Chapter Text
Din used to sing Grogu to sleep every night.
He sang the songs he remembered of Aq Vetina, murmured Mandalorian war chants and battle cries, repeated the melodies of the stars and the moons of every planet they had been on. Din did not think of himself as much of a singer, thought his voice too unused to sing such warm and familiar things. But Grogu had sought out the soft rumble of his chest like he sought out the heartbeat that lay beneath beskar. Most nights the child would not sleep until Din sang, would cry and tremble until Din chased away the nightmares with a quiet song. He wondered, not for the first time, if Grogu was sleeping at all now.
It had been weeks since the Jedi had come and Din had been turned away from his ch—from Grogu. Nearly two months now, but it already felt like lifetimes to Din.
He had been lonely for so long that he had forgotten how painful loneliness was, how raw and gaping the wound was that it left behind. And then to have that tear in his heart half healed by bright laughter and a child’s unconditional love and joy, only to be ripped open again—sometimes Din wondered how blood wasn’t spilling from his mouth with every word he spoke.
It certainly felt like it was.
His lips and teeth were sticky and welded together from the residue left behind of all the things he has spoken since then, and every time he pried them apart the words mixed with the crystallized blood coating his tongue and created all new cuts and bruises to scatter across his skin. Din was not a king. He was not a leader. He didn’t know what to say to these people who looked at him like he held the twin moons of Mandalore in his hands, and those who had surrounded him knew that.
Every word he spoke was hurled back at him, sharpened and twisted into a weapon by those who called themselves advisors and leaders.
Imposter.
Outsider.
A False King.
They spit their insults in petty words to Din and looked to Bo-Katan, always standing silently by his side, for answers.
But of course they would. Din would be foolish to think that they wouldn’t. Bo-Katan Kryze had been their Mand’alor. She had been who they had pledged themselves to, who they vowed to follow to hell and back. A woman who had the ancient noble blood of Mandalore in her veins, the last of a proud line of prouder warriors who had stood with Mandalore’s fall and still stood after. Not a foundling who had never set foot on the ancient lands. Not a Child of the Watch who practiced a Creed and Way that hadn’t been a proper Creed since Mand’alor the Great. Not a Mandalorian who had broken his Creed and desperately pretended he hadn’t. Not a dar’manda.
Not Din.
Maybe it would have been easier to throw the fight.
Maybe when Bo-Katan had found him a few days after Luke Skywalker turned him away, maybe when she disembarked from her stolen light cruiser with her Nite Owls and several other Mandalorians Din didn’t recognize—Clan Leaders she had said, here to help her reclaim Mandalore—and maybe when she threw down the ancient challenge with those Mandalorians as her witness Din should have given her the Darksaber and walked away and gone back to what he knew best.
But he didn’t.
And maybe it was because he was angry. Maybe it was because Luke Skywalker was still not that far away. Maybe it was because Din felt so lost and confused and scared that he was desperate to cling onto something that gave him purpose again after the Armorer had stripped it away from him.
Whatever it was, Din wanted.
And he didn’t know what he wanted but he wanted it badly enough that he refused to lose.
His arms had been shaking by the time the fight was done. His grip was so weak that the Darksaber trembled in his hand as he held its blade against Bo-Katan’s chest, against armor that had been melted and recast so many times that it would not stop the blade if Din pushed just a little further. It took everything Din had to stay standing, to not drop the blade and end Bo-Katan’s life, so light and numb his muscles were from the weight of holding and using the Darksaber for so long. But he stood tall as he gazed down at her, held himself still and spit out do you yield?
And for a moment, the Darksaber was not so heavy.
“Mand’alor.”
Din ground his teeth together.
Even that sounded like an insult when put in the mouths of these people. It was a noble title, the greatest honor. But when Din had it, it was a joke.
A mistake.
Din didn’t even know why he agreed to come with these people.
He had his own ship again. He could go to Mandalore himself—
He blinked once, then tore his gaze from the starboard windows and the white streaks of hyperspace to look at Ghir’ta. He was one of Bo-Katan’s Clan Leaders, from a Clan that was nearly as old as hers. Din couldn’t remember the name of it. He didn’t bother to try. There wasn't any point in it. There would be more than just Bo-Katan challenging him, and Din was not so naive to think that he could properly defend himself with a weapon he could not wield. He had gotten lucky with Bo-Katan. He knew that, and if he managed to live past the next two months Din would be surprised.
There were far too many willing to kill for a piece of history.
“Someone keeps trying to hail you on the main bridge's comm unit.” Ghir’ta wrinkled his nose in annoyance. He always made it a point not to wear his helmet around Din, to keep it tucked under his arm, visor staring straight ahead. “It’s getting irritating.”
“Tell them I’ll be there in a minute.” Din said in what he hoped was a clear dismissal.
