#mandalorian reader insert

Din feels the droid holding him in place lift the beskar from his head, and his eyes instantly lock with yours from across the room. 

After years of being careful, years of life together without his creed ever having been broken, you’re finally seeing his face for the first time. Unfortunately, it is against his will. Held captive by an enemy. 

While the two Hutt twins taunt him in their language, all Din can focus on is the anguish and confusion in your face as tears stream down your plump, flushed cheeks. You mouth the phrase, “I’m so sorry,” and Din’s heart breaks at the sight of it. If only you knew that this was his deepest darkest desire. Even now in this dangerous situation he feels relieved to have you finally see him, no matter how wrong it may be.

His enemy seems to notice that he hasn't been paying attention to them, and the male Hutt laughs evilly.

"You wear your weaknesses on your face, Mandalorian," the male slug chides, "How shameful this must be for you."

The female Hutt laughs wickedly, "How does it feel for your beloved wife to finally see your face, only moments before you die."

The thick chain attached to the metal cuff around your neck suddenly pulls taught, and Din glares viciously at the Hutts as the sister-slug yanks you up onto her gigantic body. She begins fondling you all over, much to Din's dismay. You look as if you’re going to gag. 

He’s heard about the slaves of various species that the Hutts like to keep around for pleasure, but he never once would have imagined you in such a position. They have you dressed scantily with your arms and ankles shackled, and a thick metal collar around your neck.

Under entirely different circumstances, Din would be ready to tear what little fabric there is from your body and take you right then and there. Under these circumstances, however, he's ready to kill these creatures and bathe in their blood for doing this to you. To his family.

The Hutts finally get Din's attention when the male adds, "Yes, how does it feel to know you failed her, just like you failed our nephew?" He gestures off to the side of the chamber, where another Hutt is bound and unconscious.

Din angrily seethes the word, "Monsters." 

The male Hutt, the uncle, then proceeds to threaten Grogu's well being. Grogu, who as far as Din knows, is still back home on Nevarro and probably scared out of his mind without his two parents. 

A blind rage pushes Din to rise, the warrior in him ready for another round of combat even after the horridly long day he's had. But then the ground beneath his feet gives way, and he’s falling to some unknown fate in the murky waters below as the Hutts laugh and you scream.

Yet, instead of hitting water, his body hits… the cot?

*****

You’ve been awake for the last few minutes, but you haven’t moved to get up yet. Instead, you’ve been feeling Din twitch and writhe against you, listening with mild concern as he whimpers and moans inside his helmet behind your head. His energy is swirling around yours fearfully within The Force, and you're certain that's what woke you in the first place.

You jump with surprise as his entire body suddenly jerks violently and he shrieks himself awake. He starts grabbing for you so hard you’re worried he’ll leave finger-shaped bruises behind.

“Jesus, Din. Are you alright?” You ask, turning your body as much as you can to face him in the cramped sleeping cabin. You flick the overhead control and the lights come on, but only very dimly. With a hand to the side of his trembling beskar, you proclaim, "you must have been having a nightmare, darling. It's alright. You're here with me in our bed. You're safe on the Crest."

Din nods, deep breaths heaving in his chest. "Shit, that felt so real." He pants your name, and the broken sound nearly breaks you.

You shush him, and soothingly run your hands over his shoulders, down his arms and back, trying to show him through your touch that this is reality.

"You're here. We're here. We're safe," you tell him, assertively.

"Where's Grogu?" he croaks, looking around and above himself.

The child in question peeks his little head over the side of his hammock at the sound of his name. He looks so cute dangling a few feet above your laid out bodies in the cot, making his signature little “patu” noise. The kid then proceeds to hop down and land on his bottom, right smack dab on the chest of his father. Luckily, Din’s been in the habit of sleeping without his armor on for months now, so the child lands safely on Din’s actual chest with a thud. Jupiter follows suit and lands gracefully on your thighs.

“Umph,” Din grunts, chuckling happily as an arm encircles the kid. “Love you so much, kiddo. I’m glad you’re safe, too.”

"That must have been a really awful dream," you say, hand grazing Grogu's head as you look at Din with worry in your heart. "I could feel your dread."

Your cosmic companion nods, sitting up a little. Grogu shifts, sliding down onto his father's belly, and you can't help but smile fondly at the domestic sight of it as Din responds. “It was so vivid, like I was really there living it.”

“Would you like to tell me about it?” You ask tentatively, knowing full-well that the subject could be entirely too sensitive to share. For a moment, you brace yourself for him to tell you it was a dream about his ex-mentor, a subject which you're still kicking yourself for bringing up after his intense reaction to it the other day.

Din nods once, and then begins, “It started with you and I being captured and taken to Nal Hutta by a bounty hunter hired by the Hutts. Grogu was fine, I think, but they…" Din pauses and you see him swallow before continuing, "they took us away from him. They were angry at me for saving their nephew instead of turning him in for the bounty they hired me for. I'm not sure why I was working for them, though. That part was unclear. All I know is I made the call to set the kid free and they punished us for it. They removed my helmet in front of you to shame me. They had you chained up and dressed as a pleasure slave. I believe they were going to force you to watch me die before they had their way with you."

Your eyes go wide and your hands struggle to cover Grogu's ears. "Oh, my god! Din!"

Grogu whines and shakes his head, batting at your hands with his tiny claws.

"Okay, okay, sorry! Here," you shift and set Jupiter in front of the child. "Play with Jupiter and maybe don't listen to this part."

Din chuckles, and you are slightly relieved that he can make light of the horror his mind had shown him now. You shoot him a narrow look and mouth the words, "Pleasure slave?!"

Din nods, shrugging. "Unfortunately, not uncommon on the outer rim."

You shudder. "That certainly sounds like a nightmare."

Din agrees, sighing as he leans his helmeted head against the wall. It makes the tiniest of clunking noises, and you don't fight the little tug at the corner of your mouth.

"I mean," you say, playfully, "I'm all for the kinky stuff, but only in the right scenario."

The black T you know so well tilts to look right at you then, and the air around him shifts. He huffs a little laugh through the speaker and he says, in a low tone, "The outfit they had you in was pretty good, I have to admit. With the chains and the collar, too." He grunts and your face flushes.

Laughing, you shove at him and try to ignore the little flare of heat he's caused to stir within your core. "That's it, I'm putting a pin in this conversation for when we are not surrounded by our pointy eared children!"

"Fair," Din agrees wit a hearty laugh.

With a shake of the head and a grin you move to pay more attention to your son and your cat, stroking Jupiter's fur coat as you ask your child, "Never mind dad's silly nightmare. What did you dream about, Green Bean?"

Grogu coos up at you, and in a moment you could have never in a million years thought was about to happen, he points right at Din and says, "Da," with a huge smile on his tiny face.

Din's head whips down to look at Grogu with a sharp intake of breath. All at once your heart swells so hard in your chest that it nearly knocks you backwards.

Slack jawed and voice full of wonder, you look at the boy with such affection flowing through your feelings into his in The Force. "Grogu did you just speak?"

Grogu nods, confirming this, as he looks at Din with open and closing grabby hands. "Da!"

Din scoops the boy up immediately, holding Grogu to his chest. "I… are you really saying 'dad,' buddy?"

"Think he is, Din. It feels that way to me," you confirm, noting the hard swell of emotions suddenly pouring from your partner.

"Why not my name, though?" He wonders out loud, visor looking to you.

Smiling, you reach over to rub Grogu's upper back. "Because he knows you as 'dad' now, Din. That is your name to him."

Again Grogu blatantly nods, and you feel his pride ripple through the Force with more strength than anything you've felt from him before. "Da!"

Din's heart swells, the feeling of it nearly palpable to you as he asks the boy, "Were you dreaming about me, buddy? Is that really the answer to your mom's question?"

Grogu nods enthusiastically, shouting, "Da!"

"Who's that holding you, sweetheart? Your Daddy?"

"Da! Da!" Grogu yells happily, snuggling hard into Din.

"Great job, Grogu. I'm so proud of you," Din chokes, audibly emotional under his helmet. "I can't believe it, cyar'ika."

In the bizarre plane of existence known as The Force, the feeling of pride surrounding your family is unmistakable. Grogu is so proud of himself, and Din's so full of pride for his foundling you're not sure how his beskar can contain it all. The pride of a father hearing his son truly speak for the first time envelopes your own similarly maternal pride, and in this instant you know that the strange thing binding your family's fate together has you right where you need to be.

"I can't believe it either, Din," you breathe, tears of joy threatening to fall.

*****

Din's heart swells with delight every single time he hears Grogu say "Da", which ends up being a lot once the kid really gets going. Well into the morning he's still saying it happily, and Din cannot get enough. You, on the other hand, are trying very poorly to hide the fact that it's getting on your nerves.

"What about 'Ma,' dude? Come on, say my name too," you're pleading, bouncing Grogu as Din makes the three of you breakfast.

All the while Grogu repeats the fatherly title over and over again, and Din's grin beneath his helmet only grows fonder.

"Say 'Mama'," you request, tone riding the edge of desperation.

"Don't get too jealous, cyare," Din teases. He looks over his shoulder at you with a hidden smirk.

Throwing him a sheepish smile, you laugh and shrug. "Hey, I'm just trying to expand his vocabulary, that's all."

Din's own laugh feels like a pleasant rumble of soft, distant thunder in his chest. All at once he thinks of the thunderstorms during the rainy season on Nevarro, and his heart aches with longing for the lava planet. Had that not been the initial setting of his dream?

A house just outside the city limits. A pen of blurrgs and a lush garden with a small pond. The Razor Crest parked just outside the home on a stormy night.

Just as he's about to suggest that his family make their way back to Nevarro soon, there comes the sound of someone banging a fist into the outer hull of the Razor Crest from outside.

