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Leia’s door opens with a hiss. She pointedly does not look up to answer whoever is bothering her being rude enough to not knock like a normal person before entering a Senator’s office. There are some heavy footsteps but they do not approach her desk, instead steering in the direction of the sitting area positioned to the side. She raises her glare to the sight of Din Djarin, Lord Mandalore, depositing her unconscious brother on her plush couch.
Leia blinks. It takes her a whole second to parse the situation.
“What the kriff?” she decides to engage her eloquence, getting to her feet. As she approaches, Djarin is slowly straightening and a quiet groan filters through his vocoder. He takes a bag off his shoulder and lays it on the coffee table.
“He’s fine, just sedated,” he leads with and for once, Leia is glad for his to-the-point disposition. “This was the closest place I could drop him off safely. I’m in a hurry and we flew together on my ship.”
“Why is my brother sedated, exactly?”
“He got doused with some kind of drug and his magic went stupid. I’ve been helping him. With, uh, a thing.”
“A thing,” Leia deadpans as she crouches next to Luke and looks at Djarin’s visor. He nods. Leia raises an eyebrow.
“How did you even get here?”
“We flew in. We were in the Inner Rim and here’s closer than Yavin or Mandalorian Space.”
“No, I mean my office.”
“Oh, I stole Luke’s passcard.”
Sure, the Mandalorian king stole a high-profile dignitary’s Senate building passcard. Still, this does not, in the least, explain how said Mandalorian king circumvented the security checkpoints, the droids and the guards. While hauling the aforementioned high-profile dignitary’s unconscious body. In full beskar armor that looks like it’s been through a lot in the past days.
“Are… you okay?” she asks tentatively. In true Djarin fashion, he grunts something that could be either a confirmation or a groan of pain and instead reaches to his belt.
“While I’m here,” he says, “I thought I could pass this along.”
From his utility belt he produces a piece of flimsi that is way past its prime and looks like it likes to burrow in the dirt in its spare time. Leia delicately plucks it from his hand with the tips of her nails and unfolds it.
She sighs.
“Lord Mandalore…” she begins but she can feel instant disapproval venting into the Force and tries again.
“Din. We talked about this. Political documents need to at least visually resemble something official. How am I supposed to present this to the Senate?”
“I’ve been traveling for the past few months. I figured that anything is better than nothing. You mentioned it’s time-sensitive,” he says after a moment.
“Don’t you have someone with you that could help? The scribe? Or an assistant?”
“Uh, no, I’ve been doing my thing. You know. Bounty hunting. I’m on vacation.”
Leia stares at him.
“Who’s in charge then? While you’re… doing your thing? We’re in the middle of negotiations.”
He shrugs.
“No one, I guess.”
“You guess,” she repeats flatly.
“Bo-Katan?” he tries and kriffing hell, Leia feels like she’s talking to a child. A very large, intimidating, metal-clad child that so happens to be a ruler of a nation and the main representative of an alliance that constitutes nearly a third of the Outer Rim.
She takes a deep, steadying breath. She moves from her crouching position to sit next to Luke’s hip.
“It remains beyond my comprehension how your government is not yet in shambles. Your approach to politics keeps me perpetually horrified. That your court doesn’t riot, even more so.”
Djarin sighs and moves closer to her.
“Okay, listen here,” he says and something changes in his voice, like suddenly she’s talking to a completely different person. He stands a bit taller, a bit more imposing. His visor is firmly trained on her and hey, there’s the king . It’s not helping that at this point he’s basically looming over her sitting form.
“Mandalorians have been scattered for years,” he says. “Fractured by genocide and hardship. We are a proud, independent people. We are together even when we are apart and we thrive in this joint individuality. The Clans answer my call if it is required. They listen to my orders if I issue them. But they do not need me otherwise. If they do, they know how to reach me. The same thing goes for the Free Alliance. And in case you forgot, Senator ,” he tilts his head, “My approach to politics united worlds that were at war with each other into the community that your Republic is now asking for trade agreements. I am under no obligation to care for how you wish for things to be done. This is my Way.”
