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newtie-patootie-bootie · 1 year ago

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Masquerade (Chapter 5)

Summary: This is your third season and your aspirations on finding love are dwindling but news on Lady Whistledown’s society pages say that there is to be a foreign royal in attendance to the season. Could this royal dignitary be the one you’ve been waiting for, or could there be a mysterious stranger lurking in the shadows, waiting to pluck your heart for his?

Disclaimer: I do not own Bridgerton nor The Mandalorian- all rights go to the owners and creators of their separate stories.

Warnings: Descriptions of violence and minor blood and wounds- nothing too major. (I tell you, we’re getting into it, I promise!)

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Tags: @technicallykawaiisoul @call-me-soap @the-feckless-wonder @elinedjarin @bluevxnus @literallydontlook @sm0l-0ne @1am9root6 @ems-alexandra @notsosecretspy

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This work is also cross-posted on Ao3 at: pleasehelpmeimstuckinthefandoms

Din rarely lost his composure, mostly maintaining a calm demeanor even when faced with overwhelming trials and tribulations.

This one was one of those times where he had to show the most restraint.

His jaw ticked in irritation as dark eyes stayed pinned on his general and he leant over his desk, hands curled into fists as they rested atop the oak surface. Important documents crinkled under his twisting knuckles as Paz relayed the day’s earlier events. “There was no correspondence ahead of time to warn us of any vessel of ours sailing on international waters. We are lucky that we have not been questioned but I suspect it will not be overlooked so easily the next time.”

“There will not be a next time, Paz. Not if I can help it.” Gravelly and cold, the voice of the true man beneath the royal title and gold-enlaced armour bled through. “What the kriff was she thinking?”

"We were not informed that there was any ship scheduled to sail. As such, I have had no reports from our staff or any correspondence from our Naval officers ahead of time that would suggest we are in need of supplies which means-” 

“-this was planned and executed in secret.” Din growled, teeth grinding together as he untied the cravat constricting his throat and tossed it into the corner of his office without a second thought, resuming his previous position as he desperately tried to calm his breath. “I am growing tired of secrets and hidden plots hatching right under my nose.”

“That’s not all, Manda’lor.” Din tensed at Paz’s apprehensive tone, clicking his tongue as he inhaled sharply through his nose, “apparently the other clans are doubting your actions. They question why you did not choose one of our own to be your riduur.”

He exhaled sharply, slamming a fist against the wood. “You mean that my inferior birth must somehow be cleansed with a true Mandalorian? How many of those are out there, Paz?” Din questioned hotly, dark eyes meeting with his vod’s blue and Paz remained silent as his King let out his frustrations, “truly? If they wish for a true Mandalorian, I sincerely hope they enjoy living through another civil war. After The Great Purge and The Night of a Thousand Tears, I can count how many true Mandalorians remain on one hand.” Anger flamed deep within his chest as he continued, “not many of those of true blood remain amongst our people anymore. I did not see any one of those clan members raise their swords to fight the Imperial rule that they allowed to be wreaked upon them.”

“I admit when you first took the throne, I shared their opinions. I shared their doubts. I even issued a challenge because I believed you could not uphold the traditions of our culture and land.” Din remained silent, allowing Paz to speak his mind, “but you taught me that bloodline means little when one is to rule a kingdom.” Paz moved forward and set a strong hand on Din’s shoulder. “You proved your worth to be Manda'lor when you obtained the Darksaber and used it to liberate us from the Imps. This time, I shall fight for you if the need arises."

"Thank you, vod." Din straightened from his hunched position and sighed deeply through his nose, "it seems I must make appearances at more social gatherings to dissuade the lieutenant. I will not allow her to hurt Lady Dalton."

Paz's hardened expression softened to something akin to pride, "you care for her, don't you?"

Another sigh and the King of Mandalore raised his gaze to his clan-brother, voice barely above a whisper, "more than I am willing to admit."

“I believe we must make a statement.” Paz spoke, “the Manda’lor must make a statement.” 

“What kind of statement, Paz? That my affection for Lady Dalton exceeds two personalities that I have been forced to craft, no thanks to my impertinent General?” Din raised his eyebrows while Paz simply rolled his eyes in response.

“I mean, di’kut,” the familiar insult curled Din’s lips into a familiar smile and he gestured for Paz to finish, taking the seat opposite his desk and he leant back, “that we should hold a ball. Open the estate to the masses and allow them to see our culture and our ways.” 

Din sucked on his bottom lip as he pondered the notion. “This could only go one of two ways.” 

“Well, then we make it go our way.” Paz answered simply, “the Manda’lor is still a shadow to most of the ton. It is time they understand the strength and valour he represents. That they understand the reason you are here.” Paz sighed, looking down at his vod with as much softness as he could muster. “You are here to sample western culture and to take one of their daughters for your bride. They must see you for who you are, they must understand the man beneath the helm and the crown. They must see you.”

Din took in Paz’s words, a harsh sigh expelling from his lips and he stood up, moving toward his small cart topped with various alcohols and picked up a tumbler before allowing a large pour of Mandalorian brewed cognac. 

He passed one to Paz before pouring himself one as well. With one hand in his pants pocket, he turned to face Paz and took a sip of his beverage. “Send a message to Karga to prepare himself to sail. I will require his assistance.” 

“Of course, Manda’lor.” Paz pressed a fist to his chest, over his heart before straightening up. “And what will you do?” 

“I will attend the Vauxhall Gardens.” He raised a finger from his glass to Paz and immediately silenced his General’s next words. Din swallowed softly, taking his pen and he took out a fresh piece of parchment before taking his seat once again and placed his cognac beside the stack of paperwork. “You are right. The Manda’lor can no longer hide.”

