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Reformist Mand'alor Jaster Mereel has finally convinced his people and the Republic to speak of peace. Mandalorian Empire AU.
(a little racier than my normal stuff, but nothing graphic)
Peace with the Mandalorians seemed like some sort of fever dream. The two-front war the three major powers of the galaxy had been fighting for centuries, with only brief ceasefires, had shaped Obi-Wan's entire life as a Jedi.
Mand'alor Mereel coming to Coruscant was even more of a shock. The Mandalorians only came to invade, not to make peace.
But this new Mand'alor was different. He had worked hard to show his people that they could still be a warrior culture without actual wars, that fighting pirates, putting down rebellions in their own Empire, and securing their border could count enough. There was also some hope within the Senate that they could be talked into mercenary work for the Republic--after all, the ones who didn't wish to stop the war could surely still find satisfaction fighting the Sith.
Obi-Wan had high hopes and didn't even mind that he'd been pulled off his current mission to attend the summit--for some, it might seem odd, since he more often than not fought on the Mandalorian front, but for anyone who knew the Mandalorians it was a show of respect that the Jedi would send one of their best known opponents.
And Obi-Wan wanted to meet Mereel, after so many battles where the two of them were matching wits, sometimes only grabbing victory by the slightest margin because the other was so evenly matched. Never, though, wasting more lives than they had to, something that Obi-Wan had noticed and appreciated for a long time.
When he was introduced, he could feel Mereel's attention, which had been a hazy cloud of boredom, sharpen and hone in on him. His thoughts froze for a second, the intensity making him catch his breath, and then they were moving on and Obi-Wan had the chance to collect himself.
In the heat of battle, fighting Mereel was one of the most potent of experiences. It was no different, now, except the buy'ce Mereel wore on the field was hanging from his belt, his armor shined to an elegant glint instead of covered in dirt and blood.
He looked every bit the statesman he supposedly was and Obi-Wan was...having problems with that. Because it was one thing for the adrenaline high to make him appreciate an opponent like Mereel, it was another thing for him to start having thoughts about his broad shoulders and slightly-sharper-than-full-human teeth.
Yet, despite second guessing himself, he didn't stop flirting as he might have on the battlefield, smirking when he'd landed a metaphorical blow during the treaty debates, letting his outer robe drop to cover his chair when he stood to go over another point of interest.
Mereel's breath did catch at that point, perhaps too softly for anyone not paying attention to notice. He recognized the move, appreciated it as most seemed to for all Obi-Wan's troops found it ridiculous.
What could Mereel do, he wondered, given free access to Obi-Wan? Could those strong arms hold him up against a wall? Could those muscular legs support his weight even as he moved? Would Mereel's devious attack plans translate to the bedroom?
In the Force, he could get just the slightest hints through Mereel's shields that he had the same sort of thoughts. He thought they might be feeding off of the other, Mereel catching his interest, his own intensifying, and then Obi-Wan completing the loop.
Obi-Wan knew such things were dangerous, but thought the danger was in the wanting of something that he would have to deny himself. He didn't realize the true danger until the last days of the summit, when they were finalizing what trades would be made.
And Mereel looked straight at him and agreed to what seemed like a ridiculous amount, in exchange for a tie to the Republic, to the GAR and the loyalty of all of the troops within--a Jedi consort for the Mand'alor.
alpha/obi-wan, Mandalorian Empire AU? If you're interested
Alpha-17/Obi-Wan, Mandalorian Empire AU!
------
Jedi didn’t last long as Mandalorian prisoners--it was something they learned as Padawans, horrible stories filtering their ways down of just what had happened to this Knight or that Master captured on the field of battle.
Jedi weren’t often Mandalorian prisoners, at least. Capturing a Jedi alive was hard to do.
Mostly, that was because the Mandalorians gave as good as they got, they wanted an epic battle against a trained Force user, wanted a fight to the death that could be glorious even if they didn’t win.
Obi-Wan had known something was wrong the moment he faced down a group of Mandalorian supercommandos and they had their weapons set to stun.
