#pedro pascal 

[ev-pierce-writes]

The Heir

The Heir Chapter 1

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8.3K

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst, masturbation

Notes: I recognize this isn't actually what season 3 will be like but I just need season 3 to come and its not coming fast enough so I'm taking it into my own hands to write whatever I want. I just want the little green alien baby and his space cowboy dad to have a cute reunion is that too much to ask? Self-insert, with reader as "you" but I avoid Y/N stuff. Narrator's perspective refers to Mando as Djarin, Din's perspective is written as Din. Some back and forth with that. I took some liberty with the characterization as well. The rest is my own!

---

The throne room was silent save for your voice echoing from the high ceiling.

"Tell Mon Tarrow that his trade agreement still stands, as long as he keeps up his end of the bargain," you said to the hologram flickering before you. "We get our shipments, he gets his. That is all."

With a swipe of your hand, the hologram disappeared and you leaned back into your seat. This job was difficult, organizing and controlling the most heavily trafficked trade routes in the galaxy. It was not one you had chosen for yourself. But for generations, your family had been in control of the planet Nhora and its lunar outpost, maintaining its status as a neutral party throughout several civil wars, uprisings, revolutions, and revolts. You had inherited that neutrality. Despite attempts from both the Republic and the Empire, your rule had withstood their attacks, keeping peace with your people and ensuring the wealth of successful trade routes.

Turning to your advisor at your elbow, you began to discuss the redistribution of the year's crops when the large doors across the hall opened. It was uncommon for someone to interrupt your daily briefings, though not disallowed. You had an open-door policy when it came to your people; anything that needed your attention should be brought directly to you. It fostered communication and understanding. But the individual who interrupted you was not one of your subjects and was, to put it simply, completely unexpected.

Your advisor immediately silenced, as dumbstruck as you, and the only sounds came from the creature huffing and puffing his way toward you, mumbling some garbled non-language.

Creature was the best way to put it. He was small and green and wore a sack for clothes. Though you couldn't see his legs, they must have been tiny, for he wobbled very slowly towards you. And his ears, good grief those ears, were so large his head teetered back and forth as he walked. The throne room was already large, but it was made even larger by the tiny figure before you, a child, you realized, as he stumbled closer. You eyed the child suspiciously before giving your advisor a look that said, who is this? She only shrugged.

Perhaps this was one of Skywalker's new playthings, you thought. That strange Jedi was always passing through with some oddity or another to trade for supplies. He knew what you liked, gems and stones from other lands, flowers with unique scents, fabrics spun from the thread of ice spiders (very dangerous to come by). In exchange, he had free access to your palace as he pleased before heading off again to who knows where. But this was new. Skywalker never brought you living things that moved of their own accord.

You stood, gathering the long skirts of your robe and stepping off the dais upon which your throne sat. You weren't particularly fond of children, but the sudden appearance of one purposefully crossing the long marble hall and heading straight for you was intriguing. You met the child halfway, stooping over to get a closer look at him, and noticed a fine layer of hair on his wrinkled head.

As you bent over, the child looked up at you and cooed, a little smile on his face. He was admittedly a bit cute, though incredibly ugly.

"Hello, little thing," you said, addressing the child directly. "Who are you?"

He didn't answer, of course, just gurgled strangely. A tiny three-fingered hand reached toward you as if asking to be picked up. You ignored him and stood up straight instead, turning to a guard and sending him out to look for the enigmatic Jedi who was sure to be close behind.

Apparently, the child didn't like being ignored. You felt a sudden tugging at your collar as if someone had taken hold of your necklace and was trying to yank it from your neck. Looking down, you could see the child was still at your feet, hand in the air, but now his eyes were half-closed. You realized with a mix of horror and curiosity that the little one was pulling at your necklace, though not with his fingers but rather with his mind. Perhaps you could have tried to stop him, withheld the piece of jewelry from him, but you were too dumbfounded to try. Why he wanted the chain around your neck you were unsure, but the child would have it one way or another.

The necklace broke with a snap and flew toward him, which he caught in one green paw. The astonishment hung in the room; most had never seen the force in action like this. But you knew.

The force was with this one. Now, you were certain he had to be with the Jedi.

"Luke Skywalker," you said with accusation in your voice as he finally entered the throne room, following behind your guard. "I am not taking care of this child for you if that's what you're expecting. And I want my necklace back."

Skywalker smiled as he entered and kneeled to address you. It wasn't necessary to bow before you, but the Jedi had always been a bit of a stickler for tradition. You took it as a sign of friendship.

"Don't worry Your Majesty, Grogu and I will be on our way shortly. He just needs a... special diet that I cannot provide for him."

"Grogu?" The little child looked up at you when you said his name. His mouth was wrapped around the metal ball that had hung from your neck moments before. It had been a gift from your mother, a symbol of the planet you ruled over, to be passed on if you had a child of your own. Now it was covered in baby slobber. And yet, your heart softened at the sight of the green child. Relenting to his pleading eyes, you reached down and picked Grogu up, holding him at arm's length as he played with the metal ball.

"Where did you find him?" you asked Skywalker as you led him from the throne room toward the banquet hall, your advisor trailing behind you, just as curious about the creature as you.

"I did not find him," Skywalker replied. "A Mandalorian did."

A Mandalorian? Your heart rate picked up, curiosity piqued at the thought. You had only heard stories about their kind since their fall from the Council of Neutral Systems. And of course what your grandmother had told you of them. They were a conflicted group but you knew one thing for sure, they were not friends of the Jedi.

"I presume you are to train him now."

"To the best of my ability. He is the same species as my master, surprisingly strong despite his size."

In the banquet hall, you sent for a meal, setting Grogu down on the table and sitting before him. He was fascinating, despite his babyish mannerisms and the ball covered in his spit. But what you really wanted to know more about was this Mandalorian. The rumors had not escaped you, spreading swiftly through the trade routes, reports of the Darksaber's resurfacing, of those who tried to claim it. The planet Mandalore itself was relatively uninhabited, having been ravaged by years of war and conflict. Your trade routes were one of the only ones that extended that far to the outer rim as most didn't find it worth the trouble.

But if the Darksaber was truly back, and someone had claimed it, the Mand'alor may make a recovery. That could mean many things for your people, possibly a surge in trade or a new rival that was willing and able to fight for space. Mandalorians were known to be the greatest killers in the galaxy, after all. But you were getting ahead of yourself.

"The one who found Grogu, are they the one who claimed the saber?"

Concern flickered across Skywalker's face. "Yes, I believe his name is Din Djarin."

The baby's ears perked up at the name, glancing back and forth between the two of you. His giant eyes blinked slowly as he eyed your face.

"Is the Mandolorian worthy?" You were of course talking about the inheritance of the Mand'alor throne.

"He delivered the child. And refused the saber, at first. There is hope for those who are given the chance of ultimate power and deny it."

Refused it? So ruling a creed and a planet had not been his choice. Much like you. Perhaps there was a chance for the Mand'alor after all. You watched as Skywalker traded your necklace for an entire laas fish, which Grogu swallowed whole, fins and all. It was a disturbing sight.

---

Din Djarin could be a man of stealth when necessary. After saying goodbye to his son, he had accepted a ride through hyperspace from Boba Fett and Fennec Shand. But they had only been willing to go so far as Wobani, and he would have to make his way alone.

Though Bo-Katan had let Din leave with the Darksaber in tow, he could tell it had been with reluctance, and Din was sure this wasn't the last he'd see of her. Cara Dune had offered to follow him, but Din declined. This was a trip he had to make on his own.

Wobani was not the most welcoming of planets. The abandoned labor camps that had once been full during the reign of the Empire stood crumbling to dust. Some people had taken root here, making do with what was available.

But this was not where he needed to be. Din needed to keep moving, keep his eyes on the future, keep his mind off of the sad look on the little one's face as he'd been whisked away by a Jedi. Din felt empty without Grogu on his hip, hidden in his satchel or tucked away in his crib. Sure, Din missed having his ship, but he missed the child so much more.

The metal ball at his belt weighed heavy. He should have let him keep it.

But there was no turning back now. Din would allow himself one night of rest before moving on. There were no boarding houses on Wobani, though he'd asked around. And it wasn't like anyone wanted to house a Mandalorian. So Din settled for an empty, abandoned building, one that likely had held prisoners at one time or another. Now, there was nothing but a dirt floor and a wall to lean against. But it was better than nothing.

As the sun set, Din shut his eyes, ready for the next day to begin.

He was awoken not by the sun, but a grunting noise to his left. Din opened his eyes and adjusted his helmet to night vision, locating a massive heat signature through his visor. A large animal, crawling on all fours, appeared across the room. It hadn't yet noticed Din, more preoccupied with sniffing the ground with a large, whiskered nose. But even from this vantage point, Din could tell the creature had many giant sharp teeth, perfect for tearing at his flesh.

Maybe if he stayed absolutely still... Nope. That large nose turned in his direction and had him spotted in an instant. The options lay before him, run or fight, and neither seemed good. Shooting a blaster in this confined space was almost guaranteed to cause a ricochet and at the moment, the beast was blocking the exit.

But not the only exit. The beast began to approach, its long slithering tail making disgusting sounds as it dragged across the floor, sinewy muscles rippling beneath hairless skin. It moved slowly, but that didn't mean much. It probably thought it had found its next meal, a man in a suit of beskar. Din stood slowly, trying not to urge the beast to move any faster.

Last night, when choosing a spot to sleep, Din had noticed the small window above him. When you were constantly on the hunt or being hunted, having multiple escape routes was a necessity. And the window had seemed like a good enough option. Now Din hoped his judgment had been right. The beast was getting closer, giving him only moments to make a decision.

To reach the window, Din would have to turn his back on the beast, which he didn't particularly want to do. He would need a distraction.

The beast paused in its approach and then lunged, as Din aimed his vambrace, spraying it with fire. It reeled back, howling in pain, and he knew that was his chance. He jumped, fingers catching on the ledge and hauling himself through the narrow space. Din barely fit, especially with all his bulking armor and the few possessions he managed to carry. The beast he'd left behind was enraged, clawing angrily at the walls and snapping at his heels.

