Chapter Text
Luke likes to think that Naboo is a nice place to train Grogu.
It’s full of lush fields of grass, beautiful flowers in every hue, peaceful wildlife (including several species of frog, much to Grogu’s delight). As much as he knows the child loves it, they’ll be going back to Yavin once Leia finishes preparations for her wedding and finally goes through with marrying Han.
Leia, ever the perfectionist, has spent months meticulously planning every single detail of the event, from the pattern of lace in her dress to the amount of salt in every dish. She’s also spent too much time trying to get Han involved in the process as well, to no avail. Either way, she’s finishing up the last couple things, including the one she dreaded the most: the invitation list. As a senator, she’s expected to invite some notable political figures, so her first suggestion shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Luke.
They're both sitting at a table in a large hall where the reception is under preparations. Queen Sosha Soruna had very generously allowed Leia and Han to marry in the Royal Palace, since she was aware of the Skywalker family’s lineage and was thankful for their efforts in the war. Leia is hunched over a list of people the New Republic suggested she should invite, one hand in her dark brown hair, the other hand trailing a finger over the holoscreen as she quietly mumbles some yes’s, no’s, and some absolutely not’s, until her finger stops at a certain name. She quickly turns to Luke, with a mischievous grin on her face for reasons Luke can’t quite place.
“What about the Mand’alor? Do you think he would come?” Leia asked.
Luke blinks. He slumps back into his chair and looks up to the roof.
Ever since the New Republic pushed him into the role of Mand’alor, Grogu’s father’s visits became shorter. Luke appreciates that he makes time for his son nonetheless. For the supposed leader of a warrior people, he was always very quiet, only speaking when he felt necessary. But when he did speak to Luke, his words dripped with mockery. maybe it's because he’s a Jedi, or maybe it’s because Luke forgot to contact the man to let him know that he could visit Yavin to see Grogu anytime. He suspects it might be the latter.
Luke recalls one of the many battles of wit he’s had with him. The Mand’alor, through the voice modulator of his shiny silver helmet, had said to him:
“Aren’t you a jetii? Last time I checked, jetii never wore so much black.” Luke rolled his eyes. Secretly, he was thrilled at the statement. Although he loved physically fighting, there was nothing more entertaining than a verbal spar.
“I’m the last Jedi, I can do what I want.” He paused, quickly planning his next retort. “Aren’t you the Mand’alor?” Luke raised one eyebrow and grinned as he pointed at the Darksaber hanging from the man’s belt. “Last time I checked, you’re supposed to be good at using that.” The Mandalorian had let out a small huff, then unclasped the saber from his belt, and activated it. Luke’s eyes widened as he watched the odd weapon swallow the light around it, creating a never-ending abyss, as the light was spit back out at the edges with an unearthly white glow.
“Then teach me, jetii.” He teased. Luke smiled again as he activated his own lightsaber, obligingly teaching him a couple basic movements. After some time practicing parries and blocks, their strikes became more synchronised and intense. It didn’t matter how many times Luke tried to catch him off guard, His opponent was able to match him, blow for blow. And although Luke could tell he was inexperienced with a weapon of that caliber, the Mand’alor swung the saber around with a sort of casual finesse. Almost as if he anticipated every single one of Luke’s strikes, and prepared for them in advance. Luke found himself doing the same thing. The fight became less of a spar, and more of a dance.
They withdrew the blades and shook hands.
“Great job,” Luke drawled. “Maybe one day, you’ll be able to have a fair fight with a youngling.” The Mand’alor retaliated by giving him a playful shove.
Luke chuckles fondly at that memory. “Oh, he’ll definitely show up. That guy never gives up a chance to make fun of me.”
Leia laughs. “He’s not exactly in your good books, is he? That’s rare.”
“No, and if he was, I’d burn down my library.” Leia laughs harder.
“Alright, I’ll invite him. He can bring his crew along if wants to as well.” Leia concurred. Luke hums, and continues planning the seating arrangements, now taking in the four new guests into account: the Mand’alor, and three of his associates. He seemed fond of these people, and as much as he couldn’t stand the man in the beskar armor, he wouldn’t dare separate this group.
It’s three days before the wedding. Luke is sitting in a field on the outskirts of Theed, meditating with Grogu. He breathes in, listening to the sounds around him. The quiet babbling of the creek, the wind playing with the grass and his light brown tunic, the faraway sounds of peko-peko birds singing in the distance. Luke remembers Yoda’s teachings from all those years ago.
