You know... if you wanted to write more of the Melida/Daan story no one would stop youuuu, like literally any scene you want
The MelidaDaan Archives are in a small locked room in the Fortress. There are rows of shelves, two long tables with individual work stations and boxes of records. The Council agrees to give the Mandalorian delegation access, on the condition they don’t remove anything.
Jaster has been in politics for a long time, but searching through MelidaDaan’s records gives him a new kind of headache. Meticulous records of ridiculous feuds, hundred years gaps, and vague mentions of atrocious war crimes.
The Young kept no real records when they were fighting. He can’t really blame them, considering they were literal children but he’d really like any concrete evidence to present to the Council so they don’t depose him for making a trade deal with a planet of child soldiers.
He groans for what must be the fiftieth time and resists the urge to hit his head on the edge of the table. A laugh sounds from the doorway.
Minister Kenobi stands in the doorframe, arms crossed, “Lots of records, very little continuity.”
“You’ve been through these?”
“Many times,” he says, “They’re only in that order because I put them in that order. Before, they were mostly random piles of books and paper. Some without dates, some so degraded I couldn’t read them. Those ones are over there.”
He points to a metal box on the table next to Jaster’s.
“I wanted to give them their history, maybe even find the source of the conflict,” Minster Kenobi shrugs, “But I might as well have just gone through the Halls of Evidence. There’s no answer in there. Then again, I was fourteen and fresh out of a war. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”
Jaster shakes his head, “I doubt it, but thanks for the encouragement.”
¬
Jango finds himself watching Minister Kenobi. His eyes stray to him during meetings, mealtimes and outings. He watches the way he laughs, the way the sun glints off his hair, the way his eyes soften whenever he sees children. Whenever Minister Kenobi meets his eyes, his stomach flutters. Jango feels like he’s a teenager with a crush again. He’s used to being able to ask anyone he likes on a date.
But he can’t tell Minister Kenobi he likes him. Not least because he’s five years younger and a foreign dignitary in critical negotiations.
“Prince Fett,” a pale hand waves in front of his face, “Prince Fett?”
He starts, catching the hand in his. Minister Kenobi stands in front of him, expression amused and wrist caught in Jango’s grasp.
“Minister Kenobi,” he releases his wrist quickly, “My apologies, I seem to have zoned out.”
“Don’t worry, that tends to happen in here. Nothing can tire one faster than scouring through old records from a centuries long civil war. And please, call me Obi-Wan. We’ve certainly spent enough time together. As I was saying, have you made any progress?”
Jango shakes his head, “Not really, I’m not the best researcher anyway.”
Minister K- Obi-Wan smiles slightly, sliding into the chair across from Jango. He pulls a pile of files closer to him, flicking through to examine the dates.
“You won't get much from these,” he says, “They’re from before the Melida and the Daan knew any Basic. I’ve done my best to translate, but considering your Council wants evidence examined by your eyes I imagine my translations won’t pass muster.”
Jango grimaces, “Unfortunately, you’re right. They’re being quite particular.”
He tilts his head, “Luckily, there’s a dictionary somewhere in here. I’m not sure where, though.”
“Honestly I think I need a break. What are you doing here?”
“Taking a break,” he says, gentle mirth in his voice, “I wanted to check in with you. The Manda’lor and Ser Myles are talking to come of the babies at the hospital.”
“Babies?”
He laughs, “Ah yes, that’s what we call the children who were basically babies when the war ended. The babies mostly live here, and we have a rotational schedule. But not all of them got through unscathed. Despite our best efforts.”
There’s a tightness in his voice as he says it, and Jango regrets asking the question. He regrets all of this digging. It’s necessary, it will help them provide a fair trade deal and understand the planet they’ve unwittingly stumbled into. But he doesn’t doubt it’s painful to have it all dragged up.
“I’m sorry,” Jango says softly.
“For what?” Obi-Wan asked, “Being thorough? Being curious? Despising war crimes? I don’t blame you for any of this. In some ways I’m glad to bring it all to the surface. We deserve to have our stories told. They deserve to have their stories told.”