At last, he was able to swing himself from the window to the roof of the building, finding refuge up high. He laid back with exhaustion, listening to the sounds of the beast as it finally gave up on its query and left. Din wanted nothing more than to sleep, to forget the pain in his heart and calm his rapid breathing. Not much scared the serious Mandalorian, and despite the danger he had just narrowly escaped, his thoughts drifted elsewhere.

Above him, the stars shone dimly through the dusty clouds of Wobani's atmosphere. Somewhere out there was the kid. Din hoped he was happy.

---

Luke Skywalker and the child did not stay long. You were surprised to find that you actually missed the little bugger as you watched them fly away, a large supply of laas fish in tow. Though you were sure you'd see them again; Grogu's appetite was insatiable.

But there were more pressing matters at hand. If the Mand'alor were to resurface and become strong again, you had to be prepared. You wanted to have the upper hand and hoped that the trade relations that were already established with the desolate Mandalore planet would help in gaining their trust.

Though your advisors had recommended you give up on the planet, even demanded it, you had been unwilling to do so. The few who did live there desperately needed Nhora's help and supplies. They had little to offer in return and tended to be more of a burden than an equal partner, but it felt wrong to abandon that outpost. Now you were glad that you'd stuck to your convictions.

It was time to call a meeting of council members. Little was left of the Council of Neutral Systems since the fall of the Empire, but those who remained were essential to the maintenance of free trade. And if the Mand'lor were to return, the council needed to be prepared.

"We don't even know if this Mandalorian wants his planet back," General Tarrow was saying, his hologram flickering slightly across the table from you.

"It's better to be prepared," your advisor, Zena, replied. "Her Majesty has maintained trade relations with the planet despite their small numbers. We can use this to our advantage and get ahead of any potential military action they are willing to take."

"The fact that they could take military action is exactly why we shouldn't pursue relations with the Mand'alor," Tarrow countered.

Zena sighed, exasperated by the back and forth conversation that had been going on for the last twenty minutes. You could tell she was getting frustrated. "They deserve our respect, don't they? Innocent before proven guilty?"

"They've already proven themselves guilty, or didn't you study Nhora's history?"

The General made a good point, but it was always better to approach with peace than antagonism, you had learned. "I have reason to believe the one who claimed the Darksaber is of a different disposition, worthy, even," you said in Zena's defense.

"From who?" asked another council member.

"Luke Skywalker."

"The Jedi? I don't trust him."

"Well I do," you said, putting your foot down. "There's not much to be done at this time anyway. The reports are only rumors, after all. But we need to be open and prepared for the Mand'alor to return."

The meeting adjourned. Though no conclusions had been reached, you felt a shift coming.

---

When Din awoke next, it was the sun was up. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep again. Move. That was all there was to do.

Scrambling down from the roof that had become his bed, Din headed back toward the port he had come in from, hoping to find someone stupid enough who would accept a ridiculously small amount of credits in exchange for passage to the nearby planet Mandalore. He knew the task was impossible before he even asked the first merchant he found.

Time to change tactics.

Across the shipyard was a small transport ship. Din watched from behind some crates as a couple of droids loaded and unloaded cargo. It appeared the ship was manned entirely by droids and was getting ready to take off again soon. It would be a risk, boarding the ship and hijacking it. But smaller craft like this tended not to be very equipped for battle, and Din hoped he could use that to his advantage.

Keeping low to the ground, Din moved swiftly toward the transporter, staying out of sight of the droids. He hid next to the loading ramp, quickly climbing inside as it began to rise, signaling its imminent departure.

The cargo hold was tiny. The hulking Mandalorian couldn't stand up straight without hitting his head on the ceiling. Tight spaces didn't bother him, but he hoped that the rest of the transporter wasn't this small. Otherwise, this was going to be a long trip.

With the hum of the thrusters, the transporter lifted into the air, leaving the airspace of Wobani's shipyard. Din would wait until just before the ship entered hyperdrive to make his move.

The angle of ascent leveled and the flight smoothed, indicating they had made it out of the atmosphere and were heading swiftly toward their destination. The door leading to the cockpit from the cargo hold was thankfully not locked. With a shove, Din had the door open and the first droid in a headlock before it knew what was happening. One blaster shot to the central processing unit and the droid dropped, though not before making enough noise to signal to its copilot of Din's intrusion. And of course, it had a blaster.

The shot rang out, ricocheting around the tiny space, pinging off the walls and Din's beskar armor. Silently he thanked his laser-proofness, even as the shot knocked him off his feet and hurled him against the door of the cargo hold. His head slammed into the metal wall, blurring his vision. He would definitely have a headache after that one.

Stupid droids.

With a groan, Din heaved himself to his feet. Realizing that a blaster wasn't going to work, the droid stood, preparing itself for hand-to-hand combat. If Din hadn't been fighting for his life he may have found the situation funny, fighting in such cramped quarters. But the clouds hadn't quite cleared from his head and he barely noticed the tell-tale sign of the droid winding up for a punch. The droid swung out and struck Din squarely in the temple, sending reverbs through the beskar.

Dank farrik. This was ridiculous. He needed to focus, not be so distracted, but by what exactly? Din steadied himself and aimed his vambrace, blasting the droid with a shot that vaporized its CPU instantly.

Silence.

Shoving the now unmoving droids as best he could into the cargo hold, Din took control of the ship, rerouting the navigation system. Punching in the coordinates of the planet Mandalore, he shifted quickly into hyperdrive. The trip would take less than a day. But it was several hours of peace and for that Din was thankful, even if it meant no distractions from the big brown eyes that blinked at him every time he closed his own. They were so sad and--

Stop. Sleep. Move on. But they called out, even in his dreams.

Mandalore was even more deserted than Wobani. As the transporter eased out of hyperdrive, Din spotted several round constructions, which turned out to be domes as he got closer. Where was he going to land? There didn't appear to be a shipyard or trading post to accept incoming starships. No one connected to the commlink, requesting his flight information.

The planet was silent and gray.

Of course, it couldn't be that easy. As he prepared for descent, the rear detectors picked up on an approaching x-wing. Damn. Apparently taking out a pair of drones and hijacking their ship wasn't a free pass. Someone wanted their cargo back. And this ship was not equipped for that fight.

All Din could do was dodge as the x-wing rained fire. So much for a smooth landing. With a lurch, the left thruster was rendered useless and the transporter began to fall, rather than sail, toward the gray planet. Hopefully, Din could guide the transporter into a graceful crash and not kill himself on the way down. Seemingly recognizing that the ship was a lost cause and on its way to a crash landing, the x-wing swooped away, at least giving Din one less thing to worry about.

The ship lurched through the atmosphere, speeding too fast toward the ground and threatening to burn up as it went. The temperature inside the cockpit began to rise and Din felt lightheaded, likely due to the sudden force of gravity. He jerked up on the joystick, praying for a miracle.

With a defining blast, the transporter made contact with the ground. Din managed to remain conscious as the ship hit the sand, but only long enough to bring it to a slamming and skidding stop. And then everything went black.

It was hot. Too hot. And his mouth was impossibly dry. Din was barely aware of a pair of arms hooked under his armpits, dragging him away from the wreckage of the transporter, saving his life.

---

A year passed. Grogu and Skywalker visited again several times, though shorter than before. Little changed in the child's size, but he was stronger than before. You didn't even wait for him to steal your necklace, just handed him the small metal ball like a pushover as Skywalker restocked his ship.

And though you asked, pushed even, for details on the Mandalorian, Skywalker had little to say. The warrior seemed to have disappeared into hyperspace.

This lack of news was the exact reason why you were so shocked to find, not many days later, a suit of beskar armor standing in your throne room.

Zena had been explaining the benefits and disadvantages of increasing farming output as you walked to the throne room, but the pair of you stopped short at the door. A tall, gleaming figure stood in the hall, looking out a window, seemingly unaware of your presence. At the sight of him, the guards who had been flanking you drew their weapons, training their blasters to his back and stepping in front of you. It took you a moment to recognize the distinct shape of the helmet and the signet on his shoulder plate but this was unmistakably a Mandalorian, the Mandalorian, who had unwittingly laid claim to the Mand'alor throne. You held up your hand, willing your guards to stand down and let you pass.

"I'll admit, I am surprised to be in your presence, Mandalorian," you said. "Though not surprised that you made it in unseen. You'll have to teach me that one."

The man, Din Djarin you remembered his name to be, turned to face you, his helmet disguising whatever thoughts may have been written on his face. Of course, Din had known you were there, knew when you would arrive, knew exactly how many blasters were trained on him. But when he turned, the serious, threatening woman he expected to find was not there.

When Din had landed on Mandalore, it had been only your ships that he'd seen come and go. There was no official port or trading post, the locals explained, but Nhora's supplies came anyway, finding a way in the inhospitable desert environment that the remaining Mandalorians called home.

Reports of Nhora were mixed. Some were grateful for its help. Other's looked upon it with disdain, taking any acceptance of assistance as a sign of weakness. And rumors about the Nhora queen varied widely. Some claimed she didn't exist, was only a fabricated figurehead to maintain peace. Others described her as fierce and domineering, ruling with an iron fist and cultivating the illusion of order through force.

At first glance, Din knew you were none of these things. You were regal, of course, very obviously the one in charge. But your stance was warm and inviting, the soft features of your face drawn up into a smile. If anything, you felt more like an equal, rather than a royal who demanded authoritative respect. It was difficult for Din to smile, especially since the loss of everything he'd called family. But your smile was contagious. If not for his helmet, Din might have given his whole intimidating facade away. He was drawn to you, to your lack of fear, but he wouldn't let it show.

Djarin, though beneath the helmet he smiled against his will, appeared as the complete opposite to you. His demeanor was quiet and daunting, but he stood stiffly before you, as if unsure how you would receive him. He didn't bow or kneel or even address you by your title. And yet, though he could probably kill you and all the guards that surrounded you in the time it took to say his name, you felt no concern in his presence.

