Work Text:
In the years since the Empire fell, not much about Din’s life had changed. The Outer Rim was as lawless as ever, and while trade routes fluctuated and old alliances reestablished themselves, the need for bounty hunters persisted. So long as his Covert remained on Nevarro, and so long as there were jobs from the Guild, Din would live his life as he had since he took the Creed.
The galaxy slowly righted itself as Din chased down bail jumpers and oath breakers. Life before the Empire was a hazy memory, ywt he knew it was coming back, knew that the summons from Mandalore would come one day. There were so many rumors from the Core these days, but he paid them no mind; unless the Armorer spoke to them of it, he assumed it was false. No news, he thought, was good news.
That dreaded call came shortly after he’d returned from a series of jobs, once the cargo had been unloaded and he’d taken his pay down to the Covert in the sewers of Nevarro. The Armorer had waited for his return to announce that Bo-Katan Kryze had reclaimed the throne, and the clans had rallied behind her once again. Mandalore would return as a seat of power in the New Republic, and their tribe would join it. The reactions were mixed; as for himself, Din’s first instinct was dread. Change was always a vicious beast, and this was no different, except, for him, it wasn’t just about going home.
The Armorer told him this unification was fragile, and they meant to honor what had been left unfinished when the Empire rose to power. It had been decided, without him, that he still represented the future of their clan, and as such was considered as close to a royal heir as they could get. There were a great many expectations and responsibilities for him to consider, things he’d hoped to forget as their life in the sewer had gone from temporary to permanent under the Empire.
One such responsibility, unfortunately, included Din’s betrothal to one crown prince of Tatooine. Someone he’d never met. Someone he’d only thought of, maybe once or twice, if only to wonder if he’d survived the Empire.
Clearly he had, and in a week’s time, they were to be wed on Mandalore. Din thought he should feel proud, perhaps relieved to walk away from this life of bounty hunting. It was dangerous and unforgiving work, but he found that it had suited him. He realized he hadn’t appreciated it until he was now made to stop. A future of dull court politics likely awaited him, bringing back equally dull memories from the etiquette training he’d started to receive in his youth. All of that had stopped when Mandalorians were placed on the Empire’s most wanted rosters.
Still, he had a week. That was enough time for one more job, one more bounty. Even if his last catch was to be a spoiled runaway from the Core, he’d still relish the chase, just one last time.
His last run had been fairly rote, so, really, what could go wrong?
***
By the time Din finally set foot on Mandalore, six months had passed. A lot had gone wrong.
In that time he’d completed the job, received a new set of beskar armor, broke his contract with the Guild, and then wound up running halfway around the galaxy and back for that sin. He’d been chased by bounty hunters and ex-Imperials, running from bolt hole to bolt hole, before being drawn back to Nevarro to deal with the root of the problem. Moff Gideon had been soundly defeated and the stormtroopers driven from the planet, and finally Din could return to his Covert, or what was left of them, those that hadn’t returned to the homeworld already.
The Armorer was less than pleased. Din assumed his actions had almost certainly jeopardized the union with Tatooine, and to make matters worse, he was bringing with him a child whose name and species he did not know. The Armorer called it a foundling, just the same, tasking him with the goal of returning it to its people --
-- after he was wed.
Din didn’t know what to think. Here on Mandalore, where he’d essentially left his fiance waiting at the altar for six months, he paced the length of his room, trying to calm the fussing child. He pointedly avoided looking at the clothes set out for him, neatly pressed and clean lines to compliment his beskar for the ceremony tomorrow. Obviously he couldn’t wear his ratty flightsuit and muddy boots, but the bounty hunter had become a second skin for him. He didn’t know how to be a prince. He didn’t want to know how to be a prince.
Restless and agitated, Din left his chambers, which were far larger than any place he’d lived in for over twenty years. He took the child down into the gardens, where it was quiet and the lights were set low to imitate the moonlit darkness of what had once been Mandalore’s surface. The new surroundings seemed to calm the child, at least, or maybe it was just that Din’s pacing had been channeled into a gentle walk.
It was possible the kid was just reacting to his own anxiety, about tomorrow, about everything beyond that. Distracted by his thoughts, Din hardly realized they weren’t alone in the garden until they nearly collided with someone.
