Chapter Text
Mandalore was saved. Their home was saved.
They start settling rather quickly, bringing in supplies and food and slowly rebuilding the planet. Ships full of people land on the ruined surface, standing on the ramp and blinking in the sun, crying happy tears because they have a home again.
They live in the shattered remains of the old domed cities, paving roads and building homes just like they did on Nevarro. Foundlings run and laugh up and down the streets while the adults carry planks of wood and stone to build with, chatting and talking while they work.
The same streets Bo grew up on, that she walked and talked and lived her childhood on, were being repaired and built on for a whole new generation of Mandalorians.
Bo just watches numbly, standing off to the side, almost crying from the beauty of it all.
Bo walks through the streets, with the cracks in the roads having been already repaired and little tufts of grass pushing up and growing through the edges of the curb.
Talks of sovereign recognition of Mandalore and Senate hearings are in motion now. Birds have returned to the planet. She can hear their singing in the morning, a new and unfamiliar sound to her. But a nice one.
These days, she thinks back to the Great Forge often, how she lit the flames of the hearth in front of everyone on their first day on Mandalore.
The same forge that the Armorer had talked to Bo alone about on Nevarro, with that soft nostalgia in her voice.
In the quiet of that Nevarro forge, she shared with Bo a memory that she had spoken about with such quiet longing and wistfulness in her voice it made Bo's heart break. It was a side of her that she'd never seen.
"It was large and ornate, and the air rang with the music of a hundred hammers…"
And on Mandalore, the Armorer had entrusted Bo to relight that very same Forge, the thing that she cared about so much. She had given her that torch, looked at her right in the eyes, and allowed her to light it again for the first time in decades. She trusted her with that honor, and it meant more to Bo than any saber or title ever could.
Bo sees the Armorer less than before, with both of them busy with the planet's affairs.
There was lots to do. The Armorer spent nearly every day in the Forge, repairing and melting down armor that had been destroyed in the Siege. Bo, as the Manda'lor, is dragged off to boring legal missions and planetary matters. She hadn't realized how much work it was.
But between her busywork and her missions, she looks up, hears the ringing of metal coming from the Great Forge, and is reminded of the Armorer.
She can't get the memory out of her mind – of the two of them fighting in such perfect tandem during the Siege against the Imperials. They were like clockwork, with their hammers and their shields and their blasters, moving in total sync as they fought wave after wave. They left nothing but dented armor and crumbled bodies. She remembers looking behind her during a lull in the battle, and seeing the Armorer in midair slamming her charred hammers against every helmet and chestplate of the commandos, leaving nothing but sparks and smoke.
And Bo could do nothing but stare.
Bo should have never taken this mission.
It was supposed to be an easy job. Just scoping out a supposed Imperial remnant base on the far south side of the planet. She took her ship and her blaster and set off, expecting to be home for dinner.
It turned into a cycle of run-ins with packs of wild murderous Mastiffs, her ship's engines breaking down, and a slip down a ravine.
She's exhausted, injured, hungry, and her comm had taken too much water damage to send out any sort of signal beforehand. She finally lands her ship back on the outskirts of Sundari a full two days after she'd set out.
Before her ship's ramp even fully lowers, Bo is already limping down it and across the slick flats. She grits her teeth and squints through the dark street-- it's raining.
Great. Rain. The last thing she needs right now.
It pounds into the cobbles of the roads, running down every nook and board of every building and house. It slams down in freezing sheets, the blood from her stomach wound blending with the rain, washing it away in streams across her armor. Bo limps down and squints through the downpour. Her breath grows shallow with every step as she peers through the panes along the road. Every window in every house is darkened and shut.
She grits her teeth as a flash of pain sears across her stomach. Cursing, she presses a hand against her side, the adrenaline from her rocky landing finally wearing off as the pain truly seeps in.
Her hand comes away red and slick with blood. She laughs bitterly and is surprised at the hoarse voice that she hears. Kriff. What a week.
The ground sways under her feet as she presses her eyes shut and tries to think. Her cabin is all the way across the square, and the rain was already pooling in floods at the curbs and weighing down her armor. Already, she can feel herself bobbing in and out of consciousness. Whether it was from exhaustion or pain, she couldn't tell.
