#fuck mandalorian tradition can she just keep the darksaber

[mintyimperiatrix]

listen i love Din to bits, he’s one of my favourite Star Wars characters and he was a fucking badass with the Darksaber. HOWEVER…

clearly Bo-Katan owns this weapon. its hers, there is no competition. she held it for one minute and did everything the Armourer said Din should be doing with it. it is simply Hers and we’ve never seen anyone flow so well with that weapon. i love you Din but the Darksaber was reunited with it’s true owner this week

[thebusylilbee]

"Bo Katan walks both worlds she can bring all tribes together" is genuinely such a fucking joke !

they had everything to make this journey significant to Din's character ! him TAKING OFF his helmet TO SAVE A FOUNDLING after a lifetime of keeping it on, out of faith in his people and their culture, is SO MUCH MORE poignant than Bo-Katan keeping the helmet on for like two days after being a little shocked to see a mythosaur... and he did it to save his jedi foundling no less ! him being the one "who walks both worlds" would have been a perfect parallel to Grogu being tied between Jedi and Mandalorian cultures, and could have been nourished by Luke Skywalker also changing the jedi way from what was done to Anakin ! cultures evolving for the good of their people !!! people being attached to traditions but also open to change !!! but fuck it, CGI Luke was too expensive and we're tired of Din being the main character I guess ?

not to mention the whole deal of Din being someone who prefers to stay in the shadows suddenly being shoved under the spotlights by fate alone ! like actually if you think about it : 1) his need for companionship, 2) his need for fatherhood that he doesn't even dare admit, 3) and his willingness to become "A Hero" because of his care for others, despite him actually hating being at the center of Significant Historical Events, all these things are all like.. his entire character !!! that's the whole core of this guy !!! What the fuck is left if there's 1) no conflict with the need for companionship (he's back to not having doubts and deep feelings about the helmet thing), 2) no conflict in fatherhood (the kid is no longer a jedi in the blink of an eye in a fucking spin off episode), and 3) no conflict with his willingness to become A Hero to save his son and his friends even if he doesn't like it (fate gave him that darksaber but actually he can remain Just A Guy it's fine, Bo Katan can take the lead) like ???

what's left is pure nothingness, this show means nothing and says nothing and that's why it doesn't bother with giving important moments that would have felt fully earned to its actual main character

[synthwwavve]

I have numbers for the trash husband! 1-2-4-6-9-10-11/12-13/14

Yesssss, Pre "trash husband" Vizsla, let's fucking goooooo......

— a fun headcanon

He is surprisingly good at cooking— nothing fancy, just simple traditional dishes. Everything he makes is obscenely spicy though, even by mandalorian standards. Makes sense. Weeds out the weak, only the truly strong can stomach his food, etc. etc.

— a sad headcanon

Both of his parents were toxic and hateful in different ways— Tor Vizsla was of course a warmongering barbarian who founded the original Death Watch, and Mom Vizsla I headcanon as a cold and calculating woman who preferred to fight not on the battlefield, but with subterfuge and manipulation.

I feel like they had a loveless, abusive marriage that only got worse the further they settled into their opposing ways. The one thing they came together over was their goal to restore Mandalore as a galactic superpower with their clan at the head, and poured everything into grooming their son to take over in their wake.

I feel like Pre had no semblance of a normal childhood, every second devoted to brutal combat training with his dad or grueling political education pushed by his mom (her idea to send him to study on Coruscant at the same time as Satine— I headcanon she had a fixation on outdoing and undermining the Kryzes by infiltrating their own game of diplomacy and beating them from the inside, which was the origin story of Pre running for governor eventually.)

He definitely inherited all of his parents' strengths plus a heaping side of their worst traits, all with zero warmth or nurturing from either of them at any point along the way.

— a headcanon about their family

Okay enough bleak past family shit! Let's pivot to my "death watch succeeds" AU where he and Bo-Katan get married and have their own family 🥹

They have two daughters, one biological and one adopted/foundling, named Shae and Ranah after their favorite historic girlbosses prominent female Mand'alors. These two should by all rights be terrible parents, but I honestly feel like it would mellow out their unhinged sides slightly, and shift their focus from "conquest and wrecking shit" to "intense dedication to family" in terms of which traditional mando values they prioritize.

Pre, for all his other flaws, would I think be acutely aware of how shitty his own parents were and commit to not making his kids live through a similar upbringing.

— a headcanon to spite canon, specifically

I feel like calling it a "headcanon" is an understatement since it's, well, an entire verse, but as I keep mentioning I have a whole AU that explores what would've happened if Pre and Maul didn't fuck each other over and Death Watch succeeded in retaking Mandalore, the whole basis of which is spiting canon by keeping this dude alive, lmao

— a missing scene that definitely happened

This is literally a missing scene by virtue of it happening off screen in canon, but I would've loved to see his duel with Dooku after they had a falling out! Yeah yeah the "darksaber v. lightsaber fights are cool" aspect but also..... the sheer amount of drama and extra-ness the clash of these two would've exuded....

— I recognize that canon has made a decision, but given that it's a stupid-ass decision, I've elected to ignore it:

You already know I'm going to say this but fuck his hairstyle from The Mandalore Plot, it makes me irrationally mad, I'm retconning it, he had a shaved head the entire time, etc etc

But on a serious note, why would he shoot one of his own men for no reason? Like I'm not downplaying the random murdering aspect. I absolutely believe he'd do this to an outsider (as we've seen,) but randomly murdering members of the small minority of mandos he supposedly wants to unite and needs the loyalty of to further his goals? Even for someone who is extremely impulsive and casually violent, this doesn't make sense to me. Boom, didn't happen, retconned.

(I'm literally just rehashing the things you and I already said we dislike about this episode lmao)

— something [other character] believes about them that isn't true

Satine thinking early on that he would be a good influence on Bo and steer her towards maturity and an interest in politics, and supporting the two of them getting closer based on that. Oops 😬

(I mean.. Satine trusting him in general but that's canon and not a headcanon so!)

— something they believe about [other character] that isn't true

Gonna jump in and defend my boys the Zabrak brothers for a second..... they were not monsters or thugs, at least not at their core, not even by virtue of being Sith/dark side force users. They were chronically subjugated, objectified, and used as pawns by the nightsisters and by the Sith. Poor dudes barely ever had a chance to organically form their own personas, goals, allegiances, etc. without being directly or indirectly influenced by an outside party's motivations. But anyway that's a rant for another post. Moving on!

— their happiest memory

I mean. Definitely the fleeting moment of retaking Mandalore, having his entire life's purpose be fulfilled, and finally having it all.... for a brief blink of time before it all inevitably went south.

— their worst memory

Being sentenced to exile on Concordia as the civil war came to a close. The shame of his once great clan eroding to a shadow of what it once was, the traditionalist faction as a whole being weak and decentralized to the point where it took such little force to drive them off-world and keep them there. I imagine this was a "worst memory" and a gateway point to further radicalization for many trad mandos of this age/era.

Ask meme post for anyone who wants it!

[phoenixyfriend]

👀 PLease tell us your thoughts about the Jedi babies re-growing up among different cultural contexts.

Oh fuck okay

Context: original post, chrono The specific post this ask is referencing: here

Summary of the AU: Disaster lineage got tossed back in time. Anakin stayed 21-ish, but Obi-Wan and Ahsoka got deaged, took new names for time-travel reasons (Ylliben and Sokanth, or Ben and Soka), are now staying with the True Mandalorians under Jaster Mereel because the Force said to, go back to the Temple after about a decade. They grabbed Shmi about three months after arriving.

