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batsutousaiTitle: Haat'Mand'alor be Yaim'ol
Fandom: Star Wars
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Jaster Mereel
Warnings: Time travel, canon-typical violence, fix-it (apparently), not everyone dies/some live, the Kaminoans are the worst, Jaster is the Mand'alor we deserve, character death, the clones deserve better, Jaster has 3 million grandkids, mental manipulation, Mandalorian culture, Mandalorian morality, an excessive amount of murder (of Kaminoans), Jedi culture respected, Jango needs a hug, Rex needs a hug, Fox needs a hug, EVERYONE GETS A HUG (except the Kaminoans), asexual Jango, nonbinary clones, trans clones, polyamory mention, disabled characters, happy ending
Summary: Jaster Mereel doesn't die on Korda VI, but is instead thrust forward thirty years to Kamino.
A/N: Jaster and his party arrive on Coruscant for the requested talks.
To everyone who reviewed with variations on a scream last chapter: Thank you, I love you all, and you literally made my morning/evening/night. I may have added "my readers' screams" to my grocery list as a joke the night before posting. *shifty*
Two weeks after the comm from Chancellor Organa, Jaster was being welcomed onto Coruscanta warmly, if warily. He hadn't been able to bring any of the clones, nor dared to chance bringing Jango, but he was hardly at a complete loss for loyal verde: Vhonte, Baar'ur Gilamar, Rav Bralor, B'arin Apma, and Llats Ward had all insisted they would be joining him on Coruscanta, or else, and the little turncoat, Bo-Katan Kryze, had pleaded her inclusion, on the off-chance she might see her sister and nephew. (Given Jaster chanced war for the sake of his own family, he would have been a hypocrite to deny her, but she'd been allowed only the weaponry that was a part of her beskar'gam, and understood that any action that might read as a double-cross, on her part, would forfeit the second chance she'd won by turning in Pre Vizsla's attempted coup.)
As they had agreed, when Jaster removed his buy'ce to face Chancellor Organa properly, those with him did the same, if only to prove that he hadn't brought any clones with him. (Vhonte's buy'ce, at least, was Togrutan-style, but the rest of them wore the humanoid-style of buy'cese, if slightly wider in Llats and Rav's cases, so their larger ears had sufficient space.)
"Mand'alor Mereel, thank you for your willingness to discuss peace," Organa said as they shook hands. "With your permission, the Jedi Council has offered their best negotiator to take part in our talks. I'm aware that Mandalore and the Order have a...complicated history, but–"
"I have no complaints about a jedi joining the talks," Jaster interrupted, because a part of him hoped that, just maybe, this jedi could get a message back to his riduur, that they might be able to see each other, and this trip would be worth it.
"As I said, Chancellor," said a voice that Jaster hadn't heard in over a year, and he turned to watch, heart in his throat, as a brown-cloaked figure stepped through the small crowd of officials that were standing behind Organa, their cane tapping a steady rhythm against the hard surface of the landing platform. They stopped next to the chancellor and pushed back their hood, revealing pale eyes that glinted with familiar mischief, under hair that shone a brilliant shade of red in Coruscanta's sun. In Mando'a, he said, "Welcome, Mand'alor Mereel, to Coruscanta. Welcome, also, to your warriors. May the Ka'ra bless these talks, that we might all leave the table as friends."
"Ben'ika," Vhonte choked.
Jaster couldn't find any words to say, could only stare at his riduur, taking in the ways he'd changed in the past year: His hair had been cut shorter, and there were lines on his face that Jaster couldn't remember seeing previously, and there was the cane, which he was leaning on heavily enough to suggest–
"Should you be standing, you stubborn fool?" Gilamar demanded.
"No, he shouldn't," Organa said, voice dry.
"I can stand, thank you very much," Obi-Wan retorted primly. "I wouldn't have been let out of Temple, otherwise."
"The speeders are behind me," Organa informed Jaster, apparently ignoring Obi-Wan. "Within which is Master Kenobi's hoverchair."
"I do not–!" Obi-Wan started.
"Obi-Wan," Jaster interrupted, turning a flat look on his riduur.
Obi-Wan's shoulders slumped and he sighed. "I'll stay in the damn chair," he muttered.
"Finally," Organa muttered, and offered an arm to Obi-Wan. "Come on, Councillor Sour-face," he said, fondness in the insult.
Jaster blinked, realising with some surprise that Obi-Wan and Organa must be friends.
"You've been hauling me around for hours," Obi-Wan retorted primly, then looked at Jaster. "If Mand'alor Mereel is willing–"
"Yes," Jaster said, before Obi-Wan could even finish. Someone snorted behind him, but it was worth it for Obi-Wan's smile. It was even more worth it when he realised the request had been for him to provide support for his riduur, and he didn't waste any time in offering Obi-Wan his arm, although it was a bit of a struggle to keep himself from pulling him close and kissing him.
There was, indeed, a hoverchair in the lead speeder, which Obi-Wan made a face at, but didn't make any more complaints as he let Jaster help him into the speeder, wincing as he lowered himself into the stiff seats of the speeder.
There was a minor debate on the platform behind them, before Gilamar calmly stepped into the speeder, smugness in the smirk he wasn't completely managing to hide. Jaster glanced back and sighed at the disgruntled expressions of the rest of his party as they were funnelled into the second speeder by some of the blue-cloaked guards; Vhonte, unsurprisingly, looked downright murderous, and Jaster had a feeling he was going to have to get in the way of at least one murder attempt, once they'd made it to whatever lodging they were granted for the duration of their stay.
"Mand'alor, I need to ask you to do something for me," Obi-Wan murmured in Mando'a, under the cover of the sounds of guards and the handful of other official-seeming beings settling into their rides.
A part of Jaster wanted to promise to do anything, if just to get another one of Obi-Wan's smiles, but the caution that had kept him from enquiring after his riduur through official channels stopped him, and he replied, "It depends on what it is."
Obi-Wan's return smile was small and grim. "Please keep the exact nature of our relationship a secret. We can be friends, but..." He shook his head.
Jaster wanted to scream, to shoot something. But, then, this was just further caution that he had already been taking, so he closed his eyes and nodded. "Do you wish the same of Vhonte?"
"It...may be for the best," Obi-Wan agreed, and at least he sounded apologetic.
Jaster nodded again and quickly typed an update for his entire party. (Save Kryze, who was not enough trusted to be aware that Obi-Wan was his riduur, although she had apparently already been of the impression that Obi-Wan was as good as a member of Clan Tervho, after Vhonte told him to take his beskar'gam back to the Jet'yaim with him, when he and his teacher left Manda'yaim.)
"Kenobi," Gilamar called in Basic, leaning forward to eye Obi-Wan, "what happened? You weren't in good shape when you left, but you shouldn't need a hoverchair." Unspoken was the certainty that they would have heard if Obi-Wan had left Coruscanta for some sort of mission and got hurt.
Obi-Wan's mouth pressed into a thin, unhappy line. "There was a foreign bacterium strain introduced to the tank, presumably during transport to the Brightest Star," he explained grimly. "Master Yaojie didn't spot it for almost an entire cycle, with everything happening. They had to dump the entire tank, sanitise it, and refill it."
Gilamar cursed, vehemently, in that language he sometimes resorted to when he was truly upset, which Jaster didn't recognise. (Jango had told him that Gilamar had come to them as Cin Vhetin, so Jaster had never asked, and didn't intend to; if Gilamar wished to bring up his past with him, that was his choice, and his alone, and Jaster would respect that. Even if he was curious.)
Obi-Wan flashed the baar'ur a tired smile. "Yes, well," he agreed, and sighed. "They managed to repair the damage to my heart, with some surgery, but my lung strength is noticeably weaker, and they had to insert a rod into my broken leg, because the bacteria ate at the exposed marrow. I was removed from the active service list before I even woke up."
Jaster remembered how much Obi-Wan seemed to have loved being able to go out into the galaxy and help people, and his chest ached.
"It is...not fine," Obi-Wan added with that pleasant, perfectly calm smile of his, the one that never quite seemed to reach his pale eyes, "but I've had eight months to come to terms with it, and I rather was enjoying being allowed to waste my days in the Archives, until Mace—ah, Master Mace Windu, the Head of the Council—dragged me up to the Council Spire and pointed to a chair and told me it was mine."
"To replace Yoda?" Jaster asked, curious. He wouldn't have expected it to take the Jet'alore months to fill an empty chair, especially with their Senate in upheaval...
"Oh, no, Master T'ra Saa accepted his empty seat while we were still returning from Kamino," Obi-Wan replied, shaking his head, "and Master Oppo Rancisis is our Grand Master, since T'ra refused the title."
"About five months ago," Organa said, and Jaster was a little startled to realise he'd forgotten the chancellor was there, "after the third time a group sent to inspect one of Sheev Palpatine's residences failed to come back out, the Senate finally agreed to the Order's requests to be allowed access to the two buildings under his name here on Coruscant. Members of the High Council were part of both groups, and only about half of those jedi who went in, came back out."
"Sith traps," Obi-Wan muttered, disgusted. "We knew there would likely be some, but those with the power in the Senate weren't willing to listen to reason, not until word somehow got out that they had been sending regular citizens to die in buildings they knew were dangerous, instead of utilising jedi." He raised an eyebrow at Organa.
Organa widened dark eyes in a manner clearly meant to imply innocence. "I'm sure I know nothing about that leak," they insisted.
Obi-Wan snorted, then turned back to Jaster and explained, "Chancellor Organa and I have a mutual acquaintance in one Senator Amidala."
Jaster hummed in understanding and felt himself relaxing just a bit more at the information; Amidala had been the apparent head of the Senate faction who had successfully argued for the clones' freedom from the Republic, and she remained—according to Jaster's political advisors, who kept their eyes on the banthashit the Republic released to the publicly accessible holonet and summarised the salient points for him once a week—the loudest supporter of granting the clones the right to travel in Republic space. According to Anakin, when Obi-Wan used 'acquaintance' in regard to a politician, that meant he considered them tolerable, and might even be willing to call them a 'friend', if pressed.
They arrived at the Senate Rotunda, then, and everyone disembarked. Obi-Wan grimaced, but he did activate his chair and sat in it without Jaster, Organa, or Gilamar needing to make any noises of reminder. His chair had an attachment for his cane, suggesting either that the person who had ordered it had known there was no way he would be convinced to remain in it at all times, or he'd found someone—Anakin, likely—he could convince to add the attachment for him.
Organa led the way to a large conference room, wherein a number of officials—Jaster recognised three of them as senators, including Amidala—were mingling. As soon as they entered, conversations halted and eyes turned towards them, some hostile, some polite.
Organa cleared their throat, presumably to introduce them, but was interrupted by Bo-Katan snarling in Mando'a, "You coward, how dare you show your face here?"
