Chapter Text
The sleepy villages of Sorgan knew nothing of violence. Their lands had been peaceful for thousands of years, and as such, the farmers knew nothing of battle. Their peace however was shattered on the last day of the harvest, when Bandits came in through the narrow paths in the mountains that kept them secluded from the world. Their path of destruction left many dead and crops ruined.
Concerned about their chances of fighting back against these merciless intruders, the King of Sorgan reached out to a kingdom of warriors he knew of through grand tales told excitedly by merchants. He waited for a response for some time and every day that passed with no reply sent him into further despair.
To his shock and delight, he received a reply to his desperate plea for help. The ruler of the Mandalorians, a mysterious figure known as the Mand'alor, agreed to send his warriors to Sorgan in exchange for trade and an arranged marriage between them. Surprised but cornered, King Kuiil agreed.
That very month Mandalorians arrived in the villages to protect them throughout the winter. They kept the bandits at bay and saved enough of the harvest to prevent widespread starvation.
As soon as the first flower bloomed, Princess Omera was on her way to Mandalore.
“Your Highness, are you sure you do not wish to ride in the carriage?”
“I will do no such thing, Mandalorian Dune,” Omera repeated sternly, feeling enough strain in the opulent dress she was wearing. She was not one for such frivolities and was dying to remove the garments. “Is there somewhere we can stop for the evening? Somewhere I can remove the damned hoop skirt?”
Her old nursemaid Peli scoffed. “You are the one who insists on riding that horse of yours.”
“Enough! We will stop here for the evening!” Omera pulled her horse off the trail towards a large clearing. She ignored the protests from Mandalorian Dune and Peli, hopping down from her horse and continuing onwards into the woods.
“Your Highness, wait! You should not be alone; there could be bandits!”
“Stay back!” Rubbing her temples, Omera pressed onwards. She nearly broke into a sprint at the sound of a nearby babbling brook.
At the side of the brook, she came to a halt and plopped down onto a nearby log. “Finally! Some peace and quiet,” she muttered bitterly.
There was still another two weeks to their journey, but Omera hated how uncomfortable she was. The heavy skirts, bone crushing corsets and infernal hoops keeping her off balance weren’t her and she hated it.
She reached under her skirts and began undoing the laces to the metal hoop. After a bit of fumbling, she was able to get them undone and shimmy out of it. Before she could continue with the rest of her bejeweled ensemble, she heard a rustling sound.
Turning around frantically, she pulled out her hidden dagger and pointed it towards the darkening woods. “Who goes there? I demand you come out at once!”
Silence met her demand. But she didn’t lower her blade.
“Your Highness, there you are! Did you take off your undergarments? What will you do if those warriors see–why are you holding a blade up?” Peli looked around in concern.
“Nothing, I just heard a noise. Must’ve been a small animal,” Omera answered, sheathing the blade. “Where’s Fennec?”
“She’s preparing your tent. Before you say anything, I know you could have done it yourself.” Peli picked up the hoop skirt and sighed. She glanced back to the entourage of Mandalorians and their entourage. “Your Highness, may I speak freely?”
“Go ahead, Peli.” Omera answered offhandedly, pulling the numerous pins out of her hair. The mass of long dark hair curtained her face momentarily before she shoved it back. “How many pins need to be stabbed into my head for one updo?”
“I understand that you are uncomfortable with this. But Sorgan is seen as a poor kingdom by most outsiders and your father the King is certain the Mandalorians agree.”
“He does not know that for certain. Have they treated us in any way that would imply they think us nothing but backwards farmers?”
“Not yet, but–”
“It is not our way to wear such impractical clothing! We are farmers, vassals of the land first,” Omera argued, clenching the pins in her hands. It stung, but she paid it no mind. “I look like a fool.”
Peli looked sympathetic. “Your Highness, I have always been honest with you, even at the risk of hurting you. The treaty is very new and fragile. Its’ terms have not been fully met.”
“What are you saying, Peli?”
“I’m saying he could change his mind. Fennec has heard whispers that the Manda’lor is a high value bachelor. There are richer kingdoms who would suit his requests better. Many richer, well connected ladies have set their eyes on him.”
Omera flinched and wrapped her arms around herself. “Can I not just be who I am to the Manda’lor?”
“I wish it were so simple, your Highness. Let us head back to the others, no?”
The princess sighed, but linked arms with her old nursemaid. “I’m sorry for my outburst.”
“Think nothing of it,” the older woman said warmly.
