Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Obi-wan hummed desperately to the little girl whose head was cradled in his lap, trying to drown out the noise around them. 

The sound of children crying could be heard even over the roar of the ship’s engines, overpowered only by the heavy feeling of misery and fear in the force.

He hummed a little bit louder, closing his eyes, and tried to remember how to breathe.

This was all Obi-wan’s fault. He’d sensed something off the moment the Mandalorians had landed on the edges of the city, slinking through the streets in their blue and grey armour, searching for something.

But the Young were getting desperate, with so many injured in the latest Daan attack, so many children slipping away, and it had hit Obi-Wan like a light in the dark- the Mandalorians and their value of children above all else. Surely, they would be sympathetic, he had thought, surely, they would help.

It was a risk, of course, they were adults, they were Elders, but they were Mandalorians, and the children were dying. It’s taken days, hours, and Nield watching another four-year-old slip away before he’d been able to convince Cerasi and Nield they should seek out the Mandalorians’ aid before they left the planet. 

And here they were, sitting in a dark hold, bruised and bloody, taken. 

The Mandalorians left the more injured children behind, the ones that wouldn’t make it through the end of the week and the ones that would if only someone was there. They’d left them behind. 

Cerasi had refused. She stood her ground, even with the others subdued, even with Obi-wan on ground, inches from unconsciousness.

Gil’s little hand was clutched tightly in her grasp, the boy still with fever, laid out there on the cot, and she’d ordered them with the power, the authority, of a matron queen to leave the Young alone. 

His last glimpse of Cerasi has been her crumbled there on the stone floor, bleeding out from a blaster bolt in the side. 

Nield wouldn’t look at him and Obi-Wan couldn’t even blame him. 

He tried not to think of the children left behind in the sewers, the darkness closing in, no one to sing to them, no one to tend to their wounds, no one to save them. He tried not to think of the children well enough to surround him.

The sewers would have been a kinder fate. 

His humming wasn’t loud enough to drown out the roaring in his ears. It sounded like the groan of metal walls as the ocean pressed in, the echo of pickaxes striking stone, the sniffle of adults crying at night. It felt like helplessness. It felt like failure.

“Obi.” Em whispered, voice muffled against his leg. Two sets of tear tracks had carved through the dirt on her face. “Are we going to get out of here?”

Obi-wan ceased his humming to run a soothing hand through her tangled hair. “Of course.” he promised, quietly. 

Obi-Wan had felt the moment the ship left Melida/Daan’s surface, but it wasn’t until the ship rattled with the distinct shift to hyperspace that something in him shattered. The part of him that had hoped-wished-screamed for a year for the Jedi, for Qui-Gon, to swoop in to save them. The knights would pour in and subdue the Elders, and the healers, a whole flood of them, would rush in after and no more children would die, and the Council would make sure no more fighting ever happened here, and Qui-Gon- Qui-Gon- would sweep Obi-wan up in his arms like that one time he got sick when he was little and hold him tight, and he’d finally be able to break.

But the truth was… no one was coming. 

No one ever was. 

“Obi, Obi don’t cry.” Em said, dazedly. She tried to pat his face with clumsy fingers. “It’ll be okay.”

He reached up to touch his face, surprised to find tears there. He wiped them away with a grimy sleeve, but they just kept coming back.

He gave up, going back to petting Em’s hair instead. She didn’t seem to notice the moisture dripping onto her shirt. 

“Keep singing, Obi-wan.” she asked. 

He tried. But he couldn’t find a song. 

He’d been here before, Obi-wan thought, as the Mandalorians herded them down the ramp and into the dusty ground. Whether on a mission or in a dream or a vision, he wasn’t sure. But the taste of red dirt in the air was familiar. 

“Pick up the pace.” one of the warriors snarled and Obi-wan kept his eyes low, hiking Tomas further up in his arms. Em was strong enough to hold on by herself, clinging tightly to his back, and for that, Obi-wan was grateful. 

He kept half an eye on Nield as they made their way towards the strange compound in front of them. He’d only just managed to convince the boy running was a bad plan. 

“There’s more than double of us, they can’t possibly catch us all.” Nield had hissed at older children huddled in the corner of the hold furthest from the ladder. “We’ll regroup and come back from the others stronger-”

“On an unfamiliar planet, with unfamiliar terrain, and unknown predators, and thirty injured?” Obi-wan said. His eyes were fixed on his hatch. He couldn’t feel his body. 

“Shut up, Obi-wan,” Nield snapped, glared at him. “You’re not a part of this conversation-”

“I don’t care.” Obi-wan said shortly, too exhausted to mince his words. He let his gaze drop to them. “Do you want to survive this?”

“We don’t need your help,” Nield spat, “We’ve fighting this war long before you arrived-”

“This isn’t Melida/Daan.” Obi-wan interrupted, sharp. “This is worse.” he said, and some of the children shuffled back at the rawness in his voice. “So, I’ll ask you again. Do you want to survive this?”

Nods, hesitant and shaky. Even Nield stayed silent.

“Good.” Obi-wan said, grim. “Listen up. This is what you’re going to do.”

The children were all silent, eyes on the ground, as the Mandalorians led them through the halls. They separated them by age, and not one of them protested, though Em clung to him as long as possible. They followed every instruction and didn’t say a word, and he couldn’t help the quiet breath of relief even as a ball of lead settled in his chest.

They listened. They listened. 

He wasn’t sure if it would take. He’d gotten one sentence into his speech to the younger ones and froze with panic, taking in their faces. These were children, children, babies-

Nield had taken over while he tried not to hyperventilate, explaining that they were going to play a very important game, like the one where the Elders got close, and they had to be as quiet as a tiny mouse. They’d seemed to understand, but he couldn’t be sure.

They, they would survive this, he told himself. They would.

He tried not to think of Cerasi and Gil the others.

The sight of the militant bunkroom, concrete floors, no blankets, made Obi-wan want to throw up. The heavy weight of a myriad of strangers’ despair was woven in the very walls.

The door slammed shut, key turning in the lock, and they turned for Obi-wan for answers, for guidance, for hope. He couldn’t provide any of it. 

“Get some sleep.” he told them instead, and only when they turned away did he let himself waver. 

He threw out a hand to brace himself against the wall as his knees wobbled under him. Here again. He screwed his eyes shut, letting out a silent, shaky breath. 

“Obi-wan?” Kelli asked, eyebrow raised. Her posture was loose, but the concern in her eyes was badly hidden. 

“Just a bit dizzy.” he said, forcing a crooked smile, and taking a step forward. “I’m fine.”

He wondered if it rang as false to her as it did to him. 

The Mandalorians were planning an assassination, Obi-wan learned, because the mines had taught him to keep his head down and stay silent if he wanted to survive, but that didn’t stop him from listening. He was always listening. 

The reason for the assassination was lost to Obi-wan; Mando’a hadn’t been in the temple curriculum for thousands of years, but the hatred for their target was perfectly clear. 

The Mand’alor- their ruler. They utterly despised him. Kyr'tsad, they called themselves, Death Watch. 

That’s why they’d taken them, the children. More soldiers for their coming war.

Nield laughed out one sharp breath and turned and broke three fingers punching the wall.

“Maybe we’re fated for war.” Kelli said, bitterly, head in her hands. “Maybe there never was another choice.”

Obi-wan didn’t have anything to say to that, infinite suffering bouncing around in his head.

He knew next to nothing about the current politics of Mandalore, but it was never a particularly good sign when a group had to resort to stealing children to fight their battles. 

