A shit ton of Mando'a in this chapter "sorry"? Lot of cultural discussion.
Chapter 8: Tracking Thoughts
Jango entered his cabin after eating dinner with Ben. He sighed, lost in thought. They had gotten quite a bit done in such a short amount of time. It was crazy to think that not even three months ago, he had been a slave. Now he didn't know what he was.
When this was over, he could return to Concord Dawn and become a farmer as his Buir'e had been. Raise banthas, grain, and maybe plant some orchards. Try and find silence in the country and silence in his mind. He pursed his mouth at that thought. Even when he had been small, he'd wanted to be a Protector, not a farmer.
He could settle into a career as a bounty hunter till he met one job too dangerous. It was how Jas'Buir got his start after he left the Protectors. He'd been damn good at it too.
He could be very good at it as well if he worked hard. He hadn't been Jaster's second in command after Montross died, for nothing. Maybe Ben could stay, and they could be partners, and maybe someone else besides him had survived.
He refused to believe that he was all that was left. Hadn't there been those who were already on jobs who couldn't come along? And what of their families? He'd go looking as soon as Ben's friend was safe and her Buir was permanently disfigured, he thought with a huff of cruel amusement.
Having backup was always wise in the bounty hunting profession. Yes, that could work. He'd bring it up to Ben in the morning.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he finally took note of the blasters sitting innocently on the pillow.
He blinked at them for a moment before his breath caught in his throat. Ben. She must have seen him looking at them in the market and gone back for them. That's why she was so long behind him in the market.
Did she know? Did she mean to? Was she really proposing a courtship?
He sat utterly mystified at her actions. What was it that she saw in him? He had nothing but a hundred burnt acres and the few credits he'd escaped with on sabbac night with the Ohnakas. He couldn't offer her anything of actual worth. And she, she was perfect. She was smart, beautiful, feisty, good with kids, and not to mention a great hand in a fight. She could fight like a dream.
He glanced down at the blasters again in disbelief before a sudden thought came to him, and he felt heat cling to his cheeks. She wasn't proposing a courting. She was accepting.
Hadn't he given her one of his Buir'e's kals and not asked for it back. Insisted that she needed something to defend herself with.
If that wasn't a formal courtship proposal, he'd eat his buy'ce. Kriff. He wished Arla was here. She'd know what to do, or she'd tease him mercilessly for getting all worked up.
Did he even want to court Ben? Well, that was a dumb thought. She was everything he'd ever wanted in a Riduur. Kriff. He better not mess this up.
But. How does one go about courting? He'd never cared to pay attention to such things before. Myles was the girl crazy one between the two of them. He'd gone on about a new girl or boy every other month. Always insisting that someday it would be Jango's turn to be a besotted mess, and he'd laugh him off the ship when that time came.
The pang he felt at the thought of his friend, was sharp in his breast before shaking his head. Myles had been right. No matter his protests at the time, it had only taken the right person.
He pulled out a sheet of flimsy and sat down to plan. He had to make it perfect for Ben. She deserved the universe after everything that she'd been through, and then there was the business of her Dar'Buir. He'd have to show her that she didn't need him. That she could rely on him. That she could trust him. That she could care for him. That she could love him?
He blinked and stopped writing. Oh. He thought faintly, is that what this is?
Well, I guess I'm well and truly kriffed now. He let out a slightly hysterical chuckle.
Obi-wan sat for a time at the table in the galley, sipping on the water in front of her. She wasn't in the mood to do anything more than sitting quietly with her thoughts at the moment. She knew she should be meditating or trying to get a sense of where Master Qui-gon was through their bond now that she could feel it again. Yet, she did neither of these things.
Instead, she let her thoughts run around in circles about how the last three months came to be. She kept running through scenarios of how she could have done without the bad and kept the good. Perhaps if she had done better. If she had done something differently. She kept coming up with nothing.
Run faster, and Death Watch wouldn't have caught her. Stop. No meeting, Jango.
Fight harder to delay the auction, so her Master could find her. Stop. No meeting, Jango.
Reach through her bonds to Quinlan and Bant. Tell them what's going on. Stop. They had been too far away.
Unbraid her Padawan braid before going to the market. Stop. Death Watch sells her anyway but hurts her differently first.
No matter what she changed, everything was ineffectual or made things worse than they had been.
