Chapter Text
“Din!”
Luke lunges forward and the Force moves with him. It catches Din as he crumples in the grass, cushioning his fall. Luke lands on his knees next to the Mandalorian, mind racing, wondering where Din is hurt and why nobody noticed, why he didn’t notice.
“Talk to me,” he says. “What’s wrong? Where are you hurt? Can you hear me?”
Din doesn’t move or speak. Luke reaches for his neck immediately but he can’t feel anything through the thick fabric protecting it. He can’t check Din’s vital signs without removing the beskar and peeling away the layers. What does the Mandalorian creed allow? Surely their helmet and armor can be removed in an emergency like this. Or is it that only other Mandalorians can do this? Can Luke beg for forgiveness after he saves the Mand’alor?
He looks up at the Razor Crest’s opened hatch. Din said there are medpacs inside; it’ll only take seconds, a few minutes, to run into the ship to find one. It’ll only be a moment and Din is still breathing, Din is still alive. He won’t disappear when Luke comes back. He won’t die.
Luke bends down, listening to the ragged breathing. It sounds wet and wrong. He can guess what those battle droids did to Din and what the beskar hid from everyone. He slides his hands under Din’s head and right shoulder, thinking to turn him onto his side and keep his airway clear. The beskar helmet feels tacky and the neck seal is damp. Luke pulls his hands back and they’re stained red. His stomach lurches at the sight.
“Oh no. Don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to me now.”
He looks at the ramp again. How does he get Din onto the gunship? Luke reaches out with the Force but it slips out of his red hands. He can’t focus. His thoughts are everywhere, scattered and panicked. He grabs for his lightsaber at the sounds of voices and jetpacks descending from above into the clearing.
“Let go!” Cara drops from Sabine’s arm and lands on the ground with a grunt. She staggers over to Luke and Din. “What happened?”
“He’s unconscious. He’s bleeding out,” Luke says. “He said there are medpacs on the ship.”
“He needs more than that,” Paz says. He is still carrying the battle droid. “Dune, can you move him? Get him on the Razor Crest. Wren, Telat, we’re returning to Mandalore. Get ahead of us and comm Kryze. Tell her what happened and what we need. Jetii-”
“It’s Luke, and I’m coming with you.”
Paz hesitates. “What about your friends?”
“They have business to take care of. You need me more.”
“You’re not a medic,” Cara grunts while carefully pulling Din’s limp body over her shoulders.
“No, but I’m a Jedi. I can help.”
Paz still wavers but Cara nods. “Good enough for me. Let’s go.”
The Razor Crest’s ramp leads up to the ship’s cargo bay and what appears to be the weapons locker, sleeping quarters, and a vac tube. A ladder goes up to what is probably the gunship’s cockpit. Under the locker are crates of rations and other supplies, and Luke digs into them, searching for the fabled medpacs. Behind him, Cara carefully lowers Din onto the floor. Her shoulders and armor are smeared red, and she grimaces while grabbing an oil-stained rag to wipe off the worst of it.
Luke can hear Paz shouting commands to the other two Mandalorians. The large Mandalorian enters the gunship while the Fang starfighter takes off, and tosses the remains of the battle droid into the back of the bay. He goes to Din’s side and looks down at the Mand’alor, hands clenching and unclenching.
“What are you going to do, jetii? Can you heal him? Can you save him?”
“I can stabilize him,” Luke says while throwing food rations out of the second crate. “I’ve done it before. But if… if the mediscanner can’t read through beskar, then I can’t help him without removing his armor.”
He feels Paz’s gaze burning into the back of his head. The Mandalorian says slowly, darkly, “Our creed forbids us removing our helmets or having them removed in front of others. No living thing may see our face.”
“I won’t know where to stabilize him without the mediscanner to tell me. Look, he’s bleeding, his breathing is all wrong, and he’s unconscious. I don’t know what’s under the armor and he can’t tell me where it hurts.”
“What about your magic?”
Luke flinches. “The Force doesn’t work that way.” He finally finds a medpac and pulls it out. “I can… I can inject bacta to slow the bleeding. I can’t promise anything but if his helmet has to stay on-”
“No, take it off,” Cara says. Paz starts toward her but she narrows her eyes, stopping him in his tracks. “We need Djarin to live. The Shadow Collective led us here to kill him and I’m not letting them win.”
“Don’t lecture me,” Paz snaps back. He looks at the medpac in Luke’s hands. “Open it.”
The medpac was manufactured in the past year and its contents are untouched. It contains four bacta vials, a dispenser, bandages and tourniquets, bacta wipes, and a cheap mediscanner. Luke extracts two vials and inserts them into the handheld dispenser. He pushes past Cara and Paz to kneel down next to Din and press the nozzle to the Mand’alor’s left arm. The dispenser pushes through the fabric to dispense the bacta, and immediately Din’s breathing evens out.
“This grade of bacta is good for an emergency, but I don’t know how long it’ll last,” Luke says. “If it wears off before we reach Mandalore, things can go really bad really fast.”
Cara turns and grabs a ladder run. “We’re leaving now. It’s your call, Paz. He’s your brother and the Mand’alor. You decide.”
She climbs up to the cockpit while the ramp retracts and the cargo bay door slides shut. Paz looks down at Din’s prone form, hands curling so tightly that Luke can see dried blood flaking off of the gloves.
“She’s right,” Paz says gruffly. “Use every medpac on this ship. Use whatever you think will help. Do what you have to do. Whatever happens here, he has to live.”
Luke glances at the two remaining bacta vials in the opened pack. “I know, but this is just a crutch. It won’t actually heal him so if it wears off before we land-”
“Listen to me, Luke,” Paz says and the steel in his voice compels Luke to stand. The Mandalorian looms over him, visor pitch black in the poor lighting. The weight of his unseen gaze is suffocating. “Do what you have to do.”
He brushes past Luke and climbs up the ladder as well. The upper deck seals behind him, leaving Luke alone with Din. The Razor Crest vibrates and hums as the ship’s engines come on-line, and Luke staggers into the side of the hull as it lurches off the surface of Morak. He stumbles back to Din and kneels next to the Mandalorian’s head. He grabs the mediscanner, switches it on, and tries to run it over Din. The readings are inconclusive, just as Luke suspected would happen.
“Whatever happens here, he has to live.”
He looks over his shoulder at the ladder, heart quickening and thumping in his chest. Cara and Paz are the only other people on this gunship, and they sealed themselves away in the cockpit. They aren’t going to come back down here until they arrive at Sundari, trusting Luke to do whatever it takes to save Din’s life. They just won’t know what Luke will do.
Stars. What a terrible responsibility to be given. The only way Luke can help Din survive is to violate the creed he and Paz follow so faithfully, but the Mand’alor has to live. He has to live for his people, for Mandalore’s future, for the sake of a troubled galaxy, for-
For the Mandalorian sitting in the cockpit, willing to sacrifice his creed for his brother. For the child waiting for his father back home on Sundari. For the Jedi Knight who’d only just found his way back to the Mandalorian’s side.
“Whatever it takes,” Luke says out loud. His voice echoes around the bay as he loads the last two bacta vials into the injector and injects it into Din’s right arm.
He lurches over to the crates to find more medpacs, more vials to replenish the bacta coursing through Din’s veins. He still remembers the knapsack of supplies Din kept hidden in his office and knows some habits can’t break, that the Mandalorian is always ready for anything. There must be more packs on this gunship, hidden away for emergencies. Luke just has to dig into those secret spaces and-he pulls out another medpac from the bottom of the second crate. He opens it with frantic hands and swears when an unsecured vial drops out, smashing to pieces and splashing bacta on his stained boots.
He returns to Din’s side and crouches down. He listens to Din’s breathing and then reaches under the beskar chestplate. Magnets and other mechanisms release their hold on the armor and Luke moves it aside. He lays his hand on the sternum, palm and fingers spanning over Din’s chest. The hot pain he senses almost makes him retch. Things are broken underneath and the bacta is struggling to slow the bleeding. Why didn’t Din say anything? Did he think he could hold it together until he was back on Sundari?
Luke looks at the helmeted head, the pit in his stomach growing with dread.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “but I have to do this.”
He leans over and takes a deep breath, and then another to steady himself. He slides one hand under Din’s head and searches just under the rim of the helmet with the other to release the seal. He pulls the helmet off and sets it aside, and then looks down.
Luke hates what he sees. The beskar helmet is indestructible and formidable, hiding a more mortal and easily broken person. Dark wavy hair sticks to the bleeding wounds on Din’s forehead and skull. Swelling reddish purple bruises cover his face. His curving angular nose is broken, pushed to one side. Drying blood had been leaking from the nostrils and bright red smears the corner of his mouth. His breathing is still steady but Luke knows it’s only a matter of time before the bacta stops working and the agony sets in.
He shouldn’t see Din like this, broken and bruised and bleeding in the cargo bay of the Razor Crest, unaware and unable to have any say in his survival. They shouldn’t be in this situation at all. This isn’t how the Morak mission is supposed to end. This isn’t how Luke is supposed to return to Mandalore.
“I’m sorry,” Luke says again, and hopes Din can’t hear him.
He slides over and gently lifts Din’s head into his lap. He runs the mediscanner over the Mandalorian and his heart sinks at the readout. It warns him of severe trauma and bleeding under the skull and ribcage, and of the need for immediate medical attention. All Luke has are bacta vials, the mediscanner, and himself, and the bacta can’t mend everything. He draws in a deep breath and gently places his hands on either side of Din’s head, fingertips touching hot sticky skin. He closes his eyes and tries to clear his mind. He tries not to cloud it with thoughts about the fragile life between his fingertips, about the people above his head, about the straining hyperdrive on the old gunship hurtling through hyperspace to Mandalore. He grasps for the Force woven between them all, willing it to flow through him.
