook his head and turned back to the squad-only channel, cutting his external speaker again. “Fall in—loosely, though. I don’t want to spook them again.”

“‘Lek, ‘Alor.”

Jaster waited until the others had moved through the crowd, Pao, Vlek, and Silas getting down from their perches on the rooftops of the buildings overlooking the market, and then he held out a hand to Ben in a silent demand. With yet another wince, Ben went, though it took a moment for Cody and Rex to let him go, watching carefully as he moved away from them. As soon as he was within reach, Jaster put an arm around him, pulling him in close to his side. Without another word, trusting the others to ensure Cody and Rex followed—though something told Jaster that they would have followed regardless, chasing after Ben wherever he went—and cover Jango’s back, given that Cody still had that blaster, Jaster turned away, heading towards one of the exits that would take them back to their ship fastest.

“Buir—” Ben started to say, and Jaster squeezed him just a bit tighter for a moment.

“Not now, Ben,” he said, barely managing not to snap at him. “Just… Not now.”

Ben nodded meekly and went quiet, and he let Jaster pull him along, though he did glance behind them more than once as though looking for Cody and Rex. There was none of the usual chatter and banter over the squad channel, everyone well and truly silent, for now, and it was an indication in itself of just how badly this had thrown them all—and the rest of them didn’t even know what Jaster already did.

They didn’t know that Cody and Rex, two adiik’e who were the spitting image of Jaster’s eldest, weren’t meant to exist in this lifetime. Jaster still didn’t know what it meant that they did, had no idea what it meant that they knew Ben on sight just as Ben knew them, but he did know two things. As to the first: this was undoubtedly more ka’ra osik. Jaster wasn’t qualified in the least to deal with that, but they were, thankfully, on a planet full of experts. Once he had some answers, he could seek out qualified help for this… situation, and formulate a plan of attack. And as to the second…

Ben owed him a very good explanation for this.

But— One thing at a time, Jaster reminded himself. For now, just focus on keeping a hold of his slippery, escape artist youngest, make sure he got back to the ship safely (and that there were plenty of eyes on him going forward, after that stunt), make sure Cody didn’t shoot his eldest, and then…

Then, Jaster could work on getting answers. Until then, he could only hope that whatever answers he got would be enough to restore his rapidly depleting sanity.

---

Blessedly, mercifully, they reached the ship without any further incidents.

There was a bit of an awkward pause when they finally got back, everyone still so quiet, just staring. Jaster knew that all of his verd’e undoubtedly wanted to stick close for this… conversation, but given how uneasy, how wary, Cody still was (though Rex, interestingly enough, seemed less tense, less skittish), and what Jaster knew already was likely to come up during this chat, he ordered them all away, sending them to patrol the immediate area just to give them something to do, and then led Ben, Cody, Rex, and Jango to the lounge. (And Myles in particular had been put out by being turned away, and Jaster had debated not bothering with it at all, since Jango would undoubtedly relay everything to him as soon as they were finished, but— If he let Myles join them, then Silas would want to as well, and then they would all push for it, and beyond the consideration of the easily spooked adiik’e, one of whom still had a blaster in their possession… Well, Jaster legitimately didn’t think he could manage to wrangle that many of his verd’e and focus on what was undoubtedly going to be one Hel of a conversation.)

Jaster had intended to put Ben firmly between himself and Jango, but as soon as they were through the hatch into the lounge, Ben wriggled out from his hold and darted away before Jaster could catch him; this time, he only went as far as one of the tables and the bench seats, letting Cody and Rex bracket him, so Jaster sighed softly and decided to pick his battles on this one. He had a feeling he was going to need to conserve his energy for this. Beside Jaster, Jango huffed and shook his head in exasperation at his vod’ika before turning expectantly to Jaster, silently indicating he’d follow Jaster’s lead. For a moment, Jaster just studied the trio. Both Cody and Rex had immediately pressed themselves up against Ben, firmly keeping him between the two of them; Rex noticed his attention and gave him a little crooked half-smile, but Cody just kept carefully watching Jango. That was still… concerning.

But ka’ra, they all looked so young. Whether or not they were meant to exist in this lifetime, they were just adiik’e.

Sighing softly—too softly to be picked up by his vocorder, thankfully—Jaster slowly went to sit across from them, Jango trailing just behind him. Keeping his movements slow, Jaster reached up to pull off his buy’ce, setting it on the table; unsurprisingly, both Cody and Rex carefully studied his face, and Ben grinned at him before quickly ducking his head, looking like he was trying not to laugh, and Jaster knew he just had to have helmet hair again. Oh well. Jango followed suit, settling beside Jaster, slipping his bucket off and setting it on the table, and both Cody and Rex zeroed in on Jango’s face—a near-identical, if also older, version of their faces —and stiffened, continually shooting him suspicious looks.

Jaster took several deep breaths, wondering where to even start with all of this, and his mind latched onto the one detail he almost wished he hadn’t remembered.

“Ben,” he said slowly, “is this the same…?” The same Cody? He couldn’t quite bring himself to finish that sentence, but Ben nodded, sparing him from having to ask the rest of it.

Ka’ra. An adiik who looked exactly like Jaster’s eldest was also someone his youngest had been missing terribly but thought shouldn’t exist in this lifetime?

This… was so far beyond Jaster’s comprehension.

Jango’s commlink chimed and he immediately raised his arm to peer at the link embedded into his kom’rk, and that had both Cody and Rex very obviously stiffening with the motion. Side-eyeing his eldest, Jaster made a decision he knew Jango was going to hate. “Jango,” he said, keeping his voice carefully even, “go wait with the others.”

“But buir, I—”

“Jango.”

“...’lek, buir,” Jango hesitantly agreed, scooping his bucket up and turning to leave. He turned back in the doorway, staring at Cody and Rex for another few seconds, and then finally left. Both of the adiik’e relaxed some, and Jaster sighed softly.

“Ben,” he said, and then paused again. “How?”

“I don’t know,” Ben said. “I don’t know how, buir. I have no idea how they’ve come to be here, I just—I sensed that they were here.”

Jaster blew out another slow breath, feeling a headache making a valiant effort to form, his temples throbbing sluggishly. “Alright. Cody, Rex, I… have a few questions for you.”

“Are you… actually Jaster Mereel?” Rex asked, brows drawn together in a puzzled sort of expression that was so unfairly cute. Based on how Jango had aged, he thought Rex was a little younger than he’d ever gotten to see Jango, maybe five or six. Cody, he thought, was probably Ben’s age, around seven or eight.

“Yes,” Jaster said. “I am.” Cody and Rex exchanged looks, leaning over Ben, before turning back to him. “Why—”

“Could we… have a moment alone first, buir?” Ben asked. Again, that had Cody and Rex looking at each other, Cody frowning and shrugging while Rex mouthed “buir?” “Gedet’ye?”

“Ben, I don’t know that… I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Jaster said. “Not right now.”

“But buir—”

“Ben,” Jaster cut him off, and then he sighed. “I’m sure Cody and Rex are lovely people—”

“The best,” Ben immediately said.

“—but given the… blaster incident,” Jaster said carefully, “I would be more comfortable if you have supervision.” Cody and Rex stared at him for a moment and then turned to each other yet again. Cody held up his hands, using hand signals or signs Jaster wasn’t familiar with to say something, and Rex answered in kind. They went back and forth a few times, Ben turning back and forth to look at each of them, and then all three looked back to Jaster in unison.

“It was set to stun,” Cody said, and though his expression remained impassive, his voice even, Jaster got the sense that the adiik was close to pouting over it.

Rex laughed. “It’s only ever set to stun,” he said. “The Anchorites refused to give us real blasters. It’s just a stun pistol.” Softer, Rex added, “And they wouldn’t even give me one of those. ‘Too young for that’ my shebs.”

Ben visibly had to fight down laughter, biting his lip and ducking his head; Cody did pout at that, looking put out, an utterly adorable little scowl on his face, and that reaction alone was enough to tell Jaster that it was the truth without having to examine that blaster. Though, judging by how easily and confidently he’d handled the blaster, Jaster thought he was used to a real weapon, and that… That was not something he was going to pursue just then, either. Pick your battles, Jaster reminded himself, and fight one at a time.

“Alright,” Jaster said. “But why was your first reaction to point it at him in the first place?”

Cody’s face went perfectly, carefully blank again, the adiik wrestling himself back under control with frightening speed. “I know where Ben came from before here,” he said. “Historically, Mandalorians and Jedi…” He trailed off, shrugging, and Jaster quirked an eyebrow at him.

“And it has nothing to do with the fact that you heard Ben call him Jango?” Jaster asked, because it hadn’t escaped his notice that it hadn’t been their beskar’gam that had sparked that reaction from Cody and Rex—no, they hadn’t tensed up until they’d heard Ben say Jango’s name. Between that and their identical kriffing faces… They knew Jango, Jaster was sure of it—even if Jango didn’t know them.

“Hmm,” Cody hummed, still blank-faced.

“That’s not an answer, ad,” Jaster said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest.

Rex cut in next: “Look, if I’m honest…” Rex trailed off and paused to shake his head. “I don’t think you really want that answer.”

Jaster thought he agreed with Rex: he really didn’t think he wanted the answer to that. But at the same time, he knew he needed to know, and that superceded any wants. Still, he just nodded, moving on to his next, at least tangentially related, question. “Ad’ike… Where are your buir’e? Your parents or guardians?”

“We don’t have parents,” Cody said, that unnatural calm persisting. It was more unsettling to Jaster than if either of the adiik’e had burst into tears again. “We never have.”

“Just our brothers,” Rex agreed, and Jaster’s heart rate picked up speed, his blood pressure spiking, at the implication that there were more of them.

“And where are the rest of your brothers?” Jaster asked.

“Oh, well… It’s just us, now,” Rex said. “The rest of them… They didn’t come here with us. To this… universe, I mean.”

Jaster’s head throbbed sluggishly as he was reminded yet again that Cody and Rex were not meant to exist, here and now, and he wrestled down the impulse to rub at his temples. “I think,” he said, “that you had better start from the beginning.” Rex’s nose wrinkled, a strange sort of smile on his face, while Cody huffed and Ben let out a strangled laugh. It wasn’t the most promising way to start. When none of them spoke up, Jaster sighed again, turning to the one known quantity in this equation. “Ben, you remember what you told me already, ‘lek?” Ben nodded, though he wouldn’t quite look Jaster in the eye, staring somewhere over his left shoulder instead. “Then how are they here?”

“I don’t know, buir,” Ben repeated. “Ori’haat —I don’t know.”

Cody and Rex both leaned forward to look at each other over Ben, and then back to Jaster, still moving in slightly unsettling unison. “There was a portal, and when we went through it, we came out here,” Cody said simply. “The Anchorites and the woman—Daughter, I’d guess—said something about the ‘World Between Worlds’ and ‘gateways,’ but that’s a little above my paygrade, even having seen it for myself.”

“We came from another universe,” Rex said bluntly. Jaster sighed and finally gave into the urge to rub at his temples. “She—Daughter, I suppose—gave us the choice to come here.”

“She failed to mention the… cadet part, though,” Cody grumbled under their breath, and Ben giggled softly. Cadet, he’d said, and Jaster filed that away to think on later. For now, he had bigger worries.

“This,” Jaster said slowly, “is insane. Utterly dini’la. You know that, don’t you?”

“All things are possible, with the Force,” Cody and Rex chorused in surprisingly good imitations of Ben. For his part, Ben laughed and alternately shouldered Cody and then Rex. Both of them grinned unrepentantly for a moment before seemingly realizing Jaster was still there, watching them, and they quickly schooled their expressions. It was just as disturbing to see them so utterly in control of themselves and almost blank at times as it was to watch Ben do it.

“Right,” Jaster said. “Well, frankly… I don’t want to touch that part of… all of this with a twenty-foot pole.” Cody snorted and Rex laughed outright; Ben, at least, looked a little sympathetic, if not exactly regretful. “For now, I only have a few truly vital questions to ask. First and foremost: that resemblance to Jango. Who was your… Well, I know you said that you never had parents, but you had to come from somewhere. So who was…?”

“Someone… related to Jango,” Rex hedged. “We called him ‘the Prime.’ It’s… complicated, and, if I’m honest, sir… Our childhoods aren’t really something we like thinking about.”

You are still a kriffing child, Jaster didn’t say, carefully biting back the words. He had a feeling some of that showed on his face, though, because Rex smiled, a bitter, twisted sort of look, and glanced down at his own body. He shrugged yet again as he looked back up, face going blank again.

Jaster blew out another breath. “Alright. I won’t push now, if you really don’t want to talk about that,” he said. “My next question… If you only just… arrived here, then how did you already know Ben?”