Ghir’ta scowled.
“Or now, I guess.” Din wasn’t really doing anything anyway. He had only gone to the lower decks to get away from everyone. He wasn’t used to being around so many people for such long periods of time, never mind that there were only seven of them.
Seven of them who looked at him like he was something inherently wrong.
He could always leave, Din reminded himself. The N-1 was in the docking port and full of fuel and Boba wasn’t so cruel as to turn him away if he went back to Tatooine. There was nothing keeping him here—
“Mand’alor.” Ghir’ta snapped out. He had already started back down the corridor, his bloody red armor looking black in the low lighting. It was difficult to see him. Like a ghost hovering just in the back of Din’s mind, a constant reminder of things Din was trying desperately to forget.
“Sorry,” Din murmured. He hurried after Ghir’ta like a scolded child.
For a moment Din found himself back in the covert as he walked down the dark halls of the Light Cruiser, hurrying after the Armorer on a child’s legs and reaching forward with small hands to hold onto her skirts after she had just broken up another fight between him and Paz. She had always been fond of Din, letting him trail after her and cling to her and seek comfort in her arms from dreams and nightmares even though she was supposed to be impartial to everyone. An Armorer was not supposed to have favorites. Was not supposed to have Foundlings. And yet Din had been hers in all but name and everyone knew that, right up until she turned her back on him and took away his right to come home to what he had always known.
Din’s heart ached at the thought, that raw wound in his chest splitting open again and filling his lungs with blood. It was not just Grogu he was missing, no matter how hard he pretended it was.
Ghir’ta scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Gar cuyir di’kulta.”
Din flinched back, then felt a hot spark of anger roll up in his chest.
“Don’t talk to me like that.” Din snapped out before he could think better of it.
Ghir’ta snorted. It sounded like there was a laugh bubbling up in his throat, just waiting to spill out. “My apologies, Mand’alor. I meant no offense.” He turned back to Din. There was a bitter smile on his thin lips. “I was only speaking the truth.”
Din’s anger grew hotter. He bit his cheek hard enough to feel blood drip onto his tongue. It tasted sweet as he swallowed it.
He marched past Ghir’ta, knocking his shoulder into the gaps between Ghir’ta’s pauldron and back plate. Din felt a visous smile tug at his own lips as he felt the edges of his own pauldron dig into muscle and skin. He hoped he hit Ghir’ta hard enough to leave a bruise. The other Mandalorian stumbled at the impact. His arm jerked back and his helmet dropped. Din continued on, not waiting for Ghir’ta to catch up. The anger in Din’s chest faded to soft glowing coals almost as quickly as it had sparked. Like someone stirring a bed of ash with a stick.
“Where have you been?” Bo-Katan sounded genuinely curious when Din came back up onto the main bridge.
Din would not say that she had mellowed out over these past few weeks. If anything she grew more tense and agitated as they drifted closer and closer to Mandalore. But she seemed more aware of Din. More weary of him. Like she was just waiting for him to snap and was trying to stave it off as long as she could.
“Somewhere quiet.” Din answered. He didn’t feel like elaborating. “Who's calling?”
He thought it might be Boba at first. That the gangs were acting up again and he needed someone to go in and calm them down. Din would certainly welcome the distraction, if that’s what it was. He had Din’s personal comm number, but Boba was bitchy enough to hail the light cruiser just to piss off Bo-Katan.
“Your Jedi,” Koska answered. She had her feet kicked up on the control panel. Her helmet was in her lap, a brush in her hand and a pot of paint on the floor beside her.
Like Ghir’ta liked to keep his helmet off around Din, Koska liked to paint over the chips and scrapes in her armor whenever Din was around.
Bo-Katan turned to glare at her.
Din stilled. “What?”
He was only able to stay frozen for only a moment more before Koska was leaning over to take the call off hold. She grinned at Din, predictory and viscous, not giving him even a second to fully realize what she had said. “The Mand’alor is here.”
“What do you want?” It slipped from Din’s lips before he could stop himself. He saw Axe flinch back from Din’s harsh tone, saw a look of pity in Treja’s eyes as she pointedly looked out the window.
Din did not think they knew the exact specifics of what had happened between him and Luke Skywalker. Not that he would have cared either way. Bo-Katan had given a brief explanation, Din knew that, and warned the others not to mention the Mand’alor’s foundling or the Jedi unless it was directly asked about or vital to the conversation. And Bo-Katan, at least, had stopped trying to goad him into a fight or a screaming match. She didn’t treat him like glass, but it was a near thing. Din had wanted to scream at her, grab her by the shoulders and shake her as hard as he could because he wasn’t some broken fragile thing—
“Oh, uh—“ Luke Skywalker’s voice was full of static from the call. The connection was already starting to fall though. “—is—is this a bad time?”
