Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jango didn't particularly want to come along for this trip, but Jaster didn't want to leave him alone unattended because he had some stupid idea that Jango would run off and do something dangerous. Like personally fight the Death Watch that had held his sister captive, trying to indoctrinate her into their cult. He inwardly scoffed to himself. He wasn't that impulsive. Besides, he knew that Arla had first dibs on them if they came across those dar'manda again.

So he walked mutinously into a large compound, the metal and wooden doors already open having known of their approach, just a few steps behind Jaster and Myles and next to Arla, scowling at the large sand brick and stone walls. Having grown up on a farm, the sight of such obvious wealth and power had his hackles raised. He hated rich people.

“This is why Jaster didn't want to leave you alone.” Arla then said through a private channel of their comms. Shooting her a scowl, even if she couldn't see it she would certainly feel the heat of it, and wished they didn't have to behave or else he would be wrestling the older girl to the ground. Jango could picture her sticking her tongue out at him.

“Shut the fuck up, Arla.” Jango hissed back.

“You're too angry, it's why you're so short.”

That's it. He was going to kill her, never mind the need for politeness.

As his hand began to twitch to his blaster, Jaster cut in through their private comm, “Behave you two.”

“But-” Jango tried to protest.

“No buts about it, Jan'ika.” His buir reprimanded, “Save it for sparring. And Arla,”

His sister's snickering halted sharply when Jaster directed his next words to her. “Try not to antagonise your brother. His anger issues have nothing to do with his height.”

“Buir!” Jango cried out, betrayed at Jaster's teasing. This was complete bullshit. The minute he could, Jango was going to go climb a wall and run off into the dry, mountainous landscape. It may be unfamiliar terrain but Jango could deal with it if it meant being left alone.

Folding his arms irritably, so he would hold back on shooting his family, Jango cast a begrudgingly curious glance around. The compound was like a bunch of square orange stone buildings stacked and squished together, creating a staggering of heights and shapes that some how made this large mountain fortress, it's walls tall with stairs and path ways for patrols to walk across. The entrance courtyard showed arched door ways, leading further into the building or into other open parts of the compound, bustling with people as they went about their jobs.

He noted colourful mosaic tile work here and there, the typical Mandalore cactus and succulents planted and growing about the edges and in stone gardens, all well maintained. It wasn't the usual minimalist architecture of Mandalorian buildings, but it still merged well into the sand and dirt landscape, camouflaged against the boulders and rocky edges whilst still managing to maintain an artful design.

Watching the people, Jango noted the armoured man coming to greet them – more than likely Stark - before he turned his focus elsewhere. Politics was boring, though he knew they were here for a good reason so didn't protest too much about Jaster going to others for help. Clan Stark were an old Mandalorian house, able to trace their origins back to the Old Mandalorians, even before the Old Republic of the time. They had the blood of the original Mandalorian species in them, predominately appearing in their height. They were like the Vizsla, Wren, or even Kryze. No matter how much the Duke wanted to separate himself from his ancestors' history, he couldn't deny he was of the blood of Mandalore.

“Mereel.” Stark greeted, holding out an arm. Jaster clasped it firmly, responding, “Stark. Thank you for agreeing to this meeting.”

The man let go, taking off his buy'ce as he nodded, “Of course. Our culture and strength is currently threatened, and it can not be allowed to stand.”

With the helmet out of the way, Stark was a dour looking man, thick brows and grey eyes. His hair was to his chin, though tugged back into a short tail. Face weathered just as much as, if not more than Jaster's, and it told Jango that Stark was not a man to be trifled with, having plenty of years of experience. Especially with the large beskar blade over his shoulder.

The men continued to politely exchange pleasantries, and Jango let his eyes wander off again, relieved his helm covered his disinterested and wandering gaze. There was a cart coming into the courtyard to the right of their group from behind them, hovering and powered by the droid at the front. A man, not armoured completely but had his chest plate and vambraces on, was sat on the front. When he reached to the right side of the yard, he hopped off, just as someone stepped out from one of the doorways.

Something in his brain halted as he watched.

Bright red hair was the first noticeable feature, standing out proudly like freshly spilt blood. He's never seen anything like that on a humanoid before. The next thing noted was her armour. White painted beskar and from this distance Jango couldn't see any accent colours. Like the man she was talking to, she only had her chest and vambrace coverings on, with a skirt that split for easier movement over the top of some fitted trousers. But past that, she was a picture of contradictions. Where she wore the armour, she also wore more of a fancy tunic than a proper under armour shirt. Her hair was loose and falling the her knees, easy to grab, but he could spot the daggers and thin knives hidden or blatantly fixed to her body.

She began to talk to the man, a smile on her face that told him she knew him as they went about looking at the contents in his cart. The man pulled back the tarp and Jango couldn't help the sharp inhale at the gleaming metal within. Beskar. Why did this compound have such a large shipment of beskar?

A hand landed heavily on his shoulder, jolting him out of his musings to turn back to the conversation at hand. It seemed the men were finished, with Jaster resting a hand on Jango as they both gazed down at him. Under the helmet, Jango scowled again. “What?”

Stark flicked his gaze in the direction of the girl before back to Jango, appearing amused. “My daughter, Sansa.” The man stated.

His insides froze. He had been caught staring at the Clan head's daughter. So very relieved he had kept his buy'ce on, Jango fired back, “Why do you have so much beskar?”

He heard Arla groan at his rudeness, but Stark only arched a brow, bemused. “We make a lot of armour here, along with Sansa leading her own project of beskar woven fabrics, so we get large shipments.”

Jango had nothing to say about that, glancing out the corner of his eyes as he made sure his head stayed forward to catch the sight of the girl once more. Sansa was now turned to them, her head tilted to the side curiously, but she did not approach.

“You'll have to talk to Sansa about her thoughts on the True Mandalorians, as well as the New ones too,” Stark said to Jaster, turning Jango's attention back to them. “I think you will find her own insights very, illuminating.”

“Big opinions then?” Jaster wondered with amusement.

He gave a 'What can you do shrug?', “Her mother is from Naboo. And I have no doubt that if Sansa was born and raised on that planet, she would have been tested to be a possible queen candidate.” Was Stark's wry response before he led them indoors for refreshments. Over his shoulder, Jango cast one last look at Sansa, and whipped his head back around a second later, ignoring Arla's snickering again.

Sansa had caught him looking.

Weaving through the halls, Jango noted with interest on the different tapestries that hung along the walls, as well as more mosaic art spiraling and twisting across the floor. He'd only known functionality in his life, so to see work put in for the sake of beauty and appearance was odd. He didn't entirely dislike it, as they were nice to look at, but it was strange to see within a Mandalorian household, especially one of the older families.

They were led into an office, Stark gesturing for them to take a seat on the couches that faced one another, a relaxed meeting space compared to sitting across from each other with a desk in the middle. Jango managed to subtly dig his elbow into Arla's back as she tried to take a single person seat, meaning that he managed to snag it before she could sit down. With their helmets now off, Jango caught her glare and he stuck a tongue out to her in retaliation.

Jaster sighed, turning to the other parent in the room, “Sorry for my children, Stark. They're house trained, if you would believe it.”

The other man laughed lightly, waving the apologies off as Arla slouched next to Jaster, who was sat between her and Myles. “My own children are just the same, particularly the younger three, so don't worry.”

It was at that moment that someone came through the door. For a flash of second Jango thought it was Sansa, with the bright hair, however instead it was an older woman. She carried a large resemblance to the girl, so it must be her mother. The woman set down a tray of drinks, and Stark leant forward to murmur something too soft for any of them to hear into her ear.

The look the man received from his wife was speculative, glancing over at their group, lingering a second longer on Jango, before nodding and striding out. Jango then noticed she wore no armour besides a vambrace, a riduurok exchange he concluded. Nabooian, Stark had mentioned, which made sense on why she wore no typical armour.

Turning to face them, Stark invited them to the drinks before stating, “If I'm correct on the rumours, and I'm not one to listen to rumours to begin with, your faction has no actual home base of operations.”

And here, the talks would begin. Jango didn't find it boring exactly, but he would much rather be doing something else. However, Jaster wanted them their for a reason, to learn how to run a large operation for future reference. After all, it wasn't that long ago where Montross betrayed them and nearly killed Jaster in the same fight that managed to get Arla back to them. The man wanted them prepared just in case he died before they could succeed in their endeavours. So Jango tried to pay attention for his buir's sake.