I am one with the Force, he starts thinking. The Force is with me. I am one with the Force.
The Force is with me.
Heat gathers at his fingertips as he focuses on slowing the cascading effects of the trauma. He has no training and is neither a doctor nor a healer, but he can stabilize Din until they reach Mandalore. He can hold Din in suspension until help arrives. He can give Din the chance that nobody else can.
A shift in the Razor Crest’s momentum draws Luke out of his meditative trance. Feeling returns to him and so does a heavy wave of exhaustion. He is utterly drained, head and hands heavy, and he struggles to open his eyes. He shakes his head, breathes deeply, and then looks down at Din. The Mandalorian is still unconscious but he breathes without strain and color is returning to his face. Luke grasps for the mediscanner and runs it over Din’s head. The readout tells him little but it doesn’t warn him of imminent death. That has to mean something.
He sets the mediscanner aside and reaches for the bacta wipes. He carefully cleans off as much of the dried blood as he can and then uses the Force to realign Din’s broken nose. The effort makes him sway in place and black dots his vision. He’s done all he can and needs to stop. Still, he slips his fingertips under the bloodstained neck seal to feel for a pulse. It beats light and fast, but all that matters to him is that it still beats. Din is still here.
A comm unit on the wall crackles and Paz says, “Ten minutes. A team is waiting for us at the dock.”
Luke smiles, grateful for Paz’s warning, and reaches for the beskar chestplate. He places it over the bloodstained flak jacket and the magnets lock the armor in. He then picks up the helmet and wipes away the blood and grime. He looks down at Din’s bared face and hesitates. Will he see it again, or will it be a secret that he’ll carry for the rest of his days? Does it matter if he never finds out the color of Din’s eyes or the sound of his voice sans vocoder? Luke sighs and positions the helmet to slide back over Din’s head.
Din stirs. Luke startles and nearly drops the helmet. He clutches it tightly, breath caught in his throat and heart racing in a panic. Din waking up is a good thing but Din waking up without his helmet isn’t. Luke’s only hope is that the Mandalorian can’t comprehend what he sees or feels. He watches the man’s eyelids flutter and then crack open. Dark, unfocused eyes stare up at Luke. Can Din even see him?
“Where… where is this?” Din mumbles. His voice is so cracked and dry, and Luke winces in sympathy. “What happened?”
“We’re on the Razor Crest,” Luke says slowly, watching him closely for any signs of trouble. “Sundari is less than ten minutes away. We’re almost home.”
“Oh. Good.” Din blinks slowly but his eyes don’t focus. He tilts his head like he’s listening for something. “Luke? You came back?”
Does he not remember what happened? Luke struggles to speak. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
How lucid is he? Luke grips the helmet tightly, thoughts tumbling over each other. He should tell Din about the helmet. He should say something about the transgression he committed without the Mandalorian’s permission. “Din, I have to tell you-”
Din closes his eyes and any conscious tension falls away. Luke grabs the mediscanner again and the only change is an elevated heart rate. The bacta is starting to wear off but that’s okay. They’re almost home. Luke forces himself to breathe and carefully eases the helmet back over Din’s head. He looks down at the visor and sees a distorted reflection of his face, a pale ghost with deep shadows under his watery blue eyes. Luke closes them and lets himself rest for a moment, just a moment, until the Razor Crest lands.
He startles when a heavy hand lands on his shoulder and grabs for his lightsaber.
“It’s me,” Cara says quickly. “How is he?”
Luke slowly lets go of it and rubs his eyes. “He’s… stable. Did we land?”
“We’re about to.” Her fingers tighten around Luke’s shoulder when the Razor Crest rocks around them and momentum stops. “We just did. Get ready.”
“For what?”
Without warning, the cargo bay door slides open and a medical team swarms them. A medic picks up the opened medpac and takes the mediscanner to read its history while others lift Din off the ground and away from Luke. They only notice that Luke is even there when he grabs a medic’s arm.
“He’s stabilized,” Luke says, “but the bacta is wearing off. You need to hurry.”
“We know,” the medic replies and shakes him off. “He is the Mand’alor.”
They carry Din off the Razor Crest, leaving Luke sitting and staring at the reddish stain on the floor. He looks up at the hiss of an upper deck door sliding open. Paz climbs down the ladder and looks at the mess the medical team left behind.
“I spoke with Kryze,” he says. “They’re expecting us at the hospital. You too, jetii.”
Luke sighs and slowly unfolds himself, wincing as his aching limbs protest. How long did he sit here? “Back to calling me ‘jetii’? I thought I told you-”
He stands and darkness crowds his vision. The ground tips away from his feet and Cara grabs his arm to keep him upright
“Whoa there. Dank farrik, they should’ve taken you, too-”
“No, they should focus on Din,” Luke says, mortified with his exhausted state. “I just need to rest. How long were we in hyperspace?”
“Four hours, maybe five. Why? What did you do?”
“Kept him alive,” he says faintly. No wonder he’s having trouble. He looks around the cargo bay, searching for water rations. His eyes fall on the ruined battle droid. “What did those droids do?”
“They tried to break him like they did Axe and Vali,” Cara says darkly. “Don’t worry about that thing. Can you walk?”
He nods. To prove his point, he goes to an overturned crate and searches for a water ration. He drains it in seconds, drops it back in the crate, and says, “I can walk.”
Paz shakes his head and leaves the Razor Crest. Luke follows Cara down the ramp, squinting at the afternoon sunlight while making sure to place one foot in front of the other. He aches everywhere with a bone-deep pain that begs for a thousand hours of sleep. He concentrates so hard on staying upright and walking that he almost misses the noise and presence of others on the spacedock, and only lifts his head at the sound of Bo-Katan’s voice.
The former Mand’alor stands near Sabine and Telat’s Fang starfighter with Koska, her mouth a grim red line while she stares at Axe’s blood-spattered helmet. Luke hasn’t seen her in person since the diplomatic mission five years ago; her red bob of hair is longer and there are more scars on her world-weary face. He wonders how much violence Mandalore had to overcome in the intervening years, and how close the Shadow Collective had come to destabilizing an increasingly powerful world.
Koska says something and Bo-Katan looks up. Her sharp eyes find Paz first, and then Cara, and then they finally land on Luke. Her gaze narrows and she hands Axe’s helmet to Koska before approaching him.
“Skywalker,” she says. “I heard you were on Morak investigating Black Sun.”
Stars, who told her? He straightens himself and lifts his chin. “I was.”
“You’re also the reason why the Mand’alor is still alive and they are able to return home.” Her expression sobers as she looks over her shoulder at the helmet in Telat’s hands. “You said Crimson Dawn was responsible for the ambush.”
“I did.” His hands twitch, wanting to check the pouch of datasticks on his belt. “I know you have questions.”
She stares at him expectantly but he doesn’t know what the protocol is now. He has RIB’s coveted intel but he’s on Mandalore, not Coruscant. Does Sinjir even know where he is? Does Mon?
“I’ve been working with the chancellor,” Luke adds, hoping she understands. “I need to… speak with her-”
Cara leans in. “We really need to go to the hospital.”
Bo-Katan nods sharply. “I’ll contact Chancellor Mothma. Dune, take Skywalker to the ambassador wing once the doctors release him. He can stay there while I sort out this mess.”
She returns to Koska, Sabine, and Telat while Cara pushes Luke to a nearby transport. She and Paz climb in with him and the transport takes off, carrying Luke back into the domed city. Luke looks out at Sundari; there are more buildings now, gleaming and new, and there are more people to occupy them. Here and there, patches of greenery bloom, small gardens filled with the same kind of trees that grow in the Mand’alor’s private garden.
Paz mutters something under his breath. He is looking down at one of these small gardens where three children chase each other around the young trees.
“The Ugnaught planned all of these,” the Mandalorian says, “but vod was the one who first proposed them. He claimed the idea came to him during those late night walks in his private garden.”
“Did he now,” Luke says softly.
Paz is now looking at him. Just as quietly, he says, “He gave you his first name.”
Luke freezes. When did he let it slip?
Paz chuckles, a gruff and amused sound. “You’re lucky only Dune and I were there to hear it. Take better care of it, jetii. He gave it to you for a reason.”
Luke clasps his hands around each other and squeezes tightly, maybe to ground himself or to hide his shame. “I know, and I will.”
“Good.” Paz sits back and heaves a long, low sigh. It turns into a hiss as he then presses a hand to his side, revealing the hurt he’s been hiding since Morak. “I hope you stick around. You seem useful.”
Luke smiles. “I plan to.”.
He continues watching Sundari pass by as the transport heads straight for the hospital, a tall gleaming structure sitting on a raised foundation. A small team waits in front of it and descends on Luke, Cara, and Paz as soon as the transport lands. The Mandalorians drag Luke inside and shove him into a room away from the others, either out of respect for his privacy or to seclude the offworlder. The doctors scan him from head to toe several times, shove a hydration pack into his hands, and inject him with bacta as a precaution. They tell him to wait and leave one by one, staring at the readout on their mediscanners and datapads.
“Wait,” he says to the last doctor to leave. “What about the Mand’alor? Any news?”