Children, caught up again in the arguments of adults. Bleeding, dying, for such senseless things. The Melida and the Dann, the Mandalorians. The Jedi. 

He hated them all. 

To no one’s surprise, Obi-wan had broken his own rules on staying quiet, staying complacent, within the week.  

They’d passed by one of the younger groups out in the courtyard on their way to the weapons range.

Obi-wan had tried to meet as many as their eyes as they could, send them encouraging smiles, gentle waves of comfort, when the “trainers” weren’t looking.

A Mandalorian woman snarled, cuffing Em on the head for missing a step, and Obi-wan’s feet were moving before he could think. 

The trainer was on the ground, groaning into the dirt, before Em had even begun to cry.

They’d made Nield drag him into solidary.

“Don’t fucking do that.” Neild had hissed, but the way he tried so hard to find an unbruised hold belayed his anger. “You’re our only hope, okay?” 

Obi-wan stared at the dusty wall from his place sprawled out on the dirt floor of the dark, empty room. His whole body throbbed, and he focused on breathing, trying to remain as still as possible. 

Most of the compound was asleep now, in the middle of the night cycle. The children were restless, afraid, hurt. 

Their fear, their pain, had always cried out strongly in the force. It was a good portion of the reason Obi-wan couldn’t leave them all those months ago, why he knew he had to stay, try to change things. 

But now it was like a foghorn positioned next to his ear, screaming at him. It was all he could hear. They were so very afraid.

It was so terribly wrong.

“You’re our only hope.” 

He closed his eyes and reached out desperately to the force. It swirled around him just out of reach, a calming balm.

He took in a deep breath, comforted, and rolled into his back.

A vent stared down at him. 

Funny, how they kept their enemies' comm codes in the system, Obi-wan thought, tapping quickly at the display in front of him. Had to send their death threats somewhere, he supposed. 

He’d slid a thick metal cabinet in front the door just in case, but it wouldn’t hold anyone who was really trying to get in for long. 

He hesitated once more, surveying the numbers, and let the force nudge him once more. He tapped the one that rang right in the force.

There was no answer for an agonizing minute, and he felt his body sagging lower with every second that passed. What if there was no answer? People didn’t pick up random comm calls these days, did they.

But, against all odds, there was a click and a helmeted Mandalorian appeared. Obi-Wan stiffened, back as straight as possible- the severe expression burning even through the helmet visor. It lessened at the sight of Obi-wan, bruised and bloody.

The stranger asked a question in Mando’a that Obi-wan didn’t catch. 

“My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, leader of the Young.” Obi-wan repeated, unwavering. “And I must speak to the Mand’alor about an urgent threat to his life.”

“How did you get this comm code, child?” the mandalorian said, a disapproving tilt to his helmet.

“I am a General,” Obi-wan snapped, impatience taking over. “And I have limited time before Kyr'tsad breaks down the door. I’d very much like to get this sorted before then.”

There was a brief, shocked silence, and a murmur of conversation that the comm failed to pick up. 

A flash of movement and a tall man stepped into frame. He was scarred, with dark hair, and a square jaw. He exuded the same commanding presence that Master Windu always had during council meetings.

“You wished to speak to me, adiik? ” he asked, voice rumbling.

Obi-wan swallowed and sent a quick prayer to the force that this gamble worked. 

“Mand’alor.” he said, with a respectful dip of his head. “I apologize for my unorthodox call, but there isn’t much time. I would like to make a deal.”

The man tilted his head. “A deal?” he said, curious. 

“I have the location of a group currently planning your assassination. They are strong, and they are many. They wish to take over Mandalore for themselves and are attempting to raise an army to do so. They call themselves Kyr'tsad."

Voices erupted in the background. “Kyr'tsad. Vizsla.” the Mand’alor said, voice dark. "Never seems to die right, does he."

Obi-wan heard a rustle of movement from the hall but did not let his eyes stray from the hologram.

“In return for the coordinates,” he said, raising his voice. “I ask for immediate safe passage for me and my companions back to our home planet Melida/Daan.”

The Mand'alor tilted his head, considering, as those around him spoke in overlapping tones.

“And how exactly did you get this information, child?” a woman’s voice snapped out above the rest.

The doorknob jiggled as someone tried to turn it and Obi-wan let in a sharp breath, hand darting out to mute the call.

Turn and walk away, he tried to send. Turn and walk away, nothing interesting is here.

Another jiggle and then a thud. The metal cabinet rattled but the door, blessedly, did not open. Shouting started up in the hall and Obi-wan couldn’t help his flinch. He unmuted the call with minutely shaking hands.

“I am out of time, Mand’alor.” he snapped, leaning forward. “Is this deal amenable to you?” 

The man's brow furrowed as he studied him. “Ad’ika, are you there right now?” he said sharply.

“Yes,” Obi-wan reported, scanning the room quickly for weapons. There were none. “We were taken from our world a tenday ago to fight a war we know nothing about.” A thought occurred to him, and he turned quickly back to the hologram. “Do not- do not hurt my people, please, we do not wish to be here.” he begged. “We have no quarrel with you.”

“We will not. I-”

The whole wall shook; someone was firing at the lock now. 

“Your word, Mand’alor.” Obi-wan said desperately.

“I swear.” he promised, and it rang loudly in the force, echoing into Obi-wan’s bones. “I will get you and your people safely home.”

“Transmitting coordinates now.” he said, and sent his fingers flying across the keys. “I- thank you.”

“Received.” someone snapped out. “They’re in the Mandalore Sector, on Vorpa’ya, coordinates 158, 327.”

“There’s forty-two of us,” Obi-wan told them quickly, “About thirty of us need medical attention.”

“We’ll bring medics.” the Mand’alor promised. “We’re prepping ships now. We’re twelve hours out, but we can make it in ten. We’re coming.”

Obi-wan slumped in relief. His legs finally gave out and he hit the ground with a thud.

“Obi-wan, Obi-wan, are you still there?” the man said, a bit frantic, and Obi-wan jerked his head up, surprised the comm line was still open.

“I’m here, sir.”

“Is there another exit, a window, vent, anything? Can you get away?” 

Obi-wan gave a wry smile that didn’t reach his eyes, grateful the man couldn’t see it. “Ankle’s twisted.” he said. “Arms gave out getting out of the vent. Hit the ground at the wrong angle.”

“Okay, okay. What about weapons? Anything like that? Can you defend yourself?”

“There’s nothing. And nowhere to go. Besides,” he let his head thump back against the wall. “I won’t leave the kids.” 

“Kids-” the man sputtered, the whole room falling quiet. “Obi-Wan- are there other children with you?”

His brow furrowed a bit. Maybe they hadn’t heard him earlier. “Yes, forty-two.”

A split moment of silence and then sound erupted on the other end.

“Hang in there, Obi-wan.” the Mand’alor swore. “We’re coming, okay? We’re coming.”

“Mand’alor.” Obi-wan said, quietly, watching the door splinter. “I have nothing left to trade. But I must ask… please hurry.”

“Give us eight hours.” the Mand’alor said, without hesitation. 

Obi-wan nodded. He dragged himself back to his feet, picked up a spoon laying there abandoned on the desk. He hefted it once in his hand.

They were moving now on the hologram- running- if Obi-wan wasn’t mistaken. Calls echoed back and forth to each other, prepping ships, filling holds, requesting more men.

“Mand’alor.” he said, with a last, final, dip of his head, and waited until the man looked at him. “The Young thank you.”

