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The unmistakable sound of spurs accompanied by sure footsteps resonated through the hall. The guards inside the palace observed as the Daimyo of Tatooine walked through the empty throne room on the palace of Sundari and reached the balcony where General Vizsla observed the afternoon drills happening on the esplanade below them.
Boba stoped next to the mandalorian General. He noted Vizsla’s armor had been painted since the last time they saw each other, the shades of blue softly reflected the glowing orange of the setting sun.
As usual, the only piece that remained unpainted was the scratched symbol on his right pauldron.
The paint was old and the Death Watch symbol had been evidently scratched off it on purpose using a sharp blade. The meaning simple: Do not forget history least you end up committing the same mistakes of your ancestors. Boba found he could respect that. He also briefly wondered if Paz’s armor had been his father’s.
Fett let his gaze wander to the city before him, safely encapsulated inside the bio-dome. Beyond the esplanade, several mandalorians walked on the streets, some flew over the bridges connecting the tall buildings where Mando’ade herded foundlings along as school and training had ended for the day.
Further away, he could see the landing pad where Slave I rested next to a familiar Razor Crest, a gift from Boba in the midst of the campaign to re-take Mandalore from the Empire. He had called it a diplomatic gift from Tatooine recognizing the Mand'alor's rightful rule. Paz had called it a challenge to his person and proceded to almost kill himself on his quest of finding an Amban rifle to replace Djarin's lost one. The Mand'alor in question had not been amused at either of them.
The sun was setting and Fett briefly considered taking off his helmet so he could feel the last rays of the sun on his face. He wondered if Paz missed that, if he had ever taken it off just to feel the sun and the breeze as night approached.
Boba briefly let his mind wander to the stories Skirata used to tell him when his father was away and Boba would make his way to where the mandalorian trained the children who looked like Boba but were not like him (could never be him because his father had said that Boba was special and Boba believed him because he was Jango’s son and the boys that looked at him with weary and wide eyes when Boba sneaked into the barracks were not), and the men who looked like his father at a simple glance but where nothing like him. They lacked his scars and were too tall, too wide, and would stand and sit too straight. Boba knew they definitively lacked his father’s softness when playing with him and the warmt in his eyes when he told Boba he loved him. They lacked his father’s wittiness when arguing with Skirata and the way he would purse his lips when he disagreed with Nala Se or Taun We.
Jango told Boba stories about his grandfather and his people, about Concord Dawn and the code of Jaster Mereel, of what separated a Mandalorian Bounty Hunter from a simple mercenary. Skirata in turn would tell him stories of Mandalore: the legends of Mythosaurs inhabiting a green land where warriors forged Beskar into the armor that would become a symbol through all the galaxy.
As if reading his mind, Paz finally spoke up, his visor was still trained to the warriors below, observing as the sergeants barked orders and corrected stances, the faction moving with both ferocity and discipline.
“It used to be habitable, all of it. Much damage was made by the empire and us through the years before it fell. We were hunted in our own home even before the mandalorian civil wars"
Boba shook his head. He remembered the wasteland he saw as he entered the atmosphere aboard Slave I five years ago, what he saw then didn’t resemble what was before him now. It was more advanced and clean than some of the worlds in the core Boba had visited. Definitively better than most high levels of Coruscant.
“It’s impressive and well developed, nothing like what I saw the first time under the dome” He stated.
Paz nodded and Boba could hear the pride in his voice when he spoke next.
“The Mand’alor has focused on rebuilding and establishing firm trade routes. We are completely independent from the New Republic and our cities are steadily growing here and in the other habitable planets in the sector. Mando’ade finally have a place to call home again”
Curiosity gnawed at Boba. “Did you see it before the great purge?”
Paz shifted, visor moving towards the horizon.
“No. I was born on Concordia and lived there for most of my childhood. My father’s sister managed to keep me and my eldest sister safe when my father overthrew Kryze. She hid us and others that wanted to escape what Mandalore had become.” What we made of it, went unsaid.
Years ago, when Paz visited the palace on Tatooine with a herd of foundlings and Ragnar in tow they had talked at length, as much as their personalities allowed them that is. Boba was used to treating words like a hazard and Paz was used to speaking what his heart felt before his mind could stop him. Both were familiar with the dangers of being vulnerable, both had experienced loss, the shadows of their fathers overwhelming their sights. One was afraid he couldn’t scape his father’s legacy, the other afraid he would fail to meet it.
“I was not there to see him killed by the dar’jetti”
Boba nodded and he looked back to the setting sun. On the esplanade, the mandalorian soldiers saluted and left the esplanade, the drills had ended for the day.
