Chapter Text
“Have you seen him? The way he smiles when he’s got a sword in his hand – ”
“I get it, the jett’ika is cute.” Arla reached over to ruffle Jango’s hair; he snapped his teeth at her.
“He’s adorable. If Jas’buir doesn’t shoot his shot with Jinn soon, I’mma adopt him myself.”
“Aww, is one adorable sibling not enough for you?”
“You’re the badass sibling. And no, I want the whole collection.” He was still getting to know Arla again. They had been apart for so long, each believing the other was dead. While Jango was training with the Haat’Mando’ade, Arla had been living in terrible conditions …
“You know, Jaster offered to adopt me?” Arla said.
“That’s awesome! Did you accept?”
Arla shook her head. “I – I’m not ready. He barely knows me. And he’s the fricking Mand’Alor!”
“Yeah, that takes some getting used to,” Jango recalled. “He’s also a huge nerd, so don’t let it get to you.”
***
“And he’s funny and hardworking and he’s helping me learn Mando’a,” Obi-Wan gushed.
“It’s Obi’s first crush.” Quin wrapped him in a hug while he fake-struggled. “As eldest crèche-sibling, it is my solemn duty to tease you about it. And to threaten him in creative ways.”
“Quin, nooo,” Obi-Wan whined. “Anyway, I can think of a few better targets for you …”
***
Jaster was leaning on the railing above the training field, watching the Jettii practice; it never got old. There was a certain magic to the hum and glow of lightsabers – though the Jettii would all roll their eyes at any mention of the M-word.
At the moment, Jinn and Tholme were sparring, each demonstrating their personal style for Ob’ika, who was watching like a shriek-hawk. The difference was easy to see; Jinn leaped around the arena, using the Force to attack from every angle. Meanwhile, Tholme was rooted in place, deflecting strikes with minimal movement and perfect timing. At some unseen signal, they leapt apart, shut off their sabers, and bowed.
“You’ll do,” said Jinn.
“You’re an ass,” Tholme replied. “Padawan Kenobi, come practice your forms with a real swordsman.”
In the back of his mind, Jaster felt like something was missing … no, someone. Where had Tholme’s ad gone off to? He blinked, and Jinn was standing next to him. “Would you care to practice with me, Mand’Alor?”
“Is that a euphemism, or – ?”
“If you intend to claim the Darksaber, you may as well know how to use it.”
Not a euphemism, then. Not that Jaster would turn down a chance to study Jettii fighting forms. He jumped down onto the practice ground.
“I will show you the Shii-Cho form,” said Jinn. “It’s the closest to metal sword forms, and the safest for non-Force users; you can practice with one of your beskar swords. If you do well, I may let you hold my saber.” Jaster was not blushing, thank you very much.
***
Arla had taken to prowling the halls of Keldabe Palace when she couldn’t sleep. The halls were quiet at night, even with the sentries at their posts; she was surprised to notice movement in the armory. The Kiffar Jettii’ad was stacking tubers into one of the lockers.
She watched for a few minutes before asking, “Why?”
He didn’t startle; he’d known she was there. “Some people won’t stop mocking the hands that feed them.”
Arla snorted. After what she’d been through, she didn’t take food – or cooks – for granted. “Can I help?”
“You can stack the tubers while I focus on holding them in place.” The roots should be falling out of the locker, she saw, if not for Jettii powers.
“Did you magic the lock open, too?”
The Kiffar grinned. “Nah, I just picked it.”
“I like you.”
***
“We’ve found out where the Kyr’tsad are making their next move.” Myles’ hands flexed on the edge of the table, as if he’d rather have a weapon in hand.
“What are they up to now?” asked Jaster.
“We thought they’d stopped abducting children in order to indoctrinate them, but it turns out they’re raiding outside Mando space.” A snarl rose from the officers around the table. “The next world they’re targeting is called Melida or Daan, depending who you’re asking. The two factions have been at war for generations, leading to children running from their homes to avoid conscription.”
Well. Time for Jaster to conquer a planet.
***
The Jettii tagged along – or rather, Ob’ika tagged along with Jango’s squad, while Jinn paced around Jaster’s flagship, bristling with anxiety. Jaster considered offering a distraction, but he had to be able to walk when they landed. Tholme suggested a suspended meditation, which apparently involved hanging Jinn by his ankles.
Jaster didn’t like the idea either, but he could grasp why the Manda would push Ob’ika towards this mission. The children of Melida/Daan had been through too much to trust any adult. Jaster talked through the relevant protocols with Jango, but otherwise left them to it; he had business with the Kyr’tsad.
***
Though Jaster carried a beskad as part of his kit, he wasn’t expecting to use his new training. Everyone knew that Tor Viszla kept the Darksaber hidden away, rather than carrying it like a true warrior should.
Perhaps the more traditional clan heads had been putting pressure on Viszla. The next time the Haat’ade met the Death Watch in battle, Tor had the black-bladed saber in hand. Jaster could tell he wasn’t used to it; the blade lacked weight but had more angular momentum than steel.
“Having some performance issues, Viszla? Muscle memory going with old age?”