They headed out of the woods together, with Princess Omera giving the area a final glance. Once they rejoined with the others, a figure in silver beskar armor stepped out from his hiding spot, helmet covered head tilting to one side.
Mand'alor Din Djarin was conflicted. He had agreed to the terms sent by the Sorgan King because it benefited his people. Nothing more. The decision to offer an arranged marriage was not an easy one for him, but it would fix a lot of issues he was facing. His advisors constantly pushed potential partners onto him, and one could only take so much prodding. The Sorgan King’s agreement to his terms solved most of his issues except for one.
How would his intended react to her new citizens?
While the Mandalorians were famous fighters and defenders of justice, not much else was known about their secretive culture. Their Creed was a strong one, and most never removed the helmet that adorned their heads since childhood. While not frowned upon or responded to with banishment in this current age, most kept it on simply due to comfort and faith. But this was not too well known fact. Theirs was a standoffish way, he secretly believed, and a tender hearted individual would not do well.
His solution to this was to join the entourage traveling from Sorgan to Mandalore and escort the princess the remainder of the way. In addition to, well, spying on her. Not the most mature solution, but no matter.
The princess’ entourage was set to join up with a larger convoy at the halfway mark between the kingdoms. He left his kingdom in the capable hands of his friend Advisor Fett and journeyed alone. Once he found the convoy, curiosity got the better of him and he traveled towards Sorgan , excusing that he would see how far away they were.
He’d been resting by the brook’s edge when a figure in dark pink appeared through the foliage. Quickly disappearing into the shadows, the Manda’alor watched in amusement as the woman grumbled. He looked away respectfully when she began to remove her skirts.
When shifting his weight, he’d made enough noise to alert her. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her beautiful brown eyes glaring menacingly into the unknown woods. For a second, he feared he’d been spotted, only for an older woman to appear and distract the fiery woman.
His armor would make too much noise if he tried to give them the privacy they deserved. His heart pounded as he listened to their conversation; hands clenched as the older woman spoke of other kingdoms, other ladies. He felt uneasy at the visible sign of the princess’ insecurity.
She wasn’t some stuck up spoiled girl. She was older, closer to his age than he thought. Good, that solved one worry. But her age did not take away from her beauty. His cheeks burned at the thought.
Omera. That was her name.
“Omera…” Din said, liking the way it sounded on his lips. He watched her for a few more hours, perched up in the trees. She was in better spirits, chatting and laughing with her ladies and his warriors. She sipped wine, sang a few folk songs, and danced around the fire with a dark haired woman. He left to rejoin the others once she entered her tent to rest.
“The convoy from Mandalore will be joining us today,” Mandalorian Dune stated. “I insist that your Highness sits in the carriage. At least for the initial meeting with them.”
Biting back a retort, Omera nodded. “Thank you; we’ll be out shortly. Fennec, can you pull out a simpler gown? I have bruises from those wretched undergarments you insist on.”
Lady Shand gave her a sympathetic look. “I’ll bring out your favorite dress.”
She gave her friend a grateful smile. The scoop neck teal gown was fitted at the top but loosened past her bust line, the skirt light and flowy, allowing her the ability to carry her dagger and a small blaster on her ankle. The large balloon sleeves ended at her elbows and allowed her more movement. Fennec wrapped a gold braided sash under her chest and tied it into a large bow. Omera adjusted herself, sending her friend a half hearted glare. “Since when do my breasts need to be seen across the land?”
Fennec scoffed as she adorned Omera’s head with a circlet and short veil and handed her short white gloves. “Since your marriage was arranged. All the Mandalorians wear helmets; how are you going to recognize the king of them?”
That had been an alarming thought on Omera’s mind as well, but she didn’t let it show on her face.
“That’s enough, Fennec. She’s stressed as is,” Peli remarked. “Alright, to the carriage with you two! We’ve got to get a move on.”
“Yes, can’t keep her knight in shining beskar waiting,” Fennec teased, getting an elbow from a blushing Omera.
The campsite was soon broken down and off they went. Mandalorian Dune kept her horse alongside the princess’ carriage.
She watched in amusement as the curtain covered window twitched every two minutes or so before finally being yanked open. She’s a feisty one. Djarin will have his hands full, she thought. She couldn’t wait to see her long time friend awkwardly handle the spit fire. It would make for good entertainment.
Up ahead, the leading Mandalorian caught sight of the waiting convoy. He signaled back to her and she nodded. Reaching over, she tapped on the window of the carriage.
The princess opened the latch and asked, “Is everything alright?”
