Work Text:
The Armorer can almost be guaranteed to be found by looking towards the Great Forge. The reestablishment of their home, their city is a vast undertaking for which Bo-Katan is ever grateful the other woman has thrown her whole hearted devotion into. Her hammers sing with the work and no project is too large or too small.
Like their leader the Tribe is unafraid of any task which might arise with each new dawn that rises on Mandalore. At first an awkward tension had filled the desolate streets. With the major fighting done the different factions remembered their differences once more but in the end it was short lived. How can one criticize the helmet wearing ways of the Tribe when it was one of them that took over the organization of getting the kitchens up and running and in doing so ensuring all of them had a warm meal at dawn and dusk?
Bo-Katan’s mercenaries were more akin to herself, good at war and little else. They could maintain ships, calculate a strike, pilot a dozen types of stolen Imperial ships but they were clueless on how to get the plumbing back up and running.
The Tribe however, prone to moving and establishing the covert in secluded places, was good at surviving. Beneath the Armorer’s gloved hands they knew exactly what needed to be done first. Get the water systems back up and running, compile their resources, set up hunting and supply parties, and of course clean, secure, and set aside a space for the foundlings. In contrast the Nite Owls spent time stripping what they could from the remains of the old Imperial base.
Bo-Katan had glimpsed the firm guidance of the Armorer upon both the Tribe and Bo’s own crew. Reminders to stick together, to watch for unstable portions of the city and to share that information with others so no one walks into a bad situation. The foundlings in particular, while trusted with certain tasks such as cleaning rooms and helping in the kitchens, were sternly reminded not to wander beyond the established areas. After fighting off a small alamite raid they were more inclined to listen.
The desolate streets haunt Bo-Katan but ever so slowly life is returning, radiating out with the Great Forge at its center. Even now as she moves purposefully towards it, heat fills the vast space. Warmth that feels like homecoming and redemption embraces her bared skin. Tattered banners adorned with the Mythosaur hang throughout the hall and flutter beneath the ventilation. Mandalore belongs to the Mandalorians once again.
Bo-Katan smiles as she flags down one of the foundlings that moves back and forth on errands. The small red and orange clad helm turns to her with a bright, “Lady Kryze!”
She tries to get them to simply call her Bo-Katan but in this they would not be swayed. If the Armorer would not stop, why would they?
“Where is the Armorer, young one?” There is no point in asking if she is even there as there are only rare occasions since they set up that the other woman has left the forges.
“On the other side Lady Kryze!”
Her head dips in gratitude. “Thank you.” The child returns to their errand and scurries off. The box in their arms bounces with each bright step and clatters with what Bo assumes to be repair components.
The directions are easy enough to follow. Normally the space immediately around the Great Forge would be empty, set aside for special projects or ceremonies while other smaller forges did the day to day work of the city. For now the three burn bright, surrounded by well organized supplies and the endless supply of work to be done to make the city habitable one building at a time.
This is where she finds the Armorer. The gold of her helm gleams in the forge light and for a moment Bo-Katan pauses to watch as the woman checks the work of one of her volunteer helpers. It’s one of the Mandalorians that had been left behind during the Purge and now he’s smiling in restored armor and thick leather gloves. The Armorer nods and while Bo cannot catch the exact words she can pick up on the cadence of her voice as she speaks. She wonders then if the comfort of her voice extends to actual song. How would it feel to hear the strength of the Armorer’s voice ringing out through the halls?
Bo-Katan waits until the man has turned away, back to whatever small crafts he was doing, before moving forward. When she steps towards them Bo doesn't have to flag down this particular Mandalorian. No, the Armorer's helm is turned towards her now. Bo doesn't have to see the other woman's eyes to know they rest upon her and it encourages something warm within her and turns her lips into a small smile.
"Lady Kryze," the Armorer speaks with respect but never does her head bow, for which Bo-Katan is grateful. Out of all those now residing on Mandalore, the Armorer deserved her deep respect and honor. Not the other way around. All Bo-Katan had done was be the hand of war once more upon the planet. A honorable position, but not one she craved any longer.
Bo’s unclad head dips and when she lifts it she speaks. "I have a request for you, if you've the time and the capabilities." The work to keep her expression fairly neutral is difficult.
The Armorer tilts her head and Bo-Katan recognizes the movement now for what it always has been, an invitation to proceed. How funny it was to recognize the different way of speaking inherent to the Tribe. Each little head tilt conveys so much with so little.
"I have something I need you to look at. It will require venturing out of the perimeter so you will need your jetpack." The particular tilt that greets this request is one of curiosity.
"Now?"
Bo nods. "If you've the time."
Silence reigns for a moment before, "Allow me a moment to settle things and then I will join you at the exit."
Delight is a strange feeling to Bo-Katan but she isn't going to try and stop herself from feeling it. Her head dips. "Then I will wait for you."
Later when the skies are thundering above them and Mandalore rushing past below, Bo-Katan cannot help but roll as she flies. Muffled and barely there she can hear a faint laughter through the comm line from the Armorer as she does so. Fierce joy can be found in flight without combat and she is learning to grasp it with both hands. As she comes up level with the woman next to her she catches sight of the dip in the land betraying where she was leading them.