“Whoa, hey there!” the man exclaimed, taking a step back as Din halted to a stop, jostling the groggy child fully awake. The man gave a nervous laugh, reaching up to run a hand through his silver hair. “What’s the rush?”
“There’s -- I’m sorry,” Din managed, adjusting his hold on the kid, who was squirming again, interested in this new person. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“No harm done,” said the man, smiling at the kid when he realized he was being watched. He wiggled his fingers in front of the kid’s face. “Hey little guy. Can’t sleep? Me neither.”
Din studied the man, noting his lack of Mandalorian dress. He couldn’t be that much older than Din himself, he thought, despite the grey hair. When he smiled at the child, his face wrinkled in a way that suggested laugh lines, instead of weary old age.
“Come on,” the man was saying, straightening up and inclining his head to the side. “I’ll show you my favorite spot, how about that?”
Din nodded before realizing he was talking to the child, not him, but he followed him nonetheless. The man had an easy gait, thumbs hooked into his belt, and when he looked up he squinted, as if the simulated moonlight was normally something brighter.
He led them to a pond, not very large, and well hidden in the tall grasses and reeds. The water rippled as they approached, frogs leaping away from them into the safety of deeper water. The child’s ears shot up at the sight of them, cooing excitedly. The man sat down on a bench, leaving enough room for Din, he noticed.
“Let the kid run around a little, yeah?” The man suggested.
“I’m trying to get him to sleep.”
“Right, so let him run around. Tire him out.”
Din supposed that was a good point. He knew nothing about kids anyway, let alone one that was green and also fifty years old, so the past six months had involved a lot of trial and error alongside some wildly dangerous situations. Those he could handle -- getting the kid to sleep on a regular schedule was damn near impossible. Din’s unhealthy sleeping habits hadn’t helped.
Giggling happily, the child waddled after the frogs when he was set down, too slow to catch them, though that didn’t deter him in the least. Din stood and watched him for a few minutes, then accepted the man’s invitation to sit next to him on the bench. He sat at the edge, his posture ramrod straight, hands on his thighs. In contrast, the stranger was reclining against the backrest, long legs stretched out in front of him with his ankles crossed.
Din noticed his boots were old and worn, well loved and dusty. The rest of his clothes were newer and finer, the shirt loose and breezy and the collar wrapped in a bright red scarf. There was a faded scar on the man’s temple, and when he turned to look at Din, Din abruptly looked away.
He knew he was being studied in return, likely being judged for his standoffishness and rigid posture. Din kept his eyes on the kid as he wandered closer to the water’s edge.
“So,” the man said, after a long stretch of silence. “Can’t sleep?”
“No,” was all Din offered.
“Yeah. Big day tomorrow,” he said, reaching up to scratch his chin, ruffling his beard. His tone was cautious now, as if testing something. “Hear there’s a wedding.”
The reminder was like a lump of ice in his stomach. “There is. It’s… a long time coming.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” said the man, his smile soft, a little sad but not unkind. There seemed to be something unsaid in his expression, his tone, as if he wanted to say more but wasn’t certain what was welcome or appropriate. Din let it hang over them, feeling much the same way.
The child lunged and nabbed a frog, so Din was back on his feet in a second. “No, no, spit that out,” he scolded, grabbing the frog’s legs before it was swallowed whole. The child whined as he pulled the frog free, reaching for it when he tossed it back into the water. “What did I tell you about that?”
Sighing, he lifted the child into his arms, using one hand to squeeze out the water that had soaked into the bottom of his little robes. Din didn’t know if those frogs were endangered or even native to Mandalore, but the kid really needed to stop putting things like that in his mouth.
When he turned back to the bench, the stranger looked delighted by the whole thing, laughing as Din sat back down next to him. The child twisted in his arms to look up at the man, curious.
“Cute kid,” the man said, reaching up to rub the child’s ear between his thumb and forefinger. Din tensed, which made the man’s movement falter, and he dropped his hand a moment later, his posture awkward.
“He’s… very special,” Din said, as if that could explain half the things he’d seen the kid do.
“I can see that.” The man was looking at him, though, not the kid, and the attention made his face heat up. He couldn’t imagine what the man thought he saw through the beskar. In his arms, the child started to fuss, reaching for the man next to him, who looked imploring. “May I?”
