#din djarin x navina harsa

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Kar’taylir Darasuum

AN ESSAY ON LOVE IN MANDALORIAN CULTURE 

A/N: This post has been a long time coming and I am SORRY for that. The lovely @darkmist111​ wanted to know more about courtship and romance as it pertains to the world of Resol’nare, and well... I sort of got carried away with research and head cannons and... well, you’ll see. 

Quick links: Resol’nare // Hokan’yc // Mando’a Dictionary

WC: 2.3k

Warnings: mentions of violence, death - they are a culture of warriors, my friends, it’s unavoidable. 

thank you so much for this ask and for your patience while i worked on it! oh boy buckle up here we go: 

Courtship 

Courtship in Mandalorian culture is often a very short time period. Relationships move quickly from one stage to the next, because Mandalorians know better than many cultures that tomorrow is never promised. That being said, they don’t just pair off indiscriminately, and while physical appearance holds little to no weight in terms of attraction, there are other things that do certainly tip the scales. 

For someone like Din, brought up in an extremely strict covert with an adherence to The Way of the Mandalore that leaves very little room for interpretation, the most attractive trait a person can have is skill as a fighter. Knowing that the person they are pledging their soul to is capable of not only watching their six in battle, but protecting themselves and any children that might be in the family (foundlings or otherwise) is extremely important to Mandalorians. As such, many courtships begin while Mandos are in the final stages of training, when they begin to leave the covert to go on missions. (See Hokan’yc for Din’s story of young love at this stage in his life, and meet Aashi Zurn, the Mando who bested him in the sparring chamber and won his heart in the process.) 

Trust and loyalty are extremely important to Mandalorians when seeking a partner. Marriage in Mandalorian culture is meant to be forever- eternal- as Mandalorians believe that their souls live on after death, and remain connected to their loved ones until the end of time. Depending on the level of anonymity the individuals in question choose as a lifestyle (i.e. helmets on at all times or removed in front of others, names known or unknown), Mandalorians might show their trust in a partner by telling them something personal about themselves, something that they would normally keep a secret either out of pride or protection. This is usually returned in kind, a sort of exchanging of secrets that begins the binding of their two souls together that will continue throughout their relationship so that if/when they choose to marry, they are speaking the truth when they say that they know one another- in a way that no one else ever will. 

Some small ways that Mandalorians will show affection or appreciation for one another during their courtship and long into their relationship (because Mandalorians don’t just fall in love and settle, they keep falling deeper into it, letting it grow stronger) include: helping them clean their armor or weapons, tending to any aches and pains from old injuries- most Mandalorians make their own herbal salves that they use to soothe inflammation or to help heal scarring, and sharing from your own personal blend to provide comfort for your partner goes a long way. (This will come up in more than one way in Resol’nare, so look out for that in the future.) sharing or preparing a favorite meal, and in the event that they really want to emphasize their feelings, they will give a piece of their own armor to their partner, showing that they are ready to view them as a part of themselves, ready to protect them with their own life if necessary. 

The tradition of wearing the armor of their beloved comes from ancient times, when a Mandalorian fell in love with another who was a member of an enemy clan and had been captured by her people. To protect her lover from those who would kill them on sight just based on the sigil or coloring of their armor, she traded some of her plates with some of theirs so that they could escape unnoticed. Once two Mandalorians are wed, not even blood feuds between clans can come between them, so the exchanging of armor became seen as a sort of intention to marry for many Mandalorians.

Because Mandalorian culture takes root in various other cultures, some traditions from those other cultures cross over into theirs. For example, while no Mandalorian would ever make the mistake of asking a woman’s father for her hand in marriage and Mandalorian women are seen as complete equals and therefore able to make their own choices when it comes to their partners, some clans will still partake in common practices like introducing their intended to their family or announcing their engagement to their families and loved ones before making it known to others in the community. While jewlery is extremely uncommon in Mandalorian culture (unless it is functional, such as a beskar collar style necklace) engagement tokens like pendants engraved with the two names or rings either without stones, or rings with low profile stones inlaid into the bands- in some cases a gemstone will be embedded within the metal on the underside of the band, where it makes contact with the finger- are considered standard in most other cultures, so they are sometimes still exchanged but are in no way necessary to solidify an engagement or an intent to marry. 

Marriage  

The actual vows exchanged between Mandalorians are short and to the point, and there is no required ceremony, no officiant or witness needed, no record keeping of any sort, so the actual wedding is usually done just between the two individuals in private. Traditionally they are as follows: 

"Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde" which translates to "We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors."

Once the vows are said, the marriage is official and the Riduurok bond is forged and must be acknowledged and respected by all Mandalorians.

Newlyweds will lift the helmet of their spouse once the vows have been sworn so that they may be sealed more intimately. In the case of Mandalorians who keep their faces hidden, this may be the first time that one or both of them sees the other without their helmet. In other cases, the removal of their riduur’s armor is merely symbolic. 

Although there are no formalities that need to happen in order to legitimize a marriage, there are of course some traditions and rituals that are completed which Mandalorians believe safeguard and strengthen their bond with their spouse. These include getting specific tattoos, and adding each other’s sigil to armor or weapons.  

Riduurok Tattoos 

Tattooing is an important part of Mandalorian culture. Regardless of their culture of origin, where they come from, or how they choose to interpret the Creed, it is rare to come across an adult Mandalorian with no tattoos. Even the New Mandalorians under Satine’s pacifist regime continued to carry on tattooing, though not as extensively or ritualistically as the more orthodox communities like the one that Din, Paz and The Armorer come from. For them it was done more for decorative purposes. Though their designs still pay homage to shapes and motifs that are meaningful to all Mandalorians, they also include more aesthetic design elements such as florals, vines or stars. 

Typically a Warrior will receive their first tattoo when they complete their training at thirteen; a thick black chevron shaped cuff on their left bicep. This symbolizes that they are part of the larger Tribe of Mandalorians outside of their own clans, and serves to remind them of the duty that they have to protect all Mandalorians. They have to look at it each time they don or remove their armor, and in the abhorrent event that they are stripped of their armor in defeat, the ink serves as symbolic beskar so that they remain protected in the afterlife. Bands and chevrons are added to symbolize achievements in battle or heroic action to protect their covert.(Din has five bands on his left arm, the latest one just below his elbow- his first when he completed mandatory training at 13, his second when he completed additional elite training, his third when helped relocate the covert to Nevarro- see Hokan’yc- his original covert was located on Dantooine- his fourth when he was injured protecting a group of foundlings, and the fifth after claiming the Darksaber. He would absolutely have more bands had he not spent so much time away from the covert. He absolutely will have more bands by the time Resol’nare ends.)  For Mandalorians who live a long life or are extremely skilled fighters, it is not uncommon for these bands to cover the entire arm from mid bicep to wrist. If more space is needed, another chain of bands is added to the left thigh ranging downwards. It is said that no Mandalorian has ever completely covered their entire left side, simply because in a war-based culture, life expectancy is cut short. 

Mythosaur skulls, clan signets, troop affiliations and words or short phrases in Mando’a are also typical designs that Mandalorians may choose to have done. The Mythosaur is usually tattooed on the back while the right bicep is where Mandalorians will honor their families in their chosen way. Usually it is by adding their clan signet, names of loved ones or parents, or even symbols or patterns that are significant to their culture of origin. ( Navina has a tattoo on her right arm to pay tribute to her mother’s- who was a foundling- culture. It will be revealed in an upcoming chapter so that is all that I can say about that! Din also has the Mythosaur skull inside of a triangle on the right side of his chest, and his Mudhorn signet on his right shoulder.)

Riduurok tattoos are placed on the left side or center of the chest, over the individual’s heart, and are done as soon as possible after marriage vows are sworn. Taking the shape of the Kar'ta Beskar, Mandalorians personalize them by adding their spouse’s name in Mando’a in the empty space in the middle of the design. Like the arm bands, these are also meant to symbolize armor of sorts. They represent the way that married couples remain connected no matter if they are together or apart; that they are one, an integral part of the other, even in death. They also signify the strength gained through marriage, as well as the protection a Mandalorian vows to provide for their partner. Love is seen as something that fortifies, never weakens, and that is represented in this tattoo as well. 

(Terrible graphic made with love by me)

This particular tattoo comes directly from a Mandalorian myth predating modern record keeping. Legend has it that long ago, a Mandalorian warrior returned home from battle, eager to see his riduur after so much time away. When he arrived, however, he found only her lifeless form, the soul of the one he had tied himself to no longer inhabiting the flesh and bone of her body. She had been slain, taken from him and from their life together, and it opened in him a new capacity for rage, something far more fierce than fire. It is said that in the moment that the Mandalorian warrior saw what had happened in his absence, vengeance itself was unleashed into existence. 

The warrior, fueled by this new urge, this extreme desire to avenge the death of his wife, tracked down the marauders who were responsible for her death and killed them one by one. The last of them, as he watched the Mandalorian take his accomplices’ lives, did not beg or grovel. He could see that it would do no good. Instead, he confessed that he did not think that Mandalorians had the capacity to love so deeply as to inspire such retaliation, that he did not think Mandalorians were open to things that could make them weak, things like love. 

“Only fools like you would think that love makes one weak.” he spat at the man. “True love is power, it is strength- it is the joining of two into one and nothing, not even death can diminish it. But you? Death will erase your soul and before long you will be forgotten.” 

The Mandalorian warrior killed the final marauder then, and as he did the pure rage that he felt upon discovering the death of his riduur quieted. Instead, he felt her presence, as though she were there to wrap her arms around him. He felt her strength enter his heart, and though he would mourn her loss immensely, he knew that she would never truly be gone, that he would always carry her and that they would reunite when his journey came to an end. As a tribute to his riduur and what she would always mean to him, the warrior etched her name over his heart in ink, encasing it in the oblong diamond shape of the Kar'ta Beskar, symbolizing that she is the source of his strength, a kind of armor that protected him from facing eternity alone. From then on, Mandalorians added the Riduurok Tattoo into their marriage rituals.   

Clan Sigils 

In the case that both Mandalorians have already been assigned sigils, or if they have sigils that they inherited from their own clans, they will either combine both symbols into one new one, or they will add their spouse’s sigil right beside their own on their armor and/or weapons. (In Resol’nare, Navina’s beskar kal that she inherited from her father- thanks of course to Firo- displayed the sigils of both of her parents, as well as her own name)  

If only one of the two can claim a sigil as their own distinct mark, they will extend it to their spouse as they extend every part of themselves through marriage, and if neither one has been assigned a sigil, they will both take the sigil of the first one who is assigned one.  

It is completely up to the individuals regarding whether or not they will choose to take their spouse’s name- the important thing is that they are under the same sign, as their sigils are yet another bond that they carry into the afterlife that helps them reunite once both have rejoined the Manda. 

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THANK YOU AGAIN TO @darkmist111​ for this request. I had a lot of fun thinking about and writing this, and it was a great way for me to finally dive back into the world of Resol’nare. :) 

Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @alraedesigns @pheedraws @valkblue @malionnes @gollyderek @fific7 @becs-bunker @commanderlola @greatcircle79 @cannedsoupsucks​ @dihra-vesa​ @marauderskeeper​ @disgruntledspacedad​

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Resol’nare - Part Ten

A/N: Well what do you know? This story ain’t dead after all! I AM SO SORRY to anybody who has been patiently waiting for this story to update. I had an absolute temper tantrum meltdown breakdown identity crisis with a heaping dollop of doubt to sift through before I felt comfortable bringing this sucker back, and while this chapter is largely filler, I am re-invigorated with my drive to finish this beast and the next chapter is a whole entire doozy. Without further ado, welcome back, Din and Nav! 

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Summary: Having just barely escaped an assassination attempt with their lives, Din and Navina agree to help each other untangle all of the knotted threads that they have run into. But Navina may have ended up with a little more than she bargained for when she kicked the conversation off by asking him about the Darksaber. With her history of searching for it so that it could be destroyed and his current role as Mand’alor, will they be able to get past their differences? 

Warning: mentions of violence, trauma, death  

Word Count: 4.9k

Nevarro. 

“Are you in possession of the Darksaber?” 

Navina’s question hung in the air of the cockpit, the lingering vibrations of her words still audibly humming around them even though several beats had gone by without an answer from the Mandalorian. 

I shouldn’t have led with that.  

Gunning straight for the Darksaber was a bold move and one that had clearly shocked him. Being encased in beskar made it difficult for her to interpret his body language but not impossible, and the abrupt swivel of his helmet to bring the darkened visor in line with her eyes as she asked the question told her everything that she needed to know. He has it. Or he knows where it is but it… he wasn’t expecting me to ask that. 

Though she didn’t know him well, she knew him well enough to assume that not many things caught him off guard. He had just demonstrated that with how quickly and instinctively he moved to get her to safety under fire, and she’d seen it in the way that he fought the reptavians the last time they were on Nevarro. But since this was a conversation and not something that he could shoot his way out of, a situation where he couldn’t just rely on reaction or muscle memory, it caused him to freeze up and for a few seconds Navina wondered if he wasn’t considering trying a blaster anyway. 

Wouldn’t be the first time my conversational skills got me shot at, but… 

But he hadn’t reached for his weapon. He hadn’t clapped her in binders or told her to get off of his ship, hadn’t left her stranded in the middle of nowhere out in the lava flats. Perhaps most importantly though, he hadn’t outright refused to answer. Navina’s eyes drifted to the sculpted signet on his shoulder, the vacant eye of the Mudhorn skull staring back at her as she waited for him to break the silence. She recalled what Firo’s mother had told her about what she’d seen and heard; about the two Mandalorians in Diadem Square and the words she had heard them say. Aliit. Mudhorn. Mand’alor. 

He has it. He has it, he’s just not sure what to tell me because he- 

“Are you planning to challenge me for it?” He tilted his head down slightly, the angle suggesting that he was glancing at the same spot on his pauldron that she was. 

What? She snapped her head up to find his eyeline already waiting, the darkened visor boring into her as her heart pounded in her chest. Challenge him? That would be crazy… and he knows that. Swallowing, she slowly shook her head, her long, thick braid tugging heavily at her nape as it swung like a rope.  “You didn’t answer my question.”  

The Mandalorian crossed his arms over his chest and shifted in his seat. “Neither did you,” he pointed out.  

Navina let out a breath in a short burst. “No.” Her tongue slipped out to wet her lips as she narrowed her eyes. “No, Mando, I’m not planning to…I don’t want it.” I want to get rid of it.

“But you know what it is. You know what it…  means.”  It wasn’t a question, but she nodded in answer anyway. I sure do. “Then why should I believe that you wouldn’t want it for yourself?” 

She winced, though she knew why he had to ask. Because everyone else who has looked for it has wanted it for its power. Wanted to use it. The thought of owning the Darksaber, of wrapping her hand around its hilt and igniting the fabled crackling, black blade made her stomach turn. Before she could stop it, the image of her mother’s empty helmet skipping over the cave floor like a smooth stone over water, the visor cracked and the bottom edge smeared with blood, flashed in her mind. If it weren’t for that thing I might still… my family might- Stop. 

Swallowing the emotions that had started to build up in her throat, she leaned forward to brace her forearms on her knees, hands gripping her opposite elbows. “I guess you don’t have to believe me.” She shrugged, eyes landing again on the Mudhorn on his shoulder. “But I-

“You keep looking at this.” He cut her off, lifting the arm bearing his signet. “So I think you know the answer to your question.” Straightening, Navina sat back in the bucket seat she occupied, her attention back on the man’s dark visor, on the hard lines and sleek angles of the helmet obscuring his face. “But what I want to know is how you found out. You aren’t Imperial.” He spat the word in such a way that made her thankful that he at least seemed to believe that she wasn’t working for some remnant of the Empire. “You’re not a Jedi.” She scoffed and he continued with a slight shake of his head. “You aren’t...haven’t sworn the creed.” Navina winced again. Not Mandalorian. That’s what he was going to say, and he’s...right. “So how do you know about the Darksaber?” 

By then, she had lost track of how many questions had been asked and left unanswered by both of them. This is...we’re not getting anywhere like this. Gritting her teeth, she took a second to let out a controlled breath. But if he wants a holochess match, I’ll give him one. “Not a lot of people speak Mando’a anymore, do they?” 

The lights of the cockpit’s dashboard bounced off of the beskar as he shook his head, the leather of his gloves groaning as he clenched his hands into aggravated fists. “What does that have to do with-” 

“There were two Mandalorians seen on Corellia recently.” Navina chose her words carefully as he fell silent again. “They were wearing cloaks over their armor and whispering about you, Mando.” She stuck her chin out towards him as she stood and turned to lean against the wall panel. “Didn’t catch every word” I didn’t  but they were definitely speaking the Concordian dialect…they mentioned the Darksaber. Called you the Mand’alor… they talked about your signet, your clan… your aliit.” 

In the same way that the memory of her mother’s helmet had torn through her mind, she felt another flash cut through her thoughts as she spoke the Mando’a word for family. This one was different though, bringing with it the sound of her father’s booming laugh, her mother’s clear voice as she sang to the little one, his eyes wide as he happily clapped along. It brought a warmth that almost filled her chest, sloshing up the sides and swirling once around her heart to remind her that she still knew what it felt like before it drained back into the icy bittersweet depths of her past. It reminded her of the devotion and the love she would always have for her family, no matter where they were now, and it was the one word that she knew would get his attention, make him listen and believe what she was saying. 

Because if he has a family… this is where he’ll make his move. 

He proved her theory right instantly, the man rising quickly to his feet to pace the small space. “The kid?” 

Kid? Navina felt her own eyes grow in surprise. Finding out that the Mandalorian had a child was the furthest thing from her mind when she dangled the word aliit. A riduur, maybe, or else just other loyal sworn clan members, but a child? And he said ‘the kid’ not ‘my kid’... She tried to drown out the sound of her heartbeat as it thundered in her ears. Does that mean… a foundling? 

Sucking in a breath, she was hit with another memory, this one slicing deep enough that she could feel the old scar across her back, searing in pain like it had when she received the wound that left it. “Protect him, Ina! Keep him safe!” The task her father charged her with as he and her mother sprung into action to fend off the attackers echoed in her skull.  There was the clash of weapons against beskar, the scrape of blades against stone, and her own blood rushing in her ears as she saw a blaster raised and pointed at the place where the foundling sat crouching behind a boulder. No! Without a second thought she flung herself through the air, wrapping her arms around the smaller child’s tiny body, crying out as heat streaked over her shoulder blades. 

If they know he has a kid they might be… She shuddered, recalling not just the pain but the absolute terror she felt as she cradled the small bundle to her chest in the memory. They might try to go after his kid to get to him. Like they did with my parents. 

After all, it had been other Mandalorians who had attacked them on Yavin, other Mandalorians who had killed her mother. If they were looking to strike at a weakness, other Mandalorians would know how to find one.

“No.” It came out blunt and firm, breaking her from her thoughts. “Naasade kar’tayl. No one knows where to find him.” What? Find him? What does that mean?  “I... made sure that I was the only one who knew how to-” Swiveling his head, he seemed to make another connection then, reaching for Navina’s left bicep and making a tight grip. “You said these Mandalorians were on Corellia?” She nodded, his fingers only digging deeper into her arm. “Where?” 

Clearing her throat, Navina brought her right hand up across her body to place it over his, her palm making contact with the cool metal of the raised triangle adorning his gauntlet in an attempt to make him loosen his hold on her. “Coronet City,” she answered, eyes flicking from his visor down to her arm where their hands were stacked. He picked up the cue, releasing her but not stepping away, staying close enough to her that she felt his sleeve brush the exposed skin above her elbow as they both dropped their arms. “Why? What does-” 

The Mandalorian leaned forward then, placing his hands on the edge of the dashboard to look out the windshield at the crater where her ship once stood, at the smoldering remains of the vessel that had tracked and attacked her. “The bounty hunters that followed you here...” His shoulders lifted and sagged as he took a breath, the curve of his helmet lowering with the slight dip of his head as he spoke, almost as though he felt guilty for something. “They were hired in Coronet City.” 

Oh. That’s… a new development. “So, what? You think,” Navina turned to line her vantage point up with his, joining him in surveying the scene. Dark plumes of thick smoke still rose from the burnt, melted bits of metal littering the cracked ground. An eerie shiver went up her spine, climbing one vertebrae at a time until it reached her brain. “You think that the same people are after both of us?” But that’s...that doesn’t make any sense. Unless- 

“I think there’s a chance that they…” He muttered a swear low under his breath, Navina only able to make out the derogatory intonation of his voice and not the word itself. “That they might have targeted you because of me.” 

Ruusaanyc. Trust him. Tell him what you know. 

They were her own thoughts, but they felt foriegn. Her inner monologue almost never came to her in Mando’a, and trust was a rarely used word in her vocabulary no matter the language. Where did that come from? Without realizing she had pulled it out from under her shawl, Navina looked down to see that she was clutching her pendant, the thing emitting a faint violet glow through her fingers as though it was trying to will her to share what she knew with the Mandalorian. 

Ruusaanyc. 

Huffing out a sigh, she let the Mythosaur fall against her chest and shook her head. Here goes everything. “I don’t know about that, Mando… I think…” It was her turn to mumble a swear into her shoulder as he turned away from the windshield to face her. Now or never. “I think I know who it was and… and I think they’ve been after me for a long time.”  

“What does that mean?” Some of the edge was back in his voice and she could tell that he was done with the volley of questions, done with trying to interpret her answers or encode his own. It was a small relief, if she was being honest, to drop the pretense and just lay it bare. This is the Way, right? “Who do you think it was, and why would they want you dead?” 

Our enemies think we are enemies. 

She heard the deep, smooth voice of the stranger from her dream; the man in the brown robes who her family encountered as they fled from Concordia, the mysterious wielder of that purple blade, the figure who had entrusted them with the care of the foundling and then held off their pursuers as they made their escape from the very group of Mandalorians that they had previously supported. 

Death Watch. 

No. The people who attacked us, who hunted us, they weren’t… they became something else. 

Her parents had been members of Death Watch, her mother raised as a foundling after being taken in by one of their warriors, and her father born on Mandalore into one of the oldest clans that never bowed to the pacifists. They believed in a return to the ancient Way, adhering strictly to the most literal interpretations of the tenets of Mandalorian life. They believed in protecting their clan and their tribe above all else. Even if it meant defecting from the ranks. They believed in preserving their traditions and their history. Even if it meant teaching it in caves. They believed in supporting Mandalore. Even if it meant rebelling against the Mand’alor. 

At some point in their exile to Concordia, Death Watch had become an incubator for corruption and hate. At some point, the focus had shifted from reclaiming their home planet from the Pacifists and the Republic to attaining a mythic weapon and the power that came with it- even if it meant forming some highly questionable alliances. And at some point, even that had not been enough. Not for her. 

Navina blinked, suddenly aware that too much time had elapsed without a response. Say something. Tell him something… Trust him. Swallowing, she brought one hand up to her forehead, raking it back over her hair. Her palm came away smudged in black soot from the earlier explosion, and she stared at the way the lines and cracks of her hand looked caked in sweat and smoke. “There was a… a rift in the Tribe my family belonged to,” she began, taking a breath and lifting her eyes to find him watching her, standing stock still and silent as space with his arms at his sides. 

“A rift?” The jerk of his helmet served to punctuate his question. Be more specific, he’s not going to be patient forever, he’s- “A splinter sect?”   

She raised one eyebrow, mouth falling open for a second. He knows about Death Watch then. He knows that it… how it went. Outside of  the Mandalorian’s ship, night was beginning to fall on Nevarro. The typically vibrant red of the setting sun was tempered by the smoke in the air to create a darker, subtle maroon hue. On a normal night, it wouldn’t be long before the sky was pierced by millions of stars, signaling that it was time for sleep. But despite how utterly exhausted she was from the events of the day, Navina felt adrenaline pulsing through her body with each beat of her heart.  “Y-yes,” she finally managed to sputter out. “They were a part of-” 

“Of Death Watch,” he finished with her, his modulated voice completely eclipsing hers and increasing her heart rate by double as she bobbed her head in a nod. “My original covert,” he sighed and she noticed him opening and closing his hands, tipping his head down to look at the backs of them as he spread his fingers wide. “My Tribe? We were known as… as the Children of the Watch.” 

The entire galaxy stood still, all sound vanished as he spoke. The Children of the Watch. That’s…

“That’s...my parents, that’s the…” She was vaguely aware that she was speaking, but seemed unable to arrange her words into anything resembling coherency, her chest starting to heave slightly from shock. “That’s the name of the covert my parents were… that they wanted to find...to join.” 

“They’re the good guys, Ina’ika.” Her father had promised her as he soothed her in the aftermath of the attack, her mother’s callused hands rubbing an herbal salve over the wound on her back while the little one slept off the terrifying encounter. “The good guys that we can trust.” He took both of her small hands in one of his, closing it around them. “Do you remember how to say it in Mando’a, ad’ika?” 

She’d sniffed, no tears in her eyes as she nodded and answered her buir. “Ruusaanyc.” 

Her eyes snapped shut then, the corners stinging sharply. She hadn’t cried at eleven years old, and she refused to do so now. Not in front of him. Not… not now. 

“Your family wanted to… to join my tribe?” He paced as he asked, seemingly as shocked as she was by the connection that they almost shared. “And they were… you were attacked because of that?” 

Navina opened her eyes to see the swish of his cape as he turned to face her. Sort of. “Not because of...of which covert they wanted to join. It was more because they left in the first place… it was-” Tell him. 

“Navina?” He closed the distance between them, stepping close to her again like he had when he grasped her arm, though this time he wasn’t as forceful. “Why was your family attacked? What… made them leave?” 

A dry laugh completely devoid of humor tumbled from her lips. “It’s obvious, isn’t it, Mando?” She combed some of the soot caked strands of her hair back with both sets of fingers as she spun and returned to her  seat. “The Darksaber. The leaders of Death Watch… they gave in to its power. Used it to... “ She had to stuff down the stories that her parents had told her about the “leaders”, the demagolka, the real life monsters that they’d almost followed into the pits of corruption- Gar Saxon. Rook Kast. Maul. Bo-Katan Kryze. Instead of naming them, she shook her head. “My parents didn’t want that. They didn’t want Mandalore to fall under the control of… of people who defiled the title of Mand’alor.” 