He drove the spoon through the console before there was an answer. The door exploded inwards and Obi-wan went flying. 

“Nield.” Obi-wan managed to say, hoarse. The word hurt. “What are you doing here?”

The boy slipped inside. There was blood on his hands. It wasn’t his.

“The compound’s under attack.” he said, “We overpowered the trainers and freed the kids.”

“Why are you here?” Obi-wan muttered. “The ships are the other way.”

“I’m here for you, idiot.” Nield said. “Cerasi would throw a fit if I left you behind.”

Neither of them mentioned there may be no Cerasi to throw one. 

“Can you walk?” he said.

“Think my ankle’s broken.” Obi-wan said.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

Obi-wan swallowed and drew on the force. “Yes,” he said, and repeated it until he sounded sure, “Yes, I can, just- help me up.”

Nield took his outstretched hand and hauled him to his feet.

“Good,” he said. “Cause I’m gonna need to be able to shoot.”

He heard them before he saw them, rapid fire shots in the rhythm only Kelli could keep up. 

“Shit.” Nield muttered, yanking Obi-wan down behind a crate in a sharp movement that made his body ache. “They’re pinned down.”

“How many?”

“Looks like three.” Another shot rang out. “Two.” Nield amended, with a sharp grin. “She’s better.”

Obi-wan closed his eyes, focused on the life forces in the room, trying to pick out the muted tones of the enemy Mandalorians. 

“The closer one’s already injured,” he said. “Left arm.”

“Can you handle it?” Nield asked, eyes fixed on the crates the children were cowering behind. 

Obi-wan nodded. “Let’s go.” 

They split up, creeping silently through the dim warehouse towards their prey. 

Obi-wan found his target climbing the ladder to the catwalk that stretched overhead, gun slung into her back.

“I’ll have a clear shot in a sec,” the woman was saying into her comm, “I’ll take care of the girl.”

Obi-wan hobbled desperately closer. She was already clambering into the catwalk, and he knew he couldn’t follow- not with a broken ankle. She stalked down the metal grating and he followed, hurrying from shadow to shadow, trying to think of any sort of plan. 

But his thoughts were moving terribly slow, head aching from many knocks, and the force seemed to swim just out of reach. 

The woman hefted her gun, aiming carefully into the shadows. She flicked the safety off. 

Focus, they always spoke of focus. But focus wasn’t always possible. 

I am one with the force and the force is with me. 

He closed his eyes and raised a hand.

The catwalk groaned. 

“Oh, kriff-” the woman managed to bite out, before the entire catwalk came crashing out of the sky and hit the warehouse floor in a wave of metal and dust. 

Kelli emerged out of the shadows. “Holy shit, Obi-wan.” she said, and gave a slow whistle.

Obi-wan stared at the mass of metal, unable to focus on anything but the sense of life slowly snuffing out.

“Obi-wan.” Nield called, two kids already hefted in his arms. “Hurry, we have to go.”

It took all his strength to turn away, leave the tarnished light to slowly fade. 

“Come on, the ships are this way.” Nield said. 

“We can’t go.” Tomas snapped, distraught, tugging at his sleeve. “The mean man, he took Em.”

Obi-wan wasn’t sure he’d ever moved so fast. 

He was closing his eyes, honing in on the familiar sense of Em before Nield and Kelli could even get a word out. 

There.  

The south side of the compound. His eyes snapped open.

He snagged a dead Mandalorian’s blaster off the ground and strode for the hall.

“Obi-wan- wait - where are you going?” Kelli called. 

“I’m getting Em,” he snapped, “Get to a ship, get it running-”

“You have a broken ankle-” 

“If we’re not back in fifteen minutes,” he said darkly, turning back in the doorway to meet their eyes. “Go without us.”

Nield jogged to meet him, face set, and Obi-wan felt his anger flare. 

“We don’t have time to argue about this-” he snapped out, but Nield just grabbed his hand, shoved a knife into his.

“May- may the force be with you.” Nield said, and he only tripped a bit over his words.

Obi-wan swallowed, hit with a wave of grief. How long had it been since he’d heard those words?

“And with you.” he managed to say and tightened his grip on the knife.

Neild hesitated there, watching him. Something in his gaze was terribly final. … He didn’t expect him to return.

Obi-wan gave him a final nod, and vanished.

He slipped through the halls like a ghost.

In some ways, he already was one, he mused. A ghost of the child he’d been before Bandomeer, before Xanatos, before Melida/Daan. Obi-wan Kenobi, Jedi Initiate, Jedi Padawan, Jedi Knight to be. He’d been so naive, then, so ignorant… so… bright.

The Masters would be disappointed if they could see him now. He tried not to think of life snuffed out under metal and stone. 

It would take a long time for word to get back to the Jedi temple that he was dead. He wondered if anyone would even care. He was already lost, in their eyes, after all. He’d left the Order. He had already failed. 

Quinlan… Quinlan and Siri Tachi would say the rites for him. It’d be too late for a traditional funeral pyre, but he wasn’t a Jedi anymore, was he. They wouldn’t have been able to do one anyway. 

He threw himself into the shadows of a doorway, barely avoiding two Mandalorians running past. His body ached to lie down and let his eyes drift shut, to rest, just for a moment, but he limped onward. 

He… he didn’t think he’d mind the ground. 

Being surrounded by life flourishing in the warm darkness, roots intertwining their way through the dirt, worms searching for snacks, seeds just beginning to sprout a new adventure.

As long as he got Em to safety. Please, he whispered to the force.

Em was close, now, her distress, her fear, terribly potent in the force.

Obi-wan took a deep breath, centering himself, releasing her fear and his own into the force. He sent a wave of comfort and calm- sunshine warm on your face after a thunderstorm- and turned the last corner. 

The Mandalorian towered tall, armour the same deep black as his hair. He was pacing, barking rapidly into a comm, dark red cape flapping behind him. Em's wrist was captured in a bruising grip. She was crying.

“Stop whimpering, girl.” he snapped out, shaking her.

Obi-wan stepped forward, out of the shadows.

“Stop.” he ordered. The authority of a General echoed in his voice.

The man had a blade to Em’s throat in an instant. 

He caught sight of Obi-wan, shoulders loosening immediately. “A child.” he drawled, dropping the knife. “You’re lucky I already found my hostage.”

“Obi-wan.” Em whimpered.

Obi-wan sent her another wave of peace and she stilled.

“Funny.” Obi-wan said, slowly approaching. “I was under the impression that Mandalorians had honour. ” The man’s eyes snapped to him, sharp with anger. “But here you are, cowering behind a child. ”

The man’s grip tightened, fury painted across his face. He shoved Em away with a sharp sudden movement, and the girl stumbled, almost falling flat. 

Obi-wan shifted quickly between them, never taking his eyes off the man. 

“Do you know who you challenge?” the man said. 

“A coward who gets children to do his dirty work.”

“I am Tor Vizsla.” he hissed, towering higher. “Leader of Death Watch, head of Clan Vizsla, rightful Mand'alor.”

“Oh.” Obi-wan cocked his head. “Is all that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Maybe this will.” Vizsla said and withdrew a hilt from the fold of his cape.

Obi-wan’s entire world narrowed down to silver. The Jedi had known for a millennia that all kyber crystals- and thus- the sabers- were sentient to a degree, but while most whispered a language that was not a language, a harmony or dissonance in the force, this one screamed. 

The man laughed in the face of his shock, misunderstanding. “You have no idea what you toy with, boy.”

Obi-wan brought his eyes up to his. “Who did you steal this from?” he growled. 