She nodded and said, “The convoy is up ahead. We will join them shortly.”
“Oh, okay. Thank you for the update,” Omera replied back. “Would you like some water?”
Mandalorian Dune shook her head, pointing to the helmet. Omera blushed and stammered out, “Of course, I-I apologize.”
“It’s an honest mistake. They will happen as you adjust to us.”
Adjust to us. That’s right. I’m adjusting to them, not the other way around, Omera thought wistfully. Giving the Mandalorian another thanks and apology, she closed the window and pulled the curtain shut.
Peli looked up from her needlework. “I thought you wanted to see out.”
“Later,” Omera replied solemnly.
Fennec looked at her friend intently but said nothing, returning to her book. It wasn’t like the princess to grow so quiet, but she knew it best to leave her to her musings. She’d share them when she was ready.
The carriage came to a halt and Mandalorian Dune opened the door. Peli and Fennec moved to climb out first, but Omera stopped them.
Peli huffed. “It is proper protocol–”
“In Sorgan,” Omera interrupted. “I won’t hear another word about it, Peli.”
She took Dune’s hand and stepped down carefully from the carriage. Blinking to adjust to the bright sunlight, she turned to the group of warriors conversing with the new arrivals.
Mandalorian Dune scanned the new group. She caught sight of bright silver armor hidden under a cloak and smirked behind her mask. He’s so predictable it’s almost embarrassing.
Don’t trip over your hem, don’t trip over your hem, Omera thought as she walked towards the group with a smile. Peli handed her a parasol and she took it gratefully. She walked a little faster to avoid the older woman complain about another broken protocol.
“This is her Highness, Princess Omera of Sorgan,” Mandalorian Dune announced bluntly.
“Good morning,” Omera greeted diplomatically. She hid her nerves behind a smile.
There were fifteen of the convoy, each armed heavily. Their armor was darker in color, worn but clean and polished.
At her greeting they all kneel and Omera stepped back, eyes widening. She looked at Mandalorian Dune in confusion.
“You are to be their ruler,” the warrior explained.
Her gloved hands tightened around the parasol and her heart pounds in her chest. “Please rise,” she says to the kneeling group. “I am only your ruler’s intended.”
“Princess,” Fennec starts nervously but Omera shakes her head.
“No. I am not worthy yet of such a show of loyalty.” Omera pressed, staring at the ground.
“Your Highness, this is the Way,” Mandalorian Dune insisted.
“The Mand'alor could still change his mind,” the princess returned, her tone matter of fact. She curtsied to the Mandalorians’ surprise. “Please rise.”
The Mandalorians whispered and looked at each other before they hesitantly rose. Omera smiled and said, “Thank you. Shall we rest for lunch?”
Dune attempted to protest, but someone else spoke first.
“There is a shaded clearing around the bend.” The Mandalorian that spoke stepped forward and gave a slight bow. He wore a cloak over his armor and he had a Andan rifle strapped to his back.
“You heard the man. Move it,” Mandalorian Dune ordered.
“We’ll make it quick; it’s best to be at the next point before dark.” His modulated voice was clear and welcoming, shoulders squared with confidence. This must be the convoy’s leader, Omera thought. He seems nice enough.
“Which way?” She asked.
He turned and pointed, only to watch as she walked past him. Looking back at her ladies, the dark haired one smirked while the older one sighed. Quickly catching up with her, Din said, “Your Highness, don’t you want to get in your carriage?”
She threw an irritated glare at him and continued forward. “No.”
Din was thrown off by her sharp response. He looked at Cara, but his old friend merely shook her head. He’d get no help from her, it seemed. “It’s safer for you in there.”
“Thank you for your concern.” With that simple response, she continued at a faster pace.
“You shouldn’t be without an escort,” he continued, easily keeping up. To be fair, he was in sturdy boots while she was in what looked like satin slippers. “It’s quite a distance to walk.”
“It’s not such a distance that one cannot manage on foot. I’m halfway there already and you are escorting me, are you not? What did you say your name was?”
Din blinked and looked down at the woman. She was…something else. “I didn’t.”
Princess Omera smiled up at him, but he had a feeling she was cursing him in her head. The smile wasn’t like the ones he’d witnessed last night. Those were carefree and happy, if a bit nervous. This one was wooden and forced. He wanted to put one of those carefree smiles on her face for some reason. “You can call me Mando.”
“Mando?” She parroted with amusement. “Why do I get the feeling that’s not your real name?”
“It’s a nickname we get called. Names can be…personal.”