He'd almost gotten away, still. Then, because he worried they wanted some information out of him, almost fell on his own saber, but they'd gotten in closer enough to knock him unconscious despite all his tricks.
Waking up on a surprisingly comfortable bed in a fairly large prison cell, Obi-Wan had spent the last few hours trying to figure out an escape route with the limited information he could glean.
There were no other prisoners nearby, there were holorecorders at every possible angle, overlapping each other so there would be no blind spots. The vents were far too small for him. He was not restrained, but there was no way to turn off the forcefield keeping him locked in the room that he could find.
It was a cell designed to keep a Force sensitive in for a long period of time.
When noise finally picked up, he didn't bother acting casual, simply stood in the center of his cell and stared down the hallway as the door opened--and saw a mantrap, with doors clearly shut on the other side, meaning he'd have to get through both layers to get to whatever was beyond.
Only one figure approached, in silver and blue armor and blue kama and cape. No weapons visible, not even the hidden sort that Obi-Wan had learned to look out for over the years.
"While these are lovely accommodations, I really don't have time for a vacation."
Despite the vocoder, he could hear a snort of amusement in answer to his words. "Always in a hurry, Obi-Wan."
The voice wasn't familiar, not through the speaker, but something about the tone--and certainly the familiar address-was. "You seem to have me at a disadvantage...." he trailed off, leaving the space for the other's name.
When the helmet came off, Obi-Wan had the briefest moment to think "oh," before the seriousness of the situation crashed down upon him.
He'd never met the dead Mand'alor used as a template for the Fett clones, of course, but he had met some of the clones--a three-way battle with the Sith had gone badly and he'd found himself with a wounded Master quickly on her way to joining the Force and three supercommandos, two of which were clones.
Knowing that the Mandalorians had cloned an old Mand'alor over a century ago and had kept up the process was not the same as actually meeting them. They weren't the current Mand'alor, but they looked nearly identical to him. Would always look identical to the Mand'alor, unless some major changed happened in Mandalorian politics.
This one was Ta’raysh E’tad, Seventeen, though he'd been called Tar'etad by one of the others who had been too delirious from pain to keep formal before a Jedi. They'd allied, temporarily, and four weeks later separated when they could finally flee out of sight of the Sith.
Obi-Wan had thought the incident forgotten (had assumed, sometimes, that Tar'etad would go the way of many of the other clones going through their trials for Mand'alor-ship and die in battle). He'd never expected to see the man again.
"...I don't suppose you are here to release me? For old time's sake?" When Tar'etad waved a hand signal towards one of the holorecorders and the field between them cut out, Obi-Wan froze in place, putting on the best mask he could to hide his worry. "You...are?"
Tar'etad smirked. "Of course, it wouldn't be right to have you locked away."
"That doesn't sound the same as releasing me."
Still, Obi-Wan took cautious steps forward until he was out of the cell, standing just before Tar'etad. Who stared at him as though soaking him in, before raising a hand to cup Obi-Wan's cheek, ignoring the shocked offense and rising blush he caused.
"I thought of you, after those weeks. The pretty jetii who worked so well with us, fitting in like you'd been made to be in our unit." Obi-Wan shivered at the growing implications. "When I came to power...I knew what reward I wanted to give myself, for winning."
His calm expression faltered. "...You're the new Mand'alor?"
Tar'etad chuckled, hand moving from Obi-Wan's cheek to grip the back of his neck. "Don't worry, cyar'ika, I'm not expecting any formality in private."
Flicking his eyes to the holorecorders, Obi-Wan replied, "And what exactly is it you're expecting from me?"
He'd had to put down the other Jedi with him, to spare them a painful death, and then he'd spent four weeks with nothing but the Mandalorians as company. Watching each other's backs, hunting together, eventually trusting each other in some way. Intense emotions had accompanied it even for him, he couldn't imagine what Tar'etad must have been feeling, without the practice of acknowledging and releasing such things.
That last night, drunk on the possibility of finally getting away from that Force forsaken planet, he'd let Tar'etad in far too close. Now, reminded of it, he could almost remember the feeling of those strong hands, those chapped lips. The offer for Obi-Wan to follow them back to the Mandalorian encampment instead of continue on alone to the Republic ships ringing in his ears once more.