The man’s eyes flashed. “No one. It belongs to me.” he hissed and lunged. 

Obi-wan fired his blaster, all three shots hitting home, but the force shouted to him, and he threw himself to the side, barely avoiding the ricochet. 

What kind of armour was this?

The horribly familiar snap hiss of a saber being drawn had Obi-wan’s limbs moving before the realization could even process. He ducked under Vizsla’s swing, rolling to the side, and kicked out with his feet, sending the man stumbling. 

The saber- the blade was black, black and shaped like no lightsaber Obi-wan had ever seen. Yet it shone, in a way that seemed to defy Obi-wan’s very perception of sight. The sight had him faltering, only for a moment, because then Vizsla was attacking again, and it may have been an unorthodox blade, but it wasn’t all less deadly. 

Obi-wan evaded again, with a lunge and a twist that had his ankle screaming at him. 

Vizsla was grinning now, beginning to circle. 

“Do you understand now, boy?” he asked, and let the saber hilt drop into a low hold-

No. Obi-wan though. Not let. 

The muscles in Vizsla’s saber arm were trembling. So slightly that Obi-wan almost didn’t notice. 

Even when the blade should have been weightless. 

“It’s fighting you.” he said, in realization. “The blade.”

Vizsla swung, snarling, and Obi-wan looked this time. Vizsla strained under the black blade’s weight. His posture, his positioning gave him away as a trained swordsman, but despite this he could barely control it. Obi-wan stepped back, but the sword didn’t even get close. 

He let out a breathless laugh. He’d never- he’d never seen anything like it. 

Forgetting about Vizsla, he reached out in the force, extending his senses towards it and suddenly it was there-

Older, wiser than anything he’d felt before, jaded, angry, and powerful. It didn’t speak in words, but Obi-wan didn’t need them. The blade was clear.

“It cries out against you.” he said, meeting Vizsla’s own, suddenly steady. “It cries out against you, and you continue to wield it.”

“It is mine to wield.” Vizsla hissed and lunged again. “It is my right-”

Obi-wan side-stepped the wild swing easily, watching the blade again. It pressed against his shields, it wanted him to speak, to understand, to avenge-

“It is not.” he said, certain now. “It was stolen.”

Tor Vizsla swung with a wordless scream and Obi-wan threw out a hand. 

The blade froze in place, shimmering with a note of anger. Vizsla struggled against it and it didn’t budge.

The blade pressed again, humming loudly in his ears, and Obi-wan listened.

“It cries out against you,” he said, voice heavy with Truth. He met Vizsla’s eyes. “It knows of your sins, and the sins of your father, and your grandfather. Sins against the people of Mandalore. It has taken note, and it will not lay in the hands of Clan Vizsla any longer.”

Obi-wan let go, and the blade detracted with the hiss of a deep sigh, terribly final.

Vizsla could not reignite it, no matter how hard he tried. 

“What are you doing?” he snarled. 

Obi-wan looked back at him steadily. “It’s not me.” 

Vizsla slammed a hand against the saber once more, and when it did not react, he let out a wordless scream and hurled it. Before it had even hit the ground, the Mandalorian was moving and Obi-wan didn’t even have time to take a breath.

There was a glint of light, and the force cried a warning, but Obi-wan couldn’t move quickly enough. 

The sound registered long before the pain did. It was a terribly familiar noise. Em screamed, and Obi-wan didn’t dare look down, but his hands shot up to clutch at the Vizsla’s own, still wrapped around the hilt of the knife.

The man, eyes wild, gave a terribly cruel smile. “I am Tor Vizsla," he said, “and you will die for your contempt -”

He twisted the knife and Obi-wan cried out, vision whiting out, fire erupting in his stomach, and suddenly Em was there. 

She attacked, a feral tooka, biting Vizsla’s unarmoured wrist was all her strength, and the man released Obi-wan with a hiss, stumbling back. Obi-wan fell to his knees, clutching at his stomach, trying to breath, trying to get back up.

But Vizsla was faster. He spun, kicking out, and Obi-wan got a brief glimpse of Em’s wide eyes before she hit the stone wall with a sickening thud. She fell to the floor and was terribly, terribly still. 

A hum started up at the edge of his mind, calling to him. 

Vizsla shook out his hand with a hiss, and didn’t hesitate in drawing his blaster, aiming it at Em-

The humming spiked, screamed out for him to protect, and Obi-wan didn’t think, he threw out a hand and the saber was there. 

It was light in his hands, and the metal was warm against his palm, a soothing heat, and the pain in his side was muted.

A hundred gentle hands propelled him to his feet, whispering words of encouragement he couldn’t understand, and the saber lit itself without him needing to fumble for a button. 

Vizsla turned at the sound, changing targets in an instant, face creased in rage. 

Demogolka, the voices whispered, and Obi-wan fell into a stance he didn’t recognize, one that despite this managed to feel more natural than breathing.

Vizsla's shots deflected harmlessly into the floor with a twirl of the saber, a phantom of weathered hands against his, and then there was a nudge, a point, and Obi-was could suddenly see the weak point between Vizsla's left shoulder pauldron and breastplate as if they glowed. 

He dodged another shot, ducked beneath a throwing knife, and was there in two steps, sliding the saber into the man’s shoulder as if it were butter. 

The humming grew louder again, strong and comforting, muting the Vizsla scream, and Obi-wan struck out again, slamming the hilt into the man’s helmet.

Vizsla dropped like a sack of rocks. 

There was a brief feeling of a hand on his shoulder, pressure on his forehead, proud, mandokarla, this is the way, and the blade vanished with a hiss. 

Obi-wan blinked in the sudden silence. 

His side ached.

Em was stirring, mumbling, and Obi-wan limped quickly to her side. 

“Em, it’s okay, I’m here.” he murmured.

“Obi-wan?” she whispered, eyes clenched tight, hands coming up to clutch at her head. 

“I’m here.” he repeated, and gently tugged her hands away from the blood. “We need to move,” he said, despite himself, “how do you feel about a piggyback ride?” 

It was cruel and it was unfair to have to move her so quickly, but it had been far longer than a few minutes and Obi-wan could feel the blood already quickly seeping through his shirt. 

But Em was a child raised on war, and she simply nodded, jaw clenched tight, and stumbled to her feet. 

Obi-wan drew on the last dredges of his energy, supported measly with the force he could still manage, and hoisted her up on his back. 

“Hold this for me?” he asked, handing over the saber. “Don’t let it go, okay? It’s really important.”

“What is it?” she mumbled, as she slipped it into one of her deep, tattered pockets. 

He considered the question for a moment as he snagged Vizsla’s blaster from the ground, readying it, and tucked his other arm under Em’s knees.

“A friend.” he settled on, finally. 

“Okay.” she said and didn’t even blink. “I’ll keep it safe.”

He glanced back only once at the crumbled form on the ground. Vizsla’s chest still rose and fell stutteringly. 

The saber hummed at him, and he turned and left the scene behind. 

Sithspit. The Young hadn’t made it to the ship. 

The hangar was crawling with Mandalorians. The kids had only gotten a few yards past the hangar doors and were now pinned down behind stacks of crates there, heavily armoured forms surrounding them.

Nield was facing off with a tall Mandalorian, his teeth grit tight, blaster in a white knuckled grip.

Obi-wan bit back a carefully curated collection of interplanetary curses and wove his way closer, Em held close. 

“Tell your people to clear a path to a ship.” Nield growled. “Or I shoot you.”

