Reading Time: 140 Minutes

Title: To Hold Infinity
Author: Belvella
Fandom: Star Wars, The Mandalorian
Genre: Action Adventure, Dimension Travel, Pre-Relationship, Time Travel
Relationship(s): Din Djarin/Jaster Mereel, Boba Fett/Fennec Shand, Paz Vizsla/OFC
Content Rating: R
Warnings: Major Character Death, Slavery, Torture, Violence-Graphic, Violence-Against Children/Child Abuse, Discussion of rape, murder
Word Count: 108,363
Summary: In a galaxy far far away. All hope was abandoned with the fall to the Darkside of Rey Skywalker and the rise of the First Order. With the defeat of the rebellion and the execution of Mon Mothma by Kylo Ren all hope seemed lost… A Witch’s desperate attempt at a forbidden spell. A heartbroken fathers despair and conviction to do what ever it takes to avenged his loved ones. An interruption at a critical moment gives a dying Force a chance to correct some wrongs and save the galaxy.
Artist: Tpena19

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Chapter 6

Year 940 ARR/ 60BBY

Din stares at the announcement on his holo pad. “By vote of the Council of Aliit Alore, Jaster Mereel of Clan and House Mereel has been named Mand’alor.” It has been nearly eight months since he had sparred with the Alor of the Haat’Mando’Ade on Coruscant. He had known that very morning that the Manda had marked Mereel for greatness. The war drums of the Manda had taken on a smug possessive sound all around Mereel. A part of him had regretted not giving the man his name, but now looking at this announcement he is glad that he did not. He was just a bounty hunter. A very good one, but just a beroya. Mereel was now the Mand’alor. The sole ruler of their people.

There is a slight discordant note in the Force at that thought. Din shakes his head and runs a hand tiredly through his hair. The last eight months have been… difficult.

The dreams have been getting worse and he is experiencing more and more cognitive dissonance. He also had several dissociative episodes. He knows his family worries but he is not capable of explaining it to them. So he has started to push himself more and more. He has taken bounty after bounty with barely a stop to rest between jobs.

The only good thing that has happened in the last few months has been his developing relationship with his father. He had introduced his buir to the man and they had hit it off like a house on fire. He knows for a fact that the two comm each other at least once a week to have discussions on the differences in beliefs between the Mandalorian force practices and that of the Jedi. He closes his eyes. He is so tired.

He had just finished another difficult bounty. He tips his head back onto the headrest and slowly breathes. He needs to plot the hyperspace coordinates for Nevarro.

Din startles awake at his ship shuddering as it leaves hyperspace abruptly. Looking around in bewilderment he tries to figure out where he is. He had come out of hyperspace above a nondescript planet.

Desperately he works to stabilise his flight path while at the same time he tries to figure out where he is. It takes about ten minutes before he has his ship in a stable orbit around the planet and he has figured out his location.

Tython. A cold chill runs down his spine. He leans forward to plot a route back to the outer rim. But instead he watches himself start the process to enter the planet’s atmosphere. He feels panic claws at his throat. He is not in charge of his own body. He feels like he has been wrapped in cotton. As if he is watching a holo-vid. He, not him lands his ship expertly. After that everything goes sort of hazy.

The next clear thought he has, he is standing inside a large stone henge. “The seeing stone” He breathes out. He has no idea where the name comes from. He just knows that this is what it is called. He can feel the Force tugs at him and with a sigh he decides to give in. Maybe this will stop the dreams. He walks over and climbs onto the large flat seeing stone in the middle of the circle, kneeling in the same meditative way he would while waiting for a Goran in their forge. He breathes out and lets himself fall into the Force.

For a moment he merely drifts in the soft lapping waves of the Force. Tranquil and calm. The war drums of the Manda have a meditative cadence lulling him into relaxing. Opening his eyes he sees himself but far older and far more worn down by sorrows kneeling in front of him. The older him smiles sadly. “Ni ceta,” is the only thing he says before he seems to dissolve into the waves of the Force.

Then out of nowhere memories slam into him. Watching his parents being killed by Separatist Droids, being rescued and raised by Mandalorians. The Night of a Thousand Tears. Fleeing Concordia, hunting under Greef Karga. The bounty for a fifty year old being, only to discover that it is a child. The years on the run. Losing his son and his ship here on Tython. The breaking of his creed. Winning the Darksaber and freeing his child. Handing his son over to the Jedi Luke Skywalker. Fighting with Boba. His son returning to him. The reclamation of Mandalore. The death of his son at the hands of Ben Solo and the rise of the First Order. And then… his death.

He shudders. The grief is overwhelming. He has lost everything. All that he loves is gone. Tears stream down his cheeks as sobs tears through his chest.

He has no idea of how long he kneeled on the stone, curled into himself as he mourns all that he has lost. He comes back to awareness of a soft voice singing softly and warm hands cupping his face. “Udesii, Udesii, Ad. All will be well. Let your sorrow free, let it no longer trouble you.” The voice croons.

Taking a hiccuping breath he raised his head to look up at a being made of light. It takes him a moment to realise that he is no longer on Tython. He is now kneeling in black water filled with bioluminescence while overhead a holo like map of the galaxy spreads.

“My Lady.” He breathes. He can feel the being smile. “My glorious champion.” She replies. Reaching out she gently touches his head and the memories of two very different lives settle in his mind. His name is Din aliit Djarin be Tribe Goten teh Ka’ra. Ad be Goran, Ka’ra touched and trained in the Manda.

His name was Din Djarin a foundling of the Children of the Watch. Beroya for the tribe. For another moment the memories war again before finally settling into place. His grief and heartbreak still fills him but at the same time the bonds that tie him to his aliit and tribe anchors him in the here and now.

“My son?” He asks, the bargain that he had made clear as day in his memories. The Force tilts its head. “A bargain was struck.” They answers. Din feels his heart break anew. “What do you wish me to do?” He whispers.

“You are to guard the heart off Mandalore and train the new avatars of the Force.” a new masculine voice answers. Looking up Din freezes, “Mand’alore Vizsla.” The memories of his time in the other plane returns bringing with it all the knowledge he has gained there. “I don’t understand.” a still kneeling Din confess.

Tarre smiles kindly. “I know ad, I know.” Sitting down in front of Din, the only Mandalorian Jedi continues. “It was a particular cruelty we had you suffer, but it was necessary.” The man smiles sadly. “The you who have lived during the time that was the future, had no connection to tie him to the here and now, that needed to be changed. And the you off the here and now was not old enough and settled into your life enough to absorb the memories of that second life.” The former Mand’Alore sighs. “You need to understand the He who made the bargain and the sacrifice was a potential future, but from the moment you survived the attack on your covert that future ceased to be.”

Din considers this for a long moment. “Is that what was meant by giving up everything?” He asks.

Vizsla nods his head, a pleased smile curving his lips. “That is correct, by giving you the chance to live he ceased to be. So in that way he did give up everything.”

Breathing deeply trying to remain calm, Din thinks back over the last several years. “The dreams?”

“Bleed through from his memories.” Tarre answers. “You need the memories he carried, but until now you were not ready to receive them,” He leans forward and taps a finger onto Din’s forehead. “Now you have reached a place where you can receive the memories but not get overwhelmed by them. You are your own being, Din Djarin. He died and allowed himself to be unmade so that you have a chance at the life he was denied.” Settling into a meditation position Tarre continues, “I will help you process and release the emotions that come with his memories.” Din nods and closes his eyes again, drifting into meditation.

He has no idea how long it took to sort through all the memories and to process the emotions that comes with them. He is utterly exhausted and emotionally drained by the time he feels Tarre prods him out of his meditation. Watching the man rise, Din stumbles to his own feet. He sways with dizziness. “I have a question?” He states.

