From the 604 to the 647

That's what attracted you to Joel in the first place when he came to fix your leaky sink in the house you just moved into after joining Jackson’s community. He ended up going around your entire kitchen, fixing everything that was loose, even though you didn’t know each other, only met in Jackson a couple times.

It also didn’t hurt that he was extremely handsome — your jaw almost dropped the first time you saw him.

Now you didn't live in that house anymore, because neither you nor Joel wanted to be separated. You loved having him close to you at night. He loved seeing you walk down the stairs in the morning, wearing only one of his shirts.

Everything was perfect, except for those patrols that stressed you out.

So you always asked him to stay, hoping to buy yourself some time. You would cuddle him in bed, one leg wrapped around his, when you knew it was time for him to go. You would lick his lips and wrap your hand around his length, feeling him get hard instantly.

“Sweetheart, you know I gotta go,” he’d say against your lips, and you’d roll him onto his back before straddling him and grinding against his bulge.

“Come on, Tommy’s waiting for me. I can’t be late.”

“I don’t care about Tommy,” you’d smile before pushing him inside you.

But this morning, Joel woke up before you. When you opened your eyes you heard the shower being turned off. You hastily threw the comforter aside and pulled your t-shirt up and over your breasts, cupping them. Then you slipped your hand inside your panties, scooped up Joel’s cum from the night before and brushed your sensitive clit. He made you come twice on his tongue, once on his cock. You bit your lip at the memory. 

You didn't stop when the bathroom door opened and Joel froze in the doorway, his hand on the handle.

You were looking at him playfully as his widened eyes were growing dark, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"What are you... Why... Jesus, you're such a menace," Joel mumbled as he walked toward you, taking off his t-shirt and unzipping his jeans.

He settled between your thighs and pulled down his pants mid-thigh, before easily sliding into your wet cunt.

“You’re ready to do anything to keep me from going on patrol, aren’t you?” he said, a little smile on his lips.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Don’t go. Fuck me all day, and all night.”

“Jesus. Sweetheart…” he said, rolling his hips into you. “You know I’d love to, but I gotta go.”

“No, you don’t. They have enough people, you can skip one. Please?” you asked, squeezing him so tightly he was afraid he’d come right away.

You cupped his cheek to kiss him, your tongue sliding between his lips to play with his, as Joel was thrusting in, rubbing that spongy spot in a way that could make you come easily. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him deeper, his heavy balls brushing against your ass with every thrust.

“Please,” you begged against his lips. “I miss you so much when you’re not here.”

“I… fuck… I miss you too…”

“Yeah? Prove it. Stay.”

His lips crashed against yours as he gripped your hips, using them as leverage to fuck into you harder.

“Rail me… all day,” you panted, his balls now slapping against your skin.

“Fuck… don’t say things like this…I’m gonna come way too soon.”

“Oh I don’t want that…” you replied mischievously. “You know what I’d like?” you asked, making him growl, fully aware that you were testing him, playing with him, and he loved it way too much.

“Tell me…”

“I think I’d like you to fuck me… in all parts of me that can be fucked.”

He stopped moving, his length fully buried in you, his piercing gaze devouring you.

It only took him a swift movement to manhandle you to your hands and knees, spread your cheeks with his large hands, his eyes fixed on your ass and glistening pussy clenching on nothing, desperate for him.

“Baby,” he said, sliding his tip between your folds, his thumb brushing your tight ring. “Are you testing me?”

“Maybe,” you murmured, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder.

“Jesus, you’re so fucking hot,” he said, thrusting in and bottoming out in one go, keeping your buttocks wide open to stare at your ass.

You clutched the pillow with your fists when his thumb brushed against your ring with more pressure. He was the best lay you'd ever had in your life, by far.

“Fuck me. Hard. Then stay with me and take everything you want from me.”

“Yes ma'am," he grunted, one hand gripping your hip tightly as he kept his thumb pressed against your tight hole.

You stroked your clit, letting him fuck you the way he needed, chasing his climax.

“This is what you want, sweetheart? Want me to fuck this tiny hole? You think you can take it?” he growled, fucking you rough and deep, his balls slapping harder than ever against your cunt.

“Yes,” you whined, clenching around his cock, thinking about the moment he would thrust inside you there, the moment he would leave you breathless as he pushed in. You came with a cry and he followed you, sending hot spurs of cum inside your core.

Joel collapsed onto the bed and pulled you against him, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“Guess I’m not going on patrol today.”

“Guess not,” you smiled, and kissed his chest.

Joel masterlist

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He knew coming back to Solana was a mistake the moment he saw you walk into the room in that wedding dress.

Kriff, he knew it was a mistake when he received your father’s communique, but still accepted the invitation to return, somehow managing to convince himself that he would be able to handle it.

That was a mistake, too.

Din one hundred percent does not have a handle on it, himself or anything else.

He understood the danger he was opening his heart to in coming back, fully knowing that he would have to leave you again - which is why he didn’t bring Grogu; he thought he had properly weighed that inevitable torture against the heaven of seeing you again, hearing your voice once more, just being in the same room as your perfume – he could endure it. He told himself he had to.

Unfortunately, Din had grossly underestimated the hold you still have on him, while overestimating his own fortitude. 

From his very first glimpse of you stepping into the room, all reason flew out of the Mandalorian’s head.  Your graceful figure stopped his heart dead while the glow of your beautiful countenance shocked it back to life in an endless cycle.  You carried the silk masterpiece draping off your body so well, it was you who was the work of art, not the garment; barely breathing, Din likened this moment to visiting a painting after having only seen it in a holofilm – his memories and dreams of you didn’t hold a candle to the real thing.  The feared warrior was about to keel over and all you had done was walk across the room - you hadn’t even noticed him yet.

It was only when he heard your breathy thanks for his assistance with your dress that Din truly understood the magnitude of his error.  That’s all it took: you speaking to him one time and he was ready to throw away all semblance of decorum and honour, get on his knees and obey your every wish and desire - no matter how disastrous for either of you.  With great difficultly, Din forced himself to avert his gaze from your beautiful face - for fear that he might see some sign from you, real or imagined, that would give him permission to haul you over his shoulder and steal you out of the room.

This was the moment Din Djarin reconciled with the truth that he was indeed, a weak, weak man.  And a fiend.  Since that chance meeting with you on Coruscant, the absence of you dominated his every waking hour and plagued each sleepless night somehow more persistently than ever.  He was an addict, and you his drug of choice – after that sweet hit months ago, his mind, body and soul were constantly jonesing for more.

At the same exact time, Din realized the risk he exposed you to by returning.  To be in such close proximity and not be able to touch, kiss, or hold you was asking a level of restraint and control that he could no longer promise to embody.  If, for even a nanosecond, his heart believed he could reclaim the life he once shared with you, Din would surrender to his desires completely and discard any remaining sense of duty, decency. 

He had no qualms admitting he would happily sacrifice himself if only to taste the sweetness of your kiss again, to feel your soft body fold against his, to see you arch as he made you come over and over, hear you whimper his name as he filled you.  He would do it all even fully knowing it could be but a brief dream, a spelled mirage that would be broken once you married and he left again – the last time having nearly killed him, would Din have the strength to survive such a devastating blow twice?  He loved you enough to be willing to find out.

Dank Farrik. Perhaps his own downfall he could accept, but Din was unwilling to subject you to that same fate.  On Coruscant, in your inebriated state, you had been so candid and unguarded in admitting how deeply you had grieved, how hollow his leaving had left you – how could he force you to suffer the pain of separation again?  The sadness and hurt he witnessed in your pretty eyes that night haunt him to this day still – only a villain would risk your chance for future happiness just because he couldn’t control his damn self.

And what if he did something even more foolish than reaffirm his everlasting love for a woman he could never be with?  Like ask you to come with him?  To leave behind your entire life, your duty, your stupid fiancé?  Because, what if you came?  And for what?  A lone bounty hunter with few credits to his name and even less merit after he stole the Princess of a planet that has shown him and his son nothing but kindness and welcome?  A man with nothing but deserved shame and a small cabin on the outskirts of an insignificant planet in the Outer Rim.  You would forsake your honour and homeland, the love of your people, the future you’ve been working towards all your life for that?  For Din?  He would stain your reputation and that of your royal house for his own selfish desires, deprive you of the chance to start a family with your new husband and continue your illustrious line?  He could not.  You would resent him and certainly grow to hate him.  He would lose you all over again, only this time slow and tortuous. 

No, for both of you to survive, Din needed to cut himself off at the knees.  As unnatural as it felt, he had to build a defensive wall between you and his heart, blockading any hope of affection and tenderness, if he was to have a chance at protecting what was left of your peace.  You and him were always destined to end, but he would suffer now, alone in silence, if it meant lessening your agony in the future.

While your father made polite small talk, Din vowed himself to be a stranger to you so there would be no chance of falling into familiar old patterns, of seeking the intimacy of your company.  He steeled his body, tone, thoughts, and even his unseen facial expression to one of impassibility and indifference.  If the fires of his love for you did not burn so intensely, the coldness he forced himself to exude might have actually frozen over his heart.

He hid from you for as long as he could after leaving the East wing parlour, afraid of what even one moment alone with you would do to his defenses - but fate’s cruel sense of humour caught up with the Mandalorian as surely as did you in that stairwell.  Din drowns in his own regret and shame as he thinks back to this last conversation with you, likely the last the two of you will ever have – your palpable confusion and hurt had sent his heart reeling and beating violently against its Beskar cage, screaming and begging to be heard.

*****

“Din.”

“Princess.”  Yes, cyare. Cyar’ika. Mesh’la. Riduur.

“Din, can we go somewhere to talk?”

“What would we need to talk about, Princess?”  Anything you desire, mesh’la, but may I ask, only talk?  I wish desperately to hold you in my arms and kiss the honey of your lips once more. 

“Why have you come, Din?”

“Your father recalled me to review the adequacy of the security plans for your wedding; I’m here to ensure that your nuptials proceed without disruption.”  I missed you too much and I’m not strong enough to stay away anymore.  Every single day for the past year I’ve fought against it, but my path has always been to return to Solana and reunite with the part of myself that I left here with you. 

“You’ve come to help give me away?”

“Solana called, and I am here to fulfill my duty to its people.”  I would rather die, but I don’t have a choice.

“I thank you for your service, General.”

“Is there anything further, Princess?”  Please don’t cry, cyare - it kills me to hurt you like this.

“In your haste to leave previously, this was left behind; now that you’re here, General, it can be returned to its rightful owner.”

“I thank you, Princess.”  This pendant, as with my heart, is yours and always will be.  I will find some way to return it to you so you will always have a piece of the Mandalorian who loves you, even if you hate me.  Ni kartyli gar darasuum (I love you).

*****

Din does everything in his power to avoid you for the rest of the day, but the image of your crestfallen face and the despair with which you proclaimed he’s forgotten you follow him like an unrelenting wraith, gloomy and accusatory.  Even when he goes to the training grounds to reunite with his former comrades, the invisible string that tethers him to you for always tugs until he cannot ignore its pull any longer – he instinctively looks up to the southside tower and sees you waiting for him, as you have so many times before, in that secret spot.

The Mandalorian wishes to go to you more than anything - it would be so easy for him to take off and fly into your waiting arms, but the consequences of doing so keep him firmly grounded; the ripping of his heart would only be temporarily mended if he gave in now, just to tear open later into an merciless chasm of pain that would swallow you both.  So, Din pretends not to see you - he fists his hands so hard his palms hurt, just so he isn’t tempted to adjust his helmet display to zoom in on your beauty, and he distracts himself with the comradery of the men under his former command.  When it comes time to file into the castle, he forces himself to do so without checking if you’re still on the turret. 

Dinner comes and goes.  Din is in equal measures disappointed and relieved when Serene announces that you’ve retired early after a full day, and he’s still conflicted when the time comes to bring his plate back to his old room to eat alone.  But once inside his former quarters, self-flagellation wins out – the knowledge that you’re somewhere near, hurting, and he cannot comfort you sits like a pit in Din’s stomach.  That you truly believe him to no longer care for you unsettles the Mandalorian to the point of nausea – appetite gone, he cannot bring himself to eat even one bite.

He decides to go for a calming walk around the castle instead.  There’s a storm rolling in now; the percussive sounds of rain and thunder a welcomed accompaniment to the wild beating of Din’s heart.  He’s loved Solanian rainstorms ever since that night in the Solana countryside when he bore the skin of his body to you for the first time, while the outside torrential downpour enveloped and muffled the sounds of your perfect first lovemaking.

About to do a third turn of the hallways in the West wing, Din’s sensors pick up on the commotion of scurrying feet above him, the addition of harsh, frantic tones lead him upstairs to investigate.  His instincts kick in at the sight of Serene and Olivia’s panicked expressions and pleading gestures to a small group of the Royal Guard; upon hearing the thunder of the Mandalorian’s approach, the crowd falls silent and turns towards the noise.

“General!” The guards stand at attention and both your lady’s maids look relieved at Din’s appearance. 

“What’s wrong?” The General’s heart pounds – it already knows the answer.

The two women look at each other, unsure, before Olivia pipes up, “It’s the Princess, General.  She’s missing and we cannot find her anywhere.”

“When and where is the last time she was seen?”

“In her bedchambers. Right after…” Olivia falters awkwardly, not sure how much to reveal in front of the Guard; Serene saves her, “… after you left her on the stairs this afternoon, General.”  The anger in her voice is unheard by most among them, but not Din; to him it’s loud and well deserved.

But he cannot dwell on that right now.  Military precision and strategic mind snapping into place, Din lays out a search plan to cover as much area as possible in as little time as possible, then dispatches his men.  He himself runs straight to the South tower.

The rage of the outside storm provides cover for the echoing boom of his heavy footsteps, but nothing can quiet the yell inside Din’s head as he races through the castle, no, no, please no.  He reaches the door to your secret meeting place in record time, hoping against hope that another member of the legion has already found you.

The door is stuck. 

Din pushes and pulls the jammed handle.  He throws his weight against the thick paneling.  The narrowness of the spiraled staircase leading to this remote area of the castle prevents him from getting the leadup he needs, but still he tries over and over to shove his way through to the outside.  Huffing and out of breath, Din adjusts the infrared reader on his internal display to see what’s beyond the door.

Nothing.  Thank goodness.  Out of habit, he does a secondary scan to make sure before turning to go.

Wait.

Barely perceptible and flickering so quickly he nearly missed it, a subtle flush of warmth shimmers small and faint on Din’s HUD.  The Mandalorian recalibrates his sensors so that the heat signature materializes slightly more in focus; now that he knows where to look, he can make out a shape on the ground.  It barely glows, dimming and flashing erratically.  It’s dying.

No!

Ready to burn down the door, Din’s blaster is out of his holster faster than he can think; he shoots at the lock until it’s mangled and smoking and then shoulders his entire body weight against the door until it splinters open.  He fights against the howl of the wind now rushing to enter the castle in order to get to you, cape whipping around his body, rain slicing against his visor.

Skidding across the slippery wet stone floor, the great warrior drops to his knees in one frantic motion to hover over your unmoving body, trying to shield you from the rain.  It makes no difference, your clothes and hair are so drenched and waterlogged they practically pin you to the floor, every part of you is wet and you’re so, so cold. 

“Cyare, please, wake up, please, please,” Din pats your face gently, trying to dry and warm your cheeks with his gloves to no avail, “wake up, please.  Come back, come back to me.”  You make no response, face ghoulishly unmoving, unnatural hue taking over your countenance.

Fear like he’s only ever felt when Grogu’s been in harm’s way grips onto Din’s insides and twists. 

No, no, no, please, no.  It cannot end like this.  I cannot lose you like this.  Please, Maker, no.

With a surge of super human strength, Din lifts your limp body and cradles you close to his chest, protected and treasured, “Mesh’la, we need to get you dry.  I’m going to get you help.  You’re going to be okay.  You have to be okay.  Don’t leave me, please.” 

Then, he runs.

At the bottom of the Southside tower stairs, Din starts yelling for help as he runs towards where he last saw another soul, anyone.  It feels like the castle is an empty labyrinth tonight and despite the racket he’s making, help does not meet him quickly enough - Din doesn’t think, he just keeps going, muscle memory taking over as his feet bring him to your bedchamber doors where luckily, both Olivia and Serene have heard his call and rush to meet him.

“Please,” he begs, “she’s so cold.” He’s not in the right mind to explain further or do anything other than hold you as directed while your maids strip and try to dry you.  After laying you in bed, Din stumbles until his back hits the wall, paralyzed by the worst-case scenario fears running rampant through his mind. 

What if he were to never see your eyes sparkle again, either with mischief, in wonder, or full of lust?  Never hear the melody of your voice cooing sweet praise and encouragement to his son?  What if that cold, unfeeling utterance of your title was the last thing he ever said to you?  What if your final thoughts of him were that he didn’t love you, that he didn’t live and die by the very thought of you?

What if everything he had forced the both of you to suffer since returning had all been for naught, that even when trying to protect you he could only hurt you?

People attempt to get his attention - they suggest he leave to get some rest, give you some privacy, tell him there’s nothing more he can do for you right now, but Din hears none of it.  Doctors, nurses, Serene, Olivia, servants, his Lieutenant – he pays none of them any heed; all Din knows is there is only one voice that can send him away and that’s yours.  He might actually growl this at the doctor.

Din remains in your room, an ever-vigilant gargoyle looming fierce and protective, his eagle eyes scrutinize every move made near or to you, his approval necessary to proceed.  He is immovable, unapproachable, ferocious, inconsolable – a sentinel on guard with nothing to lose but the treasure over which he keeps watch.  The Mandalorian’s stubbornness yields small results but results nonetheless; after a few hours of being bundled up and all manner of heating pads and blankets being added to your bed, you look better, definitely drier.  Din’s helmet readings confirm those of the medical equipment: your body temperature is slowly, but steadily rising, your heartbeat is once again strong enough to be picked up by his sensors. 

But you don’t wake up.

The doctor says to be patient, the nurses say he doesn’t need to stay; the former is more difficult than Din anticipated, the later impossible.  He sits vigil by your side, barely blinking so he doesn’t miss any changes in your condition, frustration growing when nothing does.  By hour six after having found you, Din is ready to send for his son and ask Grogu to Force heal you.

Who needs sleep when he has worry and guilt?  Din knew you were up on that turret all by yourself, and he knows why you were there.  He knows he’s the reason you’re lying in this bed right now, fighting for your very life.  He should have gotten to you sooner.  He should have never let you wait up there alone.  What if Serene and Olivia hadn’t told him you were missing?  What if he hadn’t conducted his second scan and you had been locked out in the rain overnight?

What if… what if… what if…

Din drops his head, cradling his helmet in his hands, unable to stop the spiral of his thoughts and the turmoil of his heart.  Maker, please, please let her be okay.  I’ll do anything, give anything - she just has to be okay, please.

If you’re not awake by morning he’s going to call Grogu.

---

Slowly, you try to blink your eyes open, the bright lights of the room sharp and stinging – all you can manage is to squint; only able to turn your head in tiny increments, you haltingly scan your surroundings until coming upon the imposing, armoured figure waiting at the bedside.

“Din?” you barely recognize the scrape of your own voice.

“Mesh’la,” panic and relief flood through the Mandalorian’s modulator in equal measure, “You’re awake.  How are you feeling?  Does anything hurt?”

Adjusting your body in small measures, each ache and every soreness catching you by surprise, you manage to shimmy up slightly into a sitting position with Din’s help.  It takes you until now to realize you’re in your own bed; still disoriented you manage to croak out, “Everything hurts?  Din… what happened?”

“The door on the Southside tower… it was locked and you got trapped outside in the storm.  No one could find you… when Olivia told me you were missing, I… I tried to get there as fast as I could…” Din chokes on his words as he relives the fear of those moments.

Recollection flashes behind your eyes as you start to remember – the wedding dress viewing, giving back the Mythosaur pendant, fleeing to the tower, letting go, the numbing cold of the rain - you nod in comprehension, “You saved me.  Thank you, Din.”

“I do not deserve your thanks, cyare.  It is my fault you were up there, my fault you got hurt,” Din drops his head in shame, “I’m so sorry, mesh’la.  I was avoiding you and shouldn’t have… I knew you were up there and didn’t go to you… this is all my fault… you were out there in the cold for so long… who know what could have happened if…”

“But it didn’t happen.  You found me,” Din’s obvious guilt chips at your heart, “There’s no need for apologies, Din.  It’s not as if we made an agreement to both go to the tower – I was there of my own free will and you were under no obligation to come meet me.  None of this is your fault, really, General.  Feelings change.  I understand.”

Feelings changed??  No, you didn’t understand at all.

The absurdity of your words necessitate the only action Din deems to be appropriate, as bold and brutal as it is.

Clang!

Din’s helmet is ripped from his head and thrown to the ground so quickly you’re nearly unable to squeeze your eyes shut in time. “Din!” you gasp, shocked.

Grimacing as your muscles scream in protest, the effort to sweep your hands up to your eyes hurts more than you want to admit – but that pain is nothing compared to your fear of the harm it would do to see Din’s face uncovered.

Rough leather envelops your hands and gently pulls them away from your face, “Princess, it’s okay.” You shake your head as adamantly as you can, keeping your eyes closed.  Din’s gravely baritone remains gentle and reassuring, “Trust me, cyar’ika.  Open your eyes.”

Even with his explicit permission, you still feel hesitant; slowly, you open your eyes but keep your gaze lowered, focusing on the gentle way Din holds your hands - his thumbs rubbing gentle circles over the backs as he patiently waits for you to look up.  After a short while, you cautiously peer through your lashes, still nervous and uncertain until your eyes snap all the way open in recognition.  Disbelief and confusion overtake your face as your hands leaves the cradle of Din’s to touch the visage before you.

“I know you,” you whisper, blinking with wide-eyed astonishment, half expecting this image to disappear before you can comprehend its existence.  Din nods indulgently, his smile as gentle as his eyes, letting you take your time in putting all the pieces together. 

“Coruscant,” you say definitively, your memory sharpening as your heart leaps, “that wasn’t a dream?”  At the shake of Din’s head, you melt even further, “You were really there.  You took care of me.”

“Of course, mesh’la,” as his eyes crinkle, the browns of Din’s irises fleck with an enchanting hue of gold, “I wish to always take care of you.”

“But,” your thoughts struggle to form as you become distracted by how handsome the man is; your fingers run over the soft and hard lines of Din’s face, caress the curves of his smile, a cheeky finger pokes at his dimples, “why did you let me believe it was a dream?  Why didn’t you want me to know that we had met?”

As the Mandalorian sighs, his features soften and his eyes deepen with emotion – their expressiveness captivates you, “Princess, do you remember what I told you that night about why we couldn’t meet again?” Of course, you remember - you had memorized those romantic words and replayed them in your head countless times since that night; it’s only now you fully realize that poetic declaration of love wasn’t of your creation, but Din’s.  Heart blossoming, you nod and Din continues, “I admit what I said was dramatic, but the sentiment behind my words has always been true.  I am so incredibly weak for you, mesh’la.”

Your mouth opens to object, but Din anticipates you; he pulls your hands back into his, “I know you would say that I’m strong, cyare, but it’s simply not true when it comes to you.  Strong for you, yes, strong in your name, always, but when it comes to my heart, my soul?  They obey only you; I am, forever at your mercy.”

You may not agree, but a Mandalorian being vulnerable and exposing his soft underbelly is not something to scoff at; you squeeze Din’s fingers and continue to listen patiently as he closes his eyes in recollection.  You miss their warmth immediately.

“This past year without you has been excruciating, mesh’la.  It’s all I could do to scrape enough of myself together to be the father Grogu needs, but otherwise, I was barely living.  Food had no taste, drink was without spirit, and the absence of you was an ever-present weight on my chest that made it hard to even breathe at times,” Din nearly chokes, needing a minute before he can force himself to take in air properly. “I missed you every waking moment of every single day and retreated into my memories of you during each sleepless night; I was hollowed out, half of a man, tortured by the memory of true happiness and the knowledge I would never find it again,” Din finally opens his eyes and his look of sad resignation hurts your chest.

“The reason I didn’t want you to know I was really on Coruscant is the same reason I’ve tried not to be alone with you since coming back to Solana,” anguish overtakes Din’s voice, “To have even one true moment with you, anything remotely resembling what we used to share, would be like giving a sip of water to a man dying of thirst.  Once I had a taste, my weaknesses would prevail and then nothing could hold me back from quenching the thirst I’ve been living with as my constant companion.  I would not have the strength nor would I want it, to resist my heart’s deepest desires any longer.”  He looks apologetic.

“If we shared any real closeness, however briefly, I would have no choice but to throw all caution to the wind and beg for you to take me back, let me into your life again,” Din hangs his head in shame, “and that wouldn’t be fair to you, mesh’la.  I have no right.  No right to ask for connection or intimacy from you, to beg you to love me, when I have no more to offer you than I did when I left.  I have no right to risk all that you’ve worked for, to allow my own lack of restraint to spell ruin for your future and maybe even Solana’s.”

“In short, I am weak, so I ran,” a weight seems to have lifted off Din’s shoulders, “but I’m not running anymore, Princess.  I thought that hiding my feelings from you would save the both of us from a deeper wound, but now I know that was cowardice speaking - and our love deserves bravery.  Cyare, I may not be strong enough to thwart fate, but I will never abandon you again.  From now on, anything that needs to be faced, I want to face with you, together.  As long as you are willing to have me, I promise I will remain by your side and carry you through whatever may come.”

Din wishes he possessed more eloquence, but he is a mere bounty hunter appealing to real grace; he watches as you process his confession with thoughtfulness and sympathy before your angelic features relax into a familiar, affectionate look - one he’s dreamt of many times this past year, the beauty of which could only be surpassed by the words you say next:

“Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar, Din.”

Until this moment, Din Djarin did not know what true peace in one’s soul felt like.  “Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar, Princess,” he lets you pull him closer by the back of his neck until his uncovered forehead rests against yours for a helmetless Keldabe kiss.

“I thought you didn’t love me anymore,” you sniffle quietly, though your tone is one of tremendous relief.

“I could no sooner stop the rotation of a planet around its star, cyare.  I’m so sorry for letting you believe that, and even more so for having hurt you,” Din’s remorse crushes his heart, “I beg your forgiveness, my Princess, and will accept any such punishment you deem fit.”

Unable to look at you, the stoic hunter attempts to shrink; you truly believe there is a part of Din that wants you to discipline him for his transgression, and that all of him believes he deserves it – your Mandalorian has always been so hard on himself.  With a playful little grin, you duck down slightly so you can meet Din’s eye, “I won’t lie, General, there is no one in the known worlds who can shatter my heart and mend it so completely.  I’ll let the offense go unpunished this one time, but would warn you not to do anything of the sort again.” Chuckling, more generous than cheeky, you reassure your beleaguered warrior, “I am happy, Din.  There’s nothing to forgive.”

The way the tension melting from Din’s features transforms his face from world weary to that of a man ten years younger is nothing short of stunning; his voice, however, remains gruff, “It’s more than I deserve, mesh’la.  Though I admit I cannot think of any worse torture than seeing you in that wedding dress and knowing it wouldn’t be me receiving you at the end of the aisle.  That nearly killed me.”

Throwing your arms around Din’s neck, you bury your face in the scrunch of his neck cowl and burrow in deep and safe, comforted by your Mandalorian’s familiar scent and the sheer colossus of his being, “I hate that stupid dress.”

Din chuckles, rasping in your ear, “You looked beautiful.  An absolute dream, cyare.”

Snuggling in even further, you press yourself against the strength of Din’s Beskar, seeking sanctuary in the only place you’ve ever truly found peace; as you cocoon yourself in his arms, a question you can’t seem to reason out on your own continues to gnaw at you.  Looking up, you rest your chin on the heart of the General’s armour, “Din, there’s one thing I still don’t understand.  Even if I thought you merely a dream, why did you show me your face on Coruscant?  How was that allowed?  How can you show me your face right now?”

Not without some reluctance, Din lets you leave the safety his embrace and helps you sit back comfortably on the bed; still holding your hands in his, the General rests his forearms on his thighs and leans forward, serious, “I was raised to follow the Amidalor (The Way of the Mandalore) and since speaking the Creed, have lived by the tenet to never show my face to another living being.  You know that I broke this rule previously for Grogu and as a result, was deemed an apostate and stripped of my standing as a Mandalorian.  Though I broke the Creed of my own volition, and I have never and nor will I ever regret anything I do for my son, my resulting exile was one of the most difficult times of my life – rivalled perhaps, by this past year away from you.  It was only after I redeemed myself in the Living Waters of Mandalore that was I able to shed my shame and guilt, and truly regain my sense of self and identity.”

Your chest tightens, remembering; even when Din first told you the story, his sense of loss and anguish at being excommunicated by his covert came across so fresh and acute - seeing your big strong warrior still triggered by such a painful time in his life had nearly broken your heart.

“Having done it, violating the Creed again is not something I wish to consider in my lifetime.  I’m saying all this so you know I do not take lightly to the act of removing my helmet and revealing my face,” Din says gravely.  You nod along, but all this you already understood.

“In my covert, there has only ever been one known exception to the rule and that is for one’s riduur.  Even this is not widely accepted among all sects, but… I believe This is the Way and choose to live by it,” Din hard swallows; sometimes he still feels like that young foundling from Aq Vetina trying to find his footing among his new people, terrified of stepping out of line, “Among all the star systems in this galaxy, there will only ever be one being to whom I will pledge myself as a lifelong partner and who I would ever consider my spouse.  Though we never said the vows to one another, I belong to you, Princess, as one belongs to their riduur.  Only to you will I ever commit a lifetime’s devotion, only with you do I ever wish to be equal in partnership, and to you I am so bonded that I will never raise warriors with anyone else.  You see, cyare, in my heart, you are already my riduur and so my face, as with all of me, is yours.”

You’re crying now. 

Though these are not the Mandalorian marriage vows Din taught to you, the sentiments of his speech so closely mirror those words on commitment, partnership, and devotion, you can easily imagine them recited at an altar in front of loved ones.  If only you were not so overwhelmed with emotion right now; you wish you could find the words to properly express the magnitude of your own feelings and pledge your everlasting fidelity and love to the only man in the universe you will always give your everything.

Din sees you needlessly struggling; he doesn’t need any verbal confirmation to know you are of one mind – the pureness of your heart is written all over your pretty face; he tries to lighten the mood, joking, “I hope you understand now, mesh’la, why I took great offense to what you said earlier - when it comes to my riduur, feelings do not, in fact, change.”

You cry even harder.

Pulling you back into his arms, Din hums soothing noises into your hair and rubs gentle circles on your back as your tears cascade down the slope of his Beskar like a glittering waterfall, soaking into his flight suit.  Only after your breathing evens and your body relaxes into his hold does the General let you pull away, “What happens now, Din?”

“Now, you rest and recover, cyar'ika.  And after,” he pauses to kiss the back of your hands, a devoted knight swearing his allegiance, “we take it day by day, together.  There is no being or force in this galaxy that can tear me away from you ever again; I will not, cannot, leave your side save by your say so, Princess.”

How you’ve missed this – the way the steady confidence of this man and the surety of his words always give you strength.  With him, you’re allowed space to be unsure, vulnerable, even lost, able to rely on him to lead you to the right path with his unwavering support.  Never are you more certain of who you are and what you’re capable of than when you’re with Din.

“I cannot marry him, Din.”

“No, you cannot,” his tone has the same finality, the same conviction as yours – the way one might repeat a fact as simple and true as the gravitation bond between planet and moon.  Finally making this declaration out loud feels like setting your heart free from a cage; the knowledge that Din is behind you, ready to catch you, sends your spirit soaring high and into his space so that you can crash your lips to his.

This kiss, the first you’ve shared in over a year feels like coming home; it’s bathed in the relief of belonging, steeped in the comfort of knowing and being known, powerful in its own quiet calm.  Euphoria washes over your entire being like an ocean, drowning you in its embrace.

Your lips move together in a well practiced choreographed dance, the two of you falling in sync easily after all this time - but there is nothing routine or neat about the way Din’s mouth devours yours.  He presses into you, passion-filled, unruly, barely restrained; everything is too much and not enough, vividly felt, yet hazy and dreamy – all the most wonderful of contradictions.  The General’s tongue is punishing while worshipful, each stolen breath is urgent but never-ending, this kiss feels like forever and yet could never be long enough. 

You chase the end of such a kiss with a series of soft pecks, unwilling to sever the connection of your lips, except to whisper sweet affirmations to one another.

I’ve missed you.

I love you so much.

Never letting you go ever again.

Sense and practicality return too soon to your Mandalorian.  “Cyare, I know I just promised never to leave you,” Din starts, chuckling at your anticipated whine of protest, “but you must allow me to fetch the doctor.  And either Serene or Olivia to tend to you.  Likely both as they are equally worried about you.”

“And you’ll come back?”  You know he will, but there is such a comfort in the reassurance that only Din can provide.

He knows this; he knows you, “I will always come back, Princess.”

Satisfied, you let Din press one more promise to your lips before you watch him put his helmet back on and slip out the door.

---

In the hallway, Din waits for your door to fully close behind him before releasing a ragged sigh of relief, letting loose the very thread that seems to have been stitched throughout his body, holding him together this entire time; tipping his head back, Din finally lets himself properly breathe, every inhale and exhale slow and deep.

It will take more than just this moment for Din to fully embrace his new lease on life, now that the tension that’s been pulling him taut and sharp for the past year has finally dissipated - but he is content.  Smiling to himself, happy, hopeful, Din is pushing off the door in the direction of your maids’ quarters when he’s stopped in his tracks by a familiar voice,

“General.”

Din turns to see the king emerge from the shadows of a nearby alcove.

“Is there something I should know about you and my daughter?”

---

Din follows His Majesty into the closest study in silence, already kneeling in fealty by the time the older man turns around to face the Mandalorian.

“Tell me, General.  How long have you been in love with the Princess?”

Din does not miss the hint of accusation in the King’s tone – he resigns that the truth will serve everyone best, “Since the moment I met her, Your Majesty, and more so every day since.”  He knows this is not what your father is really asking, “I had already known the Princess for several weeks when you bestowed upon me the rank of General.”

Astonishment colours your father’s expression as Din continues, “Please forgive me, sire.  There was no conspiracy on either of our parts to deceive anyone, especially you, or proport ourselves inappropriately.  When I first met the Princess, I was unaware of her rank and drawn to her kindness and good nature alone.  It took very little time for me to fall beneath the spell of her wit and charm, and to be enraptured by the purity of her heart.  By the time I learned of her royal identity, I was already head over heels for the woman who held the title.”

The king sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, needing some time to process this information, “And the entire time…?”

“Nearly, Your Majesty,” Din still cannot meet the gaze of this man who he respects and venerates so much, “After I accepted the New Republic assignment, the Princess and I attempted to put a stop to our feelings, agreeing to remain within the boundaries of our stations - to be royalty and devoted knight only.  But the enormity of our respect and admiration for one another could not ultimately be contained, and after months of slowly failing restraint, we gave in to our affections for one another.”

Shaking his head, your father asks, confused, “But why would you choose to hide your relationship?  Why would you keep it from your king?”

“Because,” Din’s head snaps up in surprise, he would have thought the multitude of reasons were obvious, “… she is the Princess.  The hierarchy of court and kingdom is rigid – our love would never be accepted; its very existence could tarnish the Princess’ reputation and diminish the majesty of your royal house.  And even if by some miracle it did not, I still cannot be the future you envisioned for your daughter.”

The Mandalorian bows his head again, missing the way your father’s mouth curls with amusement, “The Princess is, by her own admission, someone with great political and diplomatic worth; membership into your great house is coveted by many in the galaxy.  Your Majesty, you must have had some expectations as to the type of person who would be deserving of marrying her?  Certainly, someone of importance, with their own respectable standing in the kingdom if not the galaxy.  Perhaps even a title or belonging to an esteemed and celebrated lineage? At the very least, you must wish her marriage to bring political or security advantage to Solana.  The Princess expects no less of herself.”

“And that, General, is how you see my daughter?  What you deem her worth?”

“No, sire.  As much as I respect her rank, the Princess’ title has no place in the esteem I hold for her,” Din’s modulated voice fills with emotion, his admiration evident to your father, “To me, she is… ethereal.  Truly one of the humblest, genuinely compassionate beings I’ve ever met – that she wields the power of her position with such grace and thoughtfulness is Solana’s great fortune and its true source of strength.  Your daughter is smart and funny, and despite her immense privilege she does not shelter herself – she exhibits such genuine zest for life and affection for people of all walks.  Her spirit is strong and full of grace, but she can be feisty and stubborn – there is never a dull moment with her.  Beyond everything, the Princess is open with her mind and generous with her heart - I cannot say there is another like her in all the worlds.”

It feels incredible to be so effusive about your amazing qualities.  Due to the secret nature of your relationship, Din has never espoused his never-ending admiration for you out loud to anyone except for Grogu; to be able to do so to your father, a man to whom Din credits many of your merits, feels like a gift, “If it were up to me, Your Majesty, the Princess would only know love and reverence for her character and not her status - she should have a partner who worships the very ground she walks on.  But duty comes first, and that is not something either of us would have her hide from.  Your daughter’s marriage should strengthen your great house and raise the glory of Solana, keeping her safe and prosperous.  And I cannot offer any of that.  I am no one.”

“Are you sure, General?” The king straightens his posture, standing regal and self assured, “That you are no one?”

Your father gestures for the Mandalorian to rise and holds unwavering eye contact with the dark T-visor as his most revered commander gets up, “How can you say you are no one, General?  Are you not the leader of my armies?  Do Solana’s military forces not look to you as their shining example of exemplary combat skill and strategic intellect?  They trust you to lead and support them in training, demonstrate for them conduct befitting the deepest, truest sense of honour, duty and valour.  And why would they not?  You treat your brothers in arms like equals and protect their families like your own despite having no ancestral ties to this land or personal reasons to pledge allegiance to their sovereign.  Are you not a hero of the Battle of Planoor, where you led our troops to victory over Imperial insurgents?  Did you not repel the scourge of the galaxy and their attacks on Solanian freedom at great personal risk to yourself?  If I’m not mistaken, you bear a permanent souvenir of that day on your body that would have dealt a lesser man a much more tragic fate.” 

The gentle warmth of your father’s eyes and the pride that shines from their depths is undeniable, “General, even if I had not decorated you for these accomplishments myself, I would still hold you in my esteem as one of the finest men in the galaxy.  You came to our planet a stranger and took every citizen of Solana under your protection; I’ve personally witness you defend and care for my subjects as if they were of your own Creed.  Never does the core of one's character ring clearer to me than in the way they show up for the innocent and defenseless; you, General, stand for what’s right and fair, always with compassion, and ever respectful of the dignity we owe to all living beings.  Decency, General, is your greatest strength.”

“Tell me this, General,” the king’s tone grows indulgent and paternal, “What type of man gives so selflessly to those from whom he would never consider asking for repayment? The same that exhibits bravery and perseverance in the face of insurmountable odds, I would think. A man who fights through his own struggles to approach even the most daunting of challenges head on in the name of justice and truth.  What chance does evil and tyranny have against this type of man who willingly puts his life on the line and never backs down from a righteous fight? Who leads by tireless example and inspires an entire nation to do the same?  General, I can not fathom how a man such as you are could view himself as no one or think himself unable to offer Solana prosperity and safety.”

Though, to most, he is generally considered a man of few words, Din has never found himself to be truly speechless until now.  He was raised to be honourable for the sake of honour, brave for bravery’s sake, and that even if a Mandalorian had nothing, he would always have his integrity; praise for living The Way is something that will always catch Din off guard.  While he’s still absorbing the generosity of your father’s words, the older man flabbergasts him yet again, “General, did you truly think I requested your return to Solana in order to review security plans?”

Behind his visor, Din’s eyes grow to the size of saucers, his attempts to speak fall flat; the modulator of his helmet picking up only awkward stuttering as the Mandalorian opens and closes his mouth repeatedly.

“I admit it took me longer than it should to make the connection between your leaving and my daughter’s change in demeanor.  She is, as you say, strong and spirited; and while she hid her sadness well, I know my own daughter and it was clear to me that something within her had broken,” the king speaks freely, the anguish of being unable to comfort his own child still an open wound, “I did suspect her upcoming marriage was the source of her dread, and privately, considered cancelling the betrothal entirely if she should wish it.  It baffled me that she was trying to hide her obvious unhappiness with the arrangement, and the more she insisted she was fine, the less I believed her.” 

Scratching his head, your father mentally retraces his own steps, “Any which way I thought about it, my daughter’s misery could be traced back to the date of her engagement, so I saw no reason for her to continue denying it… that is, until I realized it was also the same day you abruptly left Solana.  Up until that moment, I did not suspect there was anything more to your attachment than respect and a general fondness, but once I started to seriously consider your departure as the trigger for the Princess’ melancholy, I had to rethink everything I thought I knew.  Was it possible that your leaving and my daughter’s betrothal were not as unrelated as you had made it seen?”

Din is nodding along now, but the proper response to your father’s story still eludes him.  “I needed to know for certain.  I could not let my daughter sink deeper into a sorrow that she would not even admit to, so I sent you the invitation.  Forgive me for my duplicity, General – I knew that as a loyal son of Solana you would heed my call, even if it caused you what I was beginning to realize would be great pain,” his Majesty does look slightly sheepish, “You arrived and almost immediately proved my theories correct – perhaps you thought you were being subtle, but the effect you and the Princess had on one another in the East Wing parlour was tangible, electric – it charged the very air of the room.  There could be no doubt about it, there was something powerful between the two of you, I just didn’t know the extent and depth of that connection, of that love – or rather, I didn’t know until I overheard the two of you just now when the Princess work up.”  Upon finishing, your father looks satisfied, relieved.

“I love her, Your Majesty.”  It’s the truth.  And the only thing Din thinks is worthy of saying right now.

“I know.”  The king’s tone is full of fondness for his General, “And I cannot think of anyone better to whom I could entrust my daughter’s heart than the protector of the realm she loves so much.  But neither of us can nor should we speak for the Princess.  Come, let us hear what she has to say on the matter.”

---

Din paces the hall outside of your room for what feels like hours.  He’s been out here alone since your father left him at the door, except for the doctor who came and left, and the few appearances by Serene and Olivia as they rushed about their duties.

The General is still in a state of shock over what’s transpired since he found you on the Southside turret; from the complete dismantling of all his emotional walls, to your forgiveness and the reconfirmation of your love, then unbelievably, your father’s revelations – every development has felt overwhelmingly surreal.  Never in all of Din’s wildest dreams did he imagine that he would find himself in this position – and on top of everything, something even more unexpected and precarious has started to roost in his chest, a stealthy assassin that shadows his every thought: hope.

The door to your room opens to your father exiting while bidding you a swift recovery and a good night; though Din cannot hear the man’s exact words, he can tell they are full of paternal affection.  When the king turns, he makes for Din directly; expression poignant, eyes misty and full of wisdom, he clasps a hand to the Mandalorian’s shoulder pauldron, “She’s waiting for you, son.”

There’s no time to linger on the significance of the endearment, nor the litany of emotions that surge through the Mandalorian upon hearing it, because from inside the room you call to him, voice full of song, “Din!”

He leaves your father to saunter down the hall with a renewed lightness in his steps, and rushes to your bedside, kneeling once more before the ruler of his grateful heart.  You receive the collapsing frame of the strongest man you know in your open arms and tuck yourself into his covered neck, ecstatically crying.  Cupping your face, Din brushes his leathered thumbs over your wet cheeks, “Mesh’la;” he waits for you to speak more, afraid still of his own hope.

“Din!  I am to be engaged no longer,” the joy in your eyes sparkles like the most brilliant of constellations, your cheeks are flushed as if you had pinched them in disbelief, and your rosy lips quiver in hopeful excitement.  Din thinks this might be the most beautiful you’ve ever looked.  A celestial glow radiates from your very being, “Father says he will meet with our bannermen tonight and cancel the betrothal.  He will explain I’m not yet ready to be a wife and that the anxiety has been affecting my health.  They are old family friends of court, so he believes they will be understanding, but he is fully prepared to offer and provide all necessary rewards and compensation for any trouble or distressed sustained.  Father has tried to reassure me all will be okay, but I admit to some feelings of guilt.”

Din strokes your hair lovingly, forever amazed by the extent of your compassion and empathy, “I trust His Majesty, cyare.  I am sure all will be well, as he promised.  But if you do wish to speak to your former fiancé and his family directly, I will be right there with you for support.”

Hugging him tightly before pulling back to gaze into the welcoming abyss of Din’s visor, your fingers gently caress his helmet as you would the lines of his handsome face, “Will you stay now, Din?  On Solana?  With me?”

The silver dome tilts forward and its vocoder cannot mask the sincerity and conviction of Din’s pledge, “My place is and will forever be, by your side, Princess.  My weapons are yours to command, my heart is yours to hold; I fight in your name, I love in your name and the honour of doing both will forever be a part of my own personal Creed.”

Your poetic warrior.  There are no words that can properly express the immense joy and gratitude you feel for being so well loved, not only by the great man before you, but the other great man in your life, the king.  How lucky are you?  To have such a benevolent, compassionate man as your father, your mentor, and to be the chosen partner of a man who equals him in courage, decency, and selflessness?  It’s all you can do to keep from bursting into tears again.

And just when you think that this is the happiest a person could ever feel, Din, still down on one knee, holds out his Mythosaur pendant in offering and says in a voice so hushed it could almost be mistaken for his natural, unmodulated baritone,

“Princess.  Cyar’ika.  Though it is only very recently you find yourself engaged no longer, would you bestow upon me the honour of being engaged once more?”

It’s a dream, this must be a dream, you think, as you whisper back, “Yes.”

Unable to hold back the flood of happy tears any longer, you let them fall freely and press your forehead to your future riduur’s helm, sealing in your forever with a Keldabe kiss.

1 year later

On any other planet (save Mandalore, and possibly Nevarro), a Beskar covered warrior strolling casually through an outdoor market might look out of place, but not on Solana.  As Din walks down the main fairway, a head taller than every one else, he does garner a fair bit of attention, but it’s of the most welcomed variety.

“Good to see you, General!”

“Solana is glad to have its General home!”

He waves to every well wisher, shakes a few hands, and accepts offers of food and other wares from the local vendors; he has to struggle with a few to convince them to accept payment, but at the end of the day, it’s a rare being who can say no to a Mandalorian.  On a few occasions, Din has to excuse himself hastily, cutting the small talk short on account of needing to keep an eye on Grogu who wanders the market ahead of his father, also happily accepting gifts - mainly of the food sort.

Father and son are heading in the direction of the National Library to surprise you with an early return from their latest mission for the New Republic.  Halfway to their destination, Din spots a familiar figure leaning over a vendor table, examining its goods – slightly bemused and genuinely curious, Din saunters over and looms behind his unsuspecting target for several seconds before uttering, low and dangerous,

“Mayfeld.”

The bald-headed man spins around, wide-eyed and stunned, “Mando!”  Out of habit, he raises his hands in the air to show that he’s unarmed, innocent, “What are you doing here?”