"Who could that be?" You ask, eyebrows raising in Din's direction.

The knocks come again and a very muffled voice faintly makes its way through the barrier of metal, yelling, "It is Paz Vizsla!"

Din groans in the most Earthly way he ever has, knowing full well that he sounds just like you while practically slamming the spatula down in the pan. "Ugh, what could he possibly want?"

You seem taken aback by Din's tonal shift. "What's got you in a bad mood suddenly?"

"Nothing," Din hears himself snip. "I was just enjoying our morning, that's all. I'd rather him not see me without the rest of my armor on. Do you mind seeing what he wants while I finish up in here and get dressed?"

"Sure, darling," you say supportively. With a hand to his chest you lift up on your tip toes to kiss his beskar cheek and make your way over to open the ramp with Grogu in your arms.

*****

"What can I do for you, Paz?" You ask as the ramp begins to lower and you descend along with it. When your boots hit the sand, you squint at the Mandalorian man expectantly.

"Ragnar has something to say to Grogu," Paz nods down at you respectfully. Then he nods to Grogu in your arms.

The child in question comes out from behind his dad, having been hiding there the whole time. Paz is stockier than most of the other Mandos in the tribe, and a small smile of fondness graces your features at the realization that Ragnar must use this to his advantage a lot. He did it the other day, you're sure of it.

Nodding to the boy, you say, "I'm glad you're here, Ragnar. Grogu would like to say something to you as well. With my help, of course."

Grogu frowns when Ragnar approaches, the facial gesture not going unnoticed by you. "It's okay, sweetie," you tell your boy gently. "He feels sorry about yesterday. I sense it."

"I do," Ragnar says sincerely, human face hidden behind his new beskar one. As he approaches the two of you, the child turns back to look at Paz for a moment.

"Go on, son. Remember what we talked about," Paz says with a genuine tone of encouragement you're a little surprised by.

Ragnar nods, taking a deep breath to steel himself as the visor looks right at Grogu. The determination you feel from him is tangible, causing your heart to go out to the kid.

"Grogu, I'm very sorry for excluding you yesterday. And for insulting you. As Mandalorian foundlings, we must look out for one another. I vow to treat you with respect from now on. This is The Way," Ragnar finishes with a fist over his heart and a bow of his head.

Nodding, you lift Grogu up slightly and look into his big eyes as you explain your son's feelings to the younger child. "Thank you, Ragnar. We forgive you. Grogu cannot say this himself, but I have a special way of communicating with him. I know he is sorry for what happened yesterday too, and he is sorry for any physical harm he may have caused."

"I forgive you," Ragnar says to your son with a nod.

Grogu babbles happily in your arms, and when you hear the unmistakable sounds of Din's boots clanking down the ramp behind you, the boy's big brown eyes light up brighter than Tatooine's twin suns.

"Da!" Grogu shouts.

"Hey kiddo," Din says down to the boy as he comes up beside you, a gloved hand stroking one of the child's great ears. He's back in full armor.

God, he looks fucking good.

"Paz. Ragnar," Din greets with a nod which both Mandalorians return in suit. Then he looks down at you, and you know that the look hidden behind that T is one full of affection. "Breakfast is ready. I already took care of myself, so what's left is for you and Grogu."

"Thanks, baby," you grin, throwing him a wink for good measure. It sounds so fucking weird to call him that, but ever since he brought it up you've been making a point to tease him.

At first you think he's ignoring you, but then he comes to stand beside you and you feel a hard pinch to your ass. It takes all of your willpower not to react.

"When Grogu's finished eating can he come play with us?" Ragnar asks, and when Paz shoots him a look through his own T shaped visor, the child's back straightens as he quickly changes his phrasing to, "Train. Can Grogu come train with us? Teckla is going to show us how to fight in the water."

"Water? After what happened to me the other day? I don't think so." Your eyes flick wearily to the crashing waves way down on the beach.

"Not in the ocean," Paz interjects. "There is a path in the caves which leads to a small underground lake. Runoff from the cliffs have created a natural waterfall within the confines of our temporary home. We've been using the water there for bathing and training for several weeks. It should be safe, so long as your little one can swim."

Grogu nods in the affirmative, and you feel his wanting. He reaches out towards Ragnar, and you look up at Din with a shrug. "What do you think, Daddio?"

"If it's safe, I'm fine with it," Din says with a shrug of his own.

"Should I come along just in case Teckla needs the help?" You ask, anxious at the idea of trusting these strangers with your child again after the incident the day prior.

Paz gives a shake of the head. "If you like, but I think she can handle it. It's mostly a swimming lesson for Naeya. Some of the older kids will be learning how to move around in water while welding weapons."

"I always enjoyed those lessons," Din muses fondly from beside you. "Learning to swim with full beskar armor and a rifle strapped to your back is certainly not the same as swimming for leisure. I think this will be good for him, cyar'ika."

"If you think so," you agree, looking down at Grogu. "What do you think, buddy? Would you like to tag along with the others?"

Grogu nods, giving a little thumbs up for 'yes' just like you've taught him.

*****

"So… what was this about a pleasure slave outfit?" You ask, voice full of amusement as you look Din over with lusty eyes. Paz and Ragnar only just left with Grogu a few minutes ago. It's just the two of you and Jupiter on the ship for the time being, each of you taking on a chore to clean up from breakfast.

Din sees a flash in his mind of your barely clothed body being led on all fours by a chain, and the blood rush to his cock is nearly instantaneous.

"Cyar'ika," Din warns, his voice a low growl. His hands cease the act of drying the plate he's holding.

"What?" You ask not-so innocently, pretending to wipe down the small galley counter top with a knowing smirk. "The kid is gone for a few hours. I figured it was as good a time as any to hear about the rest of that dream. Did you get a chance to kill those big bad slugs and save me? Was it really hot? Like we banged right then and there with me all chained up? Or did you fail and those Hutt things did something to me? Did they make you watch? Were you helpless to stop it?"

"You're fucking asking for it. You know that, right?" Din asks evenly, licking his lips as the pressure in his pants begins to feel uncomfortable. He loves where this is going.

Smirking, you bat your eyes at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Din growls again, voice growing huskier with each word. "Would you like to know exactly what I would do to you if I had you in chains for me? If you were my pleasure slave, you'd be treated like the queen of Mandalore. Right up until the moment I decide you're going to be treated like a whore."

"Honestly I feel like that's our dynamic already," you say with a cheeky tone, poking your tongue out at him.

Din's gloved hand comes to, very gently, grip your face. His beskar nearly touches your nose as he pulls you towards him and declares, "Cyar'ika, I can assure you that you have no fucking idea of what that dynamic would look like."

With a whimper that causes Din's already throbbing dick to swell even more, you're slipping into that needy little voice you use only for him. "Din, I'm going to need you to go get that blindfold right now because that was the hottest you've ever sounded. I need your mouth on me, ner verd. Please," you breathe, writhing against his grip.

All at once Din's anxiety finds his heart and grabs hold, causing a panicked noise to rise within his throat. In that instant he's able to understand that the dream from last night was clearly a manifestation of his desire to show you his face, and the immense amount of pressure and guilt centered around the subject. He's suddenly pushing you back and away from him, and you look utterly hurt by it.

"Fuck," he blurts, wishing he could rake a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Fuck!"

"Whoa, hey," Hearing his change in tone, you clearly understand that the mood has shifted. Brows knitted and lips parted, you reach out to place a hand on his right pauldron. "Din? What's going on?"

"Nothing," he says, turning his head to avoid the scrutiny of your gaze as he shoulders your hand off of him.

"Not nothing, Chrome Dome," you argue defensively, frowning.

The use of his favorite nickname certainly grabs his attention, but he doesn't falter. "Yes, nothing."

Your tone is teetering on angry, clearly frustrated with him. "You've been acting weird for days. I've been trying to use my ability to make sense of you but you're so all over the place I haven't been able to get a read on you."

Din sighs, looking away from you.

With a deep breath and look of determination, you place a hand to the base of his helmet and force him to look at you again. In a much gentler voice, you tell him, "We don't shut each other out. Remember? Out with it."

"I can't," he gasps, shaking his head. Not right now. This can't be the moment he admits this to you. He's not ready.

Frowning, you continue to press. "What can't you do? Is it the blindfold thing? We don't have to do it today, Din. But I thought you said it was fine."

"It was. It is. I-I just. Fuck. I can't," He says the word 'can't' again as if he's being burned from the inside out, hearing the desperation in his own voice.

"Please tell me why you're freaking out about this all of the sudden," you plead, face anguished. "I'm scared that I've done something wrong, Din."

"I lied! Dank farrik! The Armorer asked me if I've taken my helmet off for you and I lied," Din hisses, not willing to raise his voice any further as he admits this great blasphemy to you.

Dumbfounded, your mouth hangs open as you say, "What?!"

He looks away. "You heard me. Don't pretend you didn't."

You move so that he still has to look at you, head moving right in front of the visor. "Yes, I heard you. But I don't understand. I didn't think we were breaking the rules? Have you been lying to me this whole time too?"

Din is scandalized by the notion. "What?! No! Absolutely not. To me, we've never broken the creed. But we came close the other day, and I fear I should have never let things get this far in the first place."

After a moment of contemplation, you look at him dead on. "So let me get this straight. To you, as long as I truly never see your face and you uphold your Mandalorian morals, the blindfold thing doesn't count. But were the Armorer to find out, you fear she could never understand it from your perspective. Am I following?"

"Yes," Din breathes, nodding. Suddenly his armor feels utterly constricting.

With closed eyes you take another deep breath, and as you exhale you fix Din with a very serious expression. "I'm going to ask you something and I assume that it's not going to be received well. But I have to ask it. Does any of what you're going through have to do with Castyl Vanda?"

