#bobine

The perimeter alarms went off in a way that brought goosebumps to Sabine’s skin. There weren’t many beings alive who knew Clan Kryze’s ancestral home still sat on Kalevala, and from the list of those alive, even fewer could be trusted to show with less than hostile intentions. 

Her helmet was pulled on in short order; Bo-Katan did not utter a word to her protector as she stalked from the desolate Throne Room. Rain fell in thick droplets, rapid in their descent to the earth and in their journey of thoroughly soaking the thick material of Sabine’s flight suit. 

The N-1 was bright, chrome plating catching the flashes of lightning as it arced from the skies from several kilometers away. The pilot was just as reflective as his starship, fresh, unpainted armor catching the ever-present gloom of the storm as he landed. There was no Death Watch signet on his armor, and no threat in the way he exited his ship, in fact, the Mandalorian hadn’t even acknowledged the Protector upon his exit, instead turning back to his ship to prepare something from inside. 

Sabine’s fingers flexed towards the Westars at her side, peering through the raindrops on her visor as he worked. She could not see what was loaded into the pram, but soon, white-painted durasteel hovered two feet from the Mandalorian’s side, and he’d finally graced her with his acknowledgment. “I’m here to see Lady Bo-Katan Kryze,” He began, the wind caught most of his voice through the vocoder, chin raising as he regarded the strange woman and stranger armor. 

“She is not here, you should leave,” Sabine called, shoulders squared and chest puffing out as she regarded the unknown man. Bo-Katan had mentioned a Mandalorian fitting the description of the man, but as her sole Protector, she couldn’t be too careful. 

The Mandalorian paused, hopelessness sagging his frame. “Could you pass along a message, from a friend?”

Walking in long strides, Din Djarin had to move fast to keep at Sabine’s heels, the pram floating behind the two Mandalorians, and raindrops falling to the old carpet where it dripped from their armor. Bo-Katan did not raise her empty stare from indents in the floor, even as their purposeful strides bounced off the cavernous walls. 

“Lady Kryze,” Sabine pulled her helmet from her head, tucking it under her arm as she approached to bow her head, purple strands of hair falling in her face as she did so. Din seemed taken aback at this, but wisely allowed the Protector to continue once she’d garnered the attention of the Princess. “Din Djarin has come for you,” 

The chrome Mandalorian stepped past Sabine, allowing her to take her place to Bo-Katan’s side once more, boots having long since worn into the stone from her weeks of silent vigil at the older woman’s side. “I have come to join you,” He called, imitating Sabine’s posture; shoulders squared, chest puffed out, chin raised. At least an uncivilized member of the coverts could show some respect to the Leader of their people…

For the first time of the day, Bo-Katan’s weight shifted in the throne. Sabine felt the warmth of relief as Bo-Katan’s shoulders rolled. “There’s nothing left to join,” Bo-Katan refused to see it in her grief, that there was something to join, yet Sabine could not step from her place, it was not her duty to make the woman see that, not yet at least. 

Sabine’s head turned away as Din turned to stare at her for an explanation. Her teeth gritted and her fingers flexed around the rim of her helmet. It took a lot to keep her mouth shut, but she’d been trained for this, and had devoted her life to this. If Bo-Katan was not ready, Sabine could not force her…

Din’s confusion showed in his tone, his weight moved from the balls of his feet to his heels. “What of your plans to retake Mandalore?”

Bo-Katan scoffed and Sabine winced. “When I returned without the dark saber… My forces melted away,” Those piercing chartreuse eyes settled on her, bringing the younger Mandalorian to attention. She was the only one who’d stayed, after all. She was sworn not to the dark saber, but to Bo-Katan, and would continue to be until her death in battle. 

Din still seemed confused by this, his head shook in disbelief. “Then where is the stolen fleet?” He hadn’t spotted the stolen imperial ships on the surface, but he’d known the lengths she’d gone through to acquire such a scale for her nite owls. 