The memory of your grandmother's stories lurched into the forefront of your brain, dashing warriors, powerful and dangerous, yet righteous and honorable at heart. It made your heart beat faster. He made your heart beat faster.

"I heard you were looking for me," was all he said, modulated voice surprisingly calm despite the rush of emotions that flooded him. A man of few words, he got straight to the point. But inside he was wondering why you eyed him like that, with curiosity and diffidence, not afraid of him at all.

You nodded silently and took your place on your throne, unsure of what you would say next. How that news had reached him escaped you, as you hadn't been actively searching him out. Yes, you'd been wondering what had happened to him, what he planned to do. But you hadn't expected to meet him, not so soon. "Din Djarin, rightful heir to the Mand'alor throne. I wasn't anticipating this meeting for quite some time."

Though you couldn't see his eyes, the Mandalorian seemed to squint at you suspiciously through his visor. The sound of his name rolled easily from your tongue as if practiced over and over. "How do you know my name?"

"I know of the child you rescued. The one with the force." The Mandolorian took a step forward as if wanting to hear more. You leaned your elbow on the arm of your throne, one finger twisting nervously at the scarf of your headdress, anticipating his response.

"You've seen him?"

"Yes, a few times now. Skywalker prefers Nhora for restocking supplies. And Grogu is particularly fond of stealing things with his mind and swallowing his meals whole." The comment was meant to be a joke. Djarin did not laugh. He was watching your delicate fingers instead. "He is strong. Capable. A Jedi in the making. And you seem very attached. If I didn't know better I would think you were here for news of the little one."

"I didn't come searching for Grogu."

"I know. The Mandolorian don't simply come when called. They come when they need something. I heard what you did to Moff Gideon. How you refused the saber. I would be very surprised if there weren't some dangerous people after you right now."

Din sighed, knowing you had deciphered his intent without needing it explained to you. You were kind, but you were also sharp and perceptive, not wanting to waste time with small talk. Din liked that.

"I've seen your ships land on Mandalore. Nhora is the only one who still trades with the people there. I figured--" You realized he was asking for help but didn't know how to. Zena shot you a knowing look, recognizing that you had been right when you'd called that council meeting over a year ago. "I figured you could be an ally."

An ally. Perfect. This was exactly what you predicted. You wanted to rub your success in those snobby Neutral System faces, but you held your composure. This was your chance to make a connection, establish a rapport that would benefit you both, and protect your planet at the same time. If he needed an ally, you would offer it.

"Tell me what you need."

Djarin stood momentarily in silence, contemplating the consequences of what he was about to ask for. Was it this easy? Were you this willing to help every poor soul that came along? "I need-- I need a ship. And supplies."

"That's it?" It was suspiciously little if you had any inkling of the position Djarin was in. If he had seemingly disappeared for the past year, what struggles had he endured to make it here, to your planet?

"That's all I can afford. I don't have many credits left."

You laughed. You couldn't help it. "Credits? That's what you're worried about? I don't want your credits, Djarin."

Didn't want your credits? No one of sound mind gave anything away for free. You may have been generous, but there was no way you were that stupid. There had to be something else, he knew. "What's the catch?"

"The catch is that you rebuild a creed that was once my people's allies. And you defend us, the way you used to, from the inevitable. The Empire is still out there. It's naive to think they won't set their sights on us. But you-- you can stop them. So tell me what you need, everything you need, and I will help you. Do we have a deal?"

Zena, who had remained silent during the interaction, now leaned down and spoke into your ear. "Are you sure this is smart, Your Majesty? If the Council hears of your actions, they may not be very pleased."

"Zena, the Council has no control over what I do with my personal resources. So, deal or no deal?"

Djarin stepped forward, approaching you where you sat on your throne. Though you were seated above him, Djarin was tall enough to still stand at your eye level. He reached out a gloved hand, asking for yours to shake, you thought. His beskar glittered in the setting sun filtering in through the windows and sent you spiraling into thoughts of what he looked like beneath it all. But instead of shaking your hand, he simply held it and sunk on one knee before you, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles and bowing his head. Had Djarin not been wearing a helmet, you were sure he would have kissed them. "Thank you, Your Majesty," he said softly.

The act was ridiculous. Din knew that. You knew that. But it made your heart flutter even more than before.

"Oh for Maker's sake, this is absurd. Stand up, Djarin," you said, suddenly embarrassed, though you had to admit the sight of a Mandalorian kneeling before you would have made your ancestor's faint on the spot. "Let's find you a ship."

---

You weren't exactly sure what Djarin's rule about his helmet was. Would he take it off? Leave it on? But he needed to eat, so you led him to a private room for dinner, in case that's what he wanted. It would be naive to admit you didn't like the thought of being alone with him. You wanted to know how true your grandmother's stories were.

"I hope it's enough," you said, gesturing at the spread of food before him. "Please let me know if you need anything."

Djarin stood silently for a moment before sitting down heavily into his chair. He seemed exhausted, and though you couldn't tell with all that armor, it wouldn't have surprised you if he was injured somewhere under there.

"Thank you. Your kindness is much appreciated."

"It is per our custom. I'll leave you to eat." You turned to go and leave him in peace, but he stopped you with a gloved hand on your wrist. Though a layer of leather separated your skin from his, Djarin's grip sent a jolt up your arm.

"Why are you being so kind?" It was a genuine question, one you didn't know how to respond to. Tell him the truth? Make something up? But the man before you seemed so earnest that it appeared best to be honest. So you sat, directly across from him, and began your story.

"My grandmother was a fair and just queen," you began, folding your hands in your lap. "Sometimes to a fault. She ruled on her convictions and morals, not tradition or law. In those days, the Mand'alor still controlled much of the outer rim and fought endlessly with the Jedi. Nhora remained neutral, accepting any and all who needed assistance, regardless of creed. A young Jedi took refuge on Nhora, and according to custom, was given full protection. This was something my grandmother believed to her core. Something we still practice today."

"So you're nice because your grandma said you should be?" It wasn't meant as a jab, but suspicion laced Djarin's voice.

You sighed and continued the story. "The young Jedi did not arrive alone. He was followed by a Mandalorian, out for vengeance and retribution. He stormed the palace, the first time in history that our defenses were breached. Fortunately, the Jedi was able to aid our guards in the Mandalorian's detainment. But not before my grandmother fell deeply and madly in love with him."

"In love? With a Mandalorian?" It was hard to tell through the modulation of his voice, but Djarin sounded shocked and more than a little suspicious.

"Perhaps it was all the beskar," you said, trying to make another joke. Djarin still did not laugh though he cracked an invisible smile beneath his helmet. "But yes. Of course, it's only a story, but my grandfather was of Mand'alor, so there must be some truth in it."

"You are a descendant?"

You nodded. You'd never met your grandfather, as fathers didn't matter much to the matriarchal line of rule, but now, here you were, sitting before another Mandalorian, and the cycle continued.

What Djarin did next gave you a shock for the second time that day. With a click and then the hiss of hydraulics, he lifted his helmet from his shoulders, placed it on the table, and began to eat. You barely reined in the expression on your face, narrowly avoiding blanching at the revelation of his face.

Suddenly, it didn't seem so strange that your grandmother had fallen instantly head over heels for your grandfather after all, considering the man you found beneath the helmet.

The Mandalorian that sat before you didn't have the mean, hardened look you expected. His expression was soft, lips smooth and slightly downturned into a natural frown beneath the curve of a prominent nose. He hardly seemed to notice your stares as he dug into his food, his dark eyes staying fixed on his plate.

Djarin's dark hair was tousled and in disarray, likely from being plastered under a helmet for so long. He had a disheveled beard, graying in some places, that made you realize he had probably been traveling for some time without a true place to stay or a real bed to sleep in. It was only then that you noticed the cut on his lip, the gash across his cheek, and the bruise under his eye. What had happened to him? What had he endured to reach Nhora?

Din still wasn't sure what was considered an appropriate or inappropriate time to remove his helmet. But he reasoned that if you were a descendant of Mand'alor, then this was appropriate. And despite his better judgment, he trusted you. Your story had made him think that perhaps your coyness earlier was not a result of his sudden appearance but a mutual attraction the pair of you shared. You were a complete stranger, a queen even, and yet he felt he had known you all along, as if gravity had pulled him toward you. You radiated warmth and acceptance, something he rarely received as a Mandalorian.

Din pretended not to notice your stare, but then you stood abruptly, and he looked up.

"Most people don't recognize me when I take off this whole thing," you said, gesturing to the clothes you wore. Din could tell you were trying to make a comparison to his helmet, all a disguise to maintain a physical and emotional distance from those around you.

You began to pull off your robes, layer after layer of the royal get up you disliked more than you let on. You unwound the intricate scarf from your hair, aware that Djarin was watching the whole time as your hair fell unbound around your shoulders.

It was all ceremonial, he knew, but Din had noticed when he first met you that you didn't seem particularly comfortable in your position. Now you stood in your loose underclothes, arms and shoulders bare, headdress and scarves discarded on the floor, and you relaxed. Your efforts were a mirror to his, showing your vulnerability and gaining his trust. And you did look different, not quite unrecognizable but somehow even smaller and less imposing than before.

You suddenly felt nervous beneath Djarin's gaze and felt it best to keep your hands busy.

Turning toward a cabinet on the wall, you began rummaging through it, looking for the antiseptic. You could feel Djarin's eyes now trained on your back, watching your every move. "I don't have any bacta spray in here, but we should at least clean up that cut."

You pulled your chair closer to his. The proximity was delicious.

"This may sting a bit," you said as you applied a swab to the gash in his cheek, fingers holding his face in place. Din didn't pull away but he did hiss lightly. Your body was so close to his own he could smell the scent of you, light and flowery like your planet.

"So, what else does the Mandalorian need from me?" you asked, trying to distract him from the pain.