Din's head snaps to you so hard he's sure his neck cracked. "How do you know that name?"

"The Armorer told me about him. Not much, but enough. She told me he left you and the tribe to become an apostate when you were still in training."

Din's own eyes slip closed beneath the beskar. "That is what happened, yes."

"Is any of what you're feeling fear that you're going to become just like him? Fear that I've forced you to stray from the creed? You know I would never do that."

His dark eyes snap back open at that, looking at you seriously in the hopes that you're able to sense how serious he is in The Force. "You haven't forced me to do anything. I've acted entirely of my own free will this entire time."

You frown deeply, "Do you feel as if what we do privately is bending the rules of the creed?"

Din falters, "I… I never thought that it was. Not truly. Not until the Armorer asked me that question. Now I am not sure what I believe."

"Please be honest with me, Din," you ask, voice small and full of insecurity. "If what we do is bending the rules, do you regret bending the rules to be with me?"

He shakes his head adamantly. "Never, cyar'ika. Never. I only fear that I cannot have both. My only regret is that I cannot show you all of me."

Your mouth falls open, the shock evident on your face. "Holy shit, Din," you breathe.

"Yeah. Holy shit," Din agrees, a humorless chuckle lodged in his throat. He cannot truly fathom that he's said it out loud to you. After months of feeling this way, it's finally out in the open.

"What does this mean for you, Din?"

The question comes with so much fear and uncertainty attached to it, and Din feels the urge to laugh humorlessly again. If only you knew how much he's been asking himself the very same thing for weeks. What could any of this possibly mean for a Mandalorian such as he?

"I do not know, but I do fear I have become more like Castyl Vanda than I realized." He says honestly.

"Are you willing to tell me about him? I'd like to understand what happened between you."

Din sighs, and resigns himself to relive one of his least favorite memories.

*****

"Cas! Cas, look at this!" Din's young, youthful voice shouts through the dense jungle-forest surrounding him. The somewhat newly established Mandalorian apprentice uses his helmet's technology to analyze the footprint of a great beast he's been tracking for two days. He's now able to pinpoint how recently this print was made using heat signatures in his visor and the physical skills he's been learning from his teacher. Din feels so proud of himself, but the moment is soured. He desperately wants to share this moment with his mentor, but Castyl is nowhere to be found.

Din knows his mentor should be hovering more, even though a year ago Cas' hovering drove the boy insane. Din used to hate feeling as if his every move were being scrutinized. But that was when he was more insecure in his new life as a Mandalorian. Now, he's had his helmet upon his head and his creed in his heart for two whole cycles. He wants to succeed as a Mandalorian warrior. He wants to know he's doing right by his teacher. Din wants Cas to be watching his tracking skills very carefully, looking to see if Din is following his instructions correctly, or if the young apprentice needs any help with a detail he may have missed. Din wants Castyl to hover, because Din wants to feel the same pride from the man that he felt the day he took the Creed and officially became a member of the tribe.

But, he's not hovering. In fact, he's been completely distant for most of the day. Just like he has been for the last several weeks. Din may as well be training himself at this point.

Ever since they started traveling with Cas' new rebel friend, Daro Tane, a few months back, the Mandalorian man has paid less and less attention to Din and his lessons. Cas' friend has also seemingly cared less and less about this great "rebellion" he used to go on and on about to a tiresome degree. Din can't remember the last time the man even mentioned The Empire. Lately they just seem to be completely consumed with one another. It makes little sense to a young boy like Din, who was quite happy when he had Cas' attentions all to himself.

A boy who lost everything in a single afternoon, literally half of his young life ago. A boy whose young life was saved that day by a great warrior. A warrior who that boy would go on to idolize, and eventually love as a father. A warrior who, Din once thought, loved him as a son.

That hasn't felt true in a while.

He waits for about as long as any impatient sixteen year old can wait, and then frustration and a little bit of hurt find their way into his heart. The boy grits his teeth, stomping angrily over to where he last saw Cas and Daro. He's ready to give the man a piece of his mind. He's ready to stand up for himself.

But then that bravado dies in his throat as he rounds the corner and sees the face of a man he does not recognize. A man wearing Cas' teal armor, but not his helmet, which is laid forgotten in the soil. A man with his tongue buried deep in the mouth of his companion.

"Cas? Is that you?" Din asks, voice suddenly small.

Both men freeze, and an eerie silence befalls the jungle-like surroundings despite the abundance of wildlife all around.

The man Din does not recognize unfreezes after a moment, his at-first closed eyes snapping open as wide as humanly possible. The "stranger" springs backwards from his companion as if being burned.

"Din! This is not what it looks like," the man begins to explain, approaching the teen. That's Cas' voice alright, but it looks wrong coming out of this person's mouth rather than a modulated speaker.

The man Din does recognize snorts out an unceremonious laugh, shaking his head of long dark braids. His skin is darker than Cas' by several shades, and his eyes hold a deep golden hue which always makes Din feel as if the man can see more than just what's in front of him. Daro Tane is a man that wears his emotions on his sleeves, yet Din can never quite get an accurate read on him or his intentions. That fact alone has bothered the boy from the moment he met the odd man.

Even now, Din has no idea what to think as the man rolls his eyes and smacks Cas playfully on the left pauldron. "Castyl Vanda that was the worst possible thing you could have said. Of course this is exactly what it looks like. You've already lied to the poor boy enough. Don't make me sit here and watch you fumble your way though this mess you've gotten yourself into. Din, I'm sorry your dad here is a horrible fool."

"He's not my dad," Din seethes beneath his beskar, the hiss of it radiating from his helmet's speaker. "My dad is dead."

Cas exchanges a pained look with Daro, and the expressiveness of his exposed face only makes Din clench his fists harder.

"Din, you know I love you like my own," Cas patiently says.

"Not enough to actually adopt me, apparently." Din bites back and the look of anguish on Cas' face makes Din feel so uncomfortable that he wants to throw up.

How can this man who has preached this creed for eight years of Din's life, two of which Din has lived with a helmet upon his young head at the encouragement of said man, be standing here with his face fully exposed? How can such a significant part of Din's life be a complete and utter lie?

"Do you even believe in the creed? Do you believe in anything you've taught me?" Din whispers, hands coming to the sides of his head as he shakes it back and forth. "How can you expect me to trust you ever again?"

Its as if he wants to hold his own helmet in place, in fear that Cas will try to convince him to take it off and ruin all of the hard work he's put into the last two years of his life. Two years of life changing adventures across the galaxy. Two years of learning to be the kind of Mandalorian he always aspired to be after Aq Vetina. Two years of learning who he could be on the other side of his pain from that horrific day.

What fresh hell this new pain is.

Cas looks at Din, and though at first Din wants to look away, he finds himself analyzing the face in front of him. Tan skin, dark eyes, dark curly hair. Hell, if Din didn't know any better he'd think they could actually be related by blood. Who knew this entire time that this man really could pass for Din's father?

"Din, please let me explain myself," Cas pleads, accented voice desperate.

Anger bubbles up Din's throat along with his words. "Explain what? That you're an apostate? What could I possibly want to hear from you? You are an outsider! You're not Mandalorian."

Cas steps forward to place a hand on Din's shoulder, but the boy shoves it off. With a sigh, Cas explains, "Din, I am just as much a Mandalorian today as I was the day I saved your life and you became the foundling in my care. The only thing that has changed is that I've found love. Daro is ner cyare, Din. I wanted him to know me, and that included all of me. It was not my intention for you to find out this way."

"So you are willing to give up on everything for him?" Give up on me? The boy thinks, but is too scared to say out loud. Din glares at Daro then, who merely smiles awkwardly and waves in return. Din hates him in that moment. "He's not even a Mandalorian."

"He doesn't have to be. You know that our culture does not require it."

Daro chooses to interject finally, "But your culture does require that he hide that gorgeous face from me, and that I just simply could not abide. He's too pretty to keep himself under all that beskar."

Cas shoots Daro a look, eyes narrowing. "You're not helping right now, my love."

Daro shrugs, "I know. This sort of interpersonal drama makes me wildly uncomfortable, so I just wanted to lighten the mood."

"Again, not helping." Cas pinches the bridge of his nose, a sight that bothers Din more than any other he's seen thus far.

Din glares at both of them, declaring, "Take me back to the tribe. I want nothing to do with you."

Cas tries to plead once more, "Din, please. Give me a chance to explain myself. I would like for you to understand why the creed no longer means to me what it did before. I'm still a Mandalorian in my heart. This is still how I was raised. These are the values I plan to uphold for the rest of my life. I just also want the man I love to know my face. I want you to understand how meaningful my connection with him is to me. Just like my connection to you is meaningful. You are my family, Din. But so is Daro. You both mean more to me than I could ever truly describe."

For a moment Din considers these words, but only for a moment. The betrayal is settling in his heart like a stone, weighing him down with anger and hatred. His first father died against Din's will. His second father is now dead to Din as well, and this time it's entirely his choice.

Poetically, the dark clouds which had been swirling above all morning finally give way to an uproarious thunderclap. Lightning flashes and the thunder shakes the ground beneath his feet. Little dings and bongs of rain drops hitting Din's helmet create a metallic rhythm which steadies him, reminding him of who he is and who he wants to grow up to be.

"Take me back to the tribe, apostate. I will continue my training with a real Mandalorian," Din demands icily, turning on his heel to start back towards the ship and away from this man who's broken his heart completely in half.

Cas calls after him, and Din lets his tears fall freely under the sanctity of his helmet.

*****

"Din, you're nothing like him," you say confidently after Din's story is finished.

Din scoffs, "How can you say I am nothing like him when I have clearly caught the same affliction? That's the worst part of all of this. After all these years, now that I have you in my life, I finally understand why he did what he did. I even hate him a little less for it. That scares me, cyar'ika. It scares the hell out of me."