She tries to take another step in the direction of her cabin, but her legs shake and tremble at every move. Thunder booms in the distance as more rain slams down on her.
She tries to convince herself she can make it to her cabin, and takes another step in its direction. A coil of pain burns across her stomach in an agonizing feeling, and she doubles over in pained gasps. She can't make it across the street, let alone to her cabin halfway across town.
She looks up and down the row of houses. She wonders vaguely what people would think of their Manda'lor bleeding out on their doorstep at four in the morning. She glances down at her blood-soaked flightsuit and decides she doesn't actually care.
Bo mumbles something about dignity and spins around to the first doorway she sees, lifting a hand weakly and slamming it against the thick wooden door. She only has the energy to knock once.
She leans against the slick doorframe and waits an agonizingly long time, her entire abdomen screaming in pain while she clutches at it.
As much as she hated the idea of it, she needed help. She hopes she'd knocked on the door of someone nice.
The door swings open with a creak and she looks up from her hunched position to face the golden helmet of the Armorer.
Oh.
"Uhhg," Bo says intelligently, before promptly passing out.
The last thing she sees is the Armorer reaching out to catch her.
She dreams a lot that night.
More nightmares than anything else, though she'd grown used to them by now. This time, though, they are blurred and distant, and she doesn't remember them well.
When she wakes, for however long, her sluggish mind takes a moment to realize she's inside now, lying someplace comfy. And dry. And warm. But exhaustion weighs on her too easily and she drifts asleep again.
Every time she wakes, it is only for a moment, and her vision blurs together like watercolors. Bo sees nothing but warm dim lights and smoky-gray ceilings. When she's actually able to squint open her eyes one time, she catches sight of her helmet lying on a table next to her.
The pain from her stomach has dulled into a vague ache. Some thick blankets have been tucked around her, and a herbal smell has filled the air.
When she wakes one time, she catches a hazy silhouette from across the room. Their back is to Bo, hunched over a worktable of some sort. She focuses her eyes and tries to make out some features, catching the hazy outline of a brown hair tied down in a braid over a fur cloak.
Some sort of vague idea of who it might be almost forms in her mind before exhaustion takes her and she slips asleep yet again.
At one point, she opens her heavy eyelids and glances around the room from her lying position. She spotted rugs, some sofas, and a few lit lamps.
She tries to remember what had happened, something about rain and blood and a braid and a ramp. She vaguely recalls knocking on the door of some cabin in desperation, and seeing—
The Armorer.
She shoots up in an instant, which was a mistake. Red-hot pain sears across her stomach like a bullet, and she grimaces.
A muffled clatter of metal comes around from somewhere behind her, and a figure breezes over to her side.
Her eyes go wide and she fumbles with the blankets as the Armorer blinks into view. "Wh—? I don't—"
"Hush," the Armorer interrupts, gently pushing Bo by the shoulders to lie back down. She grabs a bundle of cloth and dabs at her wound, which had started bleeding again. With the Armorer's gloved hands so close to her, Bo can do nothing but lie there and hold her breath as her mind goes blank.
The Armorer just tilts her helmet at her curiously and continues. "Good to see you're awake. I assume this is all from your mission."
She nods.
The Armorer continues with the cloth for a while before she speaks up again. "How exactly did this happen?"
Bo turns her head and furrows her brows, trying to remember. "Massiff."
The Armorer shakes her head slightly at that and continues. "You don't have to go on these missions alone. Or at all, really. We have teams for this."
"Yes, actually, I do," she affirms. "I'm the Manda'lor."
At that, she starts to sit back up, but the Armorer just lays her back down again. She looks at Bo. "You don't have to be, not around me. You can just be."
Maybe it was Bo's exhaustion, or maybe it was the dim lighting and the way it reflected softly on the Armorer's helmet, or the way the light falling on her fur cloak made it almost seem to glow, but Bo suddenly realizes how much she'd missed talking to her these past few weeks.
No, not missed talking to her. Missed her.
But then Bo realizes how that sounds and pushes the thought from her mind immediately.
She just stares at her some more instead before realizing that the Armorer can see her staring, with her helmet being off, and instead shifts her gaze to the bandages.