Almost without noticing, her hand had crept up to her unbound hair. In years past, she would have played with the end of her braid absently. It had been a gesture that annoyed her Grandmaster and amused her Master. In the early days of her apprenticeship, she had touched it constantly. If only to remind herself that she was indeed a padawan. But now, where her braid had been, there was nothing more than a healing scab.
When her fingers brushed the scab, it sparked a visceral memory.
Brutal gauntlet-clad hands threaded through her hair. Pulling her up from where she had collapsed on the ground. The other gauntlet smashed into her face, and blood flowed from her nose to cover her teeth, dripping down her chin to patter on the floor. Her grimace and the sound of mocking laughter from all around her.
She jerked her fingers out of her hair and stood as if to walk away from the memory. She placed her plate and glass in the sink. She'd worry about those tomorrow. She flipped off the light turning to leave the room, fleeing the memories behind her, for now.
The morning dawned clear on Navarro, and the inhabitants of the rented ship stirred slowly. They shuffled to the caf pot. Jango resting his arms on the counter, leaning down to watch that glorious liquid pour out. Ka'ra he wanted caf. Not the excuse for it that Hondo swore by, that nasty instant stuff.
Ben had just laughed at his antics before grabbing some bread and jam out of the conservator. Jango glanced up, noting that Ben didn't seem to have had trouble sleeping last night if the lack of circles were any indication. He smiled at this, pleased that the Manda had left her alone for one night at least.
After breakfast, he quickly paid their tab for the night and hurried back to the ship. Each of them was eager to get underway. Sitting down in the pilots' seat, he plotted in the coordinates for Brendach VI and settled in for the initial jump.
Ben came in not too much later. He felt his heart pick up as she sat in the copilot's seat and brought her knees up into the chair. She looked so at ease, none of the stiff readiness she'd had on the Pirate ship. In truth, he hadn't noticed she had always been battle-ready until she had fully relaxed. He felt a flash of something warm in his chest that she trusted him this much, not even Odette had trusted him that much, and they had spent two years in each other's company.
He turned to ask Ben why. Yet, when he glanced over, she had fallen asleep in the chair. Arms hanging down at her side, mouth slightly open, her breath came deep and even. Her blue hair wrap had come undone, slipping ever so slightly down to cover her face. He reached over and gently tucked the tail of fabric back in.
Stepping lightly, he made his way to her bunk room and grabbed the quilt off of her bed. Returning to the cockpit, he gently laid it over her. Careful not to wake her.
As she continued to doze, he took out the files on Princess Breha Antillies and started to compile a profile of her habits and what would most help them on this hunt. It was tedious work, and it had been a while since he had done such an analysis. Yet, as one hour stretched into two, he found it was all coming back to him.
It was nearing mid-day when Ben began to twitch in her sleep. At first, he thought it was the usual stirring before one woke, but as she continued and began to cry out, he knew better. When she began to cry the words 'Master, don't leave me'. Thats when he couldn't take it anymore.
Rushing over, he called, "Ben, Ben, wake up. It's just a dream." He shook her shoulder firmly but gently, taking care to make sure she couldn't swing at him again.
"Ben! Come on now. Snap out of it. You're dreaming." Her eyes flew open with a sob, and she stared sightlessly for a moment at a spot beyond him till her eyes focused on his face.
"Jango," she questioned.
"It's alright," he soothed a hand over her shoulder, "it was a dream." Ka'ra, he thought, that was a rough one.
"I.." she closed her eyes and took a breath. "I don't want to talk about it right now."
"That's alright cya…Verd'ika. Take your time. What do you need?" She tilted her head to the side, giving him a puzzled look as if she couldn't comprehend why he was still being patient with her. He ached that she couldn't seem to accept care when it was offered to her.
"Could we just talk about something?"
"Of course, what do you want to talk about?"
"Could you tell me about living with the Haat'ade? If that's not too much. I've only heard secondhand accounts, and they weren't too flattering."
He was torn, first in reluctance to drag up memories that were bittersweet now, and second in anger that his people were being slandered by Manda only knows who. He grit his teeth. If he was the only one left, it was his duty to set the record straight.
"What would you like to know?"
"Anything that you're willing to share, but I've been curious about your Buir's Codex. I've only been able to find partial copies in the online databases. It's almost like someone tried to erase it but couldn't quite finish the job."