You basked in the sunlight, standing just off to the side of the lake, your delicate umbrella resting on the base of your shoulder as you twirled it lazily in thought.

The latest Whisteldown had been released and somehow, the details of the Manda'lor’s special attention toward you had caught her unnerving gaze. It didn’t take long for the hoards of mama’s and daughters to make plans to cast Mando’s gaze from you. Little did they know that you did not care for his gaze. 

However, the dream your mind produced last night disproved those feelings:

Your garments piled atop each other in an undignified heap.

You lay on your back, clinging to him amongst the silk sheets. A gentle stream of light beamed across his back from between the gossamer curtains. 

Your hips bucked into his body as his fingertips traced invisible patterns along the sensitive flesh of the back of your thighs. A chuckle rumbled against the shell of your ear as he lifted your legs and made you curl them around his narrow hips, “cross your ankles together, Sarad.” You immediately took to his instruction and locked them together at the base of his back, your core flush with his. “That’s it. Just like that.”

His hands slid from your naked thighs, curling around your hips and waist. He pinched and pulled at the ties of your smallclothes before burying his aching touch into the mussed bedding by your head. His lips began to trail a line of hot, needy kisses along your naked shoulder and throat- tongue curling against your thumping pulse point and your eyes rolled back as his teeth gently pulled at the soft skin before he soothed and suckled around the faint marks he left behind.

He didn’t allow you to feel the bashfulness associated with this moment; this life-changing event that you had been raised for. The moment you’d been unconsciously preparing for with all those years of lessons to be a proper young lady and three whole seasons spent with little to no thought of any suitor that vied for your hand.

Your hands slowly traced the contours of his arms, curling into the dip of his shoulders before slowly coming to frame his jaw and pushed him back slightly to take in his features.

His face mingled between the stoic beskar helmet and Din’s carnal grin.

Din and Mando’s voice melded into one as they both whispered, “Sarad.” 

A loud squeal tore you from your sinful musings and you turned to witness the commotion just as you spotted your youngest siblings chasing each other just ahead of where your family had set their picnic for the morning. 

Ryder lounged on his garden chair, nose deep in the morning’s paper as your mother sat beside him, idly perusing through the latest Whistledown for the third time today.

“Is something troubling you, owlet?” Your father’s voice murmured from beside you and you sighed deeply.

Turning back to the shimmering waters of the lake, you pondered your whirlwind thoughts before shaking your head, “simply reflecting on these weeks past, father. Nothing of import.” 

Thomas’ sigh was a copy of yours and he turned to face the lake. “I understand that the unorthodox amount of attention placed upon you must feel so overwhelming,” he began quietly, “when I had attended my first season I couldn’t even speak to any of the ladies also promenading for suitors.” 

That got your attention and you looked up at your father who sported a small, amused smile. “You, the Duke of Wintere were too shy to socialise with the women of the ton?” 

Thomas simply smiled, “I could not even attend their residence to leave them gifts to even be recognised as a proper suitor.” 

You giggled at the thought of your father stuttering in front of the women of the town expecting the Duke of Wintere to be a suave and confident gentleman. “I can’t imagine you being so anxious, Papa.” Then a thought struck you. “Didn’t you marry Mama in your first season?”

“Your mother brought a side out of me I wasn’t aware existed.” Thomas turned his head to face his beloved wife as she conversed with her eldest son and cradled her youngest child in her lap while their second son sat on the blanket, munching on grapes. “She made me the man I am today.” He slowly turned back to you and raised his hand, gently cupping your cheek, “follow your heart, my dear. It will never steer you wrong.”

You watched your father, a soft smile curling your lips as his words seared themselves in the chambers of your heart. “Yes, Papa.”

He smiled, his thumb caressing the soft skin of your cheek before leaning forward and he placed a soft kiss to your forehead, “that’s my beautiful girl. Never settle for less than what you deserve.”

“Thank you, Papa.” He nodded once before taking his leave and walked back to your family and you turned back to face the water. One hand moved from the stem of the umbrella to curl around the silver locket that delicately hung around your throat. 

You were not familiar with the metal, but the intricate design resembled a hellebore. If it had not been accompanied by a letter then you would not have known who would have been so thoughtful.

At this point, you could memorise the letter word for word, recognise the penmanship almost immediately.

“Sarad,

I apologise for not replying to your recent letters, there have been some pressing matters that required my attention. However, I admit that most of my thoughts have been consumed by you.

Consequently, I hope this small token of my appreciation will win me back in your favour.

I am unsure if I have ever mentioned this, however Mandalore is rich in metals. More specifically, it’s called beskar. It is a highly profitable metal, incredibly durable and nigh impossible to destroy. I will no longer bore you with the scientific discoveries of a metal that I am sure you are no more interested in than those scandal papers you lament over.

I appointed my head blacksmith for this task. I trust her implicitly and I pray you do not find my forwardness too distasteful. I hoped you would enjoy something with a little more familiarity than a simple design that would hold no meaning for you.

However, I would be most appreciative to hear your thoughts in person rather than a scribed letter.

I will make an appearance at the Vauxhall Gardens tonight, I hope to see you there. I have heard it shall be an affair to remember.

Yours,

Mando.”

The smile threatening to split your cheeks hurt but there was nothing that could dim your happiness. 

However, the knot beginning to tighten in the base of your belly refused to loosen considering the event at the Vauxhall Gardens tonight. With Mando in attendance, it would be the first time you’d seen him since he’d walked with you in the park.

Perhaps, the soiree at the Gardens would alleviate some of your anxiety.

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