Keynote: I will likely have plenty of dark things to include in this fic and probably a lot of PTSD to handle later in the story. As such I'm going to spare you some of the nitty gritty of war. Because while I've researched a lot of war, I've researched enough child soldiers to not enjoy writing the details myself.
Thank you, Muffin!
Chapter 14 - Remembrances
Jango never forgot about his sister, his ori'vod, but it was always hard this time of year.
He had seen the looks Myles had given him and Jango couldn't help but be grateful that he and the rest of the clan had been distracted from the date.
Even Jaster.
The chime pinged on his door and he sighed, rolling over onto his side away from the door as he called, "Come in."
The sound of those boots with that gait told him it was Jaster. Jango hunched in on himself.
Okay maybe his buir did remember and maybe he was glad or maybe he was sick of his buir's overprotectiveness.
Jaster sat down on the other side of the bed and ran his gloveless fingers through his hair, "Ner adi'ika."
Jango sighed, relaxing by increments as they sat in silence, the soothing touch of Jaster's hand through his hair.
When he had been little, that small gesture had been the only thing to get him to sleep at night when the nightmares got too intense.
"Do you still think the Jetii are evil?" Jango asked, willing to talk about just about anything other than Arla and the farm.
"I do not think their intent is evil but that their actions can be."
"Myles said it was the Mandalorians who hurt them."
"I don't want to go to war with them, ner ad, but that does not mean I would trust them with your life either."
Jango sighed, turning over to rest on Jaster's chest. Most people wouldn't consider Beskar a particularly nice resting place for one's cheek, but the armour was something he could trust.
Had his buire and ori'vod had it, perhaps they would still be here.
Losing so many of the New Mandalorians had driven that reality home, showing exactly the difference armour could make.
Jaster's hand continued to run through his hair.
"Buir?"
"Hmm?"
"Why do you know so much about the Jedi?"
Jaster sighed, "Myles was right that often when it comes to relations between a Jetii and a Mando, it is the Mando'ade that can be the more brutal."
"Then why have you been so cautious?"
"Because when they wish it, Jetii or Dar'Jetii, the harm they can do is unparalleled and they should never be underestimated. This is a lesson Mandalorians will continue to be taught and it is near inevitable that our peoples will continue to clash. We are the two greatest warrior nations of this era, the Republic covets too greatly our system's position and resources."
Jango scowled, "But you just said our people are more dangerous between the two."
"Our people are quicker to violence," Jaster said, a note of remorse in his voice.
"Buir?" he asked, twisting to look up at him.
"I was hoping that you would lose interest. That you would see that someone calling themselves Kenobi could only be a lie." Buir sighed, "But I know the call of the Ka'ra is not so simply shrugged off."
Jango frowned and admitted, "I don't understand."
"The danger in regards to the
Ka'ra doesn't just come from the Jetiiese but from association with them. Bearing the mark of their Order is a perilous thing, especially as you are son of the Mand'alor, a Mand'alor who enough people know to be Ka'ra touched himself."
It took him a moment.
Jango sat up so he could look into to Jaster's eyes, "What?"
"I was born Ka'ra touched. And my buire did everything in their power to keep that fact hidden from our village. When I joined the Journeymen, I thought I had found my home. My code meant everything to me. But when I slipped one day–"
"Slipped how?" Jango asked.
"Visions. I still have them, but my mistake was confiding in my vode. I was condemned for lying about being something other and removed from my position as my battle prowess had been falsely inflated."
"What?" Jango squawked.
Jaster's smile was bitter, "I don't know how to shield you from that. Stewjon's culture is the most superstitious of our system, whereas on Mand'aim, Ka'ra touched are trained as Gorane because they can be trained to hear the songs of beskar."
Jango's mind was still reeling, "But what does that even mean?"
Jaster touched his cheek gently. "It means that it's complicated. Jetiiese are mostly conflict adverse, yet can be forces of nature if they snap. Killing their Padawans, their ade, never ends well. But when it comes to Mandalorians? Death Watch hunts them for sport and hide any Ka'ra touched among them jealously, some clans raise them up as Gorans—the historians and spiritual centers of our clans—yet others exile them as I was, or kill them as the Stewjoni do. Mandalore is a Creed, ner ad'ika, but that Creed is not interpreted the same way by every planet, moon, or clan, nor even repeated in the same wording. Those who are born to the system sometimes respond to generational traumas with the Ka'ra touched from those adopted in."