So as far as the cultural background goes, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka had similar upbringings. She spent a few years on Shili first, but both spent the majority of their childhoods up to age 13/14 being raised in the creche. So that's the basis that they would default to, in a vacuum.

Nobody is raised in a vacuum.

Along with the Jedi cultural background, they're being raised by Tatooine natives in a Mandalorian environment.

Shmi and Anakin are both former slaves who have desert survival baked into their bones. The longer Anakin spends around her, the more his accent slips, the more he talks about old folktales, the more he uses idioms that don't exist on a cityplanet like Coruscant. All the things that he tamped down to be a Jedi come floating back to the surface, and Shmi's never known anything else. Anakin's knowledge of slave customs make her feel more comfortable, which in turn makes him feel better, and so on.

Mandalore is just... the culture they're living in. You don't grow up in a new culture with a new language without picking up on it personally. (Source: I moved to the US when I was a little under two years old.)

I think the thing I'm going to focus on as an example is the way each of these cultures approaches family, and then maybe how they approach the keeping of peace/what peace means.

Jedi: Where you come from means little, only the legacy you leave behind in your students. Mandalore: You protect your clan and your children; adoption is a major cultural value, if not actually practiced consistently. Tatooine: You can lose your family at any time, so you value what you have in all its forms. You don’t forget where and who you came from, to family of blood and family of choice alike. You cling to your memories and what little you still have of them, to what your master cannot take away.

These are all valid ways to approach family, and each of these approaches can have significant meaning to different people. But they do all, to a certain degree, conflict with one another, despite all three being fairly communal cultures.

The Jedi have a culture, one that’s built on a shared ability and religion over thousands of years. It’s not just an organization, but a continuous community with legends and traditions and art and records. But it’s one that is built on new blood coming in from the outside, volunteers who join because the religion speaks to them (near literally, given the nature of Force Sensitivity), given up by families who couldn’t or wouldn’t teach them in a way that let their talents flourish instead of pushing it all down.

For the Jedi, a culture built on people coming together due to something they have in common intrinsically that their families of blood do not, it makes sense to put emphasis on letting go of that past when they can, and to place importance on teaching lineages. It’s not just the official master-padawan pairs, either, but that’s the most obvious and easily paralleled element. Moreover, a lot of the Jedi culture is about gaining knowledge, so obviously spreading it is good, and also on supporting the galaxy to make it a better place; to view the Jedi order as a heavily communal culture would make sense, since their values are all about selfless betterment of the universe, which on a larger scale is about the galactic conflicts, but on a smaller scale is about supporting their own community, the children and the ill and elderly.

So that is the specific culture that Obi-Wan and Ahsoka grew up in, one that holds blood family as relevant but not particularly crucial to one’s identity, but is structured so people leave behind legacies through education in a manner that often becomes adoptive family (depending on your definition, I guess). Jedi are encouraged to connect to their home cultures, if not their families, with practices like the coming of age hunt for Togruta leading to the young Jedi taking a trip out to Shili to engage in that cultural milestone. This can also be viewed as a way for the Jedi to maintain personal connections to the wider universe, a (not entirely successful, but certainly attempted) way of keeping them from becoming too isolated and insular from the universe at large, and losing touch from what the galaxy actually needs of them.

They’re now growing up with two cultures that do place emphasis on blood and found family.

Mandalore, as presented in The Mandalorian, has their traditional values set as being heavily associated with their armor, battle skills, and childcare. While that’s clearly a set of values that aren’t actually followed by everyone with full sincerity, we can assume that these stated cultural values do have at least some impact on the way the society is structured, since we do see more traditional characters (Jaster, Din) adopt orphaned children and then have the Mandalorian elements of their immediate circles support that claim.

(We’ll ignore Jango and the whole clone army thing because the amount of Sith influence is up for debate and also holy trauma, Batman.)

However, we also see that a lot of Mandalorian culture is built on their family histories. On the New Mandalorian side, we see emphasis placed on the fact that Satine is House Kryze and that she’s a duchess. Her bloodline is relevant, though not the most important thing about her. On the Death Watch side, we have Pre and Tor placing emphasis on the fact that they’re Clan Vizsla, descended from Tarre, that this is important to why they deserve what the darksaber represents, this is part of why they not only deserve to lead, but should for the good of Mandalore.

Bo-Katan’s armor is a family heirloom. Boba’s armor was Jango’s, but before being Jango’s, it was Jaster’s. Armor is important enough to pass to family, but the family can be adopted. This all tracks.

The resol’nare specifies loyalty and care for the clan/tribe among the six tenets.

These two elements seem relatively well-balanced: the importance of adoption and the importance of family as a larger unit on the level of a house or clan.

And then you have Tatooine, which also balances blood and adoption, but for entirely different reasons, that being this: it can always be taken from you.

For all that a Mandalorian could historically expect their family to die in battle, and a Jedi could expect to lose their master the same way if things went poorly, those were usually choices. A Mandalorian was raised to walk into battle, and then they could make that choice to do so. It wasn’t often much of a choice, but they could feasibly turn their back and choose to be a farmer or a doctor or something, and support the people who went out to do battle instead of being the one on the field themselves. A Jedi could choose to be a healer or an archivist or join one of the Corps.

A slave does not get that choice. A slave can be killed or sold on a whim from their master. It’s not a one-time trauma, but an ever-present fear. Your parent, your child, your sibling, your spouse, all of them can be separated from you at any time. You can always lose them, and you have no choice but to grin and bear it, or try to run and die before you reach freedom.

In a context like that, I imagine Tatooine places a very heavy emphasis on family, both of blood and of choice, and on treasuring what you have while you have it. A person is always aware that they can lose whoever they have in their life, and so they make the most of their times together, have clear and consistent ways of expressing that love (I imagine primarily direct verbal confirmations and physical contact, practical gifts like water and fruit). Childcare is important, elders are venerated. Those who survived that far have valuable wisdom, and the children are to be given what happiness they can have before reality wipes that ability from them.

The family ‘networks’ among Tatooine slaves are smaller and tighter knit. There’s less trust for outsiders, but once you’re in, you’re in until you are taken away. Still, families are torn apart regularly, and often can’t contact each other after being separated if they’re sold far enough away, so families stay small because they’re always being broken up. Unlike Mandalore’s tribe/clan system, or the Jedi’s wide, loosely-structured community, Tatooine’s slaves form smaller groups that cling for as long as they can, and try to support each other. (There are selfish ones, of course, especially the newbies, but... well. Most try.)

Tatooine is also much more likely to assign a familial role (e.g. referring to an elder as ‘grandmother’). It’s not uncommon in the others (multiple Jedi refer to their masters as a parent or sibling, like Anakin’s “you’re like a father to me” line), but it’s not as baked-in that such a role should be given.

So on a structural level, we have two people from a community culture with little emphasis on blood family or formal familial roles are now being raised in a community that has them asking “what can you do for the people around you first, and then the wider world?” by people who tell them “your family, blood and found, is the most important thing you have; never let anyone take more from you than they possibly can.”

And that shit has an effect.

For all that Sokanth and Ylliben were once raised with a knowledge that their duty, their goal, was to better the galaxy as a whole, they are now being told that the community that raises them asks their loyalty back, because societies are built on support networks, and if you support the tribe, it will support you. There are parallels to that kind of thinking among Jedi, because it is basic social theory, but it’s not presented as the same kind of cultural value. It’s not given as something to strive for, just a basic fact.

