Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Request to Enter Jedi Temple Archives

Su’cuy gar,

I am Jaster Mereel, Mand’alor of Mandalore. I am requesting permission to enter the Jedi Temple Archives and study any records you have on Sith-Mandalorian relations, starting from the time of Revan if not earlier.

I understand that one of your own has recently defeated a Sith in battle—to which I extend congratulations. In reaction to such news, I aim on keeping myself as knowledgeable as I can.

Vor entye,

Jaster, House Mereel, Mand’alor (he/him)

From: [email protected] 

To: [email protected]

CC: [email protected], [email protected]

BCC: [email protected]

Subject: RE: Request to Enter Jedi Temple Archives

Sure.

Feel free to come on any of the dates listed on the entry form. Make sure to fill out the form attached in full and send that to the main Jedi Archives email ([email protected]) at least three standard days before your intended arrival.

Please present the following code (attached below) to Temple Docking Security when arriving. You’ll be accompanied by at least one Knight while traveling between the docking bay and the archives. Please understand that this is a matter of internal security and is required for all outside visitors entering the Temple. Complaints can be sent to [email protected].

May the Force be with you,

Knight Kenobi (he/him)

Jedi Archivist, Education Corps

ATTACHMENT (2): SPEC-PERMISSIONS CODE, ENTRY-PERMISSIONS FORM (ARCHIVES)

Chapter Text

Jango didn’t want to rain on his buir’s parade, but the closer they got to Coruscanta, the harder Jaster was vibrating in the pilot’s seat. Even Myles was starting to give him worried looks. And Jango could understand it—by Manda, he did, no one else had to sit through years of latemeals where the discussion was just Jaster complaining about not having access to the Jetii’s archives for one reason or another—but now there was more to it.

He glanced down at his datapad. The latest reports from the Jetii Temple still open from weeks before.

Official Notice from the High Council of the Jedi Order:

A Jedi Knight has recently defeated a darksider in combat. While this is still undergoing investigation, we are open to the possibility that this is the return of the Sith.

As they entered the atmosphere Jango felt a nervous shake tremble down his back. He shook out the tenses from his shoulders. It would be fine. The last time he and Myles had seen a Jetii was during the mess on Galidraan. That had put him and his crew on hair’s edge around Jetiise for a while, not that they saw them much afterwards. Even with the distance the Jetiise kept from the Republic, they were still based on one of the most Core World planets in the galaxy. But who knew what would have happened on Galidraan if it wasn’t for that one blond Jetii getting a comm call of all things in the middle of the Jet’alor’s shpiel?

The ensuing muttered apologies and the comm call answered in the middle of a fucking standoff was enough to break some of the tension in the air. Especially when the blond one ended the call and was immediately ribbed by another Jetii about his “idiot brother”. Jango hadn’t known that Jetii had siblings. He still wasn’t really sure if they did.

And now they were going to the Jetii Temple. With special permissions as well. The only saving grace of being in Core space was that the Jetiise stepped back from the Republic, even if the Senate pretended to still have some modicum of control over them. But anyone with a working brain could understand the Jetiise’s statement loud and clear.

The Republic had overstepped the lines drawn after the Ruusan Reformation, and the Jetii would not leave their ancient home. Not without getting everyone else off the stars forsaken planet before them.

Jango could understand that. No Mando’ade truly wished to leave Manda’yaim. But the threat of exile had been very real, and no one planned to leave their aliit behind.

Their ship was still nondescript though. Even with the hyperlanes that the Jetii were managing, there was no need to get the shabla Republic on their backs all because someone finally replied to Jaster’s requests and now the Mand’alor was on Coruscant.

Jaster was about to gift the Jetii—the mysterious “Knight Kenobi”—a knife in thanks before Silas suggested that perhaps the Jetii would prefer something different. Jango had been roped into buying the gift and everything he read said that Jetii liked tea and “natural objects”, whatever that meant. So he cobbled together a nicer tin of shig and a Concordian piri pepper plant that they were struggling to keep alive in transit.

He hoped that the Jetii appreciated their effort. The plant was a little crunchier than it was when he bought it, but the peppers themselves looked plump and just about ready to pluck.

“Buir,” Jango prompted. Jaster was fiddling with a document on his datapad. He had been writing down pages worth of questions, no doubt to pick through the brains of the archivists at the Temple while he had the chance to do so.

“I did forward the forms to you and Myles, Jan’ika. Even Arla has them.”

Jango blinked a few times. He didn’t remember getting an h-mail from Jaster outside of the basic mission roster and briefing. Myles just shrugged and went back to fiddling with his vambrace. Jango sighed and pulled out his datapad to dig through his inbox. There were a handful of new messages. Two from Arla, one from Silas, one from the Goran. About ten more messages down there was one from Jaster he hadn’t seen. Pulling it up opened the special permissions code file.

