Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Urk. He hated this place already.

Din took another step, trying to avoid the foul smelling pools of unidentified liquid that pockmarked the floor of the cave he was wandering. His boot squelched in something that made his lips pull into a grimace, and he sighed loudly enough that his vocoder picked it up.

A hollow sort of chuckle echoed from nearby, coated in a metallic tinge. Boba.

The both of them were in the nitty gritty of the mission. Slavers had tried to escape into the vast, cavernous system on this planet. Din's been in dozens of caves. The claustrophobia never gets him though. Perks of growing up in a sewer, one might suppose. Still, it's disgusting down here.

Boba was never one to give up, though. Especially after seeing just how large the operation these hut’uuns were trying to get away with under Boba’s nose.

As with the last ten or twenty, or fifty, missions, Din was giving his all. He had to, to distract from the empty sort of pit in his chest. A suspiciously Grogu shaped pit. Giving him up to Skywalker and thinking that'd be the last he'd ever get to see of the child, well, it broke Din. He’s been taking on mission after mission after bounty in the hopes of wearing himself out enough to pass out and forget.

One can only cry themself to sleep so many times before it starts to really get old.

He knew he wasn't the child's buir and his mission with the kid was over so it really was best if he tried to distance himself from it all, but… ka'ra, drifting aimlessly from place to place in those first few weeks after he lost the kid was painful. He caught himself waking up panicked when he couldn't find Grogu nearby and missing him like a limb. He couldn't deny he'd gotten extremely attached. It was better for the kid that he was with someone of his kind. Someone who could help him. But kriff, if it didn't hurt like a shabuir. Everything ached all the time in a way no physical wound ever had.

Boba had taken his sorry self in and he and Fennec had tried to get him on his feet. He took on some bounties to get them off his back, and upon discovering that throwing yourself into work is a wonderful distraction, began to overwork himself to death. On top of this, the Darksaber was burning a hole in his belt. He couldn't get rid of it if he tried, and by the Manda, he tried .

He shook his head, willing the thoughts away. He had slavers to hunt.

Boba finished analyzing whatever it was he found on the far side of the tunnel, and he crossed back to Din’s side. “I reckon they’re just ahead. The blood is fresh, and there’s a lot of it. They won’t have gotten much farther.”

Din nods and unclips his blaster from his belt. “Lucky us. The tunnel seems to open into a cave up there.” He says, gesturing with his free hand. Din can practically feel displeasure radiate from Boba.

“We’re in the bottleneck.”

“Not easily defensible. The set-up leaves us vulnerable.” Din says, nodding in agreement. He pauses for a moment, thinking.

There are a dozen ways this can play out, but Din needs a pick-me-up today. “Guns blazing, then?”

Boba scoffs and bumps Din’s shoulder with his own, the sharp clear sound of beskar on beskar ringing for a second. “ Obviously .” He says, tone dry. “As if there was another option.”

Din smiles beneath his helmet. Boba was truly the best.

The mouth of the tunnel was just big enough for the two of them to burst through, vambraces up to protect their throats and blasters out and ready. The HUD in Din’s buy’ce immediately flares with four heat signatures. Easy.

Boba’s gunning the one trying to hide and Din’s got the one trying to run. They drop, one dead and the other screaming. The third slaver makes a stupid dash towards Boba and tries to take him hand to hand. The fourth slaver is moving towards Din.

Din tilts his head sharply, turning off the heat tracker to get a good look. Years of bounty hunting let him analyze the figure in a heartbeat.

Baseline human, likely. Broad but lacking any useful muscle. No weapons outwardly visible, but hidden knives or smaller items possible. Holding a- actually, what is that? Some kind of- no-

Din can’t even identify the thing. It’s not any weapon he’s ever seen. It looks like a glowing crystal?

The color is impossible to pin down, and Din doesn't realize his hand has faltered, blaster no longer aimed up as he stares at the thing, transfixed. It’s mesmerizing. It’s… it feels- When Grogu used jetii magics-

“Mando! Get down!” He hears Boba shout from across the cavern, just having dispatched the third slaver.

Din shakes his head, trying to snap out of the horrible pull of the object in the fourth slaver’s grip. He wants to grab it. He wants to listen to it. The Dha’kad vibrates beneath his cape, and if Din didn’t know better, he’d say it felt angry.

The slaver is still approaching, but slower now. His gait has a confident, cocky sort of air to it. “Yeah! What now, Kriffer?? That’s what you get for-” A blaster bolt rips through the slaver's chest. He has a split moment to clutch at his chest, look confused, and use his last bit of strength to fuck up Din’s day by throwing the unidentified thing directly at Din.

Boba shouts something that his vocoder distorts into nonsense before throwing himself at Din. He shoves Din away from the thing, but just a second too late, and the both of them tumble into a suddenly pitch dark void.

Din holds onto consciousness just long enough to think, ‘ well, that was cheesy ’, before he doesn’t think any longer. 

---

When Din awakes, it is surprisingly, (or maybe unsurprisingly) , to the sight of a cell.

One wouldn’t expect lowly slavers to have access to a facility like this. Manda, this operation must have been much larger than Boba saw. Three stone walls, mostly unmarred besides some slight scuffing, and a metal door. The door looks solid, but Din traces the hinges, handle, and other such weak points with his visor, cataloging and forming half a dozen escape plans on the spot. Captivity didn’t suit him well.

Besides, his covert taught him all sorts of escape maneuvers. …Though that was usually a ‘trial through fire’ type situation. Whatever. Din got used to being kidnapped by different clans in the covert and having to break his way out. It’s a useful skill and essential for a beroya. He can’t be upset about the trust issues it should’ve caused when that training is saving his life every couple of rotations. It’s not like it was malicious or anything. Just standard training. What can you do?

He rolls his shoulders, trying to loosen up a bit. He gives himself a cursory look over and finds the dha’kad still strapped to his belt. In fact, it seems as though none of his weapons have been confiscated. What an incredibly rookie mistake. How did these slavers get the drop on him and Boba? They’re hardly smart enough for anything of this scale!

He loads his spare whistling birds into the empty spaces on his vambrace and stands stiffly. Tilting his head, he wordlessly dials up the volume of sound filtering through his buy’ce. There’s a long moment of pause, but Din hears hardly any movement from the cells that must be on either side of him, so he thinks he’s in the clear.

He’d like to use one of his backup vibroblades on those weak looking door hinges, but he doesn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention from the noise of it. That leaves only the Dha’kad as an option.

Din reluctantly draws the hilt from his belt. Annoyingly, the blade seems to hum with excitement at being chosen for this mediocre task. Din almost feels bad for his animosity towards the thing.

Anyway, he presses the side of the hilt and the glowing black-white blade shoots out with a sharp sound. As always, it slices through the metal like it’s nothing. Din quickly withdraws the blade and tucks the hilt away, ignoring the disappointed sort of buzz, focusing instead on catching the thick metal of the door before it can hit the ground. It’s heavy , which, what was Din expecting, but regardless. A low grunt leaves him as he lowers the door to the cold ground, strained.

Straightening up and brushing imaginary dust from his gloves, he peeks out into the hall. Empty. Left and right, no guards, nothing. How very… thoughtful of his captors. Din wasn’t concerned about opposition, slavers are a cowardly bunch, but he still expected some form of fight. Someone to pull an alarm, at the very least. As it is, he steps out of his cell almost leisurely.

He’s got to find and rescue Boba, if the man hasn’t rescued himself already. This slaver cell was going down. 

---

The cells around him were empty. At least, through the tiny windows they appear empty. He leaves nothing to chance though.

He walks the path, leveraging a vibroblade into each door’s keypad before shouldering them open. Truly then he knows, each is empty.

The cell block he’s in is just one big square, and he ends up right where he started, a trail of busted open doors marking his path. None of the cells he checked had any form of life, or signs someone had been in them. Why would they keep Din and Boba on different levels? It was confusing, but then again, this whole day has been confusing.

At least Din knows this style of cell block though. The lifts will be in the security room, which should be in the center of the block. He’s analyzed so many floorplans in his time that assuming locations for rooms is almost child’s play. The cells are in a square formation, acting as the border around the security room. He circles the block, rounding to where he recalls seeing another door, one facing internally.

He busts this one open just as easily as the rest, blade up and hand resting on the hilt of the Dha’kad, just in case. He expects a slimy slaver, or, at worst, an imp. That is not who greets him.

