Chapter Text
Few things are more ominous than an early morning summons directly from the chancellor of the New Galactic Republic.
Luke Skywalker-Naberrie, young Jedi Knight of the Order, had just come back from an extended trip to Ossus and hoped to sleep the next day away, but it just wasn’t meant to be. Instead, he scrubs sleep deprivation from his face, combs his hair with frantic fingers while searching for a clean set of robes, and tries to dash out the door. He runs right into a deeply unimpressed Reva Sevander.
“You’re late,” she says and turns sharply. “You were expected at the chancellor’s office an hour ago.”
He sputters and runs after the older Knight. “I just saw the summons ten minutes ago! And how did you know? Did you also get one?”
“Grandmaster Yoda sent me.”
He stops dead in his tracks. What do Chancellor Mon Mothma and Grandmaster Yoda want with him so early in the morning? Reva glares over her shoulder at him and he starts moving again.
The sun peeks over the skyline as they travel to the domed offices of the Galactic Senate in a speeder. On the lift up to the chancellor’s floor, Luke stares out the glass tube at the skyscrapers and speeders, all glinting and gleaming in soft gold and pink. Few places in the galaxy rival Coruscant’s stunning vista, though he personally prefers Tatooine’s sunrise over his uncle’s moisture farm and the lonely expanse of the Dune Sea.
He glances at his former instructor. “Did Master Yoda say why the chancellor wants to see us?”
“Not me, just you,” Reva replies. “Your sister is also there.”
He blinks. “Is she there as a senator or as a Knight?”
“I don’t know,” Reva says slowly, enunciating every syllable. She rubs her temple. “Force, it is too early for your questions.”
He decides to spare her and incubate his curiosity while waiting for the lift to slow. He already knows when the lift begins decelerating; he’d ridden this one many, many times as a child. He could find his mother’s former office blindfolded and without the Force’s guidance if he wanted to. Leia occupies the space now, first as a junior senator and now as a fully fledged politician. He hasn’t visited her in a while and makes a note to drop in on her unannounced at a future date.
The lift finally stops at the chancellor’s floor and they’re greeted by two of the many war veterans still serving the Republic in some capacity. The ones on this floor are security officers; they glance at Luke and then wave him through. He steps toward the door and realizes Reva isn’t following him. He turns to see her disappear behind the lift’s closing door. Shaking his head, Luke turns and enters the chancellor’s office.
Chancellor Mon Mothma sits behind her ornately designed desk with an array of datapads and trinkets spread out before her. Luke’s former master Obi-Wan Kenobi stands on the other side of the desk with Grandmaster Yoda, who’s perched in his hoverchair. Luke’s twin sister Leia Skywalker-Naberrie, Naboo’s senator, sits at the edge of one of several elegant couches in the grand office space. Their close family friend Bail Organa, a retired senator from Alderaan, stares out the wide transparisteel windows at the morning sun with a cup of caf in his hands. Other senators mill about a table of refreshments, talking quietly amongst themselves.
Everyone stops whatever they’re doing when Luke enters the office.
“You’re late,” Obi-Wan says mildly.
“I just saw the summons thirty minutes ago,” he replies. He flashes his old master a sheepish grin and turns to Mon. “Apologies, Chancellor.”
Mon waves him off. “You don’t need to apologize. This was all quite sudden anyway.” She stands and everyone turns to her. “I believe that’s everyone, Bail. Why don’t we get started?”
Bail clears his throat. “Yes, of course. Some of you may not know this but before I retired from public service, the Republic launched an investigation into reports of a criminal syndicate operating in the Outer Rim. Intelligence determined it was actually an alliance of syndicates and cartels known as the Shadow Collective.”
Murmurs of recognition and worry ripple through the gathered senators. Luke glances at Obi-Wan’s grim expression and tense posture.
“Intelligence hasn’t determined if this is the same Shadow Collective led by Maul during the war or an entirely new alliance,” Bail continues. “Some suspect it’s a sleeper cell placed by Palpatine that’s become active. We don’t really know. Whatever this Collective actually is and whoever runs it, it could threaten the newfound stability of the Republic and neighboring independent systems.”
“The Senate has been making overtures to them,” Mon says. “We’re not asking them to join the Republic but to be our allies in investigating and ending their operations.”
One of the senators mutters under their breath and Leia frowns at them.
“We need all the allies we can get however we can,” Mon says calmly. “Palpatine destroyed our reputation when he attempted to seize power, or did you forget what happened after we defeated the Separatists? We have been rebuilding for over twenty years but these neutral systems still distrust us. I find that unacceptable, don’t you?”
If the new Shadow Collective is connected to the one that operated during the war, then Luke can see why the chancellor asked Obi-Wan and Yoda here. But why did she ask for Luke? He tilts his head to Leia and flicks his eyes in Mon’s direction. Her thoughts ripple back to him through their bond.
I don’t know. I’m just learning about this now.
“... invited us,” Mon is saying. “With a new Mand’alor on the throne, there is no better time than now to offer a new trade agreement that will hopefully lead to an alliance.”
A senator, someone Luke had seen occasionally but never talked to, scoffs. “There is no time at all to negotiate with Mandalorians. How many times did they reject our offers of aid during the war?”
“They’re not rejecting us now,” Bail replies. “This is the time to redefine our relationship and even improve on what we have, which isn’t much.”
“Lady Bo-Katan Kryze wouldn’t even entertain the thought of meeting us when these proposed terms would have benefited her immensely in the years after the war.”