"And here I thought you were just an armorer."
"I have many roles. An armorer, yes, but also a general, teacher, leader, counselor," she pauses, glancing up, "and a medic."
Bo slumps her head back down on her pillow. "I don't mean to be a bother to you like this. I didn't know you lived here," she confesses.
"Oh?" The Armorer grabs a spool of bandage and begins wrapping up her stomach wound, gently tearing off some cloth and laying it across her stomach. "Then where did you think I stayed?"
To be honest, Bo didn't really think the Armorer stayed anywhere but the Forge. It was the only place she really saw her, anyway. But right now she couldn't think of anything, period, with the Armorers hands working so gently with her injury.
"I don't know," Bo manages.
She huffs a quiet laugh. "I suppose you don't see me often enough to know."
Something sounding almost like hopefulness leaked through into her voice, then, but Bo convinces herself she's just delirious with exhaustion.
"We haven't spoken in a while," the Armorer continues, ripping some more gauze off a spool. "Though I wish we could have met again on better terms."
Bo just gives a dry laugh and turns her head to take in the room some more. It's late, judging by the sparse light coming in through the window. How long had she been asleep? Had the Armorer really been watching her this whole time? She tries not to think about it.
She spots the Armorer's infamous tools, the hammer and tongs, lying on a table. They are still bent and charred black from their use in the Siege. She looks at them in silent admiration. She remembers them sending out echoed, terrifying clangs as the Armorer swung and slammed them down against the Imperials without hesitation.
The Armorer's quiet modulated voice brings her back to the present. "Bo?"
"Hhm?"
The Armorer sets down the cloth and folds her hands. "Clearly, you still need rest."
"What?" Bo turns to face her. "No – No, I'm fine. I could go home right now." She tries to sit up again, but a wave of nausea hits her in return and she flops back down. She groans.
The Armorer just folds the cloth away and replies with a smile in her voice. "Stay. I'm asking you to. Just until the morning, so I can be sure you won't collapse on anyone else's doorstep tonight."
Bo feels her eyelids growing heavy. She tries to fight her exhaustion, but the warm blankets and warm lighting isn't helping. "You don't need to do this. We barely know each other."
"If only we could," the Armorer says absently, packing away the jars and spools into her medicine kit.
Huh. She tries to think of what to say to that. But through the grogginess of her mind, all she can think of is the first time she awoke here, half-conscious, and seeing the Armorers cloak and braid.
The Armorer stands and turns to leave. "Get some sleep."
"You're a brunette," Bo mumbles sleepily.
She sees the outline of the Armorer's golden helmet turning around, tilting curiously, before Bo's vision fades entirely and she falls asleep.
Bo wakes the next morning feeling infinitely better. She finds that more blankets and coverings had been tucked around her, likely by the Armorer while she slept. Something twists in Bo's heart at the thought of it.
She is prodding at her bandages when the Armorer comes back down and into the room.
"You can stay if you'd like," she says. "I have a breakfast laid out."
She almost says yes.
But she was Bo-Katan Kryze, she was the Manda'lor. She took care of herself.
So instead, Bo just takes her helmet, thanks her one last time, and leaves.
When she finally gets back to her cabin, she slumps onto her bed and puts a hand on her bandages, which had been so carefully wrapped. She sits there, with the sting of her wound still aching, and half-wished she'd stayed.
The nightly firepit is one tradition that always stays the same, whether they are on Nevarro or Mandalore.
Tonight is no exception, with a big, fiery blaze set up under the inky night sky. Stone benches around the pit had been built a week before, and now every seat was filled by laughing and talking Mandalorians. Some foundlings are running about, chasing each other with sticks that had been stacked up for fire fuel. The pyre crackles under the buzz of conversation. Nights are cold on Mandalore, but the fire keeps them all warm as they chat and tell stories from their week.
Bo sits on a bench a little ways off, only half-listening to the chatter. She had tore herself away from her dreary legal work to join the others here, at least for a little bit. She'd spent the whole day catching up paperwork she'd missed, with piles of datacards and reports filling the tables of her cabin.
It's not until she catches herself nodding off that she realizes she can't quite remember when the last time she'd slept was.
