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mlwritersguild · 2 years

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Purr-suasion, by @empressofall

Based on a prompt submitted by @deinde-prandium: Adrinette P&P? Chloe as Emma? Go wild, as long as it’s an AU based on one of Jane Austen’s works.

AO3; Jane Austen AU, Background Feligami, Background DJWifi

Summary:

Marinette and Adrien reunite 10 years after Marinette suddenly broke off their secret engagement. At least, it had been sudden from Adrien’s point of view.

----

Their debt had been purchased and the sale to their new owners had been made. The Dupain-Cheng family still ran the patisserie on Rue Caulaincourt, but it no longer had their name above the door.

Those were just the first in a series of events that led Marinette to where she was standing now, across from him and him across from her.

In all honesty, it should have been obvious where this was heading. The purchase had been made years ago, but Gabriel Agreste, the old curmudgeon, had died and there had been no one to cause issues after that. The inheritance had fallen to some nephew in London and they had heard neither hide nor hair of him until a month ago. A month ago the letter had come with a last name that Marinette hadn’t thought to connect. They’d set up dinner, did their best to impress their employers, but the evening had turned sour as seating placements dictated that she was looking directly into the eyes of Adrien Agreste.

“We hadn’t even realized you left Paris.” Tom Dupain seemed a little sheepish in making that statement.

“I didn’t realize my father had bought your establishment.” The words seemed a little too biting, and he quickly added, “I’m happy that we are able to catch up after so many years.”

Adrien wasn’t a cruel person. Marinette knew him well enough to say that. Absence hadn’t made the heart grow fonder in this case, and the bitterness that drifted her way from his side was palpable.

Adrien’s cousin, Mr. Felix Graham de Vanilly, and his wife, Kagami, silently observed the mess that was unfolding and did nothing to help.

“You must tell us about your time at sea,” Sabine Cheng said. “The most famous Captain in the French navy. You must have some good stories.”

“Perhaps my cousin can share how he earned such a ridiculous nickname as the Dread Chat Noir,” Felix said with the barest hint of amusement.

Adrien didn’t look up from his plate. “Only that I bring bad luck to my enemies.”

Marinette didn’t know if she liked it better when he was ignoring her or when he wouldn’t look away.

“Why join the navy in the first place?” Sabine asked.

Adrien stopped completely. He set his utensils down and hastily picked up his napkin to cover a cough. His eyes looked up and over to her above the edge of the cloth with a question and Marinette gave no answer. She had never told her parents of the past. It wasn’t likely she would come out with the truth now.

No one argued when Adrien didn’t give an answer. He simply went back to eating.

Kagami gave an awkward smile as she looked around the table. “The salmon has such a lovely citrus flavor.”

.*.*.*.

Marinette was the one opening the bakery the next morning. She had started doing it a few days a week, giving her parents the opportunity to sleep in while she baked and served their first customers. In the time that she had grown older, so had they. Her father complained of his back aching more often and her mother had grown dark circles under her eyes.

Some might complain that Marinette was seven and twenty and unmarried, but she was doing a lot more good at home than she would in her own household.

Marinette was in the middle of putting fresh loaves of bread on the display when the door opened and the bell above it jingled. She looked up to see a familiar head of blonde hair. Adrien lingered in the doorway as though he were waiting for her permission to enter. She wanted to tell him that he was letting the cold in, but didn’t want him to take her words as hostile.

After a moment, he walked up to the counter and before he could even tell her what he wanted, Marinette was pulling the passion fruit macaron from the shelf and putting it in its only little bag. She grabbed a croissant from the display and added it to the order. Adrien seemed surprised when she presented them to him.

“You remember,” he said.

Marinette pretended she wasn’t thinking of every time she shared this breakfast with him. And every time she had thought about them sharing it in the last six years.

Adrien picked up the bags from where she had placed them. She held out her hand to him. “That’ll be a franc, please.”

He stared at her dumbfounded.

“Your cousin owns this establishment. Not you,” Marinette said. “I might be inclined to give him and his wife free products, but you’re still a paying customer.”

The fact was, Adrien had never had to pay before. He dug into his pockets even still and pulled out the money.

“You seem to be doing well for yourselves,” Adrien said, looking around the room. Gabriel Agreste had paid for renovations when he’d purchased their debt and their business. “And you seem well. As well.”

Was he angry? Is that why he was being so awkward?

Marinette was agonizing over what to say next. She wasn’t prepared for this conversation this early in the morning. Adrien had every right to be upset with her. His version of what happened was different than her own, some of the truth had been concealed, and it made Marinette the rightful object of his ire.

“Things have been…” Marinette paused to take a deep breath as she tried to think of what word to use, “fine.”

Adrien’s lips pulled into a tight line as he nodded.

Marinette tried to think of something else to say. “Do you…have your land legs back?”

Surprisingly, Adrien laughed at this.

“I’ve been back from sea for almost a month,” he said. “Sometimes I still feel the ground shifting beneath my feet.”

He started drumming his fingers on top of the counter.

“The— uh— The sailors under my command were the ones who started calling me Chat Noir.” Adrien had a soft smile on his face when he spoke.

“Because you bring bad luck on your enemies?”

“And myself.”

Marinette bit her lip. She was about to open her mouth. Maybe an apology would come out.

“I dropped a cannonball on my foot one time,” Adrien said.

It took Marinette a moment to realize that he was being serious and she burst out laughing. She was drawn back into her memories, how they used to try and make each other laugh every day. Picturing Adrien holding her in his arms as he cracked another ridiculous joke was an image still sharp enough in her mind to cut deep. His nose had brushed up against hers. Her eyelashes tickled his cheek.

“But I did face an enemy or two in battle,” Adrien continued. He shrugged. “Apparently, I did alright.”

Marinette sucked in a deep breath and asked the question she had been trying to hold back. “And how long are you staying?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

Nothing was sure. Not anymore.

Perhaps there had been a time when Marinette could ask him to promise to stay in Paris longer, or leave his post behind entirely. She had forfeited that right when she had gone back on her word. Adrien wasn’t the kind of person to do something like that, and he certainly wouldn’t tolerate that from anyone else. Not even her.

At one point in her life, Marinette had been so sure that she was going to keep her proimise to marry him. The day she had been called to his home by his father, that certainty crumbled.

Adrien sniffled and readjusted his grip on his bags of baked goods. “I will be here for a while. There’s some more people I want to see.”

More people. Could Marinette let herself believe that she was on his list?

“Perhaps I can see you again?” Marinette asked, the smallest bit of hope dripping into her voice.

Adrien smiled at her. “I’ll see you again, Miss Dupain-Cheng.”

Her heart sunk as he addressed her by her last name.

.*.*.*.

When Marinette did cross paths with Adrien again she hadn’t been expecting it. Someone— and she wouldn’t name names— had decided to bring him along on a trip to the botanical gardens.

Alya Cesaire had organized the outing. She had brought along Nino Lahiffe as well and Mr. Felix Graham de Vanilly and his wife Kagami tagged along as well. Nino and Alya walked arm in arm and Marinette xpected an announcement of their engagement any day now.

With the roster of the present company, Marinette had been left to walk in the back with Adrien. Couples weren’t always open with their single friends and Marinette often wondered if people got married just so they didn’t feel excluded. Fellow singles of the opposing sex had to keep distance from each other, which made commiserating difficult.

Not that she could have commiserated with Adrien. The fault behind why they walked with a few feet between them instead of arm in arm was her own.