The doctor stares back at him. “What does it matter to you? His well-being is of concern to us, not you.’
“Your future is of concern to us as well,” he counters.
The doctor blinks and then looks down at their datapad. They tap the screen and scroll through the readouts. “He is in critical but stable condition. In time, he will recover. So will you, if you allow yourself to rest. Your vital signs will be of concern if you don’t.”
Someone comes up behind the doctor and Cara leans into the room. “He won’t find any rest here. I’m taking custody of him, doctor. Kryze’s orders.”
The doctor scowls at her. “You’re not leaving the hospital either-”
“I have bacta,” she says dismissively. She beckons to Luke. “Let’s go.”
Curious and more than a bit concerned about the rush to leave, Luke empties the hydration pack into his mouth and follows her outside to a waiting speeder. They climb inside and she sends it soaring away from the hospital and into traffic criss-crossing the city. There are far more speeders and transports moving around Sundari than Luke remembers, a sure sign of the progress the city has made since he was last here.
“I’ve missed out on a lot,” he hears himself say.
“Yeah, you did,” Cara replies. “I know Bo-Katan said to put you in the ambassador wing but someone else really wants to see you.”
Luke sits up, heart lurching. “Grogu?”
“Got a comm saying he’s asking for you. Don’t know how he found out but he knows. Do you want to see him?”
He stares at his dusty boots, thinking not of their conversation in Morak’s forest but of the one he had with the Council years ago and the promise he made to Yoda.
“Any thoughts of being his teacher, you will banish. Is this understood?”
“I do.”
That is a fine line he’ll have to walk once Grogu realizes he’ll keep coming back, but Luke will deal with that line when they get there. He does miss the child. It’ll be good to see him again.
“I do,” he says. “I missed him, too.”
The royal palace looms into view. Its appearance has changed little in five years but Luke notices more guards patrolling the grounds and more lit windows throughout the sprawling structure, suggesting more parts of the palace have reopened. He wonders what became of the cluttered, crowded room storing countless artifacts and spoils of war, and if Din had those spoils returned to their former owners like he did with the holocron.
Nobody questions Cara when she takes Luke inside the palace but not toward the ambassador wing. He glances around the palace halls and corridors as she goes in another direction. Mandalorian and imported art hang from the walls, bringing color and expression inside the palace. While armored guards continue patrolling the sprawling structure, there are many more government officials in civilian garb wandering about, clutching their datapads and whispering to each other while staring at Luke and Cara.
“Word’s spreading about the Morak mission,” Cara says tersely. “Another reason why we’re going to see the kid. No one’s going to eavesdrop on us there.”
The royal wing is guarded by a pair of beskar-clad Mandalorians and a code cylinder socket. Cara searches her belt and then the inside of her boots to find hers and jams it in to unlock a reinforced door. Luke follows her past the guards, knowing that this extra security measure wasn’t in place the last time he was here. They climb the stairs and go down a vaguely familiar hallway. The last time, Luke didn’t notice the doors lining it but now Cara points to one near the stairs and says that it is hers. It is positioned cleverly so that she can intercept would-be assassins before they realize she’s there.
“Did you have to?” Luke asks.
“Three years ago,” she replies. “Those white Mandalorians tried to get in and kidnap the kid.”
Luke stumbles. “What?”
“Djarin didn’t tell you? They had someone on the inside to let them into this wing, but the kid could tell something was wrong. Djarin said the Force warned him. I don’t know how that all works, but it did. Don’t worry, he didn’t actually see what we did to them.”
Her reassurances don’t convince him. “What happened to that Mandalorian faction? Are they still causing trouble now?”
“No. He gave them a chance to reform but they decided to go after his kid. He had them purged, permanently.”
At the end of the hall is a familiar pair of doors. There is another code cylinder socket but while Cara is pushing hers in, the doors slide open. Luke jumps back as a rare and well-maintained IG unit leans out, sensors on its conical head swiveling while scanning its surroundings.
“Cara Dune,” the droid says, its vocoder vibrating from many repairs. “You have returned.”
“Sure did,” she says, pocketing the cylinder. “How’s the kid?”
“He was upset until you sent word you were coming.” The tall droid turns to Luke. “You are not authorized to enter this residence.”
“He is absolutely authorized, IG,” Cara says. “Let him in.”
The droid doesn’t move and neither does Luke. Once he finds his voice, he asks, “Is the IG unit part of the new security protocols here?”
“No, he’s just visiting. Djarin called in a favor to make sure the kid was safe while we’re on Morak. This one used to be a bounty hunter. Shit happened and now his primary programming is to be a nurse, but he still knows how to kill.”
Luke blinks at the information. The factory that manufactured these IG-class droids was destroyed years ago, making the droids incredibly difficult to maintain, let alone tamper with. Who’d have the skills and patience to reprogram one this completely? “Who reprogrammed him?”
A gruff voice calls out from within the royal apartment. “I did. IG, let the Jedi in. He is the one the Mandalorian spoke of.”
The IG unit steps back to let Luke and Cara inside. The living area hasn’t changed since the last time he was here, but one of its occupants is new. He sees an elderly Ugnaught trundling out of the office and then a child cries out. An exuberant wave of emotions slam into Luke just before Grogu does, leaping over one of the couches and right at his chest. Startled, Luke catches him midair with the Force. The child pushes hard against him and falls right into his arms. Warm hands pat his face while Grogu burbles nonstop. His thoughts project loudly and clearly—happy to see Luke again, indignant that it took so long, but fearful over the reason why Din isn’t with him and Cara.
The feelings are overwhelming and Luke sits hard on the ground, holding the child tightly and letting them crash over his head. He holds back his own thoughts; Grogu doesn’t need anything more than reassurances right now.
“I missed you, too,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry I was away for so long.”
“Patoo,” Grogu replies. He sneezes from the dust and grime on Luke’s robes but doesn’t let go.
“Sorry. It’s been a few long days traveling with your father,” he says with a tired laugh while pulling back. He adjusts the collar of Grogu’s loose dark red robes, the same color of Din’s cape. “You’ve been practicing, just like he told me.”
Grogu murmurs in agreement. His wide dark eyes search Luke’s face and new questions impress on Luke’s mind, questions about those few long days and where Din is. Luke sighs, wondering what to say.
“He’s all right,” Luke says reassuringly. “The doctors are taking care of him. You’ll see him soon.”
Someone hums thoughtfully and Luke looks up at the elderly Ugnaught standing a few meters away. He looks more at home in a forge or at a workbench than in the Mand’alor’s residence; a pair of tinted goggles are strapped to his head, elbow-length leather gloves cover his hands, and all sorts of tools hang from his belts. Near the wall is an opened box of tools and parts. The Ugnaught appeared to have been building a hovering pram from scrap metal and beskar when he was interrupted.
“Hello there,” Luke says politely. “My name is Luke Skywalker-Naberrie. And you are?”
“You can call me Kuiil,” the Ugnaught says. “You are the Jedi Knight that the Mandalorian speaks of.”
His face warms. How did Din befriend this Ugnaught, and how close are they that Din would talk about him? But didn’t Din say that an Ugnaught had created the palace garden? “Are you the one who designed the garden here?”
Kuiil arches a thick gray eyebrow. “He has spoken of me. The garden was my handiwork but he first came to me with the idea. He continues to invite me to see what has become of Mandalore and what my recommendations are to improve these domed cities.”
Luke tilts his head, curious about the nature of their friendship. “How did you meet?”
Kuiil nods to Grogu, who settles into Luke’s lap with a pleased sound. “He came to Arvala-7 searching for a bounty. I saved him from an ambush and pointed him in the direction of said bounty. He returned with the child.”
Luke glances down at Grogu. He vaguely remembers a memory the child showed him of hiding in the dark and then being found by a Mandalorian and a droid. Both Grogu and Din suggested that Grogu had been a bounty, but neither could say why. Or perhaps Din went to Arvala-7 for someone else and instead rescued Grogu from wherever he was being held. Din never said what he was doing at the time and Grogu's memories have always been murky.
Perhaps it's better to let sleeping massiffs lie.
“I helped the Mandalorian repair his ship," Kuiil continues. "Months later, he found me again and asked if I could protect the child while he and Cara Dune saved Nevarro from pirates. I agreed. The third time he came to my farm, he was the leader of all Mandalorians and wanted me to build a garden for the child.
“That garden is more than a hideaway for this one. It is proof that Mandalore has the means to recover as long as one is patient, mindful, and knows how to seek help. Now there are gardens all over Sundari. I even have plans to build gardens in Keldabe. Unlike Arvala-7, this world was once green and I would like to help make it green again.”
Cara huffs, shaking her head while sitting on the arm of a nearby couch. “You’ve been busy.”
“It is good to have something to do with my hands, especially in my old age,” Kuiil replies. He points to the half-built pram. “I still need to complete this particular task before I leave. Perhaps you can show the Jedi where to rest while I continue my work.”
Luke wants to ask a few more questions of the Ugnaught, like how he came to be a moisture farmer on such a remote planet and what he did to reprogram the IG unit standing guard near the doorway, but he instead loudly stifles a yawn. Stars, he is tired. Right now, only sheer curiosity is keeping him awake while the warm weight of the child in his lap threatens to put him to sleep. He glances down at Grogu and notices he is also yawning and rubbing tired eyes
“He’d been awake for hours, anxious about his father’s return,” Kuiil says. “I’m surprised he didn’t fall asleep sooner.”
