Escaping How it's Supposed to Be - Chapter 29 - ThatOneFangirlTho (2024)

Chapter Text

Din led the small family to the Armorer, who quickly noticed their approach. She tilted her head questioningly.

“This is my covert’s goran. She’s from the same time as me.”

They all stared at her for a second, before the dark haired woman stepped forward, dipping her head, “it’s an honor. I am Martel, and this is my wife Catrona, and our children. We’ve been living in secret, on Mandalore, but I would do almost anything to learn to craft armor like you.”

“You have worked in the forge before?” the Armorer asked.

Martel nodded, “I have worked in the Great Forge for most of my life. I’ve never crafted armor, but I’ve made all kinds of art, and some complex structural pieces for different types of construction.”

Din could see the moment the Armorer’s entire body language changed at the mention of the Great Forge.

“The Great Forge- I can still remember what it sounded like. Do you have any of your work to show?”

She instantly removed one of her arm cuffs, offering it for her to see, “I passed my apprenticeship with these.”

The Armorer inspected the metal, “I can see why. The attention to detail is admirable.”

“She also crafted this for me, when we said riduurok ,” Catrona said, carefully removing the gift from her neck. “We couldn’t exactly exchange armor, after all.”

She inspected this as well, carefully noting every aspect of it. She paused for a moment, and handed it back, “you used the heart of your armor, but in a way that few would suspect it meant anything beyond being a traditional symbol.”

Martel nodded silently.

The Armorer hummed, “I would be happy to teach you, or have my mentor do so. I’m afraid your training will not begin right away, but there are many here in dire need of new armor.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling widely as the children jumped around her.

Din figured he had done enough here, and felt satisfied that they would get the chance to work together. He dipped his head toward the Armorer, who nodded in return, and he turned back to his work.

Disassembling the MagnaGuards and other battle droids was the only useful thing he could find to do while being frequently interrupted by challengers, pacifists, and any other number of questions or complaints. He had still managed to get through almost all the MagnaGuards, after working with Kuiil to determine which parts were most valuable, most useful, or just better off as scrap. He was certainly glad he had made that call, since he could drop what he was doing at any time to deal with far more pressing matters whenever they arose, especially since he had lost count of the times his attention had been needed elsewhere.

Still… Everything was going a lot better than he had hoped, all things considered.

As soon as they had ended the transmission, the chaos had begun. It seemed that, despite what he had said to Gideon before and the actions he had taken after that, some of the warriors had misunderstood what his goals were- or had intentionally remained in denial until they no longer could. Regardless of the reasons, he had immediately been swarmed with angry warriors. Some shouted, insulted that he said they should treat the clones and the pacifists as equals, or protested treating the pacifists as equals. He stood his ground, unintimidated and unflinching in the face of those who opposed him. A few got straight to the point, and challenged him right away, refusing to listen to anything he had to say.

None of the challengers were stronger than Pre Vizsla, though he had to admit that a few came close. The first challenge had ended with a decapitation. The second challenger had obtained a fatal stomach wound that no amount of bacta could fix, but Din had put him out of his misery before that injury could kill him. It was the third challenger who had lost an arm and yielded, the first to surrender rather than die. After three rapid, brutal, and decisive fights, some of the warriors who were waiting for their turn or watching from the sidelines began to hesitate. He had proven himself in combat several times now, and it had just started to sink in that he was actually far more capable and competent than he appeared to be from the outside.

They had started to listen, after that, to really listen. He took the chance to say everything he could, from the political advantages of uniting the planet, to the practical advantages, and he could see the beginnings of everything changing.

There had only been one more challenger at that time. Din had won the fight by using his opponent’s movements against him, cutting right between the plates of his cuirass above the heart of the armor. Apparently, it was enough to quell the initial panic in the crowd. He knew, in their minds, it was likely because he had proven himself to be the strongest, and to them, if he was the strongest, then he was right. That didn’t mean they were all happy about it, but it seemed they would go along with it, for now. Din hoped that their begrudging compliance would eventually grow into respect for their fellow pacifist and clone siblings, but only time would tell.

The pacifists had started appearing not too much longer after the first wave of protests had subsided. They found their way on foot, on the clones’ transports, or some even took their own transports from their homes, for whoever had any that survived the attack. To Din’s slight surprise, he had initially been largely ignored by them. Many of them had gone straight to Satine, who quickly caught onto the pattern. She had actually grown frustrated when the small group who had approached her were asking things that should’ve been directed to Din, especially when even more joined them.

She had directed them to Din, refusing to answer anything regarding her own experiences until they talked to him first. Any questions they had about the new changes to Mandalore, the damage to the city, the Separatists, the Jedi, or the warriors were sent straight to Din. Initially, he was surprised, but quickly realized that she hadn’t done it to put more on him, but to make the pacifists realize that she literally wasn’t the person who made those choices anymore. She might have an impact on them, but that responsibility no longer fell on her.

Of course, they seemed bitter to be directed elsewhere, to someone they clearly did not respect. Din remained unphased, continuing to dismantle the droids as he spoke with them, their bitterness gradually shifting. While some only grew angrier at the new circ*mstances, many who he spoke to began to listen. It was very reassuring to see, especially since he had been so uncertain that they would ever listen to him at all. He had known the Darksaber would hold some sway over most of the warriors, but he had nothing but Satine’s support that would give him any way to win over the pacifists- well, nothing but his words, provided they listened to him.

It had continued on, more groups of pacifists and warriors approaching him, with more talking and fighting that followed. As time went on, he had found that the words came easier, especially since he seemed to be repeating himself a lot between the different groups of people.

This most recent group had caught him by surprise. He hadn’t quite known what to expect from the formerly hidden warriors of the planet, but he was pleasantly surprised to see them reveal themselves to prove a point. The fact that they felt confident enough to do so was a huge win, especially when he found out that there were pacifists with them. Two of the families seemed close, despite their differences in how they followed the Resol’nare, and they had reconciled before they had even arrived to meet him. He couldn’t quite imagine what that must’ve been like for them, but he was happy they found their way.

It really did give him hope for the future. Even with small instances of one friend accepting another, or someone excited to learn the ways of armor making after being unable to for so long… It really was the start of a new beginning, the realization of what he wanted to achieve. There were still plenty of angry people from all origins, pacifists to be convinced and challengers to be defeated, but it had slowed. He couldn’t be certain, but he swore he heard whispers around the park, ones about him. He didn’t particularly like that it was happening, especially since that likely meant it was also happening all over the planet, along with Concordia, too.

Still, he would sit and work on this droid until someone else needed him.

He had managed to collect a fair number of useful parts, and glanced over to where Kuiil and the other Ugnaughts were working on a vulture droid. The others had offered to stay for a few days to help Kuiil get a start on reprogramming the droids. They were planning on doing one or two of each type, to make sure they had it down, and they would depart for their homes. Kuiil had made no mention of leaving yet, which, admittedly, made Din hope he might feel inclined to stay. He would still respect whatever choice he made in the end.

They had decided to try reprogramming the vulture droids first since they were the largest of the Separatist’s droids that they had brought, and because, if properly reprogrammed, they could be incredibly useful for moving debris around, and possibly even for repairing the dome. Although the battle droids had been used to sew chaos, death, and destruction, they would now serve a new purpose, one where they would restore what was lost. In the end, he hoped to have enough altered battle droids to convert into repairing the planet from its desert state. They didn’t yet have access to the programming or knowledge needed to do that yet, but the droids could still be changed to a neutral state, and also help with the clean up.

He still didn’t like the battle droids, nor did he trust them. Even before all this, there was the attack that had destroyed his home village and left him an orphan. Seeing them all around, attacking his people again, just made it worse. Surely there were many here who now felt the same way.

But, when it came down to it, he trusted Kuiil and his work more than he hated the droids.

He did have to admit to himself that it was far easier to predict the actions of the droids, whether they be good or bad. They usually acted on orders, prime directives, with some sort of goal given to them, even if it was one that caused destruction. People could act a lot more erratically, as had been demonstrated in the past day. There was no telling what could happen. He knew that by simply allowing people to leave, he was inviting them to return with the goal of harming the planet and its people all over again. Of course, then he would have the justification needed to deal with them after that, but it would be easier to remove all threats altogether before that could happen. But that wasn’t what he wanted to do. He didn’t want to make it seem like the only options were to join him or die, because that wasn’t the reality. There were plenty of people who would likely leave and start new lives, without ever interfering with Mandalore.

He could see the parallel in what Boba had faced on Tatooine, with the other clan leaders. He had wanted to work with them, even if it backfired, but he wanted to give them a chance. They would just have to keep being prepared for what could go wrong.

He finished with the scrapped droid, glancing back over his work, sorted into several collections before him. He gathered the scrap bits first, pieces that could be used to build or turn into armor, even if it wasn’t beskar. It would take him a few trips, considering he couldn’t hold much at once and nearly all the transport containers were being used. He had just returned from the second trip when he saw Kuiil approaching him. He turned, the droid scraps put on pause once more.

“It’s time to test the droid,” Kuiil said.

Din nodded, and followed him to where he had been working with the other Ugnaughts on the vulture droid. It was still deactivated on the ground, though the others were finishing up with a few of the smaller panels.

“The weapons systems are disabled,” Kuiil told him, “and we’ve reprogrammed the rest. They can be restored if we ever need them, but I’m hoping we won’t. We completely wiped the Separatist programming, but left the base functions like flying, walking and communicating. It shouldn’t go berserk, but it has been many years since I have worked on a droid of this caliber. I am hoping the others will be easier than this. I have spoken.”

Din held his hand over the Darksaber, ready for something to go wrong, “whenever you’re ready.”

They each took several steps away, and Kuiil pressed several buttons on the vambrace he had been given. Nothing happened for a moment, but Kuiil gestured to give it another second. Suddenly, the droid came to life, slowly unfolding itself into a standing position. Din could feel the eyes directed their way, looking at the reactivated droid.

The lights of its ocular sensors appeared, green instead of red, and shifted in a way to suggest it blinked. Despite everything, it was a very non-threatening sight. It only stood there, observing them, but made no moves to attack. It was about as good a sign as they could’ve hoped for, but Din had expected nothing less from Kuiil’s work.

“Hello,” Kuiil said to it, “I am Kuiil, and this is Din Djarin, and we are your commanders. Do you understand me?”

The droid spoke back, in some sort of garbled language Din couldn’t hope to understand. It was effectively translated by the nod of its head.

“It might have to be taught a different language,” he commented.

“That should be easy enough,” Kuiil said, “but I’m much more concerned with everything else, at this moment.”

“Right,” he agreed. It wasn’t a big deal, not as long as it understood them and actually listened to what they had to say.

“Any idea what we should have it do?”

Din thought for a moment. He had been keeping tabs on the cleanup of the entire planet through the comms, but had visually been watching the progress around them. The Trident class ships that had carried the back-up Magnaguards to the battlefield had been fairly intact, though not enough to be flown out on its own. It was being prepped for moving, though it wasn’t quite ready for any of the clone’s gunships to lift it yet. Working on moving the unstable ships embedded in the castle was more important at the moment, anyway.

“If you look over there, there are some parts with cables attached to them,” Din said to the droid. “Pick up one of the parts, and bring it back over here.”

Both Kuiil and the vulture droid followed where he pointed. Kuiil sent him an approving look as the droid nodded with more gibberish. It began to walk rather than fly over, carefully stepping around the Mandalorians scattered about the park. Each of them watched the droid carefully, ready to attack it at a moment’s notice should it do anything even remotely aggressive.