“We have a few places we meet if a face to face is needed,” Jaster agreed with a wry twist to his lips, “But we're primarily through comms and holos. Our people are somewhat spread out, mainly on different missions or hunts, depending on what's needed.”

“So you have some finances coming in then.” Stark acknowledged with a nod, “That's good to know. And have you got any of the other larger Houses and Clans considering your side or brought in yet?”

Taking a quick sip of his drink, Jaster replied, “The Wren's are considering, we talked to them a few standard days ago. They're a little on the fence due to how close the Duke is on banishing them to Concordia.”

That had a dark expression clouding Stark's face, “To think they believe they have any right, banishing the children of Mandalore from their own home.”

“They're stripping them of the name Mandalorian, saying they aren't anymore.” Myles softly chimed in, the man always soft spoken but words still holding strength. Jango liked that about Myles. In serious conversations he rarely spoke unless necessary, and Jaster was always ready to hear his second in command's opinions or ideas.

One of Stark's fist curled tightly as he let out a slow breath. Jango blinked a little in surprise. You wouldn't be able to tell with the blank expression on his face, nor his calm voice, but the man was furious. “What do you need from House Stark?”

Jaster leant forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, “Not Clan Stark?”

“House Stark has many clans under our protection and have swore a loyalty to us.” The man declared, deep voice a rumble, “Many have been with our house for generations. They will follow, because they follow a Stark. We're over three hundred strong in just the compound here, with smaller homes around the mountain range and some beroya off world currently. In total-”

“Four hundred and seventy-eight strong.” A voice broke in, high and song like. They turned to see Sansa in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Jango felt something flip in his stomach. “If you don't count the ade that are not battle ready that is. With the children we are pushing five hundred.”

She then looked to Stark, “You called for me, father?”

Said man stretched out a beckoning hand, and she came forward. Jango watched, a little entranced by the way she seemed to glide, a delicate poise to her form. Like a dancer, he couldn't help but think, as she settled next to her father. Her white armour had small detailed artwork in blues and reds, and he would have to have a closer look to discern them, so tiny. And just as he noted from the courtyard, she wore clothes that Jango would assume to be fit for more fashion conscious worlds, like Naboo or Alderaan. For a short moment during his assessment of her, the girl's eyes caught his, a bright blue that he had to glance away from. His neck grew hot.

“Sansa has an unfortunate interest in politics.” Stark announced, amused. “Outside of polite company you should hear her rants on the Galactic Republic.”

A crack in her placid mask appeared, Sansa's cheeks tinged red as she hissed, “Father!”

Jaster laughed, “Well, I can't say we're particularly polite company, so feel free to say what you want on the Duke and these New Mandalorians.”

Immediately, her shoulders rolled back, chin tilting up as she began, “The pacifist ideal is nothing but that, an ideal. In a smaller community, it would be far more easier to achieve and maintain than on a worldly scale, especially with how they're trying to implement it in an ironically violent way. Pacifism is the belief that war and violence are unjustifiable and that all disputes should be settled by peaceful means.” Sansa had a brightness in her eyes, significant in showing the passion she felt on the topic. Jango was unwittingly bewitched.

“However, they are not using completely peaceful means.” She then went on to explain, “Instead of finding a way to completely co-exist with those who do not want to put down their ancestral traditions and armour, they are marginalising and banishing them, leading to unrest within our people and communities. They deem all those who are not falling in line with their demands are Death Watch, which is not true. The reason Death Watch is getting so many followers, is because they feel it's the only option to continue the Mandalorian ways. What you need to do is continue to put out word, but in a way that grabs their attention. It's all well and good to help out where you can and create a super-commando codex – which I have read, by the way and found it an excellent beginning in merging the old ways with the new – but some don't have access to it, let alone know about it. They don't know how you're not any different from Death Watch, and so many are trying to keep their head down from all three factions. Most Mandalorians don't want this war after all.”

Jango glanced over to his buir, and held back a laugh at the delight on his face, finding someone just as enthusiastic about this topic as he. Jaster leant forward, wondering, “So what would you propose we do?”

“First? I would say set up a meeting with the Duke.” And Sansa had then arched a brow at the disgruntled and annoyance on their group's faces at the suggestion. Clearing his throat sheepishly at her unimpressed expression, Jaster waved her to continue.

Words now a bit of a drawl, Sansa coolly elaborated, “I say this because this demonstrates that you are far more peaceful than Death Watch, showing a distinction between the two factions which is desperately needed right now. The best thing you can hope for at the moment is cohabitation with the New Mandalorians.”

“Cohabitation?” Jaster then scoffed, reclining back against the couch. That passion at finding someone of similar mind simmering down, however Jango could see that his buir was listening intently even with his displeasure at her words. “They're committing cultural genocide on our people, and they have no right to deem themselves the judges over who is allowed to stay. They're even starting to segregate those who are don't appear humanoid enough from those who are! I think they might even start doing genetic tests soon with the way they're going. That's xenophobia, and you want us to get along with them?”

“Yes.” Sansa swiftly replied, unaffected by Jaster's anger, “Because that means you are showing good faith, and slowly, over time, those that are segregated will come to your side, knowing that they are welcomed no matter their differences. That means you will gain far more followers than the New Mandalorians, once it's shown that you are accepting of all, as long as they are not needlessly violent like Death Watch. You must show that you are willing to negotiate in order to gain any support and traction. Most old houses are for you, Mereel.” The girl firmly assured him, and that was news to them, the four of them straightening up where they sat, “Those under House Kryze are the predominate followers of the Duke, as well as those too scared or have been affected severely by the violence between our people.”

Then, she let out a heavy sigh. Stark responded to this by grabbing his cup of water to press into her hands. Sansa gratefully drank before going on to say with a weary tone, “The Mandalorians of old were able to rally under one man before, and we can do so again. It will take more than a mystical sword of power to do so, however. Politics, unfortunately for you, are needed in order to succeed, Mereel. I will be the first to admit that I find violence distasteful when unnecessary.”

“What do you deem necessary then?” Jango had to blurt out. That drew all eyes to him and he forced himself to not tense under the attention, swallowing hard. Sansa surveyed him curiously, before she gave him a tiny smile and replied, “The protection of your loved ones and self. Defending your home and people.”

She then turned to face Jaster again, and Jango didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed at her change of focus, “Conquering as we have done in the past is not needed anymore, nor is violence to instill fear and gain power. I would almost say I am in favour of the Duke, if it wasn't for the fact that if House Stark wasn't such a provincial family, we would've been banished from Mandalore.” Sansa then made an expression of disgust, “As if they have any ability in forcing us to do so. They frown on violence, and will not fight for their cause, but House Stark certainly would if they tried anything and they know they would not survive, so they haven't. Their people who, are in favour of them now, won't be for long if the assassination attempts and terrorist attacks continue, killing them off slowly. There is only so much peace and compliance people will take until enough is enough.”

Jaster slowly leant back in his seat, Jango noting the pleased and impressed crinkle in his eyes. “Well said, Sansa.”

She took that as her dismissal, standing up after pressing a soft kiss to her father's cheek. Her last advice was then given. “Have you thought about contacting the coverts?”

“The Children of the Watch?” Myles questioned in disbelief. “They're fanatics. A cult.”

Sansa shrugged elegantly, “They are the more religious section of the Mandalorian ways, but you'll find no one more protective of children then them. Death Watch had branched off from them, but that doesn't mean they are the same. Try and talk to them. Their Armourers are their leaders, and I would advise you to not remove your helmets when in their presence. It's taboo in their eyes. They also only follow the five tenets, meaning that you being Mand'alor means nothing to them.”

“We'll consider it.” Jaster replied diplomatically. Sansa sent them all a beatific smile before exiting the room. Jango watched her go, only jarring back to the present when he felt a hand smack the back of his head.

Whipping around the glare at his buir, the man dryly commented, “Since that was the only time I've ever seen you actually focus during a political conversation, I'm going to say you can leave if you want now, as your attention is going to wander now.”

Stark let out a chuckle, and Jango's neck went hot again, realising he was caught staring at the man's daughter again. Hesitantly glancing over to him, Stark held a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he added, “I'm sure Sansa wouldn't mind some company as she completes her tasks.”