“We all remember the same things, buir,” Ben jumped in to answer. Jaster had to fight not to bristle at that particular tone of his, the one that said I’m being perfectly reasonable right now, obviously. None of this was reasonable, none of it was rational—but the three of them were still just adiik’e, and so Jaster carefully stamped out his irritation for now. “You remember how I told you I ‘remembered him so clearly?’ They remember, too.”

“Like your visions?” Jaster asked.

“It felt more realistic than that,” Rex admitted. “It was longer, and more detailed than an actual vision—based on what I’ve heard about visions, at least. It feels like it was… something else.”

“Reincarnation,” Ben said. “That’s what Derrion called it, in any case. One life lived already and remembered even in the next, though they are different and distinct lives.” Jaster quickly reinforced his shielding, trying to make sure that the little flare of hurt that caused was hidden, though he was admittedly bothered that Ben had apparently told Guardian Tamm, someone he’d known for a week and not his buir. Despite how quickly he’d strengthened his shields, Ben still seemed to have felt at least a bit of that reaction, because he finally met Jaster’s gaze again and frowned. “He sensed it while we were meditating and recognized the… feeling of it. Apparently, I’m not the first he’s ever encountered who was… like this.”

Jaster paused to scrub a hand over his face, absorbing that. “So you recognized and remembered them from… another lifetime.” Ben nodded, and Jaster looked to Cody and Rex once more. “And you came here through… some sort of portal. Where did you come from?”

“Another universe,” Rex repeated. “The portal we went through was in ‘the World Between Worlds.’ Ahs— ah, so, uh… A… mutual friend —” Rex paused to nudge Ben, who nodded as if he understood who Rex was talking about. “—told me about it. She was there, at one point.”

“Oh,” Ben breathed, eyes going wide. “Oh! The Sanctuary’s deepest chamber is one of the gateways!”

Well then. Jaster was glad that this made sense to at least one of them. Still rubbing at his temples, he thought over what he knew so far, and the questions that still needed to be asked. Sighing yet again, Jaster dropped his hands and looked from Cody to Rex and back again. “I know you said that you don’t want to talk about your… ‘Prime,’ but… Is seeing Jango going to be a problem for you?”

Again, Rex and Cody leaned forward to eye each other over Ben, who obligingly leaned back to make it easier on them. A single beat, one shared glance, and then both adiik’e were turning back to Jaster. “No,” Cody said, and Jaster quirked an eyebrow at him. Cody didn’t squirm, just kept staring steadily back, still so blank-faced. It was just as unsettling as the rest of their behavior. “Now that I’ve confirmed he’s not a threat, it’ll be fine.”

As if Jango had been the threat in this situation— Manda, it had been Cody who’d been pointing a blaster at Jango, stun pistol or not. Jaster sighed again and nodded. “Alright. If I ask about what it is you all… remember, is that going to get me anywhere?”

“Probably not,” Rex said, and Jaster nodded, already having resigned himself to a refusal.

“It was… an alternate future that we lived, buir,” Ben said. “I… For now, I think that’s… all that we can say. When we’re back home, I can… I’ll tell you more about it—just… not here. But buir, could we… have a moment alone, now?”

“Ben,” Jaster sighed, but his ad, of course, interrupted him.

“Gedet’ye?” Ben said, shooting him a wide-eyed pleading sort of look—and osik, Jaster had always been weak for that look. Ben, the little monster, knew it, too.

Jaster stared at him for a moment and then sighed yet again, reaching up to scrub a hand over his face. “Weapons on the table, ad’ike. All of you.”

Ben nodded, immediately pulling his lightsaber off of the back of his belt, where it was usually hidden by his tunics, and setting it on the table between them; that was followed by him reaching down, ducking under the table for a moment before coming up with two knives (that Jaster hadn’t even known he had, but then, of course Ben had a couple of beskar knives hidden in his boots—of karking course he did) and setting those on the table, too. Ben then looked to Rex, first, and then Cody, nodding to each of them in encouragement. Cody grimaced, obviously displeased, but willing enough to listen, it seemed: the blaster—and now that Jaster could see it up close, he confirmed their claims that it really was just a stun pistol; that was… something, at least—and then Rex followed their example, reaching down and pulling out his own knife and setting it on the table. Jaster looked at Ben, first, silently gauging whether or not that was really all of his weapons; it was, apparently, and he moved on to Cody and Rex. From the deeply uncomfortable looks on both of their faces and the way their eyes kept darting back to the weapons now neatly lined up on the table, Jaster thought that they were far more accustomed to carrying real weapons than adiik’e their age should have been.

Just another question to add to the kriffing list, Jaster supposed.

With a nod, he rose and went to grab a crate, carefully tucking the weapons away in it before nodding to them all once more. “I’m taking this with me,” he said, hefting the crate up, “and I’m going to go wait in the galley, where I can still see you, but I won’t be able to hear you. That’s the most privacy you’re going to be getting for now, suvari?” Cody scowled lightly, but Ben was quick to shoulder him again lightly, and so the feral little ad didn’t actually protest.

“I think that’s the best offer we’re going to get for the moment,” Ben said, more to Cody and Rex than to Jaster. “Vor’e, buir.”

Jaster just sighed and shook his head, quickly making his way through the adjoining hatch and into the galley. It was—thankfully, blessedly—empty at the moment, and Jaster was grateful for that. He still didn’t know what to make of… any of this, much less how to explain it to anyone else. But then, even Jaster’s verd’e had gotten used to the explanation of “ka’ra osik,” a phrase heard with increasing frequency the longer Ben was with them. Shaking his head, Jaster set the crate of weapons down on the counter and then took a seat at the galley table, angling himself so he could still see all three adiik’e clearly, keeping an eye on them.

Manda, but Ben owed him a very good explanation for… this, later. But, for now… Jaster watched as Ben turned to Rex, first, hugging him and tapping their foreheads together before turning to do the same to Cody, and all three were still pressed as close together as they could get, and…

Ben looked happier, now—he looked… more settled, though Jaster hadn’t even realized how unsettled he’d seemed before this. That was… good. Though Jaster still wanted— needed, in all honesty—an explanation better than “ka’ra osik brought on by a kriffing Force entity” for the two impossible adiik’e bracketing his youngest, and he knew Jango would need an explanation, too. And Jaster also needed to— He needed—

Jaster sighed, shaking his head and reaching up to run a hand through his hair. He needed, frankly, a stars-damned drink.

Or possibly ten.

He was so not qualified to deal with this.

---

Cody.

Cody was having… a karking day. Whether it was a good one or a bad one remained to be seen, but it was… certainly something already.

He’d known what he was doing, in the beginning. He’d known that the… woman, the one the Anchorites called the Daughter, some sort of Force entity, was opening a portal for them. He’d known that stepping through it was going to fling him into the past. He’d known that his General was already there. But, for all of that…

Cody had not known that he was going to come out the other side of that portal as a kriffing tubie, a Force-damned cadet. He had not known that his General—who, logic had dictated even if the Daughter had not specified it, was going to be a cadet himself this far back in time—would not have been where he should have, safe on Coruscant in the Jedi Temple. Cody had not known that his General would come to them, that he would find them and spare them from having to figure out how to search for him while like this, the equivalent of a four-year-old tubie for Cody and a two-and-a-half-year-old for Rex.

Cody had not known that his General would know who they were, either.

It had still been any easy choice, coming back. It had very much been worth it, even thinking that when they eventually found him, the General— General Kenobi, Obi-Wan, or, in more private settings, when they were alone in the General’s quarters working through the backlog of datawork there always had been to do, Ben —would look at them and see a stranger. The chance to stop all of the terrible things that had happened before, the chance to avenge their Vod’e, to save the Jedi, to stop the Sith, to protect his General (and not have that perpetual mission end in an unwilling betrayal) would always have been worth it. When the Daughter had appeared to him, when she’d asked, when she’d told him that Ben needed him…

Well, there was nothing Cody could have done but say yes—just show me the way.

That was just about where Cody lost control of the situation, and ceased to know what the kark he was doing.

Because then, just after the Daughter opened the door—which had looked far less like a door and more like a circular portal in the strange place with golden bridges that looked like they were just hanging there in the void of space, and glowed so brightly that Cody hadn’t been able to see anything beyond it—Rex had been there. Which—alright. Fair enough. Cody had been dead, and that hadn’t been the strangest afterlife he could’ve imagined, and his Vod’e had been there, too, so… There were worse places to end up.

And then, Rex had said, “He’s not going anywhere unless I can go with him.” The Daughter had just hummed, tilting her head curiously at Rex, her expression still so placid, as it had been throughout her entire explanation to Cody (“explanation”— ha. As it turned out, the Daughter was about as good at giving briefings and understanding the meaning of full disclosure and defining mission parameters as the Senate had been during the war). Undeterred, Rex had grinned at her—and kriff, had it been weird to see a version of Rex that was so much older than Cody himself had ever gotten to be, white-bearded and bald with a full-on gut starting to come in—and he’d added, “Do you really think there’s any universe that could survive General Kenobi and Cody left alone, unsupervised?”

The Daughter had chuckled warmly and waved a hand at the portal. “If you are to go,” she had said, “then you must both go quickly. You cannot stay here for long, in the places in-between.”

It had been close enough to agreement to count, they’d decided, and they stepped through the portal, and then—found themselves… somewhere else, a stone chamber with painted carvings on the walls and the floor, some of them including that woman, the Daughter, and two other figures. The portal had been gone by then, of course, and there had been no obvious route out of the place. Cody and Rex had stood to start investigating the chamber, looking for a route out, and… That was when they’d noticed how they both actually looked.

They were cadets again. Practically kriffing tubies. Kriff, Rex barely looked old enough to have started drills if they were back on Kamino, and Cody barely looked old enough to have begun with the live fire versions.

Kriffing. Tubies.

Bemoaning that situation (panicking, in all honesty, on Cody’s part, because how was he supposed to complete his—mostly self-assigned, though the Daughter had seemed to agree with him about its necessity—mission of saving the galaxy in general and the Jedi in particular—especially his Jedi—from the Sith if he was a karking tubie?) had taken what Cody guessed was about twenty minutes or so. Rex, for a change, had been the calm, collected one, cracking jokes about the wisdom of age when Cody grumbled about just who the ori’vod was here, and then… Then, before they’d had a chance to find the way out for themselves, part of the wall had slid back and then disappeared into the floor, creating an opening. The people who had appeared were vaguely humanoid, but that was just about all Cody had been able to tell about them, given the coverings they wore, long robes with wide hats sporting chains of beads and veils over their faces.

“Hello,” one of them said. “I am Sister Leeda, and this is Brother Venta.”

“I’m Rex, and this is Cody,” Rex had said. “If you don’t mind me asking… Where the kriff are we?”

“Jedha,” Brother Venta said. “Pilgrim’s Sanctuary, to be more specific.”

“…huh,” Rex grunted, and Cody agreed. That was really all that there seemed to be to say about… this.

“We felt your arrival,” Sister Leeda continued. “Sister Taske says that you are not meant for us, but you are welcome to stay until you find those you are meant for.”

Cody had exchanged a look with Rex, and he was pleased that, despite the years they had passed apart in their… previous lives, for lack of a better term for it, they still understood each other from that single look alone, and they’d quickly turned back to the others. “Thank you.”

The three weeks they had spent in the Sanctuary had been… odd, but not the strangest thing either of them had ever been through. The Anchorites, as they’d been told they were called, were surprisingly well-informed about the galaxy for people who were supposedly monastic hermits, and they had an impressive Archive inside this ancient Sanctuary. They had encouraged Cody and Rex in their efforts to “accumulate knowledge,” as they called it, proclaiming it “a worthy goal fitting of an Anchorite,” and so they’d chosen to divide and conquer. They’d each taken a sector of space each day and looked into current events there, trying to piece together when they actually were in terms of the greater context of what they knew was coming rather than just the date.

And all the while, they’d waited. Sister Taske was firm in her insistence that “those they were meant for,” as the Anchorites always said it, would come for them soon. Not that Cody or Rex had had any idea who that would be—Skywalker hadn’t even been born yet (and was no longer considered one of their Jedi anymore besides, not after… everything) and Cody’s General, so far as they’d known, was a kriffing cadet himself, blissfully unaware of the existence, future or otherwise, of the clone army he had commanded in an alternate, future-past universe.

(In hindsight, Cody should have known better than to assume that his General would have been where he should have been. General Kenobi had always had a penchant for doing the unexpected, and so much the better if it was also most chaotic choice he could make in any given situation.

“There is no chaos, there is harmony” Cody’s shebs.)