With a snort, you reply, "Oh, so now being in love with me is an affliction?"

"You know that is not what I mean," Din says evenly.

"I'm teasing you," you soothe, bare hand reaching for his gloved one. "You're nothing like him because you would have never chosen me over Grogu and we both know that for a fact. Creed or no creed, Cas chose not to be a father to you when you clearly needed one. You've been nothing but a father to Grogu since the day you met him. You didn't start blatantly ignoring Grogu's needs the moment I came into your life, and it sounds like that's exactly what Cas did to you when he met Daro. You fell in love with me without it being at the expense of your relationship with Grogu. I think that speaks volumes about your character."

Din shakes his silver head, shame seeping from the pores of his very being. "But I have not adopted Grogu. In that regard I am no better."

Frowning, you argue, "You said yourself that we are your family regardless of the rituals."

"But what if the rituals really do mean something? What if Grogu needs that gesture of security from us now more than ever?" Din's voice is so full of worry.

You heart breaks a little for him then, realizing just how much Din needed a similar gesture of security when he was young. A gesture he ultimately never received. You know all too well what it feels like to hardly ever receive the sort of love from a parent that you desperately needed growing up.

Tone shifting to a much softer one, you say, "Then we should perform the ritual with Grogu and make things official. I think that would be really great, but make sure you do it for Grogu and nothing else. Please don't do it simply because you're scared you're going to end up like Cas. And I'm sorry about him, by the way. It sounds like that was pretty traumatizing. I'm sure it was hard for you to trust people after that."

"It was incredibly hard," Din agrees. Then he sighs anxiously, looking at you with the tiniest of shivers in his broad shoulders. "What of my helmet? What should I do about the Armorer?"

Thinking on it for a moment, you inhale and ask, "I mean, what was her reaction when you lied?"

He shrugs. "I got the impression she did not believe me."

"And she didn't say anything?"

"No, she simply forged yours and Grogu's armor."

After a moment of thought, you giggle.

Din sounds downright aghast at the sound of it. "What could possibly be funny?"

"Din, babe. I think you're fine."

"You do?"

"Think about it," you say, "Why would she let us stay here and give Grogu and I armor if she was going to kick you out for being an apostate?"

He sakes his head, still confused as ever sounding. "I've been asking myself that for two days."

Smiling, you squeeze his gloved hand. "Well, in my opinion, I think you're safe. I didn't feel anything untoward from her when I was in her forge. If anything I think she's a huge softie for you and that's why Paz hates your guts. I mean, come on. You show up with not one but two outsiders, and shes not only totally cool with it but she goes on to make both outsiders a piece of armor?"

"You make a fair point now that I think about it…" Din trails off, voice already sounding much lighter and more like himself.

Frowning, though, you take on a serious tone as you squeeze his fingers even harder. "I do think it's wise to evaluate your feelings surrounding the creed. If it doesn't mean as much to you as it once did, that's okay. I just want you to be happy. You said your only regret is that you cannot show me all of you, and if that's true I just want you to know that I will never regret what we have or wish for anything to be different on my end. I love you, and I love any parts of you that you are able to share with me just as much as I love the parts you can't show me. We all have parts we choose to share and parts we keep to ourselves. It's up to us what we give to the world. That has nothing to do with being Mandalorian or a creed. That's just being human."

"Human," Din repeats, voice dreamy.

*****

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Materlist

*****

He hadn’t meant to find them. Hadn’t meant to invade your privacy, but it was happenstance. You had gone off with Grogu to the local market, insisting on finding fresh produce for the Crest. “Can only stand the taste of freeze-dried stuff for so long” You had stated and with that, Din had agreed but stayed behind to fix some minor malfunctions on the ship and clean up the hold. That’s what brought him to stumble upon this finding. 

He was placing some of your items over in your sleeping area, organizing it so that you wouldn’t have to worry about it later. A small gesture he had hoped you’d appreciate from him. You both had grown accustomed to doing things for one another, little actions that reflected your admiration for one another. The Mandalorian had accidentally knocked over a crate and cursed to himself, the words brushing through his modulator and echoing in the holds empty space. He moved to pick it back up and place it back where it originally sat and he paused, angling the visor of his helmet down. That’s when he had spotted them. Stashed in the crate underneath. The lid to it had become slightly ajar just enough for him to be able to catch a glimpse of the contents inside. 

Drawings. Handmade drawings nestled inside.

Din slowly placed the crate back down next to the one he was gazing into and hesitated. He didn’t want to invade your space more than he already was by tidying it. But something pulled at him to take a little peek. Had he… Remembered seeing you drawing? He wracked his brain for any inclination that he had and nothing came to the forefront. So this was something personal. Very personal. His chest tightened and he pulled back, fighting the urge to get a better look. He wouldn’t do that to you. Betray that privacy and trust of yours. Maybe he’d mention it later but assure you that he hadn’t seen anything. Let you show him yourself.

He placed the top of the crate back on to secure the drawings and put the other back on top and went back to doing what he was doing, but curiosity had nestled itself into the Mandalorians brain.

—--

A couple hours later, you returned. Grogu was strapped to your chest in a sling, his head lulling back against you and his little eyes fighting to stay open. Seemed he had a busy day with you. You also carried with you bags filled with fresh vegetables of different varieties, something that promised a tantalizing dinner. Din crossed over to you and gently took the bags from your arms, much to your complaint but he simply tilted his head and you had let your words die in your throat. He chuckled softly and leaned down to bump his helmet against Grogu’s forehead to greet his sleepy son. He received a mumbled coo in response and stood back up to gaze into your smiling face. You both momentarily parted ways then, Din going to put the groceries away while you laid the sleepy toddler in his hammock for his much needed nap. 

You both met up in the cockpit, settling into your respective seats, resting into a comfortable silence. The planet’s sun was beginning to set, sinking down closer towards the horizon and painting the skies in hues of pink and lavender. You looked over to gaze at the Mandalorian, eyes taking in how the silver of his beskar took on the gentle sheen of the colors of the heavens. You breathed a gentle sigh and he turned his helmet to fix his visor back on you. You couldn’t see it, but he was smiling under that helmet. Soft and full of warmth. “How was the market?,” Din finally asked to break the quiet and you told him of your venture today with the Child.

He listened intently as you spoke, so full of life. The way you moved with your story was animated and he couldn’t help but be drawn into you. It reminded him of what he had discovered earlier in the hold and that was immediately blasted back into his thoughts. Din waited patiently for you to finish before you were the one asking him what he had gotten himself up to while you away. “Nothing too troublesome I hope,” you chuckled, “I know the Crest can be hard to wrangle.” Most days that was true. Kept him busy. The Mandalorian tilted his head and recollected his day as you had done yours. But when it came to the part about his finding, his voice faltered a moment and trailed off.

A small look of concern flashed across your features for a brief moment. His hesitance wasn’t lost on you. “Everything ok?,” you murmured, reaching out to place a hand on his thigh. “Yeah, yeah,” came his response, strong and assuring but he fell back into a silence as he wondered how he’d ask you. If your drawings were really that personal, he didn’t want to freak you out that he had found them. Even if he hadn’t looked. 

“Y/n,” he began and your eyes sharpened, meeting the center of his visor in an attempt to make eye contact with him. “Is there anything that you do… That helps you relax?” Now it was your turn to tilt your head and lift a curious brow. “You mean beside the usual stuff?,” you responded after a moment of consideration, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms in a gesture of thought rather than closing yourself off. “Not that I can recall. Why?”

Din regarded you, watching you closely. But he continued on. “Nothing more on the,” he paused to collect the right word, looking slightly off to the side, “artistic?”

That brought a flash of recognition to your face and suddenly you seemed more alarmed. Shy even as your eyes flickered away from his helmet. “D-did you find them?,” you asked quietly, your voice sounding small. Din felt bad in that moment, reaching out to rest a reassuring hand on your thigh this time. He immediately wanted to calm your worry, to make it known that he hadn’t done it on purpose or even fully looked. “I was moving things around in the hold when I knocked something over. It had loosened the lid on one of your crates when I caught a glimpse,” he explained, “I didn’t look further than that. Didn’t want to invade that aspect of you without your permission.” You looked back to him with a frown but you could feel the sincerity in his modulated vocals. You knew it too. Knew that he wouldn’t do that to you, 

That was one thing that you had come to strongly admire about him. He was gentle with you, never pressing or crossing your boundaries unless you gave him permission. That was when he typically did and even had done his best to draw you out of your comfort zone most times, guided on your trust for him and the comfort he brought you. A warm feeling blossomed in your chest and settled in your heart, uncrossing your arms and resting your hand across his own. “Yes… I like to draw sometimes,” you admitted softly, “I’m very self conscious about my skill and I usually like to draw what I enjoy most.” That piqued his interest more and the black visor of his helm was fully transfixed on your visage once more. 

“Can I see?,” he asked softly, once more asking for permission to push a boundary but only if you gave the ok. You nodded your head. You wordlessly stood and crossed through the cockpit and disappeared into the belly of the Crest, leaving the Mandalorian to wait for your return. When you did, you carried with you a small book in your hands and a few pieces of loose papers. You sat back down across from him and seemed to hesitate, keeping your eyes down towards the floor. Din waited patiently, tilting his head to regard you. You looked up to take him in and slowly held out the sketchbook. His eyes never left your face when he reached out and took it from your hands. His grip was delicate and gentle as he handled it. He could sense the importance of these pages. A look into another private side of you. The things that you enjoyed the most.

