Chapter Text
Obi-Wan sat in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, trying to meditate, trying to navigate through the turmoil of his emotions, trying to release the uneasiness, the fear, and the uncertainty into the Force, in vain.
He had come back barely a month and a half ago – numb and miserable and trying hard to hide it – from Manda’yaim. Master Jinn hadn’t lost a second when he had come back from the Haat’Mando’ade, basically dragging him into their ship by the collar and flying back to the Temple.
Apparently, the Council had judged wiser to call them back home after Master Qui-Gon’s report that Obi-Wan had been playing double agent in the middle of dangerous Mandalorians.
His Master hadn’t even walked down the ship’s ramp upon their arrival on Coruscant that he had ordered him to put a new implant, even if Obi-Wan had had a sick feeling twisting in his gut and the sensation of wrong echoing in the Force around him at his Master’s words. Obi-Wan had bowed and assured him he would do so, but he had pushed back the appointment, avoided the Temple’s medbay like it would bring him harm to actually go, but then he had started waking up with bile in his throat, his stomach already halfway out of his mouth. He had never felt this kind of nausea in his life, never trembled so much after a simple series of katas, and he had never been as dizzy in his life.
This whole thing had ended with him retching the meal he just couldn’t eat at all on Quinlan, and after a mortified apology, the dizziness had assailed him, and Obi-Wan had been transported by a very panicked Quinlan Vos to a very unhappy Master Vokara Che. Said something about ‘Kenobi and self-preservation’, something that he apparently did not possess, if you could believe it. Obi-Wan thought it was terribly unfair. The old Twi’lek hadn’t hesitate, taking things into her own hands and basically strapped Obi-Wan to a bed to get him to ‘stay still while I check what’s wrong with you’.
Turned out that Obi-Wan was pregnant.
Six little lights that barely shimmered in the Force, still too little, not developed enough to be anything more than tiny glimmers in the back of the young redhead’s awareness.
Six little ik’aade-to-be that were Jango’s beautiful gift to him. His last, beautiful gift to him. The alpha had no idea, and Obi-Wan despaired about it, lost sleep over it. His pups, their pups, conceived in a moment of burning love and desperate need. They were the result of Jango’s loyalty, of his dedication and his love, to Obi-Wan, despite the little time they had spent together.
He missed him.
His missed him so much it hurt every day, hurt like a stab wound that just kept on bleeding, hurt like the burn of the sun on his already too raw skin.
Obi-Wan dreamed of him often.
He could almost see him, sometimes, but the lines were muddled, and the feelings were lost between awareness and oblivion. He couldn’t tell if he dreamed of now, of then, of later. Of before or never. Visions got tangled in his usual dreams and nightmares, and Jango had died too many times in them for his mind to withstand it forever. He couldn’t go on like this without breaking. He couldn’t go on like this without falling into pieces.
All dreams and visions weren’t always bad, or filled with agony, but the Force was trying to warn him.
He had seen him happy, had seen them together fighting side by side, fighting against one another, fighting for their lives and those of their people. In the desert, in the rain, on the edge of a cliff and in the middle of a lush forest. They were everywhere and nowhere. Obi-Wan had seen immaculate fields covered by blood and heard the buzzing of too many lightsabers, had watched too many times has his mate had jumped in front of him with a desperate, horrified scream to stop a red blade from piercing his heart.
The omega had had visions since he had been small, but those were so much worst, so real, so terrifying.
But some were beautiful and full of happiness, full of Light, soothing. He could remember them, like a rush of images and feelings drowning him but not suffocating, flowing like the waters of a calm river to curl brightly and tenderly around him and his pups.
“Obi-Wan! Boba put sand in my boots again!” His Padawan burst into the room, his lover’s growl of annoyance vibrating against his back, the alpha rolling them so that his mate’s naked form was hidden from their ‘careless Jetii’ad’. “Oh kark! My eyes! My poor eyes! It burns!” He screamed as he slapped his hands on his eyes while entertaining everyone with his dramatics, the redhead shaking with mirth as his alpha grumbled quite energetically into his neck, mourning peaceful mornings that were now a relic of the past with six pups and two Foundlings running around in their home.
“Mhi solus tome...”
“Jan’buir! Up! Up!” Fives screamed, full of joy, jumping up and down next to his buir to be able to watch O’bu and Ani’vod spar with their swords of light.
“Alor, we’ve secured the area. Kyr’stad has been eliminated. Vizsla and his ori’ramikade are hiding somewhere down in the tunnels.” Dorian said, the Mando’ad in dark green, grey, red, and black-accented beskar’gam facing the holomap turning his head on the side, Alpha ruby shining for the briefest of moments.
“Let’s end this.”
Jango holding their daughter close to his heart as he sang a lullaby in Mando’a, the notes carrying something mystical to them as he turned bright eyes to his omega sleeping in their bed, the sounds of Keldable streets like a heartbeat pulsing life and love and protection inside of Obi-Wan’s very soul.
“Mhi solus dar’tome...”
“Look, Skyguy, I don’t think ba’juri Obi-Wan will appreciate you losing your kad’au again.” A young Torgruta smiled sarcastically at the human male, the both of them looking down over the edge of a building and down at the frantic traffic of Coruscanta.
“Yeah, Snips, Obi’s gonna kill me with lessons on ‘this saber is your life’ and ‘don’t lose it, Anakin’ and yada-yada-yada.” The blond rolled his eyes, sarcasm flatly dripping from his words. “I guess I’ll have to just... find it. Somewhere.” The young man winced just before jumping, the little Togruta watching him, unimpressed, before following right after without any kind of second thought.
“Rex’ika, please stop making your vod fly.” He sighed at his ad, who burst out giggling and showed him a gummy smile while Fox’ika flailed his little arms with panic, eyes wide and on the verge of crying.
“Mhi me’dinui an...”
“The old frog will be delighted if you have to go back to Illum, again, for a lightsaber.”
“Oya Mand’alor! Oya Rid’alor!”
Warm amber and Alpha ruby snapped up to him.
“Mhi ba’juri verde.”
