Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Din was more than ready to get the hell off Mandalore. He stumbled up from the mines through the destroyed infrastructure that had once been the home of thousands of Mandalorians. He was exhausted from dying nearly three times just trying to redeem himself in the Living Waters of Mandalore. He never would have without Grogu’s help defeating the beskar scraper and nearly drowning. But there was a lightness in his chest. He was no longer an apostate. He’d redeemed himself and had proof to show the Armorer when he returned. 

He jetted up to the gap, relieved to find R5 still there intact. And that was a strange sensation for Din: to be grateful to see a droid. R5 whistled in relief at the sight of them. Din wasted no more time in hurrying back to his ship. His luck was holding when he found his ship, the N-1, still there and unscathed as well. There would have been no way to escape the desolate glassed planet if the ship had been scrapped. 

Fearing he’d pushed his luck enough, he loaded the droid and got himself along with the child settled into the cockpit. Sheer relief rushed through Din when the engines flared to life. This ship had not been the most ideal transportation for a bounty hunter. Thus far, it had proven to be an asset. He’d never tell Pelli though. She’d hold it over his head to use as a bargaining chip. 

He piloted the ship up, skimming just above the surface, waiting for his instruments to show him a thinner spot in the atmosphere to leave Mandalore behind. He flinched in surprise at a sudden shriek from the child. Grogu was pressed to the cockpit, claws tapping anxiously against the glass.  

“What is it, kid?” Din glanced out at the glassed surface below. 

“Ehhh!!” Grogu banged harder, making Din wince. 

Din tried to ease him down into his lap. “There’s nothing out there, Grogu.” 

“Ba ba ba!” The child yelled at him. 

Din took one more look. “What is that?”  

Something tall and dark stood out against the bleak landscape below. Whatever it was stood taller than the cliffs that surrounded it. Grogu looked back at Din, pointing at the strange anomaly below.  

“I see it,” Din piloted the star ship towards it.  

The details of the shape slowly coalesced through the murky air. It was a statue. The largest Din had ever seen. The tall regal Mandalorian etched in stone stood proud and somehow whole despite the shattered landscape surrounding it. Grogu made an eager noise as they circled the statue. Din’s breath caught when he sighted the dark saber etched in stone, held by the carved Mandalorian. His own curiosity got the better of him. As tired, hungry, and eager to leave Mandalore as he was, Din found himself drawn to the statue. 

He set the N-1 down a few meters from the foot of the statue. He pushed the cockpit cover open and climbed out with Grogu under his arm. He struggled to juggle the child, who was squirming in excitement, to grab his spear. He wasn't taking anymore chances after having been jumped twice already.

The dark stone statue now loomed over them, massive and intimidating. When they were a few feet from the base, Din set Grogu down. The child immediately scurried toward the foot of the statue. Din hurried after him. Grogu stopped just under where an inscription had been etched into the stone in both Mandalorian and basic.

“Here stands the likeness of Tarre Viszla, the first Mandalorian to be inducted into the Jedi Order and the creator of the Dark Saber. He became Mand’alor, ruling the Mandalore system, with his famous blade made of pure beskar taken from the heart of the mines below. He is the Founder of the House Viszla, and Clan Viszla, to give a safe haven to foundlings of war-torn worlds. His legacy will never be forgotten.” 

Din read aloud the inscription, his hand falling almost unconsciously to the Dark Saber.  "Look, kid, he was a Jedi and a Mandalorian. You could do that to someday. If you wanted." 

Din looked down at the tiny child at his feet. Grogu met his gaze, eyes wide and ears perked. Din reached out to run his fingers over the Mandalorian script.  

“I never knew Tarre Visla was a Jedi or about the Dark Saber,” Din admitted to the child. Frustration burned in his chest. It was a feeling he was becoming all too familiar with when it came to Mandalorian history and culture. He felt like an outsider among his own people. The armorer told him crumbs of history. Bo-Katan gave her version. Boba Fett told Din of his time as a Journeyman Protector on Concord Dawn, and about his father, Jango, who fought in the Mandalorian civil war. Din didn’t know what to believe anymore. He clung to his belief in the Creed he swore. He had nothing else to believe in, but his faith that he was walking the Way of the Mandalore had been shaken. 

He jerked back at the sudden deep grinding groan of stone on stone. A door appeared, sliding open, with the grating slowness of disuse. Grogu skuttled forward through the opening before Din could snatch him. The silver Mandalorian cursed, chasing after the child. The long hallway within was pitch dark. Din fumbled to turn his helmet light on. The weak yellow light just picked up Grogu’s small shape. 

“Grogu, slow down!” Din yelled. 

Abruptly the hallway opened up into a vast room. A smaller statue of Tarre Viszla stood at the far end of the room. On the walls were etched pictures of the once Mand’alor’s adventures. Grogu tottered toward the statue. He stopped, claws clacking against the base, ears up and eyes bright. 

“Ah!” Grogu cried. 

"Suc’yu, ad-ika." 

A deep, kind voice startled Din to a stop. A soft blue light spilled from the statue. Shock thrummed through Din as the stone seemed to move. Or rather a blue ghost was stepping out of the statue. The illuminated form of Tarre Viszla bent down to touch the child’s head. 

“Patu!” The child squealed. 

The shimmering form of Tarre straightened to level an assessing look at Din. “Can you see me, vod?” 

“Yes,” Din answered, puzzled. “Am I not supposed to?” 

Tarre smiled behind his conical helm. He reached up to remove it. He settled it against his hip. “Most don’t.” 

Din wasn’t sure how to answer, so he didn’t.  

"I see the Dark Saber has chosen you," the ghost of the Mand'alor remarked.

"Chose me?” Din repeated, still shaken by the presence of the ancient Mandalorian. 

Tarre gestured to the lightsaber on Din’s hip. “You have my blade.” 

Din took a sharp breath. “I fought an imperial officer and divested him of it. He was holding my child hostage." 

"A true Mandalorian. Mandokarla. You are indeed worthy of the blade." 

Din shook his head in denial. "No, I only just redeemed myself by submerging in the living waters of Mandalore. I was an apostate. I broke my creed. Took off my helmet in front of others.” 

Tarre’s helmet tilted to the side. His voice was baffled. "Vod, who has taught you such twisted truths of our traditions?" 

Something like pain lanced through Din’s heart. His chest felt tight. "My covert. I've been with them since I was a child. I swore not to show my face to another being but clan when I took the creed. This is the Way." 

"No, vod,” Tarre shook his head. “That is not the Way." 

Din stared in disbelief. He swallowed hard. "It is the only Way I've ever known. Our creed taught loyalty to the Way of the Mandalore. Our secrecy is our survival."  

Tarre sighed sadly. He sank down to sit at the base of his statue. He reached down to pet gently over Grogu’s head. The child cooed happily. Tarre looked up, gaze locking on Din’s unerringly even through the T-Visor. "Your covert has been cruel, vod. The creed your covert follows was one created by a sect during the neo-crusader era. When warriors were ruthless. Our masks,” Tarre gestured to his own helmet, “Were worn to mimic Mandalore the First's mask. His mask became a symbol of leadership, passed on to the next Mand’alor, and carved from the bone of a mythosaur. The style became a part of our helms that warriors wear in battle. Our helmets, like our armor, distinguishes us as Mandalorians. While our helmets are meant to strike fear in our enemies at no time was there ever a punishment for removing it. Your covert's creed is its own. It probably did serve to assist in your covert’s survival, but it is NOT the Way."  

Din reeled back like he'd been slapped. His whole teen and adult life had been centered around a lie.  

Tarre folded his hands in his lap. "Your creed was created by a faction that feared Mandalorians had strayed from their ancient heritage. Vod, do you live by the tenets of the Resol’nare?” 

Din nodded, fingers curling into fists. “Since I became Mandalorian.” 

"Then you are worthy of the Dark Saber. It chose correctly." 

Din’s fingers curled into fists. "I can’t lead. I don't know how to unite our people. I am a bounty hunter. I'm not fit.” 

Tarre shook his head in amazed disbelief. "I have never met a vod so determined to relinquish such an honorable title." 

Din took the Dark Saber from his belt. "This thing fights me every time I use it. I’m sure there are other mandalorians more fit to unite our people.” 

The Dark Saber hummed in his palm: a deep, bone aching vibration that nearly made his arm numb. He hissed in surprise at the strange pain of it, nearly dropping it. That was a first... 

"The Dark Saber disagrees." 

Din stared down at the saber in disbelief. 

"This is not the first time it has tried to reach out to you," Tarre sounded admonishing. 

Din's shoulders shifted. 

The ancient Mand’alor tilted his head. "Do you know anything about a Jedi's lightsaber, vod?" 

"No, only that it is a light sword that can’t cut throw beskar." 

Tarre looked amused. "That is true. Few even know that much." The Force ghost gestured. "Sit. I will explain." 

Din scooped up the child then sank down at the foot of Tarre's statue beside the shimmering blue form of the Mand’alor. 

"A jedi must find the crystal or stone that calls to them. For most young jedi, they are taken to a cave that produces kyber crystals. The final trial to become an apprentice is to traverse this cave, confront the challenges the Force employs, and find the crystal meant for their lightsaber. Those crystals are semi-sentient which is how they connect to their jedi. Do you understand?" 

Din nodded slowly. "Yes." 

Tarre gestured to the lightsaber in Din’s hand. "Inside the Dark Saber is not a crystal, but a pearl. One found deep in one of the beskar mines of this planet. It was in the remains of the gallbladder of one of the great mythosaurs that once roamed this world. 

That same mine is where the beskar ore was taken to create the housing of the Dark Saber. It was forged by a goran in the great forge here. This weapon was created because it willed it. The soul of the great mythosaur it belonged to lives on within it." 

Din's hands tightened on the blade. It felt like it purred in his grasp.  

Tarre’s gaze found Din’s once more. "Only a true Mandalore worthy of it is able to wield it." 

"My armorer told me much the same. She said I was fighting the blade which is why it became heavy to me," Din explained.  

"Your Goran was right in that." 

Din sighed. "There is so much about Mandalorians I am realizing I don't know. So much has been lost. There are others more worthy who know our history.” 

“Name one?” Tarre challenged. 

"Bo-katan Kryze." 

"Unworthy. She had her chance and lost it. Not once but twice. Her intentions are impure. She is not fit." 

Din had to agree. He had not liked her from the start. He typically trusted his first gut instinct. And she had been a red flag to him. He never fully trusted her either. She'd given him little reason too. She had manipulated him, changed the terms of their deal, and mocked his creed. She never bothered to warn or tell him what her true intentions were about the Dark Saber either. 

"Your instincts about her were not wrong, vod.” 

Din blinked. He hadn’t said any of his thoughts aloud.  

“She has many reasons she wishes to be Mand’alor. Most of them selfish. And none of them make her worthy. Name another." 

Din chewed his bottom lip. "What of your own clan? Paz Viszla...” 

Tarre huffed. "To hot headed. Reckless. More brawn than brain. Not worthy. Name another." 

“Boba Fett.” 

Tarre hummed thoughtfully. “His lineage would make him a contender. But he does not wish to unite Mandalore. Nor does he consider himself Mandalorian.” 

Din paused. He could think of no one else he would trust to follow as Mand’alor. His armorer seemed to tell him only what she felt he needed to know. Her own words and actions lately had baffled him more than once.  

The saber hummed a soothing croon in his hand. He glanced down at the blade in amazement.  

"The saber chose you, Din. It is not wrong. You can feel it, yes?" 

Din tensed. "I didn't tell you my name."  

Tarre smiled. "The saber and I are one. I know every being who ever wielded that blade. Imprinted into its memory. I know your name, Din Djarin." 

"Who was the last one worthy to wield the blade?" Din asked. 

Tarre crossed his arms over his chest. "A Mandalorian who tried to reform our traditions and create a better way for all Mandalorians... Jaster Mereel. He won it for a brief time but lost it unfairly to one in my lineage." 

Din startled. He knew that name. Had seen it inscribed in Boba’s chain code on his vambrace. “What happened to him?” Din had to know. He’d never heard of this Mandalorian until Boba. 

Tarre sighed sadly. "He was betrayed and murdered several decades ago. If he were alive he would need to win the right to it again. And as good a warrior as he was, you are better." 

Din flushed at the compliment. "Is there no other way to win the right to wield the blade?" 

"The wielder must surrender it, either by force or by choice, according to my lineage who stole it from the Jedi Temple to use as a perceived proof of power in retaining the title of Mand’alor,” Tarre’s mouth twisted distastefully. 

Din blinked, "I was told it could only be wielded by the one who won it in combat or it would curse our people to be scattered." 

Tarre scoffed, "Again more twisted truths. No, vod. The saber only bonds with another when it is surrendered by the previous, either by defeat or by choice, to the next wielder. And that successor must be found worthy by the Saber or it will reject them. Hence bad things happening to the last several who attempted to use it for ill or selfish gains." 

"It hurt me!" 

"Because you did not listen to it and you fought against it. You refuse to bond with the blade and keep trying to give it away. It’s angry with you,” Tarre replied. 

Din dropped his head. "This is to much. I can't be Mand’alor. Can’t I just return it to the Jedi Temple?” 

Tarre’s expression shuttered. “The Jedi Temple on Coruscant is gone. Destroyed by the Empire. There is nowhere for my blade to rest in peace.” 

Din’s mouth thinned. He asked thoughtfully, “Who can I surrender it to that you deem fit—besides me?" 

The blade vibrated furiously. Tarre's eyes dropped to it. The ancient Mand’alor smiled, small and greatly amused. "It seems there is one the blade will accept." 

Din stood abruptly, "Tell me." 

"Jaster Mereel." 

"You just said he was dead,” Din’s shoulders drooped in frustration. 

Tarre only smiled wider. "Are you willing to surrender the blade to him?" 

Din grunted in aggravation. "Of course, if he were alive!” 

"If you are sure..." 

"What?" 

Tarre reached for Din's helmet. "Be careful what you agree to without first learning all the details." 

"I haven't-ah!" 

Searing pain scoured through Din. It seemed to burrow down into his soul. Every nerve screamed in utter agony at once. He could vaguely hear Grogu squealing in fear. Then his vision was tunneling. 

And his world went black. 

Chapter Text

Din woke to chaos. Grogu was whimpering and trembling in his arms. Din pushed up from where he’d been curled over on his side. They were in a sparse forest on a planet with a red sun. Everything around them was varying shades of tan, brown, orange, or red. The ground was scorched and gouged in places. The sounds of a battle filtered through the trees off to the east: blaster fire, the boom of bombs, and screams. 

Go North.  

Din startled. "What?" 

Tarre's voice was as solid as though his presence was right next to him. Din looked to check, but there was no one else but he and Grogu.  

Jaster Mereel is about to die. Hurry.  

Din scrambled up. Din quickly tucked Grogu in his carry bag, and activated his jet pack. He blasted upward in the direction he was told. He'd question later. For now, he needed to survive and if that meant saving Jaster Mereel then so be it.  

The sounds of blaster fire and shouting in the trees had Din slowing. A small meadow opened up between the trees with two groups of Mandalorians on either end fighting viciously. One group were painted up in a variety of colors on their armor, but all bore the crest of the mythosaur skull over a background of yellow on their left pauldron. The other group looked disturbingly familiar to Din in colors of gray and blue with stylized shriek hawks on their armor. He didn’t have time to consider why. 

Kill those demagolka in the gray and blue. They are child murderers. Not fit to call themselves Mandalorian.  

Din dropped down behind that group of armored warriors that were firing on the smaller contingent of multiple colored armored Mandalorians. It was only a moment to activate a volley of his whistling birds. 6 demagolka dropped with cries of pain and surprise, enough to allow the smaller group to push forward. 

Go. They'll be fine. Jaster is near.  

Din blasted back into the air. He shot out of the woods and over a ridge that dropped into a barren valley with a trench scoured through it. The red earth had been blasted and scarred by the fighting: little more than red rock and scorched earth. On the ridge, armored ape-like beings surrounded two Mandalorians in the trench. An armored tank had parked on a shelf of boulders with its ion cannon pointed straight at the two Mandalorians. A man with stringy greasy black hair and a wickedly scarred face was laughing maniacally from the entrance on the side of the tank. His mandalorian kit was the same disturbingly familiar blue and gray armor with the shriek hawk symbol. 

"Coward," Din snarled. 

Yes, kill him.  

Before Din could drop in, the coward in the tank fired an explosive from his vambrace. It knocked the Mandalorian in black and red off his feet. The one in blue beside the fallen Mandalorian fired up his jet pack, launching into the air. 

Betrayer.  

It was barely a thought for Din to reach over his shoulder and take up his spear. 

The betrayer called back smugly, "Sorry, Jaster, I'm through taking orders from you. But I'll take good care of the troops -augh!" 

The spear pierced right through the betrayer's beskar heart. He careened to the ground with a thud and plume of dust. The coward in the tank used the distraction to fire at Jaster as he tried to scramble up. The ion cannon blasted through his leg, sending him to the ground with an agonized cry. 

That is Jaster Mereel. Save him or this venture will have been pointless.  

Din hastily dropped down in front of the injured warrior. 

"Who?" Jaster gasped. 

"Hold him," Din thrust Grogu down into the man's arms. 

"What!?" 

Hurry!  

Din sprinted toward the armored tank. The coward in the driver's seat, was charging up the cannon for another round. Din’s jetpack flared to life and carrying him up the cliffside toward the tank. Din snatched the Dark Saber off his belt and thumbed it to life. The coward's eyes went wide in shock and fear. It was the last thing he saw. Din slashed through the cockpit right through the man's neck. The coward slumped off the seat, head bisected from his body. Din stabbed down into the control panel. The tank came to a rumbling halt and the cannon died with a whirling groan. 

The head of the coward was snatched up by the hair. Din flew down towards the crippled Mand'alor. The ape warriors who had been lingering on the hilltop roared in rage at the sight of the man's severed head. They charged down the hill towards Jaster's prone form. Their blaster fire bounced off an invisible force field. Grogu's little hand was held up and his small face scrunched in concentration. 

Din primed the last of his whistling birds. The target system honed in from his HUD. He fired. Six ape warriors dropped. It took only a moment to swap the Dark Saber for his blaster. Several more ape beings were quickly shot down by Din's expert aim. A war cry echoed down the hillside when the other Mandalorians Din saved arrived. The remaining ape warriors were quickly dispatched. Din located the betrayer whose chest was still sporting his spear. He landed beside the body and reclaimed his spear before walking back to Jaster.

"Stop right there!" A Mandalorian in green and yellow yelled: blaster aimed at Din. His armor colors were oddly familiar of Din’s sworn vod, Boba Fett. He sounded distinctly similar to Boba if much younger sounding too. 

"Jango, enough!" Jaster snapped, "This Mandalorian saved my life." 

The Mandalorian in green and yellow huffed before backing down. 

Din held up the head of the coward, "Here's proof your enemy is dead." 

Jaster put a hand over Grogu's eyes. "That's a rather gruesome sight for a small child." 

"He's seen worse," Din dropped the head. He re-holstered his blaster to kneel at Jaster's side. He reached for the child. "C'mon, buddy." 

Grogu protested, wriggling out of Jaster's hands. 

"What’s the matter, kid?" Din asked worriedly. 

The little green imp climbed down toward Jaster's injured leg. The man hissed in agony. Grogu settled his clawed hands on Jaster's wound. His big eyes slipped closed. His already wrinkled forehead scrunched in concentration.  

"What's he-ah!" Jaster cried out. His fingers dug into the dirt. Every muscle tensed. A long moment passed. Grogu slumped down. Jaster relaxed with a relieved groan, "My leg..." Jaster breathed in disbelief, reaching down to the closed wound. 

He is quite a skilled healer for one so young, Tarre’s voice was admiring. 

"Good job, Grogu," Din praised, scooping up his son. 

"Jetti?" 

"Yes, he's Jedi and my foundling," Din tucked the exhausted child into the crook of his arm. 

"Jango, help me up," Jaster reached up. 

Din stood as the Mand’alor was helped to his feet by Jango and one other Mandalorian. 

"I owe you and your son a life debt," Jaster held out his hand. "I'm Mand’alor of the Haat Mando’ade, Jaster Mereel. Though perhaps I should be relinquishing the title to you." 

Din clasped the other Mandalorian's hand, "You owe me nothing. I was brought here to give you this." He released the Mand’alor's hand to take the Dark Saber in hand. He held it out. 

Jaster sucked in a sharp breath, "I can not take that. And after seeing you fight, I doubt I could win it." 

Din sighed. "There are other ways to earn the right to it." 

Jaster tilted his head in disbelief. "As much as I would like to learn how, we should get off this planet before the locals rally again. Jango, Silas, strip Montross of his armor and retrieve Viszla’s too.” 

Jango and Silas quickly did as they were told. Another Mandalorian in blue and black armor with a left orange pauldron bearing the Mythosaur skull stepped up to support Jaster. Jango stopped to pick up the severed head of the coward to stuff it unceremoniously in a black sack. When the younger Mandalorians returned with the armor they retrieved, Jaster’s helmet turned to Din.  

“Come, vod. Your safety is guaranteed on my honor,” Jaster offered. 

His word is trustworthy.  

"Then I accept." Din clipped the Dark Saber back to his belt. He secured the spear over his shoulder and across his back. He settled Grogu back into his carrier bag. He followed the Mand’alor and the mandalorian squad. 

They trooped back through the woods. The slaughtered bodies of the gray and blue armored mandalorians were left as well. Their armor was not worth saving: most of it made of durasteel and plastoid. Those fallen of Jaster’s followers were retrieved and placed on first aid skids. The sight of so many fallen mandalorians made Din's heart hurt. His mind slipped back to a pile of helmets and armor in the sewers of Nevarro. He recited the Remembrance under his breath. He didn't miss the way Jaster's helmet turned in his direction as he did. 

"They died like warriors," Jaster remarked while the bodies were loaded. 

"This is the Way," Din intoned respectfully. 

Jaster paused. "It is." 

The remaining squads crowded into the last two functioning extraction ships. Din stayed close to Jaster at the Mand’alor's request. Jango stood close by watching intently. His leerness was written in his body language. Din paid him no mind. He cradled Grogu close and concentrated on not jostling the sleeping child. 

It was a short ride to Jaster’s flag ship. They disembarked. Din glanced around. He stopped up short. He was stunned by the dozens of mandalorians crowding into the bay to see the return of their Mand’alor. It was the most of their kind he had ever seen in one location at one time. His breath caught. His fingers twitched at his sides. The prick of tears burned at the corners of his eyes. 

"Problem, vod?" Jaster paused at his side. 

"My covert never had more than thirty warriors. We were hunted, slaughtered, and scattered. I've never seen so many Mandalorians gathered," Din admitted, voice filled with sorrow and awe. 

Jaster tilted his head. "Covert? Did they leave the Mandalore sector?" 

Din turned his head to regard the Mand’alor. "Yes, Mandalore was glassed. We only survived because we were a hold out on Concordia. We fled and went into hiding." 

Jaster's hands curled into loose fists. His head turned to meet Jango's visor before turning back to Din. "You must be exhausted, vod. Silas, show him to a room in the guest quarters. I will give you some time to rest and refresh. You can join us for late meal. Then if you would, I'd like to debrief you." 

Din nodded in relief. "If you don't mind, I would prefer to take late meal in my room." 

"Does your covert not share meals?" Jango asked sarcastically. 

"No." 

Jango leaned back, visibly reeling. 

Jaster sucked in a sharp breath, but he recovered quickly. His conviction was clear when he spoke again, "A Mandalorian, no matter his creed, is always welcome amongst the Haat'ade. We will honor your customs." 

"This is the Way." 

"This is the Way," Jaster agreed. "I look forward to speaking with you later, vod." 

Din nodded and followed Silas further into the ship. He was led to a secluded wing with only a handful of cabins. 

"This is the royal wing," Silas explained. "Your guest quarters are next to the Mand’alor." 

Din stopped up short. "I'm not royalty. Any room will do." 

Silas shook his head. "Mand’alor's orders. And you have the Dark Saber, so right now your status is on par with Mand’alor Mereel." 

Din sighed. He definitely didn't like all this attention. But his son needed a bed and he desperately needed a 'fresher. "Fine. Just show me to a ‘fresher." 

"There's one in your room. Perks of the royal wing," Silas smirked, palming the door lock. "Enjoy your room." 

The door swooshed open. Din hesitated a moment before he stepped past Silas and in. The door slide shut. He wasn't surprised when he heard the lock engage externally. He didn't even blame them. Trust was hard to come by for mandalorians. They didn't know him. And he may have saved Mereel but he could still be a threat or have his own agenda for all they knew. Din was too tired to be offended by it.

A quick scan found the room at least free of monitoring bugs. He set Grogu on the big bed, ensuring the child was safely tucked in. Only then did he reach up to disengage the seal on his helmet and remove it. He set it down on the desk, racking his fingers through his sweaty, wild curls. There was an armor stand in the corner. Din was pleased and grateful for it. He methodically removed his armor before stripping out of his flight suit and boots. He checked the wardrobe in the corner to find several clean flight suits in varying sizes. He found one that would fit well enough in charcoal gray. He set it on the end of the bed. 

He finally made his way into the 'fresher. It was much bigger than he was used too. The sonic was more than closet sized. He stood, groaning in relief, as the vibrations sloughed the dirt and sweat from his skin. In a matter of minutes, he stepped out feeling clean. He made use of the vac tube, cleaned his teeth, and finally joined his son in the bed. 

He was woken when the door chimed. Din pushed up, grabbed his helmet, and opened the door. Silas was the one delivering a tray of food. Din took the food with quiet voiced appreciation. 

"I'll be back in a standard hour for the debriefing," Silas warned. 

Din nodded and shut the door. He woke up Grogu to make sure his son ate. The little rug rat swallowed all of the fruit. Then he was right back out again. 

Jaster sat at the long table, right hand curled over his mouth thoughtfully, in the conference room he would be using to debrief the Mandalorian who saved his life. The vod had offered no name. His unpainted beskar had made him shine even on Korda 6 for all its red sun tried to dull it. He had been like a Mandalorian warrior of old. The image of Montross being pierced through his ka'rta beskar, destroying his chance to march in the Manda, by that sleek spear would remain imprinted in Jaster’s mind forever. It was burned into his memory alongside the silver Mandalorian dropping out the sky like an avenging skirata and the moment the Dark Saber flared to life in his hand. 

It was nigh on impossible not to be awed by the silver Mandalorian. There were so many questions now clamoring for Jaster’s attention. He hoped the unnamed vod would answer them.  

Jango and Myles sat on either side of the table, data pads in hand. When things calmed down a little, Jaster had every intent to check on his adopted son. Jango’s entire family had been slaughtered at the hands of Tor Viszla. The young Fett’s burning need for revenge was the driving force behind his fervent training to be the best warrior in the last 5 years. Jango’s jaw had not unclenched since they left Korda 6 behind. 

The door to the conference room swooshed open. Silas strolled into the room. They looked at him expectantly. 

“He had his helmet on but none of his kit when he answered for late meal,” Silas remarked, pulling a chair out to sit down. 

Jaster rubbed at his bottom lip, considering the new information. “So other than saying he didn’t deserve a room on the royal hall, has he said anything else?” 

“Just to express appreciation for the food delivery,” Silas shrugged.  

“This whole thing is suspicious,” Jango grumbled. “Some random Mandalorian shows up, kills Viszla, and tries to give you the Dark Saber...” He shook his head. “Who does that?” 

Jaster tapped his fingers on the table. “Someone who doesn’t want it,” the Mand’alor remarked drily. 

Jango gave him a sideways glare. Myles huffed in amusement and shook his head. Silas looked unsure how to respond. He was still a little awestruck and nervous about being allowed to join Jango in meetings with the Mand’alor. But Silas was who Jango had chosen to be his aide-de-camp. Silas clearly was nurturing a pretty heavy crush towards Jango, who seemed oblivious about it.  

“I’m more amazed he brought his little foundling along. A battlefield is no place for so small a child,” Myles frowned. 

“Unless there are extenuating circumstances,” Jaster remarked. “I’d rather not make unfounded assumptions about our guest. Let’s not make any further speculations until we speak with him.” 

“Yes, Mand’alor,” the other three deferred. 

Jaster checked the time. “Silas.” 

The younger Mandalorian jumped up. “Yes, Mand’alor, I’ll go get him.” He shoved his helmet back over his head. 

Myles caught Jaster’s eye and shook his head a bit with a small smile. The young Mandalorian’s earnest behavior was endearing. The door swished shut behind Silas.  

Jaster looked back down at the data pad in front of him. The holo vid pulled from his HUD was paused on the moment the unpainted beskar clad Mandalorian turned toward the tank Tor had been driving. Jaster scrutinized the Mandalorian’s figure. The kute, and swept aside cape, did nothing to hide that perfect, pert ass or those well defined thighs.  

The Mand’alor looked up to see Myles smirking at him knowingly. Jaster shrugged. So what if there was more than awed appreciation at being saved on his part? He shut off the data pad and set it aside to wait for the silver Mandalorian to arrive. 

A thought crossed Jaster’s mind. He grabbed up his helmet. “Put your helmets on,” He ordered Myles and Jango. 

They gave him questioning looks. 

“I want to see how he reacts when we take them off,” Jaster explained. 

“Ah,” Myles hummed. 

They donned their helmets and waited. 

Chapter Text

It seemed a short hour when Silas arrived to bring Din to the debriefing. He was led to a plain conference room. The space was dominated by one long table with a holo projector in its center and turned off holo screens on the wall across from him. He swept his gaze over the occupants at the table. Jaster sat at the far end of the conference table. Jango sat to the left of Jaster. The Mandalorian in gray and blue armor, that supported the Mand’alor on Korda 6, sat to Jaster’s right.   

Jaster Mereel stood and moved around the table when Din stepped into the room. His red cape flared around him. He limped noticeably but otherwise seemed unfazed when he stepped up to Din.  

"Thank you for joining us. I hope you were able to get some rest and refreshments," Jaster said kindly.  

"I did. It was appreciated," Din answered in what he hoped was appropriate politeness. The armorer had never minced words, nor expected politeness. She had demanded adherence to traditional phrases and practices. Din had never been much of a talker either. 

"I want to ensure you are comfortable here." Jaster stepped back to gesture at the chair at the opposite end of the table from his seat. 

Din sat Grogu in the chair next to him to allow him to sleep unbothered. Silas had assured him the child would be safe in the room. But Din was not quick to trust even other mandalorians. Bo-katan had broken him of those illusions. Still, his quick scan of each Mandalorian showed their hands were up on the table in clear view. A sign of trust and no malicious intent. Din would follow suit for now. He hoped none of them would give him a reason to reach for a weapon.

“You brought your foundling?” the Mandalorian in black and blue armor sounded befuddled. 

Din nodded before sinking into the chair he’d been designated too. He deliberately set his gloves hands flat on the table. He saw the slight relaxing from the others. “Wherever I go, he goes. There are many who wish the child harm for what he is.” 

“It's weird for a Mandalorian to have a Jedi child. Did you take him from the Jedi?” Jango asked shrewdly. 

“I never met a Jedi until after I found the child and he needed a teacher,” Din replied flatly.  

“How about we save any more questions until introductions are made?” Jaster cut off any further discussion. Jaster reached up to remove his helmet. “As I mentioned before, I am Mand’alor Jaster Mereel.” 

Din stiffened. His fingers curled into loose fists before relaxing flat again. He’d known there was a strong possibility these Mandalorians did not follow the same creed he did. Still it was a sharp disappointment all the same. And while Tarre had told Din that his Way was not “the Way”, he’d followed his creed too long to just set it aside. It felt like an easy out that he wouldn’t take. If he could not honor an oath sworn then every moral he'd ever followed came into question as well. 

The black and blue armored Mandalorian went next. He removed his helmet, revealing himself to be a Kiffar with twin gold lines tattooed into his dark brown skin under his eyes. “I am Myles, the Mand’alor’s aide-de-camp.” 

“I’m Jango Fett,” the young Mandalorian in green and yellow spoke up, yanking his helmet off.  

Din’s fingers twitched on the table top as Jango revealed his face. A younger looking Boba copy stared at Din with flinty dark eyes. Din’s breath caught. The memory of Boba’s chain code glowing in front of him on Typthon came to mind. Boba had told Din that he was a clone of his father. It was altogether strange to be faced with the truth of that statement. Jango’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at Din’s small, but telling reaction. 

“You already know I’m Silas,” the youngest Mandalorian of the group pulled his helmet off.  

A moment of silent expectation passed as the four looked to Din for him to introduce himself. He kept quiet, debating on revealing anything about himself. Tarre had offered him no information on how long he would be with this group of Mandalorians. 

They’re trustworthy, Din. Tarre’s voice made Din’s shoulders tense just a little in surprise. 

That was not enough reassurance to Din after all he'd been through in the last year. 

"You’re welcome to remove your helmet too, vod," Jaster smiled warmly, gesturing at Din. 

Din shook his head, "I can’t. My creed forbids it. I'd be an apostate. And have to bath in the living waters of Mandalore to restore my creed. I've done that once...I don't want to repeat it." 

Jaster's eyes widened and lighted up with acute interest, "Fascinating. What creed do you follow?" 

"The only one I’ve known. I was a foundling. The Mandalorians saved me and I took the creed at 13. I didn’t know there were different creeds until recently," Din answered, hands curling into tight fists. 

The other four swapped disbelieving looks. 

"Was your group isolated?" Myles frowned. 

Din inclined his head briefly. "My covert were the only Mandalorians I'd known until I met Kryze and the Nite owls." 

Jaster's brow scrunched while the others were looking more dumbfounded by the moment. 

"And what did you think of Kryze?" Jaster inquired carefully. 

"I accused her of not being Mandalorian."  

"Her?" Jango spoke up in disgruntlement. 

Jaster gestured at Jango to hold his tongue. "Which Kryze?" 

"Bo-katan." 

A strained silence followed. 

"Did your covert have any particular symbol associated with them?" Jaster pressed. “I see you have a mudhorn crest.” 

Din tilted his head in confusion. "The mudhorn is my clan signet. I had to earn my own.” His gaze shifted to the sleeping green child for a brief moment. He focused back on Jaster, whose intense scrutiny was making this feel more like an interrogation. “Some in our covert had shriek hawks like the one who rescued me. And my vod, Paz Viszla, it's his clan's signet.” 

Jaster sat back like he'd been slapped. Myles looked like he'd been hit by a stun shot. Jango's hands were clenched white knuckled on the tabletop. Silas' eyes couldn't get any wider. 

"Are you Death Watch?" Jango snapped accusingly. 

"Who?" Din asked in bafflement.  

That caused another stunned strained silence. 

"Death Watch are a faction of Mandalorians that followed Tor Viszla, who you beheaded today," Jaster responded with forced calm. 

Din felt shock ripple through him. The blue and gray armor along with the shriek hawk symbols on the Mandalorians he killed on Korda 6 suddenly made sense. They were followers of Viszla. He grew up with Paz. Knew Tre Viszla as a reticent elder, who had been lead instructor of the fighting corps. Paz’s father, Pax, had been the one to save Din. None of them acted dishonorably like the group Din encountered on Korda 6. 

He shook his head slowly. Things were starting to make more sense. “Bo-Katan called my covert the Children of the Watch. That was first I’d ever heard us called that. She said that we were religious zealots that withdrew from Mandalorian society to follow our own Way. I only knew one Way...The Way of the Mandalore.” 

“Does your covert have a leader?” Jaster questioned. 

“There's not one leader, but our Armorer was highest ranking elder. Tre Viszla was the prime instructor of the fighting corps that I was raised in,” Din responded. “There weren’t many of us.” 

Jango growled. “Because your kind are just another version of Death Watch.” 

Jaster slashed his hand at his son to silence him. The Mand’alor gave his son a warning look. 

Din grit his teeth. His hackles and temper were rising. He scowled at Jango. "Mandalorians were scattered after the night of a thousand tears when the Empire laid waste to Mandalore and glassed the planet. My covert was less than 40 warriors and children. We only survived the Purge because we were sequestered on Concordia. Mandalore fell because our people became to splintered to fight back effectively. The armorer was our historian. I only know what she and the other elders taught. Which I am learning was... incomplete...” 

Jaster looked sickened. Myles looked taken aback. Silas stayed quiet.

"An Empire...?" Jango's eyebrows raised in skepticism. 

Jaster glanced over catching Myles' eye. He shook his head just a little. 

"What year is it?" Myles shrewdly asked. 

Din cocked his head in bewilderment. "10, last I checked."  

"And you're not Death Watch?" Myles clarified.

Din shook his head again. "No, I'm a bounty hunter." 

"And the... child?" 

"My foundling, Grogu.” 

Jaster took back over questioning. "Do you follow the six tenants of the Resolnare?" 

"Yes. Since I took the creed,” Din stated firmly. 

"And your creed states the removal of your helmet makes you dar'manda?" Jaster was curious. 

"Worse." 

Myles blinked. "What’s worse than being soulless?"  

"An apostate means you are no longer a Mandalorian at all," Din explained.

Jaster looked thoughtful at that answer. "Why did you kill Tor Viszla?" His expression was open curiosity.

Din looked across at the Mand’alor. "He lacked honor. Attacking an enemy who is unable to defend themselves is not Mandalorian. I didn’t know who he was. Only that he was a coward if that’s how he chose to face another Mandalorian." 

"How did you come to have the Dark Saber?" Jaster leaned forward, hands flattened on the table. 

"I won it in combat from an imperial officer who had taken it in the purge of Mandalore." 

Jaster’s brows furrowed. "And why were you on Korda 6?"  

"To give the Dark Saber to you," Din admitted. 

"What?!" Jango's voice cracked. 

Din reached to his belt to unclip the Dark Saber. He set it on the table. The other Mandalorians tensed. "I don't want it. I can't be Mand'alor. There was no one I knew that the Saber would accept to take it. So I was brought to Mand’alor Mereel. He was the last to wield the Saber that was considered worthy." 

Jaster seemed to visibly be reeling. "Who brought you ...?" 

Din hesitated but he’d never been a liar. And he knew of no other way to explain his presence on Korda 6. "Tarre Viszla." 

The silence was absolute for a moment.

"Please explain how a long dead Mand'alor, who made the weapon you are trying to get rid of, brought you to me?" Jaster's voice was strained calm. 

"The Dark Saber is haunted. I spoke with Tarre Viszla when I found his temple on Mandalore. I won the Saber but can’t be Mand’alor. I'm can't unite our people. The Saber and Tarre Viszla may view me as worthy but I don’t. There's no one else Viszla believes to be worthy so he brought me to you," Din pushed the Dark Saber closer to Jaster. "Just take it. I don't want it." 

Jaster shook his head. "I can't just take it. I have to fight you for it by Mandalorian tradition." 

The Dark Saber vibrated, rattling across the table top. Myles cringed back and pressed a hand to his left temple. 

I told you, Viszla’s voice rumbled. He must earn the right to wield the Saber . 

"I don't understand why I can't just give it to him," Din grumbled, glaring down at the Dark Saber behind his T-visor. 

Traditions are a powerful thing, Din. The Mandalorians will not accept Jaster as the true Mand’alor if he hasn't earned the right to wield the Dark Saber. My blade was never intended to be the symbol of the Mand’alor’s right to power. But since my idiotic lineage has created this legacy over several hundred years, it can’t simply be ignored. As Moff Gideon said, the power is in the story. 

Din sighed in frustration. “The Saber’s power meant nothing to my covert and we didn't follow a "Mand'alor".” 

But it means something to the other Mandalorians. Jaster’s group included. You will not be allowed to ignore that simply because your covert does not practice the same creed.

"Are you... talking to the Saber?" Myles asked in amazement. 

Din looked across the table to the other Mandalorian. "To Tarre. Can you hear him?" 

Myles shook head, "No, but I can feel his presence." His dark eyes flicked to Jaster.

Jaster dropped his gaze to the Saber. His expression was one of deep intrigue, "What did Mand'alor Viszla say?" 

"That tradition means you must earn the right to the sword," Din said, sounding aggrieved. "Even if I don't believe that."

"Then we will have to fight," Jaster stated decisively. 

"If that's what you want." 

"It's not. I've no wish to fight you. I owe you a life debt... But we often must do what we don't like for the betterment of our people,” Jaster explained. “Tor Viszla was unstable, but several key influential clans followed him because he had the Dark Saber. The only way for me to unite the clans and end the civil war is to earn the right to the Dark Saber. And I must do what it takes to make that happen.” 

Din stared across at the Mand'alor. Admiration spiked through him. Jaster was noble in a way Din rarely encountered. "This is the Way," Din conceded. 

"It is, yes." 

Din was disappointed by that response but not surprised. 

"I would like to learn more about "Your Way" as it seems distinctly different than ours," Jaster remarked.  

Din scowled, voice tight and shoulders tense in defense. "I would be dead long ago if not for my commitment to the Way of the Mandalore." 

Jaster put up his hands up in a sign for peace. "I am aware there are many different ways to be Mandalorian. My goal is to unite each faction of Mandalorians once more to create a united Mandalore."  

"How?" Din was leery but curious. The tension eased from his shoulders. 

Jaster’s whole demeanor brightened and he smiled. "I created a Codex that honors our history, culture, and beliefs in a way that all Mandalorians can follow. I can provide you with a copy if you'd like to read it.” 

"I’d like that. I’m not wholly ignorant of your way. The armorer mentioned it briefly as did—” 

You would do better not to mention Boba Fett’s name just yet, Tarre advised. 

“Another Mandalorian I knew,” Din finished. 

Jaster nodded. He tapped briefly on his data pad before sliding it down the table. “You can borrow this one. The documents are on every Haat’ade’s data pad. Please return it when you’re done.” He gave it to Silas to pass over to Din. 

"Thank you." Din took the pad gratefully. 

"I think that’s enough for now. You and your child deserve some rest. Silas will come get you for first meal in the morning." Jaster stood up. "Silas?" 

"Yes, Mand'alor." Silas jumped to his feet. 

Din recognized a dismissal albeit a polite one. He stood and scooped up the still sleeping child. "And the fight?" 

"Will be scheduled for a later date when we are well rested and fully healed," Jaster assured. 

Din nodded and followed Silas out. When the door slid shut to the room Din had been given, he sighed in frustration. He set the child down in the center of the bed once more. 

What’s the matter, vod?  

Din sighed. “I thought I would be able to give the Saber to Mereel and leave.” 

To go where?  

“Back where I belong,” Din growled.  

And where is that?  

Din grit his teeth. “To my own covert.” 

To an armorer that does not tell you the truth? To a covert that treats you like an outsider?  

The desire to defend his covert rose up but died on his tongue. Tarre hadn’t said anything Din hadn’t thought himself recently. “This isn’t my time.” 

True, Tarre conceded. Unfortunately, vod, this was a one way trip. I do not have the power, nor the means to return you.  

Din sank down to sit on the end of the bed. He stared unseeing down at the floor. A strange sort of numbness washed over him at the realization that there was no way back. For better or worse, he was stuck. 

I am truly sorry, vod, Tarre’s voice sounded contrite. 

Din didn’t bother to answer him. 

After the door slid shut, Jaster sat back and crossed his arms. His expression was one of consideration. With everything he’d been through in the last 10 years fighting to legitimize his Haat Mando’ade movement, this situation felt like it might as well happen too. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or not at the absurdity of it all. 

"You can't possibly believe him," Jango remarked, with a scowl. "He's Death Watch." 

Myles shook his head. "I don’t believe that. He was sincere. He believed every word he said." 

"You could sense that?” Jaster glanced to his second. Kiffars were known to be "star touched". The Jedi called it the Force. Mandalorians called it "the Manda". Either way, Myles was able to sense it just well enough to read people's emotions to a limited extent. Jaster should have listened to Myles when he warned about Montross. Myles' loyalty and "star touched" gift were part of the reason he'd been promoted to be Jaster's second. And Jaster had sworn to himself to take Myles' sense of people more serious.

Myles nodded. "He was earnest." 

"Then he's lying." Jango glared. "How could he possibly believe Bo-katan is the leader of the Nite Owls? She's 12! She hasn’t even had her verdgoten yet! And he was raised by Viszlas! What about the Empire he mentioned? He's either from some strange sect from after the Dral'han or...” 

"The future," Jaster finished Jango's thought. "There is no other Bo-Katan in the clan Kryze lineage. And no Paz Viszla. But Tor has a younger brother, Tre. I have studied the lineages of all the clans long enough to know that for certain." 

"So Mand’alor Tarre Viszla's ghost transported the most reluctant man to ever win the Dark Saber to you from the future?" Jango arched an eyebrow. 

"Mand’alor the reluctant," Myles chuckled. "It would be an amusing title for him." 

Jaster chuckled. "It would.” 

Jango refused to be sidetracked. “He offered no proof of anything he said.” 

"That is a good point,” Jaster agreed. “I’ll speak to him more about all of this. The destruction of Mandalore and the scattering of our people is deeply concerning. I need to know how that happened. Though I wonder if he knows...” 

"It's concerning how his covert’s elders were gate keeping history," Myles scowled. 

Jaster tapped his fingers on the tabletop. "It's disturbing to think of our people reduced to any of that." 

"They aren't our people," Jango grumbled. 

"All mandalorians are our people." Jaster stated sternly. "We can’t be divided if we are to unite all the clans." He stared his son down. 

Jango's mouth set in a stubborn line, "Death Watch will never be "my" people." 

"If they defect and swear to follow our codex, they will be," Jaster said with finality. He softened his tone. "Every Mandalorian must be given that opportunity, otherwise the point of this civil war is moot. And you, Jango, must learn to accept that in order to be my heir." 

Jango dropped his gaze and worked his jaw. "I'm trying." 

"I understand your feelings, Jango. But if we are to be a united people then we must accept the things that we don't like as well. Compromises must be made," Jaster stated firmly. 

"Yes, Mand’alor," Jango deferred reluctantly. 

Jaster sighed. "Enough heavy talk. Let's pick this up tomorrow. You're dismissed." 

Jango nodded. He stood up and pressed his fist to his heart before leaving. Jaster returned the salute before dismissing his protege. 

"I think you're right, Myles. He believed every word he said. His hands and his body language were very telling," Jaster tapped his fingers on the table.

Myles snorted. "I'm sure you were paying extra attention to that."

Jaster gave his second an unimpressed look. "He seems to be touched by the Manda..."

"If he is, I doubt he realizes that," Myles remarked.

Jaster nodded in agreement. "And the Dark Saber is haunted...?"

His second nodded earnestly, his eyes going wide. "By more than just Tarre Viszla. The presence felt like it filled the room. Big, powerful...if you could have felt it--" Myles shivered. "It felt like a coiled monster, watchful and dangerous."

Jaster frowned. "Why are there no stories about this?"

"It's been in Viszla hands for centuries. And how many Mandalorians are "star touched"?" Myles pointed out.

The Mand’alor conceded the point. "I should have promoted you instead of Montross. You have a much better head on your shoulders."

Myles didn't try to hide his smug smirk. He inclined his head in appreciation.  "Do you think you can beat Mand’alor the Reluctant?" Myles asked shrewdly. 

Jaster sighed heavily. "I don't know. But from what I saw, he fights like it's pure survival." 

"It should be an interesting fight," Myles stood up. 

"You just want to see me get my shebs kicked since you've never been able to defeat me," Jaster teased, pushing to his feet as well.

Myles laughed. "I won't deny that.” 

Jaster scoffed. "With friends like you, I don't need enemies.” 

Myles patted his friend on the shoulder. "Someone's gotta keep you humble." He smirked at Jaster. “You do realize you still didn’t get his name, right?” 

“Haar’chak!” 

Chapter Text

Din was brought first meal early. He was summoned an hour later. Silas once again was the one leading him. Din didn't ask where he was being led. It didn't matter. He had decided to trust Tarre and Jaster's word that he was safe amongst his Haat’Ade. Since he was stuck in this time, he had nowhere else to go. Thus far, Jaster and his Haat’ade had kept good on their word in ensuring he and the child’s safety. It was tentative, hopeful trust that he prayed he wouldn’t regret later.  

Silas led him to a door close to the central command of their frigate. The door slid open after Silas announced their presence. Jaster sat behind his desk, sans helmet. At their entrance, he set the data pad down he'd been perusing. He smiled warmly at Din's entrance.  

"Su cuy'gar, vod," Jaster greeted. 

Din nodded. "Su cuy'gar, Mand’alor Mereel." It felt good to speak Mando’a again. He didn’t get many chances to use it. He practiced it when he was alone. And recently, had been teaching it to Grogu. He had yet to speak the adoption rite, but in every other way Grogu was his son. It just felt wrong to perform the adoption rite without any other Mandalorians to help him welcome the child to the Way. But learning Mando’a was central to being a Mandalorian. 

"Jaster, is just fine. I hope you rested well,” Jaster’s pleasantries pulled Din out of his drifting thoughts. 

Din gave a brief nod. 

Jaster waited a moment, probably in hopes that Din would offer his preferred name as well, before gesturing at the seat in front of his desk. "Please sit. I'd like to speak with you more if you don't mind." 

"Alright." Din moved further into the room. He sat, shifting his carry bag so that Grogu ended up perched on his lap. 

"I believe your child may get bored. Is it alright if Silas keeps him entertained?" The Mand’alor asked kindly. 

Din dropped his gaze to Grogu. The little imp cooed and cocked his head. "What'd you say, buddy?" 

Grogu reached his arms out toward Silas, "Bah!” 

Din huffed in amusement, "Guess he decided you’re ok." He trusted the child’s judgment towards people over even his own these days. 

Silas grinned, accepting the child placed in his arms. "Of course. I'm good with ade. I've got 6 brothers and sisters." 

