You watch as Din paces back and forth across the room, his agitation tangible with each predatory stride he takes. The extra munitions strapped to his shin jangle in a steady beat, setting you on edge, and you have to grind your teeth together to ease your mounting frustration.

"No," he declares suddenly, pausing in front of you. His helmet gleams in the overhead light as his visor glares down at you with an air of domination.

You narrow your eyes at him. "No?" You ask sharply.

"No," he confirms. He draws himself up and places his hands on his belt to expand his essence into the space around him. The arrogance of the way he postures reminds you of a young Boba Fett. This assumption that he can just command you makes white, hot tendrils of resentment flick in your belly. You scratch your nails against the wood of the chair you are slumped in.

"What do you mean, no?" You stand up from your seat carelessly, sending it scooting back with an unpleasant scrape.

"I'm not allowing you to go through with this."

You scoff in disbelief at the nerve of the man standing before you, so confident in his sudden self-appointed authority.

"Excuse me, Din Djarin," you brush past him, purposefully jostling his steel shoulder, "You are no longer the Mandalorian monarch, which means you don't get to tell me what I can and can't do."

You don't make it more than two steps before Din has caught up to you, his leather fingers jabbing into your hips to freeze you in place.

One of his hands slithers into your hair, grasping a handful firmly before gently tugging your head back and to the side. Your throat is completely exposed to him now and you can't help but feel like you are his prey as you stand there, back to him, utterly stunned by the magnetic pull you feel to his physical presence. Your knees quiver under you as he wraps his other hand around your bicep, anchoring you in place. His armor practically vibrates with resistance to the impending snap of his self-control and you sigh with frustration as his cold helmet presses into your neck.

"I would rather see the Empire reign over Mandalore until my last, dying breath than see you married to Paz Vizsla," he threatens into your ear, the modulator intensifying his gravelly voice.

You shudder, knowing that it's the sinister truth he is telling you. Some sick, twisted part of you revels in his possessiveness and you grimace at how dark such thoughts are. You shift your head back, resting it against his chest as he loosens his hold on your hair.

"If I don't do this, everything we have done, everything we have sacrificed up to this point, will have been for nothing."

"We can leave. The Tribe doesn't need to live on Mandalore. I don't care if we are exiled."

"This isn't about you. Or our personal feelings. This is about the fact that the Force has willed me here, to right the wrongs of days past. My destiny has always been to help liberate Mandalore from not only the Empire but from corruption within. Keeping someone like Bo-Katan away from the throne is what I was meant to do."

His grip around your arm tightens, almost to the point of being painful and he growls lowly to himself.

"It is dishonorable for House Vizsla to demand this of you."

"They are putting their self-interest before anyone else, is that really so surprising? How else do you think Mandalorians have not only survived, but thrived in the Outer Rim for tens of thousands of years?"

"Don't make excuses for them."

"I'm not. I just see no other alternatives."

"You're going to give up then? Roll over and comply because you feel some sort of moral awakening?"

You bristle at his words, the echo of past conversations haunting you as you swallow the righteous anger bubbling underneath your skin.

"I hardly think their offer to protect me under their House compares to being left to the kriffing Empire, " you practically spit, your eyes glistening with indignant tears.

You might as well have stabbed a dull dagger straight into his heart, it probably would have had the same effect as that sentence.

Din spins you around, holding your wrists in one hand and gently cupping your face with the other. He tilts his helmet slightly as he speaks quietly to you, "I will never be able to make up for what I did. I am sorry for being a coward on Jedha, but I have the chance to make the right choice now, the one I failed to make once before, and I choose you over my Tribe. I would leave right now with you and never look back. We can run away together, just the two of us. You are more important to me than all of Mandalore."

The room feels like it's spinning slightly as you take in his words. It's everything you've ever wanted to hear him say. A lofty promise, a confession of deeper feelings, an offer to stay with you despite every destructive aspect of this kriffed up relationship. The weight of the Darksaber hanging against your hip suddenly feels a bit heavier, as if the Force itself has to remind you that you have responsibilities you cannot turn your back on.

