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“Din Djarin, have you ever removed your helmet?”
There it was, the dreaded question. Din had known that it would come sooner or later. He knew it was unavoidable. Yet hearing it still made him feel frozen to the spot, blade still held against Paz’s neck as he stared silently back up at the Armorer. Deep down, he suspected she already knew. Even if she didn’t, Din wouldn’t dare do something as dishonorable as lie to her. He doubted he would be able to anyway, with the way his mouth went dry and the tight feeling in his chest that seemed to steal his breath away.
“Have you ever removed your helmet?” the Armorer asked again, and it was clear that she already knew the answer. Yet she was still facing Din expectantly, not letting him go until he confessed his sin out loud. Din could feel Paz moving in his hold as he turned his head toward Din, no doubt awaiting an answer as well.
There was nothing left to do for Din but to admit the truth. Yet the words were still stuck in his throat. Once he confessed, there would be no going back. He wasn’t a Mandalorian anymore. Could he even redeem himself? He’d already lost Grogu and he’d grown distant from the allies he’d made during his quest to return the child to the Jedi. He couldn’t bear to lose his clan, his Creed, as well. But what could he do but tell the truth?
“By Creed, you must vow,” the Armorer reminded him, and that was the final push Din needed. He’d hesitated too long anyway; it was time to face the music.
Din shoved Paz away from himself and rose to his full height. He almost felt nauseous as he stared up at the Armorer. He tried to steady his nerves, fighting down the nausea even as the panicked feeling twisting in his gut began to creep up his throat. Breathing heavily, both from his fight with Paz and from that painful tightness in his chest that just wouldn’t go away, he quietly admitted to his sin.
“I have.”
Though he couldn’t see the Armorer’s face, Din could almost feel her disdain. She remained nearly motionless as she stared down at him, and Din fought the urge to crumble and curl up on the floor under the weight of her disappointment in him.
“Then you are a Mandalorian no more,” she finally told him.
Din had been anticipating hearing those fateful words spoken, but they still pierced his heart painfully, stealing his breath away for a moment. He felt lightheaded and sick. He had no clan, no creed, no right to his armor anymore. The thought filled him with a sudden, paralyzing fear he’d never felt before. This couldn’t be the end. Surely he could redeem himself somehow?
“I beg you for your forgiveness.” Din tried not to sound overtly desperate despite the inherently desperate nature of his words. “How can I atone?”
Beside him, Paz shifted. “Leave, apostate,” he growled. Din glanced down at him, and for a moment he lost himself studying the reflection of his helmet in Paz’s visor. He’d worn it for most of his life, yet suddenly, inexplicably, it felt foreign to him. The first sign that he was no longer deserving of his armor. An involuntary shudder ran down Din’s spine at the thought and he turned back to the Armorer.
“Please,” he begged, forgoing the last scraps of his dignity. “There must be a way.”
“According to Creed, one may only be redeemed in the Living Waters beneath the mines of Mandalore,” the Armorer told him. She still hadn’t moved from where she stood, and Din felt impossibly small as he gazed up at her.
Through the panic beginning to fog his mind, it took Din a moment to process what the Armorer had said. “But the mines have all been destroyed,” he protested.
The Armorer’s voice was cold as she stated, “Then you cannot redeem yourself, it seems.”
“No, please, Iー” Din’s voice broke as the weight of his situation finally hit him. His knees threatened to buckle as he shook his head, gazing pleadingly up at the Armorer. “Please, there has to be some other way. There has to be something else I can do! I’m willing toー”
“Enough!” the Armorer snapped.
Din flinched, falling silent. His eyes stung with tears but he refused to let them fall even with his helmet hiding his face from sight. He’d imagined this moment many times in the months since he’d shown his face to Grogu. In every scenario he imagined, he’d always pictured himself leaving with his dignity intact, head held high as he accepted the consequences of his betrayal. Yet now that it was happening, he felt small and scared and shamefully desperate. If he didn’t have his Creed, what did he have? Who was he if he wasn’t a Mandalorian? If he cut those parts of himself out, he feared there would be nothing else left. He would be merely a shell, a hollow echo of the man he’d once been.
“I-I had to take it off,” Din explained, too distraught to feel embarrassed about the way he stuttered. “Groguーthe foundlingーhe…he wanted to see my f-face. He wanted…I had to. I wasn’t sure if I’d see him again, I just…I had to.” Din could feel his hands shaking as he tried to gauge the Armorer’s reaction. Surely she would understand. She had to understand. She was a Mandalorian; she knew of the bond Mandalorians shared with their foundlings.
Please understand.
Din’s focus was entirely on the Armorer as she watched him silently. He vaguely registered Paz getting to his feet, but he paid the other man no mind. This proved to be a mistake.
Something sharp was jammed into the side of Din’s neck and he let out a strangled cry as a powerful electric shock was administered to him. He dropped to the floor, his limbs turned to jelly as his muscles spasmed painfully.
As Din lay trembling on the floor, Paz began to remove all his weapons from him. Panicked and confused, Din tried to force his limbs to cooperate with him. He managed to land a weak kick to the inside of Paz’s leg, but Paz simply stared down at him for a moment before delivering a sharp kick to Din’s side. The toe of his boot connected with Din’s ribs through the gap between his chest plate and his pauldron and Din curled up on himself with a yelp of pain.
Once Paz had finished removing Din’s weapons, he cuffed Din’s wrists behind his back before unkindly hauling Din to his feet. Din stumbled and ended up unwillingly leaning against Paz for support, his legs still trembling slightly from the power of the shock he’d received.
Wordlessly, Paz dragged Din up the stairs leading to the platform the Armorer was standing on. As they came to a stop in front of the Armorer, Din kept his gaze fixed on his boots, unable to look her in the face. He was ashamed because he’d disappointed her, he’d broken his Creed. He was afraid because he had no idea what was in store for him. He’d expected at worst to be kicked from the clan and told never to return again. Why had he been stripped of his weapons and cuffed?
The Armorer turned away and began to walk toward the forge. Paz gave Din a rough shove, and he had no choice but to follow the Armorer with Paz looming behind him like a silent threat. As they drew closer, the knot of anxiety twisting Din’s guts grew tighter. He wondered what would happen to him now. Would he be subjected to some kind of ritual that stripped him of his status as a Mandalorian? For as long as Din had been alive, he’d never witnessed or even heard of anyone breaking the Creed. He didn't know what to expect.
Once they came to a stop before the giant pot, Din was roughly forced onto his knees by Paz. Before he had any time to wonder what was going on, Paz began undoing the straps of Din’s armor, removing it piece by piece. Din panicked and tried to leap to his feet, but Paz grabbed him by the back of the neck and forced him back down.
“Stay still, apostate,” he sneered, digging his fingers into Din’s skin. Din winced but did as he was told, even though he felt exposed and vulnerable as Paz removed his chest piece, his pauldrons, and his gauntlets. He then shoved Din onto his back to remove the armor from his thighs and knees before dragging Din back up into a kneeling position.
Stripped of all his armor apart from his helmet, Din felt small. He hunched in on himself, unconsciously shrinking away as Paz leaned over him with a sneer. With only his flight suit to cover himself, Din couldn’t hide the way he was trembling. He hated how exposed he felt, hated how afraid he was. He almost wished he hadn’t tried to beg for forgiveness. He should have left while he’d had the chance. But his Creed was his life. He couldn’t have just left without trying to redeem himself.
But now, as Din watched the Armorer approach him with a steel rod that was glowing red from heat at the tip, he thought that maybe he’d made a mistake in not simply accepting his exile.
The Armorer came to a stop before Din. She kept her gaze fixed on him as she addressed Paz.
“Paz Vizsla, remove Din Djarin’s helmet.”
“Wait!” Din pleaded as he felt Paz’s fingers hook under the rim of his helmet. The thought of being exposed terrified him. When he’d taken his helmet off before, it had been of his own free will. Yet here, it was about to be forced upon him. With his hands cuffed behind his back, he could do nothing to stop it.
Paz paid no mind to Din’s plea. He deftly undid the locking mechanism before lifting Din’s helmet and letting it clatter to the ground somewhere behind Din.
Din screwed his eyes shut at the feeling of real air hitting his face. His trembling worsened as he tried to keep his breathing steady. He couldn’t give in to his panic, not now. He had to be strong. He’d broken his Creed and now he was going to face the consequences. It was the least he could do after his betrayal of his vow.
Yet…if it was what he had to do, why did it feel so wrong?
“Din Djarin, open your eyes,” the Armorer commanded.
Din didn’t want to. He didn’t want Paz and the Armorer to see the fear and shame that would surely show in his eyes. He didn’t want to see his own bare face reflected in their visors. He hardly even knew what he looked like; this wasn’t how he wanted to find out.
“Din Djarin,” the Armorer repeated, a note of impatience underlying her normally even tone. “Open your eyes.”
Slowly, Din complied, although he kept his gaze fixed on the grated metal floor he knelt on rather than looking up at the Armorer. He could feel her and Paz’s gazes boring into him, taking in every bit of his armorless body and exposed face. He hated it. He felt naked in front of them, sinful and ashamed.
“Is it true that you removed your helmet and exposed your face of your own free will?” the Armorer questioned.
“Yes,” Din whispered, so softly he wasn’t sure if he’d even spoken out loud.
“Then you must be branded with the sign of aruetii, so it will be known to all that you broke your Creed and betrayed the Way of the Mandalore.”
With that, the Armorer pressed the glowing red-hot end of the rod into the side of Din’s neck.
A hoarse, drawn out wail was dragged from Din’s throat as the burning metal met his skin. A hand was fisted in his hair, and another was wrapped around his torso in a near crushing grip, preventing him from moving much even as he tried desperately to get away. Tears spilled down his face as he continued to shout in agony, feeling sick as the smell of charred flesh hit his nose. Even after the rod was removed, Din could still feel its fiery burn, layers of his skin peeling away as the sigil on the side of his neck continued to sizzle.
When the pain subsided enough for Din to focus on his surroundings once more, he had been uncuffed and was curled up on his side, shaking and crying silently. Agony and shame coursed through him, his pride peeling away just like his burnt skin as he lay on the floor like every bit of the pathetic wreck he was. He could feel the Armorer and Paz hovering over him, but he was too tired to look up at them. Everything hurt, and he still felt so terribly exposed. All he wanted to do was go to sleep.
Against his better judgement, he let his eyes slip shut. He didn’t care what would happen to him now. He was no longer a Mandalorian. He was an aruetii, a naasade.
He didn’t have his kid anymore. He didn’t have his Creed anymore. He had nothing.
He was nothing.