He looked up when the comms fizzled to life. Just in time too.

“Jedi Temple Docking Security, I’m Knight Muln. Please state your name and purpose.”

Jaster leaned forward, “Su cuy. This is Jaster Mereel coming to visit the Archives, flying on The Aran.”

“Oh, it’s the people Obi’s been talking about,” the Knight said. Though it sounded a little distant, as if the Jetii Knight was leaning away from the mic. The comm died for a second before coming back online a little clearer. “Your entry form states that you have two more members in your party?”

“Elek. Jango Fett and Myles Gilamar,” Jaster replied.

“Okay. May I have your permission code?”

Jango tilted his datapad towards Jaster. “The code is EC-OWK-2224-A-17.”

“Alright. Feel free to dock your ship in bay Besh-two-four. A Knight will meet you to show you to the Archives. May the Force be with you.” And with that the comms cut off, and the gate to the docking bay opened. Jaster shut off autopilot and easily guided the ship into the docking bay.

The Jetii in the bay weren’t wearing robes and tunics. Rather they were wearing flight suits with a modified version of the Jetii wings painted on their backs. Jango tucked his buy’ce under his arm as he waited for Jaster and Myles to come down.

He checked over his shields, feeling a little exposed without the extra layer of protection his buy’ce offered. But in the briefing Jaster had written in bold, “It’s known that beskar has a Force nullifying affect that can be disconcerting to Jetii. We are guests in the Jetii’s home and will treat them with respect. You two have been chosen because of your ability to shield your minds. So keep your buy’ces off outside of explicit danger or command.”

Myles stood a little straighter, chin tilting up as he spotted someone over Jango’s shoulder. Jango turned and his mouth went dry as he looked at one of the most attractive people he’s seen in his life.

The Jetii smiled at them, bowing their head just slightly, long copper hair falling from where it was tucked behind his ears. They were wearing the customary long, brown robe with plain looking beige tunics underneath. As they stood straight, they tucked their hands into their sleeves.

“Hello there,” the Jetii greeted, “I am Jedi Archivist Obi-Wan Kenobi. I’m assuming you’re… Jango Vhett?”

Jango nodded a little dumbly. The Jetii smiled brightly at him, before smoothing out his expression and standing taller when Jaster and Myles came to stand beside Jango.

“Su cuy, Knight Kenobi,” Jaster greeted, “Thank you for allowing us into the archives.”

“It was the will of the Force,” Kenobi stated. They stepped back slightly. “Now, if you would follow me. I’ve gathered a few of the documents I believe would be of most use to you in my office already.”

Myles kicked Jango’s foot and shoved the box with their gifts into his hands. Kenobi tilted his head curiously. He squinted, the corners of his eyes crinkling as Jango fumbled with the box before holding it out to him. It was a simple tin box, painted reliable blue and respectful pink with a stupid bow jauntily glued to the top where Arla slapped it on last minute.

“Jas’buir insisted,” Jango said. Kenobi carefully took the box and popped the lid off. His expression lit up as he carefully pulled out the tin of shig.

“Oh, how wonderful! Thank you, this is much appreciated,” he said. He tucked the shig back into the durasteel box and bowed. “Now, the Archives?”

Jaster took the first step to follow, with Myles and Jango easily taking position one step behind him at each shoulder. Kenobi greeted a few of the Jetii they left the docking bay, waving to one in particular who yelled out a reminder about “Clan Dinner” later that week. Myles glanced at Jango.

They didn’t realize that Jetii had Clans either.

The inside of the Temple was grandiose, but not gaudy. Tall, vaulted ceilings with sunlight pouring in from the windows. Despite being on the trash heap of a planet that was Coruscant, the sunlight seemed to filter in gold. Jango breathed in slowly. Even the air seemed sweeter here.

As they walked though, Jango noted how empty the halls were.

A few corners in a group of Jeti’ade with packs and datapads in their arms stopped and stared at them in wide eyed wonder.

They looked older, probably old enough for their verd’gotens if they were on Manda’yaim, but lacked the braids Padawans had. Kenobi spoke to them gently, in an odd language that made the air quiver, and the ade scampered away, the entire ordeal quickly becoming a game of tag. Myles watched them go with a gooey look on his face.

“It’s quiet,” Jango said noncommittally. He watched as Kenobi’s face went through a myriad of expressions before smoothing down.

“It’s dangerous here,” Kenobi said. And Jango thought that that was the end of it. But as they passed by a wall that had faded spots as if paintings or tapestries had been removed, Kenobi continued. “I assume you’re very aware of us stepping away from the Republic.”

