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Jango let himself be guided through the halls of the government building. In the past few years, his efforts at diplomacy had brought him to more government buildings than he honestly would have preferred. Most of them, including Mandalore’s own government building, had a certain level of ostentatiousness that disgusted him. He blamed Mandalore’s on the New Mandalorians.
This particular building looked like it had been bombed its fair share of times and only recently, and hurriedly, repaired.
His guide, a quiet clone who watched him with sharp, suspicious eyes, came to an abrupt stop, head tilting as though listening to something. The clone gave him a brief bow and excused themselves with a quiet murmur before Jango could so much as ask what was going on.
Jango kept his surprise off his face, he’d been left in what basically amounted to a hallway. He turned slowly, taking in the hallway carefully, it would be an excellent place for an ambush, his hands fell to his blasters, stepping away from the should-have-been windows, where there was a suspicious lack of transparisteel.
“It’s easier to shoot through, if there’s no glass in the way,” a quiet voice said behind him. “And it’s possible to station several squads in this area without being sniped from the outside.”
Jango turned, not quite removing his hands from near his blasters, to find whoever had spoken. A man had just entered the hallway from what seemed to be a secret passageway, his auburn hair and piercing blue eyes were familiar—it was the face of the army that had taken the galaxy by storm when the war had started a year ago—though there was a gauntness to his features that none of his clones had.
“Arch Kenobi?” he asked, giving a nod of respect—he didn’t bow, no matter how diplomatically correct that might have been. “Or do you prefer General Kenobi?”
He’d never been very good at the diplomacy elements anyways.
Kenobi didn’t seem to care. “I prefer Obi-Wan, Mand’alor Fett. We have no use for titles here on Melida-Daan.”
Jango nodded. “Obi-Wan, then.” He did not extend the same courtesy. He saw no real need for titles either, though his had been fairly and painfully won, but he did not wish to court familiarity with a man he was here to kill.
“Your message said you wished to speak with the Uprising about determining whether Mandalore might have a place with us?” The thin, wry smile on his face made it clear that he did not believe the excuse at all, but he didn’t outright call Jango out on the lie.
So far, Mandalore had declared their neutrality—and their willingness, potentially, to fight for whoever would pay them more handsomely, though that was on an individual basis and not something Jango was directly condoning. They all knew that, between the two sides, only the Republic could afford to hire Mandalorians. Despite the fact that the Uprising’s—or Insurgent’s, if one asked the members of the Republic Senate—army was comprised mostly of clones, they were not rich.
“I wanted to know what, exactly, the purpose of the Uprising Movement is,” he prevaricated. A truth, both because the deal that the Senate and Jedi had struck with him demanded he try to get answers, but also because to some degree he wanted to know as well. There had been no manifesto to warn anyone, simply a terrifyingly surgical attack that had gone straight for the core worlds.
A gutsy, foolish plan.
Alderaan had fallen, and somehow, even now as the Republic was starting to mount a genuine defense, the occupation of Alderaan still held.
It had proved that the Uprising was dangerous, if even a Core world like Alderaan could fall, then any planet could be next.
Obi-Wan didn’t answer immediately, instead just watching him, cataloging him. There was a depth and seriousness that outmatched almost any Senator or planetary leader Jango had had the misfortune to meet, and Jango found himself reluctantly curious what the man saw when he looked at Jango.
“Follow me.” Obi-Wan turned, moving back the way Jango had originally come. Jango followed, watching how most of the people they passed acknowledged Obi-Wan in some way, but while there was respect in their gaze and movements there was very little deference. They exited the government building and down the street.
Melida-Daan, Jango had noted when he’d arrived and first walked the streets of Zehava, had a small population. Though it at least seemed to be growing, the number of children far outstripping the number of adults, though the clones stationed here somewhat made up for that lack.
An eternal war zone, Jedi Master Dooku had told him, voice twisted in derision. The lack of able-bodied adults certainly spoke of war, but he could see the clear care that was being taken to rebuild. Built sturdy and built to withstand, but also built with elements that made it clear that people hoped that it wouldn’t have to withstand a war.
It did not take them long to reach their goal, a tall, black stone building near the center of the city.
