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Din was stuck floating, half-aware of everything while being blissed out with the feeling of absolutely nothing. He knew he was viewing his younger self, the one still wearing red robes, living in Aq Vetina, and enjoying living as a carefree child.
He remembered the last thing he did while in his adult body (and that was a weird thing to think, as he half floats around in nothing), was a party. He was content, surrounded by his friends. Grogu (his son, his ik’aad, his mind whispers) was happily, getting stronger and learned enough control that the Jetii was supportive of Din taking care of Grogu again. Boba, with his short but muscle packed body and Fennec, with her lithe yet heavy body, trapped him between them on either side of a small, cramped booth as Boba and Din slur their way through the war chant ‘Vode An’, Fennec only joining to into screech ‘Vode An!’ at the end of every sentence, leaving them to break down into giggles and snorts. Cobb, the only one to refuse to drink, was entertaining Grogu as Cara was draped across one of Boba’s tables, a bottle of spotchka in one hand and a bottle of Fennec’s surprisingly tasty Rum in the other. It got wild, towards the end, Din would admit.
Then, his memory fades in black, like he took a stun bolt, only much softer. Which he knew was impossible, as Fennec had told him Boba had ‘locked the place down’. Then, he awakens, watching over his younger self.
Maybe he died from liver poisoning and was now haunting his younger self in revenge.
His child self-broke apart into nothing when his mother and father were talking about the recent news of the planet Mandalore. Once child Din heard the planet ‘Mandalore’, Din woke fully into his child body, his small gasp of shock easily lost in his parent’s excited talk. He continued colouring in a picture of a small potted plant, carefully listening, despite his tight grip on his green pencil that almost breaks the soft clay.
“Mandalore is welcoming trade for other mid-rim planets, Tommav. This is amazing for us!” His mother, Kaylil, said, excitement in her voice. “Though I do suppose their King is the one pushing for it.”
A new King? On Mandalore? From what Din gathered from his timeline (which is weird to think about), Mandalore was ruled by an extreme radical pacifist named Satine Kryze, Bo-Katan’s sister. Boba had been dismissive of both Kryze’s reigns, a look of sadness pooling in his eyes. ‘They called my father a murderer,’ Boba had said, slightly tipsy, one night when he was visiting the other King. ‘And told themselves that he was not a Mandalorian, that he was lesser than them as a human, because he did what he had to do to survive this harsh galaxy while they destroyed his people through Satine and Bo-Katan’s reign.’
“The King’s new trade agreement will be a boom for Aq Ventia. Even warriors need clothes,” his father, Tommav, pointed out. “Your mother’s shop will see more customers, definitely.”
“Can we go to Mandalore?” The question slipped out before Din could stop it, his parents turning to look at him in surprise. Well, time to act like a child. He pouted at his mother and father, widening his eyes until they began to sting. “Please? I’ve always wanted to go!”
His mother and father shared a look which Din couldn’t quite read. “You’ve never heard of the planet before, my sweetling.” His mother said slowly, her brows furrowing in confusion.
Din shook his head and felt his soul drain for how childish he is going to sound. “Nu-uh! I’ve been reading it in the library! They say they have-have these dragons called mythosaur’s, which they describe were as big as a city!” Din knows he is a terrible actor but prays to the Manda that he sounds like a ten-year-old. Was he ten? He kind of lost track of his age, and all young kids look the same to him. Including himself, ironically enough.
“Ah, it seems Din is going through one of his phases again, Kay.” His father says with a smile, his worry fading away.
“At-least he isn’t insisting on visiting Mustafar to see the lava pools up close and personal.” His mother responds dryly, tucking a strand of her long black hair behind her ear. “Hmm, we’ll see, my sweetling. Maybe we can go visit the palace in the capital, Keldabe. The King allows his own people and tourists to view some areas of the palace, including the throne room.” She says, turning to look at Tommav with a certain look.
“The mythosaur throne!” Din throws out, hoping that Boba’s sketchy, half-remembered stories were true.
“Well, why don’t we visit next standard month, or even two standard months!” His father said, wrapping an arm around Kaylil’s shoulder, bringing her into his side for a hug. “Your ninth names day is coming up soon, and nothing beats that by visiting a royal palace.”
Well, at least Din knows he’s eight, at least. Small victories.
Mandalore
The trip to Mandalore from Aq Vetina’s nearest spaceport only took three standard hours by hyperspace, which didn’t surprise Din. When he became a Foundling, he was sent to Mandalore with his saviour, too short to see the stars and planets pass on by, waiting to be registered and placed in with his new corp.
Mandalore was beautiful in its prime, he decided as he fixed his cowl, making sure it half hides his face, unable to shake old habits. Instead of being a ruin he hopes the planet won’t become again, the streets were alive with Mandalore’s citizens, many of whom were wearing multiple different styles of beskar’gam and, he notices, a lot more non-human species, which is…telling. He noticed that most of the walls were thick, and streets are narrow, which would be easily defensible if anyone decided to attack from the ground and had reinforced support for an air attack.
He approved of the no-glass policy. Glass was messy to fix and clean. If Mandalore was under siege, glass would just give everyone a headache. Especially for the Mand’alor and the ones to replace the easily broken glass.
