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For the first five years of her life, Mara had only had her màthair, she barely has any memories of those years, those are few and far between - when it had only been the two of them in their empty hut, when her father was only for stories at bedtime and stilted mentions on her mother’s bad days. Back then, Mara didn’t have a frame to know what she was missing, only that something was, then they found him in the desert and she knew. Her buir easily slotted into the empty places in her life, bringing with him her bavodu'e.
Now Mara is thirteen, she’s already taller than her mother but shorter than her father, broad-shouldered and strong in the same way her buir is, but slim and graceful like her màthair. Her Gruncle Wolffe has called her the perfect blend of both her parents, often when complaining after he drags her away from a spot of trouble or helping her dispose of the bodies of womp rats that had decided that she’d make an easy target, and Mara takes it as a compliment. Uncle Rex just calls her trouble, but he’s also the one who gave her duel pistol blasters for her twelfth birthday and lets her use Tusken Raiders as target practice whenever they try to start trouble, and Uncle Gregor who likes to show her how to set traps, and got scolded when, at seven, he taught her how to make a bomb - apparently he had been the same age the first time he made explosives and considered it a rite of passage - usually just calls her a True Jetii with blood made from mischief and stubborn determination.
Tatooine is the only life Mara has ever known, but she can’t help but yearn for more with every story she’s told about all the planets out there, all the places she could see if she weren’t stuck in the sand dunes, hiding from the Empire because of who her màthair is and the connection to the Force thrumming in Mara’s chest like a second heart. She wants to see the world, to fight to protect people alongside her bavodu'e, she doesn’t want to just spend her life wasting away in the sand.
( Mama is humming, running a gentle hand through Mara’s curls as she blinks stubbornly, because she’s not tired, a mulish frown on her face.
“I’m not sleepy Mama.” Mara insists, and Mama laughs quietly, “I’m too big for nap time! I wanna go play!”
“Oh, ik’aad, you’re never too big for naptime.” Mama tells her, softly separating part of her hair and absently braiding it as Mara scowls.
“But you never have naptime.”
Mama laughs again, but her eyes are so sad as she stares at her, running her fingers across Mara’s face sweetly. “You have too much of your buir in you, Mara. He used to tell me something similar whenever I’d try to get him to rest. He was a stubborn man, your father.”
“Ner’buir?” Mara asks, suddenly very much not tired as she sits up, the prospect of stories urging her to crawl into her mama’s lap and stare up at her with big, pleading eyes. Mama has mentioned Mara’s buir in passing before, she’s told her what a father is, but it’s not something Mara completely comprehends because her buir isn’t here, so how should she know what a father really is .
Mama’s smile is even more sad than before, but her strong arms circle around Mara and hold her close as she rocks the three year old slightly. “Elek, ik’aad, gar’buir.” Mara nearly vibrates in excitement when her mama gets the distant look in her eyes that means she’s about to tell a story. “Have I ever told you about the first time I met your father?”
“ Nayc.”
Mama chuckles, “Well, it’s a funny story, fear beag. It was the start of the Clone Wars, and the Jedi had just been chosen to act as Generals for the Republic’s army, your buir was assigned to me as my second-in-command. I thought he was dreadfully uptight at first, wouldn’t laugh at my jokes, then I learned that it was simply because he didn’t know that he could.”
“Was it love at first sight?” Mara asks excitedly, and Mama gives her a strange look.
“Where did you hear that, cyar'ika?”
“Those old holovids in the cellar!”
Confused, Mama hums thoughtfully, head tilting, “Must be some of Ahsoka’s old vids, I must have forgotten to erase them.” She then laughs, “But no, ik’aad, it wasn’t love at first sight. Love takes work and it takes time, I thought he was pretty of course, but he and his brothers all had the same face. No, it was his Force signature that caught my attention; it was warm, and it was kind, and intelligent.” She smiles, carding her fingers through Mara’s hair. “You’re so much like him, leannan.” )
Her uncles arrive as they always do, loudly, with buzzing Force signatures, and a speeder filled with crates; Mara greets them with a massive hug and a headbutt.
“Look at you, vod’ad!” Uncle Rex laughs, spinning her in a bear hug and Mara giggles, wrapping her arms around her blond uncle’s neck and kissing his cheek. “You’ve gotten so big!”