He frowned at this. The Supercommando Codex had been his Buir's greatest achievement. Jaster had once told him it just barely took second place. Right behind raising his ad (child). Jango had shoved him after that, embarrassed at the time.
"What do you know of the Resol'nare?"
"The six tenets that traditional Mandalorians live by, right? Education, Family, Armor, Mando'a, the Mand'alor, um…." He grinned. She knew more than most outside of the system. Some thought of Mandalorians as no more than armored thugs, never bothering to learn about their codes of honor.
"Bajur bal beskar'gam, aranov, cuun aliit, cuun joha, cuun Mand'alor—Gaa'tayl mhi cuyanir (Education, Armor, self-defense, our tribe, our language, our Leader – All help keep us alive)."
"I was close."
"Yes, you were, but not quite. Education is first for a reason. It is essential for one to know what it is they know, and to accept that learning is a process that continues till one's last breath."
"Bajur par oyay (Education for life)."
"Elek. (Yes). Can you guess why beskar'gam is next?" She frowned for a moment.
"I know beskar is important to your culture, but it's not just because of its special properties, is it?"
"No, beskar is believed to hold our very souls. It is traditional for a piece of a Buir's beskar to be reforged to fit their ade when they come of age. The imprint of their soul stays even after they have marched away to aid in the protection of their ad. So, when they can no longer do so themselves they are still there protecting them. The older the family beskar, the stronger it becomes, so the belief goes. I know for a fact that the beskar worn by the head of Clan Wren has been passed down since the Battle of Malachor V. Though they were a very minor Clan at the time not yet sworn to House Viszla." He muttered that last sentence indignantly.
"What that's almost 4,000 years?!" Ben's eyes had gone wide at that pronouncement. He chuckles a bit at her reaction.
"Buir was an amateur historian. He got very good at it as he conducted research for the Codex. He focused a lot on old history. He wanted to understand how we got from there to where we are now. Specifically, he wanted to develop a cohesive code that honored our traditional values without sacrificing the safety of our space and the future opportunities for the Mando'ade as a whole."
"I'm beginning to see that."
"Now, aranov (defense, or self-defense). This is the point in the Codex where the New Mandalorian movement and Kry'stad both disagree with our view. Kry'stad believes that might be right. If someone or some system can not stand against them, then it is their right to conquer it." Ben fingered a spot behind her ear, humming as he continued.
"The Evaar'la Mando'ade (New Mandalorians) believe that any violence should be abhorred, and Buir agrees up to a point. Violence for violence's sake is pure chaos and should be stopped. There will always be those who seek to deal violence upon others without provocation. As such, he believed that if we had the ability to protect others, it was our duty to do so."
"This is the exact point I was arguing with my friend. She couldn't understand that you can't reason with everyone. The Hutts and the Zygerrians have built their civilizations around their ability to hurt or degrade others. They aren't going to give up these ways peacefully. Every envoy from the Republic that has come home from these areas of space reports the same thing. They are laughed at for even suggesting that they give up their ways."
"So your friend is an Evaar'la Mando'ad (New Mandalorian)." That explained why Ben seemed to know only so much of his culture, and what she did know was fragmentary at best.
"Elek (Yes). But I've been arguing with her for months now about her pure pacifistic sensibilities. They will ultimately lead to destruction and pain if they are allowed to continue on a large scale. There's nothing wrong with not wanting to take life, but refusing to defend yourself can sometimes only provoke more pain."
"I'm surprised you got her to teach you Mando'a at all."
"Why's that?"
"The Evaar'la Mando'ade (New Mandalorians) believe that even the use of our language is inviting the violence of the past into the present. Some were even writing their own revisions of our history, painting it as irredeemably evil. Now, that's not to say that there weren't a lot of things that were done wrong or were evil, but if we don't accept that it's a part of our past, then we'll lose ourselves in the mess of this galaxy."
"Can't move forward if you don't know where you've been."
"Exactly." He stated, full of pride, that he had explained it in a way that was understood. When he had been younger, he had struggled with Basic, as they had only spoken Mando'a at the farm.
"Now, let me see if I have the next part right. Cuun aliit (our tribe/family) is next because even if you don't share blood or history, the bond you share with your family is vital. Your bonds to family keep you safe, as you always know there is someone to call when you need help." She said the last sentence softly, a note of yearning in her voice.