Din was currently on a shopping trip with his mother, with his father back on Aq Vetina. A last-minute change from one of his mother-in-law’s customers made the man stay behind. He insisted that while he couldn’t visit Mandalore, that doesn’t mean his wife and son couldn’t.
“Din, sweetling, look at this!” His mother called out, dragging his attention from the street to the small market stall she was viewing. She held up a rather beautiful necklace of a mythosaur swallowing its own tail to form an unbroken circle. He recognised this! The symbol of the mythosaur symbolises how the ancient Mandalorian’s believed that there was one Mother Mythosaur, who was large enough to wrap her body around the planet to hold it together. “This is a Brirud Mythosaur!”
Well, at least his mother tried to pronounce it correctly. Some letters are silent in Mando’a. In ‘Brirud’, the d is silent. Still, he smiled up at his mother. “The Mother Mythosaur! She holds the planet together!”
“Someone has done their research!” The vendor says in heavily accented Basic, looking down at Din through their green buy’ce. The vendor appeared to be humanoid, but without seeing their skin or any defining features, Din couldn’t be sure. “I take it you’ve heard the legend?”
The question was directed at his mother. She nodded, grabbing his shoulder with one hand to proudly boast: “My son has researched Mandalore and is now obsessed with the Mythosaur’s. It was only when the new trade options given to our planet when we decided to visit.”
The vendor nodded along. “I can’t believe it, myself. Under Kryze, all our supplies were heavily taxed, leaving us with barley anything as she held onto the wealth she continued to collect and pool into only Sundari and her precious palace. Bah.” He said, distain strong in his voice. “Then, Mand’alor the Reclaimer took back the throne and allowed us to keep our profits and for us to freely practice our beliefs,” he said, tapping a gloved hand onto his chest piece, which was a dark shade of blue and green. He then tilted his buy’ce, as if he was squinting at his mother. “Say, have you visited the Palace yet?”
“Oh! We’ve heard about the tours,” his mother said as Din inspects the necklace, appearing busy while shamelessly eavesdropping. “Is it expensive to visit? It is the Royal Palace, after all.”
The vendor laughed. “No, no. It is free! All the Mand’alor requests is that you be respectful. If you are lucky, you might even meet the Mand’alor or the ad’alor as he wanders about teaching his ad, and sometimes visitors, about what a certain carved depiction of battle means.”
“Your King and Crown Prince talks to you all equally?” His mother said, confusion in her tone. “Most monarchs that I’ve heard of are aloof and distant to their citizens.”
“Oh, not Jango Fett! Before he was Mand’alor, he was a bounty hunter.” The vendor said, shrugging his shoulders. “Some Mand’alor’e come from bounty hunting background, as it teaches them the skills they need.” He pauses. “At least, that’s what my husband says.”
Din perked up when the name of the Mand’alor was revealed. Jango Fett? That must be Boba’s buir then. The hope that Boba, his Boba, was alive made his chest swell with relief and hope. But what changed? Boba had told him that his buir felt un-worthy of the title after the Jetii slaughtered his people and was then content with raising Boba.
Maybe the change was Boba himself.
Honestly, Din wouldn’t be surprised if Boba was the one behind the coup. It is something his vod would do if he had the chance. The ruined Zygerrian Empire (if you could call what was left an Empire, anyway, with most of its population dead and slaves freed) was the perfect example of his vode’s distain of slavery.
“How much for the necklace?” His mother asked, already reaching into her pouch. The vendor straightened his stance.
“10 Mando’Waadas, half price for the ad’ika’s knowledge.” The Mando said, humour in his modulated voice. Din watches as his mother reaches into her pouch to collect the funds that she had exchanged to the Mandalorian currency. She picked up ten small silver coins, the Haat Mando’ade symbol stamped onto the coin, with a small script underneath saying ‘Mand’alor the Reclaimer’. “Many of the Core, including the exiled aruetiiese ‘New Mandalorian’s’, view us as savages obsessed with war and death. It's nice to see a different outlook.” The smile was audible in his voice.
After that vendor and his advice, Din is dragged through the marketplace, interested in everything that comes in view. His mother bought him a Mandalorian orange, after the smell had hit his nose and he was practically salivating at the fruit, the fruit having become extinct due to the Empire’s careless over farming.
He didn’t complain, happily biting into the orange. The bitter yet sweet tang of the fruit nearly had him moan loudly. He quickly turned his moan of pleasure into a pleased hum, with his mother smiling down at him in amusement.
They, meaning his mother, bought some textiles and some jewellery, carried in small bags by his mother. Slightly bored, Din looked around and almost choked on his spit in shock and surprise.
Din was honestly surprised to spot the Heir Apparent/Crown Prince wandering the market stalls. It has been nearly half a decade since the regime change, he knows, but what happens if someone tries to injure or even kill Boba? He looked around his mother’s long red robes, relaxing upon spotting two ver’gebuir’e shadowing the young Boba as he browses the wares, their crimson pink armour resting against their black or dark grey kute standing out amongst the crowd. The ver’gebuir’e appeared female, wearing buy’ce like his own Armorer and having a slight curve towards their breast plates.
Din didn’t want to presume; they could have very large pectoral muscles.