Din grunted, though not in discomfort but to regain his focus. "The people-- I'm not sure what they need. I'm a warrior, not a ruler. I didn't ask for this. Mandalore is essentially deserted, those who remain have nothing and I don't know where to begin. The creed is fractured, scattered throughout the galaxy. I don't even think most of them want to be found. Especially not by me."

You placed a gentle hand on his chin to tilt his head closer to yours, giving you access to the cut on this lip. Thin lines creased Djarin's eyes and forehead, marring his golden skin with worry and tension. His eyebrows knitted in constant concern. You wanted to smooth that look from his face but it was more than you thought he'd allow. Instead, you focused on his mouth, not that that helped your erratic pulse and quickening breath either.

The tenderness of the act caught Din off guard. A royal, stooping to his level, rolling up her sleeves to do the dirty work, was surprising. He got the impression that you were a reluctant ruler, though he couldn't tell why. Nhora was obviously a prosperous planet, covered in glittering cities and sprawling trade ports. What he'd seen of the people they seemed happy and healthy. How could you be so successful and yet so averse to the job you performed so well?

"You're a good man, Djarin. I understand your reluctance. I was not meant to be queen either. I didn't want to be queen, and yet the responsibility was thrust upon me. But you are a good father as well, and I've known the best fathers to make the best leaders."

"I'm not a father. Not anymore." The words were spoken with a deep sadness.

"I think the Child would beg to differ. He lights up like a glow frog when he hears your name."

"A glow frog?"

"Native to Nhora. The resemblance is uncanny."

Din chuckled at the image, knowing the kid could probably just swallow one whole. "Has he grown?"

"Perhaps a little, though it's hard to tell." You finished your first aid and leaned away. Djarin's questions made apparent his love for and connection to Grogu. How he'd managed to let him go in the first place was beyond you. You didn't have children and weren't sure if you ever would, yet their bond was enviable. "Somehow I don't think it's a coincidence that we crossed paths, Djarin. You and I and the kid."

Din wasn't sure what that meant. He didn't particularly believe in destiny, nor did he know how to respond, so he turned back to his food. Decades beneath the helmet had given him the luxury of hidden expressions and wordlessness. He didn't know how to act without its protection.

But something else was also forcing his speechlessness. Though your touch had left his skin, the ghost of your fingers remained, leaving him in silence. He was ashamed something so simple could affect him so intensely, and yet he was melting like ice beneath a warm sun.

And while you continued to speak of Grogu, of his obsession with metal balls and being held in the crook of your arm, Din's thoughts swirled not around the child but the soft touch of your fingers on his face. He realized had never been touched like that before, not that gently. And your hands were so smooth, unmarred and flawless from never having worked manual labor or been in a fight. They twisted in your lap, unable to stop moving despite the idle chatter you had fallen into.

You weren't sure why you couldn't stop moving. Was it Djarin's stare, the way he appeared to be listening to you intently though he never responded, or his large presence that filled the room, or just the excitement of meeting the man you had been thinking about for the better part of a year? You realized that you were rambling, filling the silence with your words, your hands wringing in your lap.

All of a sudden, a big hand reached out and covered yours. You silenced instantly. "You're going to twist your fingers off if you keep that up, Your Majesty."

A thrill jolted through your body. Most people addressed you by your title, out of respect. But the way it came from his mouth, in that lilting baritone, sent the world spinning.

"I should leave you, let you sleep," you said finally, needing to get away before your voice betrayed your heart's emotions. "I know you've had a long day. You're welcome to stay here as long as you need."

Maker, how you hoped he would stay. But Din Djarin would be gone in the morning.

---

The starship you had provided was more than Din could have asked for, large enough to accommodate his size and cargo, small and swift enough to fly fast and steady in whatever direction he required. Inside, his blaster, spear, and a new rifle found their place on the wall. Climbing into the cockpit, Din surveyed the array of buttons and flashing lights.

To the right, the joystick gleamed in the dim light of the shipyard hanger. It was topped with a square knob. A memory floated through Din's mind, the tiny claws of a green hand reaching out to grasp at the knob, the big ears and wide eyes and--

Pulling the metal ball from his pocket, Din unscrewed the square knob and tossed it aside. Miraculously the Razor Crest's hardware fixtures must have been similar enough to this ship's, and the metal ball screwed perfectly into place. He grasped it gently once more, before flicking a few switches and starting up the engine.

Keep moving. Always keep moving.

---

Djarin's touch lingered on your hands even as you fell asleep. You dreamed of him, of his face, tired but handsome, aged by worry and life, yet kind and full of that honor your grandmother claimed every Mandalorian of worth contained.

You dreamed that he stayed, protecting you and your people, the way your grandfather should have done. Perhaps your mother and sister would still be here if he had.

Those nightmares woke you, sweating and sitting straight up in bed in the near darkness. Soft light from Nhora's triplet moons glimmered through the window, bathing your room in a soft glow, easing the pain in your heart, and returning you to the present. You flopped back in bed, rolling onto your stomach to try to get comfortable.

"That kriffing Mandalorian," you sighed into the pillow. He occupied your thoughts as you drifted in and out of sleep, his eyes on yours, the softness of his face under your fingers, the way he'd let you take care of him, his hand steadying yours and bringing you back into your body. It tied a knot in your stomach and you cursed your grandmother for having given you such high expectations of the man. Yet they were expectations met.

And what if he stayed? Would you fall for him? Were you destined to do so, intertwined by some family history that fated you and him together? He must have felt the gravity too, the gravity that pulled you together and bound your lives.

You hadn't seen him without his beskar armor on, but you could only imagine what he might look like underneath it all, shoulders broad, skin smooth, back muscular and strong. Was he taught and wound, always ready for a fight, or soft and supple?

You'd been with men before. Plenty of them, in fact. They tended to fall at your feet, begging for the queen's attention and a chance to sleep in her bed. Nhoran queens never married, simply chose a man to be the one to continue on the line of queens that came before and the line that would come after. But none struck your fancy, none forced their way into your thoughts, none caused you to touch yourself with need when you were without their presence.

None like Djarin. It was a relief to orgasm beneath your hands, his face floating behind your eyelids. You came as the triplet moons set and the sun rose, as somewhere in the distance Djarin's ship was taking off, rumbling powerfully beneath his strong hands. The relief it brought you gave you several more hours of sleep, the best sleep of the past year.

You hadn't realized how starved you were for the Mandalorian until he was in your grasp.

---

The dense quiet of hyperspace allowed for sleep. Or too much thinking.

In this case, Din was doing the overthinking. In the holomessage he'd left you he'd tried to explain where he was going, what he was doing, that he'd be back. He didn't need to justify his actions to you. You'd given him permission to go about his business as he pleased, that you'd always be there for help if he needed it. But he felt he owed you some explanation.

There was so much to do, to plan, to look ahead to. And yet Din's thoughts surrounded only you and what he'd just left behind. Less than a day on Nhora and the planet called out to him, begging for his return. Or perhaps it was just you.

Din closed his eyes, willing sleep to find him, but only visions of you drifted through the darkness, your bare arms, your soft fingers, your face close to his, your scent. It was intoxicating. If he tried hard enough, he might be able to pick up that smell even now, lingering in the ship.

When he'd reached out to touch your hands, it had taken all his willpower to leave them there and not drag his fingers up your arm. It wasn't right, this sudden desire to touch you all over. You were just being kind. It was silly to think any further into it. And yet, the knot in his stomach and tightness in his pants said otherwise.

Din's eyes flew open, trying to rid you from his thoughts. Think about anything else, Maker be damned, anything but wanting to hold you, kiss you, drink in that scent forever and ever.

With a frustrated grunt, he stood and moved to the fresher, splashing cold water onto his face to relieve the tension in his chest. It didn't work.

"I don't even know your name," Din groaned into the silence of the ship, hands balled into fists and rubbing his eyes. It was useless. There was only one thing to do. With fumbling fingers, he undid his belt, freeing his swollen cock from the confines of his pants. What would you think if you knew he was touching himself like this? But that only turned him on more, urging him forward to grasp his length with a rough hand. It only took a few pumps to finish, the fingers of his other hand gripping the edge of the sink as he grunted into the echoing silence of the fresher, amplifying the needy sounds.

He'd never let a woman drive him crazy. And yet you were going to do just that, already lightyears away.

*Read Next Part*

[ev-pierce-writes]

Home

The Heir Chapter 2

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9K

Notes: This chapter jumps back in time a bit from Din's perspective, giving us a glance into his crash landing on Mandalore and his first impressions of You. Mostly just a lot of feels (or the suppressing thereof).

---

"Mando."

Where was that voice coming from?

"Mando. Come on, wake up."

The hiss of hydraulics and Din's helmet lifted, forcing him to squint his eyes while trying to make out the face above him. The glare of a hot desert sun obscured its features and the pounding in Din's head made it difficult to focus.

"Help me get him on the speeder."

Arms under his legs and armpits lifted Din and placed him gently on a hard seat. He slouched forward, unable to sit up straight, the pain so great and so extensive it was hard to pinpoint exactly what was broken or bruised. The vehicle took off across the desert with a lurch, spraying sand in its wake.

A hot wind burned against Din's face, further drying his mouth and making it hard to keep his eyes open. He drifted in and out of consciousness, unaware of how long they sped over the sandy terrain.

Maybe only minutes passed, maybe hours. Eventually, the speeder entered one of the large domes that had been visible from space. Inside it was much cooler and darker, a relief after the harshness of Mandalore's surface. Din continued to drift in and out, dehydrated and covered in sand, unable to comprehend if he was safe. He was too concussed to take in his surroundings or catalog his injuries. Finally, exhaustion hit him like a mudhorn to the chest, and Din fell hard and fast into a deep sleep.

When he awoke, his helmet, armor, and underclothes were removed, leaving him nearly naked. Panic seized at Din's throat and he sat up quickly, surveying the situation and already planning his escape route. In this recently awoken state, Din couldn't remember where he was or what he had been doing. His thoughts flew immediately to the kid, his instinct telling him to find the child, whatever the cost. But then he noticed a neat pile at the end of the bed, beskar stacked alongside his clothes and helmet, and the terror eased.