"I doubt any of them can force choke someone or slam them into walls with their mind if they get scared," Din remarked drily. 

Silas's eyes widened and he went a little pale. "N- No, they couldn't." 

“He hasn’t done that in a while,” Din teased, perfectly deadpan. 

Grogu’s ears perked and he looked up at Miles with a big smile. “Patu.” 

Jaster was trying not to laugh. "Go on, Silas, I'm sure you'll be fine. Take him to Jango. You can teach him how to play "daggers".” 

Silas glared as he left, "I'm not giving a baby Jetti knives to fling..." 

A soft chuckle slipped out of Din before he could stop it. Jaster’s snicker was easily heard over the swish of the door shutting. They exchanged amused looks, though Jaster could not see through the T-Visor. Still Din felt far too seen and he was glad his face was hidden.

"I read your codex," Din remarked, after a moment.

Jaster's eyebrows arched up. "The whole thing?" He looked impressed when Din nodded. "Most of the Haat'ade find it to be dull reading. Though it’s required to read and swear by should any one wish to join the Haat’ade." 

"We had so little written history. I did realize that much of what your Codex laid out my covert was following." 

Jaster's eyes narrowed shrewdly, "There's a few things that I'd like clarity on."  

Din tilted his head curiously. The corners of Jaster's lips twitched like he was fighting a smile.  

“I'll answer what I can," Din assented after a moment.  

He was leery about this discussion. So far, it seemed most Mandalorians he encountered were judgmental of his covert and their religious practices. He was tired of being on the defensive when it came to discussing his beliefs. It also didn’t help that he’d been trained to give out as little information as possible about his covert. But that was a rule intended for outsiders, not other mandalorians. At least as far as Din was aware, which was a gray area, since he’d thought they were the only Mandalorian covert left. But Din was willing to try since Jaster had been non-judgmental and open minded from the start. Din was willing to talk if he’d at least be heard for once. 

Jaster nodded in agreement. "You said your covert was on Concordia with several Viszlas when Mandalore was glassed?" 

"Yes, Tre, Pax and his son, Paz." 

"And they had shriek hawk symbols?"  

"Yes.” 

Jaster hummed. “Tre Viszla is the younger brother of Tor. He helped create Death Watch. And he hasn’t been seen or heard from in the past 10 years.”  

Din went still with shock. Was that why Bo-Katan had called them Children of the Watch? Was his covert truly founded by a former Death Watch? 

“Vod?” 

It took a long moment for him to answer. “I didn’t know that,” he said slowly. He admitted, “It was Pax who saved me when my homeworld, Aq Ventina, was invaded by battle droids." 

Jaster blinked. "Battle droids?" 

"Yes." Din shrugged. "I was the only survivor of my village that went with the mandalorians." 

"I'm sorry to hear that.” Jaster glanced down at his data pad. "When were you born?" 

"I do not know the exact year. It was during the Clone Wars." 

Jaster shook his head. "I know of no such War. Did you know of the Mandalorian civil war?" 

"Very little. My armorer only told me that there were factions that were fighting because our people had lost the Way. That was when our covert was formed and withdrew from the majority of Mandalorian society,” Din found himself divulging.  

"It sounds to me like your goran was withholding history from her own people," Jaster frowned. 

Din looked down. "I am beginning to realize that. I had great respect for our armorer. They helped train me. Formed my armor." 

“The current kit you’re wearing?” 

Din dipped his chin in a brief confirmation. Jaster chewed his lip in consideration. Din was a little surprised when the next question didn’t continue in regard to his armor. 

"You were taken to Concordia?" The Mand’alor looked down at his data pad, tapping away for a moment. 

"Yes, and my name was added to the foundling list on Mandalore." 

Jaster thumbed at his bottom lip. "What clan adopted you?" 

Din couldn't help the flinch that followed. "I was never adopted.” 

Jaster let out a disbelieving huff. "Why not?" 

“I didn’t want to lose my name. It was the only connection I had left to my parents. I wanted to honor their memories,” Din confessed. He was rarely this open with anyone. But no one had ever asked him about any of this. Jaster seemed genuinely interested. For that alone, Din was comfortable answering. 

Jaster’s eyes softened with empathy. “I think that’s admirable.” 

“It upset some in my covert,” Din remarked flatly. 

“A foundling should have a choice to keep their name. Jango chose to keep his Clan name. I understood his need to honor his family’s clan,” Jaster’s brow furrowed. “I took my adopted mother’s clan name. My own was of little consequence. Hers was far more influential. And I needed that to become more than a simple farmer.” 

Din stared at the Mand’alor in further appreciation and respect for not only listening but offering personal information in return. He was beginning to understand why Tarre and the Dark Saber liked Jaster. He was honest, straightforward, and listened to learn.  

"You said you swore the Creed and live by the Mandalorian tenets..." Jaster stood up to walk over to the shelf that contained his data pads. 

"Yes." 

The Mand’alor ran a pointer finger over the data pads, clearly looking for one in particular. "Tell me, what are the Mandalorian tenets?" Din stayed quiet for a moment. Long enough for Jaster to glance back to assess him. "I would like to know what your creed stands for," Jaster explained, taking down a data pad. "The tenets are our way of life and what makes us Mandalorian." 

"Education, armor, self-defense, our tribe, our survival, and to follow the Way of the Mandalore," Din supplied. 

Jaster nodded thoughtfully and sat back down, setting the data pad on the desk. "What do those tenets mean to your tribe?" 

"Education in the fighting arts, to wear our traditional armor, to defend ourselves, family and our tribe, to contribute to the welfare of the clan, our secrecy is our survival by never revealing our face or name to anyone but our clan, and to live honorably by walking the Way of the Mandalore," Din recited. The tenets had been nearly engraved in his memory. A recitation that all in his covert spoke every morning. 

Jaster slid the data pad across the desk. "Most of your creed follows the original Mandalorian tenets, except the last two. It seems those ones were replaced to create your tribe's creed." 

Din pulled the data pad closer. "Education, armor, self-defense, our tribe, our language, and to follow our leader, the Mand'alor." Din frowned. "Our elders considered Mando’a part of education. I didn't know about the position of Mand'alor or the Dark Saber until I met Bo-Katan Kryze." 

Jaster gave Din a considering look. "Gorans are the keepers of our history. Every piece of armor they forge is steeped in our ancestry. I find it unforgivable that yours withheld vital history that shaped our culture, our tenets, and our society. What if you lost all your elders? The history would be gone forever." 

“Our elders chose apprentices to train in their arts. Our armorer had an apprentice. Though I believe they were one of those lost in a raid that recently decimated our covert,” Din glanced back down at the data pad in front of him. His fingers curled around it, gripping it tight enough that his gloves creaked. His chest burned with something like betrayal. "I believed in the creed. It kept us safe. We swore to keep our identities hidden. To protect the covert at all costs. That all we earned was given to the covert and to care for the foundlings. The foundlings were our future. We were trained to fight as both hunters and prey  for survival. The tenets gave us honor and morals to live by. You can't kill an idea but it has to be carried on to survive," Din explained the best he could. He finally looked back up at Jaster. The expression of gentle empathy made his throat feel tight. "I was loyal to my covert because they saved me and took me in. Taught me to fight, to survive, and gave my life meaning." 

Jaster leaned forward, "Your loyalty to your creed is admirable. You are a formidable warrior." He gave Din a wry smile. “I suppose I now understand why you have yet to offer your name.” 

Din huffed in amusement. 

“What should I call you?” 

“Beroya is fine.” 

“Vor’e,” Jaster inclined his head respectfully. He glanced down at his data pad. “What you told me of your covert’s existence, I can verify. If Tre Viszla withdrew to Concordia, he can be found.” His gaze shifted back up to Din’s. “Where I get stuck, Beroya, is “when” you are from and how you came to be on Korda 6. I need some form of proof.” 

He makes a valid point, Tarre’s voice made Din’s fingers twitch in startled response. 

Din huffed, more in response to Tarre, than Jaster. Din had little in the way of proof. What could he give the Mand’alor to make him believe he was telling the truth?  

Offer something tangible.  

All he had on him were his weapons, the vial of water from the mines, and nothing else. Inspiration struck.  "I'll give you access to my HUD. It records everything. Saves it internally but it's encrypted. I'll give you the access code. You can see for yourself." 

Jaster’s eyebrows arched in amazement. “You would do that?” 

Din nodded his assent. It was a deep show of trust. The data was personal. “It’s the only thing I can offer. The recordings go back a year. The data is purged onto an external database. But I lost that when my ship was...destroyed.” The loss still stung. The Razor Crest had been his home for more than a decade. 

“I think a year is more than enough information,” Jaster agreed. He pulled open a drawer on his desk to retrieve a data cable. He slotted it into his data pad before handing it across to Din.  

The data cable was accepted without hesitation. Din was not anxious about giving up this data. Jaster had at no point judged Din’s creed: not like Bo-Katan or her Nite Owls or his own armorer who declared him an apostate for saving his son. Jaster had been nothing but forth right. Din could sense that. A gut instinct he’d learned to trust a long time ago. Jaster only wanted to learn and understand. That alone gave Din the confidence that this was the right thing to do. 

He plugged the data cable into the port on the left side of his helmet. The port was hidden from view, under the bump out where the motion sensors, an encrypted internal comlink, and a broad-band antenna were located. Buried within that tech was the internal database recordings for the HUD. Din picked up the data pad to type in his encryption code. The pad gave a soft chime when the connection was established. It was a matter of moments before the pad chimed again indicating the download was complete. Din disconnected the cable and handed the pad back to Jaster. 

“Vor’e,” the Mand’alor inclined his head. “I’ll review this later.” 

Din dipped his head in acknowledgment. 

Jaster was quiet for a moment. "My compound is located on my home world, Concord Dawn. I inherited the estate from my buir when she died." 

Din’s curiosity peaked, "Is that where we're headed?"  

"Yes, once we're there I will start planning the challenge for the Saber," Jaster warned him. "The fight will have to be public or the validity will be debatable." 

Din sighed, "I'd rather not fight you."  

Jaster laced his fingers together and gave Din a shrewd look. "You mentioned there was another way. By choice?" 

"Yes." 

"And how would that work? It would still have to be public." 

"Tarre Viszla was’t very clear..." 

It's about the surrender. The wielder must willingly submit to the one they wish to be their successor. That's how it's been passed through the Viszla clan for centuries.  

Din ticked his head to the right, listening to Tarre's explanation. 

It must be surrendered in a way that is equivalent in honor to winning the Saber in combat. That is a personal choice you must make. The kind that can not be told lest it jeopardize the significance. 

"Is Tarre talking to you?" Jaster jolted Din's attention back to him. 

"Yes." Din scrutinized the Mand’alor. “You believe me about being able to hear him?” 

"Yes, I do. Did he explain?" The Mand’alor leaned forward with earnest interest. 

Din dipped in a small nod. "Yes, but I can't tell you." 

Jaster blinked, "What?" 

Din reiterated what he’d just learned. 

Jaster sighed and sat back. "Sounds cryptic as I would expect from a thousand year old Mand’alor." 

Tarre's laughter made Din roll his eyes, grateful that Jaster couldn't see his expression. If there was anything Din had learned in the last year, it was how to accept the lack of information or explanation. It seemed like every person he encountered never felt like fully telling him their plans or their information. From the Armorer, to Bo-Katan, to Ahsoka, he’d been manipulated and given only the briefest amount of knowledge to move on to the next part of his current quest. It was maddening. The belief in the Force had been rather forced upon him. In turn it felt like this magical Force was mocking him. 

"I suppose we'll figure that out when we need too," Jaster gesticulated, fingers metaphorically waving the thought aside. He switched back to his initial line of questioning. "What do you think of my Codex?" 

Din blinked. The Mand’alor seemed to truly want his opinion. It was refreshing. He never got to talk like this. It was....nice. "I'm... impressed. The parts of maintaining one's honor even as a mercenary is one I've held since I became the covert’s bounty hunter. My honor is all I have to keep me in adherence to the Way. If I have no honor, then I am darmanda,” Din explained. 

"Yes!" Jaster leaned forward excitedly, fingers splaying wide on the desktop. "No matter the paths we choose, we must conduct it with honor. Otherwise, we fall victim to greed, pettiness, and lawlessness. The Codex was created to incorporate the old ways with the new. Create cohesion for the Clans to follow. There’s too much division. I fear the kind of future you lived. We’re too great a people to fall into ruin like that." 

Warmth bloomed in Din's chest. It was a feeling he'd only come to know well recently thanks to Omera, Cobb Vanth, and Boba Fett. It was more than admiration. It was a deep interest, a longing for connection, something that he rarely allowed. Becoming too close to others left him vulnerable. Yet, his views and reasonings had been shifting ever since he met Grogu.  

He was no longer a loner. He had friends. And before Tarre had abruptly yanked Din back in time, he had been contemplating courting Boba and Cobb. Because this feeling shifting in Din's chest was more than "liking" someone. It was deeper and... hungry. 

It was... desire.  

For the first time, Din let himself really take in Jaster Mereel. The man was around the same age as Din. Physical features were typically the last thing that caught Din's interest. He was drawn to others who were willing to fight for what they believed in and do so with honor. And a very few people had ever caught his attention like Omera, Cobb, Boba... and now Jaster. 

Jaster's dark eyes were depthless like the black of space between the stars. There was bright intelligence and earnestness to the man's expression that caught Din's eye. A thick scar bisected the Mand’alor’s left eyebrow and reached to the top of his cheekbone. Jaster's prominent nose had been broken more than once. His jaw line was strong and while he had a thin mouth, it suited him. He was handsome in a rugged, worn way. He was broad in the shoulders and chest but lanky (though not as much as Cobb). Jaster was overall still fighting fit.  

Ah , hummed Tarre. An interesting development.  

Din flushed. 

"What else caught your eye?" Jaster pressed, eager to discuss his codex. 

Tarre's knowing chuckle made Din clench his teeth. He ignored the Force ghost’s amusement to focus on answering Jaster’s question. Din found himself talking more with Jaster than he ever had with anyone. But for the first time he didn't find it difficult to express or explain himself. He didn't feel like the outsider or the weird one. Jaster was engaging and invested in what Din had to say.  

They startled when the tone sounded for mid-day meal. 

"Damn, I didn't realize it had gotten so late. I apologize for holding you hostage discussing my codex," Jaster smiled in self-deprecation. “Jango tells me I tend to ramble about this topic...well, that and Mandalorian history. Which I hope to discuss with you once you’ve had a chance to read it.” 

"I didn't mind. It's a codex I could follow," Din admitted.  

Jaster's eyes widened. His next breath was quick, sharp surprise, "You would join my Haat’ade?" 

Din licked his bottom lip. I could follow you. He bit the response back before it slipped out. Tarre's deep chuckle made Din's face feel like it was on fire. "I... would consider it. After the challenge..." Maybe staying wouldn’t be such a hardship. He could almost feel Tarre’s smugness. 

Jaster looked pleased. "I would be honored.” He pushed up from behind his desk. His hand landed on Din’s shoulder to guide him towards the door. Din wished he could actually feel the touch. His kute muted the sensation, save for the weight. "Well, let's find your son so we can get midday meal before all the best rations are gone." 

Din was more than willing to follow after Jaster. 

Jaster sat at his desk, engrossed in the data pad that Din had uploaded his HUD feed. By all rights, Jaster should be sleeping. He was tired . He knew if the medic found him hunched over his desk there would be hell to pay. But he couldn’t tear himself away. He kept rewatching the footage of a Mandalore in ruins. His chest ached with sorrow. The damage looked as though it was hundreds of years old. But the date on the HUD contradicted that. This was Mandalore’s fate. One Jaster fiercely hoped to prevent. It broke his heart to think of his people becoming so divided and weakened that they were nearly put to extinction from outside forces.  

The door chimed startling him badly. He dropped the data pad with a clatter. It took him a moment to hit the door release. Myles came striding in with a forbidding frown. 

“You’re supposed to be resting. Medic’s orders,” Myles fussed. 

“I am resting,” Jaster replied easily. 

His second gave him an exasperated look. “Pretty sure this is not what the Medic meant.” He moved closer to Jaster’s desk. “What has you so caught up? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

Jaster pushed the data pad across the desk towards Myles. “The beroya gave me access to his HUD’s saved data file.” 

Myles eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Why would he do that?” 

“So I would believe him,” Jaster sighed.  

“And do you?” 

“Look for yourself.” 

Myles glanced down at the pad. His breath caught. “Is that...?” 

“Mandalore. Glassed and in ruins, like he said,” Jaster sat back, swiping a shaking hand over his mouth.  

Myles played the footage. The image panned slowly, taking in the decimated foundry of Mandalore’s mining operation. Myles paused the video. “That’s the forge...” 

“Yes.” 

“The date of this recording...” 

“Yes.” 

“Hells, guess we have to believe him, huh?” Myles remarked, looking up at his Mand’alor. 

Jaster nodded. “I haven’t gotten much further in his recordings. But this...” His dark gaze caught on his second’s with intense conviction. “We can never let this future happen. We must prevent it at all costs, Myles. This is the stuff of nightmares.” 

Myles took a deep, shuddering breath. “I agree. But for now—” He shut off the data pad. “Go get some rest, or I will sic the medic on you.” 

Jaster pushed up from his desk. “There’s no need for threats.” 

“That wasn’t a threat,” Myles chuckled. “It was a sure thing.” 

Jaster shook his head at his second’s laughter at his expense.  

“Beroya? Still no name?” Myles gave the Mand’alor a teasing smirk. 

Jaster gave a soft groan of frustration. “That’s part of his creed too...”  

“Osik...” 

Jaster silently agreed. He followed Myles out, palmed the office door shut, and locked it behind him. He was hopeful he’d learn the Beroya’s name soon. Their talk had proven the silver Mandalorian was probably just socially awkward and an introvert with a dry wit. It was endearing. Once the Beroya had warmed up to Jaster, he’d seemed eager to have someone to talk too. 

Jaster was confident he could continue drawing the reticent beroya out of his shell. 

Chapter Text

Myles was at Jaster’s cabin door 8 standard hours later. Jaster greeted his second, a little bleary eyed and not yet in his kit. Myles held up his hand to hold off questions. A concerned frown crossed the Mand’alor’s face as he waved his second in.  

“What is this about, Myles?” Jaster asked soon as the door swooshed shut. 

“You need to do something about the rumors running wild through the Haat’ade about our...silver guest,” Myles crossed his arms over his chest. 

“The beroya,” The Mand’alor corrected. “What rumors?” 

“I know you’ve been focused on him, but since you’ve been keeping him sequestered it’s caused the rumor mill to run rampant,” Myles explained.  

Jaster’s eyebrows quirked up. “I’m not surprised.” He turned away to walk over to his armor stand. “What’s being said about the beroya?” He inquired, while beginning to don his kit. 

“That he’s ghost of the Manda: just possessed armor that’s come to bring vengeance against Death Watch. An ancient warrior from the Dral’han era because of the spear and nearly his entire kit being beskar. That he is the spirit of Tarre Viszla reborn and come back to lead Mandalore—” Myles began to recite. 

“Stop...stop,” Jaster shook his head. “I get the picture.” He sighed heavily. “I should have known the gossip and conspiracy theories would begin.” 

Myles smirked. “Idle hands and all that. The Tarre Viszla spirit seems to be the most bet on theory because of the Jetti child.” 

“Of course...” Jaster grabbed up his red cape to affix to his kute over his armor. “Most of the vod aboard should be at first meal now. Let’s squash this nonsense before it gets worse.” 

“This should be entertaining, if nothing else,” Myles remarked with a grin. 

Jaster didn’t bother to answer. He swept past his second, out of his cabin, and made his way to the mess. The frigate was not the largest, so the mess also functioned as the briefing room. Several tables had been set up to allow the Haat’ade to eat and socialize. Nearly every table was full when Jaster stepped into the room. It was not uncommon for Jaster to eat with his vod’e. But it was the first time he had since the beroya came aboard. The chatter quickly tapered off to watchful silence. 

“It has come to my attention that there are some...speculations about our guest, the beroya,” Jaster stated loudly enough to carry.  

Some of the warriors had the decency to look chagrined. Most just stared back at him, eager for more information. Jaster could practically feel Myles’ fighting back his laughter. Why did he promote his friend? He should have kept him as a squad captain. 

“He is neither a ghost, possessed suit of armor, or Tarre Viszla reborn. He is from a secluded sect that follows a different creed. It does not allow for the removal of their helmets or sharing of names. His Way will be respected. He is not to be bombarded with questions once I am done debriefing with him. I expect you all to be welcoming as it appears that his interactions with other Mandalorians have not been...friendly,” Jaster looked around the room. 

“Yes, Mand’alor!” Rippled around the room in response.  

Jaster walked over to the table that held large heated pans of bread, meat, and hot bran along with a bowl of different fruits to choose. The noise level around the room steadily increased again as conversations restarted. Jaster picked up a plate, piled it with food before finding a seat next to Jango. Myles settled down at the table across from him a moment later. 

“If you think that fixed anything, you’re sadly mistaken,” Myles murmured. 

Jaster gave him an irritated look. “Why is that?” 

“You didn’t dispel the Dral’han theory,” Jango said, before stuffing a piece of bread in his mouth. 

Silas coughed to hide his snicker. 

“Something to add, Silas?” Jaster asked. 

The young Mandalorian froze. “Um...you didn’t explain how he got on Korda 6.” 

“Got yah there, Jaster,” Myles replied around his bite of fruit.  

Jaster sighed in exasperation. “The truth is only going to spawn more rumors.” 

“Yeah, wouldn’t want it to get out that the Dark Saber is haunted and Tarre Viszla teleported the follower of a Death Watch off shoot to Korda 6 just to personally deliver it to you,” Jango grumbled under his breath. 

“Jango,” Jaster gave his son a warning look.  

The young Fett dropped his eyes to his plate, shredding the bread in his hands. He didn’t offer an apology. His expression was mutinous.  

Jaster elected to ignore his son’s sullen attitude. He focused on his meal. Jango grabbed his plate and went to push up from his seat.  

“Jango, you are not dismissed,” Jaster stated mildly, but voice firm. 

The young Mandalorian sank all the way back down into his seat. Jaster finished his meal. Myles gestured that he’d take care of the Mand’alor’s plate.  

“Come with me, Jango,” Jaster ordered his son before striding off. 

Jango fell in just behind him. They headed to Jaster’s office. Neither spoke until Jaster was settled behind his desk and Jango in one of the chairs.  

“Tell me what’s bothering you,” Jaster’s voice was gentle encouragement.  

Jango’s hands curled into fists. He stared mulishly down at the floor.  

“I want to understand, Jango,” Jaster gave his son an empathetic look. “I know part of it must be Tor Viszla’s death.” 

“It should have been me!” Jango burst out. 

Jaster’s expression softened. “I know, ad.” 

“No! No, you don’t!” Jango shook his head, guilt and fury flickering across his face. “I got my squad pinned down. I should have seen the trap! I was supposed to prove myself as a capable squad leader! And if it weren’t for HIM, I probably would have lost my whole squad! And you—” His voice cracked. His breath caught. “I wouldn’t have been in time...and you’d have been...” He blinked back angry tears.  

“Jango,” Jaster stood up and came around the desk. He sank down to one knee next to his son.  

Jango looked over at his adoptive father. “I failed...” He whispered. Two tears spilled down his cheeks.  

“No, Jango,” Jaster denied, pulling his son into a hug. “You did the best you could with the information you had. We were all caught off guard...by Montross...by Tor Viszla. I knew better than to believe he’d died. But I wanted to, and I shouldn’t have been so quick too.” 

Jango buried his face in Jaster’s shoulder. His tears came harder. “It s-shoulda b-been me!” He gasped out between breaths. “Tor--!” 

Jaster gripped the nape of his son’s neck. “I know. I know, Jango. For everything he took from you, you deserved that. But he’s dead now...and we can look toward the future. You can find closure.” 

Jango wept into Jaster’s neck. The mand’alor said nothing else. He let his son cry, because Jango needed to purge the emotions he’d been clinging to for days. Tears were not weakness. And sometimes, such a release was so necessary. He only held Jango and gave him the quiet support he needed. 

“I’m proud of you, Jango,” Jaster squeezed the young Fett’s neck when the tears began to subside.  

Jango shook his head. 

“I am. You, Silas, and your squad made it out with so few lost. You handled yourself like a true warrior. You did good,” Jaster reassured his son. “Better than me. Putting my faith in the wrong man, despite you and Myles warning me about Montross.” 

Jango pulled back to swipe at his eyes. “Always hated him.” 

The Mand’alor chuckled. “Well, now I can say you certainly had the right.” 

Jango snickered. 

“I will be giving you more opportunities to lead, Jango. I think you’re ready,” Jaster eased up, wincing at the double crack of his knees. “And I’m getting to old, apparently.” 

That had Jango smiling, watery, but with good humor. “You really think I’m ready?” 

The Mand’alor nodded. “I truly do.” 

Jango was quiet for a moment. “This...Mandalorian who killed Tor—” 

“The Beroya.” 

Jango nodded. “Yeah...do you think he’s trustworthy?” 

“I do, especially after our...extensive chat yesterday. He has strong morals and good convictions. He’s been ill used by his covert. I hope he chooses to follow the Codex instead,” Jaster answered, thinking back over their talk yesterday.  

He didn’t think it was wise to tell his son that the Beroya had given Jaster access to his HUD feed. Not without permission. The holos were too personal. And he had not reviewed the footage enough to find anything that would change his son’s mind yet. 

Jango didn’t look convinced. “I still think he’s Death Watch. And if he’s raised by Vislzas...I don’t think I can trust him.” 

“I understand,” the Mand’alor conceded. “You can keep an eye on him. All I ask is you bring any suspicions to me before you go confronting him.” 

The young Fett’s mouth twisted with dislike. “Fine.” He was quiet for a moment. He sighed in frustration. “Still wish it’d been me that took Tor’s head off,” Jango scowled. “But at least that shabuir is dead.” 

Jaster couldn’t hold back the small smirk at the mental image of Tor’s face before the Dark Saber struck him down. “It was satisfying to watch.” 

“Can’t believe I missed it,” Jango sighed regretfully. 

“I have the holovid.” 

Jango’s smirk was vicious. “Show me.” 

Jaster laughed and reached for his data pad. 

“I don’t trust you.” 

Din looked up from the crate he was sitting on in the ship hanger of the frigate. Grogu sat between his feet, rolling the silver ball on the floor between his feet. Din sighed in exasperation.

Jaster had told Din he was free to roam about the ship. Providing his HUD footage had apparently given the Mand’alor enough trust to lift Din’s room confinement. A full circuit around the ship had eased some of the restlessness that had been rising. He’d decided to hang out in the most open space aboard the ship. The other Mandalorians were giving him a wide berth. He wasn’t sure why but he was relieved about it. He was rather talked out from the day before. He enjoyed talking to Jaster, but his voice was not used to it. He definitely was not in the mood for Jango Fett. 

The young Mandalorian stood, glaring at him, clearly wanting a confrontation. 

“The feeling’s mutual,” Din replied. 

“I know you’re Death Watch. How’d you steal the Dark Saber from Tor Viszla?” Jango demanded to know. 

Grogu stopped his play to stare up at the angry young man. His ears tilted down while a worried sound slipped out of him. Din reached down to scrub his fingers soothingly over the child’s head. 

“I didn’t steal it. I won it. And I’m not Death Watch,” Din answered curtly. 

“Death Watch steal children. Brain wash them and make them fight for their cause,” Jango’s hands curled into fists. “Seems like you're doing the same...” His eyes dropped to Grogu. “Why else would you have a child Jetti when Jetti have been our enemies for over a millennium?” 

Din rose to his feet. “I don’t appreciate being accused of kidnapping.”  

Grogu whined. 

Jango squared up. “You took my kill. Tor Viszla murdered my whole family. It shoulda been me. And you...I think you’re hoping to bring down the Haat’ade and take over Death Watch. Just like Montross, you were waiting for your chance to betray your leader. And when you get a chance, you’ll kill Jaster too.” 

Din stared the young Mandalorian down. “Think whatever you want.” 

Jango bared his teeth before lunging forward. Din was ready for him. It was a simple move to use the young Mandalorian’s momentum against him. Jango landed flat on his back with a pained wheeze. 

Din stared down at him. “I knew your son. Boba Fett. He was my sworn vod. He spoke highly of you. Wore your armor with pride.” He stepped back. “I expected more.” 

Jango flushed angrily. “You’re a liar. You don’t have any proof!”  

“Your buir has my HUD recordings from the last year.” 

“He didn’t tell me, ” Jango’s scowl deepened. 

Din turned away to scoop up Grogu from the floor. “Then let’s go ask him.” He strode off, leaving Jango gaping at his back. He heard the young Mandalorian scramble up to follow after him. 

Jaster was once more absorbed in the beroya’s HUD feed. He kept watching the recording of the beroya in the chamber of the living waters of Mandalore. The ritualistic oath the beroya swore as he stepped into the waters sent chills down Jaster’s spine. Then the abrupt plunge downward into the depths. Jaster kept scrolling the media back and then forward. For a moment the holo had captured something big and dark in the murky waters and frantic movements of the beroya. Jaster paused the holo. 

“That’s an eye,” he murmured to himself. 

He startled at the abrupt, loud chime from his office door announcing a visitor. He shut the data pad off and hit the door lock on his desk. The beroya walked in with Jango hot on his heels. A sigh of exasperation escaped Jaster at the look on his son’s face. He should have known better than to think Jango would leave the beroya alone after their talk this morning. 

“I told you not to confront him without speaking with me first,” Jaster gave his son a frustrated look. 

Jango had the good sense to look guilty. “I did earlier.” 

“What’s this about?” Jaster crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Your son seems to think I'm waiting for a chance to kill you,” the beroya answered in a clipped tone. His annoyance was obvious in the tension in his shoulders. 

Jaster looked to his son for explanation.  

“He’s like Montross! I bet he came to Korda 6 with Tor. He killed Tor and the other Death Watch members just to make you trust him. He’s just waiting for a chance to kill you too,” Jango burst out angrily. 

“Why didn’t you mention this earlier?” Jaster asked sternly. 

Jango’s fists clenched at his sides. “Because I didn’t think of it until after I saw that holo of him killing Tor.” 

“I told you earlier I trusted him,” Jaster frowned. 

“You trusted Montross too!” Jango spat. 

The Mand’alor flinched. 

“I told Jango you have my HUD feed,” the beroya spoke up. 

“Is he telling the truth?” Jango demanded. 

Jaster sighed. “Yes.” 

Betrayal flickered over his son’s face. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier!?” 

“I didn’t expect you to go confront the beroya,” Jaster remarked. “And I haven’t reviewed it enough to give you any tangible proof yet.” 

“You told me earlier you thought I was ready to be a leader. I’m supposed to be your heir! But you don’t even trust me to share that information with me!” Jango snarled. 

Jaster swiped a hand over his mouth. “You’re right,” he admitted with chagrin. 

“Do you have my HUD feed?” The beroya interrupted the escalating argument. 

Jaster nodded, picking up the data pad, to turn it on. He handed it over to the beroya. The child was gently deposited in the chair next to where the beroya stood. He then focused on sifting through the HUD feed. There was strained silent while he searched.  

“Here,” he thrust the datapad at Jango. 

Jango took the pad like he was handling a bomb. His eyes went wide when he looked down at the screen. “That’s my armor...” 

Jaster shoved up to come around the desk to stand by his son and look at the holovid. The beroya tapped the screen to start the video. The beroya’s T-visor was trained on the pale, scarred face of a man that was Jango’s copy. Both startled at the sound of Jango’s voice, gravelly but still recognizable.  

“I want you to take a look at something,” that Concord Dawn accented voice said. Grogu’s ears perked and cooed in recognition. “My chain code has been encoded in this armor for 25 years.” The man nodded down at the glowing code. “You see this is me. Boba Fett.” The man pointed at the central code. “This my father, Jango Fett.” 

“Your father was a foundling,” the beroya’s voice sounded pleasantly surprised. 

“Yes,” Boba Fett answered. “Even fought in the Mandalorian Civil Wars.” 

“Then that armor is yours,” the beroya replied. 

Boba nodded. “I appreciate its return.” 

“Then our deal is complete,” beroya stated. 

“Not quite,” Boba disagreed.  

“How so?” 

“We agreed that in exchange for my armor, we will ensure the safety of the child,” Boba answered. 

“The child is gone,” beroya’s voice was flat but did not fully hide his pain. 

Boba nodded. “Until he is returned to you safely, we are in your debt.” 

The beroya reached over again to pause the holovid. Jaster and Jango stared down at the frozen image of Boba Fett in worn armor with chipped green and red paint. 

“That’s the Mereel sigil,” Jaster pointed to the right breast plate.  

“And the Haat Mando’ade mythosaur skull on a yellow painted left pauldron,” Jango glanced to his own armor. He swallowed hard. 

Both looked back to the beroya. 

“Boba Fett is an honorable man, and fierce warrior. I’m proud to be his sworn vod. He trusted me with his life. And I would have gladly died fighting beside him,” the beroya said with conviction. “I am not a liar.” His helmet swung toward Jango to stare down the younger Mandalorian then over to Jaster. “That’s why I gave my HUD feed to you as proof.” 

“Ni ceta,” Jango bowed his head, looking deeply chagrined. 

Jaster did the same. “Ni ceta. In an attempt to preserve your privacy, it seems I only caused problems instead.” 

Beroya nodded in acceptance. “No debt. I appreciate your consideration. You can show it to whoever you deem necessary.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jaster agreed. He took the data pad from his son to set it on his desk. “If you’ll excuse us, Beroya. It seems my son and I need to have another chat.” 

Jango’s eyes dropped to the floor. Beroya nodded, scooping up his son, and heading for the door.  

“Beroya!” Jango burst out. 

The Mandalorian stopped and his silver helmet turned to the side to indicate he was listening. 

“I believe you,” Jango said.  

The beroya dipped his helmet in acknowledgement. 

“Did Boba tell you anything else about me?” The young Mandalorian asked. 

There was a long moment of quiet, while the beroya seemed to consider answering. 

“He told me that he was your clone. That you wanted a son to train as your heir...but you died while he was young. And he was left alone.” The beroya hit the open button on the door panel. He was gone a moment later, cape disappearing out of sight, as the door swished shut. 

Jaster sucked in a stricken breath and moved around his desk to sink into his desk chair. Jango looked just as shaken.  

Jaster thumbed at his lip, lost in thought. “A clone...” he murmured.  

Sick realization washed over him at the recollection of the beroya’s mention of Clone Wars. His gaze shifted over to his son. He knew in his gut exactly whose clones those must have been. The more Jaster learned about the future the more horrifying it became. He swore to himself that he would do whatever it took to prevent the future the beroya knew from happening. 

Chapter Text

Din remembered very little of Concord Dawn. He'd visited it once with his mentor while training to be a bounty hunter. The mandalorians who had lived here had not worn armor. They had fallen into compliance with the pacifist government that had taken over Mandalore. Din’s mentor had told him it was a travesty since the planet had once been known for its elite Mandalorian warriors. Din and his mentor had dealt with the people here as little as possible. Yet, there was still a sense of nostalgia returning to it. Concord Dawn was still a Mandalorian planet.  

Jaster had Din join him for disembarking. They landed in the shipyard just outside the perimeter of the Mand’alor's compound late in the afternoon. It was like no place Din had ever stayed. It was a triangle shaped fort built to house 200 mandalorians. There was a training ground in the courtyard, a cafeteria, and small medical center.  

Jaster explained, while giving Din a tour, that his adoptive mother had come from the once important Mereel clan that had governed Concord Dawn for centuries. When the pacifist government on Mandalore took power and began to demand the other planets and moons in the system disarm, her clan had lost favor and power. The warriors who once occupied the fort were disbanded and the fort fell empty. She was the last survivor of the once mighty Mereel clan. She'd adopted Jaster to have an heir. He told Din of how he was born on Concord Dawn and served as a journeyman protector. How he killed his supervisor, who was corrupt and been banned for murder. It was poignant to have access back after being voted Mand'alor as the compound had become his home. 

Din had listened to the Mand’alor with rapt attention. It seemed like Jaster wanted to even the scale between them since Din had provided his HUD feed. Learning that Jaster had been unable to deny his morals at the expense of losing his respected position reminded Din of his own decision to go back for Grogu. It raised Din’s positive opinion of Jaster more. 

Jaster led Din to a guest room next to the Mand’alor’s suite. He’d advised Din that he was free to roam the compound. Din elected to stay in his room for the remainder of the day. He still wasn’t sure how to act among the Haat'ade. They seemed fairly welcoming but the way they tracked his every move was unsettling. Late meal was delivered to him and Grogu, which was appreciated and heartening that his needs were remembered. Din slept soundly and deeply that night for the first time in longer than he could recall. 

The following morning after first meal, Silas led Din to the Mand’alor's office. Myles and Jango were there when he arrived. Din settled into the last chair available. He set Grogu down on the floor to play with the silver ball from the Razor Crest. Grogu purred, floating the ball back and forth between his hands. 

"The challenge will be held in a standard month. The medic advised my leg will need additional bacta treatments along with some physiotherapy. I should be fit by then,” Jaster told them. “That's long enough to put out an announcement to all in the sector who wish to witness it," Jaster laid out his plan. "I will personally invite the leaders of each clan, particularly Adonai Kryze. He holds sway over several key clans. We need his support for the others to fall in behind him.  

Beroya, what of your covert? Do you know where they are? We would gladly host them." 

Din was quiet for a moment. "I can’t give you the actual location. They were hidden in a cave connected to old mines. There were multiple hidden entrances. We went in a different way every time. I only saw the outside when my mentor brought me on training jobs." 

Jaster and Myles exchanged startled looks. 

“We only went out one at a time to hide our presence. I was an exception since I would be providing monetary means for the tribe,” Din tried to explain, a little defensive. “I can only tell you it was in the southern hemisphere.” 

"That doesn't narrow it down much," Jango muttered, busy tapping on his data pad, pulling up a map of Concordia. 

Jaster cut his eyes over, "Thank you for volunteering yourself for that assignment. You’ll be in charge of the search. Put together two squads. Report back here after midday meal. You will leave tomorrow. If you find them, you will invite them to the challenge and ensure they know Viszla is dead." 

Jango scowled but didn’t protest. "Yes, Mand’alor."  

It was a chance for the young Mandalorian to exercise some diplomacy, particularly in dealing with the Viszla clan. It was a test of sorts. Jango knew it.

"Jango," Din caught the young Fett's attention. He reached down to fish the mythosaur pendant from under the child's tunic. He held it out. "You'll need this."

The young Mandalorian frowned. "I have a mythosaur painted on me. Shouldn't that be enough?"

"No."

Jango took the pendant from Din. "Why's this one so special?"

"It was forged by the Armorer. She'll recognize her own work," Din answered simply.

Jango sighed and looked over at his buir, hoping he might reconsider. Jaster laced his fingers on his desk top and gave his son an expectant look. Jango abruptly stood up, beckoned to Silas, and left to start preparations for the mission he’d been given. 

Myles waited for the door to slide shut behind Jango. He shifted the attention back to his leader. "And what of Death Watch?" 

"They are welcome to attend if they will do so peacefully. The few captured from Korda 6 will be allowed to watch as well. I’m sure they’d be willing to provide a means of contact for a good cause." Jaster's expression was shrewd. “Hopefully this challenge will finally unite our people. Death Watch won't deny the Dark Saber and they are loyal to the one who wields it." 

"And if you lose?" Myles pressed. 

Din stiffened as their attention shifted to him. "I don't want it." 

"You have to fight to win," Myles warned. "This is not a friendly spar. By right, whoever wins has the right to kill their opponent.” 

Din's hands curled into fists. "I'll fight with honor. Even if I win... I’ll surrender it then. It’s my choice." 

Jaster locked gazes with Din even through the visor. "Care to share how?"  His voice was a touch hopeful. 

"No." Not just because he hadn’t figured that out for himself. 

Jaster's mouth twisted momentarily. "I don't like surprises." 

"Any warrior hates surprises,” Myles laughed. 

Jaster sighed heavily. He picked up his data pad. "I will start putting together the announcement for the challenge to invite the clans." 

Din stood. "I doubt I'm needed for this."  

"Lucky you," Myles grumbled. 

"You're free to go. If you wish to practice spar, there's an area designated out in the courtyard. There's always a willing vod or two around,” Jaster looked up to give the silver Mandalorian a small smile. 

Din nodded. "Thank you." He wasted no time in scooping up the child and heading for the door. 

The door swooshed shut behind him. 

"You like him," Myles leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his cuirass. 

"Yes, I like him," Jaster huffed in annoyance. 

Myles gave him a flat, unimpressed look. "You want to court him." 

Jaster didn't bother to deny that statement. It would be pointless to try. Myles knew him far too well. "I would very much like too. But I’m not going to ask until this challenge business is finished. To do otherwise would be in poor taste and seen as possibly manipulative.” 

"Well can't say I blame you. He shines in that unpainted beskar. And he killed Viszla. Hard not to admire such competence," Myles remarked thoughtfully. 

"Don't try to out do me, Myles," Jaster warned with narrowed eyes. 

Myles scoffed. “I'm not that rude. And he only has eyes for you." Myles stood and retrieved his helmet from atop Jaster's desk. 

The Mand’alor gave his second an exasperated look. "You can't even see his eyes." 

Myles snorted. "You better hope he is not a porg face under that bucket." 

"You may go, Myles. I’ll comm you when I have the rough draft done and need your insight." 

"I appreciate the permission," Myles snarked back. “Good luck on your announcement. Might want to add that the beroya is off limits...” 

The door slide shut behind Myles before the Mand’alor could respond. Jaster rubbed his mouth thoughtfully. He wondered if Myles were right. The idea of having that man in his bed made Jaster's gut swoop. The beroya had been fierce and so very capable when he killed Montross and Viszla. He'd made it look so easy. Jaster doubted he could have done the same. No one could blame him for being infatuated with his rescuer. Especially one such as the beroya. 

The courtyard was arranged for the purposes of training warriors. Half the yard was an open area for drills with several squads. The other half was set up like a practice arena. There were some Haat’ade out running drills. A few pairs were in the practice arena sparring. Din set aside his other weapons in a cubby under the benches that were placed sporadically around the arena. Grogu was settled on one of the benches and told to stay put. The child chirped, happy to munch on the cookies Silas had snuck him at some point. 

Din strode out into the practice arena. He picked a spot off to the side away from the practicing pairs. He gave himself space to maneuver and not be in the way of the others. The Dark Saber was held secure in his grip. He had practiced with a kad in his youth. It was important to be proficient with every weapon a Mandalorian traditionally wielded. Din had struggled with the kad. He was much faster with a blaster. He had been particularly skilled in pole arms. He knew he was fighting the Saber because he kept treating it like any other weapon he'd utilized. But the Dark Saber was different: powerful and somewhat sentient in its own way. 

Din thumbed the blade to life. It thrummed its low fierce song . For the first time, he just held the weapon and listened to it. The sound was something like the crooning purr of a great beast. It mingled with the rhythmic higher undertone of something breathing. He became attuned to the pulse of it in his hand. It did feel almost alive. He found his breath syncing alongside that of the blade’s hum.

Din shifted into the first kata every young warrior learned with a kad. The blade remained light in his hand. Each movement felt fluid and easy, not like when the armorer had been trying to teach him. 

Stop fighting the blade, she'd warned. 

He hadn't understood then. But he felt maybe he was beginning to realize what she meant. The blade sang with each kata. The heaviness did not come. It felt like something within the Saber unfurled. The noise of the Saber sounded more like the sated growl of a great beast. 

Good. Tarre's voice almost made Din startle. You are listening to it.  

Din spun the Dark Saber in sweeping arc. 

Let it guide your moves. The saber sings from the soul of the mythosaur infused in the pearl within.  

Din shifted to the second degree katas. The blade hummed louder: pleased and happy. No kad ever felt so right in his grip. He felt stronger wielding it, like it was lending him strength. Every movement felt as easy as breathing. 

The sword chose you, Din. Do you truly wish to give it up?  

Din froze in place. The Dark Saber hummed. He felt right in his hand. But he was no leader. 

And he was learning now that he'd been robbed of knowledge. He had never been trusted completely. He'd been an outsider more than he'd ever known. No wonder Paz found it so offensive that he won the Saber and wielded it. He was not worthy of it to Paz. 

Din wondered now if he even was truly Mandalorian. The Saber suddenly felt weighted and the thrum took on an angry pitch. It dragged Din's hand down. 

You doubt yourself. And now you doubt the blade. Do you not trust us to see into your heart and know you to be worthy? A true Mandalorian. Mandokarla to the core. A believer to the Way and the resol'nare. What you do not know, can be learned.

Din took a steadying breath. Warmth spread in his chest at the fierce conviction in Tarre's voice. The Saber's tone changed and grew lighter again. Din shifted his fingers on the grip. Even through the gloves it felt warm. 

You could be great. Like Mand’alor the reformer.  

Din shook his head. “I don't want it. I don't know how to lead a people,” he replied softly under his breath. 

Did you not unite and lead your friends when you sought to find your child, who'd been stolen from you? You inspire others to fight and follow.  

Din swallowed hard. “You already brought me here to give up the sword to Jaster.” 

I brought you here to right a wrong.  

Din blinked. “What?” 

You prevented Jaster Mereel's death, and by doing so have shifted the future of the Mandalorians, perhaps even the galaxy's future as a whole. Your actions have ripple effects that you may never know.   

Din raised the Saber up to stare at it. “What aren't you telling me?” 

I can not fore see the future. But the fall of the mandalorians played a significant role in the rise of Palpatine's empire.

Now, focus, set 3.

Din shifted his feet. He moved into third degree katas. The Saber thrummed in his grasp. He moved steadily through each kata. Tarre was quiet for a while as Din practiced. A calm fell over Din. His movements were sure and controlled.  

I also fore see my Dark Saber will be pleased no matter the outcome of the coming challenge.  

“And why is that?” 

Because you will remain near Jaster Mereel either way. It has a particular fondness for him just as it does for you. It would be mightily pleased if both of you are in union.  

Din flushed hot under his helmet. “I would appreciate if you and the Saber would stop trying to play matchmaker.” 

All he got was an amused chuckle in response. The Saber was abruptly shut off and clipped back to Din’s utility belt. He turned to exit the practice yard and stopped up short. 

More than two dozen Haat'ade had gathered to watch him practice. While he had vaguely noticed others gathering that had not broken his attention from his katas. The courtyard was silent. He strode forward once more. Grogu was where Din had left him, wrapper of cookies empty, and crumbs all over his clothes. Din quickly gathered his things. He brushed the child off before picking him up.  

“I would be worried that ruined your appetite for mid-day meal,” Din sighed, “but I know it didn’t.” 

The child purred and smiled brightly. Din turned to leave the courtyard. The Mandalorians throughout the yard stopped to bow their heads in deference and pressing their fists over the left side of their chests. 

Why? He wondered.

You are the wielder of the Dark Saber. That earns you the highest level of respect. And until your challenge with Jaster, you are the true Mand’alor.  

Din's stomach flipped over. He kept his head up and his shoulders squared. He began walking at a measured pace even when all he wanted was to sprint out of there. He was not the one they should be bowing too. He was just a simple hunter. 

You are more than that. You are the slayer of Tor Viszla. Wielder of the Dark Saber. You embody mandokarla, the right stuff all Mandalorians admire. They have good reason to admire you.  

Din's flush deepened while his chest felt tight. “Admire?!” he murmured in disbelief. 

You do not see the way their eyes linger...even MereeI's?  

Din nearly stumbled. “What!?” He hissed softly. 

The only answer he got back was another amused chuckle. That did nothing to settle the heat in Din's cheeks or chest. 

He hurried back towards his room once he was back inside. All he wanted to do was hide. He was grateful when he got to his room to find mid-day meal had been delivered. It was such a small but significant gesture that his meals continued to be delivered. He knew it was thanks to Jaster informing the kitchen staff.

Din let Grogu eat his fill before settling his son down for a nap. Then he sat at the desk and slipped his helmet off. He held it, regarding the T-visor and not for the first time, wondered what his life would be like if he could take it off whenever he wanted. 

Would it really be so bad? Would it truly make him less Mandalorian? 

He set the helmet and thoughts aside for later. He concentrated on eating the food his son had not snarfed down. 

Jaster was over this damned announcement to be sent to the clans. 

He felt like he had hammered out all the details. But Myles kept picking at each line. Jaster was done. His patience and attention were gone. 

"Myles!" Jaster cut in. 

His second fell silent. 

"Enough. The clans know the protocols. They must be peaceful and neutral until the challenge is complete if they choose to attend. I think this is as perfect as it can be. Let's not beat a dead skirata over it, yes?" 

Myles set his data pad down, "Yes, of course. I know I can get carried away." 

Jango sagged back in his chair. "Understatement." He had come back to Jaster’s office after mid-day meal. He informed his father of the vod’e that had been chosen for his two squads. He got unfortunately stuck in the office when Jaster had asked his opinion of the announcement.  

"Jango," Jaster gave him a scathing look. Though silently he agreed with his adopted son. Myles could be a perfectionist. But that was part of the reason, the kiffar made the best aide-de-camp. He caught the details most tended to miss. 

The young Mandalorian refused to look repentant. His data pad pinged with an incoming message. A smirk crossed his face. "There's more interesting things to review... like your opponent's skills..." He slid his pad across the desk. 

Jaster snatched it up before it could fall off. He blinked at the holo vid that had been paused. He tapped the vid to play. His eyes widened. Heat bloomed in his chest and his gut swooped. The beroya moved through effortless katas with the Dark Saber. He was beautiful: his strong figure shining bright in his unpainted beskar. 