“Your parents were zealots.” It wasn’t a question, nor was it an accusation even if it was abrupt. “We...the Children of the Watch, other Mandalorians have referred to my covert that way, too.” 

She let out another scoff. “It was a little different for them, I think.” That was putting it mildly and she knew it. “They… they believed that the Darksaber had to be destroyed.” 

“Destroyed?” He echoed. “I don’t understand. Why would it need to be destroyed? Couldn’t they just challenge whoever had it last?” 

He doesn’t see. “They didn’t want it any more than I do. They…” Her forehead furrowed and her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, darting back into her mouth tasting of the ashy white residue still stuck to her skin. “Mando, do you really know what it is? What that weapon- how it works? How it...behaves?”

“Behaves?” His head moved backwards, nearly hitting the rear of his helmet against the wall. “It’s a weapon. It doesn’t behave, you learn to use it.” 

Though she had never seen it ignited in person, she pictured the unstable, broken currents of energy that her mother had described to her, imagined the harsh sound of it spitting and snapping at itself and anything it touched. Comparing it to the smooth beam of consistent, controlled purple light of the saber that the nameless man that had bestowed the foundling upon her family used, it was clear to her that the Darksaber was a cursed iteration of what it was originally intended to be. 

When she spoke again her voice was low and small, barely making it out of her throat. “If you’ve ever used it then you know that’s not true.” She moved her head from side to side, eyes stuck on the blackened T of his visor. “You know that’s not what you really believe.” 

“It’s...powerful,” he admitted. “I don’t… I’m not quite sure that I know how to wield it yet, but it… it’s just a weapon, and it-” 

“It was never made to have so many masters.” She’d heard it so many times she hardly noticed it slipping out of her mouth. 

“What?” Yeah, I get it, it sounds ridiculous, but… She narrowed her eyes. But he wants to believe me, doesn’t he? 

Navina gave him a half shrug. “It was something my mother would say. She said that it was never meant to… bond with so many souls. That it was never meant to be a symbol, that it was only ever meant to serve its maker.” 

“Bond with people’s souls…” He shifted to the edge of his chair. “Like the Force? The...the Jedi?” 

“I don’t know, Mando. Maybe? I-” she let out a heavy sigh to empty the buildup of tension and frustration in her chest. “I’m not an expert, I… I didn’t get to learn everything that she had to teach me.” It came out with a tinge of venom that he didn’t deserve and she immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry, that-” 

“It’s fine,” he said, letting out a sigh of his own, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he was feeling the same way; Short changed on knowledge, clinging only to the scraps of what he had been taught and completely clueless about the rest. It’s not fine. Not for either of us. “It’s… there’s still a lot that I need to learn. Things that I don’t really understand but that I… need to.” She thought he was done speaking, a full twenty count going by with nothing but the hum of the air filters and the consistent flash of the starter, alerting the pilot that the ship was fully fueled and ready for takeoff at a moment’s notice, when he finally spoke again. “I didn’t want it, either.” 

Something in the depth of his voice made her heart ache for the man. He’s not like the ones who held it before him. He’s not… I believe him. “But you have it now.” 

“I… I do. But it was never what I… all I wanted to do was protect my- the kid.” 

I believe that, too. If the way that he had put himself in harm’s way to keep her safe was any indication of how far he’d go to protect his own family, she knew that if nothing else, she could believe him on this. But something that he had said earlier circled back to the forefront of her brain, and though she still didn’t doubt him, she needed to ask. “Mando? Where is your… you said he was safe, and that only you could…” He turned quickly in her direction, the motion coming off defensive. No, not because I want you to tell me. She held up her hands then, smudged palms facing him. “I’m only asking because I don’t want anything to…” This isn’t coming out how I… “Mando, I’m only asking, because if the same people who attacked my family are the ones that were looking for you, too… if it's them? Their clan or...or cult? They’ll look for any way to get to you. So if they know about your...son? They came after me when I was a child, held a blaster on the foundling we were caring for and… I don’t want that to happen to you.” Or your aliit. 

Her explanation seemed to satisfy him, his hands relaxing against his thighs. “Your family cared for a foundling.” Again it was a non-question, but again she nodded. “Then you know that according to the Creed, if you are able to...reunite them with their kind then that’s what you are obligated to do.” The strange ache she felt for him deepened as she came to the conclusion before he said it out loud. Oh. She noticed his right hand hovering over one of the pouches of his belt, almost as though he were going to open it, take something out. He didn’t though, returning his hand to his lap and telling her what she had already guessed. “I did that. I… he’s with his kind now and they’ll… he’s safe there. No one but me knows how to get in contact with his… the person taking care of him now.” 

“You’re still his buir, Mando. Still his family.” Big round eyes and pudgy green cheeks flashed in her mind. You’re still my family, too, ad’ika. “You always will be.” It was odd, comforting him this way. He was a stranger, but he wasn’t. His story was different, but familiar. In another life we could have grown up together. 

He must have found it odd, too, though if he did he didn’t say anything, and she wondered if he wasn’t also thrown by the way that their lives were both parallel and in opposition of one another’s. “Thank you,” he eventually said, and she saw his chest rise and fall with another sigh. “For everything that you told me. I… have a lot to think about.” 

“I...you’re welcome, Mando, I… I want to help you, if you’ll let me, I… maybe we can help each other. At least until this threat is… handled. And then…” Then I’ll disappear, let you lead your people however you… however you think is best.

“I’d...like that. I want to be able to think of you as an… an ally.” Navina dug deep and found a smile to offer him then. An ally. Alright. “But I… I still can’t… don’t feel comfortable bringing you back to the new covert location. Not because I don’t trust you, I… I need to find the people who did this. Who are doing this, and I can’t have them follow me back to where the rest of the Mandalorians are because they’re following you.” 

He didn’t mean it to be hurtful, just tactical, and even though she was used to feeling the leaden weight of clanlessness in her heart, hearing him say it felt like he had hefted more weight into it. “It’s fine, Mando. I’m… I can find a place or I can go back to-” 

“No.” He cut her off and reached one hand out, placing it lightly on her shoulder, the cup of his palm covering the whole cap of her sleeve, thumb ranging towards her collarbone. Though it was a completely innocent touch, it immediately acted as a ballast for the weight of his previous words.”I do need to go… to get back there right away to… to check on things and discuss all of this with some of the others but I’m not just going to leave you unprotected either. Not until all of this is… done.” 

He wants to protect me? But… why? 

Ruusaanyc. Trust him. 

From her peripherals she could tell that the stone in the center of her pendant was shimmering again. “You… you don’t have to do that.” 

He shocked her when he pressed his thumb and then the rest of his fingers gently into her flesh, just enough to dimple the fabric of her shirt. “Yes, I do. I am the Mand’alor, and it’s my responsibility to… to make sure that no one in my own covert is a part of this. And to… to keep all Mandalorians safe.” 

But I’m not… It occurred to her suddenly that maybe, to him, she was. 

This is the Way. 

“Alright.” She nodded, focusing on keeping her throat from choking around her words as she spoke them. “Then where will I… I don’t know anyone here, on Nevarro. Firo isn’t anywhere close, so I-” 

“I have an idea,” he tilted his head and from the angle alone she could tell that it wasn’t going to be her first choice. “Remember my friend, Marshal Dune?”  

The smirking face of the woman who had originally identified Navina as a thief and an imposter came to mind and she groaned. “I do... she didn't like me very much if you recall though, so I'm not too sure she's going to be thrilled about this.” I'm not thrilled about it but... he's got a point. I'll put his whole Tribe at risk if I go with him right now.

He actually laughed, another shock from the man encased in thick beskar. “Cara's not as tough as she wants you to think she is. She's... she's a good friend. She'll give you a place to stay and make sure you're... safe.”

There were about a million retorts she would have lobbed if it were anyone but him. I can keep myself safe. She's not a better fighter than me. I don't need a kriffing babysitter. But instead she bit the inside of her lip and slapped the smile she'd just pulled out back on. “Alright, Mando... call the Marshal.”

.

.

.

Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags or you can fill out the form on my masterlist! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @alraedesigns @pheedraws @valkblue @malionnes @gollyderek @fific7 @commanderlola @greatcircle79​ @cannedsoupsucks​ @dihra-vesa​ @marauderskeeper​  @disgruntledspacedad​ @littlemisspascal​ @mishasminion360​

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Resol’nare - Masterlist

Summary: Mandalorian isn’t a race, it’s a creed. Since being rescued by the Mandalorians as a child, Din Djarin has sworn himself to The Way, adhering to the strict demands of Mandalorian culture and tradition. But when he breaks the creed, removing his helmet on his quest to deliver Grogu safely to the Jedi, he is left with more than the loneliness that the Child’s absence creates- he is left with questions about who he is and where he fits in Mandalorian society. And the acquisition of the Darksaber and the title of Mand’alor along with it? They only offer more questions- ones that he needs to answer sooner rather than later. 

Elsewhere in the galaxy, Mandalorian Navina Harsa is on a quest of her own, one that she’s been working toward for the better part of her life; exacting revenge on those who betrayed her family, and ending the Mandalorian’s history of power struggles for good. When their paths cross, the two find that they have much more in common than The Way. Though their beliefs and priorities differ, they must trust one another if there is ever to be true balance- for the Mandalorians... or for the galaxy as a whole. 

Warnings: Violence, language, death 

Author’s Note: Here I go, diving headfirst into the deep end of the SW pool. This story has been and continues to be a blast to write, despite how nervous I am to share it. I truly hope that you enjoy, and encourage any and all feedback, questions or concerns. New chapters will post on Sundays. If you would like to be added to or removed from the tags please feel free to let me know! Ao3 link here.

Part One -  WC: 4k What has the Mand’alor been up to since saying goodbye to the kid? And what is he planning to do next?

Part Two - WC: 4.8k Navina Harsa has been on her own for a long time, and she has done whatever she’s needed to in order to survive. From time to time that means forsaking the teachings, The Way of her people. But there is one thing that she will never do, and that is forsake her family- even if they’re gone.

Part Three - WC: 5.2k Rebuilding the Tribe, re-forging the armor, restoring the traditions and culture of the Mandalorians have become more than a way to pass the time alone for Din, they have become the penance that he inflicted on himself for breaking the Creed that he swore all those years ago. But perhaps The Way has more paths than he previously thought.

Part Four - WC: 4.8k With Navina and Firo off to hit an abandoned Imperial base on Nevarro in hopes of scoring a hot new ride that won’t litter bolts all over the galaxy like the Flare will, and Mando responding to Cara’s holo about a beskar sighting, the stage is set for an introduction to remember… and hopefully not a bloody one.

Part Five - WC: 4.8k The Mandalorian has some questions for the thief he apprehended on Nevarro. But when extenuating circumstances force them to work together, he starts to see that there might be more to her than the common criminal that he first thought.

Part Six - WC: 4.3k After a night of asking and answering questions, Navina wakes up aboard The Promise, and it turns out that she and Mando still have some things to discuss before they each go on their own separate ways... things that could possibly help her answer the questions she’s been trying to answer for years- what happened the night she and her family left for Yavin? And... who is the strange man who keeps appearing in her dream?

Part Seven - WC: 5.6k The Mandalorian makes the journey back to Tatooine to take care of some things back at the covert after his run in with Navina on Nevarro. More is revealed about the goings on in the upper levels of Boba Fett’s complex, we learn what he and Fennec are up to, as well as a little more about how things are run below. And we finally hear what Bo-Katan has been itching to tell him.

Part Eight - WC: 4.3k A trip to Corellia to offload their stolen speeders takes Navina and Firo through some of the shiftier parts of Coronet City before ending their trip with a visit to Firo’s family. Navina learns some shocking new information about her quest... and also misses something very important.

Part Nine - WC: 5k The Mandalorian arrives on Nevarro to meet with Navina again, hopefully to trade information that could be valuable to them both. But before she joins him he receives a call with some concerning information. When she does finally get there, things come to a head. Quickly.

Part Ten - WC: 4.9k

Having just barely escaped an assassination attempt with their lives, Din and Navina agree to help each other untangle all of the knotted threads that they have run into. But Navina may have ended up with a little more than she bargained for when she kicked the conversation off by asking him about the Darksaber. With her history of searching for it so that it could be destroyed and his current role as Mand’alor, will they be able to get past their differences? 

Part Eleven- Coming Soon!

Related One Shots: 

Hokan'yc - WC: 6k The story of Din Djarin’s first brush with romance. *sigh* young love. love stinks.  

Kar’taylir Darasuum - WC: 2.3k

A HC based essay on love, courtship, romance and marriage in Mandalorian culture

Gai Bal Manda - Coming Soon!

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Resol’nare - Part Nine

A/N: OH...HEY. Let’s all pretend that I didn’t just have like a three week creative crisis and just dive back in, shall we?? (I’M VERY SORRY.) 

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Summary: The Mandalorian arrives on Nevarro to meet with Navina again, hopefully to trade information that could be valuable to them both. But before she joins him he receives a call with some concerning information. When she does finally get there, things come to a head. Quickly. 

Warnings: Language, violence 

Word Count: 5k

Nevarro. 

A dry wind blew across the arid lava fields, his cape whipping behind him as he focused the lens of his visor on the horizon. He had already scanned the other three directions before setting his gaze East. So far though, there was no sign of a ship or speeder anywhere. Another harsh gust of wind tore through the open landscape, accentuating its emptiness. Nothing. He sighed, changing the lens back to its default setting. Crusty flakes of ash covered clay tumbled over the cracked ground and clung to his boots. The Mandalorian hadn’t been waiting long, and Navina wasn’t late yet, but he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that something was wrong. Where is she? 

He shifted his weight, leaning against the lowered ramp of The Promise. Pulling his comm device from his pocket, he pressed the speaker button to check that it was still operational and was met with a crackling static sound that proved it was. She just hasn’t tried to contact me. Tucking it away again, he told himself that it was only because she hadn’t landed yet, not because she was involved in any sort of trouble.   

His concern hadn’t come from nowhere though, and it wasn’t entirely in regards to the woman’s safety. She can take care of herself. The prickling feeling in the back of his mind had more to do with what he didn’t know about her than what he did. And there’s a lot. Shortly after arriving on the volcanic planet, before he’d even had the chance to check in with Cara Dune, he’d received word from Boba and Fennec back on Tatooine. Curious as to what would warrant the call when he’d last seen Fett only a few days prior- Fennec had been out on one of her missions- he answered quickly, pressing the button to activate the holo screen on the ship’s main control switch. 

The blue light flickered and took shape, projecting the man’s image there in the cockpit. “Fett,” the Mandalorian greeted him with a nod. “What is-” 

The man’s gruff voice cut him off then, waiving the need for any pretense, which the Mandalorian appreciated. “I’ve got something you need to hear, Mand’alor.” Fett tilted his chin down, his stone solid gaze trained directly at the holo as he spoke. He continued without waiting to be asked, Fennec stepping into view beside him. “Got a hit on that name you asked about. Harsa.” 

He blinked, Navina’s face flashing in his memory as she told him her father’s name. That was fast. “I thought you said you hadn’t heard the name?” He tilted his head as he asked. 

“I hadn’t,” Boba confirmed. “Still haven’t.” What? “It wasn’t me who came across it, and it isn’t the father, Gavil.” 

Head moving back and forth he felt nothing but confusion. “I don’t understand.” 

“I came across the name Harsa on a syndicate raid, Mando.” Fennec’s clear tone filled the space as she clarified. “Ixon? The scum I was… interviewing when you were here last?” He nodded and she raised one eyebrow, a look of self-satisfaction still lingering on her face at the way she handled that quarry. “He gave up the location of a Black Sun hideout on Corellia after some light persuasion.”  

“And?” He still wasn’t sure where this was headed. 

“And when I got there, the place was mostly abandoned. Found a few ledgers, stolen credits.” She scoffed. “Cowards run like rats in Coronet City.” 

They do. It had been a long while since the Mandalorian set foot on Corellia or Coruscant. His bounties kept him mostly within the Outer Rim, and he didn’t miss the crowded streets or the types of people they were filled with.

“I was lucky enough to catch one of them though, one of their poor excuses for bounty hunters.” She clicked her tongue. “No accuracy, no skill, and as it turns out,” she grinned. “No loyalty.” That’s why they don’t work for the Guild. “One I caught? Duros. Sang like a little bird. Told me everything I wanted to know. Including who he was working with and what he’d been hired to do.” 

Though he was glad to hear that she and Fett were making more progress in cleaning up the galaxy’s garbage, he was still confused about exactly how this raid related to Navina’s name. “Fennec, I’m not sure if I-“ 

“Just wait,” Boba’s serious, gravelly tone was back. “We wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t worth the trouble.” 

He knew that to be true. While Karga enjoyed talking just for the sake of conversation, and Bo-Katan’s routine check-ins could be used to set any clock, Boba and Fennec only made contact when absolutely necessary. Which is almost never. He leaned back in his seat, clenching and unclenching his right fist atop his thigh. “Go on.” 

“Turns out this fine gentleman I spoke with had orders to plant a tracking device on a target so that his partner could hunt them down and take them out in a different location. Team job,” she explained, her eyes suddenly looking down as she fumbled with something off screen. Looking back up, she raised her hand, a bounty puck lying flat in it. “This was the target, Mando.” 

His eyes widened and his mouth fell open as he watched her activate the holo puck, Navina’s image flickering to life, her name listed in several languages below her rotating likeness.  

“Not the Harsa you were looking for, Mand’alor.” Fett inclined his head towards the puck in Fennec’s palm. “Someone’s looking for her though.” 

“Any idea who?” There were endless reasons as to why someone would hire an assassin or a bounty hunter, he knew that first hand. But if he knew who it was that wanted the woman dead, he might be able to reason out the why.

Fennec let the puck go dark and lowered her hand. “Well, you see that’s where things get very interesting.” They were interesting enough already. “Ixon isn’t- wasn’t- a very high ranking member of the syndicate, so he didn’t have any names for me.” Not surprising. “But what he did say?” She folded her arms over her chest. “It was a Mandalorian that hired Black Sun.” 

“A Mandalorian?” Not even the helmet could hide the shock in his tone. Aside from the fact that paying someone else to do their killing for them was not at all the Way of the Mandalore, it was as unnecessary as one of his kind hiring a personal bodyguard.  “Why would a Mandalorian need to hire an assassin?” They wouldn’t. Navina may be a skilled fighter, but the simple fact that she was not entirely covered in beskar put her at an extreme disadvantage when it came to fighting someone that was. Especially if she didn’t even know it was coming. 

“An excellent question,” Boba nodded. “And one I think you know the answer to.” 

“Discretion.” Whoever it is doesn’t want anyone knowing it was them. Most people contracted their dirty work out because they were incapable of doing it themselves, but he knew that there were others who were just seeking to keep their own hands clean. A sudden thought materialized and immediately took the form of a question. “Are all of our people accounted for there?” 

He needed to know if this was an isolated incident; if Navina had garnered this target on her head because of choices she had made, or because of who and what she was...and who she knew. He needed to know if the rest of the covert, the rest of his kind, were safe or if whoever was hunting her down was also tracking other Mandalorians. Perhaps most importantly though, he needed to know if he had to be suspicious of anyone within the covert’s walls. Mandalorian history was full of infighting, different sects and cells with varying beliefs and loyalties often waging war on one another to claim more power and reputation. I won’t let that happen under my watch. 

“Just talked to the princess herself, Mand’alor.” Fett grumbled, his upper lips pulling into the snarl it seemed he reserved specifically for Bo-Katan. “According to her, everyone is safe and she’s called for a full sweep of the facility to be sure there are no threats to your growing hive.” 

Relief washed through him, and he was glad not only that Bo-Katan and her people were there to keep the others safe, but that at least for the moment it seemed that this was more a matter of personal vendetta against Navina Harsa and not against Mandalorians or their allies in general. It was short lived however, Fennec chiming in once more to remind him that the tracking device was likely still active if Navina hadn’t already been found and killed. “If they haven’t found her yet, Mando… she might be leading whoever is looking for her straight to you.” 

He had ended the transmission thanking Fett and Shand for calling with the warning, hoping that Navina would arrive soon and that he’d be able to find and disable the tracker before it caused trouble for him. Or costs her her life. Though his first thought had been that she could be a danger to what he was trying to do for the Mandalorian people, his next line of thinking went in another direction. What if she was targeted because she’s meeting me? What if just knowing me, talking to me was what… Another fact about Mandalorian history that he had learned since becoming the owner of the Darksaber and the title that came with it, was that while the majority of Mandalorians accepted the wielder of that sword to be their rightful ruler, there would almost always be outliers in opposition who would see a different Mand’alor on the throne. He sighed, wondering if it would get worse once they had actually begun to retake the planet, when the throne was even more tangible and real and tempting. One thing at a time. 

Scanning the landscape one more time, he tapped the button on the side of his helmet to cut through the hazy fog that hung low over the volcanic ground. At first he saw nothing, but then a wave of air was displaced overhead, and looking up he saw a small ship, maybe half the size of The Promise, beginning its landing maneuvers. That must be her. Tipping his head back, he watched as the craft wobbled upon entry into Nevarro’s atmosphere before the reverse thrusters were engaged, the hull of the ship leveling out, its descent slowing as it got closer to the ground to give him a clear look at the vessel. Dank farrik.

He was immediately reminded of the Razor Crest after he’d trusted the Mon Calamari dockhand on Trask to repair it following the crash landing on Maldo Kreis. Not that I had much of a choice then. Couldn’t get off the platform the way it was. He wondered if there hadn’t been similar circumstances for the woman and her ramshackle ship. There were outer panels that flapped where they lifted away from the rivets that were supposed to hold them in place, shoddily executed patchwork and second hand replacement parts making it almost impossible to imagine what the ship may have looked like when it was new. If it ever was. Cocking his head to the side as the engines powered down, he wondered if it wasn’t something that Navina or her friend had cobbled together themselves from spare scraps of retired ships. 

There was another disturbance overhead, the hot air moving as though another ship were trying to cut through to land, and he shook all thoughts of her ship’s provenance and original model number away. He needed to stay vigilant, be on the lookout for whoever it was that was following Navina. The airlock hissed as she lowered the ramp on her ship, the steel plank stuttering jerkily as it dropped then freezing its motion with a grinding sound just shy of reaching the ground. 

“Kriffing piece of-” He heard a metallic thunk that he would have wagered anything on had been made by her boot striking the mechanism that operated the entrance ramp, the door groaning on its fastenings as it plunged down to close the distance. “There.” Swinging her braid with a huff, the woman appeared in the opening. She wasn’t wearing any of her armor, her bulging bag slung across her body. He did notice the sunlight glinting off of the kal at her waist and recognized the shape of the blaster strapped to her thigh beneath the gray shawl she wore though, the woman seeming to put more stock in being well armed than well armored. In her case, it made sense, and he realized that if she did know someone was after her, she would only stick out more if she was wearing the beskar helmet and the thin plates she’d collected over the years. 

Hopping down from her ship, a cloud of ash rising as her boot soles hit land, she waved one arm and called out. “Hey there, Mando.” Turning, she hoisted the ramp up manually and gave it a forceful shove to slam it shut. 

In the same instant that the hefty door clicked to lock, the enhanced audio receiver in his helmet picked up another distinct noise; the nearly silent sound of a ship entering the atmosphere. The tracker. Snapping his attention skyward, he adjusted his visor lens and located the incoming gunship. It’s weapons already charged from what he could see, it would be within shooting range in a matter of seconds. Eyes flicking down to the woman still struggling to close the ramp, he realized that she hadn’t noticed the very imminent danger that she was in. And he didn’t have time to warn her.

Acting on instinct alone, he lunged forward extending his left arm and deploying the whipcord from his vambrace. She turned to face him as the cable wrapped around her body, eyes widening in shock as the restraint tightened to trap her arms against her sides. Sorry. 

“What the-“ 

Her assumed string of swears and expletives was cut short by the zip of the line as he swiveled his wrist, the mechanized cord reeling itself back in. Overhead, a dark shape hovered above the clouds. Navina finally glanced up as the hum of the attacking ship’s guns announced their intent to fire. The expression on her face as she looked back down at him was a mixture of confusion, anger, and fear, adrenaline pulsing from her that he could almost feel himself. Hang on. 

Again, there was no time to warn her before he acted, punching his fist hard to pull Navina as far from where she stood as possible. She nearly flew through the air to close the distance, the Mandalorian whipping his body around just in time to stop her momentum by throwing his arms wide and catching her in them. The instant he had a solid grip on her, he bent his knees and pushed off from the ground, jetpack igniting and lifting them both out of harm’s way just as red blaster fire streaked through the sky to hit the ship that she’d been aboard only minutes before. 

He didn’t look back, focused instead on locating the enemy, already grabbing for one of the thermal detonators attached to his belt. But he didn’t need to look back to know the exact second that the enemy’s blast hit, her body stiffening noticeably as the explosion engulfed her ship, the sound of her incredulous gasp close to his ear. He didn’t need to see it on her face to understand what she was feeling. I hope there wasn’t anything… He recalled the moment he had found Grogu’s ball in the rubble where the Razor Crest once stood. I hope nothing she cares about was destroyed. 

Shaking those thoughts from his head, he rose higher until he was close enough to one of the ship’s engines to toss the detonator into the turbine. Reaching down, he unbuckled another two of the spherical explosives, shoving them in after the first before diving back towards the ground. He hadn’t been able to retaliate right away when Grogu was abducted and his ship, their home, decimated. But I can now. His weapons ignited, tearing the engine to shreds and causing the ship to drop like a lead weight, falling hard and gaining speed. 

The heat at his back as they plummeted was satisfying, but his thoughts quickly returned to the woman in his arms as they both touched down on the ground. Bracing for the impact of the destroyed ship’s impending crash, he tucked her head against his shoulder. Tilting his head down, he shielded as much of her with as much of himself as possible, widening his stance to lower his base as the ground rumbled underfoot. Charred debris rained down, a few smaller pieces bouncing off of his armor like fiery hailstones, and he kept her sheltered until he heard and felt them stop falling. As soon as it was clear, he released her, stepping back once he was sure that she was steady on her feet. 