He was on Mandalore. Din steadied his breathing and dressed. This was where he was meant to be. The kid was safe, Moff Gideon was defeated, the Darksaber was his.

The Darksaber. Din prayed to the Maker that it had survived the wreck. Or maybe not. At least that would have rid him of this devastating responsibility. But there it was, alongside his blaster and spear, hooked into its slot on his belt. The little metal ball was there as well, and Din breathed a final sigh of relief.

He was okay. For farrik's sake, he was okay and he could take a moment to reorient himself. Din looked around, taking in the small bed he had awoken upon, the gray walls of the room, the solid stone of the floor beneath his feet. He seemed to be in some type of infirmary. He reached his arms over his head and stretched out his neck, feeling the lingering pain of broken ribs and compressed vertebrae. Thank the Maker for bacta shots; he probably would have died without them. But even now, his age made it difficult to heal. He would be feeling this for a while.

Din lifted his helmet, ready to place it on his head, but he paused. He caught a glimpse of his face in the reflection of the beskar, of exhaustion, worry, and sadness staring back at him. He wasn't used to seeing his own face so much or reading his own emotions, and it felt like a stranger was glaring back, not his own eyes. He felt removed from the man in the reflection, the man with the scar across his nose, still not faded from the fateful day a droid had saved his life.

Was this the face the child had touched with his tiny hands? Could he love this face, truly?

Din shoved the helmet on before he could linger on his reflection any longer and stepped out of the small infirmary.

The dome was even larger on the inside than he had anticipated. He stood on a walkway that appeared to circle the entire structure, and more paths crisscrossed different layers of the dome, making for a giant maze. From this vantage point, Din could look down to the ground level, which was left open to the floors above. It was incredibly quiet. A few people meandered below, looking like ants from this angle, but not nearly as many as he would have expected in such a large structure. The place felt deserted.

Din began to make his way around the circle, looking for an elevator or some stairs to take him to the ground floor where most people seemed to be. The ache in his ribs had not eased and he found walking to be incredibly difficult. Din's hips and legs had taken much of the impact of the crash, making every movement a painful one. He didn't make it far before a voice stopped him.

"Woah, there Mando, you need to sit down."

The voice came from behind him, unmodulated, soft, old. Din turned to find an ancient woman hobbling toward him. White-haired and wrinkled, skin tanned and spotted from the sun, the woman was not what Din had expected from the locals of Mandalore. And yet she was unmistakably a Mandalorian, strong, back straight as a rod, with the signet of her clan sewn into the sleeve of her shirt.

How humiliating, being helped into a chair by someone who was twice his age. But Din did not complain.

"You need to eat," she said, pulling him into a side chamber and sitting him down at a table. "You're going to hurt for a while. Bacta isn't easy to come by around here and we gave you as much as we could afford. The rest of the healing you're going to have to do on your own."

A bowl of broth appeared before Din and then the old woman sat across from him, taking in his appearance and the beskar of his armor.

"It's been many years since I saw that much beskar on one warrior. What is your name, Mando?"

Din set his helmet on the table and took a sip of the broth. He wasn't sure what it was meant to be made of. It mostly tasted like water.

"I am Din Djarin. Clan Mudhorn." Here he paused, hesitating. "Child of the Watch."

Din wasn't sure how much the old woman knew. Did she recognize the Darksaber at his hip, know the history of his upbringing? If she did, she didn't let on, and Din felt it best not to explain any further. Maybe it was best to keep quiet about his claim to the throne for now.

"My name is Yollil Darron, Clan Kryze. You must be searching for answers," the old woman said. "Is that why you have come? That was quite an entrance to make, crashing through the atmosphere like that."

"There was nowhere to land. Is there no port? No shipyard?"

Yollil chuckled softly. "There is no need when no ships come and go."

"None?"

"Occasionally. Rarely. But those can't be the answers you came here for."

Yollil was right. Din finished his broth before he continued, choosing his words carefully. "There are so few people here. What happened?"

"Ah, child, that is several questions all rolled into one."

"I have time."

Yollil smiled knowingly. "I will start at the beginning then," she said. "The Children of the Watch have long been separated from the Mand'alor, but the wars started before them."

---

The Mandalorian's holomessage flickered before you. You'd watched it on repeat four times now. Listened to it again and again in an attempt to decipher some hidden meaning in his words. Even virtually, the man seemed to fill the space, leaving you breathless. Thoughts of how he'd made you feel last night, even though he was entirely in your head, rushed through your brain. But you tamped them down.

"When you see this message, I'll be gone already. I need to make contact with others scattered across the galaxy." Maybe it was your imagination, or the modulation of his voice through the helmet, but this is where his resolve would begin to waver, each time you watched, each time seeming more and more reluctant to have gone.

"You-- I didn't--." A sigh.

"There's still a lot to do. And I can't do it alone. I'm sure I'll need your help." I'm sure I'll see you again. I want to see you again. You needed to stop putting words in his mouth but with each iteration, it seemed even more like the truth.

You scolded yourself for trying to find a reason to get attached, for searching his words for some type of acknowledgment that he felt the same way. Mandalorians were restless beings, travelers with no home. It was irrational and irresponsible to expect anything more from him. You needed to rein in your temptation. And yet--

Finally, you shut the holopuck off, putting it in the drawer of your desk for safekeeping.

---

"There are twelve other domes on Mandalore," Yollil explained as she guided you slowly around in a tour of the structure. "Many are divided by clan. Tensions run high, but we abandoned the fighting long ago though. It's much easier to survive when you are unified as a larger group. Or at least the illusion of conciliation."

As Din had finished his watery broth, Yollil had explained the history of the Mand'alor, how civil war had erupted over loyalties to the Empire, over who would inherit the throne. Eventually, the group of religious zealots, the Children of the Watch, had split, leaving the planet entirely to start anew, recruiting foundlings from across the galaxy and training them in the original way of the Mand'alor. Those who remained warred one another to ruin, eventually destroying what was left of the planet and retreating to the safety of the domes.

It was becoming apparent to Din that his greatest challenge might be uniting the fractured clans.

Yollil showed you the greenhouses, the armory, the living quarters. Most were nearly empty, dormant as an abandoned pollinator hive.

"About four times a revolution we get a shipment of supplies, distributed among the clans. It's barely enough to sustain us but we have little to give in return. It's the best we can do."

"Who brings the supplies?"

"The Queendom of Nhora. Their ships land in the desert, unload and reload, and are gone." Nhora. A sign of hope in the darkness. "The crew have been asking about a certain Mandalorian. Have you heard?"

Din shook his head and Yollil continued. "They say the queen is in search of the Mandalorian who claimed the Darksaber. Perhaps you know of him."

Din stopped dead in his tracks. So much for staying discreet. The old woman gazed knowingly at the helmet before her, recognizing without needing to see the expression on his face that Din was the Mandalorian this Nhoran queen was searching for.

It could have been a trap. Or it could be an opportunity. Next time the ships came, Din would be leaving with them as well.

---

Twenty-six years. That's how long you'd been alive. Twenty-six years today, to be exact, and eight of them spent as queen.

The Warming was arriving in the northern hemisphere of Nhora, signaling the approaching farming season as well as all the celebrations that came along with it. Fertility festivals, diplomatic dinners, and of course, your birthday. Though your focus should have been on supply distribution and preparations for religious ceremonies, your thoughts lingered on the somber face that graced your dreams nearly every night.

You wanted nothing more than to ditch your own birthday party. They were always the same, too much attention trained on you, on what you wore, on who you spoke to. No one was safe from court gossip, not even you, and by tomorrow every woman on Nhora would be styling their hair the way yours was tonight.

You preferred solitude and quiet, which you would not get tonight. Djarin would like solitude and quiet too, you thought. But you suppressed the thought as quickly as it had come.

"Knock knock," Zena called. She had a tendency to enter and then ask for permission afterward. You were laying on your bed, spread out like a star, avoiding getting up to get dressed.

"If I asked you to, would you put on my clothes and pretend to be me for the night?" you asked without sitting up. It was only a half sarcastic request.

"We aren't twelve anymore, Your Majesty. We can't get away with switching places like we used to."

"We could totally do it, Zena. And then I could not deal with any of it and you can be queen for a night." You and Zena had actually managed it successfully before, trading places without anyone noticing. But she was right, that was years ago and you looked too different now.

Zena flopped onto the bed next to you. "This isn't very regal of us is it, contemplating ditching parties and laying in bed instead," she said.

You were silent for a moment, thinking back on the years before your coronation where the two of you had spent your days doing that exact thing. You'd known Zena since the Clone Wars, since before the attack, since before your mother and sister had died. And then the attack had come, and suddenly she was all you had, and it only seemed natural that she would become your most trusted advisor.

And then she was saying your name, your real name, calling you back to your body and pulling you from your reverie. She knew where you drifted in moments like this, to the thoughts of what life would have been if they were all still alive, if you weren't queen, and the world was yours to explore. "Come on, we can do it together."

The party, or parties in this case, since the festivities lasted over a week, usually culminated in a large banquet. It was customary to feed the entire city for free on your birthday, which you didn't mind. You liked that part, in fact, seeing the prosperity and joy of your people, the excitement as temperatures rose and crops were planted.

What you did mind was having to deal with all the suitors who found it perfect timing to come up to you while you were just trying to enjoy some roasted cherfer meat.

You watched as one particularly bold man approached your table in the banquet hall, trailed by what appeared to be several personal guards. You leaned over and whispered into Zena's ear.

"I don't remember inviting him to my party. I'll bet twenty credits he's a prince from Coruscant. Thirty says he'll ask for my hand in marriage."

"Be polite, You Majesty," Zena said, but she was already smiling and shaking your hand. "I'll give you forty credits if you scare the Dank Farrik out of him."

Zena may have been your best advisor, but she was also your worst instigator.