Her large brown eyes showed understanding when she glanced back up at him. “Mando it is, then. How long have you been in service to the Mand'alor?”
He could hear Cara snort from a short distance behind them and he shot her a dirty look. “My whole life.”
“Do you know him personally?” Her tone changed and he didn’t know quite what to make of that.
“...Like the back of my own hand.”
That confused Omera, but she assumed it was Mandalorian slang for something. She stopped suddenly and he did as well, his helmet tilting quizzically. The parasol settled on her shoulder as she asked excitedly, “Can you tell me about him?”
Realizing the trap he was caught in, Din could only nod in agreement. At least she gave him a real smile in return. He ignored the strange fluttering his heart did at the sight.
He should’ve stayed in Mandalore. He should’ve waited to meet her there.
Princess Omera was full of questions. Of course she was. As soon as they got to the shaded clearing, she folded up her parasol and sat down on a fallen log. She patted the seat next to her but he insisted on standing instead. So she stood.
After a staring match, they both sat down and she interrogated him until it was time to get back on the road again. Her ladies nearly manhandled her back into the carriage, and the princess only relented when he assured her he’d stay next to them. He was relieved when the window curtain stayed closed.
They arrived in the small village Cara vetted before the journey right before sunset. The innkeeper showed them all to their rooms (insisting on Omera being served in her room - to her dismay) before announcing that dinner was ready to be served.
“So, what do you think?” Cara asked, stirring her bowl of krill stew.
The dining room was sealed and two guards posted so the Mandalorians could unmask and eat in privacy. Din looked away from the fireplace and asked, “About?”
“Your intended. She’s the reason you snuck out and joined us, isn’t it?”
The others laughed, unconcerned with their leader’s presence. They knew on sight who the Manda’lor was but it didn’t matter to them. They had a job to do and that was it. Din shook his head and returned his gaze to the crackling fire. “There’s nothing to think about.”
“Nothing? You don’t think she’s charming or beautiful? Wow, you’re a bigger bore than I thought,” Cara teased.
“She’s very polite,” noted Mandalorian Karga, setting down his empty bowl. “She always greets me when she sees me. When Linex cut his hand, she treated and bandaged him up. I haven’t heard anyone say a negative thing about her.”
“And you won’t,” Din said. “Remember, she is to be my wife.”
Cara and Greef shared a look with each other. Their leader was a man of few words and even they hadn’t seen his face. Djarin took the Creed more seriously than most.
“What I’m trying to say is, perhaps it would be wise to inform her of who you are before this continues,” Mandalorian Karga suggested. “I see Princess Omera as someone who would not take deceit well.”
Din knew his friend was right. He needed to tell her who he was. But not just yet. She would become guarded once he revealed the truth, and that was something he selfishly wanted to hold off from. At least for a few days. “I’ll go check on the horses.”
“I’ll have your dinner brought to your room,” Cara called out after him, watching their fearless leader head out. “He’s hopeless.”
Greef said nothing, merely refilling their drinks.
Din was on his way back to the inn from the stables when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He was met with a peculiar sight. A window opened on the second floor and Princess Omera stuck her head out, looking around. He stepped back into the shadows casted off of the stables and watched.
After making sure no one was around, Omera sat on the window sill and swung her legs over.
He almost ran out right then and there. What in the worlds was she thinking?
With a final glance back in the room, she leapt down. She landed on a stack of nearby crates and hopped down from there to the ground. With a final check of the area, she picked up the front of her skirts and headed into the woods.
Din couldn’t believe his eyes. Did she have a death wish? Where were her ladies? With more questions than answers, he followed the Sorganian princess into the dark forest.
She moved swiftly, agile in the dark, avoiding trees and rocks alike. She stopped a couple of times, looking behind her. But onwards she continued. He could see her shoulders relax as she came upon a large tree.
It was twice the height of the inn, countless branches outstretched around it with bright red blooms all over. He stared in awe, taking in the magnificence. A tree centuries old was not a sight one often sees.
His attention was recaptured by the princess when she reached and pulled herself onto one of the tall branches. She balanced herself down to the trunk and climbed up a few more branches before sitting and bringing her knees to her chest. She smiled, resting her head against the trunk as she star gazed.
Her veil was gone, Din noted. Her hair was loose around her, arms and neck free of any jewelry, her feet bare. She was still in the teal dress from earlier, but the golden sash that adorned it before was gone.
Suddenly, he felt awkward at seeing her in such a vulnerable state. This was beyond intrusive, in a way different from when he’d seen her at the babbling brook. There she’d caught him by surprise, but he followed her out here.
