Chapter Text
It had been nearly six months since Grogu left with the Jedi. Din was fine, really, if he ignored the gaping well of sadness that ached in his chest any time he thought of the Kid. And he was getting very good at ignoring it. Mostly.
Upon leaving the Imperial light cruiser, Cara had offered him a job on Nevarro. Not a Republic job, necessarily, but Republic adjacent. Din had considered it, but eventually declined. In hindsight, he may have benefitted from having something to do on a regular basis, not to mention a regular paycheck. But he made enough on bounties, of which he’d taken several— perhaps too many, but who’s counting. After two months he’d made enough to buy himself a new ship.
It wasn’t new, exactly, in fact quite the opposite. It was called the Trident, which he wasn’t really sure he liked. But it was pre-Empire and had guns, room for him to live in, and was maneuverable enough for the flashy getaways he was so fond of. It was no Razor Crest, but it would do.
So he took bounties, stocked the Trident with the essentials, and slowly rebuilt his little armory. The only other point of concern for him was the Darksaber. Of course, he hadn’t known it was a concern until some misguided thief on a backwater moon had tried to knife him for it. It was like the flood gates had opened after that, and over the course of a couple weeks he’d had no less than seven individuals try to nab the thing. It was one thing to be stuck with it, and subsequently the rule of Mandalore, in an abstract sense. It was quite another to be batting away covetous grifters at every turn.
Following these incidents, he’d tried to get in contact with Bo-Katan again. Perhaps, he thought, distance and time had changed her mind. Maybe she’d just take it off him. He was mistaken. Four and a half months had done absolutely nothing to assuage her frustration. She had cursed him out quite colorfully before demanding that he “learn how to wield the saber properly, and grow a damn pair” before he came back to her on the subject.
Din found her response quite rude, but not unwarranted. He really didn’t know how to wield the sword properly. It wasn’t for lack of trying: every week or so, when he had a bit of time between bounties, he’d land the Trident out in the middle of nowhere and try out a few moves with the saber. But ineffectually waving the thing around wasn’t getting him anywhere, not that he really thought it would. He could potentially chalk it up to his heart not being in it, but it was more than that. Despite its sleek appearance, the saber was heavy. Not physically heavy, necessarily, but there was something keeping him from wielding it naturally. Like his hands on the hilt felt clumsy regardless of how strong his grip was, and swinging it felt like moving through water.
Eventually he gave up. Certainly Bo-Katan’s patience was limited, and when it finally ran out she’d find him and take it. Then he’d be rid of the damn thing and move on. Until then it sat in a little storage cupboard on his ship, locked safely away from any sticky fingers.
It was only about a week after that that the Jedi appeared.