“You forget that she is no longer the Mand’alor and can no longer make these decisions. The new leader remains nameless to us, but intel says he is a former bounty hunter from the Outer Rim-”
The senator makes an incredulous sound and turns to Mon. “Chancellor! I must ask why we’re entertaining negotiations with a world that allows known terrorists and lowly criminals to rule. We may as well negotiate with the Hutts! Surely, there are more civilized governments to-”
Mon raises her hand and the senator falls silent. “No world is more civilized than another, Canna, and I will not allow such attitudes in these meetings. If you persist, I will give this assignment to another senator. Bounty hunter or not, Mandalore chose him as their leader and we will respect that choice.”
“If I may,” Obi-Wan says. “You must remember that the Mandalore sector is of strategic importance to the Republic and has a history with the Shadow Collective. Best to approach Mandalore now, while their leader is still establishing himself and the memories are still fresh. He did agree to hold these talks, which should bode well for the future.”
Mon clasps her hands and exhales. “I agree. I appointed Bail to be the Republic’s ambassador and he named every one of you to the diplomatic staff. He will reach out to each of you with the details of the agenda. You will depart for Sundari in three days’ time, which should give you time to research and prepare. Thank you.”
The gathering slowly disperses. The other senators pick through the remaining refreshments from the table before filtering out of the office, whispering to each other while casting glances back at Mon and the Jedi. Leia starts to leave as well but Obi-Wan shakes his head. She goes to Luke’s side instead.
“How was Ossus?” she whispers.
“Peaceful now. You should consider visiting.”
He recalls the endless forests of bamboo and dappled light streaming green-gold through the narrow leaves. Parts of the planet were finally healing from the devastation left behind by the cataclysmic Cron Supernova eons ago, something that both inspired and humbled him while he was there. Ossus was also a far cry from Coruscant and intergalactic politics, which Leia might appreciate.
After the door slides shut behind the last senator, Luke asks, “Why did you ask me here, Chancellor?”
Mon glances at Obi-Wan and Yoda, and it is Obi-Wan who says, “You’re going to Sundari as our representative.”
Luke blinks. Him, the Jedi’s representative to Mandalore? His mother may have been a formidable and well-respected politician but he chose to follow in his father’s footsteps, not hers. Leia is the one who left the Order for politics but she still has the capacity to act as mediator between the Republic and Mandalore.
Obi-Wan smiles that certain smile like he knows what Luke is thinking. “It’s your official title but that’s not the reason why you’re going. Leia would be better for that role anyway. You’re going because Chancellor Mothma agreed to help us with a particular matter.”
“Which is?”
Yoda leans forward in his hoverchair. He is very old now, wrinkled complexion more gray than green, and his voice is softer than Luke remembers from his years as a youngling and Padawan. “A child, the Mand’alor has. Rumors there are that the child… is strong in the Force.”
Oh. So this is why he was summoned here mere hours after returning from Ossus. A Force-sensitive child changes everything. He turns to Mon. “Is this true?”
“These are mostly rumors and hearsay,” she replies, “but our agents believe so. That is why you are here. The Jedi Council wants to send someone to Sundari to assess the child and determine if they should be brought to the Temple. Master Kenobi put your name forward for the task. I agreed.”
Luke holds back a sigh. He suspects a particular reason why his name came up. “Master, you yourself said that I should give myself several years before considering taking on a Padawan. I don’t think a diplomatic mission to Mandalore to test the Mand’alor’s child’s Force sensitivity is the way to start me on that path.”
“This isn’t about finding you a Padawan, Luke,” Obi-Wan says. “It’s about finding the Order’s future and bringing them home. I believe you are up to the task.”
“Or you want me to visit Coruscant more often.”
Obi-Wan just gives him a look, a particular exasperated expression that Shaak Ti once said she’d seen him give Luke’s father many times every day.
Leia suddenly says, “The other senators don’t know about this.”
“No,” Bail says. “They believe Luke will come with us as an observer and mediator, and we should keep it that way. Mandalorians will be suspicious enough. We don’t need our own to question his presence as well.”
“Like Senator Canna? Is she really coming with us? You know she'll want answers-”
“She represents Arkanis,” he replies. “Its proximity to the trade routes means she will be a part of these talks, no matter how you feel about her.”
“I’m not worried about the other senators,” Luke says. “Even if the rumors are true and the child is Force-sensitive, how am I supposed to convince the Mand’alor to hand his child over to the Jedi?”
“Convince him to see reason,” Obi-Wan says. “If we have this kind of intel, that means the child is so powerful in the Force that they cannot be hidden. The Mand’alor may not realize it but without training, the child will only put themself and everybody else in danger.”
Still, Luke doubts this will work. He’s seen Obi-Wan talk with families about their children and not all discussions were successful; with the Order’s image being tarnished by war and by the wartime chancellor’s actions, many families refused the offer of a future in the Order for their child. And none of those families were Mandalorian. Luke knows enough of the ancient history to see this as an incredibly daunting task.
“And if the Mand’alor still refuses?”
“Then at least he was warned,” Obi-Wan says. “You can only do so much.”
Yoda coughs to clear his throat. “Consider also the child. A choice, you will give. Choose their path, the child will. That, Mandalorians will respect.”