Boba looked the same, if slightly younger, wearing a slightly smaller and highly similar set of beskar’gam he wore as an adult. Everything was both the same and different, with Boba wearing a dark grey kute with an open collar and white stitch lines, showing a hint of a skin-tight body suit underneath and a small show of his warm chestnut skin of his neck with his buy’ce strapped to his belt. His beskar’gam was painted a deep green, with red and orange highlights. The only difference was that Boba had painted the left side of his chest piece, collar guard and right thigh plate with stripes of red, white, red, and orange. He also wore a kama, and even at a faraway glance, Din could tell the material is of good quality, like the skirts Boba had taken to wearing over his kute to protect his legs from the twin suns of Tatooine.
Another ver’gebuir appeared, their armour the same style as the other two while having slight differences; they had a white stripe trailing downwards and a very abstract symbol of a rose over their heart in black. On their right shoulder pauldron was the symbol of Clan Fett, the mythosaur a stark black against the crimson pink.
“Ad’alor, we should be heading back, otherwise the Mand’alor will worry,” the leader said, her voice surprising deep, with the same accent as Boba’s. Was she related to Boba? They sounded similar.
“Bella, we’ve barley been out for two standard hours, and I haven’t seen everything!” A slightly younger sounding Boba protested, his voice free from the torn vocal cords of his past(future?). Din perked up, slipping away from his mother’s side, dodging the other bystanders to make his way closer and closer to Boba.
Oh boy, now that he was here, without his own beskar’gam, Din felt slightly nervous. What if Boba didn’t recognise him? He only knew Din as an adult, with his square jaw, moustache and beskar’gam. He wiped his cold sweaty hands on his red robe, steeling himself.
“Boba?” He called out, watching as Boba and his personal ver’gebuir stop arguing to turn and look at Din. Din couldn’t view the ver’gebuir’s reactions, but carefully watched as Boba’s face went from frustration to blank before his brows and cheek twitched. Din fought off the urge to laugh. Boba’s thinking face was, dare he say it, cute on his younger face, with the traces of baby fat still lingering on his cheeks. Then, the thinking face turned into one of recognition.
“Din?” He called back, smiling wide when Din nodded. He quickly closed the distance to hug the smaller boy. Din hugged Boba back, ignoring when one of Boba’s many weapons poke him in the stomach. Boba pulled back, looking at Din at an arms distance. “But, how?”
Din shrugged. “Last thing I remember as….me,” he said, looking around him and seeing a few lingering faces of the street eagerly watching their ad’alor talking with another young boy without his Royal guards going berserk. “Was at our party. I think I died of liver poisoning.”
Boba snorted. “Yea, Fennec’s choice of alcohol would do that to you.” He nodded at his ver’gebuir. “Don’t worry, Bella and our Royal guards knows about our…timeline situation.”
Din slowly nodded. He looked at the ver’gebuir, Bella, and smiled politely. “Su cuy’gar, Bella. My name is Din Djarin.” He ignored how many weapons she had hidden on her person, save the obvious kad hanging off her belt, the whistling birds, flamethrower, grappling hook and hidden blade on her gauntlets. She was more armoured than any other Mandalorian’s he had met in the future, save his own tribe, with her Beskar-plated boots connecting to her kneepads and joining the thigh plates. Judging by the shine on her knuckles, Din wouldn’t be surprised to find that the gloves she was wearing had small pieces of metal for support when punching an attacker.
She tilted her buy’ce, making a low hum in the back of her throat. When she spoke, she sounded amused. “Su cuy’gar, Din the Reluctant.”
He groaned, turning to Boba. “Did you seriously tell everyone that stupid title you gave me?” He crossed his arms, mock-glaring at his friend, who smugly preened.
“Ah, don’t worry, Djarin, only the Roses’,” he said, pointing to Bella and her companions, who were lingering behind Boba at a respectful distance. They gave off the effect that they were sizing him up, despite their twin expressions being hidden behind their buy’ce. “and my Buir know.”
“The Roses’ would rather kill ourselves then expose our Mand’alor- “, Bella began before Boba sighed, waving his arms about.
“Bella, Bella, we’ve talked about this. No suicide kills.” He said, glaring at the ver’gebuir. When she simply huffed, Boba turned to Din with a smile on his face. “So, how did you get to Mandalore looking like a six-year-old?”
“I’ve just turned nine, thank-you-very-much.” Din says with a sniff, angling his head high just to watch as Boba laughs softly. Then, his eyes trail behind Din, before a smirk falls onto his lips. One that Din has grown wary of, due to what usually followed at Boba’s court. “My mother has brought me for my life day.”
“Speaking of your mother, I think she is worried that you have offended me.”
Din turned, seeing his mother standing a few meters away, her face pale and jaw slack. The small bags she was carrying were clutched tightly in her hands as she stares in shock at Boba and his guards.
“Din, sweetling?” She called out, walking closer, eyeing the swords strapped to the Crown Prince’s bodyguards belts. “I see you have made a new friend.” She tried to go for a smile, but it looked forced. Strained.
Boba nodded. “Mrs. Djarin. I was just inviting your son to join me as we visit the Palace. Would you care to join us?” He asked. Din could only stare in shock as Boba…charms his mother? How?! Boba continues, “It is free. Din has been asking if the mythosaur throne is real and I have offered to show him it.”