Obi-Wan paused, gaze taking in Jango again as though looking for something, Jango didn’t know if the man found it, because he was already turning back to the building. After a moment, Jango followed him in.
The inside of the building was as dark as its outside walls, making the flowers that dotted the room stand out sharply. Obi-Wan walked past most of them, moving through rooms until they reached what seemed to be the back, or had to at least be close to it.
Obi-Wan didn’t say anything, simply pressing a button on the wall.
A hologram popped into existence, an older man with a scar covering half his face, the blaster in his hand looking worn and well used. “I am Quin-tama, Captain of the Melida Liberation Force.” The hologram moved his blaster to his side. “Tomorrow will commence the Twenty-First Battle of Zehava. It will doom our Daan enemies to destruction once and for all, and we shall achieve glorious victory. We shall recapture the city that we founded a thousand years ago. All Melida will live in peace.”
Jango furrowed his brow, wondering why he was being shown a hologram of something that must have happened long ago and that seemed to have little to no relevance to the galaxy now.
The ghostly figure continued. “I look forward to glorious total victory, and yet there is a chance that in achieving that victory I will die. I accept my death willingly, as does my wife Pinani, who fights by my side. But for my children…” the man’s voice faltered, a hint of grief entering his eyes, though it was quickly replaced by resolve. “My children, Renei and Wunana, I leave the memory of the ancestors I have shared with them, the stories of our long persecution by the Daan. I saw my father killed, and I will avenge his death. I saw my village starved, and I will avenge my neighbors. Remember me, my children. And remember what I have suffered at the hands of the Daan. If I die, pick up my weapon and avenge me as I have avenged my family.”
The man disappeared, the hologram vanishing. A moment later a woman appeared, even more worn than the man who had been before her, a force pike in her hand and blasters on her hip and thighs. Obi-Wan did not let her speak, instead pressing another button and causing the hologram to vanish.
“That’s Pinani, his wife,” Obi-Wan said, tone almost conversational, though there was a steel beneath it that betrayed him. “Her husband died and she wanted to avenge him. Eventually her children found the need to avenge her, and their children and families a need to avenge them.”
“I see.” He didn’t, not really. Mandalore was a warrior planet, but for the most part they had focused those efforts on expansion, only in more recent history had they turned to fighting and destroying themselves.
Obi-Wan gave him a small, wry smile. “Not yet, you don’t.”
He led the way back down the hall and to the sections where more flowers had been set. This whole building was a memorial, Jango realized. This section was clearly for the more recent dead.
Obi-Wan moved purposefully to a specific section of wall—soft yellow flowers lay in front of the dark stone, as well as a small tree branch placed in a small hand-crafted vase, with an pale purple fruit Jango didn’t recognize. Obi-Wan gave Jango a sharp look, the clear demand that Jango listen, before he pressed a button.
A young girl appeared, no older than fifteen. “My name is Cerasi. My father has died, the Melida have fallen.” Despite the words, there was a sharp light in the girl’s eyes, visible even through the holo. “We rise now, Melida and Daan together. The Young have risen, and we know peace. No more will our world be bathed in blood and blaster fire. Should anything happen to me, remember now, when there was peace.”
She faded away and was replaced with a slightly older version of herself, and she still couldn’t be any older than eighteen. “The Republic have arrived with their Jedi ambassadors, they offer aid in our rebuilding but come with demands and stipulations, some that our recovering world cannot pay. They have turned to the remnants of the Elders and I find myself afraid of what offers they might make to those who have never learned to be content with peace. Should the worst happen, I urge us to find a way to keep the peace. Melida-Daan cannot return to war.”
Obi-Wan was quiet for a long moment, and when Jango glanced at him he found the man’s eyes full of heavy grief. Whoever this Cerasi had been, she had been important to this man, he carried the grief of having lost her the way Jango carried the grief of Arla or Jaster. “She was assassinated a few days later.”
He pressed another button and this time a young man appeared. “I am Nield, husband to Cerasi. Cerasi has been killed. The Elders seek to begin the war, while we do everything we can to keep our planet from falling back into hostilities. I do not avenge her, even as I reach once more for my blaster. But the Elders must be stopped, and the Republic influence removed from our borders. Even if it is with my own blood, Melida-Daan will know peace.”