She’d been right. After just those first few weeks, Sister Leeda and Brother Venta had planned to go down to the nearest settlement, what they called “the Monastery,” and Sister Taske had pointedly sent Cody and Rex along. It was yet another little thing that had Cody wondering just how Force-sensitive Sister Taske really was; despite her insistence to the contrary, Cody just couldn’t see her being totally Force-null, not with that too-familiar way she just seemed to know things.

The arrival of Cody’s Jedi—his baby Jedi, looking to be about the same physical age Cody did, karking Hels —was all a bit of a blur. At first, that was just because of the overwhelming disbelief and mingled relief he felt, realizing that his General knew him, his General remembered the same way they did, and he seemed so happy to see both Cody and Rex here with him, but shortly after that… Well, the arrival of several Mandalorians had kicked off Cody’s protective instincts something fierce, the urge to protect his Jedi—especially when he was so small and vulnerable, nevermind the fact that Cody was just as small and Rex was even smaller, he was still theirs to protect—overwhelming logic.

And then he realized that one of those Mandalorians was the karking Prime.

And as far as Cody knew, the last two times the Prime and his General had been on the same planet (the only two times, as far as he’d known: Kamino, where they’d fought, first, and then Geonosis, where Prime had stood by and watched the entertainment while the Geonosians and kriffing Dooku had tried to kill him), Cody’s General had nearly gotten killed. So it hadn’t mattered to him that his General wasn’t taking action to defend himself (that was essentially meaningless anyway as an indicator of probable danger, because General Kenobi had never had proper responses to threats, at least when they were threats to himself; threaten any of the Vod’e or a fellow Jedi, though, and it became a very different story). It hadn’t mattered that the more rational part of Cody’s mind, dulled down to a quiet whisper by his conditioning and training taking over, was saying that he was missing something here, because those were proper kom’rk’e his General was wearing, weren’t they? And those had to come from Mandalorians of some kind, and he hadn’t seemed at all distressed by the sudden influx of Mandalorians taking up strategic positions around the market, keeping their distance and yet obviously, deliberately trying to box them in and cut off the exits…

None of that had mattered. All that had mattered, at that moment, was that his General was here, and he knew Cody and Rex, and he was almost certainly in danger whether the man—the… child, karking Sith Hels —acknowledged that for himself or not. Rex seemed to be in agreement with him, the two of them jumping up to cover him, only—

Cody had crashed back into real awareness not long after that, with the… revelation that came next. And that was the first thing Cody was going to address, once Mereel (Jaster karking Mereel, what the actual kriff? Mand’alor the Reformer had been an almost mythical figure to them, growing up on Kamino the first time, with all of the stories told about him by both Prime and many of the trainers, and to see him now, alive and apparently buir to Cody’s General was… just another layer of insanity to put the icing on the uj cake)  moved far enough away for them to speak somewhat more privately.

All three of them were still squished together on the bench in the ship’s lounge, Cody’s General (Ben, Cody reminded himself, he was Ben now all of the time and not just in private) firmly between them, carefully watching Mereel retreat. As soon as he’d settled himself in the galley, within line of sight but out of hearing range if they kept their voices down, Cody managed to turn enough to properly look at Ben without pulling away.

“I leave you alone in a different universe for less than a year, and you’re already wreaking havoc,” Cody huffed, and Rex snickered while Ben flushed. “What the kriff did you do? You’re supposed to be safe in the Temple.” Ben looked away, going a little tense, and— Oh. Shab. It was only then that Cody realized that if Ben remembered the way they did, then…

He must have remembered what had happened within the Temple last time, what had happened to all of the Jedi who inhabited it—even the younglings.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but Ben sighed softly and then replied before he could get the words out: “Well, I found that I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay there. So I managed to wrangle myself a way out.”

“And that somehow ended with you getting adopted by the Mand’alor who’s also, technically speaking, sort of our ba’buir?” Rex asked, sounding amused and fond.

“That was an unintentional result, though I admit that I’m quite pleased with the outcome,” Ben said. And kriff, but it was so strange how much like himself the words sounded, but said in that much, much higher-pitched voice, it was causing a sort of cognitive dissonance —though honestly, the lack of a beard was even stranger still. “I might have falsified a request from my birth family to return me to them and sent it to the Senate, and then posed as my own parents to hire the Haat’ade to do the ferrying.”

“Are you insane?” Cody hissed. Rex looked mildly confused, his eyebrows rising, his little nose scrunching up a bit, but for Cody’s part… Oh, he knew all about Stewjon already; the same night less than a year into the war that Cody had admitted that his real name was Kote, not Cody, but he’d changed it because all it had ever felt like was a mocking insult from the Prime, not an honor, Ben had told him about Stewjon, about what his name meant, and when Cody had been appalled by it, angry and horrified by what he’d unintentionally been calling his General this whole time, the man had offered him the use of Ben instead. From that day on, Cody had used it whenever they were in private and defaulted largely to “General” alone, omitting his name, when he could get away with it in situations of command. “You could’ve been killed, kriffing dini’a, jare’la—”

Ben rolled his eyes. “I was never in any real danger,” he protested. “The Jedi had sent Shadows to surround Stewjon, planning on faking a pirate attack on the transport to take me back and hide me elsewhere. Though, obviously, we never even made it to Stewjon.” Cody stared at him for a moment and then sighed heavily, reaching up to scrub a too-small hand over his equally too-small face.

A kriffing lifetime later and his Jedi hadn’t changed one karking bit.

Rex, on Ben’s other side, actually giggled. “That sounds about right,” he said. “Your plans always were at least a little insane. But you just presented them well enough to make them sound reasonable. But we always knew you weren’t really the sane one.”

Ben huffed and shouldered him lightly, but he was smiling, and Cody let out another sigh, dropping his hand. Utterly ridiculous, his Jedi. He hadn’t changed a bit—besides the whole… cadet part, of course.

“How long have you been here?” Ben asked, looking from Rex to Cody.

“About three weeks,” Rex said cheerfully. “The Anchorites insisted that ‘those we were meant for would come soon,’ though we didn’t know it’d be you. Or that you’d remember it all, too.”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Ben said.

“Of course we’re here,” Cody said. “We couldn’t turn you loose in another universe without real back-up.” Ben laughed, a slightly manic edge to it, and Cody pressed back in a little closer. Ben’s eyes were a little over-bright, and Cody prayed for him not to start crying—he could barely handle this smaller form of his General as it was, and Cody was going to lose it, too, if Ben started crying.

They were quiet for a moment, and then Rex slipped out of the bench, grinning at them. “I’ll give you two a minute,” he said, and his smile grew wider. Cody fought down a groan, because he knew that look his vod’ika had in his eyes: he was about to go cause a bit of mischief and chaos for himself. “I’m gonna go talk to Mereel.”

Ben winced faintly. “He’s going to need a real explanation, at some point,” he sighed. “Though I’m sure I can convince him to wait until we’re back in Keldabe. I would rather be… somewhere more secure for this—just in case.”

“I’ll leave the explanations to you,” Rex promised, his grin sliding into something more like a smirk. “He is your buir, after all.” Ben huffed again, a bit of a flush creeping over his cheeks, and Rex just laughed at him. Cody appreciated the offer of a moment alone to… talk things over, and waved Rex off. With a lazy, sloppy salute, he turned towards the galley and started off to talk to Mereel.

Despite the fact that there was so much Cody wanted to say, now that he had the chance, a chance he’d never thought he would have again, he found that he couldn’t get any of it out. They sat there for a moment in silence, still pressed together, Ben a warm, solid, reassuring weight against his side.

It was Ben who broke it, eventually. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said again. “Force, I missed you so much. I’ve seen so many of your Vod’e, but… never you. I couldn’t figure out why not, but— It’s because you were already here and waiting for me, wasn’t it? Your arrival was what ‘opened the door’ for the others.”

“Yeah,” Cody agreed. “As far as I can tell, anyway.”

Ben hummed. “You don’t seem surprised that I’ve seen them,” he said slowly, and Cody huffed.

“I’m not,” he said. “They told me they were checking up on you, and that you were fine. But they didn’t tell me anything about all of… this. They did not tell me that you remember, too.”

“They knew you were here, too, and didn’t tell me,” Ben said, perhaps a little petulantly, and when Cody glanced at him… Yes, he was pouting. Like the karking cadet he looked to be. “Wait— You can see them. You can see them too?”

“Sort of,” Cody said. “Mostly in my dreams, though every once in a while, I can hear some of the Vod’e I was closer to before when I’m awake. Rex is about the same.”

Ben hummed. “We should get a midichlorian count for you both,” he said. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find that it’s gone up from your baselines before. Mine certainly did.”

Cody grunted an acknowledgement and then they lapsed into silence again, though this time, it was largely because Cody was steeling himself to say what really needed to be said. Ben seemed to know, could probably sense, that he was working up to something, because he just reached over and grabbed Cody’s hand, squeezing lightly.

“You… You know now, don’t you? About… the chips. The Order,” Cody said. “That we didn’t— It wasn’t—”

“Yes,” Ben said. “I know, Cody. I know now. And even before I really knew, I felt it when… It was like something… pushed you out of your own bodies, your own minds, your presences all going distant and duller when it— When it happened. I knew that something was wrong, though not what—not until it was too late. I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you and your Vod’e —”

“Shut the kriff up,” Cody grumbled. “You have nothing to apologize for. If anything, I should be apologizing for—”

“No! No, Cody, it wasn’t you,” Ben said. “That was not your choice, and it wasn’t you.”

Cody huffed and shook his head. It was… hard to explain to anyone who’d never been under the chip’s control, but in many ways… He had still felt like himself —and that was the scariest part. He’d still felt like Cody, but his thoughts had all been twisted and warped and he hadn’t even noticed a difference until the control started to wear off nearly a year after the Order, just before he went AWOL, deserting the Imperial Army. But because it had still felt like him, it was… Well, it was hard to feel like he didn’t have anything to apologize for. It was hard to really believe that it hadn’t been him.

But he knew his Jedi, and Ben was obviously prepared to be stubborn about this, so Cody just offered, “If I don’t owe you any apologies, then you don’t owe me any, either.”

Ben laughed softly, a little strangled, but he was still smiling when Cody glanced over at him. “Fair enough.” He looked over towards the galley, and Cody followed his gaze; from here, they couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Rex was now sitting at the galley table with Mereel, who was alternately looking between Rex and the two of them, trying to keep an eye on them all.

“You’re happy with him?” Cody asked.

“Yes. He’s a very good buir,” Ben said, and Cody hummed.

“And… Prime. Your ori’vod? Seriously?”

“He came as part of a package deal with Jaster,” Ben said lightly, obviously joking. “But he’s a good ori’vod himself. He’s… different now, Cody. He’s not the same person he was then.”

“Alright,” Cody said easily, and Ben shot him a little look. Cody just shrugged one shoulder, a smile that he could feel was crooked on his face. “I’m used to looking at that face and seeing different people. I’ll manage—it shouldn’t be too hard, if he actually is different now. And it’s not like Rex ever really knew Prime at all.” Ben still looked somewhat dubious, so Cody squeezed his hand. “If he’s important to you, part of your aliit, then I’m willing to try.”

That got him another watery-eyed smile. “Thank you, Cody.” After another beat, Ben added, “And I’m sure that Jaster won’t take long before he offers to adopt you—at the very least, I’m certain he’ll be happy to take you both back to Keldabe with us—”

“He’d better be,” Cody interrupted him. “I was planning on going regardless. I’m not leaving you again.” Ben’s smile was shaky and a little wet, then, and Cody felt a little burst of panic rising up, because he wasn’t sure what he was going to do if his little baby General started actually crying —but, thankfully, he just sniffed quietly and nodded.

“I’ll be glad to have you for as long as you’d like to stay,” Ben said. “But… We should probably go talk to Jaster about this.”

Cody looked over again, finding Mereel staring back at them. “Yeah,” he agreed. “We probably should. But just… In a minute.”

Ben looked back to him, softening. “Alright,” he said. “In a minute, then.”

He tugged his hand away from Cody’s, but it was only to reach for him again, to pull him into a proper hug. Cody buried his face in Ben’s neck, reaching around to fist the back of his tunic, and— Of kriffing course, after all of his worries about Ben crying, Cody was the one who lost it first—though Ben followed not far behind him.

Cadets, practically tubies, in another karking universe or not, Cody and Rex were back at the General’s side again, and that was what really mattered now. Cody could manage to put up with Prime, and Mereel, and all of the other Haat’ade, if it meant staying right here, where he’d always been meant to be.

---

Jaster.

