Din hesitated behind the corner of a hut, his gloved hands clenching and flexing absently at his sides as he stared at the gathering in front of him. The night sky was clear overhead, the half moon and stars lending their silvery light as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. The smell of woodsmoke and roasting meat drifted toward him on a cool breeze, mingling with voices and laughter and the crackle of a bonfire. Omera had been correct in her prediction that the men would insist on a celebration to welcome him back, so most of the day had been spent preparing for the ori'skraan that would take place at sundown. Din himself had avoided the hubbub as much as possible, instead helping with more menial chores and mechanical work around the village until he was conscripted with nearly every other able-bodied man to help move the heavy benches and tables into the center of the village for the meal. Grogu, on the other hand, was fully content being in the middle of all the activity and even tried to pitch in where he could, but Din quietly yet firmly admonished him not to use his powers. He had no fear that doing so would put him in danger, only concern about their friends' reaction without Din first explaining what exactly his ad was capable of. Thankfully, Grogu complied with minimal complaint and spent most of the day being carried to and fro in careful arms or scampering after the other children as fast as his little legs could carry him- and, of course, devouring any morsel of food that came his way as the meal was prepared.

A grumbling noise from the child, who was standing impatiently by his boot, reached his ear, and he was about to reassure him that they would be joining the gathering in a moment when an overwhelming, invisible force slammed into his back, sending him stumbling forward several steps. What the-? He caught himself before he pitched face-first into the dirt, regained his balance, and turned to scold his son only to find him already several strides ahead, having clearly given up on waiting. It was the first time the kid had ever used his powers against Din, and he might have been impressed if he wasn't so displeased by the action. It took little effort to catch up to Grogu and plant himself in the path of his ad, crouching down on one knee to be as close to his eye level as possible.

"I know you want to go be with our friends, Grogu, but you can't force me like that when I've already told you to wait." He kept his voice stern but not angry, and to his relief the child's self-satisfied expression turned contrite, as if he already understood what he did was wrong. "There will be times I tell you to wait for me because it's too dangerous for you to go on your own, and I need to be able to trust you to listen. Do you understand?"

"Patu." A slight nod accompanied the strange word, and Din softened, reaching out and giving him an affectionate pat on the head. He could handle a bit of stubborn willfulness- in that regard Grogu would fit right in with the rest of the Mando'ade- but it still relieved some of the self-doubts in his abilities as a buir that the kid was becoming more receptive to correction. At least on the important things. He pushed to his feet and turned to head for the festivities, but within a few seconds he realized there were no shuffling footsteps following him. He looked back to see Grogu still standing where Din had left him, his expressive brown eyes fastened on the ground. He chuckled and gestured the child forward.

"You can come now, ad'ika. It's okay; I'm not mad at you." His use of Mando'a perked up the kid almost instantly, and Grogu quickly caught up to him, and together they joined the rest of the villagers in their celebration.

Though a sort of celebration had followed their victory over the raiders three years ago- mostly comprised of shared tankards of spotchka and a few cheerful songs once the bodies had been disposed of- that night paled in comparison to the spectacle before them: lanterns were lit and scattered all over, lending a festive air and illuminating two tables near to overflowing with food, while flames leapt and danced from the bonfire nearby. Even the air was bright with an excitement and happiness that Din hadn't been a part of for a long, long time. In fact, now that he thought about it, the last festivities like this that he had taken part in had been to mark the verd'goten of one of the Tribe's foundlings, mere months before the Purge.

Pushing aside the familiar ache the memory brought, he meandered slowly through the gathering, exchanging pleasantries with everyone he crossed paths with. He stopped for a moment to converse further with Darek, but his attention was quickly diverted, the older man's words fading a bit, when he caught sight of Omera over the elder's shoulder. She was crouched next to a smaller cookfire, slowly turning three small game birds on a spit over the flames. The light shimmered across her raven-black hair and illuminated the smile that she flashed Pasia when the other woman knelt beside her with a large serving dish in her hands. As they finished plating the meat Pasia leaned close and whispered something to Omera that caused her to duck her head in apparent embarrassment and gave the redhead a playful swat before they both broke into girlish giggles. Din's breath stalled in his lungs when her gaze, still glittering with mirth, met his across the clearing, and a bashful smile tipped her lips as she pushed to her feet and carried the dish toward the food tables. Even in the shadows he noticed that she wore a different dress under her apron: still the distinctive blue-green that they all wore, this dress fell to her feet with a slit on either side that reached halfway to her knees, and an intricate, swirling pattern embroidered along the neckline and hem. A nagging voice in his head told him that she had worn it specially for him, and though he managed to squash the thought by telling himself that surely, after all this time, she had set her affections elsewhere, a feeling settled in his gut that he was a fool for even considering that.