Obi-Wan stopped the recording again. “Nield was killed a year later, just before we’d finally rooted out the Elders and forced the Jedi and their allies off of Melida-Daan.” He gave Jango a bitter smile, gesturing to the lightsaber hilt at his side. “I kept the Jedi’s lightsaber for myself, it seemed only fitting, since when he abandoned me here, he took mine with him.”
Jango wasn’t sure what to say to that, wasn’t sure what there was to say to that.
Obi-Wan brushed a hand against the black stone of the memorial before turning, striding out of the building, any grief he might have carried pushed away.
Jango followed, blinking as he re-adjusted to the brightness of the sun after the cool light of the memorial. Obi-Wan was waiting for him, arms crossed and gaze cold as he stared blankly ahead.
“For centuries, Melida-Daan fought amongst themselves, razing cities, starving villages, killing and killing and killing, until the only purpose people had was to fight to avenge those that were dead. And then a little over a decade ago that changed, the Young took up arms, not as Melida, not as Daan, but as a desperate group of children who didn’t want their lives to have no purpose other than cannon fodder.” Obi-Wan’s lips twisted into a snide smile. “When I arrived here as a Jedi, the Young asked us to help them bring peace. The Jedi Master with me decided that we should not get involved; after all the Senate had decided to remain uninvolved in Melida-Daan. I decided that wasn’t a decision I could live with.”
“You claim he abandoned you,” Jango pointed out. “It sounds like you chose to stay.”
Obi-Wan turned to look at him, gaze derisive. “I stand by my decision, but I also recognize that I was thirteen years old and that Melida-Daan was on the brink of turning into a permanent grave and that if he had been any useful sort of guardian he would have dragged me away, kicking and screaming.”
Jango nodded his head in agreement. He had been in war zones at the age of thirteen, had led men into battle at fourteen. But he also recognized that he had never been abandoned to the situation. The only thing that could make Jaster abandon him was death itself.
“It’s not truly the point,” Obi-Wan continued, voice returning to that cool tone. “The Young fought. The Young won. We paid for peace, and we kept it. We would have been able to keep it, until the Republic returned, and this time they thought it was worth interceding, when it was decided that we couldn’t agree to the Republic’s terms, that we were better off without the Republic’s protection…” Obi-Wan’s voice turned dark and furious, “they armed our Elders and incited them back to war.”
Jango flinched. He had been ‘briefed’ on what had happened, and while the Jedi and the Senate had prettied the words up, had made it seem necessary, their account was not so different if one knew how to read between the lines.
“So you’re attacking the Republic in… what, revenge?” It felt… weak, and Jango found himself strangely disappointed in the man in front of him.
“I won’t pretend that there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to raze the Republic to the ground, that I don’t want to pull the Jedi from their sanctimonious throne and destroy them.”
Jango looked away, because after Galidraan he had felt the same. Even now, he hated the Jedi. Having to interact with Master Dooku of all people was like sticking a hot poker into a gaping gut wound. But when Death Watch had sent the Duchess Kryze fleeing, when one year had turned into two without any sort of peace being found… Jango had found himself unable to stay away from the Mandalore that he’d considered lost. He’d organized his people, and for the first time in centuries, they’d established a power that was not the Kalevalan New Mandalorian government the Republic preferred.
He’d been forced to scrape and bow and promise all sorts of platitudes to keep the Republic from interfering, and eventually the Republic had withdrawn their support of Kryze.
Even now, he paid for their non-interference.
Looking at Obi-Wan now, it was easy to feel that bitterness come back up. Mandalore had been able to pay the price of keeping the Republic from interfering, but if he hadn’t been able to? Would they have once again waged war against Mandalore? Like they had with the Dral’han, like they had again on a smaller scale on Galidraan?
He didn’t want to have to answer the question.
He already knew the answer.
“But that’s not the real reason the Uprising is fighting,” Obi-Wan continued. “Do we want to destroy the Republic? Perhaps, but in the same way that you burn a field to clear out the old plants and fertilize the ground for what’s to come.”
