Chapter Text
There were many things those in the galaxy feared.
Imperial remnants.
War.
Ashes.
The slow, grinding return of something everyone thought had been buried.
But on Mandalore, there was one thing no one feared.
No one feared for Prince Grogu when he was with the Mand’alor.
Because there was no safer place in the galaxy for him than in Din Djarin’s arms.
⸻
The council chamber doors swung open with a heavy groan.
The gathered clan leaders rose to their feet as Mand’alor Din Djarin entered in gleaming beskar, the Darksaber hanging at his side. The room quieted immediately.
Reports covered the table.
Supply shortages.
Imperial fleet movements.
Requests for reinforcements from the Outer Colonies.
Another day of impossible decisions.
Din acknowledged each leader with a nod before taking his place at the head of the room
“We’ll begin.”
The first hour passed with military precision.
“The western mines are secure.”
“Our scouts intercepted another Imperial convoy.”
“The foundlings have all been evacuated.
Din listened carefully, asking concise questions, issuing orders, weighing lives against impossible odds.
To everyone present, he looked every bit the king Mandalore needed.
Steady.
Unshakable
Strong.
Then—
Tiny footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Every Mandalorian in the room smiled before the child even appeared.
A very small green figure toddled confidently through the enormous doorway, wrapped in a soft tan robe with the crest of Mandalore embroidered on the shoulder.
Grogu.
He stopped just inside the room.
His enormous ears twitched.
Then he spotted exactly who he’d been looking for.
“Daddy!”
He broke into an excited run.
The room collectively held its breath—not because anyone feared what would happen.
Because they knew exactly what would.
The terrifying Mand’alor of Mandalore abandoned his war council without a second thought.
Din dropped to one knee just in time to catch the little green blur that collided happily into his chest.
“There you are,” Din said softly.
Grogu laughed—a bright, delighted sound that somehow chased every ounce of tension from the room.
Tiny hands grabbed Din’s helmet.
A familiar ritual.
Grogu bumped his forehead gently against the beskar.
Din leaned into it automatically.
“There you are,” he repeated.
Grogu chirped happily.
Din rested one gloved hand against the back of his son’s head.
“Missed me already?”
A solemn nod.
“You were gone forever.”
Several clan leaders exchanged amused looks.
Forever apparently meant twenty-three minutes.
“I was in a meeting.”
Grogu considered this.
“…Too long.”
“I know.”
Din sighed dramatically.
“I suppose my council can survive sharing me.”
Grogu immediately climbed into his lap.
Decision made.
Din stood, balancing the child effortlessly on one arm before addressing the room again as though nothing unusual had happened.
No one objected.
No one ever did.
This was simply how the Mand’alor ruled.
With one hand on the future of Mandalore.
The other around his son.
⸻
Later that afternoon, Din finally escaped the endless reports.
He found Grogu exactly where he’d expected.
The palace gardens.
The little foundlings were racing one another through the stone pathways while older warriors pretended not to be keeping a close eye on them.
Grogu sat in the grass.
Completely focused.
On a tooka kitten.
The tiny creature pawed curiously at one of Grogu’s long ears.
Grogu giggled.
Din leaned against the archway, crossing his arms.
He could stay here forever.
Just watching.
Watching his son discover every tiny wonder the galaxy still had to offer.
A flower blooming.
Rain.
Butterflies.
Friendly animals.
Every joyful little moment reminded Din why the war mattered.
Not for glory.
Not for revenge.
For this.
So children like Grogu could grow up laughing instead of hiding.
One of the guards noticed him.
“My Mand’alor.”
Din raised a finger.
Not yet.
The guard understood immediately.
Grogu hadn’t noticed him.
Din intended to keep it that way for another minute.
The kitten rolled onto its back.
Grogu copied it.
The warriors around the garden chuckled.
Then, without warning—
Grogu sat bolt upright.
His ears perked.
A huge smile spread across his face.
“Daddy!”
He hadn’t turned around.
He hadn’t heard footsteps.
He had simply…
known.
Before Din could even straighten, Grogu was sprinting toward him.
Din caught him again, laughing quietly.
“How do you always know?”
Grogu shrugged as if the answer were obvious.
“You came.”
“I was quiet.”
Grogu gave a small shrug.
“You always come.”
Din smiled beneath his helmet.
“I do.”