Finally he looked down and flipped through the pages and his heart immediately caught in his throat. His gloved fingers handled the edges as gently as he handled the Child and his eyes lingered on each image. Images of him. Of Grogu. Of the Crest. Some of the environments you two had ventured across. But mostly of him and of the Child. A lot of the two of them together. There was one drawing of him cradling the child that he particularly loved a lot. And it was masterful. You were self conscious of your skill? Maker, he had never seen such handiwork before in these sketches. He knew you were good with your hands, but not this good. 

Affection warmed his body as he continued to look through the book. You had taken such care to get the details of his armor right. Of getting him right. Did you really look at him that much? A chuckle slipped from his modulator at that thought and you shifted uncomfortably. His head snapped up and saw that your face was scrunched up in concern. “I-I’m sorry!,” your blurted, “I know they’re awful and horrible and I-I don’t mean to draw you so much.” You went to look away but Din quickly reached forward and cupped the side of your cheek to prevent you from doing so. His thumb ghosted over the warm surface of your skin in a soothing gesture. Your eyes fluttered at the contact and you looked up at him with those beautiful (e/c) orbs and he couldn’t help but sigh in admiration. He wondered to himself suddenly how you’d look in your own drawings.

“I love them,” he remarked earnestly, “the way you draw me. Am I really what you enjoy the most?” The question was teasing and you blushed, trying to pull away but his hand held you there to look at him. Your lips fell open to voice an answer but nothing came out. He chuckled again. 

“Why aren’t there any of us?”

The question caught you off guard and you sat and stared at him. “What?,” you asked and Din repeated it again. “You draw me and the Child a lot. Why are there none with us?” This time he let you pull back away from his touch and your blush had deepened. “I- I, um… I don’t know… Guess I never thought to do so… Didn’t know if you’d like that…,” You stammered, rubbing at your arm and looking down towards the book in his hands. Din hummed thoughtfully and placed your sketchbook back in your lap, patting it. 

“Can you draw us?,” came his request. This time it was his turn to feel a hint of embarrassment and he thanked the Maker that he had the helmet to hide his expression. You looked back up at him, eyes round once more. You were surprised. So much so that you laughed, light hearted and disbelieving. “You want me to draw us?,” you giggled, hugging your book to your chest. He nodded, sure that was what he wanted. “I’d like that very much. Would you do that for me?”

Maker you’d do anything for him. The fact that he had been entranced by your work was enough to give you confidence. That he hadn’t been made uncomfortable by your drawings of him. It wasn’t secret that you had feelings for the beskar man, but you were still slightly afraid to push him away. He was your safety and your comfort. He was your everything. But he had never once reacted negatively to your actions of love and care. In fact, it always drew him closer to you. So this you could do. You wanted to do it now. 

Filled with new vigoration and  motivation, you hopped up from your seat and hustled back down towards the hold. The mandalorian gazed at you in surprise and you gave him a wide grin. “I’ll be right back! I’ll do it now!” You didn’t give him a chance to respond before you were gone again. Din sighed and shook his head in amusement, sitting back in his chair to look back out the viewport of the Crest. Man when you wanted to do something, there was no stopping you from doing it now. 

By the time you returned, the sun had fully set and the first batch of stars winked and glimmered against a background of inky black. In the distance, a light glowed faintly in the forest where the settlement was, where you had gone earlier in the day. But now you were here with him, bathed in the faint blinking lights of the cockpit. There was still enough light to see comfortably though. You came up to Din’s side, holding a paper to your chest with that same shy expression. It was cute. He looked up at you wordlessly and waited for you to show him. He’d let you take your time. Finally after a few moments of hesitation, you passed the page to him and looked down. That same warmth spread through his body and his heart fluttered in his chest at what you had drawn.

It was you, him and the Child. You held Grogu in your arms while you had drawn him pressed close to you, one hand resting on one of your hips. His helmet was angled to gaze down at you and Grogu - a portrait of your little family. This was something he knew he’d treasure forever. Something he never wanted anyone else to touch but you. Din leaned forward and placed the paper on an area of the controls where he could see it every day when he sat in this chair. You were about to speak but a squeak left your throat as he pulled you down into his lap, wrapping his strong arms around you and resting his head against yours. You giggled and melted into his embrace. 

“You like it that much?”

Din knows how to swim.  This is something that has been instilled in him ever since he was a child.  

“Your armor protects you, but if you are caught unaware in the water-it will kill you,” the instructor shouts from the shore within the covert.  In the underground river-an unforgivingly warm thing-Din and his creed-brothers and creed-sisters practice their breaststrokes, their side strokes, their backstrokes.  The instructor is older, and her voice is cruel, much like the creed itself; the way it’s dictation, which is meant to protect them, could end up causing the death of themselves.  The death of their loved ones.  

Contrary to popular belief, the helmet isn’t airtight, and it takes a moment for the water to drain for him to be able to gasp for air after he breaks the surface.  He looks around for you wildly, armor weighing him down in these deep waters.  He feels the beginnings of panic worming around inside his stomach when he can’t immediately find you.  He calls your name, his voice raw and breaking with the effort.  He waits for you to pop up, to break the surface, to look up at him with those pretty eyes, no doubt red from the seawater.

You don’t.  

Din takes a deep breath, his lungs burning with the effort of it, and dives below the surface once again.  

He begins kicking before he even registers he’s found your heat signature-body moving on pure instinct and adrenaline alone.  He grabs you and hauls you up above the surface, terrified when you remain unresponsive.  His muscles burn with the effort of carrying himself, his armor, and you through these waters.  He never wants to see another beach again, he thinks as he reaches the shore, stomping through the water, loathing the way it clings to him with a thickness he can’t shake off.  

Din lays you in the sand, wrenching the helmet off and tossing it aside.  His eyes are wild, his lips are drawing blood with the ferocity of his nervous biting.  Suddenly, it dawns on him: he doesn’t know how to perform CPR.  

The covert taught him how to swim.  Naturally, they didn’t teach him how to perform CPR.  The removal of one’s helm, even to save another, was simply too forbidden to overrule.  

Despite a lack of formal training, Din’s seen plenty of people perform CPR when he couldn’t.   He’d watched them with an attentiveness only a mandalorian is capable of, knowing fully well he would never perform it, this life saving act, and yet….

Din doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing, but he’ll try anything to keep you with him, he thinks as he goes through these motions.  By the second rescue breath, he is openly sobbing, begging you to wake up, to stay with him.  

You respond to the third rescue breath, eyes flying open and mouth spluttering.  Your body convulses with the force of your coughing, as it chokes you in it’s attempt to expel the seawater from your lungs.  

Din’s weeping with relief, rubbing your back with shaking hands.  “That’s it, Sweet Girl, that’s it.  You’ve got it,” he mutters, voice rough with emotion.  “You’re okay.  You’re gonna be okay.”  

He pulls you to him as you cough up the last of it, cradling your body against his, muttering like a crazy man.  

You relax against him for a mere moment before you’re tensing up again, pushing him away with all the strength you can muster.  

You begin backing away from him, crab-walking in the sand in a pitiful attempt to put space between you two.  You whip your head around, eyes rolling around wildly in their sockets, looking around for someone.  Looking around for him, he realizes.  In your panic, in your shock, your near-death state of mind, you’ve failed to realize the man who has just saved your life is your companion, the mandalorian.  Your subsequent tunnel vision has failed to notice the beskar armor, the familiar mudhorn signet.  

Din shakes his head, ridding himself of his gobsmacked face.  “Cyar’ika, it’s me!  It’s me!”

Your eyes narrow before widening almost comically.  You squeeze your eyes shut, jamming the sand-covered heels of your palms into your face, almost as if the harder you shut your eyes, the easier it will be to forget having seen this man’s face.  This forbidden image, one you’ve spent countless hours daydreaming of-it’s finally been revealed to you.  You could thank the maker in all her ironic glory if you weren’t actively cursing her for the circumstances you’re finding yourselves in.  

“Mando, I’m so sorry!” you cry.    “I looked, I looked at you and I saw you-”

You’re interrupted by your own cough, hands never leaving your eyes as you spit out another mouthful of seawater and saliva and sand.  

Din’s on you in a second, holding you close to him again.  “It’s okay, Pretty Girl, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s not your fault.”  

“It’s not okay, Mando, your creed-”

“Fuck the creed, cyar’ika.”  

You gasp harshly, eliciting another bout of coughing.  

“Mando, no-”

“Yes, cyar’ika.  Fuck the creed.  Fuck the Way.  None of it means anything to me if...if..”

The intensity in his voice fades as he catches himself on the edge of his confession, but he’s gotten this far, he may as well fall off this metaphorical cliff.  

You feel his strong arms wrap around you, the cold steel of his chestplate still dripping with sea water as he holds you.  His strong chin rests atop your head, and you can feel him shake as he murmurs, “It means nothing to me,” you’re faintly aware of the sound of something leathery hitting the damp sand beside you, “if it means I have to lose you.”  He puts his hands over yours.  You relax at their warmth, at the weathered nature of them as he pulls your hands away from your face, moving to gently brush the sand from your eyes.  

Ever loyal, you refuse to look at him even when you open your eyes, tears cascading down your cheeks.    

“Cyar’ika, look at me,” he murmurs, hand moving to cradle your jaw.  

“No, Mando, you don’t mean-”

“Din,” he interrupts.  

“What?”

“My name...is Din.”  

You finally move to look at him, bottom lip wobbling with the weight of his admission.  

You scanned the cantina and, in your periphery, registered the Mandalorian’s head snap back from your direction to face the man sitting across from him. You hadn’t noticed him enter, but it must have been just moments ago because you surveyed your surroundings every few minutes.

The two men were seated a few tables away. You observed the Mandalorian for a moment, noting his stiff-backed posture and the tension in his shoulders under his battle-worn armor. He could tell you’d caught him staring and that you were watching him.