That cunning, smart bastard!
His mother quickly glanced to the young prince’s bodyguards, the closest one merely giving her a once over before dismissing her. She looked at Din, who was staring at Boba in awe.
“Well, I suppose we can have a quick tour…” She finally said, uncertain, giving Din a small smile. Din smiled back at his mother.
“Please!” He begged, tugging on the sleeves of her robes.
“Alright, my sweetling.” She finally agreed.
“This way,” Bella said as Boba led their small party to a small speeder, with thick plates and what looks like slug proof windows. As they neared, a Mandalorian in all black kute and beskar’gam stepped out the driver side, holding the door open for Boba and his ver’gebuir’e. The Mandalorian titled their head at Din and his mother, but indicated for them to get in.
Awkwardly, Din and his mother did so. He sat on the seats opposite Boba and his ver’gebuir, who flanked him on either side, trapping Boba between them. Bella sat next to his mother before the door was slammed shut. A few seconds later, they were moving, judging by the light vibrations and quiet rumbling of the engines.
“Don’t be nervous.” Bella suddenly spoke up, looking at Din’s mother. His mother blinked, before slowly nodding. “This is for the Ad’alor. There are many who would target him to gain power or leverage over his father.”
“I-I understand.”
The ride to the Palace was quick, with Din and his mother both peering out, watching as they flew above the city. The people were small but colourful, their beskar’gam well cared for. The sight filled Din with emotions that made his chest tight. This is the Mandalore of his dreams. Din had the ugly thought that this Mandalore, Bo-Katan would hate. With her, there were no other ‘Mandalorian’s’. She had made it clear that any who do not follow her are dar’manda. But with Boba, Din learned that Bo-Katan tends to throw out words like dar’manda or aruetiiese if she benefits.
But being a terrorist and oath breaker, Din knew that Bo-Katan didn’t have much to go on.
Throughout Din’s small crisis of faith, Boba was there by his side, supporting him and giving Din free information of Mandalore without any strings. He hides a bashful smile with his loose red sleeve, remembering how his heart had only recently started to stutter around the other King. While his growing feels have not appeared yet in his child body, Din knew it would only be time.
The speeder gently swooped down, landing with a light thump onto the grounds in front of the Palace. Din and everyone had to wait until the driver opened the door before the Roses’ stepped out first. They scanned the area and stepped aside.
Boba was the next to step out. He held out his hand for Din to grab onto, pulling the (for now) smaller boy out of the speeder. He did the same thing to Mrs. Djarin, much to her surprise. Din could kind of understand. To his mother’s perspective, the Crown Prince of Mandalore, a Royal, had just helped her, a common woman, out of the speeder like she was a Dame.
“Welcome, Djarin’s, to Keldabe’s Royal Palace.” Boba introduced as they both stared up at the palace. It was large, larger than Jabba-then-Boba’s palace, but only slightly. The outer walls were visibly supported by multiple protective columns and walls but done in an artistic way that it hides their intention to the non-Mando’ade eye. Beautiful, yet with purpose. “Home of the current Mand’alor.”
“It’s beautiful.” His mother breaths out, stunned at the view. Boba smiled at her comment. Din narrowed his eyes at his friend. Why is he suddenly pulling out all the charms now?
“Follow me. I believe I promised Din a view of the mythosaur skull throne.” Boba said as their small group is guided inside by Bella. The main doors of the palace are massive, nearly two stories tall, with ancient Mando’a carefully carved onto the Beskar plated door. Inside leads to a large foyer with multiple hallways leading off into different parts of the palace.
They all followed down the widest hallway, which had thousands year old paintings upon its wall behind protective glass, with a small plaque detailing who a certain person or battle was. They even passed a greenhouse, which Din quickly peered into. He spotted a man wearing orange and white beskar’gam with his back to Din, scribbling on a sheet of flimsi, grape plants in front of him.
They quickly made their way to the throne room, which was breath taking. It was a large room, with high ceilings which had detailed art of the stars of the galaxy and painted walls. Amazingly, the stars on the ceiling acted as lights, which lit the room up, as the windows were narrow slits supported with columns, which had mini mythosaur’s curled around the base and up the length of the pillars. The walls, where they weren’t painted, had more carvings of a more normal scene, with the Mandalorian’s in the stone wearing soft clothing with little armour. The floors were made of marble of a deep red colour, with a black carpet with blue and silver accents leading up to the famed mythosaur throne.
The throne was, in one word, mythical.
The throne had been carved into the large skull of a mythosaur on the bridge of its nose, with the eyes protruding on either side whoever sits on the throne, giving them an eery look as they stared back with four eyes, two hollow and narrowed into a glare. The tusks curl outwards and inwards, the damage on the tusks carefully filled and painted over. The steps up to the throne has been carved out of the animals nose and jaw, the nostrils being the perfect height for the Mand’alor to tuck their feet into. The bone of the skull shined, still intact since the first Mand’alor to tame the might beast.
“Wow…” Din said, amazed. As he was busy staring at the throne, his mother wandered over to the carved walls. Din wandered about the throne room, shadowed by Boba, who was shadowed by his ver’gebuir’e. Engrossed as he was, Din didn’t notice the time passing by, but Boba did.