Life creates it, makes it grow.
His trance is broken when Grogu interrupts his thoughts with a squeal. Luke snaps his eyes open to look at his student. A thought is sent along their training bond.
Buir!
Luke looks up to see the familiar shape of the Mandalorian’s ship making its way to the landing pad in the city. He looks back at the little green child. A gentle breeze flicks around one of his big, pointy ears. Luke picks him up, and puts him in a cross-body satchel his father gave to Luke to carry him around. At first he thought it was an insult, as if he was insinuating Luke couldn't just pick him up with the force, but it turns out Grogu just really likes that bag. After making sure his padawan was comfortable on his hip, he made his way back to the city.
“Alright, Grogu. let’s go see your dad.” The little one coos happily as they walk through the fields.
The city center of Theed is almost always too much for Luke to handle. There’s always so much noise and color and emotion flowing through the Force, he doesn’t know how Leia does it all the time, between here and Chandrila. But it’s early in the morning, and all the shops are beginning to open, and there are much less people crowding the streets.
At the gates of the Royal Palace, Luke stopped in front of the gates, patiently waiting for the large doors to creak open. Once they did, he gave a quick nod to the guards before rushing in.
The large, ornate halls always seemed familiar to Luke. He knew every twist and turn, every alcove and arch, as if in some other life, he spent his childhood roaming these halls.
Eventually, he arrived at the landing pad of the palace, where he found exactly the people he was looking for: Leia, and, of course, the Mand’alor. Luke swings the satchel’s strap off his shoulder and sets it down carefully, letting Grogu waddle off to see his father. The man, who seemed to be engaged in a conversation with Leia, stopped talking and turned his attention to the oncoming sound of tiny footsteps, then runs to meet his child in the middle, before picking him up and holding him gently to his chest, caressing the thin hairs at the top of Grogu’s head. Luke joined them soon after. The Mand’alor’s helmet moves slowly up to look at him.
“Ner aaray or haar vi'dek jetii ,” he crowed. “Thought you’d be off on a mission.” Luke couldn’t see his face, but he could hear the smug grin laced in his deep voice, even past the tinny effects of his voice modulator.
“Mand’alor. Although I think I’d be within my rights to call you Buckethead,” Luke taunted back. “And how could this pain in the neck,” he gestures to himself, “ever be away when you’re here? Even courtesy could become painful in your presence.”
Luke is lucky his sister dragged him to some courses in Mando’a. She insisted it was for diplomacy’s sake, but this use was convenient too. His eyes quickly flick to Leia, who’s watching the fight go down in the way she watches two senators squabble over silly things. With pure joy in her eyes, that is.
The Mand’alor laughs. If he’s shocked that Luke understood him, he’s pretty good at hiding it. He doesn’t stop to think about the fact that the Mand’alor called him “ner jetii.”
One of his friends, a tall, strong woman Luke knows as Cara Dune, comes up behind him and slaps him on the back, making the Mand’alor stumble forward a little.
“You’re a good change of pace, Skywalker,” Cara laughed. “Every other person we meet either wants to fight for the throne or for his hand. He's never lost for the latter, of course. Says he's ‘too busy.’” The Mand'alor elbows her in the side, very obviously giving her a look to shut up behind the visor. She elbows him right back, temporarily knocking the wind out of him.
“Good! You’d make a horrible suitor.” Luke pauses to gauge the other’s reaction. They may squabble, but they let each other know if it gets too personal. He doesn’t seem like he has any problem with the statement. He steps closer into the Mand’alor’s personal space. Oddly enough, the Mand'alor doesn't make any attempts to move away. “I like to think I'm too busy for that kind of stuff, too. Right now, I’d rather hear a bantha get stuck in a sarlacc pit than have anyone confess to me.”
“You’d better keep that mindset, or else someone is gonna end up with his face all scratched up.”
“Although I’m sure getting your face scratched couldn’t make it look any worse.” Luke grinned. He can feel the Mand’alor narrow his eyes. He remains silent, planning his next comment.
“You squawk like a shriek-hawk when you talk.”
“I’d rather talk like a bird than a rancor, like you.” Luke shoots back.