This, for instance, means that once they’re back at the Temple, they have a tendency towards suggesting study groups and other ways of supporting people in their immediate circle, often structured in very unfamiliar ways. Again, this isn’t uncommon among Jedi, but it’s not done in the same way, or with the same emphasis. The Jedi also often approach problem-solving in a different order, so the step of “meditate on it and you may find your solution” often comes before “gather information from people who know more about it than you do,” while Ben and Soka have by this point learned to do it the other way around, because that’s what the Mandalorian system taught them: rely on your family first.

Meanwhile, the Tatooine element of their upbringing has them being much more willing to just... casually refer to ‘my dad’ and ‘my sister’ and so on. They use those words. It’s not just “my master is like a father to me,” but “this is my father.” They don’t hesitate to talk about the family they had and still have in Mandalorian space. None of the Jedi begrudge them it, really, but it’s always a shock to hear for the first time, and between the Tatooine refusal to pretend the connection is gone and the Mandalorian tendency to err on the side of roughhousing as affection, they’re just... odd. It’s not like none of the other Jedi know family outside the Order--some of the old books had Obi-Wan visiting his brother on Stewjon once in a while--or like none of the active Jedi are loud or boisterous, but the specific manner in which Soka and Ben interact with the Order, especially when their dad is around, is very weird.

More Soka than Ben, really, but that’s mostly just because Ben’s a very quiet person until he gets a little older, so it’s harder to notice on him.

Point is, while they still hold to their duty to the wider galaxy and will continue to keep that duty above almost anything else in their lives, the way they talk and act about the subject of family, especially in private, is heavily influenced by their new cultures.

This is already very long but I promised I’d talk about peace so let’s go:

The Jedi seek peace as an absence of war and conflict in the portion of the galaxy under their purview, in hopes that they will prevent as much suffering and death as they can.

The Mandalorians are varied, but Jaster Mereel’s group (which is the community the Skywalkers are with) is likely to view peace as unrealistic to achieve in the long term. They do not seek war, but they know the world they live in, and are prepared to protect against violence as their first resort. They always expect an attack, even if they don’t seek it.

The Slaves of Tatooine view peace as the calm in a storm. It is the status quo. Nobody has escaped tonight, for the guards aren’t searching, but neither is anyone dead. The Master you have is in a good enough mood to not sell you, to not kill you, to not beat you. Peace as an absence of suffering is impossible, so you seek for your master to be peaceful, that is to say: not raging at you.

The scope of each of these narrows significantly. From the known galaxy, to the wars that meet Mandalorian space, to the household one serves.

A community like the Jedi can choose to address peace as something to be sought on a large scale as an absence of war. They primarily function within the borders of the Republic, which has its problems but is largely structured to prevent such things from occurring until the Sith interfere. The Jedi have a structure that allows them to address peace as an ideal to be sought, at least within the borders of the territory they serve.

Mandalore, meanwhile, has been at war on and off for... ever. When they are not at war with themselves, they’re at war with someone else. ‘Peace’ is just the time between wars, and they know that if they do not attack first, they will be forced to defend. Jaster Mereel was known as the Reformer, and part of that was that instituting a code of honor, one that was intended to prevent Mandalorian warriors from acting as raiders and brigands, but rather acting as honorable hired soldiers, or taking roles such as the Journeyman Protectors. Given that, I imagine that he views war as something inevitable, but also something that can be mitigated.

War doesn’t touch Tatooine.

Oh, it might raise taxes and import rates. It might prevent visitors who come for the races. It can do a lot of things.

But to a slave, these are nothing. The only thing war does is affect the master, the person who chooses when their slaves get water, when they get beaten, when they are no longer useful enough to keep around or keep alive.

The peace of a slave’s live is dictated by how much abuse they are subjected to by the person who owns them.

What this means for Soka and Ben is... well, they are viewed as war-hungry by the people who don’t know them very well. They have armor. They focus on fighting, both with and without their sabers. They know tactics better than most masters. They claim that war is coming, and don’t seem too sad about it.

(It is a fact to them. War will come. All they can do is meet it. They’ve already done their mourning once.)

They also... well, Shmi tells them things in hidden corners. How to duck their head to hide the hate or fear in their eyes. How to watch for the anger in the tendons of a hand. The laugh of someone who enjoys the pain they’ve caused, not just the adrenaline of a fight. She is free, and so are they, but she has not forgotten how to hide in the shadows until the master’s ire has turned elsewhere. How to be small and quiet and unseen until the danger passes.

A Jedi’s first resort is words. Their second is their saber. But the Jeedai hold their heads high, and the Mandalorians do the same.

“You rely on the Force, and you have your pride,” she tells them, her hands on their own. “But there will come a time when you will not be able to remind people that you are free. You will not be able to say that you are a person, that you deserve the respect of a living sentient. Perhaps it will be a politician who treats everyone like that. Perhaps you will be captured by an enemy. Perhaps you will be undercover. You will not be able to fight, with words or with weapons, and you will have to know how to survive.”

Tatooine does not have peace. Tatooine only has survival.

And while Jedi fight for the survival and peace of the universe, they are refined and composed. Mando’ade fight like warriors of old, and Tatooine slaves fight like cornered, rabid anooba.

The galaxy comes first, but when the chips are down and the Sith come out to play, Soka and Ben do not need refinement, because they know how to toss aside their pride and live.

[pedrosbish]

the king

summary: the new ruler of Mand’alor, Din Djarin, needs to marry in order to be fully accepted as the king and you happen to catch his eye (*fem!reader)

warnings: angst, swearing

word count: 1.7k

taglist: @over300books​, @mouthymandalorian​, @ordinarymom1​, @zapsalis-d​, @goldielocks2004, @whore-for-anime​, @ilikethoseodds​, @withasideofmeg​, @theamuz​, @obsessivelysearching, @bellreads03​, @parkjammys​, @ajeff855​, @persie33​, @thatonedindjarinfan​, @jedi-jesi​, @pinkninja200​, @boomtownboy​, @chaemaire​, @softly-sad​, @liltangerineart​

CHAPTER SIX

The silence that followed Din after Paz broke the news of Bo-Katan’s threat to return to claim the throne of Mandalore was overwhelming. The air within his helmet seemed not enough and too stuffy, too warm, as his lungs and mind begged him to remove it, to leave Boba’s throne room to escape into the vast desert plains of Tatooine. 

He was fully aware of Bo-Katan’s ambition to claim the throne, to take over Din’s place as ruler. If you had asked him to give it all up a few months ago, when he was completely new to the idea of being a king, he would have gladly given it away without another thought. But now, when he had gotten to know the people of Mandalore a bit better and sat more comfortably on the throne, he couldn't. 

And he knew that keeping the throne would mean losing you. 

The Mandalorians were creatures of habit, a people built on the Creed and with following it meant that most traditions were viewed as too important to lose, to change. He used to be one of them, following it and living by it until Grogu and Bo-Katan and her friends came into his life and made him question everything about his covert, made him question the idea of not allowing others to grow close to you. 

He knew that if he told his people of his plan to make you his riduur, their new queen, there would be an uproar and he would lose the respect of his people which is something that Bo-Katan wanted as equally as taking back the Darksaber and the throne. 

The thoughts swirling within his mind made his body feel light, made him feel sick to his stomach as he nodded his head at Paz, the com link fading into nothing. Fennec’s eyes on him didn't help the feeling either, as she stood in the corner with her arms crossed, her lips set in a thin line before leaving the room. He stood there in the middle of the room, for how long he doesn't know, before shaking out of it, only now noticing Boba behind the throne, pouring himself a drink. 

“I don't know what to do.”