He was on his feet before he realised, and hurried out of the room without a backwards glance, knowing they were all laughing at him and his eagerness. Jango caught onto Sansa's form to the left, a little further down the hallway. She was stood with a padd, typing on it with a furrow in her brow.

Tongue heavy and mouth going dry, Jango made his way to her, hoping she wouldn't spot his nervousness. Glancing up at his approach, Sansa lowered her padd and gave him a greeting smile, “Hello.”

“Hi.”

A pause, Sansa seeming to be waiting for something, and Jango rushed to add after a bolt of realisation, “I'm Jango!” Wincing at the loudness, he ducked his head a little, “Jango Fett.” This time it was quieter. He felt his face heat up, mortified.

She let out a short laugh. It didn't sound mocking or mean, and when he looked back up, Sansa was smiling more genuinely at him. “Well, Jango. Are you here to ask a question, or does my father need me again?”

Jango shook his head, “No, they said I could leave and I wanted to see what you were doing.”

Tilting her head to the side, Sansa pondered for a moment, before shrugging, “Alright, if you want. It's not likely to be interesting to you, I'm warning you now.”

Catching the wry twist to her lips, Jango replied, “Far more interesting than whatever they're going to be talking about.”

Laughing again, Sansa gestured him to follow, and Jango fell into step beside her. He noticed that she was a good half-foot taller than him, and was both resigned and irritated at that observation. Damn his birth father and his short genes.

“How old are you?” Jango asked as they took a right turn into another corridor. It had arched windows to the right that showed some of the courtyard, and spotted further down the hall a few people bringing in the supplies of beskar through an entrance to the yard and into another room across from it.

“Fifteen.” Sansa replied promptly, and he tried not to stumble, jerking his head around in astonishment, “You're my age!?”

Her lips twitched. “I've been told I look older than I actually am.” Was her factual response, and Jango dully nodded. He honestly thought her Arla's age, eighteen or something closer. He inwardly fist pumped at sharing the same age as they stopped in front of the young man who brought the beskar in.

“Gendry,” She greeted, “How's it coming along?”

The man was tall and filled out with thick muscle. Jango tried to not be envious and compare his stature to the other male, who replied back casually, “Not bad. The pure lot is going to the forge as usual, and I've got a few droids bringing the weaker and impure stuff to the other workshop, as you requested.”

“Wonderful. Has your payment been sent over yet?”

He shook his head, brushing off his hands on his shirt as a droid comes up to hand him a padd, “Nah, was going to talk to Arya first before leaving. I can get it later.”

Sansa frowned at that. “If you're sure.” She replied uncertainly. Gendry typed a few things on the padd as he shrugged indifferently, “Yeah, no problem.”

He finished up on the padd, handing it back to the droid before looking back up at Sansa to ask, “So how's the project going?”

“Brilliantly!” Sansa brightened considerably, “You're suggestion worked well, and we're making the threads into an alloy. It won't be as near impenetrable as pure beskar, but it will still be far better than the other armourweave on the market. Plus, it can be incorporated into everyday wear if we are completely successful with the last few trials.”

Gendry scratched at his buzz cut head as he questioned, “Have you talked to your mother about that silk stuff?”

“Karlini silk?” Sansa offered. Gendry snapped his fingers and pointed at her, “That's the stuff, yeah. Did you get a supplier for it?”

The girl huffed, crossing her arms, “Not exactly, she's still discussing with some of the harvesters and the merchants, but I'm sure a combination of the silk and the armourweave would make a good light weight armour outside of the beskar'am.”

Gendry nodded, “Well, best of luck to you, Sansa.”

“Thank you, Gendry.” She gave a dip of her head, an usually regale movement for a Mandalorian. “And I'll send Arya your way if I see her, as I'm sure she's somewhere in the caverns right now. She would've been here by now at hearing of your arrival.”

Jango watched as a dark flush hit Gendry's cheeks, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Thanks.” He said gruffly, before turning away to head out into the courtyard with quick steps.

Sansa sent Jango a mischievous smile, leaning in to whisper, “Gendry and Arya like one another, but Gendry won't do anything yet as he's sixteen and my sister is thirteen.” Jango swallowed hard at the sudden proximity, and tried to not pay attention to the scent of flowers that drifted his way from her.

Sansa then waved for him to follow as they went back the way they came, only to continue on further and not to the left to the corridor where the rest of his group were talking. Jango was helpless to Sansa, like she had a gravitational pull and he could do nothing but orbit her as they went deeper into the compound, passing people going about their day and their jobs, all giving Sansa warm smiles, to which she would return.

“Isn't that a little weird?” Jango couldn't help but comment once he could think a little straighter, “That an older boy likes you sister?”

The girl snorted, giving him a sly smirk, “Oh, my father has given both of them a firm talking to, mainly Gendry. They couldn't look at one another for a good few weeks without blushing. But no, it's not that weird, because we know it's very innocent right now, and Gendry wouldn't dare go against my father for fear of a painful death. And if he does something Arya doesn't like, she'll stab him.” Sansa added with a shrug.

“You think they'll marry in the future?”

Heading down a narrow stair case Sansa replied, “If Arya decides that marriage isn't something that stupid people do, then perhaps.”

A laugh was pulled from his chest, “She thinks people who are married are stupid?”

Pausing at the bottom of the steps, she looked back at him with an amused smile, “She thinks anything that isn't going on an adventure and exploring the galaxy is stupid.”

Scratching at his neck, Jango noted that on the higher step, he was at her eye level and flushed a little at the realisation before panicking and blurting out, “Do you think marriage is stupid?”

And then cursed himself for that moronic question. They met only two minutes ago, and here he was talking about marriage with her of all things.

Her expression softened, a slight far away gaze in her eyes, “I think with the right person, marriage is wonderful. And I hope to exchange vows one day.” With a blink, Sansa withdrew from her thoughts and continued on their way, leading them to the left of a small hallway and through an open door way. “Do you think it's stupid?” Sansa asked over her shoulder.

Though she couldn't see, Jango shrugged a little, “I dunno. Not really on my mind. I've been more focused on all the planning and battle logistics with Jaster. He's let me lead a few hunts for Death Watch not too long ago.” He added, unable to help himself with the pride blooming in his chest.

“You must be very skilled then.” Sansa complemented over her shoulder as she approached a door, the metal sliding to the side to allow entrance. Jango had a moment of an ego boost before he stepped through the door frame and found his brows flying up at the sight before him. In a surprisingly large room underground, was looms with droids and a few people working them. The wall on one side had thin metal and threads wrapped around bobbins, packed into shelves. One droid got up to gather a combination of the two, the threads in a dark green and the other a grey. It was filled with the clattering of the wooden and murmurs of conversation.

He recalled the discussion Sansa had with Gendry, and turned to her with curiosity, “Is this the project you were talking to Gendry about?”

Beaming with excitement, Sansa enthused, “I'm wanting to create a beskar woven cloth. I wanted it to be both used for battle and everyday wear, an alternative to full baskar'am. I thought, perhaps, it would be a peace offering for those that at pacifists, so that they could still be protected even if they don't use armour.”

That soured his interest, “You want to give those fake Mandalorians beskar?”

Smile dimming, Sansa set her hands on her hips to retort, “No one deserves to die, Jango. And right now, a lot of innocent people are being harmed in this civil war, because that's exactly what we are living in. Children are being caught in the cross fire, and I believe providing them with protection is a good way forward in drawing up a peace between our people.”

Begrudgingly, Jango could admit it was a good idea, glancing away from her stern gaze to watch the looms clack with every push and pull of the shuttles. “I guess that makes sense.” He muttered, and Sansa sighed.

Gently, she linked a hand around his upper arm and began to lead him back out of the room. Stood in the empty hall way, Sansa softly commented once the door shut behind them, “It's good to know alternatives to just fighting, Jango. Especially if you inherit Mereel's position.”

His eyes snapped up to hers, defensively snapping, “Why would I inherit? What, you think Jaster is going to get killed or something?”

Raising her hands in peace, staving off his budding anger, Sansa soothed, “I only meant that even with a secured position, it's always good to think of heirs. Right now, you and your sister are Mereel's heirs, and it's good to be ready in case the worst could happen.”

Poking his tongue into the side of his cheek to force down any harsh verbal retort that wanted to be flung out, Jango folded his arms to mutter, “I wouldn't be a good leader anyways.”