“C’mon, you must be hungry.” Boba nudged Din, who nodded in agreement after tearing himself away from a beautiful landscape painting. Boba turned to Mrs. Djarin. “Mrs. Djarin, would you like to join us?” he asked politely to the engrossed woman, who was looking at the different styles of clothes engraved into the stone from nearly ten thousand years ago.
“No, no, go ahead, sweetling. I’ll be busy trying to figure out how to re-create this fascinating style of dress.” Din’s mother said, already sketching out the depiction. Din blinked. Was his family that into textiles? Considering his grandma owned a clothing store, Din was betting on ‘yes’.
The walk from the throne room to the smallest dining area was short, located in the same wing of the palace. Din stared up at the tapestries that hanged between the narrow slits that consisted of windows, some showing House Mereel and Clan Fett’s signets, while the older and more cared for tapestries that had clearly been restored told of how the first Mandalorian’s tamed the wild mountains and its large Mythosaur’s.
“How did some of the tapestries get damaged?” He asked as they passed one that had been sliced in half, the thick cloth being woven together by slightly warmer tones that the original. In the picture, it showed Tarre Vizsla in all her glory, her beskad and kal dagger raised in a call for battle, her famous dha’kad’au not shown. After all, it was only after her death where the dha’kad’au turned into a symbol of power. “There must have been a great battle to cut through the thick cloth.”
“Hm?,” Boba said, pausing to look at the tapestry. Understanding flashed across his face. “Oh, no. Remember how I told you that after the civil war ended, Satine become Duchess?” At Din’s nod, Boba continued. “Well, she wanted to pacify Mandalore in any way she could. She destroyed libraries, artwork and tried to get rid of this Palace, despite it being created to withstand a planetary bombing, which it did. All in the name of her ‘peace’. What a funny way to describe cultural genocide.” He scoffed.
Din was horrified. “She must have known that by destroying the past, we are bound to repeat it!” Much of Mandalore’s history and culture has been lost to the Empire and the Kryze’s iron fist rule of Mandalore. In the end, it was why he decreed that Mandalore was lost. After all, a dead planet can’t sustain anyone, but Tatooine? He was already allied with its new King.
Boba hummed in agreement. “Stupid, but stupid people don’t think far ahead. I know Buir has planned out how to run Mandalore to my ad’s ad.” He laughed. Granted, they were just rough guidelines, but Boba knew that once he became Mand’alor, he would do the same.
Boba smiled upon seeing the opened doors to the private dining room for the Royal family. Even the public knew about it, but it was Jango’s only rule: No one shall enter the private areas. There was a reason why Jango had office hours.
“C’mon, I’ll introduce you to anyone that’s inside. Should be close family friends or Vod’e.” He said as they both enter. To Boba’s surprise, it was nearly empty, save for Elliott and Vabai seated at the fourteen-seater table, the food in self-heated or chilled boxes to keep fresh for any passing verd.
“Everyone, this is Din Djarin, my guest and friend. This is Elliott Wytt,” Boba said, as a man in familiar white and orange beskar’gam carefully dividing his meal by the ingredients, separating them with a concentrated look on his face. “-and this is Vabai.” The Mirialan looked up from her own meal and side dish, a very simple spiced soup and bowl of freshly picked grapes (that Din swore he saw earlier), flashing Din a quick wink. Boba leans close, his voice dropping down to a whisper. “I’ve known her for six standard years, and even I don’t know her backstory.”
“Life is full of mystery, Boba!” Vabai said, her grin dimpling her tattoo’s on her cheeks. She lounged back into her chair in the Royal dining room, uncaring and carefree. Her scratched beskar’gam shines, the Jaig eyes on her chest making Din wondering what she did to earn them. “I’ll never tell!”
“I know it.” Elliott said dryly as he carefully scooped up the potatoes onto his fork in a somehow perfect ball. He looks up at Vabai with wide eyes. “You told me while drunk. So much for the ‘best scout of Mandalore’.”
“Lies!” Vabai cries out dramatically, then laughs, crossing her ankles. “Ah, I remember that day fondly.”
“We had to drag you off the palace rooftops. I wouldn’t call that a ‘fond’ day for anyone else.” Elliott replied flatly, raising an eyebrow. “Jango then banned you from wearing a jetpack after the third incident unless it’s in the field or emergencies. He still complains about the amount of vomit you managed to get into his kute.”
“Nice to meet you?” Din says, scratching at the back of his head. At the corner of his eye, he noticed Boba rolling his eyes.
“Bob’ika!” A familiar voice called out, before two of Boba’s aliit ran into the room. The older and dark haired vod had black and orange painted beskar’gam, while the younger and blond haired vod had white and dark blue painted beskar’gam, with Jaig eyes on his buy’ce, hooked onto his belt, the same blue as his armour. The one in black and orange grinned. Beside him, Boba groaned lowly in his throat.
“Kote, I don’t want to deal with your shit right now.” Boba says, crossing his arms over his painted beskar’gam. Kote simply grinned, quickly side-stepping over to Elliott to give the man a mid-air kiss, with a coo of ‘ner tranyc’ika’, before turning back to Boba.
“You kiss our buir and Mand’alor with that mouth?” He jabbed, raising a thick eyebrow, which pulled at the gnarled but cool looking scar on the side of his head.