The man sitting across from the Mandalorian was gesticulating as he spoke. You’d been on Nevarro long enough to recognize him as Greef Karga, local leader of the Guild. You could only see his back, but he was boisterous—a stark contrast to the Mandalorian’s silent stillness—and his voice carried.

Karga was saying something about bounties and currency—no surprise there. Mandalorians were the most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy. You didn’t know much about them besides the legends you’d heard as a child, though it was very unclear what was true and what was myth. You’d only ever seen one in person before, and that Mandalorian had been terrifying, threatening.

This Mandalorian, however, was... intriguing? He was, of course, intimidating—in his head-to-toe armor with a long rifle leaned against the table, he was the very picture of a warrior. Any person with sense would be scared of him, and judging by the sidelong glances he was getting from the other patrons, most were.

The very relatable experience of having someone catch you in the act of watching them—as you’d just done to him—however, humanized this Mandalorian. Noting his broad shoulders, you couldn’t help wondering what he looked like under all that heavy metal. You’d heard rumors that some Mandalorians never took off their armor in front of another person. That would be a real shame.

Though you’d have preferred to continue thinking about the man under the armor (and the things you wanted to do with him), a small voice in your head reminded you of the potentially dangerous reality of your situation.

Why was he watching me? He can’t possibly recognize me.

No one had come after you in years. There was likely still a steep bounty on your head, but many of the people who wanted to find you were dead, imprisoned, or deep in hiding. Some were convinced you’d been taken out in a star cruiser explosion (because you almost had been). And, you no longer looked like the photo that was attached to your bounty puck. Your hair was a radically different shade and length. You wore contacts to obscure the real color of your eyes. You always chose high-necked clothing to conceal the identifying scar that slashed an angry line beneath your clavicle.  

You kept a low profile, moved often, and assumed a fake identity, but you felt safe enough in your anonymity to come to a planet like Nevarro, a place that was swarming with hunters.

Plus, you reasoned that if the Mandalorian was looking for you for a job, this is probably not how it would have happened. It would have been stealthy and quick, potentially bloody and violent.

No, you didn’t think he was looking for you, which meant he had been looking at you. Out of interest. And that was so, so much better.

You turned your body towards him pointedly to make it more obvious that you were watching him. The slight forward lean of his shoulders told you he registered your movement in his periphery. His helmet stayed trained on Karga, but it was impossible to know exactly where he was looking through the black t-shape of his visor. You would have bet he was looking back at you.

The Mandalorian responded to Karga, pushing some credits back across the table. You could hear the low undercurrent of his modulated voice, but you couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. It looked like they were arguing about the currency of the credits on the table.

As Karga dug in his pocket for something, the Mandalorian turned his helmet slowly back towards you. Throwing caution to the wind, you smiled at him and winked, and he dipped his head in acknowledgement. You watched him expectantly, figuring this was when he’d walk over to your table.

Instead, he turned his head back to Karga, responded to something he said, and grabbed the credits off the table. They were clearly finishing up their deal. The Mandalorian slid out of the booth and strapped the long rifle to his back. He started toward the front door.

Maybe you’d read the whole situation wrong. Like you, he was trained to be aware of everyone, everything around him. Perhaps, he’d just been surveying the cantina, not necessarily you.

Feeling slightly disappointed, you finished your drink, dropped some credits on the table, and got up to leave. You were pulling on your jacket when a familiar feeling made you flick your head up. The Mandalorian was standing at the front of the cantina, his dark silhouette framed in the light of the open doorway, visor trained on you.

From where he was standing, he looked you up and down, lowering and raising his helmet to survey your body from top to bottom and back up again—a gesture that could have easily been achieved without moving his entire head in such an obvious way. His penetrating gaze and brazen attention made you shiver. 

He waited to see what you would do.

You were tempted to go to him, to see what would happen, but the stubborn part of you wanted him to come to you—and, more importantly, the sensible part of you was worried this was somehow a trap. You made an impulsive choice and decided to prolong the chase...whether that chase would prove to be literal or figurative, you weren’t totally sure.

You smiled slyly at him and turned, slipping out the back door.

***

The second time you crossed paths with the Mandalorian, you saw him before he saw you.

You were walking down Nevarro’s main thoroughfare, a busy street lined with vendors, pushing through the crowd, when you spotted the back of his reflective helmet. A couple weeks had passed since you had seen him in the cantina, and you’d been hoping to see him again, always keeping an eye out for his distinctive profile.

These past two weeks, you’d found your thoughts straying to his image—strong, mysterious, intimidating. He was sexy. There was no getting around it. You’d spent enough time around people in masks and full-body armor to know that it wasn’t just the mystery of the helmet that attracted you to him. There was something about him you couldn’t shake.

It didn’t help that you were bored and lonely here on Nevarro. It was not your favorite planet. It was dry and hot, the surface a mosaic of cracked flows of hardened lava and loose tephra—unwelcoming terrain. It was volcanically active, too, steam pouring from fractures in the hard, black ground. A river of molten lava ran under the city itself. Who would choose to live here?

For you, Nevarro was no more than a stopover—a place to stay for a few months before moving on to the next planet. You could leave any time, easily book passage to a bigger city on a prettier planet, but that shameless part of you that imagined the Mandalorian fucking you in his full armor was bold enough to convince yourself to stick around for a little longer and see if you could run into him again. Why not?

You’d been running for years, denying yourself comfort, companionship, consistency. Couldn’t you indulge just this once?

You had no reason to think the Mandalorian had thought of you for one second after seeing you in the cantina, but you let yourself hope. He didn’t hide the way he looked at you, and he hadn’t pursued you as a quarry when you left the cantina (and what a relief that was), so that meant...he’d flirted with you...right? That was probably how a Mandalorian flirted? Maybe you were stuck in his head the way he was stuck in yours? A girl could dream.

You watched his helmet disappear and reappear as you both weaved through the throngs of people. The Mandalorian had a purposeful gait and an immediate effect on everyone around him: the crowd parted for him as people avoided his path and his gaze. No one wanted to be noticed by a Mandalorian. 

Well, almost no one.

The Mandalorian clearly relied on his menacing appearance and the notorious lore associated with his armor to ensure that he was left alone. You, on the other hand, depended on stealth and the ability to disappear in a swarm of people to stay hidden. This meant that while the crowd parted easily for him, you struggled to wend your way through it.

He turned down a side street. 

The fact that he’d hounded your thoughts since you first saw him spurred you into recklessness, and you followed. As you turned down the same side street, you saw the edge of his cape disappear into an alley. The further away you moved from the main street, the more you began to question yourself.

This is potentially a bad idea.

This is definitely a bad idea.

Your existence hinged on your ability to stay lost, to be anonymous, to change your appearance, to never be sought out. And here you were, seeking out a bounty hunter.

You’d been slipping into a dangerous false sense of security these past few months—spending more time in each place, neglecting to change your chaincode as often as you should. Just because no one had come for you in a couple years, didn’t mean you were safe. You needed to snap yourself out of this delusional thinking. 

But maybe... not yet?

You picked up your pace.

It was just the two of you in a long alleyway, and you were sure he could sense you behind him by the slight turn of his head, but he didn’t stop or turn around. You weren’t being stealthy, only a few long strides behind him. He had to know you were there.

He walked surprisingly quietly, considering his heavy armor and determined stride. The loudest sound he made was his cape whipping around his calves. His long rifle was strapped to his back, and he was carrying a camtono in his left hand.

He quickly slipped down another shadowy passageway that you hadn’t noticed. You turned to follow, about to say something, but the passage was deserted. You walked to the end and back, checking to see if he’d turned again, but there was no trace of him. No doorways led off the passage. The only things in the alley were a stack of abandoned wooden pallets and a grate that emitted hot steam. He must have given you the slip on purpose, taken some secret route to evade the stranger on his tail.

Understandable. It’s what you would have done too. I probably should have come up with a better plan than just pursuing him.

Well, fuck.

You were more disappointed than you cared to admit, but you turned and headed back to the apartment you were renting a few blocks away. You were slightly embarrassed by how impulsive you’d just been. You wouldn’t have felt so abashed if it had paid off, but it hadn’t. 

You’d overstayed your time on Nevarro. Your self-imposed limit was two months per location, and you’d been here two and a half. You couldn’t push it any more, especially for such a ridiculous reason. It was time to go.

***

The third time you encountered the Mandalorian, neither of you saw the other coming.

You packed up your things, fitting everything you needed in one backpack. You purchased more food and let the hours of the afternoon drag on, waiting for the sun to sink low in the sky before heading out. 

When it was evening, you slipped your blaster into the holster at the small of your back. You slid a vibroblade into the sheath at your hip and strapped a much smaller one to your calf where it was concealed under your pants. As you slung your bag over your shoulder and scanned your small space to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything, noise erupted outside—an explosion, not far away.

There were enough ex-Imperials and bounty hunters on Nevarro that street fights and loud commotions were commonplace. You slipped out your front door, figuring you could avoid the action by slinking through the alleyways. You knew the layout of the city fairly well by now.

You crept through the dim streets. You guessed that the fighting was a couple blocks to your left based on the muffled sounds of intermittent blaster fire. You made your way toward the cantina where you knew a few regulars who would have transpo connections, but you only made it a couple blocks from your apartment before you ran into trouble.

Suddenly, shouts echoed down the street behind you. You made a hasty left turn, looking back to see if anyone was following as you broke into a run. With your head turned, you didn’t see the Mandalorian backing his way down the street toward you. You collided painfully with his back and crumpled to the ground next to him. He, mostly unfazed, made a grunting sound and snapped his head to the side to see who’d hit him. He kept his body and his blaster trained forward at two shadowy figures that were stalking towards him, but he pointed his left vambrace down at you, prepared to neutralize you if needed.

He cocked his head at you as if trying to assess whether or not you were a threat. Before you could think of anything to say, blaster fire screamed down the alley toward both of you. You grabbed your own blaster and sprang to your feet.