Marinette tried to occupy herself by enjoying the flowers. They were in full bloom, the warm days of summer coming as a blessing after the cold of late spring. She took walks like this often and tried to use the time to find peace with herself. It was the first moment that Adrien was with her, not just in memory.

She’d thought of him often. Regret and hope had all mixed together in the same messed up bowl of feelings. With regret, she had listened to his father and “cut him loose.” With hope, she dreamed of him coming back to her.

Their encounters so far had been nothing like her fantasies and neither was this one.

Adrien remained silent. He was either listening to their friends' conversations or thinking about something. Either way, the look on his face was intense. It shifted, and he was nodding along to something with a small smile.

“Marinette, what do you think?”

She hadn’t been prepared for Alya’s question. “Hm?”

“What do you think?” Alya related. “About Adrien turning to a life of piracy.”

Adrien was looking at her as if he was actually curious to hear her answer.

“Would he make a good pirate?” she asked, quickly trying to avoid his eyes.

“Chat Noir is a better pirate name than a naval captain,” Nino said. He scoffed. “He could certainly use the money from stealing chests of gold.”

Alya’s brows furrowed. “What for? Don’t you have some large, grand inheritance from your father?”

“He did ,” Felix said, grumbling under his breath.

“What?” Alya and Marinette spoke almost simultaneously.

“Did?” Alya asked. “As in not anymore?”

They had all stopped walking, all eyes turned to Adrien. He turned sheepish under their gazes and his shoulders scrunched up to his ears. What was he trying to hide and why were Marinette and Alya the only ones who didn’t know? For what reason had Gabriel Agreste not left his son with something? Felix had been the one to inherit his business empire, but Adrien had nothing at all.

Anger bubbled up inside Marinette’s chest. Disinheritance had been what she had been trying to protect him from when she’d broken off their engagement. Gabriel had threatened to leave his only son with nothing if they had married and he had done it anyway.

Forget anger, Marinette felt overcome by panic. She tried to keep herself from hyperventilating. Her friends seemed to have noticed.

“Will you excuse me, please?” Marinette asked. By the end of her sentence, she was already walking away from them. She took herself off of the path and started trampling through the trees and over their roots.

Adrien was calling to her over the sound of leaves and branches snapping underneath her feet. Marinette didn’t want him following her. She tried to keep her pace fast enough that he couldn’t catch her but his long legs easily matched her strides.

He was able to maneuver around her with ease and stop her with his hands on her shoulders. The worry on his face was clear as day as he examined her and his grip was iron. She wouldn’t be able to go anywhere.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

Marinette tried to keep her lip from trembling. She didn’t know what to say to him, how to let out the secret that no one else knew. Gabriel Agreste was dead. She had never told her parents and not even Alya.

“Did you—“ Marinette felt the words get stuck in her throat. She shut her eyes, cursing under her breath as she tried again. “Did your father really take away your inheritance?”

Adrien blinked slowly as he tried to process. “That’s what you’re—“ he stuttered. “No. No, I refused it.”

“What?” Marinette asked. Her feelings were running away from her. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she sniffled. “You did?”

Adrien hasilty used his hands to wipe away her tears. He was nervous to touch her. She could feel it.

“Marinette, I know,” Adrien said. “I found out that he told you to walk away.”

There was the slightest hint of anger in his green eyes, as if a distant memory were playing out behind them. Marinette could remember feeling the same way in the days after Gabriel Agreste had summoned her to his home. She had kicked herself for making her decision and then settled with it for a while, only to go back to beating herself up later.

“I was too late,” Adrien continued. “By then, I was in the middle of my commission. And when they gave me leave to see him before… I wanted nothing more than to come back and clear the air with you.”

“Clear the air…” Marinette repeated.

He still held her, so gently.

“I wish you had told me,” Adrien said. “I would have abandoned everything then and there if it meant I could keep all of you. More than just the memories.”

“I didn’t want to make you give up your family.”

“Damn that. You’re my family.” Adrien didn’t sound harsh at all. Marinette could only recognize the passion that she had loved with her whole being. “You, Marinette. You. You. I want you.”

He leaned in, as if to kiss her, and stopped short. There were still inches to close between them that seemed like miles.

Adrien pulled away, searching her face again. “I only– That is, I want to ask. If perhaps you still feel the same?”

Marinette wanted to scream that yes, of course. Of course, she still felt the same. How long had it been since her longing consumed her until it took over her life? Adrien had been in everything since he left, in every loaf of bread she baked, in the evening sky she looked up at on her roof. She saw him when she woke in the morning and when she went to bed at night.

How could her feelings have changed over these past years when he had been ingrained in her so deeply?

“If you no longer feel the same as you did, I swear to you, I will walk away without another word.”

Marinette grabbed his hand to hold him there. “Stay,” she said. “And tell me again.”

Adrien’s whole body flooded with relief. He relaxed, no longer carrying the tense posture of a shoulder. His head drifted down to rest on her shoulder, arms reaching around to pull her in tight. Marinette’s fingers threaded through his hair, keeping him as close to her as possible.

“I still love you,” Adrien mumbled.

“What was that?” Marinette asked.

Adiren looked up at her with a frown. “I–”

Marinette quickly pecked his lips. He silenced. She only let him sit in his shock for a second, and much sweeter and gentler, Marinette leaned in and kissed him again. It lasted longer, but she would need much more to make up for all the pain that still lingered in her heart.

Adrien was quick to caress her cheek, his other hand on the small of her back. When he finally pulled away, he looked as though he let go of anything but his happiness. “Say that I have you again.”

“I am yours.”

.*.*.*.

Marinette didn’t know if she liked the new sign hanging above the bakery. She had worked on it for hours, but wasn’t sure if it was perfect. Adrien told her a few times over that he loved the blue colors, reminding him of rolling waves on the seas.

The Agreste name had been taken down, and Dupain-Cheng put back up. Returning ownership of the shop to them had been an unexpected wedding present but a welcome one. Sabine and Tom started talking a few full days off with their daughter and son-in-law taking charge.

Marinette placed a hand on Adrien’s shoulder as she passed by him taking orders from customers. Today was a busy day, but it was hard to be stressed when she was spending it with him.

“You’ve got to take a break, my love,” Adrien told her after the customers were gone. “You’ve been on your feet all day.”

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Perhaps we can afford to take an hour for lunch,” Marinette said. “If you insist.”

“I do. Put the sign on the door,” he said, turning her around to face him. “An hour to have you all to myself.”

Adrien, once again, drew her in for a kiss.

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mlwritersguild · 2 years

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Common Ground, by @bugchat

Based on a prompt submitted by @empressofall: star wars holiday special au

AO3; Fluff & Angst, Star Wars/Mandalorian AU, Bad Parent Gabriel Agreste, Kidnapping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing

Summary:

Adrien Agreste is starting to get really tired of all these formal Empire-organised dinners and meetings, so when he gets instructed to be a courier that gets to go outside for a bit, he happily obliges. Little does he know his cargo is very important, and many people are after it. How does he fare, faced with past mistakes, a planet destroyed, and an enemy unknowingly after his cargo?

---

THE GALA

“For the love of the Maker, Adrien, stand up straight. The Moff’s here tonight, we need to look presentable .”

Adrien and his father walked through the halls just after the initial security checkpoint outside, dreary gray metallic slabs reflecting the harsh white lights from above. It cast harsh shadows into his father’s face, deep-set eyes completely vanishing in the dark. Not that Adrien often got the pleasure of having them look at him anyway. The only time those eyes saw him is when Gabriel passed a propaganda poster with Adrien’s face on it, smiling a fake smile and making false promises.

That light had vanished long ago.