Grogu yawns loudly and then falls back against Luke, fast asleep. Luke gathers the child up and slowly gets to his feet. He feels a little light-headed and his eyes are heavy and dry. He looks at the couch, wondering if the Ugnaught wouldn’t mind if he slept out here.
“Skywalker,” Cara calls out to him. “Luke. Follow me.”
He nods to Kuiil and glances sideways at the IG unit while following Cara through the living area to a hallway lined with abstract artwork of Mandalorian warriors. There are a few closed doors here, presumably leading to other closets, studies, and even private quarters. Cara stops at one, rocks back on her heels, and then activates the door. It slides open to reveal guest quarters, or perhaps a spare room for the Mand’alor. Most of the furnishings are imported, including the bed and its bedding. The same can’t be said of the replica mythosaur skull on the wall, crudely carved by hand out of local stone, or the large frosted window to the right with delicate lattice work echoing the kar’ta. The crooked shelves are lined with various offworld trinkets including, to his delight, a little lumpy bantha made from real bantha wool. The room is large enough to fit a workbench and there is an alarming number of disassembled blasters and rifles hiding under thick cloth covering the bench. The two storage chests sitting against the wall across from the bed are also covered in cloth.
Luke hesitates at being in this occupied space but Cara merely waves at a doorway on the left side of the room. “Refresher’s over there. Feel free to wear whatever you find. I’ll come knocking if your chancellor calls.”
She leaves him at the doorway. Luke waits until he can’t hear her footsteps and then steps inside the room. He places Grogu on the bed and the child curls on a pillow, murmuring in his sleep. Luke sits on the edge of the bed and pulls off his dusty boots, then treads around the room to peer at the shelves of trinkets and lift a corner of the cloth on the workbench to boggle at the weapons. One of the disassembled rifles is a rusting slugthrower and Luke’s right arm twitches from the memory. He quickly covers it back up and then kneels before the storage chests. They are both full of clothes. Trusting Cara’s words, he searches through them for something clean to wear, then takes the dark gray clothes with him to the refresher. He washes off the dirt and dust and blood of Morak, mindful not to waste time and water on a world where both are precious, and pulls on the borrowed clothes. The trousers are a little long and the tunic’s shoulders are a little wide, but the fabric is soft and stretched at the elbows and knees. He tries not to think about the reasons why while sitting on the bed next to Grogu. He watches the child, soaking in the serenity of the moment, and then pulls his tired limbs into a meditative pose.
That is as far as he gets. His head and then his body tips to the side. A small warm hand brushes against his cheek and Luke smiles as he sinks into sleep.
Luke opens his eyes. Where is he? This isn’t his room at the Temple, or his room back home at Varykino. This isn’t a bunk on the Falcon, either. He blinks in the darkness and his eyes adjust to a massive solid shape hanging from the wall next to the bed, lit by diffused artificial light. He stares at it until the shape transforms into a mythosaur skull. His heart stutters. He’s on Mandalore.
He sits up and searches in the dark. How long has he been asleep? Last he remembers, there was daylight when he and Cara traveled to the royal palace. She said she’d wake him if Mon reached out to Bo-Katan. Perhaps word hasn’t reached Coruscant yet about the events that transpired on Morak. But Han and Chewbacca should’ve gotten back to Leia by now, and Luke knows she’d have gone straight to Mon with the news.
Or Mon could be waiting to hear from Luke himself. He sighs and makes to move off the bed, and then realizes that Grogu isn’t on the bed or anywhere in the room. He does hear faint laughter elsewhere in the royal apartment. Grogu must’ve woken first and left him alone to continue sleeping. Luke pulls his boots to him with the Force and shoves his sore feet in them, then grimaces while standing up. Every part of him aches terribly and he wishes for a deep tub with hot water to soak in. Instead, he stumbles to the refresher to splash water on his face, then grabs his belt and cinches it on while leaving the room.
He follows the murmuring voices and the low orange lights back to the living area. Cara and Kuiil sit on the couch, talking about some misadventure on Nevarro’s lava flats, while Grogu plays with the Ugnaught’s box of tools under the IG unit’s watchful sensors. Both Grogu and the droid notice Luke lingering at the doorway; Grogu squeals and hops over to Luke, using the Force to propel himself further than gravity allows, and the droid swivels all of his parts around to face him.
“You are awake,” the droid says. “Would you like some tea?”
Luke catches the child and looks at the droid curiously while Grogu settles against the crook of his left elbow. “You also make tea?”
“If you want tea,” the droid replies.
“Let us have some tea,” Kuiil says. He points to the couch across from him and Cara. “Sit. There is food on the tea table.”
Luke slowly sits, mindful of the soreness and aches in his body. Grogu scrambles into a comfortable position in his lap and looks at the covered tray on the tea table with interest. The IG unit appears seconds later with another tray laden with steaming mugs of tea.
When Luke leans over to investigate the food tray, the droid asks, “Would you like that warmed up for you? I can also bring you a fresh plate if you prefer it.”
“Ah. No. That’s okay.” He looks at the foodstuff on the tray. “How long was it out here?”
“A few hours,” Cara says. “Thought you’d be up sooner but you slept through a whole day and a half. Not even the kid could wake you up.”
“What?”
“Yeah.” Cara hesitates, looks at Grogu, and then forges on. “Whatever you did on the Razor Crest must’ve really wiped you out. Been two days since we landed. Yesterday, your chancellor sent Bo-Katan a transmission about you but I said you weren’t up for it. She told me to tell her as soon as you were.”
Luke presses fingertips to his temple. Stars. He’d really overdone it that day on the Razor Crest, didn’t he? But what else could he do? So many lives depended on the Mand’alor surviving the Morak mission. So many people needed Din to live, including him.
Silently, he eats through the tray of cold foodstuff. He barely tastes any of it but between that and the hot tea that the IG unit gave him, he starts feeling more normal.
“What else did I miss?” he asks while pushing the empty tray to the side.
“A debriefing,” Cara says. “Paz was released from the hospital hours ago so he had his meeting with Bo-Katan and the others. The doctors are still keeping Djarin in for observation but he’s awake and talking now. He should be back here tomorrow. Today? I don’t know what day it is-”
“Later today,” Kuiil says. “We have six hours until sunrise.”
“Just so you know, she’s pissed about the whole thing. She told Djarin not to go on this mission but he’d been wanting to get off Mandalore and get his hands dirty doing something for years. Can’t blame him. Trying to keep the peace between all of these Mandalorian factions while also presenting a united front to outsiders every day is exhausting. We’re just lucky Djarin has so many Outer Rim contacts willing to help him out.”
“I also disagreed with him,” Kuiil says. “But I could tell he was restless and needed time away from here. It was why he asked me and IG-11 to come here. I was due for another visit to inspect my work anyway and he trusted nobody else to watch the child while he and Cara Dune were off-world.”
Luke sits back against the couch, letting their words sink into his mind. He knew what they claimed Din was experiencing. It had driven Luke away from Coruscant and led him across the galaxy, searching for anything to fill in the aching void in his chest and distract his mind.
“He won’t be leaving Mandalore again anytime soon,” Cara says. “They’re not going to let him go.”
“As long as he has that sword, his place remains here,” Kuiil says, “and I will do my best to help him. I owe him that much.”
Luke tilts his head, curious about the Ugnaught’s declaration. “What did he do for you?”
“He brought peace to my valley and home. I prefer to live a quiet and honest life, but that is impossible when smugglers bring their business to Arvala-7. Whenever a bounty hunter came across my farm searching for those smugglers, I told them I would help them in exchange for peace and quiet. Only the Mandalorian kept his promise.”
“He always keeps his word,” Cara remarks. “It’s why I’m still here. I'm only leaving when he’s ready to go.”
Not for the first time does Luke wish he could’ve met the Din Djarin that Cara and Kuiil knew, the Mandalorian bounty hunter who roamed the Outer Rim and became the guardian of a lost Jedi youngling. He would have liked to meet the Mandalorian before he made the fateful decision to challenge Bo-Katan over Mandalore’s future. He saw glimpses of that person late at night in the garden and in Morak’s deep forests, and he wants time and a chance to know more. He hopes the galaxy will permit it.
Grogu yawns loudly, pulling him away from his thoughts. The child lays his head on Luke’s thigh and curls up on his side like a sleepy loth-cat in sunlight. Cara then smothers a yawn and sits forward to stretch her arms.
“Kid’s got the right idea,” she says and gets to her feet. “I’m going to bed and getting whatever sleep I can before Bo-Katan starts pestering me about you again. She really wants to hear from you about Morak.”
Luke groans. “I’m not saying anything without the chancellor present.”
“I’ll tell her that, too.” She pats Kuiil’s shoulder and walks around the couch to the door. “Take care of them for me, IG.”
“I will.”
The door seals shut behind her and IG-11 reassumes position beside it. Kuiil chuckles and shimmies off the couch onto his feet. “I suppose I should continue my work on that pram. Sleep wherever you like, Jedi. IG-11 will protect you while you rest.”
Luke hums and gently maneuvers himself around the sleeping child to lie down on his side, arm draped over Grogu as he softly snores. He watches the IG droid for a few minutes and then closes his eyes. When he blinks awake, golden light streams into the apartment. Grogu is still asleep under his arm and Cara is leaning against the other couch, muttering into a comlink. He slowly sits up, careful not to disturb the child, and she glances over her shoulder at him.
“He’s up,” she says into the comlink. “I’ll bring him over.” She switches it off and shoves it into her belt. “Wash your face. Bo-Katan wants to see you.”