"I've followed your career. The jetiise keep trying to kill your spirit, but you're too mandokar for that."
"Tar'etad--"
"Do you know why I don't fear you running away if I don't keep you in that cell? We're in Keldabe, the heart of the Empire." Obi-Wan's heart sank at his matter-of-fact words. "By the time you figure your way out of here, you'll realize I was right all along, that you should have come with me."
He barely registered when Tar'etad began to kiss him.
Prompt: However you get him there, a silk-clad Obi-Wan sitting on Alpha-17's lap.
Haha pretty visual!
-----------
To think, Kote had pawned this mission off on Alpha-17, thinking it was a boring political affair he didn’t want to stand through.
He must not have seen what Obi-Wan was wearing under his outer robe, the “official ceremonial outfit” of the natives on this dirtball was...something else.
Nearly sheer silk, like some sort of thin-strapped dress that came down just before Obi-Wan’s knees, with a deep, deep dip in the back. It was a pale green and Alpha-17 didn’t have to be particular artistic (which is good, because he wasn’t) to tell it complimented him well.
Nothing underneath it, Alpha-17 could tell that as soon as Obi-Wan took off his robe to greet his counterparts for the negotiations and knew now that Obi-Wan was in his lap.
(Another part of the ceremony that Alpha-17 was shocked to find out wasn’t just Obi-Wan trying to prank him. As the official, single guard allowed in for Obi-Wan, he had to protect him from all things--including the rough stone benches that served as seats.)
Without conscious thought, he was holding Obi-Wan up by his hips, thumbs rubbing circles against the soft material, drawing out little shudders from the General that reverberated down Alpha-17′s thighs. The General who had yet to make any indication he wanted Alpha-17 to stop, despite knowing more than enough ARC hand signals to do so.
He supposed, a boring talk like this, even Obi-Wan needed some sort of distraction to stay focused.
The Mandalorian pantheon barely survived the Excision. But just because a god dies, doesn't mean they're gone forever. (minor blood/gore)
Obi-Wan was good at zero-G, he always had been, even beyond being a Jedi. The way he felt, though, was what he was sure people who were bad with it had described to him.
The world off-kilter. Every attempt to right himself just seeming to make it worse.
Not that he'd been feeling particularly settled. Not for the weeks since he'd been taken from Geonosis, not for the years since the last time he was on Mandalore. Maybe not ever.
Fett said he'd feel better soon, more like his "old self," and that terrified him. Because as much as he wanted to write Fett off as delusional...too much had happened that would be too hard to fake.
The Mandalorians had all sorts of gods, once. And a few lingered still, despite everything. A god of conflict and strife--the god of conflict and strife--was certainly the most likely to survive, even as the traditionalists died off or moved onto other religions.
Obi-Wan knew there were still those who worshiped that particular god because he'd seen it. When he'd been hiding in places like Keldabe with Satine and he'd seen the small blood sacrifices made for the god's favor in battle. When he'd been infiltrating Death Watch cells and he'd seen them dedicate their attacks and the death they caused.
It was easy enough to write "Jango" off as someone vaguely naming their child after the God of Conflict and Fertility, Ja'rango Vhetine. Perhaps not unheard of to imagine some famous bounty hunter being chosen as a template for an army (a trap). But there was no way to hide the powers Fett had or the regard that the Mandalorians were giving him.
But even if he was telling the truth. Even if he was one of the few of the Mandalorian gods remaining...Obi-Wan had a hard time believing what he thought Obi-Wan was.
Yes, he had always accessed the Force oddly, had always seemed, felt, different from his Jedi peers. And, yes, he had felt at home the moment he'd first set foot on Mandalore and had learned the language and culture so fast that Satine had assumed he was using "Jedi tricks" to do so.
That didn't mean he was a god.
There Fett's story became nonsense, the wishful thinking of a being who'd lost too much. Suu'mirjah might have been his counterpoint, but if that god had existed it had died out with the rest. With Mandalore itself. During the Dral'han.