The hiss of Boba’s helmet has him averting his gaze until he remembers that he can look. The man, so withered with trauma and guilt, looks at him over his shoulder, the usual frown on his face a little deeper now at overhearing the news. He sips at his drink as he sits on his throne, a hand under his chin to keep it propped. 

“You Mandalorians,” he starts as he gazes intently at Din. “Follow your religion to a fault and you think that it protects you. But it doesn't.” Boba sighs and takes another sip of his drink before setting it on the ground and crossing his arms. “You're lucky to have found that feeling that only a few of us have the privilege of experiencing in this galaxy. At the end of the day it’s just a chair that you sit on but that-” he points at Din’s chest, where his heart sits beating. “That is a feeling that you can't find anywhere else.”

“But my people, they would never accept it.”

Boba chuckles, slapping his hands on his thighs before standing. “Fuck them, kid. You're the king, so make them accept it.”

Din’s thoughts continue to swirl through his mind at Boba’s words, that feeling following him even to his ship as the two of you ready for your departure. With one last pointed look in his direction, both Fennec and Boba wave you off as the ship take off into the sky, the two suns glaring in the distance until they disappear behind the ship.

The journey back to Mandalore is silent, with the two of you being too scared to speak, to ruin the energy still fizzling but slowly dissipating between you since last night, both of you trying to hold onto it before it goes away completely. The time passes slowly and Din nearly sighs in relief as the plant comes into view and he glances back at you to let you know that you're nearly home, only to find you passed out in the chair, hair falling into your face and quiet snores escaping your open mouth. He feels his heart clench at the sight before he squashes it down and turns to navigate the ship. 

Paz greets the two of you as you walk down the ramp, the moonlight lighting the ground, and he barely glances at you as two guards lead you home. He doesn't miss the frown on your face as you glance back at him, but he keeps his eyes focused on his al’verde as he tells him of his new potential riduur who he has to court in public. 

Din lies in his bed that night, unable to get to sleep his mind wanders to thoughts of you, the look on your face when he barely acknowledged you as the two of you disembarked from the ship and the guards led you away burned into his mind as he attempts to close his eyes. 

The light seeping through the open windows has his stomach filling with lead and it deepens further into his chest when one of the maids knocks on the door to bring his breakfast. He barely touches it and instead decides to get ready for the day, heading to the throne room for the first meeting of the day. The council talks of Bo-Katan and her threat, informing Din that marrying this daughter from one of the tribes is the best solution, even if temporary. 

The Mandalorian is nice, telling him of her duties in the tribe and letting him know that her family is grateful for considering her as his riduur. She greets the people as the two of them walk through the huts and out into the fields past them, Paz and another trailing behind them quietly. She tells him of what she would do to help him rule, promising him as many foundlings as he wants to ensure the continuation of the throne. But she's not you. 

All of it filters through one ear and out the other as your house comes into view. You are there, crouching as you plant herbs in the bare patches of dirt below your windows, rubbing the back of your hand across your forehead and leaving a smudge of dirt on it. A chuckle escapes his lips at the sight and the woman he’s courting follows his path of sight, a frown forming on her face under the helmet before she loops an arm through his. 

The action has him looking down at her, the smile that was on his face disappearing as he remembers that he should be focused on her. He turns his visor forward, eyes on the growing crops in the fields in order to not let his attention sway back to you. It's only when he hears your door slam shut does he glance back at your house, the toppled over pots and discarded tools sitting on the ground making his heart clench painfully within his chest. 

That night he turns in bed, restless, and the idea of you feeling hurt making his eyes snap open as he sits in bed, duvet resting on his legs as he swings them over and reaches for the boots sitting at the bottom of the bed. The sun lays on the horizon, painting Mandalore in colours of orange and pink even in the late hours of the night, a perk to the warmer months on the planet. 

His feet carry him to your house and he knocks on the door, fully expecting you to ignore him so when you do open it, he sighs in relief. A frown works its way onto his face when he sees the red around your eyes which are purposefully not looking at him and he almost reaches out to you but draws back at the last second, hands curling into fists at his sides. You stare silently at him, small sniffles escaping you and he feels a lump forming in his throat as you wordlessly step to the side to let him in to your home. 

“Cyar’ika-” he starts and his stomach drops, twisting in on itself when you hold a hand up and a quiet plea for him to stop comes out of your lips. He takes a step forward and you take one back, his eyes beginning to sting with unshed tears at the look on your face when you finally manage to drag your eyes up from the ground to look at him. “I-I don't know what to do.”

He can see the gears turning in your head as your eyes dart around the room, your hands fiddling with your tunic, as slow tears roll down your cheeks. He wants to go to you, to hold you in his arms, but he knows that it isn't something you need or want right now. You wipe away your tears before looking at him once again and he feels like the wind is knocked out of him at the determined yet dejected look on your face. 

“Your people, Din, need you more than I do.” He finds himself shaking his head at your words and he takes the steps to stand directly in front of you, cradling your cheeks in his hands. His heart leaping when you close your eyes at the touch, sighing softly before looking up at him, your hands resting on his and gently prying them off of your face. “They deserve to be ruled by one of their own, you deserve to marry one of your own.”

“But I love you.” he whispers as he places his forehead on your own, his hands gripping onto yours. “I want to be with you. I want you to be my riduur.”

You nod, hands holding onto his equally as tight. “I know.” Hands drop his and he desperately wants to take them back into his but he squashes down the feeling and watches, instead, as you take a step away from him. “But you have to choose whether you want to rule over your people properly or have me.”

[snarwor]

moon and old stars - chapter 8

sorry

(cw for dark themes, to include thoughts of death, trauma, and references to suicide)

Masterlist

-------------------------------------------------

It all happened so fast.

At first.

One minute, everything was going the way it should, the TIEs had taken the bait, Boba had fled to hyperspace, the boarding team was on Gideon’s ship. When Boba had come out of the micro-jump, he attached the Slave I to the flattest side of an asteroid and waited.

And waited.

Thirty minutes had passed in a terrible blur Boba remembered feeling before, in the Pit of Carkoon. In the hot, bloody sand on Geonosis. He realized with a nasty jolt just how fatalistic his line of thinking had become. The deal will be fulfilled. Din will get his kid, Kryze will get her Moff, and I… I’ll get nothing. “A Mandalorian lives deal to deal. Never make a deal you don’t know for certain you can’t live past finishing,” Jango had told him, just a bit of knowledge Boba hadn’t understood then, and knew all too well now.

Almost angrily, Boba tightened bolts around the tracking system monitor, adding a bit of percussive maintenance almost as an afterthought. The sharp clang of his vambrace against the machinery snapped him from his thoughts. Who was he to go around, banging his father’s ship to hell and back? Even now, he still tensed whenever he made a loud-enough sound on the ship. Not to mention the odd guilt of tinkering and tampering with practically everything on it. Back in the passenger bay, the immobilizing cots were re-initialized. Gideon would hopefully be coming back alive, if Kryze kept her promise and wasn’t so hot-headed as Fett knew she was.

Those damned comments about his father were...well, they weren’t pleasant. Usually Boba was better about those kinds of comments, but in his defense, not even Fennec Shand made those kinds of comments. 

Din hadn’t spoken to him afterwards, too focused on the mission to notice Boba’s ire, or if he had noticed it, it just hadn’t mattered, not with the kid so close. Boba sighed at the reminder, a deep exhale that he never wanted to stop, blow all his air and anxious energy out at once like he was jettisoning it from himself. A sharp beep on the comm had him almost gasping for air in surprise. He felt a bit ridiculous as a result. He opened the comm line.

