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“It doesn’t matter, it’s not important.”
“If it’s not important, ad’ika, then you can tell me.”
“Why do you want to know so badly?”
“...I know a jetii. Or thought I did. I want to know if he truly was the man I thought he was, or if I can’t even trust my own judgement anymore-.”
“You can’t use me as a litmus test, Jaster. Odds are, your friend’s never even heard of me. You can’t judge your friend based on whether they know some random Padawan.”
“If the 2 of you are unrelated, ad’ika, I’ll drop it, ori’haat. Besides, you’re wrong. You learn a lot about someone by the way they treat their ad. At least if you’re Mando’ad.”
The ad’ika grumbled to himself for a long moment, but eventually relented with a sigh.
“Fine,” he huffed. “Ask me.”
“Do you know Yan Dooku?”
The ad’ika blinked rapidly, startled. “That’s- Dooku is- was- my Grandmaster. How do you know that name?”
“Pick up, pick up, you ord’inii of a jetii, pick up,” he sung under his breath, jiggling his foot. Khal cuffed him. Jaster looked mournfully up at his cyare.
“Patience,” Khal counselled. “The jetii will answer when he does and not a moment before. Your impatience serves no one and nothing.”
Jaster slipped an arm around their waist, pressing his face into the tender flesh of their belly. “Ner cyar’ika,” he murmured, “bid mesh’la bal mirdala.”
Khal was so beautiful and smart, and yet soft at the same time. He could stay here forever-.
Of course Dooku had to choose that moment to connect his comm.
“Mand’alor,” he drawled, “did you comm me so I could watch you flirt with your partner?”
Jaster turned to scowl at the man. Khal was snickering, and they brushed back a lock of his hair before pressing a kiss to the skin beneath. Sometimes, Khal’s gentleness even after the life they'd lived made his bones ache.
“I’ll leave you to it,” they said. “Warn me before you declare war on the Jetii?”
Jaster hissed at his departing ven’riduur. He had meant to lead up to that, to wind Dooku up before throwing his demagolka of a hibir in his face. “So much for patience!”
Khal had the gall to wink at him, blowing a kiss before they shut the door behind them.
Jaster turned back to Dooku with a muttered curse. To the man’s credit, he looked grave - more grave than usual, at least.
“Mand’alor,” Dooku rumbled, "war? I had hoped we had sorted out the worst of our difficulties.”
“I thought so too,” Jaster returned. He could give Dooku this much. “I thought I knew you, Yan Dooku. I believed you an honourable man.”
Dooku narrowed his eyes. “And now something I’ve done has given you cause to think otherwise?”
“When was the last time you saw your hibir? Your student,” he clarified, when Dooku just stared.
“My…student? My Padawans, you mean.” Dooku shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ll have to clarify which one; I have 3.”
“Walk me through them,” Jaster ordered.
Dooku’s face darkened; he didn’t do well with orders, but to his credit, he still obliged without arguing.
“Rael Averross was my first Padawan, a Master in his own right. He’s been based on Pijal for years now. You know my third, Komari.”
Jaster nodded. “Vosa is known to us.”
Dooku frowned. “Has the second managed to offend you somehow? Qui-Gon is a bit of a hotheaded maverick, certainly, but-.”
“Do not finish that sentence, Dooku. When was the last time you spoke to him?”
The man grimaced. “We’ve barely spoken since his Knighting. I believe he’s taken a Padawan since then? A rather tiny Padawan.” Jaster bit back an involuntary smile at that description. “Qui-Gon has made it clear to me he neither wants nor requires my advice when it comes to his Padawan’s tutelage.”
“I wish you had insisted, Yan,” he finally said.
Dooku sighed heavily. “Kindly stop beating around the bush and tell me how Qui-Gon has offended you, Mand’alor. Neither of us have time to waste-.”
“Are you calling me from a stakeout again?”
Dooku rolled his eyes at him. “Nothing so grave as that. Several children have been kidnapped here on Qhulosk. Komari called me in as standby for back-up, so I may have to cut this conversation short with little warning.”