The second checkpoint was already a bit more formal looking, with it being near the main halls where the internal official people went. The deeper one went into the core of the building, the more pretentious it got. Adrien supposed his father belonged right in the middle of it.

The stormtroopers had a few blue squares on their insignia, so they had to be quite high-ranked. For stormtroopers, that is. They didn’t dare ask his father for ID when they saw his 6 yellow ones.

“Please step through.”

Adrien wasn’t wearing his.

The weapons detector beeped at him in synch with the security droid next to it, and he stepped to the other side to be handed back his ID cylinder. Like they needed that to run his chain code these days. “Happy birthday, Sir.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s…” The stormtrooper paused, slightly shook their head, and dropped the cylinder into Adrien’s gloved palm before saluting and turning back around. “Have a good evening, Sirs.”

Adrien turned to just watch his father break his disapproving stare at him. “How coherent of you.”

Gabriel waltzed on, briefcase completely still in his right hand. Adrien blinked and turned to the stormtrooper, but they were already tending to the next guests arriving. He had to walk quite fast to catch back up, since running wasn’t exactly an option, and joined on his father’s left side. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Be better.”

“Of course, Father.”

The troopers at the door parted for them and let them enter the main central hall. Adrien still wondered how the “defeated” Empire managed to rent out one of the biggest buildings on Coruscant without raising suspicion, but those questions were better left unasked by someone of his rank. For now, he had to blend in as well as stand out, however much he wanted to disappear.

The central hall was near-circular and had a high glass roof, with a giant chandelier hanging from the middle of the dome. The architecture had to be Old Republic, with its golden accents. The New Republic didn’t have money for all that during the war, and the Empire definitely didn’t bother with such things. The halls, however, had to have been renovated in the last few years, with the–

“General Agreste.”

Adrien bowed very curtly before stepping behind his father and taking the briefcase from his right hand. He held it tightly, unmoving as he had seen his father do. The contents were unknown to him, but the man before him seemed to know. He eyed the briefcase with unrestricted eagerness and greed, even as he shook Gabriel’s hand. He was higher ranked, so he could. The plaque on his armor told Adrien that much.

He didn’t bother with the rankings all that much, but two blue and four yellow squares were high. Maybe an Admiral? Or…

“Ah, Moff–”

Oh . A moff . Not as high a title as Grand Admiral, but above his father’s rank. He probably had his own cruiser orbiting the planet right now. Sweat was already gathering on his back and in his hands as he met the Moff’s inquisitive gaze.

“Adrien,” his father turned to him and gestured with his right hand to two black-dressed individuals, “go with these stormtroopers and deliver the briefcase to the transport. You return to me as soon as it is leaving. Is that clear?”

‘Crystal.’

“Yes, Father.”

---

THE DEPARTURE

They were tall, didn’t look at him, and went whether he was beside them or not. Droid stormtroopers. Robotic legs gave them away, along with their heavy reverberating footsteps on the metal of the halls. They weaved through the back halls, probably to a secluded exit, and exited into the brisk night.

It was a shame Coruscant had those climate controls installed so long ago. Adrien longed for the cold sting of snow right around now. Just to get out of this meaningless cycle of propaganda parties, galas, formal dinners, and business meetings. He longed for the shadows cast by those lights, to disappear into them, never to be seen again.

As if his footsteps were obscured by snowfall.

The guard on his left tripped.

The sound made Adrien jump, whirling to face that direction as he stepped backward. The guard on his right was now engaged, gun raised and eyes gleaming red. The left trooper tried to get up but failed halfway, dropping back down heavily. As the right stormtrooper bent down to check what was stopping him, Adrien was grabbed from behind. He managed to exclaim just before his mouth was covered, and the guards heard him. His assailant cursed and let go of him, instead shooting a blaster at the stormtrooper.

The shot bounced off.

Another curse from behind him, and Adrien finally remembered to drop and cover his head before his guards returned fire. He clutched the briefcase to his chest and started crawling back to the exit they came from. It was closed, tightly sealed, but at least there would be some cover and a camera to at least get a glimpse of the attacker should he get taken.

He was surprised at how rational his thought process was despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

The assassin was too fast for Adrien to get a good glimpse at. They moved too smoothly from one place to another in the dark parts of the little yard. And they were good . One of the guards was still down, feet tied together with something. The attacker’s blaster fire had ceased and they were now merely moving around the guards. Getting closer and closer until they were close enough to–

Fire burst from their arm, creating a wave of heat that washed over Adrien. The light made him squint, unable to follow. When the fire ceased, one of the troopers had deactivated, now laying limp on the ground. The other seemed to be frozen, unmoving with its back turned to Adrien.

It dropped, a vibroblade protruding from its chassis. The assailant bent over the deactivated droid, pulled the blade free in one motion, and resheathed it on their thigh.

Adrien clutched the briefcase further into his chest, feet scrabbling for grip on the slightly damp ground, and stared up from where he was squished against the closed hangar doors. His stupid officer uniform boots didn’t have any grip, and the slightly brown color didn't help him blend in against the brightly lit off-white walls. The walls, behind his back and three feet on either side of him. Locking him in.

So much for rational thinking.

The assailant had stepped over the dropped stormtrooper and was slowly marching toward Adrien. He could merely gape, tears leaking from his eyes, as they stepped into the light.

A Mandalorian.

He had just stepped out of the Coruscanti building of the Empire, dressed in his best clothes, the newest trooper droids on either side of him, with a briefcase in his hands, on the anniversary of a holiday within the Empire; the initiation of the Great Purge of Mandalore.

He was going to die.

“Please, make it quick,” he begged, closing his eyes. “And leave me for my father so he can bury me. Please–”

“ Get up.”

“...What?”

“Get up!” they hissed, voice warped through the modulator of their helmet as they stepped closer and waved their arm. “Get up now, take the briefcase, and stay right in front of me.”

Adrien scrabbled against the slick ground and managed to get his feet planted. He rose quickly and darted out in front of the Mandalorian, who immediately put the nozzle of their blaster into his spine.

The sweat on his back was like a waterfall.

“To the right outside the gates, and then the first ship on the left. Keep moving and act normal .”

“I-I’ll try .”

Just one foot in front of the other. Over the gray ground, through the gates, around the corner, up the ramp, into the wall of the hold. He kept his head forward and eyes down, trying to walk at the right pace the Mandalorian wanted from him. The ship lifted off smoothly enough and was in hyperspace in no time. Strange, with the hyperspace lanes being under strict security protocols. Maybe they had someone on the inside..?

The Mandalorian came back into the hold from the cockpit with their blaster trained between his eyes. “What’s in the briefcase? Classified documents? Analytical reports? A weapon?”

“I don’t know,” he rushed, trying to press himself even further into the wall. “He never told me. He just said to deliver it to a ship out back and then to return to him inside. I have no idea what’s inside.”

They stepped closer, their right hand now free from the blaster, extending toward him. He moved slowly but steadily, lifting the case into their gloved palm. He held his hands up as they walked backward, away from an immediate attack. Not like he knew how to even strike someone that armored. Chestplate, helmet, pauldrons, vambraces with weapons within, thigh guards, steel-toed boots. Every piece was painted red, dented from attacks, scratched from vibroblades.

He didn’t stand a chance.

They opened the briefcase slowly and carefully, checking for secret security measures as they did. It was nice to know they cared enough to not let them both explode, but Adrien was sure he was about to combust with the tension in the hold. Nowhere to run, hyperspace didn’t allow for any escape pods to be used during travel, and the fact that they were in a lane didn’t help either.