“Mission’s over. Requesting pickup.” Fennec’s voice...shook. This wasn’t good. He moved silently through the crawlspace, packing up his gear.

“Affirmative. Any casualties?”

“Kryze got hit in the chest but she’s upright, Reeves says she’s had worse. Dune and I, we’re fine. Gideon’s knocked out but alive.” She paused, her voice catching on something again.

She was leaving out two very important details. Boba’s blood turned to ice even as he engaged the hyperdrive, returning to the light cruiser’s coordinates.

“Fennec. Just say it.” Don’t say it, don’t say it...

“Kriff, hold on.” Boba’s fingers tightened around the jump lever, pulling it back when indicated by the monitor. The cruiser came up like a damn wall in front of him, and he easily steered the ship to the docking zone, where several dozen stormtroopers lay scattered across the flight deck. Fennec’s voice was softer when she spoke again. “Mando didn’t get the kid.”

That’s...not what he expected.

“Then why are we still here?” Boba snapped, his relief coming out as impatience.

“I can’t explain it.”

“Try.”

Dark troopers. A sword made of darkness. A sword made of green light. A Jedi. An x-wing.

“Boba...he took off his helmet. For the kid, he took it off, and he hasn’t put it back on, and I don’t know him like you do, but he looks like he might—”

Boba was already in motion, his feet barely touching the ground as he flew through the cargo hold and onto the flight deck. His indicator led him toward the bridge, but he caught up with the group as they were walking back. Reeves fired off a shot he barely managed to dodge before he shouted angrily, “You treat all your rides like that?”

After a beat, he stepped out from behind his cover, one hand on his blaster just in case. He scanned his eyes over the group: Shand. Dune. Gideon on Dune’s shoulder. Reeves. Kryze, glaring at…

Din.

The others may not have seen that look on his face before, but it’s one Boba was well-acquainted with. The boy was lost, holding his helmet like… like... 

Like he didn’t deserve to wear it, and like he didn’t know where to go. Boba brushed off the phantom heat of Geonosis and moved closer. “You not taking the ship, Kryze?” he said, banishing the memories.

She had her helmet off, tucked into her arm. Her fiery eyes met Boba’s expressionless visor. “No. Too much heat here. They shot off a distress signal before we could breach the bridge.”

“Better luck next time, princess.” Reeves made to take a swing at him, but Boba barely reacted. “Take one of the TIEs they still have docked in the hangar. You’re not coming back on my ship.” Especially not with Din like this...

“Why would I want to, anyway, you clone piece of—”

“Hey, Gideon’s not exactly a featherweight, alright? Am I permitted upon your ship, O Gracious Boba Fett?” Cara snarked at him, already walking right by, the disgraced Moff dangling like a ragdoll off her shoulder.

“There’s a cell waiting for him on board.” She and Fennec walked right by, and Kryze turned to Din, who barely reacted.

“This conversation is not over.”

“Just take the fucking saber, Kryze,” Din said, his voice tired and raspy in a way that meant he was on the verge of passing out on his feet. Fennec’s earlier warnings still rung through his mind like crashing church bells. He looks like he might— Boba’s eyes couldn’t leave him, picking up every twinge in his step, the way he favored one arm, the scorch marks on his vambraces. The spear remained at his back, but at the man’s words, Boba looked to his hip. Dear kriffing lord.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Boba said before he could stop himself. The three looked at one another, bewildered. “Tell me that’s not the kriffing Darksaber.”

“It’s the Darksaber, so I’ve been told,” Din sighed, letting his helmet dangle from his fingertips while he pushed his other hand through his hair. It still held the same curls and easy wave as when Boba had cut it for him, but they’d been crushed by the helmet and sweat. “She won’t take it.”

Bo-Katan made a squawking, indignant noise at his blasé tone. “You won it in combat! I can’t—”

“You are being purposefully difficult for selfish reasons,” Din hissed, pain marring his features as equally as anger. “You shouldn’t need a fucking lasersword just to rule a planet. Go take Mandalore, go take your fucking ghosts, take your fucking sword, I don’t want it.”

“I have to best you in combat for it, it is the only way!”

“You would kill him? Kill a father, just for a hunk of metal and crystal?” Boba said, aghast. “You would kill him for a planet cursed with terrible rulers? Thought you had more honor than that.” He moved to Din’s side, still protecting, still protective.

“I don’t need to kill him to—”

“Just fucking do it,” Din rasped.

“What?” Boba snapped.

“Just kill me. Just fucking take it. I’ve fulfilled my obligations to you, to both of you. Kid’s s-safe. Ship’s yours. Gideon’s captured. So kill me.” Din took a step forward, and Boba hardly heard the footfall over the blood rushing in his ears. “Kill me and live with the memory. Then tell the stars you won. No one will know but you, Mand’alor.” The passageway was dead silent in response to his resigned testimony.

Boba’s heart dropped to his feet. He couldn’t mean…? He couldn’t possibly be serious. He felt dizzy, like the first time he ever hit anything with a blaster, and watched it fall to the ground, unmoving. He felt equal parts numb and not, the echoes of not his father’s voice shouted through modulators, a terrible echo of what he had, and what he had lost. He felt the slam of a hull against his body, the impact of hot sand and the greedy pull of gravity, a clean swallow into the earth. He heard that horrible echo, kill me, kill me, kill me...

Bo-Katan looked just as horrified. “No,” she says, shaking her head for emphasis. “You’re injured. You...you wouldn’t fight like a warrior, as decreed by—”

Boba spoke, instinct at the helm where rational thought had abandoned ship. “Tradition is the only thing keeping you from taking the damned thing.”

“Stay out of this, clone,” she snapped back. A deep sigh from Boba’s left interrupted any reply he would have snarled in return.

“You know what? Fuck it, I’ll keep it. Come kill me, come fight me when you deem me ready, I don’t care. Work through your problems first, then you can be one of mine.” Din walked off without another word, leaving Boba to be the only one to bear witness to Bo-Katan’s fury.

Facts and figures raced through Boba’s mind and came to a stop at understanding: Din was behaving irrationally, and shouldn’t be left alone.

As he walked back the way he came, Boba couldn’t help himself. “You heard the Mand’alor.”

He was sure Bo-Katan was still shrieking when he boarded the Slave I. Gideon was all laid out in one of the mirrored transparisteel cells on the passenger deck, still unconscious. Even in this state, the man looked too cunning for his own good. He’d wake up in a mirrored box with nowhere to flee and nobody to sneer at but his own reflection. Boba always appreciated that about the prisoner cells.

He came to a standstill when he saw the shiny beskar helmet laying, discarded, on the deck. It stuck his heart in his throat did a moment. He shook away the sand from his peripheral vision and stopped to pick it up.

Cara was already strapped into the passenger seat, watching everything with a detached worry that Boba didn’t like. There was nothing about this situation that he liked. “He went up to your bunk,” she said, not looking up at him. He wondered if she had looked down when Din had walked through. If she had looked away on the bridge, if she had kept her eyes ahead when walking through the cruiser.

He didn’t know if he actually wanted to know.

“Great.”

“Fennec’s gonna take us to a New Republic base.”

“Perfect.”

“I’ve got first watch on Gideon. He tried offing himself on the bridge.”

“Of course he did.”

“The others not coming?”

“Absolutely not.” He hit a button on his vambrace and reveled in the satisfaction that he didn’t need to manually operate much on the Slave I anymore. The ship, the armor, Boba, they were one. Jango’s pride and joy. The cargo hatch closed with a hiss and the thrusters engaged instantaneously, Fennec pulling them into space and as far away from this mess as possible.