The figure manning the security room is one of his own. A Mandalorian.

Clearly an untrained Mandalorian, as they hardly do more than startle and fumble for their weapon at his entrance. Had they even been watching the cams while he tore through the cell block?

Their armor is red and black, some gold on their vambraces, but otherwise a sect Din doesn’t recognize. He sees no crest, just an odd pattern of paint on their buy’ce. Not Jaig eyes, but similar in a way. They finally have hold on their blaster, and they lift it to point at him, hands visibly trembling.

“Who goes there??” They stutter out, and Din is not impressed. Who let this ad’ika man a prison block? Either a poor leader or a foolish one. Haran, they look hardly old enough to be holding that blaster.

“Udesii, Mando’ad!” He calls. They don’t take his advice and calm down.

Instead, they snarl at him that they can’t understand what he’s saying and take on a more aggressive stance. A Mandalorian who doesn’t know Mando’a? DIn needs to have words with their Goran and clan leader.

“I said calm down, Mandalorian.” Din says instead, trying to keep his voice calm and low. He strides forward, confident and loose. “Where is your clan leader? I need a word with them.” (Mostly about why their clan was working with/for slavers, but he has plenty of other questions too. Namely, why would they lock him up? He is of their people! Not to mention the Dha’kad on his belt…) Of course, the panicked Mando’ad just tenses as he gets close and fires off a shot.

Din shifts slightly so it only pings off his chest plate, scorching a mark into the floor as it rebounds. The Mando’ad promptly drops the blaster and throws his hands up in surrender, shoulders hunched in terror. Din discreetly peers around the room, wondering what could be making the Mando’ad act like this. Nothing stands out.

“D-Don’t hurt me!!” They whimper.

Din raises his own hands, mirroring the Mando’ad and showing his hands, devoid of weapons. “No one needs to get hurt. Just do as I say and I can guarantee your safety.” Whoever his kids clan was, Din really had to have some words. He hated throwing around his weight as current Mand’alor, but if he had to use the title, he’d rather it be for a good cause.

The Mando’ad is nodding frantically, so Din lowers his hands. “Good. Now, the question from earlier. Where is your clan leader?”

The Mando’ad’s shoulders droop. “I- I’m not sure? I don’t have one.”

Din blinks behind his visor, beyond dumbfounded. His hand goes to his blaster. “I thought you would comply. I don’t have time for games.” He says, warningly.

Their hands, still in the air, wave frantically. “I’m telling the truth!!” They squeak. “I don’t know what you even mean!! I- I work for Mand’alor Maul!! I was brought on with my brother by Mand’alor Pre Vizla, bu- but he was defeated in a challenge and now I work for Mand’alor Maul! Please I- I’m telling the truth!!” The sheer fervor in the Mando’ad’s voice convinces Din near immediately that this kid believes the nonsense they’re spouting.

“Udesii, verd. Calm down.” He repeats. “What can I call you?”

The verd, still oddly shaking, tells him. “My name is Amzo, he/him, baseline human, uhm… I think that's all...” He trails off, clearly waiting for Din to introduce himself aswell. Din is still a bit shocked still at the carelessness this verd showed just now. So much information.

Holy Manda, the first Mando’ad he meets in ages that isn’t a Nite Owl, and the poor guy is clearly not trained enough to be out of the covert.

“My creed doesn’t allow for me to reveal my name. You can call me Beroya. He and him should work.” The urge to launch into a lesson on what crucial information should not be revealed to a veritable stranger is strong, but he withholds his ‘buir instincts’, as Boba calls them. The Grogu shaped hole in his heart aches.

Amzo tilts his head in confusion at the proclamation of Din’s creed, but asks no question, for which Din is grateful.

“Go back to what you were saying before. The current Mand’alor is who?” Din says, getting straight to the meat of it.

“Mand’alor Maul. Darth Maul. He killed Pre Vizla and took the Darksaber. He- all of us, Death Watch, we work for him now.” A clan that changes loyalty so fast is not a trustworthy clan, and the name Death Watch rings a bell somewhere in his brain that makes him uneasy. Furthermore, didn’t Amzo say he had no clan? Manda, Din is so confused about everything that his brain hurts.

“Someone has lied to you, verd. Your clan, Death Watch, is deceiving you.” Din says, breezing past the mention of the Vizla house. “I have never heard of ‘Maul’. They cannot be Mand’alor.”

Amzo crosses his arms, almost petulantly. “I watched the challenge for the Darksaber. Maul is Mand’alor, and I and my comrades have to follow him now. Those are the laws.”

“I have never heard such laws.” Din argues.

“It’s true! Pre Vizla said so. Mandalorians have to follow the wielder of the Darksaber. That’s why my brother brought me to Death Watch.”

Din has a really sick, bad sort of feeling in his gut. “Okay. This is what you truly believe?” The verd nods. Din sighs, running a gloved hand down his buy’ce. He pulls the blocky hilt from his belt.

“Then you are to follow me, verd.” He states plainly, activating the blade.

Even with his buy’ce on, Amzo looks frozen in his tracks. Din would bet his jaw is dropped. Din puts the blade away.

“Now. I have a friend who is likely locked up in this compound. Lead me to him, answer my questions, and we will have no problems.” Amzo nods frantically and drops to his knees in a bow.

Ugh, Din hates being a ruling figure. 

---

The lift ride is the most uncomfortable ride Din’s ever had. He learns a lot, of course, but he feels Amzo’s eyes on him and hates the vibe of worship emanating from the verd.

At least the verd seems to have a finger on the pulse around here. Din is reeling from the information dumped on him.

(“Oh, yeah, no. I have no idea how you got here. No one was supposed to be contained on this level. Why was I here then? … I screwed up a mission.”

“There’s only one high profile-high risk prisoner right now. Probably your comrade. Three floors above us. I’ll take you to him.”

“Vizla? … I don't want to talk about it. Or Maul. Their leadership… I don’t know why my brother… Next question please.”

“Slavers? I don’t know what you mean. We’re at the capital. Which capital? How do you not know? We’re in Sundari, the Capital of Mandalore.”)

That last one threw Din for quite the curveball. He feels like he’s missing something massive. He’s doing a good job of forcing everything into a box and hiding it so he doesn’t start foaming at the mouth like an animal. He just has to find Boba.

If he can just find Boba, everything will make sense. Boba always knows what’s happening.

The lift is still sluggishly moving. “Soooo.” Amzo starts, rocking back on his heels. “What is a ve-ear-d?” He struggles over the pronunciation.

Din internally winces. “Verd. V-air-d. It’s Mando’a for soldier. Do you really not speak any Mando’a?”

Amzo, if it’s possible through the full armor, looks sheepish. “They don’t teach it anymore. That’s why Vizla and Maul overthrew the last ruler. Dutchess Sabine flipped Mandalore on its head.” Amzo looks sad in the moment, shown by the slump of his shoulders. “New Mandalore, she called it. Said we needed to move past our violent pasts and go ‘pacifist’.”

Din jolts where he stands, like the words physically impacted him. “Pacifist? Mandalorians and the word nonviolent should never exist in a sentence together. It is our culture to fight. Did she know of the Resol’nare?”

Amzo seems to feel vindicated by Din’s anger. He opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off.

Before any more words can be exchanged, the doors to the lift slide open, and Din and Amzo step into the security room of the most fortified level Din has seen in some time, heralded by Amzo’s guard code ringing through the room as his presence is confirmed. There are just two guards in here, but if typical patterns are to be believed, a third is likely roaming the halls outside the safety of the security room.

Both guards face their screens. One of them scoffs as Amzo and Din enter. Din gets the distinct impression they're rolling their eyes beneath their buy’ce.

“How’d you breach confinement?” They say, voice mostly joking, but with a real mocking edge beneath it.

The other turns in their chair and freezes at seeing Din. “Amzo? Did you know you were being followed by a Mando straight out of the old legends?” They murmur, voice low but body coiled tense.

The other Mando whirls around too, hand on their blaster. “Oh what the kriff .” Din hears them mutter.

“No, no guys don't worry!! This is Beroya! He’s here to see the prisoner.”

At Din’s silent head tilt, Amzo gulps and rewords. “He’s here to see his friend. The one in cell 5b.”

