A Match for the Mandalore

Canderous

I was admiring Jennet for being able to avoid Cressa’s blade well enough not to have to test if it was poisoned, and her clever solution to winning the match, but not killing the conniving bitch. Then Cressa jumped her, and Jennet went insane.

She hadn’t sheathed her swords yet, and the whirling mass of blades slammed into Cressa, ripping her to shreds and almost decapitating her. She fell, dead before she hit the ground. A pulse of energy hit her as she fell; Dax had shot her, too late to stop what she had done to Jennet, but quick enough for all that. He turned the blaster on Jennet, not trying to kill her, only trying to stop her murderous advance. It worked, in a way; she turned toward him instead of the unprepared crowd and danced through the pulses so fast I couldn’t follow. The spectators were diving out of the way, and I was sure at least a few had gotten hit by blaster shots. I bellowed for someone to stop Jennet, yanked the blaster out of Dax’s hand and opened my mind to Jennet.

Blankness. I swore savagely; Jennet was heading toward the crowd now, blood in her eye, utterly unable to feel me. She was just short of the mass of warriors when she stopped dead in her tracks. Thank the Gods; our friends had managed to stop her. I saw all six of them out of the corner of my eye, in poses of concentration. I ran up to Jennet and felt the alien energy of the stim running through her. She was fighting wildly to break free of the stasis, but was no match for six jetti.

All of this had happened in less time than it took to tell it. I put my hands over her heart, and drew the stim out of her, lending her my strength to keep her from passing out. It was easier this time; I already knew what to do. I nodded and the field was released; Jennet slumped into my arms. Her healing went off, but not as strongly as last time; she had used a lot to heal Cressa. Her eyes opened, looking confusedly into my worried face.

“All right, Wildcat?” I asked gruffly.

“Yes.” She stood shakily, and looked over at Cressa. “Oh, no,” she said miserably, tears starting to form in her eyes.

“Cyar’ika, she was trying to dishonor you; she killed herself by injecting you with that stim. It wasn’t your fault.” I said firmly. She clung to me and cried. I talked soothing to her, letting her get it out. After a moment, she stopped, and straightened, wiping her face with her sleeve. I saw the jetti healing the wounded, and nodded my thanks.

The Elders were approaching, their faces grim. “Is the outlander woman under control now?” Elder Gregor asked angrily. “She murdered Cressa after the fight was declared over.”

“She reacted to the stim Cressa injected in her,” I said, my voice low and deadly, but loud enough for everyone to hear. “A condition she learned about in the meeting you allowed her to attend. I want her blade tested; I would not put it past her not to have poisoned it.” I nodded to Dax, who retrieved the sword and the spent hypo, and handed both to Elder Gregor, who sniffed each of them carefully. Drawing a small bottle out of his pocket, he poured a few drops of clear liquid over the steel of the vibrosword. The surface flashed red for a moment, and Elder Gregor looked thunderous.

“There was poison on this blade,” he said angrily.

“You think?” I heard Mira say tartly.

Jennet stood straight and glared at Elder Gregor. “I regret that Cressa is dead, but it was her own actions that caused it. She had heard about how I react to stims, and thought to discredit me among your people. Apparently, she poisoned her sword as well; useless against me, but she didn’t know that. I’m done being judged.”

He looked at her, his face grave, appearing to think over what Jennet had said. Finally, he gave a short nod, and bowed to Jennet. “I was too quick to accuse you; I apologize.”

There was a gasp among the crowd; the Elders almost never apologized.

“The matter of Cressa is concluded,” he continued. “It is clear she claimed wife to the Mandalore for her own gains, and sought to discredit Jennet in revenge for her failed scheme. Cressa is dead, with dishonor, let her body be removed from this place, in an unmarked grave.”

“No.” Jennet said firmly.

“You question an Elder?” Elder Gregor growled.

“Damn right I do,” Jennet snapped. “You’ve been questioning me before you met me, seems only fair.” There was a faint rumble; admiration mixed with disapproval. Jennet ignored it. “Cressa was misguided, and less than honorable, but she is no threat now. All she wanted was to be with her people again; let her be buried nearby. Her spirit may find some peace. I claim the right to decide as the one who was challenged by her.”

The Elders conferred a moment, then Elder Gregor nodded. “You have that right, and we will abide. Trials to prove or disprove Jennet and the Mandalore mates will begin tomorrow at mid-day. But you must show some respect, woman,” Elder Gregor glared at her.

“I’ll try,” Jennet said sweetly, and smiled. Elder Gregor glowered. She looked around the mass of warriors and said soberly, “I apologize to those who were wounded.”

“Don’t worry about it, lass,” someone called. “Takes more than a couple of blaster shots to bring us down.” There was a general chuckle of agreement.

“You’re a fine fighter, outlander or no,” another voice said loudly. “I wouldn’t mind testing you myself.”

“Maybe later,” Jennet grinned. “Give me some time to get my energy back. Now,” she said, turning to me, “I need something to eat. Feed me, or I’m going to pass out, right here.”

“You got it, Wildcat.” I said, laughing.