After a moment of hesitation, Din nodded, lifting the kid for the man to take. Everything in him screamed against it, but the child squealed happily, grabbing at the man’s scarf, and then his beard. The kid seemed fascinated by his face, running his tiny claws over his nose and cheeks, tugging at his facial hair. Rather than annoyed, the man seemed charmed. “Curious little fella, huh?”
Din just watched them interact, feeling like an outsider as this man clearly knew how to handle children. He talked to the child, asking him questions and answering the kid’s babbling with complete sincerity and seriousness. When the kid started to fuss, the man stood up, cradling him carefully, and paced the edge of the water, talking to him in low tones. He handled the child like Din had never done before, and not for the first time, he felt guilty about how deprived the kid must have been in his care.
The man’s gentle shushing paid off, and before long, the child was fast asleep in his arms. When he presented him to Din, they found the kid had a death grip on the man’s scarf, so the man reached up to untie the knot, tucking it in around him.
The kid barely stirred when Din took him back, swaddled in those oversized robes and red scarf. Din didn’t know what to say, except, quietly: “Thank you.”
The man nodded, patting Din’s arm, just under the beskar. “Have a good night, now.”
He watched the man leave, only now realizing he’d never asked his name, who he was, why he was here. With the kid fast asleep in his arms, he thought maybe it didn’t matter.
***
While the child slept through the night, Din tossed and turned, agitated and uncomfortable. He managed a few moments of sleep, but when he rose in the early morning, he felt stiff and exhausted. The day loomed ahead, far more intimidating than any hunt he’d ever been on.
As he bathed and shaved in privacy, the Armorer took his beskar to be cleaned and painted for the ceremony. It was waiting for him when he came back into his room, looking cleaner than it had even when she’d first given it to him, months ago. Din wasn’t fond of the golden highlights carefully brushed onto the edges, up the curves of the helmet, but it was temporary. He had to look the part today, even if he didn’t feel it.
Din dressed in silence, and alone, as the kid had already been whisked away by caregivers. He wouldn’t be part of the ceremony, after all. Din couldn’t hide behind him, this time, though he found himself wanting the kid to be involved. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like the kid was his.
He didn’t recognize himself when he looked in the mirror, as the Armorer and her assistants came in to make the finishing touches. The fabric of his clothes was too soft, pricking at his skin, and the cloak was made of some lightweight, shimmering material that didn’t feel right over his shoulders. He was out of place, even out of time, wearing someone else’s skin.
“You should be proud,” the Armorer said, sensing his unease as she watched his reflection in the mirror.
“It’s just a wedding,” he said, tone flat.
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
When Din turned, she was already walking out, her assistants with her. Confused, uncertain, unmoored, Din followed them.
If not for the war and the rise of the Empire, it was likely Din would have grown up with his fiance, and married him much sooner. And again, if not for the child, they might have had a few weeks to get to know one another in a more traditional sense. The reality was that they were to meet on their wedding day. He supposed, in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter when they met. They’d be married either way.
The Armorer’s attendants, both women in gleaming golden beskar, ushered him towards the ceremonial altar, where two officiants waited. One was Mandalorian, wearing the cobalt blue of clan Kryze, and the other from Tatooine, dressed in sandy brown robes. A moment later, Din’s fiance came up behind him, taking his place at Din’s side. Din couldn’t help but look, curiosity getting the better of him, and he wound up doing a double take.
The beard was trimmed a bit neater, and his silver hair swept back neatly, but it was the same stranger from the gardens last night. Catching his eye, the man gave him an apologetic smile.
Din ignored the Mandalorian officiant as he began talking, tilting his head towards the man. “You could have said something,” he said, tone low, not accusing, just -- upset. He didn’t know why, exactly.
“Figured it might have ruined the conversation,” the man admitted, talking out of the corner of his mouth. The officiant from Tatooine glared at them, an unspoken command to be silent.
Din looked away from him, unhappy that he was probably right. It was unfair, too, that he should be so upset about this, while this man seemed to be taking everything in stride. He didn’t know if that made them a good match or not.
When they were instructed to face one another, they clasped their hands together. The Mandalorian wrapped their hands first in a silver ribbon, and the man from Tatooine entwined it with a red ribbon, both ending in a loose knot. Din barely heard the words, his heart pounding as their names were announced: Din Djarin, clan Mudhorn of Mandalore, and Cobb Vanth of Mos Pelgo, Tatooine. Their union was the union of two planets, two people, and kindred spirits.