Jango examined the man again, he had to be close to a decade younger than Jango, though his eyes had the heavy weight of someone who’d been forced to age quickly—Jango had seen the same weight in his own eyes. He carried a gauntness in his features that spoke of a pain that was both physical and emotional. And yet his eyes… his eyes burned with the sort of fire that could raze the galaxy and build it back up again. “That’s terribly overconfident, presuming you can build something better.”
“It is,” Obi-Wan agreed. “But any change of any substance is started by someone who is desperate and believes that they have to be able to hope for something better.”
Jango nodded, unable to argue against it and… reluctantly impressed.
Obi-Wan Kenobi had decided to wage a war against the Republic, with a foolish, impossible dream for something better.
He wouldn’t win. The Republic was richer, more powerful, and had the support of the status quo.
Even with all that, Jango found himself wanting to believe that Obi-Wan was the exact sort of person who could beat impossible odds.
“They want you dead, you know,” Jango said quietly. “But they’d prefer that Mandalore be the one to draw the Uprising’s ire, so that you’ll expend resources on getting revenge against my people and give the Republc an advantage. They just want answers first. Things like what you want and who’s backing you.”
The words should have been harder to say. But he did not owe the Republic either his allegiance or his loyalty.
“I know,” Obi-Wan said quietly, unperturbed. “I knew when I agreed to your request to meet.”
“You’re not afraid that I’ll try to kill you?”
Obi-Wan turned to him, lips twisted up in a wry smile that was almost enchanting, given the situation. “The way I see it is we have three choices ahead of us.”
Jango raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“You can try to kill me, and we’ll see who’s left standing.” He gave Jango a sharp smile, eyes bright with a viciousness that lit a fire in Jango’s own gut. It had been a long time since he’d been engaged in a truly challenging flight.
“Option two?”
“I give you some of the information your Senate wants—“ Jango bared his teeth, it wasn’t his Senate. “And you tell your Senate the opportunity to kill me never arose, and we continue on our way; you’ll get whatever the Senate promised you and this war will run it’s course. When you get involved in the war—“
“Mandalore isn’t getting involved in the war.”
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Let me know how that turns out.” His smile turned condescending. “I’m sure Death Watch will be willing to fight for the Senate, if the Senate promises them support to overthrow you.”
Jango gritted his teeth.
“When you get involved in the war,” Obi-Wan continued as if Jango hadn’t interrupted. “We can have our fight to the death then, I’m sure.”
“I’m starting to think you want to fight me to the death,” Jango retorted, still frustrated about the insinuation that he would have no choice but to get Mandalore involved. Angry because he knew Obi-Wan was right. He was here, because his hold on Mandalore was still less than a decade old, and he knew Mandalore’s history well enough to know that the Senate would interfere until they had a leader they could control.
“It’s been a while since I’ve had a fight that was truly difficult,” Obi-Wan responded, smiling almost teasing, it was even more enchanting than the wry smiles Jango had seen so far. “I thought the Jedi who’ve tried to sneak onto Melida-Daan would be more engaging, but I’ve been disappointed.”
“I hate to disappoint you then.” Jango waved a hand. “Third option—or our third option as you see it, at least.” He would, of course, look for his own options.
For a long moment Obi-Wan only watched him, but then he nodded. When he spoke again, his eyes were once more full of that galaxy-razing fire. “You go back to the Senate and you tell them what they want to know. You tell them there was no opportunity to kill me. You let them get you involved in this war.”
“I’m not seeing much difference between this and the second option,” Jango pointed out, but he could feel something like electricity running down his back in anticipation.
Obi-Wan smiled, it was a dangerous, scheming thing, and Jango felt a twist in his gut at the expression. Obi-Wan Kenobi was dangerous, and Jango was unfairly attracted to that fact. “And behind all that, you and I work together. You’ve had to wonder how I managed to afford this war. There’s someone in the Senate, someone who decided they weren’t willing to play this game of interference planet by planet, and now wants to bring the Republic under their control. They wanted me to be their pawn, but I changed that plan.”
Jango furrowed his brows, taking in the accusation and twisting it around in his mind. He froze, connecting the dots. The Uprising was his Death Watch, was Melida-Daan’s Elders. The Uprising was meant to be the threat on the outskirts that let someone ensure their own control. “Who?”
