AN: You May Conquer the Land is my updating of the Price Paid which is a younger AU Obi-Wan story if you want to show it some love.
P.s. Mesh'la - beautiful, Ka'ra - heart, Cyare - beloved, beskar'gam - armour. Yes, this is that chapter.
Chapter 24 - Beloved
Obi-Wan smirked as Jango blind folded him. He was tired, he didn't think he had another round in him but he might if Jango really wanted to put that much effort into it.
"You know, blindfolding me doesn't limit me much? I can still feel you."
Jango kissed him, quickly but full of affection.
Obi-Wan smiled, basking in the adoration Jango was showering him in.
Maybe he should leave more often. But he shied from the thought. This was by far the longest-acknowledged relationship Obi-Wan had ever had.
"I want to dress you," Jango said, voice lowering.
That was not what Obi-Wan was expecting him to say but he was game to play along, "I'm at your mercy, ner Mand'alor."
Another kiss before he commanded, "Stay."
Obi-Wan heard him move away and slide something out from beneath the bed. Then Jango was kneeling before him, gently lifting one of his ankles to slip a sock on one foot then the other. It was easy to balance but the feel of his lover's warm hands was titillating.
However, it turned out not to be socks as the fabric was pulled up his calves and thighs; the length of cloth felt sinfully comfortable. He recognized it as temperature regulated cloth, something that could be sweated in and torn at but remain comfortable. It was expensive and the weight of it told him it was blaster resistant, the same material the Nubian Queens and handmaidens wore.
"Hold onto me, ner mesh'la."
Obi-Wan placed his hands on the other man's shoulders, an excuse to touch as he didn't need the help to balance. Or maybe he did, as Jango smoothed the fabric out along his legs.
Obi-Wan shuddered.
Jango zippered the pants, clipping together the interior belt necessary to help hold up weapons and armour. Jango directed his hands up so he could pull on a long sleeve shirt made of the same glorious material. It fit him exactly, nothing like the cheap blacks he had last stolen from another Mandalorian once upon a time.
No, this fabric was the sort that might last a lifetime if it was treated well.
It felt softer than the blacks he had helped Jango out of a time or two, pleasing him that he cared more for Obi-Wan's comfort than his own.
When Jango pulled his arms through a second layer, he realized it was because the blacks was just the under armour.
There were countless Mandalorian armour designs. What the vode had worn had been armour at its most basic, blacks, padded armour, and helmet.
But the blacks were important, and could either serve the dual purpose of keeping your body safe from the rubbing of the plates and for temperature control, or you could be just worn under armour and then clothes designed for securing the armour to your person. The finer the armour set, the more protection the blacks provided from stray discharges, blaster bolts, and tumbling through hand to hand fighting.
The secondary pants Jango had Obi-Wan step into were still formfitting, but given how kriffing soft the under armour was, blast resistant or no, Obi-Wan was glad there was a barrier between it and what he typically found himself doing in life.
He was less thrilled about what Jango pulled over the top jacket, it was not armour, but a tunic or robe.
Obi-Wan had been proud to wear what little armour he had worn during the Clone Wars. He was proud to look like a Jedi, also, but with the less than friendly reception he had received from the Haat'Mand'ade, he was not overly pleased to be relegated to Jango's Jetii.
He knew they would come to tolerate him with time, but for a moment, Obi-Wan had let himself hope that Jango would gift him a full set of armour.
It was perhaps more than Obi-Wan deserved, but he would rather wear a full set of plastroid armour, than be continually called on as Jango's Stejonian Jetii whore. At least with a full set of armour they might stop thinking of him as a Jetii, maybe he could cover his face and quit reminding everyone of his heritage.
He was beginning to understand why his mother's first tattoo had been on her face.
The problem with Stewjonians wasn't that other Mandalorians sold them into slavery, no, they were a simpler culture than that. On Stewjon, people weren't exchanged for credits, they traded, as goods for services or vice versa. Whatever their inhuman ancestors had been, they leant them to being notably good at sex.
Personally, Obi-Wan suspected it had something to do with their smell, some quirk of genetic chemistry that just pleased people. Obi-Wan had certainly used this against his enemies, nothing like flirting with someone who was trying to kill you and confusing them with mid-battle arousal, giving Obi-Wan ample opportunities to relieve them of a few of their limbs. It was more effective sometimes against people who wouldn't have been attracted to him otherwise.
But all this was to say that Stewjon wasn't really Mandalorian, they were a colony, and in exchange for Mandalore's protection, for their medical supplies and food services if the crops failed, most Stewjonians had little to no problem showing them their appreciation.
That is what had garnered them the reputation as prostitutes, especially within the Mandalorian Empire.
