KEYnote: If Mandos/Mandos interactions, they are speaking and thinking in Mando'a which is why I use less of the vocab a lot of people know.

On another note, I do Okinawan Uechi-ryu Karate, and conditioning is a huge part of the style. We actively bruise each other and pound our limbs and bodies, both to desensitize ourselves to pain and because it is possible to build muscle endurance. Before you say 'that's not how that works', the process of growing muscle is tearing muscle. Every weight lifter and runner does this, and secondly, the masters of my style can break wooden boards over their arms without injury.

Wearing armour is a skill, but it's a near complete different skill to skin-on-skin pounding, not that one can't help the other, but it's a different type of training.

Jaster's attitude is far more detrimental to Jango than the conditioning. Jaster is pushing Jango's comfortable limits, but he is not being physically 'injured'.

Unlike Jaster, Jango hasn't had to go get medical attention for this boot-camp training.

Jango is spooked because his buir who is never afraid of anything is terrified. Same with the others.

Finding out your hero is mortal is a bigger shock to the system than being woken in the middle of the night for some midnight training.

Thank you, Muffin!

Chapter 8 - Common Ground

Four months.

Four months out of the Temple.

And following his Master's inclinations brought them on to a freighter transport.

A transport with Hutts on board and two adversary groups. Something that both Obi-Wan and Tahl could handle.

The pirates who commandeered the ship were more of an issue.

Almost as much of an issue as the emergency landing on a planet with animals capable of eating them.

Of course, this issue was secondary to being sold into slavery by the Hutts, who they had ended up rescuing.

Ungrateful kriffers.

Despite the danger Tahl had dragged them into, she had mitigated the issue by hiding their occupation and having them wear their sabers disassembled against their skin.

With a bit of mind-warping, Tahl had spared them both from a strip, if not the collar.

The nearly three months they spent in the undersea mines of Bandomeer had been brutal.

But it had been easier knowing that in a way, it had been their choice.

They could have escaped the slavers, but they couldn't have freed the slaves if they hadn't played along.

It was also easier than it could have been because they had never been separated. Due to Tahl's blindness, Obi-Wan had been assigned as her 'handler.'

Obi-Wan finally got the shock collars off his Master and then off himself.

Tahl laid back on the beach, they were both soaked through with cold salt water, underfed, and exhausted.

"Well done, Padawan mine," Tahl breathed.

"I'm glaring at you," he huffed as he closed his eyes, the fresh air a balm to his soul.

"I have a list of things you did correct," she continued. "Keeping your calm, staying patient, meditating with me each night despite your exhaustion— several beads I think we will need to acquire."

Obi-Wan took in a breath, and where, ordinarily, he would give his Master the utmost respect, the first real bath he had taken in months was the swim to shore.

Politeness had its place, but its place was not here, not today.

"I hate you."

Tahl laughed, turning toward him on the rocky beach. "I told you, there are reasons I have never taken a Padawan before."

He snorted, "That was wise."

"Do you regret it?" she asked, her voice sobering.

He turned to his side to face her, "No, I don't regret it. You were right, the Force led us to where we were needed. It wasn't safe. But we kept our kyber and we stayed together. A successful, unsanctioned, mission."

She touched his cheek, "I am so proud of you, Obi-Wan."

His neck would be forever scarred, the stripes on his back would never be washed away, but was it worth the thousands of lives they had saved?

Was it worth shutting down a slave organisation where help might have been decades before they were noticed much less until help would arrive? If it arrived at all?

Yes, yes it was.

They were Jedi, blessed by the Force and the stars themselves.

It was a gift, it was an honour.

And the way to honour that gift in return was to serve the galaxy.

Darkness would always exist, but life needed to be nurtured to grow, to endure.

That was their purpose, their religion, to side with life and Light.

Even if it killed them.

oOo

Jango huffed as he let the Princess drag him across the fields.

She had finally switched out of her dress, her hair freed from the elaborate headdresses she so preferred. The leggings she wore hugged her slender limbs, her top doing much the same.

Jango would have followed her anywhere to get away from the palace.

He had been stuck on ships for longer than this, but he had never felt so… so trapped.

His buir's anxiety was getting to him.

Jango had been raised as a farmer, he knew the legends, the horror stories of the Jetiiese and Sith, but it was different coming from Jaster.

Jaster who knew the legends, but had also read the records. It was one thing to know the Jetiiese had slaughtered their people, defeated their empire.

It was another thing to see the numbers.

The Jedi and Sith had razed Mandalore.

Mand'alor Tarre Vizsla had been an exception to the rule. During his life, the Mandalorian system had been allowed to stabilize.