“Just one?” Vizsla teases. Din swallows back the tears that threaten to rise again. “Will Grogu be safe and happy?” Vizsla merely cocks his head and turns to look into the glittering darkness that surrounds their spot of light. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“Bu!” Comes a shout from the darkness, followed by the sound of small feet running. Din falls back to his knees as his son comes running out of the darkness and leaps into his arms. Hugging his son tightly to his chest, he whispers his name over and over again.

“While he does have the memories of his other life, they have been muted and faded. Now they are no more than nightmares that he has had.” The Force states as they suddenly materialise next to Din again. “But most importantly he does know you and knows the love you have for him.” She waves a hand and an image of Grogu sitting on the seeing stone encased in a pillar of force appears. “He is the same age and training level that he was when he sat on the stone in the other life.” Looking down at a still kneeling Din. “You will have your hands full raising and training him. He is far more mischievous than any of my other children.”

Din looks up in hope. “I… I get to keep my son?” He breathes.

“Of course Din, it was never my intention to keep him from you, but you needed to be in a place where you are secure enough to raise him as he deserves to be raised.” Din nods, “I swear on my life that I will protect him and raise him well. Haat, ijaa, haa’it.” The being of light reaches out and touches Grogu’s head softly. “Ba’juri Verde. You will raise strong warriors.” They agree.

Reaching out they ruffles his hair fondly and Din starts as he just realise that he is without his armour. He is dressed only in his brown kute. “Now my brave one, do you accept the duty of being my champion?” They ask. Still kneeling, Din takes a moment to consider all that he has learned. “If I decline, what will happen?” He asks. He needs to know all the consequences before he can agree.

There is a moment of silence before he receives his answer. “All the memories of your other self will be erased. The dreams and everything. You will continue on as a Beroya. Grogu will stay with me until he is reborn nineteen years from now. He will be found and taken to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.”

Din clenches his jaw at the answer. “And the Sith?” he asks. It is Tarre that answers. “They continue on with their plot, none of the changes made so far will disrupt their plans greatly. War will come and then the Jedi will fall and Mandalore will burn as it had in that other life.”

Closing his eyes Din breathes deeply clutching Grogu tighter to himself. “And if I accept?”

Again it is Tarre that answers. “You get to keep selected memories and when you meet Boba and Fennec next they will receive some of the knowledge that you carry. Enough to help them help you.” Tarre seems to pause. “By the three of you keeping some of your knowledge you will be able to disrupt the Sith plots. But the biggest change will be that you are tasked with ensuring that Jaster Mereel lives and reunites Mandalore.”

Din frowns and looks up. “How am I supposed to do that? I am merely a bounty hunter?”

Tarre snort. “You are anything but a mere hunter, do not sell yourself short.”

“Is this punishment for not accepting the role of Mand’alor in my other life?” Din demands. Tarre laughs, “If that is the way you want to see it.” He agrees.

Din considers his options but he knows what his choice will be. He made it when he stepped into the burning circle that Merrin had cast. He accepted it again in that strange state between life and death. He looks up the physical manifestation of the Force and nods, fist over his heart. “You have my word my lady. You, I will serve with all that I am.”

He can feel the pleased satisfaction of the Force filling the space around them. “Then my champion, your time here is now at an end, but know you carry me with you always.” Tarre Vizsla steps forward and hands Din a spear made of pure Beskar. “A Force blessed weapon for the Force’s Champion.” He states. Taking the spear with great reverence, “I will carry this with honour,” Din swears.

The light grows brighter and brighter and by the time it finally dims Din is back on the seeing stone with a sleepy Grogu cradled in his arm. He is dead tired, completely exhausted and emotionally wrung out. Getting to his feet he staggers. His beskar’gam all of a sudden far heavier than it had ever been. Looking down he realises that his armour has been transformed into pure beskar. It gleams bright silver. Using the spear as an aid he manages to get to his feet only to stumble and nearly topple off the seeing stone.

“Wow, there Mando.” Somebody says as they grab hold of his arm and steadies him. Looking up he realises that he recognises the person. “Jetii Tholme.” He slurs dizzily. “Man, Master Yaddle was right, you are dead on your feet.” Taking the spear from his hand the black haired Jedi passes it along to his companion.

Din realises he is barely conscious as he has not even noticed the second person. “Jon take this.” Tholme carefully helps him down from the stone only to freeze when he sees the sleeping child cradled in his other arm. Din notices and shifts so that Grogu is further away from the jedi. “And who is this cute fellow?” The Jetii asks.

Taking a faltering step to the steep path that leads down the mountain to where his ship is parked. “My son.” Din answers shortly.

Tholme suddenly chuckles. “Man if he is anything like Master Yaddle you will have your hands full with him.” The other jetii, makes a choking sound. Tholme steps back into Din’s personal space and expertly maneuvers his free arm over his shoulder. “Mando meet Jedi Knight Jon Antilles. Jon, this is Mando. He has helped Jaro on several occasions.” Tholme happily introduces the two men. Wrapping his other arm around Din’s waist he slowly starts to steer them down the path. “Now I have promised Master Yaddle that I will personally deliver you into a certain Boba Fett’s hands on Tatooine.” The dark haired man continues. “So I will pilot your ship while you rest and my friend Jon here will follow in our Limulus courier.” Din merely nods far too exhausted to really pay any attention. He should be worried about his inability to heed what is happening around him, but the Force is calm and the drums of the Manda is a soothing rhythmic lullaby.

Year 940 ARR/ 60BBY

Yaddle startles awake at the knell of cymbals ringing through the Force. Something important is happening. She stretches out her senses checking on the whole temple, but everything in the temple is as normal. Reaching out into the gossamer bonds that connect her to her former padawans she checks on each of them, they each in turn reaches back sending back acknowledgements and assurances of wellbeing. Whatever it is that is happening it does not immediately affect the Jedi.

She takes a deep breath and reaches into the vast beskar strength net that ties her to her Mandalorian family and their tribe. It is there that she finds her answer. Din. “Where are you?” she mutters to herself as she gets out of bed and hurries to her desk where she keeps her secure comm that connects her with her family.

“He is on Tython.” A voice answers. She nearly drops the device as she startles and spins around to see the ghostly visage of Tarre Vizsla. “Vizsla, scared me you did.” She snaps. The Jedi Mandalorian merely smirks at her. “What mean you on Tython?” She demands.

“We have reached another anchor point.” The ghost explains. “He has finally reached a level of age and training that the memories of the future that may be, will not drive him to madness.”

Yaddle flinched. “A choice will he be given or force this on him will you?” She asks quietly. Tarre shakes his head. “Our Lady will never be so callous as to take his free will from him. He will be given all the information to make a well informed choice.” Vizsla considers for a moment before continuing. “But the experience will be extremely draining. It will leave him vulnerable. He will need assistance afterwards.”

Yaddle nods. “Know just who to send I do.” Vizsla bows his head to her. “Whoever you send must hurry.” He seems to freeze for a second. “I have to go now. I am needed.” And with that he disappears.

Shaking her head she turns back to her desk and the comm station built into it. Activating it she contacts one of her best shadows. “Master Yaddle.” Jedi Knight Tholme greets as the call connects.

“Knight Tholme, an important task for you I have.” She starts without greeting. She acknowledges to herself that it is rude but time is of the essence. “Travel to Tython you must with all speed. At the seeing stones you will find a being that is in urgent need of assistance. Aid him you must. Escort him to Tatooine to the town of Mos Pelgo and ensure that he is placed in the hands of the mandalorian Boba Fett. Imperative it is that no one knows about this mission.” She stress.