“Are you hurt?” He knew that he needed to check the ship’s wreckage to see if the assailant was still alive. But he wanted to make sure that she was physically alright before he did. 

Mouth agape and expression completely stunned, she took a breath and then another, staring at the space where she’d landed her ship and seeing only a burnt out crater in its place. “I...I’m...no.” She answered, blinking rapidly before giving him a quick shake of her head. “You… how did you-” 

Now’s not the time. Without another word he pushed off from the ground again, flying through the smoke plumes towards the torn and twisted remains of the enemy ship’s cockpit and main hold. Looking through the windshield, he saw the slumped form of a man in dark goggles, the tell tale tattoo marking him as a Black Sun member visible on his neck above the collar of his shirt. From what the Mandalorian could tell, the man was still breathing, simply unconscious, and the lack of movement among the rest of the wreckage paired with the absence of a second body in the co-pilot’s chair led him to believe that this was a solo operation. It usually is. He could count on one hand how many times he’d hunted with a partner, and he knew that most bounty hunters and assassins worked that way, too. 

Finding the hatch to open the cockpit, he tried to peel it open but it wouldn’t budge, the hinges bent and damaged in the crash. Swearing under his breath, he drew his blaster and shot three times at the lock until the door fell inward. Kicking his boot down through the door, he opened it fully, dropping into the ship to extract the man who had just fired on Navina. In another circumstance, he may have let the man suffer the consequences of his actions and let fate decide whether he walks away from the flames. But then he’d be loose on Nevarro. If this trouble was somehow linked to him, which it was, because Navina was only there to meet with him, then he owed it to Cara and Karga and all of the people there to clean up his mess. And I’m sure Fennec will have questions for him. Slinging the tall but thin man over his shoulder, the Mandalorian climbed back out through the opening he made for himself, jumping from the top of the wreckage. The jets strapped to his back roared to life and he ascended as a fuel tank exploded right below him. That was close. 

His next priority was checking that The Promise hadn’t suffered any damage. The blast seemed to have been a direct hit, so he wasn’t overly concerned. But it’s my only way out of here and it’s… He frowned as he landed. It’s not home but it’s… He sighed. It doesn’t matter. The ship was fine, far enough away that it hadn’t even been hit with any rubble or debris. Good. He dropped the man he was carrying in an unceremonious heap, an audible crack coming from his arm as it made contact with the hard ground, ignoring it as he turned back in the direction he’d left Navina in. 

She was walking cautiously through the field of burning metal, her face streaked with soot and her blaster drawn. As soon as she saw the man crumpled at the Mandalorian’s feet, her face pulled into an angry scowl. “Kriffing scum!” 

She coughed as she inhaled the thick smoke, and he realized that if not for the filter in his helmet he would be having the same difficulty breathing. We should get inside. She stumbled closer, and he could see the shake in her hand as she pointed her weapon at the figure on the ground. Don’t- He was about to reach for her to stop her from shooting the man, despite how badly he knew that she must have wanted to. She didn’t make him do that though, opting instead for a swift, hard kick as she stowed her blaster. Lifting her eyes up to the eyeline of his visor, she shook her head. “How did you kn-” 

Another cough cut her short, and he flipped open the cover on his vambrace, tapping in the code to unlock and lower the ramp. “Go inside,” he shook his head and gestured at the black smoke. “You shouldn’t breathe this in. Go.”  

He stooped down to lift the unconscious assassin from the ground, hoisting him over his shoulder again and followed Navina up the ramp into the main hull. As soon as he was in, he punched the switch on the wall to seal the door behind them. The air circulation system kicked in with a whoosh as the airlock clicked shut, and before he said anything else, the Mandalorian opened the locker where he kept three slabs ready at all times. Shoving the limp man into the frame of the slab, he held down the button that released a gust of super chilled carbonite to freeze his captive, then shut him away in the locker for transport to Tatooine. He’ll answer for what he did. He was certain that Fennec would squeeze every drop of information out of him and then make him sorry that he ever agreed to work for the Black Sun.

“Hey.” The curtness in her tone made him wince as he turned to face her, but it was understandable. “Are you going to tell me how you knew that was going to happen?” She crossed her arms defensively and he could tell that she was trying to keep her composure. 

“I was tipped off by one of my people.” He nodded at her. “I had asked about your father, but they came across your name instead.” Pulling a device from the cabinet below the weapons locker, he went on. “Found a bounty puck on you in a syndicate hideout, and found out that someone had you followed.” Switching the small object on, he pointed it at her bag. 

Pulling the satchel away from him, she stepped back. “What are you doing?” 

Lifting the device, he explained. “This will find and disable any tracking devices on you so they can’t send backup.” She still seemed hesitant, and though he wanted to be sympathetic and give her time to process what was happening, he knew that they didn’t have that luxury. “Look, I just saved your life and I don’t even know who I saved it from.” Or why someone’s after you. He recalled the way that his subconscious had convinced him to trust her the last time they were together, and though he still didn’t understand why, he felt himself leaning into it again. “So you’re going to let me check you for tracking beacons, or I’m going to make you let me.” 

She swallowed, not out of fear but frustration, glaring up at him, then begrudgingly held out her bag. “Fine.” 

He swept the device over it, the thing beeping loudly over one of the pockets. “There.” 

“What? There’s nothing in-” She dug her hand into the pocket, then froze, pulling it back out with a tiny silver circle between her fingers. “Dank farrik, what the… how-” 

The Mandalorian took it from her, dropping it on the floor and crushing it with the heel of his boot. “Someone must have slipped it into your bag while you were distracted.” He raised the scanner once more, making sure that there weren’t any other trackers or bugs planted on her person. Satisfied that there weren’t, he stowed the scanner back where he took it from and straightened up to face Navina again. 

The anger and defensiveness were gone, the woman instead displaying concern. “I need to contact Firo.” She shook her head. “That… The Flare, it… that was his ship and I…Osi'kyr! Firo. I need to make sure he’s… that he and his family are safe. What if-” 

“Alright.” He held up his hands. “Alright, you can use my holo screen. It’s in the cockpit.” She pressed her lips together and nodded, clearly worried. “It… my contact? They told me that it was only your name that was on record.” If that makes you feel any better. 

He didn’t wait for her to respond, simply nodding at the ladder that led to the ship’s controls. She climbed wordlessly with him right behind her, and within seconds he had the holo up and running, allowing her to make contact with her friend. If I thought the kid was in trouble I’d… need to see him, too. There were things that The Mandalorian needed to ask her, but he knew that nothing would be accomplished until her mind was put at ease over the people she cared about. 

Once she was satisfied that no one else would be in the crosshairs meant for her, she apologized again to the shaggy haired, amicable man that he had seen pick her up on a stolen speeder when last he was on Nevarro. He insisted that he didn’t really care about his ship, that he was just glad that she was safe, his relief genuine. Ships are replaceable. He looked around at the switchboards and panels that surrounded him. People aren’t. His eyes fell to the vacant seat that was still waiting for Grogu to occupy it. From what she had told him last time they spoke, she knew that all too well. 

As she wrapped up her call, she visibly relaxed, no longer on the verge of hyperventilation from smoke or worry, but still a little on edge. Rightfully so. Someone just tried to- a Mandalorian tried to have her killed. One of my... The idea felt wrong to even think, but he had to ask. “Navina?” Her sharp eyes locked with his, again giving him the feeling that she could see through his visor even though he knew that was impossible. “Do you have any idea who would have,” he sighed. Just tell her what you know. “It was a Mandalorian. The person who put the hit out on you? They were… Do you know why a Mandalorian would be after you?” 

To his surprise, she actually let out a dry laugh. “Mando, if I kept track of everyone who… everyone that I made an enemy of I’d never get any sleep.” 

He was sure that she was right, but it wasn’t what he’d asked. “That wasn’t an answer.” 

She frowned, rubbing at a smudge of black ash on her forehead. “No, it wasn’t.” Looking down at her lap, she let out a breath. “I…” she clamped her eyes shut. “Yeah. There are a… a few Mandalorians who might be...who want me-” 

“Tell me why.” It wasn’t a command, regardless of how it came out. “Please, tell me why. I,” he paused, wanting to be sure of his word choice so that she would understand his line of questioning. I want to make sure that no one that I am responsible for was responsible for this. As the Mand’alor, it was his responsibility to uphold peace and hand out punishment to those that would threaten it. But she doesn’t know that I’m… He wanted to trust her like his brain was telling him to. But he didn’t want to be wrong, not at the expense of the rest of the covert. She hasn’t sworn the Creed. “I want to be sure that no one in my covert, my Tribe, was behind this.” 

She opened her mouth then shut it, furrowing her brow before smoothing it out again, and he knew that she was trying to be just as careful in choosing her words as he was, the two of them playing a precarious game of strategy as they got to know one another. “I’ll… I’ll tell you about the Mandalorians I’ve…” She sighed, her eyes landing on the signet on his shoulder. “I’ll tell you about the Mandalorians I’ve made enemies of, if you tell me something. Like last time.” 

He thought for a beat before answering, something in the way that she was eyeing the Mudhorn crest that he wore giving him pause. But that’s how this works, right? Give information to get it? “Alright,” he agreed. “Go ahead.” 

As though she’d been practicing the question since the second she pulled away on that speeder three weeks ago, it rolled right off of her tongue to fill the quiet cockpit. “Are you in possession of the Darksaber?” 

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Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @alraedesigns @pheedraws @valkblue @malionnes @gollyderek @fific7 @becs-bunker​ @commanderlola​ @greatcircle79​

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Sorry to Be a Bother but do you think we’ll be getting the next chapter of Resol’nare this month or the next?

I was wondering if you’ve been watching book of Boba Fett and what you think of it?

This is Awefully Specific but do the characters Goran Beviin and Medrit Vasur exist in your universe?

DEAR @darkmist111 ,

PLEASE KNOW THAT YOU ARE LITERALLY NEVER A BOTHER TO ME AT ALL. ALSO PLEASE ACCEPT MY SINCEREST APOLOGIES FOR ONCE AGAIN TAKING ROUGHLY 37 YEARS TO ANSWER THESE.

You (or anyone else for that matter!) are never ever bothering me. I absolutely love when you send in questions that make me think more deeply about these characters and this world. Sometimes they take a long time to answer because I want to be sure I’m giving you a complete response and not just a few quick sentences or an “idk haven’t thought about it lol”- because you deserve more than that.

SO! That being said I’m going to answer SEVERAL of your questions all at once on this post- one (regarding Mandalorian adoption practices) will come separately within the next few days. 

*Under a cut because it got long, and there are spoilers for Resol’nare AND for The Book of Boba Fett... so please read at your own risk. 

Will there be a new Resol’nare chapter this month? - YES. Absolutely. And good news: a large portion of it features Boba & Fennec! Semi unfortunate news: it also features Bo-Katan. 😒 Best news: it’s already about 1/3 of the way written, so I’m hoping to be able to dedicate some time to it this week.

Am I watching TBoBF & if so what do I think of it?- I SURE AM! I really enjoy Boba as a character, and I am a SUCKER for backstory/flashbacks/development scenes, so it is right up my alley so far. My only real complaint is that the first and third episodes were too short. I love the dynamic between Boba and Fennec, and I think it was an overall smart idea to put those two characters together. Neither of them have had an easy time of things, both of them are skilled AF, and both of them have had to work for absolute asshats in the past. They have a lot in common, but they also balance each other’s differences super well in my opinion. I am STOKED to see them fuck up the Pyke Syndicate and the Mayor🤭🤭🤭 and I am THRILLED that Boba has a Rancor. That just really makes me happy for him. He deserves a dog, I’m glad he got one.

Do the characters Goran Beviin & Medrit Vasur exist in the Resol’nare universe? - THEY DO! I would be lying if I said I had plans to include them in any of the main storyline, but they absolutely exist. I love them- and their story- very much. And Din and Navina would be lucky to get to meet them personally. Especially if Nav met Medrit because maybe he would make her some armor… Din and Goran can talk about their most dangerous bounties. (Why does this immediately make me think of them all at like a family BBQ? And why is Firo there manning the grill? And why did no one warn him that Mandos like spicy foods before he ate that grilled hot pepper?!?!)

HEY DON’T YOU DARE CALL YOURSELF DUMB YOU HEAR ME??? 😡

Which characters in the Resol’nare universe speak Mando’a? Which are fluent, and which only know it to varying degrees? - There are several unnamed/unmentioned members of the new covert on Tatooine who can speak Mando’a. Any children being raised there, whether they’re born into the covert or brought in as foundlings, are being taught Mando’a. Of the main characters, Bo- Katan, the Armorer, Boba, and Firo’s mom (she’s a translator, she speaks many languages) are all fluent.

Din is working on it. He was fluent, or at least on his way to fluency, but when he began his career as a bounty hunter and started spending more and more time alone and away from other Mandalorians- in this case, after Aashi died and the covert was relocated to Nevarro- he had fewer opportunities to speak it/practice. But now that he is the Mand’alor and is trying to unite the clans and is not only trying to prove himself but also trying to learn more about his culture and his people, he’s dusting off what he used to know. Sort of like getting back on a bike after a few decades off it. Navina has about the same level of fluency as Din. Her parents taught it to her, but she has been out of practice for a long time. Sometimes she has memories or flashes of phrases that come to her in Mando’a, but she couldn’t (right now) have a full conversation with other fluent speakers.

There is also one other character that can understand Mando’a but can’t speak it. And🤐 that’s all I can say.

How did Mandalore become mostly homogenized and human? - Humans are the most populous species in the galaxy, and because they are so adaptive, they have spread to (read: taken over) many planets. Depending on who you ask, they’re either successful survivalists or parasites, right? I think in the case of Mandalore it’s a little of both. At this point the majority of non human Mandalorians are foundlings like Grogu.

Oh my gosh STOP KICKING YOURSELF! 😟😳 Don’t worry, the story is not going anywhere so if you don’t catch an update right away there’s no need to panic- it will be there whenever is clever for you to read it!

(But I’m SO HAPPY to hear that you enjoyed the latest part!! Writing that conversation between Din and Navina was tough because neither of them could say too much but if they’re going to keep getting thrown together they have to start trusting each other at some point, right?)

Is the Darksaber’s Kyber crystal unnatural like red kyber crystals? Did Tarre Visla make his own kind of bleeding? - No. I HC that the crystal inside the Darksaber is a white kyber crystal, and the dark color comes from the reaction that the crystal has to the beskar used to make the hilt. The “cracks” in the blade/ the white light that comes through the dark light are due to the weapon being handled and mishandled by so many people, not by Tarre or anyone else pouring hatred or mal intent into it. It might be possible to “repair” the original connection of the crystal to the hilt... but no one has ever tried, and at this point so little is known about the Darksaber that Din wouldn’t know where to start looking for help to repair it. The poor man still doesn’t even really know what it is or how to use it. Thouugh if Navina gets her way it won’t matter if it can be restored. 

IT IS SO WEIRD AND COOL HOW KNOWING HISTORY CAN SAVE YOUR ASS IN THE STAR WARS UNIVERSE! I AGREE! Good thing that The Armorer, Bo- Katan, and a few others in this universe have a decent grasp on the past! ;) 

THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH for your questions, and for your patience, and for your support and your encouragement and excitement for this story. You are WONDERFUL and I appreciate you so flipping much. 

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Resol’nare - Part Five

A/N: Oh look I’m a day late. Apologies, I made some changes to the overall outline of this story, so I had to make a few tweaks to this chapter before I could share it to make sure that things stay consistent. ;) 

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Summary: The Mandalorian has some questions for the thief he apprehended on Nevarro. But when extenuating circumstances force them to work together, he starts to see that there might be more to her than the common criminal that he first thought. 

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: violence, talk of death

The Promise 

Night fell quickly on Nevarro, the planet plunging into darkness as soon as the sun began to sink beneath the horizon. With no moon the only celestial light came from the stars, but the amount of ash in the atmosphere made it difficult for the silver pinpricks to penetrate to the ground level. By the time the Mandalorian and his captive reached the Promise, the only natural light was coming from the orange glow of the lava rivers in the distance, snaking through the crusty, black volcanic surface. Along the bank of the nearest molten stream, a reptavian’s wings spread wide as it rose from a craggy cluster of porous rock. If there’s one there are more. He knew from experience that the beasts hunted in flocks. Its screech ripped across the empty landscape, and before he could count to three the call was answered by two more shrieks. We need to get inside. 

“Osi'kyr!” The woman behind him hissed under her breath as she stumbled over her feet at the sound of the reptavians. “What the kriff was that?!” 

The Mandalorian stopped walking as she spoke, turning his head so that his chin was in line with his right shoulder. She just... That was- Though he was still learning the language himself, he recognized the Mando’a word immediately. Her pronunciation was clear and correct, the tricky syllables rolling off her tongue with the comfort and confidence of a fluent speaker. He had never heard the language used outside of the covert though, and certainly not by an individual who had not sworn the Creed. She said she wasn’t given the chance to. Each new thing he learned about her only brought up more questions. 

The woman stepped next to him before he could swivel his head back around and he was met with her sharp gray eyes, visible through the smashed visor of her helmet. After meeting Bo-Katan and the Nite Owls he had stopped trying to understand the way that other Mandalorians interpreted The Way. He knew that not all of his people adhered to the more rigid beliefs and traditions that he did, and that most were far more free when it came to removing their helmets and showing their faces. But this is… different. He narrowed his own hidden eyes, focusing on the way that the shattered remains of her visor hung like stalactites across her field of vision. That was done deliberately… but why? 

Beyond the language and the armor, there was also the Mythosaur pendant and the short dagger she had shown him. The pendant itself wasn’t unusual. He had seen plenty of them in his lifetime and had owned one once. Although he no longer wore it, the Mandalorian would always remember how heavy the thing felt the first time it was draped around his neck, how determined he was to carry the weight even as a small child. Each time he held it in his palm or felt it pressed to his skin beneath his armor he was reminded of the words that the man who had given it to him had sworn. To protect him and raise him as a warrior, as his own. 

He hadn’t sworn any vows on the day he’d thrust the necklace into Cara’s hand with the instructions to deliver Grogu to the covert. He didn’t have the time or the strength. Convinced that he wouldn’t make it out of the fray alive, he only wanted the child to be taken care of. And to have my name. To know that I wanted him to be safe. He wondered if Grogu felt the pendant’s weight around his tiny shoulders and understood what it meant. I’ll always be there for you, kid. I promise. 

But no matter what the kid thought when he clutched the pendant in his small hands, the fact remained that it looked like every other one he’d seen before. The sleek silver beskar was sculpted into the skull and tusks of the fabled creature, and there were no added embellishments or adornments. It wasn’t jewelry, it was heritage, and that is what set the one this woman wore apart. At the heart of hers was a bright purple stone visible through the carved eyes that seemed to emit light. Or was it energy? Something about the stone and the way it glowed reminded him of the weapons he’d seen Ashoka use,  or the blade wielded by the Jedi that came to retrieve Grogu from the Mandalorian’s care on Gideon’s light cruiser. It reminded him of the Darksaber in the way that it seemed to crackle with power. So why is it in her necklace? 

The kal, too, had been unique. Like the beskad the Armorer had given him, it was an ancient weapon, one not typically carried by modern Mandalorians in favor of more advanced blades, blasters and rifles. Though it was short the blade was lethal, designed to move swiftly through the air and slice accurately into its target. Historically, the kal and beskad were meant to be used together in two-handed combat, and up until extremely recently he had never seen either. What are the odds of-

The reptavian shrieked again, this time the sound coming from much closer. “Hey,” the woman brought her bound hands up to place them on his arm, the contact jarring him from his thoughts even more than the carnivorous creature’s hunting cries. “Whatever that thing is, it’s-”

The rest of her sentence was drowned out by the whooshing sound of enormous leathery wings flapping just a few paces behind her as one of the beasts swooped low, claws extended and jaw open wide. “Get down!” He saw her eyes widen through the jagged maw of the crack in her visor as he grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her to the ground, falling on top of her to shield her with his body. Razor sharp talons scraped at his shoulder pauldrons as he dove, the beskar doing its job despite the gnashing sounds and the slight pressure he felt as the creature tried to snatch him as its prey. 

Grunting, he rolled off of the woman and onto his back once he was sure that the reptavian had soared up into the air again. Lower the ramp. Get inside. Flipping open the panel on his wrist, the Mandalorian pushed a series of buttons to unlock the Promise’s pressurized cargo door, the release of air behind him letting him know that it was dropping open. Good. He swiveled his head down to the woman as he slammed the panel on his vambrace shut again. “Get in the ship, n-” 

A second winged assailant came screeching in from his left to cut him off, jaws closing around the wrist he had just been operating the locks with and pulling another grunt from him as it tried to thrash him free of his metal casing. He was vaguely aware of his captive scrambling to her feet in his peripheral vision, and once he saw that she was clear he engaged the flamethrower on his opposite wrist, attempting to scorch the creature that was dragging him to his knees. The reptavian wasn’t deterred though, responding by twisting its jaw to damage the vambrace, extinguishing the flames and decommissioning the device. Swearing under his breath, he hurriedly tried to use another weapon, flicking his other wrist down to charge the payload of whistling birds. They hummed as energy coursed through the launcher, but another powerful rush of wind hit him as the first beast turned to swoop back down, and he realized he wouldn’t have time to release the missiles before the creature descended. 

“Don’t move!” The woman’s voice was loud and clear as she called out from somewhere behind him. He froze just as two blaster shots zipped through the air on either side of his helmet, hitting one of the creatures squarely in its broad chest and the other in the soft tissue where the wing joint connected to its body. The first one dropped heavily on the crusty ground, wings curling around its dead carcass as the second gave a piercing painful squeal, spinning in the air before fleeing into the darkness, leaving the Mandalorian panting in a heap. 

He stood, brushing himself off as he turned to face her. Hands still bound, she clutched the blaster that she had holstered to her thigh, the barrel still smoking. Impressed with the accuracy she was able to achieve while restrained, he blinked as she lowered her weapon and stowed it back on her leg. “Nice shooting.” 

She scoffed. “Would have been quicker but I’m a little tied up at the moment.” Sighing, she shifted her weight as he checked to ensure that the reptavian’s bite didn’t penetrate his armor. “Are you...did it get you?” 

Circling his hands around each wrist in turn, he took a few beats to catch his breath and looked up to answer her. “No, the armor held up.” Looking down at the dispatched creature, he recalled the last time that he had an encounter with the venomous predators and how quickly their poison could spread once they sunk their teeth into flesh; how quickly they both could have been killed. “Thank you.” 

The woman shrugged. “Well, you saved me first. So I guess we’re even.” He nodded. “Are you going to tell me what that thing was?” 

“Reptavian,” he answered. “And they’re poisonous, so-”

Her eyes widened. “So what are we still doing out here? There are more of them out there.” As though on command, several high pitched screeches sounded in the distance. 

“Yes,” he agreed, stepping up onto the ramp and walking ahead of her. “There are.” Once they were both inside, he pressed a large white button near the door and the ramp lifted. “We’re safe in here. The Promise is reinforced with-”

“Hey,” she lifted her hands as she cut him off. “That’s great and all, I’m glad that those things can’t attack us in here, but, if you could maybe tell me why I’m handcuffed or why you dragged me all the way out here instead of turning me over to the Marshal? That would be swell.” 

Her voice sounded different as it bounced off the metal floors and walls of the hold, lighter, more vibrant, and before he could answer her it dawned on him that she was the first passenger to board the Promise who wasn’t sealed inside a frozen slab of carbonite. He’d owned the ship for nearly six months, and not even Cara Dune or Boba had set foot inside of it. Before Grogu had come into his life, he had gone years without a second person seated in the cockpit or sleeping in the crew bunks, but once the child came along he’d traveled with plenty of beings. Without him the Mandalorian had been alone again, until this moment, until this woman and all the questions that surrounded her. Shaking those thoughts from his mind, he flipped a switch to turn lights on inside the dark hull, answering her over his shoulder. “You wanted to be turned over to the Marshal.” It wasn’t a question, it was an observation. As a man who had spent his life tracking and hunting down criminals, he had developed the observation skills necessary to know when his quarries were setting traps of their own. “If I turned you over to her I would have been playing into your hand.” 

She huffed as she dropped her hands in front of her, leaning back into the cool steel wall as he turned to face her again. “So, what? Am I your prisoner now?” Her shoulders tensed then. “Did you run my chain code?” No, but I wonder what I would find. 

“I’m not here on Guild business,” he answered, the woman visibly relaxing. She must have a record. 

“Well if this is about borrowing that Imperial ship then-” 

“It’s not.” I don’t care about that. In truth, the fact that the New Republic had left the abandoned base still sitting there stocked with weapons and vehicles just waiting for some Imperial remnant to come back to reclaim them had made him uneasy. That a common smuggler had made off with a ship and some speeders didn’t bother him. Better in the hands of a thief than the Empire. 

“Then why d-”

“Why were you trying to get yourself captured?” Crossing his arms over his chest, the Mandalorian mirrored her stance and leaned back against the ladder to the cockpit. 

He heard her take a deep breath in through her nose, letting it back out slowly as she narrowed her eyes, and he could tell that she was trying to decide how much to say. “I needed some information,” she said finally. “And I heard that the Marshal might have it.” 

Information. That makes two of us. “And what kind of information were you looking for?”  

There was another pause followed by a second huff of air before she spoke again. “Look, we can talk but can I-” she brought her hands up to the bottom edge of her helmet. “I need to take this thing off, it’s...I don’t usually…” 

He swallowed and tightened his jaw, giving her a nod. “Sure.”  