Boba hesitated at the intersection past the passenger bay. To the left, down into the berthing area and Din. To the right, up into the cockpit and control.

He turned left, and descended.

The narrow passageway had a persistent flickering light overhead which cast an eerie glow about the space. In the ghost stories older bounty hunters used to tell him as a child just to scare him, they used to mention flickering lights as signs of impending doom.

The sun hadn’t flickered that day on Geonosis.

The suns hadn't flickered that day on Tatooine.

Yet the old fear remained.

The ship gave a familiar lurch into hyperspace and Boba swallowed the fear, ignoring his pounding heart in favor of whatever lay beyond that door. Boba removed his helmet before opening the door to his berthing.

Two helmets in hand, he entered, finding Din had gotten into the few bottles of spicewine they’d brought with them from the Core world safe house. His eyes were hard but unfocused, his cheeks ruddy but dry. He looked ill, Boba thought. The noise of the two helmets touching the shelf was too loud, but neither man commented.

Din was still in full beskar, though it looked worse for wear in places, like his hands had been shaking too hard for him to remove anything successfully. So now he sat, wrapped in beskar yet armorless, on the deck of Boba’s ship.

Boba joined him there, knowing it was as healthy as keeping company with a trilling thermal detonator. The longer he thought of what to possibly say, the longer the silence screamed between them. Din brought the wine back to his lips and drank deeply, uncaring toward the messy blood-red splashes that dribbled past his mouth and onto his chest plate.

Something had changed in Din, a complete shift of his entire person that Boba hadn’t been there to witness. He knew the word for what it was, but it never seemed to encompass the variety of emotions that warred with one’s senses. The despair. The turmoil. The burning anger. The choking guilt. The merciless reminder that someone isn’t there anymore.

There were no words that could have filled Boba’s emptiness or put out the wildfire rage scorching his heart, back then. There was no amount of revenge that would have brought Jango back. There was no number of beds he could fall into and believe they were the embrace of another. There was cold, and there was flame, the icy white burning of an old star that had been dying for decades.

Yet, something had changed in himself as well, and he had been around for it but had not been aware of it. In the...fuck, it had been just less than a month, since the refinery mission on Morak—in that time alone, Boba had felt Din move into his orbit, but...no. That wasn’t right either. Boba had moved into Din’s orbit. They’d eclipsed one another countless times since then, covering one another in promises they would chase but never fulfill, looks that would never become meaningful glances, touches that would never, ever last. Perigee, apogee, perigee, apogee again. They had phases, and their shine was reaching darkness again, waning crescent.

He had not seen Din at full darkness, that first day back when he was only a distraction. It was ironic that the moment Boba could not be around to cast a guiding light on Din, he found himself a weapon made of darkness and could not rid himself of it. He was stuck here with his grief, empty fulfillment and burdensome guilt atop his shoulders, yet Boba orbited him just out of reach. Everything felt just out of reach.

“My father told me once that the first direction most species look for answers is up,” Boba blurted out. The words didn’t stop. “He told me that for all the atrocities borne on any world, they always blamed the stars. Thanked the stars. Asked the stars why. Trillions of trillions of questions throughout time, sent across the galaxy until they realized they could find the answers themselves by looking down at one another. The stars never had any answe–“

“Shut up.”

Boba’s skin prickled a little at the interruption, and he stuttered to a halt, looking over at Din. “What?”

“I said shut up. I don’t want to hear whatever fucking bullshit your father said, I don’t want to hear about the stars or a moon made of crystals or a damned thing you have to say!” Din’s voice had crescendoed into a shout, hoarse and toneless. Formless anger. Misfired plasma beams. “Why didn’t you let her just kill me when she had the chance?!” His eyes spat the same fury his mouth had, and his knuckles were moon-white around the bottle in his hands.

“Din—”

“No. Tell me why.”

Masks were a strange thing in the galaxy. In some cultures they were seen as coy, charming and flirtatious. They covered one’s identity only to be cast aside in a fit of passion. In other cultures they were used to tell stories and fables to children before they learned that evil wore many faces. For many Mandalorians, their mask was a part of their full armor. To hide one's face was to have honor, to be a part of an enduring galactic symbol of warrior ethos and heritage. It was necessary for foundlings to feel accepted, they knew not the face of their fathers because everyone was their father.

Boba Fett knew the face of his father. The entire galaxy knew the face of his father. He wore several masks, hiding parts of himself, of the collective, so deeply inside himself just to feel some sense of individuality among the millions who shared his face. Even after he had recrafted Jango’s helm, there were still cracks in that mask, irreparable from the brash actions of his vengeance. The helmet he had held to his forehead in a mirshmure’cya, countless times after that day, it had reflected that first mask back at him, showing the burning anger in his eyes. It had frightened him into doing something he regretted. When that anger had exploded, it had also taken one of the few pieces of his father he had left. He would reforge a new helmet, but the mask he wore constantly was now another gift from Jango: the gift (curse) of his face.

He saw his father’s anger and judgment and disappointment staring back at him, everywhere. He avoided mirrors whenever possible for that reason. For years, Boba only smiled at death, hedonism, sharp shooting. He had forgotten the easy laughter of his youth, the carefree smiles at his father’s fancy flying in their Firespray-class ship. He hid those joyful parts of himself and let the prophecy fulfill: he became Jango as he was remembered.

A ruthless. Deadly. Fanatical. Bounty hunter.

Nowhere in there was the term Mandalorian. He could not wear a heritage, he could not gain honor through hiding his face, he could not ascend to the heavens nor pursue a normal life in the galaxy.

(Among other reasons, one of the biggest was that clones were not legally classified as people, after all.)

There was still that crack in the mask, though, that little fissure that wouldn’t melt into submission, that tiny fracture that spidered out under pressure. And when Din had come to him that day and blurted out “I need a distraction,” his clever hands had pried the careful edges of that fault line apart, and wriggled themselves deeper, reaching for the next mask to tear apart on Boba.

It was a ripping noise Boba always heard, when Din would cry or when Din would kneel or when Din would blush and smile and pull smiles and praise helplessly from Boba’s lips. The infiltration of the other masks had been surgically precise, and completely unintentional.

So why, why wouldn’t Boba let Bo-Katan kill him for the stupid lasersword of Mandalore?

“Because I love you, Din.”

Read on AO3.

[wreathedinscales]

shoutout to @grogusdads for their 100% accurate headcanon about Din Djarin being Ultimate Dad as Mand’alor. we’ve never talked, but you share many headcanons with me :D

anyway here’s din realizing, oh wait, he’s actually a??? ruler???? :O

()

1. Guards?

Without Grogu, Din makes it his purpose to help reclaim Mandalore. And attempt to provoke Bo-Katan into challenging him.

This time, he thinks, he's got her.

"Do you know anything about ruling?" Bo-Katan snaps.

Din once again holds out the Darksaber. "You're welcome to do it yourself."

But no. She just rolls her eyes and tries once again to fix his posture. Because apparently just standing straight does not a ruler make.

Mandalorians answer the call. Not all of them, but enough to start rebuilding. Din doesn't know about ruling, but he can organize a few supply runs and a roster. He takes mental notes of names, strengths and weaknesses. Nothing he hasn't done before.

About two weeks into this, Din notices two Mandalorians following him. Both have predominantly red armor with identical wing-shaped markings on their helmets. Kai and Kol, Din's inner records supply, sisters who grew up in a covert not quite as traditional as Din's, but their background is similar enough that Din's found common ground with them. They're some of the best at stealth, great for off-planet supply runs.