Jaster had no idea whether this was a good idea or not—frankly, he had a feeling that it wasn’t a good idea, but… It had to be done. It was obvious that Ben, Cody, and Rex weren’t going to allow themselves to be separated now that they’d found each other, and that meant that Jaster would have to see how they did around his eldest, sooner or later.

Jango had been pacing back and forth in the hallway outside of the lounge while they’d been in there, Myles lurking nearby, though his presence hadn’t been enough to truly calm him. Jaster’s eldest had immediately stopped, attention firmly caught as soon as Jaster opened the door and tried to smile at him, though he had a feeling it came out more like a weary grimace than a grin. He’d brought Jango in (ignoring Myles’s pouting over not being allowed to follow), sat him down with the adiik’e again, and… Now they were all just staring at each other in one of the most charged, awkward silences Jaster had ever felt. But he couldn’t do this for them—they had to… sort themselves out, one way or another.

“So,” Jango finally said, still looking back and forth between Cody and Rex, the two near-perfect little copies of him, who’d tucked themselves into the bench on either side of Ben again, “ah… We’re related, aren’t we?”

Rex snorted and Ben ducked his head again to hide another grin, but Cody just quirked an eyebrow at Jango as if silently saying oh, really? What gave it away?

“You could say that, yeah,” Rex said, still looking amused.

“But… How? Who are your buir’e?” Jango asked, and then he paused to frown. “And where are your buir’e?” Rex and Cody leaned forward to exchange looks over Ben again, and the question—one of the same questions Jaster himself had already asked, and he had not liked the answer he’d gotten—hung between them for a few increasingly awkward beats; Jaster leaned back in his seat, sipping at his shig to try to hide his grimace at this expected but unpleasant topic of conversation.

“We never had parents,” Rex said, and Jango’s frown deepened, his brow furrowing.

“Our… progenitor was not a father. Beyond that, we don’t want to talk about it,” Cody added, and then he paused, blinking at Jango for a moment as if assessing him, or choosing his words very carefully. “Well, except to tell you that you… You look and sound about as much like him as we do you. It made me… nervous, at first.”

“Oh,” Jango said, blinking at him in turn, the same expression Cody had just made mirrored on Jango’s older but still damn near identical face, and Jaster’s head throbbed sluggishly again. “Ah. I’m sorry?”

Cody quirked an eyebrow at Jango again. “I don’t think you need to apologize for your face.” That had Rex snorting again; Ben laughed, shouldering Cody once more; and even Jaster found it in himself to smile. Jango himself let out a nervous, half-hearted sort of laugh.

“Right, I guess,” Jango agreed, and then he moved to rest his arms on the table, leaning forward as if trying to better peer at Cody and Rex. “But… They must’ve been a close relation with how similar we look…”

“I guess Fett genes are just strong like that,” Rex said with a shrug. For some reason, Ben seemed to find that utterly hilarious —he had, unfortunately, been taking a drink of his own shig when Rex said that, and it was enough to make him choke on it, sputtering and laughing. Rex absently slapped him on the back, still looking at Jango, and Cody, Jaster noticed, just smirked.

“Um. ‘Lek, yeah—guess they must be,” Jango said, sounding more than a little bewildered. He glanced at Jaster, who could only shrug, silently indicating that he had no more idea who their “progenitor” was than Jango himself did—though he was going to hold Ben to that promise to explain everything once they were home.

It was well past time Jaster got some answers.

“So,” Jango said again, turning back to the adiik’e, “you’re coming back to Keldabe with us?” Both Cody and Rex nodded, and Jango perked up a little. “Jate —good. That’s good. We’ll be leaving soon, won’t we, buir?”

“‘Lek, just as soon as we pick up the others from the Temple of the Kyber,” Jaster agreed, carefully omitting the fact that he was going to have a talk with Guardian Tamm first about all of this, and then Ben went very still, his eyes widening a bit. It seemed both Cody and Rex noticed that reaction, turning to him with near-identical questioning looks on their faces, and Ben winced faintly under their scrutiny.

“What?” Cody said.

“Ah,” Ben said, shifting his weight a little, not quite squirming, “I think we need to… talk again before we get there.” He lifted his hands, forming those unfamiliar signs again, the same sort Cody and Rex had been using earlier, and Jango shot Jaster another questioning look, to which he could only shrug.

“You didn’t,” Rex said, his eyes going wide. Cody, on the other hand, just looked… resigned, and unimpressed.

“Of course he did,” Cody grumbled. “Did you really expect anything less from him?”

“Point taken,” Rex sighed. They suddenly seemed to remember that Jaster and Jango were still sitting there watching them, because all three adiik’e straightened up, gazes snapping back to them. Rex mustered up a half-hearted sort of smile for them and said, in a blatant attempt to change the subject, “So… Do you like Verps?”

It was, in fact, one of the only surefire ways to get Jango riled up immediately, and Jaster didn’t know if it was fortunate or unfortunate that Rex had just so happened to pick a topic that Jango could never resist. This was a well-worn argument between him and Kal, and it didn’t surprise Jaster even a bit when Jango huffed and leaned back, folding his arms over his chest.

“Highly overrated guns, Verpines,” Jango said. “They’re just too fragile to be practical in the field. Sure, they’re handy for a shot or two— if they even make it out into the field intact in the first place…”

And with that, they were off, Jango and Rex squabbling over the merits and foibles of Verpine shatterguns, Cody and Ben chiming in every now in then, but clearly following the conversation intently even when they kept quiet. Jaster just sat back and… wondered how this was his life, now. It was, truth be told, the most surreal thing he’d ever experienced, watching his eldest argue with a five-year-old adiik who looked almost exactly like him over some of the most expensive blasters on the market. Jaster just shook his head and looked down at his shig, sighing softly.

He still really needed that karking drink.

Notes:

Jaster: That boy is going to be the death of me. I sure hope Jango catches up to him before he can do too much damage. Damage to what or to whom, you ask? No idea. Everything, anything, everyone. Yes. All of it. That boy is Chaos
Jaster: …Manda, Jango sure is swearing up a storm. I get it, Jango, I’m Distressed by your brother’s actions, too, but you know there are better words in your vocabulary. I made sure to teach them to you. Please delete the word “fuck” from your repertoire
Jaster: …okay, now I’m… Concerned. What is going on over there?
Jaster, getting Jango’s HUD footage: …huh. Wait, what? What. Is that… Is that baby Jango?! No, I know it’s not, it can’t be, but… That looks like Jango when I first adopted him. Except for that scar. … WHAT?! It’s obviously Not Arla. Arla is dead and Arla was blonde and Arla would be older by now, so. Not Arla. Maybe a cousin??? But what would Jango’s cousin be doing here on Jedha??? Why does Ben seem to know Jango’s cousin??? WHAT IS GOING ON???
Jaster: No, wait just a damn minute. Jango’s parents are Definitely Dead, and I know for a fact that neither of them had any siblings. We looked for immediate family before I just took him, as a Good Mando does. This cannot be Jango’s cousin
Jaster: SO WHO THE KRIFF IS THIS AND WHY DO THEY LOOK LIKE MY ELDEST AND SEEM ATTACHED TO MY YOUNGEST?!?!
Jaster: Oh ka’ra. Oh, kriff.
Jaster: THERE’S TWO OF THEM?! I apologize for reprimanding you, Jango. I’m about to be a hypocrite.
Jaster: What. WHAT. What. The actual. Fuck?!
Jaster: Nope. No. Get a hold of yourself, Mereel. You’re supposed to be the Adult here. You’ve got a kriffing chaos gremlin to wrangle, a child who just ran off unsupervised in an unknown area. Get. It. Together.
Jaster: *Takes a deep breath*
Jaster, yelling, almost loud enough to cut out the vocorder in his helmet: BEN MEREEL YOU GET YOUR SHEBS OVER HERE RIGHT NOW OR SO HELP ME YOU WILL BE GROUNDED UNTIL YOUR VERDGOTEN
Jaster, far more quietly: …I will deal with the rest of the children Later. When I’ve regained my composure. And am less likely to say “fuck” every other word in conversation with them. Can’t look like a hypocrite in front of the children, after all.
Jaster, muttering: Okay, yeah. Just one more, just to get it out of my system. Then I’ll be a calm, rational Adult about this
Jaster, turning off his external mic, screaming inside his sealed helmet: FUCK. I. I JUST. WHAT. THE ACTUAL. KA’RA-DAMNED. FUCK?!?!?!
Jaster: …there. That’s better.

Cody: I went through a portal and wound up here. There was a strange, glowing woman, all blue, and then I was here.
Ben: …oh. Daughter! OH!!!
Cody: I’m glad this makes sense to one of us.
Rex: We went through the World Between Worlds.
Ben: …oh! Oh! The Sanctuary’s deepest chamber is a gateway to it! OH!!!
Jaster: …I have no idea what any of this is supposed to mean. Can you please use… non-ka’ra-related words?
Rex: Ah, well. Force-users gonna be Force-users, y’know?
Jaster: …unfortunately, yeah. I know.
Ben: Buir, could we have a moment alone? Please?
Jaster: I’m sure Cody and Rex are wonderful people—
Ben: The Best, obviously. (Though in a different way from you, buir. Also obvious.)
Jaster: —but given the… blaster incident earlier, I would be more comfortable if you still had some supervision. Why don’t we compromise? I’ll go down the hall a ways, and you can stay in this room. Privacy, but still supervised.
Ben: …fine.

Jango: Sooo… We’re related, aren’t we?
Rex: Wow, you must be a genius. Yeah. We are indeed Related.
Jango: How? Who are your parents? And where are your parents?
Cody: I never had parents. Our… progenitor was Not a Father. Beyond that, I don’t want to talk about it. *Pauses thoughtfully* Well, except to tell you that you… look and sound like him. It made me… nervous, at first.
Jango: Okay. Ah, sorry?
Cody: I don’t think you need to apologize for your face.
(Rex, Ben, and Jaster both laugh)
Jango: Heh. Right. But they must’ve been a close relation with how similar we look…
Rex: I guess Fett genes are just strong like that.
(Ben finds this utterly hilarious, though neither Jaster nor Jango know why… Cody just smirks a little.)
Jango: So… You’re coming back with us?
Cody: Yes.
Jango: …does that mean I have another two vod’ike now??? :D
Rex: Excuse you??? Mentally, I am a super crotchety old guy! My hair was WHITE! I am SO OLD!!! *Looks like a five-year-old*
Ben: Yeah, join the club…
Cody, fully ignoring Rex (and the fact that Rex lived to be OLDER THAN HIM, FOR SHAME) and Ben and their Antics: Hmm… TBD.

Chapter 25

Notes:

Hello again! :D First of all, I hadn't realized how much time had gotten away from me on this one, and how long it had been since I updated this fic! LOL, thank you for your patience with my very inconsistent update schedules. <3

On that note... It's November!!! :D This year, I'm still doing my usual fic-hopping RNG challenge, trying to get to 50k words in 30 days, but I am no longer participating via the NaNoWriMo platform. I'm using both TrackBear and WriteTrack for the word count tracking to see which I like better for future use (I'm leaning towards TrackBear mostly because of my many projects, since it has the option to put in every work I'm writing with a starting word count balance that isn't counted towards my total words for the month, just my lifetime total! Very neat feature there; if anyone was looking for an alternative themselves and they're a serial WIP-er like I am, LOL, I'd recommend it!), but no actual NaNoWriMo participation this year. If you weren't aware, there's been some Drama the last two years, and I no longer feel comfortable supporting the organization as it stands now. So this will now just be called my RNG challenge, though I'm sure everyone who's read my fics before will know what I mean since this happens every November, haha! :) As far as the goal goes, I am in very good shape so far! Partway through day 3, I'm at 13,179. This chapter makes up about two thirds of that, with this fic having been rolled twice in a row. November 3rd and we already have our first post for the month, so I'm optimistic about the chances of more! :D

Just a couple notes about this 'verse before we get started: since we have no real idea what happened to Cody after The Bad Batch episode "The Solitary Clone," I've made up a little backstory about how things ended for him in the canon timeline. (But I live in eternal hope that someday they'll tell us what happened to Cody, though. Please, Dave Filoni, PLEASE! LOL) We also have no real idea when, exactly, Rex died, but it's been mentioned that the older rebel commando with the white beard shown at the Battle of Endor could have been Rex, so I'm running with that. :) There are also some references to events shown in Rebels, but it's just a few brief mentions and not necessary to have seen it to get the gist of what they're talking about.

So, this time, Maul and his brothers get to meet Cody and Rex, and next chapter, we'll move on to what's happening with some other characters elsewhere in the galaxy... ;) Anyway, without further ado, I hope you enjoy the final Jedha chapter!

Jaster.

