Chapter Text
Jaster hesitates under the spotlight a moment longer before starting forward.
He doesn’t think this is anything nefarious or dangerous but… well, he would like to know if he’s about to be sacrificed to the Death Swamp.
The mayor clasps his hands around Jaster’s wrist with hearty congratulations as he ascends to the main platform.
“Yes, right, if I could–” he starts to ask.
“And now! The choice of the Waters!” The mayor turns back to the crowd, leaving Jaster to shuffle awkwardly under all the attention.
The spotlight comes down again, on the blonde outsider this time.
The crowd’s murmurs grow, excited.
From what Jaster can catch, two outsiders in one ceremony is unheard of.
It really would be a shame if he had to fight his way out of being sacrificed to the Death Swamp while dragging some poor innocent spacer behind him.
“Come!” The mayor cries. “You have been chosen!”
The blonde looks about as uncomfortable as Jaster feels though they hide it surprisingly well.
“Now, now.” He fusses, greeting the human with as much enthusiasm as he greeted Jaster. He guides them to stand by Jaster’s side. “What are your names?”
Jaster slides a glance at the stranger, not exactly enthusiastic about announcing his name to the world.
His new companion in ceremonies answers quietly. “Feemor.”
“A good name!” The mayor praises. “From the next sector’s third moon?”
“Ah, yes.” They agree, visibly surprised at the recognition.
“And you, Sir Mandalorian?”
Jaster already told the mayor his name, it was on the agreement they struck to allow his people to search for Death Watch in the area, lying will do him no good here.
“Jaster.”
The mayor hums, considering, and announces to the crowd.
“Even their names fit together! As the Skies and Waters intended!”
Hold on now, fit together?
“This is a good omen indeed!” He pauses, milking the crowd until they start shouting, asking for the year’s fortune.
“Hmmm, yes, I see peace! Great peace! Not only for our people! But the galaxy at large! This is what the Skies and Waters tell us by bringing these ancient enemies together in sacred eternity and love.”
Wait, wait, wait.
Just one moment.
Ancient enemies?
Sacred eternity!?
Love!?!
“Lord Mayor,” Jaster whips his head around to Feemor. “I believe we talked about the importance of keeping my purpose here quiet.” Their voice doesn’t carry to the crowd, Jaster almost wonders if the mayor has heard them.
“Yes, yes.” He waves a dismissive hand. “No need to discuss your mission.”
“Sir.” Feemor pushes. “That includes my position.”
“Bah, I only said ancient enemies, Mandalorians have plenty of those.”
Well, yes.
Jaster isn’t going to pretend there isn’t plenty of bad blood with plenty of peoples but… Feemor is probably right to be concerned.
Beyond the obvious concern that "ancient enemies" alone may be enough to make Jaster a threat.
There is one ancient enemy in particular that Mandalorians themselves like to claim, regardless of the interest the other side has in maintaining that grudge.
There is one ancient enemy in particular that might include in its ranks a supposedly unremarkable spacer from the next sector's third moon, far from any war Mandalorians remember fighting in and with a mission that must be kept quiet.
Looking closer, it’s easy to miss the muscles well-hidden under Feemor’s nondescript outfit.
Jaster is more of a blaster-man himself but there are a few True Mandalorians who maintain skills in more up close and personal weapons.
He can makes guesses.
“What, exactly,” Jaster cuts in, refocusing on the issue at hand. “Have the Skies and the Waters chosen us to do?”
“Oh,” the mayor looks surprised for a moment before he rallies. “My apologies, we’re so used to locals.”
“The Skies and the Waters were once together,” he raises his voice and turns firmly back to the crowd. “Eternal in their love and care for one another.”
The people cheer for the story.
That isn’t what Jaster was asking.
“They were beloved by all and most of all by each other.” He continues. “The harvests were plentiful and the people at peace. Until, one day, the enemy set upon the people of the planet and the Waters and the Skies.”
The crowd boos.
“It was a great battle, horrible and bloody.” He gestures wide, showing the devastation. “The Skies and the Waters could fight no more, there was no hope.”
“Then, the Earth came to them, offered help if only they agreed to separate for their power diminished the Earth’s own.” The mayor shakes his head in sorrow. “Out of their great love for the people they agreed, never to come together again, lest the enemy return tenfold.”
Oh, Jaster has heard something similar about an enemy in one of his readings about a nearby sector. He wonders if this “enemy” is the same, some conquering force lost to time and remembered only in myth.
“However, all was not over.” He rallies. “For while they could never be together again, their love would never fade and each year the Skies and the Waters chose someone to represent their love for the other and bless us as the new year approaches.”
That’s lovely but what does this mean for Jaster?
“And so each year we hold this marriage ceremony.”
“Marriage?” Feemor does not quite hold on to their likely-Jedi calm.
Jaster would also like some clarification on that point, please.
“Don’t interrupt.” The mayor admonishes. “To celebrate their wisdom and care!”
The crowd goes wild, cheering what must be the end of the explanation.
The mayor nods, approving and proud, waiting for them to calm.