Grogu leaned his head against Din’s chest.
“Good.”
⸻
That evening, Din tucked Grogu into bed himself.
It had become sacred.
No advisors.
No guards.
No politics.
Just father and son.
Grogu curled beneath the blankets while Din sat beside the bed.
This time, as always when they were alone, Din had already removed his helmet.
Grogu could see his face—see his eyes.
It was something he never asked for aloud, but always reached for instinctively, like a child checking that the world was still solid.
Grogu immediately relaxed the moment he saw him, fingers loosening on the fabric of his sleeve.
“Story.”
“We’ve read three.”
“Another.”
Din chuckled softly.
“You negotiate like a politician.”
Grogu gasped dramatically.
“No.”
“No?”
“I negotiate like Daddy.”
Din laughed outright.
“So I’ve created my own problem.”
A tiny grin answered him.
Din picked up one last holobook.
By the time he’d finished the final page, Grogu’s eyelids were drooping.
Din closed the book.
Silence settled over the room.
Then Grogu reached both little arms upward.
Without hesitation, Din lifted him from the bed.
Grogu’s gaze immediately found Din’s face again.
He blinked slowly, as if confirming he was still there, still real, still safe.
The little green child then immediately melted against his chest.
His cheek rested against bare warmth instead of beskar now, fingers curling into Din’s tunic.
Safe.
Always safe.
Din gently rubbed circles across his back.
“I love you, kiddo.”
Grogu’s sleepy voice answered immediately.
“Love you more.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“It is.”
“Oh?”
“So much more.”
Din smiled.
“Whatever you say, kiddo.”
Grogu yawned.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“If bad people come…”
“They won’t.”
“But if.”
Din didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he pressed his forehead gently to Grogu’s—no helmet between them, just closeness, just presence—before speaking softly.
“If bad people come,” he said quietly, “they will have to go through me first.”
Grogu accepted this without hesitation.
“Okay.”
“You know why?”
“’Cause you’re my daddy.”
“That’s right.”
“And daddies protect.”
“They do.”
“You protect me.”
“I always will.”
Din pulled his baby's face even closer to his. He gazed right into those huge, beautiful, trusting eyes.
“I will always come for you. No matter what. Daddy always comes.”
A promise. An oath. A vow.
He would never break it. He would keep that promise, for as long as there was breath in his lungs and a beating heart in his chest.
Grogu smiled sleepily, eyes half-lidded but still locked on Din’s face.
“I know.”
Simple words.
Spoken with absolute certainty.
I know.
Din held him for another long moment before laying him back beneath the blankets.
He didn’t put his helmet back on yet.
Not here.
Not with Grogu still watching him as he faded off into dreams.
Within minutes, Grogu was asleep.
Din remained beside the bed anyway.
Watching his tiny chest rise and fall.
Watching those eyelids twitch as he dreamed.
The galaxy called Din Djarin many things.
Mand’alor.
King.
Warrior.
General.
Leader.
They all paled in comparison to the title given to him by one very small child.
Daddy.
He would surrender crowns.
He would surrender armies.
He would surrender his own life.
Gladly.
If it meant his little boy could wake tomorrow in peace.
——
Outside the palace walls, Imperial remnants were already assembling for another campaign.
Inside a hidden laboratory, scientists finalized preparations for a project months in the making.
A list of objectives glowed on a holoscreen.
Capture Subject G-13.
Suppress existing emotional attachments.
Establish obedience.
Redirect loyalty.
Weaponize Force sensitivity.
One final line appeared beneath the others.
Primary target for emotional severance: Mand’alor Din Djarin.
The lead commander smiled coldly.
“It won’t matter how much the child loves him.”
A scientist adjusted the dosage calculations.
“Not after we’re finished.”
Far away, tucked safely beneath warm blankets, Grogu slept peacefully, dreaming of tomorrow.
He dreamed of gardens.
Of stories.
Of climbing into his father’s lap during meetings.
Of laughter echoing through palace halls.
Of safety.
Because in all the years of his young life, he had never once questioned the promise his father made every night.
I will always protect you.
I will always come for you.
Daddy always comes.
And Din believed it too.
Neither of them knew that before another week had passed, that promise would be tested beyond anything either of them could have imagined—not because Din’s love would fail…
…but because someone had decided that the only way to break the Mand’alor…
was to convince his son that he never loved him at all.