As terrible as the headache they gave him was, Jaster had to admit that the adiik’e were incredibly copikla when they were asleep.

Whatever conversation they’d needed to have with each other, it had left all three of them exhausted, shoulders slumping and eyes red-rimmed, and none of them had protested when Jaster had prodded them to one of the bunkrooms. Once there, it hadn’t come as much of a surprise when the three of them had, in silent agreement and coordination, acting even in this as if they just knew what the others would do next, pulled mattresses down from bunks and pushed them together, arranging the bedding until they could nest in the center of it all. Now, they were packed so closely together that Jaster had to focus to tell whose limbs were whose, Ben half-hidden by Cody and Rex, who had—again, in that strange, silent understanding and agreement—placed him in the middle. Despite how obviously exhausted they were, neither Cody nor Rex had seemed to be able to fall asleep with Jaster and Jango watching over them, at least until Ben had murmured something to both that had had Cody huffing and Rex smiling, turning onto their sides and closing their eyes—with one last warning sort of look from Cody at both Jaster and Jango, of course.

Watching the three for just a beat longer, Jaster nodded to himself, satisfied that they were truly heading towards sleep, now, and leaned over to bump Jango’s shoulder gently, drawing his attention. When his oldest looked over at him, Jaster mustered up a smile and tilted his head, silently indicating that Jango should follow; once Jango nodded, Jaster turned away, leading him back to the galley. The ship was quiet, now, everyone who’d come with them bedding down themselves—or at least tucked away in the other bunkrooms to gossip, if not sleep. The verd’e had seemed to be able to tell that now wasn’t the time for questions and hadn’t reappeared after Jaster had first dismissed them, though he received updates via textcomm from the squads on patrol around the ship. Jaster made a mental note to remember that kindness later, when they decided it was an acceptable time to hound them for information. He would need the reminder that they weren’t complete shebse when that time came.

Once they reached the galley, Jaster waved Jango back over to the bench seats and made an executive decision, heading for the locked liquor cabinet. Opening it with a few button presses on his kom’rk, Jaster made another decision, pulling out both tihaar and netra’gal. The tihaar, of course, was for him, and the netra’gal for Jango. At sixteen, he was old enough by Mando standards to drink, though Jaster was wary of giving him hard liquor this young, and he hadn’t changed his stance on that despite the needling from both the Grunts and the Headhunters that that was “a Core Worlder’s attitude.” Mij, at least, and the other baar’ur’e seemed pleased by the decision, and that was enough justification for Jaster.

Jango gave him a grateful, if lopsided, grin when Jaster sat the netra’gal in front of him, and for once, he didn’t have a word to say about being denied tihaar. For a few minutes, they just sat in silence, drinking and thinking, until Jaster finally broke the silence. Ben was the more dramatic of his ad’e, that much was true, but he wasn’t about to forget about Jango, either.

“You doing okay with… all of this, Jan’ika?” Jaster asked, and Jango’s face immediately screwed itself up.

“I… don’t really know,” Jango admitted, staring down into his drink instead of looking up at Jaster. “On the one hand, I… I didn’t think I had any aliit left who’re close enough to look that much like me, and the fact that I do is… It’s good, but it’s… a lot.” Jaster hummed sympathetically, though he didn’t interrupt. “But, on the other hand, from everything the adiik’e have said, whoever they were with, whoever their buir’e are… I don’t think they were very good people. They sound like… Dar’manda’se. So I do have aliit left, but I also don’t, which I guess doesn’t really change anything, except that I… I wouldn’t have thought there was anyone in Aliit Vhett who would do something like that, at least not anyone close enough to our branch that I might’ve known them, and looking at Cody and Rex, I feel like I had to have known them, like they had to have had buir’e close to mine in the line, because they just look too much like me not to be that close. It’s… a lot.”

Jaster grimaced but nodded. Tor and Kyr’tsad had been thorough, all those years ago on Concord Dawn. Jango’s immediate aliit— Kev and Nalia, his buir’e, and Arla, his ori’vod— were all dead, but they hadn’t stopped there. Most of the Fetts—or Vhetts, technically speaking, in the proper Mando’a for the name—in that region had been relatively close in blood to Jango and his family.

And nearly all of them had ended up dead that day, thanks to Tor Vizsla and his dar’manda’se.

Seeing Cody and Rex would’ve given Jango hope that there were still some blood relations of his left in the galaxy, close enough in the sprawling line of the Vhetts to turn out ad’e who looked so much like Jango himself—only to have the hope of more aliit to claim snatched away from him by the story the ad’e had told. It made Jaster wonder if at least a few of the Vhetts had been taken by Kyr’tsad rather than killed, warped and twisted until they were no longer the mostly-peaceful farmers Jango remembered. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

“So, I guess… Nothing’s really changed there, has it?” Jango said, glancing up with a rueful sort of smile on his face, shrugging one shoulder in what was probably supposed to be a casual motion, but fell far short. “I don’t have any more aliit to claim that I might’ve known before—but now, at least, there’s Cody and Rex.” He paused again, grimacing faintly and picking at the label on the bottle of netra’gal with one finger. “But I don’t think they like me very much.”

“I don’t think that’s your fault, ad’ika,” Jaster said, though he didn’t bother to deny it. “You said it yourself: you look a lot alike. That means that whoever sired them, they had to look like you, too. It’s just the resemblance—with time and exposure, they’ll get through that.”

“‘Lek,” Jango agreed. “I hope so.”

“They will,” Jaster said. “I know you, Jango. You’re too stubborn for anything else—you’ll keep on trying until the day they see the differences.”

Jango laughed, shaking his head, but he was finally smiling again, which was… something, at least. Jaster tried not to think about how far his standards had fallen for things being “alright,” but… Having ad’e tended to do that, he’d found. Jaster would take his little victories where he could find them, and be grateful for it.

Jango’s commlink chimed, and his smile grew a little wider as he looked at it. “That was Myles—the rest of the Grunts are piling up the same way the adiik’e are,” he said, and then his smile slipped somewhat. “I think I’ll join them tonight—I don’t want to push Cody and Rex right away.”

Jaster nodded. “Alright,” he said, sparing a moment to be grateful for Jango’s burc’ya’se. The Grunts were good ad’e— though they weren’t so young anymore, really, it was hard for Jaster to remember that when he could so clearly picture how they’d all looked when they’d been eight-year-old adiik’e, in turns taking their training far too seriously and not seriously enough. “I’ll keep watch over the adiik’e tonight, then. At least we’ll have plenty of time for exposure on the way back to Manda’lase. It’ll take some time, but they’ll ease up, once they get to know you.”

Jango’s face screwed itself up again immediately, and he groaned softly, shaking his head. “Buir, I can’t even imagine how bad the trip back is going to be with two more adiik’e. It was crowded and chaotic enough on the way here.”

Jaster laughed, reaching across the table to pat Jango’s arm. “At least you’ll have plenty of help keeping an eye on the adiik’e, and plenty of other people to distract you—especially Ben, Korr, and Yan. I know they aren’t going to be any more relaxed about your ka’ra exercises on the way back than they were on the way here.”

That, interestingly enough, actually had Jango perking up—a distinct change from the grumbling and groaning he’d been doing before this trip when it was time for that sort of training. “I wonder if either of them knows anything about ka’ra healing,” he said. “The Guardians said they’d have some copies of some of the books waiting for me when we got back for me to take with us, but more exercises with it couldn’t hurt…”

“I think we’ve found the perfect project to keep you busy during the trip back then, ad’ika,” Jaster said, letting a hint of a teasing sort of lilt slip into his voice. “Between reading and trying to get Rex and Cody to come around, I think you’ll have enough to distract you from the chaos of having so many people on a single ship.”

“We can only hope, buir,” Jango agreed, and his smile was still a little more crooked than usual, but he seemed more settled, now—more like his usual self. Jaster relaxed a little, reassured that Jango would be alright. The day’s revelations had been… a lot, but… They’d be alright. They were aliit, and aliit looked after each other. They would make sure everyone was alright.

Even Cody and Rex, once the little terrors decided to let them.

Jango shook his head again, still a little rueful in his amusement, and then drained the last of his netra’gal before standing. “I’m going to go bed down—Myles’s messages are getting increasingly annoying, which means he’s going to come hunt me down sooner than later, if I don’t go to find him first.”

“Brush your teeth first, ad’ika,” Jaster said, partly teasing and partly on reflex. That had Jango laughing, at least.

“Buir, you think I’m old enough to drink, but not old enough to remember to brush my teeth?” Jango managed to say through his giggles, and Jaster smiled and shrugged.

“I’m a buir through and through, ner ad,” he said. “What else can I say?”

Jango stood, going around the table and leaning down for a kov’nyn. “Jate ca, buir,” he said.

“Jate ca, Jan’ika.” Jango stood and walked away, shaking his head and grumbling under his breath in disgruntled amusement, and Jaster smiled as he watched him go. Once he was through the hatch and out of sight, Jaster sighed and turned back to his tihaar, staring down into it.

There was more to all of this, he knew. So much more than he understood, so much more than he could fathom, considering the talk of alternate universes and reincarnation. But even though Jaster wasn’t in any way, shape, or form qualified to deal with all of this, he didn’t have to deal with it alone. They were already on Jedha, and the Guardians already seemed to know something of the situation, given what Ben had said about Guardian Tamm, and Jaster was allied with the Jetii’tsad— with a Jetii here to boot. A good leader knew when to ask for help, when they couldn’t go it alone, and Jaster was entirely willing to admit that there was no way he could handle all of this on his own. He wouldn’t hesitate to call in proper experts to try to make some sense out of this—especially since it seemed the only person who really seemed to know what was going on refused to truly explain it. Jaster knew Ben, and he knew when his youngest would choose to be stubborn about something.

But most importantly… No matter where they’d come from, no matter what they looked like, Cody and Rex were just adiik’e. Yes, they were overly competent, too articulate, too knowledgeable, too logical, too controlled, for adiik’e, and they had the same old, knowing sort of eyes that Ben did, but they were still just adiik’e. Jaster was Mando’ad, and he was a buir through and through. No matter how insane their story was, the most vital facts of the situation weren’t going to be changed by any explanations the three might—someday, though hopefully that day came soon, for the sake of his sanity if nothing else—offer.

There were adiik’e to care for, to look after, and Jaster could not do any less for them than his best, as he would any other adiik the ka’ra guided to him.

---

Cody.

Despite how exhausted Cody was after the events and revelations of the day (this tubie body had absolutely no stamina whatsoever, frustratingly enough), sleep had taken a long time to find him. Finally being alone with just Ben and Rex had helped him to relax a bit, and piled together with them—all of them able to fit on a single mattress together (because they were still karking tubies, and Cody thought it was going to take quite some time before he came to terms with that), but they’d still pulled down another one because both Rex and Ben liked to starfish in their sleep—and able to touch them both, able to feel them, to have this proof that they were here with him, had also gone a long way to soothing him. But even still, he hadn’t been able to sleep—the fear had just been too strong to set aside.

The fear that this was all just a dream, and when he woke up again, Ben would be gone, and it would just be Rex and Cody again in Pilgrim’s Sanctuary, with the Anchorites. Or the even worse—but infinitely more likely—possibility that Cody would wake up to find that all of this had just been some sort of dream, and he was still dead, still marching far away.

Or, perhaps, the worst and most probable possibility… Cody feared that he would wake up again only to find that he was still CC-2224, still with the Empire, all of this nothing more than some desperate attempt from his own dissociating, chip-influenced mind to pretend things were different.

Rex hadn’t taken long at all to fall asleep, curled into Ben’s side, Cody mirroring the position with his face tucked into Ben’s opposite shoulder, Ben’s arms firmly around them both, and Cody and Rex holding hands, resting them on Ben’s stomach. The familiar soft snuffling, not quite snoring, had begun quickly, and Cody and Ben had shared a smile before settling down and closing their own eyes to try to follow him into sleep. Ben seemed to have succeeded quickly enough, but Cody… He couldn’t turn his mind off, couldn’t quiet those fears, and found his eyes flying open every few minutes, needing to see both Ben and Rex, to reassure himself that this was real.

Eventually, Ben roused a bit, blinking his eyes open and meeting Cody’s. “Can’t sleep?” he murmured, and Cody just shook his head. “I can help. If you want.”

This wasn’t new for them—in fact, it was something Ben had done for most of the 212th, at some point or another during the war. During their campaigns, they’d all been so exhausted and too well-trained to take their rest when they could get it, and sleep had always come easily, but after the fact, once they were back on the ship and safe in hyperspace… The quiet got to them, gave them time and space for everything they’d been through to rear its head. More often than not, Ben had just seemed to know when they were having trouble resting, and he would make rounds of the barracks, going from Vod to Vod, brushing the Force against them until they finally drifted off, or meditating at the edge of the pile when they all clung to each other in one mass of bodies, blanketing them all in that intangible warmth that had always been their General’s Force.

