Chapter Text
When Jaster had taken his place as the new Mand’alor there had been a lot he didn’t know. Thank the Ka’ra that there was someone he knew had all the information he lacked. The Armorer had taken one look at him and had known why he’d come. After staying with the Armorer’s clan for two months to learn all he could about being a proper Mand’alor he was summarily packed up and sent off to Stewjon with an honor guard.
When he arrived on the planet he was greeted by the last vestiges of what appeared to be a city wide celebration. They knew who he was the moment his boots touched dirt and in the split second it took him to blink he found he was the only one still standing. The Armorer had warned him this would happen but he still didn’t feel prepared for it.
“Welcome to Stewjon, Mand’alor, we are here to serve.” Their Mando’a was flawless but that wasn’t news to him, just interesting to hear coming from a people who seemed so different. He spied various pieces of armor, though it looked more ceremonial than functional, among those who were kneeling and realized they must be the Stewjonian’s own honor guard for him. He felt ridiculous. He didn’t become Mand’alor to be catered to. He wanted to unite his people.
Shaking off his thoughts he slipped his helmet off and nodded politely toward the one who’d spoken to him. “You know why I’ve come?” There was a muttering among the group but one look from the leader and they were silent once again.
“Of course, we have staffed the Soul Garden estate in preparation for your arrival.” They looked to his guards. “Your people will be taken care of in the meantime. The Soul Garden is not far from here but I am afraid that your guards will have to be housed elsewhere, as only the Mand'alor may enter." There was a note of apology in their voice but Jaster waved it off.
“That will be fine, thank you.” One thing he knew for certain was that he was absolutely safe from the Stewjonians. His guards, on the other hand… Actually seeing the way that the Stewjonians were looking up through their lashes at the Mandalorian warriors he let out a small huff of amusement. It didn’t look like they were in any danger either. If anything he might not be the only one leaving the planet with a spouse.
“If you are ready, Mand’alor, we will take you to your estate now.” He gave one last look at his commandos, silently ordering them to behave, before he allowed himself to be led toward a speeder.
The planet itself was filled with lush forests, beautiful lakes, and architecture that looked as if it came from a dream. The word for Stewjon in Mando’a closely resembled the ancient word for paradise, and now he could see why. Entering through the large gates he was guided along a garden path and had to stop for a moment to breathe it all in. If it weren’t for the wind and the sound of gentle running water coming from somewhere nearby he was certain the silence would have done him in. It felt like years of tense anxiety were being stripped from him, leaving behind an almost peaceful state of mind.
The mansion itself was clearly ancient, although well maintained, and he spied what he assumed were servants scurrying around at the corners of his eyes. He was brought before an elder who gave him a slow once over, as if judging him personally, and he instinctively stood straighter under their scrutiny.
“I am Obi-kua Kenobi, she/her, Mistress of the Soul Garden.” Jaster gave her a slight bow. He could tell she was someone he did not want to get on the wrong side of.
“Jaster Mereel, he/him, Mand’alor.” She nodded.
“Welcome to the Soul Garden. Would you like to settle in first or meet the Candidates?” Jaster tried very hard not to grimace. The Armorer had been very clear that Candidate was an honorable and envied title. Jaster didn’t know how he felt about people fighting for the honor of becoming his spouse.
“First, are there any rules or protocols I should follow?” The Mistress paused and he swore there was a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“We only ask that you enjoy yourself, Mand’alor, and if you happen to find a spouse quickly that you let us know so we may throw the appropriate celebrations.” His cheeks heated slightly.
“Nothing else?” He asked to be sure.
“Mand’alor, you are our great ruler, the sole leader of our people. If you wished to bed every person in this estate we would not stop you. If you were to kill someone who displeased you we would only ask for time to clean the mess.” Jaster felt a chill of horror run down his spine and immediately shook his head in angry denial.
“I would never!” He growled, certain that he couldn’t bring himself to hurt these soft people who had welcomed him so readily. The Mistress smiled.