“Su'cuy, Uncle Rex!” Mara says brightly, headbutting him with a snicker.
“Stop hogging her, vod!” With a laugh, Mara is pulled from Rex’s arms to be crushed against Uncle Gregor’s chest, and the enthusiastic greeting is repeated. “ Su'cuy, verd'ika!”
“Hello, ba'vodu!” Over Gregor’s shoulder, she meets Uncle Wolffe’s eyes, and grins at him. “Hi, Gruncle Wolffe!” The gruff man grumbles fondly at the name, but doesn’t complain too heavily as he greets her with a quick kiss to her cheek.
“Mar’ika.”
“I heard it’s someone’s birthday!” Gregor grins, and Mara rolls her eyes playfully.
“Same day every year, who would have ever guessed?” She drawls, brow raising towards her hairline like she’s seen her mother do, and Uncle Rex snorts.
“She’s making the Face.” The blond man says in amusement, sending a smirk to her mother and father. “She spends too much time with you two hermits.” His amber eyes meet Mara’s and he grins, “Good thing you’ll be getting to see the stars soon, huh, vod’ad?” In her uncle’s arms, Mara stills, golden-green eyes studying the three near-identical faces for any sign of deception, for any clue that the words were a joke, but all she saw were the proud smiles and excited expressions. Her head whips around to stare at her parents; her buir’s scarred face is warm and open, and her màthair smiles kindly as she tucks short white-red hair behind her ear.
“We were going to tell you at dinner.” Her father says, sending a faintly annoyed look to his brothers, and only getting a loud snicker in response. “But it seems someone couldn’t keep their mouth shut.”
“Oh, come off it, vod.” Uncle Rex teases, and gets an eye roll and a quick elbow to his ribs in response.
( Mara adapts easily to her new reality.
Having her buir living with them is a novelty, but one that quickly wears off and just becomes the new normal. Buir being there to help Mama put Mara to bed is nice, and he has so many new stories to tell her, about his brothers, her uncles, things her mama never knew about. He’s quiet in the same way her mama is quiet, and sad, so Mara takes it upon herself to make her buir’s life just a little happier; inviting him to play her games, or just crawling into his lap for a nap seems to lighten him with every instance, so Mara continues to do so.
And with her buir, came her bavodu'e, and they became such an important part of Mara’s life that she can barely remember a time before them. It’s no longer just Mara and her màthair.
She knows what a father is now. )
Mara digs into her Gruncle Wolffe’s homemade tiingilar with gusto, savoring the burning flavours on her tongue that only true Mandalorian ghost peppers could achieve. She could only eat the casserole when her bavodu’e visited, since the climate on Tatooine couldn't support the picky plants, and the dried verity that the three men would leave them with after every visit didn’t quite have the same bite to them that fresh ones did.
“Kaysh guur' skraan.” Uncle Gregor cackles, attacking his own plate with a similar level of enthusiasm as Mara beams at him from across the table.
“I’m a growing girl, ba'vodu, what's your excuse?” Then she swings her gaze over to where her one-eyed uncle had just sat down next to her father and Uncle Rex, and she smiles at the man. “Ori'vor'e, ba'vodu!”
He responds fondly, “Ba'gedet'ye, vod’ad.”
At some point, without Mara noticing, her mother must have slipped away, and she casts a quick look around the hut, searching for her; a quick Force probe to their bond helps her find her, and Mara could feel her màthair’s amusement and nostalgia drifting up from the cellar. She sends a nonverbal question to her mother through their bond, and receives a quick acknowledgement, filled with love as an answer that has her smiling softly around her fork.
Behind her comes the clatter that her mother only makes when she’s purposely allowing herself to be noticed, and Mara laughs at the way her uncles jolt faintly, her father's rumbling chuckles joining her's. “Welcome back, màthair.” Mara says playfully, leaning back in her chair to accept the quick kiss to her forehead her mother offers.
She has a chest in her arms, cradling it to her chest and smiling down at her tenderly, and Mara’s eyes immediately catch on the beaten old thing. “Happy birthday, nighean.”
“Is that my present?” She asks, excited, and her màthair laughs.
“A part of it, my dear.” Her màthair places the chest on the floor, watching Mara with amused green-blue eyes. “I asked your bavodu’e to bring the other part. And your buir got his hands on the last pieces.” Uncle Rex laughs, leaning behind him and pulling out a small can, and Mara looks on in confusion as her other uncles do the same.