The muscles in Sabine’s jaw flexed. She had no kind thoughts on the usurpation of Bo-Katan Kryze for the spineless brute that had rallied her own forces against her. She’d kept her tabs on each of them and had watched every moral Lady Kryze had bestowed upon them all melt away under the promise of a handful of credits. “Making their way across the galaxy..” Bo-Katan answered, beskar catching on the smooth stone of her throne as her weight dropped back again. “As mercenaries,” She added almost sourly. 

Din Djarin’s head turned to the protector then, looking at the armored warrior from the paint splatter on her greaves to the colorful mark that named her commander of the guard stamped proudly into her breastplate. “Why have you stayed, then?” 

Golden eyes flickered towards Bo-Katan, though the woman had looked away pointedly. “Where she goes… I go,” The younger woman declared pridefully. There would never be any uncertainty about where her loyalties lay, ever since she joined the Mandalorian Protectors and had found the Regent Leader working as a Rebel. Saxon didn’t need her, and Mandalore hadn’t needed another to join the cause of bleeding it dry. Bo-Katan had freed the planet, and herself, and while the Imperials reigned havoc upon their homes, she would never forget the kindness that had come in war. 

“Do you still have the saber?”

“...I do”

“Then you lead them,” There was disdain in her tone, Bo-Katan was weary of the interaction already, it seemed. Sabine released a slow breath as she slipped her helmet back over her head, preparing to escort the chrome Mandalorian from Clan Kryze’s castle. “Wave that thing around, and they’ll do whatever you say.” 

“So you… gave up your designs to retake Mandalore?” There was a sadness in his voice, one Sabine could echo. Bo-Katan and herself had argued extensively about the planet’s survivability, and if saving their home would even be worth it. Each time, it seemed to only dull the woman’s will to do much more than sit upon the throne and mope. 

Coming from Din Djarin, however, this seemed to spark anger. Bo-Katan’s lip curled, and Sabine had to calculate the time it would take her to leap between the two. For a woman who spoke of the heaps of Mandalorian blood spilled by her own, she was always so ready to attack even the slightest offense, to defend herself and her honor, oftentimes forgetting that she had Sabine to help carry that weight. 

“Your cult gave up on Mandalore.” She snarled, muscles in her jaw twitching, though neither Heiress or Child of the Watch moved for their weapon, despite stirring hostilities. Still, Sabine took a step down, closer to the apex of tension between them all. “Long before the purge,” A deep breath as the older woman’s brows furrowed, her weight shifted forward and her eyes narrowed. “Where were you then?” 

“The Children of the Watch and all the factions that came before,” Her voice dropped; Bo-Katan had never been one to shy away from her part in Mandalore’s destruction or in the part those fallen, fragmented members of her clan had in the division of their people. “Fractured and shattered our people…. Go home… There’s nothing left.” Sabine’s chin dropped at the conviction in Bo-Katan’s voice. It was the same argument, with a different, hopeful Mandalorian in her place. 

Din Djarin did not back down, however, and Sabine had to commend such an act. “I am going to Mandalore so that I may bathe in the living waters, and be forgiven for my transgressions,” 

There was something familiar in his tone, a voice that had been mimicked by Tristan when he’d run off to the Imperial Academy and returned to Krownest years later with a Jetti and a band of rebels. A promise in his voice that she knew from experience could only be put down with death. Maybe Bo-Katan needed her own Tristan, like she had… A look towards the redhead’s quiet, seething form had told her that no, Din Djarin was not the spark that would reignite the fire of Bo-Katan Kryze. 

“You are a fool.” Her weight shifted against the throne once more. The woman was finished with the conversation, that much was clear, as her tired gaze moved to Sabine before lingering back to empty walls, sinking back into the ghosts of her memories, in paintings that had been taken off the walls when the wails of their ancestors grew too loud. 