But after his death?

Mandalorians remained a fractured people, the line of succession inviting assassination of the ruling party, their Creed differing between each Mand'alor, between each clan.

Jaster was raising him to be his heir so that once his age caught up with him, he could step down before he could be killed in combat.

So that their Creed, so that the Codex, could last longer than a generation.

His buir was the sole ruler of a system that wasn't unified enough for Jaster even to be able to govern properly.

Which was why they were here, why it was important to learn politics, even if it was from these clans that were hardly Mando'ade at all.

And on top of all their internal struggles, Jaster was convinced the Republic Senate was going to stick their nose in it. That the Jedi would be sent to stablize them.

Which would be an utter disaster.

Tarre Vizsla had been accepted because he was Mandalorian.

Because he was one of them even if he had also been trained by the Jedi.

Short of sending back Obi-Wan Kenobi, their Lost Son, who was centuries dead, the Jedi would just be adding fuel to the fire.

"Jango?" Satine asked, tugging on his hand.

Jango offered her a half smile, acting as if he hadn't completely tuned out her presence as they hiked up green cliff sides.

"Satine?" he echoed.

She pouted at him, tugging him toward an alcove in the rocks. It wasn't quite deep enough to be called a cave, but it offered a modicum of shelter from the precipitation that seemed ever-present on Kalevala.

Even if it wasn't raining, it always felt damp. Though this made the planet greener than most in their system.

She sat primely on the smooth rocks as if she were perching on a throne. Even if you stripped everything from this girl, she would never be anything but regal.

Jango envied her that.

He was being raised to be the next Mand'alor, and there were more and more days where pulling his shebs out of bed felt like the greatest hardship in the galaxy.

He grunted when she tugged on him, his leg buckling from a cramp he had earned from not stretching after the morning's spar.

Her smile was smug when he nearly fell into her as he dropped to his knees.

He hated not having his armour.

The smarting in the knees had him swallowing back a rush of rage.

Kark the New Mandalorians and their ignorance.

Oblivious to the direction his thoughts had taken, Satine reached for his shirt.

He batted her hand away, "I'm not—"

"Jango Fett, don't you dare finish that sentence," she said as if mortally offended. She reached into her bag and pulled out a jar of healing salve. "I just wanted to help."

He huffed, "You don't need to do that, it's your life day—"

"Exactly, which means my wants currently supersede yours, Alor'ika."

He gave her a dry look and had to switch to Basic to explain, "Being a couple months older than me does give you the right to call me Alor'ika. I'm just Alor'ad, son of the Mand'alor."

Technically, Alor'ad was a title, like captain or commander, but when you were the actual child of the Mand'alor, Alor'ad took on a separate meaning. It was, in a way, a basic acknowledgement that within the Resol'nare Jango held an importance would define his buir.

If Jaster failed as Jango's buir, he could loose his title as Mand'alor. If Jango failed his buir and their clan, that would be judged as Jaster's error.

So Jango held the title Alor'ad, not for his military statis but for his cultural importance to their people.

Satine cocked her head, a sea breeze setting the strands of hair around her face to dance. Her Basic was far better than his, "I don't think you're just anything, Alor Fett."

He was glad his skin was dark enough to hide the heat surging to his face.

She switched back to Mando'a as she ordered, "Now, take off your shirt."

Yep, very grateful for his complexion.

He slipped his shirt off and Satine gasped.

"It's not as bad as it looks."

"That's still pretty bad," she countered.

He shrugged, "If it was too much, I could say so and my buir would stop. But I need this training."

"Why?" she asked as she unscrewed the cap of the salve.

"Because one day, I will be Mand'alor, and my opponents won't be someone who holds back. My buir protects my head any time he knocks me off my feet. It's important that I learn like this, when it's okay for me to train in safety."

She started spreading salve on his bruises, "This isn't safe."

"If my buir wanted to snap my neck or break my bones, I wouldn't have been able to stop him a few months ago."

She raised a pale brow at him, "And now?"

He smirked, "I'm a fast learner."

She leaned into him, the smell of mint and something unknown dominating over the floral smell of her perfume. "I like men who are intelligent."

Jango stilled.

He wasn't a man yet. Legally? Sure. But he knew he was young, even if he was a commando who had passed his trials and earned his beskar, he was still young.

He was still a few months away from turning sixteen.

Satine's overtures had been far from subtle, and he hadn't done much to persuade her into thinking he wasn't interested.

And he wasn't interested, at least not in dating her.

She leaned back, her soft hands working the cooling balm into his skin.