Din looks around at the small crowd. It's still somewhat staggering, seeing so many Mandalorians in broad daylight. He still catches himself scanning for Imps.

"Inventory's still scattered, and you're light on your feet," he says, "See what you can find in the palace."

For once, the sisters don't nod and walk off. Instead, they glance at each other, then look back at din with helmets tilted.

"We already have a task," Kai says slowly.

"Then why are you following me?"

They share another glance.

"We are your guard," Kol says, matching her sister's voice.

Din's so surprised he says, "What?" Then he shakes his head and adds, "Did Bo-Katan put you up to this?"

"She approached candidates," Kai says, "We volunteered first."

Din puts his hands on his hips. He's genuinely at a loss. "Why?"

They're attracting a small audience. The sisters' stunned silence doesn't help.

"You are Mand'alor," Kol replies blankly, "Our planet is not without dangers. We must protect you."

...oh.

Hm.

"Your efforts are best suited helping rebuild," Din tries, "I don't see any danger getting past all of us." He gestures to the rubble that was once the capital. "Help our people first."

More silence. For the first time in years, Din actively stops himself from fidgeting.

It becomes quickly apparent that they are not moving. But guards not listening to him is something he's used to.

"Okay, how about one of you stays with me?"

Kol and Kai stare a bit more. Then they bow, and Kai heads to the city.

"Okay," Din says again, "I guess if you're staying close, you might as well help me look over our supplies. We're still short on materials."

He turns on his heel and hopes everyone will stop staring. Fortunately, inventory takes focus. After some hesitation, Kol shoulders her staff and joins him.

Two hours later, Din is satisfied he's done all he can. He passes the datapad to Hrush, who's unofficially record-keeper with how quick they are at it. Their brain's the size of Mandalore, and their fingers fly over the screen.

Next batch.

Din looks over his shoulder. With any luck, Kol will have caught the hint and gone back to work.

He finds another Mandalorian walking beside her. Jaz, fought in the Purge, follows Bo-Katan's version of the Way, Fennec-level shot with her two blasters. Her muscles make her tower over Kol.

Din stops. They stop with him.

He sighs. "Fine. Jaz, you can lift two crates at a time, yes?"

Jaz balks a bit. After a moment, she says, "Yes, Mand'alor."

"Good. Kol, get those open while Jaz and I get the rest. You can. Multitask."

Din would really, really like everyone to stop staring.

2. Palace?

"What?"

Bo-Katan raises an eyebrow. "The Mand'alor needs his throne."

They're standing outside the palace ruin, Bo-Katan's helmet under her arm and Din glad his own hides his no doubt stupid expression. Kai and Kol are, unfortunately, still following him.

"Why the hell would I want a palace?" Din asks. "We're almost done the compound. There's plenty of room."

"Yours isn't ready yet."

"I don't need a suite, Kryze. As long as I can fit, a bunk and a door will be fine."

"You are Mand'alor."

"I am Mandalorian." It's taken a bit for him to come to terms with that, after the light cruiser. But everyone else sure sees him as one, which has helped. "A door and a bunk. No. Palace."

Hrush is quiet when Din approaches them with dimensions for his bunk. He's been sleeping with various clans and families so far, and it's worked out alright. Those who don't follow the Watch's Way respect his helmet. But a bit a privacy would be nice, and if Bo-Katan insists on him having his own room, well.

"I know materials are low," Din says, "Prioritize others first. This can wait."

Hrush is a small spitfire. They are still quiet.

Din waits a beat before nodding. The training yards still need a lot of attention. He heads there next.

That night, he checks the compound's roster. There are still two groups he hasn't imposed on yet. Their community is growing. It makes him smile.

"Mand'alor?" Kai says.

Din turns and waves his hand. "You can, uh, bunk down. I'll see if Clan Gon has floor space."

Even though, for some reason, people keep insisting Din take a cot, he's won through stubbornness so far. His back hates him, but it's not the first time they've been at odds.

A familiar huff joins them. "Mand'alor," Hrush says, "your room is ready. All the way down, to the left."

"...oh."

Well, at least they've finally given up on the suite.

"Thank you," Din says.

Hrush's helmet tilts, like they're about to say something. Din waits, but whatever they had wanted to say turns into, "Good night, Mand'alor."

Din inclines his head. "Same to you."

"What the hell."

This is not a bunk. This is. This is a full on apartment.

"I said no suite."

"It isn't a suite, Mand'alor," Kai says. She actually sounds amused. "It meets your specifications."

Din turns to her and crosses his arms. The room is huge, with a damn kitchenette, table, and private fresher. The cot isn't a cot, but a full on double bed. Din doesn't even know where all this stuff came from.

"You asked for a door," Kol says.

"I asked. For. A. Bunk. This is a waste of supplies we haven't got."

"Mand'alor, we provided the bare necessities." Kai seems seconds away from laughing.

"A double bed is not a necessity. Switch it with," Din thinks a second, "Clan To. The alors need support for those limps, and their Foundlings can use the extra cot."

The sisters look at each other. Din wishes they'd stop doing that.

"As you wish," they say.

"But it's too late now," Kai adds, "Clan To retired before you."

"Tomorrow, then."

"When would you like us to do it?"

Din shakes his head. "I'll do it myself. I can lift this."

"...certainly, Mand'alor."

3. Personal Space?

Since the fresher isn't going anywhere, Din figures, fuck it, he might as well use it. It's been a pain getting up extra early for the communal space anyway. Even if the space is working just fine, Bo-Katan.

When he's freshly dressed, he reenters the main room to find Jaz setting down one of Clan To's cots.

"Your time is better spent elsewhere," Din says firmly.

"Of course, Mand'alor," Jaz replies.

Well, Din's used to a bit of mocking. What's done is done. "Then help me move the rest of this to the communal space. I just need the caf."

"Mand'alor, with respect, I will not remove necessities from your room." Jaz shifts her weight. "This will make it easier for you to follow your Way. We wish to respect your helmet."

It's reasonable. Din would be lying if he said he didn't miss his privacy. But he'd rather sacrifice some personal bubble for a Foundling's future than have this.

"Would you not do the same for another?" Jaz asks quietly.

Din sighs. "Fine. If any who follow my Creed want to use this room, let them know it's open. I'll put a lock on the door."

"A lock will be installed in an hour," Jaz says.

"Okay. We'll spread the word."

"...as you wish, Mand'alor. I'll leave you to your first meal."

Quiet follows Jaz. Complete, utter quiet.

Wow. Din...has really missed this.

He looks around. There are no windows. People won't barge in. He can trust fellow Mandalorians.

Cautiously, Din removes his helmet. The quiet is still there.

He did sleep better last night. Maybe he can let himself have this.

4. Respect?

Din whirls around, spear out, just in time for Kol and Kai to take the attacker down.

Having guards is weird, but convenient.

Din studies the Mandalorian. Armor similar to Fett's, not enough for the resemblance to be startling, as it is painted blue and yellow. Goboz, young, cocky but well-meaning, best at hand-to-hand, needs more gun training.

Caju and Vadde of Clan To are in front of Din in a second, blasters raised. It makes Din warm.

"What business have you, attacking our Mand'alor?" Kai demands coldly.

"The Darksaber," Goboz says.

Din gently pushes Caju and Vadde aside. "You're barely 23, kid. Why do you want to rule?"

Goboz starts. "How do you know how old I am?"

Din cocks his head. "You told me when we met. If you can't remember that, what makes you think you're fit to lead?"

He's not angry. But Goboz did not issue an honorable challenge. He clearly has not studied the Way enough. Din will have to have a word with his buir. No matter how old they get, a child deserves guidance.

