Chapter Text
Scene 1: Negotiations
(✥)
It starts like this.
Din, by nature of his profession, has met plenty of pirates in his lifetime. Some were tried and true pirates, like that one Zabrak he met on the Dantooine job, some were try-hards, like most Corellians he’s ever met, and some were Hondo Ohnaka. It’s best not to think about the last one. Din still shudders.
But dramatics-prone Weequay pirates aside, Din knows what Piracy looks like. He can’t admit he’s deeply surprised by the extent to which they’re slipping by in the core, and while he understands why it makes people nervous, he knows how preventable it is. But The New Republic has the bad habit of clapping their hands over their ears to drown out and ignore any and all problems. They’re The New Republic, after all. A new and better beginning. Nothing can go wrong there.
It’s all bullshit, of course. The New Republic hadn’t even noticed The First Campaign had started and ended until one of Din’s men uploaded his bucket cam footage of the moment Din declared Sundari theirs once more. He still remembers how they had scrambled, trying to worm him out and get an ear in his council, a way to influence him from afar.
Mandalore, unfortunately, looks to be securely involved in their tirade against the piracy that they’d let run unchecked. He, distantly, wonders how much of this sudden crackdown is influenced by the wild thought that The New Republic has Mandalorians at their dispense. Free to point to battles and sit back and relax while they do the hard work. He has to scoff, that alone is a hilarious thought.
The question that remains is the nature of their involvement. Din, and all his council, want to try and remain as close to neutral as they can while still being involved enough to not gain ire and complaint. Supplying a few weapons here and there, some ships that they don’t need–they’re okay with that. All it will mean is that for any campaigns they run they will just have to be more careful, but there is no true detriment to them.
Everyone else, on the other hand, seems to want almost all of the fighting force to be supplied by and consist of Mandalorians. The sheer thought of how costly that would be makes Din shudder, a low and not entirely his own curl of anger burning hot in his stomach. And then, of course, there is the matter of Keldabe.
Din can picture the city in his mind's eye, no matter how long it has been since he visited her. It was one of the first places captured, and although it had fallen into disrepair, there was something undeniable about it. Ever since then, there has been a steady flow of work to bring the crippled Titan back to her true height of glory, the workflow doubling upon his coronation and entrance into the Republic. The trade routes were not for nought, after all.
Keldabe is the centre of everything the modern Mando’ade holds dear. History and Tradition, of course, but beauty and glory as well. Keldabe is the true heart of Mandalore, and while the current capital is Sundari still, Keldabe is the end goal. Sundari had been easier to repair, once they figured out the dome, but Keldabe was desecrated in a truly scarring way.
But when she is brought back to her feet? Mandalore will be the strongest and most united it has in centuries, and everyone knows it. Every Mando’ade, from the armoured to the armourless, to the lone wanderer to the Mand’alor , crave her healing. For good or for ill, many have put all their hope into the old city, all their trust and love. It is crucial that she is tended to, and that requires money.
Din watches on with a dark gaze as the Senators continue their endless rabbling. His own senator, Aar Nda, watches on as well, interjecting with the Mandalorian position. She speaks for him, but his presence at the meeting serves to further dig their heels in. If these inane senators will not understand that Mandalore will not be bent easily through words, he will make it known in other ways.
“Mandalore does not have the resources for all-out war, currently,” Aar says, her tone growing impassioned, but she quickly reels it back in. “We have our own civil needs that are far more crucial to us than an endless chase against pirates in the core. We aren’t even a core world planet.”
“But you have crucial paths to the core, no?” Chael Aorlen says, in his eternally pompous tone. “I mean, the Hydian Way goes right next to the beautiful Concord Dawn. You are just as susceptible to attack as any core world planet.”
“Senator Aorlen is right,” Mosé Walker says, his voice smooth. “This crackdown is just as beneficial to you as it is to us. Certainly, you would not seek to see your rebuilding efforts sabotaged by pirates?”
Aar looks at both of them darkly, “Mandalore can handle a piracy raid, but at the same time I know of very few pirates who are idiotic enough to attack Mandalore. Let alone, Concord Dawn. I would hope the stories of The Protectors would be enough to scare them off. And you speak of our rebuilding efforts being sabotaged as if you have not already done so!”\
Aar laughs darkly as she continues. “I know you probably think us immortal and unbreakable, but we are mortal, and we have our own needs. The reconstruction of Keldabe is the Throne’s chief concern, not a string of piracy that is making core worlds nervous. If we enter this fight as you wish, we lose not only crucial money, but soldiers who have better things to do than fight your wars.”
The Twi’lek senator–Sunavah Fídel–is just about to interject when the door slams open, and in storms a burning with rage Bo-Katan. Both Din and Aar straighten, the Senators forgotten, as she goes off in a long stream of Mando’a. Her anger brings up an old accent, and that, combined with the mixed in curses in many different languages makes it damn near impossible to discern what she’s saying.
With a signed order to Aar to continue on, Din carts Bo out of the room, startling further when he sees both his buire waiting. Bo-Katan continues to seethe as Din turns to Trika and Kyra, hesitating for a split second before asking, “What’s going on?”
“The CSF found a beskar reserve,” Trika says, her voice forcibly even. Bo-Katan rattles off another list of swears, and Din would laugh, if it weren’t for the bottomless pit forming in his stomach. Trika’s visor locks onto his as he continues, “It's ours. It’s the stolen Beskar.”
Scene 2: Thievery
(✥)
Din resists the urge to snarl as he takes in the warehouse, and the amount of beskar that glitters within. At his side, both his buire, and Bo-Katan seem similarly furious, all held together by tightly wound anger, bracketed only by the last threads of composure.
The CSF goon, still standing guard at the door, looks properly afraid of the Mandalorians stalking towards him, but Din is far past even caring about that. Reputation, carefulness, image? None of that matters, not anymore. The stolen beskar was hidden in the heart of the Republic, and that is an infuriating thought.