“I can’t do that, adiik.” the Mandalorian said, almost gentle. “You’re children, you’re injured. We can’t let you go, you need medics.”

“We’ve survived worse.” Nield spat. 

“You may have. But you shouldn’t have had to.” the man said, “We have medical supplies, food-”

Obi-wan was close now, close enough to see the angry confusion that darted across Nield’s face, the way the gun trembled in his hand. 

He has the shot, Obi-wan thought, why doesn’t he take it. The man’s weapons were firmly holstered, hands held out in a sign of peace, and while the other Mandalorians looked more uneasy, they too had their blasters pointed carefully away. 

Obi-wan’s confusion only mounted when the Mandalorian reached up and took off his helmet. As if he didn’t have a blaster pointed straight at him. 

“Please, adiik, we only want to help-”

“Oh, right,” Nield snarled. “Like your friends here.” he said, jerking his head at a body in grey and blue. 

Another Mandalorian spoke up, voice rumbling, denying this, but Obi-wan was no longer listening. 

Something was nudging sharply at his mind, and he wracked his brain, eyes darting about. 

His gaze settled on the tall Mandalorian again, the saber humming a near single clear note in the back of his head, and finally the man turned enough that Obi-wan could glimpse his face.

Oh. Oh. 

Several things happened at once. A small Mandalorian- not an enemy, he realized, not an enemy - rounded the edge of the supply crate they were hiding behind and caught sight of Obi-wan and Em, stilling. 

Nield turned his eyes to the ceiling and whistled a sharp, familiar, note. 

And Obi-wan realized with a flush of dread what looked so wrong about this picture. 

Kelli was nowhere to be seen.

Obi-wan moved. He shoved Em in the small Mandalorian’s direction, trusting the person, who radiated protection, kindness, righteous anger, to catch her, and threw himself forward. 

Someone let out a startled shout as he burst out of his hiding place, but Obi-wan barreled past the hastily outstretched arms and slammed into the Mand’alor at the exact same time Kelli fired.

It was not unlike ramming into a concrete pillar, and he was thankful once again for the force as they hit the ground hard. As he gasped for breath, he dimly registered the shot that would have reduced the Mand’alor’s head to mush pinging harmlessly off a crate instead. 

The Mandalorians were shouting, ducking for cover, raising their weapons, all except the Mand’alor. His eyes were fixed on Obi-wan as he climbed back to his feet, slid to a stop in front of him, barking at his men to find the sniper. 

Obi-wan could feel Kelli’s panic, Nield’s, his own, all swirling into a terrified mess. Kelli’s fear dimmed, intent sharpening, as she went to try again, but she wavered with Obi-wan so close- and kriff- the Mandalorians had pinpointed her position now- their weapons snapping up to the top of the nearest fighter-

He struggled to his knees, pain radiating out from his stomach in hot waves, and shouted, “Don’t shoot! Nobody shoot!” 

“Obi-wan-” Nield made it two steps in his direction before he stopped himself, jaw clenching.

“They are allies.” Obi-wan said desperately, raising his voice loud enough to be heard by Kelli too, wherever she was. “They’re allies.”

“What are you talking about?” Nield ground out, narrowed eyes taking in the warriors.

Obi-wan was struggling to find words now, the world beginning to tilt. “Please god, no one, shoot.” he begged once more instead, and then grey overcame his vision, and he was falling. 

There was a startled shout, and gentle hands caught him, lowering him safely to the ground. 

“Haar-chaac- I need a medic over here-” someone was shouting, and that was never a particularly good sign, in Obi-wan’s experience.

“Stay with us, Obi-wan.” someone commanded, no argument in their voice and Obi-wan automatically fought to obey. “The medic is almost here.”

But the pain in his side was too much, exhaustion dragging him under. Voices were speaking rapidly above him and he couldn't understand any of it- Why couldn’t he understand any of it? 

There was a sudden pinch of a hypo in his neck, and he panicked, fingers twitching weakly as he tried to remain afloat. The kids, Nield, Kelli, Em- the Mandalorians- he needed to- he needed to-

“It’s okay.” the voice said, softer this time. “Your people are safe. You have my word. Rest now.”

Someone was taking his hand, warm and gentle, and the saber was humming peace, rightness in the corner of his mind, and there was another pinch at his neck, and he knew no more.

* * * 

Chapter Text

Obi-wan dreamt of Mandalorians in white armour, stretching as far as he could see. 

The figures were terribly still. There was no rise or fall to their chests. 

The one closest to him, with orange stripes against the white, turned his face towards Obi-wan. His eyes, glowing a harsh white, cut Obi-wan to his core.

“Evaara, verd’ika. Gar droten linibar gar.” his lips spoke, but it was wrong. 

Obi-wan's skin crawled. He rocked back a few desperate steps yet didn't move any further away. His heart began to beat loudly in his chest. 

The light faded, leaving behind kind blue eyes on a scarred, weathered face.

"Go, General." the man said, voice rough, but true. He gave a gentle smile. "We'll be fine."

Obi-wan woke, a thrumming in his ears. 

He rolled off the bed and to his feet before he had blinked the haziness from his eyes. His body ached with the movement, but the pain felt far away. 

His stomach turned. He'd been drugged, then. 

The room he found himself in was small, with cream-colored walls and soft furnishings. Medical equipment hummed quietly and the artificial scent of flowers didn't quite manage to drown out the smell of bacta. 

A familiar form lay curled up on a cot in the corner. A wave of relief so sharp swept through Obi-wan that his knees almost buckled.

Em was wrapped in a brightly-colored knitted blanket, fast asleep. She was unharmed, a quick probe with the force confirmed. As he watched, she let out a little mumble and clutched a stuffed purple krayt dragon tighter in her arms. 

The thrum in the back of Obi-wan's mind grew louder. He followed it to the door. To his surprise, it opened with a simple tap. 

Immediately, raised voices could be heard.

A medical bay lay before him, empty cots lined up in rows. There were blankets like Em's strewn messily across some, abandoned jackets on others, a stray stuffed animal here and there. 

Obi-wan reached out and steadied himself on the doorway. He desperately tried to fill in the gaps in his memory. The Young and their desperate escape attempt, Em, in the hands of Tor Vizsla, a lightsaber with a black blade singing to him, Mandalorians flooding into the hangar-

A voice rose above the others, and Obi-wan finally recognized Tomas', shrill with fear. He rounded the corner, side aching with every step, and found four Mandalorians, focused on the corner. 

Tomas was there, wedged far underneath a large cabinet, snarling at them like a feral tooka. 

"-not going to hurt you." one of the Mandalorians was saying, helmet tucked under his arm. His shoulder born the universal sigil of a medic. "It's okay. You're safe here."

He tried to take a step forward and Tomas' hand darted out, brandishing something shiny. "Kriffing back off." he yelled. 

The medic took a step back again, calm. "Okay, ad'ika, that's fine. I'm not coming closer."

"Tomas." someone hissed, and Obi-wan caught sight of Kelli for the first time, crouching a few feet from the cabinet. "Come on, get out of there."

"No!"

Kelli's nervous gaze darted to the Mandalorians. One of them shifted closer to her and she tensed. She swallowed, setting her jaw, and turned back to Tomas. 

"Either you come out yourself, or I drag you out." she warned.

"That won't be necessary." one of the Mandalorians said smoothly, and Obi-wan finally recognized the Mand'alor himself. "He's not bothering anyone. There's no rush."

The Mand'alor crouched down, knees popping. "Are you hungry?" he asked Tomas, "Myles can go grab you something to eat."