He sighs and rubs his eyes while Grogu rolls into the spot where he’d been lying down and grumbles in his sleep.
Bo-Katan, Koska, and several civilian councilors are waiting for Luke in the Grand Salon when he enters a few hours later. The throne at the far end of the salon is empty and Bo-Katan stands on the steps to the dais, speaking with the councilors while Koska looks on. Everyone stops talking to stare at Luke when he walks in, head held high and the lightsaber clipped prominently on his belt. He is still wearing the borrowed clothes since his own were taken to be cleaned, and notices a few raised eyebrows at his attire.
The former Mand’alor watches him, eyes as sharp as a kitehawk’s, as he comes to stand at the far end of a long table in the middle of the chamber. She smiles. “Skywalker. I’m glad to see you’ve made a full recovery.”
He nods to her. “And I am grateful for your patience and hospitality.”
“You saved the Mand’alor and uncovered the Shadow Collective’s plot,” Bo-Katan says. “You’ve more than proven yourself to us.”
Koska and one of the councilors nod in agreement. The others continue watching him warily, clutching their datapads.
“But we are not just here to talk about what you did for us. Chancellor Mothma is waiting to discuss this Morak mission in detail. She claims you went to Morak to investigate their rhydonium refinery.”
“Yes, that is true,” he says. “The Jedi are also interested in the Shadow Collective’s return.”
“You want Maul,” Koska says. “So do we.”
“We can argue over who has the right to his head later,” Bo-Katan says sternly. She points to the seats lining the long table. The holoprojector in the middle of the table is blinking expectantly. “Let’s begin.”
Koska turns on the holoprojector while everyone takes their seats, Luke on one side of the table and the Mandalorians on the other. Mon’s face and shoulders hover above the device. Her image flickers and lags in increments as she greets everyone by name, inquires after the Mand’alor’s health, and begins explaining the Republic’s interest in the Shadow Collective. She is careful not to name RIB and only explains that she personally requested Luke’s help as Black Sun is less likely to notice a lone Jedi Knight tracing their activity through the known galaxy.
The meeting runs for over three hours as everyone takes turns questioning each other and Luke over the Shadow Collective, Black Sun, Morak, and Crimson Dawn. Luke walks them through his entire journey on Morak, starting with his encounter with the Black Sun occupiers and with Din’s party and ending with the reveal of Crimson Dawn’s experimental battle droids. The news of the droids’ resistance to conventional weapons and even lightsabers leaves everyone sitting in dreadful silence.
“But you were still able to defeat them,” Mon eventually says.
“Our numbers are too few,” Luke replies. “The Jedi Order is still recovering. The Shadow Collective has to know this.”
“We’ve only begun deconstructing the droid Vizsla brought back,” Bo-Katan says. “I know we’ll find weaknesses to exploit.”
“We’ll want that intel as well,” Mon says. “I’ll have my people reach out and establish a back channel for it. The Shadow Collective doesn’t need to know that we know. I’m certain the Mand’alor won’t object to this.”
The corner of Bo-Katan’s mouth twitches. “True, but I’ll still need to discuss it with him.”
“Of course.” To Luke, Mon says, “You’re needed back on Coruscant. A transport departed this morning for Sundari. It should arrive there within thirty hours.”
Luke’s heart sinks. His plan has always been to return to Coruscant but this unexpected detour to Mandalore makes him want to delay his meeting with Mon and Sinjir by another day or two. At least, he had hoped to stay long enough to see Din again and revisit the conversation they had about the future. But duty calls, so he nods and stays silent while Mon and Bo-Katan talk.
Finally, Mon ends the meeting and the holoprojector goes off-line. Bo-Katan sends the councilors out of the salon with their assignments. She passes a knowing look to Koska and the Nite Owl also leaves the chamber. She picks up a datapad and skims its contents but Luke notices her glancing surreptitiously at him.
“Speak your mind, Kryze,” Luke says.
She flinches but still seizes the moment. “I told Djarin not to lead this mission. Not because I was suspicious of the woman masquerading as a Republic Intelligence agent but because he was still needed here. His duty is to his people, wherever they are.”
“Don’t Mandalorians lead by example?”
“We are in no position to risk him going offworld right now. We’re still recovering from both the war and the infighting between factions. It took Djarin inviting the Republic here to establish a new trade agreement for us to realize we are stronger together. We are a unified people once more because he has been the Mand’alor all these years. Anyone could have led that mission to Morak. Not everyone can lead Mandalore.”
“He did both,” Luke says. “And he’s still alive.”
“Because you were there,” she replies. “Twice now you’ve waded into our affairs, our fights. I tell myself it’s just coincidence, but now it looks like a habit. Chancellor Mothma trusts you a great deal. Those of us who went to Morak see you favorably. Useful, even.”
Luke arches an eyebrow. “I can be… useful.”
“We should solve our own problems,” she says, “and not be indebted to anyone. But the Republic has resources that we don’t have, and its leaders respect our independence. Just remember that any decision we make is always with our people’s best interest in mind.”
“We Jedi understand that well.”
Bo-Katan switches off the datapad and tucks it under her arm. “And I hope this understanding extends to your relationship with the Mand’alor. His people come first, even if he still acts like a bounty hunter from the Outer Rim.”
Luke’s face burns and his eyelids twitch, but he still smiles. “Is that how you really see him?”
She pauses. “It is how he wishes to see himself, which is why he nearly died on Morak. I know what it means to rule. I’m sure you’re also familiar with it.”
“I am a Jedi Knight, Kryze. I’m guided by our code just as much as you’re guided by yours. I don’t expect or demand anything that will compromise him or myself.”
She tilts her head, considering him. “Dune is waiting for you outside. I’ll comm her when your transport enters Mandalorian space.”
The Alderaanian is just outside the Grand Salon, pacing back and forth under the two murals. As soon as she sees him, she perks up and marches right over.
“About time.” She peers inside the salon, then waves for Luke to follow. “Someone wants to see you.”
“Someone always wants to see me,” Luke says.
“You’re a wanted man.”
He knows where they’re going several turns before they reach the double doors leading to the private garden. IG-11 stands guard in front of it and steps aside to let them through without question or protest. Luke blinks rapidly at the golden sunlight filtering through the dome into the garden. After so many years away, he still recognizes the gentle sounds of rippling water pouring into a pond well-stocked with fish and frogs, of a recycled wind rustling through the thriving grove of bamboo and trees lining the walls of the garden. Grogu stands at the edge of the pond, laughing while lifting an unhappy coppery fish into the air. The Ugnaught Kuiil is there with him, sitting in the grass while putting the finishing touches to the pram he’s been building. He is also demonstrating its various functions to someone sitting on the ledge. Daylight gleams on their beskar helmet and armor. The Force, ever vibrant in this green place, thrums warmly around the Mand’alor and the people he loves.
Cara coughs and loudly clears her throat, interrupting their conversation. Grogu drops the fish back in the pond and waves to Luke while Din quickly turns around.
“Cara,” Din says. His helmeted head then turns to Luke. There is a soft sigh, a smile under the visor. “Luke.”
Grogu burbles excitedly and hops down from the ledge to greet Luke. He catches the child mid-leap and Grogu reaches up to pat his face in greeting.
“Now what have you been up to?” Luke asks.
The child chatters excitedly and his thoughts are just as quick, detailing a morning that is both terribly boring and full of anxiety, and then he points at his bemused father while nearly drowning Luke in the joy he felt when Din finally came home. A frisson of worry ripples from the child, however; his father insists that he is fine—to Grogu, to Cara, to Kuiil and IG-11, to Paz, to the doctors—but he is so slow and careful and still in pain-
Luke looks up at Din with a frown. “Are you sure the doctors didn’t release you too early?”
“What?” Cara says while the Mand’alor mutters, “Dank farrik.”
Grogu keeps rambling and Din realizes what his child has been saying. “They said I can leave but I need to take it slow for a while. Bacta can only do so much.”
“They didn’t put you in a bacta tank?”
“Don’t use them,” Din replies flatly. “It’s fine. I’ve had worse.”
“No, you haven’t,” Cara says.
Din stares at her and the Alderaanian sighs. “Fine, fine. I’m leaving now.” Then, “I’m trusting you to stop him if he tries anything, Skywalker.”
“I’m the Mand’alor,” Din protests.
“That’s not how this works and you know it,” Cara replies. “If anything comes up, you’ll be the first to know.”
She leaves the garden. Grogu murmurs and wiggles out of Luke’s arms onto the ground. He bounds over to the pond and pulls himself up on the ledge next to his father, then looks expectantly at the empty space next to him. Luke cautiously approaches.
“May I?” he asks.
Din leans over to say something to Kuiil, who chuckles and pats the cover of the beskar-reinforced pram before getting to his feet. He takes out a remote and presses a button; the pram lifts off the grass and hovers next to the Ugnaught.
“It requires some more fine-tuning,” Kuiil says, pitching his gruff voice loudly enough for Luke to hear. “Let me work on that for now.”
“Thank you,” Din says.
Luke watches the Ugnaught lead the pram out of the garden, then goes to sit on the ledge. He glances over his shoulder at the pond with its shimmering fish and greenery, at a blue frog peeking above water with its one eye, and then turns to Din and Grogu. Grogu is nestling into the crook of Din’s left arm like he has always belonged there, and reaches for Din’s hand. Din looks down at the child for a long time, fingers curling around Grogu to keep him close. Warmth and safety radiate from them both, drawing Luke in.