The case snapped shut, startling him. The Mandalorian had grabbed whatever was inside and was now holding a weapon against his throat. It buzzed and crackled, but he was unable to drag his eyes away from their helmet. All Adrien could see from the corner of his eye was black. The Mandalorian’s voice was low when they next spoke, filled with hurt, rage, and the desire to slash his throat.

“How did you come to be in the possession of the Darksaber?”

He was going to kill his father.

---

THE SWORD

The Mandalorian had been in the cockpit for a while, which had left Adrien alone with his thoughts in the cargo hold. A small droid, also painted red, was watching him from the other side of the room, occasionally beeping at him. The tension had left his muscles ages ago when it became clear the Mandalorian wasn’t planning on murdering him just yet. After the unspoken accusations, they had resheathed the blade and had started pacing the hold for a good while before instructing the small droid to keep an eye on him. And that’s all that had happened in the last few hours.

Hyperspace was funny like that.

Adrien had sagged against the wall, hands empty, staring at the opened case that was thrown across the room. The black protective material stared back from inside, the shape of the handle exactly cut out to fit the weapon. How long had his father had possession of it? What was he planning? The Moff probably knew what was inside, and that’s why he had been staring at it so intently. But what did he want with it? And more importantly, why ?

Mandalorian history was quite familiar to Adrien. His father always insisted it was important to know one’s enemy. And not just war tactics and weaponry. Culture, art, and philosophies as well. He remembered the first time he saw a video of Grand Admiral Thrawn saying those exact words many years ago. Figures, that his father’s one mission was a stolen concept.

The reason the Mandalorians were their enemies had always been clear to him. They were warriors, strong ones, unwilling to cooperate with the Empire. The Mandalorians had had a lot of internal conflicts and civil wars, resulting in many factions and interpretations of the original Creed. But there was one common factor among them all: the Darksaber. When won in combat, one would become the Mand’alor. King of Mandalore. The Darksaber had been lost during the Great Purge, where Bo-Katan Kryze had lost it during an attack. Adrien had figured it had been destroyed, as had many others. A legend lost to the sands of the now desolate planet.

And he had held it in his very hand.

The doors to the cockpit opened and the Mandalorian stepped out, head held high and hands behind their back. The light from hyperspace lit them from behind, creating an intimidating shadow on the ground. They looked absolutely powerful. The small droid glided back over to them and slid back into its compartment in the side of the Mandalorian’s helmet.

“Talk.”

That was probably the smart thing to do.

“I was given the case to be delivered to the shuttle of a Moff attending the gala. The black Stormtroopers were assigned to protect me by the Moff himself. I had no idea of its contents, let alone—“ The significance. He knew. The way his father only held it in his right, still strong arm. How the Moff had eyed it. The high rank of the escort. The fact that he had to deliver it instead of the usual delivery squads at galas. He was a fool.

“Why did you get to deliver it?”

“Because I’m the General’s son.”

Silence.

The Mandalorian stepped forward, blaster now in hand. “Show me your plaque.”

Adrien slowly stuck his hand in his pocket and took out the magnetized plate. Five yellow, one red. Operations Colonel. Only one rank below his father. Not that he deserved it. Nor did he want it.

“Operations Colonel,” they said, turning it over in their palm. They closed their hand around it in a fist, head whipping back up to him. “Did you have anything to do with the Purge?”

“Maker no, when they attacked I was fifteen .”

“So was I!” they said, lowering their blaster as they started waving. The sudden outburst startled Adrien, making him push back against the wall once again. “When your people attacked my home, my family , I had to hide. I wanted to fight, defend my system, but—“ Their voice left them for a moment, and they cleared their throat. “I lost everything because of the Empire. Many of my people died, and we had to run. Because the Empire is ruthless and fights dirty. And now, I find one of the people that killed mine, carrying part of my heritage without even knowing what it means!”

Adrien knew what it meant. How significant that weapon was to them.

“I had no idea I had it. That anyone had it. If I had known—“

“You would’ve returned it, sure.”

“Well, I might’ve at least tried !” The back of his mind was screaming at him to calm down, to appear small, to not be a threat. But if they could rant away their problems at him, so could he. “I’ve tried to get out, multiple times! Those stormtroopers were not only to protect that sword, they were there to keep me contained! I’ve tried running. I’ve tried stealing a shuttle. I’ve tried faking my death. Nothing is good enough, because I symbolize the Empire. To most people, I am the face they put next to the name. As if I am the Empire itself!”

His chest was heaving as he finished, hand dropping back down to his side. He was standing. Maker, why was he standing? Kidnapped 101, 10 years old, always comply with whoever took you so they leave you alive. Unless it’s giving out information about the Empire, your mission, or anything that could jeopardize the cause. When that happened, you had to take care of yourself. Take out yourself.

Maybe he deserved it.

“Whether I like it or not, I am Empire.”

Adrien was taller than the Mandalorian.

The refresher was behind him, feet already halfway back through the hold, when the Mandalorian spoke. “Why would you work for them?” Adrien glared at the ground, hands clenched at his side, glad they couldn’t see his face from back in the doorway of the cockpit. “Follow their rules? Why would you affiliate yourself with these people, whose only purpose is to hurt others?”

They were pretty short, even. He towered above them, at least a whole head, maybe more, even with their thick-soled boots and helmet. They upped him in pure muscle mass, though, even with their height difference. In a fight, he would never stand a chance against a trained armored warrior. He probably would still lose if they had no armor or weapons at all.

“It’s all I’ve ever been told,” he said to the floor. “I grew up hearing how great the Empire was, how it strived for peace across the galaxy. I knew violence when I was young, and hearing sweet promises of calm and order every day makes you want to believe. Until eventually, you do.” Adrien took a deep breath, letting all that resentment and spite leave his body. “But, when it gets… closer , suddenly, that suffering is real. Not just nameless numbers in reports I kept sneaking glances at, but people . I could see the pain in their eyes. Like the light had dimmed. And it was awful . Husks of what they once must’ve been.”

His entire being told him this was wrong, to try to justify his loyalties to a tyrannic government against a victim of that system. But…was he not a victim too?

It was silly, how casually the Mandalorian was standing. Like they had decided he wasn’t a physical threat. A correct assessment he agreed with, however much he was tempted to deny it.

“Why haven’t you left yet?”

“How?” he said, turning his head to look into the void of their visor. “How can anyone expect me to leave my only family, all I’ve ever known, stability and order, for the chaos that is the galaxy? How can I, when I am always watched, observed, en ensure I can’t move? I became the face of the hidden Empire! Anyone loyal to the Empire knows who I am! I could never leave. Even if I had the guts to do so.”

“Then you’re a coward and a fool, trapped in a cage of your own making.”

“Then I suppose I am.”

The Mandalorian in front of him must’ve left home as well. Their family, their life, or whatever had remained of it. And the only reason had been that a few stuck-up assholes somewhere way up above them had decided the other was too dangerous to be left alone. They were forced out into the unknowns of the galaxy, while he had been confined to a few gray halls and meaningless parties. Two ends, same battle.

Fifteen years old when the Empire attacked, destroyed a world, and took countless lives.

Though they were still standing, their lives were also taken from them.

---

HISTORY (I)

“—der was the strongest for the Empire. He was always clear. A true model. Killed by his own child. A tragedy indeed.”

“How do we ensure he never thinks like that? That violence is the only option?”

“Simple. We never tell him anything close to the truth.”

“That’s lying. I won’t lie to him.”

“Don’t you want to stay safe? From him?”

“He’d never hurt us, Gabriel. Unless we give him a reason to.”

“Is your mother still alive?”