“Yeah that's great, Amzo, but we can't just- we can't just let some random Mando see the prisoner . You know that, right? Tell me you know that.” The Mando'ad on the left all but chokes out.

Amzo has the gall to look affronted, as if he hasn't known Din for all of thirty standard minutes. “He is not any Mando! This is the Mand’alor!” Amzo exclaims, gesturing at Din.

The two guards, in full armor, somehow manage to show just how absolutely flabbergasted they are through stance alone. Amzo wilts. “Beroya.” He whines. “Show them.”

Din sighs, but obliges like a tired father, fishing out the Dha’kad and flicking it to life. Lighting arcs from the glinting light blade, and Din somehow knows it's trying to show off some. He retracts the blade and tucks it away again, point made.

“There's been another challenge!? You somehow beat- you bested Maul in single combat??” Lefty's incredulous voice asks.

Righty winces. "Well, look at the guy. He looks capable." They murmur. Lefty simply sighs. 

Din shakes his head. “This ‘Maul’ is a deceiver. Whatever Dha’kad he claims to hold is false. How he managed this, I don't know. What I do know,” Din leans forward, crossing his arms over his chest, “What I do know, is my friend is on this level. I am to be led to him.” His tone is concrete, unwavering.

The guards offer no challenge, folding like flimsi and guiding him to the door.

The cells on this floor are not blocked off by archaic metal doors like the cells in Din’s block had been. Instead, each cell door is a wall of crackling energy that all but promises pain. Din doesn’t like it, but he continues to follow along.

Without turning his head too obviously, he eyes the contents of each cell as he passes. Almost all are empty, but Din catches sight of one or two containing… more Mandalorians. Din doesn’t know how he feels about that either. He catalogs the information, and notes he sees no food dishes, water, or bedding as well.

Din just needed to find Boba. take things one step at a time. All the inconsistencies itched at his brain.

Their party of four stops before turning the last corner. Righty shifts nervously on their feet. “We aren’t supposed to get too close. He’s got… Well, I’m sure you know.”

Din nods. Boba’s violent nature surely incited this rule. He was always a blast first, ask later type of man.

Din strides forward regardless, sure in his own safety. Amzo uses Din’s bulk like a shield, and follows sheepishly behind.

It’s obvious which cell is occupied, as the buzzing blue door feels almost… angry. And the wall around the door is scorched, likely from the effort of keeping its prisoner in.

Din steps up to the door, already prepared to vibroblade the keypad when he realizes it’s not an armored individual in the cell. His body goes tense with the sheer rage at the thought they may have stripped Boba of his armor. He may have to kill someone after all. 

Impulsively, he’s slashing into the keypad, severing the connections powering the door. Rationally, the rest of his mind works and recognizes that this robed, cloaked figure isn’t Boba at all.

The man in the cell looks just as shocked as Amzo sounds, and about as wary as Din suddenly is. How awkward.

Din fights the urge to shuffle nervously.

“You are not Boba.” He states, obviously.

“I am not.” The redheaded man says back plainly.

Chapter Text

---Last Chapter---

Impulsively, he’s slashing into the keypad, severing the connections powering the door. Rationally, the rest of his mind works and recognizes that this robed, cloaked figure isn’t Boba at all.

The man in the cell looks just as shocked as Amzo sounds, and about as wary as Din suddenly is. How awkward.

Din fights the urge to shuffle nervously.

“You are not Boba.” He states, obviously.

“I am not.” The redheaded man says back plainly.

---Present---

“Beroya!” Amzo all but shrieks, voice shaky. He has tucked himself to Din’s back, hiding from the, apparently, terrifying man in the now open cell. 

Din hushes him, not unkindly.

The other two guards loiter at the end of the hall, blasters drawn, also looking more scared than Din thinks they should be. He doesn't quite understand, but when three out of four react with fear, it probably means Din needs to be ready. At least he can hope for a good fight. He's got far too much energy in his body at the moment.

“Well.” Din says, sheathing his vibroblade to rest a hand on his blaster. “My mistake. Can I assume you won’t comply and move cells?” He tries not to sound too hopeful for a tussle.

The man nods solemnly to Din's question, though his mouth pulls slightly with a wry smirk. “You may assume such.”

Din nods, shifting lightly on his feet. The eager buzz of anticipation warms him. “Then, can I ask why you’re imprisoned?” Insight on the type of man he’s about to fight would be nice. Din is itching to serve up some good ol' justice.

The man shrugs casually. “Tried to rescue someone. Maul didn’t approve.” All the fight drains from Din, and he sighs. This doesn't seem like the right fight to pick. Unless there's more to the story?

“You hurt no innocents?” Din prods.

The bearded man frowns, brow furrowing. “No. Never.” Comes the vehement reply. The man looks nearly offended by Din's words.

Din hums thoughtfully. He already doesn't like this Maul guy. His imprisonment of innocents adds another point to Din's tally of reasons to dislike the imposter.

He angles his head to peer at Amzo. “You worked for Maul. Can you corroborate?”

Amzo doesn’t seem to miss the past tense Din uses. He brightens noticeably before responding. “I can confirm. He’s why I got placed on your level.” Amzo looks sheepish then. “I let him slip.” He says, confidence wavering slightly.

Din has a feeling this isn’t the truth, and it’s more likely that Amzo didn't ‘let’ this man do anything. The man in the cell looks as though he's holding back a grin, which confirms Din's thoughts that Amzo is trying to preserve his image. Still, he accepts the answer with another nod. 

Facing the man, he asks the main question circling his brain. “You can fight, and you don’t support this impo- Maul?”

The man’s face contorts in uncharacteristic anger. “I do not support him. Yes, I know how to fight.”

“Good. Get up. You’re with me.” Din says, offering an arm.

The man blinks, wide eyed, but clasps his hand around Din’s, hauling himself up. “This isn’t a trick?” His tone is dubious, and his hand rests at his hip like he has a weapon he’s ready to pull. There is nothing on his belt, so Din doesn’t tense.

“Not a trick.” Din drops his arm, and the man crosses his. “I am going to challenge Maul to single combat. I will want allies in case he attempts retaliation.” Maul seems to be an underhanded sort. A good beroya does not leave room for surprises.

“Well, kriff, why didn’t you just say so?” The man says, a sharp grin lighting up his features.

Din tilts his head in confusion. “I just did?”

“What? No- that’s not what I- You know what, never mind.”

Din shrugs, unbothered. He does a quick check on his weapons before pulling an extra vibroblade from beneath his left thigh plate. He passes the six inch blade to his newest ally. The man takes it hesitantly, face not showing the incredulousness radiating from him.

Din lets him be, busy peering down the hall from the corner of his visor. “Amzo. Are those guards loyal to Maul?” He asks, voice pitched low.

The two at the end of the hall haven’t moved. In fact, as soon as Din drew the cloaked man out, they seemed to panic and back up more.

“I don’t think so?” Amzo says helplessly.

Din sighs. Not a good enough answer. “They stay behind.” He decides.

These aren’t the worst odds he’s faced. Two allies, one with unknown skillsets and the other barely trusted with a blaster, facing against someone who defeated Pre Vizla. If Din knows anything about Vizlas it’s that they’re a tough bunch. His vod- No.

Din pointedly does not think about Paz. He has things handled.

It’ll have to be good enough. Din will make it good enough.

“Take me to Maul.” He says, striding towards the security room.

Amzo plasters himself to Din’s left side, trying to distance himself from the jovial redhead now following them.

“Whatever you say, Mando!” Said redhead calls, falling into step on his right.

“Beroya.” Din corrects.

“Obi-wan!” The man returns. Din nods his acknowledgement.

The two guards in the hall all but scramble into the security room. Din looks around, wondering what spooked them this time. Beside him, Obi-wan sports a wolfish grin. When he notes Din's gaze on him, the smile melts into the same placid expression as before. The man even shrugs, but his eyes say he knows something Din doesn't.

Din shakes his head. He is so lost. Re-focus.

---

This lift ride is long, and possibly more tense than the last one.

“I need everything you two have on Maul.” Din states, running a mental checklist of weapons and repositioning some of them for easier reach.

“Isn’t that, like, cheating?” Amzo says.

Din shakes his head. “It’s being prepared. I would be a dikut to not use my resources wisely.”

Obi-wan nods. “Smart, Beroya. Okay.” He claps his hands. "What do you know already?"