Luke nods. He knows enough of the Resol’nare from Obi-Wan—though his master never quite explained how he knew it in such detail and in both the Basic translation and the original Mando’a—to understand how highly Mandalorians value their children. Perhaps he can show the Mand’alor that the Jedi also treasure their younglings and Padawans, and that the child would be safe with the Order. He could even show the child the ways of the Force, and let the child persuade their father.
“I’ll do it,” he says.
“Good,” Mon says. “I hoped you’d agree to this. Bail will send you the agenda so that you can at least play the part of a mediator. If there is nothing else to discuss, then this meeting is over. Bail, if you have a few more minutes, I’d like your opinion on these reports….”
Luke follows Leia out of the chancellor’s office but Mon calls out to him before he’s gone.
“You may be a Jedi Knight, but see if you have anything more… formal to wear to Sundari. You’re representing a facet of the Republic and you know what they say about first impressions.”
Luke glances at the grandmaster, who chuckles at the thought.
“Yes, yes,” Yoda murmurs while floating past Luke in his hoverchair. “Surprise them, shall we? Make an impression, won’t we?”
Something about Yoda’s choice of words makes Luke wonder if the old grandmaster was the one who told Obi-Wan to put his name forward as the Jedi who’ll go to Mandalore and convince an ancient enemy to entrust their child’s future to him.
Luke spends most of the three days in the Jedi Archives studying data tapes and holobooks on the recent history of Mandalore. He has an idea of what wartime Mandalore was like since most of the Masters and older Knights lived through it, but he knows a lot less of the aftermath. There are fewer records of Mandalore after the war, and he scours the HoloNet with Artoo’s help, scraping up every bit of intel to fill in the years between war’s end and today. The astromech, a Naboo droid who became his father’s companion during the war, is a familiar sight on the Temple grounds and few bat their eyes when they see the droid projecting data tapes for Luke to browse.
“... no, no, that’s not it-” He sits up in his chair. “Wait.”
Artoo pauses on a briefing from the far reaches of the galaxy, a years-old blurb from Tatooine about a mining hub called Freetown hiring a Mandalorian bounty hunter to kill a krayt dragon. There aren’t many details, not that Luke would know what to do with them. All anyone really knows about the new Mand’alor is that he was a bounty hunter who lived in the Outer Rim, and many Mandalorians living in the Outer Rim worked as bounty hunters and mercenaries. He is indistinguishable from the next Mandalorian, which makes Luke wonder why he of all Mandalorians was the one to step up when Bo-Katan’s short and contentious rule collapsed.
Luke tells Artoo to copy the blurb over to his personal datapad and resumes trawling the HoloNet.
By the time he leaves the Temple to meet Leia and the other members of the diplomatic mission at the Port Quarter, he knows just a little bit more about the political situation in Mandalore than the layperson does. He’s done a lot with a lot less information, so he puts his trust in what little he learned from watching his mother and in the Force, gathers up his belongings, and bids Artoo farefull at the temple entrance.
“Right on time,” Obi-Wan declares while joining them out front. He points to the waiting speeder. “The chancellor is running behind and sent us a speeder to meet with the others at the spaceport.”
The speeder is an old but expensive model, and a very odd sort of vehicle for a couple of Jedi to be sitting in. Obi-Wan certainly looks out of place in his loose plain robes but, as Yoda likes to say, appearances are deceiving.
While the speeder carries them to the Port Quarter, Obi-Wan adds, “It’s some sort of emergency meeting involving Ryloth. Aayla left to meet her earlier this morning.”
Luke shifts uneasily, both from the news and from his chosen attire. The robes are still plain in comparison to what he sees on the streets of Coruscant and Theed, but they cling to his body in ways that his normal clothes don’t and the fabric is distracting. He keeps tugging at the dark silky silver fabric around his neck while he speaks.
“This doesn’t have to do with the Shadow Collective, does it?”
“I hope not. What we don’t want is another war. And if this Shadow Collective is made up of the same parties as the old one, I don’t think they’d want one, either.” Obi-Wan looks at him, gaze sweeping over him from head to toe. “Yes, I see what Master Yoda meant. Mandalorians expect a certain kind of Jedi. They won’t know what to do with you.”
Luke folds his arms tightly. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, either, and he says so.
“You do know. You observed similar diplomatic negotiations. You watched me talk with families about their children. And you have the Force. If you’re uncertain of anything, at least be certain in the Force. And if you’re still unsure, you can always send me a transmission.”
Luke nods slowly. “I’ll do my best, Master.”
Obi-Wan chuckles and sits back. “I’m not your master anymore, Luke.”
They spend the rest of the journey to the Port Quarter in peaceful silence. Leia, Bail, and a few senators are already there; other senators trickle in as time passes and Mon arrives twenty-five minutes after the last senator does with a couple security officers. She looks up at the elegant starship docked at the terminal and then at the members of the diplomatic mission.
“Let us hope that by the end of next week, we have a new trade agreement and a stronger alliance,” she says. “Good luck to all of you.”
A few of the senators stare at Luke for seconds longer than is proper while walking past him. He tugs on the tight sleeve of his silver robes nervously, and then realizes the actual reason why they’re staring when Leia joins him. She’d done her hair up in two buns to keep it out of her face and she wears a textured golden-brown cloak over a light-colored tunic and trousers. The cut of her clothes nearly match his, and he can’t tell if this is a sibling thing or a Force thing.
“I like to remind them sometimes that we’re related, and that I was a Knight,” she explains while they board the elegant transport. “They know I still have my lightsaber. Sometimes, they have second thoughts when arguing with me in committee meetings.”