“Great.” Her fingers curled around the beskar, but she paused before lifting it up. “And don’t think you can take it just because I’m in these kriffing binders. You saw me shoot those flyers, I won’t hesitate to-” 

“I’m not in the business of stealing other people’s family heirlooms.” Though he had agreed with Cara and Karga that this woman was likely an imposter wearing Mandalorian armor, she had since changed his mind. What had started as a beskar reclamation had evolved into something else entirely. I just want to talk, see what she knows. If he was to be the one to unite the Mandalorians under one banner, he needed to understand all of the branches of The Way, all of the paths that the clans of Madalore could walk. 

She seemed to accept his spoken agreement that her helmet was safe, finally lifting it up and over her head with very little difficulty. It dawned on him that she was likely proficient at a great number of tasks and skills while in binders, that this was far from her first time being detained in this manner. A professional. Bending down, she set the helmet on the floor with a dull thunk, then stood, letting out a breath. “There, that’s...more my speed.” 

She tossed her head sending a long, complicated black braid struck through bright blue strands over her shoulder where the pauldron he’d sliced still hung limply by one strap. Her eyes, no longer shaded by the helmet, were far lighter than he had originally thought, more silver than gray, sharp but not hard. She appeared to be the same age as himself, faint creases around her mouth indicative of thirty some years of smirking the way that she was now. The moment that he took her in completely, he was struck with a sensation that was completely unfamiliar to him. 

Trust her. 

He bristled at his own suggestion, straightening his spine. Why would I? His first instinct had never been to trust, even with Kuiil. Not that he hadn’t learned to, but it was never something that he gave so freely upon first meeting someone. Especially someone who he knew was a liar and a crook. But the thought proved difficult to root out, twisting deeper into his mind until it found the word connected to the feeling. 

Ruusaanyc. Trust her. 

He wasn’t sure why the word came to him in Mando’a or why it made him more inclined to give in, but as soon as it cropped up he felt himself relaxing. That’s… He flinched, glad that his expression was still concealed. I don’t… The comfort made him uncomfortable and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. Clearing his throat he pushed the trust aside. “What information were you looking for?” 

Her smirk twitched to one side and she let out a small laugh that he wouldn’t have heard had she still been wearing the helmet. “Well, how about those manners, huh?” She laughed again and gestured to herself with her joined hands, a teasing tone to her voice as she continued. “I’m Navina, nice to meet you. Who, may I ask, do I have the pleasure of being detained by this evening?” Her casual nature made his nostrils flare.  No, she’s not getting my name. “I guess I’ll just keep calling you Mando, then?” She sighed as he remained silent. “Well I was hoping for something a little more personal after saving your skin from those things out there even though all you’ve done is destroy my armor and take me prisoner.”

He took a step closer to her, reaching for her hands and grabbing the center of the mechanism that held them together, roughly tugging on it to pull her forward. “You’re not my prisoner.” He unlocked the binders, swinging them around his gloved finger before tucking them back in place in one of the pouches along his belt. “I told you I just want information.” 

He hadn’t stepped back and neither had she, clearly not intimidated by him anymore if she ever was in the first place. That’s… new. Just as he wasn’t used to giving his trust freely, others regarding him as they would any other passerby simply never happened. Jutting out her chin as though to prove his point, she challenged his claim. “So if I decided that I didn’t want to give you that information afterall, you’d just...what? Let me go?” 

The Mandalorian shrugged. “Sure. But I doubt the reptavians will cut you the same deal.” 

Navina hummed a laugh. “No, probably not.” Releasing a breath slowly through her nose, she squinted her eyes and widened her smirk. “Alright then, Mando. I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.” 

Realizing that it was better to keep things on civil terms, he agreed. “Fine.” His eyes shifted over to the weapons locker, directly next to where Navina had previously been leaning, and decided that despite what his intuition was trying to tell him, he didn’t trust her enough to be near it, even with it sealed and locked. She’s still a thief, remember? “We’ll talk in the cockpit.” He cocked his head at the ladder beside him. “After you.” 

“See? I knew there were manners in there somewhere.” With that she winked at him and started climbing. 

Shaking his head, the Mandalorian followed her up the ladder. He stepped ahead of her to open the sliding door that led to the ship’s controls, entering the cockpit and turning his seat before sinking into it. When she made to sit in the seat directly behind and to the right, he stuck his hand out abruptly. “No.” That’s the kid’s seat. Even though it wasn’t. Swallowing the thick lump clogging his throat, he pointed to the passenger seat on the other side. “You can sit there.” 

Ignoring his abrupt aversion to her seating choice, Navina did as he asked and spun the other chair around, sinking into it. She let out a whistle as she looked around, taking in the ship’s multitude of monitors and instruments. “This is nice. Auzituck?” She ran her hand over the switchboard, nodding at her own question. “Yeah, the Wookies know what they’re doing, that’s for sure.” He watched her as she slowly turned back towards him, the light from an overhead screen finding the blue strands of her hair and causing them to shine. “So.” Taking her hands off the panel she’d been inspecting, she dropped them heavily into her lap. “You want to know why I came to Nevarro.” 

“Yes.” He let his shoulders drop and rested one elbow on the armrest of his chair, waiting for her response. 

Navina tapped her left knee three times with her pointer finger before taking a breath. “I heard a rumor in the Core Worlds that I wanted to follow up on.” 

“What kind of rumor?” 

She shook her head from side to side. “Uh uh. I answer one, you answer one.” Raising one eyebrow in an arch, she waited for him to comply with a nod. “What is a Mandalorian doing working with a Marshal?” 

“I don’t.” When it was clear that she wanted more than a two word answer, he sighed. “Marshal Dune is a... friend. She got in touch with me as a courtesy because she saw your armor and figured that you had stolen it.” Navina weighed his answer, tilting her head as though agreeing with Cara’s initial assessment of her. “What kind of rumor?” He asked again. 

“I heard…” She wet her lips and sucked in a breath, letting it out as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “I heard that there used to be a pretty sizable Mandalorian covert here on Nevarro and I,” she released her lip, her brow furrowing. “I’m looking for someone. Someone that might have been there.” 

What? Who? That nagging feeling was back, telling him to relax, not to assume the worst of her. “There-” he sighed. “There was.” 

She winced at the way he said the last word, and he internally recoiled at the idea that she was able to hear the emotion in his tone even with the modulator in his helmet. “What...what happened?” 

He closed his eyes as the image of helmets piled too high flashed in his memory. “The Empire happened.” It wasn’t a lie, it was just the simplest truth. Without giving her time to ask for more on that, he took his turn at interrogating. “Who are you looking for?” 

“My f-” She paused, and for the first time since he’d pointed his beskad in her face he saw a flash of something other than defiance in her silver eyes. What was that? “My family.”

Her family? But she said that… She had told him that the helmet and kal she owned had belonged to her parents, and he had assumed that meant that they were no longer alive. Too much time passed in silence, but he wasn’t sure what to say next. It wasn’t the answer that he had been expecting. 

Navina broke the quiet first, her voice slightly smaller than it had been previously, the sound of it pulling his features into a frown. “With my mother I-“  

She paused and something in the silence between her words and the breath she took made him turn toward her. Her right hand was wrapped tightly around the pendant she had shown him, her chin tilted down and away. 

“I know what happened to my mother, I know she’s…” 

She let go of the necklace then, letting it fall against her chest as her shoulders dropped, and he didn’t need her to finish her sentence. She’s gone. He knew what it was to lose a parent. He had lost three. Navina flattened her palm over the Mythosaur hanging from her neck, pressing it against her chest, and he stared down at the blue triangles on his handplates. 

“But my father and the f-“ 

He picked his head back up as she cut herself short, her eyes waiting for him to look her way. Not for the first time he got the feeling that she could see through the visor, even though he knew it was impossible. Was she going to say…

“My family was caring for a foundling.” She shook her head, one cheek lifting into her eye in a half-hearted smile. “We were split up and I...don’t know what happened to them.” She shrugged and sniffed, blinking her long lashes rapidly to clear away any tears before they could form. “So when I heard that there was a covert here I…” Another shrug. “Wanted to come and...see.” 

Grogu. Kid. Foundling. Family. Clan. Aliit. 

Each pound of his heart brought a new word to mind. She’s...alone. He knew what that was like, to confront loss or uncertainty. But at least he had the rest of the covert. He had Cara and Karga and Fennec and Boba Fett. He had the Armorer and the survivors of the covert here on Nevarro, Paz and the foundlings that he’d rescued. “I’m...sorry.” They seemed insufficient but they were the only words he could conjure. 

She gave him a smirk, or tried to, and shook her head. His eyes were drawn again to the blue strands of her hair as she moved under the lights. “I’ll find them.” I hope you do. “Is it my turn?” He nodded. “Okay. Well, since you took those broken vambraces and you wanted my helmet, too, I assume that you know an Armorer?” 

“I do. There’s…” He thought about how best to answer, wanting to tell her the truth, wanting to tell her that there was a thriving Mandalorian population on Tattooine, hoping to tell her that perhaps she’d find her family there. But she hasn’t sworn the creed. 

She watched him, for what, he wasn’t sure, but she seemed to find it, her tongue flicking out to lick at her lips again. “But they won’t craft armor for me because I’m dar’manda, right?” The word made him flinch. Like the Mythosaur pendant, he could feel the weight it carried, too. 

“I… could ask, but-” 

Navina shook her head. “No, it’s alright, Mando.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s just a bantha brained idea I had.” It’s not...I understand, it’s just… “Can I… if I tell you my family name, would you…tell me if you know anything? Or-” 

“Sure.” He didn’t know many of the names of the Mandalorians that had joined the new covert, but he couldn’t see how it could hurt to make this offer. 

“Harsa,” she replied. “My father’s name is Gavil Harsa.” 

The Mandalorian nodded. “When I regroup with my covert I’ll put the word out that his daughter is looking for him.” 

“Thank you, Mando.” She sighed, a look of genuine gratitude and relief coming over her face. 

Before she could say anything else though, a crackling sound came from a pocket in her flak vest as a comm link sparked to life. “Nav? Nav! Can you hear me? Come in, Harsa.”  

Her eyes grew wide and she gritted her teeth, sucking air through them and reaching under her armor for the device that she must have hidden at the onset of her mission at the base. “Oh. Yeah. That’s…” 

“Your friend?” He crossed his arms as she nodded sheepishly. “You better answer him, then.” 

Her thumb hovered over the button to respond, but she stopped. “If I tell him where I am and he comes to pick me up, are you going to let us go without any trouble? He’s…” She inched towards the front of her seat. “I don’t want him in any trouble.” 

“I told you before, you aren’t my prisoner.” He understood though, that she was trying to protect her friend. She may not have sworn the Creed herself, but he couldn’t help but recall what the Armorer had told him just a few days ago. She spoke the language, upheld the duty to family and, though unconventionally, wore the armor. She is Mandalorian in everything but oath. “But you should tell him to wait until morning, when our flying friends are asleep. They’ll attack small ships as they take off.” 

“That’s… yes. I will tell him that.” Her thumb pressed down over the button and she spoke into the receiver. “I’m here, Firo, I read you.” 

Instantly the other man’s voice rang throughout the cockpit. “NAV. Dank Farrik, I was worried.” Nav? The Mandalorian looked at the woman across from him. It was short for her name, obviously, but it didn’t seem to fit her. Why do I care about that? He blinked. I don’t. 

Rolling her eyes again, Navina smiled. “I’m okay, Firo. Gonna have to sit tight where I am tonight, but,” she glanced up at the Mandalorian. “But I’m safe. I’ll send you coordinates in the morning, alright?” 

Safe. Trust. Ruusaanyc. 

It was easier to give into that word after speaking with her, even just for a short time, but it still made him wonder. Why? 

There were more things that he wanted to know, more questions that he wanted to ask. But just as she ended the communication with her associate, his own communication device began to beep from the third pocket on his belt and he sighed, knowing who it was before he even answered. 

Bo-Katan had arrived to meet with him on Tattooine. And she wouldn’t be happy to find him missing.

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Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor​​​​​ @alraedesigns​​​​​ @pheedraws​​​​​ @valkblue​​​​​ @malionnes​​​​​ @gollyderek​

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Resol’nare - Part Seven

A/N: This part has a lot of bits that I have been excited to share. There are a lot of pieces of my own HCs in here, as well as a few plot hint crumbs that I’ve had fun developing, so I hope you guys enjoy this one! (Also sorry it was late- we got power back late last night and I was too lazy to post after making dinner. oops. Don’t worry, I already formatted eight so this won’t happen again next week) Also, also... Fennec and Boba are fun to write :) 

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Summary: The Mandalorian makes the journey back to Tatooine to take care of some things back at the covert after his run in with Navina on Nevarro. More is revealed about the goings on in the upper levels of Boba Fett’s complex, we learn what he and Fennec are up to, as well as a little more about how things are run below. And we finally hear what Bo-Katan has been itching to tell him. 

Warnings: descriptions of violence, death, talk of manipulating kids (if you’re unsure feel free to ask) 

Word Count: 5.6k

Tatooine. 

  The suns were sinking into the Dune Sea by the time he pulled Peli’s rental speeder into one of the hidden bays at the rocky base of Fett’s palace complex. There were three other occupied spaces, leaving just the one to his left empty. A quick scan of the vehicles that were there told him immediately who wasn’t. Fennec. Hers was the easiest to recognize. She had painted it a heavy matte black, accented with a weblike design of crisscrossing red lines. It wasn’t inconspicuous but she didn’t want or need it to be. If one of her targets saw her speeder and made the connection, it was already too late for them to turn and run. She liked knowing that they felt some modicum of fear or at the very least panic in the seconds before she struck, and he couldn’t blame her. They had it coming. 

For too long the scum that she and Boba were after had run nefarious crime rings that preyed on scared, young kids with nowhere else in the galaxy to turn. It was how they’d both ended up in their line of work, Boba swept into a life of violent instability in the aftermath of his father’s death, and Fennec developing a kind of admiration and a misplaced feeling of owing her employers for rescuing her from being sold to a brothel as a child. The slime had wasted no time in manipulating her, taking that gratitude and twisting it into something ugly and sinister, crafting her into a sniper, a trained, leashed killer, trading one horrible outcome for another. By the time she realized how trapped she truly was, the price on her own head had climbed so high it had very nearly gotten her killed. 

He winced thinking back to when he’d found her crumpled form in the sand. His thoughts had flashed so quickly to Grogu, to getting back to where he was and ensuring his safety, that he had only given Fennec a cursory check for any signs of life. Had Fett not been tracking the Mandalorian in search of his father’s armor, the woman would have died there in the desert. But the grizzled wanderer had found her, and saving the assassin from the brink of oblivion had given both of them a second chance. Fennec had been freed from the things that held her feet to the flames, and Boba had been given a reason to care for someone other than himself. He may have never been in any real peril on Tatooine- Not even in that pit if how I’ve seen him fight is any indication of how he handled that Sarlacc- but two souls were saved that day regardless. Though they worked as a pair and while Fennec deferred to Fett at first, she gave him her loyalty because she chose to, not because she was made to, and he gave her his respect because she had proven herself to be just as resilient as he was.  

Now, having taken the palace from the Hutt crime family and rooted out their presence on the planet, the two child killers turned vigilantes had started working on the galaxy’s other crime rings. Their sights were currently set on the Black Sun syndicate, and they had been working on picking away at one of their strongholds in Ord Mantell City, dispatching those who gave them no new information immediately, and freezing and bringing anyone who might have something useful to share back to the complex on Tatooine. Karga and the Bounty Hunter’s Guild on Nevarro had even been helping them, and more than a handful of the Mandalorians from the new covert had offered their assistance as a way to repay Boba and Fennec for providing them the space. Yes, they were taking the law into their own hands, but he had seen time and again how easily the New Republic could be made to look the other way, so he had no personal or moral objections to what they were doing. 

And so far they had brought three children under the age of thirteen back to the covert. The kids were being held captive as leverage so that the Black Sun leaders could keep control over their parents, often threatening them with things unspeakable should they refuse to do what their bosses required of them. The youngest was no more than five. After they’d been fed and tended to by the Healer and given a place to rest in the tunnels below, Woves one of the Mandalorians he’d first met on Trask, had set out to get in touch with the guardians of the rescued children. Since joining the cause to unite the clans, Axe had become increasingly interested in participating in educating and caring for the covert’s children, even assisting the Instructor in teaching new sparring techniques or sharing the perspective of someone who had grown up on Mandalore when it came to more cultural or historical lessons. Though he’d tried to make contact multiple times using the information that he had on the children- only their names and home planets- just the two older boys had been claimed by living relatives. 

The smallest, a girl barely reaching the top of Woves’ boot, didn’t seem to have anyone anywhere. Though he continued to try to locate the child’s kin, everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the Armorer was presiding over the gai bal manda, the man who had once been one of Bo-Katan’s most feared fighters kneeling in front of the entire Tribe and swearing to protect and raise the child as a warrior, as a member of his clan. As his own. 

Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad. I know your name as my child. Grogu. 

He felt a tug in his chest, just behind his rib cage as he dismounted the speeder, those big round eyes blinking at him from beneath that wrinkled green forehead and those over large ears filling his thoughts before he could guard himself. With a sigh, he wished for what could have been the hundredth time that he had been given the chance to take that vow, swear those words… Raise my son. 

Slinging his bag across his body and ensuring that the Darksaber’s hilt was clipped firmly to his belt with one hand, the other went to one of the leather pouches at his waist. Without needing to look, he pulled the small silver ball from its designated spot, spinning it twice between his thumb, index and middle fingers. We’ll see each other again. I promise. The metal sphere slipped smoothly in his gloved grasp, the object giving him comfort. It was something tangible, a link to the thing he carried in his heart for the child that had upended his entire world. Bo-Katan might understand Woves’ choice if she… He let out another breath and tucked the ball away. But all she can see is Mandalore. 

The sharp-eyed, orange- haired heiress was not too keen on her former companion’s sudden calling towards child rearing, but swearing an adoption vow, promising to care for a foundling, was such an integral part of Mandalorian beliefs, of The Way, that she knew better than to try to talk him out of it. She would lose any credibility that she had as a leader if any of the others caught wind of that. She still had Reeves, and Hast,  one of the few that had made it off of Nevarro, had also volunteered to help her search for other hidden coverts and lone stragglers in the far reaches of the Outer Rim, on the quiet, often overlooked planets in the Mid Rim, in the corrupt and crowded cities of the Core Worlds. And if she wanted more help I’m sure there are others who would go. 

He cringed, tilting his chin down to glance at the innocuous looking object knocking against the beskar tasset covering his left thigh with every step towards the tunnels he took. If she wanted, I could… He reached across his body to wrap his hand around the sword's grip. It still felt strange. Unnatural. I could order others to join her mission. Dropping it as soon as the thought crossed his mind, it hit the beskar beneath it with a loud clang that echoed in the dark passages that connected the speeder bay to the main hall. Leadership in a fight, in a battle, in negotiations, while all still outside of what he would have chosen for himself, were things that he could get his head around. But making demands? Setting punishments and enforcing laws? It was the things that ran in that vein of what it meant to be the Mand’alor that gave him the most pause now that the Armorer had assuaged some of his other doubts regarding the title that had been thrust upon him, unwanted. 

Thing after thing. Loss after loss. Responsibility after responsibility. That had been his life for nearly four decades, and it didn’t seem like his burdens would be getting lighter any time soon. For the first time since he left Nevarro two days before, he thought of the woman he’d run into there, whose stolen vambraces he was bringing back to be reforged. Navina. Though he’d only spent a few hours with her he had picked up the impression that difficult trials and heavy hardships followed her wherever she went, too. He wondered if that was uniquely Mandalorian, or if there were others who understood the same level of loneliness that sometimes came when such strength was constantly required of a being. She had spoken of her clan; of losing her mother and being separated from her father and the foundling that her family had taken in, not knowing after all that time if they were still alive. He knew the odds and she seemed clever enough to know them, too, and though he had sympathy for her, it also made him feel less like he was alone in struggling to carry an ungainly load. I have to remember to ask the others about her father… Harsa. That was the name.  

There were several things he had to do on this trip, asking about Navina’s family name just the latest addition to the list. After promising the Armorer on his last visit that he would begin training with the Darksaber, he knew that he would be spending at least two sessions with the Weapons Master, learning how to wield the legendary black blade. We’ll start with the beskad, though. He was firm in that and he knew that no one would argue with him. He wanted to check in with Fett, make sure that the arrangement was still working and that the man didn’t need anything from him. He had no doubt though, that if the man running things topside had any issues, he wouldn’t hold them back, not hesitating to contact the Mandalorian directly to launch his complaints. His directness was one of the things that he liked most about Boba, and one of the reasons that he had been so quick to trust him. I hope he’s free now. I’d rather start there then…

The last thing that he absolutely could not leave the planet without doing, was meeting with Bo-Katan for a debrief on the recruiting efforts and to begin discussing tactics for reclaiming their ancestral homeland. Hers, anyway. She wasn’t happy that he had put it off for as long as he had, but again, he knew that she wouldn’t voice her displeasure for fear of the optics of disagreeing with the Mand’alor. Politics. His top lip curled at the thought that he would have to get good at knowing how to keep people on his side, even when he knew that their endgames were slightly out of alignment with his. Maybe she’s in the sparring hall now. He knew that she spent hours training with Reeves and Hast whenever she came back to the covert, and he hoped that was where she was now. 

If he was being entirely honest, something about her still didn’t sit well with him, but he knew that he didn’t have to like everyone to work with them. 

Striding the last few steps through the winding passage, he finally reached the plain stone archway, a circular splotch of light from one of the torches visible on the other side of it. Two helmeted Mandalorians stood guard, but moved aside as soon as they saw the signet on his shoulder and the Darksaber on his belt. 

“Olarom yaim, Mand’alor.” The shorter of the two spoke with a nod, welcoming him home in a voice that cracked too adolescently for the modulator in the newly sworn fighter’s helmet to hide. A kid. He recalled the first few years after he’d finished his required training in the Fighting Corps, the cockiness, the harsh lessons that no amount of studying or practicing in the sparring hall could prepare him for. He’s just a kid. 

It was different though, the way that Mandalorians allowed Tribe members to swear additional oaths inducting them into the elite group of warriors at seventeen, than what the syndicates did, how they inducted their young members. We learn and train our whole lives for it. Understand what we’re agreeing to. Not like… He swallowed a sudden spike of rage at the thought that the quiet, innocent child that was likely still latched to Woves’ right leg would have otherwise ended up raised to be a mercenary -or worse- for the Black Sun. But she won’t now. 

“Thank you,” he responded to the young guard cursing himself for forgetting the Mando’a translation. I need to do better with that. Again he felt his thoughts backtracking to Navina and the way that he’d heard several Mando’a words roll easily off of her tongue. Maybe she can… when we meet again in a few weeks, maybe she can help me with… He sighed. There was a long list of things he needed to talk to her about when he saw her next, just like the list of things that awaited him at the top of the staircase he was currently climbing. He wanted to know more about her pendant, about the seam they had found in the metal that hinted at a modification that was made well after the piece had been crafted that would allow the Mythosaur to hold the peculiar stone that shone purple. He wanted to know more about what had prompted her family to leave Concordia, why they were running and why they’d had to separate. He wanted to know anything that he could from her and any other Mandalorians he encountered that might help him be the Mand’alor that the young guardsman and everyone else in the covert seemed to think that he was. 

As soon as he ascended the last few steps though, his thoughts were interrupted by a heavy arm falling around his shoulder. “Still in one piece then, Mand’alor?” 

Boba Fett’s gruff, gravely voice was oddly comforting, and he knew that he was likely one of maybe two people who thought that. He returned the one armed thunk that he supposed the other man took for a hug. “Seems that way.” The man’s heavily scarred face pulled up into a jagged looking grin, the expression almost jarring on such a serious visage, but then a rumbling chuckle came out and took the smile with it, leaving his features in their natural scowl. “Everything alright here?” 

The Mandalorian followed Fett through the large main hall, past the stone slab throne that he only occupied when passing judgement on those that he and Fennec brought back once any useful information could be wrung from them, and through to the long table that had been brought in for strategy meetings and sharing information with the Bounty Hunter’s Guild and others who agreed to offer help. “Everything’s fine,” he said with a grunt, gesturing flippantly with one hand, pulling a chair out from the table with the other. “The Princess wasn’t too thrilled when she found out she’d have to wait for you, but tell me, Mandalorian, is that woman ever truly happy about anything?” 

He had never so much as seen her smile. Pulling out a chair of his own, he simply shrugged. It seemed unlikely. “I’ll meet with her as soon as we’re through here.” Fett nodded. “I had… urgent business on Nevarro.” 

“Urgent?” One eyebrow rose on the man’s forehead. 

“Yes, I met another Mandalorian, only she was,” he tilted his head to the side as the image of Navina’s silver-gray eyes staring at him through her shattered visor flashed in his mind. “Different.” 

Boba answered with another gruff chuckle as he reached for the jug of spotchka that was never too far away. “Different, was she?” He took a long pull, the remnants of his teasing laugh still there when he lowered the jug and swiped the back of his free hand across his mouth. 

What? No, that’s- He leaned forward, elbows on the stone surface as he made a quick slicing motion with one hand. “No. That’s not what I meant.” 

It wasn’t. But as he dropped his palms back to the tabletop, he could recall the way it felt when he’d gripped her biceps, shaking her from her dreams. He had been concerned that she would hurt herself or more inconveniently, break one of the controls in the cockpit with the way she was thrashing in her sleep. But what he remembered now, hands flat before him, was how it felt to make contact with her skin, even if it was just through the thick padding of his gloves. He pressed his thumb down hard on the table like he had pressed it into the crease of her bent arm, squeezing the muscle there to get her attention. She felt strong and warm and solid and he almost held onto her for too long, caught up in the feel of another body beneath his hands. That isn’t what I meant. 

He cleared his throat and went on. “She hasn’t sworn the Creed, but she carries out the traditions, she can fight, knows things about Mandalorian history-“ he looked up at the man across from him, Fett abandoning his ribbing to regard the Mandalorian seriously. “She had a helmet and a dagger made of pure beskar.” 

“And you’re sure she’s not a thief?” 