“Then you truly are the honorable warrior I expected.” He blinked in confusion as she turned around and let out a piercing whistle. It took maybe thirty seconds for twenty Stewjonians to gather behind the Mistress, bowing to him. “These are the Candidates, chosen for compatibility.” Five of them were quite obviously feminine, either in dress or physical appearance, while five were clearly masculine in either dress of appearance. The rest wore neutral clothing in styles that made it difficult to discern, not that he would have assumed anyone’s sex or gender from appearances alone. There were far too many species in the galaxy to make that the first thing one should notice about a fellow Mandalorian.
The Mistress allowed each of them to introduce themselves and he was surprised how many of them were warriors from their clan. Four of the twenty were even karking Force Sensitive. It was a bit much but he made sure to be polite to each of them.
“You have a Stewjonian month to choose one of the Candidates. Twenty days will be set aside for each Candidate to spend the day with you. The last ten you may ask for any Candidate to return to your side. If you find someone you wish to take immediately we will honor your decision. If there are two whose souls call to you we can consult further on where to go from there. At the end of the month if none of the candidates catch your attention we shall find new Candidates.” Jaster nodded, there wasn’t much else he could do but agree.
When he was finally in his own room, a lavish suite decked out in dark reds and bone white, a tribute to the ancestors, he finally felt able to relax. Looking around, half paranoia and half curiosity, he noticed something that looked like markings and stepped closer. On one far wall there was a list of what looked to be names. Curiosity piqued further he set down his helmet and went to inspect it. He didn’t recognize a lot of them until he got to the bottom of the second row. Tarre Vizsla, Aga Awaud, Ranah Teh Naast, Dral Sparr… they were the names of past Mand’alor’s spanning back what had to be thousands of years.
As if possessed by some unknown force he found himself pulling out a small utility knife and carefully carving his own name into the wall beneath that of Dral Sparr. When he was finished he stepped back and for the first time since he’d stepped foot on the planet’s surface he felt welcome.
The first week of his stay was a little awkward but quite relaxing. Jaster had been to a couple of resorts and fancy hotels in his life and this wasn’t all that different. Immediately he noticed a few key differences between these people and the Mandalorians. For one the servants, regardless of sex or gender, wore their hair fairly short while the warriors had long hair woven into braids or otherwise tied up in some manner. Their clothes were all vibrant and colorful but it was the patterns that intrigued him. Mandalorians tended to have very understated clothing with subtle designs that meant something to the one who made it, while the Stewjonians had a myriad of patterned clothing that didn’t seem to mean anything at all.
Halfway through the first week he noticed that the holobooks he had taken with him had been neatly rearranged on the small shelf next to the bed. A day later he noticed new holobooks had been added and, curious, he went to look them over. Each one had a topic of interest to him, much to his surprised delight. There was one on Mandalorian history from the perspective of Stewjon, one on cultural practices that was quite helpful, and even a copy of a journal from a past Mand’alor.
Once two weeks had passed and he realized someone was not only cleaning his room but keeping his shelf stocked with new and interesting reading material Jaster set a bit of a trap. There were apparently three servants who rotated out daily and he had yet to meet the one who kept leaving him such wonderful reading material. So far he had confronted two of them but the third remained elusive.
Begging off early, he could already tell that he and the Candidate for the day would not get along, he had a quick shower and changed into something less intimidating than the outfits that had been prepared for him. Thank the Manda that they were at least in a traditional Mando style in dark colors or he would have just worn his damned armor. Telling the guards that he would be taking a stroll alone he doubled back around and climbed onto the balcony.
Honestly? He could have just asked the Mistress if she knew who had been stocking his shelf but this way was far more fun.
A servant entered the room and quickly cleaned up, Jaster wasn’t all that hard to look after considering he was a tidy individual to begin with. Before they left they looked around for a moment before slipping a couple of holobooks from their clothes and slotting them onto the shelf. Quietly he entered through the balcony, he’d left it unlocked earlier, and stood waiting for the servant to notice him.
They turned around, ready to leave. Brown eyes met jade green and Jaster felt as if all the breath had been knocked out of his lungs. The moment lasted for what felt like an eternity before the servant fell gracefully to the ground in supplication.
“Mand’alor! Forgive me for intruding on you.” Their melodic alto voice said quietly. It took him a moment to get his bearings.