“Well, he certainly isn’t going to kiss you with that face, is he?” The blond one said in a deadpan voice without batting an eyelid, which sent Vabai into cackles. Even Elliott had a smile. Din had to hide a grin. It seems the blond vod has a quick mouth.
“Rex,” Kote said, mock hurt in his voice, before his tone turns slight mocking. “Buir always gives me a goodnight kiss.”
“Slander and lies, Kote.” Boba says, uncrossing his arms and placing them on his narrow hips. “Why are you even here? Unless you are here to watch Elliott eat, you can crawl back into the hole you came out of.”
“Such nasty words, ori’vod’ika,” Kote says with a shake of his head and a small hand wave. “Naw, I heard you made a new friend and thought ‘Wow, our Bob’ika sure took his time to make a friend’.”
“He dragged me along with him.” The blond vod, Rex, says with a sigh. “Kote has an utreekov when it comes to gossip.”
“That is sadly true.” Boba agrees, nodding with a solemn look on his face. “This is Din. I ran into him at the market while he was visiting with his buir and invited him to join me.”
“First crush, eh?” Kote said, a leer on his face. Din watched as Rex calmly raised his foot before bringing it down onto Kote’s right boot, making sure to ground his heel, uncaring if his heel had small spikes on them for better grip on rocky terrain. Maybe Rex is a scout, Din thought. Or even better, a bounty hunter. “Rex!”
“Kote.” Rex replied, his voice flat as he glared, his golden eyes shining. “Stop being a di’kut and act like the adult you are.”
“I was only wanting to tease Boba,” Kote said, but Din could see the difference in half a second. Kote had straightened out, losing any childish characteristics. “Besides, the only reason I know is because the citizens are talking about Boba’s new friend.” He raised an eyebrow. “Some are even saying that Boba has a cyar’ika.”
“What?!” Boba near-shouts, making Din jump a little at how loud Boba had shouted, his voice surprisingly high. Boba was staring at Kote in shock. “I’ve talked to plenty other citizens without gossip breaking out that I have a cyar’ika!”
“Not true.” Kote said, looking delighted. “Remember when we talked to Clan Cadera’s alor, who brought along his daughter when Buir and us visited the market?” Boba slowly nodded, remembering how Cadera wanted the remaining missing family Beskar returned, which was stolen by Satine to then be used in her cold, useless palace. The meeting took place in public, to show how transparent and earnest Buir was in returning the stolen Beskar to his people. Cadera’s heir, a Pantoran named Hava Cadera, seemed to be too interested in Boba now that he’s looking back. “His daughter was flirting with you. Pulling out all the stops as well if I remember correctly.”
“How did I miss that?” Boba mutters to himself, but Din, Kote and Rex, all heard it.
Rex laughed. “You were too busy calculating how much Beskar needed to be taken from the dar’palace in the exact pounds, down to the dot, to notice I’m afraid. People seemed to think that you were either playing hard to get, or already had a cyar’ika.”
“But Hava is five years my senior! Din here,” he pointed to Din, who was amused despite himself, crossing his arms to watch with a small smile. “is nine! Another five-year difference.”
Kote raised his eyebrows. “That doesn’t matter much to some Clans. They are only after your Buir’s title of Mand’alor since he doesn’t have a confirmed Ridd’alor.” He pauses, thinking. “I think Fox fills the role of Rid’alor without the title. That man loves his flimsi work.”
“You’re complaining that Fox organises everything and keeps everything in order?” Boba asks, his face showing how un-amused he is. “Fox may love flimsi work, but that doesn’t mean that because he enjoys making sure everything is in its place that he’s weird.”
Kote shrugged. “Fox has his weird kinks. I’m just happy with what I have; Marshal Commander of Mandalore, at your service.” He winked at Boba and Din, putting his hands on his belt, puffing out his chest.
Boba turned to Elliott, who was watching Kote and chewing slowly, a faraway look in his dark eyes. “You married this man.” He said, voice showing how shocked he was.
Elliott shrugged and swallowed his bite. “Despite his childish tendencies while he is with you, Kote is a dedicated vod to his Mand’alor. I admire that about him.” He then spoke to his riduur, his face going sly in the way that means Elliott has seen something through the Ka’ra and keeps it to himself for amusement. “Kote, you are going to be late in training and assessing the new recruits if you don’t leave in two minutes.”
Kote paused and looked at his gauntlet, tapping the holo-display. He grunted when he realised the time but nodded. “Thank you, ner tranyc’ika. Boba, Din, Vabai,” he nodded, then turned on his heel to stalk out of the large dining room, footsteps quickly quieting until his light footsteps couldn’t be heard.
Rex sighed when everyone turned to look at him. “I’ll keep an eye on him, with me being his SIC. As always.” He grumbled, stomping after Kote. “I’m so going to get Wolffe to babysit him next time; Wolffe bites Kote if he misbehaves…”
Din stares, wide eyed, as Rex walks away. Just how strange was Boba’s new aliit? He bit his cheek, feeling a flare of jealously swelling up inside of him. Boba hasn’t made a new aliit, he’s had the same one from the beginning, only now he gets to enjoy his time with them.