No other Warrior had a full set of pure beskar armor. The beroya looked like something out of a legend. No one could watch this and not think this Mandalorian wielded the Dark Saber like it was made for him. He looked every inch the Mand’alor. 

And Jaster wanted the Beroya—carnally. 

"Close your mouth, Jaster, before you start drooling," Myles' voice was knowing amusement. 

Jaster forced his gaze from the vid. "Send this to me. I need to analyze his fighting style." 

Myles snorted. "I'm sure that's all you want it for." 

Jango snickered. 

Jaster gave his son a stern look. "You can be put back on night patrols... in the rain, Jango." He slid the pad back to the young Mandalorian. 

His son looked briefly horrified. He grabbed his pad and sent the vid to Jaster. 

"Vor’e. You can go. I know you're anxious to catch up with Silas," Jaster smirked. 

Jango barely held back his glare at his buir’s jab about his crush on Silas. "Vor’e.” He got up and left, taking his pad with him. 

"You're both transparent," Myles shook his head. 

"However this challenge ends, I will be asking to court the beroya," Jaster declared.  

"I've no doubt he'll accept." Myles gave the Mand’alor a teasing grin. “I hope by then you get his name...” 

"Don't mock me." 

"I wouldn't dare." 

Chapter Text

By the following morning, Jaster was sure the holo vid of the beroya doing katas was branded on his brain. Jango had been sent out that morning to attempt to track down “The Children of the Watch”. The announcement had been sent out about the challenge happening in a standard month. He had nothing else to occupy his immediate attention (refused to look at the worrying amount of flimsi work that was stacked in the tray on his desk). He’d lost count of the number of times the holovid had been replayed. He hadn’t even gotten back to watching the beroya’s holo feed. Although to be fair, he didn't want to watch anymore of it. He felt like he’d seen enough. He tapped the play on the holo vid of the beroya’s katas again. 

The door chime to his office sounded. 

Jaster checked the holo vid to the entrance to see the beroya waiting. The data pad was swiftly turned off and shoved into the drawer of his desk. Jaster hit the release on the lock. The door slid open. The beroya strode in with his child cradled in his left arm. It made Jaster smile. The silver Mandalorian was a protective buir to his foundling. An excellent quality in a potential spouse. But Jaster was getting ahead of himself.  

“I wanted to give this back,” the beroya held out the data pad Jaster had loaned him.  

“You read the entire history of the Mandalorians already?” Jaster was pleasantly surprised. 

The beroya shrugged and admitted after a moment. “It was hard to put down.” He shifted self-consciously then set the data pad on the desk. “I didn’t read the full history of each era.” 

“Even so, the brief overview of each era is a lot to tackle,” the Mand’alor couldn’t keep the admiration out of his voice. 

The beroya stayed awkwardly quiet. He sat at the welcoming gesture from Jaster. “I didn’t...,” he paused as though considering what to say. Finally, he confessed, “I didn’t know about any of the Mand’alors. I knew about the stories of the Crusaders, the Rally Masters, and the Neo-Crusaders. But never knew about the conflict with the Jedi either.” 

Jaster frowned. “How was the devastation of Mandalore explained during the Dral’han?” 

“It was the Old Republic.” 

“Not entirely wrong,” Jaster conceded with a grimace. “Is there anything you’d like to learn more about?” 

“All of it.” 

Jaster chuckled. “A dangerous business...” He leaned back to gesture to himself. “Look what it did to me,” he joked. “Created a whole new codex from getting to obsessed with history.” The raspy small laugh he got from the beroya made Jaster’s chest warm. 

“I’d like to learn more about the Crusaders. How the Jedi became our enemies,” the beroya remarked. 

Jaster dropped his gaze to the child in the beroya’s arms. “A little hard to understand, elek?” Grogu tilted his head and made a soft, confused sound. 

“I briefly fought a Jedi. She was powerful and without my beskar, I doubt I would’ve defeated her,” the beroya explained. “I admired her skill. She also knew Mandalorians and some of our traditions. We talked briefly about our people. I would think two great warrior societies might befriend each other.” 

The Mand’alor chuffed. “Is that how you make friends? By fighting them?” 

“Yes.” 

Jaster grinned and shook his head. “Somehow, that makes sense.” He leaned forward to pick up the data pad. “Let me load the information you want on here.” He reached into his desk drawer to grab a data cable. He woke his computer back up. “I hope you won’t mind all the notes I annotated...” He plugged the data pad into his computer, searching for the files on the Crusaders. 

The beroya shook his head. His free hand tapped against his thigh guard briefly. “Is there a part of Mandalorian history that you find the most interesting?” 

Jaster hummed. “A tough question for a history enthusiast.” He copied the data files and began the transfer over to the data pad. “That’ll take a minute.” He focused completely back on the beroya. “I was particularly fascinated with Tarre Viszla.” 

The beroya’s helmet ticked right toward the Saber on his belt.  

Jaster held up a hand in his defense. “He was legendary. He united our people and paused the war against the Jedi for a while. I would love the chance to speak with him. Learn how he did it. Maybe get some advice.” He sighed. “Some days it feels nigh on impossible.” 

There was quiet for a moment. 

“He said it felt much the same for him, most of the time,” the beroya offered. 

That got a true laugh out of Jaster. He leaned back in his chair with something like relief in the wake of his levity. “That actually makes me feel better...” The data pad chimed. Jaster unplugged the pad to hand it back to the beroya. “Enjoy the light reading.” 

The raspy chuckle he got again was becoming one of Jaster’s favorite sounds. Clearly, the beroya enjoyed Jaster's dry wit. It was good to know.  

“I appreciate it,” the beroya’s smile could be heard in his tone. He stood up. His helmet turned just enough that Jaster could tell he was staring at the flimsi stack. “I’ll let you get back to that.” 

Jaster groaned. “Please don’t?” 

“You shouldn’t procrastinate.” The beroya turned to leave. (Jaster tried not to be disappointed the cape covered the view.) 

“Not you too. Did Myles tell you to say that?” The Mand’alor pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“No.” 

Jaster shook his head with an exasperated smile. The silver Mandalorian hit the door lock release. “Beroya?” 

That silver helmet turned to the side.  

“I’d like to discuss what you read when you're done,” Jaster offered with a hopeful smile. "I would love to hear your perspective."

That shiny helmet dipped in agreement. “I’d like that.”  

When the door swished shut in the wake of the beroya’s retreat, Jaster let himself grin like a tween with their first crush. He was thankful no one was around to see it. Myles and Jango would never let him live it down. He’d make any excuse to get to spend time with the beroya. This one was at least truly sincere. Having someone else to talk history with was almost a dream come true. He’d begun to despair that he never would. 

Din dropped the data pad in the room he’d been given before heading out to the training yard. He wasn’t used to being idle. Reading was one of his favorite calming pass times. But when home in his covert, he spent time training. He had not been a natural fighter when first brought to the covert. He’d been small and scrawny. He’d had to work harder than the others to prove himself. But he also learned to think quick on his feet, use any and every tool or resource around him to win, and to not quit. There was no surrender for a Warrior. 

When he stepped out into the training yard, he found it had been converted to a shooting range for the day. A thrill went through him. He’d always been good at shooting, long or short range. He’d practiced for hours at his quick draw. A keen sharp shooter eye was a talent he’d honed. 

“Care to join us, Beroya?” Myles asked upon seeing him. 

“What’re you practicing?” Din inquired with eager intrigue. 

The Kiffar smiled at the enthusiasm he heard. “Speed shooting on moving targets on the far side, target shooting in the center, and quick draw practice on the near side.” 

Din grinned. “I’ll participate.”  

“Glad to have you join in,” Myles’ eyes lighted up in delight.  

Din followed the Kiffar over to the 50 or so mandalorians who were milling about awaiting instruction.  

“Listen up!” Myles voice boomed. “I will be dividing you into groups. Each group will do each exercise. When your group completes the exercise, you will wait. Each group will then move on to the next exercise. Once all groups have completed all three exercises we will break for midday meal.” 

He quickly divided the mandalorians up into groups of 16. Din was added into group 3 that was starting on the moving target exercise first. The highest ranking in each group was put in charge of ensuring each Mandalorian participated. Din followed his group to the far end of the courtyard. A series of barriers had been set up to maneuver through with pop up targets in varying sizes and at varying heights.  

The leader for Din’s group, an older, male blue Twi’lek, took charge. "Set your blasters to the lowest setting. I'll not have any injuries in my group. Unlike last time..." The Twi'lek's gaze landed on Din's. "I'm Raaoc. Squad Commander."

Din dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Beroya's fine."

“Well, Beroya, why don’t you show us your skills?” Raaoc challenged. “Remove your other weapons, except your blaster, and take off your jet pack. You won’t need them. This is a time trial. Have your blaster out and ready.” 

Din shrugged. “Alright.” He set Grogu down and quickly divested himself of his spear, jet pack, and vibro blade into one of the nearby cubbies. 

“Beroya, I can watch the child,” Myles came striding up.  

“Grogu?” Din looked down at the child. Grogu looked up and chirped. “C’mon.” The green minion launched himself up into Din’s arms.  

Myles smiled. “A handy trick.” 

Din passed the child over to the Kiffar. “Behave,” he warned Grogu, pointing his finger. 

Those big black eyes blinked at him slowly. Myles raised the child up to sit on his shoulder. Grogu caught hold of Myles' pauldron to steady himself. The kiffar reached up to hold the child in place. “He’ll have the best view from up here.” 

Din shook his head and turned away. He unholstered his blaster and dialed down the laser setting. He stepped up to the start line and looked to the Twi’lek to signal his readiness. Raaoc readied the timer. The buzzer sounded and Din took off. He moved from barrier to barrier shooting each pop-up target with center shots every time. The buzzer sounded at the end when he crossed the finish line. He jogged back.  

“Well, vod’e, the beroya’s time is the one to beat!” Raaoc looked suitably impressed.  

Din holstered his blaster and reached for the child. Grogu made a disagreeable noise. 

Myles chuckled. “He’s welcome to stay with me.” 

Din sighed. “If you don’t mind.” 

“Not at all.” Myles remarked thoughtfully, “That was an impressive show. I think you might have the record time without a single shot missed." 

“He does...for now,” the Twi’lek smirked. 

“You think you can beat him, Raaoc?” Myles challenged. He got a pointy toothed grin in response. “You’re up then.” Myles held his hand out for the buzzer/timer. 

Raaoc shrugged. “Fine with me.” He went to the start line. 

Myles held the buzzer up to the child on his shoulder. Grogu slapped it excitedly. Din watched the blue twi’lek work through the course with proficiency. He hit every target too, but was behind Din’s time by several seconds. 

“Good show,” Myles praised. He patted the child’s back. “Want to go watch some of the others?” 

“Ba!” 

Din tried to protest.  

Myles waved aside his worry. “He’ll be fine. Plus, we’re not going far. We’ll be right over there.” He pointed to the group practicing target shooting. 

Din sighed. “Fine, but take this because he’ll gnaw on your gloves if he gets hungry.” He handed Myles a thick slab of bantha jerky. 

Myles chuckled. “Sure.” 

Din watched the kiffar stride off with Grogu safely balanced on his shoulder.  

“He’s really cute,” a female voice caught Din’s attention. He looked to his right to see a Mandalorian in orange and white armor. Her t-visor was reminiscent of Bo-Katan's with an avian look to it. “Do you know what species he is?” 

“No idea. I’ve never seen another of his kind,” Din shrugged.  

“I think there’s one like him sitting on the Jetti council,” a Wookie with a translator collar on spoke up. 

Din couldn’t keep his surprise out of his voice. “Really? They have a council?” 

The Wookie chuckled. “You don’t know much about Jetti, huh?” 

Din shook his head. “Only a little.” 

“Focus! You all can chat at midday meal!” Raaoc called to order. 

After that, the group set down to business. The whole group did exceedingly well. Only a few were told that more practice would be needed. The quick draw group was done so Din’s group swapped with them. Din once again went first, but he didn’t mind. His speed and accuracy were once again the one to beat with no one coming close. The target shooting was more even. Din tied with Raaoc and several others for the tightest grouping of shots. By the end, Din felt like his group had warmed up to him. They invited him to join them for midday meal. He accepted and went to gather his gear along with his wayward child. Myles was reluctant to give up his babysitting duties. He cajoled Din into letting him watch the child through midday meal.  

Din sat with his group in the mess hall. It seemed his creed had been explained at some point. None of them asked him to remove his helmet. He was pleasantly surprised when Raaoc handed him a protein shake with a straw. He found himself drawn into a debate over the best blaster for quick accurate shooting. It had been a long time since he’d sat amongst peers just to eat and chat. It probably been since before he became the sole bounty hunter for his covert. His hunts kept him away from the group of friends/peers he had until at some point, he'd become an outsider in his own covert. He’d still felt safe and needed but not welcomed. And he didn’t truly realize how large a chasm had been created until now... 

He was relieved when Grogu was delivered to him, sleepy and getting grumpy. It gave him an excuse to make an exit. Melancholy had welled up and his social battery was tapped out. He needed time to resettle. He was grateful when Myles pressed a ration bar into his hand. 

“Hopefully you can eat that while the little one naps,” the kiffar joked. 

Din chuffed and gave him a nod before heading to his room. He got Grogu tucked in, waiting until the green tiny goblin passed out. Only then did he slip his helmet off. He picked up the data pad Jaster gave him. He pulled up the full history of the Crusaders and their involvement with the Jedi before setting into his ration bar.  

Jaster received the holovids of the beroya’s performance during the shooting drills earlier in the day directly from Myles. His second was lucky the acute betrayal Jaster felt at missing another performance from the beroya was overshadowed by the absolute thrill of seeing the silver Mandalorian in action. Every record Jaster had set had been easily shattered. It was awesome in the truest sense of the word.  

He was on his second watch through when his comlink pinged with Jango’s distinct tone. He set his data pad aside to accept the incoming call on his vambrace.  

“Suc’yo, Jango.” 

“Suc’yo, Jaster.” 

“I didn’t expect to hear back from you so soon,” Jaster admitted. 

Jango snorted. “Turns out the Watch had really good proximity alerts. Tre Viszla found us. He was...not amused, and almost took my whole squad out. I was able to talk him down—” 

“You talked down a Viszla!?” The utter surprise as impossible for Jaster to hold in. 

“Ha ha,” Jango growled. “The beroya’s mythosaur pendant was the only thing that saved us. He called his Goran out to check the authenticity. She...is scary. She looked at me like she could see through to my soul and said I was disgrace to my armor.” 

Jaster grimaced. “She sounds delightful.” 

“She said the mythosaur pendant is her work though. They’ve never heard of the beroya. I showed her the holo of him saying he was raised in the fighting corps by Tre Viszla. They barely believed me when I explained the whole story. But the Goran and Tre agreed to come to the challenge,” Jango explained.  

“They did?” Jaster was shocked.  

Jango huffed. “ ‘lek. They should be fun at the party...” 

Jaster snorted. “Can’t wait to see how that plays out.” 

“We’re headed home. Should be back in a few hours.” 

“Fly straight.” 

“You’re a riot tonight.” 

Jaster smiled. “Jango, good job. You didn’t shoot a Viszla and you got a confirmed RSVP from a hostile cult. And you’re coming home with all your limbs intact...I assume.” 

“They’re all still attached...Thanks, Jaster...” 

“Ret.” 

“Ret.” 

Jaster ended the com call. He glanced down at the paused holovid of the beroya target shooting. He wondered how the silver mandalorian would take it when he learned his Goran and Tre Viszla would be coming to view the challenge. He’d have to tell the beroya in the morning.  

It was late in the evening by the time Din finished reading the era of the Crusaders. He was curled around Grogu on the bed with the blankets pulled up. He turned the data pad off and tucked it up under the other pillow on the bed. The room was dark. It was probably edging close to midnight. His eyes burned from reading. He wasn't sure how to process everything he'd just read. 

"Tarre?" 

Yes, vod?  

"I don't understand." 

I know, vod. I struggled too. And I had hoped that my tenure as Mand'alor would have changed our peoples' mind towards the Jedi.  

Din set his hand against the child's small back. He could never hurt Grogu. Had broken his creed twice for the little green imp. He didn't regret it. He had never been scared of the child's powers either. He'd just wanted to understand. 

So often, vod, those that speak of returning to the "Old Ways because they were better" simply crave the subjugation of others and violence they perpetrated without consequence. That is why Death Watch is so dangerous. As for other Mandalorians, those that carry on hating others instead of trying to understand are close minded and scared of change. But change is inevitable.  

Din closed his eyes. "My covert didn't subjugate others and violence was only doled out on those who dealt violence to us first." 

Your covert subjugated you.   

Din sucked in a sharp breath. His hands curled into fists.  

The removal of history and from Mandalorian society did you a unique favor, I will admit. It gave you the chance to see Jedi with an unbiased opinion and to view conflict within our own people as incomprehensible. You have an opportunity to create change because of it.  

Din swallowed hard. He thought about the talk he had with Jaster. The codex he created was out of the desire to make change and mend the rifts in the clans as well as differing beliefs. Jaster made Din want something more than the strict tenets of his creed. A creed that had condemned him for taking off his helmet to save his son, and to let his son see his face for what might have been the last time they'd see each other for a long time. What kind of rigid creed condemned a true believer for such acts? How could it preach that foundlings were the future, but make him an apostate for saving his foundling? 

He laid in the dark a long time thinking about the creed he'd sworn his life and soul too. 

Chapter Text

Din was tired. It was a state he was unfortunately used to functioning in. The caf at breakfast had at least been strong enough to get him moving. He grabbed up the data pad he'd borrowed.

"Mwep!" Grogu pointed at the door.

"You wanna walk today?" Din asked. The child nodded. Din considered it. He felt more comfortable with the Haat'ade since yesterday. "You know what, sure." He hit the door release.

They walked down the hall to Jaster's office. Din hit the call button. The door swished open. Din stepped in and stopped.

"Jango," he greeted in surprise.

"Su cuy'gar, beroya," Jango pushed away from his buir's desk.

Jaster turned off his data pad. "Hope you slept well, beroya."

"I didn't," Din answered flatly. He focused back on Jango. "Did you find them?"

Jango reached into one of his belt pouches, " 'lek. You were right about your pendant." He held out the mythosour necklace. It flew out of his hand. "What the—!?"

Grogu clutched the pendant in his claws and brought it to his mouth to chew on.

"Grogu, that was rude. I told you no Force grabbing without asking first," Din admonished.

The green imp's ears wilted towards the floor. Grogu pulled the pendant out of his mouth to offer it back to Jango.

"Thanks, ad. But you can have it. I was done with it." Jango leaned over to scrub the child's head. He got a happy purr in response.

"How'd you find them?" Din asked, snagging Grogu by the back of his tunic. He lifted the child up onto one of the chairs.

"They found us," Jango scoffed. "And Tre Viszla and your goran are coming to the challenge."

Din straightened up slowly. "Really...?"

It felt like ice had slithered down his spine. After the talk with Tarre and his spiraling thoughts on his creed, he didn't know how to feel. It was nearly inconceivable that those two would leave the covert for the challenge.

"Elek."

"Oh."

Jango and Jaster swapped a quick look.

"Beroya... are you alright?" Jaster asked gently.

"Just tired," Din deflected. He wasn't in the mood to discuss his currently conflicting feelings about his covert, but most of all his goran. He presented the data pad. "I stayed up later than I should finishing this."

Jaster's eyebrows arched. "The whole thing?"

"Yes."

"Would you like to discuss it?"

Din swallowed hard. "Not yet." He set the data pad down on the desk.

"A boring discussion about history would put anyone to sleep," Jango joked. Jaster looked offended. That made Din smile slightly though neither could see it. Jango pretended not to see his buir's expression. "I was wondering if you could show me a move or two in pole arms?"

Din perked up. Training would keep his mind off the crisis of faith he could feel bearing down on him. "Yes."

"Right now?" Jango pressed hopefully.

"Sure."

"Wizard, let's go!"

Jaster shoved up. "I'm not missing this. If I sit any longer my ass will go flat."

Jango scoffed, "You just want—"

"Patrols in the rain, Jango," Jaster remarked casually as he swept past his son.

Din blinked. What could Jaster want? Tarre's amused laughter just added to Din's confusion. He shrugged to himself and followed Jaster. Jango fell in behind them.

The four of them headed for the training yard. Jaster led them over to a free space to spar in the arena. Jango went to grab two practice poles. Din swept his cape aside to detach his jet pack when he would have his hands free.

"Would you mind...?" Din turned to Jaster.

Jaster's eyes quickly snapped up. Din scrunched his brow in confusion. What had he been looking at? He ignored Tarre's laugh again. He was getting sick of that.

"Mind?" Jaster asked after clearing his throat.

"Can you watch him?" Din held out Grogu.

Jaster smiled gently, "I'd be happy too." Grogu cooed, reaching his arms out. Jaster reached for him in response. "C'mere, ad. I think I have candy somewhere." Grogu practically leapt into his arms.

Din sighed. Jaster grinned. Din's gut did something funny. The Mand'alor looked down to dig through the pouches on his utility belt. Grogu's ears perked up at the candy piece offered to him.

"Please don't give him to much," Din pleaded in tired exasperation.

"I make no promises." Jaster's dark eyes were bright with amusement. He looked down at Grogu, chuckling at the child's enthusiasm for the sweet treat.

Now Din's chest felt hot. His fingers twitched while he swallowed thickly. Jaster happily holding Din's foundling looked right. The Dark Saber vibrated on his belt.

He'd be a good husband.

"Stop it," Din grumbled.

"Problem?" Jaster asked.

"No."

Jango walked over with the practice poles. "Ready?"

"Just a minute." Din reached back to take his spear out of its holster. He laid it down on the ground against the cubby. He unholstered his blaster, removed his jet pack, and removed his cape. He stowed all that in the cubby next to Jaster's feet. When he raised up Jaster was watching intently.

"Don't worry. I'll go easy on him," Din teased, tone dry, turning towards Jango.

Jaster looked delighted. "Please don't…"

A soft laugh escaped Din before he could stop himself. Jango growled irritably at them. The young Fett had followed Din's lead by removing anything that might interfere. They stepped out into the training yard. Din spun the pole arm, getting a sense of its weight and balance.

"Show me what you know," Din settled into a ready stance.

Jango nodded and attacked. Three moves later, and he was flat on his back with a pained wheeze. Din reached down to offer a hand up. Jango took it. When he was back on his feet, Din reset.

"Watch your feet. You're keeping them to far apart. That throws off your balance," Din advised. "Shoulder width apart to keep your center of gravity."

Jango took a deep breath then attacked. This time, he lasted fives moves. His feet got swept from under him again. His fall was less than graceful.

"Better. Stop watching my weapon. You're being reactive," Din explained. He gestured at the younger Mandalorian. "Show me your form."

Jango set his feet and raised his pole. Din corrected a few things. They went through a few katas with the pole until Jango looked confident.

"Good. Now try to attack me again," Din readied himself.

Jango surged forward. He made it to seven moves before he got disarmed.

Din nodded in satisfaction. "Better."

Jango huffed. "Better?"

"Most fights only last a few seconds to a few minutes. It's about being quick witted and outlasting your opponent," Din reminded. "Even an untrained civilian can take out a warrior, who exhausts themselves."

Jango took his pole back. Din attacked before the younger mandalorian was ready. Jango parried. He lasted longer on defense. He still ended up disarmed.

"Good," Din praised. "I think that's enough for now."

"Vor'e," Jango offered. He leaned on his pole arm to catch his breath. "I definitely need practice. Would you mind?"

"Any time," Din agreed easily. "You learn and adapt quickly."

Jango's cheeks pinked a little at the compliment. "To bad you can't spar with buir," Jango remarked as they walked over to where Jaster sat with Grogu.

Jaster sighed sadly, "Not until the medic clears me." His gaze shifted to Din. "I'd like to see how I'd fair against you, Beroya. You're very good."

Din shifted self-consciously. "I'm proficient."

The Mand'alor chuffed. "Definitely more than that."

Jango took Din's pole arm to return it to the weapons locker. Din sat down next to Jaster to re-arm himself. Jaster looked disappointed when Din put his cape on. Grogu climbed off Jaster's lap and over into Din's.

"Were you good? How much candy did you eat?" Din gently teased his son.

Grogu smiled, teeth blue from candy, "Bah..."

"Yeah I see that," Din chuckled. He scrubbed his finger tips over the child's head.

"You have a close bond with your ad," Jaster remarked.

Din smoothed a hand down Grogu's back. "We've been through a lot together, huh, buddy?" The little green imp patted his arm and made a churring sound.

Jaster asked quietly. "How'd you come to be together?"

"It's a long story. You have my holo feed..."

"It doesn't feel right to view any more of it. I'm sure your name is said somewhere within it." Jaster caught Din's eye. "I'd rather learn that, and your personal history, from you."

Stark appreciation lanced through Din. How did Jaster keep defying expectation? "Thank you."

"How about after midday meal? You can tell me about Grogu. And we can discuss the Crusaders," Jaster offered.

"Alright," Din agreed.

"My office in a standard hour?"

Din nodded. There was that warmth in his chest again. He curled his arm around Grogu and stood up. He left before he could let Tarre pick up on his feelings. But Jaster holding his ad stayed firmly imprinted at the front of his mind. Grogu patted Din's arm and cooed soothingly.

"Don't you start too." Din grumbled.

Grogu chortled.

Din hit the call button for Jaster's office. The door slid open seconds later. Din blinked at the sight of Jango and Silas. That was the second time that day he'd entered this office expecting only Jaster, and finding others there. It was weird it happened twice. But Din shrugged it off. Jaster was a busy man.

"Come on in, Beroya. Asked these two to watch Grogu while we chat," Jaster beckoned Din in while he explained. "I hope that's alright?"

Grogu wriggled, arms reaching towards the young mandalorians.

"I guess the answer's yes," Din smiled at his son's behavior.

"We had fun last time. Didn't we?" Jango grinned. He took the green imp from Din. Grogu chattered nonsensically. Jango nodded as if he understood. "You ready to go prank some more mandos with your Force?" Grogu squealed in excitment.

The three were out the door before Din could protest.

"Should we be worried?" Din asked in trepidation, staring at the closed door.

"Maybe...probably."

Din turned his head to give Jaster an exasperated look. He knew the Mand'alor got the intent despite the barrier of Din's helmet. Jaster shrugged sheepishly.

"It seemed like whatever was weighing on your mind this morning was not something you wanted to discuss in front of the child," Jaster remarked, steering the conversation back to why Din was there.

Din nodded, his shoulders lost some of the tension he'd been holding, and he sighed.

"What about the Crusaders upset you?" Jaster asked, gently encouraging.

"It was several things," Din drifted closer. "Reading about all the ways the Crusaders found to kill Jedi. The lingering hatred for the Jedi even after centuries." He sank down into a chair in front of Jaster's desk. "I worry for Grogu. Your Haat'ade seem to like him. But what about the other clans?" He looked down at his hands, fingers curling into fists.

Jaster prompted. "It's more than that I'm sensing..."

Din found himself divulging, because Jaster felt safe and wanted to listen. "All the missing history. My goran could have told me more about the Jedi, I know it. She didn't. I might have been able to find a Jedi faster..." The leather of Din's gloves squeaked in protest at the harsh squeeze of his fists. "The demagolka who kidnapped Grogu...tortured him because I couldn't find a Jedi to help." Din bit his lip. His chest hurt. "I didn't know... and the armorer didn't tell me...There's so much she never told me," His breath stuttered. "And I trusted her... respected her...I feel like I was lied to my whole life from my elders. What do I believe?"

Jaster stood up abruptly. He came around the desk to sink into the seat next to Din. "I don't know what kind of comfort to offer." Jaster reached out slowly to curl a hand around Din's fist.

Din stared down at the hand over his own. Jaster didn't have gloves on. His tan hand had a white scar that looked like a knife slash across the top. Even through his glove, Jaster felt warm. Din's fingers slowly uncurled. Jaster's fingers slipped carefully around to hold Din's hand properly.

What would it be like to actually feel Jaster's hand?

Din had lived the last 25 years encased in armor, clothe, and leather. Grogu was the only living being that had touched his skin since he swore the creed. And for what?

"I know what it's like to feel like your entire understanding of who you are is crumbling around you," Jaster said, cutting through Din's spiraling thoughts and capturing his attention. "I told you a very brief version of how I killed my supervisor as a journeyman protector."

Din turned his head to better take in Jaster's face.

"The Journeymen were what was left of the Mereel clan's warriors. What had once been hundreds were reduced to a few dozen. Meant to safeguard an entire planet. An impossible mission but I wanted to make my buir proud. The Protectors still fell under her supervision." He huffed in self-deprecation. "I made it through training. High marks in everything. Of course because my buir trained me. She was a formidable warrior.

I was assigned to a senior Protector. He was showing me the ropes. And he was not at all worried about who my parent was. He took bribe money to keep certain influential clans safe while the farmers were attacked by outside bandits and people were attacked openly in the city streets. The cities were becoming lost to chaos and fear as crime steadily increased. I wanted to help fix the rot that was slowly destroying my home world's safety. But I soon realized my supervisor was at the heart of the corruption.

I told my buir but she couldn't do any thing. Because the governor was at the core of the rot. I killed my supervisor when he beat a child in the street for daring to steal food for his sister. Both ade were starving..." his voice choked for a moment. "I'll never regret it. But I paid the price. There was no trial. No due process of law. The only reason I wasn't killed for treason was who my buir was. So they banished me.

I fell in with the "Mandalorians", a mercenary group, after drifting through the Mandalore sector looking for work. A once great people reduced to a lawless group just to be able to wear our traditional armor and be a warrior. But this group didn't live by the tenets. Not like I was taught too. I walked away from a job that would have made me no better than the supervisor I killed. Protecting a politician who dealt in the slave trade. His ship may have blown up somehow shortly there after," Jaster smirked, vicious and self-satisfied.

Din huffed at the memory of Ran's space station being destroyed. It certainly sounded familiar.

"I knew we could still be proud Mandalorians while having honor and be mercenaries. I refused to lose myself to the corruption I kept encountering. I spent every spare moment reading history looking for ways that supported my own thoughts and writing a new Way. It took me a year to write my codex. To put in words the morals and convictions that were buried within our history, forgotten or ignored.

I went back to the Mandalorians. Explained my vision of rebuilding our people. A few believed me. They followed me when I left... Myles, Montross, a handful of others. They read my codex and believed in what I envisioned.

I thought I might've finally been getting my life back on track.

Then my buir died before my name was cleared. And it still burns me that I wasn't there. But I was so angry with her too. Why didn't she try to do more? She saved me, one poor orphan of some farmers. She raised me to believe in the tenets and the morals they uphold. She taught me to stay true to myself and to fight for others. That as Mandalorians we are stronger together.

So why didn't she fight the corruption that over ran our home world? She didn't warn me. She didn't try to stop me from being a Journeyman. She knew what greed and malice I would face.

I resented her for it. Then she was gone. And I was left with empty anger." Jaster fell quiet for a moment. "I lost everything for a time. But I think I needed that time to learn who I was. When we're stripped of every support, safety, and question everything we thought we knew... we find out who we truly are, and what really matters to us."

Din shifted and leaned until his pauldron clanked against Jaster's. The Mand'alor smiled faintly. They sat for a moment supporting each other. Their hands squeezed then released.

Din straightened. "Grogu... made me realize what matters...and it wasn't my creed."

Jaster looked over, and it almost felt like he could truly see Din.

So Din told Jaster about how Grogu was a bounty first for a camtono of beskar. How his guilt ate at him after he delivered the child to ex-imperials. How he went back for Grogu soon as his goran finished his armor and his covert came to his aide so he could escape with the child. When he was finally able to return to Nevarro it was to find his covert decimated for exposing themselves. The goran declared Grogu clan. And she charged Din to find a Jedi. He told Jaster of meeting Bo-Katan and her Nite Owls, Ahsoka (and earning the spear), and Boba. Of Grogu being taken by imperials and how he removed his helmet for the sake of finding his foundling. He explained that he won the Dark Saber but was labeled an apostate by his goran. Never mind that it was for his foundling. She never even bothered to ask him why. To her, the why didn't matter. He'd broken his creed in her eyes.

After reading Jaster's codex and the history of their people, he felt lost. It felt like he'd sworn to something he never truly comprehended. That his creed now felt like a cruel trick made by the elders to mean whatever they chose. Beliefs that made him unable to even let his child see his face. It left him isolated in a way he'd never realized until he met Grogu. He was good at bounty hunting. Best in his para-sec. But he couldn't say whether or not he'd been happy but he'd had purpose. Grogu opened his eyes to what had been missing in his life.

They sat quietly for a few moments.

"There's an old saying. Those who can not remember the past are doomed to repeat it," Jaster remarked thoughtfully. "Your eyes have been opened to our people's past and your own covert's twisting of it. Now it's up to you to decide what to do with that knowledge. And I won't tell you to abandon your creed. That choice is yours. Whether you keep it or give it up, I will respect you either way. You will remain a Mandalorian in my eyes."

Din's breath caught. "Thank you, Jaster."

Warmth burst through his chest. His throat felt tight with the sudden grip of emotion. He'd never met another Mandalorian like him. Boba shared several of Jaster's qualities. But this man had come so far after falling so low. He'd built something to believe in when everything he had believed had been destroyed. He'd chosen his own destiny. And out of that the Haat'ade had been created. Other Mandalorians believed in Jaster's codex, because he embodied every word he wrote. And Din considered him this most mandokar Mandalorian he'd ever met.

Yes, Tarre murmured. Yes, this is why he was worthy. All he wants is to bring our people back together. Make them strong and make our sector safe for all again.

Jaster shook his head. "No thanks, vod."

"My name," Din stared into Jaster's space dark eyes and said, "is Din Djarin."

Jaster's eyes widened while he drew in a sharp, surprised breath. A bright, pleased smile crinkled the laugh lines at the edges of those dark eyes. He was...handsome... in a way that made Din's gut swoop.

"Well met, Din Djarin," Jaster held his hand out. "I'm glad to be trusted with your name."

Din clasped the Mand'alor's hand in a warrior's shake, by the forearm, and gripped tight. Din felt giddy like the first time he flew fast or won a spar. Only this had a different feel. This was new...

And as he held Jaster's gaze, he realized he liked how his name sounded from the Manda'lor's mouth.

Myles got a call on his comlink. He accepted it so that it went directly to his helmet's internal audial. "Mand'alor Mereel," he snarked.

"I got his name."

"Finally!" Myles' eyes went wide. "Share?"

"Nope. He entrusted me with it."

"Haar'chak," Myles grumbled. A sly smirk crossed Myles' face. "He must really like you."

"I certainly hope so. We had a true heart to heart. I am beginning to understand him. I really want to know everything that makes him tic..."

"Ugh…just tell him you like him and bang helmets already," Myles rolled his eyes.

Jaster scoffed. "Not until—"

"After the challenge, I know. You better hope no one else beats you to the punch."

"Why! Who else expressed interest in the beroya!?"

Myles laughed. "Ah...it's more like who hasn't at this point. You better not wait to long..."

"I'm taking things slow. Building trust. I will not rush. He deserves to be courted properly."

"Mhm... very noble and romantic of you. I wonder if he even realizes your intent..."

Jaster stayed quiet.

Myles chuckled. "You're hopeless, Jaster. Best of luck."

"You're lucky I like you at all," Jaster muttered.

"Sure am. Now if you don't mind, I have a date."

"Wait, what?! With whom!?"

Myles cut the call.

Chapter Text

Din set the data pad down with a frustrated sigh. He was realizing why Jaster said Mandalorian history was a dangerous thing. The history was long, often convoluted, and difficult for him to fully understand because he knew little of Jedi. And he'd learned there were dark Jedi too? After Din had given Jaster his name, he'd asked for the next part of history: Neo-Crusaders.

Jedi and the Sith have been around longer than the Mandalorians. Yet, it is quite interesting how the three most powerful warrior societies in the galaxy constantly become entangled, Tarre remarked.

Din pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why do our people keep getting involved with Sith? And what is this need to have some relic to give authenticity to the claim for Mand'alor?"

Tarre's chuckle was one of wry amusement. Mandalorians have always been drawn to those with power and prowess. The Sith, though evil, embody the qualities Mandalorians of old deeply desired. That admiration has never really died out. The Haat'ade, Jaster in particular, are proof of that with you.

Din scoffed. "I'm competent at best. Get thrown around more often than I'd like. And I still think you are over exaggerating their fascination with me. I'm hardly interesting."

So you say, vod.

Din felt like he was a child being placated. He elected to ignore Tarre's response. "So then why have a relic legitimize one's right to Mand'alor? Just because someone has that doesn't mean they're fit to lead."

Tarre explained, Mandalore the First made the mask, as you know. He was the Taung who conquered Mandalore. He carved the first ceremonial mask from the sternum bone of a mythosaur in the shape of the taungs' skull. And the legacy of it created its place in legitimizing the right to Mand'alor. When it was lost, a way to distinguish a clear Mand'alor became difficult and caused the splintering of clans. We had become so vastly numbered and varied in species.

Our people needed a way to reunite the clans. And during my tenure, I managed to do so. Which is why my Dark Saber became the new symbol of legitimacy and power. It gave our people something tangible to use as proof of who should be Mand'alor.

It gives our people something to rally around. A symbol that unites us and keeps us strong. It's as much a tradition as it is a legend. And you won the Dark Saber in the most Mandokar way possible: saving your ad from a demagolka. Who wouldn't want to follow a warrior like that?

Din's cheeks pinked at the compliment. Before he could respond to that, he heard the sounds of Grogu rousing. He picked up his helmet and slipped it on. It was becoming more difficult to put his helmet on. He only clung to his creed now out of habit. It was the demagolka he knew versus the demagolka he did not.

Grogu chirped behind him. He got up to pick up the child. It didn't take long to get the little green goblin cleaned up for the morning.

"You ready to get first meal, bud?" Din asked Grogu.

"Bah?"

"I already ate. There's someone I hope is at the mess hall. No stealing people's food," he gave his son a stern look.

Grogu warbled.

"You're lucky most think you're cute. Anyone else would have gotten in a fight," Din warned.

He picked up the data pad to take with him, then stepped out of their room. To his left, the Mand'alor's door swooshed open. Jaster strode out, red cape flaring behind him. His helmet was tucked up under his left arm. He smiled, sincerely, at the sight of them. Din's chest felt hot. He was surprised to realize he really liked Jaster's undivided attention.

"Su'cuy, Din and Grogu."

Din felt giddy at the sound of his name. He'd hated having his name known before, mainly because it'd been given without his permission or he'd been forced to provide it. This time, he gave his name because he wanted to share it. And it made him happy to hear it from Jaster.

It is a delight to hear one's name from a person that we care for, Tarre remarked warmly.

Din cleared his throat. "Su'cuy, Jaster."

"SuuuuK!" Grogu squealed, waving his arms.

Jaster's smile broadened. "That was a good try, ad. We'll have you speaking Mando'a in no time."

The trio headed down the hall together.

"Are you coming to the mess hall?" Jaster asked in surprise. "Did they not bring you first meal?"

"I ate, but there was a wookie I wanted to ask a question. Do you mind if I borrow this data pad a little longer?" Din held it up.

Jaster shook his head. "Keep it. I owe you far more than a data pad." Din started to protest. "It's the least I can do, Din," Jaster assured.

There was that fluttery feeling again. Din nodded in acceptance. "It's appreciated."

"What question did you have?" The Mand'alor asked curiously.

"It had to do with Jedi..."

"Ah... then I know exactly which wookie you mean. Their fascination with the Jedi Order nearly puts my Mandalorian history interest to shame," Jaster laughed. "What brought that on?"

Din glanced over and answered, "I finished the neo-crusaders. I'm noticing the pattern between the Jedi and mandalorians being involved in so many wars. I'm curious why Jedi keep siding with the Republic, Old or current."

Jaster's eyes lit up. "Fascinating subject. I've researched that myself along with the Sith. Three groups of warriors of different beliefs that keep being involved—"

Myles came striding toward them. "Cut it short, Jaster. We have an incoming call." He held up a blinking comlink.

Jaster visibly wilted. He grumbled, "From who, that's so important as to interrupt first meal?"

"Adonai Kryze."

Jaster's eyes went wide with excitement. "Well then, by all means!" He palmed his office door open that they'd been about to pass. "Apologies, Beroya. I'll see you later?" His expression was hopeful. "I'd like to discuss the neo-crusaders and Jedi..."

"Jaster!" Myles grabbed the Mand'alor's cape, tugging impatiently.

Jaster's hand caught on the door jam before he could get pulled backwards. He looked like a fish fighting the hook and being reeled in against its will. He shot a glare backward at his second.

Din couldn't keep the mirth out of his voice. "Yes, later. After mid-day meal?"

"Yes, good!" Jaster's was yanked inward, and his office door swished shut.

Din grinned to himself. Grogu giggled. Tarre snickered right along with the child. Din's face flushed. But he couldn't make himself stop smiling.

In the mess hall, Din quickly grabbed up some fruit and meat for the child. Grogu immediately shoved a large slice of meat in his mouth. Din was relieved to see the wookie from the target shooting drills. They were sitting with some of the same vode Din had already met. Din walked up and greeted them in Shyriiwook.

The wookie's eyes widened, and they grinned. "You speak Shyriiwook?" They asked in delight, their translator changing the barks and growls to Basic.

Din gestured in what was universally understood as a little amount. "I was learning from a friend."

"Oh, who?"

"Krrsantan."

"The heavyweight champion!?" The wookie boggled at Din. The other mandalorians at the table were also giving him wide eyed, amazed looks.

"Is there more than one Krrsantan?" Din asked curiously.

The wookie shook their head. "No! Please sit."

Din sat after a space was made for him. The others shoved down the bench seat without him having to ask. He tried not to over think it. Though Tarre's words at the Haat'ade's fascination with him lingered in the back of his mind. He set Grogu's plate down on the table along with the data pad he'd been juggling.

"I am Nytyku. She/hers pronouns. Call me Ny," the wookie held out her hand.

Din gladly took it. "Good to meet you. Beroya is fine for me. He/him pronouns."

"How can I help you?" Ny asked.

"You mentioned the Jedi the other day. And Jaster said you were knowledgeable about them," Din replied. He scooted Grogu's plate closer before the child could use the Force to drag it. Grogu happily crunched away on a small round melon.

"The Mand'alor would say that. We've talked about the Jedi at length," Ny shook her head and chuckled. "What do you want to know?"

"You said there was one like him," Din pointed at Grogu.

"There are two actually. Master Yoda and Master Yaddle."

Grogu's ears perked up and he chirped.

Din looked down at the child. "You know them?"

"Patu!" Grogu waved his hands, juice dribbling down his chin and claws.

"Good to know," Din muttered while trying to clean the child up.

Ny chuckled, low and rumbling, "What else would you like to know?"

"Everything, I guess. All I know is they run around with plasma light swords and use the Force. They are hard to find where I'm from," he answered.

"Well in that case I think we need to make a trade," Ny crossed her long arms over her cuirass.

Din frowned. "What kind of trade?"

"A sparring match for my research on the Jedi," Ny grinned.

Relief swept through Din. He'd already started getting that resigned, frustrated feeling whenever he was sent on another side quest for a scrap of knowledge. But a spar he could certainly do. He hadn't sparred in far to long.

"Sounds fair," he smirked.

"Oh, you sound very self assured, Beroya. Did you spar with Krrsantan?" Ny teased.

Din shrugged nonchalantly, "I did. He won."

Ny threw back her head and let out a loud, barking laugh. "This will be a treat. Come on then! Let's spar!"

Din shoved up to his feet. He scooped up Grogu along with several pieces of fruit from the child's plate. He followed Ny out to the training yard. He heard people following and looked back. Nearly every Mandalorian in the mess was following them. By the time they reached the yard, Din wondered if the entire Haat'ade had heard and come to watch.

"What's going on?" Jango asked, trotting over with Silas.

"We're sparring," Ny declared.

Din followed her into the arena. Everyone else emptied out to stand by and watch. Jango took the child without Din even asking.

"No weapons," Ny set the rules. "First to tap out loses."

"Agreed," Din nodded.

Both disarmed themselves, leaving their things in a cubby. Din made sure to take off his cape. He didn't need to get tangled up in it (which may or may not have happened when he wrestled Krrsantan.) Jango deliberately placed himself in front of the one Din set his belongings: to include the Dark Saber.

"Do you need to warm up?" Ny asked.

Din shook his head. "I'm always ready."

Ny chuckled. "Let's go then!"

Din dropped into a ready stance. Ny moved first, charging into him. She hit with all the force of the mudhorn he'd barely survived. He managed to catch her arm and use her momentum to sling her around. But she was much taller, heavier, and lanky. Din had fought worse.

They grappled across the arena. Both of them taking each other down to the ground but getting loose. Din misjudged her reach. He found himself hauled off his feet, back to Ny's chest, arms pinned to his sides. He slammed his head backwards catching her in the throat. She dropped him with a pained yell. He landed at her feet only to promptly sweep them out from under her. She crashed to the ground, but quickly rolled to try and gain her footing back. He surged forward to catch her in a sleeper hold from behind. She slammed backward, crushing him beneath her. A pained wheeze escaped him as several hundred pounds of Wookie bore down on him. He wrapped his legs around her, hooking his ankles, and refusing to let go despite his aching lungs. He was starting to see spots. She scrambled at his arms but he held on like a tick. Her hand finally dropped to tap out. A great cheer went up from the crowd of vode.

Din let go with a groan of relief. She rolled off him to flop on her side. Both sucked in great gasps of air into aching lungs. Din rolled his head to look at Ny.

"You fight good," he said in Shriiwook.

She burst into delighted laughter. He pushed up with a wince. He felt like he'd been hit by a speeder repeatedly. Ny rolled up to thump him on the back. He laughed despite the pain. She clambered to her feet then reached down to haul him up. He swayed then steadied. She held her arm out and he clasped it.

"You are a wily fighter. Dinii!" she laughed.

Din shook her hand. "You have a hit like a runaway speeder. I fought a trandoshan you woulda made look weak."

"A true compliment!"

They staggered over to the sidelines to re-arm. The Haat'ade pushed in around them. Din found himself getting praise and admiration from every warrior. He didn't know what to do with the attention. He accepted the handshakes and thumps of the back. Emotion welled up, making his throat and chest tight. He was a young man the last time he'd been praised by fellow mandalorians. It'd been his first successful bounty earned. He'd been proud then. But it paled to this.

Finally, the crowd eased back after Jango started barking out orders to disburse, Din was grateful. The attention, though positive, was overwhelming.

"I believe you had a data pad, Beroya?" Ny asked.

"Yes," Din handed it over to her.

Ny took it. "I'll get this back to you by last meal. Meet me in the mess hall then." Ny reached over to rub her big hand across his helmet in a gesture best meant for ade. "It was an honor, Beroya. I thoroughly enjoyed myself."

Din flushed and muttered in a choked voice. "Thank you."

"We'll watch Grogu, Beroya," Jango assured. "I'm sure you'd like a sonic after that spar."

"Much appreciated."

He hobbled back to his room. It was a feat of determination to strip down, get through a sonic, then flop face down on the bed. He couldn't have stayed awake if he tried. His eyes slipped shut and he passed out for a nap.

Jaster felt thrilled and accomplished. He had talked one of the most important clan leaders, Adonai Kryze, into coming to the challenge. The Duke of Kalevala and leader of House Kryze had called to give his denial of attendance. While Kryze had seen the video that Jaster had sent out showing proof of Viszla's death, the Duke had not been convinced. There were many clans that rallied to Kryze and would have preferred to see him be Mand'alor. Kryze had deliberately stayed out of the civil war. He felt that war would only splinter the clans further.

Jaster hooked Kryze by offering to let the Duke be the master of ceremony. It was to great an honor for the older Mandalorian to turn down. Not to mention, if the Duke did so, he would be placing himself at odds with the Haat'ade. Jaster made an exception for Kryze in the number for allowed guests. Allowing the Duke to bring both his daughters was another incentive. (That and Jaster was very interested to see what Din's reaction would be to Bo-katan.)

The Mand'alor spent the better part of an hour on the comm call. When the call ended, Jaster sagged back into his chair in relief. Myles sighed, long and deep, dropping his head on to the desk across from Jaster. This was a significant backing. One Jaster could now use to convince more clans to attend. The more who saw this challenge first hand the more legitimate his claim to Mand'alor became. The end of the civil war was now a light at the end of the tunnel. It was achievable.

Jaster's comlink pinged with Jango's distinct sound. "Go," Jaster said tiredly after he slapped his comlink to answer.

"Check your messages on your data pad." The com cut off.

"What the...?" Jaster sighed at his son's dramatics. He fumbled for his data pad before forcing himself to to sit up. His eyes widened. "Not again..."

"What?" Myles asked, lifting his head.

Jaster showed him the holovid that just popped in his inbox. He tapped it to play. He and Myles watched in disbelief at the beroya sparring NyTyKu and winning. They swapped amazed looks.

"Beroya is really endearing himself to the Haat'ade," Jaster remarked, pleased with his people praising Din. Even through the holovid, he could see Din was awkwardly pleased but overwhelmed by the attention. It truly was endearing how Din's whole body spoke volumes without saying a word.

Myles chuckled. "I think they're past that. They are full on trying to figure out how to make sure he joins the Haat'ade so he never leaves."

"They're not the only one..." Jaster muttered, feeling charmed by Din when he accepted the rough scruff of Ny's hand on the top of his helmet. Jaster propped his chin on his fist, staring down at the holovid. "He wrestled a wookie and won. Who does that?" He couldn't keep the deep admiration out of his voice.

