(A/N Sorry this took so long to get up. I've had the first two scenes written since the last chapter went up, I just never got around to finishing it.
I got a bit of a fire lit under me for this piece after watching the BoBF trailer. Super exciting!
Anyway, as usual: I own nothing and I hope you enjoy!)
Din woke early. He tried to grasp a few more moments of sleep, but his body betrayed him and he was forced from his bed and into his armor.
There was still too much space. But there was also a desk. Sitting, he recalled the names within his Covert. He started with anyone who came to mind, but after listing almost two dozen names he switched to a system. The Foundlings were first. Then, their direct caregivers. The warriors were next, in the order he fought them for the right to the surface.
He didn't know what names to honor and what names to search for.
He didn't even know who would answer the call.
Stowing the datapad he reminded himself he'd found the Armorer. He could find the others. She would help too.
He took his first meal back to his quarters. It still felt wrong to show his face. He could understand that it was okay, but that didn't make it easier. The Armorer's word was final, he was still Mando'ad, he was still Mand'alor. But he was also still a fallible sentient who had his entire life and ideology upended. Again.
Steady. He needed to be steady.
Pulling out a table that was recessed in the wall he set to work cleaning and inspecting his armor and weapons. It was methodical and familiar. One piece at a time. Clean away the worn filth. Inspect the rifling and apply more solvent to the barrel. Test the circuitries. Fuse the weak points. Mark where his kute was worn. [the (flight)suit worn under armor]
When his last piece was clean he conceded that his time alone was over for the day.
Sighing, he made his way through the halls. There were a number of greetings and he barely contained his cringe as they'd call him Mand'alor. Yes, he'd accepted it (with help) but again, acceptance wasn't ease.
He learned a few names along the way to the bridge and then waited for the clan leaders. He pulled up the datapad again and compared the names he knew to the list of recruits the alore had been accumulating.
Din was still scrolling when Zorr Croust came in.
"Su cuy'gar," Din greeted. Zorr paused with a panicked look before audibly swallowing, nodding, and finding his seat at the table. "How is your buir?"
"She's…" His eyes found the floor and he didn't continue.
"What happened?"
"Dunno," he shrugged, still watching the floor. "They were after our Beskar and used bes'tebec. The shrapnel got caught in her joint. It didn't… She got…" [my best bet at how to say 'metal ammo']
"It's infected?"
The boy nodded. The room fell into silence. The door stayed shut.
With forced levity, Din ventured further.
"You said you have a vod?"
"Yeah. He's the one Teena dropped yesterday."
Din nodded appreciatively.
"Well, I'm glad she did. You had some good insight yesterday that we wouldn't have gotten otherwise."
Zorr tucked his chin to hide his smile, but Din was glad to have pulled that little bit of pride from him.
Eventually more alore entered the bridge.
.
Numbers. Claims. Titles. Clans. Contacts.
Repeat.
Din groaned a little and pressed his helmet into his head, but could not apply enough pressure to let up the growing headache. He should know his people, but more people were constantly coming in. He spent the morning studying clan signets, so he could at least identify who individuals belonged with. He should have slept more.
Bo Katan had been missing all day. She should be in the war room taking a portion of his suffering. He hadn't heard from Teena or her ade either. Presumably they were in the forge.
Din sighed, the uncertainty eating at him.
Refocusing he restated what clans were on board and what barracks they'd claimed. He kept the notes of who didn't get along with who in the war room strictly mental. He asked what expertise each clan brought to the ship-air support, crafting, demolitions.
Every room on board had been searched for stowaways when they'd taken over under Kryze, but some were sectioned off and labeled unsafe. He needed to know which ones for some reason.
The meeting went on. This isn't how Mando'ade were meant to weren't senators and diplomats. They were warriors.
Suppressing another sigh he acknowledged that they needed to track their numbers and ability in order to launch a coordinated assault if it came to that. Maintaining a cohesive society would be difficult too, when the clans had been separated for so long.
Numbers. Claims. Titles. Clans. Contacts.