The amount of it is jaw-dropping. Din has no idea where they’ll even be able to start with retrieving it and getting it home, let alone figuring out what belongs to Death Watch or belongs to them. Exchanging a glance with Trika, he nods, and she drifts forward to pick up an ingot, tapping it against her cuirass. It rings true, and she snarls, the sound low and resonating through her vocoder.
As a Beroya much like him, she has a very different view on wealth. She has seen both the highs and lows of beskar availability, and the sight of this much of their precious metal kept captive by someone else is a thought beyond all reasonable comprehension. It makes his head spin even just considering it.
“We need to get this out of here,” Bo says, her voice like gravel. Kyra nods quietly, caught up in his own fury. He first taught Din the importance of Beskar to Mandalorians, and first put his Beskar’gam on for him. “I’ll call Koska to let her know–”
“Excuse me!” A sharp and shrill voice cuts through the room. The four Mandalorians turn, only to see a CSF agent with the look of someone with an ego far too big for their boots stalking towards them, armoured agents in tow. “What is the meaning of this? What are you doing here?”
Din ignores him, turning back to Bo-Katan and beginning to speak in sharp, fast, and clipped Mando’a about the ships they could bring to haul, and how much protection said ships would require as they travelled the Hydian Way towards Mandalore-controlled space. Simple things really, but enough to make the man's face go completely red, shoving himself between the two of them.
“This is a CSF-controlled operation!” He shrieks, and Din has half the mind to bite down on the barking laugh that threatens to leave him. He finally turns to acknowledge the man, tilting his head in a condescending manner. “State your business here!”
“I believe it is article three..section…four of the Mandalorian entrance treaty,” Trika says, voice like molten Beskar. “‘All Beskar is the Rightful and Sovereign Property of the Mandalorian State and all incorporated Territories. All trade, possession, and storage of Beskar is theirs to control, no matter any extraneous circumstances.’ Does this make our presence clear to you, or shall I repeat it in dumber words, for your convenience?”
The man makes an affronted noise, disgust rolling over his face. “What power do you have to make these declarations! For all I know, you could be Mando pirates seeking to plunder the throne!”
Din does laugh now, crossing his arms and tilting his back, if but to just rub his mirth in further. The man’s face becomes a truly fascinating shade of red as Din’s laughter subsides. Quickly, it pales, though, as Din speaks, voice low and gravelly, “I am the Throne.” Din straightens to his full height, putting all his reputation and might into the action.
“I–I will need to speak to my superiors on this matter. Please stay here, my lord, if you please,” The CSF agent stammers, white as a sheet as he backs up hesitantly, swallowing with a loud click. Din watches him until he turns tail and briskly walks back, all bravado stripped away. When he glances at his buire, they are both watching after the man, frustration rolling off them in waves. Bo mutters something unkind at his exit, causing the other three to snort.
“ Aruetiise , ” Kyra snarls, voice darker than Din has ever heard it. He continues on in clipped Mando’a that sharpens the traces of an accent from his youth, “Always thinking themselves better than us, sticking their fingers in matters not their own. Hng. To hell with them.”
“Kyra,” Trika warns, as Din and Bo bow out to survey the scene. She lays a gentle hand on her husband’s pauldron and his tension deflates slightly. It all but leaves him as the sound of Mando’a floats past his ear, made a melody by her voice. “ Cyare , we cannot control them, for good or for ill. They will always encroach but if we press back too hard and too soon, they will step only further. Let our son handle this. He knows what he is doing.”
“I know,” he mutters, visor fixed on a faraway point as he shakes his head slightly, “I know, ner mesh’la . I just…I cannot stop hearing that demogolka’s laughter, his taunts. The things he would say, the parts of me he desecrated in search of wealth and greed. How can I dine with them when they do this?” He snaps, gesturing largely towards the pile.
His anger is not unfamiliar. It burns in all four of the Mando’ade in the room, different but all born from the same spark. Din’s is cold and calculated, Kyra’s is a blazing inferno, Trika’s is hot but quiet, and Bo’s is an ancient flame, long cultivated, long held. He shakes his head again, looking towards her.
“At what point do we draw the line? At what point will we snap out?”
“Hopefully at a point we can control,” Trika says, voice foreboding, and neither says much of anything after that, caught in their own tumultuous thoughts, shoulder to shoulder. Across the way, Din and Bo are caught in their own conversation of hissed whispers and large gestures to different things.
By nature of their personalities, it is awfully easy for them to sometimes butt heads, and the frustration and outright fury within them both does not dampen this. If anything, it makes it worse, their emotions are taken out on the closest, but wrong, party. They both know, logically, who is behind this, but still, they argue.
Din sighs heavily as Bo continues on an impassioned rant about his disappearances, aware she is somewhat right, but bristling at the accusations. Just as he is about to bite back with his own scathing convictions, the door to the warehouse opens once more, and tens of CSF against stream in (the one from before leading), blasters trained all around. But they are not alone.
The Senate Guard was reinstated with the renewal of The Republic, and two of them stalk forward now, dipping their head in respect to Din and Bo-Katan in turn. Of all the numerous parties and personalities, it is them that Din has found it to be easiest to agree and get along with. Whether it be to shared skills or experiences, he does not know, but they respect the Mandalorians deeply.
“My lord,” one of them says, fingers tightly gripping the strap of his rifle. “There has been a…attack, of a sorts. By command of the Chancellor, all political leaders are to be escorted to a safer location by the Senate Guard. If you would please come with me, I can explain more on the way.”
Din nods, jerking his head towards the door when his parents catch his gaze curiously. “Bo, please still send that missive to Koska. Have her organise a party of my guard to secure the location and guard it against whatever may come of this.” He turns to the Guard, “Lead the way.”