He shuddered when she reached around him, her hands kneading into the tense muscles of his shoulders.

Jango wasn't interested in dating Princess Satine Kryze.

She was beautiful but delusional, compelling yet ignorant, and far too fragile to survive at his side.

He couldn't deny that he admired her in some ways, but what he admired in her, the stubbornness, her shrewdness, and her ambition, only tainted his opinion of her.

She was smart enough to understand that pacifism was just another way of demanding that someone else die for your idealism.

She was smart enough to grasp that it could never be sustained in the Mandalore system.

She was just too stubborn to admit, even to herself, that she was in the wrong.

But he could hold onto none of these thoughts as she massaged his flesh, as her fingertips explored lower and lower.

Jango knew, whole heartedly, that she was seducing him to try and sway the Mand'alor's son to her side of the political aisle.

She might lust after him physically, but she didn't respect him. Not his Creed, not his history, nor his aliit.

But none of this stopped his manhood straining against the confines of his pants as Satine continued to massage the hyper-tension from his muscles.

None of it, not for all the reasons of this being a possible political disaster, kept him from returning the kiss she gave him with interest.

Myles had jested about his virginity, that no warrior of his lineage should be burdened with such a thing.

Well, Satine freed him of that burden, and while he didn't last long, he knew enough about foreplay to return the pleasure.

Besides, he was young.

And while he and princess might be oil and water in court, here, at least, they could find common ground.

oOo

Obi-Wan was backhanded, leaving sprawled on the ground. He tried to pull himself to his knees, but electricity brought him back to the ground. The taste of copper dirt and brine filled his senses as his body fought itself. Every muscle ripping at every other. His every nerve screaming as if deprived of oxygen.

The pain was searing, as if he were being burned alive.

It was numbing, as if he had been attacked by sudden hypothermia.

Though surely floating out into space wouldn't hurt this much.

The pain stopped and he needed to get up to reassure Tahl he was fine.

He wasn't fine.

But he wasn't dying.

He wasn't dying.

He was a slave.

But he wouldn't die a slave.

The Force was with them. Pain was inevitable, but they would not die before achieving what the Force wished them to achieve.

All this was as the Force willed it.

"This is the Way, ner ad."

Obi-Wan's eyes flashed open at his buir's voice.

And suddenly, he wasn't in the mines, he was in the fields of Mandalore and the boy he had met was on his back in the damp grass staring at the stars.

He wore full armour save for his helmet.

Obi-Wan was wearing his full armour as well. Well, as much as he had earned. Beskar coated his limbs and he had the upper chest and back plates.

He had no helmet for that was the last piece of armour they earned.

On one hand, protecting your head was good. On the other hand, If they had no helmet, it was the easiest way of ensuring no little warriors didn't secretly slip into the battlefield.

No helmet? You go home.

Obi-Wan had been an exception, one marked by the Jedi insignia painted in red on the front of his armour like his buir's.

Padawans followed their Masters everywhere. The Force was more protection than any helmet.

Not that his friends or his buir's advisors ever agreed with that fully.

Obi-Wan let out a sigh, the tension falling away from him as he collapsed beside Jango.

"Obi-Wan?"

"Jango," he sighed.

"You look awful."

"Thanks."

"What happened to you?"

"Adventures," he responded dryly.

"They don't seem like they were fun adventures."

Obi-Wan looked over at the older boy. He was wearing his full armour sans his helmet.

He couldn't help but be envious of the undersuit that looked way more advanced than Obi-Wan had seen before. He could tell by the way the beskar was strapped and how light yet durable the fabric was.

Jango noticed Obi-Wan's gaze and smirked, "I've missed wearing it lately."

Obi-Wan sighed, stretching his limbs to feel his own beskar, "I miss mine too."

"What happened to it?" Jango asked, hearing the sorrow in his tone.

"It was stolen from the Temple," Obi-Wan said, looking away in shame. "I was in a coma for a long time."

"No kidding," Jango agreed. "What's it like being a Mandalorian Jetii?"

Obi-Wan looked up at the familiar constellations, the wind singing through the leaves in the night.

"It used to be fine, my father was a respected elder. Respected more than some members of the High Council, but things have changed."

"They pity you," Jango guessed.

Obi-Wan sighed again, "No, they are afraid of me."

Jango frowned, "They are your family, your aliit."

Obi-Wan sat up to look down at Jango, "Yes, they are, and I would never hurt them. But they are afraid of who I could become, afraid that I will grow up to be like my clan."

"The Vizslas," Jango spat.

"Yes," Obi-Wan said with equal bitterness. "Yes, Those Who Watch Death."