"Oh you are so gone for him!" Myles crowed. "And he is going to kick your shebs!"

Jaster bit his bottom lip. "It'll be an honor."

Myles shook his head. "You're gonna thank him for it too." Myles shoved to his feet. "I can tell I'm not gonna get another thing done with you in the state you're in."

The Mand'alor narrowed his eyes at his second, but didn't argue. Myles wasn't wrong. Jaster was already hitting the replay.

"Just lock the door please before doing anything untoward to yourself while watching that," Myles suggested, striding toward the door.

Jaster scoffed but couldn't think of a good comeback before the door swished shut behind Myles. Admittedly, he was a little distracted. Bless the vod who recorded this. They captured the moment Din took off his cape from behind. If he let out an involuntary noise of appreciation, there was no one around to hear it.

Din woke up, sore and stiff. He felt a little better rested. But trying to push up made his joints crack like a child's toy glow stick. He shuffled over to his kit to find the pain reliever meds he kept stashed in his belt. He slowly got dressed and re-donned his armor. He checked his chrono. It was edging closer to late meal than past mid-day meal at this point.

He scarfed down a ration bar. He had told Jaster he'd come visit. That was a meeting he fully intended to keep. A few minutes later found him outside Jaster's office door. He hit the call button. The door slide open. Jaster looked happy to see him. Din tried to ignore the fluttery feeling in his gut at the sight of Jaster's smile.

"I don't have my data pad," Din said sheepishly. "Nytyku is uploading Jedi information to it."

"I saw you earned that the hard way," Jaster chuckled. He spun his data pad around for Din to see.

Din stared in surprise at the recording. "People took holo vids of that?"

"It's a small compound," Jaster shrugged. "Apparently my Haat'ade are quite impressed with your skills."

"There's other holo vids!?"

Jaster nodded. " Yes. Several. Again," he shrugged, "small compound... filled with incredibly nosy vode."

Din huffed a laugh at that. He got it. He and his peers used to sneak watch the holo streams of the wrestling matches. All of them would boast about how they would have won a fight against the supposed champion easily. A child's arrogance...

It had been almost a child's dream come true when Din got to spar with the champion fighter, Krrsantan.

"So Neo-crusaders..." Jaster segued.

Din sat in the chair he usually took for their chats, "It was very...convoluted."

The Mand'alor let out one loud guffaw, "Yes. Beautifully understated. It was a messy period in our history."

"I just find it strange to use a relic to prove a Mand'alor's legitimacy. A Mask, then the Dark Saber? It's a strange basis for choosing governance," Din remarked.

Jaster's eyes crinkled in amused delight. "Oh I agree. I'd prefer we vote. But we're a warrior people and that's far to tame. Though one I plan to introduce..."

Din gave the Mand'alor a wondering look. "You'd give up your position?"

"If I was voted out," Jaster replied with a shrug. "I never intended to end up in the position that I'm in. Though it is one I'm honored to hold. But I'd like to retire someday in peace."

"Me too." Din sighed. "Bounty hunters rarely do. Thought I'd go down fighting to my last breath."

"Better than a tragic end," Jaster joked.

He's lucky you saved his life then, Tarre remarked. His end was tragic. He deserved better.

Din swallowed hard. If he hadn't stepped in, Jaster's life would have ended disastrously on Korda 6. Now that Din knew this man, he realized what such a loss had caused the mandalorians.

"Din?"

"I'm...relieved I saved your life."

Jaster stilled. "What would have happened?"

Din's hands curled into fists, "Tarre sent me here to right a wrong."

Jaster sucked in a sharp breath. His face paled and he nodded in understanding. "I'm glad you did. And it has been a pleasure getting to know you and having your here amongst my Haat'ade."

Din felt his cheeks grow hot at the compliment. He dipped his chin in acknowledgment but didn't know how else to respond. Jaster seemed to understand based off the gentle smile he got in response.

"So neo-crusaders..." Jaster stated again to steer them back on track.

Din huffed in amusement. "The most disturbing part of learning all this history is how mandalorians keep being manipulated by these... Sith... "dark Force users". It seems a constant since the rise of the mandalorians. Our people always splinter apart after each great war. And each war seems to be caused by the Sith, which pits our people against the Jedi. Why?"

Sith thrive in creating chaos, Tarre spoke up. He'd been quiet. His sudden input made Din flinch, staring down at the Saber.

Sith want to subjugate the whole galaxy. To conquer it all would be the ultimate show of power. There are not many of them. So they use others to do their dirty work. The kind of work mandalorians thrive at doing, Tarre continued.

"Is Tarre speaking?" Jaster sat forward, expression excited and intrigued.

Din nodded and reiterated what he'd just been told. "There's a pattern to our people's history."

Jaster agreed, "There is. And it's concerning because we seem to be caught in it again. Which is one of the reasons I'm trying to reform our people. We need to be strong on our own. Focus on our sector and our worlds."

"If history is repeating though," Din remarked, brow scrunched in thought. "Who's behind it now?"

Jaster sat back, eyes widening, "Do you think... Sith? They were wiped out though."

Sith will never be destroyed completely, Tarre warned. Both of you are so close.

Din told Jaster what Tarre said. The Mand'alor looked truly alarmed. He stared across at Din, shaken.

"What happened before Korda 6?" Din asked, voice strained with disquiet.

"My Haat'ade have been growing and we have become a legitimate movement. More and more clans are falling in behind me. As of right now, I have half the clans backing me as Mand'alor. A third are backed with Kryze. And Mandalore is the only Pacifist hold it. I am close to securing a united Mandalore that has not been seen in centuries," Jaster explained. "And when we are united we thrive. But we also worry the Republic when we are. I had planned on petitioning the Republic to join them as an allied sector once I had Kryze and his clans backing me too."

And who wouldn't want the Mandalore sector and its vaunted warriors aligned with the Republic? Tarre whispered.

"Sith," Din breathed. "There are Sith trying to manipulate Mandalorians again."

"Because when we're united, we're dangerous," Jaster stated in realization. His eyes caught on Din's T-Visor, wide and startled. "Din... What was the name of the Emperor?"

Sheev Palpatine, Tarre hissed, Darth Sidious.

Din's whole posture stiffened. "Sheev Palpatine. Tarre said he's Darth Sidious."

Jaster's face drained of color. "How does he know?"

I remember every being that has claimed my Saber. Darth Maul's taint still lives with in it. He won it for a time and led Death Watch with it, Tarre explained, And his master was Palpatine... who planned the fall of the galaxy and the rise of the Empire. And one of the first things any Sith does is to destroy any enemy powerful enough to oppose or defeat them.

Din repeated Tarre's revelation to the Mand'alor.

"Manda above," Jaster murmured, scrambling to bring his computer back online. "I know that name... how...?" He tapped furiously. Then he paused. "Din... come look at this..."

Din stood and came around the desk. On the screen was the smiling benevolent face of Sheev Palpatine. It was a news story from the Galactic Herald announcing the successful election of Naboo's citizens. Palpatine had won the votes to instate him as Naboo's senatorial representative in the Republic senate, the same day Jaster should have died on Korda 6. Din looked down into Jaster's ashen face.

Yes! Tarre exclaimed. Now you understand.

"Tarre..." Din swallowed hard around the tight squeeze of his throat. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

Ah... vod, you needed time to adjust and learn. You needed to be ready to comprehend the significance of what you just discovered. Mandalore is at a critical point in history. Jaster's survival was a necessity to give Mandalorians a chance to unite before a Sith destroys our people again.

Din gripped the edge of the desk. He looked down into Jaster's still stunned eyes. "You have to unite our people. Our future depends on it. I think…the galaxy might even depend on it."

Jaster drew in a slow, shuddering breath.

He is the Mand'alor our people need at this critical juncture, Tarre said fervently.

Jaster's eyes squeezed shut. His expression was pained and unnerved. His hands curled into white knuckled fists. Din reached out, hesitated, then dropped his hand on Jaster's shoulder. Din's breath stuttered when Jaster turned his head to press his cheek to Din's gloved fingers. Like this Din could feel the minute tremble in the Mand'alor. Din stayed still, letting Jaster lean on him. Din gripped the other man's shoulder. He felt a sense of wonder that this man not only accepted his support and comfort but trusted Din to show his vulnerability.

Din suddenly new exactly how to ensure Jaster earned the right to the Dark Saber.

Chapter Text

Attendance responses from non-Haat’ade supporting clans had begun flowing in swiftly as soon as Adonai Kryze backed the Dark Saber challenge. Jaster knew it would capture the attention of the people throughout the Mandalore sector. This kind of response though was encouraging and daunting. They were 2 standard weeks out from the event, and Jaster already had 200 responses. Then the Mereel estate would be filled to bursting with mandalorians of every belief and clan, be they enemy or ally. It had been far too long since the last time a public challenge for the Dark Saber had been held. The Viszla clan had kept it to well guarded and passed down through the family's legacy. Jaster had no doubt that the challenge would be the biggest spectacle in perhaps a century.

He was glad he'd set a limit of vode allowed per clan. He and Myles were struggling to work out the logistics of where everyone could park their ships. They had agreed that the clan leaders and one guest could stay in the compound. That meant his own Haat'ade would be displaced from their rooms. The courtyard would end up becoming a temporary tent city for them. All of the planning was headache inducing.

But it kept Jaster's brain occupied from lingering on the alarming fact that there were Sith out in known galaxy hiding in plain sight. Focusing on the challenge, kept him goal oriented and from being overwhelmed knowing Tarre Viszla thought him the best hope for saving their people. He'd also been cleared to start physiotherapy and easy exercises to get his leg strengthened. It wouldn't be much of a challenge if he couldn't at least give a convincing performance. Being able to exercise helped relieve some of the building stress.

He also had not seen Din since the previous morning. That just wouldn't do. Jaster craved more of Din's time and attention.

Since the discussion that revealed Tarre's true reason for saving Jaster, he and Din had seen each other nearly every morning to chat about history (which generally led to personal information being shared as well. Jaster could hardly believe some of the stories Din told him. He truly loved hearing Din's perspective on everything he read too. The beroya seemed even more miffed by the Jedi after reading everything Nytyku gave him). It was the highlight of Jaster's day. Jaster considered it a form of self-care to keep himself sane. He'd specifically set time aside to spend with Din. Maybe it was his imagination or wishful hope, but they seemed to be building a closeness that felt like it held significance. Especially after the tender moment they'd shared...

This morning though there would be no history chat. He unfortunately had to drag the beroya into matters regarding the challenge. He commed Din earlier than their regularly scheduled time. Din arrived moments later with Grogu riding along in his carry bag.

"I hope I didn't interrupt first meal?" Jaster asked.

Din shook his head. "We were done. I was just about to head out to the training yard." Grogu chirped excitedly.

"Ah," the Mand'alor hummed.

Din gave him an expectant look. It was amusing that Jaster could pick up on that despite the T-visor obstructing his face. Din was just so expressive with his whole being. Jaster just couldn't get over it, because it was endearing and charming. Or maybe he just really was as gone for Din as Myles said. Or both could be true...

"I thought it wise to get you up to speed on the arrangements for the challenge," Jaster remarked. 

"Arrangements? It's a simple challenge," Din sounded baffled.

"I wish that were true. How much do you know about the different clans?" Jaster asked curiously. 

Din tilted his head, "Clans were merely family names to my coverts. No one had any more power than any other. There were to few of us to let power struggles tear us apart. Though Paz and Pax seemed to feel differently.” 

"That would make sense. They were Viszlas, one of the most respected clans within the Mandalorians' political standings, which began because of that Saber you carry." Jaster pointed at the black hilt attached to Din's belt. "As such, this is no simple challenge. Tarre Viszla was one of the most influential Mand'alors in our history. He was the one who re-created the Resol’nare as we know it today. His 6 tenets reoriented Mandalorian beliefs from worshiping war to morals that strengthened our families and clans. His Saber was given to the Jedi to retire in their historical hall. It remained there until the Viszlas broke into the Jedi Temple and stole it back. Claiming it was their right since it's a family heirloom and as such the one who laid claim to it was Tarre's heir to being Mand'alor. And since Mandalorians can't do anything without making it a challenge (particularly a violent one) that was also when the rite of combat for the blade arose." 

"I didn't know the significance of the Saber was until after I'd won it in combat," Din remarked. "They also didn't tell me our tenets were made by Tarre Viszla. That would have been nice to know…" His head ticked towards the Saber and he scoffed loud enough to make his vocoder buzz.

Jaster shook his head in disbelief. "It truly is a tragedy, what was kept from you." Something in the line of Din's shoulders made Jaster's heart twinge. "That was insensitive of me."

Din shook his head. "You're right. I just keep learning new things that it seems every other Mandalorian takes for granted knowing." 

Jaster grimaced. "Well I hope I've been filling in some blanks. Though I know we were going backwards through history these last few discussions. And, of course, our long chat about the Jedi. We haven't focused on more recent times. Which hindsight, was probably not as helpful."

"You've been helping," Din assured. "I suppose my next history request should be on more current events."

Jaster nodded in agreement. He decided to switch topics before he could get caught up talking about history…again. "I'd like to give you a tour of my lands tomorrow. I can show you were the challenge arena is being set up." He held his breath waiting for Din to accept. 

The silver Mandalorian was quiet a moment. He finally nodded, "I would like that." 

"Excellent," Jaster sat back, realizing only when he did that he'd leaned forward in eager hope. He was being ridiculous. But he couldn't make himself stop. He finally had the opportunity to get Din away for a few hours—alone. "In the meantime, let me explain how the challenge will play out." 

Grogu made a soft whine. He squirmed in the bag, tired of being ignored. "Baa!" he declared, reaching for Jaster. 

"Buddy, you can wait," Din chastised gently. 

"He's welcome to come over here if he wants," Jaster smiled. "It's been a few days since we got to hang out together, right Grogu?"

The child trilled in response.  

"I enjoy ade. I hope when this civil war ends I can invite the families of my soldiers to join us here. This place is far to solemn without ade running about," Jaster frowned. "The few foundlings we have brought back have all been adopted or we found family members to take them."

Din nodded in appreciation. "Foundlings are the future." 

"Yes, they are." 

"This is the Way," Din intoned, like rout, an instilled response he was to used to making. 

Grogu was handed over. He stared up at Jaster with big, intense black eyes. The child somehow made Jaster feel like he was being measured.

"Patu..." Grogu patted the Mand'alor's cuirass. 

"I suppose you deem me worthy?" Jaster joked. 

"Eh?" Grogn's ears perked. 

Jaster shook his head with a chuckle. "I bet I have something you'd like." He pulled the drawer open to pull out a large strip of jerky, "I always keep snacks. Some days politics keep me nearly chained to my desk..." 

"Bah!" Grogu declared, grabbing greedily for the jerky. With his mouth and hands occupied, Jaster got back to business. 

Din remained disturbingly quiet while Jaster explained the scope of the upcoming challenge. He advised that the Mereel estate would be neutral grounds for all in attendance. No fights could break out or those that caused it would be banned and escorted off planet immediately. It didn't matter if the clans were brutal enemies. The only fight occurring would be the one for the Dark Saber. The day before the challenge, the clans would start arriving. That evening there would be a Gathering: a time for everyone to eat and mingle. The challenge itself would be held an hour after first meal. Then he and Din would be allowed to leave to recover for the feast in the evening. Jaster gave Din a current estimate on the number of attendees.

When he was done explaining, Din said nothing. Jaster waited a moment. "Din?" Jaster prompted.

Orange tipped gloved fingers curled into fists, "You said hundreds were coming?"

"Yes. Possibly a thousand once we close attendance and have the final count." 

A soft sound escaped Din.

One that made Jaster want to offer some form of physical support: a hug, squeeze on the shoulder, anything. "Din." Jaster didn't know what reassurance he could offer. They hadn't touched since the other day. He didn't know what would be welcomed.

"It doesn't change my choice to surrender the Saber," Din was quick to assure. 

Jaster chuffed. "I had little concern of that." 

Din let out an amused sound too. Grogu made a squeak noise, ears wiggling, and smiling around the jerky in his mouth. Jaster petted over the soft fuzz between the child's ears. Grogu cooed happily. Din's hands uncurled. His shoulders relaxed again. 

Jaster realized the best way to distract Din was through his foundling. "I wasn't a foundling per se." He said apropos of nothing to the beroya. "I was born here, but my parents died from an illness that decimated Concord Dawn. I was raised in an orphanage here until buir Mereel adopted me.

After I was banished and when I finally gained enough followers, I came back to Concord Dawn to retake the planet. I was naive. Thought I had a strong enough force to push out Tor Viszla, who had killed the governor and taken the planet for himself. I faced Viszla in battle, and I actually won. I had him on his knees, Saber to his throat, and offered him mercy." Jaster snorted at his own naivety. "He accepted. I turned my back on him to walk away. He attacked me and stole the Saber back. I was wounded, badly, and barely escaped with my life. There was no one else there to witness that cowardly act, because we'd gotten separated from our vode.

I adopted Jango because his parents were killed for aiding in hiding and feeding myself and my surviving vode for days. Tor and Death Watch tracked me to the Fetts' farm. If Jango hadn't helped us escape, I and my few remaining followers would have died. Instead, I survived and thanks to him, was able to retake Concord Dawn. From there, I was able to rebuild the Haat'ade.

Foundlings bring out the best in us," He finished his story thoughtfully and rubbed Grogu's forehead gently. The child caught Jaster's thumb, staring up at him with understanding in his big, depthless dark eyes. It was a look much to wizened for one so young. Jaster wondered what horrors this child had seen.

Din's helmet dipped down to regard the child. "The droid army of the separatists invaded my village, which was small. We had no warriors. My mother was a seamstress. My father a merchant. The droids slaughtered everyone. The mandalorians came from nowhere. I learned later that they had been there to trade with our village. My parents hid me to try and save me. I would've died too but the mandalorians saved me. Only two other children survived. They didn't want to go with the mandalorians. But I did..." 

"Why?" Jaster was curious.

"I never wanted to be so scared and helpless again. I wanted to learn to fight back. Defend myself, and others I cared about, from that ever happening again," Din explained.

"Mandokar from the start," Jaster replied with appreciation. "I felt much the same. After the way my parents died, then I was bullied and beaten while I lived at the orphanage. I wanted to grow up to protect others like me. That's always been what I'm about. No one should grow up scared and helpless if they know how to protect themselves and others." 

Din's fingers curled inwards before relaxing. Quite frankly, Jaster was getting a little obsessed with the beroya's big, gloved hands. Jaster had learned to watch those hands for hints of Din's feelings and reactions. He was not a big talker. But he was so expressive in other ways, like he couldn't contain himself entirely. His emotions eeked out of him in other ways. Jaster felt privileged to be learning these tells. It made him wonder just how expressive the face beneath the helmet was if he never had to learn to school his expressions. 

Jaster forced himself to not let his thoughts run down that skirata hole. 

"Your intentions are noble," Din said after a moment. "They seem to have made you a great leader." 

"You don't think your intentions were noble?" 

Din shook his head. "I only cared about my covert. Keep them safe and fed, while having enough credits to get to my next job. My intentions were selfish for a long time. Until I met Grogu." 

Jaster rubbed the child's back. "Children do have a way of opening our eyes and teaching us important life lessons." 

Grogu yawned and blinked slowly. 

"On that note, I suppose it is nap time," Jaster chuckled. 

He stood up to walk around his desk to hand the child back to his father. Din reached for Grogu. For just a moment, the sleeve of his kute shifted just enough to reveal dusky brown skin. The glimpse was gone a moment later as Din tucked the child into his carry bag. 

"I'll see you tomorrow after first meal. We'll take a speeder for the tour of the estate," Jaster smiled. 

Din nodded. "Until then." 

Jaster watched him leave. The door slide shut behind them. Jaster chewed his bottom lip. Tan skin... Din was human or near human, which answered one question Jaster had. This new knowledge only spawned more questions. 

The more he learned of Din Djarin the more he craved to know. 

 After two standard weeks with the Haat'ade, Din felt safe and confident enough to leave Grogu in their room to nap. He left a comlink on the bed for the child to call him when he woke. Grogu thought it was a fun game to mash the call button until Din came back. Din headed back out to the training yard. He'd promised several vode he met during the shooting practices several days back that he would help them improve their skills.

He found the group patiently waiting for him when he stepped into the yard. They had already set up targets at the far end. Din quickly moved through the fundamentals that had been taught to him. All of them were seasoned warriors. It never hurt to work with a different instructor with a better skill set than their own. It was also good practice to start at the basics and move up from there. It helped them catch bad habits they'd picked up or fix their stance just a little bit but made all the difference in accuracy. Din worked with them for an hour. All of them had improved during his tutelage.

From there, Din moved to the arena to practice pole arms with Jango and Silas (who had just shown up). Jango was rapidly improving. He still ended landed on his shebs more often than not against Din. 30 minutes later, and Din's comlink went off with Grogu squealing loudly in his ear.

"Hey join us for mid-day meal?" Jango asked before Din left.

"Sure," he agreed. "Let me get the child. I'll meet you there."

Din scarfed a ration bar down once he got to his room before taking Grogu to the mess hall for mid-day meal. He was surprised to find Myles and Jaster sitting with Silas and Jango. The Mand'alor and his aide-de-camp had been wrapped up in planning even through the mid-day meal the last several days. Din eased down beside Jango, who'd left a seat for him.

"Welcome, Beroya," Myles grinned in greeting.

Din nodded. Grogu reached his hand out. An orange melon flew off Silas' plate. Din caught it deftly.

"Grogu," Din leveled a stern look at the child. "Ask first."

The child pouted.

"Don't," Din shook his head. "Ask."

Grogu's ears drooped. He looked over at Silas. "Mwep?" He pointed his claw at the melon.

"Sure, Grogu. You can have it," Silas smiled at the child.

Grogu reached for the fruit.

"Grogu…" Din prompted.

"Vooor!" Grogu grinned triumphantly.

"You're welcome, ad," Silas chuckled.

Din opened his hand and the fruit flew out of it into Grogu's waiting claws. "Good job, buddy." Din scratched the top of his son's head. Grogu purred happily.

Din looked back up to see Jaster smiling softly at him. It made his cheeks flush. He focused on mopping up the juice spilling down Grogu's chin.

"You're a very patient buir," the Mand'alor remarked with appreciation.

Myles cleared his throat. Din shifted his attention to the kiffar. Myles pushed a protein shake over. "I saw you working with some of vode today on target shooting."

"I hope I didn't over step," Din apologized.

The kiffar shook his head. "Not at all. I noticed some good improvement from them. You are patient. And a great instructor."

"Oh…thanks," Din replied, taking a sip of the shake after slipping the straw under his helmet.

"I don't know what your plans are after the challenge—" Myles said, ignoring the way Jaster tensed minutely beside him, "But I could use another instructor. We don't really have anyone as proficient in pole arms as you. Your shooting skills are impressive. You also sparred a wookie and won. You'd be a welcome asset."

Din fiddled with the straw. "I don't really have any plans…and no where else to go…"

Myles grinned and looked over at Jaster in triumph. "So, that's a yes?" He focused back on Din.

"I would like too…yes," Din agreed, feeling something in his chest loosen in relief.

They're in no hurry to get rid of you, Din. Quite the opposite. They'd be foolish to let such an excellent warrior slip away, Tarre remarked.

Din believed Tarre, especially with the pleased, happy looks on Jaster and Myles' faces. They wanted him to stay. Jaster had already suggested as much. But to have a role to fill ensured Din had a place amongst the Haat'ade. It felt good to be wanted.

"Then welcome to the training team, vod," Myles leaned across the table to offer his hand.

Din clasped it, grinning, "Thank you."

"Got anymore skills we don't know about?" Jango asked with a smirk.

"I'm a decent sniper. Fairly good mechanic. And I enjoy piloting," Din told them briefly. "I'm proficient in Tusken, both sign and speech. I can converse decently in Huttese, Jawa, and Twi'leki. I'm working on my Shyriiwook." He shrugged.

"I'm beginning realize you under sell your skill sets," Jaster chuckled. "And if you enjoy piloting…I'm a little concerned what that means…"

"I had a modified N1-Nabooian star ship I helped rebuild that got left on Mandalore," Din said a little bitterly. "I'm not used to being grounded."

"Clearly not, if you run around in something that can out pace everything in my fleet," Jaster remarked with a wry smile.

"Doesn't sound very conducive to bounty hunting," Myles said in consideration.

Din hummed. "Made it work. I had a Razorcrest prior to the N-1. That was my home for over a decade."

"What happened to it?" Silas spoke up.

"She got blown up," Din could not hide the sorrow that welled up at the reminder. Grogu let out a sad sound too. "Yeah, it was your home too." Grogu gurgled and patted Din's arm. "Thanks, buddy." Din patted the child gently on the back.

"Sorry about your ship. But can we go back to you speaking Tusken?" Jango's expression was deeply skeptical. "How did you learn that? They're such a violent people."

Din shook his head. "They're actually very close to Mandalorian ways and beliefs. Or at least my covert's…" Din tapped his fingers against his cup. "I learned it when I was left on Tatooine for my verd'goten for 2 months. I nearly died. They picked me up, saved my life, and I lived with them for several weeks. I also learned my pole arms skills from them." He took a long sip of his shake when he was done talking.

The looks of horror, bafflement, and sheer amazement seemed to be the general consensus of the others while they processed what he'd just told them.

"They left you on a hostile planet at 13 unsupervised!?" Myles gaped at the beroya.

Din nodded. "Yes. I almost stayed with the Tuskens," Din shrugged. "It was a harsh life but it wasn't dull. They have a strong sense of community. Every one has a role and supports the tribe. I ended up going back to the covert. They needed a hunter. My verdgoten proved I was fit for the role. I swore the creed soon as I returned and was apprenticed to our covert's beroya at the time."

"You never cease to amaze," Jaster remarked in wonder. "It'll be a privilege and an honor to have so skilled a hunter on our training team."

"I appreciate that," Din replied, feeling like a horde of butterflies took off in his stomach. It was new and different to be appreciated for his skills. His own covert acted like he was doing them a service and never thanked him. He stayed because he was needed. The arrangement had felt normal. But now having been around mandalorians who seemed to value his presence, the way he'd been treated by his covert felt demeaning.

He was finally somewhere he felt like he truly belonged.

Chapter Text

Din wondered the next morning if maybe it'd been a mistake to agree to go alone with Jaster on a tour of the Mereel lands. 

They had left right after first meal. This time Grogu was being watched by Nytyku. She'd been delighted to have the tiny ade for the day. It had been funny to see Grogu nearly swallowed up in Ny's big hands. Din hadn't been worried to leave his son behind. 

Din had been looking for the chance to spend time with Jaster. Each day with Jaster had only raised his admiration. He felt that he was setting himself up for disappointment. Jaster seemed to like him, but Din was unsure if there was mutual interest beyond that. The Mand'alor had touched Din a few times, but he seemed a touch oriented person. That didn't make the touches Din had received anything special. Jaster had been open with his personal history. He was a straight forward, to the point kind of person from what Din had seen. Being open with Din seemed a way for Jaster to put them on equal standing since they met. 

Except for yesterday when Jaster had divulged about his own childhood. He seemed to tell Din, because he simply wanted too. And it had made Din like him more. They had commonalities that few in his covert had shared. Whenever Jaster willingly gave stories of his life, Din felt like he could reciprocate. He'd told Jaster more about himself then he had ever revealed to anyone. Din actually wanted to divulge, because he trusted the other man. Jaster also didn't treat Din like his creed was lesser or an abomination. If anything he was fascinated. 

As Jaster drove them around his acreage, he pointed out places of import to him. Fields he played and trained in. Irrigation ditches he used to swim, fish, and wade through. Thickets of trees and shrubs his buir had taught him survival skills and land navigation. He explained more of the history of the Mereel land and the compound. 

 "Looking back, it's almost unbelievable how far I've gone," Jaster admitted. "I never dreamed of becoming Mand'alor. I was given the title by those who believed in me and the Codex I've created. We should adhere to contracts we make and have honor in the way we fight. I never would have guessed my actions and morals would start a civil war. All I ever wanted was to be proud to be Mandalorian. To uphold the code our very culture and society were created by. I want to bring back the respect of our people from the rest of the galaxy." 

Din listened with rapt interest. Jaster was inspiring but he also reminded Din of himself. Since meeting Grogu, somehow just trying to protect the child had caused him to make friends and create allegiances between people who had once been enemies. 

He thought of Cara Dune working along side Migs Mayfeld: former rebel and former imperial. Thought of Cobb Vanth and the Tuskens: deeply entrenched enemies finding commonalities and building a stronger community for both peoples. Of Boba and Fennec: loners who teamed up with Din too. All of them wildly different people who had found a common goal helping Din save and protect his son. 

"You've gone quiet on me, Din. Care to share your thoughts?" Jaster pulled Din from his musings with a gentle touch to his elbow. 

Din found himself wishing that touch had reached his skin. He took a slow breath. He ached to know how those fingers, calloused and scarred, would feel. He swallowed hard. Despite his normal reticence, he found himself sharing the thoughts that had been cycling through his mind moments ago. 

Jaster smiled in understanding. "It seems we are not so different. We didn't crave leadership but it found us anyways. Maybe you'd make a better Mand'alor than you think." 

Din found himself actually hesitating to scoff for once. 

He sees the same qualities the Saber and I do, vod, Tarre's praise made Din awkwardly pleased.

"I am curious about something," Jaster remarked. 

Din looked over, waiting for the Mand'alor to continue. 

"Did you ever have dreams of being something else? Something other than bounty hunting?" Jaster glanced over.

That made Din have to pause and think. It reminded him of Greef Karga offering him a plot of land. He hadn't expected the sudden gripping desire he'd felt then to settle down. Have a true home, a place to call his own, and raise his clan. His parents had that once. He'd been born into a happy family. Before the droids came, he'd gone to school and played in the afternoons. He remembered vaguely that his uncle had been a mechanic. Din had enjoyed spending time in his shop.

"I think I would have made a good mechanic," he finally said after some time had passed. He appreciated that Jaster hadn't tried to rush an answer out of him. "My uncle had a shop. I remember spending hours there. He taught me a little."

Jaster smiled. "I'm sure my vode that work in the mechanic shop would always be happy for an extra set of skilled hands."

Jaster slowed the speeder and brought it to a halt. They were stopped on the edge of a large meadow that sloped inward all the way around like a bowl. In the center, several mandalorians were working to the clear it out and build an arena. Din followed Jaster's example when the Mand'alor climbed out to walk to where the slope began.

"We will fight here. Those who come to watch can sit on the slopes. It should easily hold the possible numbers we are predicting to come view the challenge," Jaster told Din. He pointed to the surrounding fields. "The visitors ships will be parked surrounding the meadow. Myles and I are figuring out where certain clans should park. We want to ensure the tensions stay to a minimum. Certain clans have to be kept separated due to feuds and bad blood. But I think we'll have plenty of space to accommodate everyone."

Din felt nauseated at the thought of fighting in front of so many. He was not used to that level of attention. And the idea of so many Mandalorians gathered in one place seemed nearly unbelievable. Even the less than 200 warriors at the compound was intimidating. He unconsciously flexed his fingers. 

Gathering in such large numbers went against everything he'd been raised to uphold: Secrecy, only one out in the open at a time. His covert had been attacked soon as they revealed themselves. That so many could gather without fear was an utterly foreign concept. Bo-katan had told him the covert's ways were extreme. But those very beliefs had kept them safe for so long.  

"Are you nervous, Din?" Jaster's voice once more pulled Din from his spiraling. 

"Among other things," Din admitted. 

They stood for several long, silent moments. 

Jaster was the one to break it. "Din..." The silver mandalorian turned his head to regard Jaster. "Are you sure you want to be one of the training instructors?" 

Din scrunched his brow out of sight. "Yes, I think I'd enjoy it."

"You're sure you don't want to go somewhere else?" The Mand'alor asked, sounding hesitant.

Din shrugged. "I don't know the galaxy as it is now. The covert is not mine. My future is gone. I can't go back." He wondered why the Mand'alor was asking him. He thought he was wanted… "I'd rather stay here…if that's alright?"  

"You should stay..." Jaster cleared his throat. "I'd be...pleased if you did." 

Din stared at the Mand'alor in confusion. What did Jaster mean? 

Tarre's laughter made Din grit his teeth. He admires you, Din. 

"I know I mentioned joining my Haat'ade before. If you want…" Jaster continued awkwardly. "I just don't want you to feel like you have to or feel forced."

He'd like to join with you, Tarre teased. 

"He isn't interested in me like that," Din scoffed quietly under his breath. He muted the mike on his vocoder so his voice didn't carry outside of his helmet. 

Ah, Din, how do you not see it? 

Din hooked his thumbs in his belt. "How're you seeing it? He's not given me any indication. Why wouldn't he want another capable warrior in his service?" 

Tarre's voice was disbelieving. You do not hear how he just asked you? Like a nervous tween to his crush. 

Din huffed. "I think you're hearing what you want." 

"Din?" Jaster prompted.

"I would be honored to stay and join the Haat'ade after the challenge," Din unmuted his mike and found himself answering. It was what he truly wanted. 

"I'm glad to hear that," Jaster smiled at him, looking relieved and happy. 

Din flushed. The Mand'alor was truly handsome when he smiled. Was it possible this man wanted Din like Tarre implied?

Jaster chewed his lip thoughtfully for a moment. "I know you left everything behind when Tarre brought you to Korda 6. None of us have every asked…" He wet his bottom lip. "I know you have your foundling…"

Din gave him a baffled look though the Mand'alor couldn't see it.

Jaster huffed a laugh like he could see that look though. He cleared his throat and continued, "Were you married or promised to someone? If you left someone behind, I can tell the vode to respect—"

"I wasn't," Din interrupted. He swallowed hard, thinking of Boba and Cobb. There had been…potential. And a want. "There were two that I'd thought to court…but…" He shook his head. 

"May I ask who?" Jaster ventured, voice gentle and eyes empathetic.

Din dropped his arms back to his sides. His fingers curled into loose fists. "Cobb Vanth was the sheriff of Mos Pelgo on Tatooine. We were...close. I trusted him with my life. The other…was Boba Fett. I swore to fight alongside him to the death. He only had to ask…"

"Oh, Din…" Jaster sighed sadly. 

He reached out and somehow found the small gap between Din's hand guard and kute sleeve. Din sucked in a sharp, stunned breath at the touch of warm, callouse rough finger tips pressing to his skin. His stomach felt like it did a somersault. A myriad of emotions welled up, fast and choking, in his throat. His heart hammered. Jaster shifted a little closer. Din couldn't move if he wanted too, held in place by the barest of touches.

"I know it's painful to lose someone you care for," Jaster said softly. "And if you need someone to talk to…I hope that I can be someone you trust…"

Din swallowed thickly. "You are," he managed to get out, voice strained from to many emotions trying to choke him.

A small, pleased smile from the Mand'alor made Din have to desperately quell the urge to press his helmet to Jaster's forehead.

"Would you…" Jaster wet his bottom lip, "Be open to courting… if someone asked you?"

Din's eyes went wide. There was no way… He forced himself to nod: just a slight dip of his head.

"Maybe…after the challenge, it'd be easier to consider…" Jaster looked testingly hopeful.

"Maybe then…I would consider it," Din heard himself say. He felt like his head had gone kinda fuzzy like when the dark trooper punched him repeatedly.

Jaster nodded, dark eyes bright and intent. "Good to know." His fingers brushed lightly over Din's skin, making every hair stand up along Din's arm and every fiber of his being focus on that small touch, before he withdrew his hand. 

Din had to bite back the soft sound of disappointment at the loss.

"We should head back." Jaster set that same hand on the small of Din's back, somehow finding the space between his back and butt plate. 

Only Din's kute kept him from feeling that touch. It made his stomach fluttery feeling like when several G-forces hit him at once. He grit his teeth at Tarre's knowing laugh. He let himself be steered back towards the speeder. 

Believe me now, vod?

Din wasn't sure, but he was more than halfway convinced.

You both will drive an old Force ghost mad with your awkward yearnings. Why else would he ask you about courting?

"Maybe he just wanted to make sure I hadn't just lost my spouse and wanted to know I had his support," Din grumbled.

He was met with a guffaw. Din sighed. He was getting really tired of hearing Tarre laugh at him.

It wasn't his fault he was clueless about courting. He'd never gotten the opportunity to try. He hadn't even wanted to until the last year. He'd never learned to flirt or understand how others showed their interest in each other. Omera had been the most forth right in her interest. He'd appreciated that approach. He couldn't trust that he was reading things the right way with Jaster.

He wanted to believe Tarre's judgment. He was just worried to try and then be rejected. 

I am looking forward to the end of this challenge just to see what the future holds for the two of you, Tarre's smirk was clear in his voice.

Jaster and Din got back into the speeder and headed back towards the compound. This time, they just passed the ride in contemplative silence. Din's wrist felt like it had been branded. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the phantom feeling of Jaster's fingers on his skin. He found himself rubbing his thumb over the patch of skin the Mand'alor had touched.

For the first time, Din allowed himself to dare to hope that Jaster was just as interested.



Jaster was so elated he doubted anything could bring him down. He'd practically gotten a yes from Din that he'd be open to courting him after the challenge. Now all Jaster had to do was wait. And for the first time, waiting seemed like torture. If it was one thing Jaster had mastered over the past 20 years of his life, it was patience. But Jaster had never met anyone he'd ever wanted like the beroya. He was no stranger to dalliances. That was all he ever made time for until now. Because he didn't just want Din for something fleeting. He wanted a lifetime with Din.

And Myles was right, Jaster was very far gone on the beroya. But Jaster was never gonna tell his friend. He'd be heckled the rest of his life. Myles loved holding embarrassing information over Jaster. Which was just typical because they'd known each other for 20 years...and courted briefly. But that'd been a disaster. Their friendship had survived partially out of spite and the fact that they did love each other. Just not IN love with each other.

And Myles found Jaster's awkwardness with Din utterly hysterical.

Jaster glanced over to see Din touching his wrist almost reverently where Jaster's fingers had lingered. The possibility that he'd been the first to touch the beroya there since he'd taken his creed made Jaster giddy. He had to force himself to concentrate on steering lest he end up running them into an irrigation ditch.

That was about when the land speeder decided to start smoking.

"Osik!" Jaster cursed, bringing the speeder to a slow stop. "You'd think I'd know better than to take this old girl out." He sighed, patting the steering column. "She's probably as old as me…Belonged to my buir. I'm a little sentimental about her."

Din hummed in understanding, vocoder buzzing a little. "I felt the same about my Razorcrest. Is there a tool kit in here?"

"Should be. Behind my seat," Jaster replied. 

Din twisted around to look. He reached back to grab the tool kit stashed in the back. He climbed out, toolbox in hand, and popped the hood of the speeder. He immediately saw where the smoke was coming from towards the back of the engine.

"Looks like some fried wires. I think I can splice them back together long enough to get back. They definitely need replacing," Din remarked, leaning over to inspect the damage.

Jaster bit his lip, eyes not at all on the engine. "I wonder what caused it. I'm not much of a mechanic, myself."

Din tried to lean further in but his jetpack caught and clanged loudly on the hood. "Dank farrik," he grumbled. He straightened up to reach over his shoulder to pull his cape aside and detach his jetpack. "Can you put that in my seat?"

Jaster cleared his throat. "Of course." He took the jetpack. He blinked in surprise. "This thing is light! Is it fully fueled?"

Din nodded. "It surprised me too. The armorer perfected the design. It's durasteel with a thin lining of beskar over the front to protect it. It's taken a blaster bolt or two with no issue."

"Impressive." Jaster quickly deposited it in the speeder. 

When he came back around, Din had removed his cape and was using it as a drop cloth on the rim of the speeder. He'd leaned back into the engine bay, pliers in hand, and already working at the tangle of burnt wires. His dark kute was stretched perfectly over his pert ass and lovely thighs. Jaster's whole body felt flushed. An involuntary sound of appreciation slipped out him. The Manda was bringing him nothing but good luck today…

"Did you say something?" Din looked back over his shoulder.

Jaster coughed. "Do you need help?"

"I need the hand welder."

"Right. Sure," Jaster swallowed around the sudden dry patch in his throat. He quickly fished the needed tool out of the box. He sidled in beside Din to hand off the welder. He took the pliers Din held out for him to take. 

"See right here…" Din pointed with the welder. "Can you hold those two wires together so I can solder them?"

Jaster reached in, one arm overlapping Din's. "Like this?" He asked, taking the wires.

"Yes, like that," Din's voice sounded warmly pleased. "Ok, now whatever you do, do NOT let the red and blue wires touch. Great…now hold steady. Might want to close your eyes since you don't have your helmet on."

Jaster slammed his eyes shut as Din fired up the welder. It only took a moment or two for Din to splice the wires together. Jaster's breath stuttered when Din's big hand wrapped around his own to ease his fingers further out of the way. 

"Keep holding right there," Din instructed. Another moment passed with the scent of ozone and burnt wire. "I think that should do it. You can let go. I think I've got it from here. I'm just going to zip tie these together."

Jaster opened his eyes and looked over. He was startled to find himself only a handful of inches from Din's T-visor. His mouth went dry. There was a hot pit of desire pulling in his gut and heading south. Din's hand squeezed Jaster's. 

"You can let go," Din's raspy voice sounded strained.

"Right, sorry," Jaster let go and reluctantly eased back out of Din's way. He didn't think he was imagining it when Din's fingers lingered on his own. He pushed up and promptly banged his head off the hood. "Haar'chak!" He hissed in pain, eyes watering. He wilted forward, clutching the back of his head.

Din turned his head abruptly to see what happened. The crown of his helmet banged right off Jaster's forehead. Tears sprang to Jaster's eyes and an undignified yelp escaped him. He reeled back. Din caught him by the elbow to steady him.

"Are you alright?" Din asked, sounding horribly apologetic and guilty.

Jaster groaned. "I think my pride is hurt more than my head," he lamented, pressing a hand to the back of his head. "See…this is why I was never a mechanic. I'm an academic!" A raspy low laugh burst out of Din. It made Jaster grin then wince. "Thank you, I'll be here all week," Jaster joked.

"Don't do an encore. You might end up concussed. And take it from someone with far to many of those…they're not fun," Din's amusement was clear in his voice. "Turns out beskar helmets don't prevent them."

"To many kov'nyn?" Jaster snarked, trying to ignore the throbbing in his skull from two different points of pain.

Din chuckled. "Some of those. But worse still my helmet nearly got bitten off by Boba's rancor. Had a dark trooper droid try to punch through it. Those are two most memorable and recent concussions."

"What the kark, Din?" Jaster stared at the beroya.

Din shrugged sheepishly. He used his hold on Jaster's elbow to gently steer him around to the side of the speeder. Jaster leaned back against the door. Din fumbled in his pouches. He pulled out some pain meds and pressed them into Jaster's palm. Din leaned over to grab the canteen. Jaster took it and gratefully swallowed the pills. He searched through his pouches to pull out a small tube of Bacta gel.

"Would you do me the honor?" Jaster jested, holding out the tube.

Din took it. "I suppose I should since I caused one of your injuries," his tone was perfectly deadpan.

"Oh, I like you," Jaster sighed in appreciation at the cool spread of bacta gel over the welt forming on his forehead.

Din scoffed good naturedly. He urged Jaster's head down so he could smear some bacta on the lump there. Din capped the bacta tube then handed it back. Jaster hung on to Din's fingers, bacta tube between their palms.

"You know if you wanted a kiss," Jaster heard himself saying, "All you had to do is ask."

"I think you might actually be concussed," Din replied, sounding a touch breathless.

Jaster shook his head and cringed. "I'm not, and I meant it."

Din's fingers squeezed around his before withdrawing. Jaster fumbled to hang on to the bacta tube. "Good to know…" Din retorted. He swallowed audibly, looking down and away. He clapped a hand over the Dark Saber a moment later when it vibrated on his belt. "Stop it!" Din hissed at it.

Jaster bit his lip. "What's Tarre saying?"

"Nothing!" Din grit out. "Let me close the hood and grab the tools." He turned away sharply.

Jaster grinned. He had the distinct impression that the Dark Saber and maybe Tarre Viszla was pulling for Din and Jaster. It would explain the other odd times Din had sniped at the Saber. The hope brightened in Jaster. 

Din came back a moment later. He stowed the tool box behind the seats. Jaster let himself enjoy the view before Din straightened back up.

"I don't think you should drive back, just in case," Din stated.

Jaster didn't try to argue. He walked around the speeder and climbed in. He hefted the jetpack up before plopping into the seat. Din climbed in, handing Jaster the folded up excuse of a cape. A few moments later, they were back speeding towards the Mereel compound.

Jaster perused the cape. "You know…I think we have new capes or at least fabric to make another one, if you'd like. This one has more holes than fabric."

A chuckle slipped out of Din. "I'm a little sentimental about that one."

"Fair enough," Jaster relented. He was quiet for a few minutes. The compound came into view. He looked over at Din, who'd gone silent, "I'm glad we were able to do this today."

A moment passed.

"Me too," Din said almost to quiet to hear over the speeder engine.

Jaster smiled to himself, small and pleased.



"Hope you enjoyed your time out this morning," Myles remarked when Jaster walked into his office. 

Myles was sitting at Jaster's desk, going through the parking grid. He'd been changing it with each new RSVP they received.

Jaster gave his friend a deadpan look. "I did, thank you." 

"I enjoy watching you make up reasons to spend time with the beroya, "Myles teased with a knowing smirk. 

"They're hardly made up," Jaster crossed the space between them and sat across from Myles. "He needed to see where the challenge would take place and the logistics." 

"Jaster." 

The Mand'alor stopped talked. 

"What the hell happened to you?" Myles arched an eyebrow. 

Jaster sagged back in his chair. "Some wires fried in my speeder—"

"I told you that you need to scrap that thing," Myles interrupted.

The Mand'alor ignored his second. "The beroya fixed it. I may have been distracted—" Myles snorted. Jaster powered on, "And I lost track of the hood. The back of my head found it. And the beroya accidentally gave me a kov'nyn trying to see if I was alright."

Myles looked amazed and deeply amused. "Really?" 

"Elek."

A snigger escaped the kiffar.

"No, go on, laugh all you want," Jaster gestured at his friend to continue. "Because I got almost a guarantee that my courting offer would be accepted."

Myles eyebrows arched. "Seriously?"

"Mhm!" Jaster looked smug. "It's worth the lingering headache."

"Did he explicitly say that?" The kiffar pressed.

The Mand'alor chewed his lip. Sometimes, he couldn't stand how well Myles knew him. "He said maybe after the challenge he'd consider it." He frowned when he thought back on the conversation. 

"Did you state your intention to ask to court him?" Myles pressed.

Jaster looked down. "Not completely…"

Myles snorted, "How are you so blunt and upfront about everything but this? Your brain gets scrambled around him. That's all I can conclude."

Jaster glared at the kiffar. "I don't want to scare him off!"

"The both of you deserve each other. Clueless and hopeless," Myles stood up. "What's going to be your excuse to spend several hours alone with him tomorrow? While your actual work piles up?" 

Jaster sighed in defeat, trading places with Myles. He dropped into his desk chair. He stared resentfully down at the data pads and piles of flimsi on his desk. He had not signed up for the amount of bullshit flimsi work that came with this position. Finding ways to avoid boring busy work, like acquisitions requests, had been nice the last few days. 

He pulled the nearest data pad closer. "I suppose I should catch up..." 

Myles chuckled. "Needs must, Mand'alor." 

"You could be less cheerful about it. Especially since this one falls under your expertise—" He handed the pad across to Myles. 

"Why did I ever agree to be your second in command?" Myles grumbled. 

Jaster shrugged with faux innocence. "Manda knows, it's not for the pay." 

Chapter Text

Jaster stared down at the list of verified attendees to the challenge. One hand was buried in his wavy black hair that he swore was getting 50 new silver hairs a day from stress. His other hand was occupied with his stylus, holding it up so he could chew on the end of it. 

He was ensuring last minute details for the umpteenth time. The compound was stocked and ready for all the incoming visitors. Rooms had been assigned to each clan. The mess was prepared with plenty of food and drink. The tent city had been erected in the courtyard for his vode yesterday. The squads were all assigned to each tent. They were set to move in the following day.

"We're three days out from the arrival of attendees," Myles was saying. "So far only a handful of clans have declined due to illness or other events. This is incredible. It'll be the most clans in one location in centuries."

Jaster nodded in agreement. "It's more than I ever could have guessed." There was so many feelings ricocheting within him: amazement, anxiety, fear, excitment. Everything he'd dreamed was suddenly within reach. He'd been working towards this goal so long. It had become a distant belief, like faith in the Manda. Intangible but drove his every action. Now suddenly it was reality.

"Jaster?"

The Mand'alor looked up at Myles. "Elek?"

His second was scrutinizing Jaster. "Are you ready?"

Jaster thought about it. He tapped his stylus against his bottom lip. He eyes skimmed the list he was persuing. "Everything is as prepped as we can make it. Our vode will be doing security. The last of the supplies should be here today. Tomorrow, we'll finish organizing it all. Squads have all been assigned their areas and rotations.
The arena is finished. I think—" 

"That's not what I meant," Myles interrupted. He gave his friend an exasperated look. "Are you ready?"

Jaster blinked. His brow scrunched in confusion. 

Myles shook his head in disbelief. He leaned forward in his chair. "You nearly died a month ago. Your leg would have been a loss if not for the beroya's jetti ad'ika. I've seen you doing PT every night after late meal. Are you reasonably well enough for this challenge?" 

Jaster worried at his bottom lip with his top teeth.

"I know you, Jaster.  If you aren't, we can postpone," Myles offered. "Your health matters more than this challenge."