Obi-Wan’s hands came to rest on his stomach, breathing deeply to stop the tears from falling down his cheeks. Mhi ba’juri verde... He was carrying six little lights, six little pups that were the fruit of a star-crossed love. Six innocent lives that were now in danger. Jedi couldn’t be allowed to get pregnant; Jedi couldn’t carry the pups of a planetary ruler.
A Jedi couldn’t carry the pups of a Mandalorian.
Obi-Wan’s entire existence was now a defiance, a threat. His children weren’t even born and they could get killed by powers that went beyond his, the Jedi’s, Mandalore’s, control. The Senate could order them to terminate the pregnancy, and the Senate could force them to carry it to term and pressure Mandalore that they had the offspring and the mate of Jango Fett to gain political vantage over the independent system, over this unruly culture that defied the supreme authority of the Republic. The Senate could use Obi-Wan, but most of all the lives of his children, to make the Haat’Mando’ade buckle, to make them bend the knee to the Republic.
The news that Obi-Wan was pregnant, that he had found a mate among the Mandalorians, had been met with joy and dread. Joy because Jedi celebrated each life, considered it sacred and beautiful. The bond between mates was a gift from the Force itself and it was cherished deeply by the Jedi. Dread because of the implications that all this ensued. Dread because of the dangers Obi-Wan himself could face if this miracle was revealed to the galaxy.
The Mandalorians and the Jedi weren’t friends, and Obi-Wan was now carrying what could be a way to mend the broken bridges between them all. Jedi and Mando’ade alike valued their children more than anything, but there was no guarantee that the Mando’ade wouldn’t be furious that Obi-Wan was in a fact a Jedi. There was no guarantee that they wouldn’t kill the children just because they would be born from a Jedi, and probably with Force sensitivity.
The omega was so tired. He wanted the protective arms of his alpha. He needed the warm embrace of his mate. He wanted- He wanted to go to Little Keldable. It was like an itch under his skin, but he had enough presence of mind not to go. A Jedi in the middle of Mando’ade was not smart, and Obi-Wan wasn’t alone anymore. He had more than himself to protect.
And with the shadow of the Senate always lurking over the Jedi and Mandalorians both...
Obi-Wan despaired at the idea of having his children used as leverage to gain political power over a culture as free and unwavering as the Mando’ade. Obi-Wan despaired to be away from his mate, the freezing cold of separation like knives in his flesh. All the time. His blood even felt cold, and his bones weighted tons. The omega didn’t know what to do.
He knew he would keep his children until it would be impossible, he’d keep them as long as he would be allowed, and he knew how dangerous that would be for the Jedi, the Mandalorians, for himself and Jango, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop the pregnancy. He wanted his pups to see the galaxy. He wanted them safe.
And he knew his choice rested in whether he’d keep them with him, hidden in the Temple, or if he’d let go of them, free to explore the stars with their true people.
The choice wasn’t one.
Obi-Wan knew he’d send them to their father.
Jango deserved to raise them, and Obi-Wan’s conscience would be soothed knowing his family was safe in the heart of Mandalore.
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The past months had been filled with happiness and sorrow, his body changing as the pregnancy went on. He was confined between the walls of the Temple, for his own security. Everyone – him included – was almost feral with the fear of someone seeing him with his swelling belly. Not only was he a Jedi, but he was a Padawan. Though he wasn’t sure if Master Qui-Gon hadn’t repudiated him already, their bond had never been strong, and if Obi-Wan hadn’t felt it snap with rejection or fade away, he also couldn’t feel his Master from his side of their training bond. Anyway, the Senate wouldn’t waste the opportunity to put more rules on the Jedi Order if they knew one of their Padawans – a ‘minor’ based on the Order’s ways of doing things, even if Obi-Wan was a legal adult in the eyes of the Galactic Laws – was pregnant.
So, the redhead was trapped in the Temple. He had used this forced Temple-bound vacancy to go in the Crèche for story time, or just to feel the comforting warmth of pure love from ade. He had spent a lot of time in the Salles, to do a little bladework until everybody had started telling him to stop with an almost feverish kind of urge, and then he had been confined to the medbay, which he loathed with the burning passion of a supernova, and he knew he was ridiculous to complain about being assigned to bed rest, but he was so used to moving around to make himself useful that it was a feeling bigger than him.
He had needed to get out of the stifling, suffocating care of the entire karking Temple for his well-being. He understood their fears, their worries. He shared them. But- But Force damnit! He had needed to smell something else than bacta and antiseptics and generic, cloying scents of care-worry-protect surrounding him.
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Sneaking out of the Temple hadn’t been difficult.
Obi-Wan had done if so many times with Quinlan and Siri and Garen when they were young – to Bant’s exasperation –, he could do the entire thing backwards with his eyes closed. He missed those times. Where everything was colorful, easy, despite the challenges he had had to face. He missed the lightness, the brightness, of his childhood. It had been stolen from him way to early.
Sneaking out of the Temple hadn’t been difficult, sneaking in Little Keldable was a different story.
One because even if he was stealthy, his belly made things difficult, two because Mandalorians were trackers, hunters, so obviously a change in the scents, a new face in the crowd, was bound to get noticed. Obi-Wan wasn’t wearing his robes – he wasn’t stupid enough to be so reckless –, just simple civilian clothes, but he stood out among the crowd of armoured warriors with his poncho, hood over his face. His goal had been to get to the Goran of Little Keldable, to start the preparations of his ade's departure to Manda’yaim. To beg for their protection. Not for him, but for his ik’aade. Obi-Wan could take any chances with their lives, and nobody could protect the heirs of Jango Fett better than the Haat’ade in Little Keldable. It helped that Kyr’stad was forbidden on planet, or they would be hunted down and slaughtered by the verde of Little Keldable, and any sympathizers were violently silenced.
The bloodied, half crushed buy’ce harboring the stylized shriek-hawk at the entrance of the district was warning enough.
Obi-Wan trusted in that hate for Kyr’tsad, and most of all, he trusted in the fact that the Republic had no jurisdiction here. Little Keldable was an extension of Manda’yaim, and the Senate had allowed – more like had been forced to tolerate – the Mandalorians to colonize and populate a district on Coruscant.
