Chapter Text
“You were out late last night.” Were the first words that greeted Finn that morning.
He blinked slowly at his buir, who was sitting at the kitchen table with a stony look on his face. It wasn’t a look of anger, but one of worry and concern and…resignement?
“It wasn’t that late,” Finn mumbled.
Buir just stared at him.
Grogu was in his lap, babbling and giggling, and if Din were not Finn’s buir the sight of it would have taken away from the seriousness of the moment. As it was, Finn recognized the stillness in Din’s shoulders, the carefully neutral expression his face fell into, the calm before the storm. It was not a look Finn saw directed at him often–he couldn't even recall the last time he had that look turned on him. He must have been a child, getting into things he knew to stay out of, running off into desert sands before Mandalore was properly settled, messing around with his lightsaber without the supervision of his papa–
Oh.
Finn was in trouble.
Buir let out a quiet breath. “Finn’ika, I know you’re an adult and that I can’t make decisions for you, and I know that you’re…that you like Poe–” buir frowned when he said it. “--but he also has a job to do.” He fixed Finn with a heavy look. “A very important job that you can’t distract him from.”
Guilt crept in.
Finn really hadn’t meant to be out so late.
Kissing Poe had been…Finn had gotten drunk off it. The softness of Poe’s lips, the sweetness of the uj cake on his tongue, the silkyness of Poe’s hair between Finn’s fingers, the warmth of his skin seeping into Finn’s own, the sharp curve of Poe’s jawline on his fingertips, all of it. It was far more intoxicating than any spiced mead Finn could drink. He wanted more of it, as much as Poe was willing to give. And Poe had given him so much. He had kissed Finn until they were both breathless, pulling back just long enough to let air slip into their lungs before kissing him again and again and again. It was not until the moon was starting her descent to the morning sky did they reluctantly part and head back to the palace, lingering together as long as they could before Poe had to slip away, leaving Finn’s hand cold and empty and his lips warm and tingling from the weight of Poe’s own against them in one last kiss.
Finn winced.
“...sorry, buir.”
Din sighed.
“I’m not telling you to not court him,” buir’s voice softened to a gentle understanding. “But maybe save the nighttime excursions for after we catch your ba’vodu’s assassin.”
Finn nodded.
There was a moment of silence, and then Finn drifted forward and took a seat at the table across from his buir.
Din stayed quiet, waiting for Finn to gather his words.
“..were you ever scared that you’d mess it up?” Finn asked softly.
His buir did not answer right away. He readjusted Grogu to a more comfortable and steady hold, then lifted a hand and placed it palm up on the table. Finn did not hesitate to take it, suddenly feeling like nothing more than a child seeking comfort and reassurance from his father.
Finn had never really stopped being that child, he thought.
He didn’t think he ever would.
“Your ba’buir used to tell a story about the gods of the forge when I was young,” his buir started. “She told me how Gol Ga’ran was the first of the Old Gods to step foot on Mandalore, that he spent a hundred years building the Great Forge, then a hundred more building and tending to the fires until they were hot enough to shape and bend beskar.” He paused for a moment, taking the time to choose his words. “When Kad Ha’rangir asked him why he was doing this, Gol Ga’ran told him that the Great Forge and the fires within were a courting gift. When he asked who Gol Ga’ran was courting, he told Kad Ha’rangir that he would know when he saw them.”
Finn vaguely recalled this story, a distant hazy memory that seemed more like a dream.
“And then Hod Ha’ran came to Mandalore to find material for armor and weapons, right?” Finn asked.
Din hummed in agreement. “Gol Ga’ran gifted him the forge, and in return Hod Ha’ran used this gift to craft Gol Ga’ran the axe he uses to harvest the wood for the forge’s fires.”
That was the story of Mandalore’s Great Lovers, the foundations of their own courting rituals, why the gift of a weapon was so important.
“...buir, I already know this story,” Finn said.
His buir smiled softly. “Then you know that Chance has always loved Fortune, and yet he spent two hundred years on a courting gift.”
Finn blinked slowly.
He was being about as cryptic as ba’buir.
“He was afraid he was going to get it wrong. I was afraid that I was going to get it wrong, but look at where we are now,” buir gave Finn’s hand a gentle squeeze, a gesture that was as familiar as it was comforting. “I’ve seen the way Poe looks at you, Finn’ika. I’m pretty sure he’s not going home with Leia once all this is figured out.”
Finn should probably feel more embarrassed.
Instead he felt his heart leap in excitement.
“Really?”
Buir groaned while Grogu laughed.
—
“Did you get yelled at too?” Poe asked.
He was already waiting in the throne room when Finn and Rey and Grogu entered, leaning against one of the stone pillars while BB-8 zipped around him.
Poe looked tired.
He looked beautiful.
He looked like something that Finn wanted to see every single morning for the rest of his life.