“Leia,” he sighs. He still grins at the gleam in her eyes.
Twenty minutes after they settle into their quarters and the starship departs Coruscant, Bail calls everyone to the main hold to review the agenda. He reintroduces Luke to the other senators and explains he’ll be an observer and mediator whose one role is to ensure the talks go smoothly. Everyone starts discussing the details of what terms the Republic wants to revisit, renegotiate, and introduce. Luke listens politely until the meeting ends, then retreats to the cramped quarters assigned to him in order to meditate on the past three days. He makes sure to leave room on the bunk for Leia to join him and she does ten minutes later, quietly treading in and taking a seat next to him on the narrow bed.
Maybe thirty minutes pass before she murmurs, “Try visiting my office more often. I have no one else to meditate with.”
He reaches out and nudges her through the Force. “I’ll try.”
Another ten minutes pass and then Luke says, “I think they want me to start thinking about taking on my first Padawan.”
“Already? Aren’t you a bit young?”
“Master Obi-Wan wasn’t much older than us when he… took on his first Padawan,” Luke says. “You know how things are now. We have younglings nearing their trials and the senior Knights already have Padawans. The younger Knights have to step up, and there aren’t many of us to begin with.”
Leia sighs. “I know. I guess that’s why they gave your name to Mon.”
He shifts uneasily. “I don’t think I’m ready.”
She squeezes his knee before resuming her meditations. So does he, trying to let go of his anxiety.
Hours pass. Luke sits with Leia while she reviews contents on her datapad with other senators, listening to their concerns about Mandalore. The sector had stayed independent until the wartime coup that ended its New Mandalorian government and had struggled since to regain its prewar stability. If the other senators are to be believed, Mandalore has much more to gain than the Republic does but its people are too prideful to consider any help.
“We are not ‘helping’, we are negotiating,” Leia reminds them more than once. “Or maybe I should say that the Republic needs their help, too.”
“We don’t, actually,” the Arkanis senator Canna Zarras replies. Bail glances at her from his seat at the other end of the main hall, and she changes her tone. “Perhaps their familiarity with the sector would benefit our ongoing investigations into suspected Shadow Collective activity.”
“Mandalore might want the same thing we do,” Luke says, startling the older woman and other nearby senators. “The Shadow Collective is the reason why they’re in this position in the first place. That might be why the Mand’alor agreed to negotiations.”
“I forgot about that,” a senator from Exargan murmurs. “May not be a waste of time after all, Canna.”
Luke glances down at his own datapad, which has scant details about the rumors surrounding the Mand’alor’s child. They speak of strange happenings and impossible occurrences following the Mand’alor when he was a bounty hunter in the Outer Rim. The agents that pulled the rumors were confident the Mand’alor himself wasn’t Force-sensitive but that people began whispering around the time he came into possession of a mysterious child. The simplest explanation—the child is Force-sensitive and the source of the rumors—made the most sense.
What makes less sense is this farfetched belief that a Mandalorian, let alone the Mand’alor, would even entertain the idea of giving their child over to the Jedi. There is still animosity between them, a legacy stained with the blood of countless lives in countless conflicts, and the aftermath of war had made Mandalorians more isolated as they tried to rebuild. To lose a child is to lose a fragment of their future, even if that child will help build the Jedi Order’s future.
“I could single-handedly end your negotiations,” he tells Leia in private. “They have as much to lose as we have to gain.”
“But if a child is so powerful that Outer Rim rumors reach certain ears on Coruscant, you need to act,” she says. “They have to know the child will need training to be safe.”
How would a Force-sensitive Mandalorian use their powers? Luke mulls over what he knows about Mandalorians until the pilot announces over comms that they’ve dropped out of hyperspace. Luke and Leia follow Bail to the cockpit where the copilot is speaking with the pilot of a Fang-class starfighter. Two more starfighters flank the transport as the Mandalorian pilot asks for identification. Once the pilot receives the transponder ID, she tells them she’ll escort them to Sundari and points them to a brown-hued planet in the distance. Luke has seen stranger and more spectacular worlds, but the sight of Mandalore and the gray-green moon Concordia makes his heart thump and his chest squeeze tight with anticipation. Something, or someone, is waiting for him there. Or his nerves are getting to him. Or it could be the Force. He can’t tell.
Bail speaks with Leia, who touches his arm and leaves the cockpit. Luke turns to follow her but glances over his shoulder at Mandalore and the Fang starfighters one more time before going back to the main hold.
If there is one Mandalorian anyone in the Senate and Jedi Order knows, it’s Lady Bo-Katan Kryze, sister of the former Duchess Satine of Mandalore, an ex-terrorist and leader of the elite Nite Owls, and the previous Mand’alor. If there’s one thing anyone expects, it’s that she isn’t on Mandalore after losing her throne to an Outer Rim bounty hunter.
“What is she doing here?” Leia wonders as they stand at the top of the ramp and stare down at the red-headed Mandalorian waiting at the foot of it, flanked by warriors in the distinct blue and white colors of the Nite Owls.
“The new Mand’alor spared her life rather than execute or exile her,” Bail says. “Did none of you read the report? His decision was unprecedented and there have been unintended consequences.”
“You mean it wasn’t a popular decision,” another senator says. “Like inviting us here. I hope this isn’t a pattern or this will be a wasted trip.”