“You brought me paint?” She asks, bemused, staring at the old cans, squinting at the faded labels.
“Five-o-first blue.” Uncle Rex says brightly.
“Hundred-and-fourth gray.” Grunts Gruncle Wolffe, and Uncle Gregor snickers, waving his own can.
“Two-twelfth gold.”
“Me'ven?” She squeaks, and the grins of the five adults around her widen. Mara is silent for a moment, mind working, before she squeals suddenly, completely speechless - armour paint, their armour paints, the high quality stuff from the Clone Wars that had differentiated troopers from each other once upon a time, used to decorate their armour and survive nearly everything.
Uncle Rex grins, “You’re one of us, Mar’ika .”
“Vor'e.” She warbles happily, running her fingers over the old metal.
Mara barely gets the chance to collect her composure before her buir is placing a fabric bundle in front of her, a large hand cupping the back of her head as he presses their foreheads together affectionately, before drawing back, a proud smile on his scarred face. “Happy birthday, ad'ika.” She glances at him, hesitantly taking the bundle and weighing it, before letting it unravel, and her breath catches. Something drops onto her lap, but Mara can’t pull her eyes away from the small cape in her hands.
On her, it would barely pass her knees, and it has little silver buckles where it would connect to pauldrons. The fabric is brown, like her cloaks, but it feels different, better quality than the cheap protective cloak that everyone with any form of intelligence would wear outside on a planet like Tatooine. There’s a layer of protective mesh weaving added to the inside, and on the back, is a lovingly stitched pair of outstretched golden wings.
“We did always tell you not to be afraid to spread your wings.” Buir says softly, a hand gently carding through her red hair, and Mara struggles not to choke up at the words.
“‘Cause you’d always be there to catch me.” She echoes the words her parents had told her years ago when she had been an adventure-hungry and reckless little girl who liked to test her limits.
Her buir chuckles, pressing a kiss against her hair before backing away and letting her collect herself once more, and she finally manages to lower the cape to look at the slim utility belt that she had been neglecting. She carefully turns the belt of white pouches over in her hands, studying the sturdy holsters attached to it.
“It’s just a basic kit,” Her father explains as she peeks into a few pockets. “What we used to carry around as shinies. You’ll be able to add to it any way you want.”
“Thank you, buir.” Mara manages to say, gently headbutting against her father’s shoulder, and gets her hair ruffled in response.
“And now for the main attraction.” Màthair says cheerfully, and Mara finds herself plucked out of her chair by her father’s hands and placed in front of the beaten old chest, golden-green eyes meeting her mother’s green-blue-gray gaze. “Go ahead, fear beag.” Hesitating once more, Mara reaches forward, gathers her confidence, and opens the chest. The hinges creak slightly as the lid is lifted, and Mara stares in shock.
“That’s-” She gasps, reaching forward to gently trace the gun-metal gray helmet that sat on top, admiring the T-shaped visor and the way the metal seemed to shimmer in the light. “Beskar armour?” Stunned eyes move towards her mother, who just nods, and Mara lifts the helmet; there’s a full set of Mandalorian armour resting in the chest, unpainted and looking brand new, all made from Beskar by what must have been a master armourer.
“The HUD may need some updating,” Her mother says fondly, “That armour is just about thirty years old.”
“How?”
She chuckles, Force signature nostalgic. “I spent a year on Mandalore when I was a padawan, barely sixteen really. It was given to me by a dear friend of mine, when she, very illegally I might say considering the both of us were under-aged and I was a Jedi, tried to adopt me as Mando’ad.”
Mara can feel her mother’s grief in the Force when she looks at the armour and talks about the girl who had tried to make her Mando’ad, a child of Mandalore. “Why are you giving it to me?”
“Well,” A calloused hand gently traced the smooth metal of the Mandalorian helmet, “That is the Way; to pass your armour onto the next generation is a great honour among Mandalorian culture. I never wore it, and you’d be doing me a great honour if you carried on Satine’s legacy.”
A watery giggle slips past her lips as Mara stares at the helmet, already imagining how she’d paint her armour. “Tapadh leat, Mama.” Mara manages to choke out around the knot in her throat, blinking tears out of her eyes, and her mother smiles lovingly, gentle hands cradling her face as she draws her closer to kiss her forehead.