Chapter Text
"This is an insult," Boba Fett spat.
Din replied, levelly, "Of course it is."
"They think they can keep us on a leash."
"Of course they do."
"You cannot accept these terms."
"I most definitely can."
"Mand'alor -"
"These imbeciles don't realize the position holds no power. We can weather the insult. If we refuse, their demands will be far worse."
"It will weaken your claim."
"I barely have a claim as it is."
"All the more reason to -"
"I can't waste time negotiating when our people are more scattered every day. We should count ourselves lucky Revan's done with us and the Republic is too busy licking it’s wounds to bother bleeding us dry."
Fett was silent for a long moment before finally making one final objection, much softer than before, "You know what the vows will mean for you."
"I can weather the personal cost as well."
"You shouldn't have to. It isn't right."
"We don't have a choice."
"A political marriage?" Luke was absolutely stunned. He knew his insistence on being involved with the Republic's reclamation efforts had made people uncomfortable but he didn't realise they'd become this eager to get rid of him.
"For the good of the Republic," Chancellor Cressa insisted, as if it should be obvious. And perhaps the man thought that Luke's imminent murder would, obviously, be for the good of the Republic, for all Luke could tell.
"Of course," Luke spoke as calmly as he could manage. “For the good of the Republic.”
Luke knew there was nothing he could do to change the Senate's course in this - nothing he was willing to do at any rate. These were the consequences of his decision to stay in the Republic, and the consequences of choosing to face the Jedi Council’s judgement. There was no sense trying to fight it; better to spend the time and energy planning for his now uncertain future as future consort of the Mand'alor.
It would hardly be the worst thing he'd been asked to do “for the good of the Republic.”
The Coruscanti shuttle touches down on the landing pad outside Keldabe.
"Let's go see what poor bastard they decided to sacrifice to us vile barbarians," Paz half sighs.
Din snorts, feeling equally optimistic.
A figure in black steps off the shuttle, hauling a small storage locker, followed by a blue T3 droid. The shuttle immediately begins priming for take off and is gone before they get anywhere near the pad, leaving Din's presumed fiancé in a cloud of sand and exhaust, cloak billowing like an omen around them, without so much as a diplomatic escort or liaison for company. The figure lowers their hood as the dust settled and the approaching Mandalorians get their first look at a small man with soft looking blonde hair and blue eyes that shine like a mirage under the harsh desert sunlight.
"Haar'chak," Paz curses harshly under his breath.
"We have a problem?" Din asks, beginning to feel like he's walking into a crisis.
"We sure kriffing do." Din doesn't have a chance to follow up as Paz raises his voice to address the outsider, "Welcome to Mandalore, General."
Din frowns under his helmet. Not his fiancé then, he can assume.
The man inclines his head in greeting. "Clan Vizsla, I believe? You fought well on Duro."
If he's surprised to be recognized Paz hides it well. The pair must have met in battle directly, Din thinks.
"Not well enough," Paz mutters in reply.
The general arches an eyebrow. "You're still alive, aren't you?"
Paz barks a surprised, nervous, laugh. "Suppose so."
This was all wrong. Din hasn't seen Paz nervous like this since they were kids.
Thinking he'd better get straight to the point, Din asks, "What brings you to Keldabe, General…?"
"No longer a general, actually. Luke Skywalker. And unfortunately I'm here for you, Mand'alor."
Din feels a sudden chill in the desert heat. Haar'chak.
The walk from the landing pads into the city is tense, to say the least.
Din feels uncharacteristically self-conscious of the sorry state of the planet. Keldabe in particular is a shadow of itself. In the wars, when the Mandalorian forces had pushed ever outwards, their home planet had all but been abandoned as warriors poured from Mandalorian space to set fire to the Outer Rim and the Republic. Now there was hardly anyone left to return to their ancestral home world, and even fewer that wanted to. The massive spaceport the city once boasted was now too big to maintain, forcing ships to land outside the city, as Luke’s transport had. The once grand buildings that lined the streets with jewel-toned walls and honeycomb windows stood mostly abandoned, looking dull and dingy from disuse. As they approached, Din’s gaze passes over the shimmering dome over the planet’s capitol, and the oasis of tropical greenery it rises from. He wonders if someday this too will be swallowed by the desert, another victim of his own people’s destructive impulses.
