"Before we head out there, I need to talk to you about something," you say to Mando as he stands up from his seat to follow Bo-Katan out of the cockpit.

"Yes?" He pauses and turns around to lean against the dash.

"Well… as you know, before I left the surface I was on a mission in Sundari.. and uh... it went to hell so Paz came to help me get back to base safely, but he got really injur-"

Mando interrupts you, his voice gruff with irritation when he speaks, "Paz? You know his name?"

"Oh… yes? He told me because he was… well… kind of dying in the underground tunnels," you explain abashedly while you remove your helmet and set it on the seat behind you. You curse yourself for fumbling over your words. Why are you so nervous all of a sudden?

"Is he okay?"

"I don't know. You see, we ran into Ahsoka Tano in the city and, well… I had a rather unexpected premonition that you were in trouble while speaking to her, so I kind of… ya'know attacked her, and then I sort of… left Paz with her, hoping she would take care of him while I ran off after you."

Mando says nothing, his shoulders rigid as he processes your admission. You run your tongue along your upper lip anxiously. Oh kriff, of coursehe is mad that you ditched Paz while he was on the brink of death. He might be dead for all you know! And the fact that you attacked the Jedi even after you promised to try making amends with her... the whole thing is so karked up you wouldn't even be offended if Mando decided to smack you upside the head for it all.

Instead, his helmet cocks to the side slightly, "You left Vizsla behind so you could rescue me?" His words are annunciated slowly, making it sound like he is deciphering a code rather than asking you a question.

"Well," you scoff sheepishly, "Left behind isn't exactly how I would put it. I figured Tano's bleeding heart wouldn't just let him die."

"You chose me over saving Vizsla, because of a feeling."

Now that definitely didn't sound like a question.

You narrow your eyes at his flat tone, "Yes. And you know, I won't apologize for it. I saved your life. I know it was reckless, but I would do it again and again if I had to! You are the most important thing to me and I would never let someone as vile as Bo-Katan stand in the way of your safety," You feel defensive as you lift your chin defiantly up at him while you rant.

He holds completely still for a moment, not even breathing, as he regards your slightly trembling form. Your cheeks heat up with embarrassment and your palms begin sweating under his unrelenting stare. You open your mouth to continue justifying your actions but are abruptly stopped by Mando's armored arms wrapping around you and pulling you into a tight embrace. He squeezes you into his chest as he rests the sharp edges of his helmet delicately against the top of your head.

"Thank you for saving me," he murmurs, voice barely registering through the modulator.

You stay frozen for a minute, surprised at the warm security flowing out of him and into you. A smile breaks across your face as you relax and rest your cheek against the mythosaur signet forged over his heart. Snaking your arms around his middle, you let yourself enjoy the brief moment of ease where you don't need to worry about the giant mess you've gotten yourself into. You don't have to worry about the war, the Night Owls, the Tribe, Paz, Ahsoka, or the Darksaber. You don't have to worry about your past or the future. You can just breathe. With him. Together.

Leaning back after a moment, you slowly slide your eyes up to meet the black visor you've stared into so many times before. Neither of you says any words, but a communication begins passing between the two of you that no one would ever be able to discern from the outside. You can't find anything to describe how you feel, how sorry you are about the Darksaber, or how scared you are about having this ancient weapon in your possession, so you let unfiltered thoughts glide freely out of your mind and into his in an exchange of the rawest emotions the human spirit can comprehend. You sense no anger or bitterness from him, just gratitude and relief, and it's strange. The greatest warrior in the galaxy is thankful, thankful for you.

I will always protect you Din Djarin.

"You know my name?" He speaks suddenly, breaking the connection instantly.

Ah Kriff. It was a subconscious thought, not one you meant to project.

He releases his arms from around you and takes a step back.

"Vizsla told me. It was an accident, he thought I knew already!" You scrunch your nose at how lame the excuse sounds as it hangs in the air.

"How long have you known?"

You shift your weight from left to right nervously, "Since Takodana."

"I should have been the one to tell you."

"I know."

