Work Text:
Their new protectors seem… off to Qui-Gon.
The Senate had assigned the Jedi Master and his young Padawan to a diplomatic mission in the Mandalore system, to guard and advise the young Heiress to the Duchy during the turbulent times of the Civil War. They were supposed to be helping her guide her people into a new era of peace and prosperity, but it seemed the people claiming a hereditary connection to the planet hadn’t wanted to give up their barbarous and bloody ways for a perceived outsider. Death Watch, a terrorist branch of the Mandalorian traditionalists had launched a vicious attack on the capital, bombing the Sundari palace and killing Duke Kryze, and supposedly his youngest daughter as well. Qui-Gon had been forced to take Duchess Satine on the run, never settling in one place for long, while waiting for the Kryze forces to chase off the terrorists in the capital. They had been running for almost four months when they had been found.
The abandoned farmhouse on Concord Dawn had originally seemed like the perfect place to hide out the Death Watch for a few days; no one would have expected the Duchess to have hidden away in a half-burnt ruin of an overgrown farmstead. They hadn’t expected two Mandalorians in armour to come across the three of them, and at the time, Qui-Gon had hoped that a fight would mean that Bruck could release some of his temper into the Force, and that his teenaged Padawan would stop getting into arguments with their charge.
But they hadn’t been Death Watch. No, the Mythosaur skulls painted on their pauldrons was the symbol of the self-identified True Mandalorians - a political party that was supposed to be dead. The massacre of Galidraan under false pretenses was one of the Jedi’s greatest mistakes, they had trusted the Senate’s information and it had led them astray. The leaders of the movement had been killed nearly four years ago, by a party that Qui-Gon’s own Master had led. The Jedi who had gone to Galidraan never recovered, be it from their injuries or from the mental strain, and many of them, including Qui-Gon’s own Padawan-sister, had chosen to walk away from the Order, their trust in themselves and the Senate gone.
He had been worried that the Mandalorians would try to take a piece of flesh out of them in vengeance for their fallen comrades. Mandalorians were known for holding long grudges, and the True Mandalorian loyalists had been quiet for a lot longer than was necessarily comfortable, putting all the Jedi near the Mandalorian sector on edge - it wouldn’t have been too bad if the Clans had sworn themselves to the New Mandalorians, but they didn’t, and it worried Qui-Gon that they had instead bowed to the Death Watch. They had all expected an attack, and when the two Mandalorians walked into the farmhouse they had been hiding in, Qui-Gon had braced himself, but nothing had happened. Instead, the smaller of the two, armour painted dark red with small details in white, had offered them a lift. Even with the helmet on, his youth was obvious, and it must have been the reason why Duchess Satine had agreed.
Qui-Gon, his Padawan, and the young Duchess had been brought to their ship, and Satine had been reunited with her younger sister, who had been clinging to a third Mandalorian, a woman with black and gold armour, like she was the only thing between young Bo-Katan and violence. According to the woman, Death Watch had made a habit of stealing children young to indoctrinate them, and there had been something in her muffled Force signature that had soured Qui-Gon’s stomach. None of the three Mandalorians had given their names, but the man, identifiable by his grey and blue armour, had promised them safety and a ride, even if he hadn’t seemed pleased with the fact. The youngest of the three seemed to make an effort to make them feel welcomed, even if he seemed more at ease with the Duchess than he did the two Jedi, and Duchess Satine had begun to try to sway him to the ways of the New Mandalorians. He’d listen politely, and agree with some of her points, but he’d also argue others, turning basic conversations into debates that would get heated and lead to Satine storming off from their talk in a huff - but she’d always go back for more, never turning down an opportunity for a verbal spar.
