Chapter Text
Standing amidst the corpses of his fallen comrades the man glowered at his most hated enemy. Without looking away he spoke to the man at his side, his voice strained with barely contained rage. “This is your fault, Montross. We should already have been off this mudball by now. If we survive this you’re out of my crew for good. Understand?”
The dark haired lunatic on the ridge cackled madly, his helmet lost somewhere. “If you survive,” he mocked, “not likely!” Raising his left gauntlet a manic light shone in his eyes as he activated a wrist rocket. It soared towards the ground at Jaster’s right, separating him from Montross. “You stole the Clans ou from under me and left me to die on Concord Dawn! I won’t let you escape this time, Mereel!” He screamed, like the mad creature he was.
Falling to his hands and knees he tried to see through the smoke and dust caused by the rocket. Hearing the sound of a jetpack ignite he turned to spy his SIC already in the air. From somewhere beyond the smoky haze he could hear the tank’s repeating blaster begin to spin up. Jumping to his feet he held his arm in the air and barked a command. “Montross! Airlift- now!”
“Sorry Jaster, I’m through taking orders from you. But I’ll be sure to take good care of my new troops!” The man jeered down at him from the safety of the air.
“Montross, you traitor!” Jaster snarled, realizing too late the trap that had been laid for him. Unable to do anything to stop his former SIC he watched the man turn and flee the battlefield. Leaving Jaster alone to face down Tor and his tank.
That bastard! That fucking backstabbing dar’manda coward! This had been part of the plan, hadn’t it? He never should have ignored the warning signs. Everything about this job had screamed ‘trap’ but he’d been so worried about the lack of jobs he hadn’t felt able to refuse. Vizsla and the Kordans didn’t even attempt to shoot down the easy target of Montross. All of their focus is on Jaster.
Tor began to cackle again, great heaving laughs that had the crazed man bending nearly in half. “It’s time to get rid of you once and for all, Mereel!” Swinging the tank’s guns around he strafed the ground around Jaster’s feet, forcing him to leap out of the way.
If his life hadn’t been in danger he might have critiqued Tor’s crazed little quips. They sounded like the kind of lines a villain from his son’s cartoons would say. It was ridiculous coming from a full grown man.
Letting off a few blaster shots he desperately searched for any means to hide or escape. But there was nothing. He’d been caught out in the open. The only breaks in the packed earthy terrain were the corpses of honorable warriors he had led to their untimely deaths. As blue bolts of plasma came directly at him Jaster had nowhere to go. No amount of quick thinking was going to save him now.
Closing his eyes he knew his time was up. His only regret was that he was going to leave his son all alone in the world. Lamenting the fact that they didn’t have more time. All he could do now was pray to the Ka’ra and the Manda to watch over his boy. Plead with them to aid him in the responsibilities that would surely be laid upon his shoulder with the death of his buir. Even doing all he could to prepare Jango for his life as a leader in the Haat’ade he knew the boy still had much anger locked up in his soul. He would need the wisdom of the ancient Mand’alore to temper his anger and recklessness if he was going to fight for the right to be the next Mand’alor. And a cool head if he was going to face Montross and avenge Jaster’s death.
Head bowed and eyes closed he was prepared to march onward into death. But the sound of something unfamiliar coming through his helmet, and Tor cursing, caught his attention. Certain that he should be feeling pain by now from being perforated he opened his eyes. What met him was an unbelievable sight that stole his breath away.
It was a Jetii. Deflecting the bolts right back into Tor’s tank and causing it to explode.
Jaster stared in slack-jawed awe as the Jetii blurred, literally, into motion. Their pale brown cloak covering what might have been some kind of rudimentary armor. They jumped back, landing nearby, and glanced at him. “Mand’alor, how are you?” Their voice was refined and clearly held a coreworld accent.
Wait… were his ears playing tricks on him? Or maybe his helmet was malfunctioning? He could have sword the jetii just spoke to him in flawless Mando’a. But that wasn’t possible. He hadn’t heard of any jetiise knowing mando’a for at least… eight hundred years or so.
“Mand’alor, Sitrep!” The jetii said, adding the modifier for a command to their words.
Shaking himself out of his surprise he locked eyes with the jetii, not that they could see where his eyes were with his helmet in the way. Red hair, pale skin, eyes the color of clear blue skies, and a well groomed beard. Moving with the ethereal grace of a dancer they emanated a competent and confident air. Much like a veteran warrior raised to fight since birth.
It took him a moment to find his voice in the presence of his saviour. “I’m fine.” He glanced at the Kordans as they panicked over the smoking husk of a tank; fleeing in the face of Tor’s howling anger. “I owe you a debt.”
The jetii turned to him, shaking their head. “You don’t owe me-”
Tor leapt down the rocks like a man possessed, palming a weapon Jaster would recognize anywhere.