As the trio passes through the gate of the dome they're hit with a wave of humidity, a precious commodity trapped and held within the dome’s boundaries. The sunlight becomes dim and turquoise-filtered through the thick barrier now above them. Paz and Din’s visors fog briefly with condensation before the helmets’ hardware can compensate. Beside them, Luke’s hair began to curl just slightly more than before.
"So… former general?" Paz finally asks, unable to restrain his curiosity any longer.
Luke smiles politely, trying very hard not to show how nervous he is to the heavily armoured men flanking him. "Even if my rank wasn't both honorary and circumstantial, it would have been revoked, given the… arrangement here."
Fools, Din thinks, not for the first time about Republic leadership. Any Mandalorian would have killed the person that insulted and dishonored them like that. He isn't surprised, though, that the Republic is making some effort to appear less connected to the Mand'alor's consort - at least publicly.
"Try not to be offended if our people don't accept your demotion. To not acknowledge your status would be an insult to our fallen." If Paz expects to rile the jetii with the comment he's disappointed.
Luke's only response is a light, "Very well," and Luke was very proud of that, because he felt like he'd been gut punched.
Awkward silence resumes and they all try not to fidget. Their footsteps and the whir of the T3's motor behind them seem deafening.
This time Din was the one to break the quiet. "I was under the impression marriage was forbidden to jetiise." It was a long shot, but Din couldn't help but hope.
Luke actually laughed. Din tries to be angered by that but the spark fizzles abruptly when his eyes flit briefly over the other man's dimpled smile. Luke's reserved mask was back quickly, but now that Din had seen it slip he could pick out the faint signs of nervous humour concealed behind it.
"Oh I haven't been a Jedi in quite some time," Luke eventually answers, "I'm not sure if that's working out in my favour at the moment."
Din bristles at the insult and succeeds in staying angry this time. Not that it's reasonable to expect Mandalore's second most hated enemy to be pleased about being forced into a political marriage with him. It chafes against his pride all the same.
Luke seems to notice Din tense and quickly adds, somewhat clumsily, "That wasn't meant as a personal insult, just that there are more important things for me to be doing - and that's not what I meant either-" Luke forces himself to take a deep breath, then lets it out as a deeper sigh, "I'm just not going to talk anymore. It was a rough shuttle ride and I'm not at my best here."
Din can see Paz's tense posture dissolve at the sudden show of awkward humanity from the Jedi, and that puts Din on guard almost more than Paz being nervous.
Apparently feeling emboldened, Paz taunts, "Nervous flyer?"
Luke huffs, but smiles, a small degree less polite and more genuine than before, "Oh I'm fine with flying, I just can't handle not being in the pilot's seat anymore."
"Control freak, eh?"
Luke lets out a surprised laugh, "Never been accused of that before. Maybe you're right though."
"Ever flown a Bes'uliik?"
“You call that flying? No, I'm not quite crazy or stupid enough to touch one of those monsters."
"I'd like to see you in one." Was Paz flirting now? Din was going to kill him.
"Too bad Revan ordered them all decommissioned then," Din cuts in, shooting Paz a sharp look he knew could be felt even through the beskar.
Luke feels something tense pass between the two men but didn't say anything.
The silence they lapse into this time is only slightly more amicable but, Din realises with surprise, it wasn’t as horribly uncomfortable as he had expected this walk to go when he woke up that morning. No one's been physically injured yet so things are going well. His expectations were, admittedly, very low.
The streets begin to show scattered signs of life as they draw near the city center and people began to peer out of windows, stop in the street to stare as they passed, or hurry their pace away. One woman who Din knew only from her Beroya clan signet seems to recognise Luke and has to be physically restrained from assaulting him by her wife, screaming mando’a curses at the jetii. Mostly, however, their procession is followed by cold, silent stares. And if Luke has to concentrate to control his pounding heartbeat, well, he's grateful nobody else can tell.
Eventually they come to an open square along a broad street where a round, squat building stands. It's built of dark timber and bone-white clay brick with tall, narrow windows of orange and blue coloured glass that had probably been replaced more times than could be counted. It looked decidedly out of place and out of date but to Luke it felt like the city’s ancient heart. It was pretty close to the truth.
They're met at the building’s heavy double doors by a Cara Dune and Boba Fett; the former of which is leaning against the doorframe with her helmet tucked under her arm and the latter is approaching fast with open hostility.
