Chapter Text
“Feemor!”
The voice was shrill, laced with panic as snow crashed from the trees to the ground.
“Feemor!”
Whoever this ‘Feemor’ was, the voice screaming for them was young. Probably an ad; no way they were older than Jango. If they were, Jaster would eat his kom’rk. Speaking of which—Jaster turned to where his Foundling was still standing, frozen in his tracks by the voice screaming through the forest. Something about it seemed to warble like a songbird or the ground before a landslide.
The Manda itself seemed to come to a halt, all eyes focused ahead to what was coming.
“Feemor!”
A small body came sliding down the cliff on the back end of the camp. It wasn’t the most secure place—they could be caged in from the front and top with no exit—but the Governor of Galidraan had been particularly pushy about them staying there. Arla had offered her team for surveillance over the issue, and they’d be returning in maybe another hour.
Jaster stood, bad knee clicking louder because of the cold, as the intruder came to a skidding stop, kicking up clouds of snow.
Jaster blinked a few times, as if the image before him would clear up into something that made sense. Bright blue eyes on a small face, strands of copper hair just barely visible from under a large, fur trimmed hood.
Why the fuck was there a Stewjon’ad on Galidraan?
“Oh,” the Stewjon’ad whispered, “You’re not Feemor.”
The Stewjon’ad was already edging away. Though where they were planning to go when they essentially fell down a cliff into their camp was a mystery. They were dressed in a thick quilted jacket and heavy boots with little spikes on the bottom for ice. Their face was flushed red from the cold or exertion or both, eyes flicking in all directions despite their deceptively calm expression. A metal staff was strapped to their back and Jaster wondered if the ad knew how to use it. From how they were slowly shifting to grab it, he assumed that the answer was yes.
Jaster stopped a meter away from the ad and knelt down, his knee clicking again. With the winter clothes on it was difficult to tell how old the ad was. “How’d you get here, ad’ika?”
Snow was starting to fall once more, and the Stewjon’ad squinted suspiciously at him, snowflakes landing on the fur of their hood. But before they could say anything, something else came sliding down the cliff in another slide of snow.
Within seconds Jango and a handful of other ramikade had their blasters out. Jaster reached out to push the Stewjon’ad behind him, but the kid darted out of his reach and towards the newcomer. They looked like an indistinct mass of brown cloth and a flash of blond hair as their hood fell back as they scrambled to stand.
“Feemor!”
‘Feemor’ was a tall, tall human, or something close enough. A little young and harried looking with deep wrinkles in their clothes and dark circles under their eyes. The Stewjon’ad hovered worriedly next to them as Feemor finally stood. There was the click of safeties disengaging when Feemor clicked his tongue and held the ad’s face in their hands. The ad scrunched up their face but stood patiently as Feemor checked them over for injuries.
“Obi-Wan, where did you vanish to?” Feemor asked. The ad—Obi-Wan—closed their eyes as Feemor scrubbed at their face with the edge of their sleeve.
“Further up the mountain,” Obi-Wan said, “The men from my Visions were there—”
“The ones in the blue and gray armor?”
Jaster’s mind began to reel as Obi-Wan nodded. They leaned closer to Feemor and whispered. Jaster immediately turned up the external mic in his buy’ce. “There were a lot of them there, it looked like they were getting ready for something.”
“And then how did you end up here?”
Obi-Wan shifted, eyes flicking to Jaster, his ramikade, and then to the ground. But he kept his lips pressed into a thin line. Feemor frowned. They knelt down in the snow and gave Obi-Wan a hard stare. Their eyes were icy blue, almost gray as the snow continued to fall, while the ad’s was a stormy blue.
“Padawan,” Feemor said lowly. Like a secret. Jaster wanted to curse. They were Jetii.
“I panicked,” Obi-Wan whispered hurriedly, “And I went looking for you. But I found the Mandalorians instead.”
It was probably a good time to cut in now. Jaster stepped forward, “Jetii.”
Feemor was standing in seconds—and by the Ka’ra, they were giant—and folded their hands together in front of them. The motion fanned out their robes, hiding Obi-Wan from sight. Though Obi-Wan still did their best to peer around Feemor, Feemor simply shifted their weight so Obi-Wan was hidden behind them once more. Now that they were standing, Jaster could easily recognize the classic Jetii clothes, albeit thicker and trimmed with fur just like Obi-Wan’s gray coat. Feemor also had a staff hanging off of his shoulder. Though this one was made of wood, and looked to be the only weapon on their person. Weren’t Jetii supposed to have a kad’au?
“Ser,” they greeted. Jaster waved a hand and waited until all the blasters were pointed towards the ground. None of the safeties were reengaged, but this would be as good as he’d get. He slowly reached up and pulled his buy’ce off. It made him feel more exposed, not only to the elements, but to whatever Jetii could do. Even if he didn’t believe every little rumor about Jetii Force osik there was usually a kernel of truth in rumors. His mental shields were good, but not all of his commandos could build them. But this was about keeping a Jetii from physically attacking them over a misunderstanding.
What was that saying? Right. If you want the Padawan, make sure the Master is dead.
“I’m Jaster, House Mereel, he/him,” Jaster introduced himself, “Your ad was probably led to us instinctually. There are a number of commandos in my ranks who have Taung ancestors.”
Himself and Jango included.
Feemor blinked a few times. Then they glanced over their shoulder at Obi-Wan, who tilted their head this way and that. Jaster wondered if the myth that Jetii could speak telepathically was true.
“Oh,” Feemor said. They placed a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and gripped it tight. They seemed to communicate a little more with specific angles of their brows and the corners of their lips. Then Obi-Wan sighed, breath fogging up, and ducked behind Feemor entirely, burying themselves under the oversized brown robe. Feemor turned to Jaster and bowed just slightly, though they didn’t expose their neck.
“Ser Mereel, I am Jedi Knight Feemor, he and him. This is my Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Thank you for watching after Obi-Wan. But I’m afraid that there are some things that we must discuss, both in regards to your presence on the planet, as well as ours.”
So there were more Jetii? Jaster squinted as the snow began to fall harder. Obi-Wan peered out from under his robe, but Feemor easily shifted his clothes again. From where he stood Jaster could see Jango craning just a little to look at the Stewjon’ad, looking a little distracted even with his buy’ce on and blaster steady. He shook his head. They’d need neutral territory if they were to talk.
“And what would that entail?” he asked. Feemor ducked his head again.
“Perhaps inside. Obi-Wan will you be okay waiting out here?”
Obi-Wan must have nodded or something since Feemor stepped away from them, robe dragging off of their small form. Jaster sighed and moved to lead Feemor into the main tent. He signaled for Mij and Silas to follow them. As he ducked into the tent, he spotted Jango carefully sidling close to Obi-Wan.
Hopefully, the camp would be standing when they got back out.