They immediately noticed him, the Mandos, maybe because of his restlessness, maybe because of his scent. He was sure he was reeking of stress and worry, of sceptical hope but of hope either way, and the way he reacted when one of the verde came to him a little bit too aggressively probably hadn’t help his case.
A lightsaber in the middle of Little Keldable probably hadn’t been a good idea, but Obi-Wan’s instincts to protect his pups had been stronger than himself, his back pressed against the fountain in the plaza, free hand clenching his belly and eyes feral as his hood fell off his face. He eyed the crowd, full of fear, full of determination.
If he was to fight now...
Would he even survive?
Would his children-?
“Ke’pare! (Wait!)” Someone screamed, panic coloring their voice and their scent, sending a ripple through the Mando’ade.
“Pare, nu’cuy ibac...? (Wait, isn’t that...?)” Another trailed off, realization hitting everyone like a freight train.
“BEN?!”
Myles’s chaotic energy slammed into him, his eyes wide and furious and relieved and the entire atmosphere in the plaza changed. Recognition, joy, relief and all sort of emotions flashed in both the Force and the scents, the Pantoran shoving two verde who were in his way aside with so much strength they stumbled to the ground with a yelp as he approached quickly, stopping dead in his tracks when Obi-Wan tightened his grip on his saber.
“Ben. It’s okay. Gar morut’yc. Gar kar’tayl mhi nu’kadala gar. (You’re safe. You know we won’t hurt you.)” He raised his hands in a friendly, open manner, body language relaxed even if the little tremble in his voice betrayed his emotions, the stress of scaring him, and the relief of seeing him after so long, clashing in the Force.
“Hello there, Myles.” He nodded, on his guard, eyes jumping between faces and buy’cese as he tried to see if one of them would attack.
“Ben, holy Manda- We thought you were- Where have you-? You’re a Jetii!” He spluttered, his scent surprised and a little feral with giddiness, but lacking any kind of sour note of anger or hate, his eyes pointedly staring at his braid.
“I-“ He hesitated, conflicted and knowing it was futile to even deny it. His braid swayed next to his face, his lightsaber casting a blue glow over the beskar’gam. “I am. And it’s not even the most complicated thing about this whole thing.”
Myles titled his head on the side, the people around them also broadcasting curiosity and confusion in the Force, in their scents.
He sighed, deactivating his weapon, and slipping it back into the pocket of his poncho. His pregnant belly – six months through it, and he had been so relieved when he had passed the three months stage, terrified he’d lose the pups – finally getting the attention of the Mando’ade.
Sharp intakes of breath rumbled like thunder over the plaza, beskar shifting in surprise and excitement as they understood. Jango’s mate was well known among the Mando’ade. Ben wasn’t a secret. And now Ben was back, as a Jedi, and pregnant. And everyone knew there was only one explanation for that.
Myles’ brain seemed to stall, his eyes falling on his stomach and then snapping back to his face, tension in the omega’s shoulders, and numbness making him a little dizzy.
“Is that... Ka’ra. You’re-? Ben by the Gods, is that...?” He spluttered, happiness and astonishment, dread and a little bit of panic slipping in his scent, his golden eyes boring into him like he could burn a hole through his skull.
“Elek, Myles. They are Jango’s.” He sighed tiredly, drained because it had been months since he had seen his mate, months of self-restraint, months of pain and changes in his body that he had to go through alone.
He had cried himself to sleep often, because of the burn of Master Qui-Gon’s disappointment on his mind, because he missed Jango like a cut off limb, like a part of his soul that had been ripped out of him. He was tired and he felt big like a whale, his belly pressing down on him and honestly, he had barely held himself afloat the past months. He had needed to come here, to Little Keldable, to connect again with this culture he had come to love and cherish so much, for his sake and the sake of his pups.
Myles’ eyes were so big and round that the omega was sure they’d pop out of his skull. He swallowed, many other Mandalorians looking at the Jedi like he was a blessing, like he was worthy of their respect. Obi-Wan didn’t feel worthy. He felt sick, and disgusting. He felt like an aruetii, like the vilest of dar’mandase for the stunt he had pulled on the Haat. On Jango.
Disappearing without a trace, with only a holomessage that explained so little, only to reappear months later, on Coruscant, as a Jedi. As an ancestral foe of the Mando’ade.
“How many?” He asked, dragging the omega out of his worries briefly, his giddiness untamed as he seemed ready to hug him like they were vode, like there was no bad blood between them, like he hadn’t been horrible with their Ven’alor.
It felt... It warmed the redhead’s heart.
He missed this sort of camaraderie. Jedi were taught to control their emotions, and even if they barely did it between family, the energy of the Mandalorians was different, fiercer. Fiercely protective. They weren’t ruled by their emotions, but their emotions were a major part of their culture, shereshoy and vengeance, justice and more. They wore their emotions on their beskar, mixed with Clan colours and various statements.
“Six. Six little ones with a lot of energy. Healthy and strong.” He breathed, hands on his belly as he looked down tenderly at his little Lights, brushing his conscience against their own and smiling relieved when they all latched on his Force presence.
It was another fear he had. That one day he’d feel less than six lights. That one day, one of them would not respond to him. He was terrified of loosing them, terrified of the Republic finding out about his pregnancy and seeing this as an excuse to threaten his family – both of them, Jedi and Mandalorians alike – into submitting to them. He knew the Jedi would not even hesitate to be shackled down if it guaranteed the pups security, and even if they had spent a month and some weeks together, the omega knew his alpha would fall on his knees if his own flesh and blood was on the line.
And Obi-Wan couldn’t accept it.
He would not see his family begging for his life, for his children’s.
He would not see his mate chained to the floor in the middle of the Rotunda, muzzled like an animal, reduced to be some common criminal pleading for mercy. The Senate had none.
“Jate.” Myles smiled too, happiness blooming in the Force, and not only from him. “I’m happy that you are okay, Ben. We thought the worst, when... when you disappeared...” He trailed off, Obi-Wan’s guilt leaking into his scent and a whine stuck in his throat.