“So,” Luke says quietly. “How are you?”
Din exhales slowly, carefully. “I could be better. I’ve had my head bashed in, tossed around, ambushed by rival bounty hunters, and I usually got away… but what happened on Morak made me realize I’m not who I was six years ago. Not that I’m getting too old-”
“Of course not.”
“-but it made me remember that my life isn’t only about bounty hunting and Grogu now. I have others to protect and my people to lead. My life isn’t so… disposable anymore. I can’t be as reckless as I once was. I should’ve realized it sooner. Instead, I nearly paid for it with my life.”
Grogu hiccups and wraps his hands tightly around Din’s thumb and fingers.
“You didn’t know,” Luke says. “None of us knew what was really happening on Morak.”
“This isn’t just about Morak. Paz told me what you did for me. You held me together for almost five hours with the Force. I can’t imagine what that did to you. I’m grateful but I should’ve never put you in that position in the first place-”
“Hey, no. Listen. You were doing what you thought was right. I know every decision you made was for Grogu, your family and friends, your people. That’s enough reason for me to try.”
“And being the Mand’alor has nothing to do with it?”
Luke smiles bitterly, remembering his conversation with Bo-Katan earlier today. “It helps, but we don’t… make these decisions just for political reasons or for the good of the galaxy. We’re here to keep the peace, whether it’s for a world fighting to be free, the Republic and its allies, or a person trying to return home. Sometimes that is enough. Helping you return home to Grogu is enough.”
Din huffs while looking out at the garden. “I remember.”
“This is the way of the Jedi,” Luke says. “Master Yoda always said that we never stop learning about ourselves, the galaxy, the Force. The Force will guide us but it is up to us to decide what to do when the moment comes. I think it brought me to Morak because it knew that was where I was needed the most.”
“So,” Din slowly says, “all of this happened because of the Force?”
“Stars, no. That’s not how the Force works. I still had to choose whether to see you through the Morak mission or leave. I’m glad I stayed.”
The Mandalorian exhales, audible and shaking. “So am I.” Then, “So what happens if the Force needs you to go somewhere else?”
“Then I’ll go,” Luke says. “And then I’ll come back. I said I will, for as long as you’ll have me.” He looks at Grogu. “Will that be all right with you?”
Grogu makes a show of thinking about it but his thoughts are loud and clear. He nods and tilts his head up at Din with an expectant expression. He murmurs in a very particular tone and the Mandalorian huffs, shaking his head while moving the child onto the ledge and getting half-way up to drag out a crate half-hidden in the reeds.
“Kid wanted to eat out here in the garden,” Din says while placing a covered tray on the ledge. “Do you… want to stay?”
He bites back his first response. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“I don’t think you will.” Din looks at Grogu. “Kid, what do you think?”
Grogu’s face scrunches up in concentration while lifting a vacuum flask out of the crate. His right ear flicks in acknowledgement while he sets it on the duracrete slab and starts unscrewing the top. A rich and spicy smell wafts from the unsealed flask, and Grogu flings the cap across the garden in his eagerness to eat.
“I think he’s hungry,” Luke says.
Din laughs softly while passing a flask to Luke. “When is he not?”
They eat and talk for the next hour, the next two hours, Luke isn’t sure how much time actually passes. He comments on the spices in Mandalorian food being very similar to Aunt Beru’s cooking and the food stalls in Mos Eisley on Tatooine, which leads to the revelation that Din was the bounty hunter mentioned in a HoloNet briefing about a krayt dragon slaying on the outskirts of Freetown. Luke chokes on a mouthful of pog soup when the Mandalorian casually says he blew up the dragon from inside its stomach using a bantha strapped with mining charges. After he catches his breath, he asks if Din found any krayt pearls.
“The Tuskens found several while cutting up the dragon,” Din says. “They gave me and Freetown one pearl each, and kept the rest for themselves.”
“Do you still have it? I saw one on display at a gallery in Coruscant. Size of my palm and too costly to think about. I still don’t know where that gallery found one.”
He remembers staring at the round lustrous stone inside a display case with Leia while their mother and Mon spoke with the gallery owner. It wasn’t just beautiful to look at but also strangely magnetic; it hummed in its core but only he and Leia heard it. Years later, he learned that these rare pearls were created when krayt dragons swallowed slivers of kyber crystals, which sat in their stomachs and slowly turned into pearls over the years.
“I’ve read stories where dragon pearls were used to create lightsabers,” he adds. “At the core of every pearl is a kyber crystal, just like the one that powers my lightsaber and the Darksaber. I’ve always wanted to find a lightsaber with it but haven’t had any luck.”
Din tilts his head, thinking. “Is that why the kid keeps trying to play with mine?”
“Maybe.”
The Mandalorian huffs with laughter. He then turns to the side to drink from his tin cup, lifting his helmet up just enough to swallow some. Grogu murmurs while drinking from his own cup, making Din chuckle.
“Just like old times, kid,” he says softly, with the wistfulness of someone recalling another time and another life.
Luke wants to ask about those old times, to learn more about the months Din and Grogu traveled together after Arvala-7, but he decides that can wait for another time. It’ll be something to talk about when he comes back. Instead, they finish eating and watch Grogu bounce around the garden for a while. The child had become incredibly adept at using the Force to propel himself up great heights; he startles Luke by leaping to the top of a towering bamboo stalk and hanging on. Luke gets to his feet but Din just watches, clearly used to Grogu’s antics. The child waves to them, pretends to survey his surroundings with a serious expression, and then slides back down onto a small pile of leaves. They float in the air and don’t come back down, held aloft by the Force.
“He’s a handful,” Luke observes, making Din laugh. “And a fast learner. And smarter than he looks. By this time, the Temple would’ve started him on training remotes so that he can practice using the Force to see his surroundings.”
Din’s head tilts. “What do you mean?”
“When Leia and I started on them, our minders would shield our eyes so that we couldn’t see. We’d have to use the Force to practice dodging or deflecting the droids’ blasters. These were low-energy blasters. They only stung if you got hit. Leia caught on faster but I was better at it. Don’t tell her that.”
He could hear Din smile. “I give you my word.”
They watch Grogu in silence for a little longer, and then Din shifts, leaning closer to Luke to ask, “How old were you when you started on them?”
Stars, how long has it been? He only remembers overhearing an argument between Obi-Wan and another Jedi Master; Obi-Wan insisted that he and Leia don’t start for a little longer, just a little longer, and the other master relented. “Maybe when I was nine years, ten? We were children.”
“That’s when I started training,” Din says. “No blindfolds, though. We were given child-sized armor and projectiles filled with paint. Whoever had the least paint on them won, but we were all expected to be covered in it. If you had none, then you were hiding. You’d never stop those training exercises until you knew how to take a hit and how to keep going.”
He nods to Grogu, who is now lying sprawled on top of the scattered leaves and floating more around his head. “He’ll be doing that some day, but not yet. Let him play like this for a little longer. Let him… be a child for a little longer.”
As softly as he says this, there is such steel in his voice, a singular determination to give Grogu back what he lost. Luke has to look away, heart thumping from the ferocity of Din’s devotion to his son.
“I agree,” he says. “The war had taken away enough from us. The training can wait a while. Everything can wait a while.”
The only way one tells time in the garden is to watch the sky and nobody cares to look up. When Cara returns to the garden, the streaks of clouds overhead are tinged with afternoon gold and Grogu is starting to yawn profusely. He still perks up when the Alderaanian appears and waves before bouncing over to her.
“Hey, kid,” she says. She nods to Luke and then looks at Din as the Mand’alor rises to his feet. “Just here to tell Skywalker that his transport is expected to dock tomorrow morning. Did… did he not tell you?”
Din stares at Luke. “No.”
“I was going to,” he sighs. “The chancellor needs to see me about the Morak mission. I can’t refuse her.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Din says. “I still need to see Bo-Katan about-”
“How about,” Cara says, crouching down to look directly at Grogu, “I take the kid off of your hands for a while? Rest of the family wants to see him. Oh, and Kuiil wants me to tell you that the pram is ready and that Lady Ursa invited him and IG to Krownest. They won’t be back for a few days.”
“Lady Ursa? What does she want from him?”
“She wanted his opinions on things. That’s all he said.” Cara holds her hand out to Grogu. “What do you say, kid? Want to go see your ba’vodu for the rest of the day?”
Grogu reaches for her but also looks up at Din with a questioning sound. Din hesitates, not wanting to be away from the child.
“You need a break, Din,” Cara says gently, the first time Luke has heard her say his first name. “Take it. Especially while he’s still around.”
Din finally nods and Grogu lets Cara pick him up. She carries him out of the garden, nodding along while the child babbles about what he did with the Force today. Luke watches until they disappear inside the palace, but quickly turns when he hears a soft, pained sound. Din slowly sits back down on the pond’s edge, touching his side gingerly while trying to control his breathing.
Luke sighs loudly. “So you weren’t supposed to leave the hospital yet.”
“No,” Din admits. “But I missed him. He makes things easier to get through. But maybe… not this. They said I should’ve died, either at the refinery or on the way back home. Nothing in the medpac could’ve kept me alive for so long. That was the Force, wasn’t it? You used the Force to stop me from dying.”
Luke swallows hard. He remembers the blood on his hands, the pain of the broken body in front of him, the dire readouts on the mediscanner, the fear of losing someone so close to him. He remembers apologizing again and again while removing the helmet so that he could stop the bleeding.
Din startles when Luke reaches for his hand but doesn’t pull away. He looks down at their joined hands and then at Luke, head tilted in question.