Tholme seems to hesitate, turning to look at someone outside the scope of the holo communicator. “I am currently with Knight Jon Antilles.” Tholme states.

Yaddle considers the implications of that. “Mmm wanderer Knight Antilles is. Serve the Force first he does. Let him assist you in this.” The old master’s ears droop with stress and exhaustion. “Time is of the essence. Hurry you must. Very weak and vulnerable the being you must assist will be after his ordeal. After this mission, return to Temple and debrief you personally I will.” Tholme nods. “May the Force be with you Master.” He greets before signing off.

Year 940 ARR/ 60BBY

Jedi Knight Jon Antilles has nerves of steel. He very seldom startles. The brutal training he had received under the Dark Woman had trained those types of responses out of him.

But still, seeing one of the most famed bounty hunters in the outer rim sitting on the seeing eye stone on Tython encased in a pillar of pure Force energy is startling. What is even more startling is watching the man start to glow so bright that for a second it appears as if a new sun is forming right in front of their eyes. He raises his hand to shield himself from the intense glow, but finds that he is incapable of looking away. As the light dims he lowers his hand and feels his breath catch in his chest.

He has always suspected the man to be slightly force sensitive but now for a handful of seconds his shields are down. The hunter blazes in the Force and Jon can feel the deep connection that the man has with the Cosmic Force.

The mandalorian’s armour has also changed. Before the light show he was wearing brown and red painted armour that was mostly durasteel with some beskar re-enforcements. Now he is dressed head to toe in pure unpainted beskar armour. The style is almost the same but there are subtle differences.

Jon numbly takes the pure beskar spears that Tholme hands him. He only lightly pays attention to what Tholme is saying to the mando. He notices the child before his partner does, but unlike the other jedi he does not need to ask who the child is.

He can clearly see the strong force bond that binds the mandalorian to the child. The small green child blazes in the Force like a beacon but where his claimed parent is connected to the cosmic force this young one is deeply entrenched in the living force. Shifting the spear Jon starts to follow the other two down the steep mountain path towards the flat area where their two ships are parked.

“When we reach Tatooine, you should wait on the ship.” Jon suddenly speaks up. “I will go and call Fett,” he continues.

Tholme frowns as he looks over his shoulder to Antilles. “Are you sure?” He asks. A very tired voice answers before Jon can. “Yeah, he is listed in the Guild records as a bounty hunter. He will not raise the suspicion that a Jetii would.” The Mandalorian states.

Jon nods, “I was unsure if you would recognise me.”

Mando huffs. “It may have taken me a moment.” He stumbles and has to lean more heavily on Tholme. “Just fair warning if you walk into Krait’s Claw my brother might not let you leave.”

That causes Jon to pause. “What do you mean by that?” He asks. He wants to be apprehensive but the Force is calm, he would almost go as far as to say that the Force is giggling.

Having reached the two ships Mando mutters something in mando’a as he takes in his ship. The door wide open, the loading ramp down and not a single defensive measure armed. Sinking down onto the ramp he shifts his sleeping child so that they are more comfortable in his arms. “Ever since that stunt you pulled on Gand to take down the corrupt hunters he has been looking to offer you a space in his Guild Hall.”

Jon’s brain whites out for a second. That, that was not what he had expected to hear. “I am a Jedi.” Jon finally answers. Mando snorts. “Yeah no. You might call yourself a jetii but you have mandokarla to spare. Besides, we have no issues with most jetii.”

Tholme pulls the Mando back to his feet. “Come on. We need to get in the air and you need to get some rest.”

Mando nods and drunkly staggers into the ship. “I cannot believe I am letting some random jetti fly my ship,” he mutters as he disappears into the darkness of the ship’s interior. Shaking his head, Tholme turns back to Jon. “See you on Tatooine.” he greets. Simply nodding, Jon turns and heads to their ship. This was going to be an interesting few days.

Din barely makes it to the ladder that leads to the upper deck and his cabin when his legs decide to give in. He crumples to the floor and it is just pure stubbornness that keeps him conscious enough to keep a gentle hold on Grogu. His son is still fast asleep.

“Wow, Mando!” Jetii Tholme exclaims as he comes rushing after Din, having closed and secured the door. “Okay where is your bunk?” Tholme asks, pulling Din into a more comfortable sitting position. Black spots dance in front of Din’s eyes. “Upper deck next to the fresher.” Din manages to slur out.

Making sure that Mando is not going to fall over in the next few minutes, Tholme heads up the ladder. Finding the bunk he quickly pulls one of the blankets off and uses it to string a hammock above it. Making sure that there is a clear path he heads down again. Kneeling next to Din he gently clears his throat before carefully touching the man’s hand.

“Hi Mando, are you still awake?” He softly asks. Mando merely nods too exhausted to speak. “Okay I am going to need two answers out of you.” Tholme asks, keeping his hand on Mando’s to keep him focussed. “First can you remove your helmet or does it need to stay on?”

Din sways forwards slightly, before pulling enough energy together to answer, “Keep it on in front of people.” He mumbles.

Tholme merely nods having already guessed that this mando is a traditionalist. “Okay so we will get you into your bunk and then close the door. That way you can take your helmet off and get some decent rest. Then second, will you be okay with me picking up your son and taking him to your bunk before coming back for you?” This question makes Din pause as his tired brain tries to parse if he would be okay with that. Finally after a long moment he nods.

“Okay, then.” Tholme breathes before very gently loosening Din’s grip on the child before picking him up. “I will be back in a second.” He assures Din before heading back up. Placing the small child in the hammock he folds over a second blanket securing the green child. “I swear you are the most adorable thing I have ever seen.” He mutters before heading back down to the storage deck and the mandalorian.

Kneeling in front of the seated man, he gives him a careful look over. “Mando, you with me?” he asks. The silver armoured man nods weakly. “Do you have any injuries or is this just a very bad case of Force exhaustion?” He asks.

He watches the man consider the question. “Just Force exhaustion.” The man whispers weakly.

Tholme nods. “Okay, have you suffered from Force exhaustion before?” He waits for the man to nod again in answers. “Then you know you really need a Force healer but in the absence of one, it is a lot of rest and some really high calorie foods.”

The mando lifts a finger to indicate he understands. “I can also see that currently you are in no condition to eat. So I am going to get you in your bunk. Close the door then get this ship in the air and into hyperspace.” The Jedi shifts in preparation to get to his feet and pull the warrior up with him. “I will then wake you so that you can eat and then go back to sleep. It will take us about four days to get to Tatooine.” The mando merely grunts in agreement.

Getting to his feet Tholme uses the force to gently pull the man up to his feet. He frowns as the Force seems to slip off the man, nearly making him drop the man. “What the kriff?” He mutters.

The barely conscious mando huffs out a laugh. “My armour is pure beskar. The Force does not work well on it.” He states softly. Tholme shudders at the thought. “How do you stand it?” He asks as he starts to slowly help the man up the ladder to the upper deck. “Training, lots and lots of training.”

Getting to the upper deck Tholme helps the man to his bunk. The mando sways on his feet before he slowly stumbles into the bunk. He reaches up and gently touches the sleeping child suspended in the hammock above his bed. He pushes something on the wall next to him and the door swoosh close.

Tholme stares at the closed door for a moment before shaking himself and heading for the flight deck. Settling into the pilot seat he goes through the steps getting them airborne and into space. He plots the route he plans to travel and sends it over the comms to Jon who he can see off to his starboard side. He waits for Jon to acknowledge the message before jumping into hyperspace.