For a moment, the bridge was silent.
“No, Master Skywalker,” Treja finally said. She looked back at Din, and he wanted to yell at her too because he wasn’t something to be pitied because he lost his child— “Not at all.”
There was another moment of silence, longer and tenser, where Din thought about telling Luke Skywalker to hang up and fuck off and leave him alone. What more could he possibly take away from Din? He had nothing else to give–
“Go on then.” Din bit out.
“I wanted to speak to you about Grogu,” Luke Skywalker said softly, far more unsure about himself now. Yet Din still felt his heart drop and felt it stop completely when Luke Skywalker stayed silent for a moment too long. “I’ve been trying to reach you for a few days, but—“
“Let me transfer you to my personal comm.” Din cut him off, already halfway across the bridge. He shoved Koska’s legs off the council just as she went to remove them, knocking her helmet off her lap and spilling the pot of paint. She scowled, but Din paid it no mind. He punched in his own comm code onto the counsel before transferring the call. Static exploded in the comm until in his helmet, and then Luke Skywalker’s voice was right in his ear.
“—yeah okay that’s fine.” He sounded put out. Irritated, almost.
Din bit back a retort.
“What’s wrong with Grogu?” He walked off the bridge without a look back. It was only then that he noticed Ghir’ta hadn’t followed him onto the bridge, but Din dismissed that thought as quickly as it came. They all tended to avoid him if they could. “Is he hurt?”
“No! No it’s nothing like that.” Luke Skywalker took a deep breath. “He hasn’t been sleeping well lately.” Another pause, a deeper breath. “He keeps asking for you to sing a song to him.”
Din’s breath caught in his throat. He stopped dead in the middle of the hall, a disgusting flicker of hope rising up in his chest. It was going to die as soon as it started, Din knew that, and yet he could not help it. “You want me to see him?”
The silence that stretched between them went on for just a second too long.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.” Luke Skywalker finally said. “I told you, he needs distance from you.”
“Then what do you want?” Din started moving again, his steps loud and heavy. He couldn’t keep the anger out of his tone or guilt from pooling in his stomach and he didn’t know why. He had nothing to feel sorry about. Luke Skywalker was the one who had called when he told Din to stay away. “I have more important things to do than listen to you berate me because it makes you feel better about yourself.”
There was that guilt again, sitting heavy in Din’s stomach.
“I’m not trying to–” Luke Skywalker started, then cut himself off. “I’m not–” he started again, and fell silent again. “I’m sorry.” he finally settled on.
Din didn’t answer. Instead he said, “How did you even know to call this light cruiser?”
Why didn’t you call my personal comm was left unsaid.
“A repossessed light cruiser going to the Mandalore sector? Wasn’t hard to figure out.” There was a hit of mirth in Luke Skywalker’s voice, but it was gone just as quickly. “I was hoping that you would–maybe send a recording. I think if Grogu could hear you he would calm down.”
Din stared straight ahead.
He was hit with so many emotions that he wasn’t even sure what he was feeling.
“But I can’t see him.” Din said bluntly. Harshly. Angrily.
Luke Skywalker didn’t answer.
“Fine.” Din snapped out, then ended the call before anything else could be said.
“That looked intense.”
Din snapped around.
Koska was leaning against the wall behind him, arms and legs crossed as she looked him over with raised eyebrows. He wondered if Bo-Katan sent her to check on him. She probably did, Din figured, to make sure he was still alright.
“Fuck off,” Din spit out, then walked off.
–
In the weeks before Bo-Katan found Din, she had been working to clear the Mandalorian sector of any remaining Imperial ships and bases.
It wasn’t difficult work. Most of them had abandoned the sector once word spread of Moff Gideon losing the Darksaber to a Mandalorian. The Clans and Tribes would come flocking back home, so the Imperials took what they could reasonably carry and left. There wasn’t much left there anyway besides a barren moon and empty beskar mines. They knew it wasn’t a fight they would win when the Mandalorians returned, and those that had remained were quickly eviscerated by Bo-Katan and the others. Luke Skywalker had asked Din if he was part of that, when they still called regularly. Din had told him he had no idea what he was talking about.
But now that the sector was back in Mandalorian hands, it was time for the king to return home.
“Next time we exit hyperspace, we’ll be just on the edge of the Mandalorian system,” Treja said. She was in charge of the main controls today. This was the first time Din had been back up on the main bridge since Luke Skywalker called, and Koska had been shoved off somewhere far out of Din’s sight. “We’re almost home.” Treja murmured, a hint of excitement treading just at the edge of her voice.
“Great.” Din said sourly.
“You could at least sound excited,” Axe grumbled. He flipped a few switches and controls, ignoring Din’s pointed look.
“I’ll sound excited when we get to Mandalore.”