Jango sniggered, "You mean 'Death Watch?'"

Obi-Wan glared at him, "That is what I said."

"You sound like a snob."

"You sound illiterate."

"But why are the Jetiiese so offended by them? Tor Vizsla killed my buir."

"My condolences," Obi-Wan said, ignoring Jango's smirk at his language.

"But what did they do to the Jetiiese?" Jango asked.

"They openly tout that they hunt Jedi for sport."

Jango's lips curled in disgust, "They are terrorists. They kill other Mandalorians if they don't submit to Tor's rule."

Obi-Wan grimaced, hating that his clan had descended to such lows. "Have you ever heard of the True Mandalorians?"

Jango smiled, "Yes, I've heard of them."

Obi-Wan frowned at him, "Do you know what a Seeker is?"

The boy shook his head.

"They are Knights and Masters who travel the galaxy, looking for children—"

"The child snatchers, you mean?"

"No," he answered flatly. "People who present as being Force sensitive to be adopted by the Order often find themselves in danger or danger to others. Strong Force sensitives are often abandoned for their 'magic powers', for being different or for superstition about the Sith and Jedi. You would be amazed how many Jedi were found as infants in the trash or left in the wilderness to starve or be eaten. Seekers find those children or answer calls by guardians who wish to surrender their children to the Order."

Jango looked deflated, "Oh, I didn't know that."

"Most people have some level of Force sensitivity, but those who come to our Temples are usually those who can't control it or live normal lives if they try suppressing it. A lot of people who try go insane."

Jango looked a bit nervous at that but asked, "Why did you mention the True Mandalorians?"

"Because their sigil was found carved into the hull of a ship with a Seeker and his three charges, three younglings, little, little ones who had been torn apart."

Jango sat up, "What!?"

"They were slaughtered, including an infant. They weren't able to put all the pieces back together for their cremation. It was as good as a declaration of war."

"Are Jetiiese planning on going to war?" Jango asked, voice pitching.

"No," Obi-Wan answered. "But I pity the Mando who approaches a Master with violent intent. They will be met with lethal retaliation."

Jango stared at him, "But you're a Mando."

Obi-Wan shrugged, "A Master has taken me under her wing without reservation. I understand my people's fears and I do not fault them for it, not when I hear the Mandalore System is on the brink of a civil war."

Jango must have sensed his regret, because he reached out to touch his neck exposed above his kute. There was a slight tingle where their skin touched, which Obi-Wan couldn't bring himself to focus on as Jango bowed his head. Their foreheads pressed together in a keldabe kiss.

It wasn't Obi-Wan's first. Hells, it was something shared between kin and clan members, but it was the first time he was old enough and with someone he found attractive enough to be slightly embarrassed by the intimate gesture.

"The Ka'ra sustains you, Alor'ad," Jango said. "Never regret who you are or where you come from."

Obi-Wan pulled back, certain his cheeks were flushed.

"I'm True Mandalorian," Jango said, ruining the moment.

Obi-Wan caught his wrist, that same tingling sensation sparking beneath his fingertips. "Jango, I know we do not know each other well, but I know that you are not evil. You have a dar'manda in your midst. A monster. If he does not harm your clan personally, then he will bring harm to your people."

Jango opened his mouth but the dream broke.

Obi-Wan came awake as someone on the packed transport picked themselves off the floor having tripped over his and Master Tahl's legs.

Tahl hushed him like a foundling, tucking him beneath her arm. He huddled against her side, shielding them both from the chill of space zapping the heat from the minimally insulated ship.

Obi-Wan, unable to fall back asleep. Instead, he meditated on his conversation with the other Mandalorian boy and what the Ka'ra's purpose was in bringing them together.

oOo

Satine was roused rather rudely by the boy she had finally coaxed into kriffing her.

Or, at least, the boy she thought she had seduced.

Jango wasn't the first boy she had fooled around with, though she preferred girls.

Her father had told her to do whatever it took to sway the son of the Mand'alor to their side. Her older brother might be first in line to the throne but their father wasn't a fool and recognized Satine as the better choice.

"Jango?" she asked.

He tossed her clothes at her as he yanked on his own pants. "We have to get back."

She glowered at him before quickly dressing.

"Why?" she asked.

"I have to speak to Buir."

"About us?" she asked, fastening her boots before standing.

"No," he answered sharply. "This is important."

She saw red.

Jango froze, then swore. "Satine, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

She shoved past him.

He was a karking idiot and his lack of care burned her pride more than her heart.

Jango Fett was attractive, but she could never fall in love with such a moron.

oOo

AN: Thoughts, water monitors, or feedback, please?