He soaked in the silence that followed. Vizsla stood still next to him. It was a rare sight and it made Boba uncomfortable. Paz Vizsla was a man of action, he loved throwing his weight around and would often move when speaking.
Paz knew of Boba’s past, he knew of his father and the years he spent as a child in a cruel galaxy that wanted him dead more often than not, he knew of Boba's sins and the years he spent working for Vader, of his reputation and his time trapped inside the sarlacc. Boba knew of Paz’s sister, of how he lost her and his family, of how he understood the father he loved had died before Kryze fell and the Empire killed him. Boba knew of his anger and his regrets, of the fear Paz felt deep in his core whenever he thought about not being strong enough to protect his covert —his people, his family—, from being hunted. How fear became anger when Din would leave the safety of the covert, of the many things he wished he could take back.
Their first meeting hadn't been a good one. There was already too much history and resentment between them even before they had met each other. Years of family feud ingrained into them, burning inside their chests. It took a man holding a relic desired by so many-—yet meaning nothing to him for his child already meant his whole galaxy— to make both realize that what they wanted was mutual and looking at them with sad brown eyes reflecting his need to give his son a safe place to call home, the only thing keeping Din from falling apart
Boba didnt say anything, but he took a step to the right until his pauldron clashed with Vizsla’s rarebrace. Next to him Paz exhaled and his hands unclenched from where he had them in tight fists.
After a few minutes Boba spoke again. “I never had a reason to call anywhere in the Mandalorian sector a home.”
This made Paz turn his visor to him. “Is that why it took you so long to come here?”
He knew what Vizsla meant, nevertheless he looked at him, visor to visor and snorted. “If I remember correctly, the last time I took down an Imperial ship I was on Mandalorian soil”
Paz didn’t take the bait, he observed past Boba’s need to run and not face the issue that had been looming over them for years now.
“My grandfather and father were exiled after Tor Vizsla’s Death Watch took over. I never had a reason to call Concord Dawn or any planet in Mandalorian space home.” It was an excuse now, Boba was very aware of that and so was Paz who tilted his helmet in that familiar way that reminded Boba that both Paz and Din grew up together.
This wasn't the first time Boba had visited Mandalore after it was taken back, but he walked around it like a bounty hunter would when in enemy territory, Paz had always disliked that. Boba was not naive, he understood that even if he didn't say anything, it also hurt Din.
“The Mand’alor has clearly stated that Clan Fett of House Mereel are as much Mando’ade as any of us.” Paz stated, tone rising, like he was angry Fett would consider himself something other than a Mandalorian. Boba had met others from Clan Vhett, although none of them considered Jango a part of their clan, much less Boba. Boba didn’t care.
He still didn’t consider himself a mandalorian but not for the reasons the galaxy might believe.
After the war for Mandalore was won, they assumed Boba Fett wouldn’t call the Mand’alor his leader, he was after all the King of his own planet, thus denying himself the tittle of mandalorian would exclude him from the Mando’ade under his rule. Din and Paz knew that wasn’t the reason. The galaxy would be surprised to know there was little he wouldn’t do for the Mand’alor and that went beyond Din Djarin rightfully wielding the Darksaber.
Paz turned to him finally and Boba didn’t have to look at his handsome face, watch the very last rays of the setting sun make his dark skin glow and his blue eyes with those rare specks of green looking at him expectantly to know Vizsla was hopeful.
“The Fett Gotra and my people await for me on Tatooine.” Boba stated and he immediately saw Paz’s shoulders sag. Vizsla didnt reply, just nodded in understanding, helmet looking away to the moons rising above them.
But Boba was not done talking, he was instead done running.
“But Mandalore is the home of my aliit. They have my heart and thus my home is where they are”
Boba didn't need to see Paz's bare face to know he was smiling, the comforting feeling of a helmet against his own was enough.
_____________________
Through the open doors to the balcony, Mand’alor Din Djarin watched Paz Vizsla and Boba Fett look at the stars. Next to him Ragnar held a sleeping Grogu to his chest, the boy had been looking for his father since his training of the day had ended, quite literally crashing into Din and Grogu as he ran through the corridors of the palace. He had a mission to drag Paz to their home with their clan for supper and told Din as much after saluting his Mand’alor. Din had reminded him that wasn’t necessary but the boy was a proud Mandalorian, just like his father.
Djarin didn’t spend much time at the royal palace, none if he didn’t have to. Right now he was glad he had met his advisors there.
He guided the children towards the balcony were they were welcomed by Paz and Boba and once there his heart felt full and he felt the weight on his shoulders diminish.
Din exhaled into the night. He was content.