Jaster's head jerked up and around, even as Obi-Wan muttered, "I warned her," in Basic. There, looking like she was attempting to hide at the back of the group, was Satine Kryze, her blonde hair up in a fancy knot and decorated with lilies, wearing a long gown of some sort of shimmering material in the pale green that, to Mando'ade, was understood to mean the wearer lusted for peace, trimmed with the teal of healing. It was an outfit that clearly belonged in Coruscanta, but would have marked her as an aruetii on Manda'yaim, now his people had recovered from her tyranny.
She set her shoulders and stepped forward, touching her fist to the centre of her chest in a salute that she had no right to perform. "Mand'alor," she greeted him. "The chancellor granted my request to join these talks, as a being of Mandal–"
"You are no Mandalorian," Jaster interrupted her, struggling, just a little, to keep his voice even, instead of giving in to the urge to shout. "If you sit at this table, I will not."
Kryze looked like he had slapped her.
Jaster looked towards where B'arin had dropped a hand onto Bo-Katan's shoulder, presumably in an attempt to keep her from making a fool of herself. "B'arin, why don't you accompany the Kryzes to visit young Korkie," he suggested in Basic, before switching to Mando'a to add, "Ensure there aren't any accidents."
The Pantoran inclined his head. "Your will, Mand'alor. Kryzes?" he called in Basic.
By the speed with which the elder Kryze exited the room, she was quite grateful for the offered escape from the eyes of the other occupants.
Organa cleared their throat. "Well, now that matter has been seen to," they said in a slightly wry tone, and proceeded to introduce Jaster to the sea of self-important beings in the room. Jaster introduced his own party in return, and then they all settled around the table and began what was apparently only a 'preliminary discussion', before they broke for the evening, Organa promising that a squad of blue-cloaked guards would see Jaster and his party to the guest quarters that had been set aside for them.
Jaster had known, going into this, that the Senate moved slow, and this trip would likely require days worth of discussion to shape anything like a trade agreement. Given the hostility some of the senators had been openly showing, he mentally increased the expected duration to at least a week, and probably more.
Their guest quarters were swept for spying devices, and Jaster was pleasantly surprised to come up empty.
They all met in the unnecessarily opulent sitting room of Jaster's suite to discuss their impressions so far and, when Bo-Katan and B'arin returned, remind everyone that they were to be on their best behaviour; they could not chance starting a war while they were trapped in enemy territory, days away from any form of backup. Which meant there was to be no more shouting or insults slung at others—not even Satine Kryze—and use of Mando'a should be kept to a minimum in public, so no one could make any allegations of plotting or sharing insults during the talks.
They ate dinner together, and then Jaster shooed them out to their own rooms.
He spent a couple of hours making use of the unlimited Republic holonet access to download episodes of a holoseries that the younger clones had got obsessed with on Kamino, only to discover that they could no longer watch it once they'd moved to Manda'lase.
Once the last of the episodes had been safely transferred to the datacube he'd brought for just that purpose, Jaster shut the terminal down and retreated to the bedroom to attempt to get some sleep.
He was only just crawling into bed, when he heard a noise from the sitting room, and he snatched up the bes'kal he'd just shoved under his pillow and stormed out of the bedroom, snapping, "Lights, full!"
"Kriff," said a voice he recognised.
Jaster shoved his bes'kal into the back of his shorts as he hurried around the scattered furniture to find his riduur, dressed in dark clothing, sitting on his arse behind one of the chairs and rubbing at the leg that had been broken in three places during the battle against Palpatine. "Ob'ika," he breathed, kneeling next to his riduur, "why are you here? How are you here?" he added, realising he didn't see any sign of Obi-Wan's chair, or of his cane.
"I wanted to see you," Obi-Wan said, sounding tired and petulant.
Jaster took that to mean that his riduur had done something ill-advised, like leaving his chair in the Jet'yaim and walking to the senatorial guest apartments. Which, if his understanding of Coruscanta's layout was correct, wouldn't be considered an easy walk for someone who had the full use of their legs.
"I want to see you, too," he admitted, because he would be lying if he said he hadn't considered sneaking to the Jet'yaim and hoping he got lucky and found someone willing to lead him to his riduur. "But not like this, cyare. Your health matters more."
Obi-Wan let out an angry snarl and hissed, "I hate this! I'm kriffing useless!"
"You are not," Jaster replied, and wrapped an arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders, giving him a gentle tug.
Obi-Wan let out an unhappy noise, but let himself be tugged against Jaster's chest, almost immediately wrapping his arms around Jaster, almost as though he feared he would be pulled away, otherwise.
Jaster closed his eyes and rested his cheek on the top of Obi-Wan's hair, letting the act of holding his riduur for the first time in over a year ease the some of the strain of the visit.
Obi-Wan was alive and back in his arms; for a long moment, that was all that mattered.
And then Obi-Wan grunted and let him go, muttering, "Cramp, ow," as he turned to kneed his bad calf.
"Do I need to get Gilamar?" Jaster asked.
"No," Obi-Wan snarled.
"Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan sighed, his shoulders drooping. "No, it's fine. I just...overdid it today."
Jaster nodded. "What will best help?"
Obi-Wan eyed him for a moment, thoughts racing behind his pale eyes, before he sighed and said, "A hot soak."
Jaster suddenly found himself grateful for the unnecessarily large soaking tub his suite had. "Okay. May I carry you?"
Obi-Wan scowled down at his leg and muttered, "Yes."
Jaster kissed his cheek and murmured, "Thank you," then set about finding the best way to pick up and carry his riduur without further hurting his leg.