Din goes awkwardly silent. It seems this is answer enough, because Obi-wan sighs like the weight of the world has fallen on his shoulders.

His expression becomes grave. “Crash course, then."

Din frowns. There should be no crashing if all goes well. He nearly opens his mouth to say as such, but Obi-wan begins talking.

"Firstly, and arguably most importantly, Maul, Darth Maul, is a Sith.” Obi-wan’s voice is low, warning.

Din tilts his head, not comprehending.

A long pause follows this.

Obi-wan’s brow furrows. Din can't quite name the emotion on the redhead's face, but it sits wrong.

Amzo helpfully pipes up from the corner. “Sith? Like, the evil version of a Jedi?”

Din blinks.

Obi-wan opens his mouth to argue, but pauses when he looks at Din. Din doesn’t know why he looks so apprehensive. “Sort of.” He starts slowly.

No reaction from Din.

“Does… does that not bother you?” He asks, genuinely.

“Does what bother me? I have known Jetii. My chi-” Din cuts himself off, trailing into silence for a beat. “I know Jetii. I did not know they had different classifications, but it should be no issue if they fight similarly.” He finished firmly.

Obi-wan grimaces, but Din doesn’t know why. “You killed a lot of Jedi, then?” His voice is low and bitter.

Din radiates confusion. “No? I have sparred with them. Nothing more.”

Now it's Obi-wan's turn to be confused. “What about that whole Jedi vs. Mando thing? Aren't w- Aren’t you like, ancestral rivals?”

Din shrugs casually. “I don’t have time for rivals.” Simple, to the point. Din has the takedown of an imposter to plan.

Then, he goes silent. “Maul. If he is a Jetii-” Din ignores Obi-wan’s interjection of “Sith!!”, “-If he is a Jetii, then was he even Mandalorian before laying claim to the title of Mand’alor?”

Both Amzo and Obi-wan shake their heads. Amzo begins trying to explain, but Din doesn’t hear it.

His vision is red with sudden, intense rage. He knows at that moment that it’s not just his emotion, but somehow, the emotion emanating from the Dha’kad. It’s so overwhelming he’s lost to it. He focuses on breathing through it like his covert taught him. It is much harder than it has ever been for him to pass the emotion.

When the sounds of his blood pounding in his ears fades, all he hears is the creak of his gloved hands clenching into fists and his own harsh breaths echoing in his buy’ce. 

In the corner of his eye, Obi-wan is breathing hard too, a hand on his head like he’s in pain. To the other side, Amzo has a hand hovering over Din’s shoulder like he can’t decide if it’s crossing the line to try and comfort Din.

Din rolls his shoulders back and lays a hand on the boxy hilt of the Dha’kad, willing both of them to calm down. Now is not the time for this. He can freak out about this strange mental break later. Preferably when he has Boba’s insight and stern nature to kick him out of thinking random objects are influencing his mind.

“Darth Maul is an evil man, yes?”

Obi-wan, eyes squinted, still panting like he’s got the worst headache in the universe, nods slowly.

Din exhales sharply. “Then he will die today.” The solemn conviction in his voice causes Amzo to startle, but he quickly straightens up. Obi-wan grits his teeth and agrees.

It takes a long moment for the man to gather himself, but Obi-wan slowly begins to fill Din in on the rest of what he knows about this- this… Din can’t even call Maul dar’manda as he was never a Mandalorian! This aruetii– hut’uun!

He will be swiftly and soundly defeated.

As Din hears more about the man’s actions, his crimes, his resolve only grows. The Dha’kad hums with anticipation, and Din finds himself buzzing with the same feeling.

All of his worries and confusions and lost feelings can wait until Din takes care of this pressing issue. Ka’ra help him, this injustice against his people will not stand.

---

The winding palace halls Amzo leads him through are grand. Tall ceilings and artworks and tapestries. Din nearly falters at all the displays involving Mandalorian armor, scenes from battles he'd heard of as a foundling... No, he's getting distracted.

Din knows they're getting closer to the throne room because the walls become pockmarked periodically with blaster fire. Rubble from cracking walls, worn from a struggle of some sort, has been gathered in piles, pushed to the sides of the halls for convenience of travel.

Din hears chatter ahead and he all but drags his new allies into a side hall, tucking them into the shadows while a patrol passes. The stomp of boots fades and Din waves their party onward.

Soon enough, it’s Amzo waving them to a side hall, hand motions near frantic.

He leans in close, whispering low, voice tight. “The throne room is just down the hall. You’ll either have to convince those guards to let you by, or…”

Din sighs. “Or fight.” He finishes.

Amzo nods. “Maul is likely to be in the throne room, but no guarantees. He’s turned the whole thing into a base of operations. He… He likes parading that he’s Mand’alor.” Amzo finishes sheepishly.

This time, Din is prepared for the anger, and he lets it pass over him like a wave.

Obi-wan winces, faltering slightly, before he recovers.

Maybe Din should ask if he needs medical help. Prison food can’t be the easiest on the stomach. But he appears to be fine now. Din will have to come back to that.

For now, he nods and turns sharply. “Let’s get this over with.” He murmurs, almost too low for the vocoder in his buy’ce to pick up.

He turns on his heel and stomps out into the hall. He hears Obi-wan and Amzo follow as he stalks towards the guards at the door.

One of the guards flinches as he gets closer, and the other grips their blaster tighter as Din paces forward.

“W-What is your business here?” The rightmost guard barks once he's in range, hand on their blaster.

Din peers down at them, analyzing. “You will let me though.” He says decisively.

There’s a long pause, but the rightmost guard reaches for the door only to be stopped by the guard on the left.

“The kriff are you doing?? We can’t just allow that!” They bark.

Din turns his helmeted gaze on the left guard, and they seem to blanch. Hm. Not the type of person Din would chose as a guard for an important figure. They seem... fragile. Regardless.

“A-ah. Well…” They gather themself. “The Mand’alor has not permitted any visitors.”

The air drops a few degrees. Din is deathly still.

“Your Mand’alor is a liar and an aruetii. I am here to challenge him for his stolen title.” Din shifts forward, crossing his arms to display the whistling birds and flamethrower on his vambraces. “You will let me through.” He says again, putting the weight of a threat on each word.

The guards share glances, likely coming to a conclusion through personal comms. Then they hurriedly begin to open the large double doors, shifting nervously as Din strides through.

Amzo seems to gain confidence as he passes the door guards, even going so far as to wave cheekily. Obi-wan just flips his hood up.

The throne room is grand. Large, geometric windows span the walls, casting the room in cool blue. The symbol of the ka’rta beskar sits in the center of each design. The glass behind the throne is rich orange, all different shades, to make a complex sort of pattern.

Overall, its grandeur is understated. Rich, but not in your face. Din…

Din feels nearly untethered.

Amzo says this is Sundari, on Mandalore. Din didn’t want to believe him.

It’s impossible. But seeing this room now, everything feels far too real. This has to be some jetii trickery. That strange, captivating object the slaver had thrown at him and Boba… That had to be it.

Of course, Din can’t focus on that revelation now, can't unpack that yet. Priorities.

There’s a small army of standing guards on either side of the throne. On the throne lounges an unarmored Zabrack. This must be Maul.

A quick glance to Obi-wan confirms it, as the man looks to be hiding anger beneath an unphased mask. Din doesn't know how he can tell this, but he can.

What really draws Din’s eye is a pedestal nearby to the throne. What looks like an exact replica of the Dha’kad rests there. The Dha’kad on Din’s belt is startlingly quiet.

Din is well and truly confounded now. He begins to stride forward, his footsteps the only sound in the echoing room.

He eyes the Zabrack, who seems oddly confused as well. Honestly, at this point, does anyone know what’s going on? Din sure doesn’t. The Dha’kad on his belt, tucked under the cape, seems to buzz the closer they get to the other, impossibly present second Dha’kad. No wave of anger, though. Din had been braced.

“Who are you?” The Zabrack asks, head tilted condescendingly.

Oh yeah, Din does not like this guy. The air around him is slimy.

“Not important. You are an aruetii. You cannot hold the title of Mand’alor.” Din hisses. “Rightfully, I should confiscate the Dha’kad and you should be exiled. However, I want the pleasure of beating you in single combat.”

The Zabrack looks horribly amused, as if he doesn’t see Din as a challenge. Din would be offended, but that’s counterproductive. He doesn't have time for that. He will show his skill in battle.