Noting the way you trained your blaster away from him, the Mandalorian redirected his attention back to the oncoming assailants. As more blaster fire streaked toward you, he jumped in front of you to shield your body with his and fired back down the alley.

I guess he decided I’m not a threat.

The figures drew nearer—one, a hulking man, and the other, a wiry woman with blue hair... both bounty hunters. They slunk around stray crates and garbage bins, making it difficult for either of you to land a direct hit.

The Mandalorian’s beskar armor lived up to the crazy stories you’d heard. Blaster fire pinged off of it without leaving a mark. Standing so close behind him, you noticed that his armor was different than what he’d worn just earlier that day. His old armor, painted a rusty reddish-brown, had been mismatched and battered. This was new, pristine, unpainted—a stunning reflective silver.

It was the same Mandalorian though. That you were sure of.

You kept most of your body behind his protective stance, just peaking your head and arm out periodically to take a shot. You leaned around him again to fire, and you hit the woman in the thigh while she was momentarily exposed. She grunted in pain and paused her advance.

You ducked back behind the Mandalorian. You were surprised and confused by the way the he was treating you like a partner, protecting you instinctually. You hadn’t exchanged so much as a word yet.

Weren’t Mandalorians supposed to be merciless, violent bounty hunters? Why was he trusting you? For that matter, why were you trusting him? It sounded absurd to think that he just felt trustworthy.

The next time you poked your head out, you noticed that the man had stopped shooting and was watching you intently from where he was hiding behind a stack of boxes. He made eye contact with you and held it, and you saw recognition dawn on his face. He pointed at you, turning to the woman to yell something in a language you didn’t recognize, and then charged forward, blaster drawn. His mouth formed your name, your real name, as he thundered towards you. You froze where you stood, partially exposed.

Fuck. He recognized me so easily. How?

Hot blaster fire zinged past your ear. The Mandalorian lurched forward and fell to one knee in a controlled movement as fire erupted from his vambrace. His quick thinking snapped you out of your panic, but your heart thundered as you processed how close you’d come to getting shot.

As the man’s clothes caught fire and he began to flail in panic, you came back to your senses and shot him in the chest.

The female bounty hunter, who was still several paces behind the man, disappeared down an alley behind her, just as you resumed shooting in her direction.

It won’t be long before word spreads that I’m alive on Nevarro. FUCK.

The footfalls of the woman faded quickly, and you knew she was too far ahead to catch.

You and the Mandalorian were left alone in the alley. Things were quiet for a moment. 

You turned to look at each other. It was then that you noticed the bundle tucked tightly in the crook of his right arm, the same arm that held his blaster. He shuffled the bundle to his left arm carefully... tenderly?

He tilted his helmet slightly, starting to say something just as you did the same. Before either of you could form a sentence, several more figures rounded the corner behind you.

“Come on,” you yelled, grabbing his arm to drag him forward. For the moment, the two of you were in this together. It was better than being caught in this fray alone. You figured you’d be able to slip away from the action soon enough.

As you ran through the streets, you both noted the echoing footsteps picking up behind you at each juncture. More and more people—bounty hunters—were joining the pursuit. It seemed like every bounty hunter in Nevarro was being drawn to the Mandalorian.

What did he do to bring this much heat down on himself? I need to lose him.

You considered turning down every street or alley you passed, but at least one hunter blocked each one. Every doorway was shut tight. The hunters were right on your heels. You kept running, the Mandalorian pounding along behind you, until you reached the main street, emerging near the archway that marked the entrance to town. Beyond the archway, the flat expanse of Nevarro stretched out before you; a silver ship, not far ahead, was the only thing that broke up the uniform landscape.

You both stopped abruptly in the middle of the street, as at least twenty bounty hunters closed in around you, each with a blinking fob in their hand. You were trapped. The pinging chorus of the fobs was enough to rip you back to a not-so-distant time when that sound was a constant refrain in your nightmares. But even at the height of the Empire’s search for you, you’d never had this many people on your tail.

Up until this moment, you hadn’t been too worried about making a getaway. You knew you would get out of this. You’d been in worse situations. But now? Blood rushed in your ears, and your adrenaline spiked. You were cornered, outnumbered, and somehow in the middle of a fight that had nothing to do with you. You were surrounded by bounty hunters, and one had already recognized you. You’d spent years disappearing and here you were, back in the thick of it because you turned down the wrong alley at the wrong time.

You glanced at the Mandalorian and tried to formulate an escape plan—or at least a way put some distance between you and him.

He surveyed the scene, seemingly calm in his blank mask of beskar, and began to walk towards the archway, as even more bounty hunters appeared. Not having come up with any better alternatives yet, you followed him.

The Mandalorian stopped short when Greef Karga sauntered out from the shadows to block your path forward through the archway.

“Welcome back, Mando!” Karga’s voice, the voice that had seemed jovial in the cantina weeks ago, sounded threatening as it rang through the street. “Now, put the package down.” He rested a hand on his hip, pushing back his cape to expose his blaster.

The bundle must be valuable. You wondered briefly what the Mandalorian had wrapped so carefully under his arm. A rare material like kyber? Something unstable like rhydonium? A set of holodisks with important intel?

The Mandalorian mirrored Karga’s movement, hovering his hand over his own blaster. “Step aside. I’m going to my ship,” he replied calmly. He sounded awfully certain considering the circumstances. Your eyes flicked back to the silver ship, an old Razor Crest, that sat just beyond the archway.

Karga chuckled. “You put the bounty down and perhaps I’ll let you pass.”

“The kid’s coming with me.”

KID?

“If you truly care about the kid, then you’ll put it on the speeder,” Karga said, pointing to a speeder parked in front of the building on your right, where a droid sat in the pilot’s seat. The droid let out a series of cheerful beeps, indicating its readiness.

“How do I know I can trust you?” asked the Mandalorian.

How did he know he could trust me? This guy seems to play fast and loose with trust.

Karga scoffed, “Because I’m your only hope.”

Shit.

Any second, this fight was going to turn into an every-person-for-themself situation. You and the Mandalorian had helped each other thus far because it had been convenient, but now that you were trapped, you knew this precarious alliance you’d formed out of necessity was about to fracture. You hadn’t missed the way he said I and me, not we and us. You weren’t part of his equation, and you couldn’t blame him—of course, you were also going to prioritize your own safety over that of a literal stranger.

You surveyed the street, looking for the least obstructed escape route. You hoped you could run fast enough once this tense moment passed and the fight started in earnest.

The Mandalorian stepped back into you suddenly, taking the opportunity to whisper urgently, “Jump in when I say go.”

You were stunned—so stunned that you followed him without thinking as he walked over to the speeder.

For the first time, the Mandalorian looked down at the bundle in his arms. You gasped when you saw that it was in fact a sleeping child—a tiny green infant. He took a moment to watch the baby before glancing at you briefly. He looked back down at the child and without any warning, he breathed, “NOW.”

You dove head first onto the speeder as he raised his blaster and shot a hunter who was right behind where you had just been standing. From the outside, you imagined that it looked like the two of you were partners—the way you moved together, coordinated and seamless.

You scrambled back and pushed crates out of the way, staying down on your stomach, as the Mandalorian flung himself over the side of the speeder and landed next to you. Blaster fire screeched all around you as the hunters reacted in unison.

You both stayed prone on the floor of the speeder, reaching only your blasters up to return the fire that was raining down on you. The Mandalorian rolled over to carefully place the kid down before yelling at the droid at the front of the speeder.

“DRIVE!”

When the droid shook its head in refusal, the Mandalorian demanded again, holding up his blaster threateningly. The droid acquiesced, and the speeder lurched forward. You grabbed the child and hugged them to your chest as the crates shifted around you.

You made it almost all the way to the archway—you and the Mandalorian taking out several of the bounty hunters as you went—before someone had the sense to shoot the pilot droid. The speeder crashed to a halt in a rain of sparks. Fire ceased and a tense quiet fell.

The Mandalorian edged toward you on his elbows. You could hear the bounty hunters closing in around you, the crunch of their boots ominous. You curled your body protectively over the child.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “What now?” You looked into the black t of his visor, wishing you could see his eyes.

He nodded as if that was a sufficient answer to your question and worked his way toward the edge of the speeder. Slowly, silently, he pulled his long rifle from his side and eased it between two crates, pointing it at a hunter on the roof of the closest building. You heard the sound of the rifle powering up and its screeching discharge as it vaporized the hunter. And then another. And another. The Mandalorian’s reload was lightening fast. You took the chance during the ensuing chaos to scoot to the edge of the speeder and take aim at a hunter with your blaster. The remaining hunters scurried away, taking shelter behind walls, doorways, whatever they could find.

The Mandalorian paused, and for a tense moment, nothing happened. The threat of the Amban Rifle was enough to create another temporary ceasefire.

“That’s one impressive weapon,” bellowed Karga. You couldn’t see him from where you lay.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna walk to my ship with the kid, and you’re gonna let that happen,” the Mandalorian stated authoritatively.

We.

“No, how about this? We take the kid, and if you try and stop us, we kill you both and then strip your body for parts,” Karga spat back.

You could feel the hunters starting to come out of hiding all around you. The subtle rasp of tephra under foot gave them away again. You looked behind you and saw that one hooded hunter was edging closer to the speeder. The Mandalorian had his back to the hunter, as he faced Karga. You trained your blaster on the approaching hunter, ready to fire. Before you could pull the trigger, the Mandalorian kicked the canister at his feet, knocking the hunter over, and sat up to stun him with the rifle.

Apparently, he had been aware of the man the whole time. His peripheral vision must be largely obstructed in his helmet. How is he so acutely aware of everything around him?

Everyone opened fire once again.