"Tion'ad hukaat'kama, Ben (Who's watching your back, Ben)" She took a long moment to think before she spoke, words so low, he had to lean in close to hear them, and what he heard broke his heart.
"Ni nayc kar'taylir jii. Ni mirdir ner buir ru'aranar ni tion'tuur Ni kih. Nayc jii. Nayc jii. (I don't know now. I think my Buir must have when I was small. Not now. Not now.)"
Obi-wan thought long and hard about her apprenticeship. She was hard-pressed to find a time when Master Jinn had indeed intended to protect her from the outset. Most of his teachings consisted of chidings about the dangers of the Dark Side. Accompanying this were his many admonishments about anything she did that reminded him of Xanatos. She couldn't drink the same tea he had like. She couldn't wear black. She had a sinking feeling as a pit of nausea built in her stomach. She pushed the thought away for the moment. Perhaps she had just forgotten something.
There was Bandomeer, but that took him months to come find her. When he did, he hadn't been looking for her. He had merely stumbled upon her, telling her the Force had led him there. Then there was Melidaan, the mess with Jena Zan Arbor, and it just spiraled on. She never seemed to have him at her back when she needed him. He always came in after she needed him, but surely he had meant to help her. She was his Padawan, his lineage daughter.
Yet the more missions she went over in her head, the more nauseous she became. Overcome with these uncomfortable thoughts.
Aloud though, she whispered, "Ni nayc kar'taylir jii. Ni mirdir ner buir ru'aranar ni tion'tuur Ni kih. Nayc jii. Nayc jii. (I don't know now. I think my Buir must have when I was small. Not now. Not now.)"
She looked down at her hands, refusing to meet Jango's eyes. She felt such shame at the admission. How could this have happened? She must be wrong about this. She must be. He cares. She knows he does. Otherwise, he would have left her behind on any of their missions. A small voice in the back of her head whispered that he had done that already, but she ruthlessly quashed it.
"This was supposed to make you feel better, Ben, not make you sad."
"I'm fine, Jango." She tried and failed to put her thoughts to rest. She definitely found her topic for evening meditation today. "Can we continue our walk-through of the Resol'nare?"
He frowned, obviously reluctant to keep going for now. "Why don't we move to the kitchen? The jump will last for another couple of hours at least. We can make some tea before we continue."
"Ok, tea sounds nice." She gave him a look. He didn't like tea. He'd made a face at breakfast when he had grabbed her cup and took a swig before he had realized it wasn't his caf.
When they were settled at the table, Jango with a glass of water, Obi-wan with her mug of tea, they were silent for a moment. She took a sip of the still too hot tea and raised a brow at Jango, prompting him to continue.
"Ok, so, cuun joha (our language). I think this one is a little self-explanatory, but I'll cover it just to make sure you understand where we are coming from. It's not just a language. It's an integral part of our culture. Mando'a itself goes all the way back to the Taung, the original Mandalorian species. As such, it connects us to our history in a way other languages, even Basic, do not. There are also nuances to Mando'a that are lost in Basic."
"So, if you lose your ability to fully understand it, you lose that connection to your identity as a culture. You lose your history."
"Elek, but it goes beyond that our history is what makes us what we are. If we can't read it or understand it, then it's lost."
"And you say your Buir was the only amateur Historian." His face went red, and he glanced down.
"It's hard to dislike it when you actually understand some of the most badass stories there are. My favorites always centered around people like you, the Manda Blessed." She felt her mind blank for a moment as she jerked a little at his mention of her Force sensitivity before refocusing on what he was saying. "They were always supreme warriors, and many of the Mand'alor'e of the past were so blessed. Now, that's not to say one who wasn't Manda Blessed couldn't be a fantastic Mand'alor. Just look at Mand'alor the Preserver. He wasn't blessed, and yet he saved our culture from extinction.`
"That's fascinating," she replied faintly. "Back to the nuance part of Mando'a. You don't think Basic can express the same meaning?"
"Perhaps if you want to use four words to explain the actual meaning of the word instead of just using the Mando'a term for it."
His unimpressed look said everything about his thoughts on that, stark disapproval and stubborn resistance to being moved. Still, seeing her blank look, he sighed and continued his explanation.
"Take the word vod in Mando'a. For example, it can mean three different words in Basic, sister, brother, sibling. Now, this is just the most simple of translations. In a broader context, in Mando'a, it can also mean brother-at-arms, a battle bonded brother, one who has your back, and this is just one three-letter, one-syllable word. Are you beginning to understand?"