Obi-Wan’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know. They approached me almost a decade ago, just after Cerasi and Nield had been killed. I was… I was alone, struggling.” Obi-Wan looked away, and Jango remembered again that in many ways the man had only known war for so long, that in some ways he had both grown up too fast, and never had the chance to grow up at all. “I took the offer, but it didn’t take me long to realize what I was being used for, what it would do. I saw what I was raising children to become. Child soldiers, just like I was, like the young had been forced to be. I think… I think that’s why the man never let me know who he was, why he never trusted me more. Maybe he knew I wouldn’t be able to keep to the plan. That my hatred and pain were never going to be enough to sustain me.”
“It seems to be sustaining you now.”
Obi-Wan shook his head slowly. “Am I still angry? Yes. Is that what motivates me? No.” He looked up, staring into the sky as though he could see beyond to the galaxy that spread out around them. “I believe this galaxy needs to change, that someone needs to do as the Young did, someone needs to rise up and say no more.” An uprising, no wonder Obi-Wan had chosen the name. “Maybe this is wrong,” Obi-Wan admitted quietly. “But it’s the path I’m on, and I’ll see it through.” Jango opened his mouth, but Obi-Wan continued before he could say anything. “I’ve already thrown the plan off to some degree. I started the war sooner than he’d planned, I took away some of his back up plans, and I haven’t been following his instructions. You aren’t the first time he’s tried to get me killed. But whoever he is… I’m not sure I’d beat him in the game of chess we’re engaged be in, especially if the rumors of the Trade Federation and Techno Union offering their battle droids if the Republic is willing to pay their prices are true.”
Jango had heard those rumors too, and he had no doubt that the Trade Federation and Techno Union would take the Republic for every credit they could.
“And so you want Mandalore on your side.”
Obi-Wan shrugged. “I need an ace, something that my opposition won’t see coming, so that when the endgame comes, I might have a chance of coming out the victor when right now he has all the advantage.”
“You want to use me.”
“Yes, I suppose.” Obi-Wan paused, smile wry and still too enchanting. “I’m willing to negotiate terms, of course.”
Jango considered the situation, considered his choices.
He thought of the Dral’han. Of Galidraan. Of the subtle threats to aid Death Watch in overthrowing his rule.
There wasn’t really a choice, when he thought about it like that.
-_-
“Lightning,” Jango muttered in disgust as he kicked the corpse of the Chancellor—former Chancellor he supposed, both because he was dead and because there was no Republic to be Chancellor over—as he walked over to where Obi-Wan was leaning against the wall, smirking lazily at the two surviving Jedi that’d come to ‘protect’ their Chancellor. “Can you do lightning?” he asked, running his eyes over Obi-Wan to ensure he wasn’t hiding any injuries.
“Never tried,” Obi-Wan said, paying half attention. “I’ve probably Fallen far enough that I could, but it’s not exactly a priority for me.”
“You should be ashamed, Kenobi,” Dooku snarled.
Jango wondered if Obi-Wan would let him have Dooku. He still owed Dooku for everything the man had taken from him, and having to pretend, the past few years, to take orders from him had grated on every inch of Jango’s restraint.
“Ashamed? Of what? Destroying ‘Democracy’?” Obi-Wan snorted. “From what I saw, the Republic didn’t actually believe in Democracy, they just liked hiding behind it.”
Windu looked slightly more composed, though that might be because he’d lost an arm and didn’t have the energy to manage an emotion as heavy as outrage. “Mand’alor Fett, I don’t know what Kenobi promised you, but it’s not—“
“Mandalore as a major power in the new government,” Jango drawled. “One might almost consider it a Mandalorian Empire.”
From the corner of his eyes, he could see Obi-Wan roll his eyes. “We’ve talked about that and the answer’s no.”
Jango shrugged, the idea had grown on him the past five years, and he rather thought he’d be able to convince Obi-Wan that it wasn’t the worst idea.
“And, of course, Obi-Wan’s own hand in marriage.”
This time Obi-Wan outright sighed as though Jango was being trying. “That was never one of our agreements. You just couldn’t resist seducing me into your bed.”
That wasn’t fair, Jango wasn’t actually sure which of them had seduced the other. He just knew that at some point taking a planet from the other in their ‘war’ had started to look like foreplay, and the quiet, secretive meetings they’d managed as they planned their careful take over, hidden by the more overt war, had started to feel like something else altogether.