“The General lives here,” the vendor interjects in a tone the suggests the answer should be obvious, “Welcome home, General.”  Din and the vendor exchange polite nods before the latter goes to help another customer.  Meanwhile, Mayfeld purses his lips into a smile, amused by this newly acquired information, “General, eh?  Listen, Mando – I’m not here for any trouble!  I’ve been living the straight and narrow life since…” he shrugs and turns his palms upward to make a gesture that Din assumes is meant to indicate Mayfeld’s prison break, faked death, or both.  “I’m just trying to find a place to settle down, have a nice, quiet life.  And Solana’s known to be friendly to those looking to make a fresh start!  I swear I didn’t know that… whoa, whoa… wait a minute!” Mayfeld’s expression turns panicked as he spots the Royal Guard change the direction of their march and make a beeline to where he’s standing with Din.

“Relax, Mayfeld,” chuckles Din, “they’re here for me, not you.”

The synchronized footsteps of Solana’s finest come to a halt a few feet from their fearless leader, standing in the position of attention, they salute in unison, “General!  Welcome back, General!”

Din returns their salute with an invitation to be at ease, then warmly greets the Lieutenant who steps forward with a clasp of forearms, “Lieutenant, right on schedule.  I’m happy to inform you that I can grant you and your men early dismissal from your duties today.”

The uniformed man tuts jovially and nods in understanding, “The offer is appreciated, General.  If it’s all the same to you, the Guard will accompany you to the library, and from there, you can relieve us of our charge.”

Din gives his second-in-command a hearty clap on the shoulder to indicate his appreciation and agreement with this plan; at their commander’s approval, the troops resume their previous course, with Din also preparing to move once he confirms that Grogu is still wandering ahead in that same direction.

Mayfeld has yet to recover from the wonder of this exchange when Din addresses him again, “Let’s go, Mayfeld.  If you’re serious about settling down on Solana, it’s best you come with me.”  Even if the man thought that the Mandalorian bore him ill will (which Migs’ gut tells him he does not), he would be a fool to refuse after having just witnessed Din’s command over the planet’s security forces.

A few minutes of walking in silence is all Mayfeld can manage, “So, Mando… these guys work for you?”

“We all serve the King of Solana.”

“Right, right.  But, like, you’re their leader?”

“I’m their commanding officer, yes.”

“Did you have to… I dunno, fight and defeat the previous General for the position or something?”

“No.”

“Hey, is that your little green guy up ahead?”

“Yes, that’s Grogu.”

“Okay, okay!  He’s bigger than the last time I saw him… you remember?  We were on that… you know what?  Never mind where that was, he’s definitely bigger!  He’s a growing… boy?”

“Yes, boy.”

“And you know, Mando… just in case, you were worried, I want you to know, I kept my promise… I’ve never told anyone I saw your face or what you look like… as far as I’m concerned, that never happened.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“Right, right… and you still don’t do that, right?  Show anybody anything?? I don’t mean any disrespect to the Creed!  It just seems like a lot of things have changed since the last time we… hung out?  Took out some Imps? You know what I’m getting at, Mando?”

And so on and so forth, the primarily one-sided nervous chattering is non-stop for the entire walk.  Din can’t pretend he isn’t amused, but his Beskar covers it well.  He keeps his answers short and clipped, mainly to mess with Migs, but also so he can keep his attention on the library building as it comes into view.

The General knows you’re coming out before he even sees you because he hears an adorable squeak emanating from his son, followed by Grogu turning into a little green blur scurrying at an impressive speed up the library’s front steps.

“Little love!” Your voice rings out sweet and melodious as you exit the front doors, quickening your own steps forward to meet the small green fur ball that force jumps into your arms.  You cuddle him close and flutter kisses all over his happy face, “You’re home early!”

“Are you okay?  Did you get hurt?” You fuss lovingly over your son, letting him coo back his reassurances, then tickle him adoringly - the two of you purring and giggling in reunion, oblivious to all those around you.  Nuzzling your nose into the top of Gorgu’s soft head to smell his sweet scent, you ask the single most important of questions, “Are you hungry?” followed by, “Where is your father?”

As an answer to the latter, Grogu points to where Din is standing, and to the former, he drops from your arms and waddles over to a captain of the Royal Guard who had somehow been relegated to holding all your son’s collected market snacks.

You pick up your skirts and run straight for the General, flying into his arms with a force that would have knocked a lesser man onto his back.  But he isn’t a lesser man, he's your man.  A Mandalorian.  Your smile is so wide and bright, Din thinks for a moment his helmet HUD has been blinded – but perhaps it’s simply that his own eyes have crinkled closed from smiling so hard himself. 

To be back in Din’s arms after nearly three weeks apart, your longest separation since his official return to Solana, feels like a homecoming; all the tension and worry floats from you body as he lifts you off your feet and you melt into the brilliance and safety of his armoured embrace.

To be in Din’s arms at all, out here in the open, is something you will never take for granted.

Even after your previous engagement was dissolved, you and Din agreed to continue keeping your relationship a secret from your subjects.  Your main concern had been the feelings of your former fiancé and his family.  Though the long-time friends and trusted members of court had accepted your father’s decision to end the betrothal with grace and understanding, flaunting your and Din’s love so soon after would have been beyond inconsiderate, cruel even.  The idea that people who have been nothing but kind and loyal to the crown might suffer embarrassment due to whisperings and gossip was more than you could stomach.  Privately, you also worried that the public might mistakenly blame Din or think him capable of something dishonourable.

Your father had supported discretion – in his experience, the general population preferred to be spared the messy details of palace life, and very rarely reacted well to multiple announcements of change; it would be best to wait and let Solanians come around to the cancellation of the royal wedding in their own time, before springing anything new on them.   

Behind the closed doors of the castle, however, there was no need for any such prudence.  You were free to openly hold Din’s hand, express you admiration and appreciation for the man, praise him, tease him in front of others, shower him with affection.  Even this liberation was more than you had ever dared to dream for your love; to this day, you continue to cherish every open touch, every uninterrupted embrace, every endearment spoken in front of others.  Your attraction and desire for one another you still kept private, sacred for just the two of you, but now there was no more need for pretense, no more false goodbyes at the dinner table, no more sneaking into your bedchambers via the balcony.

Finally, your love could just breathe; it could blossom in the light, instead of shrinking into the safety of the shadows.  You and Din could touch, comfort, even look at one another without being mindful of who was around, how much time had past, that it might be the last time.  For all of the privilege and fortune of your title, there is nothing you will ever prize more than an unhurried morning spent with the love of your life, restful and worry free.

In public, everything remained above board; you kept things subtle and formal, Din remained close and protective - the most devoted knight to his Princess.  You really ought to have given the people of Solana more credit. 

That Din’s return to the realm and the dissolution of your betrothal occurred in short order was neither here nor there, barely registering to your subjects as mere coincidence.  What they did notice was that their Princess appeared happier, lighter, no longer beleaguered by the unknown sadness that had plagued you for the past year.  You once again exuded the joie de vivre that they had so missed, exemplifying the passion and optimism that many consider the foundation of Solanian culture; they were getting their Princess back.

The General, long admired for his strategic brilliance, combat skills and strong leadership, Solanians welcomed back on his own merits.  But it wasn’t long before his public appearances with you drew eyes to him in a way they had not previously.  His protective positioning over you was one of a supportive shield, always gentle, never aggressive or oppressive – he hovered at the ready without ever interfering with your authority; you were free and safe to be your authentic self, a bright star around which his calm, steady presence naturally orbited.

His intuition always place him right where you needed him to be, anticipatory and respectful.  He doted over you.  Quietly spoiled you.  He cared for you a great deal - that much was obvious to those with eyes to see.  Over time, Capital inhabitants who would describe themselves ranging from inquisitive to flat-out nosy, noticed that the General would often reach for you before catching himself, that the unseen eyes behind the black T-visor lingered on you longer than necessary, that the press of his guiding hand on your back was more affectionate than instructive.  After several months of observed ‘evidence’, confident in their powers of deduction, Solanians collectively concluded that the General was indeed in love with their Princess; and rather endearingly, united in their hope that the Princess may one day return his affections.

To the absolute delight of the now invested realm, it appeared that you were slowly opening your heart to the hardened warrior.  His quiet words made you laugh out loud and his thoughtful attention drew from you the most breathtaking of smiles.  His soft touches were allowed to linger longer and then longer, and eventually, you began returning them with you own.  You faced each other, walked side by side – no longer royalty followed by a knight in her service, but equals, trusted confidants.  The day you took Din’s arm while strolling through the capital’s market place, the glassware vendors won a handsome wager from the weaving merchants.  As the encouraging smiles and approving glances from the public grew bolder and more apparent, so did your public displays of familiarity and affection, until hand holding, long embraces, and forehead to helmet touches while amongst your people were all common place. 

You could not have been more grateful for their support, but to your subjects, loving their sovereign as well as she had always loved them, was an honour.  For Solanians, the sight of their Princess happy and safe in the arms of their General was cause for celebration – and so, without any formal announcement, your attachment was a secret no longer. 

You murmur into where the fabric of Din’s cape meets his cowl the same questions you asked his son, “Are you okay?  Did you get hurt?” Fingers digging and groping all the soft spots between the Beskar, you nuzzle in deep, ready to hibernate in Din’s warmth after so many long days apart.  Din squeezes you back tightly, “I’m perfect now that I’m back with you, mesh’la.  No injuries this time.”

His modulated husk sends shivers down your spine and you wiggle in the Mandalorian’s strong grip with a little bit of cheek, “I’ll feel better when I check you over myself later.”

“Me too,” Din’s voice is liquid velvet, his words a promise.

The two of you share a private chuckle before he presses the helm of his silver dome to your forehead and holds the kiss for a quiet moment.  Only when Din unhands you do you notice the stranger next to him eyeing the two of you with what can only be described as incredulous shock.  To your surprise, Din acknowledges him directly, “Mayfeld, let me introduce to you the Princess of Solana -”

Mayfield bows, somehow both in awe and disbelieving that his old acquaintance can make such a fortuitous introduction, “Your Highness, it’s an honour-”

“- my wife,” Din finishes, grin evident to anyone within earshot.

Tossing all attempts at decorum aside, Mayfeld’s head snaps up to stare confoundedly at the Beskar-clad man, practically screeching, “Your wife?!?”

You can’t help but look over at Din in amazement as well, unable to conceal the thrill and pride that runs through you at having being claimed out loud and proud.

You and Din had quietly married six months ago in a small ceremony attended by only a handful of your closest friends and family; then honeymooned for ten blissful days on Nevarro, just the two of you.  Trading in your titles and rank for domesticity and the simple life of Din’s cabin on the lava flats, you don’t think you’ve ever felt quite as carefree or relaxed in all your life as you did as a newlywed in the Outer Rim.  Your days were spent leisurely: meeting Din’s old friends, breaking bread with Magistrate Karga, giggling with the Anzellans who called you “Pretty Lady” (“Good job, Big Guy!”), long and lazy blurrg rides over the planet’s rocky flats and hills, perusing for souvenirs in the Nevarro City market, coming home to the isolated quiet of your cozy abode.  Your nights were equally as varied, with Din taking you at all hours in every manner, on each and every surface of his house.  There was much to be said for the freedom to be as loud as you wanted, as wanton in your cries of ecstasy as you needed, as prolific and unrestrained in your lust for your riduur as you desired.  Helmet on, helmet off, it didn’t matter – the man you rode for hours, naked and dripping wet in the planet’s volcanic hot springs was yours and you didn’t care who heard.    

Upon return from your little slice of heaven, there didn’t appear any obvious reason to announce your marriage.  If their past behaviour was to be any indication, your subjects would likely figure it out in time – there was no rush, if you were happy, they were happy; as far as Solanians were concerned, their Princess had already selected the future King consort and they wholeheartedly approved.

Accordingly, the opportunities to be announced as Din’s wife have been few and far between; you study this Mayfeld with tremendous curiosity - who is this man to Din that he would so openly and happily share such an intimate detail about your lives?

“Yes,” you nod happily, “I am his riduur.”

The man resumes his awkwardly low bow, “Congratulations, Your Highness!  Uh, and well done, Mando… I mean, General.”

Din’s large hand rubs your lower back lovingly as you bend over to pick up Grogu, who after satiating his craving for Solanian delicacies, has come seeking your attention; as you straighten, Din pats a still stunned Mayfeld on the back and answers your unspoken question, “Mayfeld helped me obtain some critical Imperial intel at great risk to himself.  Without him, we would not have so quickly rescued Grogu from Moff Gideon.”

“Oh!” Your eyes widen in understanding, “Thank you, Mr. Mayfeld!  Thank you for helping rescue my son!”  Familiar with most parts of the tale, you’re incredibly interested to learn more about this man and his role in Din and Grogu’s life before you, but more than that, you’re truly grateful, “Please join us at the castle for dinner tonight! Have you yet to find lodging? If not, you shall be our honoured guest until you do. And if you should ever decide to extend your stay on Solana, I will personally do what I can to help you settle in as comfortably as possible.”

You slide your arm through Mayfeld’s as he thanks you and tells you to call him Migs.  Then Mayfeld, you, and Grogu in your arms, form a chain and start heading towards the castle, the Royal Guard walking alongside in perfect formation.  Din admires the sway of your hips and the graceful glide of your movements for a few minutes before shifting his soulful gaze to his son chirping happily in your arms, safe, full, loved.

Following from behind, Din is catching up on military reports and capital news with his Lieutenant when he’s distracted by the sight of you throwing your head back in laughter, genuinely amused by something Mayfeld has just told you – likely an anecdote that the Mandalorian might prefer to stay buried alongside Mayfeld’s prison record.  Both you and Mayfeld turn at the same time to look at Din; you with a cheeky grin and a cute little shrug before you turn back around, Mayfeld looking absolutely gobsmacked while dramatically mouthing, “YOUR WIFE?!?!?!” then returning his attention to you.

Din maintains his pace, keeping an adoring and protective eye on you and his son, his family, from a comfortable distance; grinning broadly beneath the helmet, he murmurs to no one in particular, proud and content, “My wife.”

🎶All Night by Beyoncé🎶:

Found the truth beneath your lies And true love never has to hide (True love never has to hide) I'll trade your broken wings for mine (Trade your broken wings for mine) I've seen your scars and kissed your crime (Seen your scars and kissed your crime)

All night long Love, all night long Sweet love, all night long Sweet love, all night long All I wanna, ain't no other We together, I remember Sweet love, all night long

They say true love's the greatest weapon To win the war caused by pain (pain) But every diamond has imperfections But my love's too pure to watch it chip away (chip a-, chip a-, chip away) Boy, nothing real can be threatened True love breathes salvation back into me With every tear came redemption And my torturer became my remedy

All night long Love, all night long Sweet love, all night long Sweet love, all night long All I wanna, ain't no other We together, I remember Sweet love, all night long

How I missed you, my love

A few tags for those who have commented or reblogged that I tortured them with the angst - I am sorry again and thank you for supporting me and this series! @okiegal68 @bishtrouille @johnssherlock221 @baronessvonglitter @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

You decide you don't care.

You've run into Joel Miller again, twenty years after your hot summer fling. You were young and stupid and horny, and he was your neighbor Tommy's older brother. Time tore you apart from each other, but seeing him again only reignited what you felt for him all these years. Now Tommy is getting married, and fate, in the form of a rehearsal dinner, has brought you and Joel together again.

He slows his movements just to watch you squirm, dragging the length of him almost all the way out before slamming back in. "Jerked off so many times just thinkin' about you," he murmurs, voice rough with want as he picks up the pace.

"Fuck," you whimper, your walls fluttering around him. "It was one summer," you whisper. "Just three months of fucking." You've tried to deny yourself the pleasure of calling, or even checking his social media, but your attempt to mitigate the summer you grew up always failed. Even now the sweet sting of the stretch around him is familiar, a homecoming.

"Still know how to take me just right, don't you?" His voice is gravel, words strangled as his hips roll in slow, deep thrusts, savoring every second of being inside you after so long. "God.. missed this. Missed you."

"Fuck," you sigh. "More, Joel," you beg.

"Greedy little bug," he chuckles, using the nickname you swore you hated but secretly loved. His words are puncutated by sharp thrusts: "Always. So. Damn. Needy."

You whimper his name with each thrust. culminating in your climax, your walls pulsing around him like hummingbird wings.

"Just like that," he pants, his movements becoming erratic as he chases his own release. A ragged groan tears from his throat, hips snapping forward to bury himself as deep as possible, spilling inside you with a shuddering exhale.

Even back then, boasting that you'd just gotten on birth control, you'd only ever taken him raw. Just like now. Joel's slumped against you, spent and boneless, face tucked into the crook of your neck as he takes shaky, uneven breaths.

"We should get back to the others," you tell him.

He huffs out a breathless laugh against your skin. "Yeah.. you're right. Damn it." He eases out of you, cleaning you up as best he can with a Kleenex from your purse. Quickly you both fix your clothing and get tidied up. "I'll go first," you tell him. "You come later. We don't want to arouse suspicion, okay?"

"Only if you promise me a dance at the reception tomorrow," he says with a smirk.

"Jesus, we're not doing this again," you tell him with more conviction than you actually feel. "Fine," you give in. "One dance. Tomorrow. Then it's over."

You quickly dab on more lipstick as you make your way back to the dining room, almost running into Tess. Joel's wife Tess.

A glass of red wine in her hand, she eyes you up and down with a lifted brow. "There you are. Was starting to think you got lost or something. Maria's looking for you."

"There was a line for the restroom," you lie. "So.. how have you been? Where's Joel?" You feign not having seen him.

She sips her wine, her eyes perceptive, almost accusatory in their glint. "I've been good. And Joel's around here somewhere.. he went to step outside for a smoke."

Suddenly he's next to you, having come from a separate corridor. His hand is on the small of your back for the briefest of moments before he goes to Tess's side. "Hey, sweetheart." He places a soft kiss on her cheek. "Hey you," he says congenially, as if he hadn't just filled you up with his cum just five minutes ago.

"There you are. Great to see you, Joel." You force a smile on your face, hating to have to endure this pretense.

"Likewise, bug. You look lovely." His words are nonchalant; the way his gaze lingers on you is anything but. Tess arches a brow but stays quiet.

Suddenly you feel the gush of his spend in your panties. Apparently you hadn't cleaned up all that well earlier. And apparently he'd come pretty deep inside you. "Thank you," you say, excusing yourself. "I'll, uh, see you tomorrow. I don't want to keep the bride waiting."

"And how do you know these people again?" your husband Aaron asks as you take your seats in the church pew. Tommy and Maria's wedding is about to start soon, and to play it safe, you chose seats right in the middle, groom's side.

"Tommy was my neighbor during high school. We were friends." You fidget with your dress, a slate blue that was one of the few allowed colors mentioned in the invitation. "And we dated very briefly," you add, unable to keep some of the truth from him. "But I did befriend Maria after they got engaged."

He nods, brows drawn together. "So we're at your ex-boyfriend's wedding."

"Not my recent ex, obviously. I was with Tommy years ago." Your hand covers his in an attempt to soothe him. It seems you're always trying to soothe and reassure and appease him. Maybe that's why the moment you saw Joel at the rehearsal dinner last night you had no qualms about fucking him like you'd been starving for it.

The ceremony itself is interminable. You're glad you opted for a quick city hall wedding yourself. But today there are candles and hymns and prayers and during the vows, the most important part of this morning, your eyes can't help but drift to Joel, standing next to his little brother at the altar. He must feel your gaze on him, because he instantly pins you down with his stare, bold and impertinent, yet giving nothing away. As always, what goes on between you is of utmost secrecy.

At the reception, Joel stands at the head table, microphone in hand, his voice smooth and practiced as he delivers his Best Man speech. "To put it plainly, I can't think of two people more deserving of this happiness than my little brother and his wife," he finishes, smiling at Tommy and Maria.

The guests applaud and toast the bride and groom with champagne. The taste is sour in your mouth as you watch Joel take Tess out onto the dance floor. "I Swear" by Jason Michael Montgomery plays smoothly over the speakers and your envious, hungry eyes take in the sight of Joel and Tess dancing close together. He leans in to murmur in Tess's ear and she chuckles, giving him a soft kiss before they part. The DJ shifts to another song.

Joel makes a beeline straight for you.

You sit up straight, heart pounding as he asks you to dance. Giving a nervous glance to your husband you smile politely in acceptance, promising Aaron you'll return soon to dance with him too. You put down your napkin and join Joel.

"What do you think you're doing?" you whisper, maintaining a tight smile for the other guests to see.

"Just thinkin' how ironic it is now. Both Miller brothers off the table, officially. Feels like only yesterday you were taking us one after the other, filling you up, stretching you out, pumping our cum into you." Despite his salacious words he looks like he's talking to you about golf, or the weather, or any mundane thing.

"You should've put that in your Best Man speech," you mutter, and try to keep from yelping as he pinches you. "I remember," you admit, caving in to the memories. "I remember.."

Those were sweltering summer days when you'd come home from college, restless, young, stupid. How quickly you'd found Joel and Tommy, the latter all too eager. There was a certain thrill in seducing Joel. You'd wanted him the most - his experience and his aloofness. But after that summer your parents moved away, and you were no longer neighbors with the Millers. Years went by. Joel found Tess and married her. After hearing about it you spent the following months in a kind of stupor, finding the man who would eventually become your husband and putting all the unspent passion into that relationship. You told yourself it worked, that it was only right. Even years later when you still don't feel that spark for him.

Only ever with Joel.

"I guess all good things have to come to an end," you tell him.

"Not always," he replies. "Meet me in the washroom in five."

After making some halfhearted excuse to your husband you wait in the handicapped stall, leaning against the wall, hoping for the tiles to cool your burning skin. Your panties are already drenched in anticipation. Joel enters, clicking the door shut behind him and locking it. He crowds you against the wall immediately, lifting your dress over your thighs.

"Look at this mess," his voice is pure gravel as his fingers glide through your slick folds before pressing two digits deep inside. "Already drippin' for me like some cheap whore.." You gasp at his touch and he quickly plants his palm over your mouth to quiet you. His lips brush the shell of your ear. "Don't want anyone to hear what a little slut you are." He adds a third finger. stretching you out so deliciously as he fucks in and out in slow, deep strokes. "Bet nobody else ever made you this wet." He curls his fingers, eliciting a whimper from you as they stroke tantalizingly against your g-spot. "Answer me, bug.."

"No," you gasp, voice muffled by his hand. "No one else.."

"No one else," he repeats in agreement. "It's always been me." He pulls his hand away and replaces it with his mouth, kissing you hard and rough. The heel of his hand grinds against your clit.

"Just fuck me," you beg him, and with one gruff motion he spins you to face the wall, yanking your hips back against him.

"Fine." His voice is raw as the sound of his belt buckle coming undone behind you. He tugs your dress up and pulls your panties down. Not bothering with patience, his palm comes down on your bare ass in a sharp crack before he lines himself up and shoves into you to the hilt.

"Fuck," he groans as you're trying desperately to keep your whimpers quiet, "still so goddamn tight." One hand holds you in place while the other fists in your hair, ruining your styled coif, tilting your head back so his lips can ghost over yours, teasing but not giving. "Now be quiet," he warns, "unless you want everyone to hear how much of a slut I made outta you."

"Joel!" you gasp as he fucks into you from behind, each thrust punctuated by a sharp snap of his hips.

"That's it, take it," he growls, fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you back onto him with every brutal push, the lewd slap of skin echoing off the tiles. "Gonna fill this pretty cunt up so good they'll smell me on you when you walk outta here-"

"Joel!" you whisper harshly as the restroom door opens. He twitches inside you as he stills, your bodies locked in place as the person stumbles to a urinal. Joel bites down on a groan, keeping you pinned to the wall. "Don't fucking move," he whispers. Despite his warning to you, he does move. A slow, torturous roll of his hips has him grinding deeper instead of pulling out, your shared whimpers muffled by the sink running, the unknown interloper now washing their hands. You bite your lip so hard you taste copper as Joel grinds into you.

"Stop," you hiss as quietly as you can.

"It's just gettin' good," Joel whispers. He grabs hold of your hips and starts quick thrusts, his hand clamping over your mouth to stifle your moans, but the unmistakable sound of fucking is still heard, echoing. All you can think about is the way his cock is plunging perfectly inside you, hitting the spot no one else has ever been able to find, fucking you with the precision that makes you fall apart so easily.

Joel pulls back to watch your ass bounce with each thrust, the perfect ripples across your plush curves. Nothing in this world could make him harder, nothing else could make him want to ruin his life. "Feel me deep inside?" he growls. "That's where I belong," he says with a particularly sharp thrust that has you coming, muffling your moans with your palm. Joel speeds up, chasing his release, at last spilling into you fast and deep, forehead resting against the nape of your neck.

"Am I only gonna get to fuck you at weddings now?" he murmurs, voice gravelly with satisfaction. He gives one more emphatic thrust and your moan vibrates against his palm. As much as he doesn't want to let go, he slowly pulls out of you, helping you clean up.

"Not funny," you whisper, barely coming down from your high. "We can't do this again.." A small groan leaves your throat as he disengages, leaving you clenching around nothing. "We're crazy.." You shake your head, forehead touching the tiles as Joel takes care of the mess he made in you.

“I’d take crazy with you any day,” Joel murmurs, his voice rough but affectionate. “Even if it means the risk of getting caught in a compromising position in a public restroom.”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “Fate is always listening.”

“You and your superstitions,” he teases. “If Fate’s listening, then Fate better not cockblock me.” He gives a gentle squeeze on your hip, as if to soothe the doubts you're having."Stay here, all right? I'll see if the coast's clear."

You don't know what you're doing. It's the first time you've seen him in twenty years and you can't ignore the frisson of want that strikes through you. Despite all these years apart you know you'd do anything he asks. You're that far gone for him.

You nod and he kisses your forehead before slipping out of the stall and running right into your husband.

"Uh, Joel?" your husband says. "Your wife is looking for you." His eyes flick to the restroom stall where you're hidden out of sight.

Your slick is drying on his softening cock and it's all he can do to keep a straight face. "Thanks. Hey if you see your wife tell her I'm lookin' for her. We've got a lot to catch up on." He claps Aaron hard on the shoulder and leads him out of the men's room. "You're a lucky man, my friend."

... to the spouse reveals in the present, and the flashbacks and reminiscing about the old sexcapades all while we were supposed to be celebrating the sanctity of marriage at this wedding??! SO NAUGHTY 😩😩😩

And your Joel's MOUTH 😭😭😭

"... Both Miller brothers off the table, officially. Feels like only yesterday you were taking us one after the other, filling you up, stretching you out, pumping our cum into you." EXCUSE ME??!

Girl... you had me stressing in that bathroom 😭😭😩 I kept reading the same three paragraphs over and over trying to double check to see if the other person had left??? And of course, OF COURSE, it was who it was 😭🫠🫠

He knew coming back to Solana was a mistake the moment he saw you walk into the room in that wedding dress.

Kriff, he knew it was a mistake when he received your father’s communique, but still accepted the invitation to return, somehow managing to convince himself that he would be able to handle it.

That was a mistake, too.

Din one hundred percent does not have a handle on it, himself or anything else.

He understood the danger he was opening his heart to in coming back, fully knowing that he would have to leave you again - which is why he didn’t bring Grogu; he thought he had properly weighed that inevitable torture against the heaven of seeing you again, hearing your voice once more, just being in the same room as your perfume – he could endure it. He told himself he had to.

Unfortunately, Din had grossly underestimated the hold you still have on him, while overestimating his own fortitude. 

From his very first glimpse of you stepping into the room, all reason flew out of the Mandalorian’s head.  Your graceful figure stopped his heart dead while the glow of your beautiful countenance shocked it back to life in an endless cycle.  You carried the silk masterpiece draping off your body so well, it was you who was the work of art, not the garment; barely breathing, Din likened this moment to visiting a painting after having only seen it in a holofilm – his memories and dreams of you didn’t hold a candle to the real thing.  The feared warrior was about to keel over and all you had done was walk across the room - you hadn’t even noticed him yet.

It was only when he heard your breathy thanks for his assistance with your dress that Din truly understood the magnitude of his error.  That’s all it took: you speaking to him one time and he was ready to throw away all semblance of decorum and honour, get on his knees and obey your every wish and desire - no matter how disastrous for either of you.  With great difficultly, Din forced himself to avert his gaze from your beautiful face - for fear that he might see some sign from you, real or imagined, that would give him permission to haul you over his shoulder and steal you out of the room.

This was the moment Din Djarin reconciled with the truth that he was indeed, a weak, weak man.  And a fiend.  Since that chance meeting with you on Coruscant, the absence of you dominated his every waking hour and plagued each sleepless night somehow more persistently than ever.  He was an addict, and you his drug of choice – after that sweet hit months ago, his mind, body and soul were constantly jonesing for more.

At the same exact time, Din realized the risk he exposed you to by returning.  To be in such close proximity and not be able to touch, kiss, or hold you was asking a level of restraint and control that he could no longer promise to embody.  If, for even a nanosecond, his heart believed he could reclaim the life he once shared with you, Din would surrender to his desires completely and discard any remaining sense of duty, decency. 

He had no qualms admitting he would happily sacrifice himself if only to taste the sweetness of your kiss again, to feel your soft body fold against his, to see you arch as he made you come over and over, hear you whimper his name as he filled you.  He would do it all even fully knowing it could be but a brief dream, a spelled mirage that would be broken once you married and he left again – the last time having nearly killed him, would Din have the strength to survive such a devastating blow twice?  He loved you enough to be willing to find out.

Dank Farrik. Perhaps his own downfall he could accept, but Din was unwilling to subject you to that same fate.  On Coruscant, in your inebriated state, you had been so candid and unguarded in admitting how deeply you had grieved, how hollow his leaving had left you – how could he force you to suffer the pain of separation again?  The sadness and hurt he witnessed in your pretty eyes that night haunt him to this day still – only a villain would risk your chance for future happiness just because he couldn’t control his damn self.

And what if he did something even more foolish than reaffirm his everlasting love for a woman he could never be with?  Like ask you to come with him?  To leave behind your entire life, your duty, your stupid fiancé?  Because, what if you came?  And for what?  A lone bounty hunter with few credits to his name and even less merit after he stole the Princess of a planet that has shown him and his son nothing but kindness and welcome?  A man with nothing but deserved shame and a small cabin on the outskirts of an insignificant planet in the Outer Rim.  You would forsake your honour and homeland, the love of your people, the future you’ve been working towards all your life for that?  For Din?  He would stain your reputation and that of your royal house for his own selfish desires, deprive you of the chance to start a family with your new husband and continue your illustrious line?  He could not.  You would resent him and certainly grow to hate him.  He would lose you all over again, only this time slow and tortuous. 

No, for both of you to survive, Din needed to cut himself off at the knees.  As unnatural as it felt, he had to build a defensive wall between you and his heart, blockading any hope of affection and tenderness, if he was to have a chance at protecting what was left of your peace.  You and him were always destined to end, but he would suffer now, alone in silence, if it meant lessening your agony in the future.

While your father made polite small talk, Din vowed himself to be a stranger to you so there would be no chance of falling into familiar old patterns, of seeking the intimacy of your company.  He steeled his body, tone, thoughts, and even his unseen facial expression to one of impassibility and indifference.  If the fires of his love for you did not burn so intensely, the coldness he forced himself to exude might have actually frozen over his heart.

He hid from you for as long as he could after leaving the East wing parlour, afraid of what even one moment alone with you would do to his defenses - but fate’s cruel sense of humour caught up with the Mandalorian as surely as did you in that stairwell.  Din drowns in his own regret and shame as he thinks back to this last conversation with you, likely the last the two of you will ever have – your palpable confusion and hurt had sent his heart reeling and beating violently against its Beskar cage, screaming and begging to be heard.

*****

“Din.”

“Princess.”  Yes, cyare. Cyar’ika. Mesh’la. Riduur.

“Din, can we go somewhere to talk?”

“What would we need to talk about, Princess?”  Anything you desire, mesh’la, but may I ask, only talk?  I wish desperately to hold you in my arms and kiss the honey of your lips once more. 

“Why have you come, Din?”

“Your father recalled me to review the adequacy of the security plans for your wedding; I’m here to ensure that your nuptials proceed without disruption.”  I missed you too much and I’m not strong enough to stay away anymore.  Every single day for the past year I’ve fought against it, but my path has always been to return to Solana and reunite with the part of myself that I left here with you. 

“You’ve come to help give me away?”

“Solana called, and I am here to fulfill my duty to its people.”  I would rather die, but I don’t have a choice.

“I thank you for your service, General.”

“Is there anything further, Princess?”  Please don’t cry, cyare - it kills me to hurt you like this.

“In your haste to leave previously, this was left behind; now that you’re here, General, it can be returned to its rightful owner.”

“I thank you, Princess.”  This pendant, as with my heart, is yours and always will be.  I will find some way to return it to you so you will always have a piece of the Mandalorian who loves you, even if you hate me.  Ni kartyli gar darasuum (I love you).

*****

Din does everything in his power to avoid you for the rest of the day, but the image of your crestfallen face and the despair with which you proclaimed he’s forgotten you follow him like an unrelenting wraith, gloomy and accusatory.  Even when he goes to the training grounds to reunite with his former comrades, the invisible string that tethers him to you for always tugs until he cannot ignore its pull any longer – he instinctively looks up to the southside tower and sees you waiting for him, as you have so many times before, in that secret spot.

The Mandalorian wishes to go to you more than anything - it would be so easy for him to take off and fly into your waiting arms, but the consequences of doing so keep him firmly grounded; the ripping of his heart would only be temporarily mended if he gave in now, just to tear open later into an merciless chasm of pain that would swallow you both.  So, Din pretends not to see you - he fists his hands so hard his palms hurt, just so he isn’t tempted to adjust his helmet display to zoom in on your beauty, and he distracts himself with the comradery of the men under his former command.  When it comes time to file into the castle, he forces himself to do so without checking if you’re still on the turret. 

Dinner comes and goes.  Din is in equal measures disappointed and relieved when Serene announces that you’ve retired early after a full day, and he’s still conflicted when the time comes to bring his plate back to his old room to eat alone.  But once inside his former quarters, self-flagellation wins out – the knowledge that you’re somewhere near, hurting, and he cannot comfort you sits like a pit in Din’s stomach.  That you truly believe him to no longer care for you unsettles the Mandalorian to the point of nausea – appetite gone, he cannot bring himself to eat even one bite.

He decides to go for a calming walk around the castle instead.  There’s a storm rolling in now; the percussive sounds of rain and thunder a welcomed accompaniment to the wild beating of Din’s heart.  He’s loved Solanian rainstorms ever since that night in the Solana countryside when he bore the skin of his body to you for the first time, while the outside torrential downpour enveloped and muffled the sounds of your perfect first lovemaking.

About to do a third turn of the hallways in the West wing, Din’s sensors pick up on the commotion of scurrying feet above him, the addition of harsh, frantic tones lead him upstairs to investigate.  His instincts kick in at the sight of Serene and Olivia’s panicked expressions and pleading gestures to a small group of the Royal Guard; upon hearing the thunder of the Mandalorian’s approach, the crowd falls silent and turns towards the noise.

“General!” The guards stand at attention and both your lady’s maids look relieved at Din’s appearance. 

“What’s wrong?” The General’s heart pounds – it already knows the answer.

The two women look at each other, unsure, before Olivia pipes up, “It’s the Princess, General.  She’s missing and we cannot find her anywhere.”

“When and where is the last time she was seen?”

“In her bedchambers. Right after…” Olivia falters awkwardly, not sure how much to reveal in front of the Guard; Serene saves her, “… after you left her on the stairs this afternoon, General.”  The anger in her voice is unheard by most among them, but not Din; to him it’s loud and well deserved.

But he cannot dwell on that right now.  Military precision and strategic mind snapping into place, Din lays out a search plan to cover as much area as possible in as little time as possible, then dispatches his men.  He himself runs straight to the South tower.

The rage of the outside storm provides cover for the echoing boom of his heavy footsteps, but nothing can quiet the yell inside Din’s head as he races through the castle, no, no, please no.  He reaches the door to your secret meeting place in record time, hoping against hope that another member of the legion has already found you.

The door is stuck. 

Din pushes and pulls the jammed handle.  He throws his weight against the thick paneling.  The narrowness of the spiraled staircase leading to this remote area of the castle prevents him from getting the leadup he needs, but still he tries over and over to shove his way through to the outside.  Huffing and out of breath, Din adjusts the infrared reader on his internal display to see what’s beyond the door.

Nothing.  Thank goodness.  Out of habit, he does a secondary scan to make sure before turning to go.

Wait.

Barely perceptible and flickering so quickly he nearly missed it, a subtle flush of warmth shimmers small and faint on Din’s HUD.  The Mandalorian recalibrates his sensors so that the heat signature materializes slightly more in focus; now that he knows where to look, he can make out a shape on the ground.  It barely glows, dimming and flashing erratically.  It’s dying.

No!

Ready to burn down the door, Din’s blaster is out of his holster faster than he can think; he shoots at the lock until it’s mangled and smoking and then shoulders his entire body weight against the door until it splinters open.  He fights against the howl of the wind now rushing to enter the castle in order to get to you, cape whipping around his body, rain slicing against his visor.

Skidding across the slippery wet stone floor, the great warrior drops to his knees in one frantic motion to hover over your unmoving body, trying to shield you from the rain.  It makes no difference, your clothes and hair are so drenched and waterlogged they practically pin you to the floor, every part of you is wet and you’re so, so cold. 

“Cyare, please, wake up, please, please,” Din pats your face gently, trying to dry and warm your cheeks with his gloves to no avail, “wake up, please.  Come back, come back to me.”  You make no response, face ghoulishly unmoving, unnatural hue taking over your countenance.

Fear like he’s only ever felt when Grogu’s been in harm’s way grips onto Din’s insides and twists. 

No, no, no, please, no.  It cannot end like this.  I cannot lose you like this.  Please, Maker, no.

With a surge of super human strength, Din lifts your limp body and cradles you close to his chest, protected and treasured, “Mesh’la, we need to get you dry.  I’m going to get you help.  You’re going to be okay.  You have to be okay.  Don’t leave me, please.” 

Then, he runs.

At the bottom of the Southside tower stairs, Din starts yelling for help as he runs towards where he last saw another soul, anyone.  It feels like the castle is an empty labyrinth tonight and despite the racket he’s making, help does not meet him quickly enough - Din doesn’t think, he just keeps going, muscle memory taking over as his feet bring him to your bedchamber doors where luckily, both Olivia and Serene have heard his call and rush to meet him.

“Please,” he begs, “she’s so cold.” He’s not in the right mind to explain further or do anything other than hold you as directed while your maids strip and try to dry you.  After laying you in bed, Din stumbles until his back hits the wall, paralyzed by the worst-case scenario fears running rampant through his mind. 

What if he were to never see your eyes sparkle again, either with mischief, in wonder, or full of lust?  Never hear the melody of your voice cooing sweet praise and encouragement to his son?  What if that cold, unfeeling utterance of your title was the last thing he ever said to you?  What if your final thoughts of him were that he didn’t love you, that he didn’t live and die by the very thought of you?

What if everything he had forced the both of you to suffer since returning had all been for naught, that even when trying to protect you he could only hurt you?

People attempt to get his attention - they suggest he leave to get some rest, give you some privacy, tell him there’s nothing more he can do for you right now, but Din hears none of it.  Doctors, nurses, Serene, Olivia, servants, his Lieutenant – he pays none of them any heed; all Din knows is there is only one voice that can send him away and that’s yours.  He might actually growl this at the doctor.

Din remains in your room, an ever-vigilant gargoyle looming fierce and protective, his eagle eyes scrutinize every move made near or to you, his approval necessary to proceed.  He is immovable, unapproachable, ferocious, inconsolable – a sentinel on guard with nothing to lose but the treasure over which he keeps watch.  The Mandalorian’s stubbornness yields small results but results nonetheless; after a few hours of being bundled up and all manner of heating pads and blankets being added to your bed, you look better, definitely drier.  Din’s helmet readings confirm those of the medical equipment: your body temperature is slowly, but steadily rising, your heartbeat is once again strong enough to be picked up by his sensors. 

But you don’t wake up.

The doctor says to be patient, the nurses say he doesn’t need to stay; the former is more difficult than Din anticipated, the later impossible.  He sits vigil by your side, barely blinking so he doesn’t miss any changes in your condition, frustration growing when nothing does.  By hour six after having found you, Din is ready to send for his son and ask Grogu to Force heal you.

Who needs sleep when he has worry and guilt?  Din knew you were up on that turret all by yourself, and he knows why you were there.  He knows he’s the reason you’re lying in this bed right now, fighting for your very life.  He should have gotten to you sooner.  He should have never let you wait up there alone.  What if Serene and Olivia hadn’t told him you were missing?  What if he hadn’t conducted his second scan and you had been locked out in the rain overnight?

What if… what if… what if…

Din drops his head, cradling his helmet in his hands, unable to stop the spiral of his thoughts and the turmoil of his heart.  Maker, please, please let her be okay.  I’ll do anything, give anything - she just has to be okay, please.

If you’re not awake by morning he’s going to call Grogu.

---

Slowly, you try to blink your eyes open, the bright lights of the room sharp and stinging – all you can manage is to squint; only able to turn your head in tiny increments, you haltingly scan your surroundings until coming upon the imposing, armoured figure waiting at the bedside.

“Din?” you barely recognize the scrape of your own voice.

“Mesh’la,” panic and relief flood through the Mandalorian’s modulator in equal measure, “You’re awake.  How are you feeling?  Does anything hurt?”

Adjusting your body in small measures, each ache and every soreness catching you by surprise, you manage to shimmy up slightly into a sitting position with Din’s help.  It takes you until now to realize you’re in your own bed; still disoriented you manage to croak out, “Everything hurts?  Din… what happened?”

“The door on the Southside tower… it was locked and you got trapped outside in the storm.  No one could find you… when Olivia told me you were missing, I… I tried to get there as fast as I could…” Din chokes on his words as he relives the fear of those moments.

Recollection flashes behind your eyes as you start to remember – the wedding dress viewing, giving back the Mythosaur pendant, fleeing to the tower, letting go, the numbing cold of the rain - you nod in comprehension, “You saved me.  Thank you, Din.”

“I do not deserve your thanks, cyare.  It is my fault you were up there, my fault you got hurt,” Din drops his head in shame, “I’m so sorry, mesh’la.  I was avoiding you and shouldn’t have… I knew you were up there and didn’t go to you… this is all my fault… you were out there in the cold for so long… who know what could have happened if…”

“But it didn’t happen.  You found me,” Din’s obvious guilt chips at your heart, “There’s no need for apologies, Din.  It’s not as if we made an agreement to both go to the tower – I was there of my own free will and you were under no obligation to come meet me.  None of this is your fault, really, General.  Feelings change.  I understand.”

Feelings changed??  No, you didn’t understand at all.

The absurdity of your words necessitate the only action Din deems to be appropriate, as bold and brutal as it is.

Clang!

Din’s helmet is ripped from his head and thrown to the ground so quickly you’re nearly unable to squeeze your eyes shut in time. “Din!” you gasp, shocked.

Grimacing as your muscles scream in protest, the effort to sweep your hands up to your eyes hurts more than you want to admit – but that pain is nothing compared to your fear of the harm it would do to see Din’s face uncovered.

Rough leather envelops your hands and gently pulls them away from your face, “Princess, it’s okay.” You shake your head as adamantly as you can, keeping your eyes closed.  Din’s gravely baritone remains gentle and reassuring, “Trust me, cyar’ika.  Open your eyes.”

Even with his explicit permission, you still feel hesitant; slowly, you open your eyes but keep your gaze lowered, focusing on the gentle way Din holds your hands - his thumbs rubbing gentle circles over the backs as he patiently waits for you to look up.  After a short while, you cautiously peer through your lashes, still nervous and uncertain until your eyes snap all the way open in recognition.  Disbelief and confusion overtake your face as your hands leaves the cradle of Din’s to touch the visage before you.

“I know you,” you whisper, blinking with wide-eyed astonishment, half expecting this image to disappear before you can comprehend its existence.  Din nods indulgently, his smile as gentle as his eyes, letting you take your time in putting all the pieces together. 

“Coruscant,” you say definitively, your memory sharpening as your heart leaps, “that wasn’t a dream?”  At the shake of Din’s head, you melt even further, “You were really there.  You took care of me.”

“Of course, mesh’la,” as his eyes crinkle, the browns of Din’s irises fleck with an enchanting hue of gold, “I wish to always take care of you.”

“But,” your thoughts struggle to form as you become distracted by how handsome the man is; your fingers run over the soft and hard lines of Din’s face, caress the curves of his smile, a cheeky finger pokes at his dimples, “why did you let me believe it was a dream?  Why didn’t you want me to know that we had met?”

As the Mandalorian sighs, his features soften and his eyes deepen with emotion – their expressiveness captivates you, “Princess, do you remember what I told you that night about why we couldn’t meet again?” Of course, you remember - you had memorized those romantic words and replayed them in your head countless times since that night; it’s only now you fully realize that poetic declaration of love wasn’t of your creation, but Din’s.  Heart blossoming, you nod and Din continues, “I admit what I said was dramatic, but the sentiment behind my words has always been true.  I am so incredibly weak for you, mesh’la.”

Your mouth opens to object, but Din anticipates you; he pulls your hands back into his, “I know you would say that I’m strong, cyare, but it’s simply not true when it comes to you.  Strong for you, yes, strong in your name, always, but when it comes to my heart, my soul?  They obey only you; I am, forever at your mercy.”

You may not agree, but a Mandalorian being vulnerable and exposing his soft underbelly is not something to scoff at; you squeeze Din’s fingers and continue to listen patiently as he closes his eyes in recollection.  You miss their warmth immediately.

“This past year without you has been excruciating, mesh’la.  It’s all I could do to scrape enough of myself together to be the father Grogu needs, but otherwise, I was barely living.  Food had no taste, drink was without spirit, and the absence of you was an ever-present weight on my chest that made it hard to even breathe at times,” Din nearly chokes, needing a minute before he can force himself to take in air properly. “I missed you every waking moment of every single day and retreated into my memories of you during each sleepless night; I was hollowed out, half of a man, tortured by the memory of true happiness and the knowledge I would never find it again,” Din finally opens his eyes and his look of sad resignation hurts your chest.

“The reason I didn’t want you to know I was really on Coruscant is the same reason I’ve tried not to be alone with you since coming back to Solana,” anguish overtakes Din’s voice, “To have even one true moment with you, anything remotely resembling what we used to share, would be like giving a sip of water to a man dying of thirst.  Once I had a taste, my weaknesses would prevail and then nothing could hold me back from quenching the thirst I’ve been living with as my constant companion.  I would not have the strength nor would I want it, to resist my heart’s deepest desires any longer.”  He looks apologetic.

“If we shared any real closeness, however briefly, I would have no choice but to throw all caution to the wind and beg for you to take me back, let me into your life again,” Din hangs his head in shame, “and that wouldn’t be fair to you, mesh’la.  I have no right.  No right to ask for connection or intimacy from you, to beg you to love me, when I have no more to offer you than I did when I left.  I have no right to risk all that you’ve worked for, to allow my own lack of restraint to spell ruin for your future and maybe even Solana’s.”