“See, that’s the thing I don’t understand,” Jaster exploded. “For as long as I have known you, you have tried to do what was right and damn the circumstances, damn the cost. And then you claim this- this hut’uun shabuir of a dar’jetii as hibir-!”
“Jaster,” Dooku intoned, “please calm down and start from the beginning.”
“Your Qui-Gon Jinn went up and left his hibir in an active warzone - the ad’ika chose to help ad’e fight demagolkase, saying it was your Force that led him to do so - and then that shabuir went and abandoned him there!”
Dooku’s pallor noticeably worsened even through the awful quality of the holo.
“The- the boy,” Dooku stammered. “I apologise, I do not recall his name - how is he now? He is safe with you, yes?”
“Apparently this is not the first time that shabuir pulled this sort of osik on the ad’ika,” Jaster spat. “He was enslaved by another dar’jetii - how in all Sith-hells is an ad'ika finding the worst sort of trouble?” he demanded. “Where are the adults who are supposed to protect him?”
“Enslaved?” Dooku choked. “That’s-.” He cut himself off before he could say more, and thankfully didn’t ask if Jaster was sure. If he had, Jaster might have gone all the way to Qhulosk to rip the ord’inii’s head from his body himself since clearly he wasn’t using it.
“I- I can’t believe Qui-Gon would do such a thing,” Dooku rasped. “I must get to the bottom of this.” He stared ponderously into Jaster’s eyes, the distance apparently making no difference to their intensity. “Of course the boy is safe with you.”
“I have no intention of surrendering him back to you hut’unn’ jetiise,” he snarled.
Dooku looked cautious. “Does the boy want to return? You must consider that, Mand’alor.”
Jaster sneered. “As a matter of fact, he doesn’t. He wants nothing more to do with the jetiise, and from the reports his mir’baar’ur is giving me, I don’t blame him. If this is how you treat all your ad’e, I’m of half a mind to go to Coruscant and take them all; clearly you don’t deserve them.”
Dooku inhaled sharply. “Mand’alor, I must counsel patience. Qui-Gon and I may have had our differences but for him to change this much - I will find out what happened.” He paused. “Would it be possible to speak to the boy?”
“Not presently,” Jaster snapped. “The ad’ika is spiralling. He had to execute a youngling to save his vod’e and no longer trusts himself.”
Dooku looked grieved. “That is - no matter what, thank you for taking him in, Jaster.”
“The ad’ika is mandokar’la,” he growled. “I’d Adopt him in a heartbeat, if he gave the word.”
“I am relieved to know that he has a future with you,” Dooku rasped. “Then, if you will excuse me. Komari has not returned, which means I have time to do some digging.”
Jaster snorted. “I look forward to your report.”
Dooku growled. “Jaster, I am certain I did not raise a heartless man.”
“I don’t know what else you would call such demagolka,” he retorted. “He might not have killed the Young himself as the Elders did on Melidaan, but abandoning them there with nothing - he is Marked. He has one warning, and it is only on account of you and Vosa, Dooku. If Qui-Gon Jinn ever enters Mandalorian space, we will kill him.”
The next time Dooku commed him, the man was in a flying rage.
“Xanatos Fell - he repudiated Feemor - what in all Sith-hells was that arrogant toad thinking in letting him take another Padawan? I mistook Obi-Wan for Feemor,” Dooku sighed, covering half his face with one large hand. “Please extend the ad’ika my apologies.”
Jaster raised an eyebrow. “The ad’ika has met you, he remembered that much.”
Dooku shook his head. “Maybe I’m conflating the 2 - Feemor also tells me he met me just the once when he was also very young; I am not very good with telling younglings apart, especially if I am not familiar with them.” He buried his face in his hands. “Jaster, it’s a disaster.”
He hummed; that wasn’t a bad start. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Extend my apologies to the ad’ika, if he would accept them. I have also extended my apologies to Feemor, and the man has thankfully accepted them.” Dooku groaned. “I would make amends, Jaster.”
“Is this from you or your Council, Dooku?”
The man snorted. “Like those lily-livered sods on Coruscant could tell me what to do.” He sobered. “Like I could tell them what to do. They were under the impression that the ad’ika had left the Order of his own regard. That the situation on Melida/Daan was settled. The Knight who’d accompanied them is still in a coma and can give no testimony otherwise.”