The Mandalorians standing guard nearby seem to shift nervously. At least someone understands the weight of what’s going on.

“Maul.” 

"Darth Maul.” Amzo corrects lowly.

Din blinks. “Darth Maul. I challenge you to single combat for the Dha’kad and the title of Mand’alor. You cannot dismiss this challenge.”

Maul throws his head back in a cackle. Din stands, motionless as ever until the fit of laughter calms. He has no idea what is so funny, but he’ll allow this strange moment of what is surely hysterics.

He repeats himself again before the Zabrack can speak. “You are an aruetii. You cannot hold the title of Mand’alor. Prepare yourself as needed for the challenge.”

“Challenge?” The Zabrack says, all his teeth bared in a grin. “Challenge? What challenge could you possibly pose?” He says, stifling more of that unnecessary laughter. He doesn't even bother to sit up. Hm.

Din needs to take him down a peg. This guy is ridiculous.

“I genuinely do not care.” Din says, exasperation leaking through his vocoder despite his best effort.

The laughter ceases. “What-” The Zabrack doesn’t get another word out. Din has already drawn his blaster and fired a shot.

It’s clear he won't be taken seriously until he proves his prowess. Besides, the challenge is more of a formality, and he’s issued it properly. He loses no honor here. Taking advantage of an opponent's confusion was one of the first things his covert taught.

It was a useful lesson, and he ended up using surprise to his advantage more often than one might think.

The room erupts into noise, but hardly any movement. The watching Mandalorians step back, but all lean in to pay attention. Hands startle to blasters, but do not move beyond that.

Din quickly searches for his allies. Having good witnesses is crucial for a fight like this. Obi-wan and Amzo make themselves scarce, however, as the fight begins. Din will simply trust that they are there.

Darth Maul staggers to his feet, clutching his side, and finally steps off the throne. His face twists in anger. He draws something from his coat and a sharp sound fills the air as a red blade shoots from the smooth metal of the thing. On both sides.

A laser sword. The weapon of the Jetii. And not just one! Two of them!

Wait, then why did he even want a Dha’kad!? He has plenty of sword!!

“HOW DARE Y-” He began, voice raised in an enraged snarl.

Din cut him off once more with an attack. With the flick of a vambrace, half a dozen whistling birds shoot towards Darth Maul.

While the Zabrack swings at them with his laser swords or tries to use his Jetii magics to force them away without exploding them, Din holsters his blaster and pulls the beskar spear from his back.

He’s hardly had to advance at all this fight. He would love to get some hand to hand in, simply because he’s itching for a real fight, but it’s almost better if he proves how much stronger he is without taking a step forward. This Zabrack is a coward. He deserves to be humbled.

Maul hollers at his standing guard, snarling for them to attack Din.

Of course, these Mandalorians seem to understand they can’t. To interrupt a challenge for the Dha’kad, to interfere, would make them dar’manda. The few Mandalorians that do shift forward are quickly stopped by their comrades, as they should be. 

This, of course, only makes the Zabrack more aggressive. He’s pushed the whistling birds away, preventing the explosions with his Jetii magic osik. Shame. 

Nevertheless, it only takes one smooth motion for Din to hurl the spear forward.

Beskar in motion will always amaze Din. The spear all but sings through the air, moving far faster than one would expect the heavy metal to.

It hits Darth Maul with the force of a speeder, going straight through the Zabrack and pinning him through the throne at his back, laser sword flying from his hand. His body gives an involuntary jerk, impaled on the spear like a Nyork on a hook.

He weakly raises his head and glares at Din, lifting his hand as if to choke Din. His fingers curl in the air uselessly.

Din only cocks his head, not understanding. He’s way too far away from the Zabrak to be choked. Maybe it was meant to be intimidating?

Either way, Darth Maul falls limp not a moment later.

It was almost embarrassingly easy to kill the jetii. Din thought they were stronger, but oh well. He’s almost disappointed by the lack of excitement the fight gave him. Today is just not his day.

Din strides forward and takes the Dha’kad, clipping it beside his belt with the other. They both buzz up with happiness, humming joyfully.

Din contemplates it for a second before crossing the room to pick up the discarded laser sword. Maybe it’ll come in handy. He’s running out of room for sword hilts on his belt, but he manages to make it fit.

Facing the Mandalorians in the room, he clears his throat and rubs at the back of his neck nervously.

“So…” He starts, addressing the Mandalorians who stand in shocked silence before him. Before he gets more words out, they’re dropping to their knees in bows, still utterly silent. All but Amzo, who Din waves forward with a slightly frantic air. Even Obi-wan has dropped.

“Oh- uhm… That’s not necessary. On your feet.” He says, with what he hopes comes off as a dismissive nod.

The gathered Mandalorians scramble to their feet. Kriff they are eager for orders. Or maybe afraid? Din wouldn't think so, honestly.

Din notes Obi-wan is still downed, and he frowns. He gets back to addressing the Mandalorians first, setting Obi-wan on the back burner for this pressing issue.

“Now.” Din claps his hands in front of him, trying to hide his anxiety. Manda, what next? He thinks back to what Amzo told him.

Not all of these Mandalorians are good. Not all follow the Resol’nare, or know of it even. And with how quickly their loyalties change, DIn may not be able to rely on a single Mandalorian here.

Amzo though… Din feels no ill will from Amzo. The verd seems to have matured over the span of this excursion. It’s like responsibility made him toughen up.

Din gets an idea.

“Amzo! I’m instating you to Al’verde.” This is too easy.

The man gasps, though Din thinks only he hears from how quiet it is. “I- I’m honored Mand’alor Beroya.” He says, voice only cracking once.

Din nods, and claps a hand on Amzo’s back, turning to the gathered guards. “Amzo will select a few of you to assist him. And, uhm. He’ll decide who all of you remain here. If there are any disturbances or fights, they will be dealt with.” Din drops his tone as he says that last part, playing up the intimidation. “Questions?”

Not a single person moves.

Din quickly gives Amzo the rundown. No staunch supporters of Maul, no believers in unnecessary violence, if they don’t put children’s safety on the highest priority they’re out, etc. The basics. He also quickly makes sure Amzo can recite the Resol’nare, just to be safe.

There's so much to do Din feels like he needs to make a list. Haran, he is not cut out for this.

He steps away from the commotion to let Amzo begin his work. He only supervises long enough to see Amzo comm in three other Mando's. Cuffs are brought out, questions are asked, and the throne room slowly separates into groups. Those that tentatively get to stay, and those that require further interrogation. Amzo makes a call to start bringing more of the palace mandalorians to the throne room, and Din sighs.

He's got to prepare an announcement to the people of Sundari, get communications out to the wider galaxy that Mandalore has a new ruler, all those things he avoided when he first got the Dha’kad. He needs an aide or advisor or whatever the kriff leaders get to help lead. Kriff.

Even more than that, there’s Mandalorians held prisoner in this very palaces dungeons, Boba is still missing somewhere, and Din is still confused as to how he got where he is. This is so clearly Sundari, Mandalore capital.

If this is all some elaborate dream, Din is putting far too much effort into it.

He's got rules to lay down and there's probably some Maul loyalists trying to escape at this very moment. This is all not even touching on all the infrastructure changes he'll have to implement.

He's already got a headache.

He scans the room again, watching Amzo’s newly appointed, and apparently, capable team put down a struggle before it escalated. That's when his eyes find the hunched form of Obi-wan, still bowed on the ground on the far wall of the room.

Din wastes no time, kicking himself for not tending to that immediately after he noticed it, and crosses the room to Obi-Wan’s side.

---

Obi-wan staggers and falls to his knees. Beroya- kriffing Bounty Hunter- does effortlessly what any regular, sane, person should have struggled with. Obi-wan hadn't even gotten a chance to try and assist Beroya! The man had simply started and ended what should have been a horribly drawn out battle in moments. A Sith! The man named Bounty Hunter just killed a Sith.

Darth Maul, the one behind so much hurt and suffering and pain lies broken on the throne of the Mand’alor. In fact, it appears that the spear Beroya threw, (solid beskar, Obi-wan thinks,) has cracked into the stone of the throne, nearly splitting the solid rock that makes up the throne.

How did Obi-wan even get in this situation? How did everything turn on its head so completely?