Jaster drew in deep, steadying breath. "I'm ready, Myles. The medic cleared me. I'm fighting fit." He caught Myles' worried gold gaze. "I'll be alright, vod."

Myles nodded but didn't look entirely convinced. "Alright." His fingers tapped an off beat tempo on his cuirass. "And what about the actual challenge? Have you figured out what you're gonna fight with and how to ensure it's equal and fair?"

Horrified realization slide icy down Jaster's spine. There had been so many other issues and factors. He hadn't considered what Myles just proposed. It was like figuring out all the details of a battle plan without considering the weapons needed. He was not usually like that. But he hadn't wanted to think about fighting Din. And he'd nearly sabotaged this fight by blocking out this one fact.

"Jaster," Myles shook his head. His tone and expression made Jaster feel like a chastened child.

"I know... I will today," Jaster assured glancing at the chrono on the wall. It was nearly late meal. He tapped a quick message on his comlink and sent it. A ping rang out less than a minute later. "Beroya's outside the compound."

Myles scrunched his brow. "Why?" 

"He's training with Grogu," Jaster smiled down at the message.

The kiffar snorted, "When did you two share com codes?"

"Yesterday." Jaster shrugged, trying to appear blaise. "Just in case."

"Uh huh..." Myles smirked.

"Don't you start—" Jaster warned. He pointed empathetically.

He was interrupted by the sudden loud alert of his comlink that only came from the communications room. It was the warning of an off planet com call. Jaster frowned. He wasn't expecting anymore clan leaders. They'd accounted for everyone they expected to come.

"Go for Mand'alor," Jaster answered.

"Unencrypted call from Concordia. Verified identity: Pyk Viszla. Do you wish to accept or decline the com?" The vod manning the comm room supplied. Their tone was flat, professionalism as required for radio ettiquette.

Myles' wide, gold eyes caught on Jaster's stunned face. "Tor's son!?"

"Accept the com. Patch it through," Jaster stated seriously.

"Acknowledged. Patching com call now."

The comlink screeched static for a moment. Jaster set his comlink down to allow the holo feature to engage. A moment later, the blue holo of Pyk Viszla's face popped into view. The severe expression and hawk like features of Pyk's visage were clearly inherited from Tor, who had not been a handsome man.

"Mereel," Pyk acknowledged snidely.

"It's Mand'alor Mereel," Jaster corrected firmly.

"I don't acknowledge that title since you didn't earn it by any means formally acknowledged by Mandalorians. You have neither the Mask or the Dark Saber. You're a warlord like Kryze, no matter the backing you claim to have," Pyk spat hatefully.

Jaster hummed. "It seems you rehearsed that, Viszla. Did you call to fling accusations or was there a reason?"

Pyk's eyes narrowed angrily. "I will be attending the challenge. I want to see the sha'buir who murdered my father and stole the Dark Saber."

Anger snapped through Jaster. "Watch your language and behavior, Viszla. If you attend, you will maintain neutrality or be summarily removed and barred from returning." 

"I know the rules!" Pyk snarled.

"Then adhere to them," Jaster commanded sternly. "It's this kind of petty behavior that divided our people. I will not tolerate it. Will you honor the rules of the challenge?" 

Pyk bared his teeth a moment. He visibly reigned in his temper. "I will adhere."

"And do you have another accompanying you?"

Pyk paused. "No.."

Jaster kept his reaction to that response from showing on his face. Had Death Watch verde deserted the young Viszla? "You will not be given a room in the compound since you are not a clan leader. Be sure to bring your own accomodations." 

"How dare you!" Pyk exploded. "I am the clan leader of Viszla and House Viszla! Direct descendant of the great Tarre—!"

"You are not the eldest Viszla to whom that title falls as custom dictates," Jaster interrupted, tone deadly calm. "Your uncle still lives, Tre Viszla. And he has confirmed his attendance. You may take up the right of clan leader with him after the challenge and not on my lands or on Concord Dawn for that matter."

Pyk's expression was livid. He seemed to have lost his words while he sputtered to respond. Jaster carried on with little care to Pyk's state. "You are lucky I am allowing you to attend at all because of your status. But I am making an exception since it was your father, who was the clan leader of Viszla. Do you still wish to attend?"

Pyk's jaw worked, visibly grinding his teeth. "I will attend."

"Excellent. You may arrive one standard day before the challenge. Please ensure you ping our comm center when you arrive. You will be informed where you may land. As is tradition, a gathering will take place that evening. You are welcome to participate," Jaster replied, coolly professional.

Pyk's eyes narrowed. "Vor'e," he grit out.

"It's good to see you have some manners," Jaster smiled, like one would to a small child who behaved well. "We look forward to seeing you." He cut the call before Pyk could say another word. He was deeply amused by the infuriated look on Pyk's before it winked out. 

"You petty bitch," Myles burst out laughing.

Jaster smirked smugly. "That felt truly satisfying." He stood up and strutted around his desk. He shook his cape out so it flared out around him. "And with that, I have other matters to attend too."

Myles scoffed loudly. "Oh, of course. I think you missed your true calling. You would have been an excellent stage actor."

Jaster huffed and swept towards the door. "You're just jealous. You'd never be able to pull off the level of flair needed for this position."

"I'm sure that's all I'm lacking for that position. I'll concede it gratefully to one far more appropriate," Myles smarmed. He gave Jaster a sly smirk. "Give the beroya my kindest regard and that I'll be happy to be his aide-de-camp when he wins the challenge."

Jaster shot his friend a faux betrayed look. He slapped the door release and stalked out with his cape swishing out dramatically. Myles' laughter was cut off by the abrupt swish of the door shutting. 

The Mand'alor strolled through the halls. He slipped out the door that led to the grounds behind the compound. When he stepped out the sun glared aggressively in his eyes. He cursed, and hastefully stuffed his helmet on. A few seconds later, the HUD flared awake and the visor adjusted for the sun. It was rout to check the HUD's systems and statuses.

A moment later, he continued on his way. He found Din with Grogu, Jango, and Silas. Several vode were playing botchy ball on the court not to far away. A few vode were out tending to the gardens. Most of the produce the Haat'ade ate was grown there. It gave many vod a calming place to work with their hands while helping out.

Din was watching Grogu, Jango, and Silas throw a botchy ball between them in a flat area. They were arranged in a loose triangle with enough space between them to pose a small effort in tossing the ball for Grogu. Jango threw an under handed toss. Grogu missed it. Din caught the ball when it got past Grogu. The beroya tossed the ball to his ad. Grogu had gotten distracted by a butterfly. His inattention caused him to get hit in the head. The child cried out in upset, dropping to his bottom to clutch at his head. Din crouched down to pry the imp's little hands out of the way.

"Lemme see, Grogu," Din said firm but kind. The child dropped his hands, looking petulant more than hurt. "You're fine. There's no welt or red mark. Let's get back to practicing."

Grogu's eyes welled up with fake tears.

"Stop." Din shook his head. "Crying only makes pain worse."

Grogu's ears wilted. "Eh?"

Din smoothed his hand over the child's fuzzy head. "It's ok to cry. But if you fake it no one will believe you after a while. And real pain can make you cry. But it makes it all worse because your eyes itch, your head throbs, and your body tenses. You can always cry later after you take care of yourself."

Jaster smiled in empathy. He remembered the same lesson. In the orphanage, unless you were bleeding or about to die, you didn't cry or go to the medic. It was a tough lesson. But a necessary one. A warrior could not cry in battle. Pain could cause an opening for another to cause harm. It was best to end the fight then tend to wounds and cry after it all. 

"Patu?"

Din picked up the ball and held it out to Grogu. "Go on. You're fine." He patted the child on the back.

Grogu took the ball. It hovered it in the air before it abruptly zipped towards Silas.

"Good job, kid!" Din's smile was obvious in his tone. He rocked forward on his toes to praise the child with a fist bump.

Jaster sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of dark brown curls peeking out from the edge of Din's helmet. He swallowed hard before stepping forward. "Beroya?"

Din looked up from where he was still squatting. Jaster was so glad his bucket was on so no one could see his face. Because Din looked beautiful down there almost on his knees. Jaster's brain temporarily went to static. All the blood in him rushed south. It was everything he could do to ward off getting hard.

Focus, focus, focus! he chanted to himself. Don't think of orange tipped gloves on his hips. Or dark brown curling waves of hair or dusky tan skin.

He'd come out here for a really important reason...

"Yes?" Din's raspy voice prompted.

"May I have your time... for a few minutes," Jaster cleared his throat. "I have some thing rather important to discuss."

Din pushed up to his feet. "Of course."

Like this, the beroya was just an inch or two taller. The effect was as devastating to Jaster as only moments before. Din was tall enough, broad and strong, that he could move Jaster easily if he wanted. Jaster was definitely sweating now. It'd been a long time since he reacted so viscerally to another person. It was catching him off guard. Jaster had to force himself to step back.

"Do we need to go inside?" 

"No, over there's fine," Jaster gestured at the bench in the shade.

Din followed after him once he assured Grogu was alright to continue playing. Jaster sat down, but even in the shade he still felt overly warm. The beroya dropped down next to Jaster. Din tilted his head toward Jaster the way he'd come to realize was expectation.

"I apologize for interrupting," Jaster started. Din shrugged nonchalantly. Jaster continued, "I realized I neglected figuring out the details of our challenge."

Din's head cocked further to the side like a baffled bird. It made Jaster smile in delight. "Isn't that what you and Myles have been doing?"

"Those are details. I mean our fight. We need to set ground rules and ensure it takes place as fairly as possible," Jaster explained.

Din snorted. "Thought you needed to win it in combat. That rarely has rules or fairness."

"True but this is different. It's a spectacle as well. People are coming to watch the show. Like when people pay to go to a fighting match," the Mand'alor explained.

Din scoffed in amusement. "Last match I went to the gym owner shot the Gamorrean he bet on because it was losing.

Jaster shook his head with a snicker, "I assure you that won't happen here."

Din huffed with skepticism. "What rules are you suggesting?" Din asked.

"No jet packs."

Din hummed. "I've been wondering why you don't have one."

Jaster shrugged, and admitted ruefully, "I get motion sick."

"Ok," Din nodded. "No blasters."

Jaster agreed unhappily. "There goes my bayonet rifle."

"What?" Din's voice was skeptical surprise. 

"I modified my rifle with a vibroblade attachment on the upper. So if my charge dies, I can still stab people," Jaster grinned proudly.

Din chuckled and shook his head. "Why not just get a disintegration rifle?"

"I couldn't afford one. And now I'm just sentimentally attached to my bastardized rifle," Jaster shrugged. "Wait, you had a disintegration rifle?"

Din dibbed his chin briefly. "I inherited it from my mentor. It blew up with my ship." He sighed sadly. "It was my favorite weapon."

"Hells, it'd be mine too, but we're getting off track," Jaster forced himself to get back on topic. "No capes." Though he feared for his attention during the match. 

"Agreed. No vibroblades."

"Sounds personal."

"It's how I beat Paz when he challenged me. I don't want a repeat of that."

Jaster let out a humph before continuing. "That leaves me with only a few choices. No kad or pole arm in the compound is going to hold up to the Dark Saber."

Din nodded. His fingers tapped on his thigh plate. "And I have to use the Saber."

"Must."

There was thoughtful silence between them for several moments. 

Din spoke up. "Use my spear."

Jaster stilled. "You'd allow that?" 

"It'd be fair to use since it's beskar," Din reminded.

Jaster grinned, "I like that idea." He tapped his fingers against the chin of his helmet. "But don't give it to me before hand. I'll ask for it at the start."

"You're all about the show," Din chuffed, amusement evident in his voice.

"I wanna make this fight worth it," Jaster agreed. "So no one can say it wasn't done right." He chewed his lip in consideration. He hoped Din wouldn't get offended by what he suggested next. "Speaking of a show, I'll make sure to get you some armor polish. And I would suggest you either wear a new cape or don't bring it at all."

Din scoffed in disparagment.

"Din, right now, you're rightfully the
Mand'alor. You must look the part. Our people will be watching. This challenge will be live streamed around the sector. You might not want the Saber but while  you do, all eyes are on you," Jaster advised.

Din's hands curled into fists. "I hadn't... realized..." His voice sounded strained with stress.

Jaster's hand made an aborted attempt towards Din. He didn't know if his comfort would be wanted in so public a place. He offered instead, "I know and I've been trying to shield you much as I can. But it's now time to face what we will be required to do." 

Din nodded but the tension in his shoulders told it's own story.

"When it's over," Jaster reminded, "The Saber will be out of your hands and you can truly settle in here with your new role. We just gotta get through this."

Din sighed. Jaster decided to take his chances and reached out to set a hand on Din's arm. That silver helmet ticked towards him. He leaned forward and to his surprise, Din leaned in too. Their helmets were only a hand span apart. Jaster's breath stuttered. 

The closeness made Jaster dare to say, "After this challenge, we can look forward to the future. And what that means for us," Jaster swallowed and wet his bottom lip. Din seemed to sway just a little nearer. But Jaster held himself back from pressing his helmet to Din's. Now wasn't the right time for courting offers. Jaster swore he'd wait until after the challenge. So he tacked on hastefully, "And your place within my Haat'ade."

Din's shoulders drooped a little, almost   like disappointment. "Right," He straightened abruptly. "Was that all?"

Jaster's stomach dropped. He'd messed up. "Yes." He scrambled to find a way to explain himself. Apparently not fast enough.

"I'm gonna go back to Grogu." Din stood up brusquely. 

Jaster's hand dropped off Din's arm. "Of course," Jaster nodded. He stood up quickly, brain still scrambling to fix the blunder he'd made. One just wouldn't come. "I'll let you be."

Din started to stride off.

"Din," Jaster called, because he couldn't let this cause a rift. "Are we still good to talk tomorrow?"

The beroya paused. His chin dipped in clipped nod. "Yes. I'd like to learn more about the Pacifists on Mandalore."

"Alright." Some of the tight anxiety eased a little in Jaster's throat and chest. 

He could fix this...



Din laid staring at the wall in bed with Grogu curled up against him. He couldn't sleep. He kept turning the conversation over from earlier in his head. For a moment, Din had believed Tarre about Jaster's feelings. The Mand'alor had seemed like he was referring to a future with them: together. And for just a moment, Din had been elated and so hopeful. Then it was shattered a bare second later.

Talk to me, vod, Tarre's voice was gently quiet.

"I am tired of being seen as simply a tool for others to use," Din confessed, like ripping off a bandage that had stuck to a blood soaked wound. But now, that wound laid raw and open to the elements. It could be treated and healed or fester and spread. He'd never had anyone close enough to him to share his deepest thoughts. But since he met Tarre, he'd been able too. And it had been the same with Jaster... or so Din thought. There was trust and knowing between them. Din had felt safe to open up finally. But apparently Jaster was no different then so many others Din had met.

"I am a bounty hunter," Din murmured. "A tool for hire. I know and expect that from those that employ me. But there were some I let myself trust and get close too. They were my friends. I believe that." He took a deep breath and sighed it out. He paused to think how to put his thoughts into words. "Even with all of them, there was a transactional undertone. I understand that's how friendships work... give and take." He rubbed gently over Grogu's back to calm himself. "I think Jaster is my friend. I just...hoped it would be different with him…And it's not."

Tarre sighed sadly. I know you've lived very isolated, Din. That it is difficult for you to believe me. But Jaster does not think of you that way. It was not his intention to imply such a thing. I sensed his regret soon as he said it.

Din wanted to accept that. But past experience, had taught him what to expect from others. Din just couldn't believe Tarre. He was tired of hoping and losing. He knew logically that it was deep in the night, he was tired, and any thoughts that stirred up now should not be trusted. But there was to much repetition to this pattern for him to ignore.

"Even you used me without explaining your intent," Din let the accusation slide out. It was bitter to say aloud. But it had been a thought niggling in the back of his mind. 

You are right, Tarre agreed. 

Din flinched at the truth. 

I did the same to you as so many others have, and for that I deeply apologize. I can only offer an explanation for my actions if you wish to hear them.

Din blinked. So few ever offered to do that. But those that did were the ones he trusted the most. "Yes. I'd like to know."

It has been a thousand years since my death, Tarre remarked. And I've watched the fall of my people. I could not leave until I knew that Mandalorians would survive and thrive once more. When you came to my statue, I had hope. I see in you an unselfish desire to uphold our tenets. A true believer in the Creed you swore too.

I knew you could unite our people. I understand you don't believe that. But I sensed in you the courage and faith to save our people before we are all but lost.

Din swallowed thickly.

When you refused to accept my Saber, I was... angry and desperate. I could not lose the opportunity that had appeared to me. The Force willed you to find me. I believe that. I could not let you leave and forsake that chance.

When you named Jaster, I realized there was a way for you to still help our people. I did not explain because I was afraid you'd say no. So I brought you here without your explicit consent. I took you from a life you knew, friendships you'd forged, and a hopeful future. I thought it a fair price to pay for the survival of our people.

Ni ceta, Din Djarin. I acted selfishly cruel and unfitting as a Jedi Master and Mand'alor. I regret not giving you the choice you rightly deserved.

Din closed his eyes. He breathed out around the tightness that gripped his chest and strangled his throat. It all made sense now. Relief and grief tangled within him. He'd lost what might of been with Cobb and Boba. His future had been altered and the what if's could haunt him. But he'd never been the type to dwell on such things. He'd been taught not too. The past was gone. He could only do his best in the present with the information he had.

"Vor Entye. I release you from any debt," Din replied, raspy voice strained with to many mixed emotions. "You paid it by explaining yourself."

You're an honorable man, Din.

Both were quiet for a moment.

Give Jaster a chance to explain as well. I believe he will, Tarre urged.

Din nodded. His trust in Tarre had been strengthened by the once Mand'alor's explanation. "I will." Because he couldn't stop making himself hope for it.

Good. Now rest, vod. You will need it in the coming days.

Din found his eyes slipping shut again. And this time sleep came much easier. It felt like an invisible warm blanket draped over his body and mind. 

He slept deeply.

In his dreams, Jaster sat beside him on that bench with their fingers laced together. It was peaceful. Din felt safe, wanted, and trusted. Jaster's fingers squeezed gently.

In his dream, Din was exactly where and with who he wanted to be.

Chapter Text

Jaster slept terribly. He kept cringing every time he replayed tacking on the Haat'ade part in his conversation with Din. In that moment, it made logical sense, but the way Din's shoulders dropped and his abrupt flat behavior after was branded on the back of Jaster's eyelids. Jaster had never meant to imply he only wanted Din as a verd. Jaster knew the beroya had been treated like an outsider in his own covert. From the stories he'd shared, more often than not Din was treated as means to an end. He was only useful so long as he did what was asked and played by others' rules, which often got manipulated or were meant to cause harm from the beginning. Jaster never wanted Din to believe that was how he saw the beroya. It was everything Jaster could do not to go to Din's room to explain in the wee hours of the night.

Dawn finally crept over the horizon. Jaster flung the covers off, pulled on a clean kute and his boots, before stalking out to the kitchen. He made himself extra caf, extra strong. He'd need it for this day. There were so many details he needed to attend too. But not until he fixed the harm he'd caused. When the caf was ready he poured it into a travel mug, grabbed a ration bar, and headed to his office.

Once there, he sent a ping to Din's comlink, requesting his presence after first meal. He received an acknowledgment. Jaster sighed and set the com aside. He got busy checking the supplies for the feast after the challenge. He startled when the door chimed. Din strolled in soon as the door swished open. Jaster swallowed at the sight of the silver Mandalorian.

Din folded his hands over his belt, like he was awaiting orders. "Yes, Mand'alor?"

Jaster's stomach flipped. Din had only been this distant and aloof in the first debrief. Jaster hated to hear the tone now and knew he caused it. Myles was right, damn him. Jaster needed to be upfront and clear like he was about everything else to Din too. He welcomed Din in and gestured for him to sit. Once Din was seated, Jaster stood up. He came around his desk to drop into the chair next to Din. The beroya's helmet turned to regard Jaster. He said nothing, waiting on Jaster. The Mand'alor looked down at his hands, wetting his bottom lip.

"Din, I realized I said something that deeply upset you. For that, I want to apologize," he looked up into Din's T-visor, "I never meant to imply that the reason I want you here is just to be a verd in my Haat'ade. It's the opposite..."

That silver helmet tilted in that confused Tooka way that made Jaster fight a smile. "What'd you mean?"

Jaster took a deep breath. "Could you face me, please, so I can explain?"

Din considered it before shifting to accommodate Jaster's request. It put them nearly knee to knee. And for some reason, that was when Jaster realized he'd left off his kit. He was only in his plain black kute and combat boots. The sleepless night and worry had left him discombobulated.

"I appreciate that," Jaster said, "Because I want to say this to your face." He was trying to ignore the way his heart was tripping into overtime. This could either go wonderfully or horrifically bad. So he attempted to explain to the best of his ability. "I've been putting things in a mental box to address after the challenge. The Sith being one of them. The other is... you."

That silver helmet dipped downward but Din stayed quiet.

"I'm selfish, Din," Jaster confessed. "I want you here for myself, even if you never join the Haat'ade. I've enjoyed all our talks and time together. I feel honored whenever you share your personal history. I'm humbled you said I was someone you trust." Jaster reached out hesitantly before setting a hand over one of Din's. "I was trying to do the honorable, fair thing to wait until after the challenge before bringing this up. I didn't want to give even the slightest impression that I'd manipulate you for my own gain."

Din fingers twitched under Jaster's hand. "What'd you want from me?"

His voice remained flat and distant. But there was a touch of something else. Enough to give Jaster the will power to continue.

Jaster swallowed thickly. He looked straight at Din's T-visor. "I want to court you," he forced himself to say: open and painfully honest. Because he'd never been good with his "tender" feelings. But Din needed frankness, and deserved clarity.

Din sucked in a breath so sharply his vocoder buzzed. "Oh..." his voice was almost to quiet to be picked up by his mic. Every muscle had tensed in surprise. He looked ready to fight or bolt.

"Ni ceta, Din," Jaster pleaded. "Please don't answer right now about the courtship. Just... just think it over. I didn't want to add more pressure or worry to the challenge. I can wait," Jaster spoke quickly before the beroya could say anything. He looked down at his hand resting on Din's. "But a hint of the answer would be appreciated so I don't have another sleepless, anxiety ridden night," he tried to lighten the tension with an awkward smile.

Din was still and silent for another long worrisome moment. Then he huffed softly. His fingers shifted so that they were holding hands properly. Jaster bit his lip. A moment later, his breath stuttered and heat burst through his chest like a star exploding. Cool beskar touched his forehead and pressed gently. Jaster's eyes fell shut. He leaned into the mirshmure'cya with a shuddering sigh of relief and elation. Jaster had lived through so many highs and lows but he knew that for the rest of his life this would be the single sweetest, romantic moment he'd ever experienced.

"Vor Entye," Din murmured just loud enough for the vocoder to pick up.

Jaster let out a shaky breath of relief. He pressed back a little harder. Din squeezed Jaster's hand in response. They stayed that way for several moments.

When the door chimed, startling them apart, Jaster had never been so resentful. Myles came bursting in juggling 3 data pads and a travel mug of caf.

"I swear to the Manda, that when this karking challenge is over, I'm taking a 10 day vacation. I—" He stopped short. His eyes narrowed shrewdly at their entwined fingers.

"Did I interrupt?"

They snatched their hands apart like tweens caught kissing in a dark corner.

"Was there something you needed, Myles?" Jaster prompted irritably.

"Yes, there is, as I was saying—" but the Kiffar cut himself off. He glared furiously. "Why don't you have your kit on!?" Myles demanded to know. "We are still at war, Jaster! Karking stars above in the Manda!"

"I didn't sleep well," Jaster shrugged, feeling defensive. "Didn't think about it. I just managed to make caf and stumble in here."

"Well, go put it on! We have shit to do!" Myles barked. "Beroya, I need you to clear out your room. Last minute adjustment. Adonai Kryze is taking it. You'll be in tent—"

Jaster scoffed then snapped angrily. "He'll be taking the spare room in my suites. He's not going to be made to sleep with the vode where he can't take his helmet off in peace!"

Myles blinked. He stared open mouthed at his friend. He was rarely met with Jaster's true temper. "I... I guess that works too."

"Do you object, beroya?" Jaster asked a touch worriedly. His brief anger vanished in the wake of concern.

The beroya shook his head. "No. I appreciate the consideration for my privacy."

"I'm glad," Jaster smiled. "C'mon. I'll show you where you'll be staying. Do you have anything you need to get in your room?"

"Just my datapad and Grogu's things."

Myles stared at them in baffled intrigue. His eyes narrowed and glinted with knowing. Jaster ignored him. Whatever the kiffar thought he was sensing, Jaster was not going to play into it.

Jaster and Din stood up and strode out of the office. Din ducked into his room to grab his few things. They continued on to Jaster's apartment.

They stepped into a foyer that opened up into a spacious living room. It was an open floor plan, simply decorated, with a sitting area arranged around a holo screen attached to the wall. A dining table was to the left with enough chairs for six. The kitchen was further to the left past the table. To the right was a hallway that Jaster led Din down. There were three doors on the left side of the hall and one at the very end facing them.

Jango stumbled out of the first door on the left, yawning. He froze at the sight of them. "Whaaat...?"

"Slept in, Jango? What kept you up so late...ah, good morning, Silas," Jaster's grin grew at the red cheeked young mandalorian.

Both young adults looked mussed and bleary eyed.

"Buir... don't," Jango warned.

Jaster held his hands up in surrender, "I've no objections. I'm just glad the walls are sound proof."

Jango flushed brightly, "Stop!"

Silas groaned in embarrassment.

"Congratulations," Jaster couldn't resist.

"Buir!"

"I'm done," Jaster assured. He gestured back at Din. "Beroya will be staying in the study for a few days."

Jango smirked. "Just a few days?" His mouth snapped shut at Jaster's warning look.

The Mand'alor let the teens pass before leading Din down the hall. He opened the last door on the left, which he'd made his study. He stepped into the room with Din following closely. He gestured at the futon couch. "That folds down into a bed. I'll make sure to get fresh sheets. The fresher is between your room and Jango's. You'll have to share with Jango." He waved at a door to his left. "That door leads directly to the 'fresher. Just ensure the other doors are all locked so you can get cleaned up without worrying about your privacy. I hope this is suitable?"

Din nodded. "Better than a communal tent and fresher. Vor'e."

"It's no trouble. I'm happy to have you a little closer," Jaster couldn't keep the giddy smile off his face. "My room is the one at the end of the hall...if you need anything. You're always welcome."

Somehow, Din managed to look bashful. He nodded briefly. He set his data pad down on the desk along with a stuffed frog and change of clothes for the child.

"Sadly, I do need to kit up and take care of several minor but annoying details before tomorrow..." Jaster sighed.

"Anything I can help with?" Din offered.

Jaster's chest warmed. "Yes, but you might regret asking."

"I'd rather be busy today," Din replied, fingers drumming briefly on the desk in a small show of nerves.

"Agreed." Jaster turned to leave the room. "Give me a few minutes, then we can go back to my office. By the way, where is your ad?"

"Ny was happy to take him. I think she's hoping to be his ba'vodu..." Din joked in his usual dry manner.

Jaster grinned. "I'd not put it past her, she loves ade." Jaster paused before reaching out to slide his fingers into the gap of kute and gloves to find Din's skin. The beroya stilled. Jaster saw the minute tremble his touch caused. The responding flash heat of desire made Jaster a touch breathless, "We'll pick this up again after the challenge?"

"Yes," Din sounded stunned and just as breathless.

"Good..." Jaster bit his lip. He forced himself to leave the room. He felt giddy and elated.

Last night had felt like the worst kind of hellish uncertainty. But he'd do it all over again just for that Keldabe kiss and Din's response to his touch. No matter what happened after the challenge, he'd ask to court Din properly.

And he now knew beyond a shadow of doubt, he'd get a yes.

Din set at the desk in the spare room of Jaster's apartment. He had a small can of polish, a rag, and a cup of water. He was working on polishing his kit. The current piece was his cuirass. His helmet sat off to the side but within easy reach.

Grogu slept soundly, curled up in the middle of the bed. His little snores let Din keep track of the child's sleep. Nightmares were unfortunately still common.

Polishing his armor kept Din's hands occupied while his mind wandered. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. It was like whiplash comparing last night to this one. It had been strange to walk in to find Jaster in nothing but a plain black kute. The Mand'alor had looked as though he hadn't slept at all. His wavy black hair was a curly mess. He looked like just an exhausted, anxious man, much like Din had felt last night. It was endearing to know that he wasn't the only one upset their chat had ended so poorly. Din had quelled the urge to sooth the Mand'alor like he would Grogu when upset.

Jaster had explained himself, just as Tarre had thought, and told the truth. His desire to court Din had been the most startlingly good thing that had happened since he'd been sent here. It had also been Din's first mirshmure'cya. The moment had been peacefully intimate. He felt like he could still feel Jaster's answering pressure against his forehead.

I am glad for you, vod, Tarre's voice no longer startled Din.

Din's cheeks pinked. He didn't know how to answer, so he stayed silent. He rubbed polish with gentle care over the Karta'beskar embedded in the center of his cuirass. As he did so, he murmured his remembrances for his parents, the vode lost from his covert and Korda 6, and all those that had helped him through the years that had died.

"Do Mandalorians really go to the Manda, marching on?" Din found himself asking.

Tarre hummed in consideration. Yes, in a sense. The Manda and the Force are the same concept just with different names. It is in all of us, just as we are with in it. It connects every living thing, woven like the finest silk made of stardust and the very atoms of the universe. We are all bound to it. We are all One and the One is in all of us. When we die, our souls return to it. We are rejoined with all who came before us. And so we live on infinitely. As we learned in the Jedi crech as ad'ika: I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me.

Why do you ask, vod?

Din wiped the polish gently off his cuirass. The beskar shone brightly in the soft light. Din stared down at his own reflection, somewhat warped by the curve of the metal. His hair was over grown. He'd need to find some trimmers tomorrow. His facial scruff was becoming more gray with every passing day with the same bald patches on either side of his jaw he'd had since he was a teen. To his own eyes, he looked worn and tired. Din never put much thought into what he looked like. His helmet was his face in every way that mattered. But Din wondered would Jaster like what he saw?

Din swallowed. All his thoughts spilled out at once. They'd been cycling through his mind for days. "If I forsake my creed like I did once before...am I still Mandalorian? If I swear to another creed because it suits me better is that a betrayal to how I was raised? Will my soul still find the Manda?"

You ask a lot of serious questions, vod, Tarre joked lightly then sobered. The answer is yes to the first, no to the second, and yes to the last.

Din frowned in annoyance at Tarre's flippant response.

Let me explain. Stop giving me that look, Tarre's voice was deeply amused. It is not the creed that makes a Mandalorian. It is the soul. There are many Mandalorians that claim to follow the creed, but never truly believe. It is rout to them. There is no faith to it. They can recite the words but never follow them so they were never true Mandalorians.

As I mentioned already, we all return to the Manda. You need not fear that.

You have always been mandokar once you started on the path to be Mandalorian. You believe in the Way with a tenacity and faith of very few I've ever known. The creed you follow makes little difference because of your belief in the Way.

And the Manda has always sung within you even when you were unaware of it.

Shock ricocheted through Din. He stilled. "What?"

A light saber is a Jedi's weapon. The crystal within sings to the one who builds it. You've heard the pearl within the Saber. Only those who have some affinity to the Manda or Force can hear it. She has always responded best to those who hear her. To everyone else, she's just a sword made of laser light.

"So I have the Force?" Din wanted to scoff but couldn't.

How often have your instincts saved you?

Din thought of all the harrowing dangers over the years. The way he could pilot his ship like he was part of her: knew just how far to push and what she was capable to handle. Thought of the first time he touched Grogu's finger and knew deep in his soul that the child was significantly important to him. He'd never bonded with anyone the way he had with Grogu. He seemed to know what the child was saying or needing without words.

Yes, Din. That is the Force. Did it stop when you took off your helmet?

Din shook his head. In fact, he'd leaned more into his instincts. Fell back on the one thing he knew he could trust. "So I could be a jedi?"

Tarre chuckled. No. You are much to old for them to allow into the Order. But you can train to hone your trust in the Manda more closely, to hear it more easily. You'll never have powers like the child. But something closer to the kiffar, Myles.

Din hummed in consideration. He picked up a vambrace to clean next. "Could you train me?"

I could, yes. But once the Saber leaves your possession our ties will be severed, Din.

For the first time the prospect of losing the Saber pained Din. But he knew he couldn't be Mand'alor. It was a sense: a knowing. That path was not meant for him, but for something else. It would hurt to lose yet another person Din had grown close too. He would do what he'd decided must be done.

I know you have chosen a way to surrender the saber, Tarre remarked.

Din nodded. He kept working polish over the metal in his hands in soft circles with the rag.

Is that why you are asking about your creed?

"Yes."

I will miss you, Din. You have been one of the best to ever lay claim to this blade.

Din blinked past the sudden tears in his eyes. "Thank you. I will too," he murmured.

A soft knock on the door caught his attention.

"Din?"

A burst of warmth exploded in Din's chest at the sound of the Mand'alor's voice. "Yes?"

"I have something for you."

Din set down his polishing rag and vambrace. He picked up his helmet.

"You don't have to open the door all the way," Jaster assured as if he could hear Din's reluctance to put the helmet back on. "I can just pass it through."

"Ok," Din set his helmet down and went over to the door. He disengaged the lock. He tapped the door release then stopped the door once it slide open a few inches. He made sure to stand far enough back so there was not chance he'd be seen.

Jaster's hand slipped through holding a folded clothe bundle. "I got the tailor to make this for you."

Din took it gingerly. He unfolded it then shook it out. He gasped. His fingers tightening on the maroon cape in his hands. For the second time in the span of a few minutes tears blurred Din's vision.

"Maroon," he breathed out. "To honor my parents."

"'lek... it felt fitting,"

Din smiled slightly. "Maroon was the color of my first kit. Durasteel cobbled together. Painting it was the first thing I did."

"So I did good?" Jaster sounded hopeful.

"Yes. Good. Vor'e." Din answered quietly pleased.

A sigh of relief escaped Jaster. It made Din smile a touch wider. Because now he could hear that nervous tone Tarre had told him. Warmth spread through Din: a feeling of deep appreciation and admiration. Jaster's hand curled around the edge of the door.

"I'm glad you like it," Jaster's voice was happy.

Din didn't know what possessed him. But such a kind, thoughtful gift deserved more than words. He draped the cape over his arm. He tugged his right glove off. He paused only a moment before wrapping his fingers around Jaster's. The Mand'alor's startled gasp made Din bite his lip. The feel of the other man's hand in his caused a myriad of sensations and emotions in Din. Jaster's skin was warm and dry. There were gun callouses over certain fingers. His palm was rough. Din's heart rate spiked when Jaster's thumb swept over the back of Din's hand that he could reach.

"I wish I could kiss you again," Jaster whispered, voice full of longing. That longing echoed in Din: an ache he had little experience in. The Mand'alor continued, "But I don't want to let go so you can get your helmet. And honestly, I really like hearing your voice without the vocoder."

Din swallowed thickly. "You do?"

" 'Lek. It's warm...kind."

Din's whole being felt like he swallowed the sun: hot and bright. He'd never felt this before. A pleased, giddy thrill he didn't quite know what to do with. He didn't know what to say either. He settled for squeezing Jaster's hand.

"I should let you get some rest," Jaster sighed reluctantly. His thumb swept back and forth over Din's skin.

Little sweeps of pleasure traveled up Din's arm and his gut swooped. "You need sleep too."

"Right. Tomorrow it begins," Jaster muttered.

"Yes."

"Can I...?" Jaster started and stopped. "You trust me?"

"Yes."

Jaster drew Din's hand carefully through the gap in the door. He uncurled Din's fingers. A moment later warm breath washed over Din's palm. Din gasped at the soft press of Jaster's lips to his palm. Desire was a starburst lighting up every nerve. Din's heart raced. It was over far to quickly.

"Good night, Din." Jaster drew back.

Din pulled his hand back into the room. "Goodnight, Jaster," He managed to whisper.

He hit the door release to close it with shaking fingers. He hated the sound of the lock engaging in that moment. He curled his fingers around the lingering feel of Jaster's kiss. He reluctantly left the door to return to the desk. He sat there staring at his helmet, right hand curled in front of him on the desk.

It was a while before he got back to polishing his armor.

Jaster laid in bed with his left hand pressed over his heart. The same hand that had held Din's. Jaster hadn't intended to gift the cape until tomorrow. He'd been headed to his room to shower and sleep. But he'd heard Din talking, to low to make out what, yet clear enough that it was obvious his helmet was off. The difference made Jaster a little weak in the knees. Din felt safe enough in Jaster's apartment to fully relax. It was humbling. Jaster couldn't walk away.

No, he was greedy.

The desire to hear Din more closely had Jaster spontaneously in motion before he fully realized. When he knocked he held his breath, waiting anxiously. His heart beat in double time at Din's answering voice. Jaster stared up at the ceiling replaying the whole scene. His fingers curled on his chest at the memory of Din's big, bare hand wrapping around his own. That hand had been so soft and un-calloused from nearly a lifetime spent in gloves.

That gift of trust was more than Jaster could ever repay. His gifted cape paled in comparison. But Din had sounded so pleased and grateful. Hearing his gentle, raspy voice nearly made Jaster have to lean against the wall for support. He'd wanted to give Din something in return for the trust. The kiss had been inspired. The gasp he heard in response about melted Jaster's insides.

Jaster was past gone. He was bucket over shebs for this mandalorian. He didn't know exactly when it happened. It almost felt like from the very start. But Jaster was to logical for that. But there was no logic in the way Din had seized Jaster's affection.

Myles would be sick with laughter if he heard Jaster say so. His second had told him whoever he ended up with was going to be a special person indeed to put up with Jaster. And Jaster prayed it would be Din.

His eyes drifted shut. Sleep crept over him. The last thought he had was of the touch of his lips to Din's bare palm. All he wanted was to kiss Din for real.

Soon, he promised himself, just be patient a little longer.

Chapter Text

The first ship of mandalorians that came for the challenge arrived a little after first meal. Din stood outside the compound, watching them fly over. That ship was the first of many. Grogu followed the progression of ships with big curious eyes, cradled safely in Din's arms. Din lost count after a while. The overwhelmed feeling rose with each ship. How many would there be by tomorrow morning?

Once we were thousands strong, Tarre's voice whispered to Din. The force ghost sounded deeply saddened. We were the greatest Warriors the galaxy ever knew. People feared the sight of us. We conquered and slaughtered for power to create our own empire. But we picked the wrong allies. The Sith betrayed us in the end. Being associated with them put us in danger with the Republic, and so the Dral'han happened. Our empire fell and we lost our way.

Din nodded, recalling the history he'd been reading.

Mandalorians have risen from the ashes many times. We are a proud, strong people. But we need someone to keep us united lest we fall apart once more, Tarre subsided into silence.

Din thought of Jaster. The man had skill, prowess, intelligence, and a burning conviction that inspired others to follow. He was the right man to unite the clans.

He needs someone at his side to help inspire unity, Tarre remarked. Someone from a different creed to show the others who resist that Jaster's Codex is the most honorable choice.

Din's mouth thinned before answering. Jaster's declaration to court Din had caught him by surprise. Tarre's "Was I not right?" had rung distantly in Din's ears. It was a serious commitment and an honor. It also meant that if Din accepted he would be tied to the Mand'alor and the politics that Din was desperate to avoid.

Another small gunship flew overhead. Din's eyes narrowed at the shriek hawk symbol emblazoned on its side. Death Watch had arrived.

"I was surprised that Death Watch came out of hiding for this," Jaster's voice startled Din.

Din looked back to see the Mand'alor striding up beside him. Jaster's black and red armor was freshly polished. His red cape was as bright as blood on fresh snow. He was wearing his helmet and was dual armed with a blaster on each hip. The hilt of a vibro blade was tucked in the top of Jaster's left boot. Overall, he cut an intimidating figure.

Din liked it… a lot. He had not seen Jaster completely kitted and armed since they arrived at the compound. To see him like this was a stark reminder that the man was a Warrior to his core. Din would follow this Mandalorian without question, because he could sense Jaster's resolve and fierceness. The Mand'alor was ready for anything.

"We will need to show proof of Tor Viszla's death," Jaster stated, crossing his arms over his chest. "To many question the validity of the holo I sent out."

"Do you still have his head?" Din inquired.

"Yes."

Din shrugged, "That should be good enough."

Jaster chuckled. "Gruesome but effective. Though perhaps a bit much for children."

"We are a Warrior people."

"True."

A pair of single pilot starships flew overhead.

"Hmm... Clan Wren. Allies of clan Viszla," Jaster rubbed a hand over his mouth, "I only hope no battles will break out on my lands. Death watch is notorious for not following traditional rules like neutral boundaries being upheld. Which is ironic since they preach about returning to the Mandalorian traditions of old."

"It appears they will be heavily out numbered," Din remarked.

Jaster nodded. "They are predictable in their tendencies to flee or use cowardly techniques to win when things aren't going their way."

"Any chance they came to surrender?"

"None. Though perhaps they've come to pledge their allegiance to you since you wield the Saber," Jaster's helmet turned to regard Din. The dry wit was clear in his tone.

Din huffed in amusement, "For now."

"Any chance you'll tell me your plan for the Saber?"

"No."

"Haar'chak."

A chuckle escaped Din. Jaster's answering snicker warmed Din's chest. Grogu made a confused noise, looking between the two of them in curiousity.

"I had to try," Jaster jested. Din felt his cheeks flush when the Mand'alor gave him a very obvious once over. "I am glad I have my helmet on. Your armor is perfectly polished to a bright shine. And the new cape looks very good on you."

Din ducked his head in a brief nod, unsure how to respond. "Thank you," he said after a moment. "You look like a true Mand'alor." He grit his teeth at Tarre's amused chuckle. "Shut up," he grumbled.

Jaster's pleased chuckle made Din's cheeks hotter still. "Thank you. I do occasionally try. And who doesn't like a good cape?"

I agree with him. They add a certain flare. Tarre's humor made Din smile. Your intended has a penchant for dramatics.

Din resolutely ignored that last statement even if he did agree.

A large transport carrier passed overhead: loud and rumbling. It was emblazoned with a large stylized night owl native to Kalevala. Din recognized the symbol immediately. A chill slipped down his spine. Every encounter with Bo-katan had left Din feeling greasy and ill used. He wondered if the Duke was any different.

"Osik!" Jaster swore sharply. "That's Kryze." He looked to Din. "We need go greet him."

"Is that necessary?" Din frowned.

"It's politics," Jaster sighed, striding off towards where the speeders were parked. Din fell in beside him. The Mand'alor glanced at Din. "He's the master of ceremony tomorrow. So I have to massage his ego."

"Ah," Din hummed, though he really didn't understand why.

They hopped into the speeder from the other day (Din had helped repair it more thoroughly since). Then they were off at a far less sedate pace than the day before. They reached the meadow in time to see Adonai Kryze disembarking with two young girls: one with red hair in very familiar armor to Din and the other in an expensive ornate gown. Jaster jumped out of the speeder, striding swiftly towards the other warlord.

Din trailed after with Grogu clutched in his left arm. He'd left the carry bag back at Jaster's apartment, not expecting to come out to the meadow. Though he probably should have.

"Adonai!" Jaster called with a friendly and welcoming tone.

"Jaster!"

The two men clasped forearms. On the surface, the two men seemed to be close friends. Din quickly scrutinized the Duke. He was a tall, lean man even with his Mandalorian armor on. His armor was elaborately painted in erin and white: lust for peace and new start. It fit for a warlord who was sick of war and attempting to make a new start via diplomacy.

Din had used violence first to end just about any altercation before meeting Grogu. He had since found himself finding other ways to end disputes but diplomacy rarely worked for him. At least not at first...

The two leaders exchanged greetings before making introductions.

"Jaster, these are my daughters, Satine and Bo-katan, who just passed her verdgoten." Adonai gestured at his girls. Both bowed their heads in respect.

Din's eyes settled on Bo-katan. On his hip, the Dark Saber vibrated. Tarre's displeasure was palpable to him. How old was she when Din first met her? She looked just as severe and intense as her older self.

Jaster stepped back over to Din. He placed a hand on Din's back, once again finding the spot between jet pack and butt plate with ease. He urged Din gently closer. "Adonai, this is ner burc'ya, the Beroya—"

Din warmed at the term used in regards to him. Jaster was truly intent to court Din if that was how he'd start introducing him. It pleased Din more than he'd realized it would.

"The one who murdered my father and stole the Dark Saber!" Another voice broke in.

They turned to see a verd storming over in dark gray armor with blue accents. The shriek hawk symbol was painted boldly in white on his left blue pauldron. His black cape flourished with each step.

Grogu's ears swept backward, letting out a worried sound. Din rubbed his thumb over the child's belly. Grogu gripped at Din's hand.

"Pyk Viszla," Adonai greeted the newest arrival coolly.

"Duke Kryze," Pyk's 's response was almost a sneer.

"Nice of you to join us, Pyk. I do hope you maintain neutrality as you promised while you are a guest on my lands," Jaster reminded the would be Death Watch leader.

Pyk's glare was evident even through the T-Visor. "I've no intention of disrupting your challenge. But he will be facing me to atone for my father's death." Pyk pointed accusingly at Din. "Then I am challenging for the Dark Saber. It belongs in the Viszla family vault. I don't know how you stole it from us. But I will win it back!"

Adonai held up a hand to waylay Jaster's response. "You know the rules. A challenge for the Dark Saber can only happen once a standard year. However, you are allowed to challenge any time in defense of your family's honor. You will have to wait until this challenge ends before fighting the Beroya, since you only just declared these severe accusations of theft and murder."

Din reached up to place a hand over the agitated blade on his belt. It was vibrating so hard Din thought it was about attack Pyk on its own. Grogu was clutching harder at his thumb on his other hand. "I did not steal it. I won it in combat from an enemy of the Mandalorian people, who stole it. I do not intend to keep the Saber. Tarre Viszla would have it returned to the Jedi Temple, where he requested it remain after his death. Should I win the Saber, I will deliver it there."

That caused all three war lords to stare at him in surprise, amazement, and enraged disbelief.

"You would surrender a blade that determines the validity of the Mand'alor's power to the Jedi, our ancient enemies?" Pyk snarled.

"I would lay it to rest the way Tarre Viszla intended so the Saber can rest in peace as it wishes," Din replied, Tarre's voice speaking in his ear. "It was never intended to be used as a symbol of the Mand'alor's power. The mask of Mandalore was the symbol of leadership over the mandalorians. When it was lost to our people there was nothing else to be used to solidify the power of the one who claimed to be Mand'alor. The Viszla clan decided that symbol should be the Dark Saber. Going against Tarre Viszla's wish and stealing the Saber from the Jedi. It's power is a symbol that your clan forged in deception and dishonesty, tainting his legacy. Your forebear is disappointed in his clan's ill gotten power and use of the Saber. You seem to have forgotten that Tarre Viszla was Jedi and Mandalorian."

Jaster's admiration was practically vocalized by Din's bold accusations. His hand rubbed back and forth on the small of Din's back. The sensation made Din have to stifle a shiver. Adonai seemed equally appreciative, judging by the gracious nod he made in Din's direction. Pyk looked livid: hands clenched by his side and every muscle tensed.

"And the Jedi are not enemies to me. The few I have met helped my child with his Force abilities," Din finished and fell silent. He had never talked so much in public at once. He swallowed around the dry patch in his throat.

"When I win it back tomorrow it will stay with the clan," Pyk snapped back after a moment.

Jaster cut in before the situation could escalate. "You've already been told you can't challenge for the Dark Saber tomorrow. If you try, you know the consequences." He segued before Pyk could say anymore. "Tonight though the gathering will be hosted in the meadow. All are welcome to join. I look forward to seeing you there." Jaster turned away in clear dismissal of Pyk. He addressed Adonai, "In the mean time, please get settled in your rooms." Jaster glanced over as another speeder pulled up near by. "Silas, will take you to the compound. It was good to see you, Adonai." Jaster offered his hand. Adonai shook it again in warrior's fashion (doing the same for Din) before leading his girls to the waiting speeder. Jaster turned to the young Viszla. "Pyk." He nodded briskly then headed back for his speeder. "Well that went well," he joked once they were out of ear shot.

Din snorted in amusement.

"We'll see how the evening unfolds…" Jaster sighed.

"How does this gathering work?" Din asked worriedly, following after Jaster.

The Mand'alor hummed. "There always was a gathering the night before a challenge for the position of Mand'alor, even before the Dark Saber. It's a chance for the clans to all come together and celebrate without politics to divide us. Fights are forbidden. Neutrality began the moment their ship landed. I am expecting Pyk to break decorum though."

They climbed into the speeder and set off for the compound.

"I apologize for not informing you of that beforehand. Things slipped past me. And I forgot you wouldn't know. We didn't exactly go over all the details," Jaster's voice was deeply apologetic. "I'll fill you in during mid-day meal."

"Ok."

"Din, did Tarre truly ask for the Dark Saber to be returned to the Jedi?"

Din sighed. "Yes."

"He really doesn't like that his clan took the Saber, huh?"

"Not at all. He's called them idiots more than once."

Jaster chuckled. "I certainly agree with him. Wish I could speak with him."

"He's not so bad to have around," Din conceded.

The gathering was incredible to witness and participate in. All the ships had been parked in an array around the edge of the meadow. The slopes had become a place to set out blankets and other seating along with cooking equipment. Every clan was cooking their own version of Mandalorian specialties. Tiingilar stew, gihaal fish dishes, shuner breads, uj'alayi cake and other dishes Din had never heard of as they walked through the crowd. Clans intermingled; chatting, laughing, and playing games. Children ran about, weaving through the adults. Every where he looked were Mandalorians with helmets off.