“Look out!” At his shout the jetii turned and met the darksaber with their own azure blade.
An almost roguish smile crossed their face. “Hello there!” They said in a friendly voice. “I was wondering if you would come down to face me with honor or not.” The smile on their face was serene, but the look in their eyes was sharp.
Jaster nearly whistled at the subtle dig at Tor’s cowardice. The more he was in the presence of the jetii the more intrigued with them he became.
To snarled something incomprehensible in his rage and swung the darksaber with what might have looked like practiced ease to an outsider. But next to a jetii it was like night and day. The jetiise built, maintained, and trained to use a jetii’kad since they were children. While Tor had not been raised to wield the darksaber.
He never stood a chance.
The redheaded jetii outclassed Tor in every way. Taunting him in that posh and too polished mando’a as they effortlessly deflected each strike. It was like watching a veteran ori’ramikad playing with a child just learning the basics of combat. No matter how much power Tor tried to put behind his swings the jetii was just too fast. Their defence was nearly impenetrable.
"I hope you have made your peace with this life, Kyr'tsad'alor. For I represent the untold lives you have destroyed, and their demands for justice." Although they did not raise their voice Jaster could feel the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck rise as a shudder ran down his spine. There was power in this jetii's words that resonated within the Manda.
Tor was desperate now, eyes wild and form sloppy. There was a fear and desperation about him now as he tried to backa way from the relentless assault. Yet somehow, inexplicably, the jetii got faster; their strikes even more brutally punishing than before. Then with one swift strike of an azure blade Tor Vizsla’s head was separated from his body. The head landed nearby with a meaty squelch while the body stumbled and finally collapsed unceremoniously to the ground.
It was over. But even seeing it with his own eyes it was hard to believe. He almost didn’t want to give in to the feeling just in case it was all a dream. Then the jetii let out a long tired sigh. Bending down they rummaged around for a moment before picking something up from the ground. Straightening they stared down at their hand for a moment before turning toward him. It was the Dha’kad’au.
Intelligent blue eyes looked over his armor and caught on the Kyr’bes. Quietly, almost reverently, they held out their arm to him. "I believe this belongs to you, Mand'alor."
Now that he was not about to die the first thought that came to mind was just how damned mandokar the jetii before him was. A close second was was how there was no way in hell that he was taking the Dha’kad’au from their hand. Even if he could not feel the Manda echoing between them he could not take the darksaber. It was not his victory and to accept it would be a stain upon his honor.
When he didn’t move the jetii cocked their head to the side, studying him. They glanced at the hilt in their hand and cleared their throat awkwardly. "Perhaps you didn't hear me, Mand'alor? I believe that this belongs to you. Or… is it that I am a jetii?"
Eyes snapping up from the hilt he shook his head. “No, jetii, I heard you the first time. I just cannot accept what you are offering.” Even if having the darksaber would solidify his rule with some of the more eccentric clans. "The Dha'kad'au has always been won by right of combat. You defeated Tor Vizsla. Now it belongs to you until you lose it in combat to someone else." But Jaster had a feeling it would not be lost again any time soon. This jetii was far too skilled and something in the Manda made him believe the darksaber itself wished to stay with them.
The jetii’s blue eyes widened and for the first time they seemed uncertain. "I am not worthy of such a blade. It cries out for an honorable mando'ad to wield it, and I am no mando'ad." It sounded like an admission of guilt.
Without a word Jaster reached out to curl his hand over the jetii’s, forcing their fingers to curl over the hilt as well. Pushing their hand back towards their chest in an obvious refusal he smiled. “You could have fooled me.” He said with all honesty.
What little he could see of the redhead’s cheeks beneath their beard quickly turned red, their pale skin making it obvious how flustered his compliment made them. It was quite endearing. And now that he was able to look at his leisure he found much about the jetii’s appearance that was pleasant. Sobering he pushed the feeling of attraction to the back of his mind and straightened, falling back into his role as Mand’alor. “Why did you risk your life to save mine, jetii?” It was the first thing he should have asked, all things aside. “How did you even get here in time to intervene?” No one should have known about their mission to Korda VI. Tor knowing was clearly a trap set by Montross. But a jetii?
The jetii was staring down at Jaster’s hand still curled around their own. Their eyes found his past the visor and they took a deep breath, only to let it out again slowly. "You, Mand'alor Jaster Mereel, are the only hope for the future of your people. I don't know how much you know or understand about the Force but sometimes it sends those who are attuned to it visions of the future."
Sucking in a breath he cursed. Seers! Of course the jetiise would have their own Seers among their members. Anyone with a strong enough connection to the Manda had a strong chance of experiencing visions of the past or the future. If the jetiise were tapping into a cosmic energy similar to the Manda then it made sense that they would be able to see the future as well.