Jaster scoffed. “Is it common for jetii ba’ji to let their hibir leave in the middle of a war? One that has ad’e fighting dar’buir’e?”
Dooku shook his head, exhausted. “There is a reason why I do not deal with the Council if I can help it, Mand’alor. They are content in their complacency, and in this matter it comes down to a case of ‘he said’, ‘they said’.” His eyes flickered up to find his.
“I did not bring you into the conversation, of course.”
Dooku sank back in his seat. “They chose to believe what is convenient. Melidaan is stable. The ad’ika did leave. That the circumstances are disputed is not their concern.”
“Convenient,” Jaster spat.
“Trust me, I know,” Dooku growled. “Don’t even get me started on Bandomeer. I went back to Coruscant and yelled myself hoarse at them in-person, and then I thrashed Qui-Gon’s sorry arse so hard he won’t be able to get up for a week. But I cannot make them believe. I am sorry, Mand’alor; I have failed you both in this regard.” Dooku sighed heavily, pushing his hair back out of his face.
“I have news for the ad’ika, if you would hear it.”
Jaster cocked his head. “Oh?”
“While on Coruscant, I made contact with the ba’ji of one of the ad’ika’s crechemates - he was part of a group of younglings who had been raised together since childhood, and they still care for him greatly.”
“Ad'e?” Jaster sighed with a shake of his head. “The ad’ika is only just beginning to accept the fact that he was not responsible for Pre’s death. That he killed the ad is a fact and a pity - but he was protecting his own against one who was actively trying to kill them. No blame can be laid at his feet.”
Dooku simply nodded. Jaster had told him of the series of events that had led the ad’ika to their door - although he did not mention that the weapon the ad’ika had used was the dha’kad’au and the symbol of the Mand’alor.
The very same dha’kad’au that had, apparently, demanded its components be soaked in top-grade weapons oil to remove all vestiges of rust and, in the meantime, required its crystal to be carted around by the ad’ika in a synthsilk pouch hanging from his neck.
The ad’ika could keep the dha’kad’au, and frankly, good riddance.
“His mir’baar’ur is only just tentatively in favour of letting him comm the Young on Melidaan; he isn’t ready for more contact with ad’e.”
Dooku shook his head. “I wasn’t exactly suggesting it,” he murmured. “The younglings are smarting, still, from his loss. They don’t believe him dead, but I doubt they will be able to fully hide their reactions if they learn his whereabouts. I don’t know what the Council was thinking, Jaster, sanctioning them for attachment-.”
“What?”
Dooku sighed. “I was very tempted to turn my ship around and go yell at them some more, but I was reminded that the Council, while not homogeneous, nevertheless only speaks with one voice.”
“You’re being unnecessarily cryptic about your jetii osik again, Dooku.”
The older man made a frustrated noise. “The Council may argue with each other as much as they want behind closed doors, but once they open, they only speak with one voice: that of the majority. I was reminded that I am not alone in my frustration, and others have even more reason to be disappointed with the Council.”
It took a bit of thinking, but Jaster finally remembered. “You have a vod on the Council.”
“I have a vod,” Dooku corrected. “He is on the Council. It has been a particular exercise in frustration of late, according to him.”
Jaster ran a hand through his hair. “’Lek,” he agreed. “There’s really no help from that corner?”
Dooku shook his head. “This was told to me in confidence, Jaster, and I would hold you to that.”
He nodded.
“The vote for sanctions was 2-9, with 1 abstaining. The matter of Melidaan didn’t even merit a vote, given Qui-Gon’s report.” Dooku grit his teeth. “I was asked if I doubted my Padawan’s words.”
Jaster winced.
“I told them they could check the Halls of Healing in the morning for my reply,” Dooku replied steely. “I have repudiated Qui-Gon from my lineage, for all the cold comfort that will offer. I offered to take in Feemor, if he were willing, and he said he’d think it over.” He seemed to soften as the conversation shifted to less fraught topics. “I’ve put him in touch with Rael, my first Padawan, and I think they’ll get along.”