Obi-Wan has never been so thankful he learned some basic Mando’a. He feels as though it will be very useful very soon.

As Darth Maul passes, the horrible weight of his presence collapsing into nothing, it’s like the skies open, and sunlight floods through. Some horrible mass of darkness all at once dissipated from the Force on this planet. How had Obi-wan not known that darkness was there?

It was like he was so used to the insidious block clogging the Force here that he couldn’t even comprehend the freedom of that block being gone. This must be because he's so close to the Darth Maul's sphere of influence. He's being affected so strongly.

His head is light, his chest is warm. He thinks he may cry from the sudden onset of joy. He could float off the ground with how unburdened he is. He gasps around the mass of the feeling, and yup, tears splatter the stone ground he’s hunched over. Where are shields when you need them? He's a Jedi Knight. Kriff.

There’s a commotion happening to his side, but Obi-wan pays it no mind, basking in the Force, a hand tangled helplessly in his own hair to try and keep him grounded.

What a turn of fate, that this happened. Obi-wan's outlook of things was so grim. What luck?? Or, (more likely), the will of the Force acting through Beroya.

Beroya, whose boots have just entered Obi-wan’s vision. Beroya, Mand’alor, the brand new ruler of a mass of people, crouches down in front of Obi-wan, exuding concern even through the thick wall of Force repellant beskar armor.

“Obi-wan?” He says, nearly hesitant. Cautious like a tooka.

Oh, Obi-wan could hug this man, bulk of sharp metal as he is. “Beroya.” He croaks.

“Yes.” The man says plainly. Obi-wan wants to laugh.

Beroya’s going to need help. From what he sees of the guy, he’s a traditional Mandalorian. He follows a creed, according to Amzo. He doesn’t seem to hate Jedi like so many Mandalorians did before Satine. He is going to struggle, fighting both Satine's influences on this world and the Republic's politics.

This, Beroya as the new ruler, could be a very good thing though.

Obi-wan feels as though he has to stay here. There’s a pull in his chest. Some massive shift is happening, and Obi-wan knows that Beroya has a piece in it.

Beroya is clearly a bit lost on his duties. Still, the idea that Beroya is just a random Mandalorian who holds his duty so close to his chest that he defeated a kriffing Sith simply for going against Mandalorian culture is so…

Well, it’s honestly unfathomable. Unfathomable, and respectable.

Obi-wan has the strange urge to pick Beroya’s brain, (not in the Jedi mind trick way), and see just what moves him. His motivations seem so easy to see, and they’re all so- so honest . He did what none of the other Mandalorians would do. Maybe what none of them could do.

“Are you… okay?” Beroya asks. He sounds uncomfortable, but he’s clearly trying. It's wildly endearing.

“Yes.” Obi-wan breathes. “We- we’ve got work to do.” He says, peering up from the ground under his hood with a shaky smile.

Beroya tilts his head understandingly and offers a hand. Obi-wan clasps their forearms together as he’s seen Mandalorians do, and Beroya nods approvingly, hefting him up.

“I’ll need all the help I can get.” Beroya murmurs.

Obi-wan chokes on a laugh. Just having a glimpse of the crowded chaos in the throne room is enough to make Obi-wan feel crazy. Kriffing hells. What an understatement.

Chapter Text

The palace has calmed. Somewhat. Well, not really. The fighting has calmed?

Din hasn’t slept in who knows how long. There’s always something to be done.

Amzo introduced him to a dozen-ish Mandos he put faith in, and Din did his own vetting before assigning roles. He’s got a proper team, or so Obi-wan informs him. Din is so thankful that Amzo is still leading the charge on that front. The idea of ruling a planet, just the three of them, was daunting.

Now, though, Din’s got people for everything. Two Mandalorians are carefully bringing prisoners up from the dungeons to serve trial, another few are organizing the palace kitchens and clearing more of the rubble, so on and so forth.

One enthusiastic Mando, identified after a bit as ‘Kebiin’, was assigned as his personal guard. Din… didn’t really let the man do his job, and Kebiin was reduced to an aide. He adapted well, and now Din had someone to help with his new schedule and responsibilities. All of the reading he's done has given him a nearly permanent headache. 

Din was, at the moment, the decision maker for too many things, and it was a lot .

His responsibilities before this were limited to catching bounties or completing supply runs. (And, of course, caring for Grogu. He can’t dwell on this now. Everything is far too much for that. If he falls into the same sad pit he's prone to... Din can't dwell.)

Din is not very surprised to find that 90% of the imprisoned Mandalorians were wrongfully detained. He tries to sit in on every trial, and asks Obi-wan to attend the ones he can’t. He can’t do wrong by his new people.

The Mandalorians brought before him always seem a bit surprised to see him, which just cements how poor the previous rulers did. Still, most are permitted to rejoin the ranks, and even given relatively high roles. (Din may be trying to make up for how poorly they were treated. He feels oddly sympathetic.)

The other groups, the groups that caused fights or tried to run, are a whole different problem.

Amzo and his team bring forth the palace guards they detained in their investigations for their trials and… Din is getting uncomfortably familiar with the type of followers Maul had.

While most Mandalorians around seem alright, if misguided or poorly taught, the sect brought to Din for trial set him on edge. Kebiin calls them ‘Death Watch’, and said they were loyalists to Pre Vizla, and Maul after Pre was killed.

When they come to him for trial, flanked by Din’s guards, it’s hard to listen to them. Din is thankful for his buy’ce, because the osik these dar’manda spout has his face twisted into disgust. They boast their crimes like achievements, lauding their lack of morals. They claim they’ll follow him faithfully, implying they aren’t afraid to do his ‘dirty work’.

It’s sickening.

Just as soon as Din has emptied the cell blocks beneath the palace he’s filling them up again. There’s more than enough evidence from these dar’manda alone to convict them, but Din can’t do this on his own. He instates a team that day to find victims and their families, to add them to a growing list of people to compensate or check on.

...The budget is an entirely different beast, and Din can’t look at it. He makes a new team of advisors for that too.

It’s only a few points checked off of a list of dozens and dozens, and even checking points off causes more points to be added. It’s hellish. And on top of that, Din hasn’t even announced he’s officially Mand’alor!

Rumors are spreading and there’s a pressing weight to get ahead of them. He feels like collapsing. He’s exhausted and he’s caught maybe three hours of sleep, all in breaks between trials and meetings with new teams and- and he’s just tired .

That’s why, when Obi-wan sidles up to him, holding a data-pad and looking apologetic, Din thunks his head against the wall. All it does is worsen his headache.

“I know.” Obi-wan says, sounding sorry. The smirk on his face, however, dampens the gesture. Din groans, but takes the data-pad from Obi-wan’s hands. Obi-wan gives him a sort-of condescending “There, there, Beroya…” and a pat on the pauldron, keen eyes twinkling.

Din focuses on the words scrolling by, head pounding, and winces, slumping further. Well, needs must. Looks like Din needs to do ‘politics’ now.

It’s announcement time.

---

The broadcast spreads through the wider galaxy like fire. Or a plague. Or some other horrible infectious thing that everyone gets and no one can get rid of. 

A fully armored Mandalorian stands at the balcony of the palace in Sundari, facing the inner courtyard, which is packed with the residents of Sundari.

Some wear their armor, in clear protest of Duchess Satine’s recent policies. There’s a clear divide there between self-proclaimed haat mando’ade, or ‘true’ Mandalorians, and Satine’s followers, the new Mandalorians. Which is why it’s startling that a Mandalorian in full armor has called the populous of Sundari here to address them. Furthermore, this Mandalorian is stocked to the brim with weapons, visible even to the cam-drones recording and broadcasting the address.

Duchess Satine made it clear that to wear armor was to fall in line with their war-mongering, violent history. To have so many weapons on display also? Kriffing hells.

More startling is the fact there is a Jedi to this Mandalorians right. A Jedi Knight, no less. His face is serene as the Mandalorian begins to speak.

The Mandalorian thanks them for being there. He says his name is ‘Beroya’, and that he defeated the last Mand’alor in single combat and has claimed the throne. There’s a commotion at this, to which Beroya looks confused.

An aide in blue armor scurries up and passes him a data-pad, and he nods, turning to speak to the crowds again. “I understand if this concerns some of you. To your knowledge, the last ruler was Duchess Satine. No, I did not fight Duchess Satine.”