He sighs, "I guess it would be strange if the Queen of Mandalore didn't know my name." His deadpan delivery makes your eyes widen as you stand there, utterly stunned in place.

"I am not the Queen of Mandalore!"

The shaking of his shoulders as laughter rolls from underneath his helmet makes you scowl.

"I can't believe you of all people would be making jokes about this!" You practically shout, shaking a finger at him as if he was a child requiring discipline.

A glove shoots out and a leather hand wraps around your wrist in a firm, unshakeable grip. The leather hand yanks you forward, catching you off guard so that you stumble just far enough for your lips to brush against the metal helmet lowering into your space. Perhaps a stranger would assume it was an accident to bring you so close so quickly, but no, you know better. Din Djarin isn't capable of making a mistake like that. He absolutely did it on purpose. Your eyebrows twitch up a minuscule amount as his free hand rises up to the sacred space underneath his helmet. You want to ask what he is doing, to tell him to stop, to think about what he is risking, but the gravity weighing your tongue down to the bottom of your mouth keeps you silenced. You feel him projecting again, willing you to close your eyes. He doesn't give you time to decline, apparently trusting your wickedly fast reflexes, and you suddenly have to clench your lids shut as his helmet hisses with the break of a seal, no, the break of his will. Still, you do not stop him as his hot breath inches towards you with immeasurable self-restraint. Even without your sight, you can sense that he has left the helmet mostly on, only raising it to hover just above his bare lips.

But still.

He is right there, just an atom away from you, partially unmasked, going in for the kill, when suddenly Bo-Katan barks an order through the cockpit's closed door.

A sigh. Either from you or from him, you can't quite tell. Disappointment washes over you when the sound of retreat reverberates in your ears as a helmet locks back into place.

Kriffing hell, what a moment to be interrupted.

"Mando?" you whisper, eyes still shut, although now for an entirely new reason.

"Don't call me that anymore, an'edee," he says gently, pressing a leather hand against your cheek briefly before opening the cockpit door.

You listen to his boots stomp away before flittering open your eyes to the painfully empty room. A single tear spills over your lower eyelid and trickles down your cheek before free-falling towards the metal flooring. You look numbly at the dot of water while you rub your skin, erasing the evidence of weakness from your face.

Kriff.


The Armorer enters the room with Lika and Din on her heels, her horned helmet zeroing in on you as you apply bacta to the suppurating wound on your forearm. All the red armor you've been hiding behind has been cast aside, piled in a crate in the corner, waiting to be dealt with at a later time. Your burgundy cloak drapes over your head as you work in an abandoned building by yourself. It's comforting to be back in your robes, almost freeing in a sense, as you sit in the peace and quiet.

"May I see it?" The Armorer really demands more than she asks as she keeps a generous distance from you.

You roll down the thick fabric of your sleeve before reaching towards the Darksaber secured to your waist. You hold up the hilt and offer a quick nod of acknowledgment to Lika studying you intently.

"Everyone will be most displeased," the Armorer announces. Not even her pleasantly smooth accent could soften the sharp edges of her measured observation.

Lika brushes past the other Mandalorians, moving to stand over you as you stare at the hilt burning against your skin. You refuse to look up at her, so she crouches to your level and rests a hand against your knee.

"I think it's time to tell them," her voice is gentle, almost pleading as she speaks to you.

You reflect on the fact that she only knows some of your truth, like Din, and like Boba Fett. Each of these individuals holds pieces of the puzzle to who you really are, all of them likely assuming that they have enough information to truly know you at your core. But they don't, not really. You were not given the fortune of having a past that stays neatly behind you. It creeps back into the present every time you manage to claw your way towards a new beginning. Just as you thought you could live a life unleashed from the chains that were thrust upon you as a child, everything crumbles beneath you, trapping you once again. It could be the will of the Force. Or maybe it's just bad luck.

After all, Ahsoka did say that your reckoning would occur on Mandalore, whatever she means by that. Speaking of the Jedi…

"Is Vizsla okay?" You lean past Lika, looking eagerly towards Din.