Every second just weighs more exhaustion on her. Her eyelids grow heavy and her mind slows. With the warm fire and the low hum of chatter, it's all too easy to fall asleep.
It's the soft touch of a hand on her shoulder that jolts Bo awake, and she instinctively springs off the bench and grips a hand to the blaster at her side.
It's much darker. And colder. The fire had mostly burned out, with just a few measly flames still crackling about. The benches are all empty.
"Bo?" comes a voice.
Bo whips around to the source, breathing heavily and realizing her hand is still hovering over her blaster. She quickly snaps her hands back at her side when realizes it's the Armorer standing next to her. Her golden helmet reflects the blazing fire in a beautiful, almost hypnotic way.
Jeez, Bo thought, when did I become such a sap?
The Armorer's helmet is tilted in concern. "What are you still doing here?" she asks quietly.
Bo looks around and realizes she's the only one left at the fire. She must have fallen asleep.
"Must have lost track of the time," she says. The Armorer's hand is still on her shoulder.
"You're working yourself too much."
"What?"
"I can see it. You're exhausted. You're going to burn out eventually."
"I'm okay," Bo says, running a hand through her hair. "I just fell asleep."
She doesn't sound convinced. "Go home. Try to get some rest."
Bo looks around, trying to get awake. "Right."
The Armorer just nods her head slowly. "Do you want me to walk you back home?"
Bo looks up at her and blinks blearily.
The Armorer takes it as an answer. "Come along," she says, squeezing Bo's shoulder.
Bo can't really argue. She gets up and follows the Armorer like a Loth-cat chasing after a butterfly.
It's just them on the streets, their boots tapping against the cobblestone as they walk side by side. A gentle night breeze whistles through the road.
"You're a good leader, Bo," the Armorer starts, "You take good care of your people. But you need to take care of yourself, too."
Did she always just call her ‘Bo'? She hadn't noticed.
"I just - I've just had a lot on my mind recently."
She looks up at her expectantly and tilts her helmet.
"Mandalore finally has a chance, with the Empire gone and all. I have a chance." She steadies her breath and goes on. "But, sometimes I wonder if it's all worth it. Mandalore, that is. All the death and the sacrifice in the siege. We won, but lost… so much."
The Armorer nods slowly before she answers. "We fought for Mandalore because you believed in us. Because of the love you have for the Mando'ade. For our home. That is what made it worth it."
She thinks about that. About what it means to do something for love. Guilt twangs in her gut. "No," Bo says, looking away.
"No?"
"I didn't do it for love."
She senses her confusion and continues. "I don't know what it means," Bo says, "to do something in the name of love. I don't think I ever have. Because I didn't save Mandalore for love. I didn't fight for love. I did it for revenge. I did it because they took our home from us. I did it out of anger. I didn't do it out of love."
The Armorer looks at her in silence, like she knows exactly what she means.
"Sometimes," Bo says, almost a whisper, like she's terrified to admit it, "I don't think I could ever feel something like that. Because I've only been fighting and killing since day one, and it's all I know how to do."
She stoops her head down as her eyes burn with tears. She doesn't know why she said that. Something about being with the Armorer made her fall apart and she couldn't understand why.
"That's not true."
And then she feels the Armorer's gloved hand intertwine with hers, and her mind goes blank.
All that guilt and regret burns up as she stares down at their intertwined hands.
They walk like that for a while, hand in hand, just taking comfort in each other's touch. She doesn't know what to say, or do, doesn't even know if she can, when the Armorer speaks up again.
"Did I ever tell you, Bo," she says quietly, slowly, "what had happened, when the Imperials first came to Nevarro?"
She shakes her head no.
The Armorer stares dead ahead. "Din could have told you," she starts, "but, then, no, I don't think he would…
"We were still living in Nevarro, in the sewers. Scraping by just to survive. Only one of us came up at a time to work. The foundlings… never got to play in the sunlight.
"But one day, we were called to fight. The Imperials were hunting after Grogu. We fought, and we revealed ourselves, to save the baby.
"But our victory did not last. Soon the Imperials were after us. They showed us no mercy.
"Some of us escaped. Most died.
"And I spent the next three months melting down the armor of our dead."
Bo just stares at her.