He was saved a moment later when the beginning of the meal was announced, and though he wasn't able to partake himself, he still sat with a handful of the villagers at one of the tables where he was able to share in the comradery while still keeping an eye on Grogu, who sat with Winta and the other children at their own tables. It wasn't long, however, before he began to regret his choice of eating nothing the rest of the day; the delectable smells stirred his appetite, which he successfully ignored for quite some time until finally his stomach let out an embarrassingly loud grumble. To his relief only Stoke, who was seated to his right, heard and let out a sympathetic chuckle.

He leaned in a bit. "Go get yourself something to eat, Mando. This is in your honor, after all. Everyone will still be here when you get back." He winked teasingly, clearly refusing to let Din forget that he was the guest of honor, and Din couldn't help but roll his eyes, even if the other man couldn't see it, at the reminder before standing and crossing to the food tables, which still held a generous amount of nearly everything. Once he was satisfied with his choices he stepped into the shadows between two of the huts, angling himself so that he could observe but not be seen while he ate.

It only took a few bites for him to chide himself for not partaking sooner: the meat was well-cooked and flavorful, as was the mixture of roasted vegetables that tasted almost identical to the ones Omera had fixed with their supper the night before. On his first visit he'd noticed a distinct lack of spicy foods so he was pleasantly surprised to find that the plain-looking bread roll he chose was actually a hot curry bun- while not quite to the level of heturam that most Mandalorian cooking strived for it still left a satisfying burning in the back of his throat. There had also been a surprising number of sweets, but he'd restricted himself to two small sticky buns and a dense cake that reminded him of the uj'alayi the cooks made for the children every year for Life Day when supplies allowed. Perhaps this would be the year Grogu would finally be able to partake in the celebration with the rest of the children- the first any of them would celebrate on Mandalore for close to a decade.

It was still strange to even think about a future on the planet, their people having been absent from it for so long and he himself never having set foot on its surface until a few months ago. But even as a cheerful song burst to life among the villagers and Din slipped his helm back in place to rejoin them, he couldn't help but notice a strange sort of anticipation stirring in his chest when he considered the possibilities the future held. Without a doubt they still faced huge obstacles to remaking their world into a place where they could once again flourish, but for the first time he felt a part of something larger beyond simply keeping his covert safe and provided for as a beroya. And while the thought did nothing to inform his decision about his part in that future- whether as Mand'alor or simply another verd- it did help him feel less like he was drifting aimlessly through the galaxy.

Grogu chirruped happily at his return to the group, his large brown eyes finding Din only for the briefest second before his attention was stolen once again by the ring of dancers that had formed around the bonfire. More than half of the women and nearly as many men circled the blaze, their arms linked together as they moved in a series of fast steps to a spirited song played by four villagers on a pair of flutes, a tambourine, and a small hand drum. Retaking his seat on the bench this time with his back against the table, he smiled as Winta swept Grogu into her arms and the pair joined a group of children who had also formed their own circle, attempting to copy the adults' complicated steps. His gaze trailed slowly over the gathering, finally landing on Omera on the other side of the fire from him. Fully engrossed in the dance, a wide smile lit up her lovely face, her cheeks tinged slightly pink from the combination of heat and exertion.

As the song ended a moment later and another began, Din caught sight of Mayfeld- he would never get used to the idea of calling him Jos- out of the corner of his eye as he slipped through the crowd toward him, a mug in hand. Since the minor issue of the untranslated Mando'a that morning, the sharpshooter had mostly avoided him for the rest of the day, as if he was afraid Din would change his mind about letting him off so easily. He slid onto the bench across the table from him but Din didn't acknowledge his presence, his attention still captured by the dark-haired beauty circling the fire with her friends.

"Are you going to join her, or just sit there and stare all night long?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he grumbled, shifting uneasily on the hard bench and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Come on, Mando. Just because you wear that bucket of yours all the time doesn't mean there aren't some of us who can still read you like a book." The words were teasing, not meant to insult, but they needled him all the same. If his attention was so obvious that even Mayfeld noticed, what hope did he have that she didn't? The exchange between her and Pasia by the fire popped into his mind, telling him everything he needed to know.

"What makes you such an expert?" he deflected, turning on the bench and swinging his legs underneath the table.