“There is no need to kneel. I, ahem, I had a couple of questions for you, if you wouldn’t mind indulging my curiosity.” They looked up at him for a moment before slowly getting to their feet.
“I will answer what I can, Mand’alor.” They promised softly.
“You the one who’s been replacing my holobooks?” They flushed slightly and nodded, eyes falling to the floor. “Thank you.” Their eyes darted up in surprise before a small smile crossed their face. “Where are my manners? Jaster Mereel, he/him, but you probably already knew that.”
“Sul-tan Honsul, Alor, also he/him.” Jaster smiled. “
A pleasure.” What came next was nearly an hour of back and forth about favourite works and authors, history, culture, and language. They even touched briefly on philosophy. The longer they spoke the more Jaster began to relax.
“Forgive me, Alor, but I have other tasks I need to complete before the Mistress chides me.” He felt a small pang in his chest but nodded in understanding.
“Of course, don’t let me keep you from your work.” Smiling a little more openly Sul-tan bowed, gathered up the hamper of dirty items, and hurried out of the room. Jaster frowned slightly at the faint feeling of loss but ignored it. Maybe a walk in the gardens would clear his head.
The next week he felt a little off, almost impatient. When the day for Sul-tan to take care of his rooms came Jaster made certain he was there, sitting on the balcony with one of the holobooks Sul-tan had left him. The man froze when he saw him but quickly relaxed, smiling.
“Good day, Alor.”
“Good day.” He watched them man for a moment before standing from his chair and coming inside. “Listen, I was wondering if you might do me a favor…”
Later that day, as the sun was beginning to set, he met Sul-tan for a walk in the gardens. “This must be hard on you, Alor, if you need someone to talk to who is not one of your Candidates.” Jaster let out a deeply aggrieved sigh and grinned to himself when Sul-tan put a hand against their mouth to stifle a chuckle.
“This wasn’t what I thought would happen when I took up the mantle of Mand’alor. Not that I’m complaining, just…” Sul-tan made a noise of agreement.
“It wasn’t what you saw yourself doing?” Jaster smiled at him.
“Exactly. Although the time here has been good for me, I’ve had time to finalize more of the new Codex I wish to introduce to the Mandalorians.” He looked at the slightly shorter man. “I also wished to thank you. The holobooks you left me gave me much needed insight into the history of Manda’yaim.” The man’s cheeks flushed, pleased with the compliment.
“It was nothing, Alor, just a hobby of mine.” Jaster smiled.
“A noble hobby, if you ask me.” They shared a smile before Jaster had to tear his gaze away from glittering jade green eyes that lit up in the low light of the sunset. The night ended with Jaster laying awake in bed, thinking about how easy it had been to spend hours alone talking with Sul-tan, hours that had felt like mere minutes. The next day, after breakfast, the Mistress came to him with a searching look.
“Have you found a candidate you feel comfortable with yet, Mand’alor?” Jaster thought about the question, frowning.
“Not yet.” The elder woman tutted.
“Well, there are still five more Candidates before you run out. Do not worry if none of them are the right fit. I’ve heard that it took Dral Sparr six months to find their own spouse once they arrived on Stewjon.” Jaster raised an eyebrow, letting out a low whistle.
“Who was the shortest?” The Mistress chuckled.
“Tarre Vizsla. They knew the moment they entered the estate that their spouse would be one of the house guards, rather than one of the Candidates. It was not a surprise to us, we had been warned ahead of time that they were Ka’runi, one with inner power.” So much history that had been lost on Manda’yaim after the Dral’han had been preserved on Stewjon, thanks to the way they revered the Mandalorians. It still made him feel uncomfortable how easy it was for them to drop everything and obey his words but he knew that half of it was the Manda. They knew he could no more harm these people than they could harm him. They were children of Manda, just like he was.
The next week passed slowly, far too slowly for his liking, and oddly he didn’t get a chance to talk to Sul-tan that week. Instead a different servant came in to clean his rooms and, while they were respectful, he found he missed those intelligent jade eyes smiling up at him in excitement as they spoke about different historical events and figures.
