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generalobi · 3 years

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So I know you like just continued this, but I'm addicted to your Medlida/Daan story. Totally at your own pace, I would love to see more interactions between Obi-Wan & Jango & Jaster's possible arrival. Your writing is absolutely brilliant and I love how you wrote the Mandalorians reacting to these children forced to grow up so quick. Fantastic job.

Nield doesn’t look happy that Obi-Wan is giving them another lecture on Mandlorian culture. It’s not like Obi-Wan wants to be teaching a group of twelve teenagers a history he only half understands. Sometimes, the Force works in mysterious ways.

“The Manda’lor is usually a successive position,” Obi-Wan taps the word he’s scrawled on the wall, “Handed down either from parent to child, or from Manda’lor to a chosen successor. Te Sol'yc Mand'alor, or Mandalore the First in Basic, was supposedly the one who conquered Mandalore and exterminated the mythosaurs. The Manda’lor leads the clans, each clan has their own clan leader.”

Herti frowns, “Usually successive?”

“Uh, yes. Jaster Mereel, the current Manda’lor, was chosen by his faction as their Manda’lor and given the official title when the Haat’Mando’ade, the True Mandlorians, won the civil war. He’s elected his son, Jango Fett as his successor. I’m pretty sure I told you all this last time.”

Daria rolls her eyes, “We’re a Council of twelve equal leaders, idiot, most us weren’t listening to a word you said last time. You and I are the only ones who needed to know. Wait, did we ever tell them we were the planetary leaders?”

“That was in the original missive I sent them,” he says, exasperated, “Whether they realised exactly what that meant or not, I don’t know. Anyway, carrying on. Jaster Mereel has been Manda’lor for twenty years, officially for seven.”

“So about the same time we’ve been leaders?” Nield observes thoughtfully, “Remind me why he’s somehow more qualified than us?”

Obi-Wan resists the urge to scream, “Because, he was a leader for thirteen years before he was officially Manda’lor. Like I just said. He’s been Manda’lor for as long as I’ve been alive. We’re plenty qualified, but that doesn’t mean that we always were. We were just children, Nield. You know that as well as I do.”

“Obi-Wan is right,” Mal says, “Now, shut up and let him teach us history so we can keep our nice new trade deal.”

Jango finds that the full MelidaDaan Council is a lot more impressive than he was expecting. Facing twelve battle-hardened veterans is intimidating, even if none of them are older than twenty-one. He imagines even his buir is feeling it.

“It is an honour to meet you, Manda’lor,” the oldest one bows stiffly, “I am Minister Nield. We are pleased to welcome you to our city.”

His buir bows back, “The honour is mine, Minister Nield. I only wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Indeed,” another Minister inclines their head, “We understand you have some questions about our history. We would be more than happy to answer them over dinner, if you’d follow us?”

They’re lead into the same large hall Jango and Myles had been given their first meal in. This time, it’s just the Mandalorian delegation and the Council.

Jango finds himself seated across from Minister Kenobi. The polite smile on his face is a far cry from the genuine joy Jango had seen when he was surrounded by children. That joy… that laugh. He found that he wants to be the one who makes him laugh like that. Maybe, after they’ve got their answers and are no longer in the middle of a negotiation, he can try.

Food is brought in, all of the servers clearly of age. Maybe as a statement, maybe not avoid making anyone uncomfortable.

Jango’s buir has never cared for niceties, or stood on formality. Sometimes, he wonders if Jaster prefers his political opponents and allies uncomfortable.

“So,” his buir says, “We have questions. The first is, do you use child soldiers? Because Mandalorians do not stand for the abuse of children, no matter the reason.”

Minister Kenobi hums thoughtfully, “That is a more complicated question that you know. As you have probably noticed, there are very few adults among us.”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

A girl with short cropped hair raises an eyebrow, “It’s not. Not here, not for us. Your children come of age at eighteen in war time, yes? My name is Jyfn, I was ten when we retook our planet. My parents did not want peace, so I ran away and joined the Young. We are all members of the Young. The Elders bombed and killed each other for hundreds of years, and the few left by the end were killed in the final battle, imprisoned for the crimes they committed or exiled themselves to the farmlands.”

A boy with scarred eyes continues, “The Elders blinded me. We were all child soldiers. We do not want to make the children fight, but many of us are children ourselves. Nield is the oldest, he is twenty-two this year. How do we define what an adult is, what a child is? We fought a war when we were nothing but babies ourselves.”

“Children younger than ten don’t work,” Minister Kenobi says, “Children younger than thirteen don’t learn to fight. Ten is how old our youngest Council members were when we won the war, and thirteen is how old I was. As we grow older, as our population grows, the ages will no doubt change. But, by your definition, we do have children soldiers. Some of this Council are child soldiers. I understand your discomfort, Manda’lor, however we cannot overcome our past in isolation from the galaxy.”

“I see,” Jaster scans the assembled Council, “Well, this food is very good.”

It’s late, later than is acceptable to be wandering around. But Jango can’t sleep. Myles and his buir are still talking, trying to find more information without asking the Council to relive more of a traumatic past.

He’s hopelessly lost when he stumbles about Minister Kenobi. He’s sitting on a balcony, gaze on the cloudless sky. Jango debates just leaving him to it, but they might as well both not sleep together.

“Hello, Prince Fett,” he greets, without looking, “Can I help you?”

“I can’t sleep, and it seems you can’t either.”

He shrugs, “Oh you know, old memories and the usual insomnia. What about you?”

“Mostly horror,” Jango settles next to him, “We have a word for your Elders on Mandalore.”

“I know,” he smiles slightly, “Demagolka, right? The description certainly fits the Elders, though they never experimented on us. At least not overtly. They settled on lesser war crimes.”

“Like the murder of children?”

“Maybe not that lesser.”

Jango looks at Minister Kenobi’s moonlit figure. The sharp lines of his silhouette stark against the dark blue sky. He looks older and wearier in the strange half-light of the night. The subject of his stories to the children rises up in his mind. He spoke of Coruscant and Shili and Alderaan. With a civil war like the one here, there’s little chance he would’ve had the opportunity to visit them.

“Were your parents Elders, like the others?” Jango asks cautiously, wary of the answer.

Minister Kenobi doesn’t look at him, “No, at least not to my knowledge. I believe they were from Stewjon, and that they’re Stewjoni. I didn’t grow up with them.”

“Where did you grow up? And how did you end up here?”

“I think that is a story for another time,” he stands, “I must bid you goodnight, Prince Fett. Tomorrow is another busy day.”

“Goodnight, Minister Kenobi.”

He watches as the man slips back inside the Fortress, feet soundless on the tiles and a suspicion forming in his mind.

#foriegnminsterwan #ministerwan #jango fett #Obi-Wan Kenobi #obi-wan kenobi needs a hug #jangobi #melida/daan #nield #this installment we actually see some jangobi #Jaster Mereel #confused mandalorians #mandalorians #mentions of child soldiers #i think this is a 1000 words #so go me #i have a chemistry exam tomorrow so #this is my avoidance

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