Dooku looked small and tired in that holo.
“And where is Vosa, Yan?”
If the man was surprised by the change in address, he didn’t show it. “Oh, my hotheaded Knight,” he sighed instead. “After Qhulosk, she’s somehow managed to get herself embroiled in a smuggling operation on the complete opposite side of the galaxy from where I last left her.”
Jaster chuckled warmly. “Sounds like her.”
“There is a reason why I asked Feemor to contact Rael and not Komari. She’d probably give the poor boy a heart attack, and lead him to think I condone her ridiculousness.”
Jaster thought rather loudly that, yes, Dooku not only condoned it, he also aided and abetted it and sometimes, even worsened it.
“Mand’alor,” Dooku chided, but the corner of his mouth was twitching.
“Tell me more about the ad'e be ad’ika on Coruscanta,” Jaster said instead. “You wanted to tell me something about them."
“I was going to suggest that we all keep each other updated about cuun ad’e, since I do believe we have their best interests in mind. Once they were in a mental and physical place where it would be advisable for them to come into contact each other, we could facilitate that contact.”
Jaster raised his eyebrows. “You trust this ba’ji so readily?” He squinted when Dooku suddenly looked squirrelly. “Wait. When you said ‘made contact’, did you mean-.”
“Jaster, I hardly think this is appropriate-.”
“-made contact, or ‘made contact’?” He grinned. “I need to know, for scientific reasons.”
Dooku clicked his tongue, clearly irritated. “Has that line ever worked on anyone?”
He put a hand on his sternum. “I live in hope. Tell me more about this…contact you made, Yan. Preferably how.”
Dooku squawked and drew himself up like a ruffled nuna; it was honestly hilarious. A pity his cyar’ika wasn’t here to see it in person.
“I hardly think my sex life is any business of yours, Mand’alor!”
Jaster bared his teeth. “I never said a word about sex, Yan - that was all you.”
Dooku made a hilariously disgruntled face when he realised he’d been had. Sure, it was a simple trick but with these complicated types, the simplest ones worked the best.
“Are we really going to gossip about my sex life as if we were in a common cantina?” he demanded plaintively. On a less dignified person, it would’ve been a whine. “With your own riduurok in the works, this can hardly interest you.”
“On the contrary, Jetii, it interests me very much indeed,” Jaster replied with a blinding grin. “But I’ll have mercy on you this once; I’ll let you steep and think about what you’re going to tell me about him next time.”
“Who even said it was a him?” Dooku demanded, his face going blotchy.
Jaster threw his head back and laughed.
As their conversation drew to a natural close, he sat back and considered the man before him and found that he was glad that he hadn’t misjudged Dooku too badly. In fact, this incident had filled in more of the person he was outside of a talented verd and a loving ba’ji to Vosa. If it also forced Dooku to confront the more problematic parts of his fellow jettise he had been content to ignore while so far away…
“What is it this time, Mand’alor?” The words themselves were irritable, but the tone was almost fond. What an exercise in contradictions he was: Yan Dooku.
Jaster hummed. “Would you want to meet him? The ad’ika, that is.”
Dooku looked surprised at the sudden question. “This is abrupt, Mand’alor. Considering all things, I think the better question is would he want to meet me?”
“He is curious about you,” he admitted. “I have told him how we met.” Jaster shook his head. “I still do not understand how a hibir raised by you could go so wrong.”
Dooku sighed, sprawling backwards in his seat. “Trust me, I’m kicking myself too. Had I asked for too much from Qui-Gon? Been too blind to his faults? Been too blind to mine? If he'd Fallen, much as I would not wish it on anyone, it would at least be easier to understand.”
Jaster watched him carefully. Dooku hadn’t exactly been a young man when they had first met, but the lines on his face seemed deeper than ever.
“Let me know when you are coming,” he eventually ordered. “I’ll have to let the Scanners know that you have clearance. Unless you want to test yourself against Manda’yaim’s planetary defences.”
Dooku’s mouth twitched. “Not this time, Mand’alor. I’m afraid it will not be soon…but I look forward to meeting the ad’ika and seeing you in-person once more.”