“You may not believe me, but in my vision I watched you die. Betrayed by someone you trusted. Leaving your son as the only viable candidate for Mand’alor.” Their eyes turned sad and their shoulders sagged as if exhaustion were nipping at their heels. “Later when your son is older the Haat’ade are tricked by a planetary governor and pulled into a trap set by Kyr’tsad. The governor faked a report to the jetiise and begged for aid.” They pulled in a shuddery breath and Jaster was hanging on their every word. He could feel the Manda winding around them, whispering truth. “It was a slaughter.” They swallowed. “Your son managed to kill six jetiise with his bare hands, earning him the title of Jedi Slayer. But he was eventually overcome by grief and exhaustion. The Jetiise, mourning their own dead, left his punishment up to the governor, with the belief that he would be executed for his many crimes. Instead he was stripped of his armor and sold into slavery.” The last word was like acid on their tongue, spat with a vitriol that was surprising coming from a jetii.
“Ka’ra preserve me.” He muttered, horrified by the fate of his son. Just imagining his little Jan’ika in chains had his blood boiling in his veins.
The jetii gave him a sympathetic look full of pain and regret. It… aged them. Made them look older than their young appearance suggested. “Without the Haat’ade around to keep them in check Kyr’tsad would run rampant. The New Mandalorians would make further alliances with the Republic and…” they stopped, as if unable to go on.
Jaster couldn’t help himself. He ran a thumb comfortingly over the jetii’s wrist, encouraging them to continue. He wanted them to know he was there to support them in the moment. He probably should have been wary of a trick but the honest emotions in the jetii’s eyes were too sincere to be faked. Not to mention the Manda singing in his soul.
“The New Mandalorians would do all in their power to kill the spirit of the Manda, using the Republic as a cudgel to quell any dissent. They will burn your texts, shatter temples, destroy artifacts, disband the clans, and ban your armor. They will gouge out the very heart of Manda’yaim in their zeal to defang the mando’ade in the eyes of the Republic. All for the sake of a false peace that can never last.” By the end their voice was thick with emotion and eyes bright with unshed tears.
Jaster stood transfixed. The future they spoke of was like something out of his worst nightmares. Every fear made manifest. “You came here to warn us, didn’t you?” He could feel it in his bones. “You came to preserve the Haat’ade way of life, the Way of Manda. Why?” What was in it for the jetiise? They were the ancient enemies of the mando’ade, not that Jaster believed they should be. If his predecessors made one mistake during their reigns it was siding with the insanity that was the dar’jetiise. The Sith.
The jetii bit their bottom lip and looked away, almost as if they were embarrassed. "The same reason I speak Mando'a, practice Dral'gaan, and eat spicy tiingilar- I love Manda'yaim."
Their hand trembled faintly beneath his and Jaster swallowed hard, reminding himself that a jetii was not someone he should be perceiving as a potential partner. And yet the Manda seemed almost giddy at the notion. Wetting his lips he spoke, his voice dropping lower unintentionally. “I can’t help but notice you’re also wearing armor. Maybe you’d-”
“Buir!” The shout interrupted him before he could say anything particularly awkward and for that he was thankful. He’d almost forgotten they were in the middle of a battlefield. The weighty form of his son slammed into his side, hugging the daylights out of him. The way the boy held tightly to his armor almost seemed desperate and Jaster knew he was trying not to cry from relief.
Nearby Silas stopped and gave him a quick salute. He turned to give them some space as he watched for any new enemies but it was clear his attention was divided.
Unfirtunately the appearance of his son broke Jaster’s contact with the jetii and the singing in his soul dimmed. Though he did note that it hadn’t disappeared entirely. It just became muted, distant.
With a sudden snarl his son brought up his blaster and aimed it towards the jetii. Startled Jaster quickly shoved the boy’s arm down, pointing the barrel safely at the ground. “Jan’ika! We do not aim weapons at our allies. I taught you better than that!” He admonished firmly.
Jango’s helmet whipped upward and he knew the boy was staring at him in confusion. He could practically feel the incredulity rolling off the young teen in waves. “But they’re a jetii!” He said, almost as if that explained everything. Turning he shifted so he was standing in front of Jaster, glowering at the redhead.
“I may be a jetii, but I am not your enemy.” The jetii said evenly, showing their open hands to prove they had no weapons. But Jaster could see both their lightsaber and the darksaber hanging on their belt. When they had put their weapons away he didn’t know.
He was about to explain what happened when Jango stilled beneath his hand. “I-is that-?” His hand was shaking as he pointed towards the corpse of Tor Vizsla.
Jaster sighed. He hadn’t wanted his son to find out like this. Especially after being in battle for who knows how long. Jango would already be suffering from at least some battle fatigue. But now that he’d seen the body there was no use keeping it from him. “It was.”