"This way!"
Neither of them lands with particular flourish and Bo-Katan lands first. She quickly turns to the Armorer and pulls her buy'ce from her head. A gloved hand lifts to run through her hair and then she decides.
"You should go first." The curious tilt appears once more and then the Armorer steps ahead, moving quietly down the well trod path. She pauses in stride to turn back.
"Do I need to worry about being attacked?"
Upon realizing she hadn't exactly told the other woman where they are going Bo-Katan shakes her head.
"No, there is nothing in there that could hurt you."
The Armorer must have heard of what those left behind had accomplished but Bo was hoping that she at least hadn't been out to see the results of their hard work. Her hopes prove to be fruitful when the Armorer strides into the cavern and stops immediately. The sound is ever so faint but Bo catches the inhalation of breath and imagines the Armorer feels the same awe she first did when laying eyes upon the sight. The Armorer's head turns as she looks over the greenery and Bo, who has seen it before and has even simply laid amidst the ferns and flowers to bask in the humid heat, watches her.
"...a naturally occurring…greenhouse.." The woman's words are soft and full of wonder as she steps forward. The path through the glade is well tended. Since settling Bo-Katan has begun learning of many of the ancient plants and their usages but that is not what is on her mind now. No, what she thinks of now is how the Armorer is moving forward and slipping--
Bo-Katan's brain stops.
The Armorer bends until she kneels amidst the foliage and one of her hands is bare. Then the other glove comes off. Both her hands are naked now and she presses them into the soil feeling the moss between her fingers. Bo wonders briefly if she should leave for the Armorer deserves as much as she does to bask in the peace.
"Is this all…native?"
The Armorer turns to look at her and sits back on her heels. The Nite Owl nods and moves closer cautiously as she speaks. "From my understanding many of these plants were long dormant from before the Civil wars or so I was told. Those left behind found what sprouted and cultivated them."
The head tilt that shows the Armorer is listening encourages Bo to take a step forward and continue talking. "It's where much of our food and many of our remedies have been coming from this last week. It is not enough to support us all but in time it could be." She sits then and breathes in the humid air. Who would have thought the glass created by the Empire would work to help rehabilitate their world. Who knew what would happen next? Could the greenery flourish once more over all of Mandalore?
Bo-katan has to stop herself from slipping into the thoughts of what could be and what might be and how they might be enacted. Too often too many plans wove themselves together in her mind till her thoughts trip over one another stumbling with the weight of what needed to be done. She lets herself become caught by other things, like the fact the Armorer's hands appear softer than she might have thought. Strong and calloused where she rubs finger and thumb together till the dirt falls away.
Bo-Katan forces her gaze away and ignores the faintest of flames that light her cheeks.
The Armorer takes in a ragged breath and tilts her head back in supplication to the weak sunlight that filters through from above.
“As a people we have suffered so much and faced many trials.” She speaks as ever in a calm cadence that soothes but the words still aggravate the many guilts Bo-Katan still bears. Her red hair sways and her posture sags only to go tense when a palm rests upon the bend in her elbow. The flight suit is thinner there than elsewhere and the weight and heat of the Armorer’s hand makes her catch her breath.
“Lady Kryze-“
“Bo-Katan, please,” she is quick to interrupt. “From you at least I want no title. You offered me a place and a purpose when I had none.”
The curious tilt returns once more and then slowly a nod. “Fine then,” she replies and Bo-Katan doesn’t want to think about the fondness she thinks she hears in the words. “Bo-Katan, you have my thanks. For this moment and for bringing us home. Our people have walked different paths all over the galaxy but our faith and our patience have brought us home.”
Our people rings in Bo-Katan’s ears and her face goes red before she simply drops it to rest upon the Armorer’s shoulder. The fur of the pelt is cleaner than she expects when it presses against her face.
“You’re ridiculous.” Bo says with a weak laugh and feels her friend, because surely they at least have to be that, startle against her. The earnestness of all the Tribe she understood now. Their poetic outlook on life could only come from the woman before her. Bo lets her eyes close as she breathes and feels something akin to relief suffuse her.
“You are—“
Her continued words cut off as her thought dies a quick and sudden death. Soft heat lays across her neck. A calloused palm is gentle against her skin and pushes at her hair.
“I am?” The Armorer’s voice questions and for the life of her Bo-Katan cannot remember what she had been saying prior.
“You are ridiculous.”
“I have been made aware but why I am not sure of.” Is the Armorer laughing at her?
“Maybe one day I will tell you.” She settles on. One day when she can look back on this moment of embarrassment and laugh at herself.
A thumb strokes against her neck and she shivers. A little tug prompts her to lift her head to find the beautiful golden helm looking down at her.
“Then for you, Bo-Katan, I will wait.” Her voice is husky with a promise that Bo knows is for the future. She can’t commit now, not while their hold on their world is tenuous and fragile. If that’s even what the Armorer is speaking of and not just the understanding of a growing desire in herself. She’d have to wait and see and—
Against her forehead the Armorer’s buy’ce is colder than her flushed face. An unsteady, gloved palm lifts of its own volition then to rest against the gold metal. She sucks in a haggard breath.
“Then I look forward to it.”