With a clear and sudden insight he let out a groan and pressed his hand to his face. Here he was, thinking about how he would rather be walking the gardens with Sul-tan, while he was supposed to be paying attention to the Candidates. But the Mistress herself admitted that a past Mand’alor had chosen a spouse not from the Candidates, but from the guards
That day he asked the Mistress if he could choose anyone to spend his free days with. The elder gave him a knowing look before asking in a mild tone, one that he wasn’t buying at all, if he had anyone in mind.
Jaster knew who he wanted.
They spent an entire day together, uninterrupted, and it felt nothing like any of the days he had spent previously. There was just something about them that clicked, he could see it in the way Sul-tan stood closer whenever he could, how he leaned in to listen with rapt attention, and how he had no qualms tearing Jaster’s arguments to shreds as they talked about galactic politics.
“Have you ever left Stewjon before?” The man shook his head, although he looked curious rather than frightened of the idea.
“I’m no warrior, my family are all either scholars or serve the Greater Houses. It’s not recommended for anyone who isn’t a warrior to leave the planet, let alone the system.” Jaster cleared his throat.
“I could teach you to defend yourself, if you like.” The man blinked at him owlishly for a moment before letting out a small laugh.
“Alor, you will surely be leaving soon and I have my work. I thank you for the offer but you are a busy man.” Jaster had no idea what to say to that, so he opted for not saying anything at all. Grasping the man’s face he brought their lips together in a kiss he hoped would get all of his emotions across. Sul-tan melted into him, letting out a small whimper. Jaster pulled away, giving the man some space to breathe.
It was Sul-tan who pulled him back.
"Alor..." Jaster shook his head.
"Call me Jaster." Sul-tan swallowed hard.
"Jaster." He let out a low growl of approval and kissed him again.
When he tugged on the man's hand, looking toward his rooms, Sul-tan was eager to follow.
Later that night as he lay in bed, the lithe redhead snuggled up against him and sleeping peacefully, he wondered if this was what bliss felt like. Running his hands through soft locks he knew what he had to do in the morning.
When he woke Sul-tan was nowhere to be found. Jaster washed and dressed quickly, intent on speaking with the Mistress. “
You’ve made your decision, then?” He nodded.
“How do I make it work? They aren’t a Candidate, they didn’t sign up for this.” The elder woman seemed amused.
“Everyone who is here in the Soul Garden is eligible, each was asked if they wouldn’t mind leaving their life behind if they had a chance to find their match.”
“Oh.” The elder woman had the nerve to laugh at him, although in the end he was also smiling at himself in amusement.
"I will make the announcement.” She promised him. An hour later Jaster was pacing back and forth, feeling more nervous than he had ever felt in his entire life, as the Mistress finally returned. “It’s time, Mand’alor.” He turned to walk into the other room but was stopped by a hand on his arm.
“Have no fear, you are destined. I have foreseen it.” He blinked in confusion as she swept out of the room ahead of him, beckoning him to follow. Ka’ra, the old woman had grabbed every single person on the estate and gathered them together. No wonder it took so long.
“Our Mand’alor has decided.” There were excited murmurs amongst the gathered Stewjonians and Jaster had to take a deep breath to steady himself. His eyes roamed those gathered until he locked onto his target.
The man looked upset for some reason and Jaster felt the irrational urge to maim anyone who had caused him to look that dejected. Stalking over to the ones standing in front of him he motioned for them to move aside. They parted, bowing slightly as they did so. Jaster stopped in front of Sul-tan and noticed that his body was tense.
Was this not something he also wanted? Was this a mistake? “Sul-tan.” He said quietly, reaching up to caress his face. “I knew the moment I laid eyes on you. Will you come with me?” He tried to make it a request, not an order. Jaster didn't want someone to think they had to reciprocate his affection if they weren't interested. He wanted a spouse, an equal partner, not a slave.
The man let out a small sob before throwing his arms around Jaster’s neck. “Yes, Jaster!” His heart soared and he swore he could hear the Manda trilling in happiness.
“Come then, let us say the vows. Together.” Sul-tan stepped back, wiping his tears from his face and nodding almost frantically.
When Jaster left Stewjon he was not alone. At his side, staring out at the void for the first time, was a beautiful gift in mortal form.