Tor roared and swung at him. Plasma met beskar and Jaster twisted as he’d been shown, to impart a spin on the deflected saber. He’d seen the Jettii flow with the movement and redirect the blade into an attack; Tor was left off balance. Jaster pressed his advantage, landed a slash on Tor’s elbow and another on his hip. It wasn’t enough to end the fight, but it would certainly slow him down.
“Do you think an upstart nobody like you can defeat the might of Clan Vizsla?”
“You’re a disgrace to your ancestors, Tor.”
Jetti sabers contained their souls, as armor did for Mando’ade. Was Tarre Viszla watching their battle from the Manda? Would he favour his blood descendant or (Jaster fancied) the successor to his principles?
Maybe it was his imagination that the Darksaber dimmed for a moment. Personally, Jaster wouldn’t mind more Jettii’Manda among the Mando’ade. The two cultures had much more in common than either had remembered.
Tor was seething with frustration. Had he thought that nothing could counter the Darksaber? “Fancy weapons won’t make up for a lack of skill, Tor.”
A muted ooh went up around them, and Jaster noticed that the rest of the skirmish had given way to a duel ring. No time to think about it.
“You dare speak to me of skill, mongrel? Jettii magic has twisted your brain!” As if the Jettii’s Force powers didn’t take intense training to master. “After I kill you, I’ll put your pets to the sword as well!”
The Darksaber blinked out.
Jaster didn’t question it. His sword found the gap under Tor’s chest plate and stabbed deep. He knew he’d struck something vital when Tor gasped and choked. The Darksaber hilt fell from his grip as he crumpled and Jaster scooped it up. “Let the Ka’ra be my witness, I will wield this blade better than you ever did. And I surely will not turn it on its maker’s kin.”
***
The Haat’ade landing site was overrun with children, and the state they were in made Jaster want to turn around and stab more people. Jango looked just as furious. “The youngest of them are babies. Their ‘generals’ are thirteen, and they’ve been living in the sewers.” Jango pointed out the lone adult among the rescuees, wearing tattered robes, with bandages across her eyes; Mij was crouched next to her. “That’s a Jettii that was sent to try to negotiate a ceasefire.”
“They sent a blind Jettii on a mission like this?”
“… She wasn’t blind when she got here.”
“Kark this planet.” The Melida and Daan put together didn’t have a sustainable population left. He would have to leave a garrison to make sure these demagolkase didn’t harm any more of their own children. Or visiting diplomats.
“Now will you do your healing trance thingy, Knight Tahl?” Mij was asking the Jettii.
“In a moment.” She turned her head towards Jaster and motioned for him to come closer. He bent down so she wouldn’t have to strain herself to speak. “Qui-gon likes it when you – ” She proceeded to give detailed instructions, and finished with, “You’ll be good for him.” She fell asleep while Jaster was still blushing.
Jango (with a snicker) pulled him towards Ob’ika, who was helping an infant drink formula while speaking with another child. Jaster approached slowly.
“Mand’Alor.” Ob’ika called out. “This is Cerasi, one of the Generals of the Young.”
“General.” Jaster hid a wince. These children had fled from war, but had no other language to label themselves with. If only the New Mandalorians hadn’t taken such a contrary stance on adoption …
“Mand’Alor,” Cerasi said carefully. “What do you plan to do with the Young?”
“To make sure you all have food, shelter and medical attention. And to keep you as far away from those dar’buire as possible.” He wanted to take them all home with him, but the rest of the Haat’ade might object to him hogging them all.
“And what would we have to do in return?” Cerasi persisted.
“Caring for children is a sacred duty. We would never ask for payment.” And because he knew what she was really asking, he continued, “There’s a big difference between knowing how to fight and being forced to fight. To tell the truth, most Mandos do normal things like farming and speeder repair, they just wear armor doing it. And no Haat’Mando’ad would put a blood feud ahead of a child’s well-being.”
Ob’ika added, “See? I told you he was a good person.” Cerasi just hummed sceptically. It would take time to earn her trust.
He made a circuit of the camp, returning salutes from his verde as he went. Word of his duel with Tor had spread through the whole company, and even if it hadn’t, the Darksaber clipped to his belt was hard to miss. He encountered Myles some former Kyr’tad verde in the process of painting their armor white.
He found Jinn on the lookout post atop his lead dropship. The Jettii was meditating or maybe just brooding, gazing out over the shattered landscape.
“How are you doing? I, uh, got the impression that you know Knight Tahl well.”
“We were close as junior Knights. I’m …relieved that she will recover.” Jinn turned to face him, tucked his hands into his sleeves, and bowed. “Congratulations on your victory, Mand’Alor”
The evening sun tinted his hair with amber, and the wind plastered his robes around his lean frame. “Could I convince you to celebrate with me?” And to make sure there was no ambiguity, he added, “In bed.”
A slight smile touched Jinn’s lips. “That can be arranged.”
***
Another half-wrecked ship, this one named Jacob Horse; another wary Jedi and their child. “I am Ky narec, and this is Asajj Ventress. We seek refuge on Mandalore.”