Wow. So he does know how to string more than five words together. Leia takes a mental step back as she mulls over the admittedly impressive show of regal authority. Before she has a chance to get angry, apologise or even nod, there is movement next to her.
“Din, stop harassing my sister,” Luke mutters.
They both turn to him and Leia breathes a sigh of relief when she sees his sleepy eyes. His pupils are blown but he seems mostly coherent. He manages to pull himself up to his elbows but his dirty boots are still soiling her luxurious upholstery.
“It’s fine,” Leia says, avoiding looking at Djarin. “Lord Mandalore is right. How are you feeling, sweetie? I heard you were dosed with something.”
“A bit loopy, I guess. The thieves went all out with the fun gun.”
Leia looks to Djarin for an explanation but she might as well ask a bantha to do a dance routine so she decides to go with the druggie over here and prompt Luke to elaborate.
“I was trying to reclaim a stolen Jedi artifact and it so happened that Din got some bounty pucks for the thieves so we decided to do this together,” her brother discloses with surprising clarity. She can feel him manipulating the Force around them to clear his body of the sedative but his ministrations are clumsy and unsteady, like he’s struggling a bit. “There were a lot of them and they had this, I dunno, projectile launcher that pelted us with gas capsules. It was some sort of narcotic that made me hallucinate and lose orientation. Din had to deal with them and my Force abilities going haywire at the same time so he sedated me, I guess.”
“It was a very small dose,” Din adds in his own defence.
“Could have given me more, everything is spinning, it gives me motion sickness. And the air is shiny. Whatever that was, it was strong, man.”
“Yeah,” Djarin grunts, casually pushing down a table decoration that in the meantime started to float gently. Now that Luke is more awake, Leia can feel what Mando meant when he said Luke’s ‘magic’ went stupid. She carefully extends her own awareness to counteract his imbalance a bit.
“It’s good that at least one of you has a helmet with an air filtration system strong enough to protect from a potent hallucinogen then,” Leia says. There is a moment of silence.
“Helmet filters are very useful,” Djarin comments vaguely. “Listen, I have to get going.”
Before he has a chance to make good on his words, Luke squints at him and sits up abruptly.
“Stop right there, mister,” he says in the exact same way he does when he catches one of his padawans munching on sweets before dinner. Din stiffens.
“I know you, you loophole-exploiting piece of shit,” Luke says and Leia stares because that sort of language must be a new development for him. He’s been hanging out with the Mandalorians for too long. “Say it. Say that your helmet filtered out the drug.”
Djarin doesn’t respond for a long time but ultimately sighs and his shoulders drop in resignation.
“Maybe not entirely,” he says reluctantly.
“Din.”
“It’s fine,” the king tries again.
“Din.”
“Honestly, not that bad.”
Luke glares.
“Did you fly from Inner Rim and sneak into the Senate building while hallucinating?” Leia takes the opportunity to pipe in.
Djarin groans.
“It’s really not much worse than usual.”
If there were crickets here, they would have been heard in the silence. Luke takes the time to blink very theatrically.
“What,” he says.
“Can we not do this now, Luke? In front of a New Republic Senator?”
“Don’t mind me, I’m practically family,” Leia supplies gleefully because usually it’s her that’s uncomfortable and annoyed in Din Djarin’s presence so the role reversal is a phenomenal development. Especially since there are apparently secrets . And she wants to know them.
“We are most definitely doing this now,” Luke decides and he finally puts his legs down on the floor. Unfortunately, the damage has already been done and Leia makes a mental note to order a cleaning droid to rid the cushions of mud and grime left behind by his boots. “Please elaborate.”
“I would really prefer not to,” there is a pained quality to Djarin’s voice as he looks away from the siblings.
“I would really prefer not to revoke your child visitation rights for the next two months either.”
“Isn’t blackmail below Jedi sensibilities or something?”
“Obviously not.”
