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Jango was already tense, eyes warily tracking the captured jetii General. He was young, younger than Jango would’ve expected for a General of the Republic’s Army – or for a jetii. He had been irritatingly serene about his capture, while his eyes watched sharply, observing everything. He was a dangerous foe -and if he got free, Jango knew the jetii would know far more about Manda’yaim than he would have preferred. Transporting a Jedi, even with his lightsaber safely far away and his hands bound in beskar, was just waiting for something to go wrong. It had Jango on edge.
And then they answered a distress call, and found the trapped children. The ancient tomb the ade had explored had its own defenses, and the beskar that had slammed into place was airtight – no way in, and no way out. Not even for the air they needed to breathe. And there was nothing Jango could do.
The jetii entreated him to let him free, but what could he do? His lightsaber was gone – a sensible precaution, but one Jango now bitterly regretted. Jango might not have trusted the jetii with it, but he could have used it himself if he had to. Used the weapon of a Jedi to save Mandalorian children.
“I can help. The Force will guide me,” the Jedi said, so confident, sure that he could help the ade trapped behind beskar. Jango studied the jetii prisoner intently. His eyes looked unfalteringly back at Fett.
It only took him a moment to decide. There were children’s lives at stake. With a warning to the jetii, he nodded to his men. The Republic General was their enemy, but he had given his word of honor.
The moment the bonds come off, the jetii goes eerily still, eyes drifting shut. He barely seems to be breathing. It’s creepy, and not a bit alarming, but he doesn’t do anything. Jango grits his teeth, impatient. Whatever the jetii was doing, he’d better do it fast – those kids needed help.
The Jedi’s eyes open as he seems to shake himself out of some distance place – if this is Force osik, then Jango wants no part of it. He waits for the Jedi to do something – try to wave the door open with his mind, maybe, or lift his hands and push right through it with his Force and nothing else. He does none of those things.
The Jedi bolts. Jango swears.
He should have known better than to trust in the honor of the General of an honorless nation. He doesn’t have to say a word as he launches himself into the sky, jetpack flaring. His men are behind him. Jango pulls a blaster from his leg and shoots, but the jetii ignores him on his desperate bid for freedom. To run, and leave behind the children he had given his word to help? Jango would take pleasure in taking this jetii hut’uun apart himself, when they caught him. And they would catch him. They were on Manda’yaim – there was nowhere for him to run.
Then he runs for Tarre Vizsla’s temple, and Jango sees red. The rock moves aside with a wave of his hand – and why didn’t he do that on the tombs, Jango thinks bitterly. He could have waved his hand, and the ad’ike would have been free. But no. He should never have believed in the promises of a jetii.
They followed him in, and he swore again as he saw the man run straight for the center of the tomb, crystals lighting up around him like a welcome mat, and make for the Darksaber. The Darksaber that Jango had only suspected was here – that he had never been inside to find. Tarre Vizsla’s saber, artifact of the Mandalorian people, and it was going to be claimed by their most ancient enemy. And a jetii with a saber was a much more dangerous foe.
They landed, and he signaled his men to move in. Then the jetii bowed to thin air, picking up the saber – and impossibly, Jango saw Tarre Vizsla bow back.
He froze, and all his men stilled, staring. None of them could believe their eyes. The jetii was fighting, and Tarre Vizsla met him blade to blade. The battle was mesmerizing, and Jango caught his breath as they spun and clashed, coming together and moving away in perfect synchronization. When the jetii won, his men roared with approval for a battle well fought. Jango didn’t – he stared the jetii down. This wasn’t what he’d expected when the man had bolted out of the tomb, but he was armed now, and free of his bonds. Time to see what a jetii’s honor was worth.
He met Jango’s eyes, then his gaze turned away, out of the Temple and toward the tomb they had left. “The younglings,” the man said, voice hoarse from exertion. He stood a moment, and Jango wondered if he had anything left, after he had spent his energy so fiercely against the shade of a Mand’alor stepped out of the past. If his wound would keep him still, so Jango could get some answers from him about what had just happened. But then he spun, and bolted – again. This time, Jango followed without anger – but with a deep, burning curiosity.
He watches as the jetii brings the Darksaber to bear against the study beskar walls – striking again and again, seemingly blind to all the world around him. He doesn’t seem to register the murmurs of Jango’s men – or the sense of respect underlying them. The jetii General might be their enemy, and their prisoner, but he has honor – had he chosen, he could have turned the Darksaber on them, and maybe even won. But he put the ade first, just as any Mandalorian would have.
The door fell away, and Jango signaled half his men forward to pull the children to safety. His own attention when to the jetii when the man suddenly swayed, then started to tip backwards.
“Easy, verd,” he says, stepping forward and catching him with a supporting arm. With his other, he pulls off his helmet – this jetii has saved the children of his people, he has earned the right to see his face. The man turns to look at him, blinking, and hardly seems to register the words.