The man and Din take point, strides longer than the rest, and he takes the opportunity to lower his voice, “The CSF is antsy about you all-knowing about this store. It was my men who stumbled upon it and revealed it, as is our duty. If you require any further assistance in the securing of the location, along with any needed investigation, The Guard is with you. This is my comm code.” He hands over a slip of paper, and Din nods.
“Your name?”
“Navasar, my lord. Navasar Elvar, Captain of the Senate Guard,” he says with a tilt of his head, signing something quick to the other Senate Guard who mill around outside. They all snap to attention and nod, falling into line. Din does not miss the dirty looks the CSF gives them, looks that are all but ignored by the men.
“Navasar–may I call you Navasar–” He nods, “What happened?”
The man sighs heavily, tapping a comm on the side of his helmet and listening for a long moment. His face twists slightly as he disengages the comm, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “The reports are still muddled, but the whisper on the street is that Chael Aorlen has been assassinated."
Scene 3: Blood
(✥)
Din stares at the body, covered by a black tarp. All around, the rest of the Senators who they had just been talking to mill, all varying degrees of pale. Aar has fixed her helmet firmly on, and stands silently beside Din, the only other Mandalorian around. Bo and his buire had both been denied, much to their mutual ire.
Captain Nasavar Elvar is speaking to the CSF agent from before, voice low and thrumming. There is something comforting and oddly familiar about the man, but Din cannot put his finger on it. Perhaps it is in the way he holds himself? No…perhaps the way he speaks? It is no matter, though, not right now. Din can focus on that at a different time, because at this moment, a man is dead.
“The wound appears to be from a lightsaber,” the head of the CFS says as he approaches. He is the man from the warehouse, and Din cannot quite remember his name, something he rues as the agent turns an eye to him. He sends a meaningful glance downwards, at Din’s belt, and it takes him but a moment to pick up on the silent accusation. “You are the only person with a lightsaber on Coruscant.”
“That you know of,” he says sharply, tone dark and low with warning. People exchange glances at the dark tone, but the man seems completely oblivious to it as he comes up into Din’s personal space. It takes all his training to not step back, uncomfortable with the man’s closeness and how he peers up at Din’s visor as if all his answers lie behind it. “Do not deal out accusations like that lightly.”
“It could still be one of your lackeys, who you handed the blade over to after your unceremonious departure and who returned it to you straight afterwards.” The man sends a meaningful glance towards the door, where his buire and Bo-Katan undoubtedly still lurk behind. “You are under suspicion.”
Din resists the urge to roll his eyes or curse, choosing rather to bite firmly on his tongue. Aar picks up quickly, her voice rendered emotionless through the vocoder of her helmet, “The Mand’alor and the Dha’kad were both accounted for the entirety of his absence. And I find it troubling that you immediately turned your suspicion onto us.”
The room is very quiet for a moment, all eyes on the two Mandalorians as they stand tall. Aar is resting her hands casually on her weaponless-less belt, and Din–whose belt is full of weapons–has his arms crossed over his chest plate. They are both the tallest people in the room, save for the Trandoshan Xxersk Nir, but there is something undeniable about how they stand. They know their place.
“I am simply exercising necessary caution,” The CSF agent grinds out, crossing his arms and straightening up as he looks at Din. Mimicking him, no doubt. “Everyone here knows that your Mand’alor has shown very little restraint when it comes to those he deems his enemies. And it is no secret that Mandalore has not been keen on the negotiations that involved the Senator.”
“My enemies are The Empire and Death Watch,” Din says. Multiple people give double takes at the tone, but both Mosé Walker and Sunavah Fídel are watching him carefully, like predators stalking their prey. “I had no cause to violence towards Chael Aorlen. Contrary to what you may believe, I am not a trigger-happy sadist. I am a king who is not afraid to use violence in times when it is called for.”
“That sabre is ancient,” Kevo Haran says darkly. Something low and foreign curls deep within Din’s gut at the man’s tone, something that does not come from his own premonition. The Dha’kad is nervous, not at the tone, no. But the accusation, how close Haran is skirting to the true nature of the black blade. Caution, Din Djarin. “Many stories say it can corrupt its wielder.”
“Watch your words carefully, Senator,” Din says darkly, biting back the inhuman growl the sabre tries to press through him. No, he warns darkly. Not here. Not yet. “The Dha’kad is older than most anything in this room, and means more to my people than you know. I would watch what accusations fall out of your lips if I were you. Especially ones about the nature of weapons such as it.”
Tread carefully my Din’ika, the sword whispers. The Trap is closing in. This is not the first round of blood that will be spilt, and you are not out of the line of fire. The world is growing…dark. No, no, not dark. Heavy.
What are you rambling on about now? He thinks sharply, sighing slightly as the Dha’kad says nothing more. Typical. Whatever spirit has been hanging off his shoulder for the past few years surely does not enjoy the concept of a straightforward answer. Typical force-bullshit, Din thinks sharply, trying to not seem distracted by something else. The conversation has continued around him.
“I know of someone who may be able to investigate further. To confirm the Mand’alor’s innocence,” Nasavar says evenly from where he stands guard. When multiple pairs of eyes snap towards him, curiously. “By reputation alone, I must admit. Rumour has it he has the ability to sense recent memory on objects, through the force.”
“The Mand’alor’s weapon is a force weapon, is it not?” Mosé Walker says, finally breaking his contemplating silence. “Would that not cause interference?”
“I do not know for certain, but I am also not sure if he will even be able to come,” Nasavar says honestly, and the Dha’kad hums at Din’s side. Trust in him, Mand’alor’ika . Din bristles at the nickname, causing Aar to send him a curious look. He signs, later, as the Dha’kad laughs against his side, almost uncomfortably hot.
Yes, Mand’alor’ika. My little Mand’alor, my precious dinui . You are so perfect, my chosen one. I cannot say much on what comes, for I do not know much, but you can trust the Alor’ad . He forged his loyalties a long time ago, under a fading light. Nasavar Elvar will be your ally, elek , ‘lek. Trust me, Din’ika , trust me. Do you not trust me?