“Father refuses to speak of her.” Adrien lifted his head from his knees. “What about your parents?”

“Killed.”

“They would be proud of you.”

The Mandalorian looked away.

The holodisk burned a hole through his pocket the entirety of the flight back. His father dismissed him as soon as they entered their house, and he ran up the stairs to his room immediately.

He closed the door, heaving for breath, wishing he could lock the doors. All he could do was close the windows and hope no one would come in for a few minutes.

His closet was organized neatly with browns and blacks, not a thing out of place. The old shoebox, tucked away in the corner, was surprisingly clean as he took it out. Opening the lid revealed the old disk reader he had hidden away from before. He took the disk out of his pocket and placed it in the projector, lighting up the room in blue. As the device read the gaps, fragments of the meager information flashed to life.

Adrien gaped at the description, then up at the title as it was revealed.

The Force.

---

HISTORY (II)

“You know more about the Darksaber than you’re letting on.”

Adrien gulped, the Mandalorian once again towering over him. “You could say my Father had a special interest in your people and loved to gloat about his knowledge.”

They sat down on a secured crate across from him, a mere few feet away. They swung one leg over the other and crossed their arms. “So your history lessons were an Empire-propagandized version of our culture?”

“I wouldn’t know. It was presented as the truth to me.”

“Then what were you told about the Darksaber?”

“That it was made by the first and only ever Mandalorian Jedi, Tarre Vizsla.”

They were probably narrowing their eyes at him, thinking about what they wanted to know. It was a unique opportunity, after all. Inside information on what the Empire saw as the truth about Mandalorians. And maybe what they didn’t know, how to get the edge, the tactical advantage. What he told the Mandalorian could be used in active warfare, the hidden battle.

Adrien just hoped he could get some truth in response to the lies he had been told.

“What about its history?”

“Well, the Jedi kept it in a temple after Vizsla died to commemorate him, and then the Mandalorians…stole it. During the fall of the Old Republic.” Adrien was tempted to shield his head in case they lashed out at him, this time maybe physically.

“They stole it from us. We merely took it back in opportunism. It was passed down between generations of Clan Vizsla like it should have been in the first place.”

“Until it ended up in the hands of Pre Vizsla.”

“That man was a disgrace to Mandalorians.”

There had been rumors, drifting around the halls of the Empiric vessels. It was as if Adrien had only heard them yesterday. Bounty hunters, Mandalorians, out to earn credits and provide for their clan. Death Watch. But Vizsla had been part of…

Adrien frowned and tilted his head. “Death Watch wanted to abolish the pacifistic path Satine Kryze had set Mandalore on during the Clone Wars, right?”

“True.”

“And you have sworn the Creed?”

“I am a Child of the Watch, of course I did. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Children of the Watch is the successor to Death Watch.”

The Mandalorian laughed once, hard, without humor, and uncrossed their legs, pointing a single bouncing finger at him in warning. “And that’s a bunch of bantha crap.”

“You said you wanted to defend your system during the Purge,” Adrien urged on. “You were never on Mandalore itself. You were on its moon , Concordia.”

“I never said I was born a Mandalorian.” The Mandalorian rose from their seat, voice broken from sudden emotion through the modulator. “I was a child when my people had to flee their homes on a single ship. With only fear in my veins, and the constant banging on the shields in my mind. Everybody on that ship died! For some forsaken reason, I was the only one still breathing when we were boarded by Mandalorians. They took me in, gave me a new home, and gave me a purpose ! I owe them my life…”

The Mandalorian sagged, tension and energy leaving them. It was slow, as they sauntered back over to their spot on the crate.

Adrien could only see himself. You grow up hearing lies, feeling wanted, but have to fit in with traditions and values to be loved. So you do everything in your power to stay within those invisible lines, teetering on the edge, waiting to fall.

‘Then you’re a coward and a fool, trapped in a cage of your own making.’

“What is the Creed like these days?”

The Mandalorian cocked their head at him. They had both been silent for quite some time, thinking. They were strangely intimate topics, to be discussed, given the situation. A kidnapper and their abductee, trapped in hyperspace together.

Adrien had no idea where they were even going. The Outer Rim, judging by how long they had been flying. Maybe the Unknown Regions, even. The Children of the Watch had been flying under the radar for quite some time, so they had to have a hideout somewhere the Empire had never looked, or never would. Maybe something hard to reach or difficult to live in, like a planet covered in toxins. Or somewhere deep in the Unkown Regions, where only people who had a map could go.

But that was silly. Blindly following a map into danger.

“We follow the original texts, the Resol’nare,” the Mandalorian started. “But we’ve had to make adaptations to ensure survival. For the Foundlings. For people me. The Creed is like an expansion of the Resol’nare. It speaks of how a Clan should function, the roles of the people in it, what we should abide by.”

“Anything I might not know of?”

The Mandalorian shrugged. “I wouldn’t know what your father has told you, what he’s lied about, what he kept from you. How would I know what you do and do not know?”

“Tell me a single thing, then.” Adrien scooted forward, legs crossed and fingers drumming on his thighs. “A single thing that you’re certain I wouldn’t know. Something you would be willing to tell, and won’t get you killed by your Clan.”

Silence.

They were probably not going to. An Imperial officer, kidnapped on their ship within their control, asking questions about their Creed, their sacred texts, and for what? His own curiosity? They probably thought he was trying to get intel on the Mandalorian war tactics these days. Rituals before their fights, maybe a detail about their armor or defenses. Or–

“Nobody has seen my face in four years.”

Adrien blinked. “Why?”

“The helmet only comes off before aliit. Family. I have no family, so the helmet stays on. Even within my Clan.”

“So no one knows what you look like?”

“My droid, but no living thing. Maybe a stray loth cat that one time, but…”

His jaw dropped. They were completely anonymous. A ghost. Not a single living being knew what they looked like. “So you’re telling me you could leave, start a new life, and no one would be any the wiser?”

“I would never abandon my Clan,” they hissed. “I am the beroya of my Clan. I am no hut’uun. I may not have a face, but I still have my duties and honor.”

“So you can never show your face to anyone ever again?”

“Aliit ori'shya tal'din.”

Aliit meant family. He knew that. The rest of the words? He had no idea.

The Mandalorian had had enough of his constant prodding with questions. They had started tapping on a holopad, probably looking through files, the droid flittering around their helmet with small beeps and other sounds. Adrien didn’t understand Binary, but the droid sounded questioning. Maybe a little scolding.

“K’uur! Cui ogir'olar. Gedet'ye.”

They started reading, lights flickering across their visor as they scrolled through the page at an increasing speed. The droid was backing up as the Mandalorian grew rigid in their perch. As they read on, their grip on the holopad grew stronger. Adrien thought he even heard a crack. His sign to back up as well.

“Haar’chak!”

The holopad flew right at him.

He was certain he made a quite intelligent sound as it made impact with his head, just beside his right eyebrow. The force of it sent his head flying back, into the wall.

He groaned, holding his hand up to his face. It came back warm, his glove slightly darker and heavier. Blood. Great.

The Mandalorian was curing in Mando’a, apparently too busy with whatever they had just read to notice exactly what the holopad had made contact with. Adrien’s brain was ringing, his head wobbling. He did not need a concussion on top of this all.

Suddenly, hands were on his wrists, taking his grip away from his head. More cursing. The Mandalorian ran away, only to be back in front of him immediately. Did he pass out? He was facing his lap instead of the ceiling. Two gloves lay on his legs. Not his, he could still feel the heavy fabric sticking to his palms, between his fingers. The Mandalorian's gloves.