To Din’s relief, it didn’t make a single move to harm anyone. It even waited as two Mandalorians carrying a large piece of scrap metal walked in front of it. It inspected the ship piece when it arrived, and figured out how to complete its task. It slipped the ends of its wings into the straps, and slowly rose into the air. It lifted the piece, and took it back across the park to where it had started, setting it down once it made sure there was nothing blocking its path. It blinked at them again as it landed, tilting its head to the side as it chattered.

“You did well,” Kuiil encouraged. “I will find another task for you to help with.”

Din nodded, giving him permission to let the droid have a chance to help with the cleanup at large. He pulled his comm from his belt, opening it to the live channels. In addition to the clone’s general channel, he had also made another one for everyone’s use, so any of the other Mandalorians who had built-in comms systems could also receive new updates at any given time.

“One of the vulture droids has been successfully reprogrammed. It will be given tasks, likely transportation so don’t be alarmed if you see it flying around.”

After a second, a chorus of “copy,” “copy that, sir,” and “understood,” followed the announcement, and Din gave Kuiil the go ahead. He sent the vulture droid out to the newly created scrap piles outside of the dome, carrying the ship piece it had picked up before.

“Sir,” one of the voices from the open channel said, “are you sure we can trust these droids? I mean, they did just try to kill us.”

Din looked at Kuiil, who had heard the question from his own comm, and spoke, “that is true, but I trust the work done to reprogram it. I don’t like droids, but Kuiil once said to me that they are only neutral impressions of those they imprint on. The battle droids were only ever given orders to attack and destroy. Now, we can use them to restore what we have lost. We should make sure we’re good examples, so these droids can become more than what they were made for.”

There was still some uncertainty in the response that followed, but lots of reassured answers as well. It had taken him a little while to realize that his plan literally was to use the things intended to destroy them to fix the planet and the cities from destruction instead. It was something Gideon would’ve undoubtedly been enraged at, which let him know it was the right thing to have done.

“I will need more help, after the others leave,” Kuiil said, breaking him from his thoughts.

Din turned, a bit surprised, but happy it seemed Kuiil was staying for the time being, “I can arrange that. I’m sure there are some here who have experience with droids.”

“The ships may also be a problem. Even though the battle droids contain all the data we need for using the ships, it may be difficult to alter them.”

“I think I know someone who can help with that,” Din said, switching the comm for his holo. “I was planning on contacting her soon anyway.”

“That would be appreciated.”

He punched in the code, and after a few moments it came to life.

“Mand- Din? You guys save the galaxy already?” Peli asked with a grin. “Or do you need a new ship? I don’t think I can help with that first one, but I can definitely help with the second, if you’ve got the credits.”

Din shook his head, “no, I don’t need a new ship- but I am here to take you up on your offer.”

“My offer?”

“You said that if I ever became… a king,” he hesitated over the word, “then you would come and be my mechanic. I’m accepting your offer.”

Peli blinked at him, then squinted, “hang on a minute, what exactly are you telling me? Did you seriously go off and become a king?! It’s been like a week or something!”

“...Technically, I already was one during the battle of Mos Espa before all this,” he said, making her already confused expression grow even more dramatic.

She paused again, then laughed. Din shared a look with Kuiil, and eventually she managed to stop.

“Let me get this straight, you’re the King of Mandalore, and you actually want me to come work for you?”

“Yes,” he said.

She shook her head, but smiled at him, “alright, then. What do I need?”

“Anything you can take,” he said. He glanced at Kuiil, and took a chance, “I want to tell you the situation here, but I need to know you won’t spread it around.”

“What, like I’d do something like-” she must’ve seen the severity in his gaze, cutting herself off mid-joke, “okay, normally I might, but I can make an exception. Consider my lips sealed.”

Din sighed, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake. He didn’t want to keep her in the dark about what she was getting into, but he also knew that if any word of this, especially the clones, got out- it could spell disaster for them all. The Jedi’s plan hinged on the secrecy of the clones and Mandalore’s victory for as long as possible.

“Yesterday we were attacked by Separatists,” he said, watching as Peli’s expression became more serious, “and one of the people who hunted Grogu. We won, mostly because Kuiil was placed in command and decided to surrender. We have all the droids and all the ships under our control now, but we need help reprogramming the droids and repurposing the ships. There are plenty of us here, but I trust your skills more than most.”

“Does that mean I can bring my droids too?” she asked.

“Definitely,” he gestured for Kuiil to come closer. “This is Kuiil. If you choose to join us, you will be working with him for as long as he chooses to stay. From what I’ve seen, both of you are incredibly skilled.”

The two of them appraised one another for a moment, and Peli shrugged, “if it’s you saying it, I think I believe it. You up for working with me, Kuiil?”

“Each friend of Din Djarin’s has proven to be a friend of mine,” he said, “and I am sure you will be no exception.”

She grinned, “great! So when can I expect the transport?”

“In the next few days,” Din said, relieved she still wanted to join them. “I’ll send you the details whenever I get them.”

“Alright, I’ll see you on Mandalore, King Din!”

He froze, “don’t call me that.”

“Then what am I supposed to call you, your majesty?” she asked, really playing it up.

“The word you’re looking for is Mand’alor,” Kuiil said before Din could.

She blinked, “isn’t that just the name of the planet?”

Din sighed, “you’re probably going to need to learn Mando’a, if you decide to stay long term.”

“I learned Jawaese through trial and error, so I’ll probably pick it up. I’ll see you on Mandalore, Mand’alor.”

She still didn’t quite pronounce the last word right, but the holo turned off before anyone could think to correct her. The language would come later, after she figured out if she actually wanted to stay or not. She seemed pretty set on it though, not worried about asking a million questions about what she would be doing or who she would be working with. Still, knowing she actually did want to come and help was a bit of a relief.

He would probably have to warn everyone to be careful when playing cards against her though.

“It will be good to have her here, especially if she is as skilled as you say,” Kuiil said.

Din nodded beginning to respond, but he was cut off by the sound of his comm chiming. He checked it, reading over the transmission, “Paz and some others are almost here. They’re heading to Jango’s area, and they have a damage report from Concordia.”

“Go,” Kuiil said. “All of us can handle things here. I have spoken.”

Din dipped his head to him, and looked toward the Crest. It seemed the others had also gotten the message, because Hahro and Boba were making their way to the ship. Din ran over to Satine and the Armorer first, also catching the gazes of those around them.

“We’re going to meet with Paz and others from Concordia. You can come with us if you want, or handle things here.”

“I would like to join you, if I may,” the Armorer said.

Satine seemed to share the thought, “I would as well. It will be very good to know what is needed on Concordia.”

Din nodded, turning back to the Razorcrest, Satine and the Armorer right behind him. By the time they reached it, the ship was ready to lift off, thanks to Hahro.

They called down from the co*ckpit, “is everyone who’s going here?”

He glanced around, seeing Boba sitting at the table already. “We’re ready, buir.”

The ship rumbled slightly and took off, soaring through the air much rougher than it had during its arrival on Mandalore. Although it had suffered some damage in the battle, it hadn’t been enough to be dangerous, so fixing it was not a huge priority at the moment.

They didn’t have to go too far, reaching the lower areas where thousands of battle droids had been destroyed, along with several moderately sized ships of all origins. There was an area that had been cleared enough for ships to take off and land, and Din could see a Kom’rk fighter below, ramp already lowered. There were many more people down here too, and lots of the clones’ gunships lined the area, carrying off scrap or serving as temporary medical stations.

The Razorcrest landed unevenly, but landed all the same. Din waited for everyone to be ready, and they all descended the ramp to meet with the others. They could already see them, Paz standing next to another Mandalorian, both talking with Jango.

He heard a voice to the side, making him pause. There was something in the tone that caused him to hesitate, an anger that was forcibly quiet, one that he associated with someone trying to remain unnoticed. His friends turned, but he gestured for them to continue on. Boba hesitated, but Din signed to him, “if I need help, I’ll ask you for it.”

Boba finally relented, nodding and turning to join the others. Din stood still, trying to identify where this conversation was coming from. There were voices all around, many different conversations, but the one with the harsh undertone was coming from close by.

“Ah,” Grogu said, sleepily tapping his shoulder. Din glanced back at him, and started to follow the sound. He was lucky, as there were some crates of supplies that made a nice hiding spot so that he could hear and partially see what was going on without being easily spotted.

Near one of the gunships, two Death Watch colored Mandalorians were speaking to two clones in yellow paint. It was their voices he had heard, and as he listened, he bristled as he realized that the clones were being insulted, even if they weren’t taking it quietly. He started to stand with the intention to interfere, but paused. There was a part of him who wanted to hear what the Death Watch colored Mandalorians had to say, so he could know how to better deal with their grievances.

“You don’t deserve to be here,” the first one with a rangefinder said. “This planet is for Mandalorians, not for something that came out of a test tube.”

“For your information,” The clone with a small red triangle on his helmet said, standing against the other Mandalorians, “you and this planet might not even be here right now if it wasn’t for us.”

The other clone, who had a stripe of yellow around the ridge of the top of his helmet and more yellow paint near the chin also chimed in, “and the Mand’alor said we could be Mandalorians too, so we’ve decided to be Mandalorians.”

“You did say this planet is for Mandalorians,” his brother agreed.

The shorter of the two Death Watch colored Mandalorians hissed, “I’m sure he’ll figure out soon enough that he made a mistake in saying that. You’re all just the same thing, over and over again. You could die and someone else would take your place, and we’d never notice. You’re all just useless, expendable droid fodder.”

“Yeah,” the other agreed, “your numbers may have helped us, but we’re far more skilled than any of you are.”

“We were literally made to fight!” the first clone said again. “I’ll show you how wrong you are you-”

His brother grabbed him, “woah there, Boil!”

“Oh look, it picked a name all by itself!”

The other’s helmet tilted down in a scowl, and his grip on his brother loosened.

The others prepared to fight, and Din knew it was time to step forward. He quickly walked out from behind the crates, though the Death Watch colored Mandalorians’ backs were to him. The two clones, however, saw him right away. Boil stopped his struggle at once, and both of them stood at attention.

“That’s more like it,” The first Death Watch colored Mandalorian said smugly. “At least you learned your place quickly, clone.”

“Actually,” Din said, making the others spin to face him, “I think they’re doing it for me, even if it is unnecessary.”

The clones hesitated, unmoving, but Din held up a hand, “please.”

They stood at ease, but there was still tension in their frames. They knew he had heard some of the exchange, even if the others didn’t realize it yet.

“Mand’alor,” the shorter warrior said, clearly surprised at his presence. Neither of them made any move to acknowledge or backtrack on what they had said. He had almost hoped that they would make excuses for their actions, along with empty promises to not do such a thing any more, even if they all knew it would happen again. However, they didn’t say a word. He almost appreciated the bluntness in their lack of response.

Almost.

Din lifted Grogu out of his hood, handing him toward the clones, “would you mind?”

All four of them seemed very surprised by this, but even as Boil hesitated, his brother did not. He quickly accepted the child though he seemed a bit confused on how to best hold him. He looked to Din, who moved his own arms around to show how he might hold the child.

“Yeah, like that. He’ll let you know if he’s uncomfortable, and don’t worry about your armor. It won’t bother him.”

Grogu was shifted around for a moment, before settling contently into the other’s arms. Din, satisfied with this, drew and ignited the Darksaber, “now, we may begin the challenge.”

“Challenge?” the first of the two warriors asked, taking a step back.

“We never said anything about challenging you,” the other quickly said, holding their hands up.

Din tilted his helmet, but did not put the Darksaber away, “I thought that you would, considering how you completely ignored everything I said before.”