Snacks. Leia needs some snacks for this wonderful spectacle.
The Djarin Sigh™ makes an appearance again and the king slides gracelessly into a nearby armchair, planting his elbows on his knees, his gloved hands dangling loosely. He looks very out of place in his dirty armor and tattered cape, surrounded by beige throw pillows.
“So you know the Darksaber,” he says tiredly and they both nod. The fancy old lightsaber that is the symbol of his station. Leia did some research. “It’s sort of sentient. And maybe a bit haunted.”
“Sentient and haunted. How quaint,” Luke says with faux decorum.
“Um, yeah. Anyway. There is this dead king hanging out with me.”
As if on cue, the Force shifts and next to Djarin there is, indeed, who Leia presumes to be the dead king standing there casually, his hands folded neatly on his armored chest. His helmet doesn’t have a visor hiding his features, only cheek and forehead guards that create a wide T-shaped frame for his eyes, nose and mouth. He’s tinted blue.
“Hello,” he says mildly.
“Yeah, that guy,” Din grumbles.
“You have a Force Ghost,” Luke says slowly, as if to make sure that this is not a part of his hallucination.
“Luke, he’s a person. Maybe a dead one, but still a person. I don’t have him. He’s just… there.”
That is sort of sweet of Din, to defend a Force Ghost’s personhood from a Jedi. Luke seems to notice the fact and acts chastised enough as he rises to his feet. He wobbles a bit.
“Of course,” he says and turns to the ghost. “I apologize, sir. My name is Luke Skywalker.”
“I know,” the ghost answers affably.
“Yes. Of course,” Luke clears his throat awkwardly.
“Anyway, that’s Tarre Vizsla,” Djarin says and looks to both Luke and Leia. “He’s the creator of the Darksaber. A past Mand’alor. And a Jedi. And a thorn in my side sometimes. He likes to give me unsolicited visions and shit.”
“So dramatic, Din’ika,” Tarre teases and Leia almost chokes on air when he pats the Mandalorian on the helmet because it makes an actual sound. Like the ghost hand connects solidly with the beskar.
“Fuck off, Tarre,” Din murmurs without any real heat.
“Is this any way to speak to your elder?”
“Sorry. Fuck off, alor.”
“That’s the spirit. Besides, it’s not me that’s giving you visions. We talked about this.”
“Suuure. So. That’s what I’m dealing with daily,” Din says to the living people in the room. “Ka’ra forbid I use the Darksaber because that is a whole different barrel of laughs. Believe me, anything my mind conjures has nothing on having this guy backseat driving my whole life.”
“I feel you,” Luke mutters.
“Swell. I’ll be going then,” Djarin says and rises to his feet.
“Wait,” Leia says and gets up as well. She feels uncomfortable letting him go just yet, even if he seems fine. Luke has the benefit of the Force and still looks half-stoned. As much grief she is giving Djarin for being a political nightmare, he is one of her brother’s closest friends and a generally pleasant man. It would be a shame if he got caught here before she had a chance to think of an excuse for Lord Mandalore being inside the Senate building or, worse, if he crashed his ship by accident because he saw a nonexistent wall or something.
“Since you’re already here, why don’t I draft something more formal I could present to my colleagues instead of… um… the note you gave me. You’ll just sign it.”
“Like I said, I’m sort of in a hurry.”
“Come on, Din, fifteen minutes won’t make a difference.”
His shoulders sag a bit and he mutters a petulant ‘fine’ as he sits back down. From his side, Tarre Vizsla nods at her approvingly as she makes her way to the desk. The ghost moves to the wide window behind her back to gaze at the city. She tries to not be bothered by his presence at her back and focuses on the task at hand.
“How come I didn’t know about your Force Ghost?” she hears Luke’s offended mutter after about half an hour of stalling and hoping that they get bored with waiting and try napping to sleep off the narcotic. Unfortunately, Luke knows where she keeps the holozines and Mando seems content enough to observe him silently.