“We’re here now so let’s make the most of it,” Bail says firmly and heads down the ramp. He smiles widely once he is on even footing with the Nite Owl leader. “Lady Bo-Katan Kryze. You look well.”
“Ambassador Bail Organa,” she says. Her smile doesn’t reach her sharp eyes. “It’s been a very long time.”
“It has.” He turns to introduce everybody else and Bo-Katan nods along with feigned interest until he reaches the youngest members of the diplomatic mission. “... heard of them. Here are Senator Leia Skywalker-Naberrie of Naboo and Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker-Naberrie.”
Her gaze sharpens considerably. “Skywalker? They are his children?”
Luke notices other Mandalorians straighten up and shift from a watchful calm to a ready stance. Their helmeted heads tilt in his direction and nowhere else. He carefully keeps his hands clasped in front of him, away from the lightsaber hilt clipped to his belt.
Leia also senses the tension and tilts her chin up at Bo-Katan. “We are both Knights, Lady Kryze, like our father before us.”
She chuckles, which only makes Leia twitch. “I remember him and Obi-Wan Kenobi well. Is that old Jedi still around? I expected him to be the one mediating these talks. He does have a reputation here.”
“He’s doing well back at Coruscant, thank you,” Luke says politely. “He chose his former Padawan to go in his place.”
“Are you?” Bo-Katan says. Her gaze lingers on him for a moment longer and then she looks back to Bail. “And whatever became of Skywalker’s old apprentice? I haven’t seen or heard from her since she helped us retake Mandalore from the Shadow Collective.”
Luke glances at Leia. Ahsoka Tano’s story is a cautionary tale of a Jedi Order gone astray and still a scabbing wound for many who were present. The former Padawan vanished again at war’s end as the ripple effects from Palpatine’s attempted coup and death spread throughout the galaxy, and nobody had seen or heard from her since.
“She left the Order for good,” Leia says simply.
Bo-Katan huffs. She doesn’t look surprised at all. “Perhaps I’ll find her again now that I’m no longer Mand’alor and have more time on my hands.”
She turns to the pilots of the Fang starfighters as they approach. Two wear the blue and white of the Nite Owls but the third painted their armor in a riot of bright colors. They salute Bo-Katan and remove their helmets, and Luke supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that the Mandalorian with the colorful armor also dyed her hair to match it.
“Koska Reeves, Axe Woves, and Sabine Wren are part of your security detail during your stay,” Bo-Katan says. She points to waiting speeders at the end of the terminal. “They’ll answer any reasonable questions and tell you where you can and can’t go. It may have been over twenty years since the war ended for Mandalore but we are still rebuilding and some places remain inaccessible.”
How are they still rebuilding after twenty years? That must be one of the reasons why the new Mand’alor is more willing to talk trade with the Republic. Luke looks around at the outward-facing structures while following the others to the speeders. They have a distinctly economical and cubical shape, a response to the restrictions placed on them by the dome. He viewed holovids of Sundari before and during the war when researching, and wonders how much the city had changed since the final battle.
Sundari, the capital city of Mandalore, doesn’t look too differently from those old holovids and data tapes, though he still spots half-built structures and empty spaces where there should be something. There is also a distinct lack of carefully manicured and maintained greenery and an unsettling view of the sky through the dome. The city is desperate to survive before it can thrive, and Luke grimaces with sympathy for its inhabitants.
He also sees a surprising number of residents wearing Mandalorian armor while going about their daily lives. Is this city in constant danger or is armor an everyday attire?
“You’re looking at the armor, right?” Sabine Wren asks. She sits in the back of the second speeder with Luke and Leia, boots propped up on the seat next to Leia. “It’s beskar or beskar alloy. Or, if you’re really desperate, some cheap durasteel substitute or worse, plastoid. But I’ll bet you fifty credits that everyone you see wearing armor is wearing the real thing. Beskar armor is passed down from generation to generation, like mine.”
“And you wear it everywhere?” Luke asks.
Sabine shrugs. “Some do, some don’t. To me, my armor is like a second skin. Sometimes I forget I’m wearing it when I sleep.”
“You mean you forget all the time,” Koska Reeves remarks from the front of the speeder where she sits with two senators Luke doesn’t know. She keeps staring at Luke, sizing him up even though he’s certain he didn’t do anything to offend her. “They’re like a second skin because they have to be. We designed them over the centuries to help us fight Jedi Knights and their lightsabers. I wouldn’t look too closely if I were you.”
“I’m only here to help these negotiations succeed,” Luke says. “Nothing more.”
Koska stares at him until his skin crawls and then faces forward. Sabine also looks away, ending what Luke hoped was the beginning of a conversation that could unearth more information about the Mand’alor and his mysterious child. He’ll have to find opportunities elsewhere.
They arrive at the Sundari Royal Palace, which Luke recalls from his research to be the rebuilt center of the Mandalorian government. It was home to Duchess Satine and her New Mandalorian government, and later the headquarters of the Shadow Collective occupiers. The siege that forced the Shadow Collective out either destroyed or severely damaged the palace but now it gleams in the filtered and artificial light, a grand cubic building of durasteel, duracrete, and tinted glass. A small curious crowd of civilians gather at the plaza in front of the palace to watch the speeders arrive in front of the gates. They’re held back by the palace guards, who also look different from the older holovids by way of less elaborate armor and uniforms.
Several Mandalorians are waiting at the gate and only one of them is wearing a helmet. Bo-Katan introduces him as Paz Vizsla, the Mand’alor’s right hand, before moving on to Fenn Rau, Gar Saxon, and Ursa Wren.