You let in a deep breath, "I have faith in the path laid out before me by the cosmic Force. I cannot stray from it, no matter how much I want to. You may not see it yet, but there is a plan. I just need you to trust me."

Din nods once before letting go of your cheeks, "I do trust you. That doesn't mean I won't stop fighting to get you back, even if I have to burn down Mandalore itself to succeed."

A lopsided, half-hearted smile sneaks across your face and you turn on your heel to begin hurrying towards the door of the building, a sense of purpose aching in your chest.

"Where are you going?" He asks as you press the button on the door panel.

"I need my Holocron back. I'm assuming it's on the Sterling Kestrel?"

He mutters something sarcastic and disapproving under his breath, but you ignore him as you step outside and take in the golden glow of Keldabe's sunset; time is running out.

Whether for you or your enemies, you're not quite sure.


The Sith Holocron levitates above your hand as it twirls in a slow, promising circle. A reddish hue is being cast across the skin of your arms, creating a mysterious mood in the ship. Shadows of doubt creep into your mind as Din shifts uncomfortably behind you. Both of you watch curiously as the Holocron opens with a flash of bright, blinding light. Within seconds, you are immersed in a new world. You expected this experience to be similar to how the Jedi Holocron works, but it's nothing alike at all. Rather than finding and taking the knowledge hidden in the artifact yourself, at your own free will, the Holocron pushes its secrets into your mind aggressively, despite your best efforts to resist it. It feels like a violation, the way the Darkside invades every corner of your soul, tainting your thoughts with hatred and anger. There is a sudden pressure against the insides of your skull as the enticing lessons and unnatural rituals belonging once to all the Sith that came before you twist themselves into your own memories. A lingering energy of your former Master's touch seeps into your spirit as you try to shut off the flow of Darkside philosophy. With immense difficulty, you force the Holocron to close and a roar of thousands of angry voices screams in your head.

You lean against Din as the Holocron clatters to the floor, sucking all the red light out of the ship and freeing you from its evil hold.

"You okay?" He asks, steadying you on your feet.

With a nod you answer him stoically, "I got what I wanted, and more, unfortunately. But I'll be fine.

Din doesn't say anything more, but his concern for you is obvious in the way he raises his hands towards you as if you were an angry blurg who needed calming.

"We should get going now, the Armorer is expecting me," you say as you close your eyes and take in a deep, calming breath.

Din pauses before he leaves your side, his helmet trained on the Sith relic, "Your buirs, they are the ones who took you from Dantooine to train under your Master, weren't they? And he… he wasn't a good man, was he?"

"No, he was not a good man."


It's funny how in the midst of all the bloodshed and war planning, a large crowd of the galaxy's fiercest warriors would drop their military duties to watch a Mandalorian wedding ceremony unfold. You stand in Paz's small barracks, listening to the hum of the spectators milling around outside, waiting for you to join your new Clan's side.

Paz had offered you two simple words when you arrived in his quarters, but Din shoved him out of the space, vibroblade buzzing at the giant armored man's throat before you had the chance to ask him to elaborate.

He had said, "I'm sorry" in such a feeble, broken tone that sounded so unlike the Paz Vizsla you knew, you had nearly dropped the ration bar you had been eating out of your hand.

Din had locked the door behind him, grumbling curses in Mando'a before he sat on the bunk off to the side, listening closely as you and the Armorer began squabbling. The Armorer had immediately begun drilling the wedding vows into you, despite your assurance that you knew them already. She then began to make several judgmental comments about your refusal to wear Mandalorian armor for the ceremony.

"You have the red set and you are a Foundling. It would be customary to wear beskar'gam," she had huffed.