“I thought you said that you've led some teams in missions.” Sansa reminded him, and he scoffed, “Yeah, that's different though. I had help in creating ideas and working with the strategy, but it was mainly Myles and Jaster that came up with it. And Arla has a clearer head for the kind of the stuff they're talking with your dad right now.”

A hand then rested on his shoulder, and slowly, Jango met her gaze once more. Sansa's eyes were a bright blue, and they gave him an encouraging look as she earnestly said, “Power and leadership are heavy burdens to carry. To become a leader, to accept that power, should come with the knowledge that you are giving freedom away for duty. You can't be a selfish leader if you want to be a good one, and it's smart to think over whether you want to take up the mantel in the future.”

“Like with you as a Nabooian queen?”

Sansa blinked in surprise, before rolling her eyes with a sigh, “My father likes to make it sound as if I had a real chance in being a queen of Naboo. I would've had to have been born on Naboo, as well as raised and taught there too. I would've had divided loyalties, being born and raised Mandalorian, and I wouldn't be considered at all for fear of not putting Naboo before Mandalore.”

“However,” Sansa then added with a humourless smile, “I have to admit that up until I was eleven, I had dreams and ideas of being chosen. Some wild fantasy of officials coming here to sweep me away into queendom. My mother was an elected queen of Naboo when she was younger, and I thought, as the eldest daughter, I would have been an actual possibility. I got a bit of a reality check though, and focused my attentions onto the actual planet I live and love. I've only been to Naboo a few times, but I am no Nabooian. I am Mandalorian, and I will never be a queen. And I'm alright with that. I have a place in both my clan and house, and I am satisfied with it.”

“Plus, have you seen the amount of in-planet assassinations that occur?” Sansa joked as an addition, “I would have to be half mad for even considering running for queen.”

“I think you would've made a good queen.” Jango confessed, and a bright flush bloomed on the girl's cheeks.

Ducking her head down, Sansa murmured, “Thank you, Jango. That's kind of you to say.” She then waved him to follow, heading further down the corridor to take the next door. It was a large supply room, crates stored with what he figured to be materials for the looms. Sansa took a clip board off a nearby shelf and began to read through it.

He hopped up onto the nearest crate tentatively, wondering if that was allowed. When Sansa didn't react or tell him off, he settled further into his seat. He wasn't lying, when he said Sansa would make a good queen. She appeared to have a good head on her shoulder,s smart and giving thought to her answers. He could see it, especially with how she imparts words of wisdom like someone with worldly experience. Plus, she was easy to talk to, never seeming to judge or react badly to his horrible temper. Jaster may think he doesn't know that about himself, but Jango was self-aware enough to know he was a little shit sometimes.

With Sansa's words of advice lingering in his mind, Jango tilted his head back to stare at the stone ceiling, and stated, “I think I'm going to talk to Jaster. I don't want to be considered as an heir unless necessary. Arla is way better at politics like Jaster, and she's less reckless. I've been thinking about it for a little while anyways.”

“Are you very reckless then?”

Jango tsked, “Just ask Jaster and Myles, they'll tell you all about my stupid decisions.”

Glancing over at him briefly, Sansa gave him a gentle smile, “I'm sure that when it matters, you know how to make good ones. We all make mistakes that we learn from. It's just what makes you a person.”

He gave a neutral hum in response, and their conversation faded away. Though he generally hated sitting around doing nothing, it was a nice silence to wait in. In fact, he used that opportunity to observe Sansa.

She was really pretty. And smart. And seemed to care a lot about people. He just had to see if she knew how to use the daggers sheathed and hidden about her person and then he could rationalise his sudden crush as a reasonable response. Anyone with common sense would find her as someone to admire and like.

However Jango had the dread sinking into his stomach at the knowledge that his family would be teasing him the moment they were all together again, and he had to stifle a groan.

Sansa unbuckled her armour, hanging it on it's designated rack with it's other pieces, as Jeyne came slinking into her room to sit on her bed, already dressed in her sleep wear for the evening. “Heard from Gendry you had a little follower today.”

Shooting her a small scowl, even as her lips twitched with suppressed amusement, Sansa snidely retorted, “If you paid more attention in your knife lessons instead of gossiping, you would be able to beat me in the ring.”

Jeyne stuck her tongue out at her in a mature response to that. Sansa tugged her tunic over her head, balled it up, and tossed at her friend's face. Batting it to the side with a giggle, the brunette replied, “I think he likes you.”

Going behind her changing screen, Sansa took off her bra and tugged on her sleeping shirt, following through with removing her trousers and kama skirt. “That's ridiculous, Jeyne. We've only interacted for, at the most, an hour.”

Stepping out in her pajamas, Sansa set her hands on her hips, adding factually, “And though he seemed friendly enough, he was a grouch. You should've seen the scowl on his face, Jeyne. He walked around like everything pissed him off.”

Flopping back onto the bed with more laughter, Jeyne teased, “You don't sound like you hate that, Sansa.”

And no, unfortunately Jeyne was right. Sansa found the frowning and bristly attitude to be endearing. Jango seemed to care a lot about other people's opinion on him, insecurity under all that anger and brashness. However, he also appeared aware of his faults, and Sansa couldn't judge him harshly because of that. Everyone had their flaws, and they could only improve on them if they were self-aware enough of them.

Coming over to the bed to topple down beside Jeyne, Sansa admitted, “Alright, so he was cute, I guess.”

“I knew it!” Jeyne cried, sitting up to bounce Sansa on the bed by her shoulders. The red had laughed and tried to push her off, only for it to devolve into an unceremonious tussle. When their shrieks of laughter died into breathless pants of amusement, back to laying next to one another, Jeyne commented, “He's super short though.”

Sansa shrugged, “I figured I would be the taller one in a humanoid relationship unless they also had above average height genes like me. Short boys don't bother me.”

Humming thoughtfully, her friend added, “He looks like the kind of fighter who is more bulky and tank-like, rather than fast like you. You would make a complimenting pair in a fight.”

A tiny flush overcame Sansa's cheeks at her friend's sly suggestion, “Jeyne,” She reprimanded, “This is nothing but fantasy. They leave in three days, it's very unlikely anything would come from this infatuation. And that's even if what you say is true! Maybe he just finds me unusual. Like some unknown species to observe.”

Propping herself up with one arm, Jeyne gave Sansa a bemused rose of her brows, “Are you insinuating you're a bug, Sansa?”

“I would make a very cute bug.” Sansa snottily retorted. A pause, gazes held, before they fell into a heap of giggles once more.

Late morning presented Sansa with the sight of Jango and his sister sparring in the ring. Watching from an upper walk way around the training area with Jeyne and Beth on either side, Sansa listened as Beth rambled – mostly to herself – on their fighting techniques. Both of them nodded along in silence, though Jeyne did whistle low, impressed, when Jango managed to throw his sister over his shoulder. Then, she decided to nudge Sansa and give a teasing waggle of her eyebrows, “Told you he was probably strong.”

Sansa elbowed her back, giving no response as she continued to watch the match.

Just as Beth was narrating and as Jeyne theorised, Jango was more strength and rooting himself in place, quick jabs and movement to keep from over extending where he couldn't reach. His sister on the other hand was taller and on the more aerobatic style of fighting, using twists and flips to get out of the way. And flexible, going by the way she fell into a split when Jango aimed a close range punch to her face.

She rolled out of the way, not too far to be able to sweep her brother off his feet and try to get him into a head lock with her thighs. Sansa winced in sympathy as the teen boy elbowed the meat of her leg hard enough to loosen her grip and get out of the lock.

It was a good fight, and it was obvious that Jango was well on his way to becoming quite a deadly opponent.

The man that came with Mereel then stepped forward when the sister threw dirt into Jango's face, stopping the match there. Beth finished up her commentary by announcing factually, “There is no such thing as a dirty trick when it comes to winning.” Jeyne snorted and Sansa sent the younger girl an amused smile.

“Sansa!”

Said girl peered over the observation wall to see Arya. The girl had her hands on her hips and scowling up at Sansa. The red head scowled back, “What!?”

“Fight me!”

Groaning, Sansa snapped back, “You know we're not allowed to fight!”

“Don't care! I want a rematch!”