Din couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his voice if he tried. The call with Luke Skywalker still grated on him, still rubbed him the wrong way. It didn’t help that Din had sent what Luke Skywalker asked for and got nothing back in return. Only silence.
Not that Din had been expecting more.
“Then you better get ready,” Treja teased. She gave Din a hesitant smile, and then the white streaks of hyperspace were gone.
It took Din a moment to adjust to being still in space, so long they had been traveling in hyperspace. When he did, he could not deny that there was something about it that was breathtaking. Even as barren and desolate as Mandalore looked, there was still something that stirred in Din’s chest. Something that told him this was home. He drifted closer to the view port, gazing down at the planet. He knew, once, that it had been bright greens and blues and covered in wild forests and raging oceans. Those were the stories of Mandalore that the Armorer told, ones full of life and danger and adventure. Not what lay before him now.
“The Imps had been continuing the Dutchess’ work to restore the planet–the air’s breathable enough, at least.” Bo-Katan slid up next to Din. She gazed down at Mandalore with him. The brown barren wasteland reflected off the glass of the viewport. “There was something down there they wanted.”
“Beskar, probably.” Din mumbled.
It was what everyone always wanted.
Bo-Katan hummed. “The mines have been empty long before The Purge.” she murmured. She didn’t elaborate when Din looked at her. She didn’t even look at him. “Treja, start the descent into atmo.”
“Of course, my Lady.”
As they grew closer and broke the atmosphere, Din could see the Armorer’s stories start to come to life. He could see the craters of Mandalore’s oceans, the trenches of its rivers and the cliff faces its waters had once crashed into and forced into shape. The bones of its forests were scattered through the sands, the rubble of its cities still struggling to stand tall even though there was no one left to shelter and house. Ghosts of Mandalore’s people were everywhere Din looked, down to each little grain of sand.
And he was king of all of it.
He was supposed to be king of all of it.
“I’m sorry that this is the Mandalore you have to come home to.” Treja said quietly.
Din hadn’t even heard her get up, let alone notice that she had come to stand next to him. She was painfully young, her gray armor almost too big for her slight frame. Din wondered what had happened to her. To her Clan. If she was even old enough to have seen Mandalore before The Purge.
“You didn’t do this,” Din said. “You don’t have to be sorry.”
Treja smiled sadly at him, and Din knew to drop it.
The piece of land flat enough to land the light cruiser was by the mines. It certainly wasn’t the most stable piece of land–it was all hollowed out caves below them–and when Din stepped out of the ship and felt the ground shift beneath his feet he glanced at Bo-Katan with a frown. She couldn’t see it, but she knew what Din was thinking well enough anyway.
“It’s temporary.” she said. She sounded just as irritated at her own decision as Din felt about it. “We have to manually open the city biodomes. Once we get one open we’ll move the ship inside.”
“That won’t do us much good if the ship falls into a cave.” Din replied. The ground was already starting to groan beneath his feet. He looked at the open mouth on the cliff side that led down into the mines. The wooden beams that supported the stone and rock were all but rotted away.
“What an excellent idea.” Ghir’ta said.
And then Din was stumbling back as a blaster shot bounced off his chest plate.
“Ghir’ta, what are you doing?”
“Legends say that the next great Mand’alor will be reborn from the ashes of Mandalore’s destruction.” Ghir’ta ignored Bo-Katan. He advanced on Din, blaster raised and cocked. Din didn’t think he had ever seen Ghir’ta with his helmet on before. There were white lines painted along the visor, dripping down his cheeks like old scars. “It only seems fitting that I challenge you on Mandalore’s soil.”
Din grit his teeth. “Challenge me then.”
He reached for the Darksaber on impulse, ignited the blade without really thinking about it.
Din stumbled back from the weight of it.
“We don’t have time for this!” Bo-Katan snapped out.
Ghir’ta was still ignoring her. “I don’t have to speak the ancient challenge to you, aruetii.”
Din froze.
He couldn’t know. There was no way Ghir’ta could know. The only two who knew of Din’s broken Creed were Paz and the Armorer, and they wouldn’t–
Another blaster shot bounced off his chest plate, sending him stumbling back further. The weight of the Darksaber drew him back even further and tripped over the sand. Din tried to pick it up, but he couldn’t do more than dig it further into the sand. “Come on–” Din grunted, wrapping both his hands around the handle now, but it still wouldn’t budge. He didn’t understand. It had never been this heavy before–
Ghir’ta shot again and again, moving Din further and further back until he was at the mouth of the cave.
Din tried to lift the Darksaber again, and instead found himself struggling to hold onto it as it dangled over the open maw of the mines.
Ghir’ta cocked his head. “Well,” he said slowly. “If the Dutchess can rule without it, I don’t see why I can’t as well.”
He shot Din again.
And then Din was falling.