"I'm not stupid." Tomas sneered, pressing himself further against the wall. "I'm not taking food from an Elder."

"Alright, that's okay." the man said, carefully, "What about a sealed ration bar? Or maybe some water?"

"No!" Tomas yelled, hands shaking around his weapon. "Stop trying to fool me!"

"Tomas, stop it." Kelli snapped, and Obi-wan could feel the fear pouring off her in waves. "Just come out before they get angry."

"No one is angry." the medic said quickly. "There is nothing to be angry about. We only want to help-"

"No one wants to help. They only want to fight." Kelli snapped, and reached for Tomas. 

The kid started screaming bloody murder before she'd even touched him and one of the Mandalorians, wide-eyed, tried to grab Kelli's arm and tug her back. The next moment, she had their wrist twisted sharply back, almost to breaking. 

"Don't touch me!" she snarled, panic spiking. 

Tomas' yells turned genuinely frighted on her behalf and all the Mandalorians were all talking over each other, now.

The swirling tumult of emotions almost swamped Obi-wan and he forced his aching limbs into action.

"What is going on here?" he snapped, striding forwards.

The clamor broke off immediately, all eyes turning to him. 

"Obi-wan!" Tomas cried. 

The medic hurried forwards, reaching for his arm. "You shouldn't be out of bed, yet adiika." he said, chiding. "Your body is still recovering."

Obi-wan neatly sidestepped his hands. "We have bigger priorities at the moment." he said, icily. "Such as the child you're terrifying." 

He and Kelli both pretended it was only Tomas he was speaking off. He finally wove close enough to reach out and touch her arm, feather light. She hissed, but released the Mandalorian, putting distance between them. 

Obi-wan slid smoothly into the space between, looking to the Mandalorians with unyielding eyes. "Now tell me, what is going on here?"

"It was my fault." the young Mandalorian spoke up, face creased with guilt. He shifted on his feet. "Everyone left for lunch and he was still there, staring off into space for a really long time. I got worried. I tapped him on the shoulder." His shoulders hunched. 

The medic muttered something about common sense and surprising people with PTSD and shot him a glare. 

"Peace, Mij." the Mand'alor said, voice rumbling. "It was an accident."

Obi-wan's gaze lingered on them for a moment, but he had sensed nothing but truth from their story. He released his anger into the force and nodded. 

He dropped down to sit cross-legged next to the cabinet, ignoring the way it made his side scream in pain. 

"You were just impaled, you really shouldn't-" the medic started, grimacing. 

"And you shouldn't have let a child get ahold of a scalpel." Obi-wan said smoothly.

"Nehutyc." someone muttered. 

"Hi, Tomas." Obi-wan said, voice soft, leaning until he could see a flash of brown eyes. 

"Obi-wan." Tomas breathed, scrabbling around a bit so he could face Obi-wan better. "You're okay."

"I'm okay." Obi-wan confirmed. "What about you?"

Tomas sent a distrustful gaze about the room. "There's Elders here." he whispered.

Obi-wan let his lips quirk a bit, sending a glance in the Mandalorians direction as well. "I don't remember the Elders wearing these buckets of bolts." 

Kelli kicked him for that. 

"They're not Elders." Obi-wan explained, quietly. "They know nothing of Melida-Daan. They have no quarrel with us."

Tomas grip on the scalpel loosened. Obi-wan still didn't like how unsteady it was in his shaky hands. 

He dropped his voice to a whisper. "You know how good Kelli's aim is. She could use a weapon in her hands." 

Tomas' eyes widened. Then, he nodded, expression hardening into determination. Obi-wan could feel how desperately he didn't want to let the scalpel go, and yet he handed it over to Obi-wan without hesitation.

The medic stepped forward, ready to take it, but Obi-wan handed it off to Kelli instead. Relief shuttered through her frame the moment it hit her palm. 

"Are you cold, adiika?" the Mand'alor asked.

Tomas' glare could have started a fire. "Space is kriffing freezing."

Obi-wan choked on a laugh and looked to Kelli. 

"I didn't teach him that word." she said, holding up her hands. 

"It is cold." Obi-wan told Tomas. "You know, Kelli is cold too."

She caught on quickly, rubbing her hands up and down her arms and shivering. 

"I bet she wishes she had someone to hug her." Obi-wan continued.

"Why don't you do it, then?" Tomas shot back. 

Obi-wan blinked. "Good idea!"

Kelli was taller than him, all rough edges and sharp words. But she was gentle as she hauled Obi-wan to his feet. She only hesitated for a moment before she dragged him into a stiff hug.

"Good try." she told him, with a quiet huff, eyeing Tomas over his shoulder. "But he's not taking the bait."

"Give it a moment." Obi-wan murmured back.

And sure enough, not two seconds later, small hands wrapped around Obi-wan's waist. 

He looked down, feigning surprise. "Well, hello there."

Tomas pouted. "Let me up." he said, petulant.

Obi-wan laughed, and hoisted him into his arms. 

His gamble had worked. The mandalorians were taking them back to Melida-Daan. Apparently convincing Neild of their good intentions when Obi-wan was unconscious had been an... endeavor, but the bodies of the Kyr'tsad they'd massacred had gone a long way. 

Obi-wan followed Myles, Mij, and the Mand'alor towards the commissary where the others are. Kelli followed close at his shoulder, Tomas on her back. 

"We've picked up bits and pieces from the others about the situation on your home planet." the Mand'alor said, as another doorway slid open for them. "There's a war that's been going on for some time?"

Kelli scoffed at the vast understatement.

"It's been close to three centuries." Obi-wan said, tiredly. "The fighting has been going on so long that no one can remember what started it in the first place."

"Water rights!" Tomas chimes in. 

Obi-wan huffs. "Right. The Daans' newest claim is that the war began over water rights. The Melida have taken to saying the Daan assassinated one of their beloved leaders." He shrugged. "It changes every few months."

"What really happened?" Myles asked, brow furrowed.

"There's no way to know." Obi-wan said. "They've destroyed their own past so no one will know the truth."

"Are the Young Melida or Daan?" the Mand'alor asked. 

Obi-wan's face twisted. His feet slowed. "Both. And neither."

"We're tired of the fighting." Kelli said. "We want it to stop."

"After three hundred years..." the Mand'alor sighed. "I can understand that. You protest the war, then?"

"We fight it." Obi-wan said, simply. 

He continued for several steps before he realized the Mandalorians were no longer following. They stopped short in the corridor. He turned back, wary, to face them. 

"You fight it?" the Mand'alor repeated. He was very, very still. 

Obi-wan met his eyes and did not waver. "War is the only language they know anymore."

He'd been a pacifist once. It felt like a long time ago, now. Before he'd seen how very dark, how twisted, the galaxy could be. Other people could be. 

Peace was not an idle, passive thing. It wasn't achieved through inaction. It was something that had to be fought for, that once achieved, you must constantly fight to maintain. 

"You're children." Myles said, disbelief clear. 

He did not want to believe it. He did not want to see what was spelled out clearly on their war-torn bodies, their scars, their bony ribs. 

"We are the Young." Obi-wan said. 

The Mand'alor bowed his head, gauntlets creaking as his fists clenched. 

"Vercopa naak olaror at gar pror." he said, quietly, "May peace come to you soon."

The moment the door to the commissary slid open, Obi-wan was swarmed by children. Their relief and excitement washed over him, loosening the knot in his chest

"Obi-wan!" Ayanna yelled, crashing into him with the force of a missile. "You're alive!"