Slowly, Cody nodded again, and Ben smiled a little blearily at him. Ben shifted until he could turn his head, the move dislodging Rex, who grunted unhappily and wiggled in closer to Ben’s side again, but didn’t wake. Ben huffed, not quite a laugh, and then tilted his head until he could press his forehead to Cody’s, his eyes drifting shut again. Hesitantly, Cody followed suit, focusing his attention on the feeling of the light pressure against his forehead, the warmth of Ben and Rex there beside him, and then the other kind of warmth that crept over him. It was hard to describe, hard to put words to such nebulous feelings, but in the Force, Ben was so warm, and it felt so safe and so soft.

Sleep, Cody, Ben’s words came through as more of a feeling than actual words. I’ll be here when you wake up. Cody’s hand tightened where it was clinging to Ben’s tunics, that fear rising up again, and then Ben’s mental voice came again: I promise, Cody. I’ll be here when you wake up, and so will Rex.

Cody knew Ben—he thought, sometimes, that he knew Ben better than he knew himself, even—and he knew that when Ben made promises, Cody could believe them. That was enough, and Cody surrendered to that safe-warm-soft feeling blanketing him, and fell asleep within seconds.

What came next startled him a bit, despite the fact that this wasn’t exactly new— the apparent lack of any real transition was jarring to him. One moment, he’d been in one of the bunkrooms on the ship the Haat’ade had taken to Jedha, clinging to Ben and his vod’ika, and the next, he was still in the same room, but seemingly awake—though he knew he was truly still asleep—and surrounded by familiar Vod’e.

“It’s about time you joined us, Commander,” Boil drawled. He’d settled himself on one of the top bunks they’d left mattresses on, and Waxer was nestled into his side, with Echo, Fives, and Tup crammed in beside them, half on top of each other (and Cody couldn’t help but notice the way some of their limbs went through each other, which, again, wasn’t really a surprise, since he knew from the mostly-transparent blue that made up their bodies that they were ghosts, that they weren’t solid and real, but it was still… kriffing odd). Longshot, Crys, Gregor, and Gearshift had taken another bunk, and Hevy, Droidbait, Cutup, and Hardcase had taken one across from them. And there, leaning up against the wall beside the door with his arms folded across his chest, was Alpha-17.

“You missed the General letting ‘17 have it,” Waxer added cheerfully.

“What did you do this time?” Cody asked, and that had more than a few of their Vod’e laughing—joined by Rex’s childish, high-pitched giggling.

“He knew you were here, and he didn’t even tell me!” Ben huffed. “A warning would have been nice, you know—and I would have tried to come earlier, had I known.”

“You found them, didn’t you?” ‘17 said, shrugging one shoulder. “Not like they were going anywhere until you found them.”

Ben huffed again, and Crys jumped in to change the subject. “I know I’ve said it before, but this is karking weird,” he said. “Seeing the General as a tubie was weird enough, and so was seeing you two, but all of you together?”

“Kriffing odd,” Fives agreed.

“Downright unnatural,” Echo said, turning to his twin, both of them nodding to each other.

“I could’ve sworn they were both decanted fully-grown, with those disapproving looks already on their faces,” Longshot said, sparking another round of snickering.

“Boys,” Gregor cut in, “we’re here for a reason, remember?” Everyone in the room sobered a bit at that, and Cody started to frown.

“What do you mean?” Rex asked, and despite having heard it before, the sound of his voice had most of the Vod’e doing a double take—besides ‘17, of course, who just snorted.

“I can’t take any of you seriously like this,” he grumbled.

“Ahem,” Waxer said, faking a cough. “If no one else is going to say it, then I will.” All eyes turned to him, and Waxer squared his shoulders—as best he could with that ghostly form of his crammed into a bunk with three other equally ghostly Vod’e, anyway. “Now that you’ve all found each other… Some of us are… going to start leaving.”

“What?” Cody said, joined by both Ben and Rex.

“Not forever!” Waxer rushed to add, throwing his hands up in a placating gesture.

“And not for all that long, either,” Gregor added. “We’ll find you again. It might take a little while, but we’ll find our way back to you.”

“Where are you going?” Rex asked slowly, eyes narrowing, and Ben made a little noise. When Cody looked over at him, Ben’s eyes were wide, but he looked excited rather than fearful.

“Derrion said it was— He called it reincarnation,” Ben said. “You’re going to… be reborn, aren’t you? In this universe.”

“That’s the idea,” Longshot agreed. “We just didn’t want to start leaving until you were all together again. But now that you are… It’s time.”

“No one knows how much we’ll really remember, though,” Crys said. “That… Force woman—”

“Daughter,” Ben and Rex chorused.

“Sure,” Crys said with an easy shrug. “Daughter. She said that we’ll remember ‘as much as we need to,’ whatever that means. It’s good to know that Force entities are just as karking cryptic as Jedi are.”

“The Force is vast, familiar, unknowable, and incomprehensible,” Ben said, attempting to sound sagely, though the pitch and obvious youth of his voice somewhat sullied the effect, and prompted yet another round of snickering that had Ben grumbling something in fond annoyance under his breath, drawing a smile out of Cody for the familiarity of it. “The Force is often insistent and yet vague, so those connected to it are the same.”

“If you say so, sir,” Gregor drawled.

“When are you… leaving?” Cody asked.

“A couple of us are going after you wake up,” Boil said. “Mostly Ghosts this time, but we’re going to alternate with Torrent. Some of the others are going, too, but we have to stagger it. There can only be so many, ah… decantings?”

“Births,” Ben said. “There can only be so many births at one time.”

“Yeah,” Boil agreed. “So, it might take a few years, and we’ll look like natborns—” His face screwed itself up momentarily, his nose wrinkling in distaste at the thought, which had Ben giggling again softly. “—but we’ll still be us, even if we don’t remember all of it the way you do.”

“I’ll still know you,” Ben said. “All of you. I would recognize your presences anywhere, even in different forms.”

“That’s the idea,” Waxer said.

And as comforting as it had been, having his Vod’e there, even if only in his dreams every night, when he’d come back… Cody was happy for them. He was pleased that they were all going to get another chance at life, happy that they were going to be here in a physical sense, in this universe with them, grateful that they would get to know another kind of life—even if it came at the expense of their memories of the past one.

That was probably for the best, though, Cody thought, grimacing faintly as he thought about all of the members of the 501st who’d been forced to march on the Temple that first time. He didn’t doubt that none of them would want to remember that.

“I’m glad,” Cody said, smoothing his expression, forcing away the memories of his Vod’e in the 501st, and those of the 332nd who’d died on the Tribunal trying to kill Ahsoka Tano. “All of our Vod’e deserve another shot at life, and a better life than what we got to have before.”

“So glad you agree, Commander,” Gregor said. “We live—metaphorically, anyway—for your approval.” Despite the sarcasm, there was a softness to his expression that had Cody smiling again.

“But now that we’ve given you some warning,” Boil said, “I want to see the entertainment. General, have you told them about everyone else who’s there with you on Jedha?” Ben groaned, dropping his head and putting his hands over his face, and that prompt was all it took for both Cody and Rex to turn to look at him.

“Yeah, General,” Rex said, poking him in the shoulder, “why don’t you explain why the kriff Count Dooku is here, and supposedly an ally?” Ben had told them as much during their conversation with Mereel, but given that they’d had Jaster Mereel sitting right there in front of him, Ben had only been willing to tell them that much, and only with the limited GAR tactical handsigns they all knew.

“It’s Master Dooku,” Ben sighed, picking his head up, a look of resignation on his face. “He’s still a Jedi, now—and I think he’s going to remain one. Last time, he was… frustrated by the stranglehold the Senate had on the Order. Eventually, it broke him, and he left. From there, he was easy enough for the Sith to sway to their side. But with the Order preparing to leave the Republic—”

“What?” Cody and Rex said—with great dignity, of course. Cody would deny that they had both yelped it to the day he marched on again. Yet again, that had the rest of the Vod’e snickering, and again, that told Cody that they’d already known about this, but they’d withheld the intel.

“Ah,” Ben said. “Yes? Well, you see, it’s just that they…”

“The General’s plan to get himself out of the Temple also caused the rest of the Jetiise to decide to leave,” ‘17 drawled.

“That isn’t quite accurate—” Ben began to protest, but the others cut him off with various of “yes, it is,” and “you’re a karking liar, sir.” Ben rolled his eyes, folding his arms over his chest, and the flush on his cheeks told Cody everything he needed to know about just how true that actually was. “My… situation simply served to highlight the inequality inherent in the Order’s relationship with the Senate, that’s all. That is the real reason they chose to leave.”

“Less than a year,” Cody said. “I will repeat, sir, that it has been less than a year. We leave you alone for even that long, and you have Count karking Dooku becoming your ally and making friends with the Haat’ade and you have the Jedi leaving the kriffing Republic. What next, General? Are you going to tell us that you found some way to redeem the Emperor himself?”

“Certainly not,” Ben said, and then he hesitated. That had Cody looking to Rex, silently saying do you see what I have to deal with here? Rex, the traitor, only smiled and winked at him. “But I did find a way to save Maul and his brothers…”

“Maul?” Rex said, his already high voice pitching up another octave, drawing yet more snickering from the Vod’e around them, looking on at the entertainment as if it was an inevitable speeder crash up in Coruscant’s highest traffic lanes they simply couldn’t look away from, anticipating the oncoming disaster. “Darth Maul? Sir, really? He’s—”

“He’s a child, Rex,” Ben cut in. “He’s younger than I am, now. Honestly, I think he may be about your age—physically speaking, anyway. And his brothers are even younger. And, seeing as we will be rejoining with the main group still at the Temple of the Kyber tomorrow, I suppose I should give you some warning that—”

“They’re here, too?” Cody finished. He knew he was still asleep, knew that this was just a lucid dream of the same sort he’d been having since he and Rex had gone through the portal Daughter had opened for them, but kriff it all, he was exhausted. He would never regret coming back for his Jedi, being there when Ben needed him, being there to watch his back, but… Frankly, he’d forgotten just how chaotic it was to be anywhere in the man’s—the child’s— orbit.

“Yes,” Ben said. “They came with their buir, Korr Neda. He recently adopted them, though they’ve been staying with him for several months, ever since they were retrieved from Dathomir.”

“Oh, no you don’t, General Kenobi!” Hevy called out, finally speaking up. “You can’t just skip over that story.”

“Yeah, sir,” Cutup agreed. “You just have to tell them how Count Dooku got the nickname ‘Dar’jetii’tracynii’ from the Haat’ade!”

“Alright, alright,” Ben agreed, and he sounded put upon, but there was a smile tugging at the edges of his lips, the same kind of fondness radiating from him Cody had always been able to see was there when he interacted with the Vod’e before. “Since I came back, the Force has begun imparting visions to me, largely of events I need to change…”

Despite the fact that all of them already seemed to know what had happened, Cody saw the Vod’e around them settling in to listen to the story, listening intently, and he smiled. It would… hurt, in a way, to lose them—even temporarily, as they seemed certain the separation would be. He hoped they were right, and the Force would bring them back to each other someday, no matter how different they appeared to be if— when, hopefully—he saw them again.

But setting aside his own feelings, Cody knew they deserved this chance—they all did. He’d always wished they could have more than what they’d gotten the first time around, and now… They would finally get to have it, even if only a lifetime later.

Shaking off the strange mixture of melancholy and joy that had crept over him, Cody shared one last look with Rex, who smiled as if he knew what Cody had been thinking, a bittersweet sort of look, and then they both turned their attentions back to Ben. Settling in to listen just as all of the others had, Cody decided to make the most of this time with all of them, and enjoy it while he could. Depending on how long it took them to find their way back to each other… It might be a long time before he got to have this again.

He could be patient until he saw the rest of his Vod’e again, and the knowledge that they would all finally get to have the chance at a real life they’d always deserved was the best balm he could think of for the sting of the upcoming separation. And the three of them would be alright—Cody would have Ben and Rex in the meantime. Together… They could get each other through anything—they always had before, and that was one thing Cody didn’t want to change.

---

Rex.

Rex understood, he really did, why he and Cody had turned out the way they had in this… other-when. In his mind, Rex had lived a long life, and he’d seen and done a lot of things. There had been good and bad in that life—a lot more of the latter than the former, truth be told—but at the end of it all… Rex had been there, he’d been part of it, boots on the ground at the Battle of Endor when the Sith Lord behind it all was killed, and he’d been there when the Empire fell. That had gone a long way towards helping him reconcile with his past, with everything he’d done, and everything he hadn’t done. He’d had time to learn to live with it all, time to grieve and heal.