“In my experience most of the things you don’t know are caused by you not asking about them,” Djarin answers.
“Yeah, sure, because that is a normal thing you ask someone you’re sure is not Force sensitive. ‘Hey Din, seen any Force ghosts lately?’ Seriously.”
“You’ve experienced so much dumb shit that happens around me, I think there are no questions that could phase me at this point.”
Are you certain he’s not Force sensitive? - Leia sends him through the Force.
He wasn’t when I met him - Luke responds and there is a wobbly quality to his end of the connection, although he seems much more put-together. Now… Is it possible for someone to develop a sensitivity?
You’re the Jedi, you tell me.
“You two, stop talking through the Force,” Din says tersely and Leia looks up, startled. “You can badmouth me when I leave.”
That sounded pretty Force-sensitive to me, Luke.
“He doesn’t hear you,” Tarre Vizsla says with a smile on his voice. Leia had almost forgotten that he’s still there. “He’s going off of Luke’s facial expressions. Din’ika is very good at reading people.”
Well, didn’t that sound almost proud.
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me at all,” Leia states easily. “Here, have at it, your Majesty,” she adds a bit teasingly, sliding the document she’s managed to scrape up in record time for Din to sign. In two copies. Like it’s supposed to be done. The king’s vocoder does this thing where she’s pretty sure he’s grumbling but not loud enough for it to go through the processor fully and he relocates to her desk. Vizsla peeks over his shoulder as Din raises the flimsi to his visor, moves his hand away and squares his shoulders. He sighs. Drops the flimsi back to the desk. And proceeds to take off his helmet.
Leia gapes.
She’s never seen him without it before. Luke did tell her that Djarin is not glued to it anymore but it’s kind of jarring to experience, especially since she’s known the Lord Mandalore for a few years now as a metal casing for someone hidden, mysterious and imposing.
The face she’s presented with is not that. His hair is sweaty and he looks tired and disgruntled as he squints myopically at the page, not paying her the least of his attention. His eyes are a bit glassy but not as blown as her brother’s. Who is now casually making his way to his side.
“Here,” he says, handing Djarin… a pair of glasses?
“Oh, for kriff’s sake,” Din growls but snatches them from the extended hand and jams them on his face.
“Why does he have those?” Vizsla asks.
“He left them on the ship again,” Luke supplies.
“I am not carrying fucking reading glasses to a bounty gig,” Din says indignantly.
“They made you the belt pouch for them! You could at least have the helmet HUD adjusted.”
“I just need more sleep. My eyes get tired.”
“It’s been three years, Din. You need to face it. You’re getting old ,” Luke says and casually ruffles the king’s hair, making the strands stick out at odd angles. Din moves away with such an offended facial expression, Leia has to stop herself from giggling.
“What is this, ‘touch the Mando’ challenge? I swear, if you try to touch me, I’m not signing the papers,” Djarin scoffs, pointing a finger at Leia.
“No touching,” she answers with a wide grin, raising her hands in a placating gesture. He glares at her and grabs the pen she supplied in his gloved right hand. For someone so rough around the edges, Din has a surprisingly elegant signature. He then produces a laser stamp from his belt pouch and burns his sigil onto the flimsi in what she thinks is a very deliberately crooked manner. The stamp and the glasses disappear somewhere in his utility belt and he jams the helmet back on his head. He grabs the copy of the document and folds it way too many times, only to cram it in the space between his belt and hip. It crinkles with the promise of tearing.
“I’m off then,” he says, rising to his feet. “Leia, Luke,” he nods and is gone the next moment, door swishing closed behind him. Vizsla follows him with his gaze but doesn’t seem in a hurry to follow.
“I hope he doesn’t lose the document somewhere in the corridor,” Leia says dejectedly. The ghost chuckles.
“It’s very bold of you to assume he’ll use the corridors, Senator,” he says, bows his head and winks out of existence.
Leia feels like pinching the space between her eyes.
“So, how about lunch?” her brother offers, as if everything that just occurred was completely normal.