"Did they steal your spleen?" Krish said, wide-eyed, poking at Obi-wan's side with clumsy fingers. 

Kelli saw his wince. "Okay, okay, don't smother him." she groused, though her lips were quirked. She herded them back over to the tables and deposits Tomas on one of the long benches next to Krish. "Get back to your food."

The Mandalorians left them alone while they ate, though he could feel eyes on his back the whole time.

The children seemed relatively at ease, as long as none of the Mandalorians moved too quickly. They stuck to themselves and stayed out of arms reach of the adults. He hadn't seem them like this in... Obi-wan blinked. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen the Young without the threat of an attack from the Elders hanging over their heads.

Obi-wan wished desperately he could speak with Neild, who was on another ship with the other half of their group. 

When Kelli's finished off what Obi-wan couldn't stomach from his tray, he stood and went to return the tray. 

"They've been fighting." he heard one of the Mandalorians say as he passed. "It's horrific." 

"What kind of darmanda leads children to war?" their friend said, a thread of anger, hatred rising. 

Obi-wan turned. "Don't." he snapped, and felt his composure of calm crack- fracture- "You know nothing."

The man, in blue and orange armour, raised his chin. "I know children should be learning, playing, training, perhaps, but not fighting a war. Children should be at home, safe-"

"There is no home for us." Obi-wan said evenly, holding back his anger. "We have already lost any chance at safety-"

The man just shook his head, eyes full of pity. "Did the Young tell you that?" he said, too gently. 

And Obi-wan's lips curled. "Let me spell it out for you. The Melida, the Daan, the Elders. They care nothing for the safety of children." he said, too steadily for the rage burning in his veins. "For decades, they have allowed children to be caught in the crossfire of their pride. For decades, they have ravaged the planet in their hate. There is nothing left, now- nothing but pain as far as the eye can see."

The man faltered, but with a glance at the children, bolstered himself once again. "It doesn't matter." he said, staunchly. "It's not a child's responsibility to fix things."

Vaguely, Obi-wan was aware they had an audience now. Kelli walked over his side, shoulder bumping against his. His tension loosened slightly, with her there. He knew what she was capable of. 

"No one else will." she snapped, every line of her body screaming barely restrained anger. "Do you think we haven't begged them to stop fighting? Do you think we didn't plead until our voices were hoarse for it all to end?"

The man was silent now, staring at them with wide eyes, but Obi-wan could still feel his desperate opposition. He needed something else, anything, to be true. 

Obi-wan would tell him the truth. 

"The Elders are blinded by their hate." Obi-wan said. "They cannot bring themselves to step out of the dance determined by them by those whose came before. They have made it clear that they will not stop until there is no one alive left to fight." He holds out a hand towards the others. "The moment the Young came together to hope for a future other than war, the Melida, the Daan, they turned their weapons on them, their own children, without hesitation." he hissed. 

He drew himself upright, stared down at the man. "There is no peace possible for us, no childhood." he said. "You wonder why we look the way we do, why we are hurt, why we starve. They hunt us, they bomb us, they slaughter us in the streets."

He could feel judgment from some, worry, that he would speak so callously in front of the children. 

But this was not news to them. This was their reality. 

He stepped close, jabbing a finger at the man, and dropped his voice. "If it's so uncomfortable for you to watch us fight for our life, would you prefer us to sit and wait to die as innocent little martyrs instead?"

Conflict flashed on the man's face, but Obi-wan was already stepping back. He looked the man up and down in a purposefully derisive gesture. 

"Do not talk to us about what we should or should not do." he snapped. "Not until you've held a child bleeding out in your arms from a landmine their own father placed, knowing you can do absolutely nothing to keep it from happening again, and again, and again."

Part of him reveled in the horror, the sorrow, he can feel rolling off the Mandalorians in waves. That finally someone was forced to see, to understand. 

"Obi-wan." Ayanna whined, appearing at his elbow. "I can't find the spoons."

And he turned, and smiled, easy as can be. Like nothing was cracking, fractured, broken- 

"No spoons? Guess you'll have to use your hands." he said, a bit of mirth in his eyes

"Ewwwww, no!" Ayanna said, "It's soup."

He made his eyes widen. "Soup? This is a grave situation." He scooped her up, even as his side ached. "Come on, I'll help you find them."

The eyes on his back were even heavier than before.

Sleep evaded him. 

Obi-wan slid silently out of bed and padded out into the main area of medbay. He moved from cot to cot, soothing those sleeping uneasily with a light touch of the force, chasing the bad dreams away with light. 

He wished he could check on those on the other ship with Nield. It rankled, to not see them with his own eyes, to have to trust the word of strangers. 

He lowered himself to the edge of Tomas' cot and let himself lose time for a bit. 

When he blinked back to reality, the Mand'alor was there, picking Tomas' stuffed bantha up from where it had fallen to the floor. He set it carefully back next to the boy's head and stepped back again. 

"Can't sleep?" he asked Obi-wan, quiet. 

Words failed him, like they always seemed to at this hour. When everyone was asleep and everything was still and quiet and there was nothing to distract from the absolute horror of it all. 

Obi-wan shook his head, tucked Tomas' blankets closer to his chin. 

The Mand'alor let out a breath that sounded like a sigh. His eyes were kind as he looked at Obi-wan. 

"Would you like some hot chocolate?" he asked. "It helps Jango sleep, even if he's at that age where he'll deny liking anything but caff."

"Jango?" Obi-wan asked. 

"My son." the Mand'alor said, bleeding warmth-affection-protection. "He's just a few years older than you, I think." 

His limbs ached and his body was heavy but his mind still raced in circles. He had faint memories of warm milk in the creche after a nightmare, of that calming him enough to finally drop into sleep. Maybe a warm drink would help. 

He sent a last reluctant look at the kids and nodded. 

Obi-wan stepped through a doorway into a small living room with an attached kitchenette. 

"Jango's around here somewhere." the Mand'alor said. "He inherited my nocturnal tendencies, unfortunately."

"We're not even blood related, buir." a voice grumbled.

A teen with dark hair and skin a few shades darker than Obi-wan's appeared in the doorway to a bedroom, datapad loosely in hand. He eyed Obi-wan distrustfully. 

"Jango, this is Obi-wan, leader of the Young. Obi-wan, my son, Jango."

Something in the teen's expression shifted at the introduction and he relaxed a bit, leaning up against the doorframe. 

"You're the one who saved this idiot," he jerked his head at the Mand'alor, "From getting sniped by a child?" At Obi-wan's small nod, he gave him another once-over, and then a grudging nod. "I need a couple more years before I'm ready to instigate my coup to become Mand'alor, so... thanks."

The Mand'alor just laughed. "If you want to take over the role, paperwork included, you're more than welcome."

Jango made a face. "Yeah, never mind." he said, and narrowed his eyes at Obi-wan. "Dad, tell him he can sit down before he falls over."

The Mand'alor motioned him towards the table and disappeared into the kitchen. Obi-wan took the seat closest to the door and studied the room in the silence. 

The living room had a couch area that was sunken into the floor like in Yoda's rooms and was studded with an array of colorful cushions. A tall shelf was piled so high with books that the slats were beginning to dip downwards under the weight, and a slightly wilting vase of wildflowers sat on the worn table in front on him. 

It was nothing like he'd expected from the rooms of the famed Mand'alor.