You feel a little guilty that you hadn't thought of him till now. Din had ushered you into the private building so you could treat your injuries while he spoke with the Armorer on the current... situation. In your solitude, you've only been focusing on yourself and all your own problems.

"He is fine, already on the mend," Lika assures you, moving to block your view and giving you no choice but to look at her.

She's known you a long time, you realize. Considering how big and unreliable the galaxy is, it's kind of nice to know someone who is familiar just because of how long they've carried your name in their thoughts. Something about the sentiment makes the Universe seem a little brighter than it really is.

You give her a grim smile, "Did you ever imagine I would be causing you this much trouble still?"

Lika snorts, "My daughter would be proud of you for doing such things."

An honest laugh escapes you as you fondly pat the blade your beroya gave you through your cloak. She would find this whole thing veryentertaining and kriffing hell, you just wish she was here to help you through it.

The Armorer clears her throat impatiently, through with your time-wasting, "There is no time for nostalgia. If there is something you care to share with us, please do so now."

You roll your eyes internally, "There is nothing to say. We just need to figure out a way to get Din back as the Mand'alor."

Lika turns her helmet towards Din, probably surprised that you know his name, or maybe, just exasperated that you refuse to divulge your past so easily.

"A duel is in accordance to our laws, but Din Djarin has not only expressed his lack of confidence in beating you, but also a lack of desire to challenge you at all," the Armorer's words carry little emotion, making it difficult for you to discern how she feels about the whole thing.

You chew the inside of your cheek as you study her red and bronze beskar, "There are no other alternatives?"

"No," Din's voice is hard as steel as he butts into the conversation.

"That doesn't sound like a no," you counter, your interest piqued by his sudden shift in demeanor.

There is clearly another option, but it's one he doesn't approve of.

"There may be one possibility, brought to our attention by one of the powerful Houses that has expressed support in keeping Bo away from the throne."

"So? Spit it out," you lean forward, curious and hopeful.

"Marriage."

Your jaw slackens briefly as the word bounces around your skull like an echo through a canyon. Marriage?

"To whom?"

Mando growls next to the Armorer, giving you a pretty good guess as to who it is before she even speaks.

"House Vizsla claims that if you marry into their Clan, your right to rule will be respected by all Mandalorians. Under the protection and support of their House, nobody will doubt your place as our rightful leader. Their Clan has a natural claim to the Darksaber and marriage would ensure that the weapon stays in their line for the future."

"I thought all the Vizslas were gone besides Paz?" You say carefully, weighing the idea in your head as you absorb the new information.

"There were some others who survived the Great Purge, but they are not eligible riduurs, seeing as Paz is the only one still unmarried."

"Oh."

Oh. Kriffing hell. You press your palms into your eyes as you continue mulling over the idea as objectively as possible.

"You don't need to do this," Mando states, his voice cutting through your spiraling thoughts.

"What happens if I refuse to rule as the Mand'alor?"

"Bo will have a right to claim the weapon since she is the last one to have wielded it," the Armorer replies.

Looking up from your hands you glance up at the woman, "Can't someone else challenge her then? It stops being my problem."

"By Mandalorian law, you would need to be executed for taking the blade and then refusing the responsibility. You could run, I suppose, but Bo has already promised to exile the Tribe for harboring a Sith, which is a power she could exercise if she is able to rule."

"Din, why wouldn't you challenge her? You would win in a fair fight," you cross your arms as you direct your attention to him.

"I am not exactly a favorite around here anymore. Those loyal to Clan Kryze are already angered at the news of me aiding an 'enemy' on the cruiser. They would keep challenging me over and over again until I had no fight left in me."

"Well, what if we got married?" You ask, cheeks flaming as the words tumble out of your mouth.

"House Vizsla has made it clear that their support will only extend to you if the Darksaber is returned into their Clan."

Your eye twitches as his words, annoyance, disbelief, and disappointment rolling through you.