They seemed even more surprised and confused. He wanted to see if they could figure it out on their own, so he asked them a different question, “why do you oppose the clones? Does their not being born here make you better than them?”

“Well, they aren’t from here, so they don’t deserve to live on Mandalore. It is ours by right!”

He sighed, tilting his helmet, “I’m not from here.”

They froze.

“I’m a foundling from a couple systems away, and this is my first time on planet, just the same as them. Try again.”

The others floundered for a moment, “they- they’re just not as strong as us! We’ve survived many battles, many trials, and yet they’re a part of only one and they get to live here too, after everything we’ve lost for Mandalore’s sake?”

Din’s irritation flared, “clearly you are the ones who aren’t strong if you feel so threatened by someone who you should be calling your brother. They may have only fought one battle so far, but they managed to save us from losing even more of our people, or even losing everything! Either of you could’ve died if they hadn’t come, and yet you waste your energies insulting them instead of concentrating your efforts on fixing the damage our real enemies caused.”

He pointed the Darksaber at them, “you antagonize those who fought by your side and supported our efforts to save Mandalore. This is breaking the Resol'nare, and if you disagree, then say the word, and we can begin the challenge.”

They both stood, frozen, but still made no sign that they understood what he was getting at.

He sighed again, turning off the blade of the Darksaber. He gestured back to where Paz was standing with the others, “I once took a bounty he disagreed with. He called me a coward to my face, but when I was pinned by a few dozen bounty hunters afterward, he came to my aid all the same.”

Din looked back at the warriors, noticing their stances had shifted, “loyalty and solidarity is The Way I was brought up with. I know it wasn’t necessarily that way in Death Watch, but it is now. Even if we’re different, we can’t let our differences divide us. If you reject them for not being nat-born, you may be inclined to reject a foundling who’s from off-world, or someone who isn’t the same species as yourself. There would be nowhere to draw the line until the only people left think the exact same way as you, and that leaves you weak. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

A slight pause, then both of them responded, “yes, Mand’alor.”

“Good,” he said, putting the Darksaber back at his side. “Now, I trust both of you are experienced warriors?”

“Yes,” they said eagerly.

“Good with tech? Droids or ships, maybe?”

“Droids,” the shorter one said.

The other shrugged, “I’m pretty good with anything that has wires.”

Din nodded, “good, then you’ll both be improving new skills today.”

They both looked surprised, glancing at one another even as Din turned and gestured for them to follow. The clones did as well, walking behind them as Din looked at each gunship and its contents. Finally, he found the small medic station, set up inside a damaged and grounded gunship. Nearly all the medical bays on the ships were occupied with those who had serious injuries or with the clones, so anyone who could be patched up on the surface was being helped at any number of stations like this one.

Even more lucky was the clone medic in charge of this one, who paused after he finished re-wrapping unused bandages, looking toward Din and saluting. Din honestly felt he couldn’t get used to this, awkwardly telling the medic to stand at ease before returning his focus to his mission.

He gestured behind him, “if it’s not too much trouble, I have some volunteers. They don’t have much medical experience, but it will be good for them to get some, if they can.”

“I’ll take all the help I can get, sir,” the medic said. “I can use the extra hands.”

Din waved the confused warriors on, “if they give you any trouble, let me or someone else know right away.”

“But-” they began to protest.

He shifted his gaze, staring right at both of them, “and even if you cause trouble minutes, days, or years from now, I’ll remember, and I won’t warn you again. Think about what I said.”

He turned back to the others, “I trust you understand this works both ways?”

“Yessir,” both the clones said. He heard the others still for a moment behind him.

He turned to look at them once more, “I will stand up for you, should anyone treat you the same way you treated these clones because of who you are or where you come from. You are still my people, so long as you follow the Resol’nare in the future.”

The taller of the two didn’t respond, but also didn’t look away. The other nodded slowly, “I think I understand, sir…”

“Good,” Din nodded. He turned back around to the clones, “may I have your names, if you have chosen them?”

“Boil, sir” the first said, even though Din had overheard it before.

The one holding Grogu dipped his head, “Waxer, sir.”

Din dipped his helmet to them in kind, “good to meet you. Are you part of Commander Cody’s battalion?”

“We are, sir.”

Din knew that meant they already knew the full extent of their situation. The progress with the clones’ chip removal was far faster than he hoped. Rex and Cody’s battalions had been the first two to go through.

He happily accepted Grogu back when the child reached for him.

“You’ve, uh, got a cute kid there,” Waxer said, sounding slightly uncertain.

Din nodded, settling Grogu in his own arms, “I do. He knows too, and it gets him in trouble, sometimes.”

Waxer chuckled, seeming to relax some.

“If anything like this happens again,” Din continued, “don’t hesitate to tell someone. I’m glad you stood up for yourselves, but don’t take it too far. I’d appreciate it if your brothers also got this message.”

“Understood, sir,” Boil said with a salute that his brother quickly copied.

Din noticed a flurry of movement behind Waxer and Boil, and stepped to the side, and gestured for them to do the same. There was a Death Watch colored Mandalorian being carried on a stretcher, his leg tightly bound with cloth at the knee, though there was still blood trailing behind them. There appeared to be several other stab wounds that were less serious, including one that went through his hand. His face, helmetless, was contorted in pain.

Din turned, about to follow them back inside to see what happened- wounds that fresh had to have originated from a recent incident rather than the attack hours before- but he paused when he saw Cara running after them a few paces behind. There was blood spattered on her face and in her hair, on her clothes, and down one arm.

She looked from him into the gunship, gesturing for him to follow, and he did. The medic had the exact same question he did, asking it as the injured man was put onto the table, “what happened here?”

The man turned his face, refusing to answer despite looking coherent enough, but Cara did.

“He tried to pick a fight with me and lost,” she said, crossing her arms.

Din watched the expressions on the medic and his two new helpers morph into surprise. It didn’t take the medic long to recover, and he started getting supplies, instructing the others what to do. It only took them a second to comply.

“Why did he go after you?” Din asked, concerned. He could tell she was telling the truth based on the locations of the wounds- behind the knee, where she would’ve cut to take her opponent down, and through the hand to stop him from grabbing her.

She shrugged, “I don’t think he liked that I was trying to direct things. I can’t tell if it was because I’m an outsider or because I look like I’m six standard… or both. I’ll give him this, he was a lot harder to take down than a stormtrooper.”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine. I re-opened the cut on my arm, but it just needs a new bandage,” she told him, showing him one of the cuts she had gotten during the battle. There was a bit of blood coming from underneath the bandage, but not enough to be worried about. “I mostly just wanted to make sure I didn’t accidentally kill this guy.”

“I’m not that easy to take out,” the man on the table grumbled as his leg and hand were being patched up. It seemed the other warriors were fast learners, working quickly and efficiently under the medic’s instructions. Whatever basic first aid they had learned before was certainly coming in handy.

Cara crossed her arms as she matched the glare from the man on the table, “I didn’t even draw my blaster. Anyway,” she said, turning back to Din, “I don’t think anyone will be messing with me again any time soon.”

“Good,” he said. He still felt a little bad that she had been attacked at all, “I know this whole “politics” thing isn’t your scene. You can go anytime you want. I’m grateful you’ve stayed this long.”

She looked at him with a grin, “I kinda got used to the whole marshall thing on Nevarro, and that’s kinda like what I’m doing here. Plus you still have to figure out everything with the clones and Kamino, right? I don’t think anyone would suspect a youngling like me to be sneaking around while my parents do research or something.”

Din felt a bit surprised, but even more grateful she was planning to continue to stay and help out for as long as she could. Plus she did have a point; she had a perfectly valid reason to be on Kamino and they could use that to their advantage if they needed to.

He knew they had a time limit between now and the latest time they could officially return the clones to Kamino until the Kaminoans got suspicious, but it would have to wait a few days at least. He needed to get Mandalore stabilized enough so that he could leave the planet if necessary, especially because he had no idea what the process of freeing the clones would be like. With the role they had been created to fill in the Sith’s plan, he knew it wouldn’t be easy. He might even have to stand against the Republic to succeed. Hell, just by removing their chips, he was probably going to piss the Republic off.

Still, he would do whatever it took to ensure they had a choice in determining their own futures, no matter what it took.

He nodded to Cara, “thank you.”

“Of course,” she said, “if I hadn’t seen you guys on Coruscant, I probably would’ve lost my mind. I don’t think I could’ve kept up the whole “little kid” act in front of everyone for very long. As long as I only have to fool the Kaminoans, I can pull it off.”

“I don’t think I could’ve done it for long either,” he agreed. “At least I don’t have to pretend, now.”

She grinned, “true, but you could probably use it to your advantage. It’s going to be hilarious watching all these hot-shot senators and leaders figure out that you’re the Mand’alor. Last night when Kenobi was talking to his apprentice, he thought Jango was the Mand’alor first, then your parent. I don’t think he even realized you were an option.”

Din sighed, “I hope they’ll take me seriously.”

“Are you kidding, sir?” Boil asked.

“Yeah,” the Death Watch colored warrior with the rangefinder agreed, surprisingly, “as soon as they see you in action, they’ll figure out real quick they shouldn’t let your appearance deceive them.”

He didn’t quite know how to feel about that… even just the thought of having to deal with interplanetary politics felt far away, like a challenge he could hardly conceive, but he knew it was probably just around the corner. With Obi-Wan and Ahsoka on their way to help with Palpatine- and presumably expose his input in the attack on Mandalore and use it against him- things were about to get much more challenging, even without the clones being thrown in.

There was still a tiny twinge of hope that someone would magically come along, someone suited to do a much better job than him at leading this planet and its people… but he wasn’t holding out for it. The chance was just next to absolutely none, and it didn’t make any sense to rely on something that basically wouldn’t happen.

Still… it was nice to hear that he had support from at least some of his people.

He turned his gaze to the Mandalorian who had been injured. He was almost completely patched up now, sitting as the wounds on his hand and arm were being taken care of, looking pale, but otherwise okay.

“You alright?” Din asked him.

He turned, apparently surprised he was being spoken to, “...I’ll be fine.”

“No more trying to attack my friends?” Din tilted his helmet, a dangerous edge to the look, “or anyone else here?”

“No, Mand’alor…”

Din nodded, turning to the others for a moment, “good work. If you’ll excuse me, I need to meet with my allies from Concordia.”

He started to walk out, Cara right behind him, but the medic stopped her, “oh no you don’t. You said your injury reopened. I should take a look while things are quiet.”

She sighed, frustrated, “ah kriff, fine. I’ll catch up in a minute.”

Din nodded, and Grogu waved to her as they walked to finally speak with Paz about Concordia. He noticed Waxer and Boil following for a moment, “sir?”

He paused, waiting to hear what they had to say.

“Thank you… for this.”

“This?” Din asked, not sure if he understood what the other was referring to.

“Everything,” Boil said.

They saluted, and went back to where they had been before to carry out their tasks. Part of Din wondered how many days it would be until the clones were relaxed enough to drop all the formalities with him.

He walked quickly to meet with the others, feeling a bit odd for keeping them waiting, like being late after a bounty hunt that took too long. Hahro, Boba, the Armorer, and surprisingly, Satine, were all helping some others trade out supplies from the ship, removing crates of food and rations and replacing them with tools and medical supplies. Jango was off to the other side, still working on removing the crashed ships from the area. He could see Paz talking with another Mandalorian in navy, green, and gold, one he recognized from Concordia. They noticed him first, their shift in body language making Paz turn as well.

“Well done, Mand’alor.”

Din turned his helmet slightly, avoiding their gaze “I’m trying.”

“From what my apprentice has told me of you, you are doing even better than we could’ve hoped for.”