“It was,” Luke says. He swallows hard and pushes on. “There’s something I need to tell you. You were bleeding under the helmet so I knew you’d been hit in the head. You know what could happen if it’s left alone. But the mediscanner can’t read through beskar, and Paz told me to do whatever I needed to do to keep you alive. He stayed in the cockpit with Cara. He has no idea what I did.”
Is it a good sign that Din is holding his hand so tightly?
“I’m sorry,” he continues. “I had no choice. I can heal with the Force but I’m no medic. I need guidance to heal and the mediscanner couldn’t give me any until I… I removed your helmet.”
Din is silent but he doesn’t pull away. He looks at the pond, perhaps at the water lapping against the duracrete edge or at the dark shapes of fish and frogs under the surface. Luke waits, breath trapped in his chest, waiting for a reaction, a sign.
“Nobody else knows?” Din asks.
“I think Paz suspects it but he said nothing.”
“He never will. Like you said, he wasn’t even there,” the Mandalorian says. “If there was no other way, then you did what you had to do. We have our ways of living by the Resol’nare, but nobody is exiled for trying to save a life. But thank you for telling me. I… I remember hearing your voice and it was so clear, like there was nothing to filter it. I’d wondered about it. Now I know.”
He finally lets go but doesn’t pull the rest of himself away. He seems to lean closer instead, studying Luke behind the visor.
“Will you stay?” Din asks.
Didn’t he just say that he needed to leave tomorrow? “I wish I could, but I’m needed at Coruscant and-”
Din shakes his head. “No, I mean… tonight, before you go.”
The bottom drops right out of Luke’s stomach and he flushes hotly. Stars, he hopes he just heard it wrong. Din can’t seriously be asking him… that. “Are you sure about that?”
The Mandalorian tilts his head. “What are you talking about-oh. Dank farrik, no, I mean… I probably shouldn’t be doing anything anyway. I just don’t know how soon we’ll see each other again so I want to spend whatever time we have left together. It doesn’t matter how.”
It could be weeks before they cross paths again. It could be months. After five years adrift from each other, Luke will take whatever time they have now and every time they meet again in the future. He smiles. “I’ll stay.”
Din laughs nervously and gets to his feet. He sets the crate of empty flasks and trays aside and goes searching through the thick rushes on the other side of the pond. Luke watches curiously and arches an eyebrow when Din returns with his beskar jetpack.
“I’m not walking back to my quarters,” is Din’s explanation. “I taught Grogu to use his Force powers to move things from the balcony down to the garden and back.”
Luke laughs while Din pulls his cape to the side to attach the jetpack. “No wonder Bo-Katan always looks like she bit something sour when she talks about you.”
“Don’t tell Cara about this either, or she’ll confiscate the jetpack. I did give her the authority. I should be glad she never takes advantage of it.” Din tucks the crate under an arm and holds his hand out to Luke. “I’m not supposed to fly for a few weeks. Don’t tell anyone.”
Luke thinks he can get used to flying, to the stomach-dropping momentum of the jetpack propelling them up into the sky, and the sensation of suspension as gravity fails to pull them back down. They’re only in the air for a few seconds, half a minute at most. In no time at all, they’re on the balcony of the Mand’alor’s study and the jetpack is silent. Din stumbles on his second step and Luke holds him up while they enter the study.
The room changed little from the last time Luke was here, though he couldn’t remember the details if anyone asked. Datapads and flimsi scrolls still cover the crescent desk but Luke notices a holocron sitting next to small wood carvings of Tatooine’s wildlife. More paintings and tapestries cover the walls. Off to one side is Kuiil’s hovering pram. The remote is on the desk next to a hand-carved krayt dragon.
“I want Grogu to come with me whenever I visit other cities on Mandalore and Concordia,” Din says while walking to the desk. He sets the crate aside and leans against the edge of the desk, taking careful breaths. “The pram is… for ease and for protection. Dank farrik.”
Luke moves the crate elsewhere and steps close to the Mandalorian, watching carefully as Din leans forward, gripping his thighs tightly while trying to stay upright and grounded.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Light-headed,” Din says. “It’ll pass.”
“Is this going to be a habit?” Luke starts opening drawers and searching for secret compartments.
“Bottom drawer. There’s a false back.” Din huffs while Luke immediately finds a cache of medpacs and food rations. “Bounty hunting, it’s complicated… and lonely. I learned which punches I could take that I could walk away from. Helps if the bounty is sentient.’
“And when it’s not?”
“Then you need a lot of luck, and a lot of medpacs within arm’s reach.” Din taps the signet on his pauldron. “After I found Grogu on Arvala-7, I returned to my ship only to find that a group of Jawas took it apart thinking it was abandoned. They agreed to give everything back if I brought them a mudhorn egg. I didn’t trust them to not steal Grogu away, so I brought the kid with me.”
Many of Grogu’s memories and worries suddenly make sense.
“I didn’t have beskar armor back then so the mudhorn made short work of it, and me. My rifle jammed, I lost my blaster, and all I had left was a vibroknife. The mudhorn charged but the kid… now I know that what he did was use the Force. Back then, I just knew that he stopped the mudhorn from trampling me. He held it in place long enough for me to kill it. Had a headache for a week and couldn’t breathe right for longer, but I got past that.”
What Din doesn’t say is that he either had no medpacs or not enough bacta to treat his wounds. It is a far cry from his current position and access to medical supplies, yet he still makes a habit of hiding medpacs in the places he considers to be home. It would be better if he remained at the hospital under observation, but a medpac is better than having nothing at all. Luke silently inserts a bacta vial into the dispenser while Din watches.
“You could try taking better care of yourself,” he says while pressing the nozzle to Din’s arm and injecting the bacta. “At least remember to use your medpacs.”
Din nods. He then tilts his chin up and leans in, pressing his helmeted forehead to Luke’s. The cool beskar is such a stark contrast to the heat in Luke’s face. His breath fogs the visor as he leans into the embrace, dropping the dispenser on the table while Din takes him by the arms and pulls him in close.
“I still forget I don’t have to fight for every credit anymore,” Din whispers. “Thank you.”
Luke can tell the day is catching up to the Mandalorian. He is slower to react and slower to move. The bacta helps him stay upright and breathing easily as he and Luke walk through the very quiet living area. They’re the only ones in the whole apartment, meaning all Luke can focus on is all the ways that Din isn’t okay.
“You need rest,” Luke decides. “Come on. Where do you need to go?”
Din points him down the same corridor that Cara did and stops him at the guest room that Cara put him in. The Mandalorian stares at the cleaned and pressed folded robes on the bed and doesn’t tell Luke to go elsewhere in the apartment.
“You’ve been staying here?” Din asks while entering the room.
“Cara put me here,” Luke replies. He notices Din twitch and shake his head, and then realizes what the Alderaanian did. “This is your room?”
“Yes.” Din turns to him and then visibly pauses. “Those are mine.”
Luke glances down at himself and realizes why the civilian councilors were giving him the strangest looks. “Stars. I hope nobody takes it the wrong way. Or puts it on the HoloNet.”
Din laughs lowly while moving further inside. He detaches the jetpack and sets it on top of one of the storage chests, then releases his vambraces. Luke realizes what is happening around the time that Din sits on the bed to more easily remove his knee and thigh guards. Luke shuts the door and approaches the Mandalorian.
“Do you need help? With anything?”
Din considers it while unhooking the bandolier from his belt. “No. I can manage this.”
Luke sits back on his heels, watching Din slowly and meticulously remove every piece of armor and outer layer, and place them on the workbench and in storage chests. He raises an eyebrow when Din unclips the Darksaber and sets it on the workbench next to the parts of a disruptor sniper rifle, treating it like any other weapon. He drapes his cape over the workbench, hiding it, and returns to the bed. He sits and looks down at himself. Under all the bulk and layers of protection, Din is a lean man with broad shoulders that seem to permanently sag with the weight of his obligations. He looks like what Luke imagines a bounty hunter to be, except that under the casual confidence and armor is a very tired person.
“I used to sleep in my armor when I lived on the Razor Crest,” Din says while slowly peeling off his gloves and revealing scarred hands. “Here… as long as a knife is under my pillow and the blaster is within arm’s reach, I can take everything off.”
“And your helmet?” Luke asks. “Does it stay on?”
Din doesn’t answer right away. He pulls off his dusty boots first and sets them aside before looking up at Luke. The beskar gleams in the afternoon light, almost like a crown of deep gold.
“Outside of certain… circumstances, Grogu’s been the only one who sees my face,” the Mandalorian says slowly, almost reluctantly. “And even then, I try to wait until he’s asleep before I remove it. This is how I was raised so I don’t… remove it in front of any other living being. Not every Mandalorian will say this but to those of us who were raised and trained to fight, the beskar is like our skin. This, beskar and all, is who we are. There’s no need to see what we look like under it.
“But, you’ve seen my face.”
“Not by choice,” Luke says. “I would’ve asked you if you were awake. You weren’t, so I never saw it.”
“I’m awake now.”
Luke swallows hard. “Din.”
“I… I want to do this.” He slowly raises his hand to his helmet and releases the seal. There is a hiss and then Din slowly lifts the helmet away. No vocoder filters his voice when he says, voice trembling and vulnerable, “I want you to see under the beskar, too.”