Jaster moved through the clans, greeting all with an easy smile and sincere demeanor. He kept a hand on Din's back to guide him along while introducing him to clan heads. The Mand'alor seemed to know everyone. Din was quickly struggling not to be overwhelmed. His eyes burned and his throat hurt with the swell of emotion at seeing so many Mandalorians in one place. He didn't know what emotion to settle on: happy, grief, amazement, and more. He'd heard the stories when the Mandalorians had been strong, and held the Mandalore sector secure. They had needed no support from anyone. Seeing them now, Din could finally believe the stories of his youth and Tarre's words.

Din spoke little. He felt sorrowful to refuse invitations to eat. Not for the first time did Din struggle with the strict creed he had sworn. No one in his covert had seen his face since he'd taken it. Nor had he seen anyone else's. The only exception were clan. Din had been clanless until he won his signet. If he'd had a spouse he would have finally been able to show his face.

Grogu had only seen his face once because Din wanted his son to know him before they were parted forever. He'd been afraid of formally adopting the child and the kind of grief that loss would cause. But the grief happened anyways. And Din hadn't been able to stay away from the Jedi. Din had just needed a glimpse that his son was safe and happy. Now that Grogu was back in his charge, and he remained unadopted by Din, his helmet stayed on around the child.

Yet now, Din felt separated from the mandalorians around him. He could not fully participate in this rare event. The creed had become cruel and isolating. But he could not shirk it: not yet. He forced himself to focus on the positives such as watching his son's reactions.

"These are our people, Grogu. Just like the Jedi. You are the first to be both in a thousand years," Din squeezed the little imp's hand that was once more holding his thumb.

"Eh?" Grogu's ears perked.

"Someday, maybe, you'll wear armor and wield a lightsaber like your buir," Jaster chuckled, tapping the child on the nose.

Grogu cooed. "Bu...?"

Din drew in a sharp breath.

"'lek, Grogu. Buir... means parent," Jaster explained, kindly patient. He pronounced it slowly and clearly for Grogu one more time.

"Bu-eeer!" The child clacked his claws on Din's vambrace. He turned his head to look up at Din.

"Yeah, buddy. You can call me that," Din managed to get out past the squeeze of emotion choking him. He was thrilled and all at once deeply guilty. Grogu deserved to be adopted if he wanted that. He was a son to Din in everything but name.

"Buuu--eer! Bu! Bu!" Grogu declared over and over in excitement.

Din blinked rapidly to hold back the prick of tears. He curled the child in closer to tickle his belly. Grogu squealed in delight. Din looked up to see Jaster watching him with a soft smile and something in his expression that looked like longing.

Din blinked.

He had no experience with these feelings that were getting stronger by the day. He'd never been intimate with another person that wasn't fumbling about in the dark as a teen. Or a hand job or blow job here and there. He'd never felt safe enough to be more vulnerable than that. But he knew Jaster would want that. He wasn't opposed. If their courtship ended in the riduurok, that would also mean sharing parenting. It meant sharing everything…

That thought was exciting and frightening. His emotions were all over the place. He was quickly reaching the point where he wanted to tap out and go hide in his room. But he couldn't do that yet.

He set any worries aside. Now was not the time. Certainly not tomorrow either. He would deal with it later. When he had time to find out what his future would be like after the challenge.

The sound of a ship coming in had Din looking up sharply. He would know that sound blind folded. The Razor Crest glided in to settle gently in the grass at the edge of the meadow, on the far side, away from most of the gathering mandalorians.

"Din?" Jaster leaned in, seeing the beroya go tense.

"The covert. That was my Razor Crest," He nodded toward the ship.

Jaster's eyes widened. He looked over to scrutinize the Crest. "We should go greet them."

Din swallowed hard, "Yes."

But his feet felt cemented to the ground. His chest squeezed as his heart began racing. His breath began to come short.

"Din?"

Vod, breathe.

Din took a deep, shuddering breath. He'd always meant to return to the covert to show proof of his redemption. This wasn't different than any other time he'd visited the Armorer. He pulled himself together, squaring his shoulders, and forcing his feet forward.

Jaster hurried to fall in beside him. Neither said anything as they came upon the Razor Crest. Jaster glanced one more time at Din in what could only be worry. Din refused to acknowledge it. His eyes were fixed on the loading ramp that was beginning to descend to the ground.

Chapter Text

The Razor Crest's ramp hit the ground with a dull thud. Din's chest squeezed at the sight of the Armorer and Tre Viszla descending. Din had not seen Tre in nearly a decade. He'd died defending the covert before they'd made it to Nevarro.

Din walked up. The three of them regarded each other. Din nodded, a slow dip of the head, that was echoed by Tre and the Armorer. Jaster stepped up beside Din, following the beroya's lead, and nodding respectfully. The gesture was returned to him as well.

"So you are the one Jango Fett told us came from our covert," the Armorer stated.

The sound of her voice made Din's back stiffen. "I am."

She dipped her head in acknowledgement before turning her helmet to regard Jaster. "Mand'alor Jaster Mereel," Armorer intoned.

"A pleasure to meet you," Jaster replied politely.

"We will see."

Jaster took that in stride. "You're Tre Viszla?" He turned to the tall, broad mandalorian in black and blue armor with the shriek hawk emblazoned on his left pauldron. He was a stark contrast to his deceased brother, Tor, who had been tall but lanky thin.

"Yes."

"I'm sure your nephew would like to speak with you on matters of your clan," Jaster remarked.

Tre snorted. "He can if he has the rugame to approach me."

The Mand'alor's voice sounded faintly amused while his expression remained professionally neutral. "Fair enough. Please do not fight on my lands."

"We know the rules of neutrality," the Armorer stated firmly.

An awkward silence followed for a handful of moments.

"We wish to speak to this Mandalorian," the Armorer broke the tension. She indicated Din. "Alone."

Jaster started to speak up. Din gestured for him to stop. The Mand'alor did, looking to Din for explanation.

"We have a burcyan," Din stated. "He comes with me, or I refuse."

Tre's helmet swiveled towards the Mand'alor. "It seems that you have truly ingratiated yourself here. If you were a member of the Way, you are quick to make the covert your dar'yaim."

Din's fingers curled into fists hard enough to make the leather squeak. "I returned to the covert every time. My loyalty remained true. Ori'haat!"

"If that's true, why wasn't it you who found us?" Tre challenged.

"I was nakar'ad here. And I was brought here for a purpose."

Tre stepped forward, pointing emphatically. "If that purpose was served then your duty is to return to the covert to present yourself for judgment. Instead, you stayed with this false, laandur Mand'alor, who shows his face—"

Jaster glared furiously. "How dare you—!"

The Dark Saber blazed to life. Din stepped in front of Jaster. Tre took a step back T-Visor riveted on the shimmering, humming lightsaber. He raised his vambrace priming his flamethrower.

Din grit out between clenched teeth. "Insult him again, and I will kill you. He stays with me." Grogu growled too: little hand coming up and big eyes squinting.

Jaster glanced at Din, face perfectly composed, but his eyes showing a brief flicker of his surprise and appreciation.

"Enough!" The armorer's voice made Tre's hand drop immediately. "The Mand'alor may join us."

She turned and walked back up the ramp. Tre stared at them another moment before following after her. Din thumbed the Dark Saber off and stowed it back on his belt. He looked over at Jaster, who's expression was one of disgruntlement.

"Is she always like that?" The Mand'alor asked quietly.

Din chuffed. "Yes." He started up the ramp. "Only talk to her if she addresses you."

Jaster nodded, though he didn't look happy about it. They strode up the ramp and into the ship's small bay. Tre dragged out some crates to use as seats. Din walked in, and sat at the nearest crate to him. He gestured at Jaster to do the same. The Mand'alor sank down beside him. Din set the child in his lap. Tre sat, and lastly the armorer. Another long moment of tense silence passed. Din refused to speak first. He had nothing to offer or say.

"I can see my designs in your beskar armor," the Armorer conceded imperiously. "Jango Fett told us your tale. I admit, I am skeptical."

Din nodded. "I understand. What can I offer you as proof?"

"Tell us of your time with our covert," Tre demanded. "Give me names."

"I was rescued by Pax Viszla when my hometown was attacked," Din began.

Tre leaned forward, growling out. "My son is a child. How do you know of him!?"

The armorer put her arm out, pushing Viszla back. "Let him speak his truth."

Tre sat back with a displeased rumble. Din continued on. He told of his time in the covert, being raised in the fighting corps by Pax and Tre, his verdgoten and swearing the creed to earn his helmet, being apprenticed to the beroya, inheriting the Razor Crest after a mark managed to kill his mentor, and Din becoming the sole beroya for the covert. He gave details about the Concordia covert location and described the other elders who helped train him. When Din was done, he fell silent, and waited.

"Tell me the tenets of the creed you swore by," the armorer demanded.

Din rattled them off, easy as breathing, and continued by adding the rules of their covert: only one out at a time, to live as both hunter and prey, secrecy was their survival, and foundlings were the future. 

"I believe you are telling the truth," the armorer conceded.

Tre's head swiveled to her in surprise. "How? Everything he has told us could have been gathered by spying on us."

"To include the inner tunnel details?" Armorer asked him. "Or the covert rules?"

Tre fell silent.

"How did you come by the beskar in such excess for your armor?" The armorer inquired.

Din took a deep breath. This was more talking than he had ever done in one sitting in his life. But he told the tale of Grogu's bounty. Jaster was just as riveted to the retelling as the two covert members. He'd heard parts of Din's history. Yet, to hear it in entirety seemed to be making it harder as time when on for Jaster to school his expressions. Admiration, incredulity, and a myriad of other emotions flickered across Jaster's face.

"How did you come to be with Mand'alor Mereel?" Armorer pressed.

Din knew she was looking for holes in his story. He told briefly of the Night of a Thousand Tears. How their covert survived. He gave a quick brief of Grogu being kidnapped and removing his helmet to get the coordinates to find him. Din explained how he won the Dark Saber and finally found the armorer again only to be labeled an apostate. He skipped ahead to explain going to Mandalore to redeem himself after saving his child per the armorer's decree. He pulled out the vial of water he'd taken from the mines. The armorer carefully took it. She held it while he finished explaining about Tarre and his purpose for being sent to Korda 6 to give the Dark Saber to Jaster. He fell silent again.

The Armorer stood up and went to the wall locker, pulling the doors open. She took out a small burner, bowl, and canteen before returning back to the circle of men. She set the burner in the middle of the group. It took only a moment to fire up the burner. She poured the water from the canteen in to the bowl she placed over the burner. They watched silently as the water warmed. Once it was to the temperature the Armorer desired, she uncapped the vial Din had given her, and dumped the contents into the bowl. The liquid spread through the heated water in an aurora ripple of blue and green before fading into silver.

"You speak the truth," she looked up at Din. "Have you removed your helmet since your penance was served?

"No."

"Has someone removed your helmet since?"

"No."

"Then you are redeemed. This is the Way." She stated firmly.

Tre hesitated only a moment before echoing her.

Din did not. Jaster tensed just noticeably beside him. The Mand'alor seemed to know the conflict that had been brewing was about to happen.

Din took a deep breath. He shook his head. His hands curled into fists.

Speak your truth, vod, Tarre encouraged. I will keep you protected.

That gave Din the courage to raise his head and meet the Armorer's gaze. Everything that had been circling in Din's mind since he met Tarre Viszla and Jaster Meerel came pouring out.

"No, it is NOT the Way. I swore myself to your creed at 13 believing it was the only one and our covert were the last of the Mandalorians. Lived without showing my face to another being for 25 years. I have hunted alone for 15 years. I believed in the creed I swore by, because it gave me rules to be honorable and to uphold the Mandalorian tenets. Now I realize that your creed and the covert were falsehoods."

Tre's whole body tensed. The Armorer remained impassive. Din pressed on, because now it was spilling out like puss from an infected wound.

"It was always preached that foundlings were the future. You declared this child as my son and said we were a clan of two. That I was as his father," Din gestured down at Grogu, who gave a worried coo in response. Din continued, "Yet, when my son was taken from me and my only chance to save him was to show my face. I was punished for it. Labeled an apostate because I removed my helmet of my own free will to save my son. So which is it? How can our creed condone the torture and kidnap of our children simply because removing our helmets would be worse? How?"

Din's voice grew louder and more angry with each word. He snarled out in accusation.

"You're liars and hypocrites! And I blindly, faithfully followed your creed for 25 years! And because I refused adoption so I could keep my family name, you kept me as an outsider in my own covert! My comrades barely acknowledged my presence or tried to challenge the way I earned the money that kept everyone fed! I didn't even mind it! I knew my place and felt I was fulfilling a worthy role. Because I was faithful and loyal to my creed and the covert that saved me.

Until I found my son."

Din paused to catch his breath a moment. He pointed emphatically at the Armorer, whose chin raised up in clear agitation.

"And you charged me to bring my son back to the Jedi! So I did. I won the Dark Saber in the process. But because I broke my creed, no matter the reasoning, I was banished. Then you send me on a near impossible task to bath in the Living Waters of Mandalore to redeem myself. Which I did and nearly died in the process! Because I wanted you to find me worthy! Was that even a real ritual? Or was that something you made up just to be rid of me? Is everything you taught me of our creed a lie!?

Din gestured aggressively at the Armorer and Tre.

"I was told that Death Watch kidnaps children and brainwashes them to follow their beliefs. How is the covert any different? It seems that is what you did to me and the other foundlings. And when we don't suit your ideals you try to get rid of us?

I have done everything you ever asked of me! Followed the creed without question! It is those tenets I have devoted my entire life too. My whole identity as a Mandalorian is from your creed. Because I thought without the creed, I'm not Mandalorian.

But when I was an apostate I still felt Mandalorian. I still followed the Way. And regardless of your tenets, I was still seen as Mandalorian by other mandalorians.

You deliberately with held the true history of our Mandalorian past. You twisted the tenets of the Resol’nare to suit what you wanted to believe. I know that now." Din leaned forward, glaring across at the Armorer in a way he never would have done in the past. "I was proud to follow the creed of our covert! But now..." Din shook his head, "I refuse to abide by creed made by those who decide which rules to pick that they like and punish those who are faithful to it. Explain it to me! Or I will disavow this creed!"

Din fell silent. Throat hurting from the emotional effort it took to divulge his inner thoughts aloud. His fists clenched to hide his shaking fingers. Though he couldn't hide the way his breathing was coming short and rapid. He glowered across at the two elders he had respected, admired, and once followed without question.

Jaster sucked in a sharp, stunned breath at Din's declaration. The two elders stared at Din, impassively silent for several long moments.

Tre was the first to break the tense silence. "Our covert was formed in the wake of my brother's defeat on Concord Dawn ten years ago. Tor raged that we must all fight to the death to destroy the Haat'ade and any other Mandalorians who refused to fall in with Death Watch and his ideals. He didn't care if that meant all his own followers died in his pursuits. I could see what would inevitably happen to our people.

These factions would tear us apart. This civil war would devastate our people and make us weak to outsiders. So I left Death Watch and brought the few with me, who realized the truth as I did.

We followed the Way of the Mandalore as set down by our ancestors thousands of years ago. And our only focus was on survival and upholding the resol'nare of old. The one before Tarre Viszla's tenets. The ones set by Mandalore the first that said our masks were the face of the warriors. The one that bespoke the legacy of our people through our clan names, which you refused. If you were treated as an outsider it because you did not fully accept our ways. You knew that and still refused. Your treatment was your own doing. When you become a member of the Way your identity was forsaken. Your name does not matter."

Jaster scoffed. Din held his hand out to ward off the Mand'alor from speaking up. Jaster shook his head but remained quiet.

"Then why do you still continue to use yours? Why is the Viszla line the only one allowed to keep and use their clan name? Your own rules don't make sense!" Din accused, pointing in agitation at Tre.

Tre shoved to his feet angrily. "Viszlas created this covert. From it our lineage of the Viszla house and clan continues in honor! The covert is the Viszlas to protect and strengthen! It seems we made a mistake with you since you question the Way you claim to follow!"

Din scooped up Grogu and surged to his feet too. The Dark Saber was vibrating once more in rage. Jaster jumped up right along side him. The armorer remained seated, stolid and silent.

"Jango Fett was right. You are Death Watch just by a different name. I understand what you mean by foundlings are the future. We're only valuable if we follow blindly to your Way. I see the creed you built for what it is now. You created the covert to have a reason to hide, and to make up your own rules how you like to control others," Din retorted. "We are done here."

Tre took a threatening step closer. "I say when we are done!"

"Enough!" the Armorer's voice sliced through the enraged tension. "Let him go."

Tre scoffed hard enough to vibrate his vocoder, but he didn't move. Din spun around sharply to leave. Jaster turned to follow.

"If you leave your adherence to the Way will be annulled," the Armorer avowed in her flat tone, but beneath was the rough edge of anger.

Din stopped up short. "No, it won't." He looked back over his shoulder, deliberately not giving them the honor of facing them. They no longer deserved that respect. "So long as I abide by it or decide to disavow it. That decision is mine. Not yours!"

He stormed out of the Razor Crest with Jaster at his heels and Grogu gripping tight to his arm. Din headed for where the Mand'alore had parked his speeder. He needed to get the hell away from here because if he stopped even for a moment he knew he'd break. When he reached the speeder, he glanced to Jaster.

"Please, take us back to the compound," Din requested, voice thin with restrained emotion.

"Din…"

Din shook his head vigorously. "Don't…not here."

Jaster nodded in understanding. "Let's go."

Chapter Text

The ride to the compound was made in tense silence. Din sat facing straight forward and not moving. He seemed to be holding Grogu by force of habit alone. If Jaster didn't know better he'd think Din had frozen in place. Even the little green imp kept looking worriedly up at Din. Jaster commed Myles along the way to tell his second to give his apologies to the few clan heads he couldn't greet because a personal matter needed tending too. Myles made no snarky comments or jokes, sensing the seriousness of the matter. He knew his friend to well. He simply confirmed the order and clicked the com off. Jaster felt a little bad knowing that Jango was going to have to pick up the slack. But it would be good diplomacy practice again.

They reached the compound in record time. Din was out before the speeder had barely come to a stop. He strode through the halls like the beroya he was: on a hunt with his target acquired. Jaster had to lengthen his stride to keep up. The Mand'alor palmed the door lock when they reached his apartment. Din stalked towards his bedroom door.

"Din," Jaster jogged after him. The beroya didn't respond. Jaster just managed to catch him by the arm. "Din! Stop…stop!"

The beroya turned around to face Jaster. There was so much tension in the line of the silver mandalorian's shoulders. Jaster reached out to gently take Grogu from his father's arms. Din didn't even resist. That was more than alarming. Jaster forced himself to take a long, steady breath. Din didn't need Jaster's feelings piling on too the emotional upheaval Jaster knew was coming.

The child was set down on one of the couches. "Can you stay there? Just for a few minutes, yeah?" Jaster cajoled. Grogu grumbled but sat. Jaster pet his head before straightening back up.

"Din?" Jaster stepped back towards the beroya.

Din seemed to collapse inward like a doll whose strings had been cut. He stumbled back until he hit a wall and sagged. He slid down until he dropped to the floor. His breath came in quick, shallow puffs, and his whole frame was trembling. He curled in on himself: chin to his chest, arms crossed over his chest, and knees drawn up.

Jaster yanked off his helmet, dropping it on the couch next to Grogu. He hurried over to Din, dropping down to his knees beside the distraught beroya. Jaster felt sick at heart for the mandalorian. This was always going to happen. Jaster knew that, because Din had been circling the knowledge that would tear apart his creed. Jaster wished he could make it easier, but he couldn't. He'd been through his own crisis of faith. He knew this devastation personally. What Din needed right now was support.

"Din…please, breathe," Jaster advised in a firm, but kind tone. "Breathe, in…out. Look at me."

Din shook his head. His breath wheezed: short and shallow. His frame was shaking harder by the moment.

"Din, you were so damn brave," Jaster said. "Those two were terrifying and you stood up to both of them. Called them out on their shit. Din, I'm so proud of you."

Din's breath hitched hard on a choked sob. His gloved fingers spasmed on his arms. Jaster reached forward, then hesitated.

"Is it ok if I touch you?" Jaster asked gently.

Din bobbed his head briefly in acquiescence. Jaster gently curled his hand on the closest of Din's hands. Din gripped back hard. Jaster scooted in closer.

"I'm so sorry, Din," Jaster whispered. "You deserved so much better. You're such a skilled warrior. And they're fools if they didn't see what an asset you were to your covert."

That was somehow the trigger that made Din break. Jaster almost felt guilty. But this was so necessary for healing. It just tore Jaster apart to have to do it.

Din's breath breath stuttered. "I don't…" He swallowed hard. "They said…" Din choked on a sob. "They said foundlings were the future." His head tilted to look at Grogu. The little imp was standing, clutching Jaster's helmet, ears back and eyes wide with worry. "They would have me leave my son to die…over showing my face!" Din spat out. "Because…I failed!? How's my face…more important than my child!" He half shouted grieved and enraged. "One of the tenets is to protect our clan! She said we were a clan of two…she did…not me…" Din drew in thick, shuddering breath. His chest stuttered with the force of it. "Then I'm supposed to abandon him! Or just-just give him away! Like he, like he meant nothing to me! I was foundling! And just because…I didn't take the Viszla clan name, they did the same to me…" Din sobbed hard. "They left me on Tatooine…thought I'd die…were amazed when I didn't." Din shook his head. He couldn't seem to catch his breath between heaving sobs. "N-none of the others…went through anything like what I did." He turned his helmet to Jaster. "I did…everything they ever asked…Hunted alone to keep them fed. And I kept coming back…kept looking when we were scattered." Din's breath seized on another sob. "My child was gone. My covert was gone. And I was alone…I kept looking for them…then they didn't want me. She exiled me!" His voice was thin by the end, trailing off into a broken whisper.

Jaster leaned in and wrapped his arm around Din's shoulders. He didn't give one wit for the awkward discomfort of trying to hold the other mandalorian with two sets of armor hindering him. He could see Din's tears soaking in to darken his cowl under his chin. His heart panged that broken sorrow in Din's voice. "You're not alone anymore. The hardships you bore only made you a better warrior than they know. And your loyalty…your faith…is unmatched. You are more mandokar than any vod I've ever known."

Din shook his head, chest heaving on another hard sob.

"Din," Jaster gently pressed his forehead to the side of the beroya's helmet. Din's shivery exhale and lean in made Jaster's heart thud harder. He wanted to go back and blow up that damn ship with both those di'kutla hut'uun mandalorians aboard it. "You're wanted…so much. And admired. More than I think you even realize."

Jaster leaned back. He let got of Din's hand to bump Din's chin up so his T-Visor was facing Jaster. "Kark them, Din."

Din chuffed slightly. Jaster didn't say anything else. He just knelt, holding Din until he cried himself out. Their heads stayed pressed together and holding hands. Jaster's heart ached for Din. The beroya had been through so much, and Jaster now knew that he'd only scratched the surface of it all. But he was so grateful that Din seemed to trust and want Jaster to be here for him.

Din's sobs subsided. His shudders calmed. His helmet turned. Jaster followed the beroya's gaze to Grogu. The little imp had climbed down, tottered over, to grab hold of Din's boot. Din cleared his throat. "The worst part…" Din's voice was more raspy and strained then Jaster had ever heard it. "I've never adopted Grogu."

Jaster's eyes went wide. "What? Why!?"

"I was scared," Din muttered. He took in a longer, shuddering breath. His voice, though thin and strained, was steadier. "Thought it would hurt less when I had to give him up to the Jedi." Grogu let out a mournful sound. "But I missed you anyway," Din said to Grogu. "You made me realize how alone I was…" He unfolded his arms to reach out and run a finger over Grogu's ear. "And I was waiting to adopt you when we were back with the covert. So they could celebrate with us." Grogu trilled. Din swallowed thickly. "Hearing you call me buir…made me so happy, Grogu. Do…do you want me to adopt you?"

Grogu banged his claws against Din's boot. "Bu! Bu! Buu-eer!"

"I'm gonna say that means yes," Jaster hazarded a guess with a chuckle.

Din nodded. "Ok," Din slowly uncurled.

"Hang on. Let me scoot around the corner so you can take your helmet off and do this properly," Jaster pushed back. Din reached down to scoop up the child. Jaster eased around the corner into the dark hallway to the bedrooms. "Is this ok, or do you want me to leave?"

"No. I want you to stay," Din answered firmly. "I want someone else to celebrate with us. To welcome him into the clan. Like family…"

Jaster's breath seized in his chest. "Din," he whispered, heart soaring with hope and elation.

Din cleared his throat again. "Ready, Grogu?"

"Mrrr," Grogu purred.

Din spoke, voice steady and resolute. "Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad. I know your name as my child, Grogu Djarin." Jaster heard the hiss of Din's helmet seal disengaging. Din said, voice warm and happy, but still thin from strain, "Welcome to clan Djarin, Grogu."

"Buuu-eeeer!" Grogu cried triumphantly.

Din's answering soft laugh made Jaster giddy. He loved the sound of it. Grogu made a soft coo that sounded concerned.

"I'm ok, bud," Din sniffed. Jaster could hear him swiping at his cheeks. "Word of advice, kid, don't cry in your helmet. It's awful."

Jaster chuckled. "Truly is," he agreed. "Welcome to your clan, Grogu. And welcome to the True Mandalorians. You're always welcome so long as you want."

Grogu purred happily. Jaster dared to reach his hand around the corner. Din's fingers entangled with his a moment later.

"Thank you, Jaster…for staying with me," Din sounded a little choked up again.

"Of course. I wouldn't leave you to deal with them on your own," Jaster said firmly. He squeezed Din's hand. "I do have a question though."

"Yes?"

"Earlier you told Tre Viszla that we were "burcyan". Why did he say you ingratiated yourself?" Jaster inquired a little baffled.

"Probably for the same reason you told Adonai Kryze I was ner burc'ya to you," Din sounded a little confused. "You meant it, didn't you?"

Jaster frowned in befuddlement. "I'm getting the impression those words mean different things to your covert."

Din was quiet a moment. "You told Adonai that I was your intended…and I told Tre Viszla the same. Burc'ya and burcyan means "close friend" and "close bond" but it was a way we told others that we are…intended…courting to..." His voice worriedly trailed off.

Jaster's drew in a sharp breath. His mouth fell open in shock. "You mean…engaged…to, uh, to be married?"

"Yes. Does it not mean the same to you?" Din now sounded a touch afraid.

"No," Jaster replied. He hurriedly continued before Din could pull away, "But if that's what it means to you…I like it much better. I agree with it."

"So we're burcyan?" Din asked quietly.

Jaster grinned widely. "Yes, burcyan." He dared to ask. "Can you put your helmet back on so I can kiss you?"

Din huffed a laugh. "Hold on." Jaster heard him fumble and then the seal re-engage. "Ok. It's safe."

Jaster scooted around the corner. He looked into Din's T-Visor. He leaned into press his forehead to Din's helmet. "I haven't even asked to court you properly," he remarked, smiling fondly. "And we're going around telling people we're engaged."

Din snickered a little. "I was pretty surprised when you said that to Kryze."

"I bet. I still would've introduced you like that," Jaster eased back to look into Din's T-Visor.

"Really?"

Jaster nodded a little. "Yes." He wet his bottom lip. "And you standing up for me to Tre Viszla… was very appreciated." He couldn't say what he wanted to with the child there. But Manda, he hadn't been that hot and carnal for another person since he was a teen. "And so I'm very clear, no matter what, you are always welcome in the Haat'ade and my compound."

Din swallowed thickly, pressing back in a touch harder against Jaster's forehead. "Vor’e."

Grogu let out a loud, disgruntled sound.

"You're right, Grogu, we're stealing your moment," Jaster chuckled. "You're now officially a mandalorian! Oya, Manda!" He declared, holding out his fist to the child.

"Oooooh—yaaaaw!" Grogu squealed, knocking his little claws against Jaster's fist.

Both mandalorians laughed in delight.

"Told you we'd get him speaking Mando'a!" Jaster declared. "Oya!"

"Ooooh—yaaaaw!" Grogu cried out louder.

"Oya!" Din echoed proudly, bringing Grogu up to hug him tight.

Jaster smiled. No matter what happened tomorrow, he believed it would all work out for the best. And he hoped that soon these two could be part of his clan as well. If he had anything to say about it, which he most certainly did.

Din laid in bed a few hours later. He felt calmer after a sonic, scrubbing out the inside of his helmet, and making sure any smudges were wiped clean from his armor. Grogu was curled up on his chest. Din's big hand covered his small back, keeping his son secure.

"My son," he whispered aloud, petting gently over the little imp's warm back.

Grogu let out a soft snore. Din couldn't help the smile that curled on his lips. It'd been a weird day: filled with highs and lows. But adopting his son would stay forever a treasured moment. Especially with Jaster at his side to welcome Grogu to the Mandalorian people.

I am proud of you, vod, Tarre's warm tone made Din feel so grateful.

"Thank you," Din murmured. "For…earlier. It helped me speak up."

I am glad I could. The Dark Saber and I have become rather attached to you, Tarre's voice was kind and sincere. It is good that you properly adopted your, ad, for the both of you.

Din dipped his head in agreement. "Long over due."

It happened when it was meant too.

Din blinked, startled by the truth of that statement. Tarre was right. Din would not have had it any other way. He wanted to adopt Grogu with others there to celebrate, but Jaster had been enough. More than enough.

Are you ready for tomorrow?

Din's eyes found his helmet on the desk in the near darkness. His surrender would come tomorrow. His life would change. But he would still be Mandalorian. Jaster Mereel would take up the Saber, and be Mand'alor in more than just title. Din felt a pang in his chest: something like regret and sorrow striking deep.

I will protect you, vod, Tarre assured.

"And when I surrender it, I'll lose you," Din sighed.

No, you will not. I will still be close.

Din didn't feel like arguing with the Force ghost. "What do you mean about protecting me? You said that earlier too."

I may be dead, but I still am the Force, and the Force is with me, Tarre replied. I still have a few tricks up my sleeves.

Din huffed in amusement.

Vod…

"Yes?"

If I ask you to trust me tomorrow, will you do so? Tarre's voice had become serious. There is a weight, an importance, to this question that Din could sense. I brought you here without your full consent. Should I need to protect you tomorrow, I will need your consent and your trust to do so.

Din's brow scrunched. Tarre's cryptic explanation made Din wonder what the Force ghost anticipated happening. He refused to give into the anxious nerves that were tickling at the back of his mind. He was a warrior, a Mandalorian, and he had been raised to fight. He would not give in to fear.

Din resolutely agreed. "Yes, I trust you. With my life."

Thank you, vod. Now rest. You need it.

Silence fell. Din's eyes were just beginning to feel heavy when Tarre murmured.

And congratulations on your engagement to the Mand'alor, Tarre teased, like he just couldn't help himself.

Din groaned softly in embarrassment, but underneath it he was deeply pleased. He just wasn't about to admit it aloud to give Tarre another reason to laugh at his expense. He could feel Tarre's amusement. He ignored it.

Sleep came easier than he'd expected.

And morning came all to soon.

Chapter Text

Din was not prepared for the sheer number of mandalorians that had come to see the challenge. Even visiting with the clans last night did not put it into perspective. Because more had arrived during the night and throughout the morning. There was well over a thousand in attendance. They covered the slopes of the meadow. The clans were almost impossible to distinguish due to the myriad of colors and styles in armor. The Haat'ade were the easiest to find, along with those loyal to Jaster, thanks to their orange pauldron with the black mythosaur skull painted on it. The few captured Death Watch were separated from the rest by their grey and blue armor as well as the wide distance between them and the other mandalorians (save the Haat'ade guarding them).

Din stood beside Jaster waiting for the scheduled time of the Challenge. Adonai also stood with them. He would not only be presiding over the Challenge, but ensuring its fairness as well. Din was doing his best not to let his anxiety get to him. He was used to fighting, but never like this. It was usually spontaneous, quick bouts of violence. Never a build up or before an audience in such great numbers.

A drumbeat began, deep and booming, silencing the crowd. Adonai strode out into the center of the arena. He held his hands up in greeting.

"Welcome, vode of all clans and creeds, who have come to witness this historic event. It has been over a century since anyone outside of the Viszla clan has seen the Dark Saber. It has become a thing of legend. Forged by Tarre Viszla, the only Mandalorian to also bear the title of Jetti Master. It was laid to rest in the Jetti Temple until the Viszla clan claimed it once more. Since then it has come to be a symbol of power of the Mand'alor. The one who wields it leads the clans, ruling over Mandalore and the sector. Now the Dark Saber has come to light once more. And the one who wields it claims to have won it from Tor Viszla!"

A roar of sound followed: cheers, hollaring, and the banging of vambraces on curiasses. It would have been deafening if not for the automatic audio adjust in Din's helmet. Still its effect was enough to raise the hair on Din's arms and goosebumps to break out down his back. This was something he never could have dreamed of hearing or seeing in his lifetime or his wildest dreams. He couldn't resist scanning across the meadow to take it all in.

Jaster shifted just enough to knock pauldrons with him. Din took a deep, shuddering breath. He squared his shoulders and firmed his resolve for what was about to happen.

Adonai spun, cape flaring and voice booming, with all the pizzazz of a master showman. He gestured grandly towards Din. "Beroya! Step forward and present the Dark Saber with proof of Viszla's defeat!"

Din handed Grogu over to Jango. "Don't interfere, buddy," He warned the child. "I'll be ok." The child made a noise of upset. "Stay here," Din ordered. The child grumbled.

Din turned and strode purposefully across the arena with a black sack in one hand. His maroon cape swayed down the right side of his back. His polished armor sparkled blinding in the early morning sunlight. He wore every bit of weaponry he had come to Korda 6 with from Mandalore: spear, jetpack, blaster, charges, bandoleer, vibroblade, and Dark Saber. Jaster told him that image mattered. Din hoped he had fulfilled the requirement to impress. As he stopped in front of Adonai, a hush had fallen over the meadow.

Din handed the sack to Adonai before reaching to his side to unclip the Dark Saber. He held it out harmlessly away from the warlord before thumbing the blade on. It spring to life with a snarling hum. Its strange, bestial tone with singing whine beneath it filled the valley, amplified by the small flying droids equipped with speakers to ensure all could hear. Din gestured to Adonai to open the bag.

Adonai reached into retrieve the severed head of Tor Viszla. The war lord gripped it with shock. His eyes settled on Din with appreciation at the sheer audacity of such a move. A stunned ripple of noise spread through the crowd. Pyk Viszla jumped to his feet spewing vitriol and threats.

"Silence!" Adonai's voice boomed. "Viszla, if you speak one more threat you will be removed. This is a neutral event. If you wish to challenge this beroya to seek justice through single combat on behalf of your deceased father you may do so after this challenge."

Pyk's fists clenched but he remained quiet. He slowly sank back to the grass.

Adonai continued, "Your proof is indisputable. Since you won the Dark Saber from Viszla, you now are the rightful Mand'alor. Who wishes to challenge him?"

Jaster stepped into the arena, striding out to stand across from Din. "I do, Jaster Mereel, Mand'alor of the Haat Mando'ade. I challenge this beroya to combat until either of us surrenders."

"Beroya, do you accept this challenge?" Adonai looked to Din.

Din took a slow, steadying breath. "I do."

"This is to be a fair fight. Divest yourself of everything but the weapon you will use in the challenge," Adonai proclaimed. "Beroya, as you are aware, you must use the Dark Saber."

Din nodded. Silas jogged out to take Din's jet pack, blaster, vibroblade, bandoleer, charges, and cape. Myles hurried out to take Jaster's blasters, vibroblades, and cape. Din was about to hand over his spear when Jaster spoke up.

"You have me at a disadvantage, Beroya. I have no weapon that can withstand the Dark Saber's blade," Jaster declared loudly.

Din hefted the spear. "Then use this. It is made of pure beskar and can with stand a Jedi's lightsaber."

"How do I know its beskar?" Jaster asked.

They had gone over this and rehearsed it this morning. All of this was pre-planned as much as they could. Still Din felt a curl of nervousness. Would this exchange be acceptable to Adonai?

Din held his vambrace out and knocked the spear against it. The resulting clear note only beskar had rang out through the meadow. Adonai's eyebrows arched in amazement.

"A pure beskar spear…such a weapon is dangerous to any Mandalorian. Only beskar can pierce beskar. How did you come by that?" Adonai asked.

"I won it from one who had stolen it from the mandalorians," Din replied simply.

Adonai turned to Jaster. "Do you accept this weapon for the Challenge?"

"Elek," Jaster held his hand out.

Din passed over the spear. Jaster stepped back to make a few practice spins to test the balance of it. He truly had not held it until that moment. He stepped back forward when he was done.

"It is perfectly balanced. I am satisfied," Jaster agreed.

"Then let the Challenge begin until one of you surrenders," Adonai nodded, before leaving out of the arena in a flourish of his cape.

Din squared off with Jaster. He gripped the Dark Saber and settled into a ready stance. Jaster did the same with the spear.

Tarre's voice soothed Din's nerves. Remember, Din, listen to the blade. Do not fight it. Fight with honor. What is meant to happen will be. You can only control yourself and your choices.

Din took another slow, even breath and blew it out.

Then he struck.

Jaster had thought he knew what he was facing in Din Djarin. He was horribly wrong. He had seen Din fight but only in short bursts. He'd not experienced it first hand. And while Jaster was a damn good warrior, had to be to get where he was, he was not on par with Din.

The silver Mandalorian fought with his whole body. He was a living weapon. He used his armor to absorb blows to get in close. He was willing to get hurt to use a take down move. He fought like one raised to fight to survive. He truly embodied the Mandalorian saying: "A warrior is more than his armor."

Jaster had been taught to fight, to be a mercenary. His adopted mother had been a tough task master. She'd been one of the best ori'ramkade. Still his mindset was not the same as Din's. And that showed.

The fight was brutal.

Jaster was proud to have lasted more than 2 minutes against Din. The Dark Saber sang a war song in the silver Mandalorian's hands. Watching a holovid of Din practicing with the Saber was not the same as being faced with it. Jaster was in awe. He held his own. But this fight was always going to end like this…

With Jaster on his knees. Spear knocked from his hands and into the grass several meters away. Dark Saber at his throat. Din held still waiting for Jaster's surrender. The outcome was obvious.

Which was why Jaster wasn't surprised either when Pyk dropped into the arena: jet pack cutting off to land with a thud.

"I challenge the beroya for right to single combat for justice in the murder of my father!" Pyk shouted, enraged.

Adonai's voice boomed out. "Now wait just a minute. The current challenge is not—!"

Pyk didn't let Adonai finish speaking. He unsheathed his kad and charged. Din parried the wild swing. Dark Saber screamed against the kad, super heating the metal to glowing orange, but the kad held true. Jaster's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. Pyk's kad was pure beskar.

Jaster watched Pyk drive Din back with wild, frenzied attacks. Viszla's anger was fierce but his skill not as good. Din blocked and parried. He kept Pyk away from him and kept him over extending his reach. Din was biding his time, waiting for an opening.

Jaster's breath caught when Din finally made his move. He let Pyk's kad hit his left vambrace and screech down the length of it. He swung the Dark Saber downward, striking the outside of Pyk's unprotected thigh. Viszla yelled in pain, staggering back. But he'd lost his advantage. Din drove Pyk back across the arena. Pyk managed to fend off the silver mandalorian for a few blows. Then his left leg gave out and he collapsed to his knee. He found the tip of the Dark Saber at his throat.

"Surrender. You've lost," Din declared, voice strained and even more raspy from the fight.

Pyk reached up the rip his helmet off. He glared up at Din. He cursed vehemently.

"Last chance," Din stated. "Or your life is forfeit."

Jaster pushed to his feet. "Don't be a fool, Viszla. The clan's bloodline dies with you. Surrender and you live to continue your clan's long lineage."

Pyk grit his teeth. He dropped his kad a moment later. "N'ceta." He bowed his head. "I yield."

Din nodded. He drew the Dark Saber back and stepped away.

"Your surrender is accepted, Pyk Viszla," Adonai stepped back into the arena. "Your kad is forfeit per the rules of challenge of justice by single combat."

Pyk's jaw clenched.

"Keep it," Din spoke up.

Everyone looked to him with surprise.

"I don't need a beskar kad. I have my spear," Din leaned over and picked up the kad. He offered it back to Pyk.

The younger man took it hesitantly like he was waiting for a catch. He got to his feet. "Why would you give it back to me?"

"The Covert I grew up in... there were to few of us to allow bad blood. Your weapon is your life. I didn't intend to kill you," Din tried to explain.

Jaster's chest warmed. His admiration grew. Din was honorable to the core. He embodied every value Jaster had striven to contain in his codex. Din was morally upstanding and had proven before more than a thousand mandalorians that he was an exceptional fighter. He was the kind that any warrior would be lucky to have at their side.

Ah Manda... Jaster swallowed hard in realization.

"Is there anyone else that has grievances against this vod before we finish the challenge?" Adonai asked in exasperated irritation like he'd be shocked if anyone else did.

"I do!"

Shocked murmuring came from the crowd of watching mandalorians. They looked to see Tre Viszla storming down the hillside. He stalked into the arena. He glanced dismissively at Pyk and went around him. He put his back to his nephew in clear dismissal and insult that he was no threat to Tre. Pyk bristled behind him.

"State your grievance and name," Adonai demanded in angry disbelief.

"I am Tre Viszla, brother of Tor Viszla, and I challenge this deceiver of his right to wield the Dark Saber. He was not Mandalorian when he won it, nor is he of the clan Viszla for the right to wield it!" Tre declared furiously, pointing at Din.

Din bristled. His grip flexed around the Dark Saber. It was vibrating in rage. He could feel the soul of the mythosaur seething.

"Explain yourself!" Adonai commanded.

"This Mandalorian won this blade after he broke his creed that he swore too. The Way of the Mandalore dictates that to remove your helmet and show your face to another living being renders you an apostate," Tre intoned angrily. "He did not redeem himself until after he laid claim to the Dark Saber. Nor is he a Viszla to lay claim to the blade by inheritance as he refused to be adopted by my clan when he swore the creed."

Adonai's brow furrowed. "I've heard of no such creed."

"I founded my covert based on the code passed down by Mandalore the First when I disavowed Death Watch and my brother's foolish beliefs. This Mandalorian knew the consequences when he took our creed," Tre glared at the warlord.

"A creed that you made up!" Jaster spat. "There's no history or lore that supports the creed you created! Mandalore the First declared our masks as our faces in battle only! Your secrecy is your own cowardice to hide the lies you live by! Our ancestors didn't go into hiding! They conquered worlds! And they were defeated so withdrew to rebuild the Mandalore sector."

Tre's hands curled into fists, "You have no right to speak, laandur Mand'alor. You were defeated."

"By the very vod you are accusing!" Jaster snapped furiously in Din's defense. "Who is more mandokar then you will ever be!"

"Enough!" Adonai cut off Tre's response. He looked at Din. "Did you swear by the creed Tre Viszla stated?"

Din straightened and squared his shoulders. "Yes."

"And did you break it and win the Dark Saber during the time you were an apostate by that creed?" Adonai inquired.

"Yes."

"Then Tre Viszla's challenge is valid." Adonai stepped back.

Fear slid down Din's spine. It was Tre who had taught him the kad, causing a flare of doubt. His breath stuttered.

Enough of this nonesense, Tarre snarled. Do you trust me Din?

Din tensed. "I do," he replied, recalling Tarre's warning from the night before. He tried to brace himself for whatever was about the happen. He could not have prepared himself for what did.

Cold overtook him like he stepped out onto Hoth's surface with no clothes. Tre snatched his blaster from his holster, firing a quick staccato of bolts. Din felt like he'd been forced outside himself. His body moved with out his volution. The bolts were batted away with a flick of his wrist. The Dark Saber's tone sounded like an enraged snarl. White swirls like fog overtook the blade. The sound of it grew to a deep bass snarl.

Tre stepped back as the fog grew to take the shape of a mythosaur skull, eyes glowing eerily. Tre quickly primed his flamethrower and triggered a volley of flames at Din. The mythosaur's maw opened swallowing the fire down. Smoke dispersed through the fog. The mythosaur roared in pure fury. The ground shook with the deep booming bass of it.

Shock and fear rippled through the crowd. A haze of blue grew around Din's figure like a holo overlay. A distinct conical helmet from ages past took shape over Din's and the shimmer of a cape settled down his back. Din's visor glowed startlingly white.

"I am Mand'alor Tarre Viszla!" Tarre's baritone came from Din's mouth, buzzing through the overwhelmed vocoder but still understandable. "Tre Viszla, I hold you in contempt of my lineage. And you, as well, Pyk Viszla."

Tre bellowed and surged forward. Din's hand raised. Tre froze as though gripped by a giant hand. Tre was forced to his knees. His blaster was ripped from his hands and crushed, falling to the dirt in a useless lump. Pyk turned to run, but was caught up as well. He was dragged back and forced to his knees.

"You have dishonored the legacy of my House and my Clan!" Tarre declared furiously. "I founded both on the ideal of providing a safe haven to the foundlings whose families were killed with no where left to go. You take foundlings, break them when they are most vulnerable, and twist them to your ideals by lies, manipulations, or torture!

You stole my blade from it's resting place at the Jedi Temple as I requested upon my death. It is a Jedi's blade! Not Mandalorian! But still you used the Dark Saber to create a legitimacy to the role of Mand'alor based on my legacy forged in deceit and deception! It was never meant to be used as such!

Yet, since you claim a Viszla are the only ones who deserve to wield it," Din's ghostly gaze with Tarre's blue helmet overlaid on it honed in on Tre, "By your own twisted rules that you and your sister, the goran, created," Tarre pointed up at the armorer, "This vod is Viszla under my House. He became so when you took him into your covert. He has proven time and again to be honorable and adhered to your tenets. Regardless of the creed he swore, his faith in the Way never wavered."

The white fog of the mythosaur coiled around Din's body protectively.

"The Soul of the mythosaur that resides in the blade has chosen this vod. Since the Dark Saber was created by me it is mine to bestow on whom I deem worthy. This blade belongs to this vod under House Viszla until he decides to relinquish it.

As for you three..." Tarre glared down at his lineage on their knees before him then up to the armorer, who stood with her fists clenched at her sides. "You have until sundown tonight to swear your allegiance to the Mand'alor, who wins this challenge, or I decree you as disowned from my lineage and darmanda for your crimes against foundlings and the Mandalorian people! You will be stripped of your armor and exiled from the Mandalore sector."

Gasps and stunned horror resounded from the surrounding mandalorians.

"The creed and ideals created by Death Watch and Tre's covert are abhorrent. I hear by expel them as a blight against the Way. Any who chose to follow it are free to disavow it without consequence. Those who wish to follow it may do so long as they harm no other foundlings or Mandalorian people, and live by the Mandalorian Code: Strength is life, for the strong have the right to rule; Honor is life, for with no honor one may as well be dead; Death is life, one should die as they have lived."

The mythosaur roared, loud and deep, shaking the ground through out the entire meadow once more. It coiled tightly around Din's body before sliding down to surround the glowing blade and disappear within it. The blue glow surrounding Din faded. The Dark Saber disappeared into it's hilt. The sudden silence through out the meadow was unnatural.

Din dropped to his knees, panting and shaking in the wake of so much power coursing through him. Tre and Pyk sagged forward at their abrupt release. The mandalorians through out the meadow were tense and watching with abated expectation.

Jaster hurried over to Din's side. He reached down to grip his shoulder between his pauldron and helmet. "Din?" He whispered worriedly. "Are you alright?"

Din bobbed his head, still panting and shaking slightly.

Adonai took a deep breath, recovering from the shocked awe that overtaken him. "Tre, Pyk, you heard Mand'alor Viszla's decree. Your challenges were nibral. Leave this arena!" Adonai commanded. He looked to the crowd. "Do not let them leave. They have until sundown to do as Mand'alor Viszla said!"

Tre surged to his feet.

Pyk was slower to push himself up. He glared at Din then Adonai. "This is not over," he snarled.

"Yes, it is. Now leave before you are forcefully removed," The warlord stated imperiously.

"No!" Din's voice was shot out and raspy. "Let him, and Tre, stay to witness who's the true Mand'alor."

Adonai looked back to Din. He nodded after a moment. "They can stay." The warlord waited for a moment, waiting to see if any more surprises were going to come. When nothing happened, he declared, "Then these challenges are complete! Beroya, you are—"

"No!" Din's firm response rang out across the silent meadow again.

All waited with bated breath.

Adonai turned to Din, "You bested all your challengers. It is your right to accept the title of Mand'alor."

"I refuse! Jaster Mereel did not surrender," Din looked up to Jaster, "And he won't." Din held the Dark Saber out. "I yield. This is yours."

Jaster didn't move, helmet turned down to Din, and hand gripping tighter to Din's shoulder.

"You can't do that!" Pyk burst out, surging forward in fury.

Adonai caught Viszla's arm and held him back. "Explain yourself, Beroya!"

"The Saber can be surrendered by combat or by choice if something of equal importance is surrendered," Din explained. "That's how it stayed within clan Viszla, passed down to each heir."

Pyk's face flushed red with anger. "How did you learn that!? We've never told that to anyone not of clan Viszla?"

"Tarre Viszla told me. You saw the Saber's haunted," Din said simply. "Take it," Din prompted Jaster.

"I can't just take it until you tell me what you can surrender that's of equal value," Jaster replied.

Everyone waited once more in arrested silence.