Once he'd got Obi-Wan into the over-sized 'fresher—which Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows at, clearly as unimpressed with the opulence as Jaster was—he left Obi-Wan sitting on a chair that had been put in there for some reason he couldn't begin to guess at and started the tub filling, then returned to help his riduur undress.
Obi-Wan had got thinner, and Jaster pursed his lips in disapproval, but bit back his complaints; Obi-Wan was almost certainly hearing enough complaints about his weight from his baar'ur, and the last thing Jaster wanted was to further ruin this chance to be together by harping on Obi-Wan's inability to take care of himself.
He helped Obi-Wan into the tub, then set aside his bes'kal and shucked off his shorts so he could slide in behind his riduur.
"Oh," Obi-Wan said, and relaxed back against him.
Jaster pressed a kiss against his forehead and then his cheek, and then Obi-Wan turned his head and they kissed properly.
Obi-Wan was the one to pull away, gulping for air like he'd nearly drowned, and Jaster grimaced, reminded that his riduur's lungs were weakened, too.
"Okay?" he asked quietly, rubbing a hand over the raised skin of the scar over Obi-Wan's heart, where Palpatine had tried to dig his fingers in and rip it out.
"I'm fine," Obi-Wan insisted.
Jaster considered that answer for a moment, and what he knew about Obi-Wan's habit of acting like he was doing better than he was, of pushing his limits when he shouldn't, especially if he believed he doing so was for the sake of someone else, and said, "Obi-Wan, this isn't going to work unless you're honest with me. If you're hurting or you're not doing well, and I end up pushing you too far, how am I supposed to feel?"
Obi-Wan slumped. "Oh," he whispered, and he sounded a little like he was trying not to cry.
Jaster gave him a moment, then asked, "Me'vaar ti gar?"
Obi-Wan hesitated for a long moment, then quietly admitted in Mando'a, "I'm exhausted and my leg and chest both ache. And I don't want to go back to the Temple tonight, I want to stay with you."
"Thank you," Jaster murmured and kissed his temple. "Where is your chair?"
Obi-Wan let out a disgusted sound, but answered, "My flat in the Temple."
Jaster sighed, but he wasn't particularly surprised. "Okay. Is there someone you can trust to sneak it over here?"
Obi-Wan glared down at his leg for a long moment, then muttered, "Not tonight, it's too obvious. But it won't surprise many people if I comm in the morning and say I left it behind and need it brought."
No, Jaster didn't expect anyone who knew Obi-Wan would be surprised by his attempts to push his own body's limits. "Okay, that's what we'll do. You can stay here with me, tonight."
"Good."
"But, Obi-Wan, you can't do this again."
Obi-Wan sighed. "I knew you were going to say that."
"I mean it. I don't want you hurting yourself just to see me."
"I know." He sighed again. "I won't, I promise."
Jaster nodded; the only thing he could really do was make the request and hope his riduur listened to sense and stayed in the Jet'yaim, rather than pushing himself.
"Can we go to bed, now?" Obi-Wan requested plaintively.
"Yes," Jaster agreed, and levered himself out of the tub.
By the time he'd helped Obi-Wan out of the tub and dried them both off, the jedi was clearly falling asleep in the chair, so Jaster picked him up again—Obi-Wan muttered a half-hearted complaint about being manhandled against his throat—and got them both tucked into bed.
Jaster couldn't remember the last time he'd woken feeling well-rested.
By the unhappy whine Obi-Wan let out, and the way he tried to hold Jaster in the bed when he started to get up, he wasn't the only one who had been missing his bedpartner.
"I know, Ob'ika," he murmured in Mando'a, brushing hair out of the pale eyes that were glaring sleepily up at him. "But we both have somewhere to be, and I suspect we'll have guests for breakfast."
Obi-Wan let out a disgruntled noise and pulled the covers over his head.
On Kamino, Obi-Wan had almost always been the one to stumble out of their bed first, so it felt a little strange to be the one using the toilet first. But, then, Obi-Wan wasn't as capable as he had been a year ago, and Jaster suspected the extra time in the warm bed would do his bad leg far more good.
When he came out of the 'fresher, dressed in his kute, but none of his beskar'gam, he found Obi-Wan sitting on the edge of the bed, looking a little more awake, his hair a tousled mess.
Jaster hadn't been certain how he'd felt about the shorter cut, at first, but he discovered, as he stepped over and combed his fingers through it, that he didn't mind the change, and he suspected that it was easier to manage.
Obi-Wan hummed and leant into the contact, his eyes going half-lidded. "Missed you," he mumbled in Basic.
"I've missed you, too," Jaster whispered, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. "I've left your tunics and leggings and a pair of fresh undershorts on the chair in the 'fresher. Do you need help getting ready?"
Obi-Wan sighed and glanced down at his leg, kicking it away from the bed. "No," he decided, "I should be okay. But, if you could find my cane? I dropped it when my leg gave out."
"I can do that," Jaster promised, and tapped a finger under Obi-Wan's chin, getting him to look up so he could kiss him. "Thank you," he murmured, "for being honest."
Obi-Wan's pale skin flushed and he looked to the side. "You were right," he said quietly. "Trying to hide how I'm doing isn't...it isn't proper. Or kind. Or–"
Jaster huffed and kissed him again, and he felt Obi-Wan smile into it. "Go get ready," he ordered, earning a quiet chuckle from his riduur.