Sighing hard, the older sister muttered under her breath, “Mother is going to kill us if she finds out we sparred without supervision.”

“Maybe it won't be so bad this time?” Beth offered hopefully. Sansa doubted that, but nodded anyways, turning back to where Arya still stood. They were drawing gazes, and that could lead to word being spread to their mother. Best get this over quick.

“Buy'ce or no buy'ce?” Sansa called down.

Arya did not pause in her response. “No buy'ce.”

Grimacing, knowing that meant Arya would be taking all the head shots that she could, vicious little creature that she was, Sansa turned to walk down the nearby stairwell down to the ring. Jeyne hurried to her side, holding out a hand, “Want me to hold it?”

Sansa took her offer, unclipping the helmet from her belt to give to her friend. Then, she patted down her long braid, making sure everything was in place as she stepped into the ring. “No weapons this time.” Sansa immediately declared, and hushed Arya when the girl went to protest, “No, Arya. If we're sparring, it's without anything deadly.”

“Like I couldn't kill someone with my bare hands.” Arya snidely retorted, but conceded to Sansa's rule, moving over to where Gendry was watching with wry amusement. She began to take out her blasters and knives, as well as unsheathing her thin sword to give to him.

The red head did the same, Beth jogging down from the observation area to hold her many, many knives. Some were too tucked in between the layers of her clothes and armour, not meant to be reached for a sparring match but for worst case scenarios.

Once de-fanged, the two girls entered to ring. “Mother is really going to kill us.” Sansa repeated to her sister. Arya flashed her a toothy grin, “But it will be fun before she does so.”

Rolling her eyes with begrudging agreement and fondness, they took their favoured fighting positions, and waited. There would be no call to start the match, only who ever moves first. In this case, it was Arya, still holding on to the dredges of that youthful impatience that Sansa had learnt to shrug off a couple years back.

For the first part, it went well. They trained blows, blocking and redirecting strikes, Sansa at one point flipping Arya over the shoulder, to which her sister retaliated by delivering a kick to Sansa's gut.

Wheezing, Sansa managed to dodge the follow up hits as she got her breath back, finding an opportunity to grasp an oncoming blow from one fist and rabbit punching Arya in the nose. Yelping, Arya scrambled back as blood began to trickle out, however Sansa grappled her into a head lock.

Sharp pain then erupted from her scalp, head bending back at the yank to her braid, and Sansa gasped, releasing Arya.

Then Arya let out a yelp again, dropping her braid. “Did your hair just cut my fucking gloves!?”

Chuckling, Sansa flicked the long tail of her braid over her shoulder, “You know better than to grab my hair, Arya. I always put razor wire into it.”

Glaring, Arya showed off the cuts into the palms of her gloves to Sansa, who rolled her eyes, “Guess you'll have to fix them later, stupid.”

“I'm not stupid!” Arya exclaimed, suddenly charging Sansa, slamming into her torso and making them collapse to the ground. Breathless once again, Sansa managed to fend off the smacks and grabbing hands of her sister, the sparring devolving into scratching and sharp slaps.

On the bottom, Sansa shoved her hand into Arya's face, trying to push her back and throw her balance off.

“OW!” the older girl cried, snatching her hand back as she bucked her hips, throwing Arya off. “You did not just bite me, Arya!”

The snide tongue that was stuck out in her direction had irritation bubbling over and led to Sansa tackling Arya to the ground this time, shoving her face into the ground as Arya pinched and clawed at her exposed neck and skin.

Then a large pair of arms looped around her stomach, pulling her off her sister, just as Jon came to pull Arya up. Who immediately tried to lunge for Sansa but their cousin locked his arms under hers, pulling her up so her short legs dangled and kicked in the air.

Panting, Sansa blew stray hair out of her face, tossing a glance behind her angrily at who was holding her back. It was Robb. The young man let out a tired sigh, “Really, you two? I thought we told you no more sparring without one of us here until you could get your irrational anger for one another sorted?”

“I told Arya that!” Sansa defensively protested, “But she didn't listen!”

“You could have just said no.” Their older brother pointed out, unimpressed.

Sansa opened her mouth to argue back, only for their mother to come storming into the training area, fury in her footsteps.

Paling, Sansa dropped all tension in her body, signaling to Robb he could let her go. Arya across from her did the same thing, head ducked down.

The woman said nothing, only glaring at the pair of them, fists on her hips. Sansa's cheeks then began to flush as the silent disappointed anger dragged on, realising that they had spectators to this embarrassing display. So much for trying to be mature. Finally, mother spoke up, voice low, “What, was the one rule?”

No response.

“I asked a question, girls.” The woman hissed, “Now answer me.”

They spoke in unison, a glum drawl. “To not fight.”

“No.” Mother immediately corrected, “It was that if you sparred, you would do so without falling into petty squabbling. You are training to be warriors, not unruly loth-cats.”

Ashamed, Sansa murmured, “Sorry, mother.” Arya echoed the sentiment.

She felt the heavy gaze of the woman on them for a few more seconds before mother ordered, “Now, seeing as you are still meant to be training, Arya you will go to the shooting range and Theon will be supervising. Sansa, your knife work needs more honing on moving targets. That is where you will be going, and no Jeyne or Beth.”

Both girls held back their want to protest, instead nodding and turning to go where their mother commanded. Sansa stopped by her friends to collect her things before hurrying off to the knife range. There were barely anyone there currently, so Sansa had the privacy to let out silent and frustrated tears.

Arya and Sansa loved one another. However, it was obvious from a young age that their personalities clashed, easily riled up by one another, that sparring was always messy and full of dirty tricks that even Beth couldn't argue in favour of. When they got a bit older, got a bit more skilled in their fighting, the rule was put into place when they escalated. It led to a broken arm for Sansa and a stab wound to the shoulder for Arya. They could only spar if their parents or older siblings were there to break it up or remind them to ease back.

Sansa foolishly agreed because maybe she wanted to show off on how far she'd come in her fighting abilities, after that good spar between Jango and his sister. How embarrassing.

Sniffling, the girl wiped her nose with the back of her glove, then used the other hand to rub away her tears. Blurry vision would be no help in practise.

“Hey,” A tentative voice called, and Sansa whirled around to find Jango standing a few feet away from her. His hands were stuffed into his pockets and looked unsure, observing her closely.

Grimacing, Sansa sniffed and muttered, “Sorry you had to see that.”

He shrugged, “Arla and I have done similar in the past, so it's no big deal.”

“Have you ever stabbed your sister before though?” Sansa coldly replied, then winced at her tone. Jango however didn't take offense, his brows shooting up in surprise, “You stabbed your sister?”

“Ugh!” Sansa threw her hands up, feeling that frustration build up again, “Arya is just so annoying! I love her and would kill for her, but I just want to strangle her sometimes.” She made the choking gesture and Jango snorted, posture relaxing.

“Yeah, I guess I've wanted to do that to Arla sometimes, but I can't say I've stabbed her before. Accidentally shot her foot when we were younger and I was still learning to aim, but yeah...” As he trailed off, Jango scratched the back of his head. He appeared slightly uncomfortable and Sansa sighed internally. She really couldn't find a way to interact with a boy her age normally, could she?

Turning away, figuring the conversation over, Sansa headed towards a station for the targets, where she could lay out her weapons and buyce. However, Jango didn't seem turned away by her lack of response or the topic, instead he trailed behind her, coming to sit up on the table next to her knives, eyeing them curiously.

“How good are you at them?”

With barely a glance behind her, having years of mindless practise at aiming, Sansa picked up a knife by the blade and threw it over her shoulder. A dull thunk followed seconds after. “A fair bit.” Was her reply, sending him a tentative cheeky smile. He whistled in appreciation.

“Why the kriff did your mom send you here then?”

“I need to practise with moving targets, my aim off two out of five times. I need it to be perfect.”

He gazed at her after that resolute comment, before getting off the table to wander over to the target. Jango walked behind it and hefted the object up. Surprised, Sansa went to call out to him, only for him to yell, “Start throwing!” And then the boy began to lightly jog to the left.

Picking up some of her throwing knives – as not all the ones she had were primarily for throwing, some made for gutting enemies – Sansa weighed the blade, flipped it to hold the hilt and took aim.

After a pause, just as Jango shifted to run to the right now, Sansa held her breath as she threw it. A thunk, and she cursed. Missed the center by a good foot. She picked up the next blade.