She didn't even know what to say. She had never told her that story – nobody had. This was a part of the Armorer she'd never seen. Bo has to remind herself to keep walking.
"I, I had no idea. That should have never happened."
"No," she agrees, leaning toward Bo, lightly squeezing her hand. "But it did. We didn't have to help, but we did. Many died, so that one could live. So that one could have a chance. That is love."
The way she looks, with the hushed voice she'd used when speaking and her visor reflecting every star from above, makes Bo hold her breath.
She'd just told her the story of her people dying. But she had turned it into a story of love and hope. For Bo.
Then the Armorer stops and looks ahead. They had arrived at Bo's cabin, a simple place with a wooden door and windows like all the other homes. She lets go of her hand and nods in the direction of the house.
"This is your cabin?"
"Uh-huh," Bo manages. She can't stop staring and doesn't know why.
"Alright then. No more working. Get some sleep."
"Okay," she breathes.
"Goodnight, Bo."
The Armorer nods curtly and turns to leave, walking down the road alone with just the silky moon reflecting on her armor. Bo stands in her doorway, frozen, unable to move for a while.
Eventually, she starts fumbling with her doorknob as her heart races. She did not deserve any of it. She did not deserve the Armorer's kind words or her soft touches or her gentle worry. And yet…
She leans against the door as she quickly closes it behind her, just trying to gather her thoughts and steady her racing heart.
She said it so simply, so easily— "That's not true."
The Armorer had taken her hand and grounded her in a moment where all she felt was shame and pain. The Armorer had just reassured her from an ache that's been plaguing her mind since, well, forever. She can't remember the last time she'd felt like that.
She glances over to the unfinished paperwork scattered on her desk, illuminated by her desk lamp, and debates finishing just a few more reports before she goes to sleep.
And then she looks down at her hand, the hand that the Armorer held, she thinks of what she had told her.
She shuts off the lamp and gathers herself for bed.
The next day, Din comes to visit. She hears word of a Naboo-class fighter landing in the sands, and sets out to greet him.
He stands just off the ramp of his ship, talking with the Armorer as he holds a squirming Grogu in his arms. As Bo draws near, they both look up from their conversation.
"Lady Kryze," the Armorer greets. She must have called her Lady Kryze a hundred times by now, but Bo's heart skips a beat every time anyway.
Then the Armorer turns back to Din. "I'll be at the forge if you need me. Welcome back, Din."
The Armorer gives a final nod to them both before leaving.
Bo turns to him and props a hand on her hip. "Didn't expect to see you both back on Mandalore so soon," she says with a smile. Grogu coos.
"Me neither. But I have news." He glances down. "Heard you lost a fight with a Massiff."
“How'd you–?"
"Armorer told me."
"Makes sense. What's the news?"
"I've heard of your legal work regarding Mandalore," Din says. "And I think I can help."
"Oh?"
"I know you've been looking into getting the New Republic to recognize Mandalore as a sovereign planet," he says. "and I've been making some talks."
"I didn't know you had friends in the New Republic," she says, crossing her arms.
"I do. A certain pair of Skywalkers. One of them's a senator." Grogu coos and looks up at him. "And lucky for you, there's a Senate dinner in a few weeks. They've invited you. They'd be interested in hearing your case for a New Republic-recognized Mandalore."
"Really?"
"If you're willing, that is."
"That'd be perfect," she says, tapping her foot a bit. "Too perfect. And I know these Coruscant types. What's the catch?"
"No catch. My deal is good, I promise you."
Huh. "But you know that fancy dinners and sucking up to Senators isn't really my thing."
"I do know. Which is why I'll be doing the talking."
"You're attending?"
"Uh-huh."
"So what's the point of me going?"
"Politics, really. They want to see you there, too, with you being the Manda'lor." He tilts his helmet. "And try to sucker a vote from you in the next re-election, probably."
She sighs. "Politics."
"Politics," he affirms.
He looks up at Great Forge in the distance, then hesitates. "Which is also why I'd be wondering if you could convince the Armorer to come, too."
"Her? What for?"
"I'm hoping she'll scare the Senators into helping us out."
"She has that effect," she agrees, glancing up at him and Grogu. She presses her lips together. "I'll talk to her about it."