"Your Majesty," the young man bellowed as he kneeled before you. He was tall and barrel-chested, yet soft and pudgy looking. A shock of yellow blond hair was combed across his already balding head. Barely touching his knee to the ground before standing again, he took your hand and pressed a horrifically wet kiss to your knuckles. And yet, despite the averse sensation, your thoughts drifted toward the Mandalorian, kneeling before you as well, head bowed in respect and gloved hand smoothing yours. The comparison happened before you could stop yourself and suddenly you sized up every man in the room against him. No one compared.

Be polite. Be polite. You barely held back a gag as you discreetly wiped the back of your hand against your skirt.

"And who do I have the pleasure of meeting on this fine evening?" you asked sweetly, lacing your words with the saccharine tone that men liked. You would at least have some fun with this.

"Prince Adbel of Coruscant, at your service." You and Zena glanced at one another knowingly. Twenty credits down.

"Of Coruscant, you say? How many princes there must be on that... large, beautiful planet."

Prince Adbel's face fell, but only for a moment. You applauded his ability to pull the arrogant, smug look right back onto his face even as you bruised his ego.

"Yes, Coruscant is charming. But Nhora far surpasses her in natural beauty. I could pass many revolutions here and never tire of her rolling hills."

Nhora was as flat as a bantha's foot. But you had to give it to him, he was really putting on the charm. Prince Adbel was a slick talker.

"What brings you to Nhora?" you asked. "And on my birthday, no less."

"Straight to business," he replied with an awkward wink. "I like that. How joyful a day, and yet how lonely you look upon your throne, with no one to share it."

You pretended to not know where he was going with this line of thinking. "Lonely? I have the best advisors in the galaxy," you said, squeezing Zena's hand tightly to hold back her laugh and yours.

"No doubt, no doubt. But perhaps you are in need of a man by your side, to rule along with you?"

You stayed silent, waiting for him to say the words that would earn you thirty credits tonight.

"What I mean is, perhaps I could offer my hand to Your Royal Highness."

"In marriage?"

"In marriage."

Score.

Now you were upping the game. Those forty credits would be yours. But how to shock the poor man the best. He would need to be punished for his insolence in not researching Nhoran culture before so blatantly proposing marriage to a woman who had no need for it.

"Have you studied our customs, Prince Adbel?" you asked.

The pale man somehow paled even further. "Of course," he lied.

"Then you'll know what such an offer entails. First, you must travel to the plains and retrieve for me the egg of the nhora serpent. It is a difficult journey. Few survive. She will protect her young with her life, so you must bring warriors who are prepared to die for you, otherwise, you will fail." Prince Adbel's guards were starting to look as nervous as him. But you continued. "Then, you must chop off the fourth finger on your left hand as an offering to the Maker. Only then can our union be blessed."

That one got to him. Should you keep going? This was too fun, and Zena seemed to think so as well. "Lastly, you will need to share me with fifteen other men. Are you capable of that? It is tradition to take many husbands in Nhora, and the queen is no exception."

Prince Adbel nearly fainted. He gulped, a heroic attempt to suppress his fear, before taking a step back from you and nearly hiding behind his guards. "Perhaps... I should reconsider before taking such a serious oath."

"Or perhaps it would do you better to understand the culture of a people you so plainly desire to rule over. Nhoran queens do not marry, Prince Adbel. They never have, and they likely never will." You stood from your seat. And though the prince towered over you, he flinched from your hardened gaze. You knew you were probably taking it a bit too far, but you wanted to put the overconfident egotistical man in his place. "Men only distract. They manipulate. They conquer through fear rather than join through peace. I doubt that you are the exception."

And with that, the prince was gone, fleeing from your presence, his guards on his heels. Your words hadn't been entirely true. Plenty of honorable men made of your group of advisors and counselors, but the best of them knew where they stood.

"Best forty credits ever spent," Zena said with a laugh. "Although part of me is worried you're distracted already."

"Distracted? What on Nhora are you implying, Zena?" You knew what she was implying. You knew it was about--

"The Mandalorian has you in a twist, does he not? Any other day you would have at least considered sleeping with him." It was a teasing jab, though not entirely exaggerated.

"I simply look forward to pursuing a trade agreement with him." At least that's what you were trying to convince yourself, laying in bed night after night, thinking of him.

"You look forward to seeing him again, Your Majesty."

You narrowed your eyes at Zena, trying to appear intimidating. It never worked with her. "Hand over my credits, Royal Advisor."

Zena shook her head. You weren't convincing her, or yourself.

---

The royal crest painted across the side of the Nhoran freighter ships proudly displayed her wealth and beauty. They were less than subtle, Din thought.

He had waited several weeks for the starships to arrive, gathering information and gleaning intelligence about what he was up against. But the information varied widely and it was hard to tell what was truth and what was fiction. The elder Mandalorians described a brutal and ruthless ruler, one who controlled her people through fear and projected an image of prosperity to disguise rampant abuse of power.

Based on Yollil's stories, that sounded more like a reflection of Mand'alor history than an accurate depiction of Nhora.

Others, the younger ones, refused to even believe the queen existed. No one ever saw her, they postulated, unless it was at government functions or festivals. They figured she was just some figurehead, put in place to disguise the real government that controlled the trade routes of the mid and outer rims.

It was useless. He would have to find out for himself. And he had a plan.

According to Yollil and a few of the others who lived in the dome, the freighters were manned completely by a live crew. Not a single droid in sight. And while that meant Din could try to talk his way onto the ship, he also couldn't just resort to outright violence and take out everyone on board. He had to be diplomatic.

The plan was this. Sneak aboard during the short period the freighters spent on the ground, loading and unloading, and try not to get caught. But if he did, Din would have to talk his way out of it. He hoped to avoid too much talking.

Getting on the ship turned out to be the easy part. Staying on was hard.

The crew members of the ship he'd selected to hitch a ride on did not hesitate to open fire. He was discovered pretty quickly among the cargo and without giving him a chance to explain, Din found himself ass down in the sand, watching the ship take off. Damn it.

Sure, he could have gone in with a bit more violence, but he was trying to make friends, not enemies. Time for Plan B.

Powering up the thrusters of his jetpack, he shot off into the atmosphere, following close behind the departing freighter. He landed with a thump along the outer walkway of the ship, hitting the side a bit harder than he'd intended. Great, more bruises to add to his growing collection. Din ripped the exterior door open, knowing it would set off alarms throughout the ship. But discretion was no longer his priority.

There couldn't have been that many crew members on this ship, and yet they just kept coming. Din held back, only sending them into a nice temporary sleep with a knock to the head, rather than take them out one by one. He could have. Part of him wanted to. But he reminded himself that these were just people, doing their best, just like him.

Din worked his way toward the bridge, leaving a pile of unconscious bodies in his wake. The ship's upper deck was a jumble of hallways that looped back and forth on one another and he felt sure he made a few circles before finding what he was looking for. When he arrived, one final crew member stood, brave and terrified, before the doors to the control center.

"Open the door and I won't hurt you."

It was worth a shot. No success. The poor man aimed his blaster, the shots pinging off of Din's beskar. Alright, if that's how he wanted to do this. With calculated aim, Din fired his whipcord, wrapping it around the man's legs and hauling him off his feet.

Din grabbed the man around the neck, pointed his blaster at his head, and slammed the door-open button with his foot, ready to face whatever lay on the other side.

Several more terrified navigators and a couple of blasters trained at Din's head. As expected.

"Look, I'm not here to hurt you. Even though I could. I just want to speak to your queen." Silence hung heavy in the bridge. Even the man Din had taken hostage stilled under his grip. "Take me to her and I promise I won't harm you."

The captain of the ship stared at Din as if he'd just asked him to make Arvala-7 into a rainforest. For a moment Din almost thought those young Mandalorians had been correct, that there was no real queen. But then the captain relented.

"Well, you've taken out most of my ship already. And Her Majesty doesn't object to visitors. But you'll have to stay in the cargo hold."

Din could deal with that.

At least he thought he could. And then the trip through hyperspace turned out to be not hours but over a day. He was tired, in pain, and incredibly hungry. The best Mandalore had to offer was weak broth and yellowish vegetables. Din hadn't had a real meal in what felt like months. Though he tried to sleep through his hunger, he was awoken by the painful pangs of an angry stomach. Above him, the crew was probably having a meal, though he doubted they would want to invite up the man who'd knocked them out one by one.

Finally, after a restless sleep, the sound of footsteps and a voice entered the cargo hold to let Din know they were making the jump out of hyperspace and approaching Nhora. "Her Majesty will receive you at the palace. Though I recommend leaving your weapons behind you. She prizes peace above all else."

The ship landed with a jolt. Din hadn't had access to any windows aboard the ship, so this experience of Nhora was his first. As the loading hatch opened, he discovered with awe a cool, lush, and colorful planet. Though his helmet and armor dulled the sensations of climate and weather to his skin, the temperature here was significantly more comfortable than on Mandalore.

Din stepped from the ship, not bothering to bid the captain farewell, and wandered into Nhora's port. At first, he weaved through only ships, big and small. But eventually, it evolved slowly into a marketplace, lined with stalls filled with fresh fruits and vegetables, smoked meats, and beautifully handcrafted items.

Above, the sun was tinged with warmth, indicative of an approaching warm season. But a soft breeze drifted through the market, keeping the air cool and dry. Around him, Din listened to the chatter of people, all species and languages, bartering and negotiating prices, or just holding an easy conversation. It was incredibly calm and peaceful, with the easy air of a people who did not fear for their lives at every waking moment.

Already, Din could tell all the rumors about Nhora had been wrong.

But how to find the queen? That turned out to be an easier job than he expected. Spread across the skyline was a glittering city with one building obviously much taller than the rest. He headed in that direction, pausing only momentarily at a stall that was selling the most delicious food he'd ever smelled. But there was no time to stop and eat.