"So basically, I have to do this or the Tribe will be exiled because nobody will stand up to Bo-Katan? You told everyone she tried to murder you, while you had your back turned, right?"

"I did. That is why the Vizslas offered to help you," Din replies dryly.

You look between him and the Armorer, "What if Paz challenged her?"

The Armorer scoffs, "We both know Bo-Katan would kick his shebs. We may dislike her, but she is an excellent fighter. Nobody in House Vizsla could likely defeat her in a duel. She has too much experience wielding the saber. Despite half the rebels being in favor of someone else ruling, Bo-Katan and her Night Owls are too strong to defeat right now. But you, you have the skill to hold on to the weapon."

Lika stands up to face her vod with a sudden (and suspicious) air of confidence, "The Dar'Jetti is a Foundling. If she won't tell you, I guess I finally have to. Perhaps she has a right to rule, unmarried after all."

You push off from the chair you've been sulking in, anger boiling under your skin, "Lika!"

Din bounces his attention between you and your exposer, calculating the outburst and absorbing the new information with a surprising air of calm. The Armorer remains still, not giving away any hints as to how the news affects her at all.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Din asks after an uncomfortable beat of silence.

The touch of hurt in his voice sends you reeling, and you have to physically hold onto the side of the table next to you to keep yourself grounded in place. This is not how you wanted to tell him. If you ever even wanted to tell him at all.

"Because it's not as simple as Lika is making it seem. I was never raised to swear a Creed or to honor the Way. I was given food, a roof over my head, some training, and a way to make credits. It wasn't an adoption and I am not a Mandalorian."

"Your buirs thought of you like a daughter, and you follow the Mandalorian code they taught you, even if you won't admit it," Lika argues.

"I follow my own Code. Besides, if anyone finds out about who they were, it would only make matters worse," you pause to take Lika's hand in your own, "They lied to you about many things, to protect themselves and me. I didn't want to become mixed up in Mandalorian affairs for this very reason!" You stress your words as frantic panic starts clawing its way up into your chest.

This is the very reason you said no to this cause back on Jedha. This is what you were afraid of.

Din clearly his throat, causing you to look up at him before he speaks, "It does not matter where you come from."

"It does to everyone outside of this room," you mutter sharply.

The Armorer looks between you and Din knowingly, "She is right, the Mandalorians outside of the Tribe do not believe Mandalorian spirit is enough. They want to see someone on the throne who is sworn to protect their ways, which means this decision has to be made fast. The quicker we resolve this, the better off we will do in the war. What is your answer, Dar'Jetti?"

You deflate with acceptance as you sink back into your chair. There is no magic solution here. The politics of this situation could change the future of Mandalore itself. You made a mess of things, ruining Din's reputation and taking the saber. Of course Bo managed to tarnish his name but not her own within thirty seconds of landing on base. Yet, if enough rebels truly favor a new ruler, you might be able to heal the wounds of the past through the Darksaber. A brief, albeit frightening thought crosses your mind: what if Bo-Katan exposes everything about your past? You grind your teeth at the thought of that woman having any more power over you than she's already had. Kriff her. You needed to deal with her so you could use the Darksaber for its intended purpose; to bring hope and strength to Mandalore. You may not be a Mandalorian, but you promised to help rid this planet of the Empire, and that is what you intend to do. If silencing Bo-Katan once and for all is the only way to accomplish this task, you will do whatever is necessary. No matter the cost.

You just wish you could be doing it hand and hand with the Mandalorian that you love.

You shove that thought down deep as quickly as possible, your heart aching at the idea of being married to anyone other than Din Djarin.

This isn't about you. You are a Dark Jedi, a defender of peace, a protector of passion, a warrior of the Force. You have a duty to the galaxy.

With a fake smile, you lean back in your chair as casually as you can manage, "So, is the ceremony going to have any spotchka?"

Din stiffens as the words leave your mouth and you see his gloves hands ball into tight fists by his side as his chest expands in a slow inhale.

The scrape of his voice, being obviously tempered with great care, gives you a chill down your spine, "Everybody. Out. I want to speak to her. Alone."