Din swallowed hard. His fingers tightened around the Saber. "I surrender my creed. To swear to your Codex and become Haat Mando'ade."

Jaster reached up to remove his helmet. He stared down into Din's T-visor. "You would do that?"

"Yes. You are the Mand'alor that can unite all the clans. Not me," Din answered earnestly.

Pyk scoffed loudly. "How is that equivalent?"

Adonai looked to Din. "Please explain."

"Tell them the rules of your creed," Jaster urged.

Din took a deep breath. "To be Mandalorian is to be both the hunter and the prey. Our secrecy is our survival. Only one may go out of the covert at a time. Protect the covert with your life. Foundlings are the future. Weapons are part of our religion. Our names no longer matter upon swearing the creed. It is not to be spoken aloud. No one removes their helmet or allows it to be removed by another living being other than clan or they are rendered an apostate."

A shocked murmur went through the crowd.

"Is this true, Tre Viszla?" Adonai looked to the covert leader.

Tre's fists clenched. "Yes."

"Have you ever removed your helmet in front of others?" Jaster asked Din, pulling the attention back to them.

Din nodded, forcing himself to speak, despite the anxiety building of so many eyes upon him. "Yes. Twice for the good of my child. But I have not removed it since. I was still declared an apostate by my covert's armorer. Exiled from my covert and declared no longer Mandalorian. Until I restored my creed by bathing in the living waters of Mandalore."

"And you did so?"

"Yes."

"You had proof?"

"Yes. The armorer decreed me no longer an apostate last night. You, Tre, and Grogu bore witness to it," Din replied.

Jaster pressed. "Have you removed it since?"

"No."

"When did you first accept your creed?"

"I was 13. It was the last time I showed my face until a year ago."

Another shocked roll of sound went through the crowd.

"Why did you take their creed?" Jaster inquired, needing Din to fully prove the equivalency.

"The Mandalorians saved me from certain death when my village was slaughtered. I owed them my life. I was proud to become Mandalorian," Din answered earnestly.

Jaster drove his last point home for the crowd watching. "And you would give up your creed to swear to my codex? A creed you've honored your entire adult life, because you believe I am worthy of the Dark Saber?"

"Yes."

Jaster clipped his helmet to his belt. "Then I accept. Remove your helmet so that you may swear the Resol'nare, pledge to follow the Codex, and declare your name to those present."

Din shook his head. He swallowed hard. He clenched his hands into fists to hide his shaking. This was the moment he'd tried to prepare for weeks now. He forced the words out.

"You have to remove it for me for it to be equal."

Jaster's breath caught. His heart hammered. He could scarcely believe that Din would request him to do this. Jaster reached out to grasp the rim of Din's helmet. He hesitated for only a moment then pulled up. The hiss of decompression followed.

When he lowered his hands, he found himself staring into soft, tired brown eyes. Jaster's heart skipped. His eyes roved over the bared face of the man he'd been arrested by since Din speared Montross mid-flight. Dark brown curls were crushed to Din's head, wet with sweat, and sticking to his forehead. His prominent, aristocratic nose had a line across from where it'd clearly been broken once. A scar bisected his left eyebrow. And his mouth was well defined with a bottom lip that juted out in a pout. A mustache and salt and pepper patchy beard somehow only made the man more handsome.

Jaster was ruined. There could be no one else for him. He forced himself to focus past the heavy thud of his heart in his ears.

"Repeat after me, Din Djarin," Jaster commanded. "I adhere to the Resol'nare. The core of what it means to be Mandalorian. A sacred law giving all Mandalorians direction and purpose. Our 6 tenets are: Education and armor, self-defense, our tribe, our language, our leader—all help us survive. We must educate our children as Mandalorians, obey the commands of Mandalore, speak Mando'a and defend our clans."

Din swore the tenets in a firm, clear voice.

Jaster kept his eyes trained on Din's as he continued, "Swear after me: I pledge to honor and follow the Codex set forth by Mand'alor Jaster Mereel, so that any breach of conduct will be punishable in accordance with the severity of the crime."

Din did so.

"State your name to the people, and declare yourself a verd to the Haat Mando'ade," Jaster proclaimed.

Din took a steadying breath, lifted his chin, and spoke. "My name… is Din Djarin of Clan Djarin under House Viszla, and I here by am verd within the Haat Mando'ade."

Jaster smiled, and held his hand out. Din took it and let himself be hauled to his feet. "Welcome to the Haat Mando'ade, Din Djarin. I know I am not the only one pleased to have you join our ranks."

"Thank you, Mand'alor Mereel," Din formally, clasping hands in the Warrior's shake. He released Jaster's hand then he offered the Dark Saber once more. "This is yours. Take it."

"I accept," Jaster wrapped his fingers around the hilt and took it.

He was expecting something significant to happen. Nothing did. He turned it in his hand to face harmlessly to the side before thumbing it to life. The thrum of it vibrated up his arm.

"The challenges are complete! "Adonai intoned. "Your Mand'alor stands before you!"

Jaster raised the Dark Saber. A roar of sound exploded from the watching crowd: another thrum of mixed cheers and vambraces beating against cuirasses. It was pure cacophony for several moments.

Jaster turned back to Din as the noise slowly tapered off. He handed Din's helmet back. "As one of my vod, you can now take your helmet off whenever you want."

Din accepted his helmet back. Jaster offered Din's spear back. Din took it and slid it back into the holster on his back. He raised his helmet to put it on.

"Before you put your helmet back on. I have one last question to ask you, Din Djarin," Jaster proclaimed quickly.

Din froze. The crowd fell quiet. What else could Jaster possibly want? Din's expression said the same. Confusion and wariness were writ across his face. And wasn't that something to know firsthand, that Din had no skill at schooling his expressions.

"Will you marry me?" Jaster asked with the utmost seriousness.

Chapter Text

Din's heart stuttered. Elation and shock were vying equally for his attention. He could only stare in disbelief, frozen with his helmet in front of his chest.

I knew it. Tarre's voice was smug amusement.

Din couldn't even focus on why he could still hear the Force ghost. 

"What?" He heard himself ask weakly, "Why...now?" 

Jaster's eyebrows rose in disbelief. "Why?" He looked truly dumbfounded by the question. "Din, you have proven since the moment you saved my life that you are the epitome of what a true Mandalorian is: honorable, moral, a fierce warrior, and gentle, patient buir. I would be honored if you chose me. 

Besides all that, you just bested me and Pyk like it was a training day exercise. You just gave up your creed for me to be Mand'alor. You defended my honor to your elders! And if I don't secure you as my riduur right now, I will be competing against nearly every Mandalorian at this Gathering to do so." 

Din's mouth fell open with incredibility. His eyebrows scrunched and he flushed at the wave of cheers, whistles, and shouts of agreement that followed from the crowd. His fingers twitched on his helmet. 

"He's right, vod," Adonai's amused voice cut in. "I was going to ask to court you soon as these Challenges completed."

"Father!" Satine's voice rose in horror. 

"See, my point is made," Jaster expounded.  "And quite frankly, Din, we said we were engaged last night. But I already knew that I'd want to marry you soon as possible. You're my match, Din." 

Emotion gripped Din by the throat. His whole life it felt like he'd been trying to prove that he was worthy of being Mandalorian. He never expected to be chosen by anyone. His covert peers seemed to barely tolerate him. He had hoped maybe Boba or Cobb may have wanted him. It wouldn't have been a Mandalorian marriage since neither if them took the creed. He had been alright with that, though a small part of him had been saddened. And while the Mand'alor had agreed last night that they were engaged, Din had still been deeply afraid that Jaster would change his mind. Because so far, in Din's nearly 40 years of life, people didn't seem to want Din the way he had only briefly hoped.

"Din?" Jaster prompted.

He blinked. "Yes." It was out of his mouth before he even fully registered it. 

Jaster's grin widened. The lines around his beautiful brown eyes crinkled. Din's heart fluttered while his gut swooped. He knew he'd made the right choice as sure as giving up the Dark Saber. It was a rightness that seemed to reach to his soul.

"Will you take the vows with me right now?" Jaster dared to ask. "I know I'm asking a lot, but I can't stand not having you as my riduur. I don't want to wait." He bit his lip and joked lightly. "This also might be the closest thing I'll get to being married on a battlefield like the Mandalorians of old. Which I may have dreamed about a lot as teen…"

"Sweet stars…karking hopeless romantic!" Myles yelled. "Din, for the love of the Manda, put us all out of our misery!"

"If I have to hear him sigh one more time while watching your holos, I might smother myself," Jango added loudly.

"Stop trying to skew the betting pool in your favor, you cheater!" Silas barked in frustration.

Jaster stared over at them in offense. "There's a betting pool!?"

Din couldn't stop the helpless snicker that slipped out of him at the sudden wash of shouts and sniping coming from the Haat'ade part of the crowd.

"Regardless of all of that!" Jaster said loudly, and the noise quieted. He looked back to Din. "Din, will you take the Riduurok with me right now?"

Din swallowed thickly, "Tell me how."  

The cheers of excitement washed over the meadow. Mandalorians from all clans were standing up to call down their support. It was startling to Din. He looked around in amazement. He felt like he'd run the gambit of emotions this morning.

"Adonai?" Jaster looked to the older warlord. "Would you be willing to officiate?"

"Of course, I would be honored to officiate. Is there anyone you wish to have at your side?" Adonai asked, looking all too pleased to be involved. He moved to stand a few feet back between them. 

"My son." Jaster beckoned to Jango. 

"Mine too," Din agreed.

"Wait for me, Grogu!" Jango called.

They looked over to see the little green imp racing across the arena, arms up, and squealing in excitement. Din chuckled. He opened his arms when his son was close enough. Grogu launched himself up with a triumphant cry. Din caught him easily.

"Good job, buddy. But you should've waited for Jango," Din shook his head just a little.

The child ignored his father's light admonishment. Grogu reached up to pat his father's cheek. Din couldn't quite stop the small twitch of his face that followed. He wasn't used to touch on his skin, much less on his face. He smiled at Grogu, patting his back reassuringly. He looked up to see Jaster staring at him with intense longing. 

Oh, he is very eager for your wedding bed, Tarre chuckled. 

Din's cheeks flushed. 

"Ready?" Adonai jolted Din out of his bashful response.

Din handed Grogu back over to Jango, who took up position across from Adonai.

"Yes." 

"Elek." 

Adonai gestured between the two men. "Join left hands and place your right hands over each other's Karta'beskar." 

Jaster tugged his gloves off and stuffed them in his utility belt. Din followed suit, tugging his gloves off too. His belly quivered when their bare palms slid together and their fingers clasped one another. He looked across at Jaster, whose dark eyes were bright with excitement and happiness. It was because of Din. It made his breath catch.

"Repeat after me. Mand'alor Mereel, you first." Adonai's voice brought Din's awareness back. "Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde—We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors."

Jaster did so: voice strong and sure. His eyes never wavered from Din's. His hand gripped Din's firmly. His palm pressed flat to Din's Karta'beskar. Din wondered if Jaster could feel how hard his heart was thudding.

Adonai prompted Din to repeat the vows. The words felt just as significant to him as the Resol’nare and the codex he had just sworn. This was a conscious choice, and while he may not know everything about Jaster Mereel, Din knew enough. Din trusted this man and had already chosen to follow him. But with these vows, Din was promising to share his life and his deepest self with Jaster. And it had scared him days ago. It didn't now. Jaster had been right. The part of Din, the deeper instinct that always guided him (the Manda or the Force, as Tarre said) was nearly singing at the rightness of this decision. They were a match.

"Your marriage will be recorded in the database of citizenship on Mandalore. How would you like your names to appear in the registry?" Adonai asked seriously.

Din looked to Jaster. The Mand'alor arched an eyebrow. Din half shrugged. A smug, gleeful look appeared on Jaster's face.

"Jaster and Din of clan Djarin-Mereel under house Viszla," Jaster announced proudly.

The twin noises of utter disgust and offense from Tre and Pyk Viszla had Din biting his lip on a smile. Jaster didn't even attempt to keep the mean little grin off his face.

"It will be so recorded! Your marriage is now official before the Mandalorian people!" Adonai declared. "Citizens of Mandalore recognize the newly married couple, Din and Jaster Djarin-Mereel under House Viszla!"

Another roar of sound took over the meadow, almost louder than the declaration of the new Mand'alor.

Din gave his new husband a "now what?" look. Jaster couldn't seem to resist leaning in to press his forehead to Din's. Din gasped and flushed at the public display of affection. It was worth the public's gaze, though. He leaned into it, eyes sliding closed to relish the feeling. It was the sweetest, gentlest keldabe kiss Din had ever received. 

Congratulations, vod, Tarre's voice was pleased. 

Jaster pulled back. "It's tradition to exchange a wedding gift as significant to your new riduur as your vows." He glanced at Adonai. "Is that correct?"

Adonai nodded. "Offer your gift to your riduur."

The Mand'alor reached down to unclip the Dark Saber. "Tarre Viszla was right. This belongs in your hands. I gift you the Dark Saber."

Din's eyes went wide. Relief and joy swept through him as he accepted the blade back. His thumb ran over the ridges of the hilt. He'd been trying to get rid of it for so long. But when it came down to it, the loss he'd felt had been like a kick to the chest when he relinquished it. He looked up at Jaster, eyes shining dark with so much emotion. "Vor entye."

"You wield it far better than I ever could," Jaster assured sincerely.

"You can't do that!" Pyk's voice sounded so indignant.

"The Dark Saber can't be gifted!" Tre was enraged.

Jaster scoffed. "The mythosaur and Tarre Viszla said otherwise."

Din looked over at the two Viszlas. "Would you like to ask Tarre directly?"

Both fell silent. Pyk looked pale at the quiet threat. Tre's fists were clenched again at his sides. Din looked back to Jaster, who looked positively gleeful. Din shook his head just a little. He was beginning to realize Jaster was something of an instigator. Good thing Grogu had been teaching him patience and how to deal with impulsive individuals.

"It's my turn to offer a gift," Din remarked. He reached over his back to unsheath the beskar spear. He swung it around and held it out to Jaster. "This belongs in the hands of a warrior, with the moral character to only use it against another Mandalorian who deserves such a death."

Jaster accepted it with a look of deep appreciation. He ran a hand down the length of the smooth beskar. He looked back at Din. "Vor entye. I take this gift as proof of your trust in my leadership."

Din dipped his head in agreement. The Dark Saber was clipped to his belt. Jaster set the butt of the spear against the ground. They smiled at each other.

Adonai cleared his throat to gain the newly married couples' attention. "Since you both have adopted children, would you care to adopt the other's child to unify the whole family?"

Jaster turned his head to regard Jango. "That decision is yours, Jango."

The young Mandalorian shook his head after a moment. "I refuse to be adopted under House Viszla after all they did to my family. I will remain under Clan and House Fett."

The Mand'alor nodded in understanding. "I understand. That is your right. I am proud of you either way."

Jango cleared his throat and looked down with a slight flush.

"Grogu?" Din looked to his son. "Do you want Jaster to adopt you too?"

Grogu's brow scrunched. He made a concerned sound.

"You'll still be my son," Din assured. "You will have two buire, me and Jaster."

Grogu's ears perked up. He grinned in delight. He held up his clawed hands towards Jaster. "Bu bu buuueeer!"

Jaster grinned happily. "I would be more than proud to have such a talented ad as my child." Jaster took the green little imp from Jango. He looked into the child's big, space dark eyes. "Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad. I know your name as my child, Grogu Djarin-Mereel under House Viszla." His satisfaction could not be more palpable at the noises of further affront from Tre and Pyk.

"Congratulations on your adoption, Grogu Djarin-Mereel under House Viszla!" Adonai proclaimed. "Your name will be recorded as such in the Mandalorian registry. Citizens of Mandalore, welcome the newest addition to the Djarin-Mereel Clan!"

Grogu threw his hands up to yell in joy right along with the Mandalorian people. Din couldn't help the laugh of happiness that escaped him. He looked over to see Jaster giving Din the most besotted look he had ever leveled him. Din flushed and dropped his gaze back to his son. He tried not to react to Tarre's overjoyed laughter at his expense. He could have done without that back in his life, although Tarre had never left him even for a moment, it seemed.

"What happens now?" Din asked quietly. 

"Now we prepare for tonight's festivities in honor of our new Mand'alor and to celebrate his marriage!" Adonai proclaimed. "Festivities begin at sundown! The Challenges are complete and the Mand'alor's wedding, along with adoptions, are official!" And before anyone else could get any bright ideas. "There will be no more challenges or other events, barring tonight's feast!"

Jaster laughed outright at that. He didn't look repentant when Adonai shot him an exasperated look. Din shook his head at Jaster a little in exasperation.

Another cheer went up following Adonai's closing statement.

Adonai waved the droids in that were projecting the sound in the arena. They dropped down and disengaged. The war lord clasped both men by the shoulder,  "Congratulations, Mand'alor Mereel, and Din Djarin-Mereel. That was a showcase of Mandalorian prowess. I will never challenge either of you." 

Jaster chuckled. "You have my deep appreciation, Adonai, for assisting with all of the proceedings."

Din nodded gratefully.

"I was honored to do so. I will brag about presiding over this Challenge for the rest of my days. It was the best wedding I officiated and one of the most important!" Adonai smiled. He thumped Jaster's shoulder. "And I hope not to have to preside over another challenge for Mand'alor any time soon." He squeezed their shoulders. "Go enjoy your afternoon, vode. You most certainly earned it." He winked.

Din shoved his helmet back over his head to hide his flush of embarrassment. Adonai chuckled. He stepped away to let them pass. 

"Jango, would you be so kind to watch Grogu until tonight's festivities?" Jaster asked the young Mandalorian.

"Sure," Jango agreed.

"Eh?" Grogu looked quizzically up at his buir.

Din scratched the top of his fuzzy little head. "Just for a few hours, Grogu." 

Grogu pouted a little but allowed Jango to take him from Jaster. 

"Come with me, Din," Jaster urged. 

Din was more than eager to get away from the crowd and attention. Neither was something he was used to or enjoyed. He had certainly had enough to last the rest of his lifetime…if he was lucky.

Jaster led him out of the arena. They stopped in front of Myles. Silas was doing his best to disappear behind the aide-de-camp.

"Congratulations, Mand'alor Mereel," Myles smirked smugly.

Jaster narrowed his eyes at his friend. "I expect to hear all about this supposed bet."

"I've no idea about that," Myles replied, clearly and badly fibbing.

"Lies."

The kiffar didn't look repentant.

"Watch the Viszlas," Jaster said more seriously. "I wouldn't be surprised if they try to leave. Feel free to keep them here by whatever means seems… Suitable."

The glee in Myles' eyes made Din wonder what the kiffar had in mind. He also didn't dare ask.

"Understood, Mand'alor. Here's your weapons," He gestured at the safe box he'd stowed Jaster and Din's gear in.

The two quickly reclaimed their items before heading over to a familiar speeder. Jaster stowed the spear behind them. They climbed in.

"I'm gonna need a holster for that," the Mand'alor remarked.

Din chuffed. "I'll give you mine."

"Can I solicit one on one pole arms training?" Jaster asked with a teasing smile.

"I would be glad too. You need it."

"Oy!" Jaster gave him a faux glare. "I think I did pretty well with it."

Din chuckled. "You did. I was impressed."

"I feel like you're mocking me," Jaster glanced over with a shrewd look as he fired up the speeder.

"You'd know if I was," Din replied, perfectly deadpan.

Jaster laughed. "I'm so glad I have someone who shares my kind of humor. It's been a sad tragedy to have no one get me."

"I know the feeling," Din replied, more seriously than he meant too.

Jaster reached over to to squeeze Din's hand. "I know."

They headed back to the compound, leaving the arena and the crowd behind. 

Chapter Text

Din hadn't thought about any of the details when he'd agreed to marry Jaster.  That was starkly apparent when they got back to the compound. 

"Do we need to stop at your room to get anything?" Jaster asked. "Your clothes? Any of your things?" 

Din nearly stumbled in surprise. "No... I have nothing." 

Jaster glanced over with a disgruntled look. "Nothing?" 

"I have everything on me that I came with," Din replied. 

The Mand'alor's frown deepened. "I never did ask if you needed a spare kute or any of the other supplies we give new recruits..." His expression shifted to one of guilty upset.

"Why would you? I wasn't Haat'ade. You owed me nothing," Din said in confusion. 

Ah, Din, you are so dense, Tarre's exasperated sigh made Din flush and be glad his helmet was on.

Jaster stopped up short. Din nearly went past him. "Nothing! Din, you saved my life! I owed you a life debt!" 

"A life debt doesn't mean you owe me a kute," Din was genuinely puzzled. "And the debt is absolved. We're married now." 

Jaster chuffed and reached up to hook his fingers under the chin of Din's helmet. He gently shook Din's helmet in gentle admonishment. "Oh no, riduur, it just means I have the rest of our lives together to pay it back. And I will do so…because you deserve it, cyare." 

Din's breath hitched. Desire shot through him so powerfully it left him shaky. He'd never wanted another being like this. The sheer force of it left him hot all over.

Jaster smirked knowingly. He let go and stepped back. "I'll start with getting you another kute." He started walking again. He raised his vambrace, hitting a button to activate his comlink. "Myles, have someone get my riduur a black kute from supply, Gedet'ye." 

Myles commed back a moment later. "When did I become your errand boy?"

"Myles." Jaster's voice was a flat, unamused tone. 

" 'lek Mand'alor. I'll deliver it myself."

"Vor'e." 

Din followed Jaster down the hallway to the royal wing. Jaster palmed the scan lock to his apartment. The Mand'alor led Din down to the end of the hall, past the door to Din's borrowed room. Jaster palmed the door open to his suite. Din followed him in a little more hesitantly. His fingers twitched in an aborted clenching of fists when the door slid shut behind him.

A large bed dominated the middle of the bedroom directly across from them. Two windows let in some natural light on the far left wall. There were nightstands on either side of the bed with lamps that glowed with soft yellow lighting. A padded bench was placed at the end of the bed. An armor stand stood in the far left corner next to an armoire. There was a desk to Din's right against the same wall as the entry door. A dresser was against the far right wall. There were also two doors on the right wall near the center. One had to be the 'fresher.

Jaster walked over to place his helmet on the armor stand. He began to strip off the rest of his armor. Din looked away out of habit. Removing one's armor was deeply private. He took another shaky breath, stomach feeling fluttery with nerves and something else…desire.

"You can look, Din," the Mand'alor's voice was gentle.

Din glanced over. Jaster had removed his pauldrons and vambraces. He detached his cuirass, setting it on the stand.

"I've never seen any of my covert remove their armor except for injuries that are life threatening…except your helmet. Even then you weren't supposed to take it off," Din explained. He swallowed thickly, thinking of bleeding out and a droid that saved his life. He finished, quietly, "That's an intimacy meant for clan," Din explained.

"And we are clan now," Jaster reminded with kind reassurance in his voice.

There was that burst of warmth in Din's chest again. "We are." Din deliberately turned to face Jaster directly.

"I'll need to get another armor stand for your kit," the Mand'alor remarked. He smiled at Din then moved to sit on the bench to remove his boots. His cape was the next to go. He tossed it carelessly at the dirty laundry bin in the corner by the armor stand. "I think a shower is in order."

"Shower?"

"Yes, with actual water," Jaster nodded with a pleased expression. "Ever used one?"

"No," Din answered with a shake of his head. "It's always been sonics."

"Ah then you're in for a treat," Jaster stood, "But first, let's get you out of your armor."

Din's fingers flexed at the burst of nerves that statement caused. Jaster's eyes followed the motion. Din had slipped his orange tipped gloves back on during the ride to the compound. Being uncovered left him feeling exposed. Now…his riduur was asking him to willingly expose himself. It was…difficult.

Jaster looked somewhat concerned. "Din, you don't have to... if you'd be more comfortable in your room?"

Din burst out, "No! I just... this is new." His fingers slowly uncurled. He forced his shoulders to drop from the defensive posture he hadn't even realized he'd taken up. He forced himself to admit. "And you are clan. I want too."

Jaster moved to stand in front of him. "What if I helped?"

"Yes..." Din consented.

Din's breath caught again when Jaster reached up to cradle his helmet in his palms. Jaster asked calmly gentle. "Let's start with this, yes?"

Din reached up to cover Jaster's hands, "Yes." His hands were shaking just a little. Somehow, this intimate moment felt more nerve wrecking then when he was kneeling, vulnerable, in the middle of the arena with a thousand eyes on him.

They lifted Din's helmet together and lowered it into the space between their chests.

"There you are," Jaster murmured. His eyes roved over Din's bared face. "I truly am a lucky man. You are quite handsome."

Din could feel his cheeks heating from the compliment. His eyes dropped to their over lapped hands. "I'm the lucky one. I resigned myself to being alone when I became a bounty hunter for my covert."

"Sounds like a lonely existence."

Din nodded just a little.

Jaster eased the helmet out of Din's grasp. The Mand'alor set it on the desk beside him. He turned back. His hands rose up then paused. "May I touch your face?"

"Yes," Din's breath caught and held.

Jaster's hands cupped Din's face. A soft sound escaped Din. A tremble swept through him. It was the first human touch he'd felt on his face since his mother. His hands reached up to clasp the Mand'alor's wrists. His eyes fell shut at the gentle sweep of Jaster's thumbs over the curve of his cheeks. His breath stuttered in his chest after a quick gasp for air.

"Stars, Din," Jaster whispered in awe. He was intensely aware of the privilege he had been given. "You've never been kissed, have you?"

Din shook his head just a little. "No."

"Can I kiss you?" Jaster couldn't help but ask. He'd never been anyone's first kiss.

Din tensed a little. His eyes shifted away anxiously. He'd always wondered. Had vague memories of his mother kissing his father. Had seen other beings do it. Had always wondered. He nodded, just a quick bob of his head.

Jaster tapped Din's cheek to make him look back. He felt a bit bad at the small flinch Din made. Those gorgeous dark eyes shifted back to Jaster's own. "You don't have to do anything you don't feel comfortable with. But I need you to speak up so things are explicitly clear. I never want to force or pressure you to do something you truly don't want too."

Din's chest squeezed at the empathetic, kindness of this man. "Understood. I just have no experience with that…"

"I'll teach you. Think of everything like when you learned to shoot. It takes practice. And adjusting to find what works best for you," Jaster explained.

That eased some of the tension from Din's shoulders. That he understood and could appreciate. "Then yes, I'd like...to let you kiss me."

Jaster smiled. What a contrast this shy man before him now was to the fierce fighter in the arena less than an hour ago. Din was the personification of the lovely duality of man. If Jaster had any doubts about his rash proposal, they were gone now. If he wasn't madly in love with this man, he very soon would be.

"Close your eyes. Just feel. Trust me to take care of you?" Jaster caressed Din's jaw.

"Yes," Din replied easily, because he truly did. His eyes slipped shut. He leaned in just a little to the soft, gentle pressure on his jaw.

Jaster had to remember to breathe for a moment. He leaned in, pressing his lips to Din's in the softest, gentlest kiss he had ever given. It was the most tender moment he had experienced in his life. He held it for less than a minute before easing back. Din's shivery gasp sent heat exploding in Jaster's chest.

"Yes?" Jaster whispered.

"Yes," Din breathed out just a touch shaky.

Their mouths met again. This time with more intent from Jaster. He eased in closer. Increased the pressure to kiss a little harder. One hand slid from Din's jaw to bury in the matted, sweaty curls of Din's hair at the nape of his neck. Jaster didn't even care. Because Din's answering little noise of sheer stunned delight was one of the most beautiful sounds Jaster had ever heard.

Oh, Jaster was past done for on this man. He was gone. Ruined for anyone else. No one else could compare. Jaster pressed in until he was plastered to Din's front. The hard edges of Din's armor didn't even register. Jaster wanted to taste, kiss, touch, breathe Din's air. He never knew such all consuming want, desire, lust for another being. It was all he could to control himself.

Din leaned into him. Followed Jaster's lead as their mouths pressed and slid together. Din was awkward at first but so earnest but a truly quick learner. One of Din's big, gloved hands cupped the back of Jaster's head.

The Mand'alor's knees went weak. The hands he'd been admiring for weeks in those orange tipped gloves was cradling him like something precious. Jaster had to break the kiss to catch his breath. He found himself staring into Din's wide, amazed lovely brown eyes.

Jaster licked his bottom lip and swallowed hard. "Good?"

Din blinked, like he was trying to remember what words were, and maybe he was. "Good."

"Can I take more of your kit off?" Jaster pressed his luck.

"Yes."

Jaster reached up to detach Din's left pauldron. "You'll need to paint this orange and add a mythosaur skull."

Din took the pauldron to run his fingers over the polished metal. "I'll be glad too. It'd be nice to have some color again." He looked up with a small smile.

Jaster couldn't resist kissing the shape of it. Hearing the smile in Din's voice didn't even compare to seeing it on his handsome face. Din flushed, fingers tightening on the pauldron.

"Sorry, I got side tracked," Jaster apologized.

They reluctantly let go of each other to work on divesting Din of his armor. It was stacked neatly on the bench. Jaster drapped Din's gun belt over his desk chair. The cape followed, covering the chair, to keep it from wrinkling to badly. The Dark Saber was set down reverently by Din's helmet. His boots were unclasped and eased off then tossed aside.

Down to just his flight suit, Din looked less imposing. But he was still broad through the chest and shoulders. His tapered waist was a thing of envy. He was a little soft in the middle from age. His legs were strong, well defined. He still cut a mouth watering figure in Jaster's opinion.

Din looked more unsure now, stripped of his armor. Jaster stepped back up against him, slow and careful. He felt a bit like he was taming a feral being. He reached up to set his hands on Din's waist. That lovely tan throat bobbed as Din swallowed hard.

"Can I teach you to kiss with tongue?" Jaster smiled a bit wickedly.

Din looked startled. "Why?"

"I would love to know what you taste like," the Mand'alor answered sincerely. "I want to swallow every noise you make."

Din's breath hitched.

Jaster offered kindly. "I'll give you a hint of it. If you don't like it, we can stop. No harm, no foul."

"Sounds fair," Din agreed slowly.

"So yes?"

"Yes."

Din accepted Jaster's kiss with more confidence this time. His hand came up again to cradle the back of the Mand'alor's head. He felt a burst of pride at the happy sound Jaster made in response.

Jaster waited until Din was pressing back into him before sliding his tongue across the seam of Din's lips. The small jerk back from Din didn't offend the Mand'alor. He waited for Din to relax before doing it again. This time Din let his mouth fall open. Jaster licked in to slide over Din's tongue. The sharp inhale and small confused sound vibrated into Jaster. He groaned in response. Din's fingers spasmed in Jaster's hair. They kissed: deep, tongues sliding together, and messy.

Jaster forced himself to break their connection again. Both of them were heaving for air by then. Jaster couldn't resist pressing in for a quick peck.

"We need to shower. Change out of these sweaty kutes," Jaster reasoned as much to himself as to Din.

The door chimed shattering the intimacy that'd had been growing between them.

"That's Myles with a fresh kute. Go shower. We can pick this up later... if you want," Jaster encouraged with a small smile. "Throw your dirty things in the hamper. I'll wait for you out here. Give you some privacy, yes?"

Din nodded gratefully, stepping away to head to the refresher room. Jaster went to retrieve the requested clothing. He rolled his eyes at the bottle of tihaar Myles proffered along with the kute.

"So congratulations again," the Kiffar grinned. "He's not a porg face. Quite the opposite. Pretty damn envious, honestly."

Jaster rolled his eyes, accepting the items. "Jealous now you didn't try to out do me?"

"It wouldn't have worked," Myles shrugged. He paused then leered a little, leaning in. "How's the rest of him look?"

The door slid shut in his face before he could make any more smart remarks. Jaster returned to the bedroom. He set the kute inside the 'fresher on the sink without looking in. Din deserved his privacy until he explicitly stated other wise.

Jaster wriggled out of his sweaty, dirty kute, but stayed in his small clothes (tank top and unders). He popped the cork on the tihaar to take a long gulp. He looked up when Din came out of the 'fresher. The man looked calmer, more at ease. His still damp curls were coiling as they dried. He looked softer, far more approachable in just a simple black kute.

Din's eyes fell on Jaster. A flush stained his cheeks. The Mand'alor sat on the edge of the bed in his small clothes, sipping from a bottle of clearly alcoholic beverage. He was no less impressive out of his armor and kute. He was well built: broad shoulders, well defined chest, trim waist, strong arms, and lean, muscular legs. Even mostly undressed, Jaster looked like a warrior. Din found his eyes lingering on the man's thighs. His fingers curled in toward his palms and relaxed.

Jaster's hungry gaze roved over Din's figure. Din felt like he could almost feel it on his skin. It made his belly quiver. The Mand'alor abruptly stood up. He walked over to Din to hand him the bottle. "You look good like this."

Din cleared his throat as he accepted the liquor. "What is this?"

"Tihaar."

Din's eyebrows arched in surprise. "I've only had this once. To celebrate a wedding in the covert. It was rare, a special treat."

The Mand'alor looked almost saddened by that. "Now you can have it whenever you want, so long as you don't overindulge."

"I doubt I ever would," Din eyed the bottle.

Jaster touched Din's arm. "I want to give you every experience you deserved to have growing up as a Mandalorian."

Din looked away, flustered. "Why?"

"I want to see the expressions on your face. I want to learn what you like, what you don't. I want to know everything about you," Jaster admitted, quietly fervent.

Din could understand. It was a sentimentality he'd come to know thanks to Grogu. That Jaster felt that way towards him was somewhat surprising. It was also making his chest warm. So few had ever cared about Din in so intimate a way. And even more surprising was Din felt the same for Jaster. Their talks had been enlightening and felt like it created a bond. Din had deeply enjoyed hearing Jaster's ideas, history, and the similarities between them.

"Me too," he managed to say.

Jaster smiled, looking very pleased. "Sit. Relax," Jaster urged. "It's my turn to shower." He stepped away to grab a clean set of small clothes from the dresser.

Din watched Jaster walk into the 'fresher. Unlike Din, he left the door open. He stripped off his tank top. Din snapped his eyes away, gut swooping.

He forced himself to walk over to the bed. He sank down to sit, the bottle in his hand was regarded with curious interest. He raised it to his mouth to take a sip. The liquor was sweet with only the slight burn of alcohol on the back end. It burst warm in his stomach and spread through him enticingly. He took a bigger sip. He remembered thinking during the wedding celebration in his covert that sipping this was the closest he'd ever get to such a momentous event. Such a thing was not meant for him. Yet now he found himself wedded to the Mand'alor.

You earned this, Din, Tarre's voice barely startled him.

Din was to tired to disagree. Sitting down was a mistake. Exhaustion hit him all at once. The stress, adrenaline, and emotional roller coaster was ebbing away to leave him drained. He shifted to sit up against the headboard. The lure of closing his eyes was to strong to fight. He'd just close his eyes for a moment. The sound of the shower running was soothing.

He was asleep before he could fend it off.

Jaster emerged from the 'fresher. He smiled gently at the sight the other Mandalorian sound asleep. He was sitting up against the headboard with his arms crossed over his chest and his ankles crossed too. Jaster climbed onto the bed. Din shifted, coming somewhat awake.

Jaster crooned gently. "Shh, cyare. Lay down. Go back to sleep."

Din slipped down to lay properly. Jaster eased down next to him. They settled into comfortable positions and slipped quiet, peacefully to sleep.

Chapter Text

Din woke some time in the early afternoon. He blinked to reorient himself. He vaguely remembered getting coaxed to lie down properly. He was flat on his back with his hands folded over his belly. The sound of someone else's soft, slow breathing made him glance to his right. Jaster was lying on his side, facing Din. He looked less care worn in his sleep. It was strange to wake up beside another grown person in the same bed. Certainly, never with a significant other. 

Din's breath stuttered. His chest tightened. He'd married the Mand'alor. 

A wise choice. Tarre's voice made Din flinch. 

Din eased himself up to go take care of business in the 'fresher. When he was finished, he spoke quietly. "Why could I still hear you earlier?" 

When I took you over, I attached to your soul. Otherwise, I would not have been able to help. A soul is the purest connection to the Force. When our souls connected, we bonded, he sounded a touch leery. It was not my intention to do so.

Din sighed. "Just my luck." 

You would have missed me, Din Djarin. 

A long moment of silence passed. "I would have," Din admitted with a small smile. Tarre had come to be a great support and mentor. "Will you be able to reappear like that again?" 

That depends. 

Din grimaced. "On what?"

Need, circumstance, and if you allow me too. 

"I understand," Din rubbed his forehead. He wished he didn't.

You should go back to your riduur. He seems to be waking. You two have yet to give yourselves fully to one another. 

Din's cheeks flamed, "That is none of your business." 

Bonds are important, Din. They are only as strong as we allow them to be. You crave the intimacy and closeness Jaster offers. Allow yourself to have it. You've earned the right. He is your riduur. Let yourself experience what that kind of bond brings you. 

Din huffed. He couldn't believe he was getting the sex talk from a dead Mandalorian Jedi. 

Also, tell him if he does not take good care of you, the mythosaur and I will haunt his nightmares and make him regret his life choices.

"Tarre…don't start. You like him. You were trying to push me at him," Din rolled his eyes.

It does not mean that he gets a free pass to be a bad riduur to my vod.

Din sighed. "I'm not talking about this with you anymore."

He left the 'fresher to find Jaster, awake and watching him intently. Din returned to the bedside. He hesitantly sat at Jaster's beckoning. 

"Who were you talking too?" Jaster asked, sounding muzzy with lingering sleep.

"Tarre." 

"Ah..." Jaster hummed. "So he's still in the Dark Saber?" 

Din hesitated before admitting. "It seems he bonded to my soul earlier." 

"Oh." Jaster scrunched his brow. "He's not…watching us right now is he?" 

"I think he's decided to leave us alone…if that's what you mean," Din replied in amusement.

"Thank the stars," Jaster sighed gratefully. 

"He threatened to haunt you."

Jaster's eyes widened. "Why, what'd I do?"

Din shrugged. "Nothing yet. Just typical buir talk."

"Kark…I have a dead Mand'alor giving me the shovel talk," Jaster groaned, rubbing at his eyes.

"He's fine. He won't do anything," Din reassured.

Jaster did not look entirely convinced, but he seemed to let it go. "Lay down, Din," He urged. 

Din considered the request a moment before doing so. 

"Good. Now stay there. It's my turn to use the 'fresher," Jaster got up and paced quickly across the room. The 'fresher door slid shut. 

Din rolled to his side to face the middle of the bed. Only a few moments passed before the 'fresher door opened. Jaster was soon climbing back onto the bed. He settled once more facing Din. They stared at each other for several moments. 

"So I take it you're a right side of the bed sleeper?" Jaster broke the silence with a light, teasing question. 

Din gave a half shrug. "I'm a sleep where ever and when ever I can kinda sleeper." 

Jaster hummed. "Fair. I like the left side. So it works out for me if you want to stay on that side." 

"Oh... you want me to keep sleeping in your bed?" Din ventured to ask. He didn't want to hope or assume.

Jaster's brows scrunched again. "Yes. Every night. Unless you want your own room?" 

Din flushed. "No, I—" He cleared his throat. "I'm not used to sharing my bed or my space with anyone but Grogu." 

"Oh, then you can keep your room—" 

"No!" Din interrupted, a touch louder and definitely more vehemently than he meant too. 

Jaster blinked. 

"That's not what I want," Din struggled to explain to the other man, "I like this. I'm just…I'm not used to it." 

"Ah, well, I like this too." 

They smiled at each other. Jaster reached out to place a hand on Din's hip. He scooted in until he was close enough to lean in and kiss Din. It was such a new sensation: feeling Jaster's soft mouth on his own. It was an intimacy and connection Din never had understood until now. And he could appreciate the appeal of it. 

Din reached over to fit his hand over Jaster's waist. His breath hitched when he found bare skin where Jaster's tank had rucked up. He was a little startled by Jaster's answering quiet moan. 

They broke apart. 

"You have no idea how much I've been watching your hands. Wondering about them," Jaster confessed. "What kind of callouses you had? Were they scarred?" 

Din's eyes widened. Jaster caught hold of  Din's other hand to raise it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to each knuckle. Din's stomach felt like a horde of butterflies was attempting to escape it. "Why?" His voice was strained and breathy. 

"I had so little to go on. And your hands are so expressive," Jaster smirked. His eyes dropped to Din's hands. He rubbed his thumb over the small target tattoo inked on the webbing of Din's hand between his thumb and forefinger. "Why this?"

Din wet his bottom lip. "A reminder to stay on target after a failed hunt. I did it myself."

"Ah," Jaster smiled slightly. "Any other tattoos?"

Din pulled his left hand out of Jaster's to pull up the sleeve of his right wrist. A mythosaur skull was inked in, the more traditional crest, quite different from the stylized one Jaster had created for the Haat'ade. Jaster rubbed his right thumb over the tattoo. Din shivered. 

"That was to remind myself of the creed I swore," Din murmured, throat tightening. "To keep my honor." His eyes found Jaster's.

Jaster gently dragged Din's wrist up to press a kiss to it. "You're more honorable than any Mandalorian I know."

Din's breath hitched. Emotion made him swallow thickly. He didn't know what to say to that.

Jaster caressed over Din's hands. "Before we go any further, I need to know, Din... how far have you ever gone with anyone." 

Din chewed his bottom lip. "I fumbled around with a few in my covert…before they started treating me differently. Paz being one of them. But we just used our hands. I got blown by a twi'lek I made the mistake of teaming up with when I was a new hunter. But that's all. I never dared go further. Not after that incident. Lack of trust or interest kept me from doing more." 

Jaster took a steadying breath. "And what about to yourself?" 

"There's a lot of alone time in hyper space. I had several toys," Din smirked. "I'm not a prude or inexperienced in anal play." 

Jaster had to close his eyes, "Stars, Din..." A light flush bloomed on his cheeks. He wet his bottom lip. 

Din had to remember to breathe. He was surprised by the sudden desire to kiss Jaster but he held off. He had always been honest so he made himself continue, "I know what I like in that regard though I've never done that with another being." 

The Mand'alor's eyes snapped back open, they were darker…hungrier. "I bet you are gorgeous like that..." 

Din flushed, caught out by the utter desire in Jaster's voice. 

"So to be clear, you've never done oral or fucked someone in any way?" Jaster sounded a bit strained.

"Correct." 

Jaster reached down to pet his hand over the curve of Din's clothed hip. "Would you like to fuck me?" 

Din's breath froze. He stared at Jaster in amazement. 

"I'm versatile, Din. I just like to feel good with the being I'm with," the Mand'alor explained. "But if that's to much we can stick to just hands or whatever you're comfortable." 

Din swallowed hard. "I've... always wanted to know," he forced himself to take a slow breath, "What it's like to feel someone like that." 

"I'm happy to let you," Jaster squeezed Din's hip. "If that's what you want."

"Yes." 

Jaster eased back to grab the hem of his tank and tug it off. Din swallowed hard. The Mand'alor had inked his karta'beskar onto his skin right where the cuirass's heart would sit over his chest. The Haat'ade mythosaur symbol was inked on his left shoulder. The green, red, and white Mereel sigil was inked on his left pec. It was in the exact same location that Boba's had been on his armor. Jaster had some of the nicest pecs Din had ever seen. Din reached out to touch the sigil, but pulled his hand back self consciously.

"You can touch me, Din. All you want," Jaster encouraged, seeing the admiring look in Din's gaze. 

That gave Din the courage to trace his fingers over the lines of the Mereel sigil. There was only a faint touch of sadness now at the thought of Boba. Maybe Jaster could read that in Din's expression. His hand came up to curl around Din's over the sigil. Din pulled his hand back after a moment to reach for the clasp at the throat of his kute.

Jaster reached over to still Din's hand. "You can stay as clothed as you want if that helps." 

Din shook his head, "I want to us to be equal…fair." 

"Honorable in all things, huh?" Jaster teased lightly. 

"As a hunter, all I had was my reputation. I tried to keep it fair even when others didn't," Din replied. 

He sat up to pop the clasp and catch hold of the zip. He tugged it down to his navel then worked his arms out of his sleeves. The flight suit was peeled down to his waist. He flinched a little when Jaster shoved up right. He was staring at Din's bared torso and arms with a strange mix of concern, admiration, and lust. 

"Hells, Din," Jaster breathed. 

Scars littered Din's exposed skin. A testament to every fight he'd survived and that his armor had not protected him. Scars of stabbings, slashes, blaster bolts, claws, and more were easy to pick out over his body. Jaster reached out to touch the deep scar on Din's left bicep. Goosebumps broke out up Din's arm at Jaster's fingers brushing over his skin.

"Most of these look like they were cauterized," the Mand'alor looked up into Din's dark eyes. 

"Bacta was to expensive. And usually not available out on a hunt," Din shrugged. "That one l earned shortly after I found Grogu. Several hunters jumped me trying to take him." 

Jaster rubbed his fingers over what looked like deep bite marks in Din's fore arm. "And these?" 

"The mudhorn that tried to kill me. Grogu saved my life. And I earned my signet," Din smiled a little with fondness. 

Jaster slipped his hand up to grasp Din by the nape of his neck. "I want to know every story behind each scar." He leaned in to kiss Din, slow and searching. 

Din's quiet little gasp was swallowed down. The grip on his neck had him shuddering. He kissed back: lips sliding more confidently against Jaster's. He dared to press his hand to Jaster's chest over his heart. The quickened pace of its beating was a testament to the Mand'alor's arousal. Jaster was so warm... 

Jaster eased back to press their foreheads together. "I can't wait to spend my lifetime learning about you." His hand left Din's nape to mirror Din's, pressing over his heart. 

Din's muscles twitched under Jaster's hands.  The air felt like it was sucked out Din's lungs. It was a simple touch. But no other being had touched his skin in decades. It felt like the warmth of Jaster's hand was spreading through him like the tihaar earlier. His belly quivered. His cock pulsed. 

"Jaster," Din gasped out, because it was a lot and yet not enough.

"I know," Jaster murmured. "I think I figured out what you need." Din looked to him with confusion. "Firm touches, yes?"

Din nodded. 

"Then we take it slow," Jaster smiled kindly. "We'll mirror each other, fair?"

"Yes."

They mapped each other's bodies. Hands gliding over warm, scarred, and tattooed skin. It was only simple firm touches and presses. To another being it may have been boring. But to Din it was intimately erotic. Each slide of their palms over one another had Din shuddering and achingly hard within minutes. 

Jaster seemed just as enthralled. Like he was cataloging every sound and feeling. His eyes were intent: dark and hungry. Din had been the target of many a lustful gaze. But always for his armor, not necessarily him. There had been a few who seemed to want him: Omera, Cobb (Din was pretty sure), and Boba once or twice. Jaster's gaze was nothing like any of them though. His gaze was full of such deep appreciation, admiration, and delight at each new reaction from Din.  

Jaster caught Din by the shoulders. He eased down on his back, taking Din with him. The Mand'alor shifted until Din could slot between his thighs. Din settled on top of Jaster. Both groaned at the feeling of being chest to chest. Jaster shifted until their cocks aligned before bucking upward. Even through several layers of clothing the burst of pleasure stole Din's breath. A whimper escaped him. Jaster's hot hands felt like a brand on his skin. His big hands traced over Din's shoulders down his back to grasp at his ass. Jaster's strong thighs gripped at Din's hips. 

They rutted against each other. Their hands never stopped touching every inch of skin they could reach. Jaster caught Din's mouth in messy, tongue sucking kisses. Jaster didn't seem to care about to much spit or uncoordinated lips when Din was to overwhelmed to keep up.

The sensations were incredible. Bliss was overloading Din's senses. He buried his fingers in Jaster's thick, black curls. Jaster groaned in response. He mirrored the move, sliding his fingers into Din's wavy curls. Their movements got steadily more frantic and faster. They couldn't seem to get close enough. The pleasure kept building: a pressure in the base of Din's cock, heat in his gut, and rendering him mindless with the desire to come. 

It was the dig of Jaster's fingers in Din's hair and the slide of his other warm hand up Din's back that did it. Din came with a shudder and gasped moan. He bucked against Jaster, who kept Din trapped close. A few more grinds of Jaster's hips, and he was coming too. He groaned; rough, loud, and relieved into Din's mouth. Their hips worked together to ride the tide of bliss sweeping through them. The bright pleasure eased then ebbed as did their bodies. 

A sated chuckle escaped Jaster. Din pushed up to give the Mand'alor a questioning look. "It's been a long time since I came in my unders like an untried teenager," Jaster explained. He smoothed his hand down his Din's back, "And I don't remember it feeling even half that good."

Din flushed, pleased, nodding in agreement. "Much better than the last person I did that with..." 

"Probably a lot more comfortable out of the armor," Jaster guessed with a smirk. 

"Much more." 

Jaster gently pushed Din back. "Don't think we're done. I just want to take these unders off before they stick to me." 

Din snorted in amusement. Jaster grinned. He hooked his thumbs in his waistband to yank them down and off. He used the soiled unders to wipe his crotch clean. He tossed them carelessly towards the dirty laundry hamper. 

Din slipped off the bed. He hesitated only a moment before working the flight suit and his unders off. He followed in Jaster's example, using his unders to wipe clean. When he looked up, Jaster was eyeing him with dark, eager arousal. Din's cheeks flushed darker. 

"Get up here, riduur," Jaster growled lustfully. 

Heat exploded in Din's chest and gut. Jaster's tone spurred Din into motion. He settled back between Jaster's spread legs. Their thighs sliding over each other had Din's breath hitching hard. 