Something about the boy seemed almost familiar, in an eerie, haunting way. He never removed his helmet, but something about him drew Qui-Gon towards him. Perhaps he was an undiscovered Force Sensitive? There was no law outside of Republic space that said that parents had to register an infant’s midi-chlorian count, so there was no way for the Jedi Order to find all of them. Qui-Gon himself had once trained as a Finder, so that could be what he was sensing. The Force moved around the youngster as if he were a favoured child, a bundle of Light and love that lit up whenever he was around the older Mandalorians - his father and aunt, if Qui-Gon’s translations were correct. He was a mystery but not one he would have to wonder about for much longer.
They had been dragged into another fight with Death Watch, having been off the ship to refuel and resupply when they had been cornered. It had been fierce and bloody, and the male Mandalorian had torn through the Death Watch warriors, his sister at his side and his son picking off others with his sniper from up on the ridge where he and Bruck had stayed behind to guard the two Kryzes. Qui-Gon had moved to join the other two adults on the field, when the youngest Mandalorian’s shots had stopped, and the screaming had begun. If the adult Mandalorians were fierce before, they were bloodthirsty afterwards.
The Death Watch soldiers didn’t stand a chance, and within moments, the armoured sentients had been loping back up the ridges to find the younger half of their party facing off against another group of Mandalorians. Bruck had his orange ‘saber lit, and the youngest Mandalorian was at his side, his sniper abandoned in favour of one of his pistols, one arm hanging uselessly at his side. Even young Bo-Katan had a hold on a weapon, and both boys had put themselves between the Duchess and her sister, and the assassins after them. The gray Mandalorian took out the last group on his own. He had shot them without hesitation to get to his son, before ushering them all back to the ship, all-but carrying the protesting youngster in his arms. The female Mandalorian had hurried to the cockpit to take off, and was looking for the medkit, and the rest of them were left in the cargo hold.
And then the helmets had come off.
Qui-Gon can’t look away from the teenager that had been revealed. He’s looking at a ghost - older than the Initiate he had known. His round face had slimmed, but there’s still a layer of baby fat on those freckled cheeks. His ginger hair is longer, down to his chin in sleek waves, but his eyes are still blue.
“Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Qui-Gon murmurs, carefully releasing his shock and unease into the Force, and those blue-grey eyes shift towards the Jedi Master. The youngling is ashen with pain, the unmasked Mandalorian leaning over his doubtlessly broken arm and gently stripping it of armour, and he’s wincing every so often, though he’s carefully releasing the worst of his pain into the Force.
Qui-Gon had seen his face in his dreams for years. He had seen the petulant boy he had been when they had parted ways on the Monument, the way he had stubbornly refused to accept the path the Force was leading on. He had been clingy and argumentative; not cut out of the life of a Jedi. He had hoped the life of a farmer would help the child commune with the Living Force, and teach him how to release his arrogance. Instead, Xanatos had mistaken the boy for Qui-Gon’s Padawan, unaware that his former Master had been instead looking toward young Bruck Chun - who had been so much like Xanatos had been when he was a child, who Qui-Gon hoped to save from the same fate as his second Padawan - and had sold him to the slavers in an attempt to hurt Qui-Gon. The atmosphere in the Temple had seemed heavier after Xanatos’ mocking holo had reached them, and Master Yoda himself had led the search party trying to find the missing youngling. Qui-Gon had even joined a few groups scouring the Galaxy, his quietly stunned Padawan at his side, but there had been nothing to find; Obi-Wan Kenobi was gone.
Apparently not as gone as believed though, because Kenobi sits in front of him, stripped of the top half of his Mandalorian armour, one arm a mottled mess of swelling coloured purple and green. He had been right in front of Qui-Gon’s eyes for the last three weeks, but he hadn’t revealed himself.
Kenobi stared back at him, expression carefully neutral, and grey eyes distant. “Master Jinn,” He replies slowly, head tilting and shoulders hunching slightly, “My name is Ben now. Ben Fett be Mereel.”
Beside Qui-Gon, Satine sucks in a sharp breath, and Bruck goes carefully still, both of their alarm flaring in the Force. “Fett.” She says smoothly, but her fear is obvious in her Force signature.