Technically she is. But she didn’t steal the helmet or the kal. She didn’t steal the pendant. “They belonged to her parents.” He explained what the woman had told him about how her family had been split up- how she had known for a fact that her mother had been killed, but that since it had been years since she’d seen her father or the other child in her family, she had no way of knowing if they were still alive. “She… she asked me to spread word here at the covert, in case anyone knows where to find her father. Harsa. His name is Gavil Harsa.” 

Boba shrugged. “Don’t know any Harsa. But then, I’m no Mandalorian either. Your different girl and I have that in common.” 

She’s not my-

But before he could protest what had just been said, voices from the same entrance he had come through caught his and Boba’s attention, the other man standing as Fennec’s dry, smirking tone could be heard greeting the guard at the door. “You’re back.” He stated, opening his arms wide, his voice booming across the otherwise empty space. “What took so long?” He dropped his arms as Fennec maneuvered a carbonite block through the doorway. 

She cocked her head in the direction of the hardened, frozen slab containing what could have been any number of humanoid species, their features completely indiscernible but clearly contorted in terror. “Ixon here didn’t want to come quietly.” She turned to pull the block the rest of the way through, the unit hovering weightless and only needing her guidance for direction. “It was actually quite a workout.” She grinned. “For him.” Fett let out another gravelly laugh as Fennec turned her attention to the Mandalorian. “Mando,” she smiled and used one hand to push her long black braid behind her. “Good to see you.” 

“Fennec,” he nodded a greeting. “You’ve been busy, I see.” 

“Nothing for the Mand’alor to worry about,” she winked, shoving the block containing Ixon more roughly than necessary. “Just dealing with the trash.” She winked as she walked through, waving off Boba when he tried to assist her. “I’ll handle this one on my own.” She patted the side of the unit with an almost malicious gleam in her dark eyes. “It’s personal.” 

“I’d pity him if he weren’t walking slime,” Boba offered her the spotchka jug but she declined with a flick of her wrist. 

“He might not be walking when I’m done.” She gave the block another shove towards a door on the other side of the large room, her lips lifting in a quick snarl. “See you around, Mando,” she called over her shoulder, disappearing with Ixon, not waiting for a response.

“They say if you love your job you never work a day in your life,” he clapped a large meaty palm on the Mandalorian’s arm. “And Shand loves her new job.” That much is obvious. “Speaking of jobs, Mand’alor,” he gestured with his jug towards another set of stairs that led to the tunnels that the covert was using, the blue liquid sloshing gently as he did. “I’m sure yours is calling.” 

He stiffened. “Yes.” 

The man, gnarled by life and the things that had tried to drag him from it, set the jug down then. “Taking that planet back… well, you know what I think there.” I do. From first mention, he had not held back his opinion of the mission. “But bringing this many Mandalorians together under one roof? And they haven’t killed each other yet? I know you didn’t ask for this but,” he narrowed his eyes. “That’s no small feat.” 

It was as close to true praise as Boba Fett had likely ever bestowed upon anyone, and he knew that. It was also the truth. He thanked the man and crossed the room to yet another doorway that led to a different set of stairs. This time though, as he shifted the bag on his shoulder, the metal pieces inside clanging together, he did not stop on the landing and wait to pass off the reclaimed beskar to a middleman. This time, he continued down the second set that brought him to the forge. 

It was quiet, the Armorer taking a rare break from her unending task of providing the best protection and defenses that she could for her people. As a child it was easy for him to forget that there was a human beneath that pointed gold helmet. Her understated power, the sparks that flew frantically from her hammer, the ability she possessed to craft such stunning objects all contributed to the almost mythological status that he and the other small children regarded her with. He still admired and respected her and held her in higher esteem than anyone else in the covert, he knew that even the Armorer needed to eat, needed rest, needed to give her own ears a reprieve from the ringing of her tools battering hot metal. 

Entering the room for the first time since the covert relocated to Tatooine, he gave himself time to take the space in. Slowly turning his head he scanned over the work table, all of the tools neatly arrayed, each one clean and sharp and shining, each one a weapon in its own right. The forge itself was unlit, the mouth that usually spat fire simply open in a gaping yawn, but as he ran his hand over it he felt the residual heat that never completely faded. He wondered if what was left of the forge back on Nevarro still retained any warmth. 

Drawing his hand back, he stepped over to the small table that the Armorer used for meeting with the recipients of her work. Reaching into his bag, he took the vambraces that Navina had surrendered and set them on the surface between the two empty stools, leaving them for when the Armorer returned to her duty. She’ll know what to do. And where they came from. He would return to the forge the next morning to speak with her in more detail about the items’ provenance, and also to spread Navina’s family name to the member of the Tribe who was most likely to know it. He gave the room one last scan, slowly turning his head so that he could see it all through the eyeline of his visor, then left, continuing on with his own list of responsibilities. 

A handful of the covert’s children, some in the second hand helmets of the older ones, others belonging to clans that didn’t cover their faces at all times displaying smudges of dirt across round cheeks, were gathered in the widest portion of the hall. Engaged in some game that he likely played himself at that age, they shrieked and laughed and jumped. The kid would love it here. He could easily picture Grogu waddling into the group of young Mandalorians and fitting in without a problem, and he hoped that he had other children to be a child with while he underwent his Jedi training.

Continuing on and following the fork to the left, he headed next for the sparring hall. Unlike the forge, it was not empty. He could already hear the sound of practice staffs clashing, and the Instructor’s voice calling out advice to his trainees. One of the fighters grunted as they lunged or swung, and he knew right away from the sound that it was Bo-Katan, the heavy footsteps he heard suggesting that she was training with Hast. 

Since she was occupied at present, he stopped at the door beside the entrance to the sparring hall to arrange sessions with the Weapons Master. The man seemed pleased that the Mand’alor was ready to start working with the beskad in preparation for the Darksaber, and gave him his choice of available times for one on one training. Slating himself for three instead of the two he had planned on, he thanked the man and, with nothing left to do to push it off any longer, he entered the sparring hall and prepared to speak with Bo-Katan. 

She was still locked in a battle with Hast, the hulking man nearly twice her size but incredibly nimble for his weight and width. Blocking a swing of her opponent’s staff, the helmetless woman gritted her teeth and gripped her own weapon, holding it horizontally in front of her chest to take the force of the blow. Her feet slid back but she dug them in and gave a strong shove. Staffs still connected, the push set Hast off his balance just enough for her to turn the staff and whip it down and behind the man as he tried to regain his footing. In a sweeping blur she used it to take his legs out from under him, and he fell hard to the ground. Following all the way through to the finishing position, Bo-Katan flipped her staff around, jabbing it a few inches from Hast’s helmet, signifying her victory. 

It was impressive, but the Mandalorian knew that she was a skilled fighter, having seen her in live battle. She extended a hand to help Hast up, then turned towards the entrance. “You’re here.” It sounded almost skeptical, and he noticed the tiny twitch of her brow, hardly any sweat beading there after her workout. “Back from your,” she passed the staff behind her to Hast who took both of them back to the wall, the Instructor stowing them on their pegs. “From your urgent business?” 

He’d been expecting her to be upset, so the bite in her tone wasn’t a shock. “Yes.” He answered simply, not willing to allow her annoyance to spark his own. “I’m ready to discuss plans with you.” 

Her eyes narrowed, lips pressed together in a thin line as though that was the only thing keeping her frustration in. She swallowed, then let out a short breath and gestured toward the door. “Shall we, then?” 

The Mandalorian nodded and once she’d thanked the Instructor and Hast for the session, she followed him out into the hallway, the two heading for one of the smaller halls that had been designated for closed door meetings. “Thank you, for your patience.” He knew that she hadn’t been patient, but that she wanted it to seem like she had. “I had things to tend to, but I’ll be here for about two weeks, and I,” he opened the door to the room, letting her in before him and then closing it after he entered. Letting out a small sigh that he knew she wouldn’t be able to hear, he continued. “Aside from training with the Weapons Master I can spend as much time as necessary working with you.” 

Her cheek jumped as she gave a quick smile that was more of a forced smirk. “Well, that’s great news.” Pulling out a chair, she gestured for him to do the same, which he did. “Because we have a lot to discuss.” 

She went on to tell him that she, Hast and Koska Reeves had come back with ten adult Mandalorians from a covert located in the Mid Rim, and four children that had been part of their clans. There were a few that had chosen not to come back to Tatooine, but he and the others had all agreed that no one would be forced into joining them, that it was a decision only they could make for themselves. Still, adding fourteen to the Tribe in just one trip was something of note. For most of his life he had thought that his kind were far closer to extinction than they were. It was encouraging to see their numbers grow after so much time spent thinking that they were alone, and he hoped it gave the others that joined them there that same feeling of hope. That even if the quest to take back Mandalore were to fail, they would still have a safe place there where they didn’t have to hide in the shadows and only gather in groups of twenty or fewer. At least they were united now. At least they had a home.    

She went on to tell him about the old rebel base they had heard about on the remains of Concord Dawn, a planet in the Mandalore System that had all but been destroyed in the centuries of warfare that plagued that portion of the galaxy. Largely uninhabitable, and missing nearly a third of its mass, the planet had been abandoned ages ago. But it’s proximity to Mandalore made it a good candidate to set up a base of their own once the battle for their planet began. She outlined what would be needed in terms of weapons, fortifications and troops, and stated that once they had acquired and allotted the required supplies, she would like to accompany him on a trip to Concord Dawn so that he could see it for himself before the base was established. 

Agreeing to all of this, he listened as she laid out her plans for obtaining what was needed, giving her another two hours of his time before exhaustion started setting in so heavily that he wouldn’t have been able to listen to much more even if it was the most interesting topic in the universe. Assuring her that they could pick up where they left off the next morning, he excused himself from the small room and headed for the chamber that he always slept in when he was at the covert. 

He didn’t know why, but as he removed his helmet he thought again of the woman he met on Nevarro, and how he was about to begin a war to take back her home planet. Unbuckling the rest of his armor piece by piece and laying it out to be polished and cleaned, he wondered if she would ever go back to the place she was born once they had won it back, or if their own traditions would make her feel unwelcome there. Frowning, he hoped that wouldn’t be the case, that he would help build the kind of society that welcomed anyone who was an ally, whether or not they swore an oath. Would she take the creed? Pulling the breastplate cuirass over his head, he wondered if it was even something she would want to do. She said she wasn’t given the chance… what if she was? 

Shaking his head to clear her from his thoughts, he finished taking care of his armor for the evening, focusing on the lightness in his limbs that came from removing all that weight, and sunk into the mattress, finding sleep as soon as his eyes closed. 

But the head shake hadn’t cleared her completely, his dreams tinged with purple light and the echo of her name.

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tags: @something-tofightfor​​​​​​​ @alraedesigns​​​​​​​ @pheedraws​​​​​​​ @valkblue​​​​​​​ @malionnes​​​​​​​ @gollyderek​

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Resol’nare - Part Three

A/N: Raise your hand if Bo-Katan bothers you but you put up with her because you have to... (Din is raising his hand and so am I.) Anyway, I was unaware it was Sunday all damn day. So happy Sunday, apparently. 

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Summary: Rebuilding the Tribe, re-forging the armor, restoring the traditions and culture of the Mandalorians have become more than a way to pass the time alone for Din, they have become the penance that he inflicted on himself for breaking the Creed that he swore all those years ago. But perhaps The Way has more paths than he previously thought. 

Word Count: 5.2k

Tatooine. 

The Mandalorian’s hands moved swiftly over the illuminated switchboard, pulling levers, adjusting knobs and pressing buttons with focused precision. Air rushed in short bursts from the ship’s thrusters to kick up clouds of dusty desert sand as the Promise made its descent into hangar 3-5. He had contacted Peli once he’d come out of hyperdrive, making sure that he would be clear to land. The woman’s strident tone coming through the speaker had almost been enough to make him smile. 

“‘Course you’re clear to land, Mando, who do you think you’re talking to here? Honestly, it’s like you forget completely that I’m the one who-” A loud crash followed by a series of panicked sounding mechanical beeps on her end of the holo pulled her attention over her shoulder then, and she directed her tirade at the droid that had caused the ruckus. Turning back to him with a sigh, she shook her head, her springy curls bouncing slightly. “Listen, I gotta go before these droids wreck what’s left of my spare parts stash. Knowin’ you it’ll only be a matter of time before you turn up needin’ extensive repairs, so-” Another avalanche of clanging interrupted her, and she lifted one hand in an exasperated gesture. “See what I mean? Still can’t get good help around here, I’m tellin’ ya.” Mumbling something about needing to charge more for having to work with such mediocre employees, she jabbed a finger at a button he couldn’t see, ending the transmission abruptly as per her usual.  

The trip from Trask had gone smoothly and without incident. Since he was no longer on the run, trying to keep Grogu safely one step ahead of the enemy, there was no need to take long convoluted routes as he traveled the Outer Rim. No alarms blared to warn him of incoming fire or approaching ships. If he wanted to, he could have taken long stretches away from the cockpit, setting the course and letting the autopilot take control while he caught some sleep in his bunk. But despite the fact that the mattress, while thin, was more comfortable than the pilot seat, he rarely used it. 

Sharing the small onboard sleeping quarters with Grogu meant that for all those months while they traveled together he never slept without his helmet, but the man didn’t mind. He wanted to be close to the child so that he could protect him or provide comfort as necessary, so he sacrificed a modicum of his own comfort without pause. Climbing into bed each night after removing every piece of beskar aside from the one that kept his sworn secret, he would watch the small lump wiggling in the hammock above him until the movement stopped and the stillness was punctuated by soft, rumbling snores. Knowing that the child was resting peacefully, he would close his own eyes and find sleep within seconds. 

It wasn’t until he tried to sleep without the hammock strung up over his head, without the sleepily murmured coos and rustling sounds of the blankets, without the rhythmic snores and soft breathing, that he realized he couldn’t. The space between his bunk and the ceiling seemed to leave too much room for the sounds of the empty ship to bounce around. The whir of the engines, the clicks and beeps of the equipment muffled by two sets of closed doors, the sound of his own breathing as it spread out in the small room, free from the echoing confines of his helmet all proved nothing but the fact that he was alone. Sleeping in the cockpit was something he had done frequently before Grogu had ever come into his life, so falling back into that habit came far more easily to him, even if it was more uncomfortable. 

I’ll sleep tonight, it’s fine. 

After delivering the reclaimed beskar safely back to the Tribe, he would have some time before Bo-Katan was expected to arrive on Tatooine. According to her position from the last contact he had with her, she and her crew were roughly two days behind him on their return from a different location along the Outer Rim. He knew that she was eager to discuss tactics for retaking Mandalore, that she’d immediately want to begin drawing up plans and determining where and when to make their first strike. It was her home, and it has been lost. At one time her sister, her own flesh and blood sat on the throne. He had never set foot on the planet himself and therefore struggled to feel the same calling or desire to see it restored that she did. Mandalore wasn’t his home, and he had no family there. But he understood what she felt, because had lost both of those things himself. He knew that if presented with the opportunity to get them back, he’d stop at nothing. 

I’ll see you again. He closed his eyes as his own words of assurance echoed in his head. I promise. If how he felt about Grogu, the child who had become his own, was anything like what the heiress carried for Mandalore, then he understood. 

Descending the ladder into the ship’s hull, he sighed as a sudden thud from outside accompanied the sound of his heavy footsteps. Droids. Frenzied beeps and clicks followed by another, softer more controlled thunk confirmed that Peli’s mechanics were tripping over one another to refuel his vessel. The small copper colored units always seemed happy to see his ship in their hangar, always racing to get started with whatever needed to be done before he even lowered the ramp. It was almost as though they were competing with one another for which of them would get the honor of scraping off carbon scoring or tightening bolts on the landing gear. He had no doubt it was because they remembered the way that he had taken care of Toro when the rookie bounty hunter had taken control of the hangar, holding Peli and Grogu at gunpoint. I didn’t do it for them, I did it for the kid. But it didn’t matter, the heroic action making a lasting mark on the droids and earning him three loyal mechanics for life. At least they’re useful. The distinct sound of the refueling hose being misaligned with the tank nozzle drew another sigh from him. Most of the time.

Crossing the hull to head for the ramp, he paused as he stepped in front of the doors to the weapons locker and storage container. Though he didn’t like carrying the darksaber on his person, he knew that leaving it on board the Promise while he traveled across the Dune Sea to deliver the beskar, even if it was locked away, wasn’t safe. To him, it was still just a weapon, but he knew that it was a very powerful and dangerous one if it fell into the wrong hands. He still wasn’t sure that his were the right hands, but he knew that he at least had the duty to keep that from happening. I’ll take it with me when I go. While he trusted Peli, he didn’t trust a second soul in all of Mos Eisley. Where he was headed though, he had no reason to worry about trust or risk. It will be safe there. The Darksaber, the beskar, the Tribe- it would all be safe there. 

First though, he had someone to see. With a press of a button the ramp dropped open, the arid heat of Tatooine’s desert air filling the cabin instantly. Quickly entering a code into the panel on one of his vambraces, he activated the cooling gear inside his armor, a rush of super chilled air flowing through the plates to keep him from cooking under the blaring suns. Before he had taken two steps out into the bright light, he was greeted with a wave and a shout from the short woman striding quickly towards him. 

“You did make good time, didn’t you? Oh!” She stepped back, her sun-tanned face scrunching up in mock surprise as she appraised the Promise. “And you weren’t lyin’ about stayin’ outta trouble this time either! So you can fly a ship without getting shot at? Huh! Look at that!” 

Some things never change. “It’s nice to see you, too.” Though she was abrasive on the surface, and always had her bottom line near the forefront of her mind, he knew that Peli was a good person. It was because of her that he even had a ship in the first place. When he returned to Tatooine without the Razor Crest or it’s smallest passenger, she began making arrangements with contacts that she had helped through the years. Thanks to an intricate half truth and a convoluted cover up that allowed a mistakenly accused Wookiee to escape unfair imprisonment at the hands of the Empire a few years back, she was able to call in a hefty favor in the form of a newly refurbished ship straight from the depot on Kashyyyk. 

“You’re gonna owe me big time for this!” She had said, her arms crossed as she nodded at the ship and then to the dumbfounded Mandalorian. But she had yet to mention any form of repayment other than the regular fees to dock, refuel and repair his ship as needed. He had a sneaking suspicion though, that she’d never actually ask for that repayment, preferring instead to tell him often that he wouldn’t get anywhere without old Peli in his corner. 

Though he had spent a great deal of his life alone, whether by choice or necessity, the time he spent with Grogu had taught him many things, not the least of which how important it was to appreciate allies wherever he found them. A sarcastic mechanic? A re-programmed bounty droid? An ex-imperial soldier? Mandalorians who removed their helmets freely and Jedi that wielded mystic blades of pure energy- the list of unlikely allies that he wouldn’t have given a second thought to prior to the child’s presence in his life stretched on, and while it was still new for him to have more than a handful of acquaintances, to have people that he actually trusted and respected? He found himself glad that some things did change. The hollow, listless way he was left feeling when those lift doors slid closed and that enormous pair of eyes was gone… he couldn’t imagine navigating that alone, let alone the things that he was expected to navigate. A planetary takeover, reuniting warrior clans that have been tearing one another and their homeworld to pieces for centuries, finding a balance between his beliefs and responsibilities. Not for the first or last time he found himself wishing that Bo-Katan had not turned down his offer. But she did, and it was his burden to bear. 

Once he’d settled up with Peli, paying her for the fuel and for the amount of time he expected to occupy her hangar as well as the rental of one of the speeders she kept at the ready, the Mandalorian returned to the ship to pack for his trip. Unlocking the storage compartment next to the weapons locker, he removed the three camtonos of beskar he had recovered from Tirzeg on Trask, as well as the large sack of ingots and mismatched vambraces that he relieved Barlag of on Mon Cala. He carried it down the ramp in two trips, refusing help from the droids, much to their enthusiastic dismay. It was heavy, but like the Darksaber, it was a weight that could only be carried by a Mandalorian. 

Returning to the ship, he quickly grabbed a bag of personal items for his stay away from the Promise. He always traveled light, only ever packing what was necessary for hygiene and survival. The only object that held any real personal meaning was something that he always kept with him, tucked in one of the small pouches on his belt. The smooth, shiny silver ball went everywhere he went. He knew without question that he would see Grogu again. He didn’t know when or where or how, but he knew that when he did he would want his favorite toy back. I’m holding onto it for you, kid. He told himself that he carried the trinket, one of the only things that had survived the explosion on Tython, just so that he’d have it handy when clan Mudhorn was again a clan of two. But he knew that it was just as much for himself as it was for the child, and he would find himself absently turning it over in his palm at night when he couldn’t sleep, the stars flying by in silence. 

His final stop, as it always was when he readied himself for a trip or mission, was at the weapons locker. He had picked up a few of the weapons that Tirzeg’s crew had discarded, adding them to his arsenal so that more of the pegs were filled now. Holstering a blaster, a small vibroblade and the beskar spear, he reached last for the hefty hilt of the saber. He knew that if he was truly meant to wield this blade he would need to become familiar with it, would need to learn to control and direct the current of energy that passed through it’s core with each swing and swipe. His gloved fingers closed tightly around the grip, the leather creaking against the metal. But who am I supposed to learn that from? Pushing the question aside for another time, he clipped the sword to the belt at his waist. Putting the ship into lockdown, he double checked the straps that he fastened the beskar to the speeder with, and satisfied that they would hold for the duration of the journey, he climbed onto the bike and in a cloud of dust, put the hangar and the entire spaceport behind him. 

The journey across the Dune Sea to the Covert’s new location was a long one, and though he could have flown directly there, he didn’t want to attract attention to the one place that he knew was safe for his people to rebuild. Though his new ship wasn’t nearly as recognizable as the Razor Crest, he knew it was only a matter of time until the Promise was as easily noticeable. Making the hours long trek across the sand on the speeder was safer, and so he did it without complaint. He knew that the Mandalorians that gave their lives for him and Grogu on Nevarro were only following the tenets of The Way when they made their sacrifice, but he would do whatever he could to ensure that those who had survived that bloody standoff would have a chance at a safe future. 

Fett’s new residency on the throne that his former employer once sat upon had proven to be more square footage than the man desired, and he had offered the subterranean complex of Jabba’s palace to the Mandalorians who had made it off of Nevarro, as well as the ones who Bo-Katan and Koska had recruited. They had been able to convert the network of tunnels and chambers into living and training areas with space dedicated for teaching foundlings as well as a forge for the Armorer. While he wasn’t convinced that Mandalore could be won, Boba admired the effort and the commitment to the cause that the new Mand’alor was inspiring. “Don’t need those dank tunnels anyway,” he’d grumbled from behind the rim of a spotchka jug, “Your lot can take them.” 

He was more grateful to the man than he could articulate, and luckily he knew that praise and thanks were the last thing that Fett was looking for. The two of them understood one another well. While neither owed the other a debt, neither would think twice before offering assistance or allegiance. It was a brotherhood that came from the armor that they both proudly wore and the trials that they had both gone through to secure that armor. Revving the throttle on the speeder’s handle, pushing the vehicle to go faster, the Mandalorian’s eye was drawn to the blue triangles painted on the handplates that covered his gloves. It was the only piece of armor that was salvageable from the body of the man who had raised him, the man he had known as his kin despite only knowing him by the way the dim light of the covert’s halls reflected off of the blue and silver beskar that he wore. The man wasn’t his birth father, but he had taken him in as a frightened, scrawny child, protected him and taught him how to protect himself. He was the only father the Mandalorian remembered, and though he wished he had more of the man’s armor than the hand plates, he was proud and honored to wear them. He knew that Fett felt the same way having reclaimed the armor that had been rightfully passed to him from his own father. With a slight turn of his head he glanced out the corner of his eye at the signet he wore on his pauldron. One day, this armor will belong to Grogu, if he wants it. He would do everything in his power to ensure that not only the Mudhorn signet, but the blue painted handplates as well, both made their way into his own son’s hands when it was time. The thought gave him solace, hope, something of himself and his past that he could leave for the future of his clan. 

It was another reason that reclaiming the beskar that had been stolen from his people was so important to him, and would be regardless of whether or not he was meant to lead them. By bringing the metal back one brick at a time, he was bringing back the chance for families to pass down meaningful heirlooms from one generation to the next. Each strike of the Armorer’s tools as she pressed and hammered the molten beskar into weapons and armor was another line of history rewritten, another chance for Mandalorian tradition and culture to make a comeback. They had nearly been scratched from existence, but now they had a chance to carve themselves back in. 

In a way, he saw it as a penance for the things he’d done that had broken the Creed. He’d removed his helmet and revealed his face, and even though he’d put the beskar back on as soon as the child had left, he felt that he had passed a point of no return when it came to reconciling with the rules that he lived his life by. So even though he worked endlessly to provide enough armor for all the existing Tribe members, as well as any foundlings or newcomers, he had yet to deliver the beskar straight to the Armorer herself. As the leader of his covert, she had always been the voice of reason, the one to settle disputes and to remind them all of the Resol’nare. 

“Have you ever removed your helmet? Has it ever been removed by another?”   

Though it had been nearly a year since the last time he’d heard the woman ask those questions, her voice rang clearly in his memory, just like the clanging of her hammer and the crackle of the sparks that illuminated her visor as she worked. His helmet had still never been lifted by anyone but himself, but he had shown his face not only to the foundling in his care, but in front of a room full of eyes. He knew that it was forbidden in his Tribe to ever show one’s face once the Creed was sworn. The only exception was when a Mandalorian chose a partner. The vows that were sworn in marriage bonded the two as one so that neither was an individual anymore. 

"Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde"

We, not I or you. Mandalorian bonds were unbreakable and therefore had no seems, no ending or beginning, no place where one collided into another. The forming of that kind of bond was forever, and so through marriage and the swearing of those vows, a Mandalorian could lift the helm of their partner without breaking the Creed, as then it would be the same as removing it themselves. 

But that’s not what I did. 