A tube of slick was fumbled out of the nightstand on Jaster's side of the bed. The Mand'alor pressed it into Din's hand. Din wet his bottom lip. He set the slick aside to touch Jaster. The Mand'alor hummed in appreciation at the soft caresses of Din's hands. He pet up Jaster's shins. Din liked the feel of soft hair under his palms. His fingers traced the ugly, tender lingering scars of the ion cannon wounds in Jaster's left knee and lower thigh from Korda 6. The scars already looked old: white and only slight indents in the skin.

"I owe Grogu a debt of gratitude for saving my leg. I'm sure otherwise I'd be getting fit for a robotic prosthetic," Jaster remarked thoughtfully. 

Din looked up. Their dark eyes caught and held. "Don't spoil him to make up for it." 

Jaster chuckled. "I think he earned it a little." 

"Give him an inch and he'll take a parasec," Din warned with a little smirk. 

"Spoken like an experienced buir." 

Din chuffed. His hands continued on their journey. He slide his palms up lean, well muscled thighs. Din's thumbs caressing the softer skin on Jaster's sensitive inner thighs. Jaster sighed happily. Din traced the crease where Jaster's thighs met hips to his already filling erection. Din wrapped his fist around the Mand'alor's cock. The skin was velvet soft, several shades darker than the rest of his tanned skin tone, and the head peaked out of the top of its sheath. Din stroked up the hardening length to roll the extra skin down. The swollen head of Jaster's cock pearled with pre. Jaster's erection had quickly reached full arousal. Din was amazed by the length, but it matched the lean height of the Mand'alor. 

"Din," Jaster's tone was a touch pleading, "I want to feel you in me." 

Din grabbed up the slick. He caught Jaster behind the knee to urge his leg up to hook over his shoulder. Jaster held his other leg up by the back of his knee. Din bit his lip at the sight the Mand'alor bared and splayed open. He poured the lube over his fingers. He traced over the whorl of Jaster's rim, spreading the slick. He'd only ever done this to himself. To do it for his riduur felt so very personal and intimate. 

Jaster sighed in want and relief as the first finger sank in. Din swallowed at the strong grip of warm muscle around his digit. He pumped a few times before adding a second finger. Jaster's body opened up so easily. His cock pulsed with each pump in. His eyes had gone dark with need. A third finger joined in and Jaster's body welcomed it. Din rubbed along the warm inner walls until he felt the bump he was searching for. Jaster's answering, stunned groan was satisfying to hear. Din worked Jaster until the Mand'alor was trembling and his cock drooling pre onto his lower belly. 

"Din, please-!" Jaster begged, face flushed and sweat breaking out over his chest.

The desperate plea had Din's gut swooping. His own cock was throbbing with arousal. He slipped his fingers free to slick his cock. He helped Jaster hook his other knee on Din's other shoulder. His eyes found Jaster's again. Their gazes held. Din pushed slowly in. His breath hitched. Jaster's body was a tight, hot, slick grip around Din's length, drawing him in. Din groaned at the sensations. His hands gripped Jaster's upper thighs to steady himself. He kept sinking in until he was buried to the hilt in the velvet soft grip of Jaster. It stole Din's sanity. It was beyond pleasure. It was something bright and scorching hot; so deeply, wholly intimate a connection with another being he'd never felt.

Jaster's mouth had fallen open to pant. His hands reached up to cup Din's jaw. Din hadn't realized he'd leaned over far enough for the Mand'alor to reach his face. Jaster was trembling faintly, "Manda, Din, you feel... unh... So damn good." 

Din could only groan in response. He felt like he was about to embarrass himself. He was glad the only points of contact where Jaster's hands, his knees on Din's shoulders, and the grip of him around Din's cock. Anymore than that and Din was sure he'd have lost it immediately. Jaster gave him a moment to find some semblance of control. Then he was tugging at Din's wrists and begging for Din to move. Din was helpless not too. His hips were moving before he even realized. Jaster let out a relieved moan. 

There was no holding back after that. Din's hips found a quick, powerful rhythm. Jaster urged him on. Din grasped Jaster tightly by the upper thighs hard enough to turn the skin white under his fingers. Jaster dug his fingers into Din's wrists just as tightly. Din's body was jittering with impending release after a dozen strokes. 

Jaster was no better off. He was just as caught up in the ecstasy building like a wildfire. His dominant hand dropped to his cock to jerk himself: frenzied and frothy with pre. 

They exploded nearly together. Din lost it first, pistoning in mindlessly. Bliss swamped his senses; crashing over him in waves. The sudden moans of relief slipped out of him unbidden. Jaster was thrown over the edge by Din's pleasured expression. He tossed his head back and came with an unabashed yelp. Both shuddered apart: pleasure like a feedback loop between them. When they finally stilled, Din eased Jaster's legs down, before carefully pulling out. 

At the Mand'alor's urging, Din collapsed forward. Jaster held him tight, heedless of the mess. Din tucked his face in the space between Jaster's shoulder and throat. They laid together simply holding and basking in the sweet, sated afterglow. Din shivered at the scratch of Jaster's nails over his scalp. 

Din had never felt so safe and wanted. The well of loneliness in his soul was being eased. Din no longer had to live a life separated from even his own people. He was wanted. He was accepted wholly. The realization was profound. He squeezed his eyes shut to ward off the prickle of tears. His chest stuttered on the next breath in. Jaster crooned gently in his ear. It was quiet, gentle peace between them for a short time.

The chime of a comlink call startled them. Din rolled off Jaster to let him up. Din eyed the mand'alor's pert ass when he padded across the room. 

"Mereel, go," Jaster keyed his vambrace. 

"I know you're enjoying the bliss of your new marriage, but you have an hour until the Festivities begins," Myles voice was deeply amused. 

Jaster sighed. "Vore, Myles." 

"Just so you're aware, the Viszlas are…deeply unamused by our efforts to waylay any departure." 

"Not at all surprised," Jaster smirked. "I assume Pyk's been running his mouth." 

"Of course. See you there, Mand'alor." The comlink call abruptly ended. 

Jaster looked over at Din. "Looks like we better clean up and go make an appearance." 

"Wonder if they'll swear to the Codex?" 

Jaster chuffed. "I don't even want to guess. I can't wait to see how all of this plays out." 

Din chuckled and pushed up to follow his riduur into the fresher. Jaster looped an arm about Din's waist. 

Din smiled at Jaster's amorous look. "Save your energy, Mand'alor." 

Jaster groaned in annoyance. "I wish it was for a better reason." 

"At least, tonight I will get to try all the foods I could not yesterday," Din remarked in consideration. 

"Ah true! Let's hurry up then. I just realized I've not eaten since first meal." 

"Same." 

They quickly rinsed off in the shower, dressed, donned their kits, and took the speeder back out to the great meadow. 

Chapter Text

The Mand’alor and his new riduur were met with an uproarious wall of noise upon their arrival. Jaster hopped out of the speeder, cape flaring and settling around him dramatically. Din was glad his helmet was back on to hide his smile of endearment. Jaster was something of a showboat. Din followed the Mand’alor down into the meadow. Jaster fielded congratulations from near every vod they passed. They moved steadily towards the arena.

Tre Viszla stepped in front of Din and Jaster. Both stopped, staring down the imposing figure of the covert elder. Tre kept his hands by his sides, well away from his weapons, in a clear show of no threat.

"I wish to speak with Din Djarin-Mereel," Tre requested.

Jaster glanced to Din. The silver Mandalorian inclined his head briefly. Tre turned. Din followed with Jaster a step behind.

"Alone," Tre stopped and turned back to regard them.

"You can not believe—!" Jaster started.

Din set his hand on his riduur's arm. "It's fine. I need to do this."

Jaster huffed. "I don't like it."

"I know. But I'll be alright. I have Tarre," Din stated firmly.

Tre headed for the Razor Crest and Din fell in behind him. It felt almost normal. Din had a moment of deja vu of following Tre in his youth after a training exercise. Tre had complimented him. Din had been proud. He remembered thinking some day he would truly be a Mandalorian. The tribe would bang their fists and welcome him with celebration when he swore the creed. Din swallowed hard. It would probably take a long time for such old hurts to heal.

They walked up the ramp of the Crest into the hold. Din tried not to let anymore memories overwhelm him. But stars, how he missed this ship. He couldn't resist touching her hull with reverence.

Tre sat on a crate against the wall. Din moved over to sit across from him. They stared at each other silently for a long moment.

"You knew my son, Pax?" Tre finally spoke.

"Yes," Din answered.

"Tell me of him."

Din thought back to the Mandalorian who had saved him. The one who picked him up, held him close, and carried him to safety. The one only who argued that Din should be allowed to carry his family name without consequence. He had been like a buir to Din. "He was honorable…and kind. He saved me. Looked out for me. Trained me on how to shoot. Treated me like his own son. I was raised along side, Paz. Your grandson…who looked a lot like you. Big and powerful. I knew Paz's son, Ragnar, though not well. Paz and I…had a falling out after I refused the Viszla clan name."

"Pax is a gentle child. A loving soul," Tre remarked. He asked, almost reluctant sounding. "What happened to him?"

"He died defending our covert after they helped me escape Nevarro with my son," Din replied, sorrow catching in his voice.

Tre was silent for several long minutes. "I abandoned Tor and his Death Watch after he got out youngest brother, Torq, killed. My sister, the armorer, came with me. Death Watch was not what we had hoped. We should have known better. Tor was always far to obsessed with power, selfish, and making a name for himself," Tre divulged. "I created most of the covert's rules from a little known sect of Neo-Crusaders. They were fierce warriors. I had admired their history since I was a child. They embodied what I thought was the warrior spirit of true Mandalorians.

All I wanted was to live as a Mandalorian with honor and follow the tenets. But the fight over the title of Mand'alor in the Viszla family had destroyed our lineage. So I disowned that part of the creed. And the secrecy was to keep us safe from the remaining Viszla line."

Din nodded slowly. "I can understand all of that. But what I can't is how I was punished for not taking the clan name. And for removing my helmet to save my son. Our clans should be more important than our faces."

Tre took a deep breath. "The rules we created were to be ironclad so no one in the covert questioned the elders. We needed control to ensure the safety of our families and secrecy to hide from the rest of the Mandalorians. And I will admit while I forced the others to forsake their names, I was selfish and egotistical in keeping mine. I founded the covert and came from such a respected lineage that I wanted to continue."

Din stared across at Tre. This was the man he remembered growing up. That Tre had explained himself. He was fervent in his beliefs and had been an honorable man. He made Din want to follow in his footsteps. He'd died before Din reached his verdgoten.

"Your beliefs caused me harm," Din said, not ready to forgive. "You said I deserved how I was treated for not accepting adoption. You accused me earlier of not being Mandalorian when I won the Dark Saber. You would have fought me for it. You didn't think my riduur was worthy of being Mand'alor, yet you used some of his codex to build your rules. You were offended when my son and riduur took House Viszla."

Tre nodded. "I am a hypocrite and a liar as you accused." He lowered his helmet to stare at the floor. His entire body language was one of shame. "I've no right to be offended or proud about my Clan and House that I abandoned."

Din huffed under his breath. "What changed your mind all the sudden?"

"When faced with the skull of a mythosaur and being declared potentially darmanda by your long dead ancestor, it might be time to evaluate your life choices," Tre admitted. "That and they grounded my ship. It gave me time to think…about the impact of my actions."

It is good to hear one of my foolish lineage may be coming to his senses, Tarre remarked. There might be hope for the others.

Din chuckled just a little. "There's always hope."

"Is Tarre still in there?" Tre asked, gesturing at the Dark Saber.

"He's actually bonded to me now," Din replied.

Tre stilled. "So you are Tarre Viszla?"

"No. But he can hear everything and is part of the Force," Din shrugged. "I don't really understand it… he's just there."

"I suppose I should thank you both. I was given much to consider," Tre looked down at his hands.

He needs to consider what he intends to do before sundown, Tarre stated flatly.

"He says you need to consider your intent before sundown."

Tre nodded. "And I have."

"What about the armorer?" Din asked. "I didn't know she was your sister."

Tre sighed. "She was closest to our younger brother. She hated Tor and never forgave him for what happened. She became…reclusive when we created the covert."

Din thought that was something of an understatement.

"I don't know what she intends to do, but it's her choice," Tre stood up. "Vor entye for speaking with me. I will present my decision at sundown."

Din nodded and stood too. He walked out of the ship, down the ramp, and out into the meadow. Jaster stood not far away with Myles, Jango with Grogu, Silas, Ny, and what looked like half the Haat'ade. He smiled, pleased and touched, at their show of force and support.

"I'm fine," he said, firmly.

Jaster glanced up the ramp at Tre, who appeared on the ramp. "What did he say?"

"He'd give his decision at sundown," Din replied. He shifted his helmet towards Myles. "And that his ship was grounded."

The kiffar coughed to cover a smile. "Ah, yes, well his and Pyk's gunship both suffered mechanical errors. Sad thing that. Not sure what happened. Parts missing. Woulda thought Jawas got 'em."

Jaster turned away before the smirk could show on his face. Din took his son back from Jango. Grogu cooed. He looked up at Tre, ears sweeping back and narrowing his eyes. Din patted the child's back soothingly. The Mand'alor turned and headed towards the arena. Din fell in at his side, Grogu tucked in his left arm. Myles fell in on the other side of Jaster, and Jango bringing up the rear with Silas. The Haat'ade fell in behind them.

"Where is the armorer?" Din asked Myles.

The kiffar pointed up the hill. "She's been kneeling up there at the crest of the meadow with her tongs and hammer for the last few hours. Hasn't moved."

"Seems about right," Din remarked, looking to see her golden figure half obscured in the high grass.

"Where's Pyk?" Jaster inquired curiously.

"Sulking in his gunship. He tried to approach his Death Watch verde, but was turned away. Threw a fit about that. Went back to his ship to find it had been…scavenged. Stormed around there for a while. Came out to make demands at people. After he got several weapons drawn on him, to include some from Clan Wren, he went and hid inside the ship. Haven't heard a peep from him since. He hasn't snuck out either. I have vode posted around it, keeping a watch," Myles explained.

Jaster nodded, looking supremely satisfied. "Excellent work, Myles. Unfortunate to hear about the misfortunes that befell the Viszla ships. Suppose we'll see if repairs may be warranted…pending future circumstances."

Myles chuckled. "Agreed, Mand'alor."

They stepped into the arena. A giant pile of wood had been stacked for a bonfire in the arena center. Tables had been set up on on both short ends of the rectangle shaped arena. There were enough seats for all the clan leaders and their plus ones to sit. The tables on the one long side of the arena were steadily being filled with huge dishes of food. A long table had been set up opposite the food tables. That turned out to be the "royal" table. There were enough seats for Jaster, Din, Myles, Jango, Silas, and Adonai along with his two daughters.

Jaster came to stand in front of the "royal" table. Adonai was the first to step up to greet and congratulate Mand'alor Mereel. Then it became a rotating stream of clan leaders that Din doubted he'd be able to remember. It took some time for the hundred clan leaders to offer their congratulations to Jaster before taking up seats at the tables. There was no rhyme or reason for the seating. However, certain clans stayed together and away from others, as they had since they arrived. The rest of the Mandalorians were seated in the grass surrounding the arena much like in the morning.

Jaster waited for everyone to settle. They were all awaiting his first proclamation as the new Mand'alor. Jaster did not disappoint. Din did not know what to expect. He stayed at Jaster's side, a few paces away with Grogu still in his arms. Jango stood next to him. Myles remained on the other side of Jaster as well.

The Mand'alor held his arms out, hands up, calling silently for attention. The meadow fell into a waiting hush. Jaster took a deep breath and spoke loudly. "This is not the time for pledges. We are here to celebrate the first challenge for Mand'alor in over a century. This is a historic event. One we will tell our children and our children's children. They will talk about the events of the day along with how the clans' came together to uphold our traditions through the gathering and festivities of our people. Tonight we will eat, play games, and share our clan histories! Tomorrow, we will begin to rebuild the might of the Mandalore sector as a united people once more!" Jaster declared proudly.

A cacophony of noise followed: cheers, banging of fists on curiasses, and the beating of drums. The sound gradually settled down to calmer murmur. Jaster held his hands up once more and silence fell over the meadow.

"Before we feast, there is one last order of business that must be settled. Earlier in the day, our ancestor Mand'alor Tarre Viszla, declared his lineage in contempt and laid down an ultimatum. By sundown, Tre, Pyk, and the armorer of the Viszla lineage were to present themselves and swear to follow the new Mand'alor or be rendered dar'manda!"

The meadow was deathly quiet. It had been a long time since any Mandalorian had been publicly rebuked in such a manner. To be even accused of such actions was a severe matter. To be rendered Dar'Manda was worse than a death sentence to a Mandalorian.

"Present yourselves for judgment: Tre Viszla, armorer of Clan Viszla, and Pyk Viszla!" Jaster commanded sternly.

Tre was the first to appear. He walked down the ramp from the Razor Crest and made his way down through the meadow. In a matter of moments, he stood before Jaster and Din. He had divested himself of all his weapons. Even the tubes to his flame throwers had been disconnected and his jet pack removed.

A glint of gold in the setting sun drew everyone's attention to the top ridge of the meadow. The armorer rose. She turned and made her way sedately down the slope of the meadow. She walked into the arena. When she reached Tre, she stopped beside him. Calmly, she placed her tongs and hammer into the grass, before straightening back up.

Pyk's boots clanged loudly on the ramp of his gunship. He descended to the arena with a female verd, based on her curved cuirass. She walked back and to his left a few steps behind. He stalked into the arena, fully armed with polished armor and a dark blue cape. He walked like royalty. He was met with scoffs and other soft sounds of ridicule until the whole meadow was awash with discontent at his behavior. He stopped in line with his Uncle and Aunt, but refused to disarm.

Jaster gave an unimpressed look. "If you wish to behave like an unmannered child that is your choice, Pyk Viszla."

The younger man drew himself out tall. "I refuse to disarm for an untrue Mand'alor."

"Perhaps you were blind and deaf earlier when the Challenge was complete," Jaster remarked blandly. "Keep your weapons, Viszla. You are no challenge to me."

The young Viszla's fists curled inward and shifted close to his gun belt. Din set his hand on the Dark Saber in a clear threat. Pyk's hands moved back away from his weapons.

"Tre Viszla, since you presented yourself first, do you intend to swear to follow me or be stripped of your armor and removed from the Mandalore sector?" Jaster shifted his helmet back to regard the oldest of the Viszla lineage standing before him.

Tre dropped to his knee, and pressed his fist to his karta'beskar. "I swear on my honor as a Mandalorian to follow Mand'alor Mereel and to heed his call should it be given." He turned his head to Din. "Ni ceta, Din Djarin, for the actions and harm my covert rendered on you. We were fools to treat an honorable vod in the manner we did. I was an arrogant fool to focused on my own hurts to see the harm I caused others, who looked to me with trust and obedience."

Din stared at him in shock for a long moment. "Vor entye." He took a deep breath. "You are forgiven. Your own awareness and apology are enough to me." He was not one to hold grudges.

"Will you swear to the Codex and restore the proper tenets to your Covert, Tre Viszla?" Jaster asked.

Tre bowed his head. "I will so swear."

"You will do so when all have been judged," Jaster stated firmly.

Tre kept his head bowed.

"Armorer, do you intend to swear to follow me or be stripped of your armor and removed from the Mandalore sector?" Jaster stared her down. He had less forgiveness for her. She done far more long lasting damage to Din then Tre ever did.

She stood a long moment, unmoving. Then slowly, deliberately, she shifted and knelt. Her fist came up to press to her karta'beskar. "I swear on my honor as a Mandalorian to follow Mand'alor Mereel and to heed his call should it be given." She went silent again.

"Will you swear to the Codex and restore the proper tenets to your Covert?" Jaster asked.

The armorer bowed her head. "I will so swear."

Jaster nodded. He finally looked over to Pyk. "Pyk Viszla, do you intend to swear to follow me or be stripped of your armor and removed from the Mandalore sector?"

Pyk's glare was evidence even through his T-Visor. "I raise you an ultimatum instead. Declare yourself false Mand'alor, give me back the Dark Saber, and let me leave with my verde…" He gestured behind him. The female verd reached up to remove her helmet.

"Arla!" Jango's shout of realization rang across the meadow. "That's my sister, you sha'buir!"

Pyk raised his hand, revealing a trigger in his hand. "I'll blow her head off right here in front of you if your Mand'alor doesn't agree to my demand."

Jango was barely held back by Din's grip on his arm. The young Fett's hands fell to his blasters. Jaster didn't move.

"You're temper tantrum isn't doing you any favors," Jaster dropped the formal way of speaking, to shift back to his more blunt style. "You have one chance to stand down, and you'll leave this planet with your life, but nothing else."

Pyk scoffed. "We'll see who's hand is faster!"

Din lightly squeeze Grogu's hand. "Grab it, Grogu," he murmured softly.

The child's hand snapped up and his eyes squinted. The trigger flew out of Pyk's hand. Din caught it easily, careful to keep his fingers off the trigger. He patted the child's head. "Good job, Grogu! Just like we practice!"

Pyk yelled in fury, hand going for his blaster. A bolt screamed out across the arena. Pyk dropped to the grass, unmoving, with a hole through his throat. Jango held his stance for only a moment before shoving his blaster back in his holster and sprinting across the arena. Arla threw out her arms to catch her brother when Jango slammed into her. She dropped to her knees, dragging her shaking and crying brother with her. She buried her face in Jango's shoulder: sobbing hard enough to shake her whole body.

Jaster hurried across the space between them to drop to his knees beside the Fett siblings. Arla was whispering fervently to her brother, between sobs, "Tried J-Jango. T-tried to break me! B-But I wouldn't! Wouldn't!"

Jango gripped her hard. "Arla, Arla…" Was all he could seem to get out.

Jaster reached out to clasp the back of Jango's neck and squeezed gently. His hand was shaking. "Jango…you did so good. I'm so proud." Jango sobbed harder.

Arla rocked him as her own sobs lessened. Jango began to calm after a few moments. Arla eased him back and climbed to her feet. She started ripping off her armor, hands shaking and teeth bared. The pauldron with the Viszla shriek hawk was yanked off and thrown at Pyk's corpse. Every piece followed after until she stood there, chest heaving, in just her kute. She grappled at her gun belt and threw it down.

"I don't want any of it!" She shouted. She spit towards Pyk's corpse. "Couldn't stand Death Watch's armor on me!" She swallowed hard, voice thick with rage and the residuals of her tears. "If I could, I would burn it!"

Jaster waved Silas over. The young mandalorian ran over. "Silas, take them back to the compound. Get the medic and take them with you. Make sure Arla is scanned for an embedded explosive to have it removed. Keep me informed."

Jaster coaxed Jango up. Silas set a hand on his friend's back. Jango nodded jerkily to his second. The Fetts kept their arms wrapped around each other as they left the arena with Silas jogging ahead of them. Jaster watched as the medic fell in behind with a wave of their hand towards the Mand'alor. Jaster watched them go. He took a deep breath before walking back to stand in front of the kneeling Viszlas.

Tre swore the Resol'nare and the Codex, followed by the Armorer. Both gained their feet. Jaster stepped forward to offer his hand in a warrior's shake. Both Viszlas clasped his arm in return.

"Your covert can remain unbothered on Concordia, but will be watched," Jaster warned them sternly. "I have no personal issue with you wanting to keep your helmets on. You will offer your verde the opportunity to decide for themselves. I will send a squad of my vode back with you to ensure that happens."

Tre nodded solemnly. "Understood, Mand'alor."

Jaster looked to the armorer. "If you wish to take Pyk Viszla's armor since it a family heirloom, you may do so. I also have Tor's if you wish to have it."

The armorer inclined her head. "I will take Pyk's as it was my brother, Torq's. I would like to have Tor's as well. It will all be melted down and resmelted to sponsor a foundling."

"That's good," Din spoke up. "Foundlings are the future."

The Viszlas looked to him, surprise and appreciation in their body language. "This is the Way," both intoned.

It is the Way, Tarre agreed. This time they best not abuse their foundlings' trust, or I will do more than render them dar'manda.

Din felt it only fair to pass along that particular message.

Tre nodded. "Understood." He pressed his hand to his karta'beskar. "We wish to be allowed to leave."

Jaster turned to Myles. The kiffar nodded and tapped a message out on his vambrace. A few moments later, several Haat'ade in the meadow climbed into two land speeders and took off towards the compound. Jaster had to school his expression to hide his amusement.

"Judgments are concluded!" Jaster proclaimed. "Let the festivities begin!"

A roar of sound exploded through out the meadow. A moment later, the bonfire was lighted. It roared to life in an explosion of fire to ward of the dark of night befalling the meadow. Drums beat out an upbeat rhythm. Lamps were quickly lighted at each table as well. Mandalorians immediately flocked to the food tables. Jaster watched his peoples' enthusiasm with amusement.

He turned back to the Viszlas as Din stepped closer to his side. "What do you wish us to do with his body?" Jaster asked.

The armorer knelt to strip Pyk's body of his armor. "Dispose of him however you wish. He was not Mandalorian when he died. He dishonored himself before he did."

Jaster nodded in agreement. "He will be buried outside of the Mandalore sector." He gestured to his Haat'ade.

Ny strode forward to heft up Pyk's corpse and carry him off under one arm like a sack of trash.

Jaster reached down to yank Pyk's kad from its sheath. "This is yours if you want it," he held it out to Tre. 

Tre shook his head. "That is to dangerous a weapon and tainted by my brother's line. Keep it."

Jaster shrugged and handed it off to Myles for the time being. "Tre, I'd like to propose a trade," Jaster crossed his arms over his cuirass.

The older Viszla turned his helmet. "A trade?"

"Well, since Pyk will no longer be needing his ship, and his actions forfeited it to me," Jaster remarked. He nodded to his riduur. "I would like to trade his gunship for the Razor Crest."

Din's vocoder buzzed at his sudden swift breath in.

Tre looked to Din. "The Crest meant much to you, yes?"

"She was my home," Din's voice was strained with emotion.

"Our beroya may not be happy at first, but the Viszla gunship would better suit our covert's needs," Tre agreed. He put his hand out. "I agree. It is a fair trade."

Jaster clasped his hand. "I might actually start to like you, Viszla."

"I'll give you a year as Mand'alor," Tre remarked flatly. "You need to work on your pole arms."

Din's helmet ticked down and away. Jaster refused to respond to that statement. Oh, he was so going to tickle Din for that later.

"I'll send some of my vode to help you swap your gear out of the Crest," Jaster replied instead.

"Vore," Tre turned and strode away up towards the Crest.

The armorer followed after her brother. Pyk's armor and the other helmet was thrown over her shoulder in a webbed thin roped sack she taken from her belt pouch. Din and Jaster watched them leave.

Adonai came over to regard the Djarin-Mereel couple. "Jaster, you certainly know to throw a dramatic event," the warlord remarked with a smirk.

"Didn't exactly plan all that," Jaster chuffed.

Adonai nodded. "Still…I have enjoyed the entire day."

Jaster couldn't help but laugh and shake his head. "Adonai, don't tell anyone, but you're my favorite clan head." He held his hand out. Adonai grinned, shaking the Mand'alor's hand.

"Looks like you'll have a new family member," the warlord remarked after a moment.

Jaster sobered. "Yes, I am glad for Jango's sake. I hope this can help him finally get some much needed closure."

"Such trauma runs deep, Mand'alor, and is not so easy to let go. Keep an eye on those two," Adonai warned.

"I appreciate the advice."

The warlord nodded. "One last thing," Adonai said.

Jaster gave him a curious look.

"I have a set of armor that belonged to my sister. I had hoped to gift it to my youngest, Satine. She has decided not to swear the creed or wear our traditional armor. She wishes to go to Coruscant to study diplomacy instead. She feels the Pacficists have several valuable opinions we should be paying attention too," Adonai crossed his arms over his chest. "I would happily gift that armor to Arla Fett, should she decide to continue wearing Mandalorian armor."

"That's very generous, Adonai," Jaster's eyebrows arched. He frowned thoughtfully. "I have a lot of actions I intend to make in the next year. One of those is to propose we align ourselves as allies of the Republic."

Adonai's eyes went wide. "You are a brave man."

Jaster huffed. "If it works out, I think sending several young ambassadors to learn the ways of the Republic government might be seen as well appreciated gesture of peace."

The warlord nodded slowly with a small smile. "I will have just the candidate for you."

"I think she'd do well," Jaster nodded in agreement. "I'll need your backing in this."

Adonai regarded the Mand'alor shrewdly. "You have it."

"Vore. Good to know. Enjoy the feast, Adonai. Bring your girls over again before the end of the night. I will happily run the idea past your youngest," Jaster smiled.

Adonai nodded and stepped away. "Mand'alor Mereel."

Din watched them go. "That's why I didn't want to be Mand'alor. I've no head for any what just happened."

Jaster chuckled. He looked down at the ad in his riduur's arms. "Grogu, you are amazing." He scrubbed the child's fuzzy head. Grogu purred happily. "You saved Jango's sister. We are even further in your debt." He looked around. "How about I start with letting you eat as much uj'alayi cake as you want tonight?"

Grogu squealed and reached for Jaster excitedly.

Din let him go with a shake of his head. "Warned you. You can deal with his belly ache after."

Jaster shrugged. "A small punishment. Let's go get some food, ad. I am starving."

"What about Jango and Arla?" Din asked.

The Mand'alor sighed. "I'll leave them be for tonight. Let both get some rest. I will figure out what to do about all of that tomorrow. Quite honestly, I think I have had enough excitement for the day."

Din certainly could appreciate that sentiment. They finally made their way over to the food tables. They stacked their plates and made their way back over to the royal table. Din hesitated only for a moment before taking his helmet off to set on the table in front of him. He tried to ignore the intense stares he could feel.

It was worth the attention though to taste the traditional foods of the Mandalorian people. The tiingular was spicy enough to make him sweat. The bread was warm and soft in the center but crunchy on the outside. The tihaar was strong. The dessert was rich and sweet. Din had never been so full. Jaster watched him eat with a pleased look. He asked what Din thought about every dish. The child was greatly enjoying the food, particularly dessert.

Din smiled over at Jaster, who was cutting up pieces of uj'alayi cake for Grogu. His little ad was grinning happily with bits of sweet crumbs stuck to his mouth and claws. The Mand'alor was laughing freely at the little green imp's enthusiasm. Din had never been more happy or his heart so full. It was almost unbelievable to realize how much his life had changed in less than two months. He now had two beings in his life that made him feel wanted and loved. He swore silently right then that he would do everything in his power to make them feel the same. He had found them, built a connection with each, and now could not imagine his life without them in it.

Yes, vod, that is true love. It is forged like a sword with willful intent and heartfelt purpose. Then held with fierce care, because it's yours and no one else can take it from you. Never forget that.

"Thank you, Tarre. I truly am lucky. I never would have had all this without you," Din murmured with deep appreciation.

No, vod, I am the truly lucky one. You reminded me what's worth protecting. The Force truly brought us together so we could learn that valuable lesson together.

Din wondered what other lessons he would learn in the near future. Those were worries for another time. Right now, he'd enjoy and appreciate the present.

Chapter Text

The Next Day

The pledges began the next morning.

Jaster announced at dawn that all were welcome to stay for an additional day, especially the clans who were not pledged to the Haat Mandoade and his codex. It was made quite clear that the pledges were not optional. Those who tried to refuse would find it difficult to leave. Jaster's frigate had been deployed into orbit around Concord Dawn along with supporting one being fighter ship squads. It was a ruthless and manipulative tactic, but then it was to be expected of the Mand'alor.

The cafeteria in the Mereel compound had been rearranged after first meal to allow for the pledges to take place indoors. While the previous day had been the perfect weather for the challenge, rain was threatening now. Jaster had a table set up for him to sit behind to accept and record the pledges of each clan. Din stood behind his riduur, watching the proceedings. Ny had taken off with Grogu to keep him entertained.

Adonai Kryze was the first in line to render his pledge. All of the clans under Kryze's influence quickly followed suit. Even the few captured Death Watch verde disavowed their previous Way to take up Jaster's codex instead.

What Jaster was not expecting was the Armorer of the Watch to reappear.

"I thought you were leaving this morning, Goran?" Jaster asked cautiously curious.

The Armorer stared at him silently for a long moment. "I came to request Pyk Viszla's kad."

Jaster gave her a surprised look. "May I ask why? Your brother said it was dangerous."

"It is. I would request the spear as well, but it is not of my lineage to do so," she replied imperiously.

They stared at each other for a long moment. This time Jaster refused to be the one to break. He crossed his arms over his cuirass and waited her out.

"I wish to re-smelt the kad before I leave," she finally spoke. Her helmet shifted from Jaster to behind him, "for Din Djarin's foundling. It would be better served."

"Why would you do that?" Jaster frowned in skepticism.

Her helmet had not shifted from Din. "To atone. If it would be accepted."

Jaster looked back over his shoulder to regard Din.

The silver Mandalorian nodded after a moment. "I would accept."

The armorer nodded.

Jaster inquired. "Do you have the tools you need?"

"I do."

"I will have the kad delivered to your gunship," the Mand'alor stated.

The armorer bowed her head. "Mand'alor."

Jaster returned the gesture. "Goran." When she walked away, Jaster looked back over his shoulder. "Any ideas?"

"None," Din replied.

"Hm."

The day carried on. The pledges took a pause for the midday meal. Jaster and Din took the opportunity to go to the med-bay to check on Arla. She had been kept overnight for observation once the explosive device was removed from the base of her skull. Jango had not left her side. Arla was in the process of getting the brand of Death Watch's shriek hawk on her back covered over with a skin graft when they arrived. The dark circles under her eyes had not lessened. Jango was sporting his own tired look.

"When the medic clears you to leave, you are welcome to the extra room in my suites," Jaster told Arla kindly. "You are also welcome here among my Haat'ade, and my aliit. I am happy you and Jango were reunited."

Arla swallowed hard. "Vor entye. You don't have to let me into your suites. You've no reason to trust me."

"I've no reason not to," Jaster responded simply.

She looked up into his eyes with startled amazement. "I was Death Watch."

"Technically, so was my riduur. I think I can let it slide," the Mand'alor jested drily.

Din made an irritable noise. "We were Children of the Watch."

"Viszlas are Viszlas," Jango snapped bitterly.

Arla nodded, fierce anger on her face.

"We'll discuss that more later. In the meantime, I do insist you speak with the mind healer while you reside in my compound," Jaster told Arla. She started to protest. "It's not negotiable. I require it of all my vod'e who are exposed to trauma. My warriors are only as strong as the support they have, and I will ensure they do."

Arla agreed quietly after a moment.

"I hope to see you all at late meal in our suites," Jaster smiled, gently.

" 'lek." Both siblings responded.

Jaster left with Din right behind him. As soon as the door swished shut the Mand'alor looked to his riduur. "They are both going to bear watching," he sighed.

Din nodded in agreement. They headed back towards their suites to be able to eat in peace. It would probably take some time for Din to be comfortable eating in public with his helmet off. Jaster certainly didn't mind the chance to have some quiet alone time with his riduur. Ny had been happy to continue her babysitting duties. They ate mostly in silence since Jaster's voice was getting tired. Din certainly didn't mind.

Pledges began again in earnest after mid-day meal. By the end of the day, all the clans that had come to the challenge had pledged to Mand'alor Mereel. The compound had slowly cleared out. The meadow was now mostly empty as Myles had reported. Only two ships remained. The Razor Crest, since it had yet to be moved, and the Death Watch gunship. Myles said the sounds of smithing had been issuing from the gunship all day.

Jaster was having the cafeteria rearranged for late meal when the Armorer reappeared. Grogu was back in Din's arms. The Haat'ade were unfolding the tables and setting them back out. Jaster looked up from his data pad when he felt Din go tense behind him. The Mand'alor looked up to see the gold-armed Goran walking purposefully across the room. A small bundle in white and green cloth was held cupped in her hands. She stopped in front of Din.

"For your foundling," she presented the bundle.

Din stepped forward. He carefully set Grogu on the table that Jaster had been using. A moment of hesitation passed, then Din reached out to accept the bundle. Jaster felt a small smile tickle at the edges of his lips. The cloth was tied around its gift in such a way that the knot ends looked like Grogu's long, green ears. Din carefully unwrapped the bundle. Both Jaster and Din gasped at the glitter of beskar links woven together to make impenetrable chain mail. Din picked it up and shook it out. It was a small armored shirt, sized just for the child.

"Vor entye," Din breathed in awe. He ran a gloved thumb over the beautifully crafted chain mail. "This is…a very thoughtful gift."

"Foundlings are the future. Atonement was required for the wrongs that the covert placed upon you, Din Djarin-Mereel. My brother provided his condolences. I needed to provide my own for the sake of my honor," she replied succinctly.

Din bowed his head in acknowledgment. "I accept your atonement. There is no more debt or ill will on my part towards the Watch. I would not be who I am or where I am now if not for the Tribe."

The armorer bowed her head back in return. "You do us great honor in saying so." She paused, then offered. "Ret'urcye mhi, Din Djarin-Mereel…Mand'alor Djarin-Mereel." Before either could offer the same, she turned and left.

"I might be able to warm up to her," Jaster remarked thoughtfully.

"Careful, you might actually end up liking Viszlas," Din said in that deadpan tone of his that made Jaster chuckle.

The Mand'alor shrugged in faux nonchalance. "Well, I did take the House after all. Because there was one vod I particularly liked that was adopted under House Viszla."

Din chuffed, vocoder buzzing a little. "Point that vod out to me so I can warn them."

"Oh, you're hilarious," Jaster hooked his fingers under the edges of Din's t-visor to shake his riduur's helmet in admonishment.

Grogu let out a frustrated noise. Both of his buire looked down to see him giving them a deeply annoyed look and reaching up for the beskar shirt. Jaster snorted in amusement. Din sighed in exasperation.

"You're right, ad, we are ignoring you. My apologies. This is your gift after all," Jaster apologized. "We should see if it fits."

Grogu's signature brown robe was tugged off. He stood on the table in his small clothes. He impatiently held his arms up. Din carefully slipped the chain mail shirt over his head before gently working it down. It covered all of the child with plenty of room for growth and pooled at the top of his feet.

"We can adjust that," Din assured the child.

Jaster grinned. "You're a true Mandalorian now, ad! You got your first set of armor!"

Grogu squealed in delight. He tapped his claws against his chest. It made a clattering noise that had the child grinning. His ears wriggled happily.

"Guess you like it then," Din chuckled at his son.

"BAH!"

"Definitely likes it," Jaster laughed. "Now we need to get you a weapon! Start training you to be a Haat'ade verd!"

"VEERRR!" Grogu yelled.

His buire laughed in response. Jaster scrubbed his fingers over the child's fuzzy head. He glanced back at Din. The Mand'alor blinked in surprise when his riduur's fingers entwined with his own and squeezed. Jaster's heart thudded hard.

They were his aliit. HIS. And he doubted he could be any happier.

One Month Later

Jaster looked up from his data pad when Jango slumped down in the couch across from him in the living room. Arla carefully perched on the arm of the couch next to her brother. Grogu looked up from where he sat on the floor playing with his metal ball. His big ears wilted towards the ground when his big eyes settled on Jango. Din narrowed his eyes at the Fett siblings suspiciously. Din's brief side eye to Jaster told the Mand'alor that the siblings were giving off concerning vibes. So at least it wasn't just Jaster picking up on those signals.

"Buir, we need to talk," Jango said like ripping off a bandage.

Jaster raised an eyebrow. "Well, go ahead then."

"Arla and I…we need to go."

"Go…where?" Jaster asked in confusion.

Jango looked down at his hands. "I don't know if I want to be your heir."

The Mand'alor stilled. "Why?"

"I know you chose to take House Viszla because it was heat of the moment, I guess? And that it was a good political move to help repair the negative, damaged reputation the Viszla House took. But…" Jango shook his head. "Shooting Pyk wasn't enough justice for the shit those sha'buire did to my family. I can't…can't be associated with it. Not after what they did to Arla too. I know you didn't take that House to hurt me, but it did! And I can't get past it!" Jango looked up. Angry tears glimmered in his eyes. "And I know you said all Mandalorians had to be accepted. But I CAN'T accept them! I dunno if I ever can. Which means…I'm not fit to be Mand'alor either." He sniffed hard.

Arla reached down to squeeze Jango's shoulder. "We need to go see what's left of our home. Say proper remembrances." She looked across at Jaster. "Then we're leaving the Mandalore sector for a while."

"How long is a while?" Jaster inquired, holding back his own emotions. It was not the time for his feelings. His son was hurting. Jaster would give him support in whatever way that was needed.

"I don't know," Jango admitted. "A while. But I'll send messages, so you know I'm alright."

Jaster nodded slowly. "I'd appreciate that."

"You're not gonna try to make us stay?" Arla asked in surprised.

"No," the Mand'alor replied quietly. "I understand. I had to do the same once too. Sometimes…distance helps. Just know, you can always come home…no matter what. Zero judgments or expectations. You are my son, Jango."

Tears spilled down Jango's cheeks. "Vor'e, buir."

"Arla, keep him safe. And this is your home too, should you want one," Jaster smiled sadly at her.

Arla nodded before glancing away. "Vor'e, Mand'alor."

"When are you leaving?" Jaster pressed a little more.

"Tomorrow morning."

The Mand'alor took a deep breath and nodded. "Take whatever you need."

"Does that include your Firespray?" Arla asked, hopefully.

Jaster huffed a laugh. "Sure. We have the Razor Crest if we need a ship for ourselves."

"Really!?" Both Fetts boggled at him.

"I was going to gift it to you, Jango, when reached your majority next life day. So yes, it's yours," Jaster smiled, fighting down the emotion threatening to silence him. He still sounded a little hoarse.

Jango pushed up to cross the space between them. Jaster stood up to meet him. Jango threw his arms around his adopted buir. He buried his face in Jaster's shoulder. The Mand'alor cupped the back of his son's head, fingers burying in his black curls.

"It's ok, Jango," Jaster assured. "Go explore the universe. I know whatever you do, I'll be proud of you. You're a strong warrior. And I know you and Arla will be fine."

Jango's fingers dug into the back of Jaster's kute and clung. "I'm so glad it was you that took me in."

"Me too." Jaster rubbed his hand up and down Jango's back.

Jango broke away, sniffling and swallowing hard.

It was awkwardly quiet for a moment.

Din spoke up quietly, wondering, "What about Silas?"

Jaster arched his eyebrows at his son again. "That's a good question."

Jango coughed. "He's coming with us."

"Good," Din said. "Stay away from Tatooine."

"Oh, and Hutt space in general," Jaster advised as well.

"And Corellia."

"Canto Bight is over rated."

"By the Manda, STOP!" Jango threw his hands up. "We'll go where ever we want!"

Jaster and Din exchanged knowing looks then shrugged in unison.

Jango sighed in disgust. "You two are so married, it's gross."

Jaster smirked but didn't dispute that statement.

"We're going to prep the ship and get ready to go," Jango stepped back. "Thanks again, Jaster."

"Of course. Go on. We'll see you both for late meal," the Mand'alor sat back down.

The Fett siblings left.

Once the door slide shut, Din looked to his riduur. "Are you ok?"

Jaster swallowed hard around the swell of sorrow in his throat and hurt in his chest. "No. But I know I will be."

Din reached over and wrapped his arms around his riddur. Jaster curled into Din. The Mand'alor let his own hurt spill over with the man he'd never felt safer with in his life.

Three Months Later

Jaster stood in the command of his frigate. Din stood on one side of him, and Myles on the other. Adonai Kryze stood a little further back. All of them watched as planet Mandalore grew bigger in the main view port. Of the four of them, Din was the one who had been there the most recently (in a sense) though it looked nothing like when he'd seen it last. There were no storms wreathing the planet, keeping it hidden from view. Mandalore currently looked much like Tatooine, bright tan and yellow. There were circles of blue and green that had to be the domed cities that once dominated the planet.

"Hail Sundari's landing command center," Jaster ordered.

A moment later, a being answered. "Sundari landing command, who's requesting to land and state your purpose."

"Mand'alor Jaster Mereel telling you I will be landing in 20 minutes. Clear a spot for my frigate. I am here to see Prime Minister Almec," Jaster declared in a stern, authoritative tone.

"You have not been previously cleared—!"

Jaster smiled coldly. "Clear me a spot to land, or I will clear one for you. And tell Almec I will be meeting him in the throne room in an hour. He had best be ready to pledge to the Mand'alor, or we can remind him why Mandalorians are named after this planet."

The comm vod'e gleefully ended the call before the other being could respond.

Adonai chuckled. "I suppose you are more than ready to greet Prime Minister Almec."

"He brought this on himself when he refused to acknowledge my holo calls," Jaster smirked. He glanced over at his riddur. "Are you ready, Din?"

Din watched Mandalore grow larger in the view port. On his hip, the Dark Saber was vibrating and Tarre was like a weight in the back of his mind. He pressed his hand to the Saber.

"More than."

Six Months Later 

Din stood with Grogu in his arms and Jaster at his side somewhere he never would have believed: the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Not so long ago he hadn't even known about Jedi. Now he was surrounded by 12 of the most powerful Jedi Masters in the galaxy in their council room. Grogu's large eyes were riveted to Master Yoda and Yaddle. Din was having a hard time not staring too. 

Jaster pressed his fist over his heart respectfully before bowing his head, "I am deeply grateful for the opportunity to speak before the Jedi Council."

"Watching you, we have, Mand'alor the Reformer," Yoda replied, eyes narrowed in consideration. 

"Not so long ago your sector was in a civil war. Now you are bringing democracy to the Mandalorians. Quite impressive," Lord Dooku remarked. 

Jaster inclined his head. "Thank you. I would not have been able to without my husband and my adopted son, Grogu." 

The child glanced up at the Mand'alor, "Eh?"

"Not where you came from, I feel." Master Yaddle squinted her eyes at Din.

Din looked into the Jedi Master's eyes. "No, I was brought to save Jaster from certain death by the spirit of Tarre Viszla that's connected to the Dark saber."

The weight of the Jedi Masters felt like a physical blanket dragging down on them.

"Have you come to give your child to the Jedi?" A Baragwin Jedi Master inquired curiously.

"No." Din's arms tightened around Grogu. "We came to return this," Din unclipped the Dark Saber to hold it out. "It was Tarre Viszla's wish to have it retired to the Temple when it was time." 

"Has it not become a symbol of the Mand'alor?" Dooku frowned.

"It did under false pretenses. By the end of the year, a congress made up of the clan heads will be set in place on Mandalore. The role of the Mand'alor will become much like that of the Chancellor. The Dark Saber will no longer be needed. It deserves to be put to rest here as was intended," Jaster explained. 

"I sense this is not the only reason of your request for an audience." 

Din's ticked towards his husband.

Jaster smiled easily. "I won't lie. I have less than altruistic reasons for being here." 

"Tell us, you will." Yoda's expression shifted to suspicious.

Jaster nodded. "I wish to be granted access to the Jedi library. Your Master librarian will not even entertain my requests. I only wish to peruse the information of the history of the Mandalorians and Jedi wars. Our records were destroyed in large swathes during the Dral'han."

"Mandalorians have been enemies of Jedi in the past. Your people still do not like us. Why should we grant such a request?" Dooku arched an eyebrow.

"I wish to put a full history back together for our people. It is only through history we can arm ourselves with knowledge to not fall victim to sins of the past," the Mand'alor replied easily. 

Madam Nu smiled. She seemed won over now that she had laid eyes on the Mand'alor that had been making numerous requests since his youth. "Well put, Mand'alor, I believe a copy of those records can be provided to you." 

"With holding information, you are," Yoda pointed at the Mand'alor.

Jaster smirked, "Your senses are as attuned as I was forewarned." 

"Go on then," Dooku prompted.

Jaster slanted his eyes at the Duke before looking around at each one of them. "It appears, Jedi Masters, that Mandalorians will be hunting Sith Lords again. But this time I think a partnership with the Jedi would be beneficial." 

Jaster had the supreme satisfaction of rendering the entire Jedi Council speechless with shock. 

Finis. 

References

I obviously rewatched the Mandalorian series all the way up to the middle of the first episode of Season 3.

Mando’a Dictionaries:

https://mandoa.org/

https://starwarslanguages.fandom.com/wiki/Mando%27a

Characters

Jaster Mereel - https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Jaster_Mereel

Din Djarin - https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Din_Djarin

Boba Fett - https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Boba_Fett

Jango Fett - https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Jango_Fett

Tarre Viszla - https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Tarre_Vizsla

Arla Fett - https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Arla_Fett

Adonai Kryze - https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Adonai_Kryze

Bo-Katan Kryze - https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Bo-Katan_Kryze

Myles the Mandalorian - https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Myles

Silas the Mandalorian - https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Silas_(Mandalorian)

Tor Viszla - https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Tor_Vizsla

Satine Kryze - https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Satine_Kryze

Almec - https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Almec

 Astall Vilbum - https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Astaal_Vilbum

History

“Art History”, Forces of Destiny - https://video.disney.com/watch/star-wars-forces-of-destiny-art-history-disney-56b419cbea0cae5e698e03fd

Star Wars – Jango Fett: Open Seasons - https://readcomiconline.li/Comic/Star-Wars-Jango-Fett-Open-Seasons

Mandalorians - https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Mandalorian

The Children of the Watch - https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Children_of_the_Watch

Timeline of Galactic History – https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Timeline_of_galactic_history

Mandalore Sector - https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Mandalore_sector

The Battle of Korda 6 - https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Battle_of_Korda_Six

Mandalorian Government Council - https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Mandalorian_Government_Council

Miscellaneous

Galaxy Map - https://www.starwars.com/star-wars-galaxy-map

Planet Mandalore - https://clonewars.fandom.com/wiki/Mandalore

Concord Dawn - https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Concord_Dawn