"You're a hunter; you know how quickly you learn how to read people if you don't want to turn into the prey. Let's just say I got pretty good at it too- except my way wasn't as honorable as yours." He averted his gaze, taking a slow sip from his mug of spotchka and leaving Din to wonder briefly at the circumstances of the other man's life before their paths crossed. In a flash his expression shifted and Mayfeld looked his way again, a smug half-grin on his lips. "And Pasia told me all about it, of course." A snort slipped out before Din could stop it as the other man chuckled at his own perceived cleverness. If Din had something to throw at him he wouldn't have hesitated; as it was he settled on flipping Mayfeld a rude hand gesture which only made him laugh harder.

Finally his humor subsided, and he regarded Din with a serious eye once again. "She didn't tell me why you left though, apart from someone trying to take a shot at your kid, and Omera never told her what happened between the two of you. It's obvious to anyone with eyes that you still have feelings for each other. So what's keeping you from staying with her this time?"

"I don't belong here."

Mayfeld spread his arms out in an all-encompassing motion before letting his hands fall back to the table. "Well neither do I, but here I am. You just need to give yourself some time-"

"No, I mean I don't belong here. I can't stay."

"What are you talking about?"

His hand moved to his belt, and he hesitated for a moment, his fingers hovering over the Darksaber. Could he trust Mayfeld to understand, and more importantly, keep his confidence until the right time came to tell Omera? Three years ago the answer would have been a resounding no, but neither of them was the same person they were then. And at some point, he was going to have to learn to trust people, outside of his Tribe and the tiny group of friends he had made, and let the chips fall where they may. Blowing out a long breath he unclipped the hilt and laid it on the table, the black of the beskar glinting dully in the firelight. Mayfeld's brow raised in question. "It's called the Darksaber. I won it from Moff Gideon when we rescued the kid. Whoever wields it has the right to lead all Mandalorians." He ran a gloved finger along the sharp lines of the weapon, and he could almost feel the power lying dormant within.

Mayfeld let out an impressed whistle. "Leader of the Mandalorians. Didn't know there were enough of you left to- well, never mind. So does that make you some kind of king or something?"

"Technically yes. And no one really knows exactly how many survived the Purge. There could very well be hundreds or even thousands scattered across the galaxy in hiding."

"So what's the problem?"

Din fought to keep the irritation from his voice. "I'm not a leader. I wouldn't know the first thing about being the Mand'alor, especially with the amount of rebuilding that will need to be done."

"No one would expect you to do it completely on your own; surely even your past rulers had advisors. Besides, from what they've told me about the fight against the Klatooinians, you were quite the leader teaching them how to defend themselves."

"That was different. I know how to fight; I'm good at that. I couldn't even talk my way around an Imperial hutuun without freezing. How am I supposed to make speeches and negotiate with politicians on behalf of my people?"

"What the heck is a-" Mayfeld cut himself off mid-sentence and raised his hands in an appeal for ignorance. "Forget it- I don't want to know. Besides, that was an ambush and ambushes don't count."

"Isn't that all politics are?"

He opened his mouth as if to rebut the question then gave an acquiescing shrug. "Fair enough. That still doesn't explain why you're here instead of there though."

A long sigh slipped out before he could stop it. "Now that we've reclaimed Mandalore, the title falls to me. I came here to get away from everything for a little while, to clear my head and decide whether to officially claim it."

"But now your feelings are getting in the way of your decision," Mayfeld finished for him. Din dipped his head in a resigned nod. That was exactly what had happened; now he had no idea how to dig himself out of the proverbial hole he had found himself in. "Does she know?"

"No, we just arrived yesterday. I haven't found the right time to tell her everything."

Mayfeld fell silent, his finger absently tracing the rim of his cup. His face was a blank slate of nothing but quiet thoughtfulness, and it unnerved Din, who prided himself in his ability to pick up on the slightest cues and expressions, to find that he had no clue of the direction of the sharpshooter's thoughts. "Tell her the truth," he said finally. "You've spent enough time with these people to know that they value honesty. You never know; she just might surprise you and choose to go back to Mandalore with you."

"I couldn't ask that of her."

"Why not leave it to her to decide? I may not know much about women, but one thing I have learned is they don't like it when you try to make decisions for them. Even if it's not the answer you want, at least you'll know that you didn't take the choice away from her."

Din considered Mayfeld's words as he rose and stepped away from the table to refill his mug. He knew deep inside that the other man was right: not only did he owe it to Omera to be completely honest about the gravity of the choice he was making, but she also deserved to be able to make the decision about the course of her future and that of her daughter on her own terms- even if it meant spending the rest of their lives apart from each other. There was no doubt that her rejection would hurt, but he would rather endure that temporary pain than force her into a decision only to have her resent him later on. He had found the strength to let go once when he said goodbye to Grogu on the light cruiser; he could only trust that he would find it again if she chose to remain.

Sometimes he really, really hated it when other people were right.