Leia glances at Sabine and the young woman mutters, “My mother.”
Luke walks past Paz Vizsla and feels their helmeted head turn slowly to watch him. Others had stared at him for far longer than he thought proper, their neutral patience turning cold with suspicion at the mention of his presence, but Paz’s hostility is palpable. He wonders if the Mandalorian would actually stop him from entering the royal palace with the rest of the diplomatic mission, and if there are others inside that feel the same way about Jedi Knights. He needs to ask Bail about this later, especially if the Mand’alor turns out to have the same opinion of the Jedi as Paz does.
Speaking of which, where is the Mand’alor?
“Do we even know what the Mand’alor looks like?” he whispers to Leia.
She shrugs. “We don’t even know his name.”
What if this Paz is the Mand’alor, and nobody said a thing to test what the Republic knows about their new leader? He glances at the large Mandalorian furtively, searching for signs of the infamous Darksaber that the Mand’alor wields, but sees nothing other than flash charges and holstered firearms. He looks at all of the Mandalorians around him but nobody appears to be the Mand’alor. Perhaps the Mand’alor is held up, preoccupied with some other matter, or simply taking his time to greet them.
He turns his attention to the palace. The hallways of the palace echo the angular lines and quadrilateral shapes that he saw during their journey through Sundari, but now he also sees patterns in the coppery decor forged and welded into the architecture. Some designs mimic the visors on Mandalorian helmets and others play with the hexagonal ka’rta, a traditional Mandalorian symbol that also appears on the cuirass of every armored Mandalorian. Nothing else decorates these hallways and intersections, though. There are no potted plants and trees, or tasteful artwork hanging from walls or erected on pedestals. The palace is quite bare, and one can only wonder if Mandalore can’t afford the resources to decorate or if the Mand’alor simply doesn’t care to impress important guests.
And then, as they cross a giant hall that he suspects is the heart of the palace, he notices enormous paintings hanging on either side of a pair of grand doors. He looks at them, wondering about the artistic choices that went into depicting Mandalorian warriors charging at their similarly armed opponents, and then realizes that these aren’t paintings but murals on pieces of broken walls that were meticulously pieced back together and attached to the rebuilt palace walls. These murals depicted something important to Mandalorians, but what? His brow furrows as he tries to take a closer look; are the painted white lines carried by the enemies lightsabers? Are they depicting scenes from the Mandalorian-Jedi War?
Before he can get yet another look, Leia tugs on his sleeve and pulls him down another corridor. He overhears Fenn Rau tell one of the senators that they’re in the ambassador wing, a section of the palace reserved for visiting diplomats, dignitaries, and guests of the Mand’alor. It would serve as home to Bail and his colleagues for the next week. Fingers point at which hall takes them to a private dining hall, which halls will take them back to the main hall, and which doors are assigned to them for the week.
While Luke and Leia decide which pair of doors to claim as theirs, Luke overhears Bail asking Bo-Katan about the Mand’alor.
“No, he is not here. He apologizes for not being present to personally welcome you to Sundari,” she replies in the carefully stilted manner of someone who practiced her speech beforehand and still found it distasteful. “An emergency on Keldabe required his immediate attention. He will not be back until tomorrow.”
Bail nods. “My team and I are a bit weary from our travels so we’ll spend the rest of the evening settling in. Let’s begin tomorrow.”
“I should tell you,” Bo-Katan says, “that if you or anyone here wishes to leave the palace, you must request someone from your security detail to go with you. It’s easy to get lost if you know nothing about Sundari.”
The ambassador arches an eyebrow. “Is there something else I should know?”
Bo-Katan’s smile stiffens. “It’s the same as any other world, Ambassador Organa. We’re all looking for some stability. Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“Fair enough,” Bail says. “I’ll relay this to the others. Thank you.”
The Mandalorian glances at Luke and Leia before gesturing to the other Mandalorians and leaving the ambassador wing. Once they’re out of earshot, Leia asks Bail, “Does she know how it looks to undermine the new Mand’alor in front of us?”
“It’s a warning,” Bail replies. “You may need to play your part after all, Luke. She just confirmed the intel suggesting discontent with the new Mand’alor. Leia, we’ll discuss changing those terms after….”
Luke decides to make his exit and excuses himself to enter his quarters for the week. Like with the parts of the palace he’d seen so far, the rooms are sparsely yet pleasingly decorated with geometric lines and careful placement of Mandalorian motifs. He explores the sitting area and the bedroom with the attached refresher, and discovers to his disappointment that there are no windows. It wouldn’t really matter, though, since the whole city is under a dome. He tells himself to visit his mother in Naboo’s Lake Country or his uncle’s moisture farm at Tatooine’s Anchorhead after the mission, and starts making himself at home.
This first evening is spent familiarizing himself with his rooms and walking around the ambassador wing with minor guidance. Axe Woves, who seems to be in charge of security detail for the night, tells the diplomatic mission to get used to walking around this part of the palace and leaves them alone to find their way to the private dining hall.
“I expected better,” Senator Canna says later. She pokes around her tray of food with a frown. “I don’t mean the food. Does he know how important this mission is to the future of his people?”
“If you continue criticizing our host’s manners, Canna, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself when we return to Coruscant without an agreement,” another senator, Drextar Pym, replies. “Perhaps we can continue discussing tomorrow's first meeting in your room, Ambassador?”