Maybe Din was wrong for coming to Mandalore. A selfish desire. He was already missing Grogu, who was likely still in his Jetii magic school from before the Purge of Mandalore. But Grogu was safe with the wizards. Boba was in more danger.
No, it was not selfish, he decided, giving Boba a quick look to reassure himself that his friend was here, in this strange present. Boba caught his look and thought for a second before nodding to himself, having come to a decision.
“C’mon, you need to meet Buir.” Boba said, before giving the Roses’ and Vabai a look. “You are all going to stay here.”
The Roses’ shrugged, sitting down. One of the still nameless ver’gebuir stretched out with a groan of relief, with her partner starting to load two plates with food from the table and placing on in front of herself and her partner. Bella simply grumbled, but obeyed, sitting next to her small squad, just staring.
“If you say so, Bob’ika,” Vabai said with a shrug, popping a grape into her mouth. Vabai made a noise of pleasant surprise. “Hey, your grape project was a success!” she nudged Elliott, who was now tapping away on a data pad. He gave her a side look, narrowing his eyes.
“It’s more than a ‘grape project’.” He replied, sounding slightly annoyed. “Jango and I have planned to introduce fast growing salt trees to create fertile soil and free Mandalore of its use of domes through-”
Boba had guided Din through the halls, the sound of Elliott quickly fading. Salt trees? Mandalore without domes? Din’s head spins with the very idea of a fertile Mandalore.
Boba led Din down the hall, passing beautifully carved murals depicting all recognised Mand’alor’e, from Mandalore the Great to Tarre Vizsla to the more recent, with Anita Mereel leading into the Mereel/Fett line with her grandson Jaster Mereel and his son, Jango Fett.
The carvings were from floor to wall, and Din was in awe. He never even knew that this existed in his last life. Boba literally lived in a palace filled with rich history inscribed onto its walls. Then, at the end of the corridor, was two large double doors, the wood smooth and carefully carved with the six tenants of the Resol’nare in what looks like Ancient Mando’a. Outside the doors were two of the Elite Roses’, marked by their carefully crafted beskar’gam and extra Beskar weave, with silver Kama.
They saluted at Boba, crossing their right arms over their hearts as they clicked their heels together. Boba nodded at them from behind his buy’ce. “Ark. Bom-Bom.” He greeted his sisters before opening the one of the doors, not knocking.
Inside, Din could hear an older Boba (Jango, his mind supplied) speaking.
“-how many times do I have to say this: Mandalore and its neutral systems are not joining the Republic or the Confederacy of Independent Systems in its war.” The Mand’alor was calm, assertive, even if he seemed to be repeating himself. To Din’s eye, Jango looked just like Boba when he would get annoyed, save for the acid burns. “There will be no trade deal. The dar’manda Kryze might have been entertaining talks, but under my rule, we will not hand over our Beskar in this petty war.”
Jango looked up, his stern face softening once he laid eyes on Boba. He gave a quick once over of Din before he turned his attention back to the holo-call, crossing his arms over his chest. On the holo-call was an old man, with a receding hair line and a grandfatherly look on his wrinkly face.
Din was instantly suspicious.
“I hope you will re-consider, Mand’alor Fett. The Republic’s citizens are dying every day, on the battlefield and off them.” The older man paused dramatically, but Jango cut off the call before he could continue with his soft-spoken speech/demand.
“What an arrogant dar’jetii prick.” Jango sighed, turning his attention towards Boba and Din. He stood with a smile. “Bob’ika.” He greeted his son warmly, the skin around his eyes creasing in a smile, giving Jango a warm, fatherly look.
“Buir,” he greeted. “I see that Palpatine is still trying to get our Beskar, is he?” Boba asked, amusement thick in his voice as he places his red and green buy’ce on Jango’s desk, next to, presumably Jango’s own buy’ce and another buy’ce. Jango’s buy’ce was unpainted save for his visor’s rim and upper cheeks, which was a deep blue. The other buy’ce was a light red with a white visor rim, with the black visor cut up into a rather strange looking buy’ce.
Jango rubbed at his jaw with a nod. “The karking idiot has promised the Republic that Mandalore would hand over its Beskar at the start of this puppet war between them and the CIS. Clearly, the citizens are now getting angry at their Chancellor for lying to them.” He scoffed. “He’s just a poor imitation of a Sith now that his key players are out of the game.”
He cleared his throat, looking at Din properly, holding out his hand. “Jango Fett, Mand’alor.” He smiled. Din stared, looking at Jango with hungry eyes. Boba, in the future, would have looked like this, he thought, had he not fell into the Sarlacc. Damn, Din thought, Boba would have looked fine.
Jango had the same dark skin as Boba, with short, thick black curls and a face with small scars on his cheek and through his left eyebrow. His face was surprisingly expressive, considering that Din, from all the things his son has said, thought that he would have had a sterner look about him, considering his past as a ruthless bounty hunter turned King of an entire sector that was slowly expanding into the Outer Rim.
Jango was wearing beskar’gam and, judging by the shine, it was like Din’s own set, carved from pure Beskar, covering everything in a similar design to the Elite Roses’. It was unpainted, save for some stripes of blue and black. His kute was a dark blue/purple, with a near black flak vest with a thick belt with multiple pouches attached to it, his blaster holsters attaching to his groin plate and wrapping around his upper thigh plates. He also has a blood red cape on his right side, the Beskar weave frayed at the edges, betraying how old it was. Lastly, Jango had black leather gloves on.