On and on they went, pausing every now and then to let Jango take a break and for Sansa to collect her knives. It was nice. And honestly, it was a little fun too.

When they wound down, Sansa had a small smile on her face, shoulders aching some what from the throwing but that was only because of the fight her and Arya had earlier. Her muscles usually wouldn't start aching unless she was training over time. Jango thumped the target onto the ground, and watching him stretch his own arms and shoulders, Sansa winced in sympathy.

“Thank you.” She said as he approached. The other teen shrugged casually, “It's no big deal. Good work out for me too, I guess.”

Her traitorous eyes strayed to his arms, where the fabric of his shirt was tight. After noting that, yes, his arms were thick with muscle as the day before, Sansa focused back on stowing away her knives, forcing away the heat in her cheeks.

“Not just for the target.” Sansa continued, “But for being here. We don't really know one another, and you didn't have to. So, thank you.”

“Family can be tough sometimes.” Jango shrugged once more, scratching his ear. His eyes darted to the side and he seemed a little uncomfortable. “I get it. So don't worry about it, Sansa.”

Smiling as she nodded, Sansa finished up packing away. Then, with a gesture they began to walk back into the compound. She figured she could lead him back to his rooms to get cleaned up after all the training.

On their way through the somewhat empty halls, Jango spoke up. “You don't have to be perfect.”

Her steps faltered, pausing to look over at him in surprise. “What?”

Jango didn't meet her gaze, instead focused forward as if he couldn't look over at her. “No one is perfect, so why do you have to be when it's an impossible thing to achieve.” And here, he did meet her stare. For all that he was an awkward teenager, just like her, there was a confidence to him. A strong resolve of someone who has been in hard situations in the past and knew his worth. So it was hard not to believe him as he said that.

“You said it yourself, mistakes make us people.”

He hadn't necessarily thrown her words back into her face, but Jango did the metaphorical gesture of presenting something very obvious to her. Unable to continue looking at him, Sansa glanced away, cheeks hot once more.

She couldn't find the words to say in response to that. Or, at least, nothing that felt correct. Instead, Sansa offered a stilted but sincere, “Thank you again. I'll...I'll keep what you've said in mind.”

Jango gave a curt nod in response, before walking off. Though Sansa was supposed to lead him to his room, she found herself instead rooted in place, watching his departing back. He may think himself to be a bad leader, or at least not the best choice as an heir. But Sansa thought him to have the ability to be one, if he so chose to.

Chapter Text

Arla and Jango followed behind Jaster as their buir made his way towards to Duke Kryze. Under his buy'ce, Jango was scowling at the man as they exchanged very terse and false pleasantries. It had become a familiar thing, to walk behind Jaster as he met people, at this point a mind-numbing routine. After four months of talking with other clans and factions of the Mandalorians, they all finally had managed to organise a meeting between leaders, both neutral, New, and True. Jango's family was one of the first to arrive, much to his displeasure. That meant there wasn't anyone interesting to talk to yet.

On the internal comms, Arla murmured, “Look alive. We've got his daughters approaching.”

Changing his focus from the ornate hallway they were walking down to spy a pair of girls that were coming their way, Jango arched a brow at the differences. Where one was dressed in robes and a gown, lacking armour like her father, the other one, younger by the looks of it, was wearing armour. And it was ill-fitting at that. He figured she must have gotten it from her ancestry vault or something.

Interesting.

He softly replied, “Seems like one of them is not down for the pacifism.”

Arla huffed. “Family dinners must be tense.”

Jango did his best to hold back a snort.

He tuned out the rest of the conversation between his buir and the Duke, the daughters falling in line with their group as they made their way to what Jango presumed to be the room where the meeting would be held.

However, Jango did catch the names of the daughters, Bo-Katan, the younger of the two, with the blonde one being Satine. Unable to stop himself, Jango found his mind beginning to compare them to Sansa. Satine, younger than him by maybe a year or so, had the same kind of poise and elegance that Sansa had, however, the Stark's eldest daughter carried it better, far more assured of herself and her place in the galaxy.

Bo-Katan on the other hand seemed raring to fight, all sharp edges. She was even younger than Jango, but carried a blaster of someone who was familiar with it. However, Jango had a suspicion that with her family's political views, she probably didn't have as much experience with weapons like Sansa did.

All in all, his conclusion of the two sisters was that Sansa was far more preferable in terms of company. Bo-Katan was surly and appeared angry at the world. Satine was full of disapproval of Jango and his people.

Yeah, he didn't like either of them.

His shitty mood continued hanging over him like a particularly dark cloud as they were shown the meeting room after pausing to drop their things off in their temporary rooms for the visit. A large chamber, tall windows on the furthest wall, with a long oval table stretching across the width of the hall. Plenty of space for all the clans that were summoned. He recalled Jaster murmuring to Myles about this meeting be a potential hazard for some of the clans, with their leader being here instead of with their clan. A weakness that Death Watch could exploit if they knew about it.

Jango sincerely hoped not. Maybe they would attack this meeting instead, which he would prefer because then it would make the whole thing far more interesting and bearable under all the disgruntled and dismissive gazes they were getting from the Duke's 'guards'. Idiots didn't even carry any weapons, how the kriff were they meant to guard without anything to defend with?

When he muttered that sentiment to Arla, he caught his sister's shoulders shaking a little from repressed laughter and grinned to himself. It improved his mood a little.

Then he caught sight of Satine making her way to where he had posted himself against a wall with Arla, a set determination in her jaw and thought disparagingly, 'Ah kark.'

By the time Satine had been gently urged away from them, Arla was close to bursting from incandescent rage after exchanging heated political differences and Jango was either preparing to hold her back from killing the girl or joining in. It really depended on how he would've felt in that split second. Luckily he didn't have to decide, and soon more people were filtering into the room.

With half his attention focused on soothing Arla's anger – she had a personal vendetta against Death Watch so she came by her anger far easier on the topic of pacifism being the correct decision – Jango kept an eye on the new comers, searching for a familiar set of armour or hair.

Before leaving the Stark compound, Sansa and Jango had traded personal details to message over comm pads. When she had hesitantly approached the morning of their departure, softly asking the question, Jango had readily agreed, ignoring the smirks from his family sent their way.

Over the messages, Sansa kept him informed of the going on in her daily life, what her siblings were getting up to, and her project. Jango in turn grumbled about Jaster nerding out over some ancient ruins they happened across on a hunt, sending her images of his disgruntled expression with Jaster, ecstatic and in mid ramble, in the background. She found them amusing, sending her own pictures of her family and their nonsense. He also mentioned every now and then how Jaster's plans for getting more clans on his side were going, which he figured she would update her father on it. Always good to keep allies in the loop.

And in that time, he discovered small details about her. Her subtle humour, how she could rave for hours on horrible outfits she'd seen politicians wear from the holonet, and that she loved the colour purple. He learnt more of her insecurities during late nights, how she still feared being no less than the best.

Jango was certain she learnt similar things about him, and for once, being that vulnerable. Showing that weakness? It didn't feel so terrible.

A flash of red drew his mind back to the present and there, in between the two taller forms of Stark and his heir Robb, was Sansa. Her hair was in a long braid, swaying out from under her buy'ce, and Jango didn't doubt it was laced with razor wire. The white painted beskar was a statement in the midst of the more colourful or darker tones around the hall, and it had fondness welling in his chest, because of course Sansa would make sure she was standing out from the crowd. Nothing about the girl was quiet or could be overlooked.

Actually, even all three of the Starks drew looks, with them being the tallest people around. Those Mandalorian genes were strong. Plus, with Robb's armour being dark browns with some black, and Stark being all black with only some white accents, they made an intimidating group just based on appearance.

An elbow stabbed into his side. Yelping, Jango whirled around to glare at Arla, even if the helmet blocked the sight of it. She snorted, jerking her head towards to Starks. “Go say hi, idiot. I need to find Jaster anyways.”

Shoving her in retaliation, Jango left her, bee-lining for Sansa, as he tried to keep his pace casual, but he would be lying if he wasn't brimming with nerves at seeing her face to face again.

Heart hammering in his chest, Jango swallowed thickly as Robb's head looked up from his data padd, noticing him over Sansa's shoulder. He must've said something to his sister, because a few seconds later she turned around.