Stinging.

He hissed through his teeth, trying to get away from the sensation, but he was stopped by a strong hand around his left shoulder, keeping him straight up against the wall. He fumbled with his legs, but they were pinned down as well. Trapped. Panic.

“Udesii !” There was a warm palm on his cheek for a second before it left again, a slight pinching sensation now beside his browbone. “Quite a scratch. Now stay still, keep this on it, I’ll be right back.” His hand was guided to a piece of fabric pressing against the skin, and he held it there as the entire sensation of the Mandalorian left him. His legs felt lighter, his shoulders like they could be used again, and his head was free to move, eyes flittering across the hold. He could just spot the backside of the Mandalorian leaving through the door to the cockpit in a hurry before the door slammed down again.

The droid was in front of his face, beeping a slow low beep at him. “I’ll be fine, right?” He got an affirmative-sounding beep in response.

“Let me see that.” The Mandalorian was back, this time without their knees pressing into his thighs. Adrien let his arm drop, the slightly bloody fabric now in his lap. The red was deeper than that of the Mandalorian's armor. He decided he liked the color of the armor more. “Shame, I liked your face.”

The stinging was back.

Adrien hissed again but managed to stay still as the Mandalorian worked. “Dank ferrik, why didn’t you move?”

“Well, I didn’t expect a projectile to come at me, especially with the force you put behind it!” Adrien tensed as a bandage was put over the cut, and gingerly relaxed as the Mandalorian fell back on their haunches.

“I’m sorry.”

“What did you even…”

“You were right.”

“About what?”

“Children of the Watch is the successor to Death Watch.”

Adrien fell silent. The Mandalorian dropped to the floor, legs now stretched in front of them. Their shoes almost brushed against his knees. The gloves still lay in his lap. They were looking at their fidgeting hands, taking grime and dirt out from under their fingernails. “We’ve been lied to by the elders. Or maybe they have been lied to.”

“There is strength in anonymity. They were probably just trying to do what was best for your Clan.”

The Mandalorian nodded. “But they still did wrong things. How am I supposed to go on with them? Go back to them? I have responsibilities, but I don’t want to be a part of a Clan that did those awful things.”

“You can be a part of something without condoning every single thing that people before you have ever done.” The Mandalorian raised their head to him, and Adrien gave a soft smile. “You’re just trying to keep your Clan alive. You’re doing it by hunting bad people. People like me.”

“You were forced into that.”

“As were you.”

Common ground.

Nobody had seen their face since they were sixteen years old.

It was quite odd to think about. Even if Adrien set aside all the Empire and Resistance and Rebel stuff, not showing anybody your face for over four years is a lot. And it was a standard within their community. Did they even see themself in mirrors? Probably. But not a lot. Mirrors would be quite redundant if no one got to see you anyway. Maybe to inspect wounds. Nobody else could treat anything on your head, after all. Or maybe it was just the face? Nobody could see their face, but what about the back of their head? And what if they didn’t see it but just touched their hair?

Did they even have hair?

Adrien didn’t even know if the Mandalorian in front of him was a human or not. Maybe they were from another species entirely. One that had the same proportions as his species did, enough to fit in that armor and the helmet. A bald one, maybe reptilian. Or something with other animal features. Ears? Tail? The flight suit was decently wide on their frame, leaving enough room for movement at least, but maybe there was more.

But no face…

Being anonymous was such a foreign concept to him. Everybody knows everybody within the Empire. Maybe that’s just how high up he is, but that is where he lives. In a world where anybody can recognize him. Everybody he meets knows his father, and they certainly know him. He’s on the posters on the wall, on the internal news messages, the face people have in their minds when they think of the Empire. He’s the personification of their ambition, their status, their power. He’s never been anything else, and he never will be.

He wonders what it’s like to be on the other end of it.

Adrien would never find out, though, so why bother asking? He’d asked them enough already. About their history, their private life. All he needed to know was whether they were going to kill him or not. And it was tempting to fall for the sense of life the Mandalorian was giving him.

---

FUTURE (I)

“I will never want to go back.”

“To your father? Won’t you let him know you’re alive, at least?”

The thought hadn’t crossed his mind. “Would you allow me to?”

“Not yet, at least.”

“You won’t have to let me. I won’t.”

“But where will you go?”

“You’ll set me free?”

“I wasn’t planning on killing you if that’s what you’re asking.”

“What were you planning, then?”

“Ransom. Information, beskar, whatever they would trade for you. I was just waiting for an unfortunate soul to pass through. I was after no one in particular, but you turned out to be quite the catch.”

“What am I worth, then? What would you get?”

“I had estimated whoever I took, that someone’s family, your father, would care , but…”

“So I’m worthless because my father thinks my individual life is not important enough to trade with the enemy with?”

“You’re important to the Empire, though.”

“Not important enough.”

It doesn’t sting as much as he thought it would.

“Where are you from?”

“Corellia. It’s…an industrial part of the Core Worlds. I wasn’t there a lot. We lived mostly on Coruscant, where my father had business to discuss, but we had a house on Naboo. By the water. The weather was my favorite part; how it changed. And we had a pet there, my mom got me a loth cat when I was young. I loved him to death.”

“The only pet I ever had was my droid. I took her with me on the ship, and even though she got damaged, my buir fixed her up. Even though droids aren’t part of our culture. She’s the one thing I still have from home.”

“Must be nice, to have a physical reminder of home. Your first home.”

“Your father has something of yours?”

“My mom’s. I wanted to have it, but he wouldn’t let me. I don’t even know if he still has it.”

“Maybe one day you’ll get it back.”

“One day, maybe.”

Adrien kept wondering what his capturer looked like. Human-like at least, he’d concluded earlier. He still couldn’t get to any more details than that. Maybe they had hair, maybe they were bald. The shape of their face, the slope of their nose, the color of their eyes, and whether they sparkled or not… All a mystery. But there were five fingers on the glove in his lap, and Adrien could clearly see the same amount on the Mandalorian's hands.

The holopad was back with them on the crate, displaying the same information as before. The Mandalorian still seemed upset, their shoulders hunched and fingers tensed. Adrien no longer feared the tablet flying at his face and sat a bit more relaxed this time. The gloves were easy to fidget with, the fine leather rubbing pleasantly against his fingertips.

The Mandalorian’s hands seemed soft. Colored a warm beige, considerate of their movements, and yet surprisingly small. The tip of the glove didn’t reach past the second joint on his middle finger, the entire phalange still sticking out from beneath it.

It reminded him of when his mother would let him play with her hands, nails always cared for, a nice white line at the ends. Solid clicking sounds, they would make, when he bumped them together softly.

His father’s hands were…different. His nails were clipped short, hidden beneath the fabric of white gloves, even his still strong right hand. Gloves always reminded him of the damage hidden beneath, a secret from those unfit to know those tales. There was still some guilt gnawing at him whenever his eyes found the dots of white contrasting against the browns and grays of the issued uniforms.

Maybe now he won’t have to look at them anymore.

“What are you thinking about?”

The modulated voice startled him out of his musings, head snapping to face the Mandalorian. He couldn’t say hands, could he? That’d be weird, with that the only part of the Mandalorian exposed like that. “Family,” he said instead, looking at the black gloves, drumming white out of his mind. “My mom.”

The Mandalorian seemed to hum.

“Do you…often think of your family? Your old one?” He had the tendency to ask prodding questions, his mother always said fondly. When his father said it, it always sounded disapproving.

“Sometimes,” they say. They’ve had enough prodding questions, and this one seems to be superficial enough for the Mandalorian to answer it. “My parents were craftspeople, bakers. The small but fulfilling life, you know?”