Cody hadn’t had that kind of time. Rex had known about it not long after Cody had died, before— Ahsoka, Fulcrum, had told him. She’d come personally to break the news to him, explaining that after he’d gone AWOL, no one had really known what had happened to him or where he’d gone—until he popped back up in the Rebellion’s sights when one of their cells was cornered by the Empire. Cody hadn’t joined up with them, not formally, not officially, but he’d been there when the Empire came. He’d fought to give the rebels time to escape, and he’d succeeded.

But he’d died doing it. Only six years after the Order, only five years free from the Empire, Cody had been killed—and Rex hadn’t been there, hadn’t even had the chance to see him again.

It had hurt like Hel, though it had also been such a joyful thing, dying (of old age, of all of the unexpected turns Rex’s life could’ve taken, he’d died of old age twelve years after the Empire had fallen, at the ripe old age of forty-one, which truly was old for a clone, given the advanced aging the longnecks had never bothered to slow back down to baseline) and finally getting to see his long-dead Vod’e again—including Cody, the ori’vod who’d always held a special place in Rex’s life. He’d refused to be separated from his ori’vod again, not after last time, and that had been the main reason he’d insisted on joining Cody on this ridiculous quest of his to save the galaxy and set all of the old universe’s wrongs to rights. Rex didn’t regret that choice, and he didn’t think he ever would—especially not now that he knew all of their Vod’e who wanted it would get their own chance at a second life.

So, given all of the givens, Rex hadn’t been surprised when the first thing Cody did when they appeared back in the kriffing past as tubies was panic. He hadn’t been surprised to find that while Cody still had all of the fire he’d had last time, the same cutting, calculating, tactical mind he’d had before, the same level of overprotectiveness, the same level of overcautious estimation of threat levels, it was Rex who was actually different. Where Cody was more emotional, Rex was less so. Where Cody was clingier than he’d been the first time they’d been tubies, Rex was less so. He’d had decades to come to terms with his life, with everything that had happened to him, with everything that had happened to his Vod’e, and Cody hadn’t. Rex didn’t mind it, didn’t resent being the stable one for once—he liked being Cody’s rock, returning the favor for his ori’vod in a way he’d never thought he would get to after the way things had ended last time.

But… this? Of all things, this was threatening to put an end to Rex’s stability, the equilibrium he’d been able to maintain from his last life and carry into this new one.

“He’s just a kid now, Rex,” Cody murmured, because he’d noticed Rex’s tension ratcheting ever higher the closer they got to the Temple of the Kyber—of course he had, because Rex had never been able to hide anything from Cody, of all people. “It will be fine.”

“I know that,” Rex said, the same response he’d given every other time either Cody or Ben had raised that point. “I’m just… not sure that’s going to help.” Oddly enough, it wasn’t Dooku, of all the beings in the galaxy, that Rex was… wary of seeing in-person in this second life.

It was Maul.

Maul, who had ravaged Mandalore, who’d made Bo-Katan Kryze and her people desperate enough to turn to the Jedi Order, the GAR, and the clones of Jango Fett, with all of his complicated history with the sector, for help. Maul, who had nearly killed Ahsoka. Maul, who had known who the Sith Lord pulling everyone’s strings had been, and had refused to say, damning the entire galaxy.

Maul, who had known that the Sith wanted Anakin Skywalker to Fall, to become his new apprentice.

Maul, who had indiscriminately killed so many Vod’e on the Tribunal, all because Rex and Ahsoka themselves had been desperate enough to let him loose.

Maul, who had gone on to nearly kill Ahsoka again, years later, along with Kanan, Ezra, all of them.

Maul, who hadn’t managed to kill Kanan, but had blinded him.

“I had thought that I might have had… some difficulty seeing Maul myself—not to mention Savage,” Ben admitted, and Rex came crashing back out of his thoughts, realizing he’d been staring, unfocused, at the air in front of him only when his eyes locked on Ben’s. The face they were set in was adorable, honestly, face so small and round, still chubby-cheeked in his youth, but those eyes were exactly the same. “Given… what happened to my Master, what happened to Satine, and Master Gallia, and so many others…” Ben paused, shaking his head and mustering up a smile for him. “But I didn’t. He really is… very small, Rex. And he’s very… earnest. Honestly, he’s rather sweet, now. All he wants is to protect his brothers, and anyone he claims as his. I’m sure you can relate to that.”

“I can,” Rex agreed. “And I know there’s nothing to be done about this besides get it over with and see him, face-to-face. Until I do, when you say ‘Maul,’ it’s not the image of a child I have in my head.” It’s the monster I knew before, he didn’t add aloud.

“I understand,” Ben said, reaching out to pat his arm. And it was still so… strange, Rex thought, how much like General Kenobi Ben was, here and now. Rex understood why, knew that he remembered in the same way he and Cody both did, but seeing the ghost of one of his Jedi in this small child was… Karking weird at times. But that was fine—he would get used to it. Like all of the clones, he’d been engineered to be adaptable.

“There’s nothing to do about it but soldier on,” Rex added, hoping that would get them both to stand down and drop it. “I’ll just have to see him, and that’s that.”

“Well, you won’t have to wait long,” Ben said. “I can sense the Temple—we’re perhaps a few minutes out.” Rex nodded, perhaps a little grimly, and didn’t protest when Cody just leaned over, pressing himself more firmly against Rex’s side. Ben sat back, finally letting that subject go, if only for the moment, and Rex took a moment to survey the lounge, now that it was full of Haat’ade. They were keeping their distance, though also keeping an eye on the three of them, a combination that told Rex that while they were curious, it was likely someone had warned them off of swarming them.

Well, either that, or they’d taken Cody’s display in the market the other day exactly the right way.

They were curious, though. That much was obvious from the way they kept darting looks over at the three of them, and several of the younger ones kept whispering to Jango while staring at them, undoubtedly asking him the questions they didn’t seem willing to ask Cody and Rex themselves. Rex knew they probably wanted an explanation for the two random children who’d shown up without warning on a planet none of them had ever been to before, and who looked like little copies of their leader’s son—not that Prime— Jango, he reminded himself—would have any answers for them.

Rex was admittedly curious, too. He knew only a little about Mandalore, mostly from the short time he’d spent there during his last campaign of the war, before everything had gone to Hel, and what few other pieces of their culture he was familiar with had come second and third hand, in stories told by the older clones who’d had more exposure to the Prime and the original trainers, the Cuy’val Dar. It would be interesting to see Mandalore with the Haat’ade still around, with Jaster Mereel’s leadership.

With luck, and some help from the Force… Maybe they could help to stop the Mandalore Rex had seen from ever coming to be. The entire reason they were here, after all, was to change things. And kriff, there were so many things Rex hoped they could change.

The telltale shudder of the ship came, the indication that it was landing again, and Rex sighed softly. As far as changes went… He supposed they would have to start with Count kriffing Dooku, and Darth Maul.

---

Maul.

Maul knew the instant Ben came back to the Temple of the Kyber. He was too bright to miss on his own, but with Jango there with him, too, he hadn’t even had to try to feel them, their warmth-Light just shimmering into being at the edge of his mind. Maul immediately leapt up from where he’d been sitting in one of the gardens again with his brothers, buir, Yan, and Guardian Qwen, wanting very badly to go see them, but Feral’s small hand reaching out to grab his tunic stopped him before he could dart away.

“S’all okay?” Feral asked, and Maul was just as weak as he’d ever been for those big, pleading eyes. Maul smiled for Feral and tugged himself away from his hold so he could turn around and kneel down to be closer to his little brother, his vod’ika.

“Yes, Feral,” Maul said. “Everyone’s back—Ben’s back.” Feral grinned, clapping his hands together, and Savage smiled, too, turning to look at Master Yan, tucked into his side. “I was going to find them—”

“There’s no need for that, Mau’ika,” buir said, sounding-feeling amused and fond, and when Maul turned around, he was looking down at his kom’rk, at the little screen on it where his comm was. “I just got a message from Jaster telling me the same. They’re on their way to us already. Patience, ad’ike; it will only take them a moment to get here.”

Maul wanted to point out that he had already been very, very patient waiting for Ben to come back, but if he focused a little harder, he could already feel Ben’s bright-warmth getting closer and closer, and buir had never lied to them before, so that must’ve been the truth. Nodding, Maul sat back down, though he kept staring at the entrance to the gardens across the way, waiting for the first sign of them.

“I can see we aren’t going to get any more practicing done at the moment,” Guardian Qwen said, and Maul winced, but she just laughed. “It’s alright, young ones. I’ll leave you to your excitement, for now, but I’ll see you for dinner, alright?”

“Yes, Guardian Qwen,” Maul and his brothers chorused, and she smiled at them before rising, giving them a nod before turning to leave.

Maul tried to wait patiently, to sit still, but he found his legs bouncing and hoped buir and Master Yan wouldn’t be upset with his inability to be still. They didn’t seem to be, just smiling at him for a beat before exchanging looks with each other, and from the feeling of them in the Force, the ka’ra (and Maul was starting to understand the difference between the two: the Force was what everyone called the power they had, but the ka’ra was for Mando’ade alone—which included Maul and his brothers, now. It was a special power just for them, like the magicks were only for the Sisters, and it made him feel… special, having something not everyone else did), Maul thought they found it a little funny that he was so anxious for Ben to finally get here.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long before Ben came. Maul felt that now-familiar presence, that bright-warm-Light that just felt like Ben reaching for him, brushing up against him, Savage, and Feral; Maul smiled, Feral giggled, and Savage reached out to pat Maul’s leg as if to say soon, brother, very soon. Only a beat later, the familiar form of Jaster, the Mand’alor (and he was starting to understand that, too, though it still didn’t quite make sense that anyone could become Mand’alor; it didn’t have to be a man, a woman, or even a person from a species with genders like that; it didn’t even have to be a certain race at all, it just had to be someone honorable and strong enough to convince everyone to follow them, and Maul didn’t know how they’d kept Manda’yaim going all these years, with such unclear rules about who could lead them, but it seemed to work well enough, so he tried to make sense of it), came through the archway into the gardens first. Jaster was followed closely by Jango, and then just behind him, Maul caught a flash of that bright hair and jumped up, about to run to him, but—

He stopped, his feet refusing to move, and he felt his eyes narrow, his face screwing itself up as he stared. Because there, on either side of Ben, were two more people: one was probably about the same age as Maul and Ben were (Maul wasn’t that much younger than Ben was, really—it wasn’t like he was a baby anymore, not like the difference between Maul and Feral) and the other was probably between Savage and Feral’s ages, or so Maul guessed based on how tiny they were. But then, he guessed they could’ve just been the runt and they’d somehow been strong enough to survive anyway.

But weirder than that… Both of the new people looked almost exactly like Jango, except for two tiny differences: the older one had a giant scar wrapping around one eye and down towards his cheek, and the younger one had bright whitish-yellow hair.

Ben seemed comfortable with them, and they looked like Jango, who was nice, so Maul assumed they were safe. Still, the presence of new people was enough to keep him from darting forward as he’d wanted to and running to Ben, instead just watching as they all came towards their little group. Master Yan and buir both got up as they came closer, and buir ducked his head and put his arm over his chest, a salute for Jaster, like the equivalent of bowing for the sisters, though Maul and his brothers had been told that they were too little to have to do that yet, and it was only after they started their training as Mando’ade for real that they would need to. Master Yan bowed formally, and both adults got nods in return from Jaster and Jango. Ben and the two new people stopped a few feet away, and for a second, they all just… stared at each other. The new people didn’t seem to know where to look, their eyes darting between Master Yan, Maul, Savage, and Feral, completely skipping over buir after a brief glance.

But still… Nobody seemed unhappy, or angry, or scared, so… It was probably fine. Maul plucked up his courage and waved. “Hi, Ben. You came back!”

“Hello, Maul,” Ben said, and the little blonde’s face scrunched up like he was in pain or something. “Yes, we came back as soon as we’d finished doing what the Force wanted us to do.”

“Y’ brought new people?” Savage murmured, and when Maul glanced over at him, he found that Savage had gotten up, too, though he was mostly-hidden behind Master Yan, holding tightly onto his cape again.