Sansa took off her buy'ce, a wide smile on her face as she called, “Jango!” And walked a couple of steps towards him. Grinning under the armour, Jango tried to stifle it as he smoothly – or he at least prayed it was done smoothly – took off his own bucket to greet, “Sansa. Hey.”

Internally he gagged as he stopped a foot from her. Kriff he was awkward.

However, if Sansa noticed that she said nothing. Instead, Sansa continued to smile as they gazed at one another. “You're looking well.”

Holding back the urge to double check he had no weird scuff marks on his armour or his fly was down, Jango ruffled his hair and smirked, “Could say the same for yourself.”

The taller teen ducked her head down, a bashful tilt to her smile as she carefully dragged her braid over her shoulder, playing with the end. “I'll admit this is the first proper meeting I've been to. I'm just hoping I didn't over dress.”

The fondness was near bursting, eyes softening as he took in what she was wearing under her armour. Whereas in her home her clothes were softer and not meant to hold up well in a fight, she was in a thick grey long sleeve shirt with a high collar. Still with the kama skirt over her black trousers, it really made her white beskar stand out. And up close, he could make out properly the tiny painted details of flowers in blue and red. A juxtaposition for a Mandalorian that Jango had to search his mind for the right word. Charming. Not one he would ever really use, but it fit her. Sansa was charming.

“You look good.” Jango assured.

The red flush on her cheeks that bloomed was even more charming.

When father had said he would be taking Robb to the meeting of the clans, Sansa could admit that when she asked to go – practically demanded, really – it was for multiple reasons, but there was one main one on her mind: Jango.

The fellow teen was a mess of anger and deserved confidence. He held a barely contained mythosaur inside of him, and Sansa did not doubt any of his stories of past hunts. Sansa knew a dangerous person when she saw one, she was Mandalorian after all. Danger was the very air they breathed. And Sansa wouldn't suffocate around Jango.

It felt foolish, she would admit to Jeyne a month after Jango and his group left, and they were messaging one another near every day, that she was crushing so hard on this boy. By the ka'ra, Sansa was certain her mother thought her so as well, shaking her head in exasperation anytime Sansa mentioned the boy.

The last time Sansa became so taken with a boy, it was Joffrey when she was eleven and on a trip with her mother to Naboo. It didn't last long, thankfully. A cruel boy bringing unnecessary harm to innocent creatures. No pretty features could cover that darkness. So she had thought herself far more carefully with her heart.

And here Sansa went, falling slowly for a boy that spelt nothing but trouble.

“A good kind of trouble.” Jeyne had argued back with a teasing grin one evening. “Like from the books.”

Sansa had scoffed with a smile on her lips. Her friend read too many romance novels in Sansa opinion. But she wasn't wrong.

Which led to Sansa leaping at the chance to see him again. Messages were all well and good, holos impossible when he wasn't in range, and she had missed his curly hair. Had missed how he would scratch at his neck or ear, an obvious tell of discomfort or embarrassment. It was endearing.

Her father had kept a blank expression as Sansa expounded on all the reasons she should come with, very much not even bringing up Jango. Her obvious avoidance of the topic had father's eyes twinkling with amusement, letting her go breathless in her ramblings before he finally agreed. Her overjoyed cheer was between her, her father, and the ancestors.

And probably most of the household with how loud it was.

So when Sansa entered the meeting hall, filled with many Mandalorians, Sansa couldn't find Jango at first glance, turning to talk to Robb as she scanned the room. And then her brother glanced over her shoulder and away from his data padd, amusement was in his voice as he stated, “Your lover boy is coming this way.”

It took all her training to not tense up or double check to make sure her clothes were straight and no armour out of place. Instead, remembering her lessons, Sansa took off her helmet, turned around calmly, and broke all of that by grinning wide and calling his name. Already she was walking to him, knowing definitively she was ensnared by him.

There was no chill to be found in any part of her body.

The crooked smile he sent her in return, stopping before her and ruffing his curls made her stomach clench. Along with her hands. She really wanted to run them through his hair so bad.

“You look good.”

The words rang in her head and it was like she was a droid, all circuits frying. Sansa could only internally weep in relief when the meeting began, no having any idea on what to say in return as the Duke raised his voice to grab their attention and ask them to be seated. Sending a look to Jango before parting, Sansa's tongue unstuck for her to ask, “Find me after the meeting?”

He nodded, “Yeah. See you then.”

Watching him head over to Jaster and his sister, Sansa cocked her head to the side, wondering out loud to whomever happened to be listening. “Were his shoulders always that broad?”

Robb snorted hard enough for it to sound painful. Looking over at him, Sansa's face went aflame at the pained expression father's face, having caught her words. “I don't want to know.” He stated, walking away to find a seat.

Setting a firm hand on her shoulder, Robb chuckled, “It's just you, Sansa. No one else has ever noticed.”

“Shut up, Robb.”

Smacking his hand off of her, the girl huffed and flounced away to her seat. The meeting began not too long after, and Sansa bore witness to the sight of grown clan leaders losing their shit in the following two hours.

It was both horrifying and spectacular. Sansa was entranced. At one point, she leant over to her brother to whisper, “When you're clan head, can I do this for you?”

Struggling to hold back a laugh and remain focused on Mance Eldar yell at Maege Mormont, the bear of the woman not taking that lightly and standing up to point angrily at the man, Robb whispered back, “Please do.”

It's not the arguing and the yelling that had Sansa so interested, it was the politics behind it all. The underhanded or blatant insults, depending on the person. Sansa was already seeing where you would use pure logic to gain one leader's favour and then beseech another's empathy to get theirs. Tactics worked only depending on who would be susceptible to them. A different kind of battle.

However, that pair's anger directed to the Duke after he rose once more to impart the benefits of retiring weapons and armour for the sake of peace.

If there was one thing Sansa hated the most in history books from all around the galaxy, was those that preached sacrifice of the masses for peace. As if letting innocents die was the best option for a cause.

“The lack of the ability to defend ones self does not mean peace. It means a lack of power to protect yourself and the ones you love.”

The words were out her mouth before she realised. Head turned her way, the Duke surprised but rallying behind his cause admirably in the face of her glower.

“That may be, however, without a culture full of traditions glorifying violence then safety and peace is obtainable. One must have a strong fortitude to refrain from-”

“Tell me, Duke Kryze.” Sansa cut in once more, placing her hands on the table as she stood up, “If you were being strangled to death, would you just lie there and let them kill you because your strong fortitude for no violence would somehow save you?”

“That-”

“No.” Sansa rolled her eyes, tone cool but holding a faint hint of mockery. “You wouldn't. It's in every living beings instinct to fight back when threatened with the possibility of death. It's not about glorifying violence, it's celebrating the fact that we are strong enough to fight back when attacked, though there is far more to our culture than just diminishing it to that simplification. In the past, yes, the Old Mandalorians were conquerors and were known for brutality. However, just because that was our roots doesn't mean things can't change-”

“Which is what I am referring to, Lady Sansa.” The man jumped it, trying to find the reins of the conversation once more. “If we change our ways-”

Emotion taking control, Sansa slammed her fist onto the table, the bang resounding around the room. “It's committing cultural genocide Duke Kryze!” She growled. “An act of violence that could become lead to far more disastrous results than if we continue as we are now without any change! An act of violence that is against New Republic law, which, you have deemed the New Mandalorians to be a part of and are then liable to suffer the punishment of your own actions! It's also means wiping out all the parts of what makes us Mandalorians! You can not stand there, demanding us to be passive, when that is not the Mandalorian way. You should not even be calling yourself Mandalorian because everything you are striving for is not it.” Sansa had to add with a spat of vitriol.

Rearing back, the Duke lost hints of his decorum as he protested. “All violence does is perpetuate violence. Death Watch attacks because of the Mandalorian ways!”

“The acts of terrorists do not represent the entirety of our people.” Sansa instantly argued in return. “Lying down our weapons and armour won't stop their attacks! If they win, there will be no peace, I will tell you that. No peace, only suffering. Those not trained to protect themselves would only be one explosive chip away from being what would amount to a slave, beholden to those with the power to kill them on a whim.”

“You can't just bring slavery in as an example!”