You know I do, he says quietly to himself, and the sabre's laughter ricochets through his head like a bullet, making him feel a little off-balanced. Nasavar is still speaking, very little, if any time, has passed. Time is odd with the sabre–sometimes too long, sometimes far too short. “But he would be an invaluable asset in this investigation.”
“Very well,” The agent says, not sounding very pleased. Nasavar smiles slightly, Din barely managing to catch it before it is smoothed down. “Get in contact with him.” The Captain nods, his face suggesting he is not a fan of being ordered around by a CSF agent, but he’ll deal with it anyways. He leaves with a sharp swoosh of his cape, a single lingering look meeting Din’s eyes as he passes.
“I would like to ask all of you a few questions,” The agent says as soon as Nasavar is gone, eyes immediately turning back to Din, who is willing to let him squirm a bit first. He lifts his chin a bit, settling back on the balls of his heels a bit as the Agent waits for him to seemingly just read his mind and follow his commands.
Finally, the other man caves, and says, “My lord, may I speak to you first?”
“Of course,” Din says, perfectly pleasant. As he turns to go, he thinks he hears the faintest snort from Aar Nda, who watches him go with what is no doubt a careful eye. The rest of the senators watch on as they leave towards an annexing room. The door closes, and it is just them.
Scene 4: Questioning
(✥)
“My name is Massel Cernir,” The CSF agent says as he starts the recording device, finally reminding Din of his name. “This is the questioning of…Din Djarin, King of Mandalore and all her stars. The entirety of this conversation will be recorded and submitted into the investigation for the murder of Chael Aorlen, senator to Corellia.”
He’d mispronounced his name, slightly, but the slight misstep makes Din bristle. His name is already private, and the fact that the son of the bitch didn’t bother to try and check its pronunciation is just another slap in his face. It’s not that Din is not aware that the respect he gets is begrudging, but it always still frustrates him. What more does he have to do for these people for respect and honour?
“Sir, where were you during the hours of 15h00 and 16h00?”
“In a warehouse on the outskirts of The Federal District. I was there after a discovery of a Beskar Reserve was discovered, to confirm that it was what we suspected it to be.”
“Which was?”
“That is the business of the Throne,” Din says evenly as he crosses his arms, and Cernir makes an annoyed noise.
Cernir continues around and around Din’s story, and Din makes a careful note to keep his tongue quiet, to not say too much. It isn’t all too difficult; he was a beroya for years on years, and his silence was often appreciated by his employers. But he has the distinct impression that Cernir is very curious about the Beskar Reserve, and it makes him nervous.
“Sir, if I may speak plainly, your refusal to answer what the Beskar means to you and your council is quite suspicious. This recording will be classified immediately after it is submitted, and I see no way the truth of it could impact much of anything. You were informed of it because it is rightfully yours, not because we thought it was something big. Your attitude suggests an ulterior motive.”
“Here’s a question for you, Captain,” Din says, condescendingly gentle, drawing a lie from a bit of truth. “What is Beskar doing on Coruscant? How did it get here? Who allowed it to be transported out of the Mandalore system–its only place? We had no knowledge of this beskar–why do you think we are guarding it so harshly? Someone has taken what is ours.”
“Are you saying that Beskar was stolen from you?”
“Possibly,” Din says evenly, lying through his teeth. He has never been so glad for his helmet, the impenetrable blankness of it all. “I do not know for certain. I would have to spread questions far and wide to understand where this Beskar came from. But what I do know is that someone has moved it, and the second I was away from the Senate House, someone was murdered.”
“I know what you whisper,” he says. Cernir pales just a bit, wringing his hands on the table, glancing out the side of his eye at the recording device. Din knows that, at least for now, he is untouchable. All evidence against him is speculation at best, whispered rumours. “What you say about me, about the nature of the sword I carry. I advise you to not press too hard. Mandalorians like their secrets.”
“So you admit to hiding things? What do you know?”
“I was a Hunter long before I was a King, Captain,” Din reminds, and the man seems to watch him differently now, hands twitching like he wants to reach for his blaster. “I am always hiding something, always hiding a card close to my chest. That is the nature of kingship, of the life of a hunter, of politics really. I do not see you question it when others do, so tell me, what are you afraid I will do?”
“I know much about this galaxy, Captain,” Din says, leaning back in his chair a bit. “I have seen much, and met many types of people, but I also know nothing. I know everything and nothing at all, as with most people in this Galaxy. What do I know? What don’t I know? They are both equally vast.”
“You speak like a poet,” Cernir says flatly, looking unamused and nervous. Din has shown a card, one the Captain cannot discern. Din snorts softly to himself, remembering a fight from what feels like a lifetime ago, sheltered behind the walls of Garsa Fwip’s sanctuary, a nervous Majordomo speaking outside. Between the two of them, Boba Fett is the true poet, not him,
“We are not enemies, Mand’alor ,” Cernir says finally, voice distant, eyes sharp. “But I do not trust you. You hide and you lie to us, skirting truths. I think you have plenty of reason towards anger and violence against the Senator, and you and I both know your history with punishment against those against you. Preach about your enemies and your knowledge all you want, but you have a role in this. What that role is, I cannot say, nor if you have fulfilled it yet. I will be watching you.”
“Somethings are hard to look at, Captain,” Din says, as the both of them rise. Din is taller than the man by over half a foot, his armour making it even more dramatic. “Or even hard to find. Fare thee well. May your mind stay sharp, and your eyes like a hawk’s. You will need it.”
Din turns on his heel, entering the main room once more. Multiple eyes glance up at him, dark and untrusting. Mosé Walker, in particular, seems to be watching Din carefully, and his gaze makes Din’s skin crawl. He approaches Aar Nda, who nods mutely at him, clearly listening to something on her comm. She taps a few buttons on her vambrace, and Ursa Wren’s voice crackles through DIn’s helmet.