It has been nearly eight hours since they had jumped to hyperspace. Tholme had taken the time to investigate the ship and have a nap. Now he is in the ridiculously small space that is pretending to be a galley, trying to figure out what to make for a Force exhausted mandalorian. He is debating between what appears to be some kind of dehydrated red stew and a ration bar when the sound of small feet running draws his attention. Looking up he spots the small green child standing in the door. “Pu?” the child asks his ears raising up in question. “Grogu.” A tired voice calls out behind the child before the mandalorian stumbles into the galley after his child.

“Perfect timing,” The Jedi shadow states as he points to one of the two seats at the small table. “I was just trying to figure out what to make for late meal.”

The mando huff before he al but collapses into the seat. “How good are you with spices?” The silver armoured warrior asks.

Tholme considers the question. “I do appreciate a nice bit of spice, but not a very strong burn.” He confesses. The mando nods as if he was expecting that answer. “Then put the tiingilar away.” he points to the packet of red stew. “In the cold storage there is some pog soup. Warm that up for all three of us. It is super high in calories.” He leans over and picks up his child who had gotten tired of exploring and was pulling at his parent’s greaves, settling him on his lap. “Grogu will also like the soup, since I don’t have any frogs or other heavy proteins onboard that will suit him.”

At the word frog Grogu looks up from where he was examining his parent’s vambrace and licks his lips, “Pah?” He asks. Mando shakes his head and gently runs a finger over one ear. “Sorry ad’ika, not this time. We will get you some paddy frogs and gorgs on Tatooine.” Grogu’s ears droop sadly.

Tholme smiles at the interaction before returning the packet of red stew and opening the cold storage unit and pulls out 2 containers with frozen liquid in. Emptying the contents into the pot he had found earlier he places it on the small hot plate for it to defrost and warm up.

“The bowls are in the cupboard below the hotplate.” Mando points out. Tholme nods before pulling out three bowls and spoons. He freezes as he realizes that the mandalorian would not be able to eat while he is in the same space with them.

Clearing his throat he places the bowls on the table before turning back to stir the soup. “I will eat in the cockpit, that way you can eat in comfort here.”

The mando is silent for a moment before he nods. “That will be good.” He huffs, sounding a bit frustrated. “I am not sure I actually have the energy to make it back to my bunk.”

Giving the pot of melting soup another stir Tholme turns back to the man sitting at the table. “Have you ever experienced Force exhaustion this bad before?” He asks.

The hunter seems to consider the question carefully before replying. “Once when I was younger, my first solo job was to recover a set of books that had been stolen from a collector.” He pauses to try and figure out how to frame his answer. “It was a test, similar to that of your knighting trails. I succeeded but I woefully over extended myself. My ba’buir and my buir read me the riot act.”

Tholme frowns at the unfamiliar terms. “Ba’boor?” He asks. The mando huffs, “BA-boo-EER,” he carefully enunciates. “It means grandparent.” Tholme nods, “Then buir is, parent?” he asks.

Mando nods. “That is correct.” Turning back to the now boiling soup Tholme switches off the hot plate before dividing the soup into two large and one slightly smaller portions. “How old were you?” He asks curiously.

Pulling one of the large bowls and the smaller bowl closer to him, mando hums. “Twenty-one.” He answers. Tholme balks, that is very young for a knight trial. Most jedi are knighted around twenty-three to twenty-five years old. Picking up his bowl he heads out the galley. “I will let you eat in peace. I will call before I come back down.” He waits for Mando to nod in understanding before he leaves.

Din waits until he is certain that the jetii has made it to the flight deck before taking off his helmet. Grogu immediately turns around to look at him. Raising a three fingered hand the small child touched Din’s cheek with what can only be awe. “Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’ad, Grogu.” He chokes out, the Force bond that had come into being the moment had picked up the toddler in the between space flares before settling.

Through the bond he can feel the child’s love and trust for him. Lowering his head he rests his forehead on Grogu’s in a loving mirshmure’cya. “I will keep you safe this time, I will do everything I can to ensure your happiness, Haat, ijaa, haa’it.” He had sworn to the Force and now he swears to his child. His other self might have failed in the past-future, but his sacrifice has given the now him a chance to correct the mistakes made.

“BU!” Grogu exclaims before hugging Din tightly. Wiping away a tear, Din nods. “Yes Grogu I am your buir.” Swallowing back his tears he leans forward and picks up a spoon. Pulling the smaller bowl closer he lifts Grogu so that he can sit on the table next to his bowl. He hands him the spoon before picking up his own.

“Come now little one, time to eat. Then we can get some more sleep.” “Ay” Grogu nods, his ears flopping. “Yes epar, eat.” Din confirms before he starts to eat his soup. He is still bone deep tired and he knows that it is going to take longer than the four days too Tatooine for him to recover.

The two of them eat in silence, content to merely be in each other’s presence. Din finishes his soup quickly, hungrier than he thought he was. He leans back in his seat watching his son eat. He realises he has dozed off when he feels a prod in the Force. He winces because his mind is raw from having another version of his life crammed into his skull and then having all the emotion going with those memories plucked right back out again. Part of him is glad. The memories are now distant, not like he himself has lived then but more like a holovid he had watched. He has all the skill and knowledge his other-self had had. His other-self was emotionally stunted for a large part of his life. He kinds of gets it. The circumstances of that life was horrific and the toll that first the empire and then the First order had on the galaxy was devastating.

He bows his head. He is unsure of when Cal and Merrin will be born but he will seek them out and ensure that they get to grow up safe and loved this time round. He frowns; he is unsure of how the empire came to be established. He knows that the civil war between the Separatist and the Republic was what led to the rise of the Empire but he could not remember more than that.

The training that he and his vod’e had undergone in the space between spaces had focused mostly on Mandalorian history. He hopes that Boba and Fennec will remember more than he does.

Year 940 ARR/ 60BBY

Walking down the dusty main street of Mos Pelgo towards Krait’s Claw cantina that serves as the Guild Hall Jon cannot help but notice how different the town was compared to the other places on Tatooine.

The side walks are clean and the buildings are well maintained, but the most noticeable difference is the fact that there is no sour fear staining the Force. The people of Mos Pelgo live hard lives but they clearly do not live in fear. There are children playing in the streets and beings going about their business. The one thing that is very noticeable is the fact that there are no signs of slaves.

Jon had conferred with both Mando and Tholme when they had exited hyperspace above Tatooine. After a discussion it has been agreed that they would land outside of the town and that Jon would walk in. He is dressed in his normal spacer outfit and the deep hooded dark brown cloak that he favors. His lightsaber is hidden in a special pouch at his back. Here and now he is not Jedi Knight Jon Antilles but just another bounty hunter. He will draw far less attention than Tholme, who is dressed as a Jedi and also unknown to the residents of the guild.

Stepping into the cantina Jon gives himself a minute to allow his eyes to adjust to the slight gloom of the room. He is pleasantly surprised to find that the room is clean and well lit, with just enough darkness to offer protection from the harsh double suns of Tatooine.

Looking around he notices the large number of mandalorians mixed in with what he assumes is guild members and locals. At the far back of the room next to a door leading to the back sits Boba Fett. In the five years since the man had joined the guild he has become just as large a legend as the mando that Jon presumes is his brother.

One of his largest legends is that he survived being swallowed by a Sarlac. Jon is certain that Fett is going to single handily drive Gradulla to madness. The guild master has outmanoeuvred the Hutt on more than one occasion, costing her millions in credits.

Heading across the room Jon can feel all the eyes turn to him. By the time he reaches Boba’s table the mandalorian has turned and is watching him approach. The black T-shape visor of his helmet staring him down. A slight shiver runs down Jon’s spine. This man is a very dangerous predator. The Force has taken on a strange tone warning him to be careful but also urging him to be as truthful as possible. “Greetings Ser Fett.” Jon greets the man with a respectful nod.

Boba leans back in his chair in a very careful nonchalant manner. “Well, well, well. If it is not the infamous Jon Antilles.” The man greets in a gruff voice. “What brings one with your reputation to my corner of the galaxy?”

Taking a steadying breath Jon clearly indicates his movement as he carefully pulls a pendant from one of his pockets and hands it over to Fett. “I am carrying a private message that I had sworn to deliver to you personally.”

The green and red armoured guild leader takes the pendant and Jon nearly starts as he feels the man poke him in the force. Not an attack but more of an inspection and an introduction. Jon starts to wonder just how many Force sensitive mandalorians there are. And where they are getting their training from, because Fett has all the skill and control of a Jedi master.

Looking at the pendant, Fett nods and gets to his feet. “Come we will talk in my office.” He states as he heads for the door at the back of the cantina. Giving the room a quick once over Jon notices that several of the mandalorians have shifted to now impede his ability to leave the cantina. He sighs and follows Fett. Sometimes he wishes the Force will send him on a nice relaxing mission. Like rescuing tookas from trees.

He discretely looks around as he enters the mandalorian’s office. The furniture in the office is all sturdy but comfortable. Well made but not luxurious. The only vanity in the room is a large solid wood desk. It has exquisite flower details carved in and has gold trim. Jon cocks his head; everything else in the office reflects the mandalorian except the desk.

Fett notices Jon noticing and points at a seat across from the desk. Sitting down himself Fett places the pendant down in front of him. “The desk was a gift from a close friend.” He states dryly. Jon considers the statement. It means that the desk was more than likely stolen from who it was originally intended for, but that was none of his business.

“Now explain to me why you have my brother’s medallion and why his ship landed about two hours ago out in the wastes followed shortly by another ship, with no contact from him.” Fett’s tone is harsh but not threatening.

Jon considers both the information that Fett had provided about his information network around the town and his relationship with Mando and his willingness to listen. Clearing his throat he very slowly reaches for his lightsaber hidden at his back. With slightly exaggerated motions he pulls his lightsaber and slowly places it on the desk in front of him. He quickly folds both hands on his lap.

Fett looks at the lightsaber tilting his helmet in what Jon considers a listening look. He wonders if the mandalorian can hear his kyber’s song. After a few tense moments Fett huffs. “Well that explains a lot.” He sighs somewhat dramatically. “I should kick your ass Antilles.”

Jon starts to tense but Fett continues on. “I now owe my riduur several credits.” The man laments. “You got that right.” A new voice answers. Jon starts and turns to look at the new mandalorian who has entered the room. They are slim built, in armour coloured black, purple and orange. He realises that he cannot sense them at all in the Force. Turning back to look at Fett he realises that he also had not sensed him at all until Fett had acknowledged him.

The mandalorian that Jon presumes is Fett’s partner prowls around the desk and leans up against Fett’s chair. Reaching forward they tap on the medallion that lays on the desk. “So how did you get your hands on this?” They ask.

Jon swallows and releases his anxiety into the Force again. “Master Yaddle contacted Jedi Knight Tholme and asked that he assist a mandalorian that was on Tython about five days ago. Since I was with him I went along. When we got there Mando was suffering from a severe case of Force exhaustion. As instructed by Master Yaddle we assisted him to his ship and escorted him here. We were instructed to make sure that he makes it to you safely.”

Jon wet his lips. “It was felt that since I am known as a bounty hunter it will draw less attention for me to come and inform you.”

Fett nods and hums his vocoder crackles slightly with the sound. He taps on the medallion again before nodding and pushing up from his chair. “Very well let’s go and see what my vod managed to get himself into this time.”

Nearly sighing with relief Jon also gets to his feet. “Can we stop somewhere to pick up some frogs before heading out to our ships?” He pulls some credits from the pouch on his belt. “Frogs?” Fett asks incredulously. Shrugging Jon nods. “Yeah for his son. I think they were out on Tython longer than planned and ran low on provisions.”

Fett and his partner share a long look and Jon is pretty sure that they are having a conversation he isn’t part of. “Let’s get to our vod first and get him and his ship relocated to town, then we will make sure they are properly provisioned.” The slender mandalorian states out loud. Fett nods and gestures for Jon to lead the way. “We’ll take the speeder,” Fett says as he starts to follow behind Jon. “I am not walking in this heat unless I have no other choice.” Jon nods kind of grateful, the walk in had been brutal.

As they enter the hallway Fett points in the opposite direction from where they had entered. “The speeder is parked in the back.” Fett waits for Jon to take the lead.

Part of Jon can appreciate the tactical move while a larger part of Jon is getting jittery with having a very dangerous fully armed mandalorian at his back. He reaches out into the Force again, and again all he gets back is a feeling of amusement. He wants to shout at the Force that this is not helping.

Reaching the entrances, Fett’s partner steps around Jon to unlock the door and heads out first. Stepping back out into the bright light of Tatooine’s two suns, Jon squints bringing his hand up to shield his eyes. Next to a four door speeder stands two beings. The first is a tan coloured female zabrak and leaning against the speeder arms crossed is another mandalorian. From the configuration of the helmet Jon assumes that they must be twi’lek. The new mando’s armour is somehow softer looking than any he had seen so far. It is also painted in different shades of red and black.

“Hi Boss, the speeder is ready for you, Red here has decided that she is your backup today.” The zabrak states. Again Jon gets the feeling that there is internal communication happening between the mando’s. He nearly startles when Fett dramatically throws his hands up into the air and storms around the speeder to get into the front passenger seat.

The still unnamed zabrak sniggers before fist bumping with Fett’s partner and heading into the building by the same door as they had exited. ‘Red’ gets into the driver’s seat and starts up the speeder. For a moment Jon hesitates before he gets into the back. He gets pushed over as instead of walking around the speeder Fett’s partner gets into the speeder using the same door as Jon.

The door is barely closed behind them when the speeder shoots off at high speed heading in the direction of the ships. “So what has he gotten himself into this time?” Red asks out loud looking over their shoulder Jon.

Jon shrugs. “I am just delivering the message.” he states. Red’s sigh sounds strange through their vocoder. “Calypso is blaming him for all of her grey hair.” the twi’lek states. Fett snorts. “His antics are the source of all our grey hairs.” He responds dryly. “When we get there I want you to guard the outside of his ship while we figure out what is going on.” He instructs. Red nods and seems to speed up even more.

While the walk in had taken nearly two hours the drive out in the speeder was over in just ten minutes. Pulling up to where the two ships are parked Jon sees Tholme waiting outside, seemingly meditating in the shadow of their Limulus. He gracefully rises to his feet as the speeder slows and then comes to a full stop next to him. “Greetings Ser Fett.” He nods, Jon can see the urge to bow through the way he immediately hides his hands in the sleeves of his robe.

“Greetings Jetii.” Fett says as he climbs out of the speeder. Tholme points at the open side door on the Razor Crest. “He has asked that you and your partner join him in the ship. What he needs to share with you needs to be done in privacy. I and Knight Antilles will guard you until we are no longer needed.”

Jon watches the three newcomers watch Tholme before Fett nods decisively. “Since Master Yaddle sent you, I will trust you for now.” With a small gesture at Red he and his partner heads towards the ship door. Watching the door close behind them Jon finally feels some of the tension leach out of him.

“So pretty boy, you a Jetii?” Red asks from where they are leaning against the speeder again. Jon sighs and decides that he is telling the Force that no matter what after this he is taking a vacation.

****

Din is sitting in the storage deck watching Grogu try to catch the silver knob from the hyperspace control lever that Din is hovering just out of his reach, when he feels his siblings enter the ship. He takes off his helmet as Boba and Fennec join him.

After almost four days of only sleeping and eating he is feeling much closer to normal than he has felt in a long time. Boba settles next to him while Fennec hops onto a crate containing weapons.

Din sighs and waves her closer. “Trust me Fen you do not want to sit on something you can fall off for this.” He explains when she glares at him. He waits for her to join them on the ground before he picks up his son who has toddled over to him when Boba and Fen had entered the space.

“Boba, Fennec allow me to introduce you to my son, Grogu.” He proudly states. He watches as both of them freeze at the name. Looking down at Grogu for a moment he looks up and motions for them to take off their helmets.

Fennec hesitates for a moment before following her partner in removing her helmet. “For what it is worth, I am really sorry for this.” Din says before he reaches out and touches both their foreheads at the same time. He watches as their eyes roll back and they slump unconsciously forward. Looking down at where his son is watching all of this from where he is sitting on his lap he shakes his head. “Your ba’vodu’e is going to kick my ass for this.” Grogu merely giggles.

Boba comes awake slowly. His head feels like his buir has used it to hammer beskar with. He frowns when he realises that he is laying on his back with a rolled up blanket under his head acting as a pillow.

He groans and starts to push himself upright. He grunts as he finally gets into a seated position. The lighting has been lowered so at least the light is not stabbing into his eyes.

“Here.” a mug is thrust into his hand followed a second later by a hypo to the neck. Before he can snarl at his brother, he hears Fennec groan.

“Fuck you Djarin, as soon as I can move without puking I am shooting you in the ass.” She snarls. Boba hears Din huff before moving over to Fen. He listens as she too gets stabbed by a hypo. “Oh hush it will help with the headache.” Din shushes Fennec before moving to sit back down facing them again.

“Okay so either I had the most fucked up dream ever or you did something crazy and dragged us into it behind you.” Boba rasps, clearing his throat he takes a sip from his cup. Shig heavily sweetened with honey, it soothes his throat the sugar helping with the light case of Force exhaustion. “Definitely did something suicidal, crazy and stupid.” Fennec mutters as she starts sipping her cup of shig as well.

Din sighs and merely rolls his eyes. “Technically an alternative future version of me did the…thing.” He frowns, not sure of what to call what that other him had done. Was it a bargain, a sacrifice or something else? He looks over to where his son is sleeping, wrapped in his cloak. “I can’t apologize for what happened,” he turns back to look at the two people who have been his family in both lives. “I have my son and we now have a chance to fix things.”

Boba looks contemplative while he slowly sips his drink. “We can stop the clones from being created.” He says softly. Fennec reaches out to gently touch his arm. “We can work to foil the Sith and the rise of the Empire.” She answers as well. Din nods and leans forward, “No Empire, no slaughter of the Jetii, no Night of a Thousand Tears.” He whispers.

Boba drains his cup before putting it down. He leans forward clasping Din’s hand in his right hand while reaching for Fennec with his left. “Ba’buir Yaddle.” Fennec suddenly exclaims, “She knows as well.” Din nods.

“Mand’alor Vizsla explains that in her death she fully opened herself to the Force. That gave the Force the ability to pluck her soul out of the weave of the galaxy and using the energy of the other me’s sacrifice to send it back in time as well.”

Reaching out he takes Fennec’s other hand completing the circle. “We are not them, and we do not have all of their memories, but we have enough to greatly alter the course of the galaxy.” He tightens his grip on their hands for a second before letting go. “But this is your choice. While I want nothing more than for you to be with me in this battle it is not something I can demand from you.”

Boba stares at his brother, for a mere second there seems to be an older far more life weary version superimposed over him. He has known Din since they were both young children. The other him have only met Din later in life but they had fought together and claimed each other as aliit. There were precious little battles he would not follow his brother into.

Fennec clears her throat, Boba can see the same resolution in her eyes. “We have had each other’s back for far too long to turn away now.” She looks over at Grogu before turning back, “Besides I got my Boba with hair back.” She smirks over at her partner.

Boba pretends to be offended before softening again. “I do not have a lot of the other’s memories but your death devastated him.” He answers solemnly. The dark haired assassin blinks back tears while smiling. “Where you tread I will follow.” Leaning forward Boba gently presses his forehead lovingly against Fennec’s in a mirshmure’cya. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde,” They breathe together. Din turns his head looking across the deck to where his helmet and spear is resting, to give them some privacy.

Sitting back up Boba takes a deep calming breath. “So the answer is obviously yes. We are with you all the way. Now the question becomes: what is the next move?”

Fennec nods in agreement, “And where did you get the shiny new armour?” She demands with an appreciative look. Din gives her a droll look but does answer, “Apparently the Forces champion needs to be a walking target.” He answers just a tad snidely, before sighing and slumping tiredly. “It is Manda forged pure beskar armour modelled on his armour. The same with the spear. Both are a sign of my deal with the Force.” Boba nods in understanding. “What colour will you paint it?” Din considers the question carefully. “I won’t paint it. Not while I am in the Lady’s service.”

“That is going to make you a pretty big target for beskar thieves,” Fennec points out. Din gives a half-hearted shrug. “The same was true in the other life and I have all of his experience and the Force this time round.”

“So what is our next move?” Boba asks, steering the conversation back on track. “I need to see buir.” Din answers, “Grogu needs to meet the tribe. I am thinking of taking a few months off from hunting and spending it with the tribe.” He looks back at his son. “I am… unmoored by what has happened and needs to reconnect to everyone.”

The older hunter shifts, straightening his legs. “That is actually a very good idea.” He looks over at his partner. “We can get you restocked and you should be able to leave in a few days. It will take us about two weeks to clear our schedule and then we can join you and the tribe.” He smiles just a little bit sadly. “It will be good to see buir again.”

Pushing to his feet Din holds out a hand to help his brother up. “Thats the plan then.” Rising gracefully to her feet Fennec links her arm with Boba. “That’s the plan then. A family vacation.” Din grins feeling optimistic about life for the first time in more than a year. “And then kriffing around in the Sith plans until it drives them to reveal themselves.” Boba responds grinning murderously.

Year 940 ARR/ 60BBY

Paz Viszla sighs as he rounds the rock wall of the creek bed and enters the clearing where the scouts have spotted an intruder. The tribe is currently residing on a planet deep within the unknown region.

Travelling to their current location is near impossible without the exact co-ordinates, which are zealously guarded. Yet here lounging on the wing of a bright red N-1L Light Naboo starfighter in her signature shades of red and maroon, black boots kicking lightly against the side of her ship, hat rakishly perched on her curls, slowly eating some kind of very juicy fruit, was non-other than pirate captain Calypso.

Paz takes a deep breath and lowers the internal comm feed. The last thing he needs is to hear some of the comments his fellow cabur is making about the very enticing picture Calypso presents.

Unmuting his external vocoder he speaks up. “Calypso!” he snaps as he nears the ship. “Blue, darling!” Calypso greets as she swallows the last bite. Sitting up she seductively licks her fingers clean. A smile stretching across her blood red lips. Paz both curses and thanks his heavy infantry armour and the very solid codpiece. He can never figure out if Calypso knows exactly what she does to him.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, determined to not get distracted by the way her tongue flicks out to catch the last drop of juice on her bottom lip. “What?” She asks with a dramatically overdone pout. “A girl can’t even check up on her oath-brother?” placing one hand on her bosom, highlighting the cleavage exposed by the low cut silk top she is wearing under her leather coat. The blood red colour of the silk is a stark contrast against her pale skin.