So they were told.
This was all supposed to be symbolic, anyways, the wedding just the dressing of what was already a formal and legal union of their governments. The two of them faced no real expectations outside of obligatory state affairs, but Din felt Cobb squeeze his hands under the ribbons, thumbs smoothing over the leather of his gloves. Cobb gave him another smile, still somehow sad, and encouraging, as he inclined his head towards Din’s. Din felt his face flush when he realized what Cobb was doing, and haltingly leaned forward to meet him, touching his helmet against Cobb’s forehead. He assumed he was imagining the red tinge high on Cobb’s cheeks.
The reception and celebration that followed wasn’t exactly a wild affair, but it was lively. Though Din and Cobb were seated next to one another they rarely spoke, mostly because their attention was constantly drawn to those wishing to congratulate them. Having spent the past six months on Mandalore, longer than Din himself had ever been here, Cobb seemed to know everyone already, Mandalorian or not. Din found himself being introduced to an endless stream of people from Tatooine, forgetting their names before they even walked away.
The night was a blend of traditions, and though Din declined a dance, Cobb took one of his young nieces to the dancefloor. The man smiled easily and quickly, making everyone in his presence laugh. He had a magnetic and charming personality, which made Din look and feel like dour suit of iron in contrast. He longed for the quiet berth of his battered ship, even the patter of the child’s small feet across the hold. For a moment, he even longed to have Cobb to himself again, revisit the man he’d met in the gardens last night.
Though he’d done next to nothing the entire day, Din was exhausted by the time he and Cobb were able to leave, the pair of them making the walk to their chambers together. There was food laid out on the table when they entered, and without prompting, Cobb excused himself to the fresher, telling Din to take all the time he needed.
That left him feeling a bit flat footed. Of course, by now Cobb would have learned or understood the Creed of Din’s tribe. None of them had eaten or removed their helmets during any point of the ceremony today aside from those of Bo-Katan’s clan, so it stood to reason he extended that expectation to Din. Still, he wondered if Cobb thought Din would remove the helmet now, in the privacy of their shared quarters, the privilege of the spouse.
Din ate quickly, both out of habit and aware of the fact that a relative stranger could walk out of the fresher behind him at any moment. After he’d eaten and replaced the helmet, Cobb still announced that he was coming out, and Din turned to face him. He was greeted with the sight of his shirtless torso, sleep pants slung low over his thin hips as Cobb rubbed a towel through his hair. He was lean and toned, Din’s eyes following the trail of silver hair down towards the hemline before he remembered himself.
“I tell ya, I have been spoiled the past six months. No water showers on Tatooine, right? I still feel guilty using it.” As he spoke, he turned his back to Din, revealing a patchwork of scars that made his blood run cold. Din had his fair share of scars, earned through battle and odd jobs, but what crossed Cobb’s back was the mark of ownership. Those scars were violent, and malicious, completely at odds with the affable, friendly man that bore them.
The scars disappeared as Cobb pulled a shirt down over his head, and Din had looked away by the time Cobb turned to face him.
“Where’s the kid?” Cobb asked, sorting through the laundry he’d left behind when he’d showered.
“With a caregiver,” said Din. Hopefully with other kids, too. He hated that he had to deny the child so many things. Life on the run didn’t include playdates. They were safer, now, though he knew reuniting the kid with his people wasn’t going to be done sitting still.
Cobb glanced his way when he said nothing else, but continued through his routine, seemingly unbothered. Din was still sitting at the table, unmoving, when Cobb got into bed, laying on his back.
“You know,” Cobb eventually said. “There’s no archaic ritual or expectation that the wedding has to be consummated or nothin’ like that. Why don’t you come to bed? You must be exhausted.”
Din’s palms felt sweaty at the mention of consummating anything, but he got up to sit at the edge of the bed, bending to pull his boots off. He laid down next to Cobb, on his back, staring at the ceiling. He could feel Cobb watching him.
“When I was young, I had to study all these Mandalorian customs. Your history, your languages. Like to think I know a thing or two about your Creed, plus living here the past six months. But I have to ask.” Cobb turned his head to look at Din, eyeing him up and down. “You gonna sleep in all that?”
“I usually do,” Din admitted. At Cobb’s quirked eyebrow, Din clarified: “I worked as a bounty hunter for the guild on Nevarro. Besides that, we were always being hunted by the Empire.”