“If you need more entertainment,” Dax said sardonically, “go watch her; you won’t believe it, trust me.”

There was a snort of amusement, and Jennet mock scowled at Dax.

“You,” she said accusingly, “are supposed to be on my side.”

“I am,” he said, grinning at her. “If there’s anything a Mandalorian loves more than fighting, it’s eating and drinking. They’ll adore you.”

It’s definitely in the top three, I murmured silently to Jennet. For me, fighting is now neck and neck with another favorite activity.

If you don’t feed me, you won’t get to enjoy anything tonight, Jennet shot back.

“This way,” I said aloud, giving my wildcat a lewd wink.

Most everyone followed us to the mess hall; it was about time for supper. As we filed in, I saw where the rest of the newcomers had been; the eight women in the Elder party had taken over the kitchen, much to the delight of my men. Jennet immediately walked over and introduced herself, expressing concern that they were working, rather than being treated as guests.

“Oh, no, lass, it’s good be cooking for warriors again,” said one tall, matronly woman who had introduced herself as Lorna. “We have few menfolk now to take care of; mostly just our sons. We like to be useful,” she said cheerfully.

“I didn’t mean to be insulting,” Jennet said anxiously. “Is there anything I can help with?”

“Not a bit; don’t trouble yourself,” Lorna said genially. “We had everything ready before your fight, and watched as you bested that two-faced viper. I don’t mind saying we’re all glad Cressa is no longer spreading trouble; most of us never really liked her. Now, child, eat; you need feeding up. How you can fight like that when you’re so tiny is beyond me.”

“I tried to grow; it didn’t take,” Jennet said gravely, a twinkle in her eye.

Lorna snorted appreciatively. “Well, nothing can be done now; we’ll just get used to avoiding stepping on you.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Jennet grinned. She took the plate piled high with wonderful smelling food, and I did the same, with a smile and nod to Lorna. I led Jennet to the high table, gesturing Ladria and the others to join us when they were ready. The Elders were not present; I assumed someone had seen to their comfort. A nod from Jarxel confirmed this. Dax and Jarxel were already seated, the rest of the honor guard were standing behind us. I looked at them, and gave them the signal to go eat themselves. Kelborn caught my eye, gave me a small shake of the head, and stood taller.

“They’ll eat afterward,” Jarxel muttered to me. “Quit trying to get rid of them.”

“I don’t like ceremony, and it’s unnecessary now; Cressa’s dead.” I growled back.

“You took the helm, and want to rebuild us; observe the protocol, and shut up about it,” Jarxel glowered. “They’re honored to serve you, don’t insult them by refusing.”

“I’m not trying to insult them,” I muttered. “I just wonder if they’re going to insist on manning my quarters.”

“Your room is soundproofed,” Jarxel said with a knowing wink.

“Oh shut up,” I growled, and ate.

Jennet of course had heard everything and stepped on my foot under the table. Quite a trick, considering she could barely touch the floor.

Be nice, she said sternly. They love you; let them show it.

I’m pretty sure it’s not me they love, I answered, an unwilling smile in my thought. All seven of them are willing to die for you and you haven’t been proved my Mate yet.

Think that if you like, she thought cheerfully.

Kex smiled when you ordered him to guard the door against Cressa. I wasn’t sure he had teeth.

He just didn’t like Cressa, Jennet said dismissively. You could have brought home a Wookie as your mate and he’d have been delighted if it got her out of the picture.

Think that if you like, I parroted back, and she stepped on my foot again.

As Dax had predicted, the company was amazed and awed at Jennet’s appetite. I heard murmurs of bets going around as to when she’d stop. Lorna and the other women in the kitchen wouldn’t allow anyone at the high table to come refill their own plates; they kept themselves busy by bringing platters of food and pitchers of ale. Jennet had four large tankards of the ale and I heard Kex whistle behind me.

“She’s not even listing,” I heard him say, not quietly but not shouting either.

He had reason for being surprised; one tankard was about the equivalent of three straight shots of Firewhiskey. Kex could out drink anyone in the camp, including me, and his limit was about seven. By four, he’d be either expansive and talking war stories or starting to get mean, depending on his mood when he started. Usually mean; Kex wasn’t noted for his jovial personality. I noticed Visas at the end of the table had switched to water; so did most of our jetti friends. Only Bao Dur was still accepting refills. Jennet drank water along with her ale; she needed water as much as food to keep her energy high.

If Jennet heard the comment, and I was sure she had, she made no sign. She finished her dessert of bread and honey baked with berries and smiled at Lorna, who was poised over Jennet’s tankard, ready to pour more. Jennet waved her off.

“No more, for now,” she said, a huge smile on her face. “Just water. Lorna, that was the best meal I’ve had in months. Absolutely wonderful. Please thank everyone for me. Wait, no, let me thank them.” With that, she got up, not staggering a bit, and trotted off to speak to the cooks. I looked after her with approval.

“That’s a grand lass you have there, Mandalore,” Lorna said to me. “Nice manners, and can take care of herself.”

“She is,” I agreed, “and she certainly can.” If that last was on the gruff side, it wasn’t because I disapproved, truly. Jennet’s independence is one of her qualities I admire most, even if it does occasionally threaten to make my heart stop. Something of that must have been on my face, because Lorna gave me a sharp look. Then her expression softened.