For Obi-Wan to be a Stewjoni, Vizsla, and Jedi, was all most would think they needed to know about his relationship with Jango. They didn't see him as having earned his position as his second, his general.
They thought he seduced Jango, manipulated him through sex and magic, to make him forget about one of Vizsla's son in their midst.
His name or lack thereof, alienated him from any notion that he might be worthy of their trust.
He was nameless, clanless.
Honourless.
Forever an outsider.
Jango stilled, "Mesh'la, ner ka'ra, what's wrong?"
Obi-Wan couldn't ask, not right now, not when what Jango had already dressed him in was more than he deserved.
He also couldn't take the humiliation, not from Jango whose kindness Obi-Wan craved like water.
But he could share a piece of what was bothing him, he could voice it without asking, even if a non-response on Jango's part would be as good as a damnation. It was still less humiliating than asking for a gift from someone who was not his committed partner no matter how many nights they shared together.
"I never disliked my name, outside of its meaning."
Jango was quiet for a long moment before he asked, "What did you go by when you were on Mandalore?"
"Ben."
"Ben?" he echoed.
"Satine's nickname for me, from Beten."
"Beten?" Jango growled. "Sigh? She named you 'sigh'?"
Obi-Wan huffed, "I was smitten with her, not lobotomized. We argued, a lot. I would say I've never sighed so much in my life but then I had Anakin."
Then added mentally, followed by living in exile with Ghost Qui-Gon for a decade.
He had gone by Ben on Tatooine in acknowledgement of that fact.
Jango laughed, then pressed a kiss to his nape.
"What would you name me?" Obi-Wan asked against his better judgment and before he could take it back. He suddenly wanted to remove the blindfold and had to force himself to focus on Jango's emotions which remained blessedly calm.
Aside from his anger at Satine, however, Jango was almost always a little angry at something.
"Was your lightsaber always blue?"
"Yes, it commonly recognized as indication of a Jedi Guardian, very common among the Knight's Corps."
"A Krayt Dragon's pearl is not common, Mesh'la."
"It did try to eat me."
Jango kissed his throat and then shoved him off his feet. Obi-Wan didn't flinch, knowing that the bed would catch him.
Jango snorted as he straddled Obi-Wan's chest, his knees pinning him down at the wrists. Jango leaned over him, taking off the blindfold.
"The Haat'mand'ade will warm up to you, ner mesh'la. You are everything they aspire to be and everything they desire."
Obi-Wan couldn't help but wrinkle his nose, he had been told the same before, by Yoda, Satine, and Anakin.
That he was perfect, the epitome of what he ought to be.
And it had all blown up in his face in spectacular fashion.
At least, Qui-Gon had never given him that line until it came to the end when the bastard had told him he was the 'wiser Jedi.'
Obi-Wan had been his Master's Padawan long enough at that point in their lives to recognise that remark as the dismissal and semi-insult it was.
Doing his best had never been enough.
Jango stroked fingers down his beard, "Do you truly wish to be renamed?"
"No. Yes," Obi-Wan sighed, enjoying the casual touch. "I don't particularly want to be introduced to the whole of Mandalore as No One From Nowhere though. I don't want to be named as one marked for tragedy. I have had my fill of what tragedy an enemy can heap upon me."
"You know you could have changed it yourself at any point?" Jango pointed out.
He sighed again, "I know it's contrary. I don't like to admit defeat, not when it's something wholly mine. And outside of the Mandalore System, the name is not known widely by its purpose."
Jango frowned, "Did Satine promise you she would…"
"She promised me everything," Obi-Wan said bitterly. "But when I became a stain on her finely crafted image, she made me think I was crazy, as if she would never have married someone with so much blood on his hands."
Jango rubbed a thumb over his cheek, "What a karking bitch. You spilled blood for her."
Obi-Wan pressed his cheek against Jango's hand, "She's ruthless, Jan'ika. She doesn't hold Mandalore because she practices non-violence. She is Duchess of Mandalore because she offers the image of civility and stability while stomping out any whisper of descent."
"You think what she has done is sustainable?"
"It might have been, if she had anyone she could truly trust. But the Prime Minister Almec, and even Senator Prince Tal Merrik, are Death Watch."
Jango pulled back to look down with direct eye contact. "What?"
"When we finally move back to either moon, we will be facing both fractions."
Jango combed his fingers through Obi-Wan's hair, "You will be her downfall."
"I put her on the throne, but I also helped chase Death Watch away, they were all but obliterated. Pre's attempts to gather a new clan have been slow going, and most of the politicians who follow him do so only because Satine's claim over Mandalore is seen as unsustainable but not so easily over turned that they could rely on the democratic process."
"They aren't wrong." Jango's grip tightened on him as he asked again, "Would you like to be named?"
"My name is my own. I don't mind being called Obi-Wan Kenobi. Especially not as our ade have chosen it, aside from Om'ika and Bo'ika."