Jaster waited until Obi-Wan had made it into the 'fresher and closed the door behind himself, then stepped out into the sitting room. He wasn't surprised to find they had guests, or that Vhonte had found Obi-Wan's cane and turned a raised eyebrow on Jaster as he came out of the bedroom, but he was surprised that it was only Vhonte and Gilamar. "Where are the others?" he asked in Basic, in deference to Gilamar's preferences, as he stepped over and accepted the cane from Vhonte.
"Korkie apparently made an offer to take Kryze out for breakfast, and Rav and Llats invited themselves along," Vhonte replied drily. "And you know B'arin won't wake until the last minute. How is he?"
"And where is his chair?" Gilamar growled, glaring towards the bedroom door.
Jaster sighed and left the cane just inside the bedroom doorway, so Obi-Wan had it before he left the room, and returned to sit on the sofa. "His chair is in the Jet'yaim. And we've already agreed that he won't do this again," he told the baar'ur, hoping to save his riduur from at least some of the lecture Gilamar looked to be prepared to give. "And he's better than he was last night, I think."
"Tell me you didn't just dump him in bed and kark until dawn," Gilamar snapped.
Jaster rolled his eyes upwards, enough used to the snappish baar'ur not to be offended by his tone or the implications. "We took a hot bath to relax his leg and then went to sleep," he reported. "Happy?"
Gilamar relaxed against the back of his chair. "No, but I'm less inclined to yell."
"Will wonders never cease," Vhonte muttered.
Obi-Wan announced his arrival with a sigh, and he said, "Let's hear it, Baar'ur," as he stepped around the end of the sofa, then lowered himself to the open spot next to Jaster, leaning against him.
"What," Gilamar started with no further prompting necessary, "were you thinking? The chair is not a fashion accessory, Kenobi. If you keep pushing that leg, you chance making it worse, and then you won't be able to walk at all."
"Are you done?" Obi-Wan asked after a moment, a note of authority in his voice that had Gilamar narrowing his eyes and Vhonte straightening from her relaxed sprawl across the other sofa. "Yes? Good, then you can listen to me: I know my limits. I've spent the last eight months learning them, and I have heard the bollocks about the chair before. Multiple times."
"And, yet–" Gilamar snarled.
"The Order only has two speeders that can accommodate it!" Obi-Wan snapped, "And I'm not the only one who needs one. Unless I'm leaving the Temple for official business and know I'm going to have to either be on my feet for extended periods, or be taking a lot of stairs, I leave it home. Especially if I need to travel under the radar. Which, if I wanted to be able to spend any amount of time with my spouse, that's what I have to do!"
"Okay," Jaster said, and tugged Obi-Wan towards himself, pleased when his riduur came willingly, relaxing against his side. "Can we agree that Mij is being overprotective because he's fond of you and doesn't like seeing you hurting, but he doesn't know enough of your current medical history and should calm down?"
Vhonte snorted.
Gilamar rubbed tiredly at his eyes and slumped back in his chair. "I'm sorry, Kenobi. That was out of line."
Obi-Wan sighed. "No, I understand where you're coming from, and I do have a history of ignoring medical advice."
"Do you ever," Vhonte said cheerfully.
"Not helpful," Jaster informed her.
She flashed him a toothy smile.
Obi-Wan shook his head, then admitted, "I pushed it yesterday. I knew I shouldn't have left the Temple after dinner, but I..."
"You missed your riduur," Gilamar said quietly. "I know. How are you doing this morning?"
"Good," Obi-Wan insisted, and then shifted to kiss Jaster's chin. "I don't usually sleep well when I push myself that far," he admitted with a wry smile, "so I wake up feeling worse than I did when I got into bed. But this is actually one of my better days."
That was a relief, and Jaster tried not to let himself get too excited by the thought that he had been the reason behind Obi-Wan waking up feeling better. More likely, it was the soak, and maybe Jaster carrying him, instead of him having to limp around on his own.
"Then I'm not going to insist we have your chair sent over," Gilamar promised. "But Jaster's right: You can't do this again, if only because it's going to make it very hard to hide your marriage if you keep sleeping here."
Obi-Wan sighed. "I know. Does your whole party know about us?" he asked Jaster.
"All but Kryze."
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at that, then hummed. "Chancellor Organa got me very, very drunk, at one point, and I admitted I'd slept with you, and Senator Amidala probably at least suspects something."
"Anakin?" Jaster guessed, remembering the jet'ad's crush on the senator.
Obi-Wan groaned and nodded. "Anakin." He huffed. "I don't even want to know what they're doing with each other, at this point. I know he stayed at five hundred Republica with her for a couple of weeks, when the Council assigned him a new master, but he seems to be sleeping in Temple, now. In my room, as often as not," he added drily. "He says it's because he doesn't like the padawan dorms—his new master is Kel Dorin, so he can't stay with him—but I suspect Bant asked him to keep an eye on me."
"Or he's still blaming himself," Vhonte murmured. "He and Seventeen were as bad as each other, blaming themselves for you almost dying."
"Anakin has been assigned a mind healer, and has been very good about going to hir regularly." He glanced up at Jaster. "How is Seventeen? And Fox? They saved my life, and Master Yaojie said they almost died for it."
"Seventeen was extremely displeased that they couldn't come with," Jaster replied drily. In fact, Seventeen had stormed out to the target range and proceeded to miss every single shot, they had been so upset. "And Fox pulled through. They have some diminished lung strength of their own that's pulled them off any active lists, but they've taken to managing my life, so they're keeping busy."