Jango sighed, "So you're scared for me because you don't know how anyone will react. Not the Jetiiese, nor our own people, but more likely than not the reaction isn't good."
"It is why so many choose to hide it as I do, or become Gorane."
"Because no one karks with a Goran."
Jaster nodded.
"I've no skill for black smithing of any kind, Buir."
"I know Jan'ika. And I don't want you to hide. But I also don't want you to run a foul of someone who would hurt you when your back is turned. I certainly don't want someone taking over your dreams."
Jango slumped into his buir's, "Why does this have to be so complicated?"
Jaster ruffled his hair before putting an arm around his shoulders, holding him close. "Because magic is stupid even if the Ka'ra means well."
"What are your visions like?"
"Nothing concrete. Typically just flashes. Snippets of battles, the endpoint of hyperjumps. Sometimes they are things of the past, and sometimes they are meaningful, like the night you first let me sit beside you without crawling out of your skin. After I asked to adopt you, before you said yes, I saw myself ruffling your hair in the co-pilot seat without you trying to chomp my fingers off."
Jango flushed.
He had been a feral adiik. It had been months before Jango finally accepted Jaster's claim of adoption. He had given Myles a black eye when he had asked, and maybe bitten him once or twice.
"Obi-Wan–" he began but cut himself off.
Jaster sighed, "Tell me, Jan'ika. So far he hasn't asked you for help or to come to him. Which isn't a reason to trust him, but he has no purposeful harm."
Jango settled a bit, "I only feel the Ka'ra in those dreams, like he's the conduit for me to sense it."
Jaster nodded, "I can believe that, you've never displayed any of the signs."
"Why not tell me this before?" Jango asked.
His buir rested his forehead against Jango's and asked in turn, "Ner ad'ika, what have I been training you over the last few months?"
"Oh," Jango breathed, realisation hitting him hard.
Buir had been training him how to kill Jetiiese.
How to kill Ka'ra touched.
As if reading his mind, Buir said, "Jan'ika, I've been teaching you how to handle someone with a laser sword, how to survive being jumped in the night, or attacked dishonourably from behind. I have not taught you how to–deliberately–kill the Ka'ra touched. At least not beyond the sense that I myself am Ka'ra touched and as long as you have been training with me since you joined us, how to handle the extra speed and strength that is inherent in having a developed sixth sense."
"Why does this have to be so complicated?"
Jaster smiled, "There are skills and traditions inherent to all cultures and people. But the reality is that you can never be sure of an individual. Sometimes that can work in your favour, not every Mando'ade is warrior, just as every Jetii isn't wedded to the Republic. But you must prepare for the worst."
"Not just for my own safety, but for our clan and people," Jango said.
"I'm sorry for the weight I've placed upon your shoulders, ner ad'ika," Jaster said.
He shook his head, "Buir… I knew. When you adopted me I knew, and you would let me leave this path if I wished. But I don't. I want to be your heir, I want to be the one to carry your legacy and for my name to always be spoken with yours. When I was younger, I thought you were perfect and a part of me believed that I would never be able to live up to those expectations."
"I'm far from perfect," Jaster said.
"I know, and you've taught me that it's a strength, not a weakness. If you had to be perfect to be a True Mandalorian, no one would be."
Jaster ruffled his hair, "I am so proud of you. You are the best thing in my life."
Jango hugged him but couldn't answer.
The best thing to ever happen to Jaster was the worst thing to ever happen to Jango.
"Would you like me to stay for remembrances?" Jaster asked.
Because of course he did.
Because he knew Jango better than Jango knew himself.
Whatever was going on, they would deal with it.
Whatever had happened or would happen, they would survive it.
oOo
"Master Tahl!" Obi-Wan shouted as she threw herself on the foundlings.
Her body jerked as the shrapnel hit her.
Obi-Wan had never wished for armour more.
He managed to get a shoulder under his Master's arm. Dragging her to safety wasn't difficult, the little herd of foundlings was worrisome.
Obi-Wan was taking them all to Mandalore.
Damn this planet.
It deserved to be glassed.
It deserved to be forgotten.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, mountain goats, or feedback, pretty please?