Walking closer to the ship Paz snorts. He comes to a stop nearly directly under the wing of her ship she was sitting on. Looking up at her, Paz snorts. “Yeah no, not buying it. I know for a fact that you spoke to Din just a week ago.”

Sitting up straighter the pirate leans forward. “Well have you considered that maybe I wanted to see you?” she asks with a low purr in her voice, all the time fiddling with the top button of her top.

Paz merely tilts his head and stares at her. The stand-off lasts nearly five minutes before Calypso pouts and slouches. “You are no fun.” She sighs before kicking harder against the wing. Paz nearly jumps out of his skin when a compartment opens just below the wing she is sitting on.

Stepping closer to get a better look he realises that there are at least six camtonos in the compartment. Calypso jumps off the ship’s wing lightly landing on her feet and steps in close to Paz, her breast brushing against his arm. Leaning around him she twists the nearest camtono’s lid opening it. Paz breath catches in his throat as he takes in the contents of the camtono. Beskar ingots. The container is filled with beskar ingots. Swallowing, he asks harshly, “All of them?”

Calypso hums, while closing the camtono. “Jip, all of them.” she confirms, stepping forward and turning to lean against her ship next to the open compartment. “Where?” Paz demands, unable to complete a whole sentence.

Calypso buffs her left hand’s fingernails against her top before nonchalantly inspecting them. “Let’s just say that Jabba is not having a good week.” she drawls, while looking up at Paz through her lashes.

Paz closes his eyes and sighs, “Calypso, why are you here?” He asks again. “You could have dropped this off with Boba. Hell you could have sent a message and I would have come and collected it myself if you didn’t want to go to Tatooine.”

Calypso leans forward into his space and gently taps on his chest to the right of his kar’ta beskar. “Well maybe, I wanted to see Din and meet the whumprat in person.” She leans even closer. “So why don’t you call him so that I can give the kid his present and then maybe you can escort me back to my ship.” She gently bit her lower lips,

Before Paz can say anything else a priority override unmutes his internal comms. “Paz, escort our visitor to the meeting room. The Alor and Goran want to talk to her.”

Paz closes his eyes and counts to ten before he acknowledges the instruction. Leaning forward he grabs two of the camtonos out of the compartment. Turning he starts to head back to the creek bed that leads to the cave entrance that is the tribe’s current living space. “Come, our leaders want to talk to you.” He states.

Calypso blanches, “Wait, what, no.” She snaps. “I am merely dropping this off and then heading back to my ship.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “My father is expecting me.” She snaps even as she turns to unload the rest of the beskar.

Paz says nothing as three more mandalorians drop out of the sky surrounding the ship. “He can wait.” He says as he hands over one of the containers he is carrying to one of the newcomers. Paz waits for a few minutes watching in fascination as emotions and calculations flashes in Calypso’s eyes before her shoulders slumps. She may be good but she is no match alone for four mandalorians on their home turf.

“Fine!” She snaps as she turns and starts to head in the direction he had originally come from. “But this better not take long, I do have stuff to do you know.” Paz takes a minute to just watch her stalk across the creek bed. He gets snapped out of his staring by one of the other guards knocking a pauldron into his. “Wow, what the hell did you do to score a feisty one like that?” The younger guard asks, awe clear in his voice. “Hell if I know.” Paz answers before hurriedly walking after Calypso to escort her to the meeting with the Alor and Goran.

Din watches as Calypso stalks into the room after Paz. He does not need to be force sensitive to feel her ire and frustration radiating off her. He can see it clearly in the jut of her chin and the way she stalks into the room, hands resting on her belt next to her blasters. He knows she is smart enough to know how hopeless it would be to try and start a fight. But he also knows she does not do well in situations where it is clear that she has no escape route. Frankly he blames Nym. The pirate is a great tactician and has raised his adopted daughter to be just as calculating and ruthless as himself.

Most beings would think that Feeorin are incapable of love, but that is not true. Yes they always place their own affairs and interests first, but their own affairs include their families. Din has seen first hand the destruction Nym had caused on more than one occasion to secure his daughter’s wellbeing and happiness. He also knows for a fact that Calypso merely needs to indicate to her father that she wants Paz permanently by her side for the old pirate to arrange his capture. He should warn Paz and their Alor but at the same time watching the two dance around each other is one of the funniest things he has seen in a great while.

“Greetings Captain Calypso.” Din’s mother the tribes goran greets. Din watched as Calypso takes off her hat and makes a sweeping exaggerated flamboyant bow. “Su cuy’gar Goran.” She answers as she stands up straight and dons her hat again. “You speak Mando’a” Their Alors says in surprise. Calypso smiles coyly and holds her thumb and forefinger a few millimetres apart, “Oh just an itsy bitsy of mando’a.” She says laughingly.

Din snorts and steps out of the shadow where he had been watching the scene unfold. “Don’t listen to her Alor, she is damned near fluent.” He says as he watches her smile change from calculating to genuine delight. “Din darling,” She gives him a solid look over, “Love the new glad rags.” She waves a hand up and down incorporating his entire body. “It’s very you.” Merely shaking his head he moves to stand next to his mother.

“Why are you here Cal?” He asks. “You could have dropped the beskar off at Boba’s and I told you I would bring and introduce you to the kid next month. You could have waited.” Calypso shakes her head and her smile disappears as she transforms from the playful flamboyant pirate to the calculating and ruthless pirate queen. “No I really could not have.” She hesitates for a moment before reaching into her coat and pulls out a piece of flimsy. “You know of the issues my father is having with the Trade Federation right?”

Paz snorts loudly, causing everyone to turn to him. “What?” He asks, raising his hands, “Is that political speak for all out war?” Calypso rolls her eyes and mutters something under her breath in a language that Din does not recognise, before answering Paz with a condescending. “Yes dear.”

She turns back to Din, the Alor and Goran. “In his last raid Dad came across this message. It is clear that someone is very interested in destabilising Mandalore.” Pointing at one of the camtono’s that Paz is still carrying, “And it is very clear that they have an inside source in Mandalorian space. This beskar was a payment for Jabba the Hutt for weapons. The Trade Federation facilitated the transaction between Jabba and Death Watch at the behest of a being only known as Darth Plagueis.”

Din feels a cold wash over him. He can see in the way both his buir and their Alor freezes that they understand the implications of the name. Calypso raises her chin and pulls back her shoulders standing up straight. “The Sith have finally revealed themself.” She states, a clear gong ringing through the Force emphasising the truth of her words.

 

Chapter 7

Year 941 ARR/ 59BBY

Jaster Mereel stands next to the window in his office, his hands clasp behind his back watching his super-commandos train in the training yard below his office. He focuses on which of his warriors are slower this morning than normal. Although there are a few, most seem to be training at normal capacity. “It seems that not many of the ori’ramikad are suffering from last night’s revelries.” Kal Skirata states as he joins the silent Mand’alor at the window. Jaster nods, “Yes I am quite pleased with the restraint they’ve shown.” He answers. Kal hums, “They know we are in a precarious situation. You may have been named as Mand’alor by majority vote last year…” Kal trails off.

“But it was a very slim majority with a large number of Aliit’Alor abstaining from voting or even attending. And with even fewer of the neutral clans attending yesterday’s re-opening of the First Forge celebration, it is a clear sign that we are not as secure as we wish to be.” Jaster agrees. They stand in silence for a minute longer watching the training before Jaster sighs and turns away from the window.