“Take a moment, jeti’ika. We’ve got it from here,” Jango says, and then braces himself as the man’s weight slumps into him. Jango looks down to see that one hand still clutches the Darksaber. The other has gone up to his shoulder, where the phantom Darksaber had struck him.
The jetii’s eyes follow his gaze and then, bewilderingly, he tries to straighten, blinking fog out of his eyes to stare at Jango and thrust the saber in his direction. The effort is only mostly successful – the jetii is clearly dead on his feet.
“Sorry,” the jetii says, and Jango’s bewilderment must have shown, because the man presses on. “I’m sorry – I know it’s a cultural artifact of the Mandalorians, and I truly would not have trespassed on your temple if I thought there were any other way-“
Kriff, Jango doesn’t know how the jetii is still talking, let alone managing whole sentences of fancy worded nonsense. What is the jetii apologizing for anyway – saving their ade? But he clearly means it in earnest – he successfully broke away from the Mand’alor and his men, armed himself, and indebted them to him – and now he is apologizing for it and returning his weapon.
This man is clearly an idiot, Jango decides, and pushes away the hand with the saber, instead hooking his arm more firmly behind the jetii so he doesn’t fall on his face.
The man just blinks at him again, slow and bleary. Jango can’t blame him – the man had been captured, outrun a group of Mandalorians with jet boosters to reach an ancient Mandalorian Temple, fought Tarre Vizsla, been struck with a lightsaber and wounded, and then somehow won, and then run back to fight a door. A door made of beskar. Jango would’ve already been passed out on a bunk somewhere.
“The younglings?” the man asks, and his voice is faint as his words begin to slur. Jango looks up, and one of his men signals – safe.
“They’re fine,” he says, and it seems that’s all the jetii needed to hear, because a moment later he gives up any effort to keep himself standing and tips over toward the ground. Jango braces him and turns his fall into a controlled slump onto the floor. The jetii’s head leans back against the wall and his eyes flicker shut, his brow creasing in the pain he must be feeling, but the Darksaber is still held steadily in one hand.
Jango should be worried about that, but instead he is only approving. No Mandalorian warrior would let go of their weapon, no matter how tired they were, when surrounded by the enemy.
The enemy. Why did that sound so wrong? The jetii had saved children, but he was still a General of the Republic.
As if sensing his thoughts – could jetii do that? – the man’s eyes fluttered open again. He looked up, offering Jango a wry smile, and said, “Well, Mand’alor, it seems I am returned to your custody.” There was no resentment, no attempt to leverage the children’s lives for his own – just quiet acceptance.
The man’s composure had been infuriating, before. Now it was impressive, and Jango didn’t want to see him sit out the war in a prison, a hostage for the Mandalorian Empire. He wanted to spar him, this warrior that was worth of the Darksaber of the Mand’Alor, and see what he could become. He wanted to understand why this man would sacrifice the chance to escape to save his enemy’s children.
The last won out.
“Jeti’ika,” he said, a hint of command in his voice, and the jetii looked up at him. “Why?” he asked. He didn’t need to explain. The jetii knew what he was asking.
Their gazes caught, and held.
“I am a General of the Republic,” the jetii said, “but I am also a Jedi. The Jedi are warriors, but –“ he hesitates, some deep anguish flickering over his face, before it disappears. “- we are not meant to be soldiers for war. Not like this. My first duty is to the Force – and to any who need help, Republic or not. Mandalorian or not.”
And Jango can see it in that moment, what this man could be – what all the jetiise could be – without their ties to a faltering, corrupted Republic – without their souls weighted down by conflicting duties and their duties tied to endless war. And he is a Mandalorian – he has never shied from war – but war for its own sake is not the Way.
As flowers are grown by rain, so is the soul grown by war. From suffering comes compassion, from cruelty; mercy, from violence; peace. We are not born when we come into this world. We are born when we learn who we are, and we can only learn by being tested.
The jetii fights his war for the sake of peace, and Jango thinks his people have lost that, somewhere along the way. But maybe they can find it again. From violence, peace.
The Mandalorians and the jetiise were ancient enemies, and the Republic and the Mandalorian Empire had always been at war. But that didn’t mean there was no other way. And perhaps, Jango thought, looking down at the tired form of the jetii who had fought for a people not his own, this was where they started.
This time, when the jetii proferred the lightsaber, Jango told him, “Keep it. It was well-earned. And when you carry it among my people, it will give weight to your words. We will need that, in the days to come, if we ever hope to end this war.”
The look the jetii gives him is almost painful, the hope and disbelief palpable in the air. Jango would see that grow. He would not see the compassion of this jetii destroyed by the war they had all been fighting for too long. He would prefer to see what they could become, shining like a beacon as they emerge from the crucible of war. And he can see it happening at the hands of this man, who turned away from the war for the sake of children.
Children are the future, and their first duty is to their ade. And while their children must grow and be tested in their own time, perhaps they can make a better world for them to grow in.
For the first time in years, Jango dreams of peace.