The hammer and thick gloves had been a dead giveaway that they were another armorer back on Concordia, which made sense, given the current time, but Din didn’t remember anything about them. There was no name that came to mind, only a few fleeting glimpses of earning his first set of armor, and swearing the Creed. If anything, he wondered why they had seemingly taken a back seat to this whole time-travel thing, allowing the Armorer- their apprentice, apparently- to play a much more major role in leading the covert than she would have a few weeks ago in this time.

It was a little strange to imagine someone else guiding the covert instead of her.

They seemed to sense his hesitation, but couldn’t pinpoint the source. Their helmet tilted back, silently trying to answer their own question.

“Azuresh, my mentor,” the Armorer’s voice said as she passed by with a crate.

They shifted, relaxing slightly as the answer was presented, “I understand, now. My apologies, I suppose I should’ve made sure I introduced myself before now, but I fear I assumed a little too much. Paz Remembered my name, though I know it’s more than possible you do not.”

Paz looked aside, “you died shortly after we fled Concordia.”

Azuresh hummed casually, unbothered, “I see.”

“How are things on Concordia?” Din asked them.

“Rough,” Paz said, crossing his arms. “Several of the Death Watch bases were hit hard, nearly destroyed. Lots of casualties, and even more wrecked droids.”

Unfortunately, it made sense, given what Gideon must’ve known. Din turned his head slightly, “Gideon likely knew where some of the bases were. He must’ve been there before.”

“What makes you say that?” Azuresh asked.

“When I returned to Nevarro after taking Grogu, Gideon was waiting for us. He pinned us in the cantina, and said my name. The only way he could’ve known it was if he had been through the Death Watch records.”

“That’s right,” they realized, “since your parent rescued you while working with Death Watch, you were registered as a foundling in their system.”

“Gideon probably went through all the records to find something he could use to hunt the rest of us down after he destroyed Mandalore,” Paz added, crossing his arms.

Azuresh shook their head slightly, “that makes us even more lucky. Although he knew where to strike some of the Death Watch bases, he never found the main portion of the covert. He must not have known where it was, but we still suffered damage. All the foundlings and injured were evacuated, and have since returned.”

“They were trying to exterminate us, so I guess we shouldn't be surprised that Concordia took more heat,” Paz added.

Din knew this was true. Not only was Concordia under siege for longer than Mandalore, but the droids had been sent out with the intent to kill rather than enslave. Even then, the numbers of fighters had been decreased since they traveled to defend Mandalore as well, which likely hadn’t helped things. Still, there were far fewer people on Concordia than there were on Mandalore, and basically all of them knew how to fight, rather than the thousands of virtually helpless citizens that were on Mandalore.

“The regrowth of the forests has likely been set back a few years,” Azuresh noted, “but it will recover again given enough time. There were a few fires, but they were all extinguished before they got out of control.”

Din nodded, “that’s good.”

It was certainly not nearly as bad as it could’ve been. He would need to make his way over there soon, to as many cities as he could probably. He had been on Mandalore for a day, and so far his efforts had been focused on Sundari since that’s where he had been, and also where the most damage had been. There had to be countless others who had questions or worries to express that felt like they should voice them in person. While some had passed their thoughts onto the clones, and Din had responded, of course, he doubted that every thought was reaching him.

“We took inventory from the covert, and from a few of the Death Watch bases, even if there are a few left to go-”

There was a clatter, followed by the sound of something breaking. It wasn’t alarming on its own, since anyone could accidentally drop a crate or knock over a stack of boxes. The sound that followed, the enraged yelling and screech of metal on metal stole Din’s attention away.

He quickly spotted the source, a Death Watch colored Mandalorian and one from his covert in orange and reds, though he didn’t recognize her. There was a broken box next to where they were locked in battle, swinging at each other with strikes aimed to kill, knives drawn, slicing through capes and fabric.

He only hesitated for long enough to hand Grogu over to the nearest other person before he drew the Darksaber and ignited his jetpack, flying toward them. If he had taken a moment to think about it, he would’ve realized that he didn’t really have a plan that went beyond “stop the fighting, figure out the problem, and find a solution.” Really, the big speech he had given earlier had been the only thing he had really had the opportunity to prepare for, and nearly everything else had been a spiral of him trying his best to come up with what to do on the spot, and it seemed this time would be no exception.

When he reached them, he cut the whipcord of the former Death Watch warrior while he blocked the orange Mandalorian’s flamethrower with his shield and he pushed it toward the sky. He took out her bladed blaster next, and kicked the vibroblade out of the other’s hand. Now that they were partially disarmed, he pushed them apart with as much strength as he could.

The two of them both fell backward to the ground, looking at their now destroyed weapons. Din looked himself over, putting the Darksaber back at his side as he was forced to put out the flames at the edge of his cape. He was once more grateful for his new armor, especially the sturdy gloves that prevented him from being burned as he extinguished the fire.

“Now,” Din spoke before they could get back on their feet and start fighting again, “what’s the problem here?”

“The problem?” The woman in orange shouted as she stood and pointed at the other. “The problem is this hut’uun!”

“You're the problem,” the other shot back, his helmet tilted in an angry look, “she killed my brother!”

“Only after he killed my ba’vodu and her partner!”

“Because they killed my grandfather!”

“After he-”

Din didn’t need to hear anymore to understand where this was going, “so you’re choosing to ignore what I said before?”

The Death Watch colored Mandalorian’s helmet moved in a way to suggest he had rolled his eyes, “sure, but I don’t know how you expect me to live with a shabuir like her.”

“Shut your mouth you worm-ridden carcass!”

“Why, you-”

“Stop this,” Din said, trying not to let his frustration show. “Why do you hold onto this feud? What have you accomplished?”

She looked at him oddly, “I’ve helped rid the galaxy of his disgusting bloodline.”

The other crossed his arms, “you’ve tried, but I’ve been the one doing the galaxy a favor, avenging my family!”

“How long ago did this start?” Din asked, some genuine curiosity beneath the surface. He had no idea what could cause a rift between two families so deep that it lasted generations upon generations. The question seemed to catch both the warriors off guard for a moment.

“It was his great, great aunt who killed my great great grandfather, many years ago,” the orange Mandalorian said first.

The other shook his head, “no, it was your great great grandfather who killed my great grandmother.”

Before another argument could arise, Din interjected, “this started long before you were born, and yet you still feel the need to kill one another? What has it ever done to benefit you?”

They both hesitated for a moment, but began to repeat what they had already said about simply wanting to eliminate the other’s bloodline. Din sighed, frustrated once again, and still not really seeing the point of their feud at all. Still, the small crowd around them was growing, and they would all be watching to see what he would do. They had gone against what he had asked by continuing their feud, but he wouldn’t just kill them, or tell them to stop. Their resentment would only keep growing until it exploded once more.

It was different from the incident right before this, as the two of them weren’t factoring in their gender, species, creed, or origin. This feud was specific to the two of them, not to a larger “other” they opposed. There was no misunderstanding, no difference of beliefs that could be resolved with words. This was pure rage that had been brewing for many generations, moving the cycle of violence onward over and over again with no end in sight. They were so caught up in it that they couldn’t see things logically, to see how futile it was to keep seeking revenge with no end in sight.

So how could he make them see it?

“If you think I’m wrong,” he said to them, stopping their shouting once more, “then take me on. There is no logic to your actions, no reason to continue this bloodshed other than old grudges in the name of vengeance for those who have long since marched ahead. They are gone, but you are here. Your feud makes you weak, which makes all of us weak in return. Prove to me that you are not weak.”

The two of them look at one another, then back at him.

“Both of us at once?” The Death Watch colored Mandalorian asked.

“I don’t want to challenge you,” the orange Mandalorian said, shaking her head. “Even if I can’t allow him to live, I do not wish to lead. I respect you for what you’re trying to accomplish… but I fear this part isn’t possible.”

Din shook his head, “this is not a challenge for the Darksaber, but a spar to prove your point. Are both your armors mostly beskar?”

The Death Watch colored Mandalorian nodded, but the one in orange shook her head. Din turned, spotting a destroyed structure to one side. There was metalwork exposed, and he walked over to it, using the Darksaber to cut a piece from it and dull the ends. He tested the weight for a moment, but decided it was good enough.

“Disarm any weapons in your armor,” he instructed them, ensuring they would not secretly turn on one another- or him, “and set aside any weapons. Jetpacks can stay.”

He made a show of taking the live rounds from his projectiles and the fuel cells from his flamethrower. The other two Mandalorians slowly followed his lead, though they never looked away from one another for more than a moment. The Death Watch colored Mandalroian got rid of the whipcord Din had cut, as the other discarded her torn cape with a disappointed look. Din’s blaster and vibroblade joined his small pile, and he started to remove the Darksaber when a bag was placed in his vision. He looked up, seeing Boba holding it open for him.

He dipped his head, putting the saber in the bag, and the rest of his weapons as well. Cara had grabbed Paz, and each of them offered containers for Din’s opponents’ things. Boba put a hand on his shoulder and they all joined their other allies who had gathered in one spot in the slowly growing crowd. He spotted Waxer and Boil off to one side, and even the medic and the former Death Watch warriors he had dealt with. He was beginning to be used to having so many eyes on him, but he was still weighed down by the potential consequences of this encounter. It would either go well, or go poorly, though he would try his best to steer it toward the first one, and the word would spread after that.

He appraised his opponents once more, and pointed to them, “you still have projectiles, and you have a vibroblade hidden in your boot.”

Their reactions were surprised and frustrated, the first because they had been called out, and the second because they suddenly had one less thing to use against one another. They each put their weapons in the containers they had been given, and looked back toward him.

“Sir,” the Death Watch colored Mandalorian said, “why are we doing this? Wouldn’t it just be easier for you to order us to stop?”

“I already did that, but you have both disregarded what I said, not once, but several times,” he said, looking at their weapons on the ground. “Forgive me for not being foolish enough to believe your word. Right now, if I turned my back, you would try to kill each other without hesitation. If you will not listen to me, then I will try another way to get through to you.”

He wasn’t quite sure what to do if his plan didn’t work, as banishing one and not the other would only fuel the fire, as well as banishing both of them. He really didn’t want to banish anyone at all, and wanted to leave doors open for people to leave only by choice.

Din shifted his stance, testing the weight of the metal scrap in his hand, “no lethal hits, and we go until I yield, or both of you do. Any questions?”

“Why do you have that?” the orange Mandalorian asked, pointing to the makeshift staff.

He sighed, “physically, I am eight standard. I lack the physical strength to successfully combat two adults at once, without causing any injuries. I thought this would even the playing field for a one on two fight.”

She nodded in understanding, shifting her stance.

He was just refraining from admitting he had absolutely no right to win this spar. He knew he would have a decent chance in a one on one spar, but a two on one? It was next to impossible for him to win, especially since he had hardly slept in the past day and a half, and had spent most of that time fighting with his words and his weapons. But he did know that their feud would make them weak. He could use it to his advantage, like any decent opponent would- and then prove to them that they made themselves weak.

“All participants ready?” Azuresh asked, looking at each of them.

Each of them nodded.

“Begin!”

Both of them lunged at Din. He sidestepped the orange Mandalorian, and ducked under the other’s following blow. He swung the staff, knocking the Death Watch colored Mandalorian off balance enough to send him crashing into his supposed-to-be ally. She growled at him, shoving him off and to the ground, then blocked Din’s next strike with her vambrace.

He started to block her next swing, but met air as she was dragged back down by her ankle, the other Mandalorian responsible. She turned on him, and a second later, they were fighting each other again, Din completely forgotten.