"I'm glad," Obi-Wan whispered, leaning against Jaster again. "I've been worried about them. And what about Rex? And Kote and Wolffe and Gregor? And–"
Jaster laughed and leant in to kiss his riduur. "Why don't we update you over breakfast," he suggested.
"Okay," Obi-Wan agreed, his pale eyes so very bright and happy.
Jaster kissed him again, partially because he wanted to, partially to stop himself from thinking about how much harder it was going to be to get up the rest of the week, without Obi-Wan there next to him.
As Jaster had expected, they spent days getting nowhere with the talks. Certain senators wanted to limit the clones in some way, be that through continuing to keep them out of Republic space, or requiring those within it to swear to some sort of term of service, which sounded suspiciously like indentured servitude, to Jaster—and to Amidala, based on the way she immediately demanded that suggestion be struck from the record and proceeded to lay into the one who had suggested it—while Jaster was firm that he wanted his bu'ade to have the right to travel where they pleased and apply for what citizenship they wanted, same as every other being in the galaxy.
When they weren't arguing about the clones, they were arguing about trade goods—Jaster was supporting almost four times the population as had claimed Manda'lase as their home region under Kryze's reign, so he had different needs and different things to offer than the Republic had apparently come to the table expecting, and he was on very good terms with many of the governments that had taken over planets in what had formerly been Hutt space, besides—his refusal to deal with some of the largest corporations that considered themselves members of the Republic, what counted as Manda'lase and what someone broadcasting Republic codes would be allowed to do within it, and whether or not he was allowed to keep a standing navy.
On the third full day of talks, they got completely side-tracked by one of the senators throwing a fit about Jaster's destruction of the Hutt slave empire and the ways in which that had upset some deal or another that they had been in the middle of.
"Maybe," Vhonte had said in a cold voice, "you shouldn't have been making deals with slavers."
"Yes, I'm not certain your constituency would appreciate that lapse in judgement," Amidala agreed in a perfectly polite tone. "It would be such a pity if the minutes of this meeting were to make it back to them."
"Strike it, strike it!" the senator in question had called, looking towards the recording droid. "Strike that whole conversation from the record!"
That particular senator didn't return the next day, and the chancellor had apologised for them, explaining that a family emergency had required they retire from their seat and return home. Based on the mean glint in Amidala's eyes and the self-satisfied smile Vhonte had been wearing since she'd vanished in response to a comm in the middle of dinner, Jaster had a pretty good idea what that 'family emergency' had been, and he had no complaints.
Other than that first morning, Obi-Wan always showed up in his chair, usually looking tired. But he was alert during the talks, and had a way of cutting off debates that had the potential to result in at least one of the Mando'ade pulling a weapon, that moved them on without leaving any of the Mando'ade, at least, feeling slighted.
"You should marry him, Alor," Rav had teased during a break that had been called when an aide came to collect Organa for an emergency comm during the fifth day. "Imagine how much less violent council meetings would be."
Jaster snorted and glanced over at where Obi-Wan was sitting alone in his chair, eyes closed and expression inscrutable. Meditating, he assumed. "I think he has far too much to deal with here, to be constantly mediating arguments over spilled drinks that get brought up four years later just to start something." He turned and raised a meaningful eyebrow at her.
She sighed. "I said I wouldn't do it again."
Jaster gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "True. I, however, did not."
From the snorts Llats and B'arin both let out, they'd been far more interested in Jaster and Rav's conversation than their own, and Rav turned to give them shit about that, while Jaster found his gaze turning back to the lonely form of his riduur. He wished he could be over there, relaxing next to him, instead of being forced to watch over this chasm of space they had to keep between themselves.
He was distracted by a question from Llats, and the moment passed.
Obi-Wan missed the seventh day entirely, but the brown-skinned Tholothian who had come in his place—Master Stass Allie, they'd introduced themself as—had explained that there had been an emergency Jet'alore meeting called early that morning, and they had still been closed up in their chambers when they had left for the Senate.
While Allie had done their best to mediate the arguments that had arisen, they hadn't Obi-Wan's effortless-seeming grace, and they ended up breaking early so everyone's tempers could cool.
He was back the eighth day, looking a little less tired than he had done in the days before his absence, so Jaster suspected he'd found some time to relax, or that the trip between the Jet'yaim and the Senate Rotunda took more out of him than he was letting on.
On the tenth day, a full two Coruscanta weeks since Jaster's arrival, one of the few senators who didn't seem to have an opinion on the clones and were clearly only there in hopes of hashing out trading, finally snapped, "If you're so worried about the clones' loyalty, split it. Marry Fett to a senator or something."
"That would give the senator's home planet too much control," one of the anti-clone group snapped.
"And I will not arrange a marriage for my son without his consent," Jaster added coldly. "That is not how Mandalorians treat their families."
"Forgive me, Mand'alor," Amidala interrupted, "but I believe you, yourself, are single."
Jaster stiffened, and it took every ounce of control he had not to look at Obi-Wan. "You're implying I be the one to marry?" he asked, neatly sidestepping the matter of whether or not he was in a relationship of any sort.
"So, instead of Mandalore's heir tying a planet to himself, it'll be their leader," the same anti-clone senator snarled.
"If it's fear of tying Mandalore to a specific planet that's concerning you," Organa said, "the only truly neutral member of the Republic is the Jedi Order."
"Jedi can't marry," someone scoffed.
Jaster realised he was staring at his riduur when he saw Obi-Wan's eyes narrow ever so slightly at that comment. "A member of the High Council is married," Obi-Wan stated, and Jaster wasn't the only one staring at him any more. "Master Mundi is a Cerean, and he agreed to marry for the sake of his species' continuation."