"I think so. It's so much more involved and dependent on context than any other language I've learned about before. Yet alone have learned, myself."
"It's part of the reason why in modern times, it is used more sparingly. It's easier to use one or two words and speak mostly in Basic, as it gives the Mando'a more weight. At least in sectors outside of Mandalorian space."
"That's understandable. Most everyday languages go through constant shifts in colloquial terms and slang. Reserving Mando'a for special occasions kept it mostly unchanged throughout the centuries. It probably preserved the meaning of the words better than if it was used the same way Basic is."
Jango blinked at her simple explanation. It had taken his Buir a whole day to explain the difference between the two languages every Mandalorian used and why. He had gone into the history behind it detailed the different changes each had gone through and why. She did it even easier in under a minute.
"Now the last one is why everyone was fighting, Mand'alor, our leader."
"Doesn't each faction in the Civil War have one they each claimed was the rightful Mand'alor?"
"Well, yes and no, for a couple of reasons. Both the Haat'ade (True Mandalorians) and the Evaar'la Mando'ad (New Mandalorian) began without declaring a Mand'alor. They were simply cultural movements in nature, not as a mobilized force with a figure at the front. But that changed when Tor Viszla killed his Buir without a formal combat spar and declared himself Mand'alor."
Obi-wan sucked in a deep breath through her nose, letting it out slowly. I won't freak out now. I can't freak out now. Calm down. Calm down.
"It was at this point that both Buir and Adonai Kryze mutually decided that enough was enough, and Buir was declared Mand'alor of the non-Kry'stad Mandalorians following a tournament of sorts. Adonai had a lot of internal politics to work through, and Buir was a man with a track record for sticking to his morals. Something both sides could get behind." He took a sip of water, looking at it as it swirled around the glass.
"It was good for a while. But ever so slowly, a little more each year the Evaar'la Mando'ade (New Mandalorians) became more and more vocal against the self-defense and traditional portion of the Supercomando Codex. It finally came to a head after Korda VI. Buir had lost a leg, and this was the excuse of weakness they needed to break away and form the "New Mandalorians''.``
Obi-wan was puzzled. Satine had always had an impeccable view of her Father. This didn't sound like the stories she had told at all. Then again, Adonai had been a politician since he was 14, only a year after his Verd'goten. And all politicians tend to have skeletons in their closets. She had hoped he had been one of the good ones, but even they weren't infallible.
"That doesn't sound like the man my friend told me about."
"As an Evaar'la Mando'ade (New Mandalorians), she's a bit biased on that account, isn't she?"
"And you aren't when it comes to the Haat'ade (True Mandalorians)?" She fired back, defensive over Satine. Her friend wasn't even here to defend herself or her Father's memory.
"Point."
"Can I have some time to process all of this?"
"Sure, Verd'ika, take all the time you need. We won't be at Princess Breha's last known location until early tomorrow morning. If you have any more questions, I'll be in the cockpit."
Obi-wan took a drink of her tea. It had long gone cold, but then, so had her thoughts. When had everything become so muddled? Everything used to be so clear-cut, but it had always been this way, hadn't it? She just hadn't seen it.
Notes:
Mando'a Translations:
buy'ce
Helmet
Riduur
spouse
Ka'ra
Stars
Verd'ika
Little warrior, Little soldier
Haat'ade
True Mandalorians
Resol'nare
Six tenants of Mandalorian life
Bajur bal beskar'gam, aranov, cuun aliit, cuun joha, cuun Mand'alor—Gaa'tayl mhi cuyanir
Education, Armor, self-defense, our tribe, our language, our Leader – All help keep us alive
Bajur par oyay
Education for life
Elek
Yes
beskar'gam
armor
beskar
Mandalorian Iron
Buir
Parent
aranov
defense, or self-defense
Evaar'la Mando'ade
New Mandalorians
Tion'ad hukaat'kama, Ben
Who's watching your back, Ben
Ni nayc kar'taylir jii. Ni mirdir ner buir ru'aranar ni tion'tuur Ni kih. Nayc jii. Nayc jii.
I don't know now. I think my Buir must have when I was small. Not now. Not now.
cuun joha
our language
Mando'a
the language used by Mandalorians
vod
sister, brother, sibling (Simplified)
Mand'alor
sole ruler