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Once upon a time there was a —
"Djarin, you're telling it wrong. Mandalorian legends don't start off with once upon a time. Tell it right or I'll tell it to the kid."
"I am telling it right Fett. It started off with once upon a time, the Chronicler said so."
"The Chronicler? What shabla osik are you spouting on about now, Djarin."
"The Chronicler, each covert has a Chronicler. He or she writes down our stories. Paz always said ours was a snarky little dipshit."
"…Whatever. My father never started our legends with once upon a time, that's aruetyc osik. Tell it right."
"Okay, how did he start it?"
Long ago when —
"Long ago? How is that any better than once upon a time?"
"Once upon a time makes it sound like some spice dream. Long ago makes it sound like an actual legend. Now, let me continue."
Long ago, before the Republic, before the Empire there was Manda'yaim and the mighty Mando'ade that defended her—
"Okay, this actually sounds good."
"Shut up and let me continue then, Djarin."
— Amongst these mighty clans one in particular stood out. A clan of sacred metalsmiths: Beskliit. They worked beskar like nobody had ever seen. Thousand upon thousands of warriors came from all over Mandalore to purchase beskar'gam from the Beskliit family. Eventually, the family's notoriety spread beyond the Mandalorian systems and into the Core Worlds. It drew wealthy people. How they acquired their wealth, nobody asked. Credits were credits, no matter how they were acquired. The family served them all. Until one day a mysterious jetii came —
"He wasn't a Jedi, Grogu."
"Yes he was. He was a Jedi."
"Fett, the kid's a Jedi. What do you think he'll think if we tell him the bad guy of this story is one of his kind?"
"Nothing, because he's Mandalorian not some osik'la jetii. Now as I was saying…"
"No, I'll continue the story from here."
— Until one day a mysterious darjetii came — I saw that sneer Fett! — requesting the family make him a powerful sword. A sword of beskar that nobody could defeat. The best sword in the galaxy. He paid them half up front — Never ever let anyone get away with that kiddo, always demand full payment — and promised he'll pay them the rest upon completion of the sword. The Beskliit family toiled away for seven months, until the sword was finished and the darjetii returned. 'Impressive blade,' he said, admiring the craftsmanship. He then killed the entire family, save for one small boy. 'Why are you crying boy?' the darjetii asked. The boy looked the man in the eye and picked up his father's hammer and ran at him. The darjetii easily defeated him and cut him on each cheek. 'One is for your insolence,' he explained, 'the other is for your courage.'
'I shall avenge my father!' the boy cried. 'I shall kill you with that blade and his soul will be at peace! Remember my name hut'uun: Ijaan Beskliit! Today I vow my sworn oath of revenge to see you die by the blade my father forged!' he spat on the ground. 'Haat, ijaa, haa'it!'
The darjetii nodded, sheathing his blade. 'I look forward to it, boy. Until we meet again.' He raised a hand and Ijaan noted the man's sixth finger. The darjetii walked off, never to be seen again.
Years and years passed. Ijaan grew into a strong vengeful man. He trained under the best warriors on Mandalore until they could teach him nothing more. Then he went to Trandosha, where he trained with the best Trandoshan hunters. Next he went to Dorin and trained with the Kel Dor sages in the mystic arts of the Force. Years and years more he trained until he mastered every form of combat in the galaxy. At last, dawning black armor—
"Hold on, Djarin. Black armor?"
"Yes, Fett. Black armor. Black is for justice. Ijaan wanted justice for the murder of his father."
"No he didn't. He wanted revenge. He dawned gold armor. Gold for vengeance. Get it right."
"I am 'getting it right', Fett. He dawned black armor because he wanted justice. Anyway—"
"It's not 'anyway' Djarin. Changing Ijaan's armor from gold to black completely changes his central motivating factor. He's supposed to hunt down the six fingered jetii to exact his revenge for the death of his father. Justice makes him sound like some hut'uun content with what happened to him."
"No it doesn't! Having his armor be gold just implies Ijaan only cared about senseless violence and not finding closure amongst his training and journey to find the six fingered darjetii. Black armor implies that Ijaan learned from his masters, from his journey and wanted something more than just killing the man that murdered his father and disfigured him."