“There’s nothing magic about the mines of Mandalore,” She continued, eyes moving across the stone, as if she was watching the choppy animating of a children’s holofilm play out. “They supplied beskar ore to our ancestors, and the rest is superstition. That planet has been ravaged, plundered, and poisoned.” 

“You said that the curse was a lie. Make up your mind,” 

Sabine did not often wear her helmet outside of battle, but now she was thankful for the beskar hiding the way her lips split into a smile. He certainly had a fire in him, that was undeniable. 

“If you want to go to the mines,” Bo-Katan finally turned to look at him once again. “Be my guest. They’re beneath the civic center in the city of Sundari,” 

“Thank you… And I will find out if the planet is really poisoned.” Sabine finally moved from her post to escort the spitfire as he turned away from Bo-Katan. 

“Goodbye, Din Djarin.”

“He’s got a point, Lady Kryze,” Sabine began upon her return to the throne room, frowning at the way Bo-Katan sat back on the throne, a gauntleted arm thrown over her eyes in frustration. 

“I’m not as stupid as you think I am, Wren,” Bo-Katan snapped without looking at her. Sabine let out a soft sigh as she jogged up the stairs of the throne. The younger Mandalorian sighed as she removed Bo-Katan’s helmet from the side of the throne, setting it carefully on the floor under the hawk-like gaze of its owner until she’d removed her own and set it at her side as well.

Carefully, Sabine perched on the arm of the throne, hands in her lap, nervously picking at the fabric that covered her knuckles. “You’re the smartest person I know, Lady Kryze, nothing is going to change that-”

A scoff from the redhead, as she turned her body to face the back of the throne, armor scraping against each other as she curled her legs onto the chair with her. For someone who stood so tall and took up so much space, it made her chest ache to see her let the world swallow her up. 

“Would you like to spar, my lady?” 

This, at least, seemed to get some life from the woman. Sabine needed to keep active, and as much as she liked running the trails around the castle or dancing around the cavernous rooms, a good fight was what they both needed to get the blood pumping and burn off Lady Kryze’s simmering stockpile of rage. 

Bo-Katan was always a ferocious sight in battle. Being able to witness the woman’s prowess in battle was like having a front row seat to the stories passed down between clans, of warriors with the fires of the Great Forge burning under their hal’cabur, bending the battlefield to their demand as they fought for what was right.

There were no stormtroopers to be found under her fist, yet, as the woman taped her knuckles on the other side of the mats, Sabine could still feel the tangible thrum of anticipation, a thundering in her heart at the promise of being the one to pull the Mand’alor from her stupor, however brief it may be. 

Shaking the throes of anxiety from her fingertips, the Protector stretched her arms above her head, palm locking against the opposing elbow until the familiar stretch in her arms thrummed through muscle. Bo-Katan was occupied on the other side; while she did was not one to miss her morning exercises, it had been all too long since she’d allowed the armor to come off. Sabine filed the knowledge away to polish it for the woman later, if all things worked according to plan. 

“I can feel your eyes on me, little Wren.” There was humor in her voice was she spoke, yellow-green eyes unblinking as she adjusted the way the dark blue material rested across her knuckles. 

“My apologies, Lady Kryze,” The woman’s voice held no apology, but the hints of mirth that Bo-Katan had come to appreciate in her company. A smirk tugged at full lips as Sabine released her arm, swinging them out to loosen up before repeating the process on the other side. 

“Alright, Protector, let’s see if you’ve still got it,” There was a spark in her eyes, an ember of something that had been doused by so many before, but not quite put out, not yet, not while Sabine had anything to do with it, at least. 

Bo-Katan waited for Sabine to strike first, air displacing around her fist as she jabbed out, using her forward momentum to follow Bo-Katan’s sidestep up with an elbow jabbed outwards. Bo caught the elbow against her forearm, shoving Sabine back to stagger her momentum. 

“You start with that?” Bo-Katan taunted, sharp eyebrow raised as Sabine spun on her heel, fingers flexing as golden eyes reassessed. 