The Pantoran stepped closer to him, a hand on his arm, and the omega fought against the tears, knowing he’d eventually failed.
As always.
“I know I-“ He choked off, trying not to break down here, in the middle of the plaza, the Mandalorians simultaneously wrapping him in a bubble of safety with their scents, with the way they stayed respectfully back while Myles – one of Jango’s ori’ramikade, one of Jango’s brothers – comforted the Ven’alor’s mate. “I know I ran away, and I know you have no reason to accept me, Force, I took a chance today by coming here, and I hope you can forgive me. For everything. For the lies, for the way I just... I’m so sorry, Myles. I never wanted his to happened, I never wanted to hurt anyone, I got lost. I am still so lost. I- I’m sorry.”
The Pantoran held him as he sank to the ground, silent sobs rocking through him, Myles growling warning-stay back-don't to anyone who tried to step over the invisible line around the vulnerable omega. He let him pour his emotions out, the pregnancy affecting him a lot right now, his hormones all over the place. The cold, numb sensation in his limbs made his mind sluggish and this emptiness in his heart simply did not help. His babies were the only thing holding him through it all, the love of the Jedi always a balm on his tormented soul, his family doing everything to help, to comfort, to hide him from the Senate.
Obi-Wan had put their entire hard work - months of careful precautions - in jeopardy today, by coming here alone, but exposing himself to the eyes of the galaxy, but he couldn’t be trapped in the Temple any longer. He had needed to smell Manda’yaim, had needed to feel the Manda and walk among its people. He had needed speak with the Goran. He had to speak with the Goran.
“Udesiir, Ben, udesiir. We’re not angry, not at you. We’re not angry. Never. Ori’haat, vod, mhi nu’kaden. (I swear, brother, we are not angry).”
“I just needed to come here-“ He miserably tried to explain, guilt and shame in his voice, in his scent. “I needed to see a piece of Manda’yaim again, I- I know I’ll never be allowed to go back.”
Myles retreated back violently, shouts of rebuttal and flares of no-not true spiking all around him.
“What do you mean, ‘never allowed to go back’?” The verd exclaimed furiously, seemly wanting to grab his shoulders to shake some sense into him. “Like we would refuse to let our future Rid’alor go back home!”
Future what?
“You’re not... angry with me?” He asked, not daring to hope. He licked his lips, nervous. “You don’t hate me?”
That seemed to upset a lot of verde. Myles’ frown toed between flabbergasted and petulantly angry.
“What are you talking about?” He growled. “Why would we be angry at you? Why would we hate you?”
Those whose buy’cese were clipped on their belts all had offended and hurt faces, like it was really stabbing them in the heart that Obi-Wan thought he’d be despised for being a Jedi. The rest were broadcasting their bewildered anger, bruised by the omega’s underlying fear, but immediately trying to bring peace to him with safety and protect-vod-respect. Obi-Wan felt like he had a bubble of tears in his throat suddenly, grateful and not believing they would be so happy to open their arms to him, like he hadn’t betrayed them.
“Did you truly thought we would hate you? We were worried, Ben’ika, not angry. Jango was terrified, and angry, and a little out of it, but he would never hate you.” He gave him a long, pensive look, and the young omega held his gaze, a little overwhelmed. “We had to stop him from jumping on his ship to search for you. He was ready to track you to the ends of Wild Space.”
Obi-Wan closed his eyes, a pained little sound escaping him, mournful and pitiful. He felt horrible. He felt like a cheat, like a shabuir. He knew Jango had been deeply hurt by his disappearance. It ate at him all the time, so much he couldn’t focus sometimes. He could almost feel his alpha’s desperation in his soul. Or maybe it was his own.
“Ben...” The Pantoran trailed off, not wanting to cross the line but quickly making up his mind: “Don’t... Don’t you want to go back to Manda’yaim?”
Of course he wanted to.
That was the exact reason he shouldn’t- couldn’t. He wanted, and it was not the Jedi way. Master Qui-Gon had been very clear on what he thought about his Padawan’s attachment. Obi-Wan had no room for mistake. He had already had his second chance. Qui-Gon would not be as generous again. Certainly not when it came to his mate.
“It’s not that, Myles.” The redhead sighed, defeated. “It’s my Master, the Jedi Council, the Senate. Master Qui-Gon, he’s... like a buir, would never take the risk of me seeing Jango again, because it’s... an attachment... and he can’t- He can’t accept that I have a mate and that I’m allowed to- His mate... Master Jinn’s mate died a few years ago, and I don’t think he ever... recovered.”
Losing a mate was probably the same feeling as being tortured by the Dark. It was probably the same kind of soul-tearing sensation. Obi-Wan mourned Master Tahl’s death, but he had learned to let go. Master Jinn hadn’t been able to, as much as he pretended he had.
“Shabuir. Karking shabuir. Your ba’juri is a di’kut. Dar’manda. He should be considered dar’buir.” He snarled, deeply annoyed.
Obi-Wan laughed wetly, well aware of that fact. He knew Master Jinn’s treatment, his way of doing things with him... It wasn’t very... great... He knew. He knew that he also couldn’t speak about it. He would never be a Jedi if he complained. Nobody had wanted him as a Padawan, and now he was toying on a fine line. Master Jinn could decide any moment now to just... stop.
“The Council is worried that the Senate will try to use me, and my pups, as leverage to force you all to bend the knee. Imagine if the mate of the Ven’alor, his ade, were to be used like that, l-like a puppet to make the ‘dangerous barbarians' submit to the 'civilised world’ once and for all since they couldn’t do it at the end of the Wars. They’ve been waiting for an excuse, something to blame on you all. I am exactly what they need.”
Fury flared around him, the omega flinching even though he knew it wasn’t directed at him, many Mando’ade snarling insults to the Senate and the ‘hut’uune demagolkase Republic dogs’. They were all enraged about what he had just explained, and the distinctive sound a beskaryc fist hitting the side of a building echoed over the growling of angry Mandalorians.
“Shabuire. We’ll destroy them all if they dare lay a finger on you.” Myles threatened - promised - low, a sharp edge to his scent as it started to turn sour crispy with his rage.
