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The War Prize

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“What do you think, cyare?” Jaster asked, leaning forward to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes.

His spouse leant his head back to look at him, licking his lips thoughtfully. He was sitting on Jaster’s footstool, as usual – not that Jaster really needed it, with how tall he was, but it had a purpose in how he presented as Mand’alor. Jaster caught a glimpse of the beskar mythosaur pendant laying in the hollow of Obi-Wan’s throat.

“The contract proposed by the Chiss Ascendancy benefits them far more than it benefits us”, Obi-Wan declared. “Agreeing now would be… unwise.”

Jaster nodded. He liked his riduur’s political mind – it was part of why he had married him, after all. Two heads plotting together were always better than one. Obi-Wan leaned back against his legs to look at the Chiss ambassador, shifting his legs a bit.

Jaster’s husband might be, technically, a war-prize and a trophy spouse, he was also a consort holding actual, real power withing the Empire – if only because he represented Jedi presence within Manda’yaim.

“I believe you have heard, Ambassador”, Jaster replied. “We won’t agree to this accord unless the terms are reworked.”

The ambassador took his leave then, leaving them alone, and Obi-Wan stood up from the cushioned footstool and sat down in Jaster’s lap with a smirk before he pulled him into a kiss. Obi-Wan’s beard had gone from bristle-rough, when he started to grow it a few days ago, to actually soft, and Jaster dug the new looks after years of seeing his husband clean-shaven because he no longer had to grow a beard to hide his baby-face. Now that Obi-Wan was reaching his thirties, and even though he still looked younger than he was, he wanted some change.

*

The soldiers shoved General Kenobi to his knees roughly, the man grunting slightly when he hit the ground, throwing his hair back with a move of his head. His blue-green eyes were glimmering with anger and defeat, and Jaster felt a surge of want at the sight. He wanted this man at his side.

“Mand’alor”, Kenobi saluted him in Mando’a. “I would say it’s a pleasure, except we both know this isn’t true.”

Jaster didn’t try to stop himself from laughing. Yes, a man such as Kenobi would be perfect for what he needed. He had never intended to revive the Mandalorian Empire of old, but it was that or letting the Sith take control. His empire was, he thought, definitely less bad. The Jedi, of course, didn’t seem to agree – if only because no one had told them their beloved Chancellor was a Sith Lord.

Well, the Chancellor had tragically died when Jaster and his troops took Coruscant a few months ago, and he’d laid siege to the Jedi Temple. This had only renewed his respect for the Force-Sensitive peacekeepers, who were great warriors. Great warriors who despised war – they would fit in perfectly in the vision he had of his empire.

Kenobi had, of course, balked at the terms of their surrender, but he wanted more than anything to ensure the continuity of his Order, and what Jaster had offered was political – he certainly felt desire for the young Jedi who had managed to become an efficient General so quickly, but he had honour and respect. The marriage was only political, when its terms were spoken.

Things had changed later, and only for the better.

*

Jaster had to take in a sharp breath when his ven’riduur appeared to be officially bonded to him in marriage. Kenobi’s face was… neutral, at best, but his eyes still glimmered in barely contained anger. The robes he wore had the traditional Jedi cut, but were made of rich, shimmering fabric in Jaster’s colours, which – coincidentally – complimented Obi-Wan’s complexion and hair perfectly. He had also shaved his beard, revealing just how young he actually was – at twenty-one, he should have only been a Knight, but his brilliant mind for strategy and skills as a Jedi had earned him an early Mastery and a seat on the Jedi High Council, two years prior. Of course he had caught Jaster’s attention then.

His Padawan stood to the side with his arms crossed – a too-young Padawan who really should have only been an Initiate, according to Jedi rules – and looking supremely grumbly. Considering he had charged Jaster with a lightsabre borrowed from a fallen Knight to keep him away from his Master, Jaster was content to let him be grumpy. His riduur had everything he could ever want, from a sassy mouth and an ability to talk circles around people, to a genuine warmth to children and a kid of his own, and amazing fighting abilities. It had taken no less than three Super-Commandos to subdue him, and even then, it had only been after the Temple had been invaded and the Jedi rounded up for surrender.

Jedi did not hate, but it sure seemed like they could, when the ones assembled there with the Mando’ade – the High Council and some Temple guards, and Kenobi’s friends – glared at Jaster. Jaster had assured Obi-Wan of his intentions, of the terms of their contract, but the Jedi still looked at him like he was making one of their best into a slave. They obviously did not understand the power he would hold as his riduur.

*

“What were you thinking about? I lost you there for a moment”, Obi-Wan hummed against his lips, and Jaster tightened his grip on his hip.
“Our first meeting and our wedding”, Jaster replied with a light chuckle. “I thought your siblings were going to tear me to pieces.”

Obi-Wan hummed and kissed him, licking at his lips to coax them to open.

“To be fair, you didn’t exactly give us a good image of who you were and what you were trying to do.” He laughed. “I still fell in love with you, though.”

Jaster remembered – how could he ever forget? The tentative friendship entwined with flirting that had turned to almost formal courtship, until Jaster had found his beloved in his bedroom, sitting on his bed, half-wrapped in his robes.

“I want us to be spouses more than nominally”, he had said. “I want to be yours, not because your ordered me to be, but because I want to be.”

Jaster was the Mand’alor, but he was also just a man – he had taken the offer, and toppled Obi-Wan over to cover his mouth with his.

“Just what are you thinking about?” Obi-Wan interrupted him, chuckling in his lap.
“The first time I took you to bed”, Jaster replied, and kissed his neck. “How beautiful and perfect you were.”

Obi-Wan grinned, showing off a glint of teeth, his pendent reflecting the light like a promise. A gift for their tenth anniversary – for Jaster. Jaster’s gift had been to be finally able to say the Coruscant Temple had been entirely repaired, after ten years of undoing the damage the war and siege had caused. Jaster slid a hand over the silk layers that covered his husband, tugging lightly on the obi and then going up, on Obi-Wan’s chest, parting the first layer to access the second one.

“Want a repeat, cyare?” his Jedi said.

Jaster was the Mand’alor, but he was also just a man.

He said yes.