"Right," someone said.
"A political marriage for the sake of peace between the Republic and an outside community, such as Mandalore, is not outside the realm of possibility," Obi-Wan continued carefully, "but it is something the Council would need to discuss and agree upon. And, just as Mand'alor Mereel will not marry off his son without his consent, the Order will not marry off a jedi without their consent."
"If a jedi were to wed Mand'alor Mereel, I expect it would have to be a master, at the least," Organa mused. "And probably one who speaks Mando'a and perhaps is also familiar with the culture, so they aren't left floundering. Are there any jedi that would cover?"
Obi-Wan's face flushed and he bit out, "As the chancellor well knows, since he requested my assistance in setting up this treaty discussion due to my fluency in the language and familiarity with the culture, there is."
"But you slept with my sibling!" Kryze shouted, thankfully in Mando'a.
Jaster felt his eyebrows rising; he knew his riduur had had partners before him, but he hadn't realised one of them had been the elder of the surviving Kryze sisters. Moreover, Kryze had been using 'dar'vod' any other time her elder sister was mentioned, but she had dropped the 'dar', that time; had the time spent with Korkie started to heal over everything that had torn the pair apart?
Obi-Wan shot Kryze an unimpressed look. "I can't imagine what a theoretical past relationship between your sibling and myself has to do with the current conversation."
"They're a traitor," Kryze insisted.
"Are you implying something about a member of my clan, Kryze?" Vhonte asked, lip curled up on one side to bare a fang.
Organa cleared their throat. "Please," they said in Basic, tone polite, "might we keep the conversation to Basic for the sake of the rest of the room?"
"The conversation is over," Jaster said, casting a warning look between Vhonte and Kryze. When they both ducked their heads in response to the rebuke, he turned to Obi-Wan. "This can be tabled until you have spoken to your council."
"Of course, Mand'alor," Obi-Wan agreed, inclining his head.
The senator who had brought up the solution of marriage seemed to take that as permission to start in on the topic of trading, and so the debating continued.
Apparently not knowing when to quit, Kryze got her collarbone broken when she started, over dinner, again to explain why Jaster couldn't marry Obi-Wan. Most of their party seemed amused—Jaster hadn't expected her lack of awareness of his having already married Obi-Wan to serve as entertainment, but he also hadn't expected one of the senators to suggest marriage, or for Amidala and Organa to attempt a rather unsubtle bit of matchmaking—but Vhonte's blood was still up about the previous slight to Obi-Wan, and Kryze didn't move fast enough to avoid the angry Togruta.
"He won't appreciate you breaking bones on his behalf," Jaster commented as Gilamar ushered Kryze out of Jaster's sitting room, since his medical kit was in his own room.
Vhonte let out an angry snort. "Please," she said. "The only reason you didn't shoot her in that conference room, was that she spoke in Mando'a."
Jaster raised an eyebrow at her; honestly, he'd been a bit too distracted by the implications, but he said, "I trust Obi-Wan to defend his own honour when he believes such necessary."
"What about my clan's honour?!"
"Oh, let off, Tervho," Llats said. "Everyone knows Kryze is just blowing hot air so she can feel important."
"Anyway," Rav added, leaning forward to select something from the food trays, "we all know that, if relation to an aruetii is enough to make one aruetii as well, Bo-Katan is far more in danger than Kenobi."
"Who gets to point that out to Kryze next time she starts calling Kenobi aruetii?" Llats asked.
"I will, when I carve it into her flesh," Vhonte snarled.
Jaster sighed and got up to find his datapad, hoping the recording droid had sent the day's transcript with the updated treaty draft; looking at that headache seemed far preferable to any further attempts to manage the angry Togruta in his sitting room, or being nearby if Kryze came back before Vhonte calmed down.
Obi-Wan was late to the next day's meeting, and Jaster was just beginning to suspect something had come up, when the conference room door opened to admit Obi-Wan in his chair, a Thisspiasian with a very long white beard, and a bald, brown-skinned human or near.
"Masters Windu and Rancisis," Organa said, sounding startled.
Jaster narrowed his eyes consideringly at the Ori'alore of the Jet'tsad.
"We apologise for our tardiness," the Thisspiasian offered as the three jedi made their way to the head of the table, where Obi-Wan usually sat. "I fear I do not move as quickly as I used to."
"We take no offense, Master Rancisis," Organa insisted. "And, hopefully, someone will be along shortly with a chair– Ah, wonderful," they interrupted themself as a couple of senate aides entered with a chair that looked far more comfortable for a serpentine species like Thisspiasians.
The Thisspiasian—Rancisis, apparently—directed the aides to set their seat on the side of the table that the senators had taken, while Obi-Wan directed his chair to to Mando side, leaving the brown-skinned jedi—Windu—to take the position at the head of the table.
"Given the direction of yesterday's talks, the Council agreed that it would be best if someone other than Master Kenobi took part in matters," Windu said, their voice flat, but not unfriendly. They turned to the Mando side of the table. "Forgive me, Mand'alor Mereel, Mando'ade," they said, gaze flicking quickly to Obi-Wan, who smiled and inclined his head, likely in approval of either their choice of address, or their pronunciation of the Mando'a words. "I am Master Mace Windu, the Head of the Jedi High Council. Next to me is Master Oppo Rancisis, Grand Master of the Jedi Order."
"Together, we have the right to make decisions on the behalf of the whole of the Council," Rancisis added. "A much, ah, speedier manner in which to tackle the decisions that may come before us, I believe."