“Nayc!” He cried out, grabbing his kute with panic in his eyes. “They don’t know about me- us... them yet.” He assured, and that seemed to settle some, the scents dulling back to calm, but still sharp and burning with alert. Maybe they feared that something was going to happen right now as they spoke. “We’ve been working very hard to make sure nobody would know about my pups. But I’m here today out of concern for... after their birth.” The omega lowered his eyes to the ground – on which he was still sitting and maybe he should get up because his butt was starting to get numb – with nervousness and worry.
There was another shift in the Force, the sea of beskar’gam splitting in two to let the Mando the omega recognized as the Goran pass. They had the same solemn, noble, and mysterious energy surrounding them as they too stepped closer to Obi-Wan. The Manda swayed between them, establishing some sort of connection that only they could understand, the Jedi letting it flow through him with gratitude. It’s shereshoy was another comforting weight on him, something reminding the omega of him.
They stood in front of him, impassible, and Obi-Wan could feel the tension in the air, electricity crackling around the plaza as everyone seemed to wait for something to happen. The omega didn’t waver, staring into the T-shaped visor framed by deep purple and midnight/silver accents, the Goran unmoving as they seemed to judge his soul.
The surprise the redhead felt when the Goran dropped to a knee, fist clanking against their beskar kar’ta, was so potent in his scent many chuckled, the Goran included.
“Su cuy’gar, Alor.” They greeted, a relieved smile in their voice. “You’ve been missed.”
Obi-Wan blinked, speechless, staring so intensely at the Goran that his eyes started burning. He couldn’t even process that everyone seemed happy to see him again, his mind was focused on the Goran. Who was kneeling.
Mando’ade did not kneel. They didn’t kneel, they just- Why was that Goran kneeling?!
“Why are you kneeling?” He blurted out, horrified, and amusement danced in the Mando’ad’s scent, the Force bright with mirth as they unclasped the seals of their buy’ce and removed it.
The plaza was soon filled with pride-respect-peace following his words, like his offense at seeing a Mando’ad kneel and feeling like it was an insult to their Creed and their Way was something that made him full of mandokar. He remembered that this situation happened the very first evening he was brought into a Haat’ade’s camp, back when he was still running from Kyr’tsad.
Mandalorians were ridiculous.
The Goran was a Noorian, their dark honey-colored skin contrasting beautifully with their purple beskar’gam, stripped gold and green eyes shining with respect. They looked female, and they looked a lot like Master Tahl.
He missed her greatly.
“I am not kneeling, Alor. I am simply trying to be at your eye level. Craning your neck like you were doing wouldn’t have been comfortable.” The Goran huffed playfully, and Obi-Wan felt a little stupid, but the way the Mandalorians all seemed to think he was funny and adorable – should he consider this rude? Obi-Wan wasn’t a child, he was nineteen now – seemed to be genuine, so really it wasn’t all that embarrassing. “My name is Arhal Ekkira, she/her. I am Goran for Little Keldable.”
“Obi-Wan Kenobi.” He presented himself officially, smiling weakly. “But I guess you all know me as Ben.”
Chuckles rose from the crowd, Arhal smiling warmly at the obvious drawl of the omega’s tone.
“You won’t be offended if we call you Ben, then.” She concluded, nodding to herself while Obi-Wan simply smiled, unbothered. “I am deeply honoured that you’ve trusted us enough to come to us. We’ve been fearing the worst, after your disappearance. I understand your fear, but rest assure, Alor, that we will never lay a hand on you or your ade.”
“Ade are the future. We would never hurt an ad, or a yaihadla (pregnant) buir.” Myles added on instinct, offended that things could even be anything different.
“This is the Way.” The Goran nodded, and everyone else repeated it like a mantra, the Force pulsing with protection and safety.
Gar morut’yc, Alor. (You are safe, leader.)
The Manda hugged his frame like beskar’gam, its weight mixing with the Light of the Force around him, taking away his worries when he released his insecurities into it.
“You know, Jango would kill us all if we even dared to scare you.” The Myles drawled with a flat expression, which prompted the rest of the Mando’ade to both laugh nervously and heartfully.
Obi-Wan turned a bewildered gaze to the verd, who widened his eyes to make his point stand, to make him understand that he wasn’t joking, and the omega groaned, embarrassed and trying not to preen at the thought that his mate was so protective even after what Obi-Wan had done.
“Um... Alor, I don’t want to overstep, but I think it would be better for you and the ik’aade if you didn’t stay on the ground.” A human Mando’ad with the insignia of a baar’ur also stepped forward, frowning with concern, a hand over their beskar kar’ta. “Lorelai Ordo, Clan Ordo, House Mereel, she/her.”
“Hello there, Lorelai. Nice to meet you.” He beamed, happy to meet new Haat’ad. “I had wished for a less... Well, I guess it would have been a lot more flattering for me if I hadn’t been on the ground.” The omega winced playfully.
“She’s right, you know? Sitting like that can’t be good for your back.” Myles grumbled to him.
“I guess not. My butt is numb.” He beamed again, innocent and youthful, trying not to feel like a youngling getting reprimanded by the Crèchemasters.
“Alor.” Lorelai begged him, hands reaching to help him up while Myles did just that, the omega staggering a little on his feet, almost falling over, and every single Mandalorian took a frantic step forward to catch him.
Obi-Wan smiled gratefully at them, trying to soothe their panic and worry with a wave of calm and peace in the Force. Some relaxed unconsciously, but their scents were very much still thick with worry-careful-protect-defend, like the ground was going to hurt Obi-Wan if he truly happened to fall.
Arhal gripped his elbow firmly, the Pantoran stabilizing him by holding his other arm, and he felt so weak and again, stupid, for being weak and once again a bubble of tears closed his throat. Don’t cry-don’t cry-don’t cry- The baar’ur was at his side immediately, checking quickly if he was hurt, and suddenly Obi-Wan remembered how annoyingly protective Mando’ade could be of their own.
He was pregnant, not disabled.
The omega was still grateful for their concern. It was touching.
