Chapter Text
“I see,” Luke said.
The makeup he wore felt heavy. He wondered if this was what it felt like to have the stone death masks of long bygone times placed upon you as you drew your last breath. It kept Luke’s face still and frozen into an expression of pleasantness and quiet content, and even though the bitter smelling oils and pigments of the face paint he wore was mas making his stomach roll and churn in time with his rabbiting heart, he could do no more than twitch the corner of his lips even though Luke wanted to scream.
His mother, he thought a little hysterically, had only been fourteen when she sat in this throne.
“We know it’s rather sudden, your majesty,” the advisor's voice was honey sweet, slow and drawn out like she was speaking to a child. Luke wanted to punch her. “But we all agree it’s in your best interests.”
He gripped the arms of the throne tight enough for his bones and synthetic joints to creak and grind together. It was, Luke thought, a rather impressive display of restraint. “You think a marriage to a warlord is in my best interest?”
The advisor heeded Luke’s sharp tone and took a step back in precaution.
Another advisor just took her place.
“It is a good alliance to have.” He said. He did not sound condescending when he spoke, unlike most of Luke’s advisors. He sounded annoyed and irritated and just on the cusp of falling into anger. Luke honestly wasn’t sure which one he preferred more. “The Mand’alor’s presence in the Outer Rim is vast, your majesty. He has influence on planets and in systems the New Republic wouldn’t dare touch–and since the Core Worlds are no longer inclined to offer us assistance, it would be foolish of us to turn away the Mand’alor’s.”
“It bears mentioning, your majesty,” someone else cut in before Luke could even open his mouth to argue. “That while Naboo no longer has an active military, Mandalore does.”
Luke bit his cheek hard enough to taste blood.
The silence that filled the throne room was so heavy that it hurt.
It had been part of the Treaties and New Republic Accords. Naboo was the planet that had born and bred the Galactic Emperor, and so it was Naboo that suffered the brunt of the galaxy’s anger.
Their military had been torn apart and dearmed, their government razed and stripped of any and all Imperial influence until all that remained was Queen Amidala’s handmaidens–Luke’s, now–and a handful of advisors who had stood by her side during her reign.
Queen Amidala.
Luke’s mother.
The New Republic had wanted to install one of their own to Naboo’s throne for precautions sake, for even though Palpatine had never sat upon the throne the New Republic did not want to take any chances, but for all the humiliation Naboo had taken they would not take this. It took months of bitter negotiation and underhanded deals and agreements, but eventually they settled on placing the last known surviving member of the royal Amidala line upon the throne.
“May I remind you,” Luke said slowly. “That I am only your acting Prince Regent?”
This was not supposed to be permanent.
Luke had only agreed to this ridiculous idea because he was only supposed to be on the throne for a few weeks, just long enough for them to elect a new queen. He had other duties, other obligations to the Jedi and the Order and recovering all that he could from the Raids, but it had been nearly a year now and Luke had slowly found himself being pulled away from his searches and to the throne with reassurances that it was only temporary, that the ceremonies and royal gowns and makeup and all the councils and trials he was being led into was only for appearances sake.
He should have noticed sooner what was happening.
Before he was being pushed into marriage.
“You may.” The advisor had a horribly vicious smile on his face. “But the matter has already been settled. The Mand’alor and his delegation are arriving tomorrow night.”
Marriage.
Luke stood abruptly. He wanted to bolt. To run. To get out of this throne room and get as far away from Theed Royal as he could. And yet he couldn’t move, the heavy velvet fabric of his mother’s gown weighing him down and keeping him rooted to the spot. “This is not what I agreed to.”
“If you’ll forgive my bluntness, your majesty, this is exactly what you agreed to when you took the throne,” the advisor said. “Whether you are the Queen or the Prince Regent matters not.”
“I–”
“Your mother would not object if she were in your place.” Someone else said. They spoke softly and calmly, like they were trying to sooth him. Like they were trying to prove a point.
“Well I’m not my mother, am I?” Luke snapped.
“Luke,” Sabé, always and perpetually at Luke’s side, dripped from the shadows to come stand properly beside him. She placed a hand on his shoulder, the touch firm and grounding even though the thick fabric of Luke’s gown. “It’s already done. There’s nothing you can do.”
She sounded angry, her fury barely restrained.
But it was not directed at Luke.
–
“You are the Mand’alor,” Bo-Katan said patiently. “You need to start acting like it.”
“So you marry me off?”
This is not what Din thought he had been called back to Mandalore for.
The message from Bo-Katan had sounded urgent enough that he had dropped everything he had been doing to rush back to Sundari, and even then Bo-Katan never called him back to Sundari. It was always either Paz or Axe because Bo-Katan was too stubborn to do it herself. So Din hurried back, expecting, to be honest, the absolute worst.
But instead of the life or death situation Din had been expecting, he had been smacked over the head with the fact that he was engaged.
He had let a bounty go for this.
He had dropped Grogu off with Boba for this.
“The Amidala royal family is a mighty house. The Prince Regent carries the name with the same grace and regality as his mother once did,” the Armorer spoke with just as much patience as Bo-Katan, if not a little more so. She, at least, did not sound like she was speaking through gritted teeth. “It is a good match.”
Din clenched his jaw so hard he thought he heard a tooth crack.
“I don’t like it any more than you do,” Bo-Katan pinched the bridge of her nose and tilted her head back. Din could hear the sigh she was keeping back in her chest. “But whether you like it or not, that throne is yours. You may have let my Lady and I govern Mandalore in your name, but in the end you’re who our people answer to.”
Din glanced over Bo-Katan’s shoulder to the throne in question.
The lights mounted on the wall behind it were dimmed. The banner that bore the signet of Din’s clan was not yet hung.
The throne sat in silence, patiently waiting for Din to claim what was his by the Ancient Rites of the kings long since passed.
He never could stand to look at it for very long.
So many had sat upon that throne before him. Mandalore had risen to glory and fallen into ruin because of that throne. It held the lives of thousands and the blood of thousands more, had borne witness to countless deaths and murders all committed in the name of Mandalore and greed and love and every other excuse and feeling that could be said. It held so much history, so much guilt and regret, and it was Din’s.
He had held the title of Mand’alor for nearly a year now, and Din had never once sat upon that throne.
He was too frightened to.
“I don’t see what that has to do with me getting married.” He mumbled, tearing his eyes away from the dias the throne sat upon. He didn’t know how Bo-Katan could stand to look at it.
“Din.” Bo-Katan took in a deep breath and said his name again. “Din.”
“Bo.” Din said blakely.
“You’ve had a year to lose the Darksaber and you haven’t,” Bo-Katan ignored him. “The Court wants you to start doing your duties and making decisions instead of just delegating them to me.” She paused for a moment, weighting her words and deciding if they were worth saying or not. “They want you to be here. Not on Nevarro. Not on Tatooine. Not in some backwater crime ridden system on the edge of the Rim. They want you here. On Mandalore. And since you can’t seem to stay in one place for longer than two seconds, marriage seemed like the next best option because then at least someone will know where you are.”
Din bristled.
“Just–save it,” Bo-Katan cut him off before he could even open his mouth to argue. “We leave for Naboo tomorrow morning. You can argue with me about it then.”
She marched past Din, presumably to go find some pain suppressants for the headache Din always seemed to be giving her. The Armorer lingered for a moment longer, giving Din a heavy look before following after her wife and leaving Din alone in the throne room.
“Fuck,” Din said.