Jaster strongly suspected that word choice had been a purposeful bid as a joke, given the Thisspiasian's previous apology for their slowness, but only a handful of the senators seemed to have noticed, ducking their heads or bringing up a hand to hide a smile behind.
"As to the matter at hand," Windu said, still in that flat voice, "the Council has no complaints against allowing one of the Order's masters to take part in a politically motivated marriage to act as an alliance between the ruling family of Mandalore and the Republic, but we do insist that both the master and their spouse-to-be consent without pressure from any members of the Republic or Mandalore; the Council is given to understand that an agreement may be reached without this marriage, although it will likely require more time." Windu cast a hard glare around the table. "Time, we have."
"For once," someone on the Republic side muttered, and a couple of muffled coughs and snorts followed, including one from Rav.
"I see nothing wrong with these conditions," Jaster agreed, because he didn't. Also, if Obi-Wan was willing to formalise their marriage for the sake of this treaty, he was willing, and not just because it meant he would be able to openly spend time with his riduur.
The jedi all turned to the Republic side. When the leaders of the various factions nodded their approval, Organa agreed, "We approve these conditions."
Rancisis leant forward, long claws clicking against the top of the table as they rested their hands upon it. "If," they said, eyes on Organa, "a member of the Order is to serve as the figurative knot holding a part of this treaty together, the Senate must trust us to do so."
"We do, of course," Organa insisted, even as some of the senators—almost all of them members of what Jaster had been privately considering the anti-clone, pro-corporations party—traded frowns.
"With respect, Chancellor Organa, if that were true, the restrictions placed upon the Order twenty-three years ago, in punishment for our part in the massacre at Galidraan, would have been lifted."
The senators exploded, shouts jumbling into an indecipherable mess. From his Mando'ade, Jaster heard a hissed, "What restrictions?" and a snarled, "–dare mention Gali–" under the amount of noise from the other side of the table.
For his part, Jaster just clenched his jaw and glared at the table; he had heard about the restrictions, some, from Obi-Wan, then gone looking for the rest, and he had heard Jango's testimony of events, had seen what his ad's bitterness had led him to do. (Jango's ka'rta beskar still remained in Jaster's care, although his ad had begun allowing himself to wear pieces of his beskar'gam again, as the clones settled into lives in Manda'lase and found happiness; it was Jaster's hope, honestly, that giving those clones with their hearts set on living with jedi the chance to do so, would be enough for Jango to finally forgive himself.)
After weighing the facts he had—and giving himself time to get used to the empty space where Obi-Wan should have been next to him, aware enough of his own mind to know that his absent riduur being a jedi could be clouding his judgement—Jaster had admitted, if only to himself, that restrictions on sending what could be construed as a war party of jedi to fight what had been described as a 'small band of terrorists', just because they were Mando'ade, were sensible. However, given that it was the Senate that had made that call, not the jedi themselves, the restrictions placed on the Jet'tsad had been unnecessary. Moreover, the fact that they were still in place, impeding the jedi's attempts to assist the galaxy at their own discretion, struck him as both cruel and negligent.
"Order!" Organa shouted. "Senators, order!"
The whine of a charging blaster sang out, and everyone shut up.
"Vhonte," Jaster chided, casting the Togruta an unimpressed look.
Vhonte clicked the safety back into place and calmly sat the blaster onto the table. "I was almost at Galidraan," she said into the tense silence. "I freed my youngest child the day before the summons came, and was excused to see to her care. I do not have Jango Fett's memories of fighting the jetiise or seeing my comrades struck down before me, but I knew every single warrior who died there, and I considered all of them friends."
She cast her dark eyes along the opposite side of the table, causing almost all of the senators to look away, then looked towards the end of the table where the three jedi sat, all of them gazing back with calm expressions. "I was serving as the head of Adonai Kryze's personal guard when he requested the assistance of the Jet'tsad in protecting his daughters. I argued against it, but I was over-ruled." She smiled, then, and inclined her head towards the jedi. "I am glad I was."
"You're only saying that because you enjoyed watching my master be miserable," Obi-Wan replied, humour in his voice.
"That was a definite perk," Vhonte admitted, and one of the senators—Amidala, Jaster was fairly certain—snorted. Vhonte shook her head, expression going grim. "No, I do not believe we would have defeated Kyr'tsad without your assistance, and I know we would not have survived those dar'jetiise on Kamino, had not the jetiise stood with us." She looked at Jaster. "The blood of Haat'ade are on their hands, but so, too, have they bled and died to safeguard our people; their debt is paid."
"It is," Jaster murmured in agreement, and glanced past her to Organa, who held his gaze with something that almost looked like hope in his eyes. "Mandalore holds no quarrel with the Jedi Order and, as Mand'alor, I disapprove of these restrictions. They help no one, least of all the Republic itself."
"A fair point, Mand'alor Mer–" Organa began.
"Don't be a fool, Organa," the Ryloth senator, Orn Free Taa, called. "The Jedi were called to heel for a reason."
"Called to heel?" Amidala shouted, clearly incensed.
"It really isn't a surprise," B'arin commented, tone cheerful, but threaded with steel, "that the Republic would imprison their protectors, given you attempted to enslave our Mand'alor's grandchildren."
Ah, yes. There was that.
Organa cleared their throat. "A recess, I think."
No one argued. For once.
| Chapters | ||
|---|---|---|
| One | Two | Three |
| Four | Five | Six |
| Seven | Eight | |
| Ten | Glossary | |
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