“You spoke of your ade. And what dangers they face already. Are you here to seek protection for them and for you?” The Goran asked, taking a step back only when she was sure he wouldn’t fall face first into the fountain, eyes full of curiosity.
“For them.” He stated, hands slipping into his sleeves out of habit to grip his forearms. “I... I don’t need- I don’t want you to think I am coming here today to ask for your protection. I can deal with myself, but my pups will need... help. I- They need help. And the Jedi cannot offer the help they need.”
“Because they won’t want to?” Someone in the crowd – someone young judging by their voice – inquired a little bit aggressively, but Obi-Wan didn’t take offense as he heard the distinctive noise of someone slapping the back of a head with their open palm, followed by a small yelp.
Not many beings knew about the inner workings of the Temple. Not many souls knew about the dying Jedi Order. Nobody knew his family had barely any of the guaranteed rights every citizen of the Republic had.
They weren’t slaves, but it was... a thin line to cross.
“Because the Senate is watching us.” He answered peacefully, sadly. “Jedi are under the Senate’s jurisdiction. Our missions are chosen by them, our allowance, everything. The only thing the Senate does not control are the Shadows, but I cannot ask them to do anything for me. They have their own missions, and I don’t want my selfishness to cause them harm.”
“It is not selfish to require protection and aid for yourself and your own, Alor.” The baar’ur frowned, like even implying so was a great insult to the Mando’ade.
“I know, but I fear that any ship harboring the Jedi emblem won’t be received well in Keldable. It’s nothing against you, but we all know that tensions between the Jedi and the Mando’ade are still there.”
“Mmm, haat.” Arhal nodded, understanding his meaning. “You need help the Jetiise cannot offer, but we one we can.”
“...’Lek.” He sighed, closing his eyes with pain. “I cannot keep the children here. I cannot give this opportunity to the Senate.” He looked straight at the Goran, studying her soul as he painfully held back his tears, croaking the next words out. “I need them to be safe, to be loved fully, without constraints, without- without fear hanging over their heads. I want them to go back to Manda’yaim... An-and I wanted Mando’ade carrying out this mission. I wanted Mando’ade to bring my children back to-“ He bit his lips, taking a breath. “To Jango.”
His sorrow was locked down by shields and a tight control over his scent, but he knew everyone could see how agonizing it was for him. His eyes were a little sunken, his face drawn. He probably didn’t look like a happy ven’buir right now. But he was. It would just be better if he could be with Jango. Everyone understood his conflict. To be separated from his mate, and now to be making the impossible decision to separate himself from his pups for their own safety... They all tried to object. Because no Mando’ad enjoyed this kind of choice. A choice that wasn’t one: giving up your own ade to offer them a better future.
“Alor-!”
“But Ben-!”
“You cannot-“
“How can we accept-?!”
“Luubid.”
Arhal barely had to raise her voice over the protestations and the exclamations of refusal that flew like bullets all around him, the Mando’ade furiously saddened by this whole situation. The Goran let her icy glare trail over them all, some shrinking a little in shame at the intensity of her scent urging them to calm down-peace-no. She turned back to Obi-Wan, expression dark, sad, and solemn.
“We will protect you and your ik’aade, Alor. That, I promise. Haat, ijaa, haa’it.” The words rung in the Force. “You are mated to our Ven’alor. The Manda never makes mistakes. I will make the preparations for their safe journey back to Ven’alor Fett. Given that you are not due for a few months still, we will have time to assure the utmost safety for your ade.” Her ethereal gaze, golden and lush green, seemed to see through his shields, through his soul. “My only question is this, Obi-Wan Kenobi: will you not come back home with them?”
Obi-Wan averted his gaze immediately, refusing to let his pain lash out now. He wanted so much, And he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. He was a Jedi. He had a duty, and the Force was firm on this. It had assured him - promised him - that one day, he’d see Jango again. Maybe not now, maybe not soon, but one day, they’ll be able to speak, he’ll be able to explain without the dread of Darkness over them all. One day they would be together. He knew it. But not now. Now was the time to build his strength as a Jedi, to ciment his beliefs as a Child of the Light. Because things in the shadows were moving, and the future dawning on the galaxy was uncertain, always in motion, but one thing was clear:
Darkness was gaining ground.
Obi-Wan could feel it, the upcoming Darkness. He could feel it like a cold embrace. It was slow and vicious, venomous. The galaxy was already half in shambles, and as a Jedi, as a peacekeeper, as a guardian of the Light and Balance, he couldn’t abandon his duty for his own personal desires.
Not now.
Maybe one day.
Obi-Wan had left the Order, once.
He knew he could do it again, and that there was no return this time.
He just needed to complete the mission the Force seemed to have tasked him with. Whatever it was. The outline of it was still muddled, clouded. A bit like the Force was here, on Coruscant.
The omega turned an unflinching gaze to the Goran, to the Mando’ade, his mate’s people, his ade’s people – his own in a way –, tensed but squaring his shoulders, jaw set.
His decision was taken, and he would not walk away from it.
“I can’t. Not now. I am a Jedi. I have my duty to the galaxy. Jango has his to Manda’yaim.” The redhead lowered his eyes to his hands, to the swell of his stomach, carrying life and Light and love. Jango’s love. The young omega took a deep, shakily breath, smiling sadly. “I know it sounds cruel, but our reality is cruel. Neither of us can escape what we are, who we are. But I know this is not the end. We’ll see each other again.”
“But not now.” The Goran repeated.
“Not now.” The omega smiled weakly. “Too much needs to be done. I just want our pups to be safe while we work to fix what needs to be fixed.”
He held the unreadable gaze of the Goran, stripped gold-green eyes eventually closing as she lower her head, fist on her breastplate and soon followed by the rest of the Mando’ade.
“You’re request will be honoured, Alor.” She swore, the promise echoing in the Manda and sealed by its hands.
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The last months of his pregnancy were filled with close surveillance from Master Che and his friend Bant, and an even tighter protection from the Mando’ade. Obi-Wan had been caught sneaking out after a while, and the Council had understood that he couldn’t be held in the Temple forever, and that he was safe with the Mandalorians, as impossible as it had sounded for Master Rancis. Obi-Wan was welcomed and most of all watched over by mother tookas when he was with the Mando’ade, so the Temple had resigned itself in letting him go, with the stipulation that he’d be accompanied by a Jedi escort whenever he’d sneak out to Little Keldable.