Jango laid another kiss on Obi-Wan's exposed throat before prompting, "But?"
"But," Obi-Wan said with a slight smile. "I'm already tired of your people spitting my name at me as if it is the full augment of why I shouldn't be here, why you shouldn't trust me."
"I will speak to them," Jango assured.
He shook his head, "It doesn't matter. I was a Vizsla, a Stewjoni, and a Jetii, I am everything you should hate. They may warm up to me eventually, but I—" his voice broke.
Jango spoke in a gentler tone, "Mesh'la..."
Obi-Wan continued, "But I have lived enough of my life in exile. I am not used to everyone I meet knowing what it means and using it not as a name but as a branding. I like being called by my name, but I do not enjoy them using it as a thinly veiled slur. It feels like they are taking what is rightfully mine, what has always been mine."
Jango leaned forward to rest their foreheads together, "Kabiin Fett of Clan Fett."
Obi-Wan's breath caught, "Kabiin? It sounds familiar."
"Ancient Mando'a," Jango explained. "It means blue, ner sur'kabiin mesh'la."
My blue-eyed beauty.
Obi-Wan flushed, "Ner Mand'alor, thank…"
Jango kissed him full on the lips, silencing him.
Obi-Wan was breathless when he pulled back, "Don't thank me, Obi-Wan, you may be mine, but you will always deserve more. You were and have always been deserving."
Obi-Wan blinked back tears, "I don't know why, but I never expected you to be kind. To be kind to me."
"Then why did you trust me?" Jango asked, anger tinging his voice.
"Because I needed you. I needed you to save the vode."
"Setting aside how you knew about them, to begin with. Why did they matter to you so much? They aren't the only foundlings in the galaxy."
"Because, they deserve more than what they have, and they believed in me before they knew me."
Jango kissed him again, deep and lingering, and when he pulled back, he said only, "Blindfold back on."
Obi-Wan glanced down at them, Jango was only wearing dark briefs and Obi-Wan was in all black save for the white robed tunic. From this angle on their bed, he could not see whatever it was that had been pulled out on the floor.
Jango flicked his nose, "Eyes closed, Kabiin."
Obi-Wan laughed, his heart light. He lifted his head for Jango to retie the sash and was guided back to his feet.
Jango slipped off him and took both his hands to pull him to his feet, where he left him for a few minutes as Jango himself dressed.
Which why when he heard the movement of metal, he figured Jango was dressing in his own armour, but then he was at Obi-Wan's feet, and Obi-Wan found himself stepping into beskar toed boots.
His world, his understanding of the galaxy, began to spin as Jango clipped on the plates around his legs.
Armour.
His own armour, made of true beskar.
"These plates are thinner than average. I'm trusting you not to get hacked at by large animals or hammers. Wad'e and I agreed that as your form is defensive, that your mobility was more important than reinforcing the plates. It is still beskar, no blaster bolt or lightsaber will be capable of morphing it. Though it can still conduct enough heat to damage the blacks if a lightsaber is held too long on the plates. Aside from the chest plate and your bracers of course. You'll have to train for the extra weight but the bracers completely cover your forearms so that you could duel with them if you needed to."
Obi-Wan didn't have his words back yet, after a pause Jango continued, his love and amusement shimmering like starlight in the Force.
Jango's hand brushed the front of his pants, "Take care of yourself, ner cyare. We figured with the splits you do that codpiece wouldn't even offer full coverage anyway." He reached around Obi-Wan's waist, buckle into place a mesh-plated skirt, slited on both sides, allowing for full movement.
Another layer of a tunic, which was more like a strip of decorative cloth was placed over the blacks, until he felt the paded beskar that wrapped around his neck.
Yes, the neck was always a sensitive target, but especially so when dealing with lightsaber wielders.
"You need one of these," he said without thinking.
Jango chuckled, "Of course, Mesh'la."
Obi-Wan was a bit surprised that the chest plate covered just to his sternum. The shoulder plates were lovely, and without testing, Obi-Wan knew it would offer a full range of movement. The biceps plates had reinforced straps that would keep the formed metal from becoming a distraction as he moved.
The braces were heavy, but they felt wonderful, empowering, like weapons in their own right. He couldn't feel any pockets in them for flamethrowers or zip cords, but Jango ran his own fingers at the top where a sleek blade could eject on either hand at the top of the wrist.
Then another tunic was placed over his head, and then Jango wrapped his waist in a pad of armoured cloth that overlapped the chest plate and the skirt, then another band around his waist, then a clink of a metal plate.
"We went over a couple designs, but there was always the potential of compromising your movements or leaving you vulnerable. This is the compromise. The pads are armoured but it's bendable. It wouldn't prevent a lightsaber strike, but the exterior beskar plate will. It might be awkward at first but you should be able to bend completely at the waist without the plate stabbing back into soft tissue."