(Child. No, not the time. Not the place.)

Din puts his hands on his hips and says calmly, "If you wish to challenge me to the Darksaber, do so honorably. This is the Way."

Voices echo, "This is the Way."

Goboz averts his helmet. "...this is the Way."

Din nods. "Let him up."

Kai and Kol step back. They keep their spears level in warning.

"Now," Din says, "do you want to challenge me?"

Goboz nods.

"As challenger, choose your weapon."

As expected, Goboz replies, "Hand-to-hand."

"Fine. I accept." Din scans the crowd. "Kryze. Since you won't challenge me, you can oversee this."

Bo-Katan's lip quirks. "Certainly, Mand'alor."

"Meet me in the training yard in ten," Din says, "I need to finalize the Foundlings' training rosters."

Goboz looks cowed. Din waits for him to walk off before turning back to Hrush.

They meet without weapons in the center. Goboz bounces lightly on his feet. Din finds himself looking forward to this. It's been too long since he's had a good fight.

Bo-Katan widens her stance. "Begin."

Goboz swings first. Din parries and goes for his blind spot. He's blocked and pushed, but he stands his ground. It soon becomes apparent that Goboz doesn't mind his legs nearly as much as he should. He's good, very good. Just not good enough.

Din trips him, shoving a knee on his chest and pinning his arms. Goboz nearly throws him off. Nearly.

"Do you yield?" Din hisses.

Goboz struggles valiantly. But he sees he's beaten. He goes limp. "I yield."

"The Mand'alor is the winner," Bo-Katan announces. The crowd cheers.

Din helps Goboz up. Goboz says, "I thought you'd be more aggressive. I did you a dishonor."

"You did yourself and your clan a dishonor," Din retorts, "You clearly know better, Goboz."

Goboz's shoulders hunch slightly. "Yes, Mand'alor." He puts a fist to his chest and bows. "I will accept whatever punishment you deem fit."

Din tilts his head. "You learned from your mistake. I hold no grudge against you. Go to your buir for punishment."

Goboz makes himself even smaller, showing his age. The next "Yes, Mand'alor" is more of a grumble.

Din revels in the buzzing of his muscles and gets back to work.

Goboz's buir, Imni, approaches him later that afternoon.

"I apologize for Goboz's behavior," she says, "I thought I taught him better."

Din shrugs. "He's young. Kids don't always listen."

Imni huffs. "You are wise, Mand'alor."

"Just experienced. My." Din swallows. "My own Foundling liked to get his paws into trouble."

Imni inclines her head. "I heard you returned him to his kind."

"I did. Now I have other Foundlings to look after."

"You honor us, Mand'alor."

Din shakes his head. "This is the Way."

"This is the Way." Imni sounds like she's smiling.

5. Children?

"They're a bounty hunter," Din explains for the umpteenth time.

"They tried to assassinate you," Bo-Katan replies for the umpteenth time.

"I've done worse in their shoes."

"But you're not in their shoes anymore. You are Mand'alor."

"I'm still a hunter."

"You are Mand'alor."

Din looks to Senator Organa, who's trying not to laugh. She resembles the Jedi strongly; it had been a shock to know the Huttslayer is Grogu's teacher's twin sister. He now knows the Jedi is called Luke Skywalker. He'd been about to find out more when a sniper got him right between the beskar.

He'll be fine, especially with the fancy tech on Coruscant. It's practically a five star treatment compared to Din's usual experience. Only now Bo-Katan is insisting the hunter be put on trial or something.

Din tries again. "Let's just talk. Find out who hired them."

"They won't leave without their reward," Bo-Katan says.

"They might be Guild. I can get in touch with Karga, get them another job."

Bo-Katan looks at him with the slightly narrowed eyes of a person who's looking at an absolute moron. Din doesn't feel like he deserves that, thank you.

"You want," she says, "to get your would-be assassin another job."

"Might not be as high, but they seem like they can take on more than one. They're capable."

Bo-Katan mouths capable. She looks to Organa as if pleading for patience.

Organa clears her throat. "Mand'alor. Would you feel the same if one of your people was shot?"

The anger is sharp and sudden. Din breathes through it. "I'm supposed to protect them. It's not the same."

Bo-Katan gestures to him. "You see what I have to deal with?"

Din balks. Organa stops fighting her grin.

"I think we should take this to the conference room," Organa says, "If the Mand'alor feels able."

Din stands without wobbling and motions for her to lead the way. He waves to a stiff Kai and Kol, and they settle behind him.

The conference room is full of seething Mandalorians.

"You guaranteed our Mand'alor's safety!" Jaz bellows, hands flat on the table. "You go back on your word so easily?"

Caju is coiled to strike. "It was a mistake to come here. We should have known better."

These are but two voices among the throng. The other senators are various shades of pale and flushed, some trying to calm the situation while others are yelling back.

"Don't suppose you can help?" Organa asks sardonically.

Din sighs. He draws his spear and hits it against his vambrace. The room cuts off mid-shout.

"Have we found out who hired them?" Din asks.

One of the senators, a human male whose hair is mussed from running his fingers through it, says, "Yes."

"And where is the hunter?"

"Captured," Vadde replies tightly, "Alive."

Din nods and heads for the nearest seat. He pauses when the Mandalorians part for him, showing the head of the table. He awkwardly changes course.

"Tell me about the employer."

"You're what."

Din punches the code for the cell. "I got you some new pucks. Together, it should be close to what this job would've paid." The door opens. "I'll go with you to your ship, make sure they let you pass."

The hunter's frog eyes stare widely. Din wonders if their species ever blink.

"You are a world leader," the hunter says, "I tried to kill you."

"So I've been told."

"You realize you should be executing me, right? Or at least sending me to max prison?"

Din huffs. "I've been told that too. I've also been a bounty hunter. You don't seem like you have close ties with your employer, which means you're only in it for the money. You're not a threat to my people."

"I could be."

"Then I'll kill you." Simple, matter-of-fact. "Do you want me to? I can think of at least a dozen ways right now."

The bounty hunter finally blinks. "...no."

"Then let's go. Sooner we get you going, the sooner I can get back to getting coordinates for my kid."

The hunter takes a few hesitant steps. Kai and Kol are pillars of ice, but they don't attack. Din starts walking.

"So, uh. The rumors about your Foundling are true?" the hunter says.

"Yep."

"Huh. You're, uh. I mean, you seem like a good dad, then."

Din's throat goes tight. "He's with his kind now. I am no longer as his father."

"...oh," the hunter croaks.

A beat.

"He is father to his people," Kol snaps.

Din whips around so fast his neck nearly cracks. Kol raises her chin, as if daring him to argue.

"We..." Din slowly starts walking again, "we take care of each other."

"You take care of us, Mand'alor," Kai says firmly.

After a few more paces, the hunter says, "I actually feel a little bad for trying to kill you."

Din huffs a laugh, still reeling. "Thanks."

As he watches the hunter take off, Din murmurs, "You honor me."

Softly, Kai says, "It is what you deserve, Mand'alor."

"And," Kol adds, "it's fun to watch when people realize you're not angry, just disappointed."

Kai shoulders her spear to put her hands on her hips, bending slightly at the waist and cocking her head. Din realizes as Kol laughs that she's imitating him. His cheeks burn when he also realizes he's halfway to putting his hands on his hips too.

When she's calmed down, Kol puts a hand on Din's shoulder. "You are as our father, Mand'alor. Let us care for you in turn."

Din has to take at least half a minute to steady himself. He's still hoarse when he says, "You can't shoot the ship."

The sisters sigh.