And how could that describe Obi-Wan? The God of Peace in the Mandalorian sense--coming to terms with trauma after war, accepting loss during battle. The one who would guide the faithful on their march away.
He grimaced, then dismissed all of the memories that came to him that did explain it.
Being here was affecting his mind, that was all. No matter how hard he tried to block out the screams coming from the Sundari streets below, he felt the deaths. The New Mandalorian life snuffing out, their blood sinking into the barren soil, infusing it with power and--
No. No, he couldn't think this way. Whatever was driving the traditionalists Fett had brought along into some sort of frenzy of violence and murder must be getting to him. That was it.
His skin was not buzzing with energy. There was nothing scratching at the corners of his mind as though with just a little push more he'd know things he wasn't supposed to know.
At some point, he couldn't keep from drifting. It felt almost like meditation, but he hadn't chosen it.
When he came back to himself, he was standing in the bloody ruin of the New Mandalorian Temple of Suu'mirjah. Satine had told him of it, once, of the New Mandalorians wanting to prove to the traditionalists that they weren't "destroying" their culture by picking one of their old gods to worship. How Suu'mirjah became their God of Peace.
Obi-Wan had known without being told that they'd twisted him to fit some narrow, ahistoric meaning.
Twisted him.
He stepped further inside, staring at the altar (for show, the New Mandalorians performed no sacrifice of any sort, not even of the loss and emotions that their supposed god fed from). Fett was there, looming over it, glowing from somewhere inside.
Satine was lying on it, chest pulled open, still-beating heart on display.
"They wanted to make you their toy. I tried to counter them, with the Haat'ade, with Jaster, who understood you were meant to be. But you were reborn as the slave of our enemies, of your murderers."
Fett's anger festered in the building, creeping across Obi-Wan's skin. Yet, he was compelled to keep moving closer. He could see the tears in Satine's eyes, the blood trickling from her mouth that said she must be silent because her tongue had been removed.
"I didn't--he didn't take sacrifices like this."
The slip made something soften on Fett's face, leaving him looking like some blood-drenched version of the tender kidnapper Obi-Wan had been dealing with before they reached Sundari.
"Just this one. Just to break their hold over you, ner'riduur."
This didn't feel like the sort of thing Obi-Wan's spouse would do, but he knew the words were true, now. As true as all the others.
He also knew, as he stopped in front of the altar, as Fett plucked the heart from Satine's chest, that it wasn't just the New Mandalorians that had perverted Obi-Wan's nature--Death Watch had worshiped Fett for just as long.
One problem, he decided as an old familiar sorrow sank into his bones, at a time.
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They didn't realize anyone else was on the ship until they had left the system, but in retrospect Jango assumed that's the way it was suppose to be.
He even recognized them--one of the less annoying Sith Lords he regularly saw during his talks with them.
"Kenobi, what is the meaning of this?"
The Sith was very calm, considering they had a dozen supercommandos pointing blasters at them and didn't even have their lightsaber in hand.
"I'm smuggling myself out of Sith territory, my dear." Their accent slipped, something Jango had noticed a few times, from the harsh vowels of Mustafar to the softer lilt of Coruscant, a mark that a Sith had once been a Jedi.
"And why," Myles looked about two seconds from pulling the trigger regardless of what Kenobi said, because there was a Sith on their ship and none of them had even known until now, "would you be doing that?"
Kenobi gave one of the charming smiles they was known for, as they worked a room and flirted with whatever officials the Sith wanted to distract. Jango had been on the other side of that look, had once tracked Kenobi all night and realized he got it more than anyone else in the room. He'd figured they liked the challenge he represented and he wasn't about to say no to their attention, even if he wouldn't fuck a Sith under any circumstances.
"Ah...I'm defecting?"
"Defecting. A darjetii is defecting."
They looked to the side, seeming to debate about something, before turning their attention back to Jango. "Actually...an undercover Jedi is defecting."