The frustration swept over him in a wave, but he waited for his moment. He finally found it, and jumped in between them, blocking a punch with his shield and knocking another fist aside with his makeshift staff. He swung it in a style better accustomed to that of a gaffi stick than the Darksaber, and knocked the Death Watch colored Mandalorian to the ground. The one in orange followed a moment later, and he hovered over them in the air.

“If this were a real fight, you’d both be dead!” he said harshly, his empty hand and staff pointing at each of their necks. If he had real weapons, the threat would be much more real.

They both began to protest.

“I am your opponent, not him, and not her!” He said to them, bringing any of their attempts to rise to a halt. “You make yourselves vulnerable when you waste time fighting one another. A real enemy would exploit this weakness, and both of you would be dead. Not only you, but those you fought with, and everyone you fought to protect.”

They were both still, finally looking at him rather than each other.

“You should be able to win easily,” he said, lowering the staff. “You’ve studied each other’s fighting styles for generations in order to defeat each other, right?”

They nodded slowly as they each got to their feet.

“Then use that to your advantage. Adjust so you can work together and defeat me like you would any enemy. I’m not asking you to be friends. I’m just asking you to be narudar, temporary allies.”

They both paused, glaring at each other. The orange Mandalorian swore, her fists tight at her sides, while the other grumbled, stomping the ground once. They seemed to collect themselves a second later, still glaring at each other, but their stances shifted. They watched one another for a moment, each of them changing how they stood, until they both looked back up at Din.

He took this as a sign they were ready, and made the first move this time. The strike was designed to knock one of them aside, into the other, but they both braced against it, deflecting it with little more than a step back. The change was immediately noticeable, and he hoped this was the beginning of their understanding.

They both ran at him, but he had to ignite his jetpack and fly backwards as the Death Watch colored Mandalorian also flew, replacing the orange Mandalorian as Din dodged her first attack. She was back a moment later, and soon he found himself blocking hits from both sides. Despite it being a frustrating spot to be in, he found that the corner of his mouth was rising beneath his helmet.

Their families had spent generations fighting one another, meaning they would both know exactly how to combat the other’s style- and how best to complement it. He could still sense the mistrust between them, the occasional moment where they would clash, or waste a second sending a nasty glare at the other when they could’ve been focusing their energy on him. He knocked the orange Mandalroian to the ground, and although the other did not help her to her feet, he didn’t make her stay down, like last time. In fact, he managed to reroute the direction of his attacks so she could leap up and try to catch Din off guard.

In the end, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this up for long. The exhaustion was really beginning to get to him now. He blocked an attack with his shield and another with the staff, which slipped in his grasp. He readjusted it just in time to land a particularly hard hit on the orange Mandalroian’s side, sending her back to the ground.

“I yield,” she said, struggling to catch her breath.

A second later, the staff was knocked from his hands, and he also met the ground as he blocked a hit with his vambraces. It was probably good to quit while he was ahead, “I yield.”

The Death Watch colored Mandalorian paused, stopping what would’ve been his next attack, shifting to offer his hand instead. Din, who was breathing heavily from the extended fight, gladly accepted it. The other Mandalorian had also reached her feet once more.

Din looked at the both of them, “now, do you see what you can do?”

The others appraised one another, but the contempt was still there. He had expected that, of course. He never really thought they could fully get over their rivalry, but he hoped they had reached a point where they could simply not actively try to kill each other anymore.

“I know you cannot forgive each other,” he told them once he had taken a moment to breathe, “but you can co-exist. But, it is up to you both to regulate yourselves. Don’t make it everyone else’s problem just because you can’t let go of this feud. Remove yourself from the situation before a conflict can arise, or just ignore each other. You do have to figure it out, and I won’t stand for fighting breaking out in the street for some death neither of you can remember. If it happens again, I won’t put my weapons away.”

They exchanged a heated look, but both of them turned away with a sigh, “understood, Mand’alor.”

“Will do, sir.”

“Good.”

He turned as they each walked in opposite directions to reclaim their things, and he quickly spotted the rest of his friends.

“Nice work,” Jango commented, “I thought they’d kill each other for sure, but you found a way to get through to them.”

Din glanced back at them, “we’ll see if it works…”

“Word should spread about this quickly,” Paz said. “I doubt you’ll have to deal with another incident like this for a while.”

He could only hope Paz was right.

Boba held the bag out to him, and he quickly took back the Darksaber and placed his other weapons back where they belonged. Grogu, who had eventually been passed around to Hahro, reached for him once more. Din took him back happily, but made a mental note to get a new hoverpram sometime. Maybe he would ask Kuiil to make him another one if he didn’t mind, after the droid situation reached a more stable point.

The others stepped away to finish loading and unloading the ships, since they had been interrupted by the spar. It seemed nearly everyone in the area had stopped to watch, like Paz said, and they were slowly returning to continue with their tasks.

He continued to discuss Concordia with Paz and Azuresh, eventually making a plan to allocate the resources that were most needed and to get them there as soon as possible. They hadn’t had any major disturbances like Din had been dealing with here, at least not ones they saw or heard about. All it had taken to quell the minor ones was a rather threatening look from Paz, a reminder that whatever they were doing wouldn’t fly. They had known some warriors who had made the effort to travel to Mandalore to speak with- or challenge- Din, which made sense given the timeline of some of the challenges he had received after the first few waves had come and gone, mostly leaving the pacifists to speak with.

Still, Din knew he would need to visit Concordia in person soon, along with the other moons and the other cities on planet. Satine had said something about a tour of sorts, even if he had shut down that interpretation. He would be traveling around to become more familiar with the places and people he was now leading, not going around the planet for fun. It would also allow him to bring himself to people who may have questions without a way to speak with him directly. He had considered opening the comm channels to receive questions that way, but he decided against it when he realized how chaotic it would be.

When their conversation was finished, thankfully without any more interruptions, they started to step away.

“One more thing, if you can spare a moment,” Azuresh said just as Din was turning away. “It’s not about Concordia.”

Din waited for them to continue, though he had no idea what they wanted to say.

“Back when all of you first awoke here, my apprentice came to me and told me what had happened. We held a meeting, and she told the covert everything, including that you had broken your Creed.”

Din knew the broad strokes of that already. The Armorer had said as much when she had led the covert to meet with him a few days ago. Still, he didn’t think he liked where this conversation was going.

“I will be the first to admit I had my worries about you, and your possessing the Darksaber, but each time I have seen you, I find you have continued to grow. This question doesn’t truly matter, especially not since you’ve made it clear we can all co-exist regardless of creed, but I wish to ask it anyway. My apprentice also told me that you were seeking out the Living Waters prior to all this, and when she returned from meeting with you, she said you wished to continue this task. You have fought for all our rights to choose our own futures, our own ways to follow the Resol’nare, and yet, you still seek the Living Waters. Why?”

Din took a shaky breath, and let it go. He should’ve expected this to come up sooner, to have someone ask about what he himself believed. Actually-

“Why now?” he asked. “You could’ve asked this when we met on Concordia.”

Azuresh hummed, “I did not wish for my questions to cloud the judgment of those around us when your claim to the title of Mand’alor was still so new and so fragile. I now believe that no matter what you say, it will not cause others to change their opinions about you or throw your position into turmoil.”

Din had to admit they had a bit of a point there. Back then, the only people who knew about him at all were his covert, who would’ve been more likely to judge him regarding his Creed since they didn’t care about the Darksaber.

“Besides,” they continued, “the Living Waters might as well have been in another galaxy, then. Now, they are very close at hand. You could go any time you chose, with no resistance from anyone.”

He sighed, steeling himself, “I admit I’m conflicted on where I stand with the Creed, but I do not entirely wish to leave it behind. What I decide to do is my choice, but I still wish to redeem myself. It was my choice to break the Creed before, and I had yet to mend it before returning here. I am still the same version of myself who did that, not the scared foundling I was when my parent rescued me. It… just feels right.”

Their stance shifted, and they pulled over two smaller crates, indicating for him to take a seat. He did so, Azuresh following suit, and he almost felt like he was in the forge. Maybe it was just the aura an armorer gave off, or maybe it was speaking of the Creed. Either way, it was like the rest of the world was silenced for the time being.

“You say that it was your choice to break the Creed,” they said slowly, “but you did not say why you made that choice. You are free to choose what to do with your life and your Creed regardless, but even my apprentice did not ask why you broke the Creed…”

“It doesn’t matter why,” Din said. “It only matters that it happened.”

Azuresh’s helmet tilted in a frown. They thought for a moment.

“I have noticed that my apprentice and I seem to have differing beliefs about upholding the Creed. I am aware that the events of your time forced us from our home, and even further into hiding than we already have been for decades. You do not have to tell me anything, but I would be more than happy to offer you some thoughts to take into consideration as you begin to explore the many ways to uphold the Resol’nare, regardless of creed.”

Din hesitated. He wasn’t quite sure why he did, especially since he had been over this before at the Jedi Temple. It had felt different then, since he was still hellbent on rejecting the Darksaber, and he still hadn’t fully begun to understand that he could also choose to be Mandalorian without the Creed. He had largely set the issue aside on Concordia, focusing on figuring out how to use the Darksaber, learning his new armor, and preparing to deal with Satine, not wanting to let it interfere with anything else. He had said it would wait- and although now wasn’t exactly a great time to be re-examining this issue, it wasn’t a terrible one either.

Worst case, he could try to let it go again until he had more time to deal with it. Best case, it was dealt with now, and he wouldn’t have to let it worry him anymore.

He sighed, “alright…”

Before he could say anything else, Grogu started waving his arms and pointing. Din tilted his helmet, looking at Azuresh, who gestured for him to take care of the kid. He started to ask Grogu what was going on when a shadow approached. Grogu stopped waving his arms, and pointed toward it.

Boba, who appeared amused, was standing beside him now, “you want something, kid?”

“Ah!” Grogu said. It was probably a yes.

Din wasn’t quite sure what he wanted, so he started to hand Grogu over, but the child wouldn’t let go. When Boba started to take a step away, testing what was going on, Grogu obviously wanted him to stop and stay instead. Din still didn’t understand why Grogu clearly wanted Boba here.

Boba seemed to wonder the same thing, because a moment later, he asked, “what were you two talking about before he waved me over?”

“My seeking the Living Waters, and why I broke the Creed.”

Understanding dawned on his face, “smart kid. He wants me here to make sure you’re not too hard on yourself.”

Din looked back down at Grogu, who pointed and nodded at Boba. He only sighed, and looked back to Azuresh. He was fine with this. None of it would be anything Boba hadn’t heard before.

“Grogu had been captured by the same General who attacked us. I had to find him, so I needed his ship’s coordinates. I could only get them by sneaking into an Imperial base. I’m… not entirely sure if this counts as breaking the Creed,” he said hesitantly, “but I had to wear the armor the Imperials wore.”

Not that it had made much of a difference in the end…

“He forgot to mention he had lost everything,” Boba added. “His ship was destroyed when Grogu was taken. None of the rest of us could go in his place, either.”

Azuresh’s helmet tilted in a silent question.

“All of us were outlaws,” he continued, “but the rest of us were a bit too recognizable. If they had scanned our chain codes- forget that part, you probably don’t know what a chain code was. Basically, we would’ve been captured and killed if they had discovered us, and the kid would’ve been lost for good.”

They nodded slowly, “I follow the train of thought that a mask is a mask, no matter what form it takes. If you conceal your true face, there is nothing to worry about. Some disagree with me, but I do not see this as a violation of the Creed.”

Their answer surprised him slightly, but he did not ask why they saw things this way.