Luke holds his ground against the charge, posture tense and chin raised defiantly. “Fett.”
Great, Din thinks, everyone I know’s met my gods damned husband before me.
Din files away Luke’s very different response from the first meeting with Paz to ask Fett about later; because Boba has a temper but this is something clearly more personal than a brief encounter on the battlefield. From the interested glimmer in Cara’s eyes Din could tell she's doing the same.
Boba stops bare inches from Luke, taking a moment to blatantly size him up. “Skywalker.”
A tense moment passes where no one seems to dare breathe, neither man backing down, and Din almost thinks the two were going to start throwing punches right there in the square. But then Boba nods, seeming satisfied with something, and turns to march purposefully through the doors of the Oyu'baat without saying so much as a word.
Luke is both relieved and confused, but he isn't about to complain, and follows the rest of the group inside.
Two long curved counters lined with barstools hug the walls of the building's first floor. A broad, shallow staircase along the back wall lead up to a second and third floor, some of which could be seen through the circular opening in the high roof, right above a large fire pit. There's no one else inside at the moment - Din had made sure to let the proprietors know there would be an outsider coming through.
Luke can’t help letting out a laugh, which he does his best to smother, when he realises what the building is, though it does take him a moment with the absence of people to complete the picture. Of course, Luke thinks. Of course what passes for a government building is a cantina. How very Mandalorian.
“Something funny, Skywalker?” Boba snaps.
Luke coughs, then bites his lip hard to keep down another bout of laughter. “Nope, nothing.” He can’t help adding with timid delight, however, “This is much nicer than the Jedi High Council.”
Cara, ever the diplomat, smirks back, “Yeah? What about the Senate Chambers?”
“Oh, much nicer. Almost infinitely nicer.”
“If you’re done insulting us,” Boba snaps again, “We’ve prepared a room for the broadcast.”
“...what I get for trying to be nice,” Luke mumbles, and allows himself to be led up to the third floor.
“Whatever ridiculous pageantry your Republic expects to see, they won’t get it,” Boba warned as they climbed.
“Thank the stars for that.” Luke almost groans, remembering the detailed instructions the Supreme Chancellor had directed Luke to deliver to the Mandalorians for the Republic’s expectations of the marriage ceremony. Luke had thrown the datapad in the nearest trash compactor before he left.
“That bad, sunshine?” Cara asks.
“They wanted a parade,” Luke admits, “Flowers, confetti, fireworks. All very… imperious.” Luke half believes it was specifically meant to get him killed, but then he half-believed that about most things nowadays.
Paz makes a disgusted noise. “Having the rites broadcast at all is already shameful enough.”
Luke hums in agreement.
Din wonders briefly if Luke would get in trouble for not acting more commanding as a representative of the Republic, or if perhaps this was all an act on Luke’s part to ingratiate himself to them. He doesn’t need to think long to decide which one sounds more likely.
The group enters one of the meeting rooms on the third floor that's equipped with a communications array for long range conferencing.
Luke drops his locker - Din had actually forgotten he was carrying it - by the door, then removes his cloak with minimal flourish and sets it on the conference table, completely unaware of the other men’s attention on him. He makes a half-hearted attempt to brush some of the white desert sand from his pants before giving up with a sigh. “Let’s get on with it then.”
Again, Luke assumes the controlled air he’d held when they’d first met at the landing pads, and when facing down Boba. It feels entirely different to Din, to be the target of that controlled attention, and the conference room suddenly feels entirely too small. Luke squares up to Din, almost like he's facing off for a spar, and Din feel pinned already by the man’s steady gaze. Din faintly registers the impression he's being hunted by a predator - a feeling Din isn't unfamiliar with, but never in this context. He's barely able to hide the shudder that runs through him.
He’s different from other jetiise, Din realises. Other Jedi radiated power in battle; it whipped around them like a hurricane. The man in front of Din pulls the strength out of him like the breath was being pulled from his lungs - and from the nervous shifting of the other Mandalorians around him Din knew they could feel it too. He’s something much worse.
Luke doesn't ask what to do, but Boba tells him anyways, "Just repeat what the Mand'alor says."
Luke doesn't acknowledge the instruction any more than he asked for it, but gestures to the T3 droid and a blue beam immediately lights up the two betrothed.
Din somehow manages to find his voice to say the vows and is embarrassingly relieved he didn't stumble over them.
"Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde," Luke repeats and Din is surprised to hear Luke's Mando'a is accented but not heavily, and spoken with practiced confidence. Whether the effort was to spare himself or Mandalore embarrassment, Din is unexpectedly appreciative any effort was made at all.
The T3 unit stops recording as quickly as it began and hooks itself into the communications console to transmit the performance to Coruscant.
Fett begins to list Luke's duties in the interim. "You will be expected at ceremonial events and you will perform your duties as Mand'alor consort when he is challenged in battle. Normally it would also be your duty to help care for the Mand'alor's children but -"
"If you come near my son I'll kill you myself, treaties or not. Know that this gives you no power - over me or any Mandalorian."
"I understand all of what this means, riduur," Luke replied calmly.
The word feel like a slap to Din's face, and he's left reeling from the implications in the earnestness of the statement. If he really understood, why had he agreed to this? Why let the senate just give him away, to be nothing but an extremely conspicuous spy at best, and at the risk of being taken hostage and abused as a war trophy at worst? Din certainly knew a number of Mandalorians who would be happy to make the worst happen.
"Though I'm sure it doesn't mean much from me,” Luke continues, voice betraying nothing, “I would regret not saying that I am sorry for what this costs you - personally I mean."
Din isn't sure what to say to that except for a tense, "I didn't exactly have a choice."
"You did. You chose the better deal for your people. I don't know you at all, but I can respect that at least."
"If you're trying to flatter -"
Luke actually snorts. "I would never try flattery on a Mandalorian."
No one had anything to say to that at all and Luke seems to recognise that. “Could someone show me where I can put my things?"
Din nods stiffly to Paz, and Din doesn't even register the T3 beeping angrily as it rolls over his foot on the way out. It isn't until the men and droid leave through the front doors of the Oyu'baat that Din feels like he can breathe again, the idea of Luke Skywalker’s respect sitting heavy and uncomfortable in his mind.
Paz leads Luke to a street of narrow terraced houses, practically at the edge of the city; hardly a place of honour but Luke supposes it's better than a shack in a swamp. Or a grave. Paz nods to one of them and Luke follows him inside. It's a modest two story home; kitchenette and seating area on the first floor, and sleeping quarters on the second. The only interior door was a sliding panel in the bedroom that hid a small fresher. Luke drops his locker at the foot of the bed. Paz doesn’t ask before searching it and Luke can’t find it in him to be offended or surprised.
"Where's the lightsaber?" Paz asks as he rummages through the locker, pulling out nothing but black outfits, ponchos, basic toiletries, a worn out blaster pistol, and a few ration packs.
"It's not with me."
Paz scoffs, turning to face the Jedi. "I'd believe cannoks fly before I believe that."
Luke can sense Paz's eyes darting about his person, trying to guess where the saber might be hidden. "Gonna strip search me, Vizsla?"
"I just might have to if you don't hand it over." Luke could swear he's able to hear the teasing grin in the man’s voice.
Luke shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. "If you insist. The confiscation of my lightsaber was made pretty public, but I guess you don't have to believe the holovids."
"Mandalore's pretty far removed from the Republic news cycle nowadays."
"Ah." Luke winces. "Of course."
Luke had thought everyone knowing everything about him had been suffocating. Now he feels a well of dread open in the pit of his stomach at the thought that here he's going to have to explain it all himself, to everyone he meets. He wonders how long it's going to take for it to stop feeling like he's killing a part of himself by acknowledging it out loud. Then he wonders if it would be worse for it to stop feeling that way.
Paz gives Luke a very professional pat down, and finds only a vibroknife in Luke's boot. Paz tilts his helmet at that, fixing Luke with an accusatory glare. Luke just smiles and shrugs. He ends up being allowed to keep it.
"I'll look up the holovid," Paz tells him in lieu of goodbye and leaves.
In the privacy of the small house Luke's knees finally gave out as the stress, fear, and anguish he had been holding back since he left the supreme chancellor's office come crashing down on him all at once. Not for the first time, he finds himself mourning the loss of freedom he never really felt he had.
When Paz gets back, the group has moved back down to the main level of the building, taking up the end of one of the bars and watching the cantina slowly fill with cautious patrons now that the interloper is gone. And drinking. Well, Cara and Boba were drinking. The Armourer had brought Grogu a short while ago and Din is bouncing the child on his knee while filling her in on how the "wedding" had gone.