He reached out, taking Jango’s hand into his and giving it a firm shake, the leather worn and cared for under his fingertips.
“Din Djarin, ner Mand’alor.” Din said, releasing Jango’s hand. A spark of recognition formed in Jango’s eyes as the man smiled, his eyes snapping to look in Boba’s direction before settling back on Din.
“Mand’alor the Reluctant. It is an honour to meet you.” Jango said, standing tall and clasping his arms behind his back. He had a proud look on his face, as well as awe. Din frowned, giving a too innocent looking Boba a narrowed side eye.
“Did you tell literally everyone about my stupid nickname that you gave me?” He asked as both Boba and Jango laughed softly. Din was surprised when Jango placed his hand on his small, skinny shoulder.
“Take pride in your title and achievements, Din Djarin. You may have been Reluctant, but you proved that you were worthy of carrying the Darksaber and guiding our people. That is a man I would have gladly followed.” Jango smiles down at Din as Din stares back in surprise. “You managed to unite all the clans under your rule, which is no small feat, considering you had a power hungry dar’manda after your throne.”
Din smiled up at Jango, small and hesitant. “It was mostly with Boba’s help I managed to do everything I had done.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Din,” Boba drawled, then turned towards a figure that Din had missed while he eyed up Jango. It was another Elite Rose, but her buy’ce was missing, showing off her features. In concept, Din knew that Boba and all his siblings are clones, but it still amazed him to see it in person. Especially a female looking Boba, as even Bella and her duo has never removed their buy’ce in front of him so far.
Her beskar’gam, he noted, was a one shade off red.
The Rose had the same dark skin as Jango and Boba, but had shoulder length wavy light blonde hair, maybe a shade or two lighters than Rex’s with dark roots just peeking through. She also had heterochromia, with one eye being a light blue with the other being a light golden honeyed brown. Her features were the same as Jango, Boba, Rex and Kote; high cheekbones and stern eyebrows, but her jaw and over all bulk is slimmer than her male counterparts, giving her a lithe look. He instantly is reminded of his Rising Phoenix’s teacher; a stern teacher who always had him and his class sore and tired after each lesson. ‘Practice makes perfect’, she would say as they repeated the same flight action repeatedly.
“Hey Ay, I hope you are keeping this dinosaur safe from the evil politicians and dar’jetii.” Boba said as Ay walked forward, a small smirk pulling at her lips. She nodded, reaching a gloved hand to chuck her vod under his chin. “Thought so.”
“I cannot believe you’ve conspired against me,” Jango deadpans, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like Ay doesn’t speak to me herself, as my personal ver’gebuir.” He turns to Ay and begins signing. Din perks up, watching as Ay brings her own hands up to ‘speak’.
“Ay can’t speak. Her throat was slit by her own hand when my Vod’e were freed.” Boba softly says, standing next to Din and watching his father and sister talk. “Ay thought she was possessed by an unnatural spirit, with wanting to be a woman and all. She thought if she killed herself, it would spare her and her batchmates to horror of being decommissioned by the Kaminiiese for being ‘wrong’ in the head.”
“Everything turned out alright, though, in the end.” Din says, looking at Boba. He had a strange look on his face that Din would call regret, if he was so bold. “Ay is now in a secure position. She is the Mand’alor’s personal ver’gebuir, after all. You can’t get higher than that.”
“Mm,” Boba agreed, turning to look at Din. “I’m glad that you are here, with me.” He smiled and laughed, but Din could see his anxiousness behind his laughter. “I thought I had gone insane, had finally cracked when I woke up and saw Buir. As you can see, I wasted no time in righting many wrongs.” He swept an arm out before re-folding his arms close to his chest.
Din smiled, patting Boba on his bicep. “I thank you. Makes you wonder if Fennec or Cara came back with us. I hope so.”
Boba raised his eyebrows. “Well, here’s to new beginnings.” He held out his right hand, making a grabbing motion towards Din. Din rolled his eyes and clasped Boba’s arm, feeling the cool, heavy Beskar gauntlet under his bare hands. In turn, he felt Boba clasp onto his arm, grip tight but loose for his bare skin and thin merchant wraps.
“To new beginnings.” Din agreed.
“Din, I wanted to ask about Bo-Katan Kryze with you.” Jango suddenly spoke, as he and Ay turn their bodies to face Din, the gloss on their beskar’gam catching the light softly. Din frowned at the sudden change of topic, dropping Boba’s forearm.
“What do you want to know?” He asked as Jango grinned, looking slightly feral, showing off his white teeth and pink gums. Ay had a similar feral look, with her eyes wide and attentive like a loth wolf ready to tear its prey to pieces. He knew it was not a good sign, considering when Boba had that look on his face, people tended to, how-does-Din-put-it-politely, die horrible deaths.
“Anything. Bo-Katan has just officially challenged me for the dha’kad’au.” Jango grasped the hilt of the dha’kad’au that was on his waist, hidden by his cape, the strange crystal inside practically purring at the soft touch. Jango’s eyes darkened with intent, his pupils dilating with excitement. “And I plan on burning her alive.”