"I wouldn't call a scar on each cheek a disfigurement, Djarin."
"Have you looked at yourself in the mirror today Fett?"
"Ooo, burn, boss."
"Stay out of this Fen."
"Now, Grogu, Ijaan dawned black armor and—" the hall fell silent. Din blinked several times, running through his helmet's diagnostics. Then he fixed Boba with a scowl. "Did you just punch me? In this face? With a baby in my lap?" he asked, incredulous at the other man's sheer audacity. Boba lifted his chin.
"Forgive me, but it's a reflexive action when you're telling the story wrong." Boba had no shame. None. Din was telling the story wrong and he was going to set the cocky little shit straight. "It's one of the best stories and you're ruining it by changing his armor color. Are you gonna change the final fight too? Tone it down for sensitive ears?"
"C'mon boss, the kid's seen Din's head in a rancor's mouth. I'm sure whatever proper amount of gore you Mandos tell your kiddos is gonna be fine for him," Fennec said.
"Not to mention he remembers the genocide of the Jedi," Luke added. Both ducked when Boba tossed a goblet at them.
"Both of you butt out of this! This between me and the reluctant Mand'alor."
"Look, I gave Kryze plenty of chances to take the damn thing back from me, but she refused. I even challenged her to a duel and then yielded before she could attack me and she still didn't take it."
Boba stared at the ceiling. "Cyare Ka'ra, that's because you two didn't fight!"
"Gideon told him that!" Fennec chimed.
"I swear on my father's grave, Shand!" Boba jabbed a finger at her. "Face it Djarin, you're Mand'alor now and that means you're ruler of Mandalore. Or did your Chronicler forget to tell you that story?"
"The Chronicler keeps the stories. The Armorer tells the stories," Din said. "And no, she didn't. Just like she told me Ijaan had black armor, for justice."
Boba flipped the table. Plates and goblets, food and drink, went crashing to the ground in a thunderous clatter. Grogu gurgled, clapping his hands together, a gleeful expression on his face. "It—was—gold!"
"Black."
"Gold.
"Black."
"Gold!"
"Black!"
Boba struck first, Din curled around Grogu and rolled away from the attack. He handed the green gremlin baby off to Luke before meeting Boba's right hook with his own. It took only a few seconds before both men — armor clinking together — were rolling on the ground screaming at each other about the armor color of the hero Ijaan Beskliit. Luke looked down at Grogu, who cooed and squealed whenever Din or Boba landed a blow on the other. "Does this happen often?" he ducked as Boba's helmet went flying and Din slammed his forehead into the other man's nose. Fennec and Luke winced at the crunch.
"Yes and no," she said, taking a sip of wine. "Normally they settle it with an arm wrestle or some goofy contest. Last time they did this was during the bolo-ball championships. According to Boba they call it meshgeroya — the beautiful game. The entire planet is obsessed with it."
"Oh. What happened?" Luke asked, taking a seat next to Fennec. The former assassin shrugged. Boba tried to rip Din's helmet off but the other kneed the former in the side and pinned Boba to the ground and demanded he admit that the proper color was black. Boba declared he'd never yield.
"Boba's team won, Din's team lost. They got into an argument about it and then ended up rolling around on the floor like children until I told them to either knock it off or take it to the bedroom."
Luke blushed. "The bedroom?"
Fennec arched a brow. "If you seriously can't feel the unresolved sexual tension between these two can you even call yourself a Jedi?"
Grogu squealed as Din tossed Boba over his shoulder. "So, what happened to the story? I mean, how does it end?" Luke asked.
"Oh, well Ijaan finds the six fingered guy. Tells the guy he's Ijaan Beskliit, you killed my father, prepare to die. They duel, Ijaan gets stabbed, almost dies, but he ends up surviving and kills the six fingered bastard. Then — depending on the armor color and who's telling it — Ijaan either lives long enough to return to his father's grave and informs him that he's been avenged and can rest in peace or a nice lady finds him, saves him and he marries her and has a bunch of kids and reopens the family business." Gracefully, the woman drained her glass. "Heard the clones loved this story and got really into the telling of it. Ijaan wore whatever color armor their legion was. You should ask Ahsoka" — Fennec winked at him — "she knows the story too."