“We got inside- me and Mayfeld, this former Imperial who had betrayed me on a mission. I had captured him, and let the New Republic have him, but I needed his information to find the base and get the coordinates. He refused to go to the terminal because his former commanding officer was there, so I did instead. The terminal needed a facial scan, so I removed the helmet.”

“...and?”

“I was frozen, and the Imp saw me. Mayfeld came to my aid. We shot our way out and killed anyone who saw me, but we let him go. I couldn’t kill him, not after that. I didn’t tell anyone what happened. After I rescued Grogu from Gideon and won the Darksaber, the Jedi had come for him. I let him go, but I let him see my face first. He deserved it, and I had already broken the Creed.”

Din lowered his head, “I didn’t have the courage to admit what happened until the Armorer asked me if I had removed my helmet… and she declared I was no longer a Mandalorian. I want to redeem myself for all that.”

Grogu was holding onto his arm, trying to provide some comfort that Din slowly accepted. He waited for something, anything to happen. Azuresh surely had something to say about all of that, right?

They stood slowly, and without a word. When they walked past Din, he looked up, following them with his gaze. Boba looked at him, a bit confused, and raised an eyebrow. They paused for only a moment, long enough to turn and gesture for the two of them to follow. They didn’t walk much farther after that, stopping near their apprentice, Din and Boba right behind. She had noticed their approach, and looked up from where she had been examining scrap metals brought down from Concordia.

“Take back your decree,” they said, voice devoid of emotion.

The Armorer paused, turning her helmet to the side, “what?”

“Take. Back. Your. Decree!” They repeated, voice raising at the end.

Din stood there, completely baffled.

“I’m afraid I do not entirely understand what decree you speak of…”

“After everything, you took his choice from him and sent him on a suicide mission for redemption that he didn’t even need. You didn’t even bother to ask why, when that changes everything!”

The Armorer caught on, tilting her helmet, “as I said before, things were far different in our time. Every time one of us ventured out, we risked the safety of the entire covert. Not only does showing one’s face go against our Creed, but it puts even more risk on the rest of us.”

“Even so, that only makes it worse that you cast out the beroya that provided for you for years, when all he did was uphold the highest tenant of our Creed.”

Din held his one hand up, a little overwhelmed at seeing Azuresh lose their cool, and the Armorer so… defensive. He tried to de-escalate things, “is this just because I’m the Mand’alor? If it is-”

“No,” Azuresh shook their head, “I would say the same to someone who had accepted the Creed only minutes ago if they removed their helmet to save the life of a child. An act such as that needs no redemption.”

The Armorer froze. She looked at Din, “is that what happened?”

Din hesitated, but Boba answered for him, “it was.”

She stared for a moment, then looked to the side, avoiding the other’s gazes, “that still-”

“If even half of what everyone has said about Din Djarin is true, then he has risked and given up everything to support his covert and save his child. If you dare to suggest that keeping one’s helmet on is more important than the life of a foundling, then I have failed you as a mentor.”

Thoughts of Nevarro flashed through Din’s mind, of turning Grogu in, rescuing him, and being rescued in return by his covert. He tried to speak, to tell them of his mistakes, to tell them he probably had broken the Creed by doing that, but he couldn’t say the words. He struggled with it for a moment, and spun, grabbing Boba’s arm.

“Woah, Din,” Boba instantly knew something was wrong. “What is it?”

Din frantically signed with one arm, still holding Grogu close with the other.

Boba watched, his expression shifting, “what, you’re still on about that? Grogu forgave you for that- oh? You really want me to- alright.”

At Din’s insistence, he translated, “he says that if removing his helmet didn’t break the Creed, then turning Grogu over to the Imperials probably did. He was the target of a big bounty hunt, but Grogu forgave him for that as soon as he came back to rescue him.”

Din tilted his helmet in a half-hearted glare, not having told Boba to say any of that last part.

Azuresh looked at him for a moment, then shook his head, “you were torn between your covert and a foundling, but you chose right in the end. You’ve been making up for it, even if your child already deems you forgiven. He was right about you being far too hard on yourself; look around you. You have fought for all our sakes so we can follow the Resol’nare, with or without any other creeds we choose, and yet, you condemn yourself for sacrificing everything to save a child because others lacked the information to judge you properly.”

They turned back to the Armorer for a moment, “you possess both the skill and knowledge to help lead us, which is why I have been allowing you to do so, but I refuse to stand by this judgment. Your time is past. You cannot allow the strictness you once enforced for survival to drive your decision making now.”

The Armorer looked at them for a moment, but bowed her head, “yes, my mentor…”

“As for you,” Azuresh said, turning to fully face Din, “in my eyes, you have no need for redemption. I have rarely encountered one such as yourself, and it makes me even prouder to see you leading us today. You may do as you wish, of course, and I will stand by your choice, but know that you are not disgraced as you have believed yourself to be. You do not have to seek out the Living Waters if it is not your wish.”

Din stared, mouth agape beneath his helmet, almost unable to comprehend what he was hearing. Grogu looked rather pleased with himself, smiling up at him from his arms before curling up to take another nap.

“Excuse me,” Satine’s voice said from behind him, “I don’t mean to intrude, but I wanted to say that if you still wish to go to the Living Waters but want another reason, there is one. I myself have bathed in the Waters, and my sister as well when we came of age. It is a traditional ceremony filled with gifts and celebration. It may be good for everyone, but I also understand if it is not something you wish to do.”

Despite the conflict in his mind, he didn’t have to take long to think about it. He signed to Boba, who laughed.

“He said he doesn’t want any gifts.”

In the evening, they flew up to the Venator where Fennec was monitoring the clones’ chip extractions. One of the guards offered to lead them to her, which they accepted. When they reached her, up in the hallways along the medbays, she was just finishing up answering some questions from the latest battalion regarding their situation. She was standing on a table, though there were tables, chairs, benches, and cushions scattered about the passageway. There were more, on the far side of the medbay where the recovering clones could take some time to rest before returning back out, but they were much more organized.

She had everything completely under control, and she answered nearly all their questions without much hesitation. As she finished, stepping down from the table top and into one of the seats as the crowd dispersed, she grinned at them, “funny seeing you here.”

“We needed a break and wanted to see how things were going here,” Boba shrugged.

“You came at the right time,” she said. “I just finished up with this group. There are still a few more waiting for the surgery from the last group, so there should be some down time before the next big wave comes in.”

Din signed to them. Fennec raised her eyebrows slightly at this as Boba nodded in agreement, “it does look like there are more people in here than just one battalion.”

Fennec half-shrugged, “since things have calmed down some we’ve been having groups in two at a time, sometimes. It makes the whole questions part easier, even if I do have it down to a science at this point.” She shifted her gaze, “did something happen?”

He began to try and explain, but Boba didn’t wait for him, “the Armorer’s mentor found out how his Creed was broken and absolved him of everything. They criticized her for throwing him out for it too.”

“Nice,” Fennec said, smiling, “finally, someone’s getting angry on your behalf and doing something about it.”

Din tried to say that it had been far from his intention for anything like this to have happened, but she had to know that. They both did, so he lowered his hands instead.

“Here, sit,” she said, gesturing to the table. “We can catch up with everything else that’s happened while I’ve been up here.”

They sat and told her about all the challenges they had faced throughout the day. They went over everything from the protesting pacifists to the confrontation with Azuresh and the Armorer. Fennec was highly entertained throughout, finding the tale of Cara taking down a fully grown Mandalorian hilarious. They were aware of the eyes and ears around them, listening in. Their table had quickly filled as they talked, becoming a center for gathering so everyone could hear their tales.

“So, what will you do?” she asked Din at the end. “Are you still going to do the Living Waters thing?”

Boba watched and translated as he signed slowly, “I think I will, but the reason why isn’t clear anymore.”

When he finished, Boba nodded, “take some time to think it over; sleep on it, at least. You don’t have to choose now.”

Din nodded, sighing heavily as he tried to calm his mind.

“What are those signs you’re making?” A clone with brown paint on his helmet and pauldrons asked. “They don’t look like anything we’ve been taught.”

“It’s Tusken Sign Language,” Boba explained. “There’s a verbal component that goes with it, but I can’t do it nearly as well as he can.”

“You have your own Signs?” Din asked. Boba translated it for him.

The other nodded, “we do. They’re mostly for battle, not much for communication like what you’re doing.”

Din wanted to learn them, and asked accordingly. The clones quickly agreed, and they were soon walking him through their basic hand signals they had all been taught, and some that their squad and particular had come up with. Most of them made sense, felt familiar in a way that echoes the hand signals his own covert had, so Din was happy to learn them.

They wanted to learn some Tusken Sign in return, so he and Boba began to walk them through some of the most basic and most useful ones. Fennec followed along as well, commenting that she probably should’ve started learning back on Tatooine. Grogu, who woke up during this time, also started to mimic their motions. It was long overdue that he learn some sort of sign language as well, Din thought. He had pushed it off before, since he thought the child would be reunited with his own kind who could easily communicate with him, but now it would be necessary for him to learn at least a little.

They kept at it for a while, with some of the crowd being called to take their turns to have their chips removed. Overall, spirits on the ship were high. The clones regarded Din warmly, and welcomed him when he asked to learn about their lives and training on Kamino as well. He was happy to be able to listen, occasionally asking questions, so he could have a better idea what their experiences had been before coming here, and also what he might be up against in the future.

As they sat, Din’s gaze wandered to where others were also waiting to have their chips removed. Among those without paint were many who had brown on their armor like Commander Ponds, but he saw a few with maroon paint that stood out from the others.

Although he wasn’t entirely certain from the distance, he could only see three of them, all looking quiet, dejected among the largely positive expressions around the halls. It struck him as odd, and he didn’t like the look of it.

He tapped Boba on the shoulder, signing to him, “I’m going to go talk with some of the others down the hall.”

“Want me to come with you?” Boba asked.

Din shook his head, “I’ll just find a datapad and write.”

“Alright, but get me if you change your mind. Fennec, you know where any datapads are?”

She caught on to what he and Din had been talking about, “there are some near the medbays. No one’s using them, so I can grab one.”

She did so, and handed it to Din, who dipped his head in thanks. With that, he turned and made his way over to the clones with maroon armor. They didn’t notice his approach until he was close, and the one on the left tapped his brother’s shoulder, gesturing to Din. His brother had been sitting with one hand holding his head, but instantly became alert.

His pauldrons were adorned with antenna and his helmet, on the floor, had a rangefinder. It made Din inclined to think he was likely the one in charge, or at least with the highest ranking among them. He was missing some of the armor on his arm, replaced with bandages over the flightsuit.

Din stopped in front of them, pausing for a moment as he figured out what he wanted to say to them. They were all watching him intently now, but did not salute, nor make any motion to get up. It was refreshing, even if they didn’t appear to be relaxed.

“How are you holding up?” He finally typed, handing the datapad over to the one with the shoulder antenna.

They glanced between him and the datapad for a moment, all of them leaning over to read the message.

“… we’re alright,” he said after a moment, looking a tiny bit confused.

“Something wrong with your voice?” One of the others asked. His brother sent him a look, which he pretended not to see, but he still gently shoved his arm anyway.

Din received the datapad back, and typed “I had a big shock earlier. My voice doesn’t always work when I want it to.”

He took a moment to sit down in front of them. Then, they traded the datapad once more, the leader looking at the message in slight amusem*nt, “a shock, eh? I guess you can say we’ve all had one of those today.”

Their moods instantly grew more somber, and Din suddenly had a sinking feeling about why there were so few of them wearing maroon paint.

“Your squad didn’t make it?” He asked.

The look on their faces as they read the question was enough to let him know the answer.