He had never met anyone who he cared about, who he wanted to know as deeply as he knew himself. He had no partner, no second soul to walk through life with, and so what he did was not the same. What he did was not the same at all, and it was precisely for that reason that he could not face the Armorer, that he had always arranged to meet with another Mandalorian who would then transfer the beskar to the forge. He took his turn in the training rooms, sparring with younger fighters and monitoring rounds between others. He studied the language and helped teach it to the foundlings. He did everything he could to take part in all of the things that were required to rebuild. But he could not bring himself to face the woman. 

As he pulled up to the looming round structure that was only a fraction of the complex’s actual size, he wondered if he’d ever feel like he had done enough to absolve himself of his sins. He wondered if the fact that he didn’t regret them would stand in the way of forgiveness. It doesn’t matter. He parked the speeder in one of the designated alcoves and dismounted before removing the spear from his back. Sliding the handles of the camotonos along the shaft, he balanced the weight of the three bins, plus the two bags that he carried over his shoulders, and made his way towards the meeting point where he’d hand off the beskar. I’m not going down there today.

There were several entrances to the underground areas, and he chose the one that was closest to the forge out of convenience for both himself and for whomever’s turn it was to accept the deposit of raw materials. The designated hand-off location was on a landing that separated the subterranean portion of the palace from the topside, and he waited there at the base of the stairs for his contact to turn up. The last few times the other Mandalorian had always been waiting for him, or else they had shown up at the same time, coordinating their arrivals almost perfectly. But this time, the seconds ticked by for longer than usual, and while he heard plenty of sounds that told him that everything below was fine- the laughter of children running through the halls, the modulated voices of men and women speaking, the clang of steel on steel as students in the fighting core practiced their striking- he started to grow uneasy. Did they forget? He opened a panel on his wrist, and was just about to signal his contact again, when he heard something else. Footsteps striking the sandy stone staircase from below shook him from his thoughts. Finally. “You’re late.” He spoke to the shadows before his contact had fully entered the room. “I thought maybe you-“ 

“I know what you thought, Mand’alor.” The clear voice rang out just like in his memory as the armor clad figure came through the doorway. He froze as the woman stepped into view, her profile unmistakable from the points on her helmet to the fur that trimmed her cape. “What I want to know is why you haven’t come down into the forge yourself.”

Dropping his chin, he looked down at the ground so that she wouldn’t have to look directly at him when he answered. Or so that I don’t have to look at her? He wasn’t sure. It doesn’t matter. “I… dishonored the Creed. I…” Grogu’s tiny hand reaching for his cheek flashed behind his eyes. “I removed my helmet in front of another.” With a small shake of his head, he confirmed both his lack of regret and unwillingness to forget what he’d done. “I am no longer worthy of-” 

“Stop.” The woman walked closer to him, not ceasing her advancement until he could see not only the tips of her boots, but a long object that she held. “Do you not speak our language and preserve our traditions? Do you not reclaim what has been stolen for the betterment of the clans? Do you not wear the armor and use it to fight for our people?” 

Raising his eyes he leveled them with hers, where they would be, if they were not concealed. He sighed, knowing that he needed to answer her. “I do. But I have also-” 

“Did you not act with the best intentions of the foundling that was in your care?” 

“I did.” But…

“And,” she went on, taking another step and lifting the object that she held so that he could see it more clearly. It appeared to be some sort of weapon, sheathed in black leather. “Are you not the one holding the Darksaber, the Mand’alor that has begun to unite the clans, here?” She looked up at the vaulted ceilings to indicate the enormous fortress. 

“Yes, I-” 

“Your self-inflicted punishment must come to an end now. Your people need their leader strong and present, not hiding from the things that he thinks make him weak. You are not weak, Mand’alor, and you have done far more to honor the Creed than you could ever do to dishonor it. Shoulder the blame how you will in private. But you must shoulder your mantle for all to see. No more hiding. This is The Way.” 

The four words gave him chills. He had told himself that he would never hear them from the woman again, never stand in her presence and receive her wisdom. “This is The Way,” he responded with a slight bow of his head. It wasn't a complete absolution that she granted him, but it was more than he thought he would get, and it was a start on the road to self-forgiveness and the re-evaluation of his personal beliefs. It felt easier to breathe. 

Wasting no time and sparing no emotion, the Armorer continued, lifting the item that she held. What is..? “I have been told by the weapons master that you still do not spar with the Darksaber.” No, I don’t. She tilted her head. “Why?”

He let out a short breath. “It...is unlike the weapons I’ve trained with. It’s-” 

“It is yours, Mand’alor, and you must learn to make it so. You must learn to wield it like no other can. But you cannot do that if it remains clipped to your belt.” Raising the item in her hands, she held it between them for him to take. “This will help you become accustomed to the Darksaber.” 

Unwrapping the item in reverent silence, he could feel that the weight was the same as the black blade, though it was no sword made from energy or light. The blade he held was one of folded beskar, the ribbons of dark metal shining back blindingly up at him. He had never seen anything like it before, the blade coming to a long  lethal point, the hilt perfectly balanced with the weight of the blade. “It’s…”

“A beskad,” The Armorer nodded. “The very first type of sword that Mandalorians conquered and ruled with. The sword that Tarre Vizsla modeled the Darksaber after in size and shape. Forged from the excess beskar that you have supplied for the Tribe, and the perfect way for you to become comfortable with using a weapon like it.” 

Upon closer inspection, he saw that the Mudhorn signet had been etched into the blade near the grip, and he ran his fingertips over the animal’s profile. “I...don’t know what to say.” Once again, the Armorer had bestowed upon him the knowledge and direction that he needed exactly when he needed it. “Thank you.” 

“This is The Way.” 

He returned the phrase and with that the woman lifted the camtonos and with heavily clunking footsteps, made her way back down into the forge where those very bricks would be melted down and hammered out before she laid her head down to rest that night. 

The next morning, after the first good night’s rest he had gotten in weeks, the Mandalorian was woken by an unexpected transmission coming from the communications holo in his bag. Digging it out, he fit his helmet back onto his head before answering it, expecting Bo-Katan’s figure to appear to tell him that she was landing ahead of schedule and asking when he would be available to meet. But it wasn’t her- two figures appeared instead, those of Cara Dune and Greef Karga, both a surprise. 

“Mando,” Cara greeted him with a nod, forgoing the use of his name even though she and Karga both knew it. “You still looking for stolen beskar?” 

He immediately looked over at the wrapped blade that was presented to him the night before. “I am.” 

“Well, my friend, we may have something you’ll want to see for yourself.” Karga rummaged in his robes and pulled out a second holo device, setting it down in view of the one that he was using to speak to him with. With the press of a button, the second device flickered to life to show a security recording of a man and woman sneaking into a fenced off area on an ex-imperial base. 

Cara explained what he was looking at. “Caught footage of these two casing this airfield, likely smugglers looking for a faster ride.” Karga pressed another button and the image zoomed in closer. “Take a look at her armor, it looks-” 

“That’s a beskar helmet.” He knew it without having to question it. “But the rest looks…” 

“It looks like a common thief using Mandalorian armor is what it looks like,” Cara suggested for him. He had to agree. “We can try to stall them, if you want to come check it out for yourself, intercept them when they come back to hit the base, but you’ll need to get here quickly. Can you leave today?” 

The Darksaber sat next to the Beskad as though reminding him of Bo-Katan’s imminent arrival. But the beskar… I can’t leave it in the hands of a thief. Making the decision that the heiress would just have to wait another week while he traveled back to Nevarro, he told Cara that he’d leave shortly, and that she should expect his transmission with an ETA before nightfall. Besides, he thought to himself as he began the process of donning the armor, fighting a thief is the perfect opportunity to practice with my new blade.   

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Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor​​​ @alraedesigns​​​ @pheedraws​​​ @valkblue​​​ @malionnes​​​ @gollyderek​

[the-blind-assassin-12]

We never get a pure answer but is Beskar a element(like on the Star Wars periodic table) or is it a naturally occurring blend of elements?

This question THREW me back in time to my high school chemistry classroom. My teacher was super quirky. There was a cork board that said “ CHEM IS TRY” and at the bottom there was a little Yoda with a speech bubble that said “there is no try” and I really and truly don’t know what the point of that board was other than to relay to us all that our teacher loved star wars and now, as an adult, I applaud her for that. (I think maybe she would hang up exceptional lab reports there? Or things she wanted us to read/notice? Like it definitely HAD a point I just can’t remember it.)

Anyway. Thank you for yet another wonderful question.

My belief is that yes, it’s a pure element of its own. Beskar must be mined, it can’t be created. That’s part of what makes it so rare and valuable - there’s a finite amount of it.

It’s also the reason that many Mandalorians don’t have armor that is 100% pure beskar. Because it is so hard to come by, it is often mixed with other types of steel to create an alloy that can be made into armor or weapons. It is so strong that even when diluted with other materials, it’s still far better than armor made of lesser steel.

But only pure beskar is completely indestructible. When in comes to Resol’nare and the main characters, only Din, Paz, Hast & the Armorer have armor made of pure beskar. Bo-Katan, Koska and Axe all have a high % of it in their armor, but it’s still an alloy. Navina only has her helmet- but that is pure- the rest of her “armor” is durasteel.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Resol’nare - Part Six

A/N: OH BOY. I am excited about this one. There are a lot of crumbs that I have been wanting to drop for so long that get dropped here... and even more to be dropped that get hinted at here. The more I talk about crumbs the hungrier I get though so lemme shut up. Enjoy the trail. 

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Summary: After a night of asking and answering questions, Navina wakes up aboard The Promise, and it turns out that she and Mando still have some things to discuss before they each go on their way... things that could possibly help her answer the questions she’s been trying to answer for years- what happened the night she and her family left for Yavin? And... who is the strange man who keeps appearing in her dream? 

Word Count: 4.3k

Concordia 

“Don’t let go.”

Navina squeezed her hand tightly. Determined to keep her grip, she focused on turning her legs over quickly enough to keep up. “Whatever happens, don’t let go of my hand.” I won’t. She felt her forehead wrinkle and dug deeper, her own breathing loud in her ears as she pushed herself to run faster.  

Small twigs and saplings snapped under her boots as she raced through the darkness. She couldn’t see the forest floor, the thick canopy of trees blocking out any light from the stars. “It’s even darker now than it used to be.” It was something her parents would say, telling her of a time when the lush moon had been all but stripped of its natural resources, giant quarries carved into the ground so that beskar could be excavated. But she was far too young to remember that. Nights on Concordia had always been pitch black for her. 

She wondered if she’d be able to see the stars in their new home, or if there would be tall trees there, too. 

Before she could get carried away with thoughts of silver constellations though, a column of bright amethyst light ignited a few paces ahead of them. What is that? She gasped, her eyes growing wide as her mother came to an abrupt halt, the woman shoving her daughter roughly behind herself, gloved fingers still clamped around her hand. 

“Don’t let go, Ina’ika, and don’t be afraid.” I won’t. I’m...I’m not. Her free arm curled around her mother’s thigh, her palm resting against the smooth, cool plate of armor there. Even at six years old she knew that fear was not part of The Way. 

“Step aside and let us pass,” her father’s voice was stern and as she peered around her mother’s hip, she was not surprised to see that he had drawn his blaster, the weapon pointed in the direction of the purple light. He used another word then, one she had never heard, to refer to the man holding the glowing object that she realized was some type of sword. Jedi. 

“I’m afraid I cannot do that.” The stranger had a deep, clear voice, but despite his refusal to comply with her father’s request, Navina could tell that the man was not interested in hurting them. She saw his dark brown eyes and the calm in them as he lowered the sword. “I’ve been looking for someone I can trust, and I’ve just found them.” There was no breeze, the night air still and silent in the thick forest, but she saw the man’s long brown robes ripple around his legs as he took a step closer.

“And why is that?” Her father challenged, stepping back to close the distance between himself and his wife and daughter. “Why would a Jedi trust a Mandalorian?” That word again. “Our kind have been enemies for-” 

“Our kind have both been blinded by the Republic. Now I’m afraid we are each other’s only hope. I’ve been watching you, Gavil Harsa, and I know I am speaking to a man of honor.” 

Her mother whipped her own blaster from its holster on her thigh, and she heard her father swear under his breath. “How do you know my name? What do you mean you’ve been watching me?” He brandished his blaster but the stranger didn’t flinch, the luminous violet weapon still held at the man’s side.

“There’s no time for that now.” The stranger’s eyes narrowed slightly, a sense of urgency entering his tone that wasn’t there before, hinting at a coming storm. “There is no one in the Order that I can trust to do what is necessary to ensure its survival, just as you,” he stepped closer, the hem of his robes fluttering almost unnaturally again, as though he moved through space differently than others. “You cannot rely on your rulers to choose the right path for the preservation of your people.” He nodded towards Navina and her mother. “That’s why you’re leaving with your family, isn’t it?” Navina felt the man’s eyes fall on her, lingering for a moment before they seemed to lighten. “You want to give your daughter a chance to change things for the future.” He blinked and returned his gaze to her father’s visor. She wondered if Jedi meant that the man could see her father’s eyes. 

Silence stretched for long seconds, only the sounds of her parents’ breathing and her own loud heartbeat in her ears filling the darkness that surrounded the stranger’s glowing sword. Finally, her father spoke again. “What is it you want from us?” 

“Nothing that you wouldn’t do freely, according to your own code,” the man stated. He gestured calmly with his free hand, pointing at his robes to indicate that he was going to reach into them. Navina felt her mother’s weight shift and saw the barrel of her father’s blaster drop slightly as the man pulled out a small bundle. She couldn’t see it clearly, the man holding the thing at chest height, but she could tell that whatever it was, it was moving. “You’ll care for it, until the Order is safe.” It wasn’t a question, nor did the man give her father time to respond before depositing the bundle in his arms, forcing him to quickly holster his weapon. 

“Keera, its…”

But her mother was busy receiving another, smaller bundle from the man. “This,” he held the item out, waiting as the woman decided to relinquish her weapon or her child’s hand. Navina felt her fingers go numb as her mother reluctantly slipped her blaster back into place. “This must be kept safe, too.” Though the thing was loosely wrapped in dark fabric, Navina thought she saw a faint glow emanating from it. By the time her mother had brought it down to tuck into her pocket though, it had gone dull, if it had been shining in the first place.    

“I don’t understand.” Her father had yet to look up from the bundle in his arms. If it had been daylight, Navina could have seen the thing’s reflection in her father’s shiny beskar helmet, but even with the light cast by the stranger’s sword it was too dark for that. “Why have you chosen us?”

“Our enemies think that we are enemies,” the man answered, placing his hand on her father’s armored shoulder. “But perhaps more importantly, so do our allies.” 

Navina released her hold on her mother’s leg, inching closer to where her father stood. I just want to see… 

But sudden shouts accompanied by heavy footfalls from the darkness that they had just run through caused her to whip her head around so quickly that her braids smacked the sides of her face. “Gavil,” her mother hissed, “they’re coming.”

With that, the man stepped past the Mandalorian family, lifting his blade. “Go!” He turned his head so that his chin was parallel with his shoulder, the color of his sword darkening a shade but somehow managing to glow even brighter. “I’ll take care of them, but you must go. Now.” 

Navina watched as her father nodded. “This is the Way.” The stranger nodded back, and then as abruptly as his weapon had ignited it went dark, plunging the world into blackness again. 

“Navina!” Her name seemed to be coming from all sides then, and she couldn’t tell which way to turn. “Navina, look at me!” I can’t! I can’t see...anything! She knew she had to run but she didn’t know where, and she realized that she was no longer holding her mother’s hand. No! I didn’t let go! I didn’t-

“Navina?”  

Another voice, one less familiar but not threatening, echoed from above her, and as she heard her name again she felt as though she were being lifted out of the darkness. Who...who is..? 

Another flash of purple light, brighter than anything she’d just seen burned through her mind then, and in it she saw a combination of images she couldn’t explain: a dagger, her name carved into it- a sculpted symbol resembling a horned creature- a circular tower, rising above a sea of sand- the little one, smiling at her while he splashed in the stream- another symbol, this one scratched and painted, resembling an owl on blue armor- her own gloved hand, shaking and slick with red. She gasped as the voice called her again, pulling her through the purple light and out of the torrent of images. 

--  --  --  --  --  

Concordia

The Promise

“Hey...Navina?”

A pair of strong hands landed on her biceps, leather clad fingers squeezing with quick, firm pressure. She inhaled sharply through her nose as her eyes opened wide, chest heaving as she was met with the tinted visor of the Mandalorian’s sleek helmet. Glancing down at her right hand, she noticed that it was curled around the armrest of the co-pilot seat, the skin around her knuckles straining from her vicelike grip. 

Whatever happens, don’t let go of my hand. 

Her mother’s voice still echoed in her ear as she released the armrest. It was a dream. I… She took a shaking breath, still staring at her hand. But I don’t remember any of that. How-

She heard her name again, the modulator in the man’s helmet suddenly clicking to her as the unfamiliar voice that had pulled her from the dream. He flexed his fingers around her arms again, and she was suddenly aware that he was still holding her, suddenly aware of the way the worn material felt against her skin. Oh. He...I…that feels… Her eyes moved from her own hand to his left one, the thumb pressed into the skin just below the short sleeve of her shirt. 

He seemed to realize in the same moment that she had that he was still touching her, and he pulled both hands back immediately. “I’m… sorry. I,” he sat back in his seat and cleared his throat. “You were… it sounded like you were dreaming and-” 

Navina sat up, blinking rapidly as reality came hurtling back to her, the dark cockpit illuminated only by the switchboard lights and what little starlight came through the glass. I’m on Nevarro...on a ship, I’m waiting for Firo and… She turned and again was met with dark, T- shaped visor, the only indication of where the man beneath the helmet’s eyes were. And I had a dream that… She realized she must have been speaking or at least making some kind of sound, based on what he had said and how he had been clutching her arms.  Dank farrick, that’s kriffing embarrassing. “I’m sorry, I… did I wake you? I was-” 

“No.” He gave a minute shake of his head and crossed his arms. “I wasn’t asleep.” 

Oh. She swallowed, bringing one hand up to push a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, grateful for how dark it was in the cockpit, her cheeks warm and likely flushed with color. He can probably see just fine through that thing though. She groaned internally. “Then, I’m sorry that I-” 

“Don’t be, it’s...” He turned his chair away from her, towards the controls as he spoke, almost as though he were averting his eyes. “I understand.” 

He began busying himself with twisting dials and checking gauges, and though she wasn’t sure what he was doing, she got the distinct feeling that it was nothing that needed to be done that moment. He understands? Does that mean… She opened and closed her hand, turning it over to reveal an indent from how tightly she’d been holding onto the armrest. She wondered if when he did sleep, he was plagued with dreams he couldn’t make sense of, either, filled with memories he didn’t know he had.  

Don’t let go, Ina’ika, and don’t be afraid. 

Running her opposite thumb over her palm, she shivered. Why is all of this happening now? Dreams of the night her family left Concordia weren’t uncommon. Neither were ones of the day her family was attacked, or the night her mother was killed. But none of them had ever been so detailed, felt so real. Never had she recalled so much of the conversation that her father had with the stranger that she now realized had enabled their getaway. But what was it that he… what did he give my parents? Those bundles… 

She was pulled from her thoughts as the Mandalorian spoke her name again. “Your pendant, it’s…” He had turned to face her again, his upper body leaning away from the backrest, one elbow on his knee as he pointed at the Mythosaur around neck.  

Looking down at where the necklace lay against her chest she sucked in a breath, her eyes growing wide. It was glowing again, bright amethyst light, the same brilliant shade as the mysterious man’s sword in her dream, pouring from the carved eye sockets of the mythic creature. Grabbing it, she pulled the black cord over her head so that she could look at it properly, something clicking in her brain and causing her heart rate to race. The small bundle that he gave my mother… what if… She swallowed, inspecting the necklace more closely than she ever had before. What if it was glowing? What if… The gears that clicked ground to a staggering halt as the Mandalorian spoke again. 

“That’s the second time it’s done that.” His tone could have come across as accusatory, but even though she had only spent a few hours with the man- and most of them asleep at that, though she had no recollection of actually falling asleep, vaguely recalling the man stepping out of the cockpit to take a holo call and having no memory of him returning- she knew that he was just curious. Almost voraciously so. “The only thing I’ve ever seen like it was…” Was what? But he didn’t finish, just changing the angle of his head. “Why does it do that?”  

“I...I’m not sure, I…” she sighed, eye returning to the object in her hand after they’d briefly flicked up at the man while he spoke. “I think… this stone that’s-” she gasped as her finger found a crevice in the metal at the back of the skull. Is that a...does it open? She had never noticed it before, but as she slid her fingernail into the small crack in the metal, trying to pry it up but getting nowhere. “There’s a...a seam here, look.” She held the pendant out for him, the man hesitating to reach for it, and she realized that she was likely violating some ancient tenet of The Way by thrusting her pendant into the hand of someone outside of her clan. I don’t have a clan, so… “Take it, it’s okay.” 

She moved it closer, a few more seconds passing before his gloved palm appeared beneath her hand, ready for her to drop it into his grasp. He brought it up in front of his face, his free hand tapping a hidden control on the side of his helmet and she heard a mechanical whir, as though a lens was focusing. He’s using a magnifier. She thought of her own helmet- my mother’s helmet- down in the cargo hold, it’s smashed visor completely useless for things like this. I might have noticed this years ago if I had- 

“Yes,” he said, the lens honing in again. “I see it. But it… it’s sealed shut. Soldered.” He looked up at her then, the hand controlling the magnifier falling back to his lap. 

“To keep it safe,” she muttered, extending her hand out to him to take it back. He gave it over without pause. 

“What?” 

Donning the necklace again, she tucked it under her armor. “Something I…” She pressed her hand flat against her chest plate until she felt the Mythosaur’s tusks dig gently into the skin over her sternum. “Something I just remembered in my dream…something someone needed my mother to keep safe. It,” dropping her hand, she chewed her bottom lip. How much do I tell him? “Mando, I think it...I think the man who gave this to my mother was a...I think he was a-” 

“A Jedi?”  He asked the question as though it wasn’t preposterous. 

“H-how did you...Have you- do you know any-”  

“Yes. I… the way that the stone glows, it looks like the weapons I’ve seen the Jedi use. It’s-” he took a breath and she got the feeling that like she had been doing since she met him, he was weighing what he wanted to say in his mind against what he felt comfortable sharing with her. “It’s a different color than the ones I’ve seen but they… they call them lightsabers but it’s not...it’s not light it’s more like-”

“Like energy?” Navina’s mouth had gone dry as she listened to him speak about these Jedi warriors and their laserlike swords as though he were present in her dream with her. 

“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate, and she took that to mean that he had reached the limit of what he felt comfortable sharing in regards to this topic. If he knows about lightsabers though, she pressed her lips together, I wonder what he knows about the Darksaber. He didn’t give her the chance to ask though, shifting the conversation. “I was told that the Jedi were the sworn enemy of Mandalore but I...I’m not sure that’s still true.” 

Our kind have both been blinded by the Republic. Now I’m afraid we are each other’s only hope. 

“No,” she shook her head. “No, I don’t think it is.” I’m not sure if it’s ever been true. 

As quickly as night fell over the volcanic plains of Nevarro, morning swept through like a brushfire, chasing the darkness away with searing sunlight. Sunrises and sunsets took their time on other planets, on moons like Yavin 4 and Concordia, but it seemed here that the star was eager to begin burning, the cockpit filling with morning light and acting like a natural end point to the night of honesty the two Mandalorians had shared. 

Clearing his throat with a short grunting sound, the Mandalorian gestured to the door that led out of the control area to where the ladder for access to the cargo hold was waiting. “It’s safe for you to contact your friend now. The reptavians are nocturnal, so they won’t be a problem anymore.” 

Oh. Alright. It shouldn’t have been as disappointing as it felt to know that he was as eager to be rid of her as the sun seemed to be to scorch the cracked ground, but she barely hid a wince as she nodded, digging the comm link out from the inner pocket sewn into her shirt collar. Making quick contact with Firo, she relayed the coordinates to him, and he let her know that he would be there shortly. The Mandalorian had heard the whole conversation, so she didn’t need to tell him that she would be out of his hair soon. Once she had finished her call with Firo, she tucked the comm away and  followed him out of the cockpit. Of course. He got what he came here for… the beskar...some information. What more would he-

He was waiting for her at the bottom of the ladder. “Can I…” She looked over her shoulder at him as she descended the last three rungs, but he waited to continue until her bootsoles thunked dully against the metal flooring, and she turned completely. “There’s more that I’d like to...talk with you about.” There is?  “But I’m supposed to be meeting with someone, and I’m already going to be late because I made this stop so I can’t stay any longer but… I’ll be back on Nevarro in three weeks if you-”

“That depends, Mando.” She cocked her head to the side and allowed a smirk to lift her cheek. “Is your Marshal friend going to charge me with anything? Because I’m not sure my record can take another hit like that.” 

She thought she heard a sound that could almost be misconstrued as a chuckle, the man’s helmet dipping slightly before he answered. “I think I can talk her into letting you off this time.” 

Navina bent down to retrieve her helmet from the ground, right where she’d left it the night before. “Well then, I guess I’ll see you in three weeks.” 

She turned it upside down and bent down again, this time picking up the shoulder pauldrons she had been wearing the night before- one now bearing slight damage from the enthusiastic way he had greeted her- and stuck them inside the beskar helmet. These are going to need some repair. Again she found herself wishing that she could be as lucky as he was, able to freely visit an Armorer for repairs, upgrades to her gear. But she blinked those thoughts away, choosing instead to recall the things her father had taught her all those years ago, about repairing her own armor. It will be fine.  

He didn’t say anything else until a few minutes later they heard the tell-tale sound of a speeder zipping across the landscape. “Sounds like your ride is here.” 

He pressed a large button near the door panel, the ramp lowering just as Firo pulled up on one of the stolen speeders, the Imperial crest that had been painted onto the front of it already scratched off. “Yup,” she shifted her helmet full of broken armor into her left arm as she placed the other hand on her hip, “that’s him.”  

Navina smiled to herself. Firo wouldn’t be caught dead on that thing if it still had their symbol. She couldn’t be sure, but she had a feeling that the Mandalorian had noticed the facelift Firo had given the bike, too. He seemed like a man who appreciated things like that. 