“In short, I am weak, so I ran,” a weight seems to have lifted off Din’s shoulders, “but I’m not running anymore, Princess.  I thought that hiding my feelings from you would save the both of us from a deeper wound, but now I know that was cowardice speaking - and our love deserves bravery.  Cyare, I may not be strong enough to thwart fate, but I will never abandon you again.  From now on, anything that needs to be faced, I want to face with you, together.  As long as you are willing to have me, I promise I will remain by your side and carry you through whatever may come.”

Din wishes he possessed more eloquence, but he is a mere bounty hunter appealing to real grace; he watches as you process his confession with thoughtfulness and sympathy before your angelic features relax into a familiar, affectionate look - one he’s dreamt of many times this past year, the beauty of which could only be surpassed by the words you say next:

“Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar, Din.”

Until this moment, Din Djarin did not know what true peace in one’s soul felt like.  “Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar, Princess,” he lets you pull him closer by the back of his neck until his uncovered forehead rests against yours for a helmetless Keldabe kiss.

“I thought you didn’t love me anymore,” you sniffle quietly, though your tone is one of tremendous relief.

“I could no sooner stop the rotation of a planet around its star, cyare.  I’m so sorry for letting you believe that, and even more so for having hurt you,” Din’s remorse crushes his heart, “I beg your forgiveness, my Princess, and will accept any such punishment you deem fit.”

Unable to look at you, the stoic hunter attempts to shrink; you truly believe there is a part of Din that wants you to discipline him for his transgression, and that all of him believes he deserves it – your Mandalorian has always been so hard on himself.  With a playful little grin, you duck down slightly so you can meet Din’s eye, “I won’t lie, General, there is no one in the known worlds who can shatter my heart and mend it so completely.  I’ll let the offense go unpunished this one time, but would warn you not to do anything of the sort again.” Chuckling, more generous than cheeky, you reassure your beleaguered warrior, “I am happy, Din.  There’s nothing to forgive.”

The way the tension melting from Din’s features transforms his face from world weary to that of a man ten years younger is nothing short of stunning; his voice, however, remains gruff, “It’s more than I deserve, mesh’la.  Though I admit I cannot think of any worse torture than seeing you in that wedding dress and knowing it wouldn’t be me receiving you at the end of the aisle.  That nearly killed me.”

Throwing your arms around Din’s neck, you bury your face in the scrunch of his neck cowl and burrow in deep and safe, comforted by your Mandalorian’s familiar scent and the sheer colossus of his being, “I hate that stupid dress.”

Din chuckles, rasping in your ear, “You looked beautiful.  An absolute dream, cyare.”

Snuggling in even further, you press yourself against the strength of Din’s Beskar, seeking sanctuary in the only place you’ve ever truly found peace; as you cocoon yourself in his arms, a question you can’t seem to reason out on your own continues to gnaw at you.  Looking up, you rest your chin on the heart of the General’s armour, “Din, there’s one thing I still don’t understand.  Even if I thought you merely a dream, why did you show me your face on Coruscant?  How was that allowed?  How can you show me your face right now?”

Not without some reluctance, Din lets you leave the safety his embrace and helps you sit back comfortably on the bed; still holding your hands in his, the General rests his forearms on his thighs and leans forward, serious, “I was raised to follow the Amidalor (The Way of the Mandalore) and since speaking the Creed, have lived by the tenet to never show my face to another living being.  You know that I broke this rule previously for Grogu and as a result, was deemed an apostate and stripped of my standing as a Mandalorian.  Though I broke the Creed of my own volition, and I have never and nor will I ever regret anything I do for my son, my resulting exile was one of the most difficult times of my life – rivalled perhaps, by this past year away from you.  It was only after I redeemed myself in the Living Waters of Mandalore that was I able to shed my shame and guilt, and truly regain my sense of self and identity.”

Your chest tightens, remembering; even when Din first told you the story, his sense of loss and anguish at being excommunicated by his covert came across so fresh and acute - seeing your big strong warrior still triggered by such a painful time in his life had nearly broken your heart.

“Having done it, violating the Creed again is not something I wish to consider in my lifetime.  I’m saying all this so you know I do not take lightly to the act of removing my helmet and revealing my face,” Din says gravely.  You nod along, but all this you already understood.

“In my covert, there has only ever been one known exception to the rule and that is for one’s riduur.  Even this is not widely accepted among all sects, but… I believe This is the Way and choose to live by it,” Din hard swallows; sometimes he still feels like that young foundling from Aq Vetina trying to find his footing among his new people, terrified of stepping out of line, “Among all the star systems in this galaxy, there will only ever be one being to whom I will pledge myself as a lifelong partner and who I would ever consider my spouse.  Though we never said the vows to one another, I belong to you, Princess, as one belongs to their riduur.  Only to you will I ever commit a lifetime’s devotion, only with you do I ever wish to be equal in partnership, and to you I am so bonded that I will never raise warriors with anyone else.  You see, cyare, in my heart, you are already my riduur and so my face, as with all of me, is yours.”

You’re crying now. 

Though these are not the Mandalorian marriage vows Din taught to you, the sentiments of his speech so closely mirror those words on commitment, partnership, and devotion, you can easily imagine them recited at an altar in front of loved ones.  If only you were not so overwhelmed with emotion right now; you wish you could find the words to properly express the magnitude of your own feelings and pledge your everlasting fidelity and love to the only man in the universe you will always give your everything.

Din sees you needlessly struggling; he doesn’t need any verbal confirmation to know you are of one mind – the pureness of your heart is written all over your pretty face; he tries to lighten the mood, joking, “I hope you understand now, mesh’la, why I took great offense to what you said earlier - when it comes to my riduur, feelings do not, in fact, change.”

You cry even harder.

Pulling you back into his arms, Din hums soothing noises into your hair and rubs gentle circles on your back as your tears cascade down the slope of his Beskar like a glittering waterfall, soaking into his flight suit.  Only after your breathing evens and your body relaxes into his hold does the General let you pull away, “What happens now, Din?”

“Now, you rest and recover, cyar'ika.  And after,” he pauses to kiss the back of your hands, a devoted knight swearing his allegiance, “we take it day by day, together.  There is no being or force in this galaxy that can tear me away from you ever again; I will not, cannot, leave your side save by your say so, Princess.”

How you’ve missed this – the way the steady confidence of this man and the surety of his words always give you strength.  With him, you’re allowed space to be unsure, vulnerable, even lost, able to rely on him to lead you to the right path with his unwavering support.  Never are you more certain of who you are and what you’re capable of than when you’re with Din.

“I cannot marry him, Din.”

“No, you cannot,” his tone has the same finality, the same conviction as yours – the way one might repeat a fact as simple and true as the gravitation bond between planet and moon.  Finally making this declaration out loud feels like setting your heart free from a cage; the knowledge that Din is behind you, ready to catch you, sends your spirit soaring high and into his space so that you can crash your lips to his.

This kiss, the first you’ve shared in over a year feels like coming home; it’s bathed in the relief of belonging, steeped in the comfort of knowing and being known, powerful in its own quiet calm.  Euphoria washes over your entire being like an ocean, drowning you in its embrace.

Your lips move together in a well practiced choreographed dance, the two of you falling in sync easily after all this time - but there is nothing routine or neat about the way Din’s mouth devours yours.  He presses into you, passion-filled, unruly, barely restrained; everything is too much and not enough, vividly felt, yet hazy and dreamy – all the most wonderful of contradictions.  The General’s tongue is punishing while worshipful, each stolen breath is urgent but never-ending, this kiss feels like forever and yet could never be long enough. 

You chase the end of such a kiss with a series of soft pecks, unwilling to sever the connection of your lips, except to whisper sweet affirmations to one another.

I’ve missed you.

I love you so much.

Never letting you go ever again.

Sense and practicality return too soon to your Mandalorian.  “Cyare, I know I just promised never to leave you,” Din starts, chuckling at your anticipated whine of protest, “but you must allow me to fetch the doctor.  And either Serene or Olivia to tend to you.  Likely both as they are equally worried about you.”

“And you’ll come back?”  You know he will, but there is such a comfort in the reassurance that only Din can provide.

He knows this; he knows you, “I will always come back, Princess.”

Satisfied, you let Din press one more promise to your lips before you watch him put his helmet back on and slip out the door.

---

In the hallway, Din waits for your door to fully close behind him before releasing a ragged sigh of relief, letting loose the very thread that seems to have been stitched throughout his body, holding him together this entire time; tipping his head back, Din finally lets himself properly breathe, every inhale and exhale slow and deep.

It will take more than just this moment for Din to fully embrace his new lease on life, now that the tension that’s been pulling him taut and sharp for the past year has finally dissipated - but he is content.  Smiling to himself, happy, hopeful, Din is pushing off the door in the direction of your maids’ quarters when he’s stopped in his tracks by a familiar voice,

“General.”

Din turns to see the king emerge from the shadows of a nearby alcove.

“Is there something I should know about you and my daughter?”

---

Din follows His Majesty into the closest study in silence, already kneeling in fealty by the time the older man turns around to face the Mandalorian.

“Tell me, General.  How long have you been in love with the Princess?”

Din does not miss the hint of accusation in the King’s tone – he resigns that the truth will serve everyone best, “Since the moment I met her, Your Majesty, and more so every day since.”  He knows this is not what your father is really asking, “I had already known the Princess for several weeks when you bestowed upon me the rank of General.”

Astonishment colours your father’s expression as Din continues, “Please forgive me, sire.  There was no conspiracy on either of our parts to deceive anyone, especially you, or proport ourselves inappropriately.  When I first met the Princess, I was unaware of her rank and drawn to her kindness and good nature alone.  It took very little time for me to fall beneath the spell of her wit and charm, and to be enraptured by the purity of her heart.  By the time I learned of her royal identity, I was already head over heels for the woman who held the title.”

The king sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, needing some time to process this information, “And the entire time…?”

“Nearly, Your Majesty,” Din still cannot meet the gaze of this man who he respects and venerates so much, “After I accepted the New Republic assignment, the Princess and I attempted to put a stop to our feelings, agreeing to remain within the boundaries of our stations - to be royalty and devoted knight only.  But the enormity of our respect and admiration for one another could not ultimately be contained, and after months of slowly failing restraint, we gave in to our affections for one another.”

Shaking his head, your father asks, confused, “But why would you choose to hide your relationship?  Why would you keep it from your king?”

“Because,” Din’s head snaps up in surprise, he would have thought the multitude of reasons were obvious, “… she is the Princess.  The hierarchy of court and kingdom is rigid – our love would never be accepted; its very existence could tarnish the Princess’ reputation and diminish the majesty of your royal house.  And even if by some miracle it did not, I still cannot be the future you envisioned for your daughter.”

The Mandalorian bows his head again, missing the way your father’s mouth curls with amusement, “The Princess is, by her own admission, someone with great political and diplomatic worth; membership into your great house is coveted by many in the galaxy.  Your Majesty, you must have had some expectations as to the type of person who would be deserving of marrying her?  Certainly, someone of importance, with their own respectable standing in the kingdom if not the galaxy.  Perhaps even a title or belonging to an esteemed and celebrated lineage? At the very least, you must wish her marriage to bring political or security advantage to Solana.  The Princess expects no less of herself.”

“And that, General, is how you see my daughter?  What you deem her worth?”

“No, sire.  As much as I respect her rank, the Princess’ title has no place in the esteem I hold for her,” Din’s modulated voice fills with emotion, his admiration evident to your father, “To me, she is… ethereal.  Truly one of the humblest, genuinely compassionate beings I’ve ever met – that she wields the power of her position with such grace and thoughtfulness is Solana’s great fortune and its true source of strength.  Your daughter is smart and funny, and despite her immense privilege she does not shelter herself – she exhibits such genuine zest for life and affection for people of all walks.  Her spirit is strong and full of grace, but she can be feisty and stubborn – there is never a dull moment with her.  Beyond everything, the Princess is open with her mind and generous with her heart - I cannot say there is another like her in all the worlds.”

It feels incredible to be so effusive about your amazing qualities.  Due to the secret nature of your relationship, Din has never espoused his never-ending admiration for you out loud to anyone except for Grogu; to be able to do so to your father, a man to whom Din credits many of your merits, feels like a gift, “If it were up to me, Your Majesty, the Princess would only know love and reverence for her character and not her status - she should have a partner who worships the very ground she walks on.  But duty comes first, and that is not something either of us would have her hide from.  Your daughter’s marriage should strengthen your great house and raise the glory of Solana, keeping her safe and prosperous.  And I cannot offer any of that.  I am no one.”

“Are you sure, General?” The king straightens his posture, standing regal and self assured, “That you are no one?”

Your father gestures for the Mandalorian to rise and holds unwavering eye contact with the dark T-visor as his most revered commander gets up, “How can you say you are no one, General?  Are you not the leader of my armies?  Do Solana’s military forces not look to you as their shining example of exemplary combat skill and strategic intellect?  They trust you to lead and support them in training, demonstrate for them conduct befitting the deepest, truest sense of honour, duty and valour.  And why would they not?  You treat your brothers in arms like equals and protect their families like your own despite having no ancestral ties to this land or personal reasons to pledge allegiance to their sovereign.  Are you not a hero of the Battle of Planoor, where you led our troops to victory over Imperial insurgents?  Did you not repel the scourge of the galaxy and their attacks on Solanian freedom at great personal risk to yourself?  If I’m not mistaken, you bear a permanent souvenir of that day on your body that would have dealt a lesser man a much more tragic fate.” 

The gentle warmth of your father’s eyes and the pride that shines from their depths is undeniable, “General, even if I had not decorated you for these accomplishments myself, I would still hold you in my esteem as one of the finest men in the galaxy.  You came to our planet a stranger and took every citizen of Solana under your protection; I’ve personally witness you defend and care for my subjects as if they were of your own Creed.  Never does the core of one's character ring clearer to me than in the way they show up for the innocent and defenseless; you, General, stand for what’s right and fair, always with compassion, and ever respectful of the dignity we owe to all living beings.  Decency, General, is your greatest strength.”

“Tell me this, General,” the king’s tone grows indulgent and paternal, “What type of man gives so selflessly to those from whom he would never consider asking for repayment? The same that exhibits bravery and perseverance in the face of insurmountable odds, I would think. A man who fights through his own struggles to approach even the most daunting of challenges head on in the name of justice and truth.  What chance does evil and tyranny have against this type of man who willingly puts his life on the line and never backs down from a righteous fight? Who leads by tireless example and inspires an entire nation to do the same?  General, I can not fathom how a man such as you are could view himself as no one or think himself unable to offer Solana prosperity and safety.”

Though, to most, he is generally considered a man of few words, Din has never found himself to be truly speechless until now.  He was raised to be honourable for the sake of honour, brave for bravery’s sake, and that even if a Mandalorian had nothing, he would always have his integrity; praise for living The Way is something that will always catch Din off guard.  While he’s still absorbing the generosity of your father’s words, the older man flabbergasts him yet again, “General, did you truly think I requested your return to Solana in order to review security plans?”

Behind his visor, Din’s eyes grow to the size of saucers, his attempts to speak fall flat; the modulator of his helmet picking up only awkward stuttering as the Mandalorian opens and closes his mouth repeatedly.

“I admit it took me longer than it should to make the connection between your leaving and my daughter’s change in demeanor.  She is, as you say, strong and spirited; and while she hid her sadness well, I know my own daughter and it was clear to me that something within her had broken,” the king speaks freely, the anguish of being unable to comfort his own child still an open wound, “I did suspect her upcoming marriage was the source of her dread, and privately, considered cancelling the betrothal entirely if she should wish it.  It baffled me that she was trying to hide her obvious unhappiness with the arrangement, and the more she insisted she was fine, the less I believed her.” 

Scratching his head, your father mentally retraces his own steps, “Any which way I thought about it, my daughter’s misery could be traced back to the date of her engagement, so I saw no reason for her to continue denying it… that is, until I realized it was also the same day you abruptly left Solana.  Up until that moment, I did not suspect there was anything more to your attachment than respect and a general fondness, but once I started to seriously consider your departure as the trigger for the Princess’ melancholy, I had to rethink everything I thought I knew.  Was it possible that your leaving and my daughter’s betrothal were not as unrelated as you had made it seen?”

Din is nodding along now, but the proper response to your father’s story still eludes him.  “I needed to know for certain.  I could not let my daughter sink deeper into a sorrow that she would not even admit to, so I sent you the invitation.  Forgive me for my duplicity, General – I knew that as a loyal son of Solana you would heed my call, even if it caused you what I was beginning to realize would be great pain,” his Majesty does look slightly sheepish, “You arrived and almost immediately proved my theories correct – perhaps you thought you were being subtle, but the effect you and the Princess had on one another in the East Wing parlour was tangible, electric – it charged the very air of the room.  There could be no doubt about it, there was something powerful between the two of you, I just didn’t know the extent and depth of that connection, of that love – or rather, I didn’t know until I overheard the two of you just now when the Princess work up.”  Upon finishing, your father looks satisfied, relieved.

“I love her, Your Majesty.”  It’s the truth.  And the only thing Din thinks is worthy of saying right now.

“I know.”  The king’s tone is full of fondness for his General, “And I cannot think of anyone better to whom I could entrust my daughter’s heart than the protector of the realm she loves so much.  But neither of us can nor should we speak for the Princess.  Come, let us hear what she has to say on the matter.”

---

Din paces the hall outside of your room for what feels like hours.  He’s been out here alone since your father left him at the door, except for the doctor who came and left, and the few appearances by Serene and Olivia as they rushed about their duties.

The General is still in a state of shock over what’s transpired since he found you on the Southside turret; from the complete dismantling of all his emotional walls, to your forgiveness and the reconfirmation of your love, then unbelievably, your father’s revelations – every development has felt overwhelmingly surreal.  Never in all of Din’s wildest dreams did he imagine that he would find himself in this position – and on top of everything, something even more unexpected and precarious has started to roost in his chest, a stealthy assassin that shadows his every thought: hope.

The door to your room opens to your father exiting while bidding you a swift recovery and a good night; though Din cannot hear the man’s exact words, he can tell they are full of paternal affection.  When the king turns, he makes for Din directly; expression poignant, eyes misty and full of wisdom, he clasps a hand to the Mandalorian’s shoulder pauldron, “She’s waiting for you, son.”

There’s no time to linger on the significance of the endearment, nor the litany of emotions that surge through the Mandalorian upon hearing it, because from inside the room you call to him, voice full of song, “Din!”

He leaves your father to saunter down the hall with a renewed lightness in his steps, and rushes to your bedside, kneeling once more before the ruler of his grateful heart.  You receive the collapsing frame of the strongest man you know in your open arms and tuck yourself into his covered neck, ecstatically crying.  Cupping your face, Din brushes his leathered thumbs over your wet cheeks, “Mesh’la;” he waits for you to speak more, afraid still of his own hope.

“Din!  I am to be engaged no longer,” the joy in your eyes sparkles like the most brilliant of constellations, your cheeks are flushed as if you had pinched them in disbelief, and your rosy lips quiver in hopeful excitement.  Din thinks this might be the most beautiful you’ve ever looked.  A celestial glow radiates from your very being, “Father says he will meet with our bannermen tonight and cancel the betrothal.  He will explain I’m not yet ready to be a wife and that the anxiety has been affecting my health.  They are old family friends of court, so he believes they will be understanding, but he is fully prepared to offer and provide all necessary rewards and compensation for any trouble or distressed sustained.  Father has tried to reassure me all will be okay, but I admit to some feelings of guilt.”

Din strokes your hair lovingly, forever amazed by the extent of your compassion and empathy, “I trust His Majesty, cyare.  I am sure all will be well, as he promised.  But if you do wish to speak to your former fiancé and his family directly, I will be right there with you for support.”

Hugging him tightly before pulling back to gaze into the welcoming abyss of Din’s visor, your fingers gently caress his helmet as you would the lines of his handsome face, “Will you stay now, Din?  On Solana?  With me?”

The silver dome tilts forward and its vocoder cannot mask the sincerity and conviction of Din’s pledge, “My place is and will forever be, by your side, Princess.  My weapons are yours to command, my heart is yours to hold; I fight in your name, I love in your name and the honour of doing both will forever be a part of my own personal Creed.”

Your poetic warrior.  There are no words that can properly express the immense joy and gratitude you feel for being so well loved, not only by the great man before you, but the other great man in your life, the king.  How lucky are you?  To have such a benevolent, compassionate man as your father, your mentor, and to be the chosen partner of a man who equals him in courage, decency, and selflessness?  It’s all you can do to keep from bursting into tears again.

And just when you think that this is the happiest a person could ever feel, Din, still down on one knee, holds out his Mythosaur pendant in offering and says in a voice so hushed it could almost be mistaken for his natural, unmodulated baritone,

“Princess.  Cyar’ika.  Though it is only very recently you find yourself engaged no longer, would you bestow upon me the honour of being engaged once more?”

It’s a dream, this must be a dream, you think, as you whisper back, “Yes.”

Unable to hold back the flood of happy tears any longer, you let them fall freely and press your forehead to your future riduur’s helm, sealing in your forever with a Keldabe kiss.

1 year later

On any other planet (save Mandalore, and possibly Nevarro), a Beskar covered warrior strolling casually through an outdoor market might look out of place, but not on Solana.  As Din walks down the main fairway, a head taller than every one else, he does garner a fair bit of attention, but it’s of the most welcomed variety.

“Good to see you, General!”

“Solana is glad to have its General home!”

He waves to every well wisher, shakes a few hands, and accepts offers of food and other wares from the local vendors; he has to struggle with a few to convince them to accept payment, but at the end of the day, it’s a rare being who can say no to a Mandalorian.  On a few occasions, Din has to excuse himself hastily, cutting the small talk short on account of needing to keep an eye on Grogu who wanders the market ahead of his father, also happily accepting gifts - mainly of the food sort.

Father and son are heading in the direction of the National Library to surprise you with an early return from their latest mission for the New Republic.  Halfway to their destination, Din spots a familiar figure leaning over a vendor table, examining its goods – slightly bemused and genuinely curious, Din saunters over and looms behind his unsuspecting target for several seconds before uttering, low and dangerous,

“Mayfeld.”

The bald-headed man spins around, wide-eyed and stunned, “Mando!”  Out of habit, he raises his hands in the air to show that he’s unarmed, innocent, “What are you doing here?”

“The General lives here,” the vendor interjects in a tone the suggests the answer should be obvious, “Welcome home, General.”  Din and the vendor exchange polite nods before the latter goes to help another customer.  Meanwhile, Mayfeld purses his lips into a smile, amused by this newly acquired information, “General, eh?  Listen, Mando – I’m not here for any trouble!  I’ve been living the straight and narrow life since…” he shrugs and turns his palms upward to make a gesture that Din assumes is meant to indicate Mayfeld’s prison break, faked death, or both.  “I’m just trying to find a place to settle down, have a nice, quiet life.  And Solana’s known to be friendly to those looking to make a fresh start!  I swear I didn’t know that… whoa, whoa… wait a minute!” Mayfeld’s expression turns panicked as he spots the Royal Guard change the direction of their march and make a beeline to where he’s standing with Din.

“Relax, Mayfeld,” chuckles Din, “they’re here for me, not you.”

The synchronized footsteps of Solana’s finest come to a halt a few feet from their fearless leader, standing in the position of attention, they salute in unison, “General!  Welcome back, General!”

Din returns their salute with an invitation to be at ease, then warmly greets the Lieutenant who steps forward with a clasp of forearms, “Lieutenant, right on schedule.  I’m happy to inform you that I can grant you and your men early dismissal from your duties today.”

The uniformed man tuts jovially and nods in understanding, “The offer is appreciated, General.  If it’s all the same to you, the Guard will accompany you to the library, and from there, you can relieve us of our charge.”

Din gives his second-in-command a hearty clap on the shoulder to indicate his appreciation and agreement with this plan; at their commander’s approval, the troops resume their previous course, with Din also preparing to move once he confirms that Grogu is still wandering ahead in that same direction.

Mayfeld has yet to recover from the wonder of this exchange when Din addresses him again, “Let’s go, Mayfeld.  If you’re serious about settling down on Solana, it’s best you come with me.”  Even if the man thought that the Mandalorian bore him ill will (which Migs’ gut tells him he does not), he would be a fool to refuse after having just witnessed Din’s command over the planet’s security forces.

A few minutes of walking in silence is all Mayfeld can manage, “So, Mando… these guys work for you?”

“We all serve the King of Solana.”

“Right, right.  But, like, you’re their leader?”

“I’m their commanding officer, yes.”

“Did you have to… I dunno, fight and defeat the previous General for the position or something?”

“No.”

“Hey, is that your little green guy up ahead?”

“Yes, that’s Grogu.”

“Okay, okay!  He’s bigger than the last time I saw him… you remember?  We were on that… you know what?  Never mind where that was, he’s definitely bigger!  He’s a growing… boy?”

“Yes, boy.”

“And you know, Mando… just in case, you were worried, I want you to know, I kept my promise… I’ve never told anyone I saw your face or what you look like… as far as I’m concerned, that never happened.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“Right, right… and you still don’t do that, right?  Show anybody anything?? I don’t mean any disrespect to the Creed!  It just seems like a lot of things have changed since the last time we… hung out?  Took out some Imps? You know what I’m getting at, Mando?”

And so on and so forth, the primarily one-sided nervous chattering is non-stop for the entire walk.  Din can’t pretend he isn’t amused, but his Beskar covers it well.  He keeps his answers short and clipped, mainly to mess with Migs, but also so he can keep his attention on the library building as it comes into view.

The General knows you’re coming out before he even sees you because he hears an adorable squeak emanating from his son, followed by Grogu turning into a little green blur scurrying at an impressive speed up the library’s front steps.

“Little love!” Your voice rings out sweet and melodious as you exit the front doors, quickening your own steps forward to meet the small green fur ball that force jumps into your arms.  You cuddle him close and flutter kisses all over his happy face, “You’re home early!”

“Are you okay?  Did you get hurt?” You fuss lovingly over your son, letting him coo back his reassurances, then tickle him adoringly - the two of you purring and giggling in reunion, oblivious to all those around you.  Nuzzling your nose into the top of Gorgu’s soft head to smell his sweet scent, you ask the single most important of questions, “Are you hungry?” followed by, “Where is your father?”

As an answer to the latter, Grogu points to where Din is standing, and to the former, he drops from your arms and waddles over to a captain of the Royal Guard who had somehow been relegated to holding all your son’s collected market snacks.

You pick up your skirts and run straight for the General, flying into his arms with a force that would have knocked a lesser man onto his back.  But he isn’t a lesser man, he's your man.  A Mandalorian.  Your smile is so wide and bright, Din thinks for a moment his helmet HUD has been blinded – but perhaps it’s simply that his own eyes have crinkled closed from smiling so hard himself. 

To be back in Din’s arms after nearly three weeks apart, your longest separation since his official return to Solana, feels like a homecoming; all the tension and worry floats from you body as he lifts you off your feet and you melt into the brilliance and safety of his armoured embrace.

To be in Din’s arms at all, out here in the open, is something you will never take for granted.

Even after your previous engagement was dissolved, you and Din agreed to continue keeping your relationship a secret from your subjects.  Your main concern had been the feelings of your former fiancé and his family.  Though the long-time friends and trusted members of court had accepted your father’s decision to end the betrothal with grace and understanding, flaunting your and Din’s love so soon after would have been beyond inconsiderate, cruel even.  The idea that people who have been nothing but kind and loyal to the crown might suffer embarrassment due to whisperings and gossip was more than you could stomach.  Privately, you also worried that the public might mistakenly blame Din or think him capable of something dishonourable.

Your father had supported discretion – in his experience, the general population preferred to be spared the messy details of palace life, and very rarely reacted well to multiple announcements of change; it would be best to wait and let Solanians come around to the cancellation of the royal wedding in their own time, before springing anything new on them.   

Behind the closed doors of the castle, however, there was no need for any such prudence.  You were free to openly hold Din’s hand, express you admiration and appreciation for the man, praise him, tease him in front of others, shower him with affection.  Even this liberation was more than you had ever dared to dream for your love; to this day, you continue to cherish every open touch, every uninterrupted embrace, every endearment spoken in front of others.  Your attraction and desire for one another you still kept private, sacred for just the two of you, but now there was no more need for pretense, no more false goodbyes at the dinner table, no more sneaking into your bedchambers via the balcony.

Finally, your love could just breathe; it could blossom in the light, instead of shrinking into the safety of the shadows.  You and Din could touch, comfort, even look at one another without being mindful of who was around, how much time had past, that it might be the last time.  For all of the privilege and fortune of your title, there is nothing you will ever prize more than an unhurried morning spent with the love of your life, restful and worry free.

In public, everything remained above board; you kept things subtle and formal, Din remained close and protective - the most devoted knight to his Princess.  You really ought to have given the people of Solana more credit. 

That Din’s return to the realm and the dissolution of your betrothal occurred in short order was neither here nor there, barely registering to your subjects as mere coincidence.  What they did notice was that their Princess appeared happier, lighter, no longer beleaguered by the unknown sadness that had plagued you for the past year.  You once again exuded the joie de vivre that they had so missed, exemplifying the passion and optimism that many consider the foundation of Solanian culture; they were getting their Princess back.

The General, long admired for his strategic brilliance, combat skills and strong leadership, Solanians welcomed back on his own merits.  But it wasn’t long before his public appearances with you drew eyes to him in a way they had not previously.  His protective positioning over you was one of a supportive shield, always gentle, never aggressive or oppressive – he hovered at the ready without ever interfering with your authority; you were free and safe to be your authentic self, a bright star around which his calm, steady presence naturally orbited.

His intuition always place him right where you needed him to be, anticipatory and respectful.  He doted over you.  Quietly spoiled you.  He cared for you a great deal - that much was obvious to those with eyes to see.  Over time, Capital inhabitants who would describe themselves ranging from inquisitive to flat-out nosy, noticed that the General would often reach for you before catching himself, that the unseen eyes behind the black T-visor lingered on you longer than necessary, that the press of his guiding hand on your back was more affectionate than instructive.  After several months of observed ‘evidence’, confident in their powers of deduction, Solanians collectively concluded that the General was indeed in love with their Princess; and rather endearingly, united in their hope that the Princess may one day return his affections.

To the absolute delight of the now invested realm, it appeared that you were slowly opening your heart to the hardened warrior.  His quiet words made you laugh out loud and his thoughtful attention drew from you the most breathtaking of smiles.  His soft touches were allowed to linger longer and then longer, and eventually, you began returning them with you own.  You faced each other, walked side by side – no longer royalty followed by a knight in her service, but equals, trusted confidants.  The day you took Din’s arm while strolling through the capital’s market place, the glassware vendors won a handsome wager from the weaving merchants.  As the encouraging smiles and approving glances from the public grew bolder and more apparent, so did your public displays of familiarity and affection, until hand holding, long embraces, and forehead to helmet touches while amongst your people were all common place. 

You could not have been more grateful for their support, but to your subjects, loving their sovereign as well as she had always loved them, was an honour.  For Solanians, the sight of their Princess happy and safe in the arms of their General was cause for celebration – and so, without any formal announcement, your attachment was a secret no longer. 

You murmur into where the fabric of Din’s cape meets his cowl the same questions you asked his son, “Are you okay?  Did you get hurt?” Fingers digging and groping all the soft spots between the Beskar, you nuzzle in deep, ready to hibernate in Din’s warmth after so many long days apart.  Din squeezes you back tightly, “I’m perfect now that I’m back with you, mesh’la.  No injuries this time.”

His modulated husk sends shivers down your spine and you wiggle in the Mandalorian’s strong grip with a little bit of cheek, “I’ll feel better when I check you over myself later.”

“Me too,” Din’s voice is liquid velvet, his words a promise.

The two of you share a private chuckle before he presses the helm of his silver dome to your forehead and holds the kiss for a quiet moment.  Only when Din unhands you do you notice the stranger next to him eyeing the two of you with what can only be described as incredulous shock.  To your surprise, Din acknowledges him directly, “Mayfeld, let me introduce to you the Princess of Solana -”

Mayfield bows, somehow both in awe and disbelieving that his old acquaintance can make such a fortuitous introduction, “Your Highness, it’s an honour-”

“- my wife,” Din finishes, grin evident to anyone within earshot.

Tossing all attempts at decorum aside, Mayfeld’s head snaps up to stare confoundedly at the Beskar-clad man, practically screeching, “Your wife?!?”

You can’t help but look over at Din in amazement as well, unable to conceal the thrill and pride that runs through you at having being claimed out loud and proud.

You and Din had quietly married six months ago in a small ceremony attended by only a handful of your closest friends and family; then honeymooned for ten blissful days on Nevarro, just the two of you.  Trading in your titles and rank for domesticity and the simple life of Din’s cabin on the lava flats, you don’t think you’ve ever felt quite as carefree or relaxed in all your life as you did as a newlywed in the Outer Rim.  Your days were spent leisurely: meeting Din’s old friends, breaking bread with Magistrate Karga, giggling with the Anzellans who called you “Pretty Lady” (“Good job, Big Guy!”), long and lazy blurrg rides over the planet’s rocky flats and hills, perusing for souvenirs in the Nevarro City market, coming home to the isolated quiet of your cozy abode.  Your nights were equally as varied, with Din taking you at all hours in every manner, on each and every surface of his house.  There was much to be said for the freedom to be as loud as you wanted, as wanton in your cries of ecstasy as you needed, as prolific and unrestrained in your lust for your riduur as you desired.  Helmet on, helmet off, it didn’t matter – the man you rode for hours, naked and dripping wet in the planet’s volcanic hot springs was yours and you didn’t care who heard.    

Upon return from your little slice of heaven, there didn’t appear any obvious reason to announce your marriage.  If their past behaviour was to be any indication, your subjects would likely figure it out in time – there was no rush, if you were happy, they were happy; as far as Solanians were concerned, their Princess had already selected the future King consort and they wholeheartedly approved.

Accordingly, the opportunities to be announced as Din’s wife have been few and far between; you study this Mayfeld with tremendous curiosity - who is this man to Din that he would so openly and happily share such an intimate detail about your lives?

“Yes,” you nod happily, “I am his riduur.”

The man resumes his awkwardly low bow, “Congratulations, Your Highness!  Uh, and well done, Mando… I mean, General.”

Din’s large hand rubs your lower back lovingly as you bend over to pick up Grogu, who after satiating his craving for Solanian delicacies, has come seeking your attention; as you straighten, Din pats a still stunned Mayfeld on the back and answers your unspoken question, “Mayfeld helped me obtain some critical Imperial intel at great risk to himself.  Without him, we would not have so quickly rescued Grogu from Moff Gideon.”

“Oh!” Your eyes widen in understanding, “Thank you, Mr. Mayfeld!  Thank you for helping rescue my son!”  Familiar with most parts of the tale, you’re incredibly interested to learn more about this man and his role in Din and Grogu’s life before you, but more than that, you’re truly grateful, “Please join us at the castle for dinner tonight! Have you yet to find lodging? If not, you shall be our honoured guest until you do. And if you should ever decide to extend your stay on Solana, I will personally do what I can to help you settle in as comfortably as possible.”

You slide your arm through Mayfeld’s as he thanks you and tells you to call him Migs.  Then Mayfeld, you, and Grogu in your arms, form a chain and start heading towards the castle, the Royal Guard walking alongside in perfect formation.  Din admires the sway of your hips and the graceful glide of your movements for a few minutes before shifting his soulful gaze to his son chirping happily in your arms, safe, full, loved.

Following from behind, Din is catching up on military reports and capital news with his Lieutenant when he’s distracted by the sight of you throwing your head back in laughter, genuinely amused by something Mayfeld has just told you – likely an anecdote that the Mandalorian might prefer to stay buried alongside Mayfeld’s prison record.  Both you and Mayfeld turn at the same time to look at Din; you with a cheeky grin and a cute little shrug before you turn back around, Mayfeld looking absolutely gobsmacked while dramatically mouthing, “YOUR WIFE?!?!?!” then returning his attention to you.

Din maintains his pace, keeping an adoring and protective eye on you and his son, his family, from a comfortable distance; grinning broadly beneath the helmet, he murmurs to no one in particular, proud and content, “My wife.”

🎶All Night by Beyoncé🎶:

Found the truth beneath your lies And true love never has to hide (True love never has to hide) I'll trade your broken wings for mine (Trade your broken wings for mine) I've seen your scars and kissed your crime (Seen your scars and kissed your crime)

All night long Love, all night long Sweet love, all night long Sweet love, all night long All I wanna, ain't no other We together, I remember Sweet love, all night long

They say true love's the greatest weapon To win the war caused by pain (pain) But every diamond has imperfections But my love's too pure to watch it chip away (chip a-, chip a-, chip away) Boy, nothing real can be threatened True love breathes salvation back into me With every tear came redemption And my torturer became my remedy

All night long Love, all night long Sweet love, all night long Sweet love, all night long All I wanna, ain't no other We together, I remember Sweet love, all night long

How I missed you, my love

A few tags for those who have commented or reblogged that I tortured them with the angst - I am sorry again and thank you for supporting me and this series! @okiegal68 @bishtrouille @johnssherlock221 @baronessvonglitter @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

Quiet and stealth-like, Din approaches his former comrade, the man he left in charge of your safety, with his blaster raised, getting within two paces before the seasoned solider spins around, his own weapon armed and aimed directly at the Mandalorian’s chest plate, “Halt!”

“Good.”  The amusement in Din’s voice evident as the two men face off, weapons raised for a second more before they’re lowered in peace, “For a moment, I thought you might let me sneak up on you, Lieutenant.”

“I was trained better than that,” the uniformed man chuckles, before straightening up and saluting, “General.”

“There’s no need for that, Lieutenant.  I am no longer your commanding officer.”

“Noted… General.”

As the two men stand in silence, other members of the legion note the Mandalorian’s arrival and follow suit, stiffening their posture at their former leader’s presence.  Looking up to follow the gaze of his one-time commander, it's no mystery to the Lieutenant what captivates the General’s attention: the lone figure leaning against the railing of a large, ornate balcony several stories above.  Empty glass dangling delicately from your fingers, you seem oblivious to the surrounding revelry, despite the music from the nightclub behind you being loud and upbeat enough to be audible even from the lower levels.  Your attention reserved for the sparkling neon of Coruscant’s skyline, thoughtful stare lingering on some far-off point in the night’s bright sky.

“How is she?”

“Permission to speak freely, General.”

A curt nod of the silver helmet is all that is needed.

“The Princess remains as you would expect, generous and benevolent as always…”

“Good.”

“… but she is sad.”

The heart beneath the Beskar thumps with worry at this revelation, but outwardly, Din allows the weight of the Lieutenant’s admission to sit in the silence between them until the other man continues,

“She speaks and behaves in her usual manner, the grace she bestows befitting of her crown, and yet… despite the Princess’ public smiles, the entire kingdom can tell that she is not happy.  A light has gone out in Solana’s once brightest star,” Din’s former second-in-command’s voice cracks, as if the emotional well-being of his sovereign affected him personally.  Knowing how much your people love you, Din can very well imagine that being the case not only for the Lieutenant, but the general population of the planet that was most welcoming to him and his son.  He empathizes completely.

A change in subject is much needed.  “What brings you to Coruscant, General?”

“Reconnaissance for a New Republic assignment; needed some intel from an informant who… needed some convincing to part with said intel.”

“Right,” the Lieutenant chuckles, “well, no one is more convincing than you, General.”

“Perhaps Grogu.”  They share a hearty laugh, but both men know that Din’s son’s abilities make him a more formidable adversary than the two of them combined.

“And you?  What is the Solanian Royal Guard doing in Coruscant?”

“It is Lady Beyonna’s birthday and the ladies of the court have come to celebrate,” the Lieutenant gestures briefly to the high-rise buildings that tower above.

“The Princess is celebrating?” Din looks up again at your solitary figure.

“She is trying her best.”  As if on cue, the music coming from the balcony increases several volumes as a group of jubilant party goers join you, bringing a refill, hugs, and an invitation to come back inside.  Din sees your attempt to reassure your friends that you’re having a good time with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes; he also sees how they don’t buy it.  More than happy to bring the party to you, the ladies of Solana start a dance party right there on the balcony while calling for additional drinks.  After four or five songs, and at least two rounds of Rhyllian Fizz shots, you relent - your good nature and desire to ensure your friend has a good birthday winning out; linking arms with your friends, they cheer and you head inside the club as a group.

For the next few hours, Din remains next to the Lieutenant, making small talk, catching up on the latest news from Solana, updating the other regarding their respective lives; every watchful, neither man takes his eyes off the balcony above.  Din admits there’s some comfort in the familiarity of standing sentinel with his friend again, the only occasional interruptions being incoming coms with updates from the guards upstairs, or other members of the legion coming by to pay their respects to their General.  But the longer he stays, the more imperative it is for Din to honestly answer one question: What is he still doing here? 

He will allow himself one more glimpse of you, he tells himself, but no more.  He internally promises he won’t try to make contact or speak with you; touching you is completely out of question.  No touching, holding, or Maker forbid, kissing.  Din vows to abide by these self-imposed rules tonight; to cross these boundaries would be too dangerous for his heart.

Just a glimpse, he tells himself again, to make sure you’re safe.  He’s nearly convinced himself when a new transmission comes in: “Lieutenant, permission to initiate Exit Protocol Aurek.  The Princess has requested to leave.”

With a precision and efficiency that makes Din proud, the Solanians on the lower level, seen and unseen, move in unison.  The Mandalorian follows from a few paces back, making sure to stay separate from the guard, hidden.

A discrete door on the side of the building with the balcony opens and music streams out while the neon light show inside pulses against the outside night; but neither the thumping electro beats nor the blinding flashes have any hope of drawing attention away from the soft figure that sashays out – unsteady on your feet but not quite stumbling, you’re waving back into the club, blowing kisses, “Love you!!! Have a great time!! Be safe!!”  Your melodious voice chimes all the way down the street, giddy, a little too loud.

When you turn around, Din nearly stops breathing – your eyes are glassy and the smile on your face is silly and crooked (clearly your friends were successful in showing you a good time!), and while it’s obvious you’re drunk, you’re still the most beautiful and graceful creature Din’s ever seen.  You greet your guard like old friends, as happy to see them as they are you – Din has always known that his men’s loyalty to you was not purely a matter of duty but born from true affection for their sovereign. 

Maker, he misses you. 

After what he learned from the Lieutenant tonight, it abates his worry somewhat to see you like this, carefree and unbothered - even if it’s alcohol fueled.  From afar, Din mentally records every curve of your figure, the brightness of your eyes, the song of your voice; he tucks these details away in the vault of his mind where they will sharpen the memories of his most treasured moments with you - the ones he always returns to on his most lonely nights.  Satisfied that you’re well, Din starts backing away, ready to duck behind the nearest building and slink back into the darkness, when he hears,

“Din?”

Dank Farrik, you’ve spotted him!  How?

You’re already skipping towards him, the excited bounce of your step indicative of just how intoxicated you are – your guards do not step in and instead, give the two of you a wide berth; their Princess is in no danger, better protected now than any other being in the galaxy.

You stop just short of the Mandalorian’s broad frame, looking at him with genuine wonder - tentatively, your hand comes up, slowly reaching for his chest.  He lets you lay a soft palm to the shiny Beskar, amused at your little gasp of surprise when you feel the familiar press of the precious metal beneath your skin.

“Is this a dream?”  The question is asked in innocent confusion - it’s clear that you’re too inebriated to comprehend the reality of his presence; you have not seen this man in nearly a year, but the devastation of the day he left remains acute and sharp in the hollows of your soul – that Din could suddenly re-enter your life without warning is an idea too outlandish for you to grasp.

“Yes.”

The smile that spreads across your drunken face is heartbreaking, the way it reaches your eyes even more so; they crinkle adorably as your fingers move to explore, gracing over his armour, fiddling with his vambraces and the fabric of his cowl, sliding down the sleek lines of his helmet.  You tilt your head in astonishment, delighted that your subconscious is conjuring the details of your Mandalorian so vividly.

“This is so nice,” your tipsy grin irresistible, “It’s been so long since I’ve dreamt of you, Din.”

Oh really?  I can’t go a single night without dreaming of you, Din thinks.  “Have you forgotten me so easily, Princess?”

Immediately, he regrets his teasing; you’re too far gone to take him at anything but the face value of his expressionless helmet.  The beauty of your face crumbles, sad eyes widening in contrition, “Of course not, Din, I could never forget you.”  You look away now, voice breaking in explanation, “After you left, I dreamt of you constantly – all I had to do was close my eyes and we would be together again.”  Tears flood without warning, “There was a time when I barely got out of bed, spending more hours asleep than awake – it was the only way I knew to see you.”

Having already broken his promise to leave you alone, Din had no intention of crossing another self drawn line, but upon hearing your tearful confession, he can no longer fight the instinct to pull you in, to hold you; you sink into his embrace, body moulding to his armour as easily as the day you were last in his arms, “But those dreams never ended well, Din, and I always woke sadder then when I fell asleep.”

Contemplative, you pull back slightly, and Din uses this opportunity to adjust the arm around your waist, giving you the support needed so the two of you can start walking; the moving formation of Solana’s finest soldiers flank your slow and careful stroll, silently guiding Din towards your residence.  If you notice the disappearance of your guard, you don’t mention it - why would you?  This is only a dream after all.

“One day, the dreams just… stopped,” you continue, looking down at your feet as you walk so not to trip; Din tightens his grip on you.  “I’m not sure how or why.  Perhaps it was an act of self preservation?  My brain trying to protect me, maybe.  I must be stronger now.”  You look fairly pleased at the prospect.

“Princess, you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met,” Din offers warmly.

You scoff adorably, his earnestness no match for your humility, “I’m no match for The Might of the Realm!  Really, Din, you have no idea how much the people of Solana still speak of you; I’m not the only one who misses you terribly.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, the Mandalorian wishes he had the words to express how much he too misses his life on Solana, misses you, “I could only wield the strength I did because of you, cyare.”

“And now?”  The question is asked soft, almost hesitant.

“I’m strong only for Grogu.”

The change in your demeanour at the mention of his son is nothing short of endearing; suddenly your own melancholy is forgotten, thoughts completely overtaken by the adorable green creature you had loved as your own, “Grogu!  Oh, please do tell me of him!  I miss him so very dearly.”

“As he does you, Princess.”  It’s true; his son is wise beyond his years and emotionally resilient, but he’s never been subtle.  The New Republic keeps them busy, but it’s by Din’s design – his son needs the distraction as much as he does; nothing keeps the longing for their previous life with you at bay like the thrill of an adventure, the rush of a hunt.

“I wish I had been able to say goodbye,” you lament, your previous cheer short-lived.

“I’m sorry, mesh’la,” Din has never forgiven himself for having deprived the two of you a farewell befitting the depth of your attachment, “If it helps, I would not wish the ire I faced from Grogu on even the worst of Imperial warlords.”

“Oh no,” your sweet giggle a balm on Din’s aching heart.

“He did not speak to me for nearly a month.  And it was at least three before he shared any snacks with me again,” though the memory of his son’s anger brings him no joy, the happy chuckle and look of true sympathy on your pretty face softens the blow of reliving it.

“You can make it up to me now by telling me of Grogu's adventures since I saw him last,” your eyes are bright and glassy, but full of genuine curiosity.

Still unable to ever deny you anything, Din launches into story after story of his and Grogu’s New Republic missions; he’s rewarded with your unfiltered reactions and drunken enthusiasm, all of which he finds unbearably adorable.  You gasp every time Din or his son is put at risk for grievous injury, audibly squeal at their death-defying heroics, clutch his arm and hold your breath while waiting to hear of their next narrow escape, loudly decry and boo the audacity of every bad guy from Colonel Ward’s deck of cards.  The walk back to your hotel passes too quickly for Din’s liking, but he would not trade how warm and well-entertained you look for all the credits in the Core Worlds.

You’re still laughing at Din’s impression of the Anzellans calling Grogu a “horrible baby” when you land in front of the door to your suite.  “Oh!” You look around, puzzled, nose scrunching adorably – to your alcohol addled brain, the locked door presents as more perplexing than plotting hyperspace calculations, “I... don’t have my key.”

“I’ll be right back, cyare.”

“No!” you cry out, frantically reaching for Din’s forearm, surprising sure fingers gripping tight over his vambrace, “I’m not ready for you to leave.”

The unreserved desperation of your voice pains Din to no end; he squeezes your hand reassuringly and runs a soft finger down the side of your face, mollified to see you relax a little at his touch, “I promise I won’t leave you, Princess – I’ll get the key and come right back.”

Though you nod and release his arm, Din hates how small and unsure you continue to appear – he hurries down the hall and around the corner, practically running into the Lieutenant who’s already anticipated him.  Gratefully, Din takes the key card his former second-in-command holds out, pausing before voicing a request he has no right to make, “Lieutenant, if you agree, I would suggest there is no need to wake the Princess’ maids; I can help her settle in.  I promise nothing untoward will occur.”

“I would never doubt your honour, General,” the man nods seriously, “or ever believe you capable of harming the Princess in any way.”

Your look of unadulterated relief and joy when you see Din returning could have reignited a dying star.  “Din!” you exclaim, beaming at him as if he had brought you the moon, instead of a mere hotel room key.  The grin beneath his silver dome is as wide as yours as Din unlocks the door and ushers you in, only growing as he follows your dancer-like flounce around the apartment suite.  Buzzing, you chatter happily as Din clears each room, chuckling at how he hasn’t changed in the slightest (Always so protective!)

You’re reminded that things are not quite how they used to be when Din enters your bed chambers as you’re changing.  Hands full with a water glass and some medical supplies from the fresher, Din pauses in the doorway when he sees your state of undress, averting his gaze before shuffling by awkwardly to set the water on your bedside table.  “Din,” you snort, thoroughly amused, “You’ve seen me with far fewer clothes than this - there is no reason for you to avoid looking at me.”

Try as he may, the Mandalorian cannot help the sobering reality that eclipses the levity of your words, “That was when you were mine to look at, cyar’ika.  And you are no longer mine.”

Your countenance changes instantly – mask of intoxicated merriment dropping and its place, an expression of pained understanding.  You approach him gingerly, sliding your arms around his thick trunk, then laying your cheek against the cold sear of his chest plate, you squeeze him tight, “I’ve never stopped being yours, my love.”

The room around you dissolves and the two of you are transported back in time, to any number of shared moments devoted to your quiet love: Din finding you after a ball to bring you a plate, having noticed you hadn’t eaten; laying in a field of wildflowers outside the castle grounds, holding hands and watching the sunset as your horses grazed nearby; showing each passages in your respective books as you read shoulder to shoulder between the private stacks of the National Library; in the afterglow of your lovemaking, tangled in the sheets of your royal bed, whispering sweet nothings of devotion, commitment.

Din wishes to kiss you so desperately right now; what he wouldn’t give to once again taste the honey of your lips, to lick his adoration and want directly into your mouth and hear the soft whimpers of your affection as you kiss him back.  It takes all the strength of his Creed to restrain himself, but this is one last line that he cannot afford to cross tonight – he knows that if he were to feel the press of your sweet lips against his own, he would lose all that remains of his self control and only complete ruin would follow.  You save him from himself by lifting your pretty face to his, eyes doe-like and sad as you trace your finger over the Iron Heart of his armour, “I miss you so much, Din.”

“I miss you, too, cyare,” he realizes this is the first time tonight he’s said these words out loud; even now they feel too miniscule to express the depth of how he’s longed for you, yearned for you.  A part of himself is forever missing – left back on Solana, or possibly permanently erased, he’s not quite sure; left in its wake is a constant, dull aching void that Din tries to fill with purpose, duty.  It works to a degree, he would like to hope, the endless string of New Republic assignments doing some good not only for the galaxy but also his mental wellbeing.  But at night, with only Grogu’s snores to keep him company, Din is ever aware of how empty his bed is, his arms are.  As time marches forward and the number of days separated from you grows, your absence is sometimes more acute than his memories of your time together.

Interrupting his thoughts, you sniffle, “I can’t find you anymore.”  Din tilts his head, wondering if you’ve somehow read his mind.  “After you left, I thought I would see you everywhere; that the ghost of us would follow me day in and day out,” you continue, shoulders slumping in defeat, “But it’s been the opposite, Din.  Every where I go, your absence is the first thing I notice.  I can’t find you anywhere: not in the castle, any of our secret places, the training grounds, my bed.  I go looking and find nothing - only emptiness.”

The despair of what you describe hangs heavy over your heads; Din has no words to comfort you though he desperately wishes to do so – he can only offer a pathetic, “I’m sorry, Princess.”

Your eyes, ever sorrowful, do not match your attempt at humour, “Why should you be sorry, General?  I’m the one who had to go and get herself engaged.”

And there it is, your deepest shame, the source of all your worst insecurities and doubts: How could Din ever miss you as much as you do him when you’re the one who inflicted this pain on the both of you?  Do you even deserve to be in his thoughts when it was you who necessitated your separation?  All this glorious man ever did was love you unconditionally, give you everything you asked for and obey your every desire, prioritizing you and your well-being above all else - and how did you repay him?  By surrendering to your duty and the breaking of both your hearts without even a fight.  You’re the one who broke everything! 

Your guilt is written all over your face and it guts Din to see you so needlessly harsh on yourself.  He wants to tell you that he understood the realities of your stations when he fell in love with you and that he has not a single regret - every moment spent with you, however fleeting, had been worth it.  Even the memory of such a love has given him a happiness he never knew possible.  He could never think you selfish or inconsiderate, especially not when his own mind swims with the most superficial of concerns:

Does he treat you better than I did? 

Could you love him? 

Do you love him? 

Not for all the worlds would Din allow this fiancé of yours steal any more of his time with you than he already has, but soul-destroying thoughts tend to take on a life of their own.  Luckily, a distraction presents itself by way of the delicate silver chain around your neck.  You’re fiddling with it nervously, and as your hand draws down your chest, Din spies the shine of something familiar nestled between your breasts.  He closes his glove over your hand, forcing you to stop your mindless toying – together, you lift the necklace to reveal the Mythosaur skull pendant previously hidden beneath your clothes.

“You wear this still?”

Even if you had not drunk enough liquour to knock out a Wookie tonight, you would have answered this question with the same type of confidence normally attributed to liquid courage, “I’ve never taken it off, my love.”

Din rubs the precious emblem of his people between his fingers, and is just thinking about how this piece of metal has laid close to your heart the entire time you’ve been apart when, once again, you speak as if the two of you are of one mind, “Even when I cannot find you anywhere else, I know that I have you right here with me.”  He lets you take the pendant back and watches with tremendous affection as you cradle it between your delicate fingers, treating it as precious.  “I’m so grateful you left this part of you with me, Din.  I only wish I had given you a token of me, of us, to take with you,” your chest balloons with regret, forever plagued by the grief of not having expressed enough love for your Mandalorian when you had the chance – of not being enough to still be his. 

Even if you think him simply a figment of your imagination, Din cannot allow these sentiments any credence.  He directs you to sit on the edge of your bed, then kneels before you, the most devoted knight; your curious eyes watch closely as he removes his glove, gasping in surprise when you see his uncovered hand. 

Your hair ribbon. 

The pop of colour from the soft velvet contrasts starkly against the tan of Din’s skin, making it easy to see how it wraps around his wrist, criss-crossing over the heal of his thumb and bound twice over the rough of his palm.  The fabric has lost a bit of its luster, likely from having been concealed beneath armour and leather for an extended period of time, but you recognize it immediately as yours. 

“You are with me always, cyare.”  Teary eyed, you look at Din in wonder as he cups your face with this same hand, letting you nuzzle your cheek against his palm, taking comfort in the feel of the worn ribbon. He watches in real time as you come to the realization that everything he’s done with these hands since you parted - take out Imperial threats, pilot himself and his allies to safety, hold his son - he’s done in your name.  Heart blooming, you continue to stare at Din’s meaty hand as he helps you get into bed, drink the water he brought you.

It’s only after the Mandalorian adheres a Bacta patch to your arm and says reassuringly, “There, no hangovers tomorrow, Princess,” that you look into the obsidian of his T-visor, grateful, “Thank you for taking care of me, Din.”

He grins at your dopey, sweet face, and responds lovingly, “I will always take care of you, be there for you, mesh’la.  If you call, I will come running.”

You cannot help your disproportionate reaction to Din’s words, the alcohol in your system sending your emotions swinging - body locking up as if in pain, you turn away, trying to hide, “Really, Din?  No matter what you’re doing, you would still come?”

With a pinch of your chin, the Mandalorian tilts your face back to his, truly confused, “And what is it you think I’m doing, Princess?”

“I don’t know!” You try to choke back your sob, shocked and embarrassed by the volatility of your emotions tonight (Damn that Corellian wine!); though you know none of this is real, there’s still some expected degree of control over your own behaviour – instead, it’s as if all the feelings you've bottled up over the past ten months have been amplified by tonight’s drink and can no longer be contained, spilling out uninhibited and inelegant during this dream.  “And that’s one of the worst parts of all this!  I don’t know anything.  I don’t know where you are, or what you’re doing.  Are you and Grogu safe?  If you were hurt or in danger, would you have somewhere you could go?  I worry all the time, and I know that I’ll never get any answers so I just worry more.  I’ll never know if you’re alright, if you’re getting enough to eat, if you’re stitching up your own wounds or if there’s somebody else doing it for you, if you’re…”

Somebody else?

“… and I know I don’t have any right to know what you’re doing or have any feelings about if… there was somebody else?  I would not blame you in the least, Din…”

Somebody else?

Surely you’re joking. 

But the downtrodden look on your face and the ashamed way you’ve turned from him again betrays just how true to your heart this outburst is.  What you’re suggesting is inconceivable – in Din’s heart of hearts, there could never be “somebody else”, the mere wraith of this unknown concept of a being offensive in its impossibility. 

There just simply is no room.  You are the occupier and owner of his heart, his soul. 

In Din’s mind and within the very essence of his being, down to the last particle of space and time he takes up on this plain of existence, you are already his riduur.  You are the only person in this galaxy with whom he is one when together, one when parted - with you and only you would he share all and raise warriors.

Somebody else?  How can he absolve you of such a ridiculous notion?

The answer is so obvious and the decision he makes so instinctual, once made, he marvels that it wasn’t the first thing he did upon entering the suite. 

You’re babbling now, inebriated brain working overtime to correct what you clearly feel was an overshare, “… and you’re out there flying all over the galaxy… performing noble deeds…”  Clearly distracted by your own run-on thoughts, you completely miss the unlocking click and hiss of Din’s helmet, “… it only makes sense that you would attract admirers… I mean, if anyone would understand that it would be m-”

Stopped short, mid-meandering thought, you can only stare, jaw dropped at the sight of the bare face that’s now looking patiently and indulgently back at you.

Stunned, you lift you hand to test the legitimacy of what you’re seeing, fingers gingerly making contact with the sharp jaw that’s quietly ticking beneath a scruff of neatly trimmed facial hair.  Upturning your hand to cup this rugged face, your thumb strokes the apple of Din’s cheek; in recognition of its shape, you sigh dramatically, content – the adorable sound causes Din to smile big, bringing a crinkle to his eyes. 

Oh his eyes, you gasp a little as your own widen in admiration – they’re soft yet piercing, looking at you so knowing and kind.  Though you’ve never had the privilege of seeing them before, the depth and richness of these brown eyes call to you, inviting you to come home.

Your other hand joins the expedition to explore the magnificence before you - gently caressing the lines of Din’s face, you run your fingertips over his lips, nose, then brush them featherlight along his hairline before carding them through the softness of his brown curls.  The nerve endings in your hands and fingers spark at the familiar feel, coming alive as your brain closes the gap between touch and sight.  How in Maker is this possible?  Never in all your days did you think you could dream up a visage that so perfectly matches your sensory memory.

Still cradling Din’s face, you gently tilt it side to side so you can get a better look at your mind’s masterpiece; amused, Din lets you explore and study him to your heart’s content.

“Wow,” you finally break the silence, a whisper to yourself more than anything, “good job, brain.”

Din lets out a boom of a laugh, it shakes his massive frame and overtakes his entire face – the change is startling, he looks at least ten years younger.  The joy of it is so infectious you can’t help but laugh with him.

“Really, Din,” you grow endearingly serious, it’s important you make him understand, “you’re so, so handsome.”

“Thank you, cyar’ika.”  He’s imagined what your reaction to seeing his bare face might be a million times, prepared for anything but his sudden shyness.

“I’m honestly a bit put out,” your face scrunches, annoyed, “I didn’t think my imagination was capable of conjuring something quite so… beautiful.  I’m sort of mad it hasn’t shown you to me before.”

Din laughs some more at your exaggerated pouting, it feels wonderful to really laugh again, “Have you truly never thought of what I looked like under the helmet?”

You look both delighted to be asked this question and fascinated by your own answer, “Truthfully?  No.  I wondered, naturally, but I never pictured anything specific beyond what you’ve told me, like the colour of your hair.” Running your fingers through Din’s soft curls, marveling again at how vivid this dream is, you appear to get lost in your own thoughts, “It was enough that I knew your face by touch, how it actually looked was inconsequential - yours was the face I loved, no matter what.  I probably spent more time fantasizing about the reveal itself, rather than what might be revealed, if that makes sense?”

You meet Din’s eyes, trying hard not to get lost in the warmth of his baby browns as your voice fills with longing, “I wanted the face reveal for what it would mean for us.  That we might have the future I always dreamt of, that we could belong to one another and that I would be your one and only.   I imagined that feeling of being chosen countless times, even though I knew it would forever be a fantasy.”

Din’s heart sinks when he realizes the expression on your face is one of shame - shame for having wanted something you felt you had no right to covet; if only you knew what you dreamt of was already yours.  “I’m here now, uncovered and exposed,” Din takes your hands in his and kisses them gently, “and it means exactly what you always wanted it to mean.”  Your tipsy face brightens, but it’s clear that you’re not sure what to make of his words.

“This face is for you and you alone, mesh’la.  There will never be ‘somebody else’; there will never be any one in this galaxy, save my son, for whom I will voluntarily bare my face,” Din cups your face in his hands to make sure you see his sincerity, “And I think you know that, cyare, which is why you’re seeing me as I am right now.  I chose you long ago, and every day, I continue to choose you even if you don’t know where I am or what I’m doing.  I hate that there will be times when your fears and doubts may try to tell you otherwise, but even seeing my face in your dreams means that in your heart of hearts, you know this to be true: I am and have always been yours.  In every way imaginable, in all the ways that matter, only yours.”

You try to blink back your happy tears but find yourself terribly unsuccessful as you throw your arms around Din’s neck and bury your face into his neck, burrowing in, heart full.

“I’m so glad to finally dream of you again tonight, Din.  I’ve needed this,” you whisper, tears spilling from your grateful eyes.

He replies honestly, his own eyes misty, “Me too, cyare.  I’ve needed this as well.”  I’ve needed you.

Laying a soft kiss to your hair, Din encourages you to drink one last sip of water before tucking you in under the covers; gently brushing a few strands of hair off your forehead, he grapples with the sad knowledge that your evening together is coming to an end, “Good night, Princess.”

Your eyes, already having started to slowly close, flutter open once more, “Din?”

“Yes?”

“Will I ever see you again?” The question is pure curiosity, asked with no expectations, completely devoid of hope; you’re looking at him the way Grogu does sometimes, steeped in the belief that his father holds all the answers in the galaxy.

“Do you mean in your dreams?”

You shake your head, understanding the confusion, “No, I mean, in my life.”

For a moment, Din considers what answer would give you the easiest night of sleep, before ultimately deciding on the truth; he’s never lied to you before and he won’t start now, “No.”

You give a trembling little nod and whisper, “I understand,” but he knows you don’t.

“If we were to meet once more, mesh’la, I would not have the strength to walk away again.  I would steal you away without remorse - at the altar from your new husband, under the noses of the guards I trained, or like a thief in the middle of the night.  I would have to have you with me for always, and nothing, no one, would be able to keep me from you,” the roughness of Din’s voice cracks with earnestness. 

"I would become an enemy of Solana and the New Republic - a rogue despised by all those you hold dear and the very people I once vowed to protect.  I would go to endless war to keep you as mine, forcibly dragging the armies of entire planets and star systems into a conflict that would wage ruin upon anyone who dare opposes me.  Families would be forced to take sides and turn on one other, alliances that have stood the test of the Empire’s reign would crumble.  Countless lives would be lost, sacrificed, and I wouldn’t care as long as it meant I was never to be parted from you again.”  Din fears he may have gotten carried away, his dramatic embellishment merely a cover for the tragedy of the truth, but the sparkle in your eyes at his romantic hyperbole remind him that it’s worth laying his soul bare to you every time.  At your satisfied little chuckle, he grins back, tone full of both feeling and mirth, “So, Princess, for the sake of all those innocent lives, we shouldn’t meet again.”

This time when you nod, it’s no less sad, but the light-heartedness that's been injected into the moment does provide you some comfort, “Of course, General.  For the people.”  You snuggle down further into your bedding, heart still soaring from the magic of Din’s words, quite pleased with how eloquent your subconscious mind can be.

“Will you stay, Din?  Until I fall asleep, that is?  In all my other dreams, you’ve had to leave… but this has been so nice!  Don’t say goodbye, please - I want to remember us this way.”

When has he ever been able to say no to you? Din caresses your face fondly, promising, “As you wish, mesh’la.”

Your resulting smile nearly stops his heart, it’s moony and dazed, but unabashedly joyful, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum (I love you), General.”  Your pronunciation still perfect after all this time.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Princess.”

When your eyes finally close fully, mouth still curved upwards as your lovely face relaxes, you murmur, “Tell me another story, please, my love.  One of the daring of Din Grogu and the bravery of his father, perhaps?”

Anything for you.  Din recounts the details of his and Grogu’s latest exploits for the New Republic until your breathing evens and you purr with sleep.  Tomorrow you will be told that your guard escorted you home and that Serene or Olivia helped you into bed, but right now in this moment, it’s still just you and him: the General and his Princess.  He presses his lips to your forehead and inhales one last scent of your sweet perfume before he forces himself to leave you and a piece of his heart behind.  In the doorway of your bedroom, Din stops to take one last look at your breathtaking beauty.  An angel. How different was tonight from a dream, really?

“Sweet dreams, Princess.

🎶Never be the Same🎶by Camilla Cabello:

Something must've gone wrong in my brain Got your chemicals all in my veins Feeling all the highs, feeling all the pain

Let go on the wheel, it's the bullet lane Now I'm seeing red, not thinking straight Blurring all the lines, you intoxicate me

Just like nicotine, heroin, morphine Suddenly, I'm a fiend and you're all I need All I need Yeah, you're all I need

It's you, babe And I'm a sucker for the way that you move, babe And I could try to run, but it would be useless You're to blame Just one hit of you, I knew I'll never, ever, ever be the same

I'll never be the same I'll never be the same I'll never be the same

You're in my blood You're in my veins You're in my head (I blame) You're in my blood You're in my veins You're in my head (I'm sayin')

I'm saying it's you, babe And I'm a sucker for the way that you move, babe And I could try to run, but it would be useless You're to blame (you're to blame) Just one hit of you, I knew I'll never be the same

Joel keeps walking, unhurriedly stepping into a bigger room with high walls and comfortable chairs to sit around, his gaze seeking his most cherished treasures: his daughter and wife. It doesn't take much to find them, always attuned to them, to be bestowed a mesmerizing sight he knows he will never tire of contemplating, of adoring.

Sarah is standing on the other side of the room, fascinated by what she's looking at, talking to her mother as she points at something inside the water. The bond between them, one carved not by blood but by choice, glows vibrantly and alive as they laugh together, filling Joel's heart with so much joy it sketches a smile on his face.

The two of them, dressed in matching flowery summer dresses and sneakers, beckon him, guide him through the space and the people scattered around the room.

Joel steps behind his wife. Her body welcomes him as soon as he invades her personal space, recognizing him instantly and leaning against him once his hands cradle her belly, ripe and heavy, carrying his child, barely four weeks away from the due date. He takes the weight of her belly on his palms, using the strength of his arms to lift it enough to relieve her body for a spell, feeling her sigh against his chest in gratitude as they start to sway, side to side.

“You doin’ ok, Sweetheart?” He whispers, nuzzling her neck, pressing his nose just below her ear, where her scent is thicker, filling his lungs with the fresh whiffs of honey and vanilla of her body lotion.

She rolls her eyes. Annoyed, but also fond and loving. Understanding of Joel's anxieties, his worry about how today could strain her body. “Yes, as I’ve been the last twenty times you’ve asked me.” He chuckles, apologising with a kiss on her cheek as she keeps talking. “Sarah is having a good time.” Joel looks down at Sarah, sitting beside the glass, staring at the sea turtles.

There are three of them swimming close. Healthy and big. They move with grace, as if they were flying, with resilience and a quiet, but mighty strength.

“Yes. We did well in coming here for the weekend.” 

Their weekend getaway was rooted in the desire to give Sarah a little adventure before the baby was born, and their lives became chaotic for a while. Sarah's only request had been to visit the aquarium, which served as the perfect excuse to drive for a couple of hours to Corpus Christy so they could visit the Texas State Aquarium and enjoy the beaches and the sea now that the summer had begun. And the heat was still pleasant and welcomed.

"Yes," she agrees, still swaying a little. “I have a question, though.” Joel hums in answer, looking at the turtles, content to enjoy the peace these gentle giants transmit. “I was thinking…”

"About?" Joel wonders, his curiosity awoken by the tone, the hints of excitement in her voice.

“Sophia or Irene?” She asks, carefully watching Joel's expression transform, his confusion melt into surprise and bewilderment.

“What?” It's his turn to ask, not daring to assume what those names mean, needing her to say it out loud as his heart drums underneath his sternum and his blood pulsates in his veins.

“For the baby.” Her hands caress her belly, tenderly roaming the covered skin as they land on top of Joel's, weaving their fingers together. "They mean wisdom and peace. Respectively. Have I ever told you that the sea turtles were my grandma's favourite animal?" She explains, cherishing the memories of the woman who taught her to cook and helped raise her. "She once told me that those are some of the symbols sea turtles are related to. And those names are on our list. Maybe it's a silly reason to choose our daughter's name, but Sophia has been on my mind a lot these past days."

“Sophia?” Joel’s astonishment floods his voice.

“Yeah…”

“We’re having a girl?” He asks again, needing to hear her state it once more.

“Yes,” she admits, the corner of her mouth pulled up, sheepish and unrepentant, caught in her mischief, but too ecstatic to care. Her teeth nibble her lower lip, waiting for Joel's reaction. “I'm sorry. I know we said we’d wait until she was born, but when I went back inside the doctor's office at the last appointment to grab my purse, I couldn't stop myself, and I asked the doctor."

“Another girl, uh? Fuck.” Joel buries his face in her shoulder, trying to contain the wave of emotion flooding him. He fails, the awe in his voice, the tears dampening her skin, and his shaking body betray him as he squeezes her harder against him. Elated, blissfully happy at the news, already certain of how thrilled Sarah will be.

The giggles flee from her ribs, too big and powerful to contain, as she nods, pressing her cheek to Joel's curls, with no rush to move, giving Joel the safety to stay still as her revelation sinks into his bones.

Before, when fate slashed him deep enough to scar his soul, when being forsaken took on a new meaning, sharper and viler. And he became a single father, barely sleeping, working as many hours as his body could endure, constantly feeling like he was drowning, failing constantly, unfit, never good enough to be a father as Sarah's milestones kept coming, suffocating him with his anxiety: the first word, the first steps, the teething, the first cold and stomach bugs, the first cut deep enough to need stitches. He never thought he could have this, a confidant, a best friend, a lover, a wife with whom to face any obstacle together, with whom to raise Sarah, and welcome more children into their family.

His person had appeared when he least expected. She had been a wave of fresh air, a kindred spirit who saw him, understood him in a way that had never happened to him, bewitching him, healing his scars with patience and love.

And as he moves, grinning, gazing at her before leaning forward, ravenous for her lips, he's certain, with an unwavering faith. His life hadn't turned out as he expected or dreamed of. However, he's on the winning side.

Only moments earlier, Din had come upon a scene that nearly stopped his heart: your Royal carriage careened off the main road, one wheel broken clean off its axel, the coach body stuck lopsided, wedged in the thick mud.  Horses, unhooked, gone.  You, the carriage’s only occupant, gone.  Two of his top Lieutenants, whom you had convinced to take you out in this weather despite his explicit orders not to, also gone.

The General’s mind races with worry after worry:  Are you hurt?  Where did you go?  Was the accident due to dangerous road conditions or have you become the victim of something more sinister?  Sabotage?  Where were you now?  Are you safe?  Have you been separated from your escort?  Taken?

Dank Farrik!  He had told you to stay put! 

Trampling down his rising panic, Din pushes his stallion harder through the downpour covering Solana’s country side; the rainfall is so heavy, his helmet visor can barely make sense of its readings, not that it matters - any clues or data that could be used to track your movements having long since washed away.

Racing his faithful mount over endless rolling hills and across the expanse of pastoral plains, Din rides for what feels like forever until he finally sees the valley and signs of a village in the far-off distance.  From his current position, the building roofs are mere pinpricks, smoke from their chimneys but whisps, but Din is sure he’s found your intended destination: the epicentre of one of Solana’s most vital farming communities.  Did you make it?  Were you forced to seek shelter elsewhere?  Din slows his pace to a trot, scanning his surroundings carefully while repeated wiping off his visor so that the continued downpour won’t compromised his internal display readings. 

What had you been thinking?  Actually, he huffs, he knows exactly what his Princess had been thinking.

Yesterday, after receiving an alarming report regarding large scale damage sustained by this region’s farm drainage system, you had spent the remainder of the afternoon reviewing and consulting agricultural plans, weather impact studies, and concluded that capital assistance was indeed much needed for repairs ahead of rainy season.  The only way to secure and expedite the emergency capital funding required was onsite royal approval, and since you had just spent the past day acquainting yourself with the plight of these farmers, you insisted on going yourself as soon as possible.  The storm that Din now trudges through was already rolling in when he heard of your intentions to set out - citing the dangerous weather, he had immediately advised against it.  You argued staunchly that with heavy rain expected, it was even more imperative that you went immediately; if the current system were to fail and the land to flood, your decree and very presence on location, would assure that capital assistance would be dispatched as swiftly as possible and hopefully minimize the harm done to people’s livelihoods.  Your reasoning was sound, and privately to himself, Din felt a swell of pride and admiration not only for your strategic mind, but for the compassion and love you hold for your fellow Solanians – the only problem was it put you right in the middle of that same risk.

Din sighed.  The Princess he could not command, nor would he wish to – but your father’s soldiers?  They were under his purview; he gave the order that under no circumstances were they to leave their posts during the storm without his explicit instructions, hoping that this would delay your excursion until after the storm had passed. 

Never mind you, what had his Lieutenants been thinking?  Din’s agitation only grows as he continues his search; the sky above him remains an open slate of dark grey with rain coming down in sheets and winds picking up in speed and intensity.  With no end to the tempest in sight, even Din’s stallion’s steps begins to slow as the muddy path becomes thicker, stickier.

The General’s eagle eyes spot the crest of your house before his helmet HUD registers it properly.  The soaked through equestrian regalia on which your royal coat of arms is emblazoned is hanging over the half door of a small stable house just under a klick away; adjusting his sensors to zoom in, Din makes out the outlines of two horses grazing on some hay just beyond the opening.  Two out of five accounted for.  Surveying the area, he takes notice of a quaint looking cottage no more than 50 meters from the barn – even from this distance, he can tell by the brightly lit windows and smoking chimney that a fire is roaring within.  Ni codayn gar (I found you).

Assuring his exhausted steed that respite would soon be his, Din redirects the weary animal, once again picking up speed.  In record time, he’s settled his companion into a stall, hung up his own tack to dry, and is charging towards the humble cottage, unsure of what he’ll find upon arrival; at this point, he cannot promise that even the relief of finding you safe will be enough to improve his mood.

As he steps onto the front stoop, he hears your melodic laugh ring out from behind the door and for some reason, sour mood from his orders being directly disobeyed, his current physical state resembling more drowned rat than man, or perhaps nerves frayed and strung out from hours of worry, the normally pleasing harmony grates on the very last shred of his patience; he bangs on the door.  His aggressive pounding silences the voices on the other side immediately; unapologetic, Din practically bellows,

“It’s me.  I’m coming in.”  

With no further ceremony, the General pushes open the door and stomps in.  It’s unclear which party is more shocked by the sight that greets them.

You and his two Lieutenants are casually lounging around a well-lit hearth, the warmth and glow of which feels so welcoming and homey, the juxtaposition to the chaotic gale that’s still beating at his back hits Din like a punch to the gut.  All three of you are donned in dry clothes Din doesn’t recognize, modest garments that are positively plain when compared to the ornate and luxurious dress of the capital; speaking of which, he spots the various splendid layers of your royal gown and the official uniforms of your guard strewn around the room, drying.

There’s a few grazed upon plates of food sitting between you, still being shared amongst your little party; Din does not miss the flagon of wine that looks to be nearly empty.  Far from being in mortal peril, it seems that all three of you have settled in comfortably, enjoying yourselves even.

By contrast, Din is the very picture of misery; a waterlogged mess looming in the entrance way like some ghoulish killjoy here to interrupt your reverie, to ruin the serenity of this humble abode by dripping a river’s worth of rainwater onto the floor.  His drenched and aching figure remains silent and unmoving as he stares back at your group.

Drip, drip, drip.

Even more than annoyed, Din is starting to feel very stupid.

“General!”  His men spring to their feet, snapping to attention at the sudden appearance of their commanding officer.

Doing his best to ignore your adorable wide-eyed expression of surprise, Din slams the door behind him so forcefully the walls shake; feeling a smidge of satisfaction when the soldiers jolt a little.  You on the other hand, merely tilt your head quizzically at his moodiness.

“I expressly forbade anyone from leaving their posts during the storm,” the General growls, “and not only were my orders flagrantly disobeyed, I find you here in the middle of nowhere with a complete disregard for any and all security considerations.  Have I taught you nothing?”

“Sorry, General, sir!”

“Entrance way to the premises, unlocked.  Door unguarded.  No transmissions regarding your location.  No discretion with the Royal crest on full display outside the stable.  Do you wish to signal to every being nearby, or, Maker forbid, any villain wishing harm upon the Princess, exactly where she can be found?!”

“No, General, sir!”

“Now that I’m inside, it’s clear that in addition to a failure to post guard, you haven’t established a surveillance position either?  How could you possibly assess or even be aware of any potential incoming threats?  You’re sitting ducks here!”

“Sorry, General, sir!”

“Din…” you try to interrupt, getting up and crossing the room with the intention to calm your Mandalorian.

He doesn’t hear you, deaf to everything but the spiral of his incredulity and anger, “You cannot tell me that you had any idea of my approach!  What if it hadn’t been me who came upon you?  Anything could have happened!  I trained you better than this!”

“Yes sir, General!”

“How could you show such complete disregard for the Princess’ safety!?” spits the General, his disappointment venomous.

“Din!!” you exclaim, unable to listen to his raised voice any longer.  The behemoth of a man finally swivels to acknowledge you - even with his helmet on, you can tell he’s snarling, the ferocity of his countenance vibrating the very Beskar that conceals it.  “Do not blame them, please, General!  When the intensity of the storm overcame us, both Lieutenants thought of nothing but finding safety and shelter - no one could have been more concerned for my health and well being.  When we found this cottage, the Lieutenants cleared it thoroughly and determined it to belong to the farm a mere 10 minutes gallop from here.”  You put your hand on Din’s arm to reassure him, heart dropping at how soaked through and freezing cold his sleeve feels, “The Lieutenants made immediate contact with the perfectly wonderful family who own and work this land, arranging for them to supply us with dry clothing, food and drink.  They offered these lodgings for the night and have assured us of their discretion and the security of their property.”

Victorious when you sense a slight relaxing in Din’s frame, you throw a sympathetic smile to his soldiers, “General, I assure you, I’ve been very well taken care of - there is no need to admonish your men so severely.”

Though no longer in the throws of his earlier rampage, Din’s tone nevertheless remains deadly, cold, “They should have never accompanied you on this journey, period.  It was ill conceived and thoughtless.”

You’re starting to lose your patience now, “You would prefer I came out here on my own, General?”

The shiny Beskar dome tilts, fully staring you down, “I would have preferred you didn’t come out here at all during this storm.  To do so was also ill conceived and thoughtless.  Which if you recall, I made abundantly clear to you, Princess.”

Hands on your hips, you narrow your eyes, “And if you recall, I noted your objections and explained that the storm itself was hardly a deterrent but the very thing that precipitated my coming here.  As the storm surely wasn’t going anywhere, you with your infinite wisdom, General, must have reasonably predicted that I would be.  Since you’re so concerned with my safety, I would have thought you’d be relieved I asked some of the guard to accompany me.”

Din full out grins beneath his helmet, his feisty cyar’ika - but outwardly, he remains stubborn, “They were expressly ordered not to leave their posts during the storm, never mind leave the capital itself.”

“Are you saying the royal guard can refuse a direct request from their Sovereign? Should we ask these Lieutenants to whom they owe their allegiance, their General or their Princess?” you wave generally in the direction of the two men; without looking over, you can imagine them standing awkwardly, unsure of how to comport themselves, not unlike children witnessing their parents bicker for the first time – the blaze of your eyes, however, never leave the black abyss of the Din’s T-visor.

After what feels like an eternity, Din grits, “May I speak to you in private, Princess?”

You sweep your arm dramatically towards a small door on the offside of the room, “After you, General,” continuing to huff, agitated, as you follow his wet footprints into the cottage’s one bedroom.

Once inside, you close the door behind you and spin around, retort on the tip of your tongue, ready to be unleashed - a perfectly reasonable argument that your father’s men would have been in even more trouble if they had refused to accompany you - when the breath upon which your remarks lay in wait is knocked clear out of you.

Oof!

The force with which Din’s helmet barrels into your midsection is rivalled only by the gripping strength of his arms wrapping around your legs – your Mandalorian is on his knees, holding you like he’s never going to let go,

“You scared me, Mesh’la.”

Oh.  Oh.

You fold your body over the great man, enveloping the broadness of his back within your embrace, all the fight in you gone upon seeing the strongest man you’ve ever met surrender so completely.  If anything, you regret the stress your actions caused him, now that his ill temper has been revealed to be a poor mask for his fear.

Cupping the back of his helmet, you stroke down its back seam with your thumb, whispering, “I’m sorry, Din, I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, cyare,” Din murmurs, still buried in your soft body, hold on you unyielding.  You stay unmoving for as long as he needs, letting him breathe in enough of you to convince himself that you’re truly unharmed, safe.

Slowly the great General rises to his feet, dragging his hands up the length of your body, still afraid to be parted from you for even one second; you melt beneath his loving touch and reach for him with your own – you and Din are hardly ever afforded the luxury of just holding one another like this, fully and unrestrained, with no care for the passage of time.  Your love has grown steady and strong in the shadow of its own secrecy, surviving on stolen glances and barely there touches in the openness of court, secret kisses in dark stairwells and heartfelt declarations whispered hushed and hurried.  Every rendezvous a wonder, every moment spent together precious, but always taking place on borrowed time – you’ve only ever touched while on a countdown, loved under the threat of being caught; never allowed to just be with one another.

“Kriff, mesh’la, I’m so sorry - I’m getting you all wet,” Din drops his hands from your body, and though the imprint his soaked-through gloves have left on the simple borrowed frock is wet, you miss his warmth immediately.

“Don’t let go, Din”, you plead, fisting the rough fabric of his cape and pulling yourself closer; Din complies, as he always will, gathering you in his arms once more, but not before unlocking his helmet.  

Eagerly, you close your eyes and nudge up the brim of Din’s helmet with your nose, the motion well practiced, your lips finding his swiftly.  Tongues meeting in sweet reunion, your bodies melt in shared relief, your sighs synchronized, breathy and needy.  Din kisses you fervent and deep, pouring all of today’s anxieties - not getting to you in time, failing in protecting you, losing you - into your willing vessel; you meet each and every one of his fears head on, dissolving them with just one touch of your magic.

I’m here with you.

You’re here with me.

Only breaking for air, you drag your kiss swollen lips along the chisel of Din’s jaw and down the column of his throat, loving on every inch of the skin he bares for you and only you.  The General tips his helmet back down and pulls you flush against his chest plate, letting you bury your face into the soft folds of his neck cowl; he chuckles to himself at your deep inhale and the contented sigh that follows as you take in your fill of his familiar scent.

“I really am sorry, Din.  I know you worry.”

“I don’t know what I would do if something were to happen to you, cyar’ika,” Din husks, even saying the words out loud constricts his airway.

Your fingers find the gaps between his armour and wiggle in, tickling your Mandalorian’s soft spots in an effort to soothe him; your own mood having already been placated, you tease, “Then next time you should come with me.”

“Princess.” The gravel of Din’s warning causes your pulse to quicken.

Tilting your chin up, you rest its point on the smooth Beskar plate, the very picture of innocence peering up through your lashes as your General cocks his head in faux exasperation, “If you promise not to blame the Lieutenants for merely obeying their Princess, then I promise there won’t be a next time without proper consultation with you.”

There’s a beat of silence before the metal helmet dips to assent, the movement near imperceptible to someone with less intimate knowledge of Din’s tells.  Beaming, you close your eyes and nudge the rim of the impressive silver dome upwards once more, needing no guide to find the lips already waiting for yours.

---

The remainder of the evening passes uneventfully despite the maelstrom that continues to pound the Solana countryside, shaking the earth and slicing its skies.  Your little cottage, however, proves to be an impenetrable haven, somehow immune to the outside destruction; its warmth and simplicity, and the generosity of your hosts, underestimated defenses.  One of the older sons from the main farmhouse braves the storm to bring a hot meal from his mother, along with some additional blankets, various sundries, and a fresh supply of dry firewood; your party wants for nothing.

Food and drink is shared over relaxed conversation that gets progressively more lively as the day’s anxieties wear off and the familiarity of the present company, coupled with overall fatigue, remove any remaining vestiges of formality due to rank.  The Lieutenants chortle over how their Princess teases the General, and marvel at the appearance of a gentler and frankly more personable side of their fearless leader previously thought non-existent. 

Din regales your group with outlandish and thrilling tales of old bounties, exotic Outer Rim planets, and narrow escapes that have all three Solanians in the room on the edge of your seats.  You counter with your own stories from various diplomatic missions to the Inner and Mid Rim, imparting fascinating and colourful tidbits on the traditions and cultures of nations that even Din has never heard of.  Though the Lieutenants’ favourite anecdotes are the ones you share about the stuffy old court officials that you’ve known since birth - the wheezing laughter of two of the General’s most formidable fighters at times overtaking the howl of the outside winds. 

Unable to stop his smiling, Din watches as you cast the spell of your charm over his men, forever in awe of your unique ability to make those around you feel comfortable, valued, seen – it’s no wonder that the people of Solana love their Princess.  He thinks back to how the two of you met in the national library those many moons ago, how easily he had mistaken you for a mere noble lady – having met all types of leaders, politicians, heads of state over the years, he never would have imagined that such humility, empathy, sincerity could reside in one of royal blood.  You had long since apologized for having inadvertently misled him regarding your identity, but there had been no real need – the truth only made him admire you more.  And you’ve only continued to amaze and captivate him since then; way past denying to himself just how utterly in love he is, Din is sure he could not conceal his feelings were it not for the cover of his Beskar.  His Lieutenants have likely already seen through his armour tonight.

It’s only when you can no longer swallow your yawns and your eyelids start to droop that Din insists everyone retire for the night.  Though he had agreed to refrain from reprimanding his men any further for their role in your adventure today, your security and safety is still his utmost priority.  He ushers you to the small bedroom to ready yourself for bed, then lays out the rotating security protocol for the night with his men.  When everyone is comfortable with their assignments, Din bids his Lieutenants goodnight before knocking on your door.

“Come in.”

He enters to find you rearranging the bedding of the one bed to your liking, adorably fluffing the pillows and tucking back the covers, “Well, General?  Have you satisfied yourself with the security arrangements?”

Din checks the room’s one window, drawing the curtains after deeming its construction to be adequate, then takes a closer look around; the room itself is quaint, nowhere near grand enough for someone of your station, but perfectly suitable for a night’s shelter from the still raging storm.  Far from complaining, you seem to have no problem making yourself at home – Din wonders if there’s any place in the galaxy that you couldn’t make your own, anywhere you wouldn’t look like you belonged perfectly.  Coruscant?  Mandalore?  Nevarro?  He shakes his head to relieve himself of thoughts he has no right to, drawing a chair next to the room’s small but well lit fireplace and sits before answering, “The Lieutenants will sleep out in the main room, one at a time, switching off 4-hour guard shifts…”

“But Din…”

The Mandalorian shakes his head, “No buts, cyare.  I cannot compromise on this.  Regardless of the assurance and hospitality of our hosts, I will not leave the premises unguarded overnight.”

You relent, knowing he will be immovable on this matter, “And you?”

“The Lieutenants will guard the cottage, and I will guard you.”

“From that chair?”

The General nods as he settles in, unsure what to make of the cute little noise you chirp at his assertion, pretending not to noticed the look of amusement gracing your pretty face as you go about your nightly routine.  There’s something magnetic about the way you complete even the most mundane of tasks: washing your face, brushing your hair – the domesticity of it all tugs at something primal in Din’s heart.  Though he’s never been in your castle bedchambers, Din will admit he has thought about what it might be like in there, the place where you lower your guard, where you can be your most restful self, vulnerable – he would want to protect you even there, he thinks.  Unaware of your own allure and the effect you’re having on the stoic, steady man watching, you go around the room extinguishing the lamps so that the only remaining light source is the still gently lapping fire next to him.  As the golden dance of its flames illuminate your graceful steps towards the bed, the tranquility of the scene before Din whispers an image of him slipping under those covers with you but for a moment - his impeachable sense of duty snaps him back to reality before the fantasy can take hold.

You’re still wearing a bemused grin as you climb into bed, as if you can read his mind the way you can the rigidity of his posture; after laying your head on the pillow and rolling away from him, you sing back over the roar of the storm, “Goodnight, General.”

“Goodnight, Princess.”

---

Din can tell that you aren’t asleep, but he’s still surprised nearly an hour later when you suddenly sit upright, “Din, do you really mean not to get any rest?”

When he offers nothing but silence, you violently throw back the covers and hop out of bed.  Walking towards him, bathed in the warm glow of the fire’s dying embers, you’re an angel unaware of her own sin, “Please, come to bed, General.  It’s big enough for the both of us.”

You don’t know that for the last hour it’s taken every ounce of Din’s honour, every last fibre of his strength to keep from doing just that.  That the mere idea of it being his place to touch you in a shared bed, fall asleep and wake up next to your elegance is worth more to Din than all the credits in the galaxy.  That his imagination cannot conceive of anything more comforting than the curved feel of your lovely spine pressed up against his chest and his breath syncing to yours as you both succumb to peaceful, uninterrupted sleep.  Yes, that bed is big of enough for the two of you, but is it big enough to contain the spill of Din’s overflowing feelings?  His desires and forbidden fantasies?  Is the bed strong enough to cradle the sanctity of your connection, the magnitude of what you’ve come to mean to one another, the promises of a tomorrow?  Never mind tomorrow, can the bed hold everything Din wishes to say to your heart and do to your heavenly body tonight? 

“You cannot say that to me, Princess.  Especially not when dressed the way you are.”

Your eyes crinkle adorably, your chest warming from the huskiness in Din’s voice, “I didn’t realize this simple frock made me such a temptress.”

“More forbidden than any temptation, cyare,” breathes Din.  How can he possibly explain that seeing you out of your usual silks, in plainclothes that would not look out of place on any maiden of the kingdom, is a danger to his mind?  In these clothes, you would not look so out of place on Nevarro, in his small home near the lava flats - he can almost imagine you welcoming him and Grogu home wearing something similar.  He can’t tell you that the very look of you as you are now fuels the impossible dream that he might have a life with you; that without your regalia, your satin armour, he can almost picture himself your equal, a man worthy of carving a place by your side.

Din doesn’t have the words to articulate any of this; all he can do is to unlock his helmet before simply stating, “You look like home.”

You move as if in flight, arms locked around your General’s neck before you’re even seated in his lap.  Eagerly pushing up his helmet, you crash your lips to Din’s at his romantic declaration, the significance of his words not lost on you.  You kiss his fears and uncertainty into submission, every press of your mouths deeper and more passionate than the last.

After Din tips his helmet back down, he confesses, wistful, “Cyare, right now in this room, dressed as you are, looking as beautiful as you do - you look like someone that could actually be mine.”

“I am yours, Din,” you declare, heart bursting, “I’ve been yours from the moment we met, and every day since.  I’ll never be anyone’s but yours.”  You stand and extend your hand towards the only man to whom your heart, your body, your soul, will ever belong, “Come to bed, Din.”

There’s not enough fight in him to refuse again - the armour around his heart already cracked and crumbling from your sweet and heartfelt confession, his own abundance of emotions, and the mesmerizing vision of you in that damn dress.

The two of you move as one towards the bed, Din’s large gloved hands cover yours, guiding you over the breadth of his body.  You remain unsure of his intentions until he helps your fingers find the magnetic latch beneath one of his pauldrons – at the click of its release, you gasp, shocked; pulling your hand back so fast it’s as if you’ve been burnt, sure you’ve just committed an unforgivable sin.

Din chuckles and holds fast onto your hand, bringing it back to his shoulder and closing your fingers over the precious metal.  He tugs so that the Beskar detaches from its clip, letting you separate the armour from the man.  You look between the component in your hand and the visor of Din’s helmet in awe – disbelieving of this honour he’s bestowing on you.  That a Mandalorian remove any of his sacred armour in front of another is extraordinary enough, to let her be the one to relieve him of it is practically sacrilegious.  Your eyes well with tears at this remarkable display of trust, of this invitation Din is extending, and you vow here and now that you will do everything in your power to be deserving of such privilege.

Thank you.

Din nods in understanding as he helps you set down his pauldron, then resumes showing you how to disarm him.  The ceremony of his armour removal is sacrosanct, a carefully coordinated dance steeped in tradition: pauldron, bandolier, chest plate, cape, frame, vambraces, thigh plates, boots – all handled with the greatest of care and reverence.  You memorize every wordless instruction and commit this sacred ritual to heart, the most attentive student to her adoring teacher. 

It’s only when Din stands before you in just his flight suit that he hesitates, shy, exposed.  You reach to offer him reassurance but he stops you by holding up both gloved hands; the shakiness of his breath indicative of the gravity of what he’s about to do, reveal more of himself to you than he has another living soul for what may be his entire adult life. 

“Din, you don’t-” you start, wanting him know he doesn’t have to do anything he’s not ready for and certainly not this; you don’t expect it and you don’t need such any such grand gestures to understand his feelings.  In truth, you can’t stomach the idea of him having any regrets and being unable to take back or undo his actions.

He shakes his head, happy, “I want to, mesh’la.  I’ve never wanted to more.  For anyone, more.”  Blinking away your tears, your eyes glue to Din’s gloves as he slowly removes and adds them to his neat pile of armour; shellshocked, you stare at enormous size of his hands, instruments of immeasurable power, tanned and rough looking with thick veins that crisscross over a myriad of healed-over scars.  Din flexes his thick fingers, as if getting used to the freedom of being ungloved, before turning them over in invitation.  You slide your palms over his, soaking in the sensation of this first touch – his skin is exquisite in its feel, warm and grounding, priceless.

You’re overwhelmed, emotional – these very hands have held you, comforted you, cared for you with infinite tenderness and patience, and yet you know them to also be skilled in destruction, unyielding in their might.  Your heartbeat quickens; would it be so wrong if you wanted these hands to show you some of that brutal strength? To handle you with a little less care?  To ruin you? 

Registering your physical reaction to his hands, Din chest puffs a little in pride for his effect on you; he takes one of his hands and cups your face, reveling in how you close your eyes and lean into his palm.  Slowly, he trails the fingers of that same hand along your jaw line, then down the side of your neck, feeling you shiver beneath his touch; brushing his fingertips across your collar, he pauses momentarily at the neckline of this temptress dress, before gently dragging the fabric aside until it starts to slip over your shoulder.  “May I?” he asks quietly.

You nod, not trusting your own voice.  With the same care you used to strip him of his armour, Din undresses you: slow, reverent.  It’s tortuous how much time he takes unlacing every lace, unbuttoning every button, untying every tie; Din’s sense of wonder is palpable as each of your layers is shed, you can tell by the way his flight suit tightens across the expanse of his chest that he’s holding his breath until the very last panel of fabric lands at your feet and leaves you bare to his gaze.

Only then does he exhale. 

For the first time in a while, you feel self-conscious around Din – usually so confident in your ability to read your Mandalorian, you’re finding his body language too impassive to interpret; his continued silence exaggerates how exposed you are, and so you turn your face away, hiding from his gaze – are you not what he expected?  Does he not like what he sees?

As if having read your mind, two thick fingers gently pinch your chin and tilt your face upwards; the man beyond the dark abyss of the T-visor zeros in on the spiral of your thoughts, calming them with one simple word, “Beautiful.”

You cannot help but beam as the sincerity and lust underlying Din’s baritone wash over you, filling you to the brim with renewed confidence and want.

Din’s hands itch to explore your body, but he reminds himself that you deserve restraint, that you’re too precious for clumsy hands; he runs the back of his knuckles over your collar bones, then down your sternum, closely watching your reactions to his touch.  Your skin prickles from the electricity of his caress, breasts aching for more and perking towards Din’s hands; when his fingertips catch over one of your hardened nipples, you whimper and your body bows.  His laugh sends shivers down your spine, “And so sensitive.”

Biting down on your lower lip, you pout, too impatient for seduction, and throw your arms Din’s thick neck, whining as you press your naked body against his immovable frame.  He touches his helmet to your forehead, and the cool feel of his Keldabe kiss against your warm skin forces you to still and calm; even through the modulator, Din’s tone is indulgent and placating, “Cyare, I have to blindfold you now, is that okay?”

“Of course, Din,” the significance of this next step not lost on you, you purr, “I trust you.”

Reaching behind you, Din picks up a sash tie that came loose from your dress when he disrobed you.  You gaze affectionately into Din’s visor, straight into his soul, your love and trust the last thing he sees before he covers your eyes with the soft fabric and robs you of your sight.

“Can you see?” the General breathes right above your ear as he secures the blindfold’s knot, “Not too tight?”

“It’s perfect,” you whisper, barely heard over the loudness of the storm, but no matter, Din reads the way your body reacts to the hiss of his helmet being removed, the sound of his flight suit unzipping.

Something about Din removing this final layer of clothing, the last remaining barrier between his skin and yours, feels like a point of no return, like you’re about to step off the edge of a cliff, hand in hand with the only person in this galaxy with whom you want to share this intimacy.

“Din,” you call for him, you need him.

He lays you gently on the bed and climbs on top, powerful body covering yours, covetous and protective; he flutters soft kisses to your forehead, cheeks, the tip of your nose before coming home to your mouth.  Your lips part in an invitation and Din licks in, his tongue eager to explore, deify, to claim – you match him stroke for stroke, brush for brush, letting yourself be conquered.  This man is everything to you, his strength, his compassion, his heart, all without an equal in this galaxy - your passion for him claws at his back, trying to pull your bodies closer together, the heat between your legs making a mess of you.

“Cyar’ika,” Din rasps, the honey of his tenor, so clear without the modulator, music to your ears, “I will do anything you ask, give you anything you need, but please, Your Highness, if you allow, I would very much like to take my time with you tonight.”

Your rank sounds like delicious sin on his tongue, the polite manner of his address barely concealing the filthiness of his request.  Of course you will acquiesce; Din has said on more than one occasion that whether you command him as his sovereign or his love, he will always obey without question – but the truth of the matter is that you could never deny him anything either. 

“Okay, General,” your fingers trace the sharpness of his jaw and thumb at his plush bottom lip, “take all the time you need.”

He does.

Din worships every inch of your body with his hands, his mouth – mapping the valleys and hills of your figure with the skill and focus of a master navigator getting the lay of a new land.  The tip of his strong nose carves new pathways over the soft plains of your body, and his tongue and fingers follow, traversing those routes over and over so that he’ll forever be able to find his way to heaven, even with his eyes closed.  He reads the noises you make like a map: your little sighs and gasps have him running his tongue over the same pleasure points repeatedly, begging you to recreate that sweet melody for him again; when you writhe and whine, his fingers dig a little deeper, pinch a little harder, forcing your body to mold to his reverent touch; moans and pleas for more, more, more leave him proud and tortured, torn between drawing out this holiest of prayers and paying homage to the siren call from between your legs. 

No sweet spot is left undiscovered as Din explores and marks you wholly and completely as his.  He knows you now in a way that his wildest dreams hardly allowed, and yet it changes nothing of his feelings for you; naked and needy beneath him, you still command him - he remains at your mercy, forever devoted to your happiness, the fiercest protector of your heart.

Your cries for him under the cover of the winds howling against the window do not go unheard; he could never leave you so unsatisfied - kissing down your raised leg, laving at the ticklish spot behind your knee, Din surrenders, bringing his mouth to where you need him most.

The whinny and shudder of relief you exhale when he touches down on your clit rivals the shrieks and shakes of the still raging storm outside.  Din grins against your cunt as you fist his hair, tugging, patience having run thin, your offer to let him take his time officially rescinded.  Orders received, the General laps at your folds with renewed vigour, making out messily with your slit and drinking down the drip of your nectar like a man parched.  Your moans of ecstasy spur him to add the efforts of his fingers, pushing in one, then two thick digits to your mindless chanting of his name.  Curling and scissoring you open at the pace that has you yanking at the curls at the base of his neck the hardest, Din circles and sucks on your clit like a men possessed, obsessed, slowing only when he feels you seize and quake with your first orgasm of the night.

Proud of a job well done, Din makes the return journey up your body, smiling against your skin, kissing and caressing the all the curvature landmarks he discovered earlier.  Resting his weight on top of you, the Mandalorian sighs, contented and hard, as you welcome him back into your arms.  His mouth returns to yours, and when you taste your own honey the sound you make is so guttural and animalistic, Din cannot fathom what he ever did to deserve such heaven.  The kissing remains tender, the scratches down his back gentle, your moans soft and melodious – for a man who’s spent his entire life fighting and steeped in violence, Din knows this is the peace that would allow him to die happy.

But it’s not enough for you.

“Din, please,” you murmur against his lips, voice awakening and dripping with lust, “I need you.”

Once again, the General has no choice but to obey.  Kissing you deep, he notches his aching cock against your entrance, smiling at the expression of anticipation evident on the exposed half of your face; he enters you slow, careful.

Your body reacts to finally getting what its wanted for so long by arching, welcoming every inch of Din’s length, pussy fluttering and begging for more.  You want all of him tonight.  Forever.

When he finally bottoms out, Din buries his face into your neck, nearly overwhelmed by the sweet hug of your warm walls, and growls low, throaty, “So tight, mesh’la.”

“So full, General,” you sing back, floating on bliss.  Though you cannot see his expression, you’re sure this moment is affecting you both the same; the feel of this great man, cradling you so dear while trusting you to touch him while bare, armourless, makes your heart explode – you want to give everything you have to him, repay him for the trust and belief he’s place in you, for making you feel alive, free, invincible, for just being him, “Din… I love you.”

You can feel him smile as he presses kisses up the column of your throat, his facial hair tickling as he drags his lips back to yours, “Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, Princess.”

Unable to contain your joy, your mouth curves in delight, “Is that Mando’a?”

“Yes.  For I love you.”

“Teach me?”

Din begins to move, slow thrusting into your tight cunt, every drag a release, an offering, “Nee kar-TIE-lee gar dah-RAH-soom.  Nee kar-”

“Nee kar-” you try out the pronunciation hushed, heart pounding, as if it was a secret being revealed to you and only you.

“TIE-lee gar.”

The words of Din’s native tongue sound so beautiful spoken this way, sure and slow to the rhythm of Din rocking into you; you try your best to do it justice with your own repetition, “TIE-lee gar.”

“Very good, cyare,” Din’s praise hits you right in the throb of your clit, you clench so hard he chokes, “Dah-RAH-soom.”

Mandalore’s language might as well be a forbidden hymn when sung in your breathy register, “Dah-RAH-soon.”

“Perfect.  Again.”

Again and again you practice, recitation of this one glorious phrase punctuated by the increasing tempo of Din’s thrusts.  He praises your every successful completion of the phrase, even those that take longer when you become distracted by how deep he sinks into your cunt or the wet squelch of your bodies joining together over and over.

“Well done, Princess.” 

“Doing so good for me.” 

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum.”

The General’s patience and encouragement make you want to try even harder to please him; you roll your hips, meeting his powerful drive with your own bounce, voice growing louder and more confident, “Ni kar'tayl-”

Your cadence stumbles as Din picks up the pace something feral; he jolts you up the bed, punching the air from your lungs and with it, the simple phonetics of his people’s language.  You wail your Mando’a like a war cry as Din’s cock reaches new depths, grateful that the rainstorm that continues to beat down over Solana drowns out your unrestrained vocals.

“Dank Farrik, you’re perfect, cyare.”

And still, you persist, sobbing out the lyrical combination of vowels and consonants between every gasping breath Din allows; he’s holding you close now, his lips growling words of devotion and reassurance as you continue to refine the pitch and intonation of the truest phrase you will ever utter.  His hips never stutter, he chases after your high like his life depends on it; not in all his days has Din heard the words of the Mandalorian people sound so melodious, so regal, so damn ethereal than on the wings of your angelic voice.  He’s so proud of you; he could listen to you speak Mando’a forever.  He could love you forever. 

“Again,” Din croaks, his animal now fully unleashed, he pounds into you unrestrained, single minded.

You’re so close.  So, so close to perfecting your Mando’a, unwilling to settle for anything less than a proper declaration of how adamantly you adore and admire your Mandalorian.  I love you, Din. I love you, Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, I love you.

(Thrust) Ni kar'tayli (thrust, thrust) gar (thump, thump) darasuum!

“Again.”

(Slap) Ni kar'tayli (slap, slap, slap) gar (thrust, thrust) darasuum!

“Din!” You come, the chime of your General’s name ringing out and echoing off the walls of your room, thankfully swallowed by the roar of the outside gale.

The hug of your perfect cunt and the poetry of his native tongue on yours proves too much for Din’s cock; he spills into you as you continue to murmur in perfect Mando’a “Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum…”

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he hums against your mouth, his descent lazy and sleepy.  You smile against his lips, blissed out, body limp and wrung out, but heart full and blooming.

“I love you too, Din,” you coo, letting your Mandalorian curl around you, the two of you settle under the covers, soaking in the afterglow of your lovemaking.  As Din’s strong arms wind protectively around your body and the heat from the press of his naked body against yours urges you towards sleep, you remember your concern from earlier, “Din, I know you won’t spend the night like this, but please promise me you’ll get some rest before getting up and resuming guard.”

The General squeezes you tighter in response, the velvet of his promise rumbles against your cheek, “I promise, Princess.  I’m yours to command.  I’m yours.”

And I’m yours.  So tired, you’re unsure if you’re able to say the words aloud before your eyes close.  It’s not necessary; the steady beating of your heart and the enormity of your feelings pulsing against the feel of Din’s bare skin next to yours, say it for you.

🎶In the Middle of the Night by Elley Duhé🎶:

I summoned you, please come to me Don't bury thoughts that you really want I fill you up, drink from my cup Within me lies what you really want

Come, lay me down 'Cause you know this 'Cause you know this sound

In the middle of the night In the middle of the night Just call my name I'm yours to tame In the middle of the night In the middle of the night I'm wide awake I crave your taste all night long 'Til morning comes I'm getting what is mine You gon' get yours, oh no, ooh In the middle of the night In the middle of the night, oh

These burning flames, these crashing waves Wash over me like a hurricane I captivate, you're hypnotized Feel powerful, but it's me again

Come, lay me down 'Cause I know this 'Cause I know this sound

🎶Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift🎶:

He said, "Let's get out of this town Drive out of the city, away from the crowds" I thought Heaven can't help me now Nothing lasts forever But this is gonna take me down He's so tall and handsome as hell He's so bad, but he does it so well I can see the end as it begins My one condition is

Say you'll remember me Standing in a nice dress Staring at the sunset, babe Red lips and rosy cheeks Say you'll see me again Even if it's just in your wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha Wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha

I said, "No one has to know what we do" His hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room And his voice is a familiar sound Nothing lasts forever But this is getting good now He's so tall and handsome as hell He's so bad, but he does it so well And when we've had our very last kiss My last request is

Say you'll remember me Standing in a nice dress Staring at the sunset, babe Red lips and rosy cheeks Say you'll see me again Even if it's just in your wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha (ha-ah, ha) Wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha

You'll see me in hindsight Tangled up with you all night Burning it down Someday when you leave me I bet these memories Follow you around You'll see me in hindsight Tangled up with you all night Burning (burning) it (it) down (down) Someday when you leave me I bet these memories Follow (follow) you (you) around (follow you around)

He knew coming back to Solana was a mistake the moment he saw you walk into the room in that wedding dress.

Kriff, he knew it was a mistake when he received your father’s communique, but still accepted the invitation to return, somehow managing to convince himself that he would be able to handle it.

That was a mistake, too.

Din one hundred percent does not have a handle on it, himself or anything else.

He understood the danger he was opening his heart to in coming back, fully knowing that he would have to leave you again - which is why he didn’t bring Grogu; he thought he had properly weighed that inevitable torture against the heaven of seeing you again, hearing your voice once more, just being in the same room as your perfume – he could endure it. He told himself he had to.

Unfortunately, Din had grossly underestimated the hold you still have on him, while overestimating his own fortitude. 

From his very first glimpse of you stepping into the room, all reason flew out of the Mandalorian’s head.  Your graceful figure stopped his heart dead while the glow of your beautiful countenance shocked it back to life in an endless cycle.  You carried the silk masterpiece draping off your body so well, it was you who was the work of art, not the garment; barely breathing, Din likened this moment to visiting a painting after having only seen it in a holofilm – his memories and dreams of you didn’t hold a candle to the real thing.  The feared warrior was about to keel over and all you had done was walk across the room - you hadn’t even noticed him yet.

It was only when he heard your breathy thanks for his assistance with your dress that Din truly understood the magnitude of his error.  That’s all it took: you speaking to him one time and he was ready to throw away all semblance of decorum and honour, get on his knees and obey your every wish and desire - no matter how disastrous for either of you.  With great difficultly, Din forced himself to avert his gaze from your beautiful face - for fear that he might see some sign from you, real or imagined, that would give him permission to haul you over his shoulder and steal you out of the room.

This was the moment Din Djarin reconciled with the truth that he was indeed, a weak, weak man.  And a fiend.  Since that chance meeting with you on Coruscant, the absence of you dominated his every waking hour and plagued each sleepless night somehow more persistently than ever.  He was an addict, and you his drug of choice – after that sweet hit months ago, his mind, body and soul were constantly jonesing for more.

At the same exact time, Din realized the risk he exposed you to by returning.  To be in such close proximity and not be able to touch, kiss, or hold you was asking a level of restraint and control that he could no longer promise to embody.  If, for even a nanosecond, his heart believed he could reclaim the life he once shared with you, Din would surrender to his desires completely and discard any remaining sense of duty, decency. 

He had no qualms admitting he would happily sacrifice himself if only to taste the sweetness of your kiss again, to feel your soft body fold against his, to see you arch as he made you come over and over, hear you whimper his name as he filled you.  He would do it all even fully knowing it could be but a brief dream, a spelled mirage that would be broken once you married and he left again – the last time having nearly killed him, would Din have the strength to survive such a devastating blow twice?  He loved you enough to be willing to find out.

Dank Farrik. Perhaps his own downfall he could accept, but Din was unwilling to subject you to that same fate.  On Coruscant, in your inebriated state, you had been so candid and unguarded in admitting how deeply you had grieved, how hollow his leaving had left you – how could he force you to suffer the pain of separation again?  The sadness and hurt he witnessed in your pretty eyes that night haunt him to this day still – only a villain would risk your chance for future happiness just because he couldn’t control his damn self.

And what if he did something even more foolish than reaffirm his everlasting love for a woman he could never be with?  Like ask you to come with him?  To leave behind your entire life, your duty, your stupid fiancé?  Because, what if you came?  And for what?  A lone bounty hunter with few credits to his name and even less merit after he stole the Princess of a planet that has shown him and his son nothing but kindness and welcome?  A man with nothing but deserved shame and a small cabin on the outskirts of an insignificant planet in the Outer Rim.  You would forsake your honour and homeland, the love of your people, the future you’ve been working towards all your life for that?  For Din?  He would stain your reputation and that of your royal house for his own selfish desires, deprive you of the chance to start a family with your new husband and continue your illustrious line?  He could not.  You would resent him and certainly grow to hate him.  He would lose you all over again, only this time slow and tortuous. 

No, for both of you to survive, Din needed to cut himself off at the knees.  As unnatural as it felt, he had to build a defensive wall between you and his heart, blockading any hope of affection and tenderness, if he was to have a chance at protecting what was left of your peace.  You and him were always destined to end, but he would suffer now, alone in silence, if it meant lessening your agony in the future.

While your father made polite small talk, Din vowed himself to be a stranger to you so there would be no chance of falling into familiar old patterns, of seeking the intimacy of your company.  He steeled his body, tone, thoughts, and even his unseen facial expression to one of impassibility and indifference.  If the fires of his love for you did not burn so intensely, the coldness he forced himself to exude might have actually frozen over his heart.

He hid from you for as long as he could after leaving the East wing parlour, afraid of what even one moment alone with you would do to his defenses - but fate’s cruel sense of humour caught up with the Mandalorian as surely as did you in that stairwell.  Din drowns in his own regret and shame as he thinks back to this last conversation with you, likely the last the two of you will ever have – your palpable confusion and hurt had sent his heart reeling and beating violently against its Beskar cage, screaming and begging to be heard.

*****

“Din.”

“Princess.”  Yes, cyare. Cyar’ika. Mesh’la. Riduur.

“Din, can we go somewhere to talk?”

“What would we need to talk about, Princess?”  Anything you desire, mesh’la, but may I ask, only talk?  I wish desperately to hold you in my arms and kiss the honey of your lips once more. 

“Why have you come, Din?”

“Your father recalled me to review the adequacy of the security plans for your wedding; I’m here to ensure that your nuptials proceed without disruption.”  I missed you too much and I’m not strong enough to stay away anymore.  Every single day for the past year I’ve fought against it, but my path has always been to return to Solana and reunite with the part of myself that I left here with you. 

“You’ve come to help give me away?”

“Solana called, and I am here to fulfill my duty to its people.”  I would rather die, but I don’t have a choice.

“I thank you for your service, General.”

“Is there anything further, Princess?”  Please don’t cry, cyare - it kills me to hurt you like this.

“In your haste to leave previously, this was left behind; now that you’re here, General, it can be returned to its rightful owner.”

“I thank you, Princess.”  This is pendant, as with my heart, is yours and always will be.  I will find some way to return it to you so you will always have a piece of the Mandalorian who loves you, even if you hate me.  Ni kartyli gar darasuum (I love you).

*****

Din does everything in his power to avoid you for the rest of the day, but the image of your crestfallen face and the despair with which you proclaimed he’s forgotten you follow him like an unrelenting wraith, gloomy and accusatory.  Even when he goes to the training grounds to reunite with his former comrades, the invisible string that tethers him to you for always tugs until he cannot ignore its pull any longer – he instinctively looks up to the southside tower and sees you waiting for him, as you have so many times before, in that secret spot.

The Mandalorian wishes to go to you more than anything - it would be so easy for him to take off and fly into your waiting arms, but the consequences of doing so keep him firmly grounded; the ripping of his heart would only be temporarily mended if he gave in now, just to tear open later into an merciless chasm of pain that would swallow you both.  So, Din pretends not to see you - he fists his hands so hard his palms hurt, just so he isn’t tempted to adjust his helmet display to zoom in on your beauty, and he distracts himself with the comradery of the men under his former command.  When it comes time to file into the castle, he forces himself to do so without checking if you’re still on the turret. 

Dinner comes and goes.  Din is in equal measures disappointed and relieved when Serene announces that you’ve retired early after a full day, and he’s still conflicted when the time comes to bring his plate back to his old room to eat alone.  But once inside his former quarters, self-flagellation wins out – the knowledge that you’re somewhere near, hurting, and he cannot comfort you sits like a pit in Din’s stomach.  That you truly believe him to no longer care for you unsettles the Mandalorian to the point of nausea – appetite gone, he cannot bring himself to eat even one bite.

He decides to go for a calming walk around the castle instead.  There’s a storm rolling in now; the percussive sounds of rain and thunder a welcomed accompaniment to the wild beating of Din’s heart.  He’s loved Solanian rainstorms ever since that night in the Solana countryside when he bore the skin of his body to you for the first time, while the outside torrential downpour enveloped and muffled the sounds of your perfect first lovemaking.

About to do a third turn of the hallways in the West wing, Din’s sensors pick up on the commotion of scurrying feet above him, the addition of harsh, frantic tones lead him upstairs to investigate.  His instincts kick in at the sight of Serene and Olivia’s panicked expressions and pleading gestures to a small group of the Royal Guard; upon hearing the thunder of the Mandalorian’s approach, the crowd falls silent and turns towards the noise.

“General!” The guards stand at attention and both your lady’s maids look relieved at Din’s appearance. 

“What’s wrong?” The General’s heart pounds – it already knows the answer.

The two women look at each other, unsure, before Olivia pipes up, “It’s the Princess, General.  She’s missing and we cannot find her anywhere.”

“When and where is the last time she was seen?”

“In her bedchambers. Right after…” Olivia falters awkwardly, not sure how much to reveal in front of the Guard; Serene saves her, “… after you left her on the stairs this afternoon, General.”  The anger in her voice is unheard by most among them, but not Din; to him it’s loud and well deserved.

But he cannot dwell on that right now.  Military precision and strategic mind snapping into place, Din lays out a search plan to cover as much area as possible in as little time as possible, then dispatches his men.  He himself runs straight to the South tower.

The rage of the outside storm provides cover for the echoing boom of his heavy footsteps, but nothing can quiet the yell inside Din’s head as he races through the castle, no, no, please no.  He reaches the door to your secret meeting place in record time, hoping against hope that another member of the legion has already found you.

The door is stuck. 

Din pushes and pulls the jammed handle.  He throws his weight against the thick paneling.  The narrowness of the spiraled staircase leading to this remote area of the castle prevents him from getting the leadup he needs, but still he tries over and over to shove his way through to the outside.  Huffing and out of breath, Din adjusts the infrared reader on his internal display to see what’s beyond the door.

Nothing.  Thank goodness.  Out of habit, he does a secondary scan to make sure before turning to go.

Wait.

Barely perceptible and flickering so quickly he nearly missed it, a subtle flush of warmth shimmers small and faint on Din’s HUD.  The Mandalorian recalibrates his sensors so that the heat signature materializes slightly more in focus; now that he knows where to look, he can make out a shape on the ground.  It barely glows, dimming and flashing erratically.  It’s dying.

No!

Ready to burn down the door, Din’s blaster is out of his holster faster than he can think; he shoots at the lock until it’s mangled and smoking and then shoulders his entire body weight against the door until it splinters open.  He fights against the howl of the wind now rushing to enter the castle in order to get to you, cape whipping around his body, rain slicing against his visor.

Skidding across the slippery wet stone floor, the great warrior drops to his knees in one frantic motion to hover over your unmoving body, trying to shield you from the rain.  It makes no difference, your clothes and hair are so drenched and waterlogged they practically pin you to the floor, every part of you is wet and you’re so, so cold. 

“Cyare, please, wake up, please, please,” Din pats your face gently, trying to dry and warm your cheeks with his gloves to no avail, “wake up, please.  Come back, come back to me.”  You make no response, face ghoulishly unmoving, unnatural hue taking over your countenance.

Fear like he’s only ever felt when Grogu’s been in harm’s way grips onto Din’s insides and twists. 

No, no, no, please, no.  It cannot end like this.  I cannot lose you like this.  Please, Maker, no.

With a surge of super human strength, Din lifts your limp body and cradles you close to his chest, protected and treasured, “Mesh’la, we need to get you dry.  I’m going to get you help.  You’re going to be okay.  You have to be okay.  Don’t leave me, please.” 

Then, he runs.

At the bottom of the Southside tower stairs, Din starts yelling for help as he runs towards where he last saw another soul, anyone.  It feels like the castle is an empty labyrinth tonight and despite the racket he’s making, help does not meet him quickly enough - Din doesn’t think, he just keeps going, muscle memory taking over as his feet bring him to your bedchamber doors where luckily, both Olivia and Serene have heard his call and rush to meet him.

“Please,” he begs, “she’s so cold.” He’s not in the right mind to explain further or do anything other than hold you as directed while your maids strip and try to dry you.  After laying you in bed, Din stumbles until his back hits the wall, paralyzed by the worst-case scenario fears running rampant through his mind. 

What if he were to never see your eyes sparkle again, either with mischief, in wonder, or full of lust?  Never hear the melody of your voice cooing sweet praise and encouragement to his son?  What if that cold, unfeeling utterance of your title was the last thing he ever said to you?  What if your final thoughts of him were that he didn’t love you, that he didn’t live and die by the very thought of you?

What if everything he had forced the both of you to suffer since returning had all been for naught, that even when trying to protect you he could only hurt you?

People attempt to get his attention - they suggest he leave to get some rest, give you some privacy, tell him there’s nothing more he can do for you right now, but Din hears none of it.  Doctors, nurses, Serene, Olivia, servants, his Lieutenant – he pays none of them any heed; all Din knows is there is only one voice that can send him away and that’s yours.  He might actually growl this at the doctor.

Din remains in your room, an ever-vigilant gargoyle looming fierce and protective, his eagle eyes scrutinize every move made near or to you, his approval necessary to proceed.  He is immovable, unapproachable, ferocious, inconsolable – a sentinel on guard with nothing to lose but the treasure over which he keeps watch.  The Mandalorian’s stubbornness yields small results but results nonetheless; after a few hours of being bundled up and all manner of heating pads and blankets being added to your bed, you look better, definitely drier.  Din’s helmet readings confirm those of the medical equipment: your body temperature is slowly, but steadily rising, your heartbeat is once again strong enough to be picked up by his sensors. 

But you don’t wake up.

The doctor says to be patient, the nurses say he doesn’t need to stay; the former is more difficult than Din anticipated, the later impossible.  He sits vigil by your side, barely blinking so he doesn’t miss any changes in your condition, frustration growing when nothing does.  By hour six after having found you, Din is ready to send for his son and ask Grogu to Force heal you.

Who needs sleep when he has worry and guilt?  Din knew you were up on that turret all by yourself, and he knows why you were there.  He knows he’s the reason you’re lying in this bed right now, fighting for your very life.  He should have gotten to you sooner.  He should have never let you wait up there alone.  What if Serene and Olivia hadn’t told him you were missing?  What if he hadn’t conducted his second scan and you had been locked out in the rain overnight?

What if… what if… what if…

Din drops his head, cradling his helmet in his hands, unable to stop the spiral of his thoughts and the turmoil of his heart.  Maker, please, please let her be okay.  I’ll do anything, give anything - she just has to be okay, please.

If you’re not awake by morning he’s going to call Grogu.

---

Slowly, you try to blink your eyes open, the bright lights of the room sharp and stinging – all you can manage is to squint; only able to turn your head in tiny increments, you haltingly scan your surroundings until coming upon the imposing, armoured figure waiting at the bedside.

“Din?” you barely recognize the scrape of your own voice.

“Mesh’la,” panic and relief flood through the Mandalorian’s modulator in equal measure, “You’re awake.  How are you feeling?  Does anything hurt?”

Adjusting your body in small measures, each ache and every soreness catching you by surprise, you manage to shimmy up slightly into a sitting position with Din’s help.  It takes you until now to realize you’re in your own bed; still disoriented you manage to croak out, “Everything hurts?  Din… what happened?”

“The door on the Southside tower… it was locked and you got trapped outside in the storm.  No one could find you… when Olivia told me you were missing, I… I tried to get there as fast as I could…” Din chokes on his words as he relives the fear of those moments.

Recollection flashes behind your eyes as you start to remember – the wedding dress viewing, giving back the Mythosaur pendant, fleeing to the tower, letting go, the numbing cold of the rain - you nod in comprehension, “You saved me.  Thank you, Din.”

“I do not deserve your thanks, cyare.  It is my fault you were up there, my fault you got hurt,” Din drops his head in shame, “I’m so sorry, mesh’la.  I was avoiding you and shouldn’t have… I knew you were up there and didn’t go to you… this is all my fault… you were out there in the cold for so long… who know what could have happened if…”

“But it didn’t happen.  You found me,” Din’s obvious guilt chips at your heart, “There’s no need for apologies, Din.  It’s not as if we made an agreement to both go to the tower – I was there of my own free will and you were under no obligation to come meet me.  None of this is your fault, really, General.  Feelings change.  I understand.”

Feelings changed??  No, you didn’t understand at all.

The absurdity of your words necessitate the only action Din deems to be appropriate, as bold and brutal as it is.

Clang!

Din’s helmet is ripped from his head and thrown to the ground so quickly you’re nearly unable to squeeze your eyes shut in time. “Din!” you gasp, shocked.

Grimacing as your muscles scream in protest, the effort to sweep your hands up to your eyes hurts more than you want to admit – but that pain is nothing compared to your fear of the harm it would do to see Din’s face uncovered.

Rough leather envelops your hands and gently pulls them away from your face, “Princess, it’s okay.” You shake your head as adamantly as you can, keeping your eyes closed.  Din’s gravely baritone remains gentle and reassuring, “Trust me, cyar’ika.  Open your eyes.”

Even with his explicit permission, you still feel hesitant; slowly, you open your eyes but keep your gaze lowered, focusing on the gentle way Din holds your hands - his thumbs rubbing gentle circles over the backs as he patiently waits for you to look up.  After a short while, you cautiously peer through your lashes, still nervous and uncertain until your eyes snap all the way open in recognition.  Disbelief and confusion overtake your face as your hands leaves the cradle of Din’s to touch the visage before you.

“I know you,” you whisper, blinking with wide-eyed astonishment, half expecting this image to disappear before you can comprehend its existence.  Din nods indulgently, his smile as gentle as his eyes, letting you take your time in putting all the pieces together. 

“Coruscant,” you say definitively, your memory sharpening as your heart leaps, “that wasn’t a dream?”  At the shake of Din’s head, you melt even further, “You were really there.  You took care of me.”

“Of course, mesh’la,” as his eyes crinkle, the browns of Din’s irises fleck with an enchanting hue of gold, “I wish to always take care of you.”

“But,” your thoughts struggle to form as you become distracted by how handsome the man is; your fingers run over the soft and hard lines of Din’s face, caress the curves of his smile, a cheeky finger pokes at his dimples, “why did you let me believe it was a dream?  Why didn’t you want me to know that we had met?”

As the Mandalorian sighs, his features soften and his eyes deepen with emotion – their expressiveness captivates you, “Princess, do you remember what I told you that night about why we couldn’t meet again?” Of course, you remember - you had memorized those romantic words and replayed them in your head countless times since that night; it’s only now you fully realize that poetic declaration of love wasn’t of your creation, but Din’s.  Heart blossoming, you nod and Din continues, “I admit what I said was dramatic, but the sentiment behind my words has always been true.  I am so incredibly weak for you, mesh’la.”

Your mouth opens to object, but Din anticipates you; he pulls your hands back into his, “I know you would say that I’m strong, cyare, but it’s simply not true when it comes to you.  Strong for you, yes, strong in your name, always, but when it comes to my heart, my soul?  They obey only you; I am, forever at your mercy.”

You may not agree, but a Mandalorian being vulnerable and exposing his soft underbelly is not something to scoff at; you squeeze Din’s fingers and continue to listen patiently as he closes his eyes in recollection.  You miss their warmth immediately.

“This past year without you has been excruciating, mesh’la.  It’s all I could do to scrape enough of myself together to be the father Grogu needs, but otherwise, I was barely living.  Food had no taste, drink was without spirit, and the absence of you was an ever-present weight on my chest that made it hard to even breathe at times,” Din nearly chokes, needing a minute before he can force himself to take in air properly. “I missed you every waking moment of every single day and retreated into my memories of you during each sleepless night; I was hollowed out, half of a man, tortured by the memory of true happiness and the knowledge I would never find it again,” Din finally opens his eyes and his look of sad resignation hurts your chest.

“The reason I didn’t want you to know I was really on Coruscant is the same reason I’ve tried not to be alone with you since coming back to Solana,” anguish overtakes Din’s voice, “To have even one true moment with you, anything remotely resembling what we used to share, would be like giving a sip of water to a man dying of thirst.  Once I had a taste, my weaknesses would prevail and then nothing could hold me back from quenching the thirst I’ve been living with as my constant companion.  I would not have the strength nor would I want it, to resist my heart’s deepest desires any longer.”  He looks apologetic.

“If we shared any real closeness, however briefly, I would have no choice but to throw all caution to the wind and beg for you to take me back, let me into your life again,” Din hangs his head in shame, “and that wouldn’t be fair to you, mesh’la.  I have no right.  No right to ask for connection or intimacy from you, to beg you to love me, when I have no more to offer you than I did when I left.  I have no right to risk all that you’ve worked for, to allow my own lack of restraint to spell ruin for your future and maybe even Solana’s.”

“In short, I am weak, so I ran,” a weight seems to have lifted off Din’s shoulders, “but I’m not running anymore, Princess.  I thought that hiding my feelings from you would save the both of us from a deeper wound, but now I know that was cowardice speaking - and our love deserves bravery.  Cyare, I may not be strong enough to thwart fate, but I will never abandon you again.  From now on, anything that needs to be faced, I want to face with you, together.  As long as you are willing to have me, I promise I will remain by your side and carry you through whatever may come.”

Din wishes he possessed more eloquence, but he is a mere bounty hunter appealing to real grace; he watches as you process his confession with thoughtfulness and sympathy before your angelic features relax into a familiar, affectionate look - one he’s dreamt of many times this past year, the beauty of which could only be surpassed by the words you say next:

“Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar, Din.”

Until this moment, Din Djarin did not know what true peace in one’s soul felt like.  “Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar, Princess,” he lets you pull him closer by the back of his neck until his uncovered forehead rests against yours for a helmetless Keldabe kiss.

“I thought you didn’t love me anymore,” you sniffle quietly, though your tone is one of tremendous relief.

“I could no sooner stop the rotation of a planet around its star, cyare.  I’m so sorry for letting you believe that, and even more so for having hurt you,” Din’s remorse crushes his heart, “I beg your forgiveness, my Princess, and will accept any such punishment you deem fit.”

Unable to look at you, the stoic hunter attempts to shrink; you truly believe there is a part of Din that wants you to discipline him for his transgression, and that all of him believes he deserves it – your Mandalorian has always been so hard on himself.  With a playful little grin, you duck down slightly so you can meet Din’s eye, “I won’t lie, General, there is no one in the known worlds who can shatter my heart and mend it so completely.  I’ll let the offense go unpunished this one time, but would warn you not to do anything of the sort again.” Chuckling, more generous than cheeky, you reassure your beleaguered warrior, “I am happy, Din.  There’s nothing to forgive.”

The way the tension melting from Din’s features transforms his face from world weary to that of a man ten years younger is nothing short of stunning; his voice, however, remains gruff, “It’s more than I deserve, mesh’la.  Though I admit I cannot think of any worse torture than seeing you in that wedding dress and knowing it wouldn’t be me receiving you at the end of the aisle.  That nearly killed me.”

Throwing your arms around Din’s neck, you bury your face in the scrunch of his neck cowl and burrow in deep and safe, comforted by your Mandalorian’s familiar scent and the sheer colossus of his being, “I hate that stupid dress.”

Din chuckles, rasping in your ear, “You looked beautiful.  An absolute dream, cyare.”

Snuggling in even further, you press yourself against the strength of Din’s Beskar, seeking sanctuary in the only place you’ve ever truly found peace; as you cocoon yourself in his arms, a question you can’t seem to reason out on your own continues to gnaw at you.  Looking up, you rest your chin on the heart of the General’s armour, “Din, there’s one thing I still don’t understand.  Even if I thought you merely a dream, why did you show me your face on Coruscant?  How was that allowed?  How can you show me your face right now?”

Not without some reluctance, Din lets you leave the safety his embrace and helps you sit back comfortably on the bed; still holding your hands in his, the General rests his forearms on his thighs and leans forward, serious, “I was raised to follow the Amidalor (The Way of the Mandalore) and since speaking the Creed, have lived by the tenet to never show my face to another living being.  You know that I broke this rule previously for Grogu and as a result, was deemed an apostate and stripped of my standing as a Mandalorian.  Though I broke the Creed of my own volition, and I have never and nor will I ever regret anything I do for my son, my resulting exile was one of the most difficult times of my life – rivalled perhaps, by this past year away from you.  It was only after I redeemed myself in the Living Waters of Mandalore that was I able to shed my shame and guilt, and truly regain my sense of self and identity.”

Your chest tightens, remembering; even when Din first told you the story, his sense of loss and anguish at being excommunicated by his covert came across so fresh and acute - seeing your big strong warrior still triggered by such a painful time in his life had nearly broken your heart.

“Having done it, violating the Creed again is not something I wish to consider in my lifetime.  I’m saying all this so you know I do not take lightly to the act of removing my helmet and revealing my face,” Din says gravely.  You nod along, but all this you already understood.

“In my covert, there has only ever been one known exception to the rule and that is for one’s riduur.  Even this is not widely accepted among all sects, but… I believe This is the Way and choose to live by it,” Din hard swallows; sometimes he still feels like that young foundling from Aq Vetina trying to find his footing among his new people, terrified of stepping out of line, “Among all the star systems in this galaxy, there will only ever be one being to whom I will pledge myself as a lifelong partner and who I would ever consider my spouse.  Though we never said the vows to one another, I belong to you, Princess, as one belongs to their riduur.  Only to you will I ever commit a lifetime’s devotion, only with you do I ever wish to be equal in partnership, and to you I am so bonded that I will never raise warriors with anyone else.  You see, cyare, in my heart, you are already my riduur and so my face, as with all of me, is yours.”

You’re crying now. 

Though these are not the Mandalorian marriage vows Din taught to you, the sentiments of his speech so closely mirror those words on commitment, partnership, and devotion, you can easily imagine them recited at an altar in front of loved ones.  If only you were not so overwhelmed with emotion right now; you wish you could find the words to properly express the magnitude of your own feelings and pledge your everlasting fidelity and love to the only man in the universe you will always give your everything.

Din sees you needlessly struggling; he doesn’t need any verbal confirmation to know you are of one mind – the pureness of your heart is written all over your pretty face; he tries to lighten the mood, joking, “I hope you understand now, mesh’la, why I took great offense to what you said earlier - when it comes to my riduur, feelings do not, in fact, change.”

You cry even harder.

Pulling you back into his arms, Din hums soothing noises into your hair and rubs gentle circles on your back as your tears cascade down the slope of his Beskar like a glittering waterfall, soaking into his flight suit.  Only after your breathing evens and your body relaxes into his hold does the General let you pull away, “What happens now, Din?”

“Now, you rest and recover, cyar'ika.  And after,” he pauses to kiss the back of your hands, a devoted knight swearing his allegiance, “we take it day by day, together.  There is no being or force in this galaxy that can tear me away from you ever again; I will not, cannot, leave your side save by your say so, Princess.”

How you’ve missed this – the way the steady confidence of this man and the surety of his words always give you strength.  With him, you’re allowed space to be unsure, vulnerable, even lost, able to rely on him to lead you to the right path with his unwavering support.  Never are you more certain of who you are and what you’re capable of than when you’re with Din.

“I cannot marry him, Din.”

“No, you cannot,” his tone has the same finality, the same conviction as yours – the way one might repeat a fact as simple and true as the gravitation bond between planet and moon.  Finally making this declaration out loud feels like setting your heart free from a cage; the knowledge that Din is behind you, ready to catch you, sends your spirit soaring high and into his space so that you can crash your lips to his.

This kiss, the first you’ve shared in over a year feels like coming home; it’s bathed in the relief of belonging, steeped in the comfort of knowing and being known, powerful in its own quiet calm.  Euphoria washes over your entire being like an ocean, drowning you in its embrace.

Your lips move together in a well practiced choreographed dance, the two of you falling in sync easily after all this time - but there is nothing routine or neat about the way Din’s mouth devours yours.  He presses into you, passion-filled, unruly, barely restrained; everything is too much and not enough, vividly felt, yet hazy and dreamy – all the most wonderful of contradictions.  The General’s tongue is punishing while worshipful, each stolen breath is urgent but never-ending, this kiss feels like forever and yet could never be long enough. 

You chase the end of such a kiss with a series of soft pecks, unwilling to sever the connection of your lips, except to whisper sweet affirmations to one another.

I’ve missed you.

I love you so much.

Never letting you go ever again.

Sense and practicality return too soon to your Mandalorian.  “Cyare, I know I just promised never to leave you,” Din starts, chuckling at your anticipated whine of protest, “but you must allow me to fetch the doctor.  And either Serene or Olivia to tend to you.  Likely both as they are equally worried about you.”

“And you’ll come back?”  You know he will, but there is such a comfort in the reassurance that only Din can provide.

He knows this; he knows you, “I will always come back, Princess.”

Satisfied, you let Din press one more promise to your lips before you watch him put his helmet back on and slip out the door.

---

In the hallway, Din waits for your door to fully close behind him before releasing a ragged sigh of relief, letting loose the very thread that seems to have been stitched throughout his body, holding him together this entire time; tipping his head back, Din finally lets himself properly breathe, every inhale and exhale slow and deep.

It will take more than just this moment for Din to fully embrace his new lease on life, now that the tension that’s been pulling him taut and sharp for the past year has finally dissipated - but he is content.  Smiling to himself, happy, hopeful, Din is pushing off the door in the direction of your maids’ quarters when he’s stopped in his tracks by a familiar voice,

“General.”

Din turns to see the king emerge from the shadows of a nearby alcove.

“Is there something I should know about you and my daughter?”

---

Din follows His Majesty into the closest study in silence, already kneeling in fealty by the time the older man turns around to face the Mandalorian.

“Tell me, General.  How long have you been in love with the Princess?”

Din does not miss the hint of accusation in the King’s tone – he resigns that the truth will serve everyone best, “Since the moment I met her, Your Majesty, and more so every day since.”  He knows this is not what your father is really asking, “I had already known the Princess for several weeks when you bestowed upon me the rank of General.”

Astonishment colours your father’s expression as Din continues, “Please forgive me, sire.  There was no conspiracy on either of our parts to deceive anyone, especially you, or proport ourselves inappropriately.  When I first met the Princess, I was unaware of her rank and drawn to her kindness and good nature alone.  It took very little time for me to fall beneath the spell of her wit and charm, and to be enraptured by the purity of her heart.  By the time I learned of her royal identity, I was already head over heels for the woman who held the title.”

The king sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, needing some time to process this information, “And the entire time…?”

“Nearly, Your Majesty,” Din still cannot meet the gaze of this man who he respects and venerates so much, “After I accepted the New Republic assignment, the Princess and I attempted to put a stop to our feelings, agreeing to remain within the boundaries of our stations - to be royalty and devoted knight only.  But the enormity of our respect and admiration for one another could not ultimately be contained, and after months of slowly failing restraint, we gave in to our affections for one another.”

Shaking his head, your father asks, confused, “But why would you choose to hide your relationship?  Why would you keep it from your king?”

“Because,” Din’s head snaps up in surprise, he would have thought the multitude of reasons were obvious, “… she is the Princess.  The hierarchy of court and kingdom is rigid – our love would never be accepted; its very existence could tarnish the Princess’ reputation and diminish the majesty of your royal house.  And even if by some miracle it did not, I still cannot be the future you envisioned for your daughter.”

The Mandalorian bows his head again, missing the way your father’s mouth curls with amusement, “The Princess is, by her own admission, someone with great political and diplomatic worth; membership into your great house is coveted by many in the galaxy.  Your Majesty, you must have had some expectations as to the type of person who would be deserving of marrying her?  Certainly, someone of importance, with their own respectable standing in the kingdom if not the galaxy.  Perhaps even a title or belonging to an esteemed and celebrated lineage? At the very least, you must wish her marriage to bring political or security advantage to Solana.  The Princess expects no less of herself.”

“And that, General, is how you see my daughter?  What you deem her worth?”

“No, sire.  As much as I respect her rank, the Princess’ title has no place in the esteem I hold for her,” Din’s modulated voice fills with emotion, his admiration evident to your father, “To me, she is… ethereal.  Truly one of the humblest, genuinely compassionate beings I’ve ever met – that she wields the power of her position with such grace and thoughtfulness is Solana’s great fortune and its true source of strength.  Your daughter is smart and funny, and despite her immense privilege she does not shelter herself – she exhibits such genuine zest for life and affection for people of all walks.  Her spirit is strong and full of grace, but she can be feisty and stubborn – there is never a dull moment with her.  Beyond everything, the Princess is open with her mind and generous with her heart - I cannot say there is another like her in all the worlds.”

It feels incredible to be so effusive about your amazing qualities.  Due to the secret nature of your relationship, Din has never espoused his never-ending admiration for you out loud to anyone except for Grogu; to be able to do so to your father, a man to whom Din credits many of your merits, feels like a gift, “If it were up to me, Your Majesty, the Princess would only know love and reverence for her character and not her status - she should have a partner who worships the very ground she walks on.  But duty comes first, and that is not something either of us would have her hide from.  Your daughter’s marriage should strengthen your great house and raise the glory of Solana, keeping her safe and prosperous.  And I cannot offer any of that.  I am no one.”

“Are you sure, General?” The king straightens his posture, standing regal and self assured, “That you are no one?”

Your father gestures for the Mandalorian to rise and holds unwavering eye contact with the dark T-visor as his most revered commander gets up, “How can you say you are no one, General?  Are you not the leader of my armies?  Do Solana’s military forces not look to you as their shining example of exemplary combat skill and strategic intellect?  They trust you to lead and support them in training, demonstrate for them conduct befitting the deepest, truest sense of honour, duty and valour.  And why would they not?  You treat your brothers in arms like equals and protect their families like your own despite having no ancestral ties to this land or personal reasons to pledge allegiance to their sovereign.  Are you not a hero of the Battle of Planoor, where you led our troops to victory over Imperial insurgents?  Did you not repel the scourge of the galaxy and their attacks on Solanian freedom at great personal risk to yourself?  If I’m not mistaken, you bear a permanent souvenir of that day on your body that would have dealt a lesser man a much more tragic fate.” 

The gentle warmth of your father’s eyes and the pride that shines from their depths is undeniable, “General, even if I had not decorated you for these accomplishments myself, I would still hold you in my esteem as one of the finest men in the galaxy.  You came to our planet a stranger and took every citizen of Solana under your protection; I’ve personally witness you defend and care for my subjects as if they were of your own Creed.  Never does the core of one's character ring clearer to me than in the way they show up for the innocent and defenseless; you, General, stand for what’s right and fair, always with compassion, and ever respectful of the dignity we owe to all living beings.  Decency, General, is your greatest strength.”

“Tell me this, General,” the king’s tone grows indulgent and paternal, “What type of man gives so selflessly to those from whom he would never consider asking for repayment? The same that exhibits bravery and perseverance in the face of insurmountable odds, I would think. A man who fights through his own struggles to approach even the most daunting of challenges head on in the name of justice and truth.  What chance does evil and tyranny have against this type of man who willingly puts his life on the line and never backs down from a righteous fight? Who leads by tireless example and inspires an entire nation to do the same?  General, I can not fathom how a man such as you are could view himself as no one or think himself unable to offer Solana prosperity and safety.”

Though, to most, he is generally considered a man of few words, Din has never found himself to be truly speechless until now.  He was raised to be honourable for the sake of honour, brave for bravery’s sake, and that even if a Mandalorian had nothing, he would always have his integrity; praise for living The Way is something that will always catch Din off guard.  While he’s still absorbing the generosity of your father’s words, the older man flabbergasts him yet again, “General, did you truly think I requested your return to Solana in order to review security plans?”

Behind his visor, Din’s eyes grow to the size of saucers, his attempts to speak fall flat; the modulator of his helmet picking up only awkward stuttering as the Mandalorian opens and closes his mouth repeatedly.

“I admit it took me longer than it should to make the connection between your leaving and my daughter’s change in demeanor.  She is, as you say, strong and spirited; and while she hid her sadness well, I know my own daughter and it was clear to me that something within her had broken,” the king speaks freely, the anguish of being unable to comfort his own child still an open wound, “I did suspect her upcoming marriage was the source of her dread, and privately, considered cancelling the betrothal entirely if she should wish it.  It baffled me that she was trying to hide her obvious unhappiness with the arrangement, and the more she insisted she was fine, the less I believed her.” 

Scratching his head, your father mentally retraces his own steps, “Any which way I thought about it, my daughter’s misery could be traced back to the date of her engagement, so I saw no reason for her to continue denying it… that is, until I realized it was also the same day you abruptly left Solana.  Up until that moment, I did not suspect there was anything more to your attachment than respect and a general fondness, but once I started to seriously consider your departure as the trigger for the Princess’ melancholy, I had to rethink everything I thought I knew.  Was it possible that your leaving and my daughter’s betrothal were not as unrelated as you had made it seen?”

Din is nodding along now, but the proper response to your father’s story still eludes him.  “I needed to know for certain.  I could not let my daughter sink deeper into a sorrow that she would not even admit to, so I sent you the invitation.  Forgive me for my duplicity, General – I knew that as a loyal son of Solana you would heed my call, even if it caused you what I was beginning to realize would be great pain,” his Majesty does look slightly sheepish, “You arrived and almost immediately proved my theories correct – perhaps you thought you were being subtle, but the effect you and the Princess had on one another in the East Wing parlour was tangible, electric – it charged the very air of the room.  There could be no doubt about it, there was something powerful between the two of you, I just didn’t know the extent and depth of that connection, of that love – or rather, I didn’t know until I overheard the two of you just now when the Princess work up.”  Upon finishing, your father looks satisfied, relieved.

“I love her, Your Majesty.”  It’s the truth.  And the only thing Din thinks is worthy of saying right now.

“I know.”  The king’s tone is full of fondness for his General, “And I cannot think of anyone better to whom I could entrust my daughter’s heart than the protector of the realm she loves so much.  But neither of us can nor should we speak for the Princess.  Come, let us hear what she has to say on the matter.”

---

Din paces the hall outside of your room for what feels like hours.  He’s been out here alone since your father left him at the door, except for the doctor who came and left, and the few appearances by Serene and Olivia as they rushed about their duties.

The General is still in a state of shock over what’s transpired since he found you on the Southside turret; from the complete dismantling of all his emotional walls, to your forgiveness and the reconfirmation of your love, then unbelievably, your father’s revelations – every development has felt overwhelmingly surreal.  Never in all of Din’s wildest dreams did he imagine that he would find himself in this position – and on top of everything, something even more unexpected and precarious has started to roost in his chest, a stealthy assassin that shadows his every thought: hope.

The door to your room opens to your father exiting while bidding you a swift recovery and a good night; though Din cannot hear the man’s exact words, he can tell they are full of paternal affection.  When the king turns, he makes for Din directly; expression poignant, eyes misty and full of wisdom, he clasps a hand to the Mandalorian’s shoulder pauldron, “She’s waiting for you, son.”

There’s no time to linger on the significance of the endearment, nor the litany of emotions that surge through the Mandalorian upon hearing it, because from inside the room you call to him, voice full of song, “Din!”

He leaves your father to saunter down the hall with a renewed lightness in his steps, and rushes to your bedside, kneeling once more before the ruler of his grateful heart.  You receive the collapsing frame of the strongest man you know in your open arms and tuck yourself into his covered neck, ecstatically crying.  Cupping your face, Din brushes his leathered thumbs over your wet cheeks, “Mesh’la;” he waits for you to speak more, afraid still of his own hope.

“Din!  I am to be engaged no longer,” the joy in your eyes sparkles like the most brilliant of constellations, your cheeks are flushed as if you had pinched them in disbelief, and your rosy lips quiver in hopeful excitement.  Din thinks this might be the most beautiful you’ve ever looked.  A celestial glow radiates from your very being, “Father says he will meet with our bannermen tonight and cancel the betrothal.  He will explain I’m not yet ready to be a wife and that the anxiety has been affecting my health.  They are old family friends of court, so he believes they will be understanding, but he is fully prepared to offer and provide all necessary rewards and compensation for any trouble or distressed sustained.  Father has tried to reassure me all will be okay, but I admit to some feelings of guilt.”

Din strokes your hair lovingly, forever amazed by the extent of your compassion and empathy, “I trust His Majesty, cyare.  I am sure all will be well, as he promised.  But if you do wish to speak to your former fiancé and his family directly, I will be right there with you for support.”

Hugging him tightly before pulling back to gaze into the welcoming abyss of Din’s visor, your fingers gently caress his helmet as you would the lines of his handsome face, “Will you stay now, Din?  On Solana?  With me?”

The silver dome tilts forward and its vocoder cannot mask the sincerity and conviction of Din’s pledge, “My place is and will forever be, by your side, Princess.  My weapons are yours to command, my heart is yours to hold; I fight in your name, I love in your name and the honour of doing both will forever be a part of my own personal Creed.”

Your poetic warrior.  There are no words that can properly express the immense joy and gratitude you feel for being so well loved, not only by the great man before you, but the other great man in your life, the king.  How lucky are you?  To have such a benevolent, compassionate man as your father, your mentor, and to be the chosen partner of a man who equals him in courage, decency, and selflessness?  It’s all you can do to keep from bursting into tears again.

And just when you think that this is the happiest a person could ever feel, Din, still down on one knee, holds out his Mythosaur pendant in offering and says in a voice so hushed it could almost be mistaken for his natural, unmodulated baritone,

“Princess.  Cyar’ika.  Though it is only very recently you find yourself engaged no longer, would you bestow upon me the honour of being engaged once more?”

It’s a dream, this must be a dream, you think, as you whisper back, “Yes.”

Unable to hold back the flood of happy tears any longer, you let them fall freely and press your forehead to your future riduur’s helm, sealing in your forever with a Keldabe kiss.

1 year later

On any other planet (save Mandalore, and possibly Nevarro), a Beskar covered warrior strolling casually through an outdoor market might look out of place, but not on Solana.  As Din walks down the main fairway, a head taller than every one else, he does garner a fair bit of attention, but it’s of the most welcomed variety.

“Good to see you, General!”

“Solana is glad to have its General home!”

He waves to every well wisher, shakes a few hands, and accepts offers of food and other wares from the local vendors; he has to struggle with a few to convince them to accept payment, but at the end of the day, it’s a rare being who can say no to a Mandalorian.  On a few occasions, Din has to excuse himself hastily, cutting the small talk short on account of needing to keep an eye on Grogu who wanders the market ahead of his father, also happily accepting gifts - mainly of the food sort.

Father and son are heading in the direction of the National Library to surprise you with an early return from their latest mission for the New Republic.  Halfway to their destination, Din spots a familiar figure leaning over a vendor table, examining its goods – slightly bemused and genuinely curious, Din saunters over and looms behind his unsuspecting target for several seconds before uttering, low and dangerous,

“Mayfeld.”

The bald-headed man spins around, wide-eyed and stunned, “Mando!”  Out of habit, he raises his hands in the air to show that he’s unarmed, innocent, “What are you doing here?”

“The General lives here,” the vendor interjects in a tone the suggests the answer should be obvious, “Welcome home, General.”  Din and the vendor exchange polite nods before the latter goes to help another customer.  Meanwhile, Mayfeld purses his lips into a smile, amused by this newly acquired information, “General, eh?  Listen, Mando – I’m not here for any trouble!  I’ve been living the straight and narrow life since…” he shrugs and turns his palms upward to make a gesture that Din assumes is meant to indicate Mayfeld’s prison break, faked death, or both.  “I’m just trying to find a place to settle down, have a nice, quiet life.  And Solana’s known to be friendly to those looking to make a fresh start!  I swear I didn’t know that… whoa, whoa… wait a minute!” Mayfeld’s expression turns panicked as he spots the Royal Guard change the direction of their march and make a beeline to where he’s standing with Din.

“Relax, Mayfeld,” chuckles Din, “they’re here for me, not you.”

The synchronized footsteps of Solana’s finest come to a halt a few feet from their fearless leader, standing in the position of attention, they salute in unison, “General!  Welcome back, General!”

Din returns their salute with an invitation to be at ease, then warmly greets the Lieutenant who steps forward with a clasp of forearms, “Lieutenant, right on schedule.  I’m happy to inform you that I can grant you and your men early dismissal from your duties today.”

The uniformed man tuts jovially and nods in understanding, “The offer is appreciated, General.  If it’s all the same to you, the Guard will accompany you to the library, and from there, you can relieve us of our charge.”

Din gives his second-in-command a hearty clap on the shoulder to indicate his appreciation and agreement with this plan; at their commander’s approval, the troops resume their previous course, with Din also preparing to move once he confirms that Grogu is still wandering ahead in that same direction.

Mayfeld has yet to recover from the wonder of this exchange when Din addresses him again, “Let’s go, Mayfeld.  If you’re serious about settling down on Solana, it’s best you come with me.”  Even if the man thought that the Mandalorian bore him ill will (which Migs’ gut tells him he does not), he would be a fool to refuse after having just witnessed Din’s command over the planet’s security forces.

A few minutes of walking in silence is all Mayfeld can manage, “So, Mando… these guys work for you?”

“We all serve the King of Solana.”

“Right, right.  But, like, you’re their leader?”

“I’m their commanding officer, yes.”

“Did you have to… I dunno, fight and defeat the previous General for the position or something?”

“No.”

“Hey, is that your little green guy up ahead?”

“Yes, that’s Grogu.”

“Okay, okay!  He’s bigger than the last time I saw him… you remember?  We were on that… you know what?  Never mind where that was, he’s definitely bigger!  He’s a growing… boy?”

“Yes, boy.”

“And you know, Mando… just in case, you were worried, I want you to know, I kept my promise… I’ve never told anyone I saw your face or what you look like… as far as I’m concerned, that never happened.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“Right, right… and you still don’t do that, right?  Show anybody anything?? I don’t mean any disrespect to the Creed!  It just seems like a lot of things have changed since the last time we… hung out?  Took out some Imps? You know what I’m getting at, Mando?”

And so on and so forth, the primarily one-sided nervous chattering is non-stop for the entire walk.  Din can’t pretend he isn’t amused, but his Beskar covers it well.  He keeps his answers short and clipped, mainly to mess with Migs, but also so he can keep his attention on the library building as it comes into view.

The General knows you’re coming out before he even sees you because he hears an adorable squeak emanating from his son, followed by Grogu turning into a little green blur scurrying at an impressive speed up the library’s front steps.

“Little love!” Your voice rings out sweet and melodious as you exit the front doors, quickening your own steps forward to meet the small green fur ball that force jumps into your arms.  You cuddle him close and flutter kisses all over his happy face, “You’re home early!”

“Are you okay?  Did you get hurt?” You fuss lovingly over your son, letting him coo back his reassurances, then tickle him adoringly - the two of you purring and giggling in reunion, oblivious to all those around you.  Nuzzling your nose into the top of Gorgu’s soft head to smell his sweet scent, you ask the single most important of questions, “Are you hungry?” followed by, “Where is your father?”

As an answer to the latter, Grogu points to where Din is standing, and to the former, he drops from your arms and waddles over to a captain of the Royal Guard who had somehow been relegated to holding all your son’s collected market snacks.

You pick up your skirts and run straight for the General, flying into his arms with a force that would have knocked a lesser man onto his back.  But he isn’t a lesser man, he's your man.  A Mandalorian.  Your smile is so wide and bright, Din thinks for a moment his helmet HUD has been blinded – but perhaps it’s simply that his own eyes have crinkling closed from smiling so hard himself. 

To be back in Din’s arms after nearly three weeks apart, your longest separation since his official return to Solana, feels like a homecoming; all the tension and worry floats from you body as he lifts you off your feet and you melt into the brilliance and safety of his armoured embrace.

To be in Din’s arms at all, out here in the open, is something you will never take for granted.

Even after your previous engagement was dissolved, you and Din agreed to continue keeping your relationship a secret from your subjects.  Your main concern had been the feelings of your former fiancé and his family.  Though the long-time friends and trusted members of court had accepted your father’s decision to end the betrothal with grace and understanding, flaunting your and Din’s love so soon after would have been beyond inconsiderate, cruel even.  The idea that people who have been nothing but kind and loyal to the crown might suffer embarrassment due to whisperings and gossip was more than you could stomach.  Privately, you also worried that the public might mistakenly blame Din or think him capable of something dishonourable.

Your father had supported discretion – in his experience, the general population preferred to be spared the messy details of palace life, and very rarely reacted well to multiple announcements of change; it would be best to wait and let Solanians come around to the cancellation of the royal wedding in their own time, before springing anything new on them.   

Behind the closed doors of the castle, however, there was no need for any such prudence.  You were free to openly hold Din’s hand, express you admiration and appreciation for the man, praise him, tease him in front of others, shower him with affection.  Even this liberation was more than you had ever dared to dream for your love; to this day, you continue to cherish every open touch, every uninterrupted embrace, every endearment spoken in front of others.  Your attraction and desire for one another you still kept private, sacred for just the two of you, but now there was no more need for pretense, no more false goodbyes at the dinner table, no more sneaking into your bedchambers via the balcony.

Finally, your love could just breathe; it could blossom in the light, instead of shrinking into the safety of the shadows.  You and Din could touch, comfort, even look at one another without being mindful of who was around, how much time had past, that it might be the last time.  For all of the privilege and fortune of your title, there is nothing you will ever prize more than an unhurried morning spent with the love of your life, restful and worry free.

In public, everything remained above board; you kept things subtle and formal, Din remained close and protective - the most devoted knight to his Princess.  You really ought to have given the people of Solana more credit. 

That Din’s return to the realm and the dissolution of your betrothal occurred in short order was neither here nor there, barely registering to your subjects as mere coincidence.  What they did notice was that their Princess appeared happier, lighter, no longer beleaguered by the unknown sadness that had plagued you for the past year.  You once again exuded the joie de vivre that they had so missed, exemplifying the passion and optimism that many consider the foundation of Solanian culture; they were getting their Princess back.

The General, long admired for his strategic brilliance, combat skills and strong leadership, Solanians welcomed back on his own merits.  But it wasn’t long before his public appearances with you drew eyes to him in a way they had not previously.  His protective positioning over you was one of a supportive shield, always gentle, never aggressive or oppressive – he hovered at the ready without ever interfering with your authority; you were free and safe to be your authentic self, a bright star around which his calm, steady presence naturally orbited.

His intuition always place him right where you needed him to be, anticipatory and respectful.  He doted over you.  Quietly spoiled you.  He cared for you a great deal - that much was obvious to those with eyes to see.  Over time, Capital inhabitants who would describe themselves ranging from inquisitive to flat-out nosy, noticed that the General would often reach for you before catching himself, that the unseen eyes behind the black T-visor lingered on you longer than necessary, that the press of his guiding hand on your back was more affectionate than instructive.  After several months of observed ‘evidence’, confident in their powers of deduction, Solanians collectively concluded that the General was indeed in love with their Princess; and rather endearingly, united in their hope that the Princess may one day return his affections.

To the absolute delight of the now invested realm, it appeared that you were slowly opening your heart to the hardened warrior.  His quiet words made you laugh out loud and his thoughtful attention drew from you the most breathtaking of smiles.  His soft touches were allowed to linger longer and then longer, and eventually, you began returning them with you own.  You faced each other, walked side by side – no longer royalty followed by a knight in her service, but equals, trusted confidants.  The day you took Din’s arm while strolling through the capital’s market place, the glassware vendors won a handsome wager from the weaving merchants.  As the encouraging smiles and approving glances from the public grew bolder and more apparent, so did your public displays of familiarity and affection, until hand holding, long embraces, and forehead to helmet touches while amongst your people were all common place. 

You could not have been more grateful for their support, but to your subjects, loving their sovereign as well as she had always loved them, was an honour.  For Solanians, the sight of their Princess happy and safe in the arms of their General was cause for celebration – and so, without any formal announcement, your attachment was a secret no longer. 

You murmur into where the fabric of Din’s cape meets his cowl the same questions you asked his son, “Are you okay?  Did you get hurt?” Fingers digging and groping all the soft spots between the Beskar, you nuzzle in deep, ready to hibernate in Din’s warmth after so many long days apart.  Din squeezes you back tightly, “I’m perfect now that I’m back with you, mesh’la.  No injuries this time.”

His modulated husk sends shivers down your spine and you wiggle in the Mandalorian’s strong grip with a little bit of cheek, “I’ll feel better when I check you over myself later.”

“Me too,” Din’s voice is liquid velvet, his words a promise.

The two of you share a private chuckle before he presses the helm of his silver dome to your forehead and holds the kiss for a quiet moment.  Only when Din unhands you do you notice the stranger next to him eyeing the two of you with what can only be described as incredulous shock.  To your surprise, Din acknowledges him directly, “Mayfeld, let me introduce to you the Princess of Solana -”

Mayfield bows, somehow both in awe and disbelieving that his old acquaintance can make such a fortuitous introduction, “Your Highness, it’s an honour-”

“- my wife,” Din finishes, grin evident to anyone within earshot.

Tossing all attempts at decorum aside, Mayfeld’s head snaps up to stare confoundedly at the Beskar-clad man, practically screeching, “Your wife?!?”

You can’t help but look over at Din in amazement as well, unable to conceal the thrill and pride that runs through you at having being claimed out loud and proud.

You and Din had quietly married six months ago in a small ceremony attended by only a handful of your closest friends and family; then honeymooned for ten blissful days on Nevarro, just the two of you.  Trading in your titles and rank for domesticity and the simple life of Din’s cabin on the lava flats, you don’t think you’ve ever felt quite as carefree or relaxed in all your life as you did as a newlywed in the Outer Rim.  Your days were spent leisurely: meeting Din’s old friends, breaking bread with Magistrate Karga, giggling with the Anzellans who called you “Pretty Lady” (“Good job, Big Guy!”), long and lazy blurrg rides over the planet’s rocky flats and hills, perusing for souvenirs in the Nevarro City market, coming home to the isolated quiet of your cozy abode.  Your nights were equally as varied, with Din taking you at all hours in every manner, on each and every surface of his house.  There was much to be said for the freedom to be as loud as you wanted, as wanton in your cries of ecstasy as you needed, as prolific and unrestrained in your lust for your riduur as you desired.  Helmet on, helmet off, it didn’t matter – the man you rode for hours, naked and dripping wet in the planet’s volcanic hot springs was yours and you didn’t care who heard.    

Upon return from your little slice of heaven, there didn’t appear any obvious reason to announce your marriage.  If their past behaviour was to be any indication, your subjects would likely figure it out in time – there was no rush, if you were happy, they were happy; as far as Solanians were concerned, their Princess had already selected the future King consort and they wholeheartedly approved.

Accordingly, the opportunities to be announced as Din’s wife have been few and far between; you study this Mayfeld with tremendous curiosity - who is this man to Din that he would so openly and happily share such an intimate detail about your lives?

“Yes,” you nod happily, “I am his riduur.”

The man resumes his awkwardly low bow, “Congratulations, Your Highness!  Uh, and well done, Mando… I mean, General.”

Din’s large hand rubs your lower back lovingly as you bend over to pick up Grogu, who after satiating his craving for Solanian delicacies, has come seeking your attention; as you straighten, Din pats a still stunned Mayfeld on the back and answers your unspoken question, “Mayfeld helped me obtain some critical Imperial intel at great risk to himself.  Without him, we would not have so quickly rescued Grogu from Moff Gideon.”

“Oh!” Your eyes widen in understanding, “Thank you, Mr. Mayfeld!  Thank you for helping rescue my son!”  Familiar with most parts of the tale, you’re incredibly interested to learn more about this man and his role in Din and Grogu’s life before you, but more than that, you’re truly grateful, “Please join us at the castle for dinner tonight! Have you yet to find lodging? If not, you shall be our honoured guest until you do. And if you should ever decide to extend your stay on Solana, I will personally do what I can to help you settle in as comfortably as possible.”

You slide your arm through Mayfeld’s as he thanks you and tells you to call him Migs.  Then Mayfeld, you, and Grogu in your arms, form a chain and start heading towards the castle, the Royal Guard walking alongside in perfect formation.  Din admires the sway of your hips and the graceful glide of your movements for a few minutes before shifting his soulful gaze to his son chirping happily in your arms, safe, full, loved.

Following from behind, Din is catching up on military reports and capital news with his Lieutenant when he’s distracted by the sight of you throwing your head back in laughter, genuinely amused by something Mayfeld has just told you – likely an anecdote that the Mandalorian might prefer to stay buried alongside Mayfeld’s prison record.  Both you and Mayfeld turn at the same time to look at Din; you with a cheeky grin and a cute little shrug before you turn back around, Mayfeld looking absolutely gobsmacked while dramatically mouthing, “YOUR WIFE?!?!?!” then returning his attention to you.

Din maintains his pace, keeping an adoring and protective eye on you and his son, his family, from a comfortable distance; grinning broadly beneath the helmet, he murmurs to no one in particular, proud and content, “My wife.”

🎶All Night by Beyoncé🎶:

Found the truth beneath your lies And true love never has to hide (True love never has to hide) I'll trade your broken wings for mine (Trade your broken wings for mine) I've seen your scars and kissed your crime (Seen your scars and kissed your crime)

All night long Love, all night long Sweet love, all night long Sweet love, all night long All I wanna, ain't no other We together, I remember Sweet love, all night long

They say true love's the greatest weapon To win the war caused by pain (pain) But every diamond has imperfections But my love's too pure to watch it chip away (chip a-, chip a-, chip away) Boy, nothing real can be threatened True love breathes salvation back into me With every tear came redemption And my torturer became my remedy

All night long Love, all night long Sweet love, all night long Sweet love, all night long All I wanna, ain't no other We together, I remember Sweet love, all night long

How I missed you, my love

A few tags for those who have commented or reblogged that I tortured them with the angst - I am sorry again and thank you for supporting me and this series! @okiegal68 @bishtrouille @johnssherlock221 @baronessvonglitter @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

He knew coming back to Solana was a mistake the moment he saw you walk into the room in that wedding dress.

Kriff, he knew it was a mistake when he received your father’s communique, but still accepted the invitation to return, somehow managing to convince himself that he would be able to handle it.

That was a mistake, too.

Din one hundred percent does not have a handle on it, himself or anything else.

He understood the danger he was opening his heart to in coming back, fully knowing that he would have to leave you again - which is why he didn’t bring Grogu; he thought he had properly weighed that inevitable torture against the heaven of seeing you again, hearing your voice once more, just being in the same room as your perfume – he could endure it. He told himself he had to.

Unfortunately, Din had grossly underestimated the hold you still have on him, while overestimating his own fortitude. 

From his very first glimpse of you stepping into the room, all reason flew out of the Mandalorian’s head.  Your graceful figure stopped his heart dead while the glow of your beautiful countenance shocked it back to life in an endless cycle.  You carried the silk masterpiece draping off your body so well, it was you who was the work of art, not the garment; barely breathing, Din likened this moment to visiting a painting after having only seen it in a holofilm – his memories and dreams of you didn’t hold a candle to the real thing.  The feared warrior was about to keel over and all you had done was walk across the room - you hadn’t even noticed him yet.

It was only when he heard your breathy thanks for his assistance with your dress that Din truly understood the magnitude of his error.  That’s all it took: you speaking to him one time and he was ready to throw away all semblance of decorum and honour, get on his knees and obey your every wish and desire - no matter how disastrous for either of you.  With great difficultly, Din forced himself to avert his gaze from your beautiful face - for fear that he might see some sign from you, real or imagined, that would give him permission to haul you over his shoulder and steal you out of the room.

This was the moment Din Djarin reconciled with the truth that he was indeed, a weak, weak man.  And a fiend.  Since that chance meeting with you on Coruscant, the absence of you dominated his every waking hour and plagued each sleepless night somehow more persistently than ever.  He was an addict, and you his drug of choice – after that sweet hit months ago, his mind, body and soul were constantly jonesing for more.

At the same exact time, Din realized the risk he exposed you to by returning.  To be in such close proximity and not be able to touch, kiss, or hold you was asking a level of restraint and control that he could no longer promise to embody.  If, for even a nanosecond, his heart believed he could reclaim the life he once shared with you, Din would surrender to his desires completely and discard any remaining sense of duty, decency. 

He had no qualms admitting he would happily sacrifice himself if only to taste the sweetness of your kiss again, to feel your soft body fold against his, to see you arch as he made you come over and over, hear you whimper his name as he filled you.  He would do it all even fully knowing it could be but a brief dream, a spelled mirage that would be broken once you married and he left again – the last time having nearly killed him, would Din have the strength to survive such a devastating blow twice?  He loved you enough to be willing to find out.

Dank Farrik. Perhaps his own downfall he could accept, but Din was unwilling to subject you to that same fate.  On Coruscant, in your inebriated state, you had been so candid and unguarded in admitting how deeply you had grieved, how hollow his leaving had left you – how could he force you to suffer the pain of separation again?  The sadness and hurt he witnessed in your pretty eyes that night haunt him to this day still – only a villain would risk your chance for future happiness just because he couldn’t control his damn self.

And what if he did something even more foolish than reaffirm his everlasting love for a woman he could never be with?  Like ask you to come with him?  To leave behind your entire life, your duty, your stupid fiancé?  Because, what if you came?  And for what?  A lone bounty hunter with few credits to his name and even less merit after he stole the Princess of a planet that has shown him and his son nothing but kindness and welcome?  A man with nothing but deserved shame and a small cabin on the outskirts of an insignificant planet in the Outer Rim.  You would forsake your honour and homeland, the love of your people, the future you’ve been working towards all your life for that?  For Din?  He would stain your reputation and that of your royal house for his own selfish desires, deprive you of the chance to start a family with your new husband and continue your illustrious line?  He could not.  You would resent him and certainly grow to hate him.  He would lose you all over again, only this time slow and tortuous. 

No, for both of you to survive, Din needed to cut himself off at the knees.  As unnatural as it felt, he had to build a defensive wall between you and his heart, blockading any hope of affection and tenderness, if he was to have a chance at protecting what was left of your peace.  You and him were always destined to end, but he would suffer now, alone in silence, if it meant lessening your agony in the future.

While your father made polite small talk, Din vowed himself to be a stranger to you so there would be no chance of falling into familiar old patterns, of seeking the intimacy of your company.  He steeled his body, tone, thoughts, and even his unseen facial expression to one of impassibility and indifference.  If the fires of his love for you did not burn so intensely, the coldness he forced himself to exude might have actually frozen over his heart.

He hid from you for as long as he could after leaving the East wing parlour, afraid of what even one moment alone with you would do to his defenses - but fate’s cruel sense of humour caught up with the Mandalorian as surely as did you in that stairwell.  Din drowns in his own regret and shame as he thinks back to this last conversation with you, likely the last the two of you will ever have – your palpable confusion and hurt had sent his heart reeling and beating violently against its Beskar cage, screaming and begging to be heard.

*****

“Din.”

“Princess.”  Yes, cyare. Cyar’ika. Mesh’la. Riduur.

“Din, can we go somewhere to talk?”

“What would we need to talk about, Princess?”  Anything you desire, mesh’la, but may I ask, only talk?  I wish desperately to hold you in my arms and kiss the honey of your lips once more. 

“Why have you come, Din?”

“Your father recalled me to review the adequacy of the security plans for your wedding; I’m here to ensure that your nuptials proceed without disruption.”  I missed you too much and I’m not strong enough to stay away anymore.  Every single day for the past year I’ve fought against it, but my path has always been to return to Solana and reunite with the part of myself that I left here with you. 

“You’ve come to help give me away?”

“Solana called, and I am here to fulfill my duty to its people.”  I would rather die, but I don’t have a choice.

“I thank you for your service, General.”

“Is there anything further, Princess?”  Please don’t cry, cyare - it kills me to hurt you like this.

“In your haste to leave previously, this was left behind; now that you’re here, General, it can be returned to its rightful owner.”

“I thank you, Princess.”  This is pendant, as with my heart, is yours and always will be.  I will find some way to return it to you so you will always have a piece of the Mandalorian who loves you, even if you hate me.  Ni kartyli gar darasuum (I love you).

*****

Din does everything in his power to avoid you for the rest of the day, but the image of your crestfallen face and the despair with which you proclaimed he’s forgotten you follow him like an unrelenting wraith, gloomy and accusatory.  Even when he goes to the training grounds to reunite with his former comrades, the invisible string that tethers him to you for always tugs until he cannot ignore its pull any longer – he instinctively looks up to the southside tower and sees you waiting for him, as you have so many times before, in that secret spot.

The Mandalorian wishes to go to you more than anything - it would be so easy for him to take off and fly into your waiting arms, but the consequences of doing so keep him firmly grounded; the ripping of his heart would only be temporarily mended if he gave in now, just to tear open later into an merciless chasm of pain that would swallow you both.  So, Din pretends not to see you - he fists his hands so hard his palms hurt, just so he isn’t tempted to adjust his helmet display to zoom in on your beauty, and he distracts himself with the comradery of the men under his former command.  When it comes time to file into the castle, he forces himself to do so without checking if you’re still on the turret. 

Dinner comes and goes.  Din is in equal measures disappointed and relieved when Serene announces that you’ve retired early after a full day, and he’s still conflicted when the time comes to bring his plate back to his old room to eat alone.  But once inside his former quarters, self-flagellation wins out – the knowledge that you’re somewhere near, hurting, and he cannot comfort you sits like a pit in Din’s stomach.  That you truly believe him to no longer care for you unsettles the Mandalorian to the point of nausea – appetite gone, he cannot bring himself to eat even one bite.

He decides to go for a calming walk around the castle instead.  There’s a storm rolling in now; the percussive sounds of rain and thunder a welcomed accompaniment to the wild beating of Din’s heart.  He’s loved Solanian rainstorms ever since that night in the Solana countryside when he bore the skin of his body to you for the first time, while the outside torrential downpour enveloped and muffled the sounds of your perfect first lovemaking.

About to do a third turn of the hallways in the West wing, Din’s sensors pick up on the commotion of scurrying feet above him, the addition of harsh, frantic tones lead him upstairs to investigate.  His instincts kick in at the sight of Serene and Olivia’s panicked expressions and pleading gestures to a small group of the Royal Guard; upon hearing the thunder of the Mandalorian’s approach, the crowd falls silent and turns towards the noise.

“General!” The guards stand at attention and both your lady’s maids look relieved at Din’s appearance. 

“What’s wrong?” The General’s heart pounds – it already knows the answer.

The two women look at each other, unsure, before Olivia pipes up, “It’s the Princess, General.  She’s missing and we cannot find her anywhere.”

“When and where is the last time she was seen?”

“In her bedchambers. Right after…” Olivia falters awkwardly, not sure how much to reveal in front of the Guard; Serene saves her, “… after you left her on the stairs this afternoon, General.”  The anger in her voice is unheard by most among them, but not Din; to him it’s loud and well deserved.

But he cannot dwell on that right now.  Military precision and strategic mind snapping into place, Din lays out a search plan to cover as much area as possible in as little time as possible, then dispatches his men.  He himself runs straight to the South tower.

The rage of the outside storm provides cover for the echoing boom of his heavy footsteps, but nothing can quiet the yell inside Din’s head as he races through the castle, no, no, please no.  He reaches the door to your secret meeting place in record time, hoping against hope that another member of the legion has already found you.

The door is stuck. 

Din pushes and pulls the jammed handle.  He throws his weight against the thick paneling.  The narrowness of the spiraled staircase leading to this remote area of the castle prevents him from getting the leadup he needs, but still he tries over and over to shove his way through to the outside.  Huffing and out of breath, Din adjusts the infrared reader on his internal display to see what’s beyond the door.

Nothing.  Thank goodness.  Out of habit, he does a secondary scan to make sure before turning to go.

Wait.

Barely perceptible and flickering so quickly he nearly missed it, a subtle flush of warmth shimmers small and faint on Din’s HUD.  The Mandalorian recalibrates his sensors so that the heat signature materializes slightly more in focus; now that he knows where to look, he can make out a shape on the ground.  It barely glows, dimming and flashing erratically.  It’s dying.

No!

Ready to burn down the door, Din’s blaster is out of his holster faster than he can think; he shoots at the lock until it’s mangled and smoking and then shoulders his entire body weight against the door until it splinters open.  He fights against the howl of the wind now rushing to enter the castle in order to get to you, cape whipping around his body, rain slicing against his visor.

Skidding across the slippery wet stone floor, the great warrior drops to his knees in one frantic motion to hover over your unmoving body, trying to shield you from the rain.  It makes no difference, your clothes and hair are so drenched and waterlogged they practically pin you to the floor, every part of you is wet and you’re so, so cold. 

“Cyare, please, wake up, please, please,” Din pats your face gently, trying to dry and warm your cheeks with his gloves to no avail, “wake up, please.  Come back, come back to me.”  You make no response, face ghoulishly unmoving, unnatural hue taking over your countenance.

Fear like he’s only ever felt when Grogu’s been in harm’s way grips onto Din’s insides and twists. 

No, no, no, please, no.  It cannot end like this.  I cannot lose you like this.  Please, Maker, no.

With a surge of super human strength, Din lifts your limp body and cradles you close to his chest, protected and treasured, “Mesh’la, we need to get you dry.  I’m going to get you help.  You’re going to be okay.  You have to be okay.  Don’t leave me, please.” 

Then, he runs.

At the bottom of the Southside tower stairs, Din starts yelling for help as he runs towards where he last saw another soul, anyone.  It feels like the castle is an empty labyrinth tonight and despite the racket he’s making, help does not meet him quickly enough - Din doesn’t think, he just keeps going, muscle memory taking over as his feet bring him to your bedchamber doors where luckily, both Olivia and Serene have heard his call and rush to meet him.

“Please,” he begs, “she’s so cold.” He’s not in the right mind to explain further or do anything other than hold you as directed while your maids strip and try to dry you.  After laying you in bed, Din stumbles until his back hits the wall, paralyzed by the worst-case scenario fears running rampant through his mind. 

What if he were to never see your eyes sparkle again, either with mischief, in wonder, or full of lust?  Never hear the melody of your voice cooing sweet praise and encouragement to his son?  What if that cold, unfeeling utterance of your title was the last thing he ever said to you?  What if your final thoughts of him were that he didn’t love you, that he didn’t live and die by the very thought of you?

What if everything he had forced the both of you to suffer since returning had all been for naught, that even when trying to protect you he could only hurt you?

People attempt to get his attention - they suggest he leave to get some rest, give you some privacy, tell him there’s nothing more he can do for you right now, but Din hears none of it.  Doctors, nurses, Serene, Olivia, servants, his Lieutenant – he pays none of them any heed; all Din knows is there is only one voice that can send him away and that’s yours.  He might actually growl this at the doctor.

Din remains in your room, an ever-vigilant gargoyle looming fierce and protective, his eagle eyes scrutinize every move made near or to you, his approval necessary to proceed.  He is immovable, unapproachable, ferocious, inconsolable – a sentinel on guard with nothing to lose but the treasure over which he keeps watch.  The Mandalorian’s stubbornness yields small results but results nonetheless; after a few hours of being bundled up and all manner of heating pads and blankets being added to your bed, you look better, definitely drier.  Din’s helmet readings confirm those of the medical equipment: your body temperature is slowly, but steadily rising, your heartbeat is once again strong enough to be picked up by his sensors. 

But you don’t wake up.

The doctor says to be patient, the nurses say he doesn’t need to stay; the former is more difficult than Din anticipated, the later impossible.  He sits vigil by your side, barely blinking so he doesn’t miss any changes in your condition, frustration growing when nothing does.  By hour six after having found you, Din is ready to send for his son and ask Grogu to Force heal you.

Who needs sleep when he has worry and guilt?  Din knew you were up on that turret all by yourself, and he knows why you were there.  He knows he’s the reason you’re lying in this bed right now, fighting for your very life.  He should have gotten to you sooner.  He should have never let you wait up there alone.  What if Serene and Olivia hadn’t told him you were missing?  What if he hadn’t conducted his second scan and you had been locked out in the rain overnight?

What if… what if… what if…

Din drops his head, cradling his helmet in his hands, unable to stop the spiral of his thoughts and the turmoil of his heart.  Maker, please, please let her be okay.  I’ll do anything, give anything - she just has to be okay, please.

If you’re not awake by morning he’s going to call Grogu.

---

Slowly, you try to blink your eyes open, the bright lights of the room sharp and stinging – all you can manage is to squint; only able to turn your head in tiny increments, you haltingly scan your surroundings until coming upon the imposing, armoured figure waiting at the bedside.

“Din?” you barely recognize the scrape of your own voice.

“Mesh’la,” panic and relief flood through the Mandalorian’s modulator in equal measure, “You’re awake.  How are you feeling?  Does anything hurt?”

Adjusting your body in small measures, each ache and every soreness catching you by surprise, you manage to shimmy up slightly into a sitting position with Din’s help.  It takes you until now to realize you’re in your own bed; still disoriented you manage to croak out, “Everything hurts?  Din… what happened?”

“The door on the Southside tower… it was locked and you got trapped outside in the storm.  No one could find you… when Olivia told me you were missing, I… I tried to get there as fast as I could…” Din chokes on his words as he relives the fear of those moments.

Recollection flashes behind your eyes as you start to remember – the wedding dress viewing, giving back the Mythosaur pendant, fleeing to the tower, letting go, the numbing cold of the rain - you nod in comprehension, “You saved me.  Thank you, Din.”

“I do not deserve your thanks, cyare.  It is my fault you were up there, my fault you got hurt,” Din drops his head in shame, “I’m so sorry, mesh’la.  I was avoiding you and shouldn’t have… I knew you were up there and didn’t go to you… this is all my fault… you were out there in the cold for so long… who know what could have happened if…”

“But it didn’t happen.  You found me,” Din’s obvious guilt chips at your heart, “There’s no need for apologies, Din.  It’s not as if we made an agreement to both go to the tower – I was there of my own free will and you were under no obligation to come meet me.  None of this is your fault, really, General.  Feelings change.  I understand.”

Feelings changed??  No, you didn’t understand at all.

The absurdity of your words necessitate the only action Din deems to be appropriate, as bold and brutal as it is.

Clang!

Din’s helmet is ripped from his head and thrown to the ground so quickly you’re nearly unable to squeeze your eyes shut in time. “Din!” you gasp, shocked.

Grimacing as your muscles scream in protest, the effort to sweep your hands up to your eyes hurts more than you want to admit – but that pain is nothing compared to your fear of the harm it would do to see Din’s face uncovered.

Rough leather envelops your hands and gently pulls them away from your face, “Princess, it’s okay.” You shake your head as adamantly as you can, keeping your eyes closed.  Din’s gravely baritone remains gentle and reassuring, “Trust me, cyar’ika.  Open your eyes.”

Even with his explicit permission, you still feel hesitant; slowly, you open your eyes but keep your gaze lowered, focusing on the gentle way Din holds your hands - his thumbs rubbing gentle circles over the backs as he patiently waits for you to look up.  After a short while, you cautiously peer through your lashes, still nervous and uncertain until your eyes snap all the way open in recognition.  Disbelief and confusion overtake your face as your hands leaves the cradle of Din’s to touch the visage before you.

“I know you,” you whisper, blinking with wide-eyed astonishment, half expecting this image to disappear before you can comprehend its existence.  Din nods indulgently, his smile as gentle as his eyes, letting you take your time in putting all the pieces together. 

“Coruscant,” you say definitively, your memory sharpening as your heart leaps, “that wasn’t a dream?”  At the shake of Din’s head, you melt even further, “You were really there.  You took care of me.”

“Of course, mesh’la,” as his eyes crinkle, the browns of Din’s irises fleck with an enchanting hue of gold, “I wish to always take care of you.”

“But,” your thoughts struggle to form as you become distracted by how handsome the man is; your fingers run over the soft and hard lines of Din’s face, caress the curves of his smile, a cheeky finger pokes at his dimples, “why did you let me believe it was a dream?  Why didn’t you want me to know that we had met?”

As the Mandalorian sighs, his features soften and his eyes deepen with emotion – their expressiveness captivates you, “Princess, do you remember what I told you that night about why we couldn’t meet again?” Of course, you remember - you had memorized those romantic words and replayed them in your head countless times since that night; it’s only now you fully realize that poetic declaration of love wasn’t of your creation, but Din’s.  Heart blossoming, you nod and Din continues, “I admit what I said was dramatic, but the sentiment behind my words has always been true.  I am so incredibly weak for you, mesh’la.”

Your mouth opens to object, but Din anticipates you; he pulls your hands back into his, “I know you would say that I’m strong, cyare, but it’s simply not true when it comes to you.  Strong for you, yes, strong in your name, always, but when it comes to my heart, my soul?  They obey only you; I am, forever at your mercy.”

You may not agree, but a Mandalorian being vulnerable and exposing his soft underbelly is not something to scoff at; you squeeze Din’s fingers and continue to listen patiently as he closes his eyes in recollection.  You miss their warmth immediately.

“This past year without you has been excruciating, mesh’la.  It’s all I could do to scrape enough of myself together to be the father Grogu needs, but otherwise, I was barely living.  Food had no taste, drink was without spirit, and the absence of you was an ever-present weight on my chest that made it hard to even breathe at times,” Din nearly chokes, needing a minute before he can force himself to take in air properly. “I missed you every waking moment of every single day and retreated into my memories of you during each sleepless night; I was hollowed out, half of a man, tortured by the memory of true happiness and the knowledge I would never find it again,” Din finally opens his eyes and his look of sad resignation hurts your chest.

“The reason I didn’t want you to know I was really on Coruscant is the same reason I’ve tried not to be alone with you since coming back to Solana,” anguish overtakes Din’s voice, “To have even one true moment with you, anything remotely resembling what we used to share, would be like giving a sip of water to a man dying of thirst.  Once I had a taste, my weaknesses would prevail and then nothing could hold me back from quenching the thirst I’ve been living with as my constant companion.  I would not have the strength nor would I want it, to resist my heart’s deepest desires any longer.”  He looks apologetic.

“If we shared any real closeness, however briefly, I would have no choice but to throw all caution to the wind and beg for you to take me back, let me into your life again,” Din hangs his head in shame, “and that wouldn’t be fair to you, mesh’la.  I have no right.  No right to ask for connection or intimacy from you, to beg you to love me, when I have no more to offer you than I did when I left.  I have no right to risk all that you’ve worked for, to allow my own lack of restraint to spell ruin for your future and maybe even Solana’s.”

“In short, I am weak, so I ran,” a weight seems to have lifted off Din’s shoulders, “but I’m not running anymore, Princess.  I thought that hiding my feelings from you would save the both of us from a deeper wound, but now I know that was cowardice speaking - and our love deserves bravery.  Cyare, I may not be strong enough to thwart fate, but I will never abandon you again.  From now on, anything that needs to be faced, I want to face with you, together.  As long as you are willing to have me, I promise I will remain by your side and carry you through whatever may come.”

Din wishes he possessed more eloquence, but he is a mere bounty hunter appealing to real grace; he watches as you process his confession with thoughtfulness and sympathy before your angelic features relax into a familiar, affectionate look - one he’s dreamt of many times this past year, the beauty of which could only be surpassed by the words you say next:

“Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar, Din.”

Until this moment, Din Djarin did not know what true peace in one’s soul felt like.  “Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar, Princess,” he lets you pull him closer by the back of his neck until his uncovered forehead rests against yours for a helmetless Keldabe kiss.

“I thought you didn’t love me anymore,” you sniffle quietly, though your tone is one of tremendous relief.

“I could no sooner stop the rotation of a planet around its star, cyare.  I’m so sorry for letting you believe that, and even more so for having hurt you,” Din’s remorse crushes his heart, “I beg your forgiveness, my Princess, and will accept any such punishment you deem fit.”

Unable to look at you, the stoic hunter attempts to shrink; you truly believe there is a part of Din that wants you to discipline him for his transgression, and that all of him believes he deserves it – your Mandalorian has always been so hard on himself.  With a playful little grin, you duck down slightly so you can meet Din’s eye, “I won’t lie, General, there is no one in the known worlds who can shatter my heart and mend it so completely.  I’ll let the offense go unpunished this one time, but would warn you not to do anything of the sort again.” Chuckling, more generous than cheeky, you reassure your beleaguered warrior, “I am happy, Din.  There’s nothing to forgive.”

The way the tension melting from Din’s features transforms his face from world weary to that of a man ten years younger is nothing short of stunning; his voice, however, remains gruff, “It’s more than I deserve, mesh’la.  Though I admit I cannot think of any worse torture than seeing you in that wedding dress and knowing it wouldn’t be me receiving you at the end of the aisle.  That nearly killed me.”

Throwing your arms around Din’s neck, you bury your face in the scrunch of his neck cowl and burrow in deep and safe, comforted by your Mandalorian’s familiar scent and the sheer colossus of his being, “I hate that stupid dress.”

Din chuckles, rasping in your ear, “You looked beautiful.  An absolute dream, cyare.”

Snuggling in even further, you press yourself against the strength of Din’s Beskar, seeking sanctuary in the only place you’ve ever truly found peace; as you cocoon yourself in his arms, a question you can’t seem to reason out on your own continues to gnaw at you.  Looking up, you rest your chin on the heart of the General’s armour, “Din, there’s one thing I still don’t understand.  Even if I thought you merely a dream, why did you show me your face on Coruscant?  How was that allowed?  How can you show me your face right now?”

Not without some reluctance, Din lets you leave the safety his embrace and helps you sit back comfortably on the bed; still holding your hands in his, the General rests his forearms on his thighs and leans forward, serious, “I was raised to follow the Amidalor (The Way of the Mandalore) and since speaking the Creed, have lived by the tenet to never show my face to another living being.  You know that I broke this rule previously for Grogu and as a result, was deemed an apostate and stripped of my standing as a Mandalorian.  Though I broke the Creed of my own volition, and I have never and nor will I ever regret anything I do for my son, my resulting exile was one of the most difficult times of my life – rivalled perhaps, by this past year away from you.  It was only after I redeemed myself in the Living Waters of Mandalore that was I able to shed my shame and guilt, and truly regain my sense of self and identity.”

Your chest tightens, remembering; even when Din first told you the story, his sense of loss and anguish at being excommunicated by his covert came across so fresh and acute - seeing your big strong warrior still triggered by such a painful time in his life had nearly broken your heart.

“Having done it, violating the Creed again is not something I wish to consider in my lifetime.  I’m saying all this so you know I do not take lightly to the act of removing my helmet and revealing my face,” Din says gravely.  You nod along, but all this you already understood.

“In my covert, there has only ever been one known exception to the rule and that is for one’s riduur.  Even this is not widely accepted among all sects, but… I believe This is the Way and choose to live by it,” Din hard swallows; sometimes he still feels like that young foundling from Aq Vetina trying to find his footing among his new people, terrified of stepping out of line, “Among all the star systems in this galaxy, there will only ever be one being to whom I will pledge myself as a lifelong partner and who I would ever consider my spouse.  Though we never said the vows to one another, I belong to you, Princess, as one belongs to their riduur.  Only to you will I ever commit a lifetime’s devotion, only with you do I ever wish to be equal in partnership, and to you I am so bonded that I will never raise warriors with anyone else.  You see, cyare, in my heart, you are already my riduur and so my face, as with all of me, is yours.”

You’re crying now. 

Though these are not the Mandalorian marriage vows Din taught to you, the sentiments of his speech so closely mirror those words on commitment, partnership, and devotion, you can easily imagine them recited at an altar in front of loved ones.  If only you were not so overwhelmed with emotion right now; you wish you could find the words to properly express the magnitude of your own feelings and pledge your everlasting fidelity and love to the only man in the universe you will always give your everything.

Din sees you needlessly struggling; he doesn’t need any verbal confirmation to know you are of one mind – the pureness of your heart is written all over your pretty face; he tries to lighten the mood, joking, “I hope you understand now, mesh’la, why I took great offense to what you said earlier - when it comes to my riduur, feelings do not, in fact, change.”

You cry even harder.

Pulling you back into his arms, Din hums soothing noises into your hair and rubs gentle circles on your back as your tears cascade down the slope of his Beskar like a glittering waterfall, soaking into his flight suit.  Only after your breathing evens and your body relaxes into his hold does the General let you pull away, “What happens now, Din?”

“Now, you rest and recover, cyar'ika.  And after,” he pauses to kiss the back of your hands, a devoted knight swearing his allegiance, “we take it day by day, together.  There is no being or force in this galaxy that can tear me away from you ever again; I will not, cannot, leave your side save by your say so, Princess.”

How you’ve missed this – the way the steady confidence of this man and the surety of his words always give you strength.  With him, you’re allowed space to be unsure, vulnerable, even lost, able to rely on him to lead you to the right path with his unwavering support.  Never are you more certain of who you are and what you’re capable of than when you’re with Din.

“I cannot marry him, Din.”

“No, you cannot,” his tone has the same finality, the same conviction as yours – the way one might repeat a fact as simple and true as the gravitation bond between planet and moon.  Finally making this declaration out loud feels like setting your heart free from a cage; the knowledge that Din is behind you, ready to catch you, sends your spirit soaring high and into his space so that you can crash your lips to his.

This kiss, the first you’ve shared in over a year feels like coming home; it’s bathed in the relief of belonging, steeped in the comfort of knowing and being known, powerful in its own quiet calm.  Euphoria washes over your entire being like an ocean, drowning you in its embrace.

Your lips move together in a well practiced choreographed dance, the two of you falling in sync easily after all this time - but there is nothing routine or neat about the way Din’s mouth devours yours.  He presses into you, passion-filled, unruly, barely restrained; everything is too much and not enough, vividly felt, yet hazy and dreamy – all the most wonderful of contradictions.  The General’s tongue is punishing while worshipful, each stolen breath is urgent but never-ending, this kiss feels like forever and yet could never be long enough. 

You chase the end of such a kiss with a series of soft pecks, unwilling to sever the connection of your lips, except to whisper sweet affirmations to one another.

I’ve missed you.

I love you so much.

Never letting you go ever again.

Sense and practicality return too soon to your Mandalorian.  “Cyare, I know I just promised never to leave you,” Din starts, chuckling at your anticipated whine of protest, “but you must allow me to fetch the doctor.  And either Serene or Olivia to tend to you.  Likely both as they are equally worried about you.”

“And you’ll come back?”  You know he will, but there is such a comfort in the reassurance that only Din can provide.

He knows this; he knows you, “I will always come back, Princess.”

Satisfied, you let Din press one more promise to your lips before you watch him put his helmet back on and slip out the door.

---

In the hallway, Din waits for your door to fully close behind him before releasing a ragged sigh of relief, letting loose the very thread that seems to have been stitched throughout his body, holding him together this entire time; tipping his head back, Din finally lets himself properly breathe, every inhale and exhale slow and deep.

It will take more than just this moment for Din to fully embrace his new lease on life, now that the tension that’s been pulling him taut and sharp for the past year has finally dissipated - but he is content.  Smiling to himself, happy, hopeful, Din is pushing off the door in the direction of your maids’ quarters when he’s stopped in his tracks by a familiar voice,

“General.”

Din turns to see the king emerge from the shadows of a nearby alcove.

“Is there something I should know about you and my daughter?”

---

Din follows His Majesty into the closest study in silence, already kneeling in fealty by the time the older man turns around to face the Mandalorian.

“Tell me, General.  How long have you been in love with the Princess?”

Din does not miss the hint of accusation in the King’s tone – he resigns that the truth will serve everyone best, “Since the moment I met her, Your Majesty, and more so every day since.”  He knows this is not what your father is really asking, “I had already known the Princess for several weeks when you bestowed upon me the rank of General.”

Astonishment colours your father’s expression as Din continues, “Please forgive me, sire.  There was no conspiracy on either of our parts to deceive anyone, especially you, or proport ourselves inappropriately.  When I first met the Princess, I was unaware of her rank and drawn to her kindness and good nature alone.  It took very little time for me to fall beneath the spell of her wit and charm, and to be enraptured by the purity of her heart.  By the time I learned of her royal identity, I was already head over heels for the woman who held the title.”

The king sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, needing some time to process this information, “And the entire time…?”

“Nearly, Your Majesty,” Din still cannot meet the gaze of this man who he respects and venerates so much, “After I accepted the New Republic assignment, the Princess and I attempted to put a stop to our feelings, agreeing to remain within the boundaries of our stations - to be royalty and devoted knight only.  But the enormity of our respect and admiration for one another could not ultimately be contained, and after months of slowly failing restraint, we gave in to our affections for one another.”

Shaking his head, your father asks, confused, “But why would you choose to hide your relationship?  Why would you keep it from your king?”

“Because,” Din’s head snaps up in surprise, he would have thought the multitude of reasons were obvious, “… she is the Princess.  The hierarchy of court and kingdom is rigid – our love would never be accepted; its very existence could tarnish the Princess’ reputation and diminish the majesty of your royal house.  And even if by some miracle it did not, I still cannot be the future you envisioned for your daughter.”

The Mandalorian bows his head again, missing the way your father’s mouth curls with amusement, “The Princess is, by her own admission, someone with great political and diplomatic worth; membership into your great house is coveted by many in the galaxy.  Your Majesty, you must have had some expectations as to the type of person who would be deserving of marrying her?  Certainly, someone of importance, with their own respectable standing in the kingdom if not the galaxy.  Perhaps even a title or belonging to an esteemed and celebrated lineage? At the very least, you must wish her marriage to bring political or security advantage to Solana.  The Princess expects no less of herself.”

“And that, General, is how you see my daughter?  What you deem her worth?”

“No, sire.  As much as I respect her rank, the Princess’ title has no place in the esteem I hold for her,” Din’s modulated voice fills with emotion, his admiration evident to your father, “To me, she is… ethereal.  Truly one of the humblest, genuinely compassionate beings I’ve ever met – that she wields the power of her position with such grace and thoughtfulness is Solana’s great fortune and its true source of strength.  Your daughter is smart and funny, and despite her immense privilege she does not shelter herself – she exhibits such genuine zest for life and affection for people of all walks.  Her spirit is strong and full of grace, but she can be feisty and stubborn – there is never a dull moment with her.  Beyond everything, the Princess is open with her mind and generous with her heart - I cannot say there is another like her in all the worlds.”

It feels incredible to be so effusive about your amazing qualities.  Due to the secret nature of your relationship, Din has never espoused his never-ending admiration for you out loud to anyone except for Grogu; to be able to do so to your father, a man to whom Din credits many of your merits, feels like a gift, “If it were up to me, Your Majesty, the Princess would only know love and reverence for her character and not her status - she should have a partner who worships the very ground she walks on.  But duty comes first, and that is not something either of us would have her hide from.  Your daughter’s marriage should strengthen your great house and raise the glory of Solana, keeping her safe and prosperous.  And I cannot offer any of that.  I am no one.”

“Are you sure, General?” The king straightens his posture, standing regal and self assured, “That you are no one?”

Your father gestures for the Mandalorian to rise and holds unwavering eye contact with the dark T-visor as his most revered commander gets up, “How can you say you are no one, General?  Are you not the leader of my armies?  Do Solana’s military forces not look to you as their shining example of exemplary combat skill and strategic intellect?  They trust you to lead and support them in training, demonstrate for them conduct befitting the deepest, truest sense of honour, duty and valour.  And why would they not?  You treat your brothers in arms like equals and protect their families like your own despite having no ancestral ties to this land or personal reasons to pledge allegiance to their sovereign.  Are you not a hero of the Battle of Planoor, where you led our troops to victory over Imperial insurgents?  Did you not repel the scourge of the galaxy and their attacks on Solanian freedom at great personal risk to yourself?  If I’m not mistaken, you bear a permanent souvenir of that day on your body that would have dealt a lesser man a much more tragic fate.” 

The gentle warmth of your father’s eyes and the pride that shines from their depths is undeniable, “General, even if I had not decorated you for these accomplishments myself, I would still hold you in my esteem as one of the finest men in the galaxy.  You came to our planet a stranger and took every citizen of Solana under your protection; I’ve personally witness you defend and care for my subjects as if they were of your own Creed.  Never does the core of one's character ring clearer to me than in the way they show up for the innocent and defenseless; you, General, stand for what’s right and fair, always with compassion, and ever respectful of the dignity we owe to all living beings.  Decency, General, is your greatest strength.”

“Tell me this, General,” the king’s tone grows indulgent and paternal, “What type of man gives so selflessly to those from whom he would never consider asking for repayment? The same that exhibits bravery and perseverance in the face of insurmountable odds, I would think. A man who fights through his own struggles to approach even the most daunting of challenges head on in the name of justice and truth.  What chance does evil and tyranny have against this type of man who willingly puts his life on the line and never backs down from a righteous fight? Who leads by tireless example and inspires an entire nation to do the same?  General, I can not fathom how a man such as you are could view himself as no one or think himself unable to offer Solana prosperity and safety.”

Though, to most, he is generally considered a man of few words, Din has never found himself to be truly speechless until now.  He was raised to be honourable for the sake of honour, brave for bravery’s sake, and that even if a Mandalorian had nothing, he would always have his integrity; praise for living The Way is something that will always catch Din off guard.  While he’s still absorbing the generosity of your father’s words, the older man flabbergasts him yet again, “General, did you truly think I requested your return to Solana in order to review security plans?”

Behind his visor, Din’s eyes grow to the size of saucers, his attempts to speak fall flat; the modulator of his helmet picking up only awkward stuttering as the Mandalorian opens and closes his mouth repeatedly.

“I admit it took me longer than it should to make the connection between your leaving and my daughter’s change in demeanor.  She is, as you say, strong and spirited; and while she hid her sadness well, I know my own daughter and it was clear to me that something within her had broken,” the king speaks freely, the anguish of being unable to comfort his own child still an open wound, “I did suspect her upcoming marriage was the source of her dread, and privately, considered cancelling the betrothal entirely if she should wish it.  It baffled me that she was trying to hide her obvious unhappiness with the arrangement, and the more she insisted she was fine, the less I believed her.” 

Scratching his head, your father mentally retraces his own steps, “Any which way I thought about it, my daughter’s misery could be traced back to the date of her engagement, so I saw no reason for her to continue denying it… that is, until I realized it was also the same day you abruptly left Solana.  Up until that moment, I did not suspect there was anything more to your attachment than respect and a general fondness, but once I started to seriously consider your departure as the trigger for the Princess’ melancholy, I had to rethink everything I thought I knew.  Was it possible that your leaving and my daughter’s betrothal were not as unrelated as you had made it seen?”

Din is nodding along now, but the proper response to your father’s story still eludes him.  “I needed to know for certain.  I could not let my daughter sink deeper into a sorrow that she would not even admit to, so I sent you the invitation.  Forgive me for my duplicity, General – I knew that as a loyal son of Solana you would heed my call, even if it caused you what I was beginning to realize would be great pain,” his Majesty does look slightly sheepish, “You arrived and almost immediately proved my theories correct – perhaps you thought you were being subtle, but the effect you and the Princess had on one another in the East Wing parlour was tangible, electric – it charged the very air of the room.  There could be no doubt about it, there was something powerful between the two of you, I just didn’t know the extent and depth of that connection, of that love – or rather, I didn’t know until I overheard the two of you just now when the Princess work up.”  Upon finishing, your father looks satisfied, relieved.

“I love her, Your Majesty.”  It’s the truth.  And the only thing Din thinks is worthy of saying right now.

“I know.”  The king’s tone is full of fondness for his General, “And I cannot think of anyone better to whom I could entrust my daughter’s heart than the protector of the realm she loves so much.  But neither of us can nor should we speak for the Princess.  Come, let us hear what she has to say on the matter.”

---

Din paces the hall outside of your room for what feels like hours.  He’s been out here alone since your father left him at the door, except for the doctor who came and left, and the few appearances by Serene and Olivia as they rushed about their duties.

The General is still in a state of shock over what’s transpired since he found you on the Southside turret; from the complete dismantling of all his emotional walls, to your forgiveness and the reconfirmation of your love, then unbelievably, your father’s revelations – every development has felt overwhelmingly surreal.  Never in all of Din’s wildest dreams did he imagine that he would find himself in this position – and on top of everything, something even more unexpected and precarious has started to roost in his chest, a stealthy assassin that shadows his every thought: hope.

The door to your room opens to your father exiting while bidding you a swift recovery and a good night; though Din cannot hear the man’s exact words, he can tell they are full of paternal affection.  When the king turns, he makes for Din directly; expression poignant, eyes misty and full of wisdom, he clasps a hand to the Mandalorian’s shoulder pauldron, “She’s waiting for you, son.”

There’s no time to linger on the significance of the endearment, nor the litany of emotions that surge through the Mandalorian upon hearing it, because from inside the room you call to him, voice full of song, “Din!”

He leaves your father to saunter down the hall with a renewed lightness in his steps, and rushes to your bedside, kneeling once more before the ruler of his grateful heart.  You receive the collapsing frame of the strongest man you know in your open arms and tuck yourself into his covered neck, ecstatically crying.  Cupping your face, Din brushes his leathered thumbs over your wet cheeks, “Mesh’la;” he waits for you to speak more, afraid still of his own hope.

“Din!  I am to be engaged no longer,” the joy in your eyes sparkles like the most brilliant of constellations, your cheeks are flushed as if you had pinched them in disbelief, and your rosy lips quiver in hopeful excitement.  Din thinks this might be the most beautiful you’ve ever looked.  A celestial glow radiates from your very being, “Father says he will meet with our bannermen tonight and cancel the betrothal.  He will explain I’m not yet ready to be a wife and that the anxiety has been affecting my health.  They are old family friends of court, so he believes they will be understanding, but he is fully prepared to offer and provide all necessary rewards and compensation for any trouble or distressed sustained.  Father has tried to reassure me all will be okay, but I admit to some feelings of guilt.”

Din strokes your hair lovingly, forever amazed by the extent of your compassion and empathy, “I trust His Majesty, cyare.  I am sure all will be well, as he promised.  But if you do wish to speak to your former fiancé and his family directly, I will be right there with you for support.”

Hugging him tightly before pulling back to gaze into the welcoming abyss of Din’s visor, your fingers gently caress his helmet as you would the lines of his handsome face, “Will you stay now, Din?  On Solana?  With me?”

The silver dome tilts forward and its vocoder cannot mask the sincerity and conviction of Din’s pledge, “My place is and will forever be, by your side, Princess.  My weapons are yours to command, my heart is yours to hold; I fight in your name, I love in your name and the honour of doing both will forever be a part of my own personal Creed.”

Your poetic warrior.  There are no words that can properly express the immense joy and gratitude you feel for being so well loved, not only by the great man before you, but the other great man in your life, the king.  How lucky are you?  To have such a benevolent, compassionate man as your father, your mentor, and to be the chosen partner of a man who equals him in courage, decency, and selflessness?  It’s all you can do to keep from bursting into tears again.

And just when you think that this is the happiest a person could ever feel, Din, still down on one knee, holds out his Mythosaur pendant in offering and says in a voice so hushed it could almost be mistaken for his natural, unmodulated baritone,

“Princess.  Cyar’ika.  Though it is only very recently you find yourself engaged no longer, would you bestow upon me the honour of being engaged once more?”

It’s a dream, this must be a dream, you think, as you whisper back, “Yes.”

Unable to hold back the flood of happy tears any longer, you let them fall freely and press your forehead to your future riduur’s helm, sealing in your forever with a Keldabe kiss.

1 year later

On any other planet (save Mandalore, and possibly Nevarro), a Beskar covered warrior strolling casually through an outdoor market might look out of place, but not on Solana.  As Din walks down the main fairway, a head taller than every one else, he does garner a fair bit of attention, but it’s of the most welcomed variety.

“Good to see you, General!”

“Solana is glad to have its General home!”

He waves to every well wisher, shakes a few hands, and accepts offers of food and other wares from the local vendors; he has to struggle with a few to convince them to accept payment, but at the end of the day, it’s a rare being who can say no to a Mandalorian.  On a few occasions, Din has to excuse himself hastily, cutting the small talk short on account of needing to keep an eye on Grogu who wanders the market ahead of his father, also happily accepting gifts - mainly of the food sort.

Father and son are heading in the direction of the National Library to surprise you with an early return from their latest mission for the New Republic.  Halfway to their destination, Din spots a familiar figure leaning over a vendor table, examining its goods – slightly bemused and genuinely curious, Din saunters over and looms behind his unsuspecting target for several seconds before uttering, low and dangerous,

“Mayfeld.”

The bald-headed man spins around, wide-eyed and stunned, “Mando!”  Out of habit, he raises his hands in the air to show that he’s unarmed, innocent, “What are you doing here?”

“The General lives here,” the vendor interjects in a tone the suggests the answer should be obvious, “Welcome home, General.”  Din and the vendor exchange polite nods before the latter goes to help another customer.  Meanwhile, Mayfeld purses his lips into a smile, amused by this newly acquired information, “General, eh?  Listen, Mando – I’m not here for any trouble!  I’ve been living the straight and narrow life since…” he shrugs and turns his palms upward to make a gesture that Din assumes is meant to indicate Mayfeld’s prison break, faked death, or both.  “I’m just trying to find a place to settle down, have a nice, quiet life.  And Solana’s known to be friendly to those looking to make a fresh start!  I swear I didn’t know that… whoa, whoa… wait a minute!” Mayfeld’s expression turns panicked as he spots the Royal Guard change the direction of their march and make a beeline to where he’s standing with Din.

“Relax, Mayfeld,” chuckles Din, “they’re here for me, not you.”

The synchronized footsteps of Solana’s finest come to a halt a few feet from their fearless leader, standing in the position of attention, they salute in unison, “General!  Welcome back, General!”

Din returns their salute with an invitation to be at ease, then warmly greets the Lieutenant who steps forward with a clasp of forearms, “Lieutenant, right on schedule.  I’m happy to inform you that I can grant you and your men early dismissal from your duties today.”

The uniformed man tuts jovially and nods in understanding, “The offer is appreciated, General.  If it’s all the same to you, the Guard will accompany you to the library, and from there, you can relieve us of our charge.”

Din gives his second-in-command a hearty clap on the shoulder to indicate his appreciation and agreement with this plan; at their commander’s approval, the troops resume their previous course, with Din also preparing to move once he confirms that Grogu is still wandering ahead in that same direction.

Mayfeld has yet to recover from the wonder of this exchange when Din addresses him again, “Let’s go, Mayfeld.  If you’re serious about settling down on Solana, it’s best you come with me.”  Even if the man thought that the Mandalorian bore him ill will (which Migs’ gut tells him he does not), he would be a fool to refuse after having just witnessed Din’s command over the planet’s security forces.

A few minutes of walking in silence is all Mayfeld can manage, “So, Mando… these guys work for you?”

“We all serve the King of Solana.”

“Right, right.  But, like, you’re their leader?”

“I’m their commanding officer, yes.”

“Did you have to… I dunno, fight and defeat the previous General for the position or something?”

“No.”

“Hey, is that your little green guy up ahead?”

“Yes, that’s Grogu.”

“Okay, okay!  He’s bigger than the last time I saw him… you remember?  We were on that… you know what?  Never mind where that was, he’s definitely bigger!  He’s a growing… boy?”

“Yes, boy.”

“And you know, Mando… just in case, you were worried, I want you to know, I kept my promise… I’ve never told anyone I saw your face or what you look like… as far as I’m concerned, that never happened.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“Right, right… and you still don’t do that, right?  Show anybody anything?? I don’t mean any disrespect to the Creed!  It just seems like a lot of things have changed since the last time we… hung out?  Took out some Imps? You know what I’m getting at, Mando?”

And so on and so forth, the primarily one-sided nervous chattering is non-stop for the entire walk.  Din can’t pretend he isn’t amused, but his Beskar covers it well.  He keeps his answers short and clipped, mainly to mess with Migs, but also so he can keep his attention on the library building as it comes into view.

The General knows you’re coming out before he even sees you because he hears an adorable squeak emanating from his son, followed by Grogu turning into a little green blur scurrying at an impressive speed up the library’s front steps.

“Little love!” Your voice rings out sweet and melodious as you exit the front doors, quickening your own steps forward to meet the small green fur ball that force jumps into your arms.  You cuddle him close and flutter kisses all over his happy face, “You’re home early!”

“Are you okay?  Did you get hurt?” You fuss lovingly over your son, letting him coo back his reassurances, then tickle him adoringly - the two of you purring and giggling in reunion, oblivious to all those around you.  Nuzzling your nose into the top of Gorgu’s soft head to smell his sweet scent, you ask the single most important of questions, “Are you hungry?” followed by, “Where is your father?”

As an answer to the latter, Grogu points to where Din is standing, and to the former, he drops from your arms and waddles over to a captain of the Royal Guard who had somehow been relegated to holding all your son’s collected market snacks.

You pick up your skirts and run straight for the General, flying into his arms with a force that would have knocked a lesser man onto his back.  But he isn’t a lesser man, he's your man.  A Mandalorian.  Your smile is so wide and bright, Din thinks for a moment his helmet HUD has been blinded – but perhaps it’s simply that his own eyes have crinkling closed from smiling so hard himself. 

To be back in Din’s arms after nearly three weeks apart, your longest separation since his official return to Solana, feels like a homecoming; all the tension and worry floats from you body as he lifts you off your feet and you melt into the brilliance and safety of his armoured embrace.

To be in Din’s arms at all, out here in the open, is something you will never take for granted.

Even after your previous engagement was dissolved, you and Din agreed to continue keeping your relationship a secret from your subjects.  Your main concern had been the feelings of your former fiancé and his family.  Though the long-time friends and trusted members of court had accepted your father’s decision to end the betrothal with grace and understanding, flaunting your and Din’s love so soon after would have been beyond inconsiderate, cruel even.  The idea that people who have been nothing but kind and loyal to the crown might suffer embarrassment due to whisperings and gossip was more than you could stomach.  Privately, you also worried that the public might mistakenly blame Din or think him capable of something dishonourable.

Your father had supported discretion – in his experience, the general population preferred to be spared the messy details of palace life, and very rarely reacted well to multiple announcements of change; it would be best to wait and let Solanians come around to the cancellation of the royal wedding in their own time, before springing anything new on them.   

Behind the closed doors of the castle, however, there was no need for any such prudence.  You were free to openly hold Din’s hand, express you admiration and appreciation for the man, praise him, tease him in front of others, shower him with affection.  Even this liberation was more than you had ever dared to dream for your love; to this day, you continue to cherish every open touch, every uninterrupted embrace, every endearment spoken in front of others.  Your attraction and desire for one another you still kept private, sacred for just the two of you, but now there was no more need for pretense, no more false goodbyes at the dinner table, no more sneaking into your bedchambers via the balcony.

Finally, your love could just breathe; it could blossom in the light, instead of shrinking into the safety of the shadows.  You and Din could touch, comfort, even look at one another without being mindful of who was around, how much time had past, that it might be the last time.  For all of the privilege and fortune of your title, there is nothing you will ever prize more than an unhurried morning spent with the love of your life, restful and worry free.

In public, everything remained above board; you kept things subtle and formal, Din remained close and protective - the most devoted knight to his Princess.  You really ought to have given the people of Solana more credit. 

That Din’s return to the realm and the dissolution of your betrothal occurred in short order was neither here nor there, barely registering to your subjects as mere coincidence.  What they did notice was that their Princess appeared happier, lighter, no longer beleaguered by the unknown sadness that had plagued you for the past year.  You once again exuded the joie de vivre that they had so missed, exemplifying the passion and optimism that many consider the foundation of Solanian culture; they were getting their Princess back.

The General, long admired for his strategic brilliance, combat skills and strong leadership, Solanians welcomed back on his own merits.  But it wasn’t long before his public appearances with you drew eyes to him in a way they had not previously.  His protective positioning over you was one of a supportive shield, always gentle, never aggressive or oppressive – he hovered at the ready without ever interfering with your authority; you were free and safe to be your authentic self, a bright star around which his calm, steady presence naturally orbited.

His intuition always place him right where you needed him to be, anticipatory and respectful.  He doted over you.  Quietly spoiled you.  He cared for you a great deal - that much was obvious to those with eyes to see.  Over time, Capital inhabitants who would describe themselves ranging from inquisitive to flat-out nosy, noticed that the General would often reach for you before catching himself, that the unseen eyes behind the black T-visor lingered on you longer than necessary, that the press of his guiding hand on your back was more affectionate than instructive.  After several months of observed ‘evidence’, confident in their powers of deduction, Solanians collectively concluded that the General was indeed in love with their Princess; and rather endearingly, united in their hope that the Princess may one day return his affections.

To the absolute delight of the now invested realm, it appeared that you were slowly opening your heart to the hardened warrior.  His quiet words made you laugh out loud and his thoughtful attention drew from you the most breathtaking of smiles.  His soft touches were allowed to linger longer and then longer, and eventually, you began returning them with you own.  You faced each other, walked side by side – no longer royalty followed by a knight in her service, but equals, trusted confidants.  The day you took Din’s arm while strolling through the capital’s market place, the glassware vendors won a handsome wager from the weaving merchants.  As the encouraging smiles and approving glances from the public grew bolder and more apparent, so did your public displays of familiarity and affection, until hand holding, long embraces, and forehead to helmet touches while amongst your people were all common place. 

You could not have been more grateful for their support, but to your subjects, loving their sovereign as well as she had always loved them, was an honour.  For Solanians, the sight of their Princess happy and safe in the arms of their General was cause for celebration – and so, without any formal announcement, your attachment was a secret no longer. 

You murmur into where the fabric of Din’s cape meets his cowl the same questions you asked his son, “Are you okay?  Did you get hurt?” Fingers digging and groping all the soft spots between the Beskar, you nuzzle in deep, ready to hibernate in Din’s warmth after so many long days apart.  Din squeezes you back tightly, “I’m perfect now that I’m back with you, mesh’la.  No injuries this time.”

His modulated husk sends shivers down your spine and you wiggle in the Mandalorian’s strong grip with a little bit of cheek, “I’ll feel better when I check you over myself later.”

“Me too,” Din’s voice is liquid velvet, his words a promise.

The two of you share a private chuckle before he presses the helm of his silver dome to your forehead and holds the kiss for a quiet moment.  Only when Din unhands you do you notice the stranger next to him eyeing the two of you with what can only be described as incredulous shock.  To your surprise, Din acknowledges him directly, “Mayfeld, let me introduce to you the Princess of Solana -”

Mayfield bows, somehow both in awe and disbelieving that his old acquaintance can make such a fortuitous introduction, “Your Highness, it’s an honour-”

“- my wife,” Din finishes, grin evident to anyone within earshot.

Tossing all attempts at decorum aside, Mayfeld’s head snaps up to stare confoundedly at the Beskar-clad man, practically screeching, “Your wife?!?”

You can’t help but look over at Din in amazement as well, unable to conceal the thrill and pride that runs through you at having being claimed out loud and proud.

You and Din had quietly married six months ago in a small ceremony attended by only a handful of your closest friends and family; then honeymooned for ten blissful days on Nevarro, just the two of you.  Trading in your titles and rank for domesticity and the simple life of Din’s cabin on the lava flats, you don’t think you’ve ever felt quite as carefree or relaxed in all your life as you did as a newlywed in the Outer Rim.  Your days were spent leisurely: meeting Din’s old friends, breaking bread with Magistrate Karga, giggling with the Anzellans who called you “Pretty Lady” (“Good job, Big Guy!”), long and lazy blurrg rides over the planet’s rocky flats and hills, perusing for souvenirs in the Nevarro City market, coming home to the isolated quiet of your cozy abode.  Your nights were equally as varied, with Din taking you at all hours in every manner, on each and every surface of his house.  There was much to be said for the freedom to be as loud as you wanted, as wanton in your cries of ecstasy as you needed, as prolific and unrestrained in your lust for your riduur as you desired.  Helmet on, helmet off, it didn’t matter – the man you rode for hours, naked and dripping wet in the planet’s volcanic hot springs was yours and you didn’t care who heard.    

Upon return from your little slice of heaven, there didn’t appear any obvious reason to announce your marriage.  If their past behaviour was to be any indication, your subjects would likely figure it out in time – there was no rush, if you were happy, they were happy; as far as Solanians were concerned, their Princess had already selected the future King consort and they wholeheartedly approved.

Accordingly, the opportunities to be announced as Din’s wife have been few and far between; you study this Mayfeld with tremendous curiosity - who is this man to Din that he would so openly and happily share such an intimate detail about your lives?

“Yes,” you nod happily, “I am his riduur.”

The man resumes his awkwardly low bow, “Congratulations, Your Highness!  Uh, and well done, Mando… I mean, General.”

Din’s large hand rubs your lower back lovingly as you bend over to pick up Grogu, who after satiating his craving for Solanian delicacies, has come seeking your attention; as you straighten, Din pats a still stunned Mayfeld on the back and answers your unspoken question, “Mayfeld helped me obtain some critical Imperial intel at great risk to himself.  Without him, we would not have so quickly rescued Grogu from Moff Gideon.”

“Oh!” Your eyes widen in understanding, “Thank you, Mr. Mayfeld!  Thank you for helping rescue my son!”  Familiar with most parts of the tale, you’re incredibly interested to learn more about this man and his role in Din and Grogu’s life before you, but more than that, you’re truly grateful, “Please join us at the castle for dinner tonight! Have you yet to find lodging? If not, you shall be our honoured guest until you do. And if you should ever decide to extend your stay on Solana, I will personally do what I can to help you settle in as comfortably as possible.”

You slide your arm through Mayfeld’s as he thanks you and tells you to call him Migs.  Then Mayfeld, you, and Grogu in your arms, form a chain and start heading towards the castle, the Royal Guard walking alongside in perfect formation.  Din admires the sway of your hips and the graceful glide of your movements for a few minutes before shifting his soulful gaze to his son chirping happily in your arms, safe, full, loved.

Following from behind, Din is catching up on military reports and capital news with his Lieutenant when he’s distracted by the sight of you throwing your head back in laughter, genuinely amused by something Mayfeld has just told you – likely an anecdote that the Mandalorian might prefer to stay buried alongside Mayfeld’s prison record.  Both you and Mayfeld turn at the same time to look at Din; you with a cheeky grin and a cute little shrug before you turn back around, Mayfeld looking absolutely gobsmacked while dramatically mouthing, “YOU’RE WIFE?!?!?!” then returning his attention to you.

Din maintains his pace, keeping an adoring and protective eye on you and his son, his family, from a comfortable distance; grinning broadly beneath the helmet, he murmurs to no one in particular, proud and content, “My wife.”

🎶All Night by Beyoncé🎶:

Found the truth beneath your lies And true love never has to hide (True love never has to hide) I'll trade your broken wings for mine (Trade your broken wings for mine) I've seen your scars and kissed your crime (Seen your scars and kissed your crime)

All night long Love, all night long Sweet love, all night long Sweet love, all night long All I wanna, ain't no other We together, I remember Sweet love, all night long

They say true love's the greatest weapon To win the war caused by pain (pain) But every diamond has imperfections But my love's too pure to watch it chip away (chip a-, chip a-, chip away) Boy, nothing real can be threatened True love breathes salvation back into me With every tear came redemption And my torturer became my remedy

All night long Love, all night long Sweet love, all night long Sweet love, all night long All I wanna, ain't no other We together, I remember Sweet love, all night long

How I missed you, my love

A few tags for those who have commented or reblogged that I tortured them with the angst - I am sorry again and thank you for supporting me and this series! @okiegal68 @bishtrouille @johnssherlock221 @baronessvonglitter @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

🎶Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift🎶:

He said, "Let's get out of this town Drive out of the city, away from the crowds" I thought Heaven can't help me now Nothing lasts forever But this is gonna take me down He's so tall and handsome as hell He's so bad, but he does it so well I can see the end as it begins My one condition is

Say you'll remember me Standing in a nice dress Staring at the sunset, babe Red lips and rosy cheeks Say you'll see me again Even if it's just in your wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha Wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha

I said, "No one has to know what we do" His hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room And his voice is a familiar sound Nothing lasts forever But this is getting good now He's so tall and handsome as hell He's so bad, but he does it so well And when we've had our very last kiss My last request is

Say you'll remember me Standing in a nice dress Staring at the sunset, babe Red lips and rosy cheeks Say you'll see me again Even if it's just in your wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha (ha-ah, ha) Wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha

You'll see me in hindsight Tangled up with you all night Burning it down Someday when you leave me I bet these memories Follow you around You'll see me in hindsight Tangled up with you all night Burning (burning) it (it) down (down) Someday when you leave me I bet these memories Follow (follow) you (you) around (follow you around)

He knew coming back to Solana was a mistake the moment he saw you walk into the room in that wedding dress.

Kriff, he knew it was a mistake when he received your father’s communique, but still accepted the invitation to return, somehow managing to convince himself that he would be able to handle it.

That was a mistake, too.

Din one hundred percent does not have a handle on it, himself or anything else.

He understood the danger he was opening his heart to in coming back, fully knowing that he would have to leave you again - which is why he didn’t bring Grogu; he thought he had properly weighed that inevitable torture against the heaven of seeing you again, hearing your voice once more, just being in the same room as your perfume – he could endure it. He told himself he had to.

Unfortunately, Din had grossly underestimated the hold you still have on him, while overestimating his own fortitude. 

From his very first glimpse of you stepping into the room, all reason flew out of the Mandalorian’s head.  Your graceful figure stopped his heart dead while the glow of your beautiful countenance shocked it back to life in an endless cycle.  You carried the silk masterpiece draping off your body so well, it was you who was the work of art, not the garment; barely breathing, Din likened this moment to visiting a painting after having only seen it in a holofilm – his memories and dreams of you didn’t hold a candle to the real thing.  The feared warrior was about to keel over and all you had done was walk across the room - you hadn’t even noticed him yet.

It was only when he heard your breathy thanks for his assistance with your dress that Din truly understood the magnitude of his error.  That’s all it took: you speaking to him one time and he was ready to throw away all semblance of decorum and honour, get on his knees and obey your every wish and desire - no matter how disastrous for either of you.  With great difficultly, Din forced himself to avert his gaze from your beautiful face - for fear that he might see some sign from you, real or imagined, that would give him permission to haul you over his shoulder and steal you out of the room.

This was the moment Din Djarin reconciled with the truth that he was indeed, a weak, weak man.  And a fiend.  Since that chance meeting with you on Coruscant, the absence of you dominated his every waking hour and plagued each sleepless night somehow more persistently than ever.  He was an addict, and you his drug of choice – after that sweet hit months ago, his mind, body and soul were constantly jonesing for more.

At the same exact time, Din realized the risk he exposed you to by returning.  To be in such close proximity and not be able to touch, kiss, or hold you was asking a level of restraint and control that he could no longer promise to embody.  If, for even a nanosecond, his heart believed he could reclaim the life he once shared with you, Din would surrender to his desires completely and discard any remaining sense of duty, decency. 

He had no qualms admitting he would happily sacrifice himself if only to taste the sweetness of your kiss again, to feel your soft body fold against his, to see you arch as he made you come over and over, hear you whimper his name as he filled you.  He would do it all even fully knowing it could be but a brief dream, a spelled mirage that would be broken once you married and he left again – the last time having nearly killed him, would Din have the strength to survive such a devastating blow twice?  He loved you enough to be willing to find out.

Dank Farrik. Perhaps his own downfall he could accept, but Din was unwilling to subject you to that same fate.  On Coruscant, in your inebriated state, you had been so candid and unguarded in admitting how deeply you had grieved, how hollow his leaving had left you – how could he force you to suffer the pain of separation again?  The sadness and hurt he witnessed in your pretty eyes that night haunt him to this day still – only a villain would risk your chance for future happiness just because he couldn’t control his damn self.

And what if he did something even more foolish than reaffirm his everlasting love for a woman he could never be with?  Like ask you to come with him?  To leave behind your entire life, your duty, your stupid fiancé?  Because, what if you came?  And for what?  A lone bounty hunter with few credits to his name and even less merit after he stole the Princess of a planet that has shown him and his son nothing but kindness and welcome?  A man with nothing but deserved shame and a small cabin on the outskirts of an insignificant planet in the Outer Rim.  You would forsake your honour and homeland, the love of your people, the future you’ve been working towards all your life for that?  For Din?  He would stain your reputation and that of your royal house for his own selfish desires, deprive you of the chance to start a family with your new husband and continue your illustrious line?  He could not.  You would resent him and certainly grow to hate him.  He would lose you all over again, only this time slow and tortuous. 

No, for both of you to survive, Din needed to cut himself off at the knees.  As unnatural as it felt, he had to build a defensive wall between you and his heart, blockading any hope of affection and tenderness, if he was to have a chance at protecting what was left of your peace.  You and him were always destined to end, but he would suffer now, alone in silence, if it meant lessening your agony in the future.

While your father made polite small talk, Din vowed himself to be a stranger to you so there would be no chance of falling into familiar old patterns, of seeking the intimacy of your company.  He steeled his body, tone, thoughts, and even his unseen facial expression to one of impassibility and indifference.  If the fires of his love for you did not burn so intensely, the coldness he forced himself to exude might have actually frozen over his heart.

He hid from you for as long as he could after leaving the East wing parlour, afraid of what even one moment alone with you would do to his defenses - but fate’s cruel sense of humour caught up with the Mandalorian as surely as did you in that stairwell.  Din drowns in his own regret and shame as he thinks back to this last conversation with you, likely the last the two of you will ever have – your palpable confusion and hurt had sent his heart reeling and beating violently against its Beskar cage, screaming and begging to be heard.

*****

“Din.”

“Princess.”  Yes, cyare. Cyar’ika. Mesh’la. Riduur.

“Din, can we go somewhere to talk?”

“What would we need to talk about, Princess?”  Anything you desire, mesh’la, but may I ask, only talk?  I wish desperately to hold you in my arms and kiss the honey of your lips once more. 

“Why have you come, Din?”

“Your father recalled me to review the adequacy of the security plans for your wedding; I’m here to ensure that your nuptials proceed without disruption.”  I missed you too much and I’m not strong enough to stay away anymore.  Every single day for the past year I’ve fought against it, but my path has always been to return to Solana and reunite with the part of myself that I left here with you. 

“You’ve come to help give me away?”

“Solana called, and I am here to fulfill my duty to its people.”  I would rather die, but I don’t have a choice.

“I thank you for your service, General.”

“Is there anything further, Princess?”  Please don’t cry, cyare - it kills me to hurt you like this.

“In your haste to leave previously, this was left behind; now that you’re here, General, it can be returned to its rightful owner.”

“I thank you, Princess.”  This is pendant, as with my heart, is yours and always will be.  I will find some way to return it to you so you will always have a piece of the Mandalorian who loves you, even if you hate me.  Ni kartyli gar darasuum (I love you).

*****

Din does everything in his power to avoid you for the rest of the day, but the image of your crestfallen face and the despair with which you proclaimed he’s forgotten you follow him like an unrelenting wraith, gloomy and accusatory.  Even when he goes to the training grounds to reunite with his former comrades, the invisible string that tethers him to you for always tugs until he cannot ignore its pull any longer – he instinctively looks up to the southside tower and sees you waiting for him, as you have so many times before, in that secret spot.

The Mandalorian wishes to go to you more than anything - it would be so easy for him to take off and fly into your waiting arms, but the consequences of doing so keep him firmly grounded; the ripping of his heart would only be temporarily mended if he gave in now, just to tear open later into an merciless chasm of pain that would swallow you both.  So, Din pretends not to see you - he fists his hands so hard his palms hurt, just so he isn’t tempted to adjust his helmet display to zoom in on your beauty, and he distracts himself with the comradery of the men under his former command.  When it comes time to file into the castle, he forces himself to do so without checking if you’re still on the turret. 

Dinner comes and goes.  Din is in equal measures disappointed and relieved when Serene announces that you’ve retired early after a full day, and he’s still conflicted when the time comes to bring his plate back to his old room to eat alone.  But once inside his former quarters, self-flagellation wins out – the knowledge that you’re somewhere near, hurting, and he cannot comfort you sits like a pit in Din’s stomach.  That you truly believe him to no longer care for you unsettles the Mandalorian to the point of nausea – appetite gone, he cannot bring himself to eat even one bite.

He decides to go for a calming walk around the castle instead.  There’s a storm rolling in now; the percussive sounds of rain and thunder a welcomed accompaniment to the wild beating of Din’s heart.  He’s loved Solanian rainstorms ever since that night in the Solana countryside when he bore the skin of his body to you for the first time, while the outside torrential downpour enveloped and muffled the sounds of your perfect first lovemaking.

About to do a third turn of the hallways in the West wing, Din’s sensors pick up on the commotion of scurrying feet above him, the addition of harsh, frantic tones lead him upstairs to investigate.  His instincts kick in at the sight of Serene and Olivia’s panicked expressions and pleading gestures to a small group of the Royal Guard; upon hearing the thunder of the Mandalorian’s approach, the crowd falls silent and turns towards the noise.

“General!” The guards stand at attention and both your lady’s maids look relieved at Din’s appearance. 

“What’s wrong?” The General’s heart pounds – it already knows the answer.

The two women look at each other, unsure, before Olivia pipes up, “It’s the Princess, General.  She’s missing and we cannot find her anywhere.”

“When and where is the last time she was seen?”

“In her bedchambers. Right after…” Olivia falters awkwardly, not sure how much to reveal in front of the Guard; Serene saves her, “… after you left her on the stairs this afternoon, General.”  The anger in her voice is unheard by most among them, but not Din; to him it’s loud and well deserved.

But he cannot dwell on that right now.  Military precision and strategic mind snapping into place, Din lays out a search plan to cover as much area as possible in as little time as possible, then dispatches his men.  He himself runs straight to the South tower.

The rage of the outside storm provides cover for the echoing boom of his heavy footsteps, but nothing can quiet the yell inside Din’s head as he races through the castle, no, no, please no.  He reaches the door to your secret meeting place in record time, hoping against hope that another member of the legion has already found you.

The door is stuck. 

Din pushes and pulls the jammed handle.  He throws his weight against the thick paneling.  The narrowness of the spiraled staircase leading to this remote area of the castle prevents him from getting the leadup he needs, but still he tries over and over to shove his way through to the outside.  Huffing and out of breath, Din adjusts the infrared reader on his internal display to see what’s beyond the door.

Nothing.  Thank goodness.  Out of habit, he does a secondary scan to make sure before turning to go.

Wait.

Barely perceptible and flickering so quickly he nearly missed it, a subtle flush of warmth shimmers small and faint on Din’s HUD.  The Mandalorian recalibrates his sensors so that the heat signature materializes slightly more in focus; now that he knows where to look, he can make out a shape on the ground.  It barely glows, dimming and flashing erratically.  It’s dying.

No!

Ready to burn down the door, Din’s blaster is out of his holster faster than he can think; he shoots at the lock until it’s mangled and smoking and then shoulders his entire body weight against the door until it splinters open.  He fights against the howl of the wind now rushing to enter the castle in order to get to you, cape whipping around his body, rain slicing against his visor.