Another senator holds up a glass of a sharp-smelling drink. “And bring a bottle of whatever this is to calm our nerves?”
Luke sits through enough of the meeting to familiarize himself with the topics to be discussed when they meet the Mand’alor and his advisors tomorrow morning. Once the senators dive into the minutiae of the arrangements around trade routes and hyperspace lanes, he makes his retreat. He goes back to his rooms, takes out his datapad, and sits cross-legged on the bed, contemplating what to transmit back to Obi-Wan. He doesn’t have anything to report, though, and he realizes he’s no longer in the mood to ask about the quiet hostility toward his presence. Perhaps tomorrow will be different.
He sets the datapad aside and decides to meditate. If he is to navigate these uncertain waters and accomplish his task, he needs a clear head and right now it’s clouded with questions and doubt. He takes a deep breath and relaxes his shoulders, then slowly exhales. However the Mand’alor feels about the Jedi, Luke is only here to help. He is here to mediate negotiations on a new trade agreement that’ll benefit both the Republic and Mandalore. He is here to investigate rumors about the Mand’alor’s child and offer guidance, a way and a purpose, a place in the Jedi Order and the greater galaxy. He is here to help however he can until he is no longer needed or wanted.
When he resurfaces, it’s been hours and he knows the others have all retired to bed or are about to. Even Leia is drifting off to sleep. Luke is wide awake, though. He lowers himself onto the bed and glances at the datapad. He could review tomorrow’s itinerary or the intel on the Mand’alor’s child, or read the texts he had Artoo copy over from the Archives. He immediately recalls the Order’s own records on the Mandalorian-Jedi War, and then he can only think about the murals he saw in the great hall. His eyes flick to the door. There’s no harm in taking a late night stroll to the great hall, is there? Bo-Katan only said they needed escorts if they were leaving the palace grounds, and he’s just going to the heart of the palace to examine and admire the two patched murals.
Mind made up, he pulls a deek dark blue cloak from his bags, sweeps it around his shoulders, and leaves his room.
Blue-tinted light streams through the textured transparisteel panes at one end of the corridor. He goes to it and peers through the windows but can’t make out any details of the city. He turns and follows the lamplights illuminating the halls, trying to remember which turn at which hallway will take him to the great hall and back. He also keeps watch for Mandalorian patrols and ducks into the shadows whenever he sees a pair of palace guards stroll past. He lets memory and the Force guide his feet until he finally tumbles out into the great hall.
He stares up at the murals, studying the monochromatic lines. Moonlight streams into the quiet hall, giving the two murals an aura of reverence. He tilts his head at the scorch marks at the corner of one mural and the rough edges where parts of the preserved wall crumbled away. Fresher brushstrokes hide other damages, but there is no denying that the murals were once broken and brought back together, a metaphor for what Mandalore endured after the fall of Duchess Satine’s government. He steps forward to examine a detail in one of the murals and something glints out of the corner of his eye. He slowly turns his head to see a helmeted Mandalorian standing next to him and staring back.
“Oh!” Luke quickly backs away from the murals and straightens his posture. He carefully positions his hands where the palace guard can see them. “I thought I was alone here. Uh. I’m here with Ambassador Bail Organa.”
The Mandalorian’s only acknowledgement is to tilt their head to the side as if they find Luke a curious thing. As he calms down, he notices something odd about this palace guard. Their armor gleams in the moonlight in such a strange way and he realizes that it isn’t painted. Every other Mandalorian Luke met or saw painted their armor, even other palace guards; this one only has a sigil on one of their pauldrons, the head of a horned beast that must’ve been forged out of beskar, and little else. Is painted armor a rite of passage as much as it is a way to identify oneself? Luke then realizes he’d been staring at the Mandalorian for much longer than is appropriate or acceptable and quickly looks elsewhere.
When the palace guard says nothing, Luke takes another step back from the murals. “Am I allowed here? We were only told we needed an escort if we left the palace grounds. I wasn’t sure if we still needed one to leave the ambassador wing but nobody stopped me. If you say nothing, I can show myself back to my room-”
The Mandalorian tilted their head in the other direction and a quiet voice, filtered by a vocoder, says, “You know what the first mural depicts.”
Luke blinks and then looks up at the first mural, the one with Mandalorian warriors fighting enemies with pale swords. “You mean the war between Mandalorians and the Jedi. Yes, I know it. It was part of our studies at the Temple.”
“Then you know how the war ended. Your ancestors won and the surface of Mandalore turned to ash. We who stayed on Mandalore live under domes. These murals remind us of who we were, what price we paid, and that we are still here.”
Luke doesn’t know what to say to that. “I’m not… here to argue with anyone about these murals. We may have won that war, but we lost our temple on Coruscant to our enemies and the Old Republic fell. That’s what war does. It’s instigated by a few and fought by many, and the rest of us live with the consequences long after it ends.”
“Which is why the… Mand’alor invited the Republic to send its diplomats here. But why send a Jedi Knight?”
Luke twitches. Word of his presence traveled through the palace even faster than he expected, meaning he’s in for a very long day tomorrow. This Mandalorian speaks with none of the coldness of other Mandalorians, though, nor does he seem as hostile as Paz. He asks with open curiosity, so Luke decides to respond as honestly as he can. “I was asked by Ambassador Organa to act as a mediator for these talks.”
“But you are part of the Republic. You already favor the terms he’ll propose to the Mand’alor.”