“Had to make sure you were going to be on your game, this time. Didn’t want to leave you in the dust like-”

Before Sabine could finish, she was put into a terse defense as Bo-Katan snapped forward. Blow after blow was caught on forearms and the meat of her thighs, muscles aching and shaking under the feeling of bruises blooming under powerful hits. 

Bo-Katan wasn’t holding back, a smile seemed to pull at her lips as she sunk into the familiar burn, a predator pushing their prey to the bring, playing with their food… It was the most Bo-Katan had seemed like herself since capturing the Imperial fleet and laying eyes upon the dark saber once more. 

Before Sabine knew it, a foot was hooking behind her ankle, her body was being pitched forward into a steady column of the older Mandalorian’s body, and, in a last-ditch attempt to regain some control of the situation, they were soon both tumbling to the mats, Sabine’s arms circled around Bo-Katan’s shoulders, pinning one arm under her own as her back hit the mats. 

With Bo-Katan’s foot wedged around her shin, the purple-haired Protector was able to koala both legs over the one, knees locking around the thick muscle of Bo-Katan’s thigh as she pitched them to the side, hands scraping, burning against the rough material of the mat as her hands rubbed flat into the floor, pushing herself off the redhead just enough to get a hand on her shoulder.

From the corners of her eyes, she could see the way purple and blue were already beginning to bloom across olive skin, could see the way the freckled skin flushed, sweat-slick and almost shining in artificial lights. Bo-Katan said nothing, breathing through parted lips, a much quieter contrast to the deep swallows Sabine was breathing. Intermingled and tangled, Sabine stared down at the older woman, shock and a sliver of fear at being the one to get the Bo-Katan Kryze on her back.

The silence dragged with Sabine frozen in spot, and Bo-Katan’s eyes raking inquisitively over the protector. 

It took a rush of… something, surely not confidence, that had words spilling past Sabine’s lips, words she had mulled over and had not considered articulating when Bo-Katan seemed desperate to stew in her misery. “Lady Kryze-” She paused as if waiting for permission to continue, however, she forged on before the woman could acknowledge her. The younger woman sat up, leaning back against the redhead’s bent knees. “If there is a way to reclaim Mandalore, don’t you think we should? Mandalorians… we’re stronger together,” Her finger twitched against the soft fabric of the woman’s tank top, anxiety brimming over the surface as the embers in her eyes simmered. 

“I’ll take one final step,” Bo breathed, voice dark and heavy, lips smoothing into a mask of dispassion as her hands settled against Sabine’s arms, fingertips dancing across bruised elbows before she was guiding the young Protector off of her. Letting herself drop to the mats beside her, Sabine reached to brush her hair out of the way, watching Bo-Katan as she rose and wiped the sweat from her brow. “All you have to do is make me.” When Bo-Katan rose next, she extended a hand down to the woman below her. “Show me…” A pause, like the woman was reconsidering this moment of vulnerability, even with the woman who had seen her through her worst times. “Show me the way, Wren.”

Something itched at the back of Sabine’s mind. The Jetti paired with Tristan’s ‘Ghost’ crew had mentioned the Force to her once, nothing but passing in an explanation of a blind man and his blue son, but from how her vod’ika had explained it, she could only consider it to the feeling of the Manda. When she reached to take Bo-Katan’s hand, there was a flash of the image, distorting in the Manda’s memory of gold and grey armor, reaching to take the blue gauntlet of the woman before her. 

Ursa Wren had once been this person for Bo-Katan Kryze, and she had met her end for it, at the hands of Moff Gideon. Bo was danger, she was carnage and blood and ruin. But Sabine always did have an affinity for volatile experiences and people. Ticking bombs were her specialty, and no matter how long the charge that was her Mand’alor lay dormant, Sabine was her mother’s daughter. She knew the risks, and the dangers that came with it, and time and time again, the Wren would follow the Owl to ruin.