"Djarin, you lucky bastard," Paz shouts as he bursts through the doors.
"Has something good happened I don't know about?"
"Very funny, Mand'alor."
Din simply tilts his helmet in annoyed incomprehension.
"You gotta be kidding me, if that jetii wasn't already yours I'd marry him on the spot.”
Din nearly chokes.
"Skywalker?" Fett asks, sounding almost as incredulous as Din feels, which has Paz nodding enthusiastically. Boba taps his finger on his glass thoughtfully a few times before coming to a decision. "Yeah I'd have him."
"If I had to pick a man," Cara agrees easily.
What's become of my life? Din wonders helplessly, looking down at his son, who gurgles in response. Very helpful.
Luke is beautiful, Din could at least admit that, and a more than formidable enemy… Had Din accidentally acquired the Mandalorian equivalent of a trophy husband? He files that away to have a crisis over later, possibly never.
"That man is nearly single handedly responsible for the defeat of our people," Din grits out.
"I know," Paz insists. "Are you even a Mandalorian if a beautiful sentient that could crush you without hesitating doesn't get you just a little hot under the beskar'gam?"
"He cut down members of your clan in front of you." Din recalls the reverent way Paz had described the battle. He's beginning to see it in a new, somewhat disturbing light.
Paz shrugs. "Nobody's perfect."
“I swear if you weren’t my vod…” Din mutters with a long suffering sigh.
“What do you plan to do with him?” the Armorer asks.
“I plan to leave him where he is and ship him back to his Republic the second I can get away with it.”
The Armorer hums thoughtfully, helmet tilting slightly, catching Din’s attention. Din knows from experience she's about to give some perfectly rational, but extremely controversial advice. "Revan's jetiise were the Republic's sword and shield. This one could be the same for us."
"Turn your enemy's greatest weapon against them," Boba adds approvingly.
Paz makes a disgusted noise. "Are we going back to war against Revan then? Wish someone had told me. I would've contacted my next of kin."
“What use could a Jedi the Republic don’t even want be anyway?” Cara asks.
“Who said they don’t want him?”
Cara just laughs, “He’s here isn’t he?”
“Doesn’t mean he’s not still working for them.”
“They chose him as a show of their power over us,” the Armorer states plainly. “To remind us constantly of our defeat and act as a statement that they can afford to consider such a man disposable. He serves no purpose here as anything else. He is merely a symbol to them.”
Din isn't so foolhardy to believe that. Even if Luke isn't a spy, saboteur, or a distraction from a larger plot, it hardly makes him less of an enemy. “Even if he could be persuaded, everyone lost someone at Malachor. Our people are better than most at accepting death in battle but Malachor V was different - I don’t think they’ll be lining up to stand at his side.”
“You dishonour yourselves for thinking such things of our people. All jetiise that defied their masters to answer our call for battle are worthy of our respect. When kyber and beskar clashed the stars themselves trembled before our might - any mando’ade worth their armor should be eager to chase that glory. This is The Way.”
“This is The Way,” Paz echoes automatically.
Din sighs. He wants to say chasing their greatest defeat is hardly The Way. Instead he says, “The Way is not the same for every mando’ade. You know this.”
The Armorer tilts her head. “Do you deny the jetii would make a powerful ally?”
Din recals what it felt like to stand before Luke, not even as a proper enemy but an inconvenience, and another chill shoots through him. He shakes his head slowly, "No."
"Even if he could be turned, the Mand'alor's right," Boba says, finally. "Most of our people that didn't already hate you are less than pleased with you letting yourself get forced into marriage with a Republic jetii. We should keep a healthy distance."
"You could seduce him," Cara suggests with a grin.
Grogu makes a curious sound that does not help Din’s composure.
"You can't be serious," Din splutters
"Kriffing lucky bastard," Paz grumbles, crossing his arms sulkily.
"You are already married," the Armourer muses, coming dangerously close to teasing.
Din sighs again. "This is pointless. Skywalker is still our enemy and will be treated so.”
Paz continues to grumble, “If he was our enemy we could just kill him. I karking hate politics.”
Din ignores him, shifting Grogu to his hip so he can stand and leave.
“Married life has made you cranky Mand’alor!” Cara calls after him, getting one last jab before he can go home.
Din sighs. He's been sighing a lot today.