The man kneeling beside the Temple’s lost Initiate straightens, turns, and stares the three of them down with dark, angry eyes. Next to Qui-Gon, Bruck flinches back -
“Buir.” Kenobi chides, voice thready with pain, but carrying enough steel to make the muscle in Fett’s jaw jump, and Kenobi gives the Mandalorian a pointed look. “Arla is on her way back with the kit.” Fett glowers at them a moment longer, before he bares his teeth - an obvious threat - and turns back to the teenager on the crate. Kenobi’s blue eyes drift back to the two Jedi, and his head tilts again, “Do you need medical attention Padawan Chun? That bolt that got past your guard must have been painful.”
Qui-Gon stiffens, turning his head to study his Padawan, who shuffles guiltily with a faint wince of pain that twists the old burn scar covering the left side of his face. He’d need to run the boy through more training katas to ensure it wouldn’t happen again.
“I’m fine.” Bruck says quickly, ducking his head - a far cry from the arrogant child he had been, and Qui-Gon is proud of how he was growing.
“Doubt it, Jet’ika.” The female Mandalorian had returned, her own helmet removed, revealing a handsome woman with a strong resemblance to Fett, though her brown hair had been bleached a sunny blonde. She has a medkit in hand, and is studying Qui-Gon’s Padawan with unimpressed brown eyes. “Take a seat. I’ll look at you once I’ve got Ben’ika’s arm under control.” She sneers at Qui-Gon, before her eyes flick away dismissively. “Kat’ika, Lady Kryze - either of you need bacta?”
“No, sir!” The eleven year old chirps, and Duchess Satine soundlessly shakes her head, pale eyes still locked on Fett’s back.
“You’re Jango Fett.” Satine says blankly, and - oh. That would explain the aggression. The disgraced and supposed-to-be-dead Mand’alor had been right under their noses this entire time, likely biding his time until he could remove the Duchess from her throne and seize power for himself.
“Nayc - I’m Arla.” The older woman says cheerfully, but there’s something sharp in her eyes - a dare to them to reveal Fett’s identity, and thus recognize him as a challenger for the Throne of Mandalore, no matter how illegitimate. “Grumpy over there is my vod’ika, and of course, there’s my vod’ad, Ben.” She gives Bruck a pointed look, gesturing at the crate where Kenobi is sitting. “Sit, Jet’ika.”
Qui-Gon sighs, “Go ahead, Padawan. You’ll just slow us down otherwise.”
Bruck flinches guiltily, “Yes, Master.” He murmurs, ducking around him and limping over to the crate where he sits down beside his childhood rival, expression suitably apologetic.
“Initiate Kenobi.” Qui-Gon turns his attention to the other teenager, folding his hands in his sleeves and studying the boy with quiet disappointment that has him twitching closer to the Mandalorians. To have caused so much worry, to run around with Mandalorians instead of doing his duty - “A word.”
Fett growls, spinning around to plant himself between the run-away Initiate and the Jedi Master. He bares his teeth, fury swirling around him and writhing like a Dark shadow. Qui-Gon eyes him serenely, calculating. The man, if he had been Force sensitive, would have already Fallen to the Darkside. He’d have to remove his influence from Kenobi, to ensure he hadn’t tainted the boy.
“My son isn’t going anywhere with you, Jetii.” Fett snarls, “You and your pet Duchess are only here because he wanted to help; you want to talk to him? You do it while I’m there or not at all.” The disgraced Mand’alor glowers, dark eyes burning with hatred, and over Fett’s shoulder, Kenobi watches silently.
His eyes are still blue, but they aren’t warm anymore. There was none of the bright hope and adoration of a Jedi Initiate, there was nothing familiar about them beyond the colour. Instead, they’re cold - frigid and distant with distrust, and similar enough to Xanatos’ gaze in the last years of his Padawanship that it had Qui-Gon itching to palm his lightsaber.
He’d have to report this to the Council.