Adrien didn’t know, but nodded anyway.

“My mom was small, smaller than me, even. And endlessly wise. And my dad was so large everybody was intimidated by him. He once came home with tears in his eyes because he’d made a child cry by towering over them to hand them back their toy, poor guy. The sweetest man I have ever known.”

“It sounds lovely.”

“We had a small garden at the back of the house,” they continue. “Wooden plates, stepping stones, and infinite amounts of pots with flowers. Behind that were our fields, to grow crops to make the bread. A sea of yellow. I used to help harvest, and the rest of the time I was tending to the flowers or helping in the shop.”

The quiet after that is the most comfortable it’s been in the hold since he got out. Maybe longer than that. The quiet in his house, with his father, is always oppressive. Like a thundercloud waiting to strike.

The silence here, now, feels more like when he was with his mother on days when his father went out alone, and it was just the two of them. They had no garden on Coruscant, and they couldn’t leave. But when he was with his mother, that didn’t matter. She made it feel like he had all the galaxy in that small space they didn’t own.

That’s the last taste of freedom he’s ever had.

“What did you mean when you said you liked my face?”

The red was easy to confuse for a blush when the Mandalorian crossed their arms and turned their head slightly away, voice tight. “What are you talking about?”

“When you hit me in the head with the holopad,” Adrien added, slightly smirking. “You said you liked my face when you cleaned it.”

“I can see why the Empire chose you as its front.”

“Oh.”

“...You’re just nice to look at.”

Adrien ducked his head. “Thanks.”

“But if I’m worth nothing to the Empire, I am worth nothing to you.”

The Mandalorian hummed, propped against the wall to his right. Their feet were almost touching, legs stretched out in front of them. The little red droid had placed itself on the Mandalorian’s lap, receiving small pets from their bare hands. “Nothing is a big word. All life holds value.”

The gloves were still in his lap. He had taken off his gloves and thrown them across the hold into the opposite wall. The Mandalorian’s gloves were made of fine, thick leather. High in quality, probably very rare. They had protected their hands often, most likely. “Then of what use am I to you?”

“You still have a lot of information about the Empire and its view on Mandalorians.”

“Torture?”

“Maybe.”

Adrien hummed, turning over the gloves in his hand. “You would’ve, already.”

“Probably.”

“Most likely.”

The Mandalorian shook a little with laughter, making the droid lift off their lap in annoyance. It flew over to Adrien, floating in front of his face. The droid lowered itself down slowly as if asking for permission, before lightly settling on the opened palm of his left hand. Adrien gently stacked the two gloves together, put them on his knees, and started slowly petting the droid.

“What of the Darksaber?”

“Well,” the Mandalorian grunted, sitting up straighter against the wall, “I have no idea.” Adrien could clearly see their nimble fingers fidgeting with their hands, empty from the droid and gloves. “It’s supposed to be won in combat from whoever held it last. My Clan lost contact with other Clans a long time ago before I…joined. I don’t even know if there’s still a Vizsla out there who seeks the blade. The passing down within the family has been abandoned generations ago by the Saxons, later the Wrens, but you never know. Passing it down makes little room for improvement, given the absence of outside influence and knowledge.”

“So you would need to fight the last holder of the Darksaber, win in combat, claim the Saber, and that would result in becoming the Mand’alor?”

“That’s how that would work, yes.”

“So you’re the Mand’alor right now.”

Silence.

“Usenye . That’s nonsense.”

“You beat me in combat!”

“You weren’t even fighting .”

“You won the battle.”

“Against droids!”

“You could’ve killed me right there.”

“But I didn’t .”

“But the fact that you could proves you won.”

The Mandalorian groaned, putting their head in their hands. “You’re impossible. Why am I even arguing with you about this? You’re part of the Empire! These are internal affairs!”

“It’s part of my charm to be involved in intergalactic incidents.”

“The fact that you sound so convinced makes you so much worse.”

Adrien just grinned.

---

FUTURE (II)

“Get ready, we’re almost there.”

Adrien jumped, the droid in his lap angrily muttering about being awakened so rudely. He heartily agreed, but with the way his heart was suddenly pounding, he had more pressing matters on his mind. “Where?”

“My Clan.”

Maker, he was about to face judgment.

“What do I do?”

“You do as I say, don’t leave my side, and stay quiet .”

The Mandalorian seemed tense as they went through the hold for the last time to check everything. “Follow me.” They went into the cockpit of the ship, Adrien slowly following. This had been off-limits since he’d been here, and being in there seemed…invasive. The cockpit was small, with only two chairs looking out through a circular front window and no space for a communications station. He plopped down into the chair on the right and held his hands beside him at the sight of all the buttons.

“You’ve never flown before, have you?”

“I’ve had basic training, but this one seems personalized.”

The Mandalorian hummed. “Put your harness on, and then put this over your head.” They rummaged under their chair and handed him a black sack. Adrien held it in his hands for a second, confused, before he groaned and looked at the Mandalorian with exasperation.

“Really?” he asked. In a mocking tone, he added, “After all we’ve been through.”

“You either cover your head or you lose it.”

“Copy that.”

Adrien liked seeing where he was going. If he couldn’t, he was fine trusting someone who knew the area and who knew him to guide him. Usually, it’s through dark, straight, silent hallways.

The Mandalorian warned him of a step down after he’s already tumbled and needed catching, and he grumbled as people he couldn’t see laughed at him. They apologized quietly, for the others not to hear, and continued through the maze of tunnels, hallways, rooms, and–

Mandalorians.

He was in the heart of their base, following one he only met half a cycle ago in a not-so-pleasant way, but he was relatively at ease. Except for the constant small obstacles in front of his feet, the archways that were sometimes a little low, or the fact that they all knew he was an enemy. The clothes were a dead giveaway. But the Mandalorian in front of him was not going to kill him and wasn’t planning on letting anyone else kill him, either.

“We’re going to see the Alor and he’s going to decide what’s next for you.”

“What about the Death Watch?”

“It’s like you said. I don’t have to condone it to be part of it. We’re different now, and my Alor is still my…my Alor. We’ll get to the history part later. For now, we’re here for your fate.”

But his fate was not in his Mandalorian’s hands.

It got quieter the deeper they went. The air was a bit stale, warmed from fires and weapons. It got still, too, when they entered the last room. The Mandalorian let go of his elbow and took a few steps back to close off the room. They returned quickly and pulled the sack off his head, startling him a bit.

“A warning would’ve been nice,” he couldn’t help but say.

“Sorry.”

“I see you two have warmed up to each other.”

It’s only after he has spoken that Adrien noticed the Mandalorian on the other side of the room. He was sat on a small cushion on a slightly elevated platform, hunched over from old age. Completely armored as well, but significantly less intimidating.

“Alor,” his Mandalorian greeted as they sit on a small cushion as well. Adrien looked to the floor, found one just in front of his feet, and mirrored them by sitting and bowing his head, although far deeper.

The Alor wasn’t speaking and neither was the Mandalorian, so Adrien kept his head down, closed his eyes, and begged a higher power for mercy.

“Ad, stop staring at the floor. You are safe within this room.”

Air returned to his lungs and he looked up, straight into the visor of the Alor now three feet in front of him. He yelped and fell backward, legs almost hitting the man as he went. A quick sidestep from the Alor prevented the collision, and he seemed to laugh to himself as Adrien scrambled back up again, muttering an apology.

“I understand your anxiousness, ad. You never thought you’d be here and are scared. This is normal.”