Myles snorted, “We can read, ‘lek.”

Jaster let out a low noise and Myles stood up straighter. Kenobi only chuckled. “Then, you should also be aware that the Senate has left Coruscant for a different planet. These are unrelated events, of course, if you ask the Senate. However, this just means that Coruscant has become… particularly inhospitable. It’d be remiss of us to keep our younglings where the Force is so unstable, not when they’re learning to touch the Force, to shield, to just be. Once everyone on Coruscant is rehomed, we’ll take out leave as well.”

“You’d leave the Temple?” Jaster asked, contemplative and slow. He was eyeing the faded spots on the wall carefully. The fortress in Keldabe had them too, where replacement pieces of art or weapons didn’t completely cover the echoes of what was lost over time. Kenobi bowed his head.

“It’s just a building. Ah, the entrance is right this way.”

And then finally, they arrived at the Archives. As the doors opened Jango took a moment to stare at the endless rows of shelves stretching through the room. Jaster was starting to vibrate again as he did the same. All three of them flinched when Myles suddenly cried out.

“Osi’kyr, you’re that Jetii from Galidraan!” Myles immediately exclaimed. And a blond man turned around. A familiar blond man.

“Ah, I assume you were in the Mandalorian group there then?” he asked.

“I was,” Myles replied, “So was Jango. And even if I wasn’t, the buy’ce feed of your call was everywhere for a month.”

That seemed to make the Jetii flush brighter. Kenobi turned and raised a brow at him.

“Comm call?” he asked, voice lilting and head tilting in a way that meant trouble. The Jetii scowled.

“Don’t give me that tone. You’re the one who called in a panic about old Sith Temples.”

Kenobi stared at him before he quickly held his hand to his mouth. “I didn’t realize that, ‘I’m sorta busy right now, Obi,’ meant, ‘I’m in the middle of a standoff against Mandalorians,’ and not, ‘I’m trying to push my luck in this sabaac game for credits because the Senate never gives us enough funding,’ Feemor.”

Feemor rolled his eyes and reached out to mess Kenobi’s hair. Kenobi swatted at Feemor’s arm, but it all seemed more playful that anything. Like a tooka swatting at another tooka that was trying to groom him. Jango watched them closely. They did seem like vode. And having a face to the image of the “idiot brother” was nice, especially since the face was easy on the eyes.

“I assume you are the Mandalorians Obi-Wan has been speaking about for the past month?” Feemor asked.

Kenobi hissed, “Feemor!”

“What?” Feemor asked, unbothered, “It’s true. You—”

Suddenly, Feemor began to speak in a different language. It sounded somewhat musical and chirped, with words that almost sounded like Mando’a. Stewjoni, Jango realized. He squinted at Feemor. There was no way this Jetii was a Stewjon’ad—he was too tall, and his hair was almost white without a hint of warm copper—but Kenobi could be. Jaster seemed to be vibrating again.

“Perhaps I had my reasons,” Kenobi said in Basic, “Isn’t the exchange of knowledge an honorable pursuit? I’m an Archivist, a Lore Keeper, a Consular. It’s my duty.”

“And what will be exchanged in return for what you’re giving?” Feemor asked. Kenobi smiled sweetly at him. Jango shifted his weight, suddenly all too aware that colorful things were often poisonous.

“Why, Feemor, if you’d like, you could join us.”

Feemor rolled his eyes. “Curb your tongue, brother mine. I won’t get in the way of this, I was on that mission with you. No need to use your words against me.”

Kenobi laughed, raising one bell sleeve in front of his face. Feemor rolled his eyes again.

“Silver tongue,” he sighed. But it sounded affectionate, though laden with exhaustion. He gripped Kenobi’s shoulder and said something low. Kenobi waved him away. Feemor smiled and bowed at all of them before quietly slipping away into the depths of the Archives.

“I’m sorry about that,” Kenobi said, “However I do ask you hold your questions. This will be a conversation better held in more secure places.”

He led Jaster, Jango, and Myles up a set of stairs and down a quiet hallway. Each of the doors had a plaque with names carved in Basic. Finally, Kenobi stopped at a specific door. He punched in a code before stepping inside.

It was an office. Not unlike Jaster’s back in Keldabe. In front of them was a small seating area with a low table and a lower sofa. The cushions were a dark, coppery brown and there was a dented cushion jauntily resting against one armrest. The top of the caf table was covered in flimsi and styluses, and a mouse droid was chittering away happily despite being stranded there. There was a window to the left, and through the blinds Jango could see the deep blue of the Archives.

A wide desk, with mountains of datapads neatly piled on top of it was pushed to the far right of the room, surrounded on three sides by shelves with more datapads. The chair was pulled away from the desk with a pack sitting on the seat and a brown robe thrown across the back.