“We got caught in heavy fire when we were landing on Concordia,” they told him. “Lots of us got shot down, and by the time we took out the tanks, there were only a few of us left.”

“Some kid with a chain gun came in with some other Mandalorians and helped us clear the area right after. Might not have been any of us left if not for him.”

“My friend, Paz,” Din wrote on the datapad. “He’s strong. I’m glad he helped you.”

“Some of us are still in the medbays, but we don’t know if they’ll recover…”

Their leader sighed, but looked resolute, “they knew what they were getting into, just like the rest of us. They died bravely, and we won’t forget them.”

Din found himself automatically trying to say “this is the way,” even though no sound came out. His hands moved along with the voiceless mantra, making the shapes and motions that roughly translated to the same saying. The others looked at him, not understanding. He hesitated for a second, but typed on the datapad anyway.

“This is the way. It’s a saying in my covert. To fight and die for the sake of your brothers is an honorable way to die.”

As they read what he typed, he couldn’t help but reflect on the consequences of what he had asked of everyone who had fought, and how some had paid the ultimate price, risking their lives simply because they had asked. It was what they did, both as soldiers and as Mandalorians, but that didn’t make the loss sting any less. Since it was the clones’ first battle, they were probably feeling their first, fresh loss more deeply than most.

“We’re sorry too, but we were made to fight. We’ve always known we wouldn’t all live through every battle,” their leader said. “I just wonder if I could’ve done something different.”

Din knew the feeling all too well, writing as much. He also asked for their names.

“Wolffe,” their leader said.

“Boost.”

“Sinker.”

“Good to meet you,” he wrote, along with “how is your injury?”

“I’ll be fine,” Wolffe said. Took a blaster bolt to the arm, is all.”

Din gestured to the spot on his arm still wrapped in cloth. Although his own blaster burn was nearly healed thanks to the bacta he had used after he was injured, he still hadn’t taken the time to patch that hole in the flightsuit like he had for his leg. It hadn’t been important enough to deal with.

The others seemed surprised, “woah, you got shot too?”

He shrugged in response. It wasn’t a big deal to him in the slightest.

“Your leg, too?” Sinker asked, pointing to where the fabric had been stitched together.

Din shook his head and typed, “lightsaber.”

Their expressions instantly changed, “woah, woah, woah, a lightsaber? I thought only the Jedi had those.”

“And the Mand’alor,” Wolffe added.

“Isn’t that the Darksaber? Is it actually the same thing?”

Din didn’t actually know the answer on a technological level, but he did know the history of the Darksaber. He shrugged, not wanting to get into at the moment. He knew there was definitely something different about the Darksaber other than the construction. Over the past few days, he had seen the other lightsabers be traded, and it seemed no one else had any difficulty with using a lightsaber that didn’t initially belong to them. Perhaps it was because it had been used for thousands of years across many users. It wouldn’t surprise him if there was some sort of imprint left on it, after all this time.

“What were you doing getting attacked by someone with a lightsaber, anyway?” Wolffe asked. “I thought the Jedi were working with all of us.”

Din nodded, typing, “they are my friends. One of the Separatist Generals was a Jedi killer, and stole the lightsabers of his victims. The other General borrowed one from him.”

Their expressions were a mix of shock and mild horror, “that’s terrifying to think of having a lightsaber wielding maniac as an enemy.”

“Did you see them get taken down?” Boost asked. “The Generals, I mean.”

“Kenobi took down the Jedi killer with help from the 212th, but I wasn’t there. I cut the other’s head off.”

He had just handed the datapad back over when he heard another voice from behind him, “is this a bad time, sir?”

He turned and saw Kix standing behind him, his medical bag in his hand. It was probably time for him to check over Din’s injuries from the previous day. He didn’t think any of the cuts or bruises he had obtained during the day’s various challenges were worth noting.

He started to sign, remembered that Kix wouldn’t understand him, and turned back toward Wolffe and the others to get the datapad back. Sinker was holding it, staring at the screen with wide eyes.

“Something wrong?” Kix asked Din.

“He told us earlier his voice wasn’t working right now,” Wolffe told him.

“Because of an injury?”

Din shook his head.

“Are you sure about that?”

He nodded, adding in one of the hand signs he had learned for “all clear” to try and get the point across.

Kix finally seemed to accept his answer, “alright then. Word is you’ve been busy today. Lots of challengers, but you don’t look any more injured than yesterday.”

Din nodded once and half-shrugged. It was true, thankfully, but any of his newer injuries were hidden beneath his flightsuit. They weren’t severe enough to worry anyone about, and the most visible damage he had sustained between today and yesterday was the newly burned edge of his cape. He hoped that Kix understood that there was nothing he needed to be concerned with.

There was a flurry of motion beside him, and he saw Wolffe, Boost, and Sinker suddenly standing at attention.

“Sir!” Wolffe said, sounding slightly panicked, “We’re sorry we didn’t recognize you. We meant no disrespect.”

Ah, that’s what was different. They hadn’t recognized him at all, evidently, and he knew he just looked like some kid in armor without the context of the Darksaber. Considering that, he was a little surprised they had talked to him at all.

He held his hands up, wanting to tell them that none of that was necessary. He had thought their conversation was going well, relaxed and casual without expectations. There was no reason why that shouldn’t continue. He tested his voice again, only to be further frustrated when no sound came out. The Datapad was still held tightly in Sinker’s hand at his side.

He looked up at Kix once again, silently asking for help.

Kix looked at Wolffe and the others with a casual shrug, “the Mand’alor doesn’t care much about his rank. Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said, glancing at Din, “but I think he was fine with however you were speaking before.”

They looked at Din, who nodded, and back at Kix. They were not entirely relaxed and still slightly confused.

“I don’t know why,” Kix said, answering their unasked question, “but this is the way he is. I only boss him around because he’s my patient, but I’ve got a lot of respect for him. My Captain, Rex, lent him a blaster and he called him his brother right before he told us how he saw us. The Jedi I met were the same way. They were just… kind.”

They finally started to relax, the tension draining out of their frames. Wolffe rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, “the signal from your first call wasn’t very strong in our sector. We could hardly make out any image at all, and we were all in the medbays when your speech to Mandalore was broadcasted.”

“We might’ve recognized your voice from your transmission to us,” Sinker said, “but, well…” He seemed to remember he was holding the datapad, and quickly offered it back, “sorry, sir.”

Din accepted it back, quickly writing, “it’s fine. Kix was right; I don’t mind. Thank you for speaking with me earlier.”

Their relief was obvious now. There was a particular look on Wolffe’s face, one Din had seen many times in the past day on many warriors and pacifists alike. The ease of the day’s anxieties combined with hope for the future and some sort of third emotion he could never quite read. It almost looked like confidence, but not directed at themselves. He didn’t dare to voice the thought it might actually be directed at him.

“Ready, sir?” Kix asked him.

Din paused, thinking for a moment, and typed on the datapad once more. “If you’re open to it, I want to reach out to the others who may have lost their battalions. Maybe you can work together?”

They read the message and a small smile crossed Wolffe’s face, “I think we can give that a try.”

Din nodded and dipped his head to them in both thanks and a goodbye, and went with Kix to get his leg looked at.

At the end of the day, he was absolutely exhausted, and made a point to actually get some rest that night, now that things were looking like they were beginning to settle.

The next day was just as busy, even if it was a completely different kind of busy. He traveled around the planet, stopping at each and every city to see the damage and meet with whoever wanted to speak with him or challenge him. In the end, it took another half of a day to finish up, but he came out of it feeling much better about everything.

As the shock wore off, and some people began to listen, many of the pacifists joined in the recovery efforts along with the warriors who had largely already been helping. There were droidsmiths helping Kuiil, doctors helping with injuries and cybernetics, and everyone involved in construction working on repairing the domes that had been damaged. Things were looking far more promising than Din could’ve imagined.

During this time, he also worked with Satine to sort out the whole Living Waters situation. Despite Din not wanting to make a big deal of it, moreso just wanting to get in and out as quickly as he could, the duch*ess ended up getting her way, with some notable changes. She insisted that it be a public event that everyone was invited to. She said it would be good for everyone, a way to find more common ground between the traditions of the pacifists and Din’s own covert, at least. He reluctantly agreed, but made certain he would only be offering them a chance to join if they wanted rather than a mandate, and he had also been serious about not wanting any gifts. Her eyes held a rather suspicious glint to them when she agreed to this, so he wasn’t sure if she would actually listen or not.

On the morning of the third day after the battle was the Living Waters ceremony. Most of the major debris had been cleared from the cities, and reconstruction had begun. Din had received fewer and fewer challenges, and fewer people worried or angry for their futures. He had made sure to give it time, so he could actually take time to visit the Living Waters in earnest rather than scrambling to get there and back as soon as possible to deal with yet another crisis.

Now, they stood at the entrance to the mines, waiting to go down the path to the Living Waters.

“We’re going to hang back,” Fennec told him, gesturing to Cara and Kuiil beside her.

“We’re here for you, but we don’t want to cause any trouble since we’re not Mandalorians,” Cara added.

Kuiil agreed, “we will wait for you to return.”

Din nodded, understanding their choice. While he would be more than happy to have them make the journey with them, he also knew that there would be others who would be far less enthusiastic about non-Mandalorians entering one of the most significant cultural sites in all of Mandalore’s history. He would trust his friends’ judgment, and wouldn’t make them do anything they didn’t want to do.

With that, he turned, walking alongside the duch*ess and all his friends and allies as they made their way to the Living Waters. The huge crowd of people trailed behind them. He was certain they wouldn't be able to all fit in the room, but he supposed that wasn’t the point. Satine had probably known what she was doing when she suggested this. Her guards and other volunteers seemed to be organizing and directing the flow of the attendees. He recognized that she still knew a lot more about engaging with a whole planet full of people, after all. He knew he had much to learn in that regard, but he was glad she had taken the lead with this ceremony so he had time to focus on Mandalore.

He equipped his helmet light as Satine took a glowrod and began to light the way. The evidence that this was once a mine was clear from the walls, the carefully carved steps and pathways that had lasted for longer than he could even begin to imagine. There was some evidence of damage from the groundquakes from the attack, but nothing that caused him to hesitate in his journey. Everything was still structurally stable, like it had been for as long as it had existed.

There was quiet chatter as they walked. Jango was telling his son about the last time he was here, shortly after he had been adopted by his father. Hahro was quietly taking in the journey, occasionally looking at Din to make sure he was still doing alright. Both armorers were explaining some of their covert’s history with the Living Waters to Martel and her family. Beyond talking to Grogu about anything the child pointed at, Din was largely silent.

Now that he was finally here, after thinking about it for what felt like an eternity (even if it had only been a few weeks), his mind swam with all the thoughts and feelings he hadn’t yet been able to put to rest. In the end, his decision to go to the Living Waters hadn’t changed, even if the reasons behind it had blurred. His perception of what he had done had been completely turned on its head when Azuresh had spoken to him. He hadn’t expected their reaction at all, especially not from someone who had led the covert for years. He had worried that their understanding of him may have been flawed since they didn’t Remember, since they didn’t have the full picture, but the Armorer had shared everything she knew, and so had he and Boba regarding the Creed, at least.

Nevertheless, it was beyond unexpected to him to have received such a judgment from them…

Still, Mayfeld’s words echoed in his mind, challenging him for his beliefs about his Creed, the difference between removing a helmet and showing one’s face. With everything that had been happening back then, he had been frustrated at Mayfeld’s words, and devastated after he had removed his own helmet.