Better me than someone else, Din reassured himself. There could be someone with ill intentions who could have followed her.
“You can show yourself. It must be uncomfortable in that briar bush,” Omera called out. She turned her head and looked down towards the tree line. “I know you’re out there so let’s not pretend otherwise.”
Din felt his neck flush with embarrassment at her words. Foundlings weren’t found as easily as he just was. Clearing his throat, he adjusted his cloak and stepped out into the light of the full moon.
Omera smiled. “I’d like to say I’m surprised, but that would be a lie.”
He walked towards the tree. There was a way to salvage his pride, albeit a slim one. “Return to the inn, princess.”
“You seem very good at that.”
Don’t lose your temper. “What would that be?”
“Giving orders. I can do as I please, Sir Mando,” Omera returned smoothly. She leaned her head back against the tree and closed her eyes.
Her eyes sprung open at the sound of branches creaking. Looking down, she saw her own reflection in the visor of the stubborn Mandalorian. Glaring at him seemed to have no effect; not that she could see if it did.
Din settled on the branch right next to her. He crossed his legs and kept a hand on his holstered blaster, just in case. He stared up in the direction she looked and had to admit the night sky was beautiful.
“Are all Mandalorians as stubborn as you?”
He let out a chuckle, surprising himself and Omera. Her eyes flickered to him before returning to the stars. But she smiled. A soft one, but not a wooden one.
Just her smile caused Din to be tongue tied, to fumble over what to say to her simple question. He was not used to conversing; Advisor Fett and the others were used to his ways and any foreigners were often too intimidated to complain about it. But she wasn’t.
“I like how quiet it is here,” Omera stated, ignoring the lack of response to her question. When he stayed quiet, she continued. “The fanfare of everything is very–”
“Loud,” he finished.
She nodded and let out a deep sigh. “I apologize for being so rude.”
Say something back, Din, she’s waiting! “You shouldn’t sneak out.”
Not that, you idiot!
Omera bristled before her shoulders slouched. “You’re right. I just wanted some time for myself. There’s something about having everyone’s eyes watching your every move that makes me queasy. And I doubt I’ll be able to get a view like this in Mandalore.”
His stomach dropped at the sadness in her voice. Din cleared his tight throat and rasped out, “Not quite like this, but just as beautiful.”
“Oh?” She mused, turning to him with a soft smile. “Do you know some secret spots, Mando?”
He flinched at the nickname. That’s right. She doesn’t know who you are. You’re just a Mandalorian guard who’s in danger of fraternization charges.
The irony that this was his intended even if she didn’t know wasn’t lost on him.
Standing up, Din held out a hand to the princess. “We need to return now.”
Omera stared at the outstretched hand, wondering what caused the air to become so chilly all of a sudden. “O-Of course.”
“Forgive my impertinence.” Before she could reply, Din lifted her up into his arms and carefully jumped down the branches to the ground.
They landed softly and he set her down on her feet before taking several steps back.
She huffed in annoyance. “I am not so hideous that you need to recoil away from me, Sir Mando.”
Din stared as she stomped off, confused. He was merely setting a respectable distance between the two!
He followed after her, dodging the branches that she let go right as he passed. Unlike earlier, the princess made no attempt to hide the amount of noise she was making. At this rate, she’d wake up the entire village.
Before he could suggest slowing down, Omera stumbled forward.
“Ah-”
Din caught her around the middle and steadied her. Omera turned in his arms, staring up at him and for a fleeting moment, he thought their eyes met. Except for your giant helmet, interrupted a voice that sounded suspiciously like Cara.
“Thank you,” Omera whispered. She didn’t know quite why, but it felt right in the moment.
“Were you injured?”
“No, I don’t think so.” With those words, he abruptly let her go and walked ahead.
I’m getting whiplash from his actions, she thought sourly. But she followed after him until they got to the tree line. It was then that she realized he was scanning the forest floor for anything she may trip on.
The realization caused a lump to form in her throat. The kindness this man showed her unexpectedly made her face warm. But it was completely inappropriate.
“I can go the rest of the way on my own,” she whispered, reaching out and placing a hand on Mando’s shoulder. “It would be bad if someone saw you near me.”
The heat from her hand threw him off, so he simply nodded to whatever it was she was saying.
“Thank you and goodnight,” she said, smiling at the visor before heading back to her room.
She was through the window by the time he recovered. Din put his hand over the part of his beskar she touched. It still tingled from her warmth.