“Am I seeing things or is that the fucking darksaber?” Myles asked, pointing. And Jango was going to slap him because there was no way there was the—

He squinted at the desk again, and surely, there was the darksaber.

“Oh, so Master Vizsla was right then,” Kenobi said. He motioned to the caf table and sofa. They all sat down while Kenobi stood on the other side like a lecturer. “However, no, that’s just the hilt of one of Master Vizsla’s old lightsabers. The darksaber, as you call it, is currently being cleaned and the crystal cleansed.”

‘What does that mean?” Myles asked, head tilted slightly.

Kenobi held out his hand and the empty lightsaber hilt came flying, landing with a soft smack against his palm. He carefully held it up so they could see it. “A lightsaber, and I will continue to call it such as Master Vizsla does so, is a weapon whose blade comes from a crystal or other such source. They’re semi-sentient, physical manifestations of the Force that bond with its wielder to the point that it’s often called an extension of your soul. Your lightsaber is your life.”

“For ease of discussion, I’ll just refer to them as crystals. Bleeding a crystal is something Sith must do to their crystals. You see, there is often discussion about the ‘Light’ and ‘Dark’ sides of the Force, but that isn’t true. There is only light, and dark only occurs when there is imbalance. It is not a balancing act between the two, it is not two sides of the same coin. The Force is what it is, and that is light.”

“So, when a Force user wields the ‘dark’ side of the Force, they must actively move a crystal against its very nature. To do so, they must torture it. Break it. Bleed it. It is why lightsabers come in so many colors, but a Sith will only ever have one that is red and screaming,” Kenobi continued. He let the hilt float in the air and spin in slow circles.

“Now, the Mando—or, dar’manda I suppose as Master Vizsla refused to acknowledge them—was not Force sensitive. But you don’t need to be Force sensitive to wield a ‘saber. It’s just a foolhardy thing to do. A ‘saber, as I said, is semi-sentient. It has opinions. Whatever those who had taken Master Vizsla’s ‘saber were doing with it was going against the very nature of said crystal. And so, it was bled.”

Jango leaned forward, “Then why is it black? You said bled crystals are red.”

“Sith crystals are red,” Kenobi corrected. The hilt fell back into his palm, “I can’t make a proper hypothesis since Master Vizsla’s ‘saber is the only example of a blade changing color to be black.”

Jaster titled his chin up just slightly, a sure sign that he had noticed something and was piecing a puzzle together. He had been quiet, no doubt waiting so he had all the information he could get. “But you have a theory.”

Kenobi sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “My current running theory with Master Nu and Master Vizsla is that the color is because Force nulls were doing an equivalent of bleeding. It’s not a true bleeding because that required meditation and communion through the Force.”

“You keep mentioning ‘Master Vizsla’,” Jango said, faux casually. His neck felt warm when Kenobi smiled at him, his eyes a light and glassy. He seemed to stare into the middle distance and through Jango simultaneously.

“Through the Force, all things are possible, Ser Vhett.”

There, again, was the slight slur of his words with the rhythm of old Mandalorian poetry. The few times Kenobi had spoken Mando’a terms they all had that specific pattern in rises and falls before vocoders permanently changed the way Mando’a had to be enunciated. So noticeable even in small doses.

Kenobi tucked his hands into his sleeves. “I believe that that is enough information regarding my latest mission. Mand’alor Mereel, I do believe you’re smart enough to understand that the galaxy is on the cusp of entering a new era. All I ask is, if I may, is where do you stand?”

Kenobi stared at Jaster, hard and searching like the depth of the sea. Jango held his breath as Jaster stared back.

“With my people,” Jaster said, “I will not turn my back on them.”

Like a quiet breath the air seemed to lighten. A weight carefully lifted as Kenobi breathed in, and then out, and then smiled. Truly, wonderfully, bright and relieved. He placed the empty hilt onto the caf table before laying his hand over his sternum—right where a kar’ta beskar would be.

“Well, then. Mandalor Mereel, let me start from the top. I am Jedi Archivist Obi-Wan Kenobi, member of the Jedi Education Corps. A month ago, I defeated a Sith who attempted to kill my brother, Knight Feemor, in battle. And since then, I have been following a trail proving that the Sith never died. They simply went into hiding. My last mission put me at odds with a man claiming to be a descendant of Jedi Master and former Mand’alor Tarre Vizsla, which while true in the Force was not true in the eyes of Master Vizsla themself. Due to the nature of the encounter, he was defeated and his body is now in cryo.”

Kenobi smiled at them, thin lipped and exhausted with eyes sharp as a dagger. “I do hope it’s not too impudent of me to ask you—to ask Mandalore—to stand beside the Jedi in this new age.”