The Mand’alor sighed. “I wish my ship moved as fast as your mouth does.” He looks down to his child, carefully adjusting one of his large green ears that was pressed to his father’s chestplate. Grogu looks up at his father with his wide brown eyes and quietly coos. “I’m done. For now. We have to get to our rooms.”
He gestures vaguely behind him, where Dune, a woman with a long woven braid, a deadly stare and a sniper gun strapped to her back, and another woman with fiery red hair and painted blue armor stand. If Luke had to guess, the other two women are Fennec and Bo-Katan. The Mand’alor often speaks of them in passing.
Sometimes he also speaks of another Mandalorian named Boba and Luke really hopes he’s not thinking of the same Boba, because that would imply some things that he doesn’t want to get into right now, especially around Han’s wedding.
Luke scoffs. “You always end the arguments like this; just say I win and go.” He moves away from the Mand’alor. The Force tips him off, whispering to Luke that he's more disappointed than he makes himself out to be. Luke doesn’t think too much about it.
“Is this little quarrel over?” The one in the blue armor asks, a bit annoyed.
“Come on,” Luke said, signaling the group to follow him. “I’ll show you all to your quarters.”
As night falls on Naboo, Luke leads each member of the group into their rooms until the last ones there are Leia, the Mand’alor, his child, fast asleep on his father’s shoulder, and himself. They stop at a door.
“This is it.” Leia declared.
The Mand’alor hesitantly opens the door and steps into the suite. He takes a look around, before turning to the two of them. There was something soft in his demeanor, something that Luke doesn’t really get to see under all the snide comments. He wishes he could see it more.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Senator.” He shuffles his feet a bit. “And you, jetii.”
Luke gives him a small, but sincere smile. “You know you can call me Luke, right? Thought we were past the point of formalities.”
He notices that the Mand’alor is taking a deep breath, as if he’s about to say something he feels forced to say in return.
“And you don’t have to tell me your name if you don’t want to,” Luke says, the words rushed out. The Mand’alor’s breath hitches ever so slightly that it barely registered in his modulator. If Luke paid more attention, he would have heard it.
“...Thank you,” he pauses. “Luke,” He adds, as an afterthought. It still doesn’t fail to make Luke smile just a little wider.
“Well, since we're on first name-basis now,” Leia begins, hands on her hips, “I insist you call me Leia. ‘Senator’ just reminds me of that loud, stuffy room they put all of us in.” The Mand’alor looks at Leia and nods.
“If you insist, Sena-” Leia glares at him. “....Leia.” Her face softens, seeming pleased with herself.
“Much better.” Leia turns to leave. “Come on, Luke. Let’s give him some space to relax.” Luke follows behind her, but quickly stops and turns to look back at the Mand’alor.
“Good night,” Luke grins. “Buckethead.” Then, he turns and catches up to Leia, leaving him to spend time with his child.
Navigating the hallways again, they walk in silence. Luke turns to Leia. He feels through their Force bond that she has something to say. He quietly lets her know back that she can talk to him.
“Are you sure that you’re not ready for a relationship?” Luke stills. Leia stops right next to him.
“It’s not that I’m not ready,” He states. “I’m too busy for that right now.” He’s been telling himself that for so long now, but at this point, he’s not sure if he even believes it. She nods.
“Whatever you say, Luke.”
Din keeps the door open. He watches the twins disappear into another hallway and out of sight. Letting out a sigh, he turns to see his room for the next couple days as the door closes behind him. He takes one more quick glance. Din sees that the door can lock from the inside. That’s useful, he thinks. More privacy. He takes advantage of this feature and immediately locks the door.
The room itself doesn’t look like it was made for the supposed king of a planet.
Din is standing in a living room area, with a small blue couch, meant to fit maybe two or three. On his right, there’s a small kitchenette, with a tea kettle and a caf machine. Din doesn’t care much for tea, but caf does fine in the mornings. In front of the kitchenette, there’s a small table with some chairs. To his left, there’s a door leading to his bedroom, and another door in the bedroom leads to what he assumes must be the ‘fresher. Stepping into the room, Din lays down Grogu onto the bed. He sits down next to him, until something in the corner of the room catches his eye.
In the corner of the room, right next to the wardrobe, there’s an armor stand. He huffs out a small laugh. Feeling calm, safe, and at peace. He starts removing pieces of his armor, standing back up every now and then to place them on the stand. Din goes through the mental checklist he’s gone through for years now.
greaves, cuisses.
He removes them with a sort of calmness that reminds him of how the jeti -- Luke explained his meditations. He remembers watching Grogu from afar, with his tiny legs crossed under that big tunic, his hands on his knees, eyes closed. Mimicking his teacher perfectly.
chestplate, vambraces.
“It’s when I feel most at peace with myself,” Luke had said. “It gives me time to think.” He wasn’t looking at Din. His gaze was looking off to someplace beyond Din’s shoulder, seemingly distracted.
helmet.
Din used to think that his armor was all he’d ever be. That he would only ever be some lonely bounty hunter traveling the galaxy with nothing but his ship and his weapons. He thought he would help take care of his covert for as much time as he could, until he died and his armor was repurposed by his people to sponsor more foundlings. And for a long time, he was happy with that. Din had no idea what he was signing up for when he took the job that led him to his child. He didn’t know he would be involved in the rebuilding of a planet, in mystical forces and laser swords.
But now, he really wouldn’t have it any other way.
Before placing it on the top of the armor stand, Din runs his fingers across the T-shaped visor, and down the sharp cheekbones of the helmet. He turns to look at Grogu, still asleep. He must be dreaming of catching and eating frogs, as he’s clawing at nothing in his sleep. Din smiles.
He turns back to open the wardrobe. There’s a collection of tunics and pants, all in similar shades of navy blue. However, there’s one outfit, concealed by a thin, white plastic tissue. Before he can get a better look at it, there’s a loud banging at the door. Din instinctively reaches for the nearest blaster, held on his waist.
“Hey, chrome-dome!” A voice says from behind the front door. Approaching the door, he hears a grunt and an “ow.” Din sighs and puts his blaster back. It’s just Han. “I mean, excuse me, Mand’alor.” Din assumes there must be someone else at the door forcing him to be more respectful. “Lando and I are throwing an impromptu bachelor party, if you’re interested in gracing us with your presence.” He hears another grunt, and another louder yelp of pain.
“I left something in your wardrobe, if you’d like to wear something different,” Another smoother, sly voice spoke, most likely this Lando. “Think about it, alright? It’ll be just me, Han, and Luke.” Then, Din hears the sounds of footsteps slowly getting quieter.
Din walks back to the wardrobe, deciding to finally get a good look at the covered outfit, the one he assumes Lando gave to him. He takes it off the hanger and removes the plastic tissue. Din lets out a heavy sigh at the sight of it.
It’s a (very nice, in Din’s own opinion) forest green cape. It’s a generous gift, so he dons the cape, finally deciding on going to said bachelor party.
After adjusting the buttons at the top of the cape and smoothing out bumps in his flight suit, Din briefly looks at his helmet. Ever since he broke his creed on that imperial cruiser, he’s been thinking about what his creed means. At first, when Grogu was returned to him, he decided it was only clan who he would show his face to, mainly because the kid wouldn’t stop trying to lift his helmet with the force.
Then, he had the displeasure of meeting some random senator who was briefly visiting Yavin while he was visiting Grogu, who realised the hilt on his belt was, in fact, the Darksaber, and immediately reported it to the New Republic. Now, as the government-recognized leader of a planet, Din decided that it would be worth showing his face to the people he trusts the most, mostly his associates.
Who does he trust? He trusts Leia, and Han, despite not having known him for long, Leia had to have decided to marry him for a reason. And although he doesn’t care to admit it, he trusts Luke.
Din picks up Grogu, deciding to make a quick stop before he heads out to the party.
He leaves his helmet behind.
Din stops at Cara’s door. She quickly opens it. At first, she looks a bit shocked to see Din helmetless, but quickly schools her expression.
“It’s late, Mando. What do you need?” She asks. Her eyes quickly flick to his neck. “And is that a new cape?”
“I need you to watch Grogu for a bit.” He says. His voice sounds a bit unfamiliar without the metallic tinge. “Solo invited me to a party.” Cara raises one of her eyebrows.
“Promise he won’t try to choke me out again?”
“He’ll be nice,” Din hummed. “Maybe.” Cara chuckles.
“Alright, hand him over,” She says, bringing her arms out. He gives Grogu, still a bit groggy, to Cara, before quietly nodding and turning to leave.
“Mando?” She calls out. Din turns back. “Have fun, ok?” She winks. “Relax. Find someone nice.”
“Still too busy for that stuff, Dune.” He chided, walking away.
“Whatever you say, Mando!”