“Fine. Let me amend it then. You would just be a dog to their cruel master, beaten down and terrified that one paw out of line means punishment. Not just to you, but to your family.” And her gaze slid to his two daughters beside him before back to the man, his complexion paling some at the insinuation. “Death Watch would show no mercy, and letting them run rampant continues the cycle of violence you are trying to break. What do you think would happen, if all of us put down our weapons and we let Death Watch continue in their endeavours? They would take our children and force a blaster into their hands, killing their parents in front of them. The children would then have to survive or die. That is the future you're working towards.”

The man took in a deep breath, struggling to maintain the last remains of his composure. “Violence still begets violence.”

“But sometimes it negates it too.” She pointed out, straightening up. “Pacifism is an ideal only a person can achieve, and is not a way of life to force upon an unwilling civilisation. It would never work in the grand scheme of things. You want peace?” Sansa's chin tilted up as she coldly advised him, “Go find an empty planet and settle your peace there.”

The silence was deafening. And suddenly it was like Sansa was thrown back into her body, realising what she had just done. It took everything to not show the panic in her features, darting her eyes about to gauge the table's reaction.

Many of the clan leaders were nodding in agreement, others contemplative. None looked angry at her interruption, and that was enough to stop her from fleeing the room. The Duke looked like he bit into something particularly sour, eyes full of exhausted dissatisfaction as he waved a hand, “We will break for the day. The meeting resumes same time as tomorrow.” His tone was weary, as he left the room. There was a moment of hesitation from his daughters, but both hurried after him, both of them casting indecipherable looks Sansa's way.

Seats scrapped like an out of tune orchestra following the Duke's departure, the occupants either lingering behind to talk with one another or filing out to their designated quarters. Sansa glanced to her father, dazed and shaky.

“Father.” Sansa's voice was high and desperate.

There was a purse of his lips, as if he was pushing back a smile. “Sansa.” He replied standing up. She staggered away from the table and he caught her at the elbows.

“Father, why didn't you stop me?” Sansa implored. And then she pressed her hands to her cheeks, mortified. “I just yelled at the Duke. Oh Ka'ra, I shouldn't have spoken out of turn!”

Large arms pulled her into a reassuring embrace. “Perhaps not. But it's been said, and I think you've made a big impact on the trajectory for the rest of the meeting.” Stepping back, father patted her on the shoulder as if to emphasise his support. “Besides, we're not people that focus on formality like many other planets and their governments.”

“Could be as bad as the other leaders, all of them about ready to climb over the table and strangle one another.” Robb encouraged, ruffling her hair a little. Sansa was too dazed still to smack the offending hand away.

Kriff, she really did just say all of that in front of all the clan heads. In front of their heirs, and in front of the Mand'alor that they were aligned with. In front of-

Her head whipped around, Robb just barely dodging her razor wire laced braid from slapping him in the face. Sansa locked gazes with Jango, who was faintly gaping in her direction. Arla beside him was animatedly chatting at Jaster, who in turn was giving Sansa an encouraging thumps up. Not that those two things mattered because she just embarrassed herself in front of Jango.

Swiftly turning away and sufficiently mortified, Sansa begged her father, “Please let me hide in my room for the rest of the evening!”

Amused, father nodded. “Of course you may. But,” He stalled Sansa from immediately running off to add, “I'm proud of you. And I think I can speak for most of the clans when I say, you did good. You said what needed to be said.”

That eased some of the anxiety from her chest, giving him a tiny nod. But Sansa still needed to be alone and settle with the fact she just spoke up in an official meeting she wasn't even meant to go to.

Taking a quick heel turn, Sansa power walked out of the room, making absolutely no eye contact with anyone she passed. Her only thought was 'Find room. Scream in pillow. Go to sleep.' A solid plan and should be fairly easy to execute.

That was until someone called her name. Sansa held back the need to whimper, having just caught sight of her door not even twenty feet away. Rigidly, the girl turned around, and was both relieved and terrified at the sight of Jango lightly jogging after her.

He sounded breathless – which was odd because he should be in fairly decent shape as a warrior – as he said, “That was amazing!”

Flushing hotly, Sansa glanced away, “It was stupid, that's what.”

Scoffing, Jango waved a dismissive hand, “Mandalorians do stupid shit all the time. That wasn't stupid. That was badass.”

If her face could get any redder, going by how hot it felt, Sansa was sure she would be the same colour of her hair. Furtively looking around, only seeing a few other people milling about the hall, Sansa grasped Jango's arm and dragged him those last few feet to her room so they could discuss all of this out of the public's eye.

As soon as the door slammed close behind them, Sansa whirled around, “What I did was dangerous! When I spoke, I spoke for the entirety of House Stark. And I'm not even the heir, so I have no right to do that! That, could lead to a political nightmare, Jango. We're lucky we that, as a people, we don't put too much weight on politics. If this was Naboo, or even the fucking Senate, I could've caused so much trouble for my people.”

Looking a little windswept Jango blinked up at her. Then, slowly, he softened his expression to reach up and cup her face.

It was her turn to be startled as Jango stated, a statement echoing her father's unknowingly. “You did good, Sansa. You may not feel like it, but I promise you, everyone besides the Duke's supporters are with you on what you said. By the ancestors I think even a few of his supporters were nodding with you at times.”

“Really?” Her voice came out tiny as she relaxed some of the tension in her shoulders.

Releasing her face – and Sansa pretended she didn't miss the contact and failed miserably – Jango nodded, “Yeah. Now,” His attention turned to the rest of the room, “You got any snacks? I'm starving.”

Giggling a little, Sansa went to her pack on the bed, rummaging through it before presenting the tin her mother had prepared for them before they left this morning. It was a decently large tin, enough food for two, ans she hopped up on the bed, back against the wall. Patting the spot beside her, Jango easily complied, and they shared the food, beginning to pick up the conversation where they left off over their messages.

It was over an argument on the cutest species in the galaxy. Sansa was making a strong argument for the porg, however Jango made a valiant attempt to argue in favour of puffer pigs.

Jaster was wandering about the halls of the Duke's palace, searching for his wayward son, only to come across Ned. The man was in light conversation with his son when Jaster approached. They nodded in greeting.

Nodding back, Jaster wondered, “Have you seen Jango? He ran out after the meeting and I haven't seen him for a few hours.”

The pair traded amused glances before Ned replied, “I think he went after Sansa.”

That had a smile creeping up his face as Ned waved him to follow them. “What she said was very passionate. Put up a decent argument, and left the Duke speechless. Think if we managed to get some proper truce and after dealing with Death Watch, we'll be having her as out representative for the Senate?”

Robb chuckled, “I think she would find that terrifying. She already agreed to being my negotiator when I take over as clan leader, so I don't know if she wants to deal with idiot senators on top of it.”

“Did she now?” Ned asked his son, brow arching in bemusement. The younger male shrugged, “What can you do, father? Got to be prepared for when you finally kick it.”

He received a light smack up the head for that teasing response as Ned came to a stop before a door. After knocking lightly, they waited. But received no response.

Mulling over the silence for a moment, Ned opened the door slowly, and they all peeked inside.

Jaster was immediately tugging his buy'ce back on to capture the image of Sansa and Jango passed out on the bed, tangled up together. It was adorable and he only managed to refrain from cooing out of respect for the fact that was his son in bed with Ned's daughter.

Chancing a wary glance over at said man, needing to gauge how fast he would have to drag Jango out of the line of fire, Ned only appeared supremely exasperated, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well,” Robb offered tentatively, forcing down a smile, “At least they are full clothes, even if only partially armoured.”

Because that was the one good thing about the two teens in bed together. They were conked out on top of the covers, an empty food tin tossed off to the side. Sansa was curled up over Jango, his head buried into her stomach with arms wrapped over her torso. She had fingers buried into his curls, one leg thrown over his own. They had shed their chest armour and shoulder plates, no doubt to make napping far more pleasant.

Sighing, Ned began to back out, hand still on the handle, and Jaster took that as his cue to leave as well, stripping his helmet back off. The two parents shared a loaded glance before he quipped, “I would be honored to call you family in the future, Ned.”

Sighing hard, Ned nodded, “And you, Jaster. My daughter could do worse.”

There was some chuckling that followed, before Robb cut in. “Wait. Does that mean I can't shoot my shot with Arla?”

Jaster whipped around to glare at the young man, who froze like an animal on the road with a speeder barreling towards him. Robb gave a queasy smile, “Joking?”

Jaster was not amused.