(“How do you know Dooku?” the ad’ika asked softly. They were both lying on a grassy knoll - or rather, Jaster was lying on the grass and the ad’ika was lying on him, a slight ways away from where Jango and Myles were roughhousing with some of the ad’e, including Bo-Katan and Ahlora’s toothy kit. It was an incredible show of trust, and Jaster’s heart throbbed for the slight weight over his ribs, the gentle curve of a skull against his palm.
“This was some while ago, when Kyr’tsad was still in power and the Old Clans were still at war.” The ad’ika’s hair was incredibly soft and the copper strands gleamed under the sun, just like Khal’s.
“We were hired for a contract on Galidraan, to drive off bandits who’d been terrorising the city. We did our job - and then, just as we were finished, accusations were levelled against us for having killed civilians as well.”
The ad’ika gasped, and Jaster felt small fingers tugging at his tunic. He continued to stroke the ad’ika’s hair in an effort to soothe.
“We had nothing to do with those deaths and kept to our camp as the jetiise conducted their investigation - heading the investigation was Dooku and his third hibir, Komari Vosa.”
“I’ve never met her,” the ad’ika confessed, “and I only met Dooku the once; Jinn didn’t get along with him. I’d- heard there was another Padawan, before Xanatos, but I’ve never met them, either.”
Jaster ground his teeth and pointedly did not swear. Raising ad’e took a village; he did not understand the foolhardiness it took to spurn such aid, especially when Dooku had raised 2 jate hibir’e already.
“You have us now, ad’ika,” he crooned. “Khal, Jan’ika, Myl’ika. Ronei, Dilys. I would have you meet my clan, Norrelia, and her riduur, Keld. She’s pregnant, and that’s her vod’ika down there getting thrashed by Jango. A little birdie told me she’s quite eager to meet you and that pampered dha’kad’au you’ve been carting around like a pet.”
The ad’ika blushed charmingly.
“Silas will come around; he’s a hard-headed di’kut sometimes,” he added, because not having his vod around was hard for him, too. The ad’ika curled close, and it was so easy to wrap him up in a hug; he did not remember Myles or even Jango ever being quite this fragile.
The ad’ika cleared his throat wetly. “Um. You were saying - the- the jetiise and their investigation.”
Jaster didn’t quite preen at the Mando’a that left his lips, a clear declaration of ‘them’ against ‘us’, but it was close. He simply brushed a kiss to the top of the ad’ika’s head, savouring his quiet joy. Jango, to his immense sadness, had outgrown kisses from his buir, for the most part.
“Dooku was sent by the Republic, so it was to my surprise that he came to us first, in peace, to interview us for proof of the Governor’s claims. He conducted his investigation honourably and with due diligence, and when it became apparent that the Governor of Galidraan had played us all for fools-.” [1]
Dooku’s fury had been something to behold. And when Kyr’tsad had made their involvement known, he and Vosa had agreed to side with the Haat Mando’ad for the protection of the city. The jetiise had fought like whirlwinds, cutting down more than their fair share of Kyr’tsad and protecting Haat Mando’ad, never mind how leery some of the traditionalists had been about that informal alliance.
It had been…an honour and a pleasure to fight alongside them both. Dooku’s ignorance of the ad’ika - of the actions of his shabuir of a hibir - had felt like a personal betrayal.
A tug had him looking down.
“It’s not his fault,” the ad’ika insisted. “Dooku doesn’t even like being on Coruscant, and even when he was there, Jinn made sure to avoid him.”
“It is not your fault either, ad’ika,” Jaster said firmly. “They are grown verd’e - grown di’kut’e, more like, but grown nevertheless. Their actions are not your responsibility.”
The ad’ika didn’t answer, but that was okay. That was what time and his mirjahaal’tsad sessions were for.
“Ad’ika!” Myles yelled, waving merrily. “Are you ready to come and play?” The ad’ika in question just snorted at Myles’s enthusiasm.
Jaster cupped his small face. “You’re certain you don’t mind being called ‘ad’ika’? Remember, you grew up outside Stewjoni culture. Their customs aren’t yours.”