Like he had done this exact thing before.

“The Empire enslaved this man when he was a boy and has turned him into an unwilling asset,” his Mandalorian said to the Alor, who continued to study Adrien’s face intently. The visor didn’t move, but Adrien could nearly feel where the Alor’s eyes were on his face. It didn’t quite burn; it was quite the opposite. It was more like a warm blanket. “He has seen the errors of his capturers and wishes to escape them.”

“Is he of value to us?”

“He holds a great amount of knowledge due to his placement within their organization and is very keen on not helping them any further in their oppression of the galaxy.”

“And what does he want?”

What did he want?

“I…I want to take back what my father stole from me,” he said. Etiquette classes from when he was young suddenly flooded his mind, language turning official, words into what felt like subtle lies even though it is the truth he speaks. “I don’t seek revenge for what he did to me, but there is an injustice that needs rectifying. I wish to correct the past and move on from it with my heart free from hatred and regrets. Leaving that place behind is what is best for me, and as for what comes after…”

Adrien looked at his Mandalorian to his right and felt stronger with their subtle nod of approval.

“I only wish to not be alone when I decide.”

---

THE SIEGE

“Seven years ago, we initiated a great battle.”

The microphone crackles a bit as Gabriel speaks the first sentence. He taps on the device twice, sending dull pops through the speakers of the hall, before continuing. “The Mandalorians were great warriors, excellent strategists on the battlefield, but not as much in the Halls of War. They refused us, and we showed them what real power looks like.”

Adrien scoffs at the propaganda flowing effortlessly from the man’s mouth and continues his path along the upper balconies. The lights tied around the banister reflects only a little from his matte black outfit, and he feels like a moving shadow about to exact justice.

Not revenge.

Justice.

The white gloves on Gabriel’s hand move only a little as he speaks to the filled room, chairs all set in neat rows. The people sitting on them all look at him, completely still, creating a stoic pattern on the floors. Those floors were made for moving, dancing, and celebrating peace and victory, and have instead turned into the stage for propaganda and war.

The lights are still there from earlier that evening when people had been walking around and making small talk, the closest thing the Empire could get to a celebration that wasn’t a march through the streets of their newly conquered world. Now, the grays and browns are still atop the shining gold floors, watching the white of Gabriel’s gloves as he gestures to the men at his side to reveal their new statue.

It’s relatively small, barely taller than Gabriel is. A dull bronze fills the space behind him, and it mirrors his exact pose. Head held high with shame, hands tied behind his back from lies. Regret ties the bow between Gabriel’s wrists, covers his hands, and stings when he moves his left arm.

Adrien gets in position on the balcony and waits.

Across from him, the Mandalorian mirrors his pose, covering the other exit. They have one hand on their communicator, and the other on their weapon on their hip. “I really hope he goes your way so I don’t have to jump 20 feet down.”

“What about me? You have a jetpack, you would be fine,” he replies through his own comm.

“Still. I like my ankles in one piece.”

“I like you, in general, in one piece, too.”

“Focus, pretty boy.”

Gabriel has concluded his speech and is stepping down the small podium, right toward the opposite side of the room Adrien is covering. He swears and starts sprinting over the balconies. Going over the front would be quicker, but everybody is still looking that way, so Adrien has to go all the way around the back of the near-circular room. The Mandalorian is already down a level, so he doesn’t hesitate to jump down as well.

This is his fight.

He lands in a deep crouch and jumps up immediately, pulling his beskar staff from his back and pointing the edge at Gabriel’s throat from beside him. Gabriel’s hands are already lifted. On the other side of his throat, the Darksaber whirrs in the air against his skin.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of the visit of not one, but two Mandalorians?”

Adrien grits his teeth within his helmet.

The rest of the room is already clearing out, personnel fleeing through the doors at the back and at the right side of the room. Stormtroopers must be on their way. Maybe white ones, maybe black ones. Their bustle doesn’t quite reach Adrien as he thinks.

Gabriel doesn’t recognize the Mandalorian from security footage from a year ago, despite the bright red beskar, or the Darksaber. Or maybe he does and is playing some sort of long game. Usually, people who are threatened by a Mandalorian give up everything immediately to run away with their lives. Maybe Gabriel has finally given up. Or he’s trying to get something from them.

Maybe he’s trying to get Adrien back.

“You have something I want.” His modulated voice sounds scraping to his own ears, but Adrien continues anyway. “You stole something many years ago, and I want it back. You don’t deserve to have it, so I’m taking it from you.”

Adrien reaches for Gabriel’s left hand and grips it harshly, making him flinch and grit his teeth in pain. He is more gentle when he peels the glove from Gabriel’s hand, revealing the flaking black skin beneath. It lays against his bones, all the muscles nearly gone, and the ring falls into Adrien’s hand with the glove, unable to cling to Gabriel’s skinny finger.

Adrien sees both his regrets in the black of skin and his love reflected in the shine of silver.

He supposes his father knows, now. He watches Gabriel’s eyes widen, tears welling in his eyes. But Adrien knows those tears are only formed by regret and hatred, and not because of the love for his long-lost son or his late wife. Gabriel falls to his knees and cries, because he realizes his past caught up with him, and despite all the hardships life has thrown at him, his son chose to become a better person. Adrien has refused to give in to the negativity and is finally realizing his dreams of who he wants to be.

He has become better .

The Mandalorian grabs his hand, and he holds on tightly to the ring and the glove as they run through the halls, staff still clasped in his other hand. The passageways are the same ones the dark stormtroopers took him through all that time ago, but now, as he feels like he’s escaping, he knows it to be the truth.

The ship is cold from being landed for a few hours, but the Mandalorian manages to get it running and into the upper atmosphere of Coruscant quickly and steadily. Adrien sits numbly in the hold, staff in his left hand, ring and glove in his right. Only when the ship jolts into hyperspace does he realize what just happened.

The Mandalorian joins him, sitting against the wall on his right, their feet now brushing against his knees. It’s pleasant, the distance and the proximity as he turns the ring over in his hands.

“He never looked for me once he realized I was gone,” Adrien realizes out loud

“You’re probably right.”

“Maybe the Moff looked at the footage to find the Darksaber, but my father never bothered. He didn’t even recognize you.”

“Nobody used to.”

Adrien smiles as his eyes find the Darksaber on their hip.

“And you have found a new family.”

Gabriel hasn’t been his father in the years since his mother’s passing. Familial love used to be fed to him. He bathed in it with his mother on Naboo and found it in the halls of the ships when he finally discovered her during their games. She would lift him, spin him around, press her nose into his cheek and shower him with kisses. His father’s love had been more contained, but a hand on his shoulder once they looked out over the planet together used to be everything he needed.

Gabriel never once touched him.

Adrien hums in response to the Mandalorian and cocks his head. “We’re not aliit until we’re wed.”

His Mandalorian laughs and moves closer to him, throwing their arm around his shoulders. “Maybe one day, we will.” They take a deep breath, looking around the hold until their visor settles on his helmeted face. “But family is more than blood and oaths.”

Adrien, at that moment, longs for that sliver of love from his past he still clings to and removes his gloves, putting his mother’s ring on his finger. He looks at the silver shining at him, a thin and refined band, and beams at it with tears in his eyes. The Mandalorian probably senses this and takes off their left glove, softly settling their hand against his right. He keeps his eyes on his left as his fingers curl into theirs, locking them together in this hold in hyperspace.

Almost exactly like how they started. Common ground.

The white glove lies forgotten on the floor as Adrien looks at the remainder of what used to be, as he holds on to a path to love filled with acceptance, and freedom.

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