But you didn't budge, you insisted on wearing your cloak, to honor your own Way, your own Code. You wanted to show a final act of defiance to your new subjects. Jedi robes suited you well, and you felt absolutely no desire to please the Armorer's, or anyone else's for that matter, outdated marriage rituals. She had stormed off from the conversation after she and you exchanged a few heated words, realizing it was useless to argue with someone who matched her iron-strong stubbornness.

Now, it was just you and Din, all alone once again. Just on the other side of the door lay your new future with Paz Vizsla and his House. Of all the places to end up in the galaxy, this certainly was the last place you expected to find yourself.

A sense of urgency prickles in the air around you as you pick up on the energy of the mob growing impatient for you to emerge. You straighten the burgundy cloak around you and square up your shoulders in an act of feigned confidence.

"Well, how do I look?"

"Jedi."

You raise an eyebrow at Din and chuckle nervously, "Dark Jedi."

"I have something to give you," he blurts out, making you still suddenly.

You wait silently for him to explain further as he reaches into a pouch on his belt hastily, searching for the unexpected present.

After a moment, he opens his palm slowly, presenting a delicate necklace that shimmers as brightly as his silver beskar. You lift the jewelry by the chain to examine the small, fragile pendant. It's a Mudhorn, crafted as beautifully as the one forged onto his own pauldron. You give the necklace a gentle swing so that it bounces off Din's chest plate. The melodious sound the pendant makes on impact confirms what you had suspected.

"It's pure beskar," you murmur in awe.

Din nods and gestures for you to turn around. He places the necklace over your head and fastens the clasp around your neck in one smooth motion. You twiddle the Mudhorn between your fingers while a large lump forms in the middle of your throat.

"Vor entye," you choke out, turning around to look up at him again.

"The Armorer made it."

This surprises you. She had to have known who she was making it for, she's no fool. Her lack of objections against this arranged marriage had made you believe she didn't harbor any empathy towards you, but now you can't help but wonder how she really feels. Not that it mattered, her hands are as bound as anyone else's at this point. Of all the great things that came out of Mandalorian culture, their honor-bound ways often came with a heavy price. It was a double-edged sword to follow the rigid rules of Mandalorian law. What has allowed them to develop their culture into an unbreakable society populated with principled women and men has also trapped them in traditions and codes that practically choke out any hope for improvement or change.

Paz's apology echoes in your head and you wish you had been given the chance to speak to him before he was pushed out of the room. Perhaps he also wasn't in favor of this whole situation but felt helpless to offer an alternative solution. You suppose you will have the rest of your life to speak to him about it.

You give Din a watery smile at the same time a loud knock bangs three times against the door. This is it. With a deep sigh, you move towards the door, butterflies exploding in your stomach. Anxiety threatens to overtake you, but you use the Force around you to calm your chaotic energy. Just as you finally gather enough nerve to step towards the door, Din says something completely, irresponsibly planet-shattering.

"I love you."

Right there, for one single fleeting moment, you almost turn around so you can say it back to him. So you can run into his arms and rip off his stupid kriffing bucket to kiss him on the lips.

But you don't.

"I know," is all you say, in a barely audible whisper that practically dissipates into the air as you slam the control panel on the wall to open the door.

Your eyes scan the crowd before you quickly, looking for the presence you sense strongly through the Force. You find Ahsoka almost instantly, her montrals poking through a thin hood as she stands behind the group of beskar wearing soldiers. She gives you a small nod when you meet her gaze and a sense of peace is sent to you through the Force. Paz steps forward into your personal space and you shift your attention to his blue helmet looming over you. His visor lowers the smallest amount and you know he sees the Mudhorn symbol boldly resting on the outside of your cloak. You hadn't bothered to tuck it away.

He gives you a small bow before gingerly taking your hands into his large leather gloves, "Ready?" He asks, just loud enough for only you to hear him.

You blink back the tears brewing in your eyes, "Ready."

Paz lowers his helmet towards your face and presses the smooth beskar against your forehead, "Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde."