Being Shady is My Only Defense

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