Now he knew that there were many ways to be Mandalorian. He had said so in front of the entire planet, but he was still undecided about what that meant for himself. He had been cast out and later exonerated for his actions, but it left him uncertain what he wanted anymore. He still held some of the core values that he had been raised with, following the Resol’nare, loyalty, solidarity, and putting the needs of foundlings above all else… but maybe, he might remove his helmet in front of his closest friends. The galaxy as a whole had no reason to know his face. He knew he would be known by many not too long from now, especially if the whole Sith thing ended well, but they would know him by his signet, by his helmet, his title, not his face.

No one else had said anything about his Creed to him. Those from his covert still seemed to respect him, and anyone formerly from Death Watch hadn’t said a word against him. He wasn’t sure if having been from a more strict creed had ended up helping their acceptance of those who did have different creeds or not- maybe they figured that if he had a different creed and turned out alright, then maybe they shouldn’t be so quick to judge others. That’s what he hoped they thought, at least.

As they walked, the people at the back began to linger, knowing there wouldn’t be room for everyone. Satine had arranged it so it would be more like a grand walkthrough at the end, so everyone could see him redeemed- not redeemed, he reminded himself.

No, this was no longer just for redemption. This was for a new beginning, a new promise to himself, to Grogu, and to Mandalore, for as long as it needed him.

The crowd grew quiet as they neared their destination, but Satine started to speak.

“Inside the room, there is a plaque, though I still know it by heart,” she said, still facing forward. She began to recite it, “These mines date back to the age of the first Mand’alor. According to ancient folklore, the mines were once a mythosaur lair. Mand’alor the Great is said to have tamed the mythical beast. It is from these legends that the skull signet was adopted and became the symbol of our planet… and now, we have arrived.”

The pointed entrance led into a room that was both larger and smaller than he had expected. Smooth, detailed walls and arches lined the edges, spanning over the Waters and the steps that led down into them. Despite being underground, there was still something other than their lights illuminating the space. It was almost as if the air around them was different than any place he had ever been to before. He looked down to Grogu, who looked back up at him with sparkling eyes.

He kept walking until he reached the first step, and paused. He turned back to the others, who had stopped not too far behind him. His friends and allies were all at the front, Paz next to both armorers and Hahro, Boba and Jango next, and many of the Mandalorians he had met over the past few days who had helped in their efforts both during and after the battle. Rex, Cody, and Wolffe stood with some of their battalions, along with many of the warriors who had fought alongside them, or played a significant role in the reconstruction progress. Satine stood with them as well, smiling. She turned to the armorers for a moment.

“We know you said no gifts,” Azuresh said, stepping forward as they pulled a small bag off their shoulder, “but these were due to you anyway.”

Din tilted his helmet, and watched as they pulled a new greave from the bag, shining in unpainted glory. It was larger, sturdier looking than the one he had lost to Gideon’s stolen lightsaber. A kal dagger, pure beskar, rather than Fennec’s plated one, followed. A new cuirass came next, sleek and refined just like the one he had worn before all this.

Martel also drew out a small roundel with his signet, “we all worked together to make this. We didn’t want Grogu to be left out.”

He looked up at the beskar, clearly pure, unlike most of his current pieces, “where did you get the material for this?”

“You earned it,” Paz said, crossing his arms over his newly crafted cuirass. “I didn’t need all of what Vizsla left behind.”

Din’s eyes widened slightly as he realized what that meant. Still, he didn’t feel conflicted about wearing a new version of a former enemy’s armor. He had done it many times before, even if it had always been durasteel and never beskar.

“Our covert provided the rest,” the Armorer added. “You have protected all of us, so we will see to it you are protected in return.”

His surprise rose again, but he knew he couldn’t refuse the offer, nor was he about to. He wondered how much Satine had to do with it, given her insistence on the whole gift-giving part, but it had been toned down to a level he found acceptable. He would never refuse armor for his child, and a replacement piece for what he lost would be a great asset. The dagger would be a valuable asset as well- nothing like his spear, but Fennec’s blade had very well saved his life during the battle. Perhaps this dagger would do the same. The cuirass would be the only thing he considered excessive, considering he had only gained a few dents in his current one, but it was one of the most important pieces to be beskar.

“Thank you,” he said to them all. “It’s more than I could ask for,”

“We will hold onto it until you’re ready for it,” the Armorer said.

Din nodded and turned back toward the Living Waters. He removed his jetpack along with his blasters and vibroblades, though he left the Darksaber at his side. He set them down, and walked to the Waters. At the last step, he set Grogu down. The child looked at him, seeming to understand.

He started to slowly walk down the steps, “I swear on my name and the names of the Ancestors, that I shall walk The Way of the Mandalore…”

He paused. What he had once said decades ago, “and the words of the Creed shall forever be forged in my heart,” was not something he could swear to anymore. The words would always be there, but he would not follow it as he once had.

“...and follow each of the tenants of the Resol’nare,” the water was half way up his chest, “to forge a new future for us all.”

With that, his helmet went beneath the Waters.

He had mixed experiences with water and swimming, frightening, faded memories of being warned away from the oceans of Aq Vetina, fondness of the ponds of Sorgan, and the fear that came from mamacores on Trask.

This, however, was completely different.

It was calm, seemingly still, and it was almost as if he could feel the planet living around him. Time stopped moving, leaving only himself and the Waters.

Then, a shift in the Waters. He adjusted the flashlight on his hemet pointing it deeper than he could ever fear to go. For a moment, he wondered if he had imagined it, but then something moved. A dark eye opened, staring right back at him.

He swam back up and forced his head back above the Waters, quickly finding the steps back to the surface. He coughed slightly, having inhaled some water in pure shock of what he had seen. Grogu looked up at him questioningly, hugging his leg. Din put his hand on his child’s head, picked him up at the child’s insistence, and looked to the others.

Some were cheering, but everyone held some expression filled with pride like Hahro and his friends, and hope like the clones and citizens.

When he started to speak, the water still dripping off him, many of them paused, “there’s… something down there.”

“What?” Satine asked, her expression instantly changing to surprise.

“I saw something down there,” he repeated. “It almost looked like a mythosaur.”

The Armorer was enthralled, “a mythosaur? This is a very noble vision for you to receive. The songs of eons past foretold the mythosaur rising up to herald a new age of Mandalore.”

He paused, wanting to say more, that he had really seen it- but he didn’t. It wasn’t worth it, and for all he knew, she was probably right about it just being a vision. Mythosaurs had been gone for centuries. Murmurs had sprung up around the room, filled with hope and encouragement.

He briefly caught sight of Satine whispering something to Hahro, and they signed to him, “she wants you to make a speech, I think.”

A speech? He still wasn’t exactly great at those, he knew, and trying to come up with something on the spot seemed daunting, especially with so many others surrounding him. Still, he was trying to learn from the duch*ess, and if she thought it was a good idea, he’d have to give it a try. It would probably be easier than everything he had done in the past several days.

The crowd quickly quieted as he began to speak. “This is the new age for Mandalore… as many of you know, I never wanted to rule. I never imagined myself here, but I am now. The past few days have been like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, and we’ve managed to do something I had only hoped would be possible.”

He gestured to everyone, “look at all of us. We’re here now because we’ve been working together, learning to fight with each other instead of against each other. Mandalore is just beginning to recover, but I know we can build the future we want for ourselves.”

He paused, drawing the Darksaber and looking at the hilt in his hand for a moment. Grogu watched him, jumping into his hood after a moment.

“I didn’t think I deserved this,” he said, then ignited the blade, “but as long as I’m here, and as long as you’re here with me, I will do everything in my power to create the future I see for all of Mandalore. Where you come from, or what you might look like on the outside doesn’t matter. We’re all different, and that makes us more powerful than anyone in the galaxy can imagine. Each of us are united under the Resol’nare, and no one can take that away from us!”

Cheers erupted from the crowd, armor clanging together combining with shouts and celebration. It was short lived, because the ground began to shake beneath their feet. Din spun toward the source, Darksaber still in hand, because it felt like it was coming from right behind him.

A second later, there was a crash, and a huge wave of water that swept over everyone in the room as a mythosaur emerged from the Living Waters with a cry of its own.

The water hissed as it hit the Darksaber’s blade and evaporated, but Din hardly noticed since he was gaping at the sight before him. He had hardly managed to shield himself and Grogu from the wave. He almost couldn’t keep himself from being swept off his feet, but he didn’t fall. Many of the others behind him weren’t so lucky, absolutely soaking wet on the ground, staring up in awe and horror all at once.

The mythosaur rose up again, looking to be nearly the size of the Razorcrest in the dim light. It could probably swallow Din whole, if it wanted to. It stared directly at him with piercing eyes that he felt saw all the way into his soul.

He felt frozen, unable to comprehend what his next move should be. He didn’t have most of his weapons, or his jetpack, but it was a karking mythosaur anyway, could he really just kill it? He decided against it a second later, turning off the blade, even if it remained in his hand.

It seemed to understand, and moved its large head quickly toward him- to do what, he had absolutely no idea. He couldn’t think of anything to do but stand, and simply hoped it wouldn’t kill him. Maybe he could pull off the trick he did with the Krayt Dragon, if he did get eaten. He would have to try and stop Grogu from being burned.

But no- it stopped right in front of him, its face level with his own.

For a moment, he was convinced Grogu had stopped it, but the child was staring back at the creature without fear, and without a single finger raised in defense. The beast exhaled, fogging Din’s visor for a second. He moved slowly to clear it, staring at the giant tusks of the creature before him.

It moved quickly, shoving its snout under his feet and throwing him upward to the ceiling. He held onto Grogu, prepared to use the Darksaber if he needed to- but all he did was land on its back. It looked at him, watching for a moment, and Din suddenly realized that this creature had no intentions to hurt him. He had no idea what exactly was going on or how intelligent the mythosaur really was, but he had undoubtedly disturbed it- and apparently, earned its respect, somehow.

It began to move, walking slowly from the waters for all to see. He tried not to allow himself to slide off, or Grogu for that matter, and quickly saw the complete shock and awe on the faces of those around him. Although it was hard to tell from all the water, it looked like some people were crying.

The Mythosaur looked back at him, and he slowly gestured forward, unsure of every move he made. Din did his best not to fall, pointing the correct paths to take back to the surface as everyone followed behind.

“Is it supposed to take this long?” Cara asked.

Fennec shrugged, “how should I know?”

“It doesn’t look like anyone here does,” Kuiil added.

They had felt the small tremors not too long before, but had confirmed there was no attack on the surface. They each hoped they had been imaging it, considering the other most likely option was that a tunnel had collapsed, trapping hundreds of people somewhere below their feet.

Then, the shaking resumed. Except, this time, it seemed it was more rhythmic, like a pattern. It got worse and worse, and not knowing what else to do, they drew their weapons. Kuiil, who had no weapons, simply tried to prepare himself. The others around them seemed just as tense, following their lead as the warriors stood with their weapons drawn to protect their pacifist siblings.

Voices started to join the shaking, mixed cries they couldn’t quite make out, but ones that only set them on edge. Had someone challenged Din while they were down there? Had he lost?

Except, they quickly found out the truth was the last thing they expected.

As the shaking reached an apex, they heard a sound like they had never heard before, and from the entrance to the mines, walked a mythosaur.

Cara’s jaw dropped, and Fennec froze, dropping her stance a moment later. Nothing they had could take on such a beast, though she wasn’t sure she would be allowed to try given its significance in Mandalorian culture…

A second later, it turned, revealing Din and Grogu on its back. Each of their shocked expressions only became more exaggerated.

“Kuiil,” Din said, “you were right. This is a lot harder than riding a blurrg.”

Despite everything, the corners of Kuiil’s mouth lifted.