Jango silently stared at the headless corpse for a long moment. Jaster swore he could feel the back of his neck burning with a sense of imminent threat as the air grew heavy. Slowly loose rocks and clumps of earth began to rise all around them as his son’s breath grew ragged. Before anyone knew what he was doing Jango swung his blaster toward the corpse and pulled the trigger.
Again, and again, and again; garbled curses falling from his lips that were only half intelligible.
It near about broke Jaster’s heart to see his son like this but he didn’t try to stop him. Jango had a right to be upset and it was better he take that anger out on a corpse than let it fester inside his soul. Where it would tear him apart inside.
Grabbing Jango by the shoulders he pulled the lad back against his chest, grounding him with touch. “You’re safe, Janika. He can’t hurt anyone anymore.” He muttered, repeating the words like a mantra. He’d only seen his son like this a few times before and knew that when it was over the boy would collapse from exhaustion.
The blaster clicked but nothing came out, the clip was empty. Jango’s arm dropped to his side angrily as soul rending sobs and hiccuping breaths came from under his helmet.
Jaster’s soul ached at the sound.
Movement in front of him caught his attention and he looked up just in time to see the jetii kneel. They slowly reached out and placed a hand against Jango’s chest plate, right over the bes’karta. Before he could ask what they thought they were doing his son suddenly sagged beneath his hands. Jaster had to grab onto him quickly to keep him upright. There was a clatter as all the floating debris fell back to earth. Jango sucked in heavy gasps of air, making his helmet rattle and emit a faint static.
Carefully, as if they were handling something precious, the jetii removed Jango’s helmet and set it on the ground delicately. The expression on their face was gentle, their body language open and non-hostile. There wasn’t even a hint of the dangerous warrior that had killed Tor not moments ago. “That’s it Jango. Slow deep breaths. Don’t try to push it back down. Let it flow through you and back out again.” Beneath those gentle hands Jango’s trembling slowly eased until the lad was breathing normally again. “Just let go. Your buir has the watch.” As if those words were what he needed to hear Jango suddenly went limp. Exhaustion pulling him into oblivion.
Jaster shifted his hold on his son, lifting the boy into his arms with little effort. “What did you do, jetii?” He asked, careful to keep his tone civil and not accusatory.
Picking up his son’s helmet the jetii gently set it on top of Jango’s limp form, shifting his arms so the lad was holding his own helmet. There was a distant look in their eyes, as if they were seeing something far away. “Your son is Force sensitive. It seems he’s been subconsciously suppressing it for a long time, however.” They frowned in concern, their brow furrowing. “That can be very dangerous. Both to the one suppressing and to those around them. It could lead to irreparable damage to your son’s psyche if he were to continue this way.”
Jaster’s brows snapped upward in surprise before he scowled. How had none of the other Force sensitive verde not noticed this?
“He’s very adept at shielding and hiding his presence.” The jetii said as if reading his mind. “If I hadn’t seen him lose control like this I never would have suspected.” There was a hint of self recrimination in their tone, as if they should have known about Jango's ability to channel both the Manda and the Force.
“What are you going to do now, jetii? Are you going to return to your Temple now that you've changed the future?" He didn’t want to see them go but he knew the jetiise never stayed anywhere for long. Their home was on Coruscanta.
They hesitated. “I… no. There is nothing left for me there. Not anymore.” The pain in their voice made Jaster ache with the desire to console them.
“Silas, would you take him?” He indicated Jango with a jerk of his helmet. The young man was loyal to his son and he knew that Jango would be safe with him. So it was no hardship to hand him over. Unlike with Montross Silas practically worshiped Jango. There was no chance of betrayal from the teen.
“I owe you more life debts than I can fathom.” He said seriously, stepping into the jetii’s personal space and reaching out to hold their shoulder. “There is a place for you with me and my people, if you want it.”
“What!? I-I couldn’t. I am unworthy-”
He squeezed their shoulder in reassurance. “You have more than earned the right, jetii. I would gladly call you vod. And I won’t take no for an answer.” He said firmly. “Now, what name should I give to my people? The name of my savior.” He said lightly, chuckling.
“…thank you.” The jetii gave him a shy and tired smile, blue eyes brightening. “Ben. I am Ben Kenobi.”
Jaster nodded and gave them another gentle squeeze before letting go. “You already know who I am, Jaster Mereel of Clan and House Mereel; Mand’alor. Welcome to the Haat’ade, vod.” He knew the moment they made it to camp he was going to get many a side eye from his warriors. Not that he cared at the moment. That was for future Jaster to worry about after the long trek back to the dropships. For now he stepped back and pulled out his more serious and commanding voice. “Got enough in you to haul your shebs back to the ships?”
Ben’s eyes hardened as they squared their shoulders, like a veteran soldier steeling themselves for a long march. “Yes, Sir.”
Jaster felt a shiver of delight tun down his spine. Oh. Damn. He could get used to Ben calling him sir.