“Ah, that’s how it is,” she said. “Any outlander that can make the Mandalore look like that is either very special, or very devious. I don’t think Jennet’s dishonest.”

“Oh, she can be devious,” I assured Lorna.

Lorna snorted. “And who can’t, from time to time? You’ve never lied in your life, hm?”

I gave her my smile that makes people go away. She just snorted again, winked, and started gathering up dishes.

It was good to have Mandalorian women around again. Part of the reason I loved Jennet was she was so much like them; strong, brave, prone to speak her mind, and completely fearless when it comes to males. It helped, I’m sure, that she knew without a doubt she could whip the ass of most of the population, but even if she couldn’t, I doubt she’d act any different.

Where she was different from Mandalorian women, besides being about a head shorter, is she wasn’t afraid to cry, or show weakness. She’ll lose her temper just as fast as one, but will apologize just as quickly, with no expectation that anyone will think less of her for doing so. People I’d met on my travels had commented from time to time that Mandalorians seem to have only two states of mind: anger and indifference. This simply isn’t true; we’re just not comfortable showing much emotion around anyone we might end up being enemies with. When we’re among our own, we’re a much livelier bunch.

But softer emotions – love, pity, compassion, sorrow, among others – we don’t express openly much at all. We feel them, even show it, but talking about it puts you at a disadvantage and allows someone else to have power over you, something no fighter is comfortable with. Our whole culture is based on battle; we train from practically birth to protect ourselves in every way possible. In the fifteen years since the end of the war my outlook on many things had changed significantly, but I still had instinctively shielded my emotions, not wanting anyone, including others of my race, to get close or have any sort of hold on me. I had believed, as most of my people did, that if you show weakness, you become weak. Allowing emotion to rule you gets you killed in battle. Showing someone else that you care gave them the power to hurt you, and subtly leaves you vulnerable to attack.

For ten years after the war, I worked with people that had more or less the same philosophy, but far less sense of honor than the average Mandalorian. I had sunk into self-hatred, anger, and hopelessness. Then I met Revan and her crew, and slowly learned a bit about trust, and allowing myself to care about something besides battle, and myself. In actual fact, I didn’t care about myself much; I was marking time until someone came along and killed me, which I more or less welcomed. Revan started the change in me, and I found that helping others and occasionally showing people I cared about them was both harder than fighting, and took more strength. But I didn’t want anyone too close; it might make me weak.

Then Jennet whirled into my life, and she could fight better than anyone I’d ever seen. But she had gotten sick when she blew up the Hutt, avoided violence when she could, and cried when she had killed Cressa, someone who clearly wanted her dead. She wasn’t afraid to show a hundred Mandalorian warriors she loved me, and had gotten Kex to smile, for the love of the Gods. She had helped her own mother die on her own terms, rather than waste away for months or years, helpless and in pain. She cared and showed it, and none of it made her weak. She was stronger than almost anyone I knew, and it was because of what my people considered foolish: caring, and showing it.

I used to get irritated about outlanders calling the Mandola barbarians. To my mind, culture was a waste of time, manners were a way for people that couldn’t fight to hide their weakness, and being polite was a form of lying. So many other races treated women with contempt, or at least as less than men; Mandalorians see women as equals, and respect their power. Over the years, I’d learned the ways of outlanders well enough to understand that different outlooks didn’t necessarily mean weakness, and adapted somewhat. What hit home now was realizing that Jennet respected herself, gave respect to others freely, even when it wasn’t deserved, demanded respect from others and got it, even among my people, all without changing her own personality one bit. The head of the Elders apologized to her. And she hadn’t been formally proved my Mate yet.

She was changing an entire culture without knowing it, in less than a day. No one could call this woman weak. It humbled me that she was mine; I hoped I would deserve her one day.

When she returned to the table, I pulled her on to my lap and kissed her soundly, reveling in the feel and smell of her. She kissed me back with enthusiasm, wiggling a bit to tease me. There was a slight rise in volume in the voices around us and I glanced up to see Jarxel grinning over Jennet’s head. Public displays of affection are not frowned upon; it’s mutual marking of territory. The mood around us was one of approval. But my train of thought while Jennet had been off complimenting the cooks was still with me, and I set her back a little to look her in the face. She was rosy and smiling, and I could tell that she had let the ale affect her a little.

“I love you, Wildcat,” I said aloud, not troubling to keep my voice down. I wasn’t loud, but I wanted her to know I didn’t care who heard me.

She looked surprised, but didn’t look away from my gaze. Her face softened, and she said in the same tone, “I love you too, ti kar’ta.”

There was a snort behind me, which I ignored, but no shocked silence or disapproving rumble. I smiled. It was true – we were changing, and to my mind, for the better.

Not too much, please, Jennet said in my head. I would miss my grumbly nerf.

Don’t worry Wildcat, I doubt we’re going to start crying over sentimental holovids any time soon.

Good; that’s MY job. She burrowed more comfortably in my arms, and rested her head on my shoulder.