Over the sound of blaster fire, you heard Karga yell, “Don’t hit the target!”

The Mandalorian rose to his knees, leaned over some crates, and activated his vambrace so a sudden burst of flames cleared out the hunters that were closest to the speeder. You took out two more with your blaster while they were distracted by the flames.

The Mandalorian grunted in frustration as the fire streaming from his wrist sputtered out. Then, he grunted and doubled over in pain when blaster fire hit him in the side, where he wasn’t protected by his armor.

He clutched his side and ducked back down to crawl his way over to you, gently pulling on your arm until you released the child, so he could look at their face. The child cooed and opened two huge, watery eyes.

You looked away, feeling like you were encroaching on a private moment.

Is this his kid? Who is after a child? What is the story here?

You leaned away and fired several more shots, injuring another hunter.

Then you heard it. A streaming projectile took out one of the hunters on a nearby roof. As the hunter screamed and fell to the ground, several figures in Mandalorian armor, powered by jetpacks with blasters in hand, rose up from behind the row of buildings lining the street. There had to be at least a dozen of them—maybe more. It was hard to tell in the chaos. They seemed to be everywhere. They took out hunter after hunter as they slowly lowered themselves to the ground and sparks rained down around you.

You both sat up to watch.

A particularly huge Mandalorian in blue armor with a large repeating blaster touched down next to the speeder and bellowed, “Get out of here! We’ll hold them off!”

“You’re going to have to relocate the covert,” responded the Mandalorian, raising his voice to be heard over the din.

“This is the way,” replied the huge blue Mandalorian, as he continued to fire at the bounty hunters.

“This is the way,” agreed the Mandalorian next to you. 

In one fluid movement, he strapped his rifle to his back. You sheathed your blaster as he thrust the kid back into your arms, and he grabbed your free hand, hauling you to your feet as he stood. You jumped from the speeder together. He pulled you along behind him, continuing to shield your body with his as much as possible. The juxtaposition of the way he held your hand and how he was brutally taking out hunter after hunter with his blaster was jarring.

A blaster shot grazed your thigh as you ran, and you swore at the stinging pain, doubling over slightly without loosening your grip on the child. The Mandalorian turned his head but didn’t stop pulling you forward. You faltered for a moment but gritted your teeth and sped up to sprint behind him, leaving the chaos in your wake as you crossed under the archway. You made it the short distance to his ship, where the ramp was already lowered.

You followed him up the ramp. He shoved his blaster into the holster on his belt and started forward into the ship.

The idea of being trapped with this strange Mandalorian was absurd, but you didn’t have much of a choice. If you stayed on Nevarro, the remaining bounty hunters would tear the city apart to find you. This was the fastest way to get off world: a calculated risk.

You sensed movement behind you before you heard Karga’s voice.

“Hold it, Mando.”

You both spun around to face him. Karga had a blaster trained on you and the kid in your arms.

“I didn’t want it to come to this. But then you broke the code,” he spat.

The Mandalorian was silent as he assessed his options. Silent was clearly his default state. He was used to hiding behind the intimidating mask of his armor.

You were trying to guess how good Karga’s reflexes were and if you could grab your blaster from where you’d resheathed it at your back fast enough. As you thought it out, the Mandalorian tipped his head subtly to his left at what looked like a carbonite chamber. Before you or Karga could register his plan, he shot a metal cord from his vambrace, hitting the button to activate the chamber and filling the hull with freezing mist.

In the gloom, the Mandalorian grabbed you roughly and pushed you out of the way. Karga shot blindly. You whipped out your blaster and fired back, knowing exactly where he had been standing. You heard him grunt and fall backwards off the ship with a thud.

The Mandalorian made quick work of shutting the ramp, deactivating the hissing carbonite chamber, and initiating the takeoff protocol from a control panel on the wall.

You slumped onto a nearby crate, exhausted, as the ship lifted off the ground. You let your backpack slide off your shoulders onto the floor next to you. Still holding the baby to your chest protectively, you loosened your arms to study their sweet sleeping face.

His face? Her face? Who is this child?

Wordlessly, the Mandalorian stomped forward and snatched the kid from your arms. You looked up in surprise as he disappeared up the ladder next to you. He was gone for a few moments before the ship jolted as it left Nevarro’s atmosphere and jumped into hyperspace.

You rested your head on the cool wall behind you, trying to catch your breath. You let your eyelids slip shut for a minute—until you opened your eyes at the loud thud of the Mandalorian jumping back down into the hull, ignoring the ladder all together. He walked purposefully towards what looked like a storage bay, set the sleeping child down inside, and closed the door with a snap. He turned slowly to face you.

***

Paz stood in the back of the meeting hall with his arms crossed over his chest. Any time voices were raised towards you, your eyes glanced over to make sure he didn't have his blaster drawn. Most of the meetings were calm but there were a few of the leaders of different clans that were defensive about needing to follow a Mandalore that they had never met.

"I understand your hesitance. The Mandalorian have been driven apart time and time again. All I am asking is that you send delegation to the planet. You can see first hand the work we have put into rebuilding our planet so that all Mandalorian can thrive the way we should be."

"And how do we know this isn't a trap? You're a child of the watch."

"A child of the watch that is here asking for peace. You think I would have sat down with you if I wanted war? Don't mistake my civility as weakness. I am a warrior just as you are."

"I can't even see your face."

"No. There are only two people in this galaxy that can see my face because I choose to live my life that way. I do not think less of you for taking your helmet off. I ask for that same respect."

The warrior stood up but his partners hand shot out, grabbing his arm. He instantly sat down and looked at them. You had known the warrior in question wasn't the one in charge but hadn't quite put your mind to recognizing the smaller pregnant Mando next to him was in charge.

"Do you have children?"

You nodded once and relax back into your chair.

"I do. A daughter. My riduur and I took her in when her village was attacked."

"Does your clan respect foundlings?"

"They are our greatest asset. There is no future without them. Our Mandalore risked his entire life and creed to protect his foundling. He didn't fight to take the dark saber for power; he was protecting his ad'ika."

Their leader nodded once and sat back.

"It is decided then. I will go. I trust that you are comfortable with me bringing an escort."

"You may bring the entire clan if it was what you want. We only want you to see what we have created and offer you all a place there."

The warrior huffed but stood up to help his partner. She motioned for him to leave with everyone else, staying in front of you.

"You risked your life coming here."

"I understand that."

"Is that why your guard has been staring at you the entire time?"

You laughed and nodded, smiling under your helmet at Paz.

"That is Paz Vizsla, my riduur."

She turned and gave Paz a soft smile which was met with a nod. She turned back to you and placed her hand on her belly.

"I will be honest, part of me is being selfish with going to see the planet."

"Is there something wrong?"

"I am force sensitive. I always have been but I had people who could help train me. I was trained to keep it quiet and hidden away. I don't want that for her."

"You know it's a girl?"

"I do. I can feel her thoughts just like she can feel mine. I have heard rumor you have a Jedi temple there."

You nodded and smiled.

"Our Mandalore has a foundling that is force sensitive. He sent him away with the Jedi to be trained so he would be safe. We arranged to have the temple moved to our city so that families could still be connected with this children, regardless if they follow our creed or not."

"That is wonderful."

"I can arrange for you to meet with Master Skywalker on your visit. Although I am sure he will sense the moment you touch down. Force sensitives are welcome there. Everyone is that believes in our cause."

"Thank you. Let me show you to your lodging for the night. No need to leave right away. It's been a long day."

You nodded and followed the woman, Paz moving to walk next to you. He gently touched his hand on the small of your back making you look up at him. Even without seeing him, you just knew he was smiling down at you. The leader stopped in front of a large tent and smiled at both of you.

"There is food, supplies and a fire set up for you. Please let anyone you find know if you need something. We can hash out the final preparations for our visit in the morning. I'd like to follow you back if that is okay."

"Sounds wonderful."

You walked into the tent and sighed as Paz shut the flaps and tied them shut. He walked over to you and pulled your helmet off, cupping the side of your face.

"I am exhausted."

"You did wonderfully, mesh'la."

"I feel like I argued all day."

"You did but for the right cause. I'm not sure I could have stayed that calm with that di'kut spouting his mouth off constantly."

You huffed out another sigh and sat down on the edge of the bed, putting your face in your hands.

"What is wrong, ner riddur?"

"This just feels hopeless. Every time we find more of our people it is just a fight to move on from he past."

"Is that what you think is happening?"

"I know it is. I'm exhausted from all of it."

"That isn't what I see. I see you fighting for a cause that you believe in. I see you building a future for all the children, even the ones not born yet. You're one of the strongest warriors I know and yet here you are using your words to bring us all together. I feel like I could watch you all day. Everything you do has a touch of magic to it."

He pulled your hands off your face and you saw that he no longer had his helmet on now that he was kneeling in front of you. You smiled at him and let yourself relax slightly.

"I sometimes wish you could see yourself through my eyes."

"I probably wouldn't like what I see."

"Impossible, ner kar'taylir darasuum" (my love)

"Wonder if the other warriors would be as afraid of you if they knew what a sap you are."

"A sap that would rip them to pieces just for looking at you wrong."

You smiled fully as he leaned in to kiss you. Once he pulled away you started to pull his armor off, stacking it neatly at the end of the bed. He watched you intently, a soft smile on his face until you both had your armor off.

"Let's get some sleep."

"How about you lay down so I can bring you some food. Then we can lay in this giant bed together until you fall asleep."

You hummed playfully and made a face like you were thinking.

"I guess that is okay."

"You guess? That's how it is?"

You giggled as he picked up you and tossed you back down on the bed making you laugh even harder.

"Just lay there, ad'ika. Let me take care of you."

"Don't need you to."

"I know."

"But it feels nice to know that you always will."

"Until my dying breath, mesh'la."

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