More commotion, another data-pad of information. Some people think they hear an exhausted sigh through the mic, but that has to be wrong. Still, Beroya continues. “Unbeknownst to the wider public-” Beroya cuts off, glancing at the data-pad again. There’s a murmured, “kriff this”, and he pushes the data-pad away, obviously forgoing his lines.

“Listen! I’m sure you all are worried!” He calls. “I arrived here to find out that an imposter had claimed the throne. He was not a Mandalorian, but rather, a dar’jet- ah. Dar'manda. An evil man with evil abilities.”

The Jedi at Beroya’s side startles slightly, but doesn't lose the serene expression typical of a Jedi. Whatever Beroya had almost said would have been bad had it not been corrected. Still, the aide at his side looks anxious. Clearly, this Mandalorian should not be revealing so much. His honesty, however, is refreshing. News outlets will praise his transparency in the upcoming weeks.

Beroya does not falter otherwise, bulldozing on. “He assassinated Duchess Satine. I am sorry for your loss.” To his credit, he does sound apologetic as the crowd below gasps and volume crescendo. He doesn’t stop his speech, though. “I defeated the dar’manda in single combat and now lay my claim to the title of Mand’alor.”

With this, he fishes from his belt a hilt. Most armored Mandalorians in the crowd recognize it for what it is immediately, and among the still shouting crowd, there are more gasps. The blade ignites, and a hush falls over the people. He shows it off for only a moment before tucking it away.

“I know this is a lot of information. Trust me, it is a lot for me too. There are many changes to come.” He says. For a second, it seems as this is all he has to say, as he stands in silence for a long beat.

The Jedi at his shoulder taps his pauldron, and Beroya nods, standing straighter, snapping out of his moment. “This next week will be a period of mourning, for those that wish it. I have heard the Duchess was very important to many of you. Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la .” His voice is solemn as he recites the remembrance rite. “This is an uncertain time.”

Another pause. He suddenly seems more human. No longer an armored monolith, but a man. A weary man. “The palace will be open to you. Come with your questions. This is The Way.” He says with a nod, turning abruptly on a heel and sweeping back into the throne room. He gestures, and the Jedi and aide follow.

Tension sits heavy in the air before noise erupts from all over. 

---

The temple on Coruscant is in uproar.

Their missing Jedi General is at the right hand of a brand new, incredibly shiny Mandalorian in full beskar who has claimed the throne. The speech may have be short, but that doesn’t mean it is not a cause for extreme concern.

A Creedbound .

A Creedbound Mandalorian has taken over from a pacifist .

Sithspit .

Obi-wan seemed to recognize and be startled at the word dar’jet... Dar'jet what?? They get a translator on that quickly.

There’s hardly any information on this language, likely kept close to the culture it's from, but the Jedi archives are unparalleled in their enormity. From what they can piece together…

Oh. Is… Is this ‘Beroya’ claiming to have defeated a Sith in single-combat? That can't be right. And Obi-wan is- Well, no one knows why he's there or what he's doing but many can guess. He seems to calm for someone that's recently, allegedly, interacted with a Sith. And he was close to Satine, right? How is he appearing so calm and collected if she's died?

Something has to be going on. The Force is strangely silent, which can only be a bad sign. No comms seem to get through to Obi-wan. He never seemed the type to go rogue, so there has to be some other, much more sinister explanation… Maybe it's time to call a council meeting.

---

Anakin was angry. Really, when wasn’t he these days? But now, he was angry and afraid.

Padme hasn’t answered his comms when she promised news on her last council, his last mission for the Chancellor went poorly, memories of blood staining his hands, the swish of his saber, burning hot enough to make the room stink of cooked meat, and- and Obi-wan was seen in Sundari at the right hand of the new Mand’alor?

Anakin pauses his pacing of his bunk room, tiny as it is, to peer down at the data-pad screen. Yup, that is most certainly Jedi General Obi-wan. He's got that infuriating expression of 'everything is fine and I'm so mysterious haha' on his face. Very Jedi of him.

Anakin may or may not stare, open-mouthed, at the screen for a long moment. The moment is over as quick as it came. Within the hour, he’s gathered a go-bag, his saber, and any essentials he can manage to find.

Pulling his sling bag over his shoulders so that it comes to rest against his side, he’s sneaking aboard the next ship from Coruscant to Mandalore.

His idiot mentor may need rescuing, it seems. Tense as their relationship has been lately, Obi-wan is still important to Anakin.

…Anakin is most certainly not running away from what is happening in Coruscant. He’s not.

Padme is probably fine , and the Chancellor can live without him for a mission! Palpatine would probably even endorse this mission! He’s always telling Anakin it’s okay to protect what’s his, and Anakin thinks Obi-wan counts… Everything is fine.

His bag feels heavier than he remembered it being as he tucks himself away between some storage crates for what is likely to be a long ride. Mandalore, and the Mand’ alor , had better be ready.

---

The breakroom populated by clones on Coruscant is… Well, to say it’s in a state of disarray would be an understatement.

The 212th crowds around Cody, clamoring questions and shoving data-pads in his face. He hasn’t even finished his cup of caf! (Absolute sheb quality. He hopes the grittiness wakes him up enough to deal with this.)

“Okay-” He tries to cut in. His men are too busy talking over each other to hear.

“Alright, guys let’s just-” No effect. Time to pull out the big stops. Cody hates raising his voice so much, but needs must.

He cups his hands around his mouth. “ATTENTION!” He shouts, standing from the table, abandoning his caf. The speed with which everyone shuts up is relieving.

“If you have something to say, you will say it in an orderly manner. LINE UP or sit down.” He commands. “You all know better.”

Armor shuffles shamefully. A few people sit, restlessly, and others don’t.

“Commander, here.” Trapper, helmet balanced on his hip, passes his data-pad. Cody focuses on the screen. Analyzing. Is… Is that?

A hand comes from the side to press play, and Cody glares at it. “What?! I was worried you didn’t know how to work it, Commander.” A trooper says cheekily. Cody pinches the bridge of his nose, warding off a headache.

The video begins. Halfway through, Cody sits heavily, shoulders slumped. Finally, the video finishes, and he’s staring at a still screen of Obi-wan trailing after the new Mand’alor. Oh Sith Hells.

His eyes stay locked on the screen as he fumbles for his mug of caf, throwing back the dark as tar liquid like a shot. “Kriff.” He hisses.

“We’ve got to rescue his idiot ass, don’t we?” Murmurs of agreement ring out. “Pack up, boys! Let’s go retrieve our General!”

“OYA!!”

---

Grogu remembers. He was with Luke when the Force went weird.

Grogu wakes up on Coruscant, in the temple, and it’s all wrong . He doesn’t like it. There’s no buir, and no Luke, and no R2. Only his creche, the creche from before .

The Jedi masters spend multiple days trying to calm down Grogu, to have him meditate out of his crying and hiding and lifting things to block doors and keep them out . It doesn’t work.

Grogu realizes he’s not dreaming when they try to bring him to a mind healer. He closes all his shields up til they send him back to the creche room. Somehow he’s just back here.

Somehow that makes him more upset.

He’s tucked in the creche, past the bedtime set by the Jedi masters, when the Force wraps its arms around him. His ears perk up, and he rolls to his feet.

When he feels the strings of it begin to tug him, Grogu knows well enough to let himself be guided. The Force coos and Grogu sneaks through the temple at its guidance. He’s small enough he doesn’t get seen when he waddles into a room.

The Force points him towards a bag on the ground. A cross-body satchel like the one buir used to carry him in. He whines lowly, ears ticking back.

The Force ushers him forward with more urgency, and Grogu hears footsteps approaching from a side room. He scurries over and tucks himself into the bag, nestling into the rations, med-supplies, and clothes.

The bag is lifted and pulled over someone’s shoulder. Someone with a familiar Force signature. Grogu does not like the waves of Wrong coming off him. A bad, evil air surrounds him.

Grogu hopes the Force knows what it’s doing. He taps his claws against the Mythosaur pendant hidden in his robes, the click of beskar calming him.

Luke's lessons come to him, words from meditation after meditation. Trust in the Force. 

...

Grogu promises he's trying to.

---

Obi-wan Kenobi pointedly does not look at his comm unit, rattling on the table from an influx of attempted contacts. He continues to sip his caf.

Amzo, helmet off and placed on that same table, side-eyes him.