Their private comms erupted with chatter as his team reacted to that. He forced himself to stay calm, as his father had taught him. Jango was the heir apparent to the Mandalorian Empire, he had to always represent them as well as he could, he could handle this, too.
"Your cover was blown?" It was the most likely solution he could think of, though why a Jedi would come up with a story about defecting as opposed to just sneaking back to Republic territory was still a question.
Kenobi rolled their eyes. "My cover is airtight, because as far as the Sith are concerned, I didn't need much of one." They paused, then continued when they most likely realized they'd grill them for more information, anyway. "Xanatos was a Jedi, as well. He was...the equivalent to my older brother. And the equivalent to our father is...not a good man. A very effective Jedi, but not someone that should continually be trusted with children." The Mandalorians shifted, not particularly liking that idea. "He did something awful to me, at the end of my apprenticeship. I was recruited by the Shadows and we decided to use that to give me an excuse to run to Xanatos."
That was smart, if it was true. Ruthless in a way the Jedi were known for--not caring if they were taking advantage of their younger members, if they were abusing them.
Still... "Then why are you defecting?"
"I haven't heard from my handler in months. I've attempted using the emergency codes I was given for such a situation and...nothing. They're supposed to be in regular contact with the Temple and if something happens to them, the Temple is supposed to find a way to get that information to me and either pull me out or set me up with a new handler." Their expression soured. "Or, that's what I've been told. This is my first mission for them."
"They sent you undercover with the darjetiise as your first mission?" Arla's voice dripped with a disdain Jango agreed with.
Kriffing Jedi. Kenobi, if they were as human as they looked, couldn't be more than their mid-twenties and Jango had seen them around the Sith for at least two years. That was ridiculously young for the sorts of things they had to face, had to do as even a fake Sith.
From the look on Kenobi's face, they agreed with Jango. "So, as you can see, I've decided to...cut my losses. I have no interest in actually being a Sith and the Jedi have abandoned me." If Jango hadn't been watching them so closely, he thought he would have missed the flash of vulnerability that etched across Kenobi's eyes. "I've seen the way you interact with the Sith and I've heard a lot about you. I can't risk staying in Sith territory or returning to the Republic once the Jedi find out I skipped out."
"You really want to become a Mandalorian? You're not just planning on using us until you can get away at a port and head home?"
They shook their head. "I don't...there's nothing left for me back there. Nothing but duty. That's why Xanatos believed me so easily." Their hand motioned to their side--a pouch on their belt. "I have information, the data I was collecting for the Jedi."
There was a lot he still had to find out, but that should be handled by experts, not Jango. If Kenobi was telling the truth, and he thought they could come up with better lies than this if they had to, he couldn't deny them passage, couldn't, as a Mandalorian, prevent anyone from their cin vhetin.
"You'll hand over all your weapons and information, you'll be watched at all times," he stated, only realizing just how tense Kenobi was when they visibly relaxed. "You'll be shackled, you won't make any attempts to remove them." A nod in agreement, then Jango added, partially to see how Kenobi would react, "You'll stay in my room during the night cycles so I can keep an eye on you."
Kenobi's raised an eyebrow, gaze heating up. "I assure you, you won't regret keeping me around."
Maybe Jango had other reasons to want to trust Kenobi, but he knew himself well enough to give it a shot.
Mandalore and Tatooine shared one feature in common.
Obi-Wan watched Anakin in bemusement as the ten year old stood next to their kitchen counter, arms crossed, a Very Serious look on his face.
"What seems to be the problem, Padawan?"
In answer, Anakin took a step to the side--behind him were a handful of bottles and a few small bags holding materials of various colors. It took Obi-Wan a moment to identify them, his eyebrows raising when he had.
"Were these Master Qui-Gon's?"
For all Obi-Wan wanted to take Anakin seriously when he wanted to be, to instill in the boy the idea that he deserved respect, he couldn't help it--he burst out laughing, doubling over from the force of it.
He still remembered how thin and miserable Qui-Gon had been after their return from Mandalore, and he'd spent most of the mission in Sundari!
"Obi~Wan," Anakin whined, his displeasure clear in their still-building bond.