“Yes, where are my manners?” Ben said, his smile growing a little wider. “Let me introduce you to my friends. This is Cody—” Ben nodded to the older one with the scar, who nodded to them, but didn’t smile, and there was… something in his eyes, like the older brothers when they went to see what had made a noise on the outskirts of the village, to see if it had been a threat. Which was silly, Maul thought—he wasn’t any bigger than Cody, so he wasn’t a threat, and Savage and Feral were much smaller, and Master Yan and buir wouldn’t hurt them. But… Maybe Cody didn’t know that yet? “—and this is Rex.” The blonde runt, Rex, still had that look on his face, eyes darting between Master Yan and Maul. “Cody, Rex, this is Maul, this is Savage, and this is Feral.”

“Hi!” Feral chirped, waving at them. Cody and Rex didn’t wave back, but Cody nodded to Feral, at least. Maul wanted to ask who they were, if they were Jango’s brothers—and if they were Jango’s brothers, why Ben was introducing them instead of him. He was the oldest, so it should’ve been his job, but Jango was just standing there beside Jaster, watching all of them, both of them with their helmets still on.

Ben kept going before Maul had a chance to ask any of his questions, though. “And this is their buir, Korr Neda—” Buir nodded to Cody and Rex, one of those soft smiles meant for humans that hid his sharp teeth on his face, and again, Cody nodded back, though Rex—still making that face, like he didn’t know what else to do—just glanced at him and then looked away, back to Master Yan. “—and Jedi Master Yan Dooku. He’s a High Councilor.” That made both Cody and Rex startle a little, looking at Ben, and Rex’s face screwed itself up tighter while Cody’s eyebrows went up, like they were surprised, though Maul couldn’t feel any of it in the Force if they were.

“Greetings, younglings,” Master Yan said, and Maul felt something like curiosity in the Force around him as he reached out towards Cody and Rex, only to draw back quickly, pulling himself back in. Maul tried it, too, and quickly found what had stopped Master Yan: there was a wall around them, one that felt like Ben. Was he shielding them? Why?

For a few seconds, Ben, Cody, and Rex just stood there, staring at Master Yan, until Ben cleared his throat, glancing at Cody and then Rex. Cody’s lips twitched like he wanted to frown, but he didn’t; instead, he just nodded again, and Ben seemed to decide that was good enough.

“My brain hurts,” Rex muttered, but not so quietly that Maul didn’t hear him.

“The Guardians can help,” Maul offered. “Maybe Jango, too. He’s good at healing.” That didn’t seem to help, though—if anything, that just made Rex’s expression tighten that much more. Maybe he was scared of the Force? But that didn’t make sense, because Ben had it, too, and they seemed fine with him. …maybe they were scared of the Guardians? “I was scared of the Guardians too, when we got here, ‘cause there are lots of Sisters, but they’re not like Sisters. I promise.”

“…yeah,” Rex said slowly. “Right.”

“Ben,” Jaster said, and even through his helmet, he sounded… tired, “why don’t you let Maul, Savage, and Feral show the three of you around the gardens while I talk to Master Yan and Korr?”

“‘Lek, buir,” Ben said, and Jaster reached out to ruffle his hair, getting a smile from Ben. “Where to first?”

Maul turned to Savage, already knowing what Feral’s choice would be, silently asking his oldest younger brother what he wanted to show them first. Feral, as Maul had expected, though, took the choice from them, clapping his hands together. “Fishes!”

“Okay,” Maul said, because he liked the fish pond, too, and he had trouble saying no to Feral—he was just so… squishy, and small. Buir said the word for that in Mando’a was copikla. “Wanna see the fish pond?”

After a beat, when neither Cody nor Rex responded, just staring at him, Ben answered for them: “I’m sure they’d love to. Wouldn’t you?” That got a solemn nod from Cody while Rex gave Ben some kind of look, but Ben ignored him. “Lead the way!”

Feral got up, steadied by buir— he could stand well enough by now, he wasn’t that little, but he’d tired himself out earlier, running in circles around the garden until he’d made himself so tired that he decided the grass was a good place to take a nap (and, Maul had found only a little bit later, he hadn’t been wrong; piling up with both Feral and Savage in the grass had been surprisingly nice)—and Savage let go of Master Yan’s cape in favor of Feral’s hand. Satisfied that his brothers would follow, Maul nodded.

“It’s this way, behind those big trees,” Maul said, and Ben waved a hand as if telling him to go, so Maul did. He walked slowly, though, waiting until he could walk with Ben, Cody and Rex dropping back a little until they were just behind him, the same way Savage and Feral trailed behind Maul, trusting him to do what the oldest was supposed to do and see any threats first. Keeping his voice low, whispering, Maul said, “Ben? Who’re Cody and Rex? Are they Jango’s brothers?”

“It’s… complicated,” Ben said, giving him a smile that didn’t look happy, like adults sometimes did when they didn’t want Maul and his brothers to think there was something to worry about even when there really was. “Jango just met them yesterday.”

“But they’re your friends? And they look like Jango, but Jango never met them?” Maul said.

“Yes,” Ben agreed. “We knew each other because of the Force. It… showed us all each other.”

“Oh. Like your visions?” Maul asked, turning down the path to go around the big trees.

“Something like that,” Ben agreed, and Maul nodded again. He still didn’t understand how Jango had never met them, though—unless…

“Did somebody take them? Like the man tried to take me? Is that why they don’t know Jango?” Maul asked.

“It’s… complicated,” Ben repeated. “And not something they like talking about very much, I’m afraid.”

“Oh. They’re quiet, like they don’t like talking about anything,” Maul said, glancing back over his shoulder at Cody and Rex, who were still trailing along silently behind Ben; beside them, Savage and Feral kept looking over at them, too, just as quiet.

“Neither did you, when Korr first brought you to Manda’yaim, remember?” Ben said. “They just need time.”

“Are they scared?” Maul asked, and then without waiting for an answer, he stopped, turning around to look at Cody and Rex. “We can tell you all the rules for Manda’yaim. They’re different from where we came from—where did you come from? Is it where Jango’s from? Are the rules different there?”

“We came from… somewhere very far away, a long time ago,” Cody said slowly, and for some reason, that made Ben giggle. Cody shot him a look that had Ben giggling that much harder, though Maul still didn’t know why. “And the… place we’re from has rules that… aren’t like anywhere else, I think.” Ben’s laughter stopped suddenly, as if the mention of that place and their rules was enough to make him stop, as if there was nothing funny about it. Maul got the feeling that wherever they were from, it hadn’t been a good place.

But that was fine. It would be different, now. Manda’yaim was good—the best, even. Cody and Rex would see that, soon.

“Oh. Well, we can help tell you the new rules,” Maul repeated. “You’re Ben’s friends, so that means you’ll be our friends, too. Right?”

“I’m sure they’ll be happy to get to know you,” Ben said. “Won’t you?” Again, Cody just nodded, and Ben stared down Rex for a few seconds before Rex finally nodded, too.

“Fishes!” Feral said, stomping one of his feet, a pout on his face that usually came just before crying.

“Yes, Feral,” Savage said. “We’ll go see the fishes.”

That was their signal to start walking again, and once they were at the pond, Cody and Rex falling in on either side of Ben, Maul decided to sneak his way over to Cody’s other side—Rex seemed more scared than Cody did, and Cody seemed to be the oldest, so he would be good to talk to.

“The place you came from was a bad place with bad rules, I think,” Maul said, and Cody gave him another look Maul couldn’t understand, and Ben was still wrapped around them in the Force, so he couldn’t feel whatever had put that look there. But they were Ben’s friends, and Ben was nice, and they looked just like Jango, and so they had to be his brothers, and Jango was nice, too. So… Cody and Rex couldn’t be that bad.

And besides, they were probably just scared. Maul knew what that was like. He still got scared, sometimes, but… He could be brave, to help his brothers—and if he could do it for them, he could do it for Ben’s friends, too.

“Manda’yaim is nice. You have to come with us, ‘cause Ben is going and your brother Jango is, too. I promise Manda’yaim isn’t scary,” Maul said, and Cody stared at him like he didn’t understand the words, so Maul tried to explain. “Buir said we’re part’a the Manda’lor’s House, which means they’re family—kinda like how all the Brothers in the village are family, but some of them are brothers. And you’re Jango’s brothers, so you’re part of our village, too, and all the Brothers in the village help each other.”

He didn’t know if he was explaining himself very well, because Cody just kept staring at him; Maul was distracted, then, by Savage trying to hold Feral back, because their youngest brother kept trying to stick his hands in the pond, trying to touch the fish, and they didn’t want him to fall in again. As he looked back to Cody, satisfied that Savage seemed to have everything under control, he thought he saw Ben elbow Cody, but he wasn’t sure, Ben moved so fast. Cody shot Ben another look before turning back to Maul.

“You’re… being nice to us,” Cody said slowly, and Maul blinked at him.

“Yeah? You’re Jango’s brothers,” he said again, “and that means you’re Ben’s brothers, too, and Ben’s my friend. Ben and Jango’re nice to me and my brothers, so why wouldn’t I be nice to their brothers?”

Cody stared at him for a few beats longer before sighing, shaking his head. “How is this my life, now?” he grumbled under his breath, and Ben cleared his throat again. Maul started to wonder if he was sick, if he had a cough or something, and decided to try to remember that later to see if Jango’s healing could help.

Rex, Maul saw, was slowly being distracted by Feral pointing out different fish, Savage seemingly happy to supervise their youngest brother for a while. Cody let himself be dragged down to sit beside the pond by Ben, Maul following suit, and he hoped they calmed down, soon, and got less scared.

One of the only rules that was the same on Manda’yaim as it’d been on Dathomir was that everybody looked out for each other. On Dathomir, only Brothers cared about Brothers, so they all had to take care of each other, because nobody else would do it. And on Manda’yaim, everybody looked after everybody else who was younger or newer than they were. Maul was Mando’ad, now, and buir had told him what Mando’ade did, and that meant that it was his job to help Cody and Rex not be so scared, just like Ben and buir had helped him. And besides, Maul thought, it would be nice to have more friends. Ben was nice, and Jango was nice, so he was sure Ben’s new friends, Jango’s lost-and-found brothers, would be nice, too.

Once they stopped being so scared, anyway—and Maul could help with that. It was what buir said a Mando’ad would do, and it was what a Brother would do, yeah, but…

Having two new friends wasn’t a bad reason to do it, either.

Notes:

Maul: You’re Ben’s friends? And you look like Jango. You must be Jango’s brothers, *and* Ben’s friends.
Maul: I like Ben. I like Jango.
Maul: That means I’ll like these two!
Maul: Ben is my friend, so these two must be my friends, too!
Maul: They’re just too scared to be my friends right now, huh?
Maul: Buir would say that Mando’ade would help with that. And if I help them be less scared like we were, then I’ll have two new friends!
Maul: My child logic says you’re mine, now.
Cody and Rex: …what.
Ben: I told you he was sweet and earnest!
Cody and Rex: The only thing more terrifying than a murderous Maul is a Maul who’s decided to forcibly adopt us as *his.*
Ben: You’ll get used to it.
Rex: This… is not how I was expecting this to go.
Feral: YOU’RE NOT LOOKING AT THE FISHES!
Savage: Feral, please don’t make me drag you back out of the pond *again…*

Just the one bit this time, since I'm planning on starting up a new story in a series with this one for the end notes/summary bits (The Crack Edition seemed to be the winning suggestion, LOL)! ;) That will come soon, I just have to compile all of them. That story will only be one chapter long, and I'll just add the notes to the bottom with a header for which chapter they're paired to; I'll add to that every time I post a new chapter of this one. That way people don't have to deal with double notifications every time I update this story, only the single notification when a new chapter of this one is up. :)

Anyway, I said I had Plans for the rest of the clones, and now you know what they are! It will take a bit for most of them to begin appearing in the fic again, since they're about to be literal babies, LOL, and the vast majority of them will not remember as much as coherently as our actual "time travelers" do. I liked the reframing of Ben's situation as reincarnation, yes, but I also wanted to plant the seeds for the rest of the clones to start coming back. They deserve a chance at a better life, and now they're going to get it! <3

Maul is taking everything very well—if only for now. He will have some issues later, dealing with Ben splitting his time and attention, but right now he's too excited to show off everything he's learned so far to think too much about that. I always thought that a healthier and more stable Maul would have some pretty strong ori'vod instincts, based on his interactions with Savage and Ezra. :) And the adults will absolutely have some Thoughts and Questions about what the hell is happening right now, LOL, but the kiddos have all been introduced and bb!Maul demanded more screen time in this chapter. He's very bossy. XD

So, next chapter, we will finally jump back into the Jedi storyline while the gang makes their way back to Mandalore. I know everyone's been waiting so patiently for the Great Jedi Kidnapping—ahem, the Great Jedi Escape,—and it's coming very soon! I'm too excited to get there myself to put it off any longer, TBH ;D 'Til then, hope you enjoyed!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 8 of Expanded One-Shots