Finn smiled, easily closing the distance between them, taking Poe’s hand in his and pressing a kiss to his palm. “Just a little bit.”
A pretty shade of rose bloomed across Poe’s cheeks, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips like the sunrises that crested over Mandalore’s horizon. He stepped closer to Finn, settling his free hand on his pauldron, right over the mudhorn. “I would say I’m sorry–” Poe traced over the points and curves of the signet with an odd gentleness, almost as if he were afraid it would break. “--except I’m really not.”
“Good,” Finn tangled their fingers together, not wanting to let go of Poe’s hand just yet. “I’d hate if you were.”
“Stop being gross.” Rey demanded.
“No.” Finn replied.
Rey made a gagging sound, sending Grogu into a fit of laughter.
“Be kind to your ori’vod, ade.”
Both Finn and Poe jumped at the sound of the Armorer’s voice. Finn twisted around to see his ba’buir crossing the throne room in easy, graceful strides. She had a piece of the assassin’s armor with her–the chest plate, it looked like–which she set on the throne dias without once breaking her gait as she continued walking towards Finn and Poe. The only time she paused was to gently press her temple to Rey’s, then Grogu’s, offering them softly murmured hellos in Mando’a, but outside of that the Armorer continued straight on to the two of them.
“Poe Dameron,” she greeted once she reached them.
“Um. Hello.” Poe fiddled with the edge of Finn’s pauldron, the only visible sign of his nervousness. Finn couldn’t blame Poe for it. His ba’buir was a frightening woman–he didn’t know anyone who wasn’t at least a little intimidated by her. Even Bo-Katan hesitated to question or disagree with her. “Ma’am.”
The Armorer looked at Poe with a steady gaze, her expression entirely unreadable beneath her golden helmet.
Poe shuffled awkwardly.
“Jeeze,” ba’vodu Boba’s voice drifted into the throne room, a distant echo that grew louder with each word. “Don’t scare him away yet, my Lady–you’re gonna make the kid sad.”
“Ba’vodu Boba!” Rey said.
Boba knelt down, catching Grogu as he Force jumped out of Rey’s hold, easily transferring him to the crook of his arm so he could catch Rey with the other. She knocked her forehead against ba’vodu Boba’s, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. Finn couldn’t hold back his smile at the sight of it even if he tried, so he didn’t.
“Boba Fett,” the Armorer said. “You have impeccable timing.”
“It’s a gift.” Ba’vodu Boba said it with a bright smile. Then, “Where’s this armor?”
Ba’buir nodded to the chest plate on the throne dias. “The rest is in the forge, but I can’t imagine you’d need it.”
It took Finn a moment to connect the dots.
A big part of the Hutt trade and underground markets–outside of spice, anyway–was the trading and selling of Mandalorian armor and weapons. There was still so much of it that had been lost to the Purge, and the task of returning it back home to Mandalore’s forges was certainly a daunting one. With how ironclad his grip on the Hutt trade in the Outer Rim was, Boba was and had been neck deep in it for years, pulling the authentic Mandalorian armor from the market while letting the knock offs and forgeries go through. This armor was a forgery, of that there was no doubt, but if ba’vodu Boba could recognize the make of it, it would certainly help them narrow down the possibilities of where it came from.
Boba hummed as he got back to his feet and crossed the room, Grogu nestled snugly in his arms while Rey trailed after him.
“I can tell you right now it wasn’t hand forged,” Boba made the observation before he knelt down again. “Not completely, anyway. The body is a standard mass produced model.”
“Yes,” ba’buir said dryly. “I figured that out myself.”
“Of course you did.” Ba’vodu Boba didn’t say it unkindly. He tilted his head as he looked at the armor, adjusting Grogu to a more comfortable hold while humming a thoughtful note. “Looks like old clone trooper armor–someone just modified it to look more Mandalorian.”
“Clone trooper?” Poe cut in.
He sounded surprised.
And worried.
Both ba’buir and ba’vodu Boba looked at him.
“Gonna share with the class, kid?” Ba’vodu Boba prompted when Poe didn’t continue.
“The Republic’s been putting all the unclaimed clone trooper armor in storage,” Poe said quickly. He let go of Finn’s hand, but not before giving it a final parting squeeze. “It’s part of the new Preservation Laws–some of that armor still has their data chips intact.” He moved away from Finn to kneel beside Boba, hesitating for only a moment before picking up the chest plate to get a closer look. “Those have all the backlogs of battle reports and confidential information that was passed back and forth during the Clone Wars–a lot of it is out of date now, but it’s still too much of a security risk to let that armor stay with the public. Who the kriff knows what’s on those chips.”
Boba was looking at Poe with a curious expression.
Poe didn’t seem to notice. He was entirely focused on the chest plate in his hands, looking it over with narrowed eyes. “Shit–it is clone trooper armor–how the hell did I miss that–?