Cobb hummed, seeming to take that explanation for what it was: the truth. “I was a slave. Sure you saw the scars. The Empire didn’t like Tatooine’s resistance to its rule, so it put my whole family in chains.”
Din had no response to that. Condolences or pity didn’t seem appropriate, or welcome, anyways.
“Just wonderin’ if I’m ever going to see my husband’s face, is all,'' Cobb muttered, scratching his chest. Din turned his head to look at him.
“There are no exceptions,” Din said, by rote. “This is the way.”
“Been hearin’ that a lot.” Cobb had closed his eyes, but didn’t seem inclined to sleep. Din watched him. “Tell me about the kid?” When Din hesitated, Cobb said: “You don’t have to, you know. I just heard you’re on some quest to help him, and that’s why it took six months to get hitched. I thought they were making it up to placate my family, that you hadn’t just run away from it all.”
“Well,” said Din, and Cobb laughed before he could continue. It wasn’t mean, but an honest laugh. Din found himself smiling.
“It’s a good excuse, if there ever was one,” Cobb said, eyes open now, smiling as he turned onto his side to face Din. “Cute kid, too.”
“Like I said before, he’s very special,” said Din, and against his better judgement, he began to tell Cobb the story of how he’d found the kid, all the way from the mudhorn to chasing the Imperial remnants off of Nevarro. In turn, Cobb told him about his family, how they’d been enslaved and sent to the mines to die. They’d lived, and fought and rebelled, reclaiming the smallest, most vulnerable towns in Tatooine first until they had it all back, stronger than ever.
They talked deep into the night, and when they stopped, when they fell asleep, Din didn’t know. In the morning he woke before Cobb, almost, almost disappointed the man was still on his side of the bed, no closer than he had been last night. Shaking off that strange desire, Din showered and changed, dressing himself in his familiar, and now clean, flightsuit. The beskar went back on one piece at a time, and he scratched at the gold highlights. Maybe he did like them, after all.
Cobb hadn’t moved by the time he emerged from the fresher, so Din let him sleep, relieved to have avoided whatever might pass as a goodbye between them.
Unfortunately, his luck didn’t hold out. Cobb found him in the hangar soon after, where he was finishing up the final walkthrough of the Razor Crest. The child was sitting on the rear ramp, chewing on the beskar Mythosaur necklace he’d been given. Din stopped when he realized Cobb was coming their way, dressed in casual clothes, the old dusty boots he’d worn in the garden, and a bag over his shoulder. His gait was easy and somehow sensual, his lopsided smile rooting Din to the spot.
“Leavin’ me so soon?” Cobb drawled.
“I told you about my quest,” Din said, once his tongue unglued from the roof of his mouth. “The foundling is my first priority.”
“I understand that. Just didn’t think you’d jet after one night.” Cobb stopped, standing in front of him with his thumb hooked into one belt loop. The kid stared at him, and Cobb gave him a wink. Turning back to Din, he gestured towards the ship. “You got room for one more in that thing?”
“What?” Din blurted, before he had time to process a better answer.
“I hope you don’t think I’m some spoiled prince. More like twelfth in line for the throne, so no worries there. But I’m a decent shot,” Cobb patted the blaster strapped to his thigh, which Din hadn’t even noticed. “And you could always use someone to watch your back, yeah?”
Din stared at him, uncomprehending. “You… want to come with me?”
“If you’ll have me.”
Din looked at the kid, who tilted his head, blinking up at him with those huge eyes. Nodding, he turned back to Cobb. “Like I said, the kid is the top priority. It’s long hours, no pay, and really uncomfortable sleeping accommodations.”
Cobb laughed. “None of that deters me. We’re looking for a Jedi, right? Never met one.”
“Me either,” Din shrugged, bending to pick up the kid, while watching Cobb out of the corner of his visor. “We’re heading to Corvus. There’s supposed to be one there.”
Cobb gestured up the ramp. “Lead the way.”
As Din flew the Razor Crest up out of Mandalore’s atmosphere, he let himself ponder his two passengers. One, a child and foundling that had accidentally come into his care, and the other, a prince he’d been betrothed to since he was a foundling.
That last job had gone very, very wrong for him. And somehow, watching both the kid and his husband staring with wonder at the stars before them, he couldn’t help but think it had all turned out for the better.