Quinlan had been delighted.
Master Windu?
Not so much.
He said that the young Kiffar was a walking disaster, and that Obi-Wan was a shatterpoint waiting to explode. This duo was bound to give him a serious headache.
Poor Master Windu, the omega actually felt bad for him. Depa had said that her former Master’s meditation sessions with Master Yoda had been numerous in the last month. Maybe Obi-Wan should bring him back ne’tra gal from Little Keldable. And maybe something from Dex’s. His Besalisk friend had showed up one day in Little Keldable with nerf burgers and tubers, and also with a complaint about his favorite Jedi not visiting him anymore. Dex understood rather quickly why when he saw Obi-Wan’s stomach.
To say he had been delighted was not an exaggeration. It was actually downplaying it. Dex had promised a lifetime of free food for his pups. Obi-Wan thought it was ridiculously sweet of him.
Little Keldable was more than astonished to learn that their Alor was on friendly terms with Dexter Jettster. Most of them knew him from his time as an arms dealer, many of them knew him because he had little love for Jedi, which made his dinner a ‘Jedi-free space’. But it was bantha-poodoo because Obi-Wan and many Jedi who didn’t get on Dex’s nerves – and Quinlan because he was Obi-Wan’s best friend and only for that – were often eating at his dinner. Mandalorians just never happened to be there to see it. Or the Jedi would hide that they were Jedi. Dex probably claimed to have 'no love for Jedi' because he still had some dealings in... illegal stuff. Obi-Wan didn't know in what illegal stuff exactly, but he knew the Besalisk was still working. Either way, Dex being friends with Obi-Wan was news that spread so fast everyone seemed to find an excuse to respect the young omega even more than they already did.
The questions about how exactly he became Dex’s favorite person in this galaxy had been numerous. And Obi-Wan had carefully avoided to answer them until he hadn’t had the choice. Let’s just say nobody in Little Keldable had been pleased with Master Qui-Gon after that.
Quinlan ended up eating most of the nerf burgers Dex had brought with him, and he also inhaled half the tubbers before Obi-Wan had even taken one sip of his milkshake. It’s not like he cared, the only thing he seemed able to swallow and keep down was Mando cuisine and spicy-sweet snacks from the Temple’s kitchens. His cravings were so strange, but he just figured that his pups would already know the burning taste of spice once they’d go to Mandalore.
His friend spent his entire time down in the Mandalorian district getting his shebs kicked in spars at the plaza while the omega got fed with uj’alayi and mildly spiced tiingilar or pirpaak. Myles had stood as a guard, stayed by his side, claiming it was his duty as Aran’verd’alor, and Obi-Wan was aware Myles was just very protective because he was just naturally like that, but he was secretly glad that the Pantoran wanted to watch over him. It proved he didn’t hate him. The verd would sometimes wipe the floor with Quinlan, so that was fun to watch.
Many Mando’ade had also made sure he had soft blankets for him and his ade, and some buire also spent time with him to discuss things regarding his pregnancy, of the way to deal with infants, especially since he was going to give birth to six all at once.
That scared him a little, but Jedi had the ability to reduce the pain with the balm of the Force, and Master Che promised that she’d make sure he and his pups would survive. Vokara Che was one scary woman, and Obi-Wan was sure she’d be able to scare off Death itself if she put her mind to it. He was glad she was the one following him through the process, and Bant would also help out, so really, he had nothing to fear.
The secret still held on, and Obi-Wan thanked the Ka’ra for this blessing, but as the nine months mark started to approach more and more, he was getting a little paranoid, a little on edge. His hormones were all over the place, food cravings in the middle of the night thankfully quenched by the snacks both the Jedi and the Mando’ade offered him. His due date was so close he was getting sick from stress again, and Lorelai had had to help him through some panic attacks a few times already.
Of course, Master Che found out, mysteriously – Obi-Wan suspected that the Jedi Healer and the Mando baar’ur actually were speaking to each other about this condition, but he had no proof, and it wasn’t like the no-nonsense Twi’lek would tell him that she was communicating with a Mandalorian about his health – , about those attacks, and he had been forced to stay in the Healers Ward until he’d safely delivered the babies.
Damn it.
After a week of absence, Little Keldable had given up.
Apparently, they had gotten worried after the third day, harassing Myles to know about the redheaded omega who hadn’t been seen for days now. By the fifth, so many eyes had been boring into Arhal’s buy’ce she hadn’t had a choice but to allow some of the verde to go investigate. Didn’t take long for those specialist hunters to track an unsuspecting Master Plo Koon doing his usual tour around the orphanages of Coruscant and threaten him to reveal ‘Alor Kenobi’s whereabouts’. And by ‘threatening’ Obi-Wan meant ‘begging and stressing out’. Mother hens, the lots of them. The Kel-Dor hadn’t even been worried that a pack of stressed beskar-wearing warriors had cornered him out of public sight, simply smiling warmly and answering the ‘young ones’ questions with calm.
The Temple Guards had received gifts and food for him - and for the Crèche and for the quartermasters - exactly twenty-four hours later, on the Temple’s steps, from concerned Mando’ade who had done everything to hide their beskar’gam to the point that they had only worn kom’rke and shinguards under ponchos and capes, which... had been a surprise to Obi-Wan.
Mando’ade recoiled at the idea of not wearing armour. They absolutely loathed it. But... They had done this for him. For his safety. For his pups. They had stripped themselves of their beskar to make sure the secret would be preserved. To bring him food, sets of clothing for six little ik’aade and a special note from Goran Arhal.
I know that giving you this might be more painful than helpful, but you are about to bring into this galaxy our future, our hope for better. Ven’alor Fett doesn’t come here often, not with the war going on back on Manda’yaim, but I hope this will help soothe some of the pain of not having your mate with you. Alor Myles is actually the one who brought it to me, he said it was lying around in his ship since the last mission he had on Manda’yaim with Ven’alor Fett. Cuyir kotyc, Alor. Ka’ra ja’hailir gar. (Be strong, leader. The Stars watch over you.)