“Nav!” He waved at her from under a comically large pair of goggles, his long hair whipping around his face at odd angles from the wind and the straps that held the eye gear in place. “Came to get you in style!” He took one hand off the throttle as he slowed the speeder down in front of the Mandalorian’s ship. The Promise, Navina reminded herself, wanting to commit the ship’s name to memory.  “What do you think of this beaut, huh?” Firo flourished his hand dramatically over the body of the speeder before hopping off, landing perfectly on his feet. 

Navina laughed to herself, a sudden thought taking hold- Have we really been through that many strange things together that he really has nothing to say about picking me up in the middle of nowhere after spending the night alone with a Mandalorian who technically took me prisoner? “She’s great, Firo. I hope you have another pair of goggles.” 

Digging in a small bag that was attached to the side of the speeder, he pulled another, thankfully smaller pair of goggles out and tossed them to her, Navina catching them with the hand she had on her hip, single handedly sliding them onto her forehead. “Sharp look, Harsa.” She rolled her eyes at him and he snickered as she turned to face the Mandalorian, the man still standing midway up the ramp. 

“Thank you again,” he caught her off guard as he spoke, and she felt her eyebrows jump before she could try to control her surprise. “For your help with the reptavians last night, I mean.” He gestured with one gloved hand at the crumpled carcass of the one she had killed. “You...fought well.” 

Coming from a man like him those words felt like the greatest compliment one could hope to receive. “Of course,” she shrugged. “I wasn’t going to let it eat us both.” She smirked at him, remembering that he had tried to get her to go inside the ship before she’d shot the beasts. Good thing I didn’t listen. 

He made that same faint chuckling sound again, the laugh seeming unsure of itself in this context, and then almost as though to prove that it was, he shifted his tone back to a more serious one, giving her a time and exact location for their meeting. 

Navina recorded the coordinates he gave her on the comm device, confirming again that she would be there. Three weeks for questions to brew in both of their brains suddenly seemed far too long, but she reminded herself that there were plenty of ways to pass that time, not the least of which was finding someone to take the stolen speeders off of hers and Firo’s hands. They’d had a string of low paying jobs here and there, so she looked forward to something a little more lucrative. Need to at least be able to afford fuel to get back here in three weeks. “Have a safe trip, Mando.” She gave him one last smile, the man simply nodding before leaving her with four simple words. 

“This is the Way.” 

Before she could say anything else, the man had vanished up into the ship, the ramp closing behind him, leaving her staring at the hull. This is the Way. She inhaled deeply, shoulders lifting as her chest expanded, and then let the air out slowly, turning back towards Firo. “So,” she walked towards the speeder, Firo climbing back on as she got close so that she could hop on behind him. “I met a Mandalorian last night...” 

Firo laughed as he revved the throttle to spark the speeder’s engine back up. “Did you now? You don’t say.” 

Navina settled her helmet in her lap, securing her arms around Firo’s waist. “C’mon, let’s get back to The Flare and I’ll tell you all about it.”

With that they took off, leaving The Promise in their wake as they streaked off across the scorched terrain.

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Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor​​​​​​ @alraedesigns​​​​​​ @pheedraws​​​​​​ @valkblue​​​​​​ @malionnes​​​​​​ @gollyderek​

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Resol’nare - Part Four

A/N: Making jokes in tense situations is my coping mechanism and it is also Navina’s. And neither of us are funny under pressure. We sure do try though. 

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Summary: With Navina and Firo off to hit an abandoned Imperial base on Nevarro in hopes of scoring a hot new ride that won’t litter bolts all over the galaxy like the Flare will, and Mando responding to Cara’s holo about a beskar sighting, the stage is set for an introduction to remember... and hopefully not a bloody one. 

Warnings: talk of death, violence, weapons, language 

Word Count: 4.8k

Nevarro. 

“You sure about this, Nav?” Firo peered through a pair of binocs, turning a dial on the side to zoom in. He had them pointed at the fenced off facility that they had cased out shortly after landing on the volcanic planet. Abandoned by the Empire twice now, the base, carved into the side of a cliff out past the lava flats, had still not been addressed by the New Republic. Although it was clear from their cursory recon that the place had taken some recent damage, it appeared as though it still housed plenty of small ships and speeders. 

The plan had originally been to fly in on the Flare, Firo’s current ship, and set down on the landing pad. They’d discussed it first in the caves on Yavin, Firo sharing the location of the base and what limited information he had heard from a fellow smuggler over a game of Sabacc. Rumored to have no security detail, not even droids, they had figured that it would be an easy job. Load up the Flare and another small ship with a few speeders that they could sell on the black market, then split up, Firo in his ship and Navina in the one previously owned by the Empire. The goal was to be in and out and off of the planet so quickly that even if there were cameras or sensors on the base, they’d be long gone before anyone could turn up to stop them. And that had seemed completely feasible. Until now. 

Plans have never really been my thing anyway. “I’m sure.” Besides, this might actually work out to my benefit...

Pulling the lenses away from his eyes, he turned to face her. “Even though the Marshal is-” 

“Since when has a Marshal ever stopped us, Firo?” She shot him her cockiest smirk, casually crossing her ankles as she leaned her palm against the Flare’s hull. “Since when has-” Her friend gritted his teeth and tried to stop her, but it was too late. The panel she’d chosen to press her weight into gave under pressure, the metal creaking as it dented inwards sending Navina off balance. “Woah!” Firo sucked air through his teeth as he reached out to help her catch herself, but she brushed him off with a huff that he knew she had to work hard not to allow to turn into a laugh. “Alright, on an unrelated note, you need to have that looked at.” She pointed at the flimsy piece that upon closer inspection she realized had been poorly soldered on in an attempt to reinforce a previous repair. Shaking her head, she looked up at the ship and then back at Firo. “I can’t believe I got on this thing and flew here with you.” 

“Hey!” He tried to keep a straight face too, but a snicker threatened to turn into a full blown snort if he didn’t let it out. “Alright, yeah, she needs some work.” That’s the understatement of the century. “Still beats taking a commuter shuttle though, Harsa,” he teased, knowing that she had had to put up with a series of shuttle transfers to get to Yavin from Coruscant, and that it was her least favorite way to travel the galaxy. 

“Not if she falls apart the second you make the jump to hyperspace,” she teased back. He couldn’t come up with anything quickly enough, so she steered the conversation back to the task at hand. “But as I was saying, we’ve always been able to get around the Marshals we’ve come across. We’ll just have to... “ She shrugged. “Improvise.” With that, she turned and headed around the back of the ship to climb the ramp. Taking a large step up as the ramp no longer opened all the way, she sighed. This ship is a kriffing disaster. 

“Improvise?” Firo followed her around and hoisted himself up onto the ramp as she started rifling through her bag to gather what she would need. He crossed his arms and tilted his head, watching as she pulled two comm links from an inner compartment. 

Navina blew into one of them, then tapped the receiving end to make sure it was still in working order. “Yeah,” she said, tossing it to him with a grin. He snatched it out of the air and tucked it into the front pocket of his pants. “Improvise.” She checked the second comm link, giving it a shake for good measure before hiding it away under her shawl. 

Firo waited for her to look back up at him to respond. “We are pretty good at that.” 

“Good? Who’s better?” She asked with a wink, turning back to her bag to dig out her armor. “Remember that time on Onderon?” She pulled out a purple painted shoulder pauldron, untwisting the leather straps that were used to keep it in place. “When we-”  

“Nav?” He cut her off then, walking completely through the doorway to stand in front of her, and she knew instantly that he was concerned. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and set the second pauldron on top of the first one, the durasteel clinking softly. With a sigh, he went on, green-gold eyes narrowing briefly and his lips turning down into a slight frown. “I know there’s... something you’re not telling me.” 

She stiffened, a sudden wave of guilt making her wince. He’s right. There was a lot she hadn’t told him, and while she had reasoned that the less he knew about some of her plans the safer he’d be, she also knew better than to think that he wouldn’t be able to tell when she was being withholding. He knows me better than anyone, of course he knows that I’m… that something’s… “Firo, I-” 

“Look,” he placed a hand on her shoulder, gently turning her the rest of the way so that he could look straight at her as he spoke. “I didn’t want to say anything on Yavin, because I know that,” his forehead furrowed and he swallowed as he dropped his arm back to his side. “I know... what time of the year it is. I know that,” he shook his head and dropped his chin. “I know you were hoping that…dank farrik.” 

He knew that she was hoping that this would be the year that she would be reunited with her father and the little one. Navina’s mother was gone, that was a fact, but the rest of her family was a mystery. He knew that she only allowed herself those three days to hope that they were still alive, because the last time that they had seen each other they had agreed on a designated time each year that they would return to Yavin 4, the last place they had called home, if it were safe for them to do so. She and her mother had missed the first few years, the need to stay hidden keeping them from being able to make the trip. At that time her parents were still able to at least transmit the occasional holo, and while she wanted nothing more than to be able to see her father and the child that she affectionately called verd’ika, she understood, even then, that their hiding was necessary. This is the Way. She could remember thinking it even then, could hear her own small voice repeating the words back to her mother, the two of them tucking their hopes away for another year.

Twenty three years later, she was still packing and unpacking that hope, the thing riddled with creases and worn thin along the folds. She knew that the odds weren’t good that her family was still alive, or if they were, that they hadn’t been captured or separated. Regardless, every year she gave herself three days to air that hope, to go home and wait for them to join her there. But this year was no different from the last one. They’re- she squeezed her eyes shut against the word. No. She wouldn’t even think the word until she had confirmation. 

Ni partayli, gar darasuum. I remember you, so you are eternal. As the phrase played in her head, she reached under the cowl of her shawl for the pendant around her neck, squeezing it until she could feel the tusks digging into her palm and then running her finger around the rim of one carved eye, nail scratching against the hard, faceted stone that had been set inside. I remember. 

And she had been remembering so much lately, the flashes from the night they had fled Concordia coming much more clearly than ever before. It made no sense to her that she would suddenly be able to recall clips of dialogue or images of faces with increasing ease as more time passed, but for the last few months that had been the case. And then when Firo had found her father’s kal, it had been too simple to give in to the time-worn hope, too tempting to see it as a sign. But it had obviously been there the whole time, she told herself, despite the fact that it wasn’t obvious at all. 

She hadn’t told Firo about the increased power or frequency with which the amethyst tinted memories were coming to her, but that wasn’t all she was keeping from him, and it was the second omission that she truly felt guilty about. He was extremely gracious in granting her whatever level of secrecy or privacy she wanted or needed when it came to her family and the closure that she longed for there. While he knew she didn’t truly consider herself to be a Mandalorian as she’d never sworn the Creed or been fitted for her own armor, he understood that she still held fast to the traditions and beliefs that she was raised on; that her clan - her aliit, one of the few Mando’a words that Firo had picked up through the years, and one that Navina thought was appropriate for him, always looking at him as a brother of sorts - was bonded together indelibly, and that she’d never turn her back on that bond.  

The guilt she felt was in no way related to her family or Yavin or her memories. It was in regards to what she’d heard in the lower levels of Coruscant, the city under the city at the center of the galaxy. A rumor, but one she’d been chasing for a long time, had caught her attention, and she couldn’t let it go until she’d seen it through, and it was for that reason that she was insistent upon going through with their plan to hit the abandoned base. Yes, she needed a ship. Firo could do with a new one, too, honestly. But she also needed to know if what she’d heard was true- that the Darksaber had changed hands once more… but that it had once more eluded both of the women who sought it most fiercely, herself, so that she could destroy it, and Bo-Katan of House Kryze, the radical who at one point plotted to overthrow her own sister for the Mandalorian throne. And if it is true, if it’s no longer in Imperial hands… I need to know who has it now. 

While she didn’t know the exact location of it, Navina knew that there had been, until recently, a Mandalorian covert here on Nevarro. She had no idea how large their numbers were, only that there had been a very violent standoff with the Imperial remnant who’s base she and Firo were about to loot. But the most interesting part of the rumors that she had collected in her travels from the Core Worlds to the Outer Rim, was that the New Republic’s Marshal stationed there had been linked to a Mandalorian- to the Mandalorian that the Imps had been targeting. So when she saw the woman with the badge pinned to her belt and the heavy blaster rifle she carried with absolute confidence, it had the exact opposite effect that that sort of deterrent would have on anyone else. I need to know. She sighed, binging one hand up to her forehead and pushing it back over her scalp. She grabbed the base of her long, thick braid and followed it down to the end, pulling it as she looked back up at her friend. But he needs to know, too.  

“Firo, it’s…” 

“It’s about that damn saber, isn’t it?” He raised one eyebrow in a high arch, and her stunned silence paired with the stupefied expression she knew she was wearing answered for her. “Yeah,” he nodded. “I know. You get…” he squinted at her, “you act differently when you have a lead on something about your family or that kriffing sword.” 

“Firo,” she reached for his arms, her hands cuffing around his biceps to emphasize how important this was to her. “That kriffing sword is what-” 

Bending his elbows, he grabbed her hands and pulled them down, not angrily but forcefully, holding her wrists as he spoke. “I know. I know what you… how you feel about it and about what it stands for and… and the part it played in…” He clamped his eyes shut then, but before he did she noticed how prominent the golden flecks in them were. He’s nervous. Of the two of them, Firo was absolutely more likely to worry when it came to her safety. She flinched, knowing that she had given him plenty of reasons to throughout the span of their friendship. The scrapes that he typically got himself into were almost always easy enough to weasel him out of with a little careful negotiation or a generous bribe. The spots she found herself in however, usually resulted in drawn blasters and blades. He let out a breath and released his grip on her wrists. “Nav, I just need to know you’re not gonna get yourself killed.” 

She clicked her tongue, trying to lighten the mood. “Come on, Firo, I’m a hard woman to kill. I have the-” 

“The scars to prove it,” he finished the second part of her sentence in unison with her, rolling his eyes. “I know. I’m trying to be serious here, Harsa.” 

“I know.” She said it quietly, blinking up at him as his hard frown softened. “I’m sorry, Firo, I should have told you what I was…” she shook her head, the end of her braid bouncing behind her. “I should have told you that I knew about…” she groaned, leaning forward until her forehead met his chest. 

To her surprise she felt it rumble as he chuckled. Huh? He’s… laughing? She picked her head up, a confused look on her face. “Apologizing is really rough for you, isn’t it?” 

With that she let out a laugh of her own. “Only with you though, isn’t that strange?” She winked at him, swatting at his stomach. 

“Very strange indeed,” he agreed, intercepting her swat and pushing her hand away. “Alright. So we’re improvising. What have you got so far?” 

Her grin climbed her cheeks then, and she laid out her new plot. “Not going to get myself killed, Firo. Just captured.” 

Less than an hour later they were prepped and ready to put their backup plan into action. Navina removed her gray shawl,  strapping her purple chestplate and pauldrons to the black flak vest she wore over her short sleeved black top. Next she wrapped her wrists in padded black fabric and slid the vambraces over them. The left one was utterly useless in terms of weaponry; it appeared as though at one point it was equipped with whistling birds, but the mechanism had been damaged by the previous owner and now its only use was protection. But it’s beskar, so it’s worth wearing. The right one still had a functioning flamethrower, though it was low on fuel, and a grappling line, though it had snared the last time she tried to deploy it so she made a mental note not to count on it cooperating this time either. Holstering her blaster on her thigh, she took her father’s beskar kal from her bag, attaching the sheath she had made for it on the trip to Nevarro to her belt. The last piece of armor she donned was her mother’s helmet, the traditional “T” shaped visor smashed along the eyeline, but the modulator and audio features still in working order. 

“Well look at you, Nav, you look like a real live Mando if I ever saw one.” You haven’t, bantha brain. “I like the,” he grasped his right wrist with his left hand, a quizzical look coming over his face as he tried to search for the right word. “Those things.” 

Firo had armed himself as well, a pair of blasters on his hips, a small knife in his boot, and a handful of different blaster cartridges on his bandolier that he could switch out for different effects if necessary. Navina felt a knot twist in her stomach though as she remarked not for the first time that he wore no armor at all, nothing to protect him but his speed if triggers were pulled down there. We’ve got to change that if this is the type of thing we’re going to be doing.

“Alright,” she let out a breath and locked her eyes with his through her broken visor. “Last chance to back out. This is my thing, you don’t have to be involved if you-” 

“Would you knock it off already?” He tapped the side of her helmet softly, the action causing her to snort as she recalled the first time he’d bopped her on the head while she was wearing the beskar helmet, and how he had nearly broken his hand. “You ready?” She nodded. I am. “Okay. Let’s go get you captured I guess.” Grumbling under his breath about how he had a feeling that he was going to regret this, he walked down the ramp, hopping off the edge where it dangled a foot or two from the ground. She followed on his heels, smiling to herself. 

Since they were changing the plan, they were no longer flying the Flare down to the base’s landing pad, as only one of them- Firo-  would be flying out. Instead they left the dilapidated ship where it was and headed for the entrance furthest from where the Marshal and the man she had with her were stationed. Navina would hold them off, distracting them while Firo made his way up to the landing pad to make off with a ship, and then hopefully, after she found out what she needed to know and got herself out of whatever lockup situation the New Republic’s Marshals instituted on Nevarro, she’d rendezvous with him here where the Flare was waiting, and they would head for some place where they could lay low for a week or two. They had their comm links in case they needed to contact one another after they separated. But Navina had a good feeling about how this was going to go. She kept that to herself though, sure that Firo would have some snarky comment about how her good feelings were almost always bad portents.

As they neared the edge of the cliff face that had been providing them cover, Navina reached out and stopped Firo in his tracks. “Promise me you’ll bail if I tell you to.”

“Uh oh,” he joked. “You have a good feeling, don’t you?” 

“Firo,” she groaned. “I mean it. Promise me if I tell you to leave you will. I-” 

“I promise, Nav.” He acquiesced then, giving the tail of her braid a slight tug where it stuck out from the bottom of her helmet. “Now, let’s go.” 

She nodded, and with that, they split, both heading off in different directions- Firo towards the secondary entrance that they’d found on their initial recon mission a few days back, and Navina straight towards the waiting Marshal. She glanced back over her shoulder as she reached the last of the small boulders she was darting between for cover, and seeing Firo’s boots disappear through the door, she took a deep breath and ran. 

“What’s the town to do with the law this far out on the flats?” Navina projected her voice over the empty space as she rounded the corner, making for where she knew the two temporary sentinels were waiting. 

But the second she got close, a third figure stepped into view, one that halted her in her tracks. Dank. Farrik. She raised her hands, palms facing outwards, as the sharp end of a long beskad stopped just shy of her helmet. Holding it was the most imposing Mandalorian she had ever laid eyes on. The man wasn’t much taller than she was, but the stance he took, the way that he held his body and his weapon would have been enough for her to know that he was a formidable fighter. On top of that, he was covered head to toe in beskar armor more pure and pristine than she knew to exist. The sword in his gloved hand was just the first that she noticed of what she now realized were many weapons- a blaster, spear, and vibroblade all visible, plus whatever devices he had installed on his vambraces. And that’s just what I can see. A Mandalorian like this one was liable to have at least four more weapons concealed. A Mando like this is a weapon.  

The Marshal and the the older man that had been waiting with her- as bait, Navina realized too late- stepped up behind the Mandalorian, the woman speaking. “You got this from here, Mando? I’m gonna go check out what her friend is up to inside.” Navina scowled at the woman who gave her a condescending look before the man answered. 

“Sure. I can take care of her. Take Karga with you.” He hadn’t turned away from Navina, and he hadn’t lowered his weapon. His voice, though modulated through his helmet, sounded calm and even, and she knew that while it likely offered some of his prey a false sense of comfort, she knew better. The Marshal and the other man didn’t hesitate to do as he said, the woman telling him to call for her if she needed him. He won’t, Navina fumed at her retreating figure. 

Neither of them said anything until the other two were out of sight, and all Navina could do was hope that Firo was running through the base at top speed. He just needs to get off of the pad, get out of here and then he’s- 

“Are you a Mandalorian?” He asked the question as he slid the end of his blade up onto the curve of the armor on her left shoulder, the beskar sword scraping a long divot into the top layer of painted durasteel with a sharp shing. 

She let her eyes flick down to where the blade sat without moving her head, hands still in front of her. Stall. Give Firo more time to get out. The blade had only cut through the outer shell of her pauldron, but he had barely used any force at all and she knew she had to answer carefully because one wrong word or uncalculated move would cost her more than the time needed to repair her armor. He’ll chop my arm clean off with that thing. “That depends on who you ask,” she raised her eyes back up to where his would be if she could see them, noticing a sculpted signet in the shape of a mudhorn on his own shoulder piece. 

“I’m asking you,” he answered, tone shedding some of its evenness as with the quick turn of his wrist the blade slipped between her pauldron and flak vest, slicing it off in one fluid motion. “And I want an answer. Are you a Mandalorian? Did you swear the Creed?” 

Loud bangs coming from the landing pad above them told her that Firo was almost home free. Just a few more seconds. “I was never given the chance to. My clan was attacked when I was a child.” Honesty seemed the best course of action at this point. Though she was a skilled fighter, Navina knew when she was outmatched and outgunned. 

“Your armor,” he nodded his head in her direction then, the first move he’d made that hadn’t been to slice her pauldron to pieces. “How did you come by it if it wasn’t made for you?” 

“Took the pauldrons and chest piece from a trooper,” she stated, though she knew that was the least of his cares. “These?” she raised her wrists up higher, “these I stole from a back ally trader. You want ‘em? They’re yours.” He nodded again, and she mirrored the gesture, glancing up to the pad as the rumbling sound of thrusters preparing to take off told her that Firo was going to make it out safely. Good. That’s all that… all that matters. She slowly pulled the vambraces from her wrists, tossing them at the Mandalorian’s feet. “They’re busted and they don’t fit, so by all means.” 

“Your helmet.” He demanded. 

“Now that I will not be parting with,” she told him, trying to muster up all of the evenness that she could. 

“It looks like pure beskar.” It wasn’t a question. 

“It is. It’s the only piece of pure beskar I own, aside from,” she pointed to her belt with one hand, the other still suspended in the air between them. He nodded his approval for her to pull the kal from the sheath. “Aside from this.” Holding the dagger out for him to see, she brought it slowly up to his beskad and clanged them together, the sound ringing out and making it clear to both of them that both blades were entirely pure. “And I won’t be giving you either of them, Mando.” Sheathing her kal again, she brought that same hand up to her chest, digging under the flimsy armor and pulling out her mother’s mythosaur necklace. “They belonged to my parents, and if you want them you’re going to have to kill me.” 

At the sight of the pendant he lowered his weapon and cocked his head to the side. “The Mythosaur… but what is, why is there…” 

Navina looked down at the pendant in her hand then, the stone visible in its eyes seeming to glow a fierce shade of purple. She sucked in a breath as she brought her other hand up to cover it, thinking that it was just the harsh Nevarro sun that was causing it to shine more brightly than it ever had before. But when shaded by her other palm the purple light seemed only to shine brighter. “It’s never… it’s never done that before, never so…” 

Just then a comm link clicked in the Mandalorian’s pocket, and he pulled it out, pressing the button on the side. “Cara,” he spoke the woman’s name. 

“The other one got away with a ship and a few speeders. You good down there?” 

Navina felt a fleeting relief as she heard that Firo was off the base and that he’d even managed to make it profitable for himself. The Mandalorian stared at her for long seconds before answering, holding the communicator in his fist close to his helmet. “I’m taking this one back with me.” With that, he switched off the communicator and put it back in his pocket, unhooking a set of binders from his hip. “I can put these on you and you can follow me,” he offered, “Or,” he looked down at the blaster on his hip. “I can set that to stun and-” 

Navina shoved her wrists in his direction. “Clap ‘em on then,” she sighed and he did, securing them so smoothly she was sure he’d done it hundreds of times at least. “Where uh… where are we going?” 

Sheathing his sword on his belt, he looked straight at her and answered. “No questions.” He bent down and picked up the discarded vambraces, then started walking in the opposite direction. When she didn’t follow right away, he reached for his blaster. “I’m not sure when the last time I used the stun setting was,” he said, hand poised over his weapon. “Not sure if it still works.” Looking back over his shoulder at her, he finished the threat. “Don’t make me test it on you.” 

“This is the Way,” she responded reluctantly. 

With that he started walking again, Navina following closely behind in silence. 

Nope. Plans are not my thing.   

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Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor​​​​ @alraedesigns​​​​ @pheedraws​​​​ @valkblue​​​​ @malionnes​​​​ @gollyderek​

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Resol’nare - Part Eight

A/N: *posts this chapter and runs away before anyone realizes its a week late* oh... well that didn’t work. Anyway... sorry about last week y’all. I don’t know why an atheist married to a jewish man picked easter weekend to fall off the schedule but that’s life i suppose. we’re back! we are...back. 

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.* 

Summary: A trip to Corellia to offload their stolen speeders takes Navina and Firo through some of the shiftier parts of Coronet City before ending their trip with a visit to Firo’s family. Navina learns some shocking new information about her quest... and also misses something very important. 

Warnings: Ummmmmm i think this one’s fine actually.

Word Count: 4.3k

Corellia. 

Navina stuck close to Firo’s side as he expertly navigated the crowded streets of Coronet City. I hate it here. What remained of her armor after her encounter with the Mandalorian shifted in her bag as she walked, the pieces clanging together with each step. She noticed at least three pairs of eyes dart in her direction, the distinct metallic sound of beskar easily discernible to those who knew it’s exact value on the black market. Try it. Her grip tightened on the strap over her shoulder, her other hand casually hovering near the blaster on her thigh, conveniently concealed by her gray shawl. 

Lucky for them, the shifty looking Twi’lek and the two heavily tattooed Czerialan women he was with didn’t start any trouble, presumably keeping their eyes peeled for softer targets. And they’ll find them. With a population in the billions, Corellia had gained quite the reputation for being overrun with pickpockets, thieves, smugglers and desperate people willing to do desperate things. Which is why we’re here but…  She frowned, looking over at her friend. Next to her, Firo walked confidently, head held high and shoulders back, his stride deliberate and meaningful. I cannot believe he grew up here.  