“Djarin,” She greets, and he mutes his helmet to the outside world, greeting her back. “Reeves, Ogur, and Rac have formed a patrol around the warehouse. Kryze is speaking to Fulcrum and the Alor'ad ti jai'galaar'la sur'haii'se . They are both planetside still, and will rendezvous at a secure location, as soon as you are free.”
“Are we facing any resistance?” He asks, glancing at the door as one of the other senators is called in. Mosé Walker. The Dha’kad hums to life once more at his side, bristling with curiosity. He ignores it.
“Not yet,” Ursa says, a thrum of frustration in her tone. “But the CSF is here, and the atmosphere is tense. They will make their move soon. In other news, I have Fenn on the comm as well. And he is with the faux Mando’ade. ”
“Is that so?” Din says, genuinely curious. “What have they said?”
“We asked them about any knowledge they may have had of stolen beskar. They said they had not heard of anything of the sort, and they seemed genuine. But we all suspect the beskar’gam they wore was from the reserve, but due to it being already moulded, we cannot be sure. That also raises the question of how they forged the armour.”
Mandalorian armour-making is a very closely guarded secret, for tens of reasons. Either the armour was stolen from someone or an Armourer spilt. Din is not sure which is worse, especially when he thinks about the fact that the only way an Armourer is giving up that information is through torture or outright betrayal of their people.
“Fenn?” Din asks, and the man hums in reply, finally making his presence known. “See if you can dig in anymore, but be nice about it. They have been invaluable thus far, and I do not seek to frighten them further–” Shouts rise over the comm, from Ursa’s line, and she curses colourfully. Both Din and Aar go ramrod straight, glancing at one another.
“ Mand’alor! ” She shouts.
“We are en route,” he says, motioning for Aar to follow him as they sweep out of the room without another word. The CSF tries to stop them on the way out, but once more, Captain Elvar sweeps in, exchanging terse words with the CSF men before nodding at them to go. Din makes an appreciative gesture, and leaves before anyone else can stop him, his senator falling into line to his right.
In the room they’ve left behind, three senators remain. A Human, a Twi’lek, and a Trandoshan. Xxersk Nir is silent all the while as he fumes, but Kevo Haran and Sunavah Fídel exchange a low glance. “I do not trust those Mandos, any of them,” Kevo says darkly, voice barely above a whisper.
Sunavah nods, her hands gently caressing her lekku, dark eyes trained on the door. “There is something larger than all of us going on right now,” she says, after a long moment. “The Mandalorians have a central role in it. We must stay wary–especially of them. They are wildcards, things we cannot quite predict.”
“Should ssstamp them out now,” Xxersk snarls, and Sunavah glances at him, looking at him like she’s seeing him for the first time. “When Walker returnsss…we must ssspeak on what to do. We cannot let them play usss anymore or in any way. Not anymore.”
“He is right,” Kevo says, eyes distant and focused. “We have let them run unchecked for far too long. They are becoming dangerous, no matter how you spin it. We will discuss more, later. For now, we wait to see what they are running after now.”
Scene 5: Reserve
(✥)
When Din arrives at the warehouse, he arrives to shouting. A few CSF agents have gotten up into his buire’s faces, red-faced as they yell into the unshakeable helms of the Mandalorians. The CSF doesn’t even seem aware of his arrival until he is right in front of them, his buire falling back with understanding nods. This is their son's operation now.
“This supply is a criminal affair, no doubt!” The CSF agent continues on. “As it is a violation of your treaties. We demand that we be allowed to survey the scene before you take the contraband back! This is just how things are done.”
Din’s hand itches towards his blaster, but he forces himself to not engage. “You are correct that this is a direct violation of our treaties, but our treaties also say that Mandalore will handle all beskar related incidents. Nowhere in our treaties have you been given the power to make the demands here. If you want to survey the scene, you can ask one of my men for the survey they have already completed.”
“Your men are not trained professionals–”
“Do you know that for certain?” Din asks darkly, raising a hand and finally silencing the man. “My men have talents that span many regards. Many of them were right by my side in the reclamation of our home, and it was their eyes that noticed things that saved our lives many times over. One would be a fool not to trust their careful surveillance.”
“This is your last warning,” Din promises, a dark note of anger in his voice. “This is not your operation and any further encroachment will not be taken lightly. I would suggest you draw your men back and allow my men to get the Beskar to a secure location, hm?”
He doesn’t stick around to hear the reply, turning on his heel and heading into the warehouse. All around, his Guard is moving around in a whirlwind of movement and noise, loading the beskar gently into waiting crates. Din hums appreciatively. Koska, Captain Sina Rook, and Bo-Katan are often scarily efficient.
The three women oversee the operation from an upper level, nodding at him as he joins them. Clasping his arms behind his back to stand in Parade Rest, he asks, “What is our estimate?”
Sina Rook speaks first, her voice made forcibly even from the vocoder of her maroon and gold helmet. “It is certainly the stolen beskar, but what comes from Kyr’tsad versus our own reserves is unclear. We should be loaded up within the next day, barring any further interference from the CSF.”
“I scared them off as best I could outside,” Din says. All of them nod, “And Rac and Ogur are on the watch for now. I trust their eyes. Where is Ursa?”
“Still on the call with Rau, and the faux Mando’ade, I believe,” Bo says. “She was involved in a skirmish earlier, one far tenser than the one you broke up outside. People’s trigger fingers are getting itchy, but I do not wish to rush this in any way. That would lead to carelessness we cannot afford.”
“Speaking of Rau,” Koska says, pulling up something on a datapad. “He sent a suggested route, and has already sent a squadron of his Protectors along with a cruiser to act as escort once we're ready to go. I suspect you will want to travel with the beskar, yes?” She asks him. Din nods.