“Their armor was based on Mandalorian armor–it was already pretty similar looking before this particular set was modified,” ba’vodu Boba said. “If you’re not familiar with both styles it’s almost impossible to tell the difference.”
Poe didn’t look particularly reassured by that.
“So you think this came from Republic storage?” Finn asked.
“Either that or the underground markets,” Poe set the chest plate down, looking back up at Finn. The smile and laid back look he had before was gone, replaced with a stony expression covered with a thick glaze of concern. Finn wanted to wash it away and unearth that smile again, but he didn’t know how. “Clone trooper armor is in pretty high demand right now, what with the Republic snatching it all up–it’s right up there with Mandalorian armor now, I think.”
Boba hummed. “You’ve got a log of this stuff, right?”
“Yeah,” It took Poe a moment to look away from Finn and back to ba’vodu Boba. “I don’t have access to it, but Queen Organa does.” He paused for a moment. “You think the serial number is still on this set?”
“Not really, but it’s worth a shot,” ba’vodu Boba said.
Ba’buir leaned down to pick up the chest plate. “I suppose you did need all the armor after all.”
–
“Wow–” Poe looked around the Great Forge in awe, a curious wonder painted across his face in delicate brushstrokes. “--this place is insane.”
Rey and Grogu had run off to go find papa and ba’vodu Leia, leaving the four of them to journey to the forge alone.
“This is the heart of Mandalore,” ba’buir said. Even with the song of ringing hammers and roaring fires her voice rose above it all, a steady presence among the ever changing tides and flames of the forge. Finn had not spent nearly as much time here during his childhood as he had in the night markets, but the Great Forge still brought him that same sort of nostalgic comfort. Finn could–and has–spent hours in here, just listening to the beat and pulse of Mandalore’s heart. Din would sit with him sometimes. They never spoke much during these moments, taking the time to just listen. “It is here the Great Lovers dwell, where Fickle Fortune steadies the swing of our hammers and Clever Chance keeps our fires burning bright.”
“Neat,” Poe said eloquently.
Ba’vodu Boba snorted out a laugh. “Where’d you find this one at, squirt?”
“Poe is ba’vodu Leia’s personal guard,” Finn answered.
“No shit?” Boba looked back at Poe with that same curiosity he had back in the throne room.
“The armor is over there–do not touch anything else.” Ba’buir interrupted before the conversation could continue. She gestured to one of the unoccupied workbenches, where the assassin’s armor was neatly stacked. Finn had been half expecting it to be strewn about, but the Armorer always showed the deepest respect and care to any piece of armor. It is what keeps us safe and protects us from harm, she had once explained to him, so we must treat it with kindness to show our gratitude for all it does for us. In hindsight, Finn didn’t know why he thought this one would be different. “Finn, come with me.”
Finn blinked, confused, but followed after his ba’buir.
“You wish to court Poe Dameron, yes?” she asked once they were out of earshot of Boba and Poe, not waiting for Finn to answer before continuing. “Have you thought of what weapon to gift him?”
“A knife.” Finn said without really thinking. Then, “Wait, how did you–?”
“I am not blind, ad’ika.”
Finn felt his cheeks warm.
He knew they weren’t exactly being subtle about their interest in each other, but he didn’t think it was that obvious.
You made out with Poe on the bank of the Kelta last night, his brain unhelpfully supplied. Buir told you off like you were a teenager again. You can’t get much more obvious than that.
“Tell me–” ba’buir, oblivious to his plight, continued deeper into the forge. Finn hurried to follow after her, throwing a glance over his shoulder. He did not like the idea of leaving Poe alone in the Great Forge where so many Mandalorians were congregated, some not as receptive to outsiders as others, but he was with ba’vodu Boba. He might not spend much time on Mandalore, but Boba was a Clan leader and one of the Mand’alor’s head advisors. Ba’vodu Boba was respected here. As long as Poe stayed with him he would be alright. “--what is the significance with your choice of weapon?”
Finn’s gaze lingered on Poe for a second longer before he turned back to the Armorer.
“He carries a knife with him–a metal one, not a viroblade,” Finn explained. “He’s…he’s very skilled with it.”
Ba’buir hummed thoughtfully. She had come to a stop in front of some of the stock shelves, looking it over before reaching for a bar of beskar. “That is a very difficult weapon to master.”
Finn nodded in agreement, watching her pull another bar from the shelf.
“Come see me tomorrow morning,” ba’buir said. “I’ll have something ready for you then.”
“Ba’buir, you don’t have to—”
“You want to court him, do you not?” She cut Finn off, not unkindly.
“... ‘lek,” Finn answered, the Mando’a rolling off his tongue like rain water. Because he did want to. Badly.
“Then I shall have a weapon made.” The Armorer said simply.
And that was the end of that.