Technically, Firo and his brother Leph had grown up in a smaller town just outside the city limits, their parents wanting them to have room to run and find the kind of trouble that wasn’t looking for them first. Between the Black Sun and the White Worms, the city was becoming less and less of a desirable place to raise children, both organizations known for recruiting their scrumrats young. Their parents both worked in the city, though, so staying close enough for a reasonable commute was necessary. Their mother, a brilliant woman, worked as a translator at the welcome center in Diadem Square, and their father had been a test pilot for one of the only Corellian shipyards that had been able to resist being converted into a TIE Fighter factory during the Empire’s reign. It was because of him that Firo had learned to fly. The man would occasionally take Firo and Leph up for a spin once he’d deemed the ships safe and in good working order. Leph had always been more interested in the engineering that powered them, eventually getting a job at the same facility, but Firo had fallen in love with flight from the first time he took off. 

Despite the fact that they had just turned the corner and crossed into Black Sun territory, Navina smiled to herself. She liked knowing things like that about Firo. Her own past wasn’t entirely without bright spots, but she found Firo’s anecdotes to be much warmer than most of her own. Aside from the memories she had of the few years she and her family were together on Yavin, her perception of what it was like to grow up in a domestic household had been built by her friend and his stories of having two parents and a bunk bed to share with his brother and a home that had a roof with four walls. She didn’t envy him, just enjoyed imagining what it might have been like to live that way. 

The buildings in that sector of the city rose higher than those just a few blocks over, their shadows darkening the street level enough that artificial lighting was necessary even during the day, and the warm feeling she got from wrapping herself in Firo’s stories left, taking her smile with it. There were fewer people bustling about, but that only made Navina grow more alert, more aware of the ones that were. Like him. In the corner of her vision she noticed a tall Duros man leaning in a darkened doorway, his deep red eyes following her footsteps, a casual smirk on his gaunt purple cheeks. She narrowed her eyes, upper lip curling from the way being watched made her feel.    

“Tell me again why we’re going this way instead of walking through the industrial sector?” Her grip tightened even further around the strap on her bag, until she could feel her fingernails digging into her palm. 

Firo flinched, clenching his teeth before sucking a breath through them as he slung his arm around her shoulder. Oh, here we go. “Well, it’s kind of a long story, Nav.” It always is. “Suffice it to say that one thing led to another and I may or may not have,” -so, you did  “made a bet that I had no business making, and I-” 

Navina groaned. “Firo, you have no business making any bets, ever. You’re terrible at Sabacc, and-”

“Hey!” He dropped his arm and shot her a defensive glare. “I’m not terrible at Sabacc… I just...need practice.” He blew out a breath and ran his hand through his hair, the tips of his fingers disappearing into his unruly locks. “A lot of practice, and I’m not… ready for a rematch just yet.” 

Navina was still aware of the Duros lurking in the shadows, his long fingers lifting a lit cigarra to his lipless mouth. The end of it glowed to match the color of his eyes as he inhaled. He hadn’t moved to follow them though, simply shifting his weight as he allowed the smoke to swirl around his face. She felt his gaze on her back as they continued down the street, but she shook it off and turned back to Firo. “How much practice is a lot of practice?” 

Pausing at the corner as a line of land speeders barrelled through the intersection, he kicked the curb and inspected a loose thread at one of the seams in his gloves. “Um… ten or… eleven, something like that.” 

She nudged his boot with her own, eyes going wide. “Ten or eleven… thousand? Firo...are you telling me that you owe some card shark in this kriffing city eleven thousand credits?” The last three words came out in a hiss. 

The traffic signal flashed and they stepped off of the curb to cross. “Don’t worry, Nav, I’ve got it all figured out.” He waved a hand in front of him as they reached the opposite side of the street.

“Yeah,” Navina grumbled, “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Your plans are never any better than mine. She sighed. “How much more do you need to get them off your case?” 

Firo cocked his head to the side, doing some quick arithmetic. “After what we just made selling those speeders…” He trailed off. 

They had arranged a meeting with a buyer in a secluded hangar in Coronet spaceport before taking off from Nevarro. The individual was reluctant to give them their name, which wasn’t abnormal when it came to the type of transactions that they typically took part in. Usually they dealt with other smugglers and traders, people who wanted their name used as little as possible to avoid getting thrown in prison or hunted down and frozen in a cold slab of carbonite. 

This buyer though, had another reason to maintain their anonymity. Rumors and whispers of Imperial remnants gathering strength and support had prompted the reemergence of rebel cells across the galaxy, and those militias needed munitions and vehicles and other supplies that Firo and Navina were happy to procure for them as it served a dual purpose: filling their pockets, and taking tools away from the enemy to put them in the hands of the good guys. Only once had one of their rebel customers complained, trying to guilt them into dropping their price for the good of the cause. The good of the cause won’t put fuel in my ship, Navina had answered with a shrug, letting the would-be haggler know that they were free to try their luck elsewhere and that there was no shortage of buyers that would pay double what they were asking. It was a bluff, of course, but the customer had not only begrudgingly agreed, but had become one of their most frequent buyers. It was who they had sold the stolen bikes to for a total of eight thousand credits, four thousand for each of them. 

Firo finally finished his calculations as they turned another corner, the shadows lightening and the buildings becoming shorter again as they reached the perimeter of Black Sun territory. They were almost at the nearest mag-lev station, and Navina was eager to get on the train and out of the city. “Probably another three?” He shrugged. 

Another three. And then what? He goes back into debt to pay for food and fuel? No. “Firo,” she let out a long huff and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You have to pay these guys off before you leave Corellia.” 

Shooting him a sharp glance, she knew that he understood the subtext to what she was saying: take care of it before they come after you or your family. It had happened once before, not over gambling debt but over Leph clashing with one of the White Worm underlings when they tried to recruit the man’s daughter, Firo’s niece, for their organization. Leph had obviously refused, and when he couldn’t pay the gangster off, they had come after his family. Luckily, Navina and Firo had been making a trip back to Corellia at that time to see his mother, so they were there when the assassin had been sent. There was still a visible patch covering the round hole through the kitchen wall from where Navina had shot her blaster straight through it to eliminate the threat. But I can’t be there all the time and neither can you, Firo. 

“Yeah,” he let out the word in a rush of air. “I know.” He frowned and scratched his nose.  

As the mag-lev station came into view, Navina blew out another breath. “Okay. Sell the ship.” 

The train rumbled along the tracks and pulled up to the platform, the two of them picking up their pace so they would have time to hop on before it left again. “What?” Navina didn’t need to look up at him to know that his face was scrunched into a scoff. “Nav, that’s supposed to be you-”

“My ship, yeah, I know.” She rolled her eyes. “Sell it. Pay off the rest of the debt.” They climbed the few steps up to the platform, weaving through the crowd of passengers that had just gotten off of the train. A young boy, face smudged with dirt and grease, bumped Navina’s hip and crashed noisily into her bag. He apologized profusely and Navina waved him off, no harm done. 

“But you need that ship to get back to Nevarro, that’s why we-” 

Navina closed her eyes as she reached for the handle to step up onto the train. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she mumbled, words running together, “but I’ll…” she took a deep breath as though preparing herself for something truly unpleasant. “Dank farrik, I’ll take The Flare.” 

Firo gave her back an incredulous look as he grabbed the handle and climbed up behind her. “Nav, you flew The Flare here and you complained the entire time. You hate that ship.” 

“Yes, well that’s because it’s a rusted bucket of bolts and you know it, but if you sell the new ship- my ship- you can settle up and no one gets hurt… aside from my pride…” 

Firo’s mouth dropped open as the two of them dropped into one of the train’s window seats. “Navina-” 

She turned to cut him off as soon as her name was out of his mouth. “Okay, one, lose the full name nonsense. It’s weird coming from you. And two, don’t try to talk me out of it. Your family is my family, Firo, so your stupid debts are my stupid debts.” I have to teach him how to bluff better if he’s going to keep playing cards. Now, do I like flying The Flare? Not even a little bit. But that’s what I’m going to do...assuming it doesn’t spontaneously combust when I jump into hyperspace.” 

He knew better than to argue with her at this point. They’d both learned by now when they’d lost. Instead, he bumped her with his shoulder.  “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Harsa.” 

She bumped him back. “Yeah, that makes two of us, Ottabok.” The train let out a long, loud blast of it’s whistle to let passengers know that they only had a few more seconds to board. 

“Hey maybe your new Mando friend can help you out with some repairs for The Flare when you head back to Nevarro next week,” Firo suggested. 

Navina laughed. “Yeah, doubtful.” She had told Firo everything about her encounter with the man encased in beskar, from fighting the reptavians with him to the way they traded off answering questions to the Mandalorian’s reaction to her pendant and its mysterious purple glow. “He’s… intense. Doesn’t strike me as the type to just offer to help with repairs, and I’m not quite sure I’m ready to ask him for another favor.” But I hope he made some headway on the first one. She chewed her bottom lip and sent out another silent wish that the man would return to her with information on her father. Even if it’s just… She swallowed. At this point, even the knowledge that he was no longer alive would be something more concrete than the floating hope of finding him. She shook those thoughts from her head and shifted her bag into her lap to cross her arms over the top of it. “Anyway, that’s next week’s news.” Hopefully.  “Is Leph gonna be at your Mom’s tonight? I want him to take a look at this kriffing pauldron to see if he can tell me how to fix it where Mando decided to slice it from my shoulder.” 

Firo gave her a quizzical look and scratched his head. “He...what? I thought you said he didn’t take you prisoner?”  

Navina laughed again and shrugged, recalling the weight of the blade resting on her shoulder and the sound of his beskad carving through the thin durasteel plate. “I told you, he’s intense.” 

Firo sat quietly for a few seconds just staring at the seat in front of him before he spoke again. Spit it out, Firo. “Do you really think he’ll be able to help you find your family, Nav? Or…” He frowned. 

“Or what?” She turned in her seat and furrowed her brow. 

“Or are you… do you want to meet with him to find out about your father and…” he shook his head, his hair flopping around his ears. “Or is this still about the Darksaber?” 

There it is. Navina dropped her gaze to her lap and toyed with the end of her braid where it lay on her shoulder, the blue strands shining in the harsh overhead lighting of the train car. “Why can’t it be both?” She couldn’t lie to Firo, and she didn’t want to. He has to understand.  “Until that thing is destroyed, Mandalorian families will be. Families like mine, and…”

She didn’t finish nor did she need to. “Okay.” Firo nodded and smoothed his hair back before fixing the strap of his bandolier which had fallen into the crook of his arm, and didn’t say another word about the Darksaber or the Mandalorian or Navina’s plan to meet with him. 

Navina nodded, too, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Okay.” She didn’t know much about other people and their relationships, but she was fairly certain that her friendship with Firo was one of a kind. They weren’t afraid to speak their minds to one another. Certainly not.  But they respected each other’s decisions and always did whatever they could to help make sure that those decisions, whatever they may be, didn’t come back to hurt them. She knew that friends like Firo didn’t just drop out of the sky. 

The train began to pull out of the station and Navina switched the topic of conversation to the types of tools she was hoping that Leph would have on him to fix her armor with. Neither she nor Firo saw the dirty faced scrum rat that had collided with her on the platform speaking to the Duros that had been lurking in the shadows, the purple skinned bounty hunter slipping a few credits into the kid’s hand before shoving him away. 

-- -- -- -- -- 

Staying with the Ottaboks was always something to look forward to for Navina. As much as she disliked Corellia and its cities in particular, she loved Firo’s family and they adored her, so she never truly minded when their travels brought them to the crowded, corrupt planet. She knew that there was at least one place there that was worth visiting. Millea, Leph’s six year old daughter, launched herself at Navina from the top of the stoop the second the girl saw her and Firo heading up the drive, her father right behind to clap a large hand on his brother’s arm before leaning in to kiss Navina’s cheek and untangle his child from her limbs. Ma waited near the door like she always did, waving a dish towel before slinging it over her shoulder to reach for Firo’s face and tell him how skinny he was getting. Navina took several mental snapshots and stuck them in the box in her memory with Firo’s stories, and followed the family inside. 

After dinner, Ma finally content that everyone had eaten enough, Navina sat on the floor with Millea while Leph and Firo sat at the table with a couple bottles of ale, catching each other up on the past few months. Navina bit the inside of her cheek as she listened to her friend skate over all of the details that his family wouldn’t approve of, shooting Firo a smirk as he winked at her and took a swig of his drink. 

“Navi, do the song you taught me last time!” Millea suddenly plopped into her lap, her small hands bracing on Navina’s shoulders. 

She smiled as Ma continued to clean up the remains of dinner, packing leftovers in tins that would travel well for Navina’s journey back to Nevarro. “Which one, Mills? Three little loth-caths?”  

“Uh uh,” she answered, swinging her head from side to side so that the braid she’d begged Navina to put in her hair smacked her cheeks. “The other one.” 

“The other one?” Navina asked, still smiling at the girl but mind flashing back to the foundling that she sang the children’s rhyme to all those years ago. “You sure, Mills?” 

“Yeah, Gramma helped me practice it since you were here last time so I know it- all the words!” She beamed with pride, cheeks going round as she showed off a grin, a gap small gap between her two front teeth just like the one her uncle had.

Navina caught Ma’s eye again, and the woman wiped her hands on her pants with an apologetic look. Firo’s mother was fluent in many languages from a life-long career as a galactic translator, and while Mando’a wasn’t one of them, the woman knew enough about the pronunciation to help her granddaughter work on whatever she remembered from Navina’s last visit.  “Millea, don’t pester Nav now.” 

“No, no,” Navina shook her head. She knew that she hadn’t hid the way that her emotion flashed in her eyes from Firo’s mother. She knows me almost as well as he does.  “It’s fine, Ma.” She turned back to Millea and tapped her nose. “I’m impressed you remembered! It’s not an easy one. Alright, little one.” She swallowed down the lump in her throat as she used the same phrase she would have used with their little one, his enormous eyes watching her as she tried to teach him the Rhyme of the Resol’nare. He never followed along with the words himself, but he would clap his small hands and sway from side to side in a way that made Navina, even at 11 years old, think that he must’ve known what she was singing. “Let’s hear it.” Millea smiled again before launching into the rhyme, first in basic and then in Mando’a. 

Education and armor,

Self-defense, our tribe,

Our language and our leader—

All help us survive.

Ba'jur bal beskar'gam,

Ara'nov, aliit,

Mando'a bal Mand'alor—

An vencuyan mhi.

She stumbled more than a few times on the second iteration, but Navina helped her through it, finishing the last line with her. LIke it did since she last saw her father and the little one, the last line made her chest ache. Our leader… the Mand’alor. Wielder of the Darksaber. The sword I’m trying to- 

She pulled herself out of those thoughts though as Millea’s small arms wound around her neck in a giddy hug with Firo, Leph and Ma giving the girl a round of applause. Giving her a squeeze in return, she whispered “Good job, Mill’ika,” before Leph stood and announced that it was time for them to get back home. He offered Navina a few tools that she’s asked for from the kit in his speeder, reminding her of what he told her she’d need to do to repair her armor. And hopefully I’ll be able to use something here to open my pendant and see about that stone. Thanking him, she gave the man a hug and told them both that she hoped she’d see them soon. 

Firo walked them out, and the moment that the door shut behind them, Ma spoke. “I need to tell you something, Nav.” 

Navina took in the serious expression on the woman’s face and stood, immediately joining her at the table. “Sure,” she pulled out a chair and sunk into it, eyes still on the woman across from her. “Is everything alright?” 

“Oh,” she waved one hand, curling her wrist fluidly. “Oh, yes. No, nothing’s wrong, but I… I overheard something at work the other day that I think you should know.” 

What? She tilted her head. “What is it, Ma?” What could it… She didn’t look upset or worried or scared, simply… sincere.  

She took a short breath and let it out through her nose. “Well, I know about your… mission. For your family, and for, well… Firo’s told me things and so have you so, I know that you’re…” 

“Ma?” Navina reached across the table and placed her hand over the woman’s. “It’s okay, just tell me.” 

She nodded. “Alright, well, you know I’m only passable with Mando’a. Huttese, Rodian, even Dathomiri and I’m-” she blew air through her lips. Yeah, I know. “But a few weeks back? Maybe… five or six now, I… well I heard two women speaking Mando’a in Diadem Square.” What? Ma shook her head. “And aside from you, Nav, I have never known Mando’a to be spoken on Corellia. Not in public, anyway.” 

Navina hadn’t realized it, but she had leaned forward in her seat. “W-well, what… did they say?” 

Ma shook her head. “I really… I only caught a few words that I know, so I’m not entirely sure, but I heard ‘aliit’ and then ‘Mudhorn’, a few words I couldn’t decipher, and then...then one that I knew and another in Basic.” 

Navina’s eyes widened at the mention of the Mudhorn, the signet on the Mandalorian’s armor seeming to glow in her memory. “What words, Ma?” 

The woman sighed. “I heard the word ‘Mand’alor’,” Navina stiffened, “and then I heard one of them say ‘Darksaber’.” 

“What? Are...are you sure that’s what you heard?” Her heart pounded as the woman nodded. “Why are you telling me now?” Her eyes flicked to the door and she knew that Ma would understand her unasked question- why was she telling her while Firo was out of the room? 

“I know Firo worries about you, Navi. Dank farrik so do I. I never had a daughter and I never imagined I’d be lucky enough to have you in my life but I am so, so glad that I do. You’re a good, fierce friend, Navina Harsa, and that is a rare thing in this life.” She felt her chest tighten, sending the same sentiment silently back. I’m the lucky one, Ma. The woman narrowed her eyes. “But I know that you need to do things for yourself. So I wanted you to know this.” 

The door opened and Firo walked in, closing it behind him to make the world spin inside of Navina’s head. “Well I had to promise Mills that I’d pick her up from school tomorrow before she would agree to leave but-” 

The rest of his sentence was drowned out in her mind as she thought about what she’d just learned. The Mandalorian. Clan Mudhorn, the Darksaber… the Mand’alor. She’d be leaving for Nevarro in two days, but suddenly with all the new questions that just cropped up, that felt like two lifetimes. 

“Um,” she cleared her throat and pushed her chair back. “Um, I think I’m going to head upstairs and… and get cleaned up if that’s…” she trailed off questioningly and Ma assured her that it was fine, shushing Firo’s attempts to try to get Navina to have another ale with him first. 

Thanking Ma and smacking Firo on the arm, she grabbed her bag from the bench by the front door, dropping the tools that Leph had lent her into it, and shouldered it to head for the staircase. She hadn’t seen the small device that the scrum rat working with that Duros in Coronet City had slipped in there when he bumped her.

 It didn’t beep or blink, and it was small enough to become hidden in the fabric of the bag’s inner lining. And it was sending her location to its receiver, wherever- or more accurately, whoever that may be.     

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Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @alraedesigns @pheedraws @valkblue @malionnes @gollyderek​ @fific7​

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Navina, present, 5 + 11

Present:

5- What kind of people do they usually interact with? Who are their friends, the people they look up to/trust, and who are their “associates”?

Navina has interacted with all kinds of people on jobs or to seek information. She’s good at improvising and becoming a chameleon when she needs to- like when she went and did some undercover work in a brothel.

But the ones she chooses to interact with? Well it’s a very short list. Firo is the only person she would label a friend at present. He is the only person she trusts with all of her secrets and her history.

There was a woman named Jespa she met while she was working in that brothel (okay so she was just there to assassinate gross men who very much deserved it, not because she was forced to work there or needed the money or any of that. more on that later) and anyway she trusts Jespa to keep her mouth shut and to help her if she ever needs it. She has helped her in a big way in the past. (More on that later, too.)

She’s maybe starting to trust Mando but the way he answers her most recent question is going to weigh heavily in terms of where on the trust scale he lands.

Her associates are whoever they need to be to get the job done right. She knows she doesn’t have to like people to work with them, and she also knows that most of the time she doesn’t really have to work with anyone and that’s fine by her.

11- What’s a typical night’s sleep like for them?

Typically, as long as she’s not in active danger, Navina is a pretty solid sleeper. She can operate on very little sleep, and does do often. But when she is able to get a chunk of sleep- like when she stays with Firo’s family for example- she takes full advantage of it.

Usually she doesn’t wake up from nightmares or dreams and rarely remembers them in great detail. Lately though that has changed and her dreams are full of vividly detailed memories that stick with her long after she’s awake. Like the one she had when she fell asleep on The Promise and Mando had to manhandle her out of it.

..

Thanks for asking about Navina, Rachael! 💜

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Hello! I hope you're having a good day today! How about #5 for Navina and #11 for Din?

THANKS FOR ASKING ABOUT NAV!!

5. Guilty pleasures

Navina can’t really afford to have guilty pleasures. As she still doesn’t have her own ship, she’s going to need to continue to cover travel costs, and (for now) lets just say that portions of her resume make her an undesirable applicant for most respectable and reputable places of business, so work can be hard to come by. She’s not one to indulge in favorite foods or spend on clothing or items for herself, either. She’s very practical, that one.

But you know what she would absolutely love? The chance to really take a load off and get good and drunk because it’s been a LONG time. When you’re always either chasing or being chased, you can’t really let your guard down and get hammered. Let’s hope Nav gets to get nice and sloshed real soon. (Boba, pass the jug.)

11. Bad or petty habits

Din is not a petty man. He has no time for it. Things are either minor annoyances and easy enough to ignore and brush off, or they’re rage inciting occurrences that result in disintegration and blaster fire. It’s not a sliding scale.

Bad habits though? Oh man he’s got so many.

He (once again) has reverted to a life of self inflicted solitude. He pushes away powerful memories and emotions instead of allowing himself to feel them. He forgets to eat. He forgets to restock certain items on his ship like medical supplies. He finds ways to blame himself for things. Someone please help your Mand’alor, he’s on the struggle-ship

[the-blind-assassin-12]

10 & 18 for Navina and/or Clara?? 👀

NAV & CLARA HOW ABOUT ONE OF EACH?!

10. Fears/ phobias

Navina’s biggest fear is that she will fall short of doing what she needs to do to protect or rescue those she cares about. Anything bad happening to Firo (or his family) is unthinkable. And if she finds her father and the little one (who is probably not so little anymore? Or maybe he is?) and she’s unable to help them or she’s too late to save them? That would be her biggest fear coming true.

18. Things they’ll never admit

Clara would never admit how convinced she was that Ezra wasn’t coming back to the farm the first time he had to leave to go prospecting. Even though they’d already said I love you- and she did love him and believed that he loved her- at about the halfway point in his trip, she hit a low point and started doubting that what they started would be enough of an incentive to bring him back.

Silly Clara, that man is smitten. Plus he really likes those turnovers…

She has never and will never tell him this though, because she knows it would hurt him to think that she didn’t believe in what they had. But really she was just lonely and the relationship was still somewhat new and in a small town/ out in the farmlands… well people talk. And they offer unsolicited opinions and then they go home and leave Clara alone in a quiet, dark house with just her father because Seth is away at school at that point. How neighborly of them, right? 😡

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Fic Writer’s Tag Game

@lowlights tagged me in this (thank you!!) and since the original post was getting a little long, I started a new one. These were fun to answer and think about! 

Please state and link/explain the following fics:

What you’d consider your first fic: The first fic I started writing here is I See You- a Billy Russo x Reader (secondary Frank Castle x Karen Page) story that is... still unfinished. I really want to shove my nose to the grindstone and get this one done before the end of the year though, because if it stretches into 2022 it will be a three year old wip and I would really like to finish it before that happens. To explain? It’s a “what if” fic- what if Billy Russo didn’t die? What if he didn’t lose his memory? And what if, despite everything, he had someone who cared for him? Masterlist can be found here. 

Your softest fic: Belvedere- an Ezra x Clara (Point of No Return OC) one shot. It goes along with the PoNR Universe (Prospect) so it should be read as a companion to that story, but it can be read as a standalone if you’re familiar with the world and characters of Prospect. To explain? It’s just a tiny snippet of time for Ezra and Clara that takes place well before the events of the film and in which they get to be completely and wholly happy. Ezra in love is a pure delight to think and write about, so if you want to read all about how warm and soft his t-shirt is or how safe and secure it feels inside his arms, click here. (series masterlist for PoNR here.)   

Fic you’re most proud of: Definately Resol’nare- a Din Djarin x Navina Harsa (Star Wars/The Mandalorian OC) story. I know that it may not seem like it, since there are often large gaps between updates, but believe it or not I am very proud of this one. Before I started writing it I had never even dipped a toe in the SW fandom, and it intimidated the HECK out of me... still does... but I am pretty darn proud of myself for doing it anyway, and for how much research I am doing/have done for it. To explain? It’s a continuation of Din’s story after S2 of The Mandalorian, following his journey as the Mand’alor as he works to unite the clans... with the addition of a new ally whose interpretation of The Way is very different from his own. The Resol’nare masterlist can be found here.  

Fic which shows your progress: I think the first fic that showed real progress for me was Core Drive, a Logan Delos x Reader story which is still in the wip phase, however what has been posted feels like a big step for me from the things that I was writing previously to it. To explain? It’s definitely got some heaviness to it as it deals with topics such as addiction, suicide, depression and loss, but it is very much a fix it fic in which Logan gets a new lease on life and a chance to choose his own path and plot a better course for his future. The masterlist for Core Drive can be found here. 

Your favorite WIP: 110% Aphelion, the Oberyn Martell x Reader story that @something-tofightfor and I are collaborating on. Oberyn is one of my favorite fictional characters of all time, and I always have a lot of fun writing for him because of his personality and mannerisms. But this is also the first time I have collaborated with another writer on a story, and getting to work with Rachael on this is not only adding to the fun factor but is also just a really fun experience and one that I feel is helping me to grow as a writer. To explain? Its a modern day vampire AU with ties to Westerosi history that incorporates the Lannister/Martell feud and it is a BLAST. Masterlist can be found here. 

Tagging a few writers who might want to play: @something-tofightfor @insomniamamma @littlemisspascal @valkblue @suchatinyinfinity