Luke grimaces. “Yes, we are part of the Republic but we follow the ways of the Force. We are keepers of peace and justice for the whole galaxy, even if it goes against the Republic’s wishes in a sensitive matter, even if it means traveling to the very edge of the Outer Rim to help a world in need. The ambassador asked me here because as a Jedi, I can ensure these talks are fair and that neither party comes to harm.”
The palace guard stares at him in silence for so long that Luke wonders if he should just bid the helmeted man good night and flee to his room. As the seconds go by and the Mandalorian continues to say nothing, Luke readies himself for a hasty exit.
“That is different from what I heard,” the palace guard finally says. “But I know war changes everyone, and the old songs speak of a time that no longer exists.”
Luke nods. He wonders how the war affected this Mandalorian, if he actually fought in it or if he lost family to it. One of the first things the Jedi Order did at war’s end was to withdraw from the Grand Army and separate itself from the Senate. They were peacekeepers, Master Mace Windu had said again and again, not soldiers of the Republic. The Order was in shambles, having lost countless Masters, Knights and Padawans to the Separatists as well as their reputation with the Republic. The Jedi have been picking themselves up for over twenty years, just like everybody else.
This, he realizes as he looks up at the murals again, is how he should approach his time here. The Order is returning to its roots and, he guesses, so are Mandalorians. The problem is that no two Mandalorians interpret the Resol’nare the same way and need a common enemy to present a united front. Long ago, that was the Jedi Order. During the war, it was the Shadow Collective and its Mandalorian collaborators. Now it is the fallout, the aftermath, the consequences of war, but that is a thing with many faces and many responses. Luke has to determine which face the current Mand’alor is fighting and appeal to that in hopes of seeing the child and asking for the child’s future.
But first he needs to meet the Mand’alor, and Bo-Katan said he was at Keldabe, another domed city. He looks at the palace guard and wonders what the man would know. After all, palace guards see and hear things nobody else pays attention to. He would’ve heard something about the Mand’alor or his child. Surely he can give Luke something to work with, a piece of information he can use.
“I was hoping to see the Mand’alor today,” Luke says. “We know so little about him. I heard he was a bounty hunter before he took the throne. Is that true?”
The palace guard nods. “Yes.”
“So he lived off-world for a time. I… also heard he may have adopted a child while in the Outer Rim.”
This time the Mandalorian hesitates before nodding. “Yes.”
He shouldn’t press the actual issue yet. “I… read that Mandalorians value children above all others, that bloodlines matter less than the bond between parent and child.”
The palace guard nods again. “Children are our future.”
Luke smiles at the Mandalorian’s sincere declaration. “The Jedi believe that, too. The war took so many lives and we have been searching ever since for younglings to bring to the Temple and teach the ways of the Force. They are what keeps the Order alive.” He thinks about it and then lets slip, “My sister and I are just two of six Knights born after the war. There were probably others but the Order couldn’t spare anyone to find and bring them to Coruscant for training.”
The Mandalorian hums and tilts his head up at the second mural. “I… did not think our peoples could be so similar in our struggles, despite what history told me.”
Luke also looks up at the second mural. The handiwork is less refined, the colors not quite harmonious, and he guesses this was done more recently. It depicts a Mandalorian in flight, sword in one hand and a blaster in the other. The warrior leaps through a jagged field of glass, bones, and fire to attack a dark shape hovering over slain bodies, one of which is a woman in a distinct headdress Luke had seen on old holovids. On the other side of the shadowy figure is another warrior, also wearing a headdress, raising two long white swords to stab it in the back.
He squints. This one isn’t a broken mural that was pieced back together. Someone chose to paint this mural on a broken wall. If he takes liberties with the details of the armor on the Mandalorian at the heart of the mural, he could argue it to be a Nite Owl. Could this be Bo-Katan? That would make the shadowy figure a representation of the Shadow Collective and the other warrior with the two white swords the former Padawan Ahsoka Tano. This mural must be about the siege of Mandalore.
He turns to the palace guard to ask, but snaps his mouth shut at the sounds of footsteps echoing down a corridor on the other side of the grand hall. The Mandalorian tilts his head, listening until they fade, and then says, “You should return to your quarters, Jedi.”
“Ah, right.” He turns to leave and notices the palace guard shift forward as if to follow. “Don’t worry, I know my way back.”
The palace guard steps back and nods. “Have a good night, Jedi.”
“Thank you. Uh. You, too.”
Luke looks over his shoulder again while hurrying to the hallway that’ll take him back to the ambassador wing. The Mandalorian is still standing in the grand hall, helmeted head tilted up at the murals. He gleams and glows in the cold light, and Luke thinks about what Sabine said about Mandalorian armor; that armor must be beskar alloy because light doesn’t glint off durasteel so brilliantly. The Mandalorian suddenly turns his head to look straight at Luke. Mortified to be caught staring again, Luke hastily retreats and doesn’t stop running until he reaches his quarters.
He feels like himself by then. He shrugs off the dark blue cloak and floats it over to his belongings while he sits on the bed. He drags hands through his hair and then down his face before lying down.
So, there are Mandalorians willing to talk to him, Mandalorians who understand both the crushing weight of the past and the endless trials of building a future. He turns over the palace guard’s words in his mind and resolves to pass them over to Leia in the morning. She might find them useful.
As he finally readies to sleep, he tells himself that if he encounters that palace guard again, he should ask if the Mandalorian’s armor is made of beskar.