It was important. Just boring.
At one point they mentioned the volunteers for the assault on the New Republic cruiser. That was the only time it was easy to give the room the attention it deserved.
He heard the door swish open and nearly flinched as he awaited the introduction of another clan and the details they brought with them.
The woman who entered wore her full armor and held herself with forced confidence. The majority of her Beskar held its silver sheen, with golden detailing outlining it where it met her kute. The blue and green flight suit itself was obviously secondhand and made for someone taller. Her signet felt familiar, but Din was sure he hadn't seen it filled the room at her entry. Obviously the other clans were more familiar with the armor than him, though its lack of blemish would indicate that it was freshly reforged. Or she was immeasurably lucky.
"Clan Kryze apologizes for missing the day's meeting," said an almost familiar voice through the modulator. Din perked up a little, his heart beginning to race. "We had some family matters to attend to."
Din was speechless as Teena removed her helmet.
.
Teena was restless. The alore called her Duchess more times than she liked to count, and no matter how many times she corrected them, they continued. Din was lucky his helmet hid his chuckles from the rest, but she saw him. The armor was heavy. Not uncomfortable, her weight just wasn't as naturally distributed. She'd have to relearn how to use all her weapons, but she worried she wouldn't be able to use her electro-whip at all now.
She watched the room. She'd listened yesterday, but today she watched. She noted which alore itched to move or were at ease in the council. Some were very obviously only interested in certain discussions. Four wore their helmets the entire meeting, though one had removed his briefly to hydrate.
That shouldn't matter. She'd moved past this. She would respect those who followed the Path.
It wasn't long before the council was dismissed; she'd arrived fairly late, after all. As the others filed out, speaking amicably and trading stories and plans, she felt like an imposter.
"Su cuy'gar," greeted a young man in grey and yellow armor.
"Su cuy'gar. They called you Wren yesterday?"
"Tristan Wren," he held out his hand and she shook it. "Jahaatir urcir." [well met/good to meet you]
"I'm-"
"Kryze. Yes, I know. Your aunt is a good leader."
Teena stalled, unsure how to respond to that.
"Sorry. I have no doubt that you will be too, Duchess. I just wanted to let you know I'm familiar with your clan and if you need an ally…"
"Thanks," she smiled. "But you really don't need to call me duchess. I doubt I take the title. And I'm sure there's other clans more deserving of the seat."
They'd made their way into the hall by now and she was simply following where he led, as she wasn't sure where Na'sara and Dev would be at the moment anyway.
"No one for another few generations would think to challenge Clan Kryze for their seat."
"Oh? Aunt Bo was the last of us and no one would claim rights from her?"
"She could have died and your clan dismantled and no one would take the title. Just about every single Mando'ad reveres either Lady Bo Katan or her sister. And those who don't would meet severe retaliation."
"I don't hear much reverence for the pacifist," Teena pointed out.
"Eh," Wren shrugged. "Maybe not her methods, but the prosperity she inspired and the devotion she held for the adate."
Teena's heart warmed a little. This was the second jag to reassure her of the people's good will towards her grandmother. [man]
"Even so," she continued, "I haven't earned the title."
"Well, if I can't call you Duchess for your benefit, let me call you it for mine." She looked at him confused and waited for him to clarify. "Well, you said you don't want to go by Lady Kenobi-"
"That name carries a connotation I'm not comfortable with."
"That's fine. But you can't be Lady Kryze, because that's how we refer to your aunt. I'm not just gonna call you Kryze, because that's your clan name, not your name, and it applies to too many."
"You could just call me 'Teena,'" she drawled.
"'Lady Teena?'"
"No," she wrinkled her nose, "'Teena.'"
He laughed at her as they reached the galley. She didn't much feel like eating, her stomach still tied in knots of anxiety.
"Well, Duchess." She glared at him and he chuckled again. "Thanks for speaking with me. I'll see you around." He nodded and then wandered over to a group of people sharing his signet.
A scan of the room showed no other members of Clan Kryze, so she doubled back and made her way to the training room.