Jango pushed the thoughts aside and focused back on the two Jedi in front of him. Dooku was seething, refusing to acknowledge that he’d lost, that he had never really had a chance to win. Windu was watching him, eyes grieved and pained. Jango almost felt bad for him, of all the Jedi he’d had to work with in the past few years, Windu had been one of the ones he’d almost not hated.
It wasn’t enough for him to even consider trying to get Obi-Wan to spare the man. Jango wasn’t the only one of them to have trauma at the Jedi’s hand, and he wouldn’t get between Obi-Wan and his catharsis.
“You’ve been working against us the whole time,” Windu’s voice was lined with the grief of betrayal.
Jango snorted, barely keeping a sneer in check. “What did you expect? Your recruitment into the war included not-so-subtle threats to overthrow me if I didn’t cooperate. Backing a Mandalorian into a corner is never a good idea, and it’s a worse idea when you’re fighting someone who has a better offer available and is smart enough to make it possible.”
Obi-Wan laughed. “You already killed a Sith Lord for me, cyare. I don’t need your flattery to accept your marriage proposal.”
Jango smirked at him, before turning back to the Jedi. “To be fair, if you hadn’t lost to me and Obi-Wan, you would have lost to the Sith you were fighting for.” Both Jedi glanced at the dead Sith Lord a few feet away, they still seemed to be struggling to accept it was true, but the lightning was rather difficult to ignore or rationalize away. “At least we have no interest in killing your children, I doubt the Sith would have been as merciful.”
“You’re just going to kill the rest of us,” Dooku ground out.
“The galaxy doesn’t need the Jedi,” Obi-Wan said, his voice had gone low and cold. “Especially not a Jedi Order that lets themselves be led around by a Sith Lord. Not a Jedi Order that will leave children to fight and die for peace, and then returns to arm the Elders when those same children no longer trust those that abandoned them to that fight.”
“I know you were hurt, Kenobi, but this is—“
“I survived, Master Windu.” The name was almost spit out. “That’s more than most of those children can say. It was never about me, Windu. It was about the Jedi, and it was about the people the Jedi and the Republic turned their back on, the people the Jedi used and then discarded.”
Jango stepped back, resting a hand on Obi-Wan’s arm. “You don’t need to explain yourself to them, cyare.”
Obi-Wan took in a deep breath, nodding. “The Jedi Order will share the same fate as the Republic. But unlike you, I won’t leave your children to suffer and die. They’ll be cared for, taught if they so wish it, there are other Force sects out there that will be more than willing to take them in, and I’ll be watching, to ensure that they aren’t treated the way I was, the way so many others were.”
Jango leaned closer. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give me Dooku?”
Obi-Wan blinked, glancing at him in surprise, but then nodded. “Consider it my wedding present. Traditionally, I believe I’m supposed to give you his head? But I should think this counts just as well.”
Dooku paled, the sight gave Jango a sense of vicious glee. He should feel afraid.
“I think it counts beautifully, cyare.”
Obi-Wan stared at them both a bit longer before taking the blaster from Jango’s holster without asking. “May the Force be with you, Master Windu. I hope it’s kinder to you, than it was to me.” Windu didn’t even have a chance to respond before Obi-Wan shot him, a perfect head shot.
Jango watched as the body slumped forward and to the side.
It wasn’t the first Jedi Obi-Wan had killed, but it finally seemed to settle something in Obi-Wan that had been restless since the first time Jango had met him.
It hadn’t been enough to kill the Master that had abandoned him, but Windu was a symbol of the Order.
“You’ve done it, cyare,” Jango said quietly, wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist and turning him so they were facing each other. He leaned forward, touching their foreheads together. “You’ve set the field on fire; now we can grow something new.”
“Something better,” Obi-Wan whispered, leaning into him.
To the side of them, Dooku still knelt, afraid and still stubbornly proud; the Chancellor and Sith Lord lay dead; the Republic had officially Fallen, the worlds Obi-Wan had conquered and the allies he’d secretly fostered prepared to stand behind him as he pronounced to the Galaxy the start of something new; they had won.