The face Luke sees is so different from the one he remembers. The bruises have faded from Din’s face but the shadows under his warm eyes are deep with exhaustion. There is no blood, no swelling, no other signs of what Din endured days earlier, but the ordeal is still etched in the lines on his forehead and at the corner of his eyes, painted in the sallow tone of his skin, and heavy in his limp dark hair.
Luke reaches out before he can think to ask, lightly touching the traces of a bruise on Din’s cheek and trailing fingertips upward to brush hair aside to see no more evidence of horrors. Din closes his eyes and leans into Luke’s hand with a long, low exhale.
“I see you,” Luke says softly. He leans over and presses his forehead to Din’s. “Thank you.”
Din tilts his head up and kisses Luke. Unlike in the darkness of Morak’s forest, there is no desperation, no pressing need; there is sunlight and warmth, and there is time. They kiss slowly, languorously, taking every chance to learn something new about each other. Luke follows Din into bed and they curl up around each other, trading kisses and touches until the toll of the day, of the past several days, finally catches up to them both. Din presses his face to Luke’s shoulder and mumbles that maybe he shouldn’t have escaped the hospital so quickly, though that would’ve meant not seeing Luke leave for Coruscant.
“I’d have waited another day,” Luke says. He can’t keep his eyes open. His mouth is pleasantly numb, and he is warm and tingly all over. The room blurs and drowns in afternoon gold and dust motes as he pulls Din close.
They drift off to sleep, oblivious to the rest of the world, until morning.
Should Luke even be surprised that the transport picking him up from Sundari is an old Corellian freighter piloted by a Corellian and a Wookiee? He watches with an exasperated smile as the Falcon descends from the sky onto the spaceport, knowing exactly who sent Han and Chewbacca.
Someone behind him mutters, “Who’s piloting that piece of junk?”
He stifles his laughter. At the same time, he wants to laugh if only to loosen the knot in his chest. He glances sideways at Din and Grogu, who’s sitting in his new hovering pram and looking at the Falcon with utmost curiosity, and wishes the chancellor waited a day before summoning him back to Coruscant. Din turns his head over so slightly, returning the look, and Luke touches the back of his hand.
The ramp lowers and the Force ripples, reaching for Luke before he realizes who’s actually onboard. His heart leaps as Leia descends it, her dark eyes sweeping over the gathered Mandalorians to focus solely on him. She looks to have braided and pinned her hair just minutes ago and she is even dressed like a Knight, her robes creamy white under a hastily pinned gray cape. Even with the Mand’alor present, she throws decorum to the wind and runs across the dock to her brother.
“Luke!” she exclaims, enveloping him in a hug. “Han told me what happened. I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“So am I,” Luke replies. He sees Han and Chewbacca standing at the bottom of the ramp, waving awkwardly to anyone they recognize. They both look like they hadn’t slept in days. “Don’t tell me you had them turn the Falcon around and come here right after Morak.”
“They volunteered. Mon told me everything. I-” She suddenly realizes that Din is standing next to him and lets go of Luke to straighten herself. “Mand’alor. I apologize for not greeting you sooner-”
Din nods politely. “I understand. He is your brother.”
“I… heard what happened. I’m glad to see your recovery is going well.” She looks around at their audience. “I assume Lady Bo-Katan is busy?”
“She left hours earlier for Krownest. With everything that transpired on Morak, we need to review our defense systems.”
“You won’t be alone,” Leia tells him confidently. Her gaze then flicks down to Grogu, who stares up at her with wide eyes and perked ears, and her smile both widens and softens with delight. “Hello, Grogu. I hope you’ve been good lately?”
Din huffs, trying not to laugh, while Grogu coos and professes he has been very good with his lessons. Luke’s brow furrows. Did Leia meet with Grogu during the years she visited Sundari?
I did, she says. He needed guidance and I gave it. Don’t blame yourself.
I’m not. And, thank you.
She turns back to Din. “We really need to be going. I appreciate the hospitality you extended my brother-”
“He saved the Mand’alor’s life,” Cara blurts out. “It’s the least we could do.”
Other Mandalorians murmur and nod. Luke’s face warms with the attention and he flashes the Alderaanian a very wide smile while saying, “The Jedi do what we must. If you ever ask for help, we are always listening.”
“I will consider it,” Din says.
“May your recovery be swift, Mand’alor,” Leia says. She leans over and whispers to Luke, “We really need to be heading back. I’ll give you two minutes.”
She walks back to Han and Chewbacca. Luke looks down at Grogu when the child murmurs to him. Grogu reaches up with both hands and Luke hoists him up in his arms. The child touches his face and Luke sees hazy golden memories of mornings at the Temple, of young initiates admiring and showing Grogu their practice lightsabers, of Yoda presiding over breathing exercises and sneaking Grogu small snacks, of the breathtaking vista of Coruscant from the Temple balconies. The longing is there in the memories and Luke has to remember to breathe when the images fade.
“You… want to come visit me at the Temple?” he asks. “Really?”
“Patoo,” Grogu says and looks at Din.
“The next time I go to Coruscant, I’ll bring you along,” Din replies. “If that’s okay with the Jedi.”
“He’s one of our own, he’s always welcome to visit,” Luke says. “We’ll see each other soon, okay?”
Grogu coos and pats his face before asking to be put back in his pram. Luke turns to Din, wondering what to say or how to say farewell while so many people are watching. The Mand’alor stares back and Luke gets the sense he’s steeling himself to say something. He jumps when Din suddenly grabs his wrist.
“I have something for you,” Din says.
He draws something out of a pouch on his belt. It glints in his gloved fingers as he turns it over and over before making up his mind and showing it to Luke. A mudhorn signet sits on a coiled silvery chain in his palm, the beskar gleaming in the hazy morning light.
“When Grogu helped me defeat the mudhorn, we became a clan. The mudhorn was forged as our symbol. Now it is also yours. If you ever need passage through Mandalorian space or help from Mandalorians, show them this. They’ll know you’re with me and they’ll help you.”
Din places it in his hand and curls his fingers over it, letting the metal warm. Luke’s heart beats loudly in his chest, so loudly that he doesn’t know how nobody else can hear it. Twice now he is leaving Mandalore with a gift. The first were relics of the Jedi Order, offered as a truce between ancient enemies in a changing galaxy. The second is the Mand’alor’s favor, a memory and a promise between two people who found each other again. Everyone is watching but Luke still leans up, his other hand bracing against the beskar chestplate while he presses his forehead to Din’s. He hears that soft and sudden exhale, the huff of a smile behind the visor, as Din leans into the gesture.
“Thank you,” Luke says. He tucks the favor away in the folds of his robes and sits back on his heels. “Come find me on Coruscant when you have time. Or on Naboo. Maybe even Tatooine.”
“We’ve been to Tatooine,” Din says, nodding to Grogu. “But not Naboo. I’ll have to consider it.’
“You won’t regret it,” Luke promises. He feels Leia’s thoughts pressing at the back of his mind, telling him it’s time to go, and so he steps back reluctantly. “I’ll see you soon. Be well, Mandalorian.”
Din nods. “Jedi.”
He turns and walks to the waiting Falcon. Leia is waiting at the top of the ramp and as soon as she sees him, she turns and shouts to Han and Chewbacca. Halfway up the ramp, Luke glances back at the dock. Grogu waves to him while Din dips his head in acknowledgement. The cool morning light glows on the beskar and the image stays in his head as he follows Leia to the cockpit. He snaps out of it when an extremely happy and irritated astromech nearly bowls him over.
“I’m all right, Artoo,” Luke says, kneeling to look at the droid right in the photoreceptor. “And I’m glad you are, too. You did good on Morak.”
“You all did,” Leia says. “Even without the data, that battle droid the Mandalorians brought back is more than enough proof to present to my committee. Now the Senate might finally take the Shadow Collective seriously.”
The Falcon lurches into the air while Artoo ushers Luke to his seat in the cockpit. Han and Chewbacca are busy steering the freighter out of the dome and punching in the calculations to jump into hyperspace, and neither of them acknowledge Luke until Han asks Artoo to complete the calculations.
The Corellian turns in his seat to stare at Luke. “Nice of you to finally join us, kid.”
“Sorry, I had business to take care of,” Luke says sheepishly. “Guess you and Chewie made it back to Coruscant okay.”
“Yeah, and then Leia had us turn right back around to bring you back from Mandalore. Everything still good between you and the Mand’alor?”
Luke knows Leia is staring at him, dying to know what exactly Han is talking about. He sits back in his seat and folds his arms. “Yes.”
“Good. Let’s go, Chewie.”
The Wookiee answers affirmatively while engaging the hyperdrive and the Falcon leaps into hyperspace. While they check the readouts and trade calculations with Artoo, Luke takes out the mudhorn signet and carefully untangles the beskar chain. The rippling lights of hyperspace reflect on the silvery surface, catching Leia’s attention. She leans on the armrest of her seat, eyes narrowing at the mudhorn’s shape.
“What is that?” she asks.
He smiles. “A gift from the Mand’alor.”
He senses a nudge and looks at his sister. Leia searches his face and whatever she finds makes her smile, too.
“You look better,” she says. “I mean, you also look really awful and I think you should go home for a while, but you look like yourself again. I’m glad you found each other.”
“Yeah,” he breathes out, feeling so effervescent and bright. He slips the fine chain over his head and lets the mduhorn slip under the collar of his robes. He pulls his cloak around his shoulders and settles back in his seat. “I’m glad, too.”
Luke turns his gaze to the nearest viewport as the Falcon hurtles through hyperspace to Coruscant, and starts thinking about the next time he crosses paths with Din.