"No, Force, I...apologize, Anakin." He stood up, wiping at the corner of his eyes. "It's just...Qui-Gon hated spicy food. I once had a fight with him over whether salt was a spice."
Anakin's mouth dropped open. "Wait...so...these are yours?"
He nodded. "I'd honestly forgotten I even had them."
"That's why all your food has been...uh...."
"Uh...?" Obi-Wan repeated, pointedly, making Anakin flush.
"It's had no flavor!"
Obi-Wan sighed, reaching up to tug on his Padawan braid, finding nothing, and instead smoothing his growing hair back behind his ear. "I'm sorry, Padawan. I'd grown so used to cooking to Qui-Gon's tastes I...didn't even try to go back to my own." He grimaced. "Or ask you if you really did like it, since you were eating it."
He should have known someone with Anakin's background would most likely eat anything that was safe to consume. And considering how bland the food was in the cafeteria, kept that way to satisfy the most people with the fewest options, he probably just assumed that's how food in the Order would be, even when home cooked.
"I appreciate your forwardness in this. Though only because you went through our shared kitchen, don't take this as an excuse to go through my bedroom," he hastily added, at Anakin's smug look.
Glancing at the clock, he saw it was time to start preparing dinner, anyway, the Initiate Saber class he had been instructing always going a little late.
"What do you say, we make some good food, this time?"
Anakin's smile was blinding.
***
While his collection of spices, as paltry as it had been, was well-preserved, it wasn't perfect. Nor could it sustain them for long. Soon Obi-Wan was showing Anakin the small, out of the way markets of Coruscant which only the Jedi still in touch with their birth or adopted cultures tended to visit.
He stopped first at Mandalorian sellers, knowing those tastes best, and their suspicion of a Jedi in their presence was immediately relieved by the rapid Mando'a they'd end up exchanging. After, he and Anakin searched out all of the Tatooine sellers they could find. Obi-Wan would spend hours with some of them as Anakin played with the local children, writing down recipes for food that might remind his Padawan of his old home.
On missions, they sought out new tastes, testing and challenging each other every time they found something they deemed worthy. If Obi-Wan had a tolerance for spicy food before, it skyrocketed from having to win against Anakin a respectable amount.
***
The other game started...well, Obi-Wan wasn't sure of the exact start time. But eventually, over the years, it became something like a tradition.
Anakin or he would invite a new victim person over for a meal and they'd "forget" to warn them of the spiciness. Occasionally, they found fellow lovers of flavor who took great delight in their cuisine. Most of the time, they had to ply them with milk and bread while trying not to laugh.
Or, Obi-Wan did, because Anakin was very bad at not laughing in people's faces and instead normally just kept stuffing his mouth and saving up the memory to laugh at later.
It was a little mean (as Quinlan insisted, every time he fell for the exact same trick), but it was something he and Anakin shared and he wasn't about to give that up.
***
Some part of Obi-Wan thought that, since a Mandalorian was the template, the clones must have Mandalorian tastes. Of course, he should have realized that they'd be eating what the Kaminoans gave them and have very few chances to experience other flavors.
Watching Alpha-17 sweating, new tears, trying so very hard not to show how much the food Obi-Wan and Anakin had made was affecting him, was (this time) unintentionally funny.
He took pity on him, far sooner than he would have with anyone else, explaining how to counteract spicy foods (and how to spot them) as he whipped up something new in the small galley. Over their bond, Anakin pouted, having wanted to see just how far Alpha-17 would take it, and Obi-Wan sent him a reprimand that had him sulking.
When he set the new, bland dish down in front of Alpha-17, though, instead of a look of relief, he was greeted with a look of determination. "What spices did you use, in the other stuff? I want some of that on this." His eyes glinted. "I need to build up a tolerance before introducing this to Kamino."
Anakin cackled and Obi-Wan hid a smile of his own as he brought up the jars, explaining each one.
Alpha-17 died with the Force collapsing his trachea, the scalpel he'd managed to grab buried too deep in Ventress' gut for her to survive long after him. It was not necessarily a good death, but it was a death he couldn't regret.