Obi-Wan had had tears welling up in his eyes when he had unpacked the package that had come with the note, Manda’yaim’s spices and alpha musk spreading in his room that stunk of omega discomfort and stress, of bland tea and rotten flowers, like an embrace from Jango himself. Obi-Wan had shoved his face in the shirt – his alpha’s shirt, that smelled of him like a vivid dream, like sweet torture – like some freak high on spice, sobbing desperately into it, the words ‘why? Why us? Force, WHY?!’ choking him.
It was like getting a puff of fresh air after so long drowning, so good and agonizing and Obi-Wan’s lungs had burned with how desperate he had been to remember that scent, to have it soaking into his skin.
The distress he felt was so strong he hadn’t realized it was being broadcasted by the Force, Master Che barging into the room like she had had hell at her heels, alarm in her scent despite the blockers, quickly followed by Master Doo and his panicked Crèchemates, all of them relieved to see he wasn’t dying or something. Master Windu too was there, standing a bit behind but watching, stress easily readable in the tensed line of his shoulders while the omega’s friends fussed over him, barely containing their worry from leaking in the Force. Obi-Wan had looked at them with tears in his eyes and snot running down his nose, such an embarrassing, un-Jedi like sight, fingers twisted in the cloth of his alpha’s shirt.
They all showed him great support and care as they hugged him, the feeling of pack surrounding him just as he noticed Master Yoda, his ears dropped with compassion and understanding, venerable eyes staring into his uncertain ones. The apology in the Force was loud.
Obi-Wan was lost, crying his heart out now that he was so close to bring his children into the world, the shirt of his mate clutched to his heart as the weight of the galaxy seemed to fall on him all at once. He was so tired, felt so cold.
The powerlessness, the helplessness, it was like ash in his mouth. The scent of his mate was wrapped around him, comforting and grounding, and he ended up falling asleep with the shirt tightly clutched against his heart, Jango’s scent spread on his scent glands like a mark, like a claim.
Like hope.
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The first contractions attacked him in the middle of the night.
Obi-Wan’s eyes flew open with a cry of pain, curling on himself and fingers twisting in Jango’s shirt over his belly. His entire body was throbbing, like vibroknives stabbing into his skin. The omega clenched his teeth, but he couldn’t help his whine when one of those contractions burned him alive.
He was distractedly aware that someone was suddenly by his side, talking to him, and people were moving around him to prepare everything for what was coming.
His pups.
They were coming.
The joy of this realization was soured by the stabbing, burning agony wracking through this body, by the bitter knowledge that Jango would not be there for the birth of their pups. He choked on a sob, his heart sinking to his stomach, and his eyes, blurry, jumped all over the room, the faces, seeing smoke and shapeless forms, hyperventilating. He felt breathless, and he didn’t know if it was because of his heartache or the panic of knowing he was about to give birth and that things could go so horribly wrong.
“Breathe, Obi-Wan, breathe.”
His blue eyes were electric when he looked at Master Che, Bant standing on the other side of his bed. The Mon Calamari smiled at him, the cool touch of her hand soothing the fire of his skin.
“Don’t panic, we’re here.” She reassured him firmly, and he could breathe a little better then.
“M-Myles... where i-is he?” He asked shakily.
The Pantoran had been smuggled into the Temple sooner this week at his request. Obi-Wan had needed his friend, by his side. He was one of Jango’s vod, and he wanted him to be there. The pups would be his ba’ade, the Mando’ad would be their ba’vodu, their cabur. Obi-Wan had needed family to be here, and the Jetiise were his family, but the Mando’ade were too.
“He’s outside. He’s waiting.”
Obi-Wan sighed and relaxed, the pain lessened as his stress leveled down.
Obi-Wan had asked the Mando’ad if he wanted to be one of the pups’ ba’vodu'e, and Myles had teared up, touched by the omega’s request. Of course, he had accepted, and the redhead had them dropped the bomb: to be present for the pups’ birth. Not in the room, but outside, because the Omega would not let another Alpha in the birth room that wasn’t his mate, but it helped him relax knowing someone he trusted, someone Jango trusted, was close.
“Alright.” Master Che’s serious, peaceful voice lulled him into a sense of calm, the mixed scents of saltwater, warm sand and rainforest soothing his unease. “Your contractions are getting closer, we’ll start labor soon. I will help you through the process, Padawan Erin will shield your mind and your children’s to keep your pain from echoing down your bond with them. They will feel it and reflect it back to you out of fear and panic if we don’t protect you all from the backlash of it.”
The omega nodded, wincing with a sharp inhale of pain and a groan as his insides contracted again.
Master Che talked him through it, Bant’s Force presence keeping his pups shielded from his pain as he went through labor. The omega didn’t try to hide his tears nor his pain, whimpering through the agonizing fire scorching in his nerves, feeling like he was being ripped apart from the inside out as he pushed under Master Che's firm encouragements. He was trying to breathe past the pain, and it was almost impossible. His skin was clammy, sweaty. He felt bloated but all of this was all forgotten because of the karking PAIN.
Master Che talked him through it, the omega forcing himself to take slow, controlled breaths, following the Twi’lek’s meditation-style inhales and exhales, pushing when she told him to push, resting when she told him to rest.
“Alright, young one, I can see the head.”
“Breathe Obi.” Bant’s Force presence was soothing, like cool water on the burn irradiating all in his lower body. “You’re doing good.”
“We’ll push again, are you ready?” The redhead nodded, centering himself in the Force, making it his anchor. Master Che nodded back. “Alright, push!”
He pushed, growling and sobbing through it all, and then suddenly he heard it. A baby’s cry.
The omega’s pain subdued long enough for him to hold his first child. A boy. His boy.
Obi-Wan’s was a Jedi, and as such it was his duty to sacrifice himself from the greater good of this galaxy, but he knew right there that he would die for his child.
As the labor began again for the birth of the rest of the litter, half a galaxy away, a flash of white light violently woke up Jango.