“Okay. That’s good. It’ll give us more time to secure the beskar and check security protocols on the ships. I do not seek to be ambushed by the pirates those aruetiise are so skittish about, and while we can likely hold them off, I don’t think any of us want an attack in the first place.”
“That would not be ideal,” Din agrees evenly. “Send Rau my thanks, and have Ursa com me if she gets anything else out of the fakes. Are we intending to load the beskar onto the cruiser?”
“Indeed,” Bo says, sounding amused. Her eyes are dancing as she meets Din’s eyes, her smile oddly girlish as she says, “And I think you’ll recognise her as well.”
“Ah, I see,” Din says with a dark chuckle. “Poetic, is it not?” His mood sobers as he looks once more at the large amount of beskar, so far from home, stolen under his very nose. It reminds him of the CSF agents prying, and he exhales heavily, crossing his arms over his chest and drawing his companions’ attention.
“I was questioned earlier, about the assassination,” Din says, trusting Aar had forwarded the news already. “But the Captain seemed far more interested in the Beskar. I told him we had a pretty solid idea of what it was, but had no clue if it had been stolen or anything like that. They do not know of the theft still, but they are far too interested for my liking. Do we have any leads on the thief?”
“Not yet,” Sina says. “The Alor'ad ti jai'galaar'la sur'haii'se is going to see if he can get in contact with one of his brothers, and see if he can splice into security records and footage from the area. The surrounding block, though, has no cameras whatsoever, but maybe another camera caught something.”
“The faux Mando’ade mentioned a Jedi,” Din says. “And Aorlen was murdered by a lightsaber. I suspect that the Jedi and the murderer are one and the same, and I suspect they have their hands in this theft as well. See if Fulcrum can detect any traces of them.”
“Will do,” Sina says, right as Bo also speaks.
“She intends to come after nightfall. She does not trust the city or the CSF, for good reason. But she has promised to do what she can, and has already spread the word through her Fulcrum agents and fellow Jedi. They are all on high alert.”
Din hums, remembering something suddenly. “Bo, could you ask her about Captain Nasavar Elvar for me?"
She looks at him, a slight smile on her lips, “So you have seen it too. The Captain certainly holds himself like a Rebel, does he not? And you know what they all say: once a rebel, always a rebel. I will ask her.”
Before they can continue on, the door bursts open once more. The CSF agent from before along with–to Din’s surprise–Massel Cernir storm in. Din straightens, and heads down, the three others falling into line behind him, buckets on once more. Ursa too arrives after the CSF, standing at Din’s left, opposite Bo on his right.
“You have no permission to conduct this operation here!” Cernir shouts, and every Mando’ade in the room bristles. At a single gesture from Sina Rook, his guard pauses in their movements with the Beskar and fall directly into line with their Captain. “This is Coruscant, need I remind you, not Mandalore!”
“And yet,” Din says quietly, voice like a growing storm as he steps closer to the Captain. “As I have already told you, Beskar is here. I ask you again, Cernir. What is Beskar doing on Coruscant? What slipped by your guards to get this here? Who is behind this all? What are you missing? What are we all missing?"
Din is right in front of the captain now, staring him down through his visor. The Captain squares his jaw, and with him, his men raise their blasters, surprising Din. “Careful, Captain,” Din warns as he hears his own men take up their blasters. The CSF goons pale at the sight, all looking very sweaty. “This is not a fight you can win. I would watch where you step.”
“Are you threatening me, Djarin?”
“I am the Mand’alor, ” he snarls lowly. “And you will treat me as such. Yes, I am threatening you, Massel Cernir, and I hope you take that to heart. This may be Coruscant, but right now, Mandalore has the power over this operation. I suggest you lower your blasters and get out of here before something goes wrong.”
“You can’t threaten me!”
“You will find I can and I will. The Republic has no business here, no business with Beskar. By design,” Din palms the Dha’kad, noting its warmth with a private smile. Cernir takes a half step back when he notices the blade, eyes burning brilliantly as he looks back up at Din, who remembers his accusations with only half a mind. “Get out of here. Now.”
“You don’t order me around.”
“No I don’t,” Din agrees pleasantly, his voice dropping right after. “Consider it a friendly suggestion.”
Cernir sniffs, but turns on his heels and goes. Din is just about to breathe a sigh of relief when one of the CSF bumps into one of the door guards. The Mando’ad stiffens but does not say anything, but the CSF man agent, on the other hand…
Din sees him push the Mando’ad, sees the blaster he’s still got out, how close his finger is to the trigger. Sina is shouting, rushing forward, as the Mando’ad straightens to his full height, hand on his blaster. The CSF agent doesn’t take it well, his finger moving down–Din steps forward, protests on his lips–
A blaster bolt echoes through the room. Din flinches back, and when he looks back, the Mando’ad and Sina are both unharmed, a hole in the wall inches from the Mando’ad’s helmet. The CSF agent is deathly pale as he looks at the pair of them, dropping his blaster and turning tail before anyone can do anything.
“ Alor’ad, Mand’alor– ” The Mando’ad stammers as Din approaches, but Sina raises a hand, silencing him.
“No one blames you Taan. Are you harmed?”
“No, sir,” Taan says, prying off his bucket and running a shaking hand through his hair. His other hand holds his helmet in a white-knuckled grip, tears shining in the corner of his eyes. “That–”
“We know,” Din says, voice gentle. The sound of it seems to startle young Taan, who looks at him widely, opening his mouth to undoubtedly greet Din. He just waves him off, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder, noting the minute tremble as he says, “We will make this right, and no punishment will find you. The fault lies solely in the other man.”
He turns to Sina, who is watching him expectantly. “Put Taan on Trika Ogur’s patrol, and then see if either she or Rac have any sightings of the man. Bo!” He calls, drawing the woman over. “Could your Nite Owls find the man?”
“Koska is already on it,” Bo says, and Din nods.