He could hear the man and his son in the kitchen. Jaster was teasing Jango about eating all the leftover cake at 3 in the morning the night before and leaving none for him and Jango was arguing that he should have left a note if he wanted some so badly. 

He closed his eyes. Tried not to think of Master Jinn, of laughter shared over tea. 

"Here." the Mand'alor said, and Obi-wan opened his eyes to see a yellow mug get placed in front of him. "Careful, it's still quite hot."

"Thank you." Obi-wan said, quietly.

He picked up the mug and focused on the warmth against his fingertips, the steam rising up against his nose, the smell of milk and cocoa, until the tension in his shoulders eased. 

The Mand'alor was watching him. He took a sip and immediately fought not to grimace. It was sweet, horribly sweet, in a way that made his teeth ache and his stomach turn. 

"It's very good." he said, "Thank you."

"I'd like to offer you an apology." the Mand'alor said. Obi-wan's eyes flew to him. 

"Mand'alor-"

"Just Jaster is fine." the man said, "And please, if I may-"

Obi-wan hesitated, hands tightening around the mug, and nodded at him. 

"My people and I have made many assumptions about your situation." Jaster said. "The thought of children fighting a war is deeply troubling to us." He took in a long breath and met Obi-wan's eyes. "However, we have no right to make judgment on a situation we have never experienced. You have my deepest apologies for our behavior."

Obi-wan opened his mouth, closed his again. His brain struggled to recover from the whiplash from his interaction at lunch. 

"Trux had good intentions, but he was out of line." Jaster continued, "He has been moved to another ship for the remainder of this mission."

"That's really not necessary-" Obi-wan protested, weakly.

"It's already done." the Mand'alor said simply. "Truz agreed with the decision and extends his apologies for speaking thoughtlessly."

Obi-wan's mouth worked up and down for a moment. "Please inform him his apology is accepted." he managed to say."

Jaster's expression softened. "I'll let him know."

The Mand'alor let the silence sit for a moment, long enough for Obi-wan to take enough sip of his drink and try to recover his thoughts. 

"I must speak plainly, Obi-wan." he said, "The situation on Melida/Daan deeply concerns us." 

At Obi-wan's furrowed brow, his lips quirked a bit before smoothing out. "How much do you know of Mandalorians?" he asked, kindly. 

"Only a bit." Obi-wan admitted. 

"We are a people from many places and many walks drawn together by a common creed- the Resol’nare. Key to this, to our culture, is protecting children. They are our future."

Something nudged him and Obi-wan nodded. "This is the Way."

Jaster gave him a look he couldn't decipher. "This is the Way." he repeated, with a firm nod. "As a result, we cannot sit by and watch children die in a war they never asked to fight."

Obi-wan set his drink down with careful hands and immediately slid them into his lap to hide the minute shake. 

"What are you saying?" he asked, careful. 

Jaster leaned back and looked at him. "I'm already spoken to my council. Mandalore will be getting involved in the situation in Melida/Daan-"

Obi-wan's mind spun.

"-We will do our best to end this war, once and for all." he said, and the words sounded like an oath. "We will wait until we can get in contact with your leadership to finalize military action. For now, we have several ships on route from Mandalore brining medical and food aid-"

Obi-wan finally found his voice. "Mand'alor, I- we- truly appreciate the service you are doing us. We can never repay you." he said, and tried desperately to find the right words. "But I'm not sure getting further involved is wise."

"I understand your hesitance-"

"The Republic is watching Mandalore carefully." Obi-wan said, evenly, "They're suspicious enough of your power as it is. If they see you becoming involved in politics on a foreign world, they may get the wrong idea-"

"Let us deal with the Republic." Jaster said, without hesitation.

Obi-wan shook his head sharply, violently. "Your people, they don't know the situation. The Elders, they have hidden mines, slugshooters- Your people could die, for children they don't even know-"

"There is no death more honorable." Jango snapped, from the doorway to the kitchen, glaring at Obi-wan. "No true Mandalorian would hesitate to give their life for a child."

"I mean no offense, my apologies," Obi-wan said, hasty. Kriff, he shouldn't have skipped inter-galactic relations to run off with Quinlan so many times. "I just mean, the situation is complicated. Even the Jedi couldn't-"

Their attention snapped to him with such weight that his next words failed him. He shrank back a bit, despite himself. 

"The Jedi have been involved?" Jaster asked.

"Briefly." Obi-wan said. He needed to choose his words, very, very carefully. "A Master came to help about a year ago. However, she was very badly injured by the Daan and had to return home."

Jaster's brow furrowed. "And they sent no further aid?"

"They- it- the situation was complicated." Obi-wan tried, "The matter of jurisdiction alone-"

“There’s children dying, what the kriff does jurisdiction matter?” Jango burst out, and Obi-wan flinched back.

“Jango.” Jaster said, firm. “Kaysh cuyir adiik ti cuyla Kyrbej-Mirshir. Udesii ra ba'slanar, Gedet'ye.”

“N'eparavu takisit. ” Jango said, dropping his volume immediately, though his anger remained. “It’s just- ratiin osi'yaim Jetii.” 

Obi-wan’s gaze darted between them, trying to parse out what was being said, what was being spoken, likely about him. 

“Ni suvarir gar, a jii cuyir not te ca'nara.”  Jaster said, quietly, and looked to Obi-wan again. 

"We apologize." he said, and Jango gave a tense nod, looking away. "Jango has some strong opinions about the Jedi." His jaw tightening. "And I must admit, I agree with him here. You should have received aid from the Republic long before it reached this point.

Obi-wan had spent months, shed tears, over Qui-Gon's choices. Over how with Tahl safe the Jedi had abandoned the Young, abandoned Obi-wan, to death. But nevertheless, Jaster's words stirred up a strange sense of defensiveness.

"There are many worlds and nowhere near enough Jedi." he snapped. "Melida/Daan took Master Tahl's sight and still she wanted to stay and aid us."

"Master Tahl," Jaster says, dipping his head, "Sounds like an honorable Jedi. However-"

"You suggest entering a world torn apart by nearly three hundred years of civil war," Obi-wan burst out, "Whose citizens are willing to bomb their own bases and kill their own children if it means furthering their cause, on a world which lies outside your territorial or political jurisdiction, as if all of that is insignificant." 

The Mand'alor studied him for a moment. "It is the very opposite of insignificant." he said, quietly. "Which is why we must act." He nodded. "We are aware this is an incredibly complex situation, of which we lack much of the historical and cultural nuance. Several of my council members and I are researching the situation in depth, and I've arranged for our best negotiators and strategists to be on the first trip from Mand'alor... but you and your people are the experts." He dips his head. "As such, we would prefer to operate together with the Young and follow their lead to where we are most needed."

Obi-wan felt like his words were coming through a thick cotton blanket, wrapped around his head. For so long, things had made sense.

The Elders hated the Young and the change they stood for. The Elders were blinded by their hate. The Elders killed them. Obi-wan begged the force for aid. Nothing came.

The cycle repeated. Over and over and over. 

The force was lighter here, on the Mand'alor's ships, not drowned in pain and suffering and death and all Obi-wan could feel was truth-justice emanating from the man across from him. 

There was a phantom brush of a hand on his shoulder and he gets the impression of rippling blue-black water, candle light on wet stone, a deep rumble of an unfamiliar beast. The whisper of a single word, elek.

The force murmured in agreement.

"Okay," he said, finally, utterly lost, "I- okay."

"Thank you, Obi-wan." Jaster said, shoulders slumping. His whole being radiated relief. He bowed his head. "Thank you for your trust." 

* * *