One corner of his mouth twitched. “’Ad-ika’ - I like it, actually. It’s a reminder, of what you value.” That you value me, he did not say. “’Obi-Wan’ belongs to Stewjon and the jetiise. I don’t know what to call myself yet, but I know that much.”
“There’s no rush,” Jaster agreed. “Now, do you want to deal with the ad'e or should we start planning an escape route? I would like to apologise in advance for Myles.”
The ad’ika giggled. "There's no apologising for Myles," he chirped, a sentiment he'd almost certainly picked up from Jango. Then he glanced at the gaggle of ad'e rolling around in the grass - Jango had sacrificed himself to distract Ahlora's bloodthirsty kit from hunting Myles while the older boy waited for the ad'ika's reply. Those were admirable instincts, if a little terrifying when packaged in a knee-height Togruta.
“I think I'd like to give it a try today,” the ad'ika said. “We can plan an escape route next time.”
He rolled to his feet in a single smooth motion and ran down the slope to take Myles down in a flying tackle. Could his Force tell how happy he was here? Jaster sure hoped so.)
Jaster would be a married man before Dooku commed him again, the loving father to 2 ad’e - it would be 3, if Myl’ika would just make an honest man out of his ad. Or vice versa; Jaster wasn’t sure if Myles had ever been honest for a day in his life.
“Does the invitation to visit still stand, Mand’alor?”
Jaster rolled his eyes. “Of course it does, di’kut. Are you on your own or is Vosa with you?”
“Just me, this time.”
“Alright,” Jaster nodded. “Now get your shebs down here and meet ner aliit.”
It went relatively well, all things considering. Jango only threatened to kill Dooku twice while the man made a number of faces that appeared to be menacing, but Jaster knew that was just how the man’s face was. The one thing they all had in common was how protective they were over the ad’ika, now called Ben, so Jango and Dooku just needed to get over themselves and see that.
Dooku had been busy on his end, too, reconnecting with those who remained of his lineage. His first hibir, Rael, and his first bu’hibir, Feemor, had struck up a surprisingly solid relationship in a relatively short amount of time. Vosa was off doing only Vosa knew what; Dooku dryly said that she’d announce herself with a trail of explosions sooner or later, and Jaster couldn’t even pretend to be surprised when Myles perked up at that.
Nonetheless, there was anger in him still - anger in all of them, really, but Dooku was the unknown element. Khal refused to remove their buy’ce, never mind that Dooku had already seen them, and insisted that if any additional visits were to occur, that Dooku see a mir’baar’ur first.
It was a test, from his mirdala bal mesh’la riduur, just when Jaster could not be in more awe of them; they both knew what men like Dooku were like. Would he admit that he needed help, especially in this arena? Or would he see it as a weakness? Would he think his youngest bu’hibir worth it?
To all their surprise, Dooku had chuckled.
“Feemor, my first Grandpadawan. He is a strong advocate for Mind Healers, given the mental stress he was under when Jinn repudiated him. I have mentioned how I have taken the boy back into my line, yes? No, not a boy,” the man corrected himself, “he is a man, a Master who has a raised a young Knight well.”
Dooku sighed, running a hand through his hair. It had been as dark as a raven’s wing when they first met all those years ago on Galidraan; now there was white threaded through his temples and beard.
“I reached out to him not because I believe he needs support, but that I would offer it in whatever manner he would accept. He and his Padawans would be a merit to any lineage.” Dooku’s gaze went distant. “Feemor is a good man, a kind man. I would not have admired those qualities in my younger days. Now, I only find myself grateful.”
“Well, at least one of you has good sense,” Khal muttered. “Will you see a jetii mir'baar'ur, then?”
Dooku’s gaze fell on Ben, who stared back, unwilling to budge. Finally, Dooku smiled.
“It is a small price that you ask, Riduur’alor. I would offer you much more for the chance to know my youngest Grandpadawan, to help undo the wrong beset upon him.”
“Your mental health isn’t a small price,” Ben retorted. “You shouldn’t do this for me or Jinn or Feemor - you should do this for yourself.”
Dooku’s smile turned rueful. “You are as wise as your buir."
Ben meeped and turned bright red.
It looked like their relationship was off to a good start.