“Good, that’s good. Thank you.” He turns back to Taan, who still looks at him with wide, but wholly trusting eyes. “We will fix this.”
Scene 6: Grey
(✥)
“ Mand’alor? ” Someone asks, and Din startles, turning on his heel to see that Senator Kevo Haran is approaching, a welcoming grin on his face. But Din is far from fooled by it. The Senators do not trust him, in the slightest. He nods at the man all the same, and Kevo walks beside him.
“I am speaking for myself here,” Kevo begins, a little hesitantly. He seems put off by Din’s silence but takes it in stride after a moment. “I do not have to tell you I do not trust you, that I suspect that whatever is happening right now has something to do with you. But I…respect you. Yes, I think your people are far too unchecked but you yourself…are not a bad man.”
“Senator, why are you telling me this?” Din asks, suddenly turning on his heel to step out onto an open balcony. Kevo follows, folding his arms behind his back and staring out at the Coruscant skyline.
“I do not think you are a bad person. I don’t think we should even necessarily be enemies, but for good or for ill, we will always stand on opposite sides of our debates. But the other senators, they do not share the same opinion. Many of them seek to see you fully contained, fully shackled to us.”
“I already know this, Senator.”
Kevo pauses, and when he speaks again, his face is far more distant. “People are afraid of you. You are something wild and unchecked. People are afraid and trying to protect and control what they can, out of love for their people. You must understand that Mandalorians…you have always had a different outlook on our Galaxy. It rubs people the wrong way. It makes them afraid.”
Din hums. “Tell me, Senator, are you afraid of me? Do you listen to the whispers that call me a butcher and a tyrant and pay them any mind? When you first heard of the reclamation, did you react in fear or in disgust? Who are you to come to my side and make yourself seem better than the rest?”
The other man blanches for a moment, eyes dark as he rearranges his thoughts. “Of course, I am afraid of you. You carry weapons older than governments, and your people are unshakably loyal to you and all your causes. When I saw that holo though…I would not call it fear. I was far more fascinated if you will.”
“The world is changing. For good or for ill, I cannot say. But your presence, the things you have done, what has happened, it speaks to something larger at hand. Surely you sense it too?” Din nods mutely, and Kevo hums thoughtfully. “There are plots all around us, from every side. No one is safe, eyes are everywhere. I do not think Chael Aorlen’s death was the first one.”
“Me neither,” Din says, tilting his head at Kevo. “Who do you think is next?”
“Me,” Kevo says, and when Din straightens, he waves him off. “I cannot change what will happen, just what is. Watch where you walk Mand’alor, and may we be on the same side of things, in the end. I do not wish you to truly be the enemy hunting us down, but…no one can be certain of much of anything anymore. The galaxy is not as black and white as it was many years ago.”
“I come to your side because I want whatever happens to not be in vain. My fellow senators and I will always be against you politically, always scheme against you, if that is what you wish to call it. Such is the nature of our worldviews. But I do not think you are the murderer. I hope you know that.”
Din laughs darkly, the sound startling the other man. When Kevo looks at him again, he seems to be seeing something new. A soft remorse comes over his face, and he nods mutely, turning to go without another word. Din does not know how long he stands there, watching the world move on around him, before he too turns to go, headed towards his apartments.
He does not know how long he spends in the training room, spear whistling through the air, striking at an invisible enemy. The Jedi, the Murderer, closes in around him, he knows this. The Senators have just had one of them admit they intend to work and conspire against them, but none of this is news. Even the beskar reserve, while infuriating, is not a true surprise.
For as long as they have existed and for all the years they have yet to live, everyone will always want a piece of them. They always look for openings and reasons to pounce, to steal and desecrate. If Kevo Haran dies as he thinks he will, Din will only be cast further into doubt, as one of the last people to see him. This he knows, this he can plan for.
But the Jedi…oh, Din can sense the circles being run around him. He can catch glimpses of their influence in everything, the red strings of fate that tie all these messy moments together. From The Beskar to the Senators to every inch of this god-forsaken planet, their fingerprints are embedded into it. If Din thinks long and hard enough, he’d see even more of their influence.
From the arrest to the encroachment to the thievery. Hell, even that goddamn bounty on Trika could be their work–what does he know? Everything could be a consequence of their grand plans, their vast plans. Din is but a player in whatever end goal they want to reach, one that may very well be taken out of the equation before the end of the tenday.
Din’s fingers grip his spear tighter, the weapon slashing through the air in a deadly arc.
This weapon was won by a Jedi, first. This weapon is the most dangerous weapon on the planet, even including The Dha’kad and the Jedi’s own blade. This is the only weapon that can pierce his beskar, can find its way into his heart. His grip grows only tighter, the knuckles almost white from the exertion. This weapon was a Magistrate’s and then a Jedi’s and now it is his.
When they come into his room and announce Kevo Haran is indeed the next victim, Din nods mutely, muscles screaming as he lowers his spear. He can feel their untrusting gazes on his back, as he himself watches the world outside his window, committing it to memory. Two men are dead. The Jedi has made enough of their moves, and now it is time for Din to act.
Din turns around, fastening his spear to his back, and walks into the belly of the beast.
Scene 7: On the attempted Murder of Sunavah Fídel
(✥)
Just as Din and the CSF reach the senate building one of his…escorts gets a call. They stop beside him, causing the rest of their entourage to pause too, and then they suddenly rattle off a long list of expletives. Forgetting Din, they start barking out orders, and their men suddenly disperse, leaving Din alone and slightly confused.
But his confusion does not last long. He hears the familiar sound of armour as someone runs and turns just in time to see his Duchesses round the corner, eyes hidden behind their black visors. He nods at them as they slow down, following them where they go without a single question. “What happened?”
“Another attempt,” Bo-Katan says, breathless. “Fídel. But, Din. She’s alive.” Din freezes in the hallway where they walk, slowly turning to look at her. The Dha’kad hums to life at his side, eager and clawing in a way that makes his stomach roll. Bo continues, “She’s in bacta but…her last words before she passed out was that she wanted to speak to you.”