Jango snapped on a utility belt, followed by Obi-Wan's scabbard over his back that was filled with medical supplies and could hold his lightsaber.
An impressive-looking object that looked as if he was holding a hefty sword around him, and possibly misleading any calculation of a lightsaber being pulled.
Then Jango clipped on a cape over his shoulder plates before untying the blindfold.
Obi-Wan couldn't stop his jaw from dropping as he saw himself in the mirror.
He looked… regal.
It was certainly slimmer than most beskar'gam he had seen, but then his build wasn't as bulky as Jango's and this armour had been built with his fighting form in mind.
Custom made for him.
The plates gleaned under the overhead lights, polished copper over black underarmour and cape, while the tunics were layers of white cloth, a nod to his heritage.
The groves were painted white over the copper, the lines more organic than the rectangular and octagonal shapes of Jango's armour.
Obi-Wan had to swallow before he could use his voice, "Gold means Vengence, Bronze means Nobility, Silver means Seeking Redemption." The grey that Jango wore meant mourning, and blue meant Reliability. "What does Copper stand for? I've never seen it before."
"Copper," Jango answered wrapping his arms Obi-Wan. "Is rare because it is a colour that cannot be chosen, only gifted. As most armour is personal it is rare any warriors allow their colours to be chosen for them; it is —after all— a reflection of themselves. Copper is also eye-catching, but given you wear white I figured you wouldn't mind overly much."
"What does it mean, ner Mand'alor?"
"Teal is similar, standing for Love, romantic love. But Copper means Beloved, specifically by one's family, aliit, clan, and their ad'ika."
Obi-Wan closed his eyes, forced to steady his breathing as the full impact of those words hit him.
Jango rested his chin on Obi-Wan's shoulder plate and kissed his cheek before saying, "Everyone who sees your armour will know that I love you, will know our ade adore you, and know that you are the heart of our clan. It's not subtle, but given your lightsaber roars like a krayt dragon, I thought you would forgive me."
Obi-Wan leaned into his lover's embrace, his voice breaking as the tears fell, "Jango—"
Jango held him tighter, "You are loved, and I'm sorry my own prejudices held me back from respecting you as I should have. You said you used me; you didn't. You just pressured me into helping myself and my clan as you gave everything for the ade."
Obi-Wan let himself breathe, let himself feel Jango's words and emotions in the Force.
It broke, and it remade him.
When he opened his eyes, he met Jango's gaze in the mirror, "Ni kar'taylir darasuum gar."
I love you.
Jango's smile was transformative as his arms tightened around Obi-Wan's waist, and in Mando'a asked in turn, "Will you marry me, ner cyare?"
Obi-Wan turned in Jango's embrace, his heart pounding, "Yes, ner Mand'alor."
Jango kissed him, before stepping back and motioning for Obi-Wan to remain where he was.
Jango returned with helmet in hand. It too was copper, the T visor was more organically than geometrically shaped, almost like a leaf or bird. Following the upward points of the visor were wing shapes that stretched over the helmet.
Obi-Wan frowned slightly running his thumb over the white paint. "It's beautiful, but these aren't Jaig eyes, are they?"
Jango smirked, "No, they are Mynock wings."
Obi-Wan's breath caught.
"You are the Master of Soresu, the Way of the Mynock," Jango said as he turned the helmet to place it gently over Obi-Wan's head, making him feel as if he were being crowned. "And if your fighting style is to be defined, the Form of Resilience is certainly it."
And in a show of great vulnerability and honour, Jango bowed his head to Obi-Wan, so their foreheads met, skin to beskar.
Mandalorian marriages were not traditionally large affairs and were just as likely to be done before a crowd, in private, or on a battlefield.
Warrior to civilian marriages happened all the time, but the significance of the Mand'alor not donning his armour —after fully dressing his to be riduur— was an honour beyond words.
They spoke in unison, in a keldabe kiss, Jango hands on either side of his helmet, and Obi-Wan's hands on his chest.
"Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde."
We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, and we will raise warriors.
"Ner Mand'alor," Obi-Wan breathed, feeling for the first time in his life that he was standing on solid ground.
As if he knew that the storms could come and they would endure.
"Ner Riduur'alor," Jango named him in turn. Not every Mand'alor's riduur was addressed as Alor, a spouse could simply be a partner.
But while Alor was an honorific, it was also equivalent to the title of General.
To be Riduur'alor was truly to be an extension of the Mand'alor, to be ranked second in the hierarchy and to be treated as irreplaceable in this life.
So long as Jango lived, Obi-Wan would share every victory and every honour.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, seahorses, or feedback on the chapter please?