The walk was short, along a smoothly paved path that crisscrossed over several canals dug through the center of the market. This must have been their main source of transport, and Din watched from the top of a bridge as a small boat floated downstream below him. It was almost too picturesque and he found himself doubting if this was entirely real.

And yet it was. The palace was bustling with people, moving about in small groups or sitting beneath the tall stone columns. They spoke easily and freely, but with a polite hush that suggested a reverent atmosphere. The lower level appeared to function as a library, with books lining floor-to-ceiling shelves and people studying at tables. Free and open knowledge, it was a novel idea.

No guards accosted him. No one asked where he was going. A few people stared as he went by, but the guards stationed at the main doors let him through, though again letting him know to check his weapons at the guard station. He easily avoided this inconvenience, slipping around groups of people and hiding behind a column as another guard passed. Sure, he could have been civil and done as he was asked, but it didn't seem prudent to have to explain that yes, he was a Mandalorian and yes, this was the Darksaber, and no, he couldn't just check it into a locker with a four-digit code.

At last, up a sweeping staircase and the throne room came into sight. This part of the palace was quieter than the rest, having a more serious and somber mood than the lightness of the lower levels. Din stepped in the throne room and gazed up, unable to suppress the urge to gape in awe at the vaulted ceilings and colorful murals that lined the walls.

The queen, however, was not on her throne and not in the reception hall. So Din resigned to wait and stood before one of the grand windows that cast a glowing light onto the marble floors. The view was spectacular, even from behind the filter of his visor, looking out upon the maze of stalls of the market, the glistening blue canals, and the arriving and departing freighter ships. Beyond the bustle of the city Din could just barely make out flat plains under a setting sun, green and lush and reaching farther than the eye could see.

The world glowed.

Din's helmet picked up voices of discussion and he amplified the sounds, hearing the soft speech of a woman along with the footsteps of several other people. The queen was coming, and not alone.

And then he saw you. You entered the throne room and if the world was glowing before it now positively radiated like the sun. You were dressed in lavender and gold and somehow existed on two planes at once, both as natural as the lush plains of Nhora and as otherworldly as the stars that glittered above, tied to the earth but dancing through outer space. Din had never met an angel, only heard stories of their alluring beauty that trapped spacefarers in their orbit for eternity. Now, standing face to face with a pure embodiment of warmth and light, the stories didn't seem so outrageous after all.

This was a new feeling, one he'd never felt before. Oh, Maker, Din's heart was in trouble.

---

The doors of the throne room opened. Zena entered leading a little green head, wobbling atop a teetering body. "Look who interrupted my sparring practice. Nearly got his little hands chopped off."

"Grogu," you exclaimed with a broad smile spreading across your face. You found yourself intensely happy to see the wrinkly alien baby and reached down to place him on your lap. He immediately reached out to grasp at the metal ball hanging from your neck. Something had shifted since you'd met the Mandalorian, and now with the knowledge of their deep bond, your heart softened with tenderness for the child as you recalled his father.

"So, little one, what have you learned since you went away?"

The child looked up at you with a coo and then giggled, sticking his hands out to demonstrate whatever strange mind-bending trick he'd learned this month. What you didn't expect was to see one of your guards slowly go sliding from his post beside your throne toward the windows. You realized Grogu was the one moving him, though not very quickly and with a lot of effort, across the stone floor. With a grunt, the guard bumped gently into the window. It couldn't have hurt very much, but it was probably a strange sensation. He slid to the ground, not sure how to react.

"Oh, Maker, are you alright Ming?" you asked, barely containing a laugh.

Ming held up a hand. "Yes, yes, fine Your Majesty."

"Grogu, we only do those kinds of things to bad people, not people we like."

You weren't sure why you spoke to the child as if he were an adult, but somehow you felt he understand. He looked up at you again but this time with a pout, his bottom lip sticking out and quivering, ready to cry.

"Oh, alright little one, let's not have that now.  Here, how about some good news. I met your father. He was here."

That did the trick. The big brown eyes blinked and the giant ears flicked in recognition. Grogu grumbled out some garbled baby talk that sounded suspiciously like 'Din.' It could have been your imagination.

"You met the Mandalorian?" Luke Skywalker entered the throne room, prepared for his departure already. "So that's why you didn't accost me for information as soon as I stepped foot in here."

"I have a good feeling about him, Skywalker. What's that thing you're always talking about, bringing balance to the force? He is balanced. I can feel it."

"So you're a force detector now?" Zena said with a barely concealed laugh.

"He found the child for a reason," Skywalker replied. "The force is not to be underestimated."

That was for sure. A pint-sized kid had just moved a full-grown man across the room with his mind. That was nothing to be played with.

"I worry though, Your Majesty, that he will attract some less than welcome individuals to your planet if he returns. Bo-Katan feels she is the rightful heir to the throne, and I doubt she'll give up on it so easily. If she thinks you're his ally, I doubt she'll be very forgiving."

"Bo-Katan?" Zena questioned. You felt Grogu sink further into your robes at the sound of the name.

"Another Mandalorian. Fiercely loyal to her planet but not so much to those who would dare challenge her or her power. She prefers martial law to pacifism and has a dubious history with the Sith and the Empire. In the end, there's only one thing she wants, the Darksaber."

---

Din's thoughts drifted back to that first meeting as he punched in the coordinates for Corellia, the last planet he had any desire to visit. He wanted to look upon your glittering city, wander through the market, feel the cool breeze creep under his armor. Or even just sit across from you again and listen to you ramble about the things you loved, namely Grogu. Din realized, before you would, that there was a soft spot in your heart for the kid.

As the ship took off from the loading dock, Din watched the Nhoran moons set, wondering if you were doing the same. You're welcome to stay here as long as you need. But he couldn't. Din was a wanderer, a traveler, with no place to call home and no intention of finding one. But you--

Corellia. Right now there was just Corellia. For many years he'd avoided chasing down a bounty on that planet. Unfortunately, it wasn't going to stay that way. The polluted, cloudy, soggy planet was one Din preferred to avoid. The excessive rain made it difficult to track footprints and there was always someone who needed paying off if he was going to get any information. Bounties on Corellia took twice as long to catch, simply because it was so full of crime itself.

Except this time it wasn't a bounty Din was chasing, but a Mandalorian. So three times as long, he figured.

And he was right. The Mandalorian remained hidden, probably because he knew he was being chased. Din passed weeks in Coronet City, tracking muddied footprints here and there. Begrudgingly, he took on some extra bounties, just to make enough credits to keep his ship parked at the loading dock.

Week four came and went. Today's bounty had been particularly flighty, doing his best to remain just out of Din's reach. He caught him, eventually, but not before a muddy chase through the rainforest. Now, back on his ship, Din hardly noticed the flashing red light on his communicator, telling him he had an incoming message. It wasn't until he'd pulled off his mud-streaked armor and sat down heavily in the pilot's seat that it caught his attention.

The hologram flickered to life.

"Djarin, I hope you're well." He almost didn't recognize you without your royal robes, hair loose and drifting about your shoulders. But your voice, though distorted by thousands of lightyears of space, was unmistakably yours. With surprise, Din found himself instantly relaxed, the soothing sound raising heat to his skin. You'd barely said anything but he longed to hear more.

"I'm not sure where you are, or if this message will reach you." You paused, suddenly distracted by something happening out of view and waving your hands to quiet something down.

"Hush, please, I'm speaking," you said off to the side.

You refocused with a deep breath. "Urgent news has reached me through my trade routes. Bo-Katan has landed on Mandalore. She brings an army and is searching for you. I'm not sure how many she's gathered or how she earned their trust. But it won't be long before she traces your path here. There's no need to worry, it would be foolish to attack Nhora but I'm afraid of what might happen if you do return to Mandalore. Bo-Katan will-- for Maker's sake child I'm trying to speak."

You stopped again, bending over to address the tiny hands grabbing at the leg of your pants. A muted voice garbled some indiscernible words. "I know it's for Din. I know. Come here."

You stood again, this time with the child in your arms. Grogu. He was there, with you, in your arms. "Anyways, be careful, please. And send word if you need anything. Or just to let me know you're alive."

Din could hardly focus on your words. The kid was on Nhora, grabbing at your shirt and waving his little hands. "Say hi, Grogu. Say hi to your dad," you said.

Was that his name Din heard? Did Grogu just speak real, tangible, words? And his name, nonetheless. Din's heart swelled with pride and all the frustration he'd felt today, tracking an unfindable Mandalorian on top of simply trying to stay alive, melted away. He realized with a shock of sadness that all this time he'd been intensely lonely without his son. The ship was too quiet, too empty, but now both you and the child were here, even if only as a hologram, and filling the cockpit with a warm glow.

Din blinked back tears. It was time to get his act together. There were only so many places an old Mandalorian could hide.

Fenn Rau was not a man to be trifled with, Yollil had explained before Din had left Mandalore. If he was going to be found, Din had to think ahead of him, anticipate his moves. Rau had to be somewhere in Coronet City. If he'd left, it would have been much easier to find him.

But, as it turned out, it was easy enough to find Rau when he wanted to be found. The first cantina Din stepped in and there he was, sitting alone in a dark corner, nursing a spotchka, having predicted Din's own moves to meet him here. This was not luck, it was on purpose, and he didn't hesitate to slide into the seat across from the Mandalorian.

Neither spoke, each waiting for the other to explain themselves first. Fenn Rau was as stoic as Din despite his age. His watery blue eyes locked onto the visor of Din's helmet and did not flinch. But this was a game Din could play well, that of silence.

"Why are you looking for me?" The older Mandalorian was the first to break.

"You wanted to be found."

"I outran you for a while. But curiosity tends to be my downfall."

Din didn't respond, only unhooked the Darksaber from his belt and placed it on the table. It was an unassuming object with immense power and Rau recoiled from its presence.

"So you are the one who defeated Gideon." His words made it apparent that everyone in the galaxy knew. "I'm surprised Lieutenant Bo-Katan didn't duel you right there for it."

"Lieutenant?"