“Now, we haven’t had an outsider chosen in over a generation and I can’t recall there ever being two.” He says gravely. “We must remember the respect the Skies and the Waters show one another. The final ceremony will take place after the bonfires have gone down, to allow time to determine the best method of respect for our chosen ones’ traditions.”
He steps back from the stage, clapping Jaster and Feemor heartily on the back and taking their arms to guide them offstage.
“Alright, gentlemen.” He smiles, friendly, like he’s talking about the weather. “Tell me of your marriage traditions, we’ll do our best to accommodate of course, as the Skies and the Waters demand. Though please, do be aware that fighting, including as part of a ritual, is considered a bad omen and may anger the Skies and/or Waters.”
He nods with satisfaction before startling as if he’s just remembered something important.
“Goodness, you’re not married already are you? We can get the papers drawn up right away to deal with that if necessary, I’m so sorry I didn’t think of it before!”
Jaster looks to Feemor, hoping that his thoughts about his identity were wrong and the stranger is not a Jedi but rather a happily married man with several children and a spouse that will fight tooth and nail against any divorce.
“Well,” Feemor starts. “I’m not married, no, but you do understand,” he darts a cautious glance at Jaster before continuing. “My people don’t exactly… marry at all, as a rule.”
Stars, no luck.
Jaster suspects that won’t be an issue for these people.
“Of course, I understand.” The mayor nods enthusiastically. “No marriage traditions to accommodate then?”
“Well…” Jaster can see the cracks in Feemor’s Jedi calm start to deepen. “I suppose not but–”
“Wonderful!” Jaster wonders how much this ability to bowl over any opposition impacted his election. He wonders if this planet even has elections. “Jaster? What of your marriage traditions?”
“Uh…” Jaster is the Mand’alor, he’s dealt with frustrating politicians before, this shouldn’t be difficult. “Listen, Lord Mayor. I understand that this ceremony is… important… to your people but, well.”
“Ah, I see, you are feeling reluctant.” The mayor nods, politely understanding. “Perhaps you’d like to hear the alternatives.”
Jaster narrows his eyes behind his helmet, something tells him he won’t like the alternatives.
“Of course, it is a terrible omen for the ones chosen by the Waters and the Skies to refuse and so I’m afraid we will have to banish you both from the planet forever.”
Feemor actually blanches slightly at this.
“Normally,” the mayor continues. “We would only banish the person in question but as you’re both outsiders we will have to insist that your associates leave too.”
“What do you consider associates?” Feemor asks carefully.
“Well, fellow members of your Order I suppose, any children who join you would also be included but those need only be banished for a period of fifty years. The Waters and the Skies do not believe in grudges.”
“Lord Mayor.” Jaster cuts in, an impatient growl starting to come into his voice. “You intend to fight Death Watch off yourself?”
“As far as I can tell,” he returns, “these Death Watch people seem to be a Mandalorian problem. I will defend my people but so far these ‘Death Watch’ you claim are hiding have not bothered us.”
Jaster opens his mouth to protest, warn the fool what he’s risking when Feemor speaks up again.
“What if only one of us agrees?”
Oh, that is an interesting point, Jaster supposes he could help with whatever mission the Jedi is on if necessary. It’s also possible Feemor might be incentivized to deal with Death Watch though even a Jedi would likely have trouble alone.
“Absolutely not,” the mayor shakes his head. “Either you both leave immediately, taking your tagalongs with you or you marry after the bonfires fade.”
Jaster wracks his brain for something else, it isn’t that Feemor’s probably a Jedi or even particularly unattractive but surely…
“I agree.”
Really? That easy?
Jaster slides him an annoyed look that Feemor politely ignores.
“And you, Sir Jaster?”
The intel they have says this Death Watch sect is large, too large to risk letting be.
“Fine.” He grits out.
“Wonderful! The people will be pleased!” He nods. “Now, your marriage traditions.”
He looked expectantly at Jaster.
Stars, if this isn’t the strangest night of his life.
“We have vows.” He manages, careful to keep the frustration as absent from his voice as possible. “Mandalorian weddings are very simple, we exchange a piece of armor and say the vows and if possible have a feast after.”
“Sensible.” The mayor nods to himself. “Well, feasting is already part of the festival. Any sacred foods?”
“No.”
“Lovely! I suppose the vows are easy enough, we can just substitute our usual ones, we’ve done that on occasion.” He leans in like he’s telling Jaster some amusing secret. Jaster leans back in kind. “Some of the young ones get very enthusiastic in poetry class.”
“Armor, armor, armor.” He turns to examine Feemor’s clothes. “I don’t suppose you have any on you?”
“I have the Force.” Feemor says, like this is somehow a common question.
“Well, unfortunately I can’t see the Force.” The mayor insists.
“Car’i!” He shouts and a short, prim-looking human comes to his aid. “We need armor for that one.”
“Of course, a full set?” She’s already taking measurements, much to Feemor’s clear discomfort. “I’m afraid Mandalorian style may be difficult to reproduce accurately on such short notice.”
“Hmmm…” The mayor scrutinizes his frame and Feemor darts Jaster a look he thinks might be pleading.
“We, uh, we usually just do vambraces.” He offers.
“I suppose we can settle.” The mayor concedes.