“ Me? ” He asks incredulously, and both women nod. His eyes narrow into slits at them. “Who found her?”
“Your buir, ” Bo says, and Din’s stomach drops further. “Rac. The CSF has him in custody right now, because of course they do. This has only made their suspicion of us worse, but I don't think they think you yourself are the murderer anymore. Just one of your lackeys.”
“What did you and Haran speak about, before he died?” Ursa asks.
Din frowns, remembering the conversation. “He said that the senators were all suspicious of us and are working against us to take us down a peg. Even then, he made a point to say that he did respect us. He also…he also said that he was almost certain he was the next. Didn’t say why.”
“Do you think it had something to do with the other senators?” Bo asks lowly, muting her vocoder and patching into inner helmet comms. Din and Ursa follow suit and they continue walking, “Walker and Nir are back. Nir clearly doesn’t like us and Walker is hard to pin down. Both have solid alibis.”
“It would be easier for Walker to fake a body double than Nir,” Ursa reminds. Both Bo and Din nod, musing over the words.
“If it’s okay with you, Din, I’d like to send some of The Nite Owls with your mom to tail both of them. Or at least keep tabs on them in some regard,” Bo says, and Din nods mutely, processing all the information. “We should let our allies know of the developments.”
“Yes,” Din says. “Start with Fett, and see if he’s hearing anything new pass through his throne room. There is always a very high chance that our assassin is our Jedi, but they could very well be a sword for hire all the same. See if we can backtrack any payments that look like they could be for a bounty hunter.”
“I’ll put Ogur on that instead,” Bo says. Din nods. “And I’ll ask her and Fett and see if this sounds like anything familiar to their times in the guild. I’m assuming this isn’t ringing any bells on your end?”
Din shakes his head, thumb rubbing over the hilt of the Dha’kad as he thinks through the facts. Three out of Five Senators who have acted in opposition to Mandalore have had assassination attempts on them, and two are dead. All three were attacked by a weapon the likes of which is very rare, the only known one on Coruscant being the one at Din’s side. One of them was last seen speaking to him.
Whoever is killing them is going out of their way to put Mandalore in the limelight of the blame. When he voices this, both Ursa and Bo are quiet too, until Ursa finally breaks the silence. “I have known many Jedi in my life, and this is not their way. It is the way of their enemies, The Sith. Could that be what we were dealing with?”
“Wouldn’t the Jedi’s blade have been red?” Bo presses back. “The faux Mando’ade said it was green.”
And that is an even more troubling thought. Whoever they are against must be very certain of the rightness of their actions to an extent, and if they truly are a Jedi or even just force-sensitive…that spells nothing good. Delusion is the most powerful weapon one can wield, after all.
“Whatever they are,” Din says after a minute, “They must be found. They have put us further into a corner, and made our allies low in number. We must play by our own rules, stop trying to bend to conventions, but be subtle about it. If the CSF finds us doing something illegal, they will not hesitate to crack their whip across all our backs.”
“The Senate Guard may be on our side,” Din continues. “Captain Elvar has proven that he at least is. I will speak to him. Bo, if you could organise the watches, that would be great. Ursa, we must not let this distract us from the Beskar extraction. How is it?”
“Almost everything is loaded into the hoverkarts, and the CSF has not returned. Rau’s protectors are about two hours out, and will comm when they are in orbit.” Din nods, and the three of them disperse with neither another word nor a goodbye.
It does not take long to find the Captain, especially as it seems that he too was seeking Din out. He dips his head and they walk silently to an empty balcony. There, the wind, having picked up in the last few minutes, whips through their cloaks, the only sound in their mutual silence.
“You were a Fulcrum agent, were you not?” Din asks after a pause.
Nasavar smiles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yes, I was. I suppose you are in contact with the first Fulcrum right now?”
Din manages to smile as well, chuckling softly. “She has been invaluable in the last few months. I hope that you too can be just as helpful.” Nasavar looks at him curiously from the corner of his eye. “If I tell you this though, I need your oath that it will not reach any other ears.”
Nasavar pauses, fingers flexing slightly as he mulls over the words. Finally, he reaches up and pulls off his helmet, looking Din straight in the eye through his helmet. Without the helmet, Din can see his face in full. It is a kind face, his goatee well trimmed, his eyes dark and passionate. His hair is long, but bound back and out of his face, although a few strands fall in his face. It is a proud and strong face, befitting of not only a Senate Guard, but a Spy of the rebellion. “You have my oath. No one will know what you here say but us.”
Din nods and takes a steeling breath before diving into the story. From Trika to the theft, he tells Nasavar the truth of all his disappearances and every slaughter that has happened at his hand. His voice is soft, gentle even, caught in the steady eddy of storytelling, the vocoder making it rougher. All the while, Nasavar is silent, watching not Din, but the skyline beyond them.
When Din finishes with Kevo’s final words, Nasavar is silent for a long moment. “I agree with you,” He eventually says. “The ‘Jedi’ is behind all of this, to some extent. They clearly have a grudge against Mandalore in some regard, and I will look into the final two’s pasts to see if there is cause for that anger. And the Beskar…” he trails off, thought going unsaid, but Din gets it.
Whoever can steal Beskar right under a Mandalorian’s nose is not someone to be trifled with.
“ Mand’alor? Captain Elvar?” A tinny voice calls as the door slides open behind them. Nasavar’s helmet is back on in an instant, and they both turn to see a protocol droid in the doorway. Din relaxes only slightly, working his jaw silently as the droid continues on, “Your presence has been requested in the medical centre.”
“Why, may I ask?” Nasavar says, voice rough. The droid, true to form, does not notice. Din nods at him– they will continue their conversation later.
“Mistress Fídel has just left the bacta, and wishes to speak to you.”