"We fought together in the civil wars." So that's why Yollil had sent Din to find Rau. He would know what Bo-Katan's intentions were. "The Lieutenant is a natural leader. She rallies her people like no other. But she has lost that damn saber one too many times and never once recovered it honorably. She will come for it and do whatever it takes to regain power."

"She's looking for me now."

"What will you do?"

Din did not answer.

"Don't tell me you're asking for my advice?" Rau said with an exasperated sigh. "Alright, here's what I think. Take what you will from this. Tarre Vizsla forged that saber. He was both a Jedi and a Mandalorian, and the first to unite them. Since his death over a thousand years ago, Mandalore has not known peace. And it never will until a Jedi rules again."

A Jedi and a Mandalorian. If such a combination were to exist, then there must be a foundling out there that was force sensitive. A foundling that Din would find and--

Grogu. That foundling was Grogu. Din stood abruptly.

"Thank you. May the force be with you."

"That's it? You don't want a drink?"

"I'll be on Nhora if you need me."

Din left the Mandalorian where he'd found him.

---

The Mandalorian was returning. You could barely contain your glee. The message had been short, typed out and sent over the comm system. Returning. Must discuss G. and B. ETA 3 days.

You had no idea what G. and B. meant. It didn't matter. It had been over a month since you'd last seen him. You hoped he was everything you remembered, strong, handsome, stoic, honorable--

No. No, you would not think about him like that. You would treat him with respect and cool composure, as the ally he was turning out to be and nothing more.

On the first day of waiting you managed to steady your nerves by focusing on each task at hand. Sector 3 needed the dams opened to flood their fields. Sector 8 required a delivery of vaccines to prevent an outbreak of the Cardooine Chills. By the second day, Zena was watching you pace back and forth across the throne room, wondering out loud what G. and B. meant. She'd plopped herself down in your chair since you had no desire to occupy it, legs slung over one arm and back leaned up against the other.

But when the third day arrived, you found yourself surprisingly calm. You received visitors from the throne you'd refused the day before, listening intently as your financial head proposed tax hikes and tax breaks and explained where every cent was headed.

And yet, despite the serenity of your outward appearance, every person who entered your throne room sent your heart beating faster, though every time it was someone other than the Mandalorian. Finally, the sun set through the windows, darkness fell, and he had still not arrived.

"I'm just worried. What if he got caught up by Bo-Katan or something?"

"Your Majesty, he's hurtling through hyperspace. I think he's fine." Zena was ever the calming presence at your elbow. "Just get some sleep."

You tried. You really did, tossing and turning in bed to find the most comfortable position. But nothing worked. It was late in the night when you finally gave up and left bed, padding softly in your nightclothes down the three flights of stairs to the kitchens. At least you could have a warm cup of hot chocolate.

It was empty and silent in the kitchen as you set a pot on the stove to heat the drink. You leaned against the counter, drumming your fingers, waiting, waiting, waiting--

"Any idea where a Mandalorian can get a meal around here?"

You jumped at the voice behind you. So much for calm, cool, composure. Heat rose immediately to your face as you remembered exactly what you were wearing.

"Oh Maker, Djarin, you have to stop sneaking in like that."

"Sorry, can't help it that your guards are useless."

"Hey, watch it. Or I'll kick you out again." Though you acted annoyed, Din could tell you were glad to see him, an easy smile gracing your lips. It appeared he'd caught you at your most vulnerable, looking tired and restless, whisps of your hair flying in all directions and in only your pajamas. Your slightly translucent pajamas.

He did his best not to stare. Really. But with a helmet, there was no one to notice that he could tell you weren't wearing a bra or any underwear or--

"I expected you earlier," you said, pouring a second cup of hot chocolate without asking.

"I miscalculated," Din said matter-of-factly, though his nerves jumped at the thought of you expecting him. "What is this?"

"The most delicious thing ever. Rare. Skywalker introduced me to it and I can't get enough. But only he knows where to find hot chocolate so I have to settle for waiting for his visits to get my hands on more."

Off came the helmet, and though you'd already seen the face beneath, it still left you breathless. The black eye was gone, the cut on his lip and cheek reduced to fading red lines that probably wouldn't even scar. You watched as he ran a hand through his unruly hair, eyeing the cup with suspicion, and giving it a sniff. Finally, Djarin relented and he took a sip.

"Very sweet," he said, brown eyes narrowed and plump lips twisted into a pucker. "Not used to that."

Oh, those lips. Every decent thought you'd been trying to focus on since the Mandalorian's reappearance in your palace kitchens immediately flew out the window, replaced by very indecent thoughts about his full lips.

You tried to bring your mind back to his words, realizing he probably ate mostly bland food. Hearty, maybe, but not seasoned with the exotic flavors your kingdom traded for.

"Let me get you some food. You must be hungry."

"The Queen can cook?"

"Oh no, but she can reheat pretty well."

Din sat, watching as you sliced a loaf of bread and eventually placed a steaming bowl of stew in front of him. In the dim light of the kitchen, you'd taken on a different appearance from when he'd first met you. Your features were softer, less angular and commanding, and more tender and delicate. You were young, he realized, and you wore your youth plainly when the opportunity came to relax. You moved with the ease and grace of someone pushed too soon into this position of power.

"What's G. and B?" you asked, sitting across from Din and taking a slice of bread for yourself.

"Not what, who. Grogu and Bo-Katan." Djarin began to eat, and you noticed he kept sipping at his hot chocolate, despite his previous aversion. "Is the kid still here?"

You shook your head. "They only stay for a few hours at a time. And it's hard to know when they'll be back. Skywalker takes every precaution to be untraceable. He'll find you, not the other way around. Is that why you're back? To find him?"

"Grogu is the heir."

"What do you mean? I thought you were the heir?"

Djarin explained his meeting with Fenn Rau, what the old Mandalorian had told him about the Darksaber and its creator.

"And you're worried Bo-Katan will target Grogu and use him against you?"

"Possibly."

"I don't understand. I thought Bo-Katan wanted to bring peace to Mandalore."

"She does. But under her terms. And her rule. That approach never goes over well with a people as divided as us."

You were starting to see his point. But how was a wrinkly green baby going to take over the throne? "Say you hold on to the Darksaber. Bo-Katan backs down, the kid becomes a Jedi. Then what? He'll have to defeat you in a duel to fulfill his destiny?"

"I haven't thought that far ahead.

Of course, he hadn't. Of course he'd rushed back here as fast as possible, thinking only of the child.

"I'll call a council meeting in the morning. Any actions I take they need to at least be aware of. And this time you're staying. Not just for the night."

Din raised his eyebrows at you in surprise. The authoritative tone you'd taken on was impressive, like you had a goal and a purpose and you were going to do everything it took to succeed. And he had to admit, he quite liked the thought of you forcing him to stay, despite knowing he shouldn't.

After he'd finished eating, you led the Mandalorian back up the stairs and through the silent palace to the room he'd stayed in during his previous visit. You lingered at the door, knowing you should say goodnight but having trouble doing so for some reason.

"Don't disappear on me again, Djarin," you finally settled on saying.

Din hadn't been aware of how much you cared for his safety until this moment. Maybe his late arrival had affected you more than you let on. The look on your face was not one of teasing but of genuine worry, eyebrows knitted in concern, unease written in the soft lines of your face. He wanted to smooth those lines, run a thumb across them to tell you everything he didn't have words for. What had been that emotion he'd felt that night on his ship, watching you and the child flicker holographically before him, filling the space with your warmth? He refused to call it home.

Djarin turned toward the door but paused and looked back at you. And then his gloved hand reached out and he ran a thumb softly across your forehead. It was surprising, that soft, leathery touch, but it accomplished what he'd set out to do. Your face relaxed and a smile spread across your lips, bringing the glow back to his world.

"I won't. I promise. And please, just call me Din."

---

The Mandalorian was up early, beating you and Zena to breakfast. He was already waiting for you to arrive, fully dressed in armor, making your heart skip a beat.

"Don't you want to know about everything that's happened since you were gone?" Zena asked, addressing Din with a glint in her eyes.

"I assume you're going to tell me whether or not I want to know."

"Smart man," Zena said with a wry smile. "You missed a very important birthday. You'll never guess how many suitors were ogling Her Majesty from across the dessert table. Although, I must admit the dress was lovely. I would have asked for her hand in marriage too if I was arrogant enough to think I had a chance."

"Zena," you said harshly, trying to shut her up.

"Turned them all down. Even made one of them run to his mother. No one compares to you Mando." She said that last bit with a singsongy voice as if trying to imitate you.

"Zena! Watch your mouth. I never said that." You gave her a little shove to shut her up. It wasn't very appropriate behavior for a queen but you knew she was doing it on purpose. "You're going to embarrass him."

Zena wiggled her eyebrows in your direction before turning on her heel and leaving you and Din alone, knowing her work was done.

"I'm sorry about that," you said.

"Looks like you're the one feeling embarrassed." Though you couldn't read Din's facial expression, his modulated voice was tinged with teasing humor.

Heat crept up your cheeks, flushing a bright pink that did not go unnoticed by the Mandalorian. "Shut up. I don't want to talk about it."

And then the Mandalorian laughed. He actually laughed, a full, whole-hearted laugh that started in his chest and shook through his body until he was bent double, hands on his knees, gasping for air. It was genuine; though sounding unused and in need of practice, it was not strained or tense at all. You wondered how long it had been since the Mandalorian had let loose like this.

"Oh for Maker's sake," you said, exasperated. "I've tried multiple times to crack jokes and that's what finally gets to you?"

Din had finally caught his breath and stood up straight again. "I apologize, Your Majesty. But you were blushing pretty hard."

And you looked pretty when you blushed, he thought. He didn't say that out loud, however, only pressed his fingers lightly against your back to lead you from the room to the awaiting council meeting.

It was already hard enough to focus in his presence. You had no idea how you were going to sit next to the Mandalorian for the next hour without him driving you up the wall. Calm, cool composure, you reminded yourself. Be diplomatic. Be an ally.

It was all about to go down the drain.

*Read Next Part*