"You gonna get that?" He asks.

"Nope." Obi-wan responds cheerily.

Amzo blinks, then shrugs. "Pass the caf?"

Obi-wan pours him a full cup.

---

Boba groans as he watches the broadcast on his severely outdated tech. Of course Din would do something kriffing stupid and heroic while Boba was in the middle of searching for him. At least he knows where the dikut is now. He seems in good hands.

Boba pulls up the list of notes he made when he first got dropped here. The past. Kriff. 30 some-odd years in the past.

Boba stays calm.

It seems like Din can stand to wait a bit, so Boba reorganizes his priorities.

The war is on, and mid-way through. Kind of. Boba’s a bit fuzzy here. 

He knows Jango is dead by now. The first battle of Geonosis has happened, which means there’s a little Boba Fett running around learning to be a bounty hunter. 

He remembers the take-over of Mandalore happening differently, but he can roll with the punches. That should mean Dooku is at large still, and of course, Palpatine is still in office. If Obi-wan is around like he is, then Anakin hasn’t- He hasn’t . 

Boba can work with this. He’s missing a chunk of time from the sarlacc pit, so anything from that point on in the universe he heard second hand. Things could get iffy with that.

He taps his screen and shifts the bullet points on the list. At the moment, he needs to save little Boba. He remembers just what he was like at this time. Then he can worry about getting to Din and preventing all that osik that’s supposed to happen soon.

Boba doesn’t think himself a sentimental man, but he knows how badly Din was affected by the glassing of Mandalore, the night of a thousand tears , the droid attack on his home… If nothing else, Boba wants to change that for him.

In the desert stretch of Tatooine, one keeps their important things close. It may be fair to say that Boba would raze planets to the ground for his family.

Din might not think himself worthy of that brand of loyalty. Unfortunately, after the sarlacc and the take over of Tatooine, that kind of loyalty is all Boba knows. He will change things.

Boba boards his ship, stolen and due for dozens of repairs, of course, and sets course. Kriff, he hopes he remembers where little him was at this time. 

---

Pressing issues settled, Din all but stumbles to the makeshift room that's been prepared for him. He refused to sleep in Maul’s quarters, which everyone seemed to understand.

He pushes open the door and startles. The room is- it’s almost extravagant .

Kebiin has retired for the day, just as exhausted as Din, so Din turns instead to the other guard assigned to him. One of the prisoners he pulled from the cells. She had insisted on helping as a guard and who was Din to deny her?

“Are- Are you sure this is the right room?” He asked, hoping his disbelief isn’t clear through his vocoder.

She nods. “Is it not up to your standards, Mand’alor? We can revise it!”

Din hears his neck crack with how frantically he shakes his head. “No! No- that's- that’s not necessary!” He blurts. “It’s just- This is far too much!” He turns to look over the room, stepping inside.

“All I requested was a door that locked.” He says, incredulous. “I don’t need all of this.”

There’s an attached kitchen, bathroom, large closet, and more from what he can see surface level. The bed is large, so massive that Din thinks he could lie down fully and not make contact with any edge of it. The windows face where the sun sets and dying golden arcs of light make the room warm and inviting. There’s even a rack on the wall that appears to be made specifically to hang and reverently display armor.

“This is the bare minimum, Mand’alor.” His guard says, stepping into the room after him. “Any less would be doing you a disservice.”

Din can’t hold down the strangled noise that comes from his throat. “Really?” His voice is reedy and thin.

“Really.” His guard responds, sounding far too pleased.

“I- Well, Thank you.” He says, clearing his throat, rolling his shoulders back. “Will you be nearby? I haven’t been to the guard’s wing yet, so I don’t know where you guys have your rooms.” Din knows he can protect himself, but he wouldn’t mind having someone watch over his room while he sleeps in a new place.

His guard cocks her head. “There is no guard's wing, Mand’alor. They closed it off under Duchess Satine’s rule.” She says.

Din gapes. “What? Where do you stay??” He asks. She pauses.

“The lower auditorium. It is not in use, so cots were brought in. I was under the impression you knew?”

“No! I most certainly did not know!” He barks. His guard appears nervous, so he runs a hand down his helmet. “Let’s just settle this now. I can rest after. Come on.” He waves for her to follow.

He quickly realizes he doesn’t know where he’s going, and promptly asks her to lead. Her shoulders are tense. He wonders why.

When the wide double doors to the lower auditorium open, his title is called out, and Mandalorians, with and without armor, dart to their feet to salute. Din is too busy eyeing the room with wide, sad eyes.

The circular floor of the room is covered in stacked cots or piles of scavenged blankets. The auditorium has rows and rows of risers lining the circular walls, very reminiscent of the set up for some of the fighting rings Din busted. It appears Mandalorians have utilized these as beds as well, surely suffering from the hard stone and metal.

It seems Din wrongly assumed the palace Mandalorians and rescued prisoners had places to go. How could he have overlooked this??

He realizes the air of the room is tense while he’s been looking around, salutes still held firm.

“Stand down.” He calls. A collective breath is let out, but for some reason, everyone still seems nervous. Where is Obi-wan when you need him? He'd have these people calmed with just a well-thought statement. Manda, how is Din going to do this??

“I have done you a great disservice.” He says, raising his voice to echo about the room. There’s a confused shift, the air feeling slightly lighter. “If I had known this was the sleeping situation, I would have remedied it immediately. It is unacceptable.”

The tension is back.

“Mand’alor, I- We are sorry but we- What would you have us do?” His guard asks.

Din pauses. Why is she apologizing? Does- Oh kriff, he’s done it again. They must think he’s mad!

He loves his armor, and he loves the way it makes his face into an impassive mask. Right now, he does not love this. Surprise! Expression of emotion is difficult to a bounty hunter who lived alone from pretty much the second he was out of his covert.

“Don’t apologize!” He blurts. “I am in the wrong. I assumed rooms were given, and it is my failure as a leader that I didn’t ensure it.” He says, loud enough to be heard around the room.

He turns to address the crowds. “I haven’t been in this palace long. I don’t know where the rooms are.” He admits, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck anxiously.

“As of now, any unoccupied room is available to you. Everyone deserves the privacy of a locked door.” He decides, nodding decisively. “My only condition is that elders or those with injuries have first pick.”

The crowd of his people murmur and shift. Din, too, sways on his feet. Just for a different reason. He’s so kriffing tired.

“Any problems, bring it to me. If you can’t find me, find Amzo or Kebiin. If there aren’t enough rooms, let me know and we’ll fix it.” He says, waving a hand dismissively. Problem handled. “Does that work?” There’s a lot of nodding. Din sighs.

He can rest now, knowing his people can rest. God, being the leader is tough. He almost, ALMOST, feels bad for his covert leader.

As Din readies to turns on his heel to go back to his room, that massive bed calling his name, someone shouts. “OYA MAND’ALOR!”

After that first person cries out, the room erupts with the call. Din stills, and denies that his eyes water as he hits his chest plate with his fist in acknowledgement, the sweet clear sound of Beskar rings out. Dozens of Mandalorians do the same, filling the air with noise as Din finally swirls to exits the room.

As soon as he’s out of sight of them, he stumbles slightly, exhaustion making his feet heavy.

“Mand’alor?” His guard says, sounding more concerned than she should. Din is fine.

He waves her off. “Tired, that’s all.” He murmurs.

She subtly walks beside him, hands by her side in case she needs to catch him. “May I ask when you last slept, Mand’alor?”

“Beroya.” He corrects. “Beroya is fine. I slept a couple hours ago between the budget meeting and the farmer’s hearing.”

His guard nearly trips, and Din jolts, worried for a second. She doesn’t fall, though, so he breathes a sigh of relief. “Th- the required ten minute break between meetings? That’s the last time you slept??”

Din nods. “Oh! And between the meetings before that as well.” He adds.

She pauses. “I’m almost afraid to ask…” He hears her murmur so low he almost doesn’t catch it. “When I say sleep, Mand’al- Beroya , I mean a full eight hours. When was that?” Her voice is cautious, tentative and careful.

Din shakes his head.

She appears confused. “What?”

Din just shakes his head again, picking up the pace.

“Is that- What does that- Beroya, What does that mean??”

Din walks faster.

“Beroya- Don’t avoid the question!!” She calls, starting to run after him.

Din hopes he remembers the way to his room and can move quick enough to lose her.