Skidding across the slippery wet stone floor, the great warrior drops to his knees in one frantic motion to hover over your unmoving body, trying to shield you from the rain.  It makes no difference, your clothes and hair are so drenched and waterlogged they practically pin you to the floor, every part of you is wet and you’re so, so cold. 

“Cyare, please, wake up, please, please,” Din pats your face gently, trying to dry and warm your cheeks with his gloves to no avail, “wake up, please.  Come back, come back to me.”  You make no response, face ghoulishly unmoving, unnatural hue taking over your countenance.

Fear like he’s only ever felt when Grogu’s been in harm’s way grips onto Din’s insides and twists. 

No, no, no, please, no.  It cannot end like this.  I cannot lose you like this.  Please, Maker, no.

With a surge of super human strength, Din lifts your limp body and cradles you close to his chest, protected and treasured, “Mesh’la, we need to get you dry.  I’m going to get you help.  You’re going to be okay.  You have to be okay.  Don’t leave me, please.” 

Then, he runs.

At the bottom of the Southside tower stairs, Din starts yelling for help as he runs towards where he last saw another soul, anyone.  It feels like the castle is an empty labyrinth tonight and despite the racket he’s making, help does not meet him quickly enough - Din doesn’t think, he just keeps going, muscle memory taking over as his feet bring him to your bedchamber doors where luckily, both Olivia and Serene have heard his call and rush to meet him.

“Please,” he begs, “she’s so cold.” He’s not in the right mind to explain further or do anything other than hold you as directed while your maids strip and try to dry you.  After laying you in bed, Din stumbles until his back hits the wall, paralyzed by the worst-case scenario fears running rampant through his mind. 

What if he were to never see your eyes sparkle again, either with mischief, in wonder, or full of lust?  Never hear the melody of your voice cooing sweet praise and encouragement to his son?  What if that cold, unfeeling utterance of your title was the last thing he ever said to you?  What if your final thoughts of him were that he didn’t love you, that he didn’t live and die by the very thought of you?

What if everything he had forced the both of you to suffer since returning had all been for naught, that even when trying to protect you he could only hurt you?

People attempt to get his attention - they suggest he leave to get some rest, give you some privacy, tell him there’s nothing more he can do for you right now, but Din hears none of it.  Doctors, nurses, Serene, Olivia, servants, his Lieutenant – he pays none of them any heed; all Din knows is there is only one voice that can send him away and that’s yours.  He might actually growl this at the doctor.

Din remains in your room, an ever-vigilant gargoyle looming fierce and protective, his eagle eyes scrutinize every move made near or to you, his approval necessary to proceed.  He is immovable, unapproachable, ferocious, inconsolable – a sentinel on guard with nothing to lose but the treasure over which he keeps watch.  The Mandalorian’s stubbornness yields small results but results nonetheless; after a few hours of being bundled up and all manner of heating pads and blankets being added to your bed, you look better, definitely drier.  Din’s helmet readings confirm those of the medical equipment: your body temperature is slowly, but steadily rising, your heartbeat is once again strong enough to be picked up by his sensors. 

But you don’t wake up.

The doctor says to be patient, the nurses say he doesn’t need to stay; the former is more difficult than Din anticipated, the later impossible.  He sits vigil by your side, barely blinking so he doesn’t miss any changes in your condition, frustration growing when nothing does.  By hour six after having found you, Din is ready to send for his son and ask Grogu to Force heal you.

Who needs sleep when he has worry and guilt?  Din knew you were up on that turret all by yourself, and he knows why you were there.  He knows he’s the reason you’re lying in this bed right now, fighting for your very life.  He should have gotten to you sooner.  He should have never let you wait up there alone.  What if Serene and Olivia hadn’t told him you were missing?  What if he hadn’t conducted his second scan and you had been locked out in the rain overnight?

What if… what if… what if…

Din drops his head, cradling his helmet in his hands, unable to stop the spiral of his thoughts and the turmoil of his heart.  Maker, please, please let her be okay.  I’ll do anything, give anything - she just has to be okay, please.

If you’re not awake by morning he’s going to call Grogu.

---

Slowly, you try to blink your eyes open, the bright lights of the room sharp and stinging – all you can manage is to squint; only able to turn your head in tiny increments, you haltingly scan your surroundings until coming upon the imposing, armoured figure waiting at the bedside.

“Din?” you barely recognize the scrape of your own voice.

“Mesh’la,” panic and relief flood through the Mandalorian’s modulator in equal measure, “You’re awake.  How are you feeling?  Does anything hurt?”

Adjusting your body in small measures, each ache and every soreness catching you by surprise, you manage to shimmy up slightly into a sitting position with Din’s help.  It takes you until now to realize you’re in your own bed; still disoriented you manage to croak out, “Everything hurts?  Din… what happened?”

“The door on the Southside tower… it was locked and you got trapped outside in the storm.  No one could find you… when Olivia told me you were missing, I… I tried to get there as fast as I could…” Din chokes on his words as he relives the fear of those moments.

Recollection flashes behind your eyes as you start to remember – the wedding dress viewing, giving back the Mythosaur pendant, fleeing to the tower, letting go, the numbing cold of the rain - you nod in comprehension, “You saved me.  Thank you, Din.”

“I do not deserve your thanks, cyare.  It is my fault you were up there, my fault you got hurt,” Din drops his head in shame, “I’m so sorry, mesh’la.  I was avoiding you and shouldn’t have… I knew you were up there and didn’t go to you… this is all my fault… you were out there in the cold for so long… who know what could have happened if…”

“But it didn’t happen.  You found me,” Din’s obvious guilt chips at your heart, “There’s no need for apologies, Din.  It’s not as if we made an agreement to both go to the tower – I was there of my own free will and you were under no obligation to come meet me.  None of this is your fault, really, General.  Feelings change.  I understand.”

Feelings changed??  No, you didn’t understand at all.

The absurdity of your words necessitate the only action Din deems to be appropriate, as bold and brutal as it is.

Clang!

Din’s helmet is ripped from his head and thrown to the ground so quickly you’re nearly unable to squeeze your eyes shut in time. “Din!” you gasp, shocked.

Grimacing as your muscles scream in protest, the effort to sweep your hands up to your eyes hurts more than you want to admit – but that pain is nothing compared to your fear of the harm it would do to see Din’s face uncovered.

Rough leather envelops your hands and gently pulls them away from your face, “Princess, it’s okay.” You shake your head as adamantly as you can, keeping your eyes closed.  Din’s gravely baritone remains gentle and reassuring, “Trust me, cyar’ika.  Open your eyes.”

Even with his explicit permission, you still feel hesitant; slowly, you open your eyes but keep your gaze lowered, focusing on the gentle way Din holds your hands - his thumbs rubbing gentle circles over the backs as he patiently waits for you to look up.  After a short while, you cautiously peer through your lashes, still nervous and uncertain until your eyes snap all the way open in recognition.  Disbelief and confusion overtake your face as your hands leaves the cradle of Din’s to touch the visage before you.

“I know you,” you whisper, blinking with wide-eyed astonishment, half expecting this image to disappear before you can comprehend its existence.  Din nods indulgently, his smile as gentle as his eyes, letting you take your time in putting all the pieces together. 

“Coruscant,” you say definitively, your memory sharpening as your heart leaps, “that wasn’t a dream?”  At the shake of Din’s head, you melt even further, “You were really there.  You took care of me.”

“Of course, mesh’la,” as his eyes crinkle, the browns of Din’s irises fleck with an enchanting hue of gold, “I wish to always take care of you.”

“But,” your thoughts struggle to form as you become distracted by how handsome the man is; your fingers run over the soft and hard lines of Din’s face, caress the curves of his smile, a cheeky finger pokes at his dimples, “why did you let me believe it was a dream?  Why didn’t you want me to know that we had met?”

As the Mandalorian sighs, his features soften and his eyes deepen with emotion – their expressiveness captivates you, “Princess, do you remember what I told you that night about why we couldn’t meet again?” Of course, you remember - you had memorized those romantic words and replayed them in your head countless times since that night; it’s only now you fully realize that poetic declaration of love wasn’t of your creation, but Din’s.  Heart blossoming, you nod and Din continues, “I admit what I said was dramatic, but the sentiment behind my words has always been true.  I am so incredibly weak for you, mesh’la.”

Your mouth opens to object, but Din anticipates you; he pulls your hands back into his, “I know you would say that I’m strong, cyare, but it’s simply not true when it comes to you.  Strong for you, yes, strong in your name, always, but when it comes to my heart, my soul?  They obey only you; I am, forever at your mercy.”

You may not agree, but a Mandalorian being vulnerable and exposing his soft underbelly is not something to scoff at; you squeeze Din’s fingers and continue to listen patiently as he closes his eyes in recollection.  You miss their warmth immediately.

“This past year without you has been excruciating, mesh’la.  It’s all I could do to scrape enough of myself together to be the father Grogu needs, but otherwise, I was barely living.  Food had no taste, drink was without spirit, and the absence of you was an ever-present weight on my chest that made it hard to even breathe at times,” Din nearly chokes, needing a minute before he can force himself to take in air properly. “I missed you every waking moment of every single day and retreated into my memories of you during each sleepless night; I was hollowed out, half of a man, tortured by the memory of true happiness and the knowledge I would never find it again,” Din finally opens his eyes and his look of sad resignation hurts your chest.

“The reason I didn’t want you to know I was really on Coruscant is the same reason I’ve tried not to be alone with you since coming back to Solana,” anguish overtakes Din’s voice, “To have even one true moment with you, anything remotely resembling what we used to share, would be like giving a sip of water to a man dying of thirst.  Once I had a taste, my weaknesses would prevail and then nothing could hold me back from quenching the thirst I’ve been living with as my constant companion.  I would not have the strength nor would I want it, to resist my heart’s deepest desires any longer.”  He looks apologetic.

“If we shared any real closeness, however briefly, I would have no choice but to throw all caution to the wind and beg for you to take me back, let me into your life again,” Din hangs his head in shame, “and that wouldn’t be fair to you, mesh’la.  I have no right.  No right to ask for connection or intimacy from you, to beg you to love me, when I have no more to offer you than I did when I left.  I have no right to risk all that you’ve worked for, to allow my own lack of restraint to spell ruin for your future and maybe even Solana’s.”

“In short, I am weak, so I ran,” a weight seems to have lifted off Din’s shoulders, “but I’m not running anymore, Princess.  I thought that hiding my feelings from you would save the both of us from a deeper wound, but now I know that was cowardice speaking - and our love deserves bravery.  Cyare, I may not be strong enough to thwart fate, but I will never abandon you again.  From now on, anything that needs to be faced, I want to face with you, together.  As long as you are willing to have me, I promise I will remain by your side and carry you through whatever may come.”

Din wishes he possessed more eloquence, but he is a mere bounty hunter appealing to real grace; he watches as you process his confession with thoughtfulness and sympathy before your angelic features relax into a familiar, affectionate look - one he’s dreamt of many times this past year, the beauty of which could only be surpassed by the words you say next:

“Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar, Din.”

Until this moment, Din Djarin did not know what true peace in one’s soul felt like.  “Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar, Princess,” he lets you pull him closer by the back of his neck until his uncovered forehead rests against yours for a helmetless Keldabe kiss.

“I thought you didn’t love me anymore,” you sniffle quietly, though your tone is one of tremendous relief.

“I could no sooner stop the rotation of a planet around its star, cyare.  I’m so sorry for letting you believe that, and even more so for having hurt you,” Din’s remorse crushes his heart, “I beg your forgiveness, my Princess, and will accept any such punishment you deem fit.”

Unable to look at you, the stoic hunter attempts to shrink; you truly believe there is a part of Din that wants you to discipline him for his transgression, and that all of him believes he deserves it – your Mandalorian has always been so hard on himself.  With a playful little grin, you duck down slightly so you can meet Din’s eye, “I won’t lie, General, there is no one in the known worlds who can shatter my heart and mend it so completely.  I’ll let the offense go unpunished this one time, but would warn you not to do anything of the sort again.” Chuckling, more generous than cheeky, you reassure your beleaguered warrior, “I am happy, Din.  There’s nothing to forgive.”

The way the tension melting from Din’s features transforms his face from world weary to that of a man ten years younger is nothing short of stunning; his voice, however, remains gruff, “It’s more than I deserve, mesh’la.  Though I admit I cannot think of any worse torture than seeing you in that wedding dress and knowing it wouldn’t be me receiving you at the end of the aisle.  That nearly killed me.”

Throwing your arms around Din’s neck, you bury your face in the scrunch of his neck cowl and burrow in deep and safe, comforted by your Mandalorian’s familiar scent and the sheer colossus of his being, “I hate that stupid dress.”

Din chuckles, rasping in your ear, “You looked beautiful.  An absolute dream, cyare.”

Snuggling in even further, you press yourself against the strength of Din’s Beskar, seeking sanctuary in the only place you’ve ever truly found peace; as you cocoon yourself in his arms, a question you can’t seem to reason out on your own continues to gnaw at you.  Looking up, you rest your chin on the heart of the General’s armour, “Din, there’s one thing I still don’t understand.  Even if I thought you merely a dream, why did you show me your face on Coruscant?  How was that allowed?  How can you show me your face right now?”

Not without some reluctance, Din lets you leave the safety his embrace and helps you sit back comfortably on the bed; still holding your hands in his, the General rests his forearms on his thighs and leans forward, serious, “I was raised to follow the Amidalor (The Way of the Mandalore) and since speaking the Creed, have lived by the tenet to never show my face to another living being.  You know that I broke this rule previously for Grogu and as a result, was deemed an apostate and stripped of my standing as a Mandalorian.  Though I broke the Creed of my own volition, and I have never and nor will I ever regret anything I do for my son, my resulting exile was one of the most difficult times of my life – rivalled perhaps, by this past year away from you.  It was only after I redeemed myself in the Living Waters of Mandalore that was I able to shed my shame and guilt, and truly regain my sense of self and identity.”

Your chest tightens, remembering; even when Din first told you the story, his sense of loss and anguish at being excommunicated by his covert came across so fresh and acute - seeing your big strong warrior still triggered by such a painful time in his life had nearly broken your heart.

“Having done it, violating the Creed again is not something I wish to consider in my lifetime.  I’m saying all this so you know I do not take lightly to the act of removing my helmet and revealing my face,” Din says gravely.  You nod along, but all this you already understood.

“In my covert, there has only ever been one known exception to the rule and that is for one’s riduur.  Even this is not widely accepted among all sects, but… I believe This is the Way and choose to live by it,” Din hard swallows; sometimes he still feels like that young foundling from Aq Vetina trying to find his footing among his new people, terrified of stepping out of line, “Among all the star systems in this galaxy, there will only ever be one being to whom I will pledge myself as a lifelong partner and who I would ever consider my spouse.  Though we never said the vows to one another, I belong to you, Princess, as one belongs to their riduur.  Only to you will I ever commit a lifetime’s devotion, only with you do I ever wish to be equal in partnership, and to you I am so bonded that I will never raise warriors with anyone else.  You see, cyare, in my heart, you are already my riduur and so my face, as with all of me, is yours.”

You’re crying now. 

Though these are not the Mandalorian marriage vows Din taught to you, the sentiments of his speech so closely mirror those words on commitment, partnership, and devotion, you can easily imagine them recited at an altar in front of loved ones.  If only you were not so overwhelmed with emotion right now; you wish you could find the words to properly express the magnitude of your own feelings and pledge your everlasting fidelity and love to the only man in the universe you will always give your everything.

Din sees you needlessly struggling; he doesn’t need any verbal confirmation to know you are of one mind – the pureness of your heart is written all over your pretty face; he tries to lighten the mood, joking, “I hope you understand now, mesh’la, why I took great offense to what you said earlier - when it comes to my riduur, feelings do not, in fact, change.”

You cry even harder.

Pulling you back into his arms, Din hums soothing noises into your hair and rubs gentle circles on your back as your tears cascade down the slope of his Beskar like a glittering waterfall, soaking into his flight suit.  Only after your breathing evens and your body relaxes into his hold does the General let you pull away, “What happens now, Din?”

“Now, you rest and recover, cyar'ika.  And after,” he pauses to kiss the back of your hands, a devoted knight swearing his allegiance, “we take it day by day, together.  There is no being or force in this galaxy that can tear me away from you ever again; I will not, cannot, leave your side save by your say so, Princess.”

How you’ve missed this – the way the steady confidence of this man and the surety of his words always give you strength.  With him, you’re allowed space to be unsure, vulnerable, even lost, able to rely on him to lead you to the right path with his unwavering support.  Never are you more certain of who you are and what you’re capable of than when you’re with Din.

“I cannot marry him, Din.”

“No, you cannot,” his tone has the same finality, the same conviction as yours – the way one might repeat a fact as simple and true as the gravitation bond between planet and moon.  Finally making this declaration out loud feels like setting your heart free from a cage; the knowledge that Din is behind you, ready to catch you, sends your spirit soaring high and into his space so that you can crash your lips to his.

This kiss, the first you’ve shared in over a year feels like coming home; it’s bathed in the relief of belonging, steeped in the comfort of knowing and being known, powerful in its own quiet calm.  Euphoria washes over your entire being like an ocean, drowning you in its embrace.

Your lips move together in a well practiced choreographed dance, the two of you falling in sync easily after all this time - but there is nothing routine or neat about the way Din’s mouth devours yours.  He presses into you, passion-filled, unruly, barely restrained; everything is too much and not enough, vividly felt, yet hazy and dreamy – all the most wonderful of contradictions.  The General’s tongue is punishing while worshipful, each stolen breath is urgent but never-ending, this kiss feels like forever and yet could never be long enough. 

You chase the end of such a kiss with a series of soft pecks, unwilling to sever the connection of your lips, except to whisper sweet affirmations to one another.

I’ve missed you.

I love you so much.

Never letting you go ever again.

Sense and practicality return too soon to your Mandalorian.  “Cyare, I know I just promised never to leave you,” Din starts, chuckling at your anticipated whine of protest, “but you must allow me to fetch the doctor.  And either Serene or Olivia to tend to you.  Likely both as they are equally worried about you.”

“And you’ll come back?”  You know he will, but there is such a comfort in the reassurance that only Din can provide.

He knows this; he knows you, “I will always come back, Princess.”

Satisfied, you let Din press one more promise to your lips before you watch him put his helmet back on and slip out the door.

---

In the hallway, Din waits for your door to fully close behind him before releasing a ragged sigh of relief, letting loose the very thread that seems to have been stitched throughout his body, holding him together this entire time; tipping his head back, Din finally lets himself properly breathe, every inhale and exhale slow and deep.

It will take more than just this moment for Din to fully embrace his new lease on life, now that the tension that’s been pulling him taut and sharp for the past year has finally dissipated - but he is content.  Smiling to himself, happy, hopeful, Din is pushing off the door in the direction of your maids’ quarters when he’s stopped in his tracks by a familiar voice,

“General.”

Din turns to see the king emerge from the shadows of a nearby alcove.

“Is there something I should know about you and my daughter?”

---

Din follows His Majesty into the closest study in silence, already kneeling in fealty by the time the older man turns around to face the Mandalorian.

“Tell me, General.  How long have you been in love with the Princess?”

Din does not miss the hint of accusation in the King’s tone – he resigns that the truth will serve everyone best, “Since the moment I met her, Your Majesty, and more so every day since.”  He knows this is not what your father is really asking, “I had already known the Princess for several weeks when you bestowed upon me the rank of General.”

Astonishment colours your father’s expression as Din continues, “Please forgive me, sire.  There was no conspiracy on either of our parts to deceive anyone, especially you, or proport ourselves inappropriately.  When I first met the Princess, I was unaware of her rank and drawn to her kindness and good nature alone.  It took very little time for me to fall beneath the spell of her wit and charm, and to be enraptured by the purity of her heart.  By the time I learned of her royal identity, I was already head over heels for the woman who held the title.”

The king sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, needing some time to process this information, “And the entire time…?”

“Nearly, Your Majesty,” Din still cannot meet the gaze of this man who he respects and venerates so much, “After I accepted the New Republic assignment, the Princess and I attempted to put a stop to our feelings, agreeing to remain within the boundaries of our stations - to be royalty and devoted knight only.  But the enormity of our respect and admiration for one another could not ultimately be contained, and after months of slowly failing restraint, we gave in to our affections for one another.”

Shaking his head, your father asks, confused, “But why would you choose to hide your relationship?  Why would you keep it from your king?”

“Because,” Din’s head snaps up in surprise, he would have thought the multitude of reasons were obvious, “… she is the Princess.  The hierarchy of court and kingdom is rigid – our love would never be accepted; its very existence could tarnish the Princess’ reputation and diminish the majesty of your royal house.  And even if by some miracle it did not, I still cannot be the future you envisioned for your daughter.”

The Mandalorian bows his head again, missing the way your father’s mouth curls with amusement, “The Princess is, by her own admission, someone with great political and diplomatic worth; membership into your great house is coveted by many in the galaxy.  Your Majesty, you must have had some expectations as to the type of person who would be deserving of marrying her?  Certainly, someone of importance, with their own respectable standing in the kingdom if not the galaxy.  Perhaps even a title or belonging to an esteemed and celebrated lineage? At the very least, you must wish her marriage to bring political or security advantage to Solana.  The Princess expects no less of herself.”

“And that, General, is how you see my daughter?  What you deem her worth?”

“No, sire.  As much as I respect her rank, the Princess’ title has no place in the esteem I hold for her,” Din’s modulated voice fills with emotion, his admiration evident to your father, “To me, she is… ethereal.  Truly one of the humblest, genuinely compassionate beings I’ve ever met – that she wields the power of her position with such grace and thoughtfulness is Solana’s great fortune and its true source of strength.  Your daughter is smart and funny, and despite her immense privilege she does not shelter herself – she exhibits such genuine zest for life and affection for people of all walks.  Her spirit is strong and full of grace, but she can be feisty and stubborn – there is never a dull moment with her.  Beyond everything, the Princess is open with her mind and generous with her heart - I cannot say there is another like her in all the worlds.”

It feels incredible to be so effusive about your amazing qualities.  Due to the secret nature of your relationship, Din has never espoused his never-ending admiration for you out loud to anyone except for Grogu; to be able to do so to your father, a man to whom Din credits many of your merits, feels like a gift, “If it were up to me, Your Majesty, the Princess would only know love and reverence for her character and not her status - she should have a partner who worships the very ground she walks on.  But duty comes first, and that is not something either of us would have her hide from.  Your daughter’s marriage should strengthen your great house and raise the glory of Solana, keeping her safe and prosperous.  And I cannot offer any of that.  I am no one.”

“Are you sure, General?” The king straightens his posture, standing regal and self assured, “That you are no one?”

Your father gestures for the Mandalorian to rise and holds unwavering eye contact with the dark T-visor as his most revered commander gets up, “How can you say you are no one, General?  Are you not the leader of my armies?  Do Solana’s military forces not look to you as their shining example of exemplary combat skill and strategic intellect?  They trust you to lead and support them in training, demonstrate for them conduct befitting the deepest, truest sense of honour, duty and valour.  And why would they not?  You treat your brothers in arms like equals and protect their families like your own despite having no ancestral ties to this land or personal reasons to pledge allegiance to their sovereign.  Are you not a hero of the Battle of Planoor, where you led our troops to victory over Imperial insurgents?  Did you not repel the scourge of the galaxy and their attacks on Solanian freedom at great personal risk to yourself?  If I’m not mistaken, you bear a permanent souvenir of that day on your body that would have dealt a lesser man a much more tragic fate.” 

The gentle warmth of your father’s eyes and the pride that shines from their depths is undeniable, “General, even if I had not decorated you for these accomplishments myself, I would still hold you in my esteem as one of the finest men in the galaxy.  You came to our planet a stranger and took every citizen of Solana under your protection; I’ve personally witness you defend and care for my subjects as if they were of your own Creed.  Never does the core of one's character ring clearer to me than in the way they show up for the innocent and defenseless; you, General, stand for what’s right and fair, always with compassion, and ever respectful of the dignity we owe to all living beings.  Decency, General, is your greatest strength.”

“Tell me this, General,” the king’s tone grows indulgent and paternal, “What type of man gives so selflessly to those from whom he would never consider asking for repayment? The same that exhibits bravery and perseverance in the face of insurmountable odds, I would think. A man who fights through his own struggles to approach even the most daunting of challenges head on in the name of justice and truth.  What chance does evil and tyranny have against this type of man who willingly puts his life on the line and never backs down from a righteous fight? Who leads by tireless example and inspires an entire nation to do the same?  General, I can not fathom how a man such as you are could view himself as no one or think himself unable to offer Solana prosperity and safety.”

Though, to most, he is generally considered a man of few words, Din has never found himself to be truly speechless until now.  He was raised to be honourable for the sake of honour, brave for bravery’s sake, and that even if a Mandalorian had nothing, he would always have his integrity; praise for living The Way is something that will always catch Din off guard.  While he’s still absorbing the generosity of your father’s words, the older man flabbergasts him yet again, “General, did you truly think I requested your return to Solana in order to review security plans?”

Behind his visor, Din’s eyes grow to the size of saucers, his attempts to speak fall flat; the modulator of his helmet picking up only awkward stuttering as the Mandalorian opens and closes his mouth repeatedly.

“I admit it took me longer than it should to make the connection between your leaving and my daughter’s change in demeanor.  She is, as you say, strong and spirited; and while she hid her sadness well, I know my own daughter and it was clear to me that something within her had broken,” the king speaks freely, the anguish of being unable to comfort his own child still an open wound, “I did suspect her upcoming marriage was the source of her dread, and privately, considered cancelling the betrothal entirely if she should wish it.  It baffled me that she was trying to hide her obvious unhappiness with the arrangement, and the more she insisted she was fine, the less I believed her.” 

Scratching his head, your father mentally retraces his own steps, “Any which way I thought about it, my daughter’s misery could be traced back to the date of her engagement, so I saw no reason for her to continue denying it… that is, until I realized it was also the same day you abruptly left Solana.  Up until that moment, I did not suspect there was anything more to your attachment than respect and a general fondness, but once I started to seriously consider your departure as the trigger for the Princess’ melancholy, I had to rethink everything I thought I knew.  Was it possible that your leaving and my daughter’s betrothal were not as unrelated as you had made it seen?”

Din is nodding along now, but the proper response to your father’s story still eludes him.  “I needed to know for certain.  I could not let my daughter sink deeper into a sorrow that she would not even admit to, so I sent you the invitation.  Forgive me for my duplicity, General – I knew that as a loyal son of Solana you would heed my call, even if it caused you what I was beginning to realize would be great pain,” his Majesty does look slightly sheepish, “You arrived and almost immediately proved my theories correct – perhaps you thought you were being subtle, but the effect you and the Princess had on one another in the East Wing parlour was tangible, electric – it charged the very air of the room.  There could be no doubt about it, there was something powerful between the two of you, I just didn’t know the extent and depth of that connection, of that love – or rather, I didn’t know until I overheard the two of you just now when the Princess work up.”  Upon finishing, your father looks satisfied, relieved.

“I love her, Your Majesty.”  It’s the truth.  And the only thing Din thinks is worthy of saying right now.

“I know.”  The king’s tone is full of fondness for his General, “And I cannot think of anyone better to whom I could entrust my daughter’s heart than the protector of the realm she loves so much.  But neither of us can nor should we speak for the Princess.  Come, let us hear what she has to say on the matter.”

---

Din paces the hall outside of your room for what feels like hours.  He’s been out here alone since your father left him at the door, except for the doctor who came and left, and the few appearances by Serene and Olivia as they rushed about their duties.

The General is still in a state of shock over what’s transpired since he found you on the Southside turret; from the complete dismantling of all his emotional walls, to your forgiveness and the reconfirmation of your love, then unbelievably, your father’s revelations – every development has felt overwhelmingly surreal.  Never in all of Din’s wildest dreams did he imagine that he would find himself in this position – and on top of everything, something even more unexpected and precarious has started to roost in his chest, a stealthy assassin that shadows his every thought: hope.

The door to your room opens to your father exiting while bidding you a swift recovery and a good night; though Din cannot hear the man’s exact words, he can tell they are full of paternal affection.  When the king turns, he makes for Din directly; expression poignant, eyes misty and full of wisdom, he clasps a hand to the Mandalorian’s shoulder pauldron, “She’s waiting for you, son.”

There’s no time to linger on the significance of the endearment, nor the litany of emotions that surge through the Mandalorian upon hearing it, because from inside the room you call to him, voice full of song, “Din!”

He leaves your father to saunter down the hall with a renewed lightness in his steps, and rushes to your bedside, kneeling once more before the ruler of his grateful heart.  You receive the collapsing frame of the strongest man you know in your open arms and tuck yourself into his covered neck, ecstatically crying.  Cupping your face, Din brushes his leathered thumbs over your wet cheeks, “Mesh’la;” he waits for you to speak more, afraid still of his own hope.

“Din!  I am to be engaged no longer,” the joy in your eyes sparkles like the most brilliant of constellations, your cheeks are flushed as if you had pinched them in disbelief, and your rosy lips quiver in hopeful excitement.  Din thinks this might be the most beautiful you’ve ever looked.  A celestial glow radiates from your very being, “Father says he will meet with our bannermen tonight and cancel the betrothal.  He will explain I’m not yet ready to be a wife and that the anxiety has been affecting my health.  They are old family friends of court, so he believes they will be understanding, but he is fully prepared to offer and provide all necessary rewards and compensation for any trouble or distressed sustained.  Father has tried to reassure me all will be okay, but I admit to some feelings of guilt.”

Din strokes your hair lovingly, forever amazed by the extent of your compassion and empathy, “I trust His Majesty, cyare.  I am sure all will be well, as he promised.  But if you do wish to speak to your former fiancé and his family directly, I will be right there with you for support.”

Hugging him tightly before pulling back to gaze into the welcoming abyss of Din’s visor, your fingers gently caress his helmet as you would the lines of his handsome face, “Will you stay now, Din?  On Solana?  With me?”

The silver dome tilts forward and its vocoder cannot mask the sincerity and conviction of Din’s pledge, “My place is and will forever be, by your side, Princess.  My weapons are yours to command, my heart is yours to hold; I fight in your name, I love in your name and the honour of doing both will forever be a part of my own personal Creed.”

Your poetic warrior.  There are no words that can properly express the immense joy and gratitude you feel for being so well loved, not only by the great man before you, but the other great man in your life, the king.  How lucky are you?  To have such a benevolent, compassionate man as your father, your mentor, and to be the chosen partner of a man who equals him in courage, decency, and selflessness?  It’s all you can do to keep from bursting into tears again.

And just when you think that this is the happiest a person could ever feel, Din, still down on one knee, holds out his Mythosaur pendant in offering and says in a voice so hushed it could almost be mistaken for his natural, unmodulated baritone,

“Princess.  Cyar’ika.  Though it is only very recently you find yourself engaged no longer, would you bestow upon me the honour of being engaged once more?”

It’s a dream, this must be a dream, you think, as you whisper back, “Yes.”

Unable to hold back the flood of happy tears any longer, you let them fall freely and press your forehead to your future riduur’s helm, sealing in your forever with a Keldabe kiss.

1 year later

On any other planet (save Mandalore, and possibly Nevarro), a Beskar covered warrior strolling casually through an outdoor market might look out of place, but not on Solana.  As Din walks down the main fairway, a head taller than every one else, he does garner a fair bit of attention, but it’s of the most welcomed variety.

“Good to see you, General!”

“Solana is glad to have its General home!”

He waves to every well wisher, shakes a few hands, and accepts offers of food and other wares from the local vendors; he has to struggle with a few to convince them to accept payment, but at the end of the day, it’s a rare being who can say no to a Mandalorian.  On a few occasions, Din has to excuse himself hastily, cutting the small talk short on account of needing to keep an eye on Grogu who wanders the market ahead of his father, also happily accepting gifts - mainly of the food sort.

Father and son are heading in the direction of the National Library to surprise you with an early return from their latest mission for the New Republic.  Halfway to their destination, Din spots a familiar figure leaning over a vendor table, examining its goods – slightly bemused and genuinely curious, Din saunters over and looms behind his unsuspecting target for several seconds before uttering, low and dangerous,

“Mayfeld.”

The bald-headed man spins around, wide-eyed and stunned, “Mando!”  Out of habit, he raises his hands in the air to show that he’s unarmed, innocent, “What are you doing here?”

“The General lives here,” the vendor interjects in a tone the suggests the answer should be obvious, “Welcome home, General.”  Din and the vendor exchange polite nods before the latter goes to help another customer.  Meanwhile, Mayfeld purses his lips into a smile, amused by this newly acquired information, “General, eh?  Listen, Mando – I’m not here for any trouble!  I’ve been living the straight and narrow life since…” he shrugs and turns his palms upward to make a gesture that Din assumes is meant to indicate Mayfeld’s prison break, faked death, or both.  “I’m just trying to find a place to settle down, have a nice, quiet life.  And Solana’s known to be friendly to those looking to make a fresh start!  I swear I didn’t know that… whoa, whoa… wait a minute!” Mayfeld’s expression turns panicked as he spots the Royal Guard change the direction of their march and make a beeline to where he’s standing with Din.

“Relax, Mayfeld,” chuckles Din, “they’re here for me, not you.”

The synchronized footsteps of Solana’s finest come to a halt a few feet from their fearless leader, standing in the position of attention, they salute in unison, “General!  Welcome back, General!”

Din returns their salute with an invitation to be at ease, then warmly greets the Lieutenant who steps forward with a clasp of forearms, “Lieutenant, right on schedule.  I’m happy to inform you that I can grant you and your men early dismissal from your duties today.”

The uniformed man tuts jovially and nods in understanding, “The offer is appreciated, General.  If it’s all the same to you, the Guard will accompany you to the library, and from there, you can relieve us of our charge.”

Din gives his second-in-command a hearty clap on the shoulder to indicate his appreciation and agreement with this plan; at their commander’s approval, the troops resume their previous course, with Din also preparing to move once he confirms that Grogu is still wandering ahead in that same direction.

Mayfeld has yet to recover from the wonder of this exchange when Din addresses him again, “Let’s go, Mayfeld.  If you’re serious about settling down on Solana, it’s best you come with me.”  Even if the man thought that the Mandalorian bore him ill will (which Migs’ gut tells him he does not), he would be a fool to refuse after having just witnessed Din’s command over the planet’s security forces.

A few minutes of walking in silence is all Mayfeld can manage, “So, Mando… these guys work for you?”

“We all serve the King of Solana.”

“Right, right.  But, like, you’re their leader?”

“I’m their commanding officer, yes.”

“Did you have to… I dunno, fight and defeat the previous General for the position or something?”

“No.”

“Hey, is that your little green guy up ahead?”

“Yes, that’s Grogu.”

“Okay, okay!  He’s bigger than the last time I saw him… you remember?  We were on that… you know what?  Never mind where that was, he’s definitely bigger!  He’s a growing… boy?”

“Yes, boy.”

“And you know, Mando… just in case, you were worried, I want you to know, I kept my promise… I’ve never told anyone I saw your face or what you look like… as far as I’m concerned, that never happened.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“Right, right… and you still don’t do that, right?  Show anybody anything?? I don’t mean any disrespect to the Creed!  It just seems like a lot of things have changed since the last time we… hung out?  Took out some Imps? You know what I’m getting at, Mando?”

And so on and so forth, the primarily one-sided nervous chattering is non-stop for the entire walk.  Din can’t pretend he isn’t amused, but his Beskar covers it well.  He keeps his answers short and clipped, mainly to mess with Migs, but also so he can keep his attention on the library building as it comes into view.

The General knows you’re coming out before he even sees you because he hears an adorable squeak emanating from his son, followed by Grogu turning into a little green blur scurrying at an impressive speed up the library’s front steps.

“Little love!” Your voice rings out sweet and melodious as you exit the front doors, quickening your own steps forward to meet the small green fur ball that force jumps into your arms.  You cuddle him close and flutter kisses all over his happy face, “You’re home early!”

“Are you okay?  Did you get hurt?” You fuss lovingly over your son, letting him coo back his reassurances, then tickle him adoringly - the two of you purring and giggling in reunion, oblivious to all those around you.  Nuzzling your nose into the top of Gorgu’s soft head to smell his sweet scent, you ask the single most important of questions, “Are you hungry?” followed by, “Where is your father?”

As an answer to the latter, Grogu points to where Din is standing, and to the former, he drops from your arms and waddles over to a captain of the Royal Guard who had somehow been relegated to holding all your son’s collected market snacks.

You pick up your skirts and run straight for the General, flying into his arms with a force that would have knocked a lesser man onto his back.  But he isn’t a lesser man, he's your man.  A Mandalorian.  Your smile is so wide and bright, Din thinks for a moment his helmet HUD has been blinded – but perhaps it’s simply that his own eyes have crinkling closed from smiling so hard himself. 

To be back in Din’s arms after nearly three weeks apart, your longest separation since his official return to Solana, feels like a homecoming; all the tension and worry floats from you body as he lifts you off your feet and you melt into the brilliance and safety of his armoured embrace.

To be in Din’s arms at all, out here in the open, is something you will never take for granted.

Even after your previous engagement was dissolved, you and Din agreed to continue keeping your relationship a secret from your subjects.  Your main concern had been the feelings of your former fiancé and his family.  Though the long-time friends and trusted members of court had accepted your father’s decision to end the betrothal with grace and understanding, flaunting your and Din’s love so soon after would have been beyond inconsiderate, cruel even.  The idea that people who have been nothing but kind and loyal to the crown might suffer embarrassment due to whisperings and gossip was more than you could stomach.  Privately, you also worried that the public might mistakenly blame Din or think him capable of something dishonourable.

Your father had supported discretion – in his experience, the general population preferred to be spared the messy details of palace life, and very rarely reacted well to multiple announcements of change; it would be best to wait and let Solanians come around to the cancellation of the royal wedding in their own time, before springing anything new on them.   

Behind the closed doors of the castle, however, there was no need for any such prudence.  You were free to openly hold Din’s hand, express you admiration and appreciation for the man, praise him, tease him in front of others, shower him with affection.  Even this liberation was more than you had ever dared to dream for your love; to this day, you continue to cherish every open touch, every uninterrupted embrace, every endearment spoken in front of others.  Your attraction and desire for one another you still kept private, sacred for just the two of you, but now there was no more need for pretense, no more false goodbyes at the dinner table, no more sneaking into your bedchambers via the balcony.

Finally, your love could just breathe; it could blossom in the light, instead of shrinking into the safety of the shadows.  You and Din could touch, comfort, even look at one another without being mindful of who was around, how much time had past, that it might be the last time.  For all of the privilege and fortune of your title, there is nothing you will ever prize more than an unhurried morning spent with the love of your life, restful and worry free.

In public, everything remained above board; you kept things subtle and formal, Din remained close and protective - the most devoted knight to his Princess.  You really ought to have given the people of Solana more credit. 

That Din’s return to the realm and the dissolution of your betrothal occurred in short order was neither here nor there, barely registering to your subjects as mere coincidence.  What they did notice was that their Princess appeared happier, lighter, no longer beleaguered by the unknown sadness that had plagued you for the past year.  You once again exuded the joie de vivre that they had so missed, exemplifying the passion and optimism that many consider the foundation of Solanian culture; they were getting their Princess back.

The General, long admired for his strategic brilliance, combat skills and strong leadership, Solanians welcomed back on his own merits.  But it wasn’t long before his public appearances with you drew eyes to him in a way they had not previously.  His protective positioning over you was one of a supportive shield, always gentle, never aggressive or oppressive – he hovered at the ready without ever interfering with your authority; you were free and safe to be your authentic self, a bright star around which his calm, steady presence naturally orbited.

His intuition always place him right where you needed him to be, anticipatory and respectful.  He doted over you.  Quietly spoiled you.  He cared for you a great deal - that much was obvious to those with eyes to see.  Over time, Capital inhabitants who would describe themselves ranging from inquisitive to flat-out nosy, noticed that the General would often reach for you before catching himself, that the unseen eyes behind the black T-visor lingered on you longer than necessary, that the press of his guiding hand on your back was more affectionate than instructive.  After several months of observed ‘evidence’, confident in their powers of deduction, Solanians collectively concluded that the General was indeed in love with their Princess; and rather endearingly, united in their hope that the Princess may one day return his affections.

To the absolute delight of the now invested realm, it appeared that you were slowly opening your heart to the hardened warrior.  His quiet words made you laugh out loud and his thoughtful attention drew from you the most breathtaking of smiles.  His soft touches were allowed to linger longer and then longer, and eventually, you began returning them with you own.  You faced each other, walked side by side – no longer royalty followed by a knight in her service, but equals, trusted confidants.  The day you took Din’s arm while strolling through the capital’s market place, the glassware vendors won a handsome wager from the weaving merchants.  As the encouraging smiles and approving glances from the public grew bolder and more apparent, so did your public displays of familiarity and affection, until hand holding, long embraces, and forehead to helmet touches while amongst your people were all common place. 

You could not have been more grateful for their support, but to your subjects, loving their sovereign as well as she had always loved them, was an honour.  For Solanians, the sight of their Princess happy and safe in the arms of their General was cause for celebration – and so, without any formal announcement, your attachment was a secret no longer. 

You murmur into where the fabric of Din’s cape meets his cowl the same questions you asked his son, “Are you okay?  Did you get hurt?” Fingers digging and groping all the soft spots between the Beskar, you nuzzle in deep, ready to hibernate in Din’s warmth after so many long days apart.  Din squeezes you back tightly, “I’m perfect now that I’m back with you, mesh’la.  No injuries this time.”

His modulated husk sends shivers down your spine and you wiggle in the Mandalorian’s strong grip with a little bit of cheek, “I’ll feel better when I check you over myself later.”

“Me too,” Din’s voice is liquid velvet, his words a promise.

The two of you share a private chuckle before he presses the helm of his silver dome to your forehead and holds the kiss for a quiet moment.  Only when Din unhands you do you notice the stranger next to him eyeing the two of you with what can only be described as incredulous shock.  To your surprise, Din acknowledges him directly, “Mayfeld, let me introduce to you the Princess of Solana -”

Mayfield bows, somehow both in awe and disbelieving that his old acquaintance can make such a fortuitous introduction, “Your Highness, it’s an honour-”

“- my wife,” Din finishes, grin evident to anyone within earshot.

Tossing all attempts at decorum aside, Mayfeld’s head snaps up to stare confoundedly at the Beskar-clad man, practically screeching, “Your wife?!?”

You can’t help but look over at Din in amazement as well, unable to conceal the thrill and pride that runs through you at having being claimed out loud and proud.

You and Din had quietly married six months ago in a small ceremony attended by only a handful of your closest friends and family; then honeymooned for ten blissful days on Nevarro, just the two of you.  Trading in your titles and rank for domesticity and the simple life of Din’s cabin on the lava flats, you don’t think you’ve ever felt quite as carefree or relaxed in all your life as you did as a newlywed in the Outer Rim.  Your days were spent leisurely: meeting Din’s old friends, breaking bread with Magistrate Karga, giggling with the Anzellans who called you “Pretty Lady” (“Good job, Big Guy!”), long and lazy blurrg rides over the planet’s rocky flats and hills, perusing for souvenirs in the Nevarro City market, coming home to the isolated quiet of your cozy abode.  Your nights were equally as varied, with Din taking you at all hours in every manner, on each and every surface of his house.  There was much to be said for the freedom to be as loud as you wanted, as wanton in your cries of ecstasy as you needed, as prolific and unrestrained in your lust for your riduur as you desired.  Helmet on, helmet off, it didn’t matter – the man you rode for hours, naked and dripping wet in the planet’s volcanic hot springs was yours and you didn’t care who heard.    

Upon return from your little slice of heaven, there didn’t appear any obvious reason to announce your marriage.  If their past behaviour was to be any indication, your subjects would likely figure it out in time – there was no rush, if you were happy, they were happy; as far as Solanians were concerned, their Princess had already selected the future King consort and they wholeheartedly approved.

Accordingly, the opportunities to be announced as Din’s wife have been few and far between; you study this Mayfeld with tremendous curiosity - who is this man to Din that he would so openly and happily share such an intimate detail about your lives?

“Yes,” you nod happily, “I am his riduur.”

The man resumes his awkwardly low bow, “Congratulations, Your Highness!  Uh, and well done, Mando… I mean, General.”

Din’s large hand rubs your lower back lovingly as you bend over to pick up Grogu, who after satiating his craving for Solanian delicacies, has come seeking your attention; as you straighten, Din pats a still stunned Mayfeld on the back and answers your unspoken question, “Mayfeld helped me obtain some critical Imperial intel at great risk to himself.  Without him, we would not have so quickly rescued Grogu from Moff Gideon.”

“Oh!” Your eyes widen in understanding, “Thank you, Mr. Mayfeld!  Thank you for helping rescue my son!”  Familiar with most parts of the tale, you’re incredibly interested to learn more about this man and his role in Din and Grogu’s life before you, but more than that, you’re truly grateful, “Please join us at the castle for dinner tonight! Have you yet to find lodging? If not, you shall be our honoured guest until you do. And if you should ever decide to extend your stay on Solana, I will personally do what I can to help you settle in as comfortably as possible.”

You slide your arm through Mayfeld’s as he thanks you and tells you to call him Migs.  Then Mayfeld, you, and Grogu in your arms, form a chain and start heading towards the castle, the Royal Guard walking alongside in perfect formation.  Din admires the sway of your hips and the graceful glide of your movements for a few minutes before shifting his soulful gaze to his son chirping happily in your arms, safe, full, loved.

Following from behind, Din is catching up on military reports and capital news with his Lieutenant when he’s distracted by the sight of you throwing your head back in laughter, genuinely amused by something Mayfeld has just told you – likely an anecdote that the Mandalorian might prefer to stay buried alongside Mayfeld’s prison record.  Both you and Mayfeld turn at the same time to look at Din; you with a cheeky grin and a cute little shrug before you turn back around, Mayfeld looking absolutely gobsmacked while dramatically mouthing, “YOUR WIFE?!?!?!” then returning his attention to you.

Din maintains his pace, keeping an adoring and protective eye on you and his son, his family, from a comfortable distance; grinning broadly beneath the helmet, he murmurs to no one in particular, proud and content, “My wife.”

🎶All Night by Beyoncé🎶:

Found the truth beneath your lies And true love never has to hide (True love never has to hide) I'll trade your broken wings for mine (Trade your broken wings for mine) I've seen your scars and kissed your crime (Seen your scars and kissed your crime)

All night long Love, all night long Sweet love, all night long Sweet love, all night long All I wanna, ain't no other We together, I remember Sweet love, all night long

They say true love's the greatest weapon To win the war caused by pain (pain) But every diamond has imperfections But my love's too pure to watch it chip away (chip a-, chip a-, chip away) Boy, nothing real can be threatened True love breathes salvation back into me With every tear came redemption And my torturer became my remedy

All night long Love, all night long Sweet love, all night long Sweet love, all night long All I wanna, ain't no other We together, I remember Sweet love, all night long

How I missed you, my love

A few tags for those who have commented or reblogged that I tortured them with the angst - I am sorry again and thank you for supporting me and this series! @okiegal68 @bishtrouille @johnssherlock221 @baronessvonglitter @la-vie-est-une-fleur29