He crosses the room and sits down at his desk, and looks at the scattered pieces of flimsi and pads. He starts to arrange them into some sort of order. “We as a people are now officially split into three distinct factions.” He continues as he separates pads into three groupings. Kal settles into a chair across the desk from him and nods. “It would appear that with Vizsla’s declaration last week civil war is all but inevitable now.” He reaches over, picking up one of the pads scanning its data before placing it on a different pile. Jaster glares at him before moving the pad back to its original stack.

In the year since Jaster has been named Mand’alor it has been an uphill battle to unite their people. Jaster looks down at a report from his agents on Concordia. It has been a week since Tor Vizsla had broadcasted a speech in which he claimed as direct descendent of Tarre Vizsla’s and the current wielder of the dha’kad’au, that he is the rightful Mand’alor. It has caused a right stir and several of the more traditional clans have withdrawn from their discussions with Jaster.

The True Mandalorians had taken over Keldabe shortly after Jaster’s meeting with Clan Awaud. He had been right. As soon as it had gone out that Clan Awaud had sworn fealty to Jaster and that Clan Mereel had been elevated to House status another ten small clans had contacted him to be taken in under his house banner. After he had taken over Keldabe more and more small clans had trickled in. This trend has continued over the past year. Although with Tor’s announcement Jaster expects that to slow down. Most of his days are now spent split between still running the Haat’Mando’ade mercenary company, the re-fortification of Keldabe and trying to unite the different Mandalorian houses and clans under one banner.

Jaster sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “We need to take more contracts.” He tiredly states. Kal merely hums in response. “We are in dire need of credits. We need building supplies, medical supplies, food, clothing, weapons and metal for armour.” Jaster continues.

Kal pulls a pad out of the satchel he carries everywhere with him these days and opens one of the reports. “The repair on the main bridge over the Kelita river on the east side has been completed, as well as the eastern watch towers.” Kal scrolls down. “The west side towers are complete and the bridge is about eighty percent complete.” he continues to scroll down the report. “The balustrade is also nearly complete.”

Jaster makes several notes on a piece of flimsy. “The Evaar’la’ade has nominated Adoni Kryze as their new leader,” he informs Kal. Kal closes his eyes for a moment before shaking his head, “I cannot understand how his riduur can tolerate that nonsense. They want to strip us of our very souls for their suicidal ideas.” He hisses. Jaster puts down his pen before picking it right up again. “That I cannot say, all I know is that if it comes to war, Kyr’tsad will slaughter them and it will fall to us to protect them.” He states. Kal nods, “While they spend the whole time calling us savages and murderers.” He agrees.

The two men sit in silence for a moment, before Kal looks down at his pad and grins. “Want to hear something that will cheer you up a bit?” He asks teasingly. Jaster raises an eyebrow, “What news can you possibly have that will cheer me up in the face of all this?” He asks, sweeping a hand over his desk to indicate all the work waiting to be completed. “Oh just a sighting of a certain nameless beroya with a mudhorn sigil.” comes the sly reply.

Jaster sits up straight and makes a ‘give me’ hand motion at the pad still in Kal’s hands. Laughing, Kal hands it over. “He was seen on Tatooine just a few days ago. He has new armour.” He smirks at Jaster as he watches the man swipe through the images that were sent to Kal.

Jaster feels his breath catch in his chest. The armour is new and different, pure unpainted beskar but he would recognise his hunter anywhere in anything. Manda but his hunter is literally wearing a king’s ransom in beskar. He watches several of the short video clips of his hunter moving about. He seems far less tired and stressed than the last sightings of him has been. Jaster would never say it out loud except to his uncle, but he had been worried sick when his hunter had disappeared from the face of the galaxy nearly a year ago. The last sighting of him, he had been moving like one that was seriously injured. Then a week later the bounty that he was hunting was brought in by Boba Fett. Fett and his riduur had also disappeared at the same time, but they had resurfaced a month later back on Tatooine and had continued on like normal.

“Rumour has it that he took down a greater krayt dragon.” Kal continues. Jaster freezes and looks up at Kal. “What?” he demands harshly. Kal nods. “Apparently one had been terrorising Mos Pelgo and the Tusken tribes of the area.” Kal pulls the pad from Jaster’s hands before he settles back in his chair more comfortably. “Fett, Beroya, several mando’ade and a mixed group of villagers and Tuskens took the beast on. The plan went boots up halfway through and several people got killed.” Kal fiddles with the pad. “Beroya then apparently took one of the bantha that was loaded with explosives and shot at the dragon until it swallowed him and the bantha whole.” He looks over at Jaster and grins at how pale and caught up in the story he was. “Just when everybody thought it was the end, the dragon gave out a great cry and out of its open mouth Beroya flew, triggering the explosives blowing up the beast from the inside.”

Jaster swallows and leans forward dread and glee warring for dominance in his head. “How do you know all of this if it is merely a rumour?” he demands. Kal grins and opens a new holo file on the pad, before handing it over. “Because I have footage.”

Jaster is not even remotely subtle in his desperation as he leans over the large desk and rips the pad out of Kal’s hands. The video clip is clearly from a helmet cam. The footage overlaid with readings. “Laarna, my ba’vodu youngest, is part of Fett’s… Gotra for a lack of a better term.” Kal answers as Jaster watches the footage. It must have been his plan as Beroya stands waiting for the greater krayt dragon. Jaster frowns as he watches his hunter say something to Fett before triggering Fett’s jetpack sending him spiralling into the sky. His heart skips a beat and his breath catches in his chest as he watches the massive beast rears out of the sand before swallowing his hunter and the large bantha that he was clearly keeping on a leash. For a long moment dread fills him before relief comes rushing in as he watches the krayt screams and his hunter flies out. “He shocked it with his amban.” Jaster murmurs softly. The hunter drifts in the air above the screaming beast before the dragon explodes.

“Laarna sent me the footage.” Kal explains. “Apparently the Tuskens are already calling him Krayt slayer.” Kal huffs. “Laarna says that between him killing a greater krayt and Fett surviving and then killing a sarlac they have been named the twin suns reborn by the Tuskens.” Jaster rests a finger on a still image of his hunter clad in his unpainted beskar. “He looks like something out of legends.” He says softly.

“Mmmm,” Kal hums. “Just imagine what it will do for your hold on power if you had someone like that as your riduur.” Jaster shot Kal a dark look before looking down at the image on the pad again. He wonders if Kal knows about the beskar courting blade he had the Goran be Keldabe make for him. The next time he and his hunter cross paths he will fight him and slip the blade into the empty scabbard he still carries on his right hip. The drums of the manda that is always in the background now, takes on a gleeful note.

Year 941 ARR/ 59BBY

Din walks out of the fresher, towel drying his hair. He had taken two sonics before giving in and having a water shower to get the last krayt spit out of his hair. He is unsure how the hell the spit had gotten into his helmet, but it is going to take him hours to clean the circuitry inside his helmet.

He hangs the towel over the chair at the desk before turning to the bed to pick up his clean bodysuit. He stops and smiles down at the small green child that is curled up sleeping on the pillow. The last year had been difficult at times but also very rewarding. His retreat to the Tribe had been what he needed to settle the last of the alternative version of him’s memories.

Mand’Alor Tarre Vizsla had helped a lot with the initial settling. The problem came in with the fact that there are very large gaps in the memories he had received. Din gets it, he is not the Din Djarin that died in a failed spell and made a bargain with the Force. There is no way that he can absorb seventy years of memories even with the help of the Force. With the memories he did receive also came skills that he had mastered in that other life. The problem with quite a few is that he now had the theoretical knowledge but not the muscle memories to back it up.

He had spent most of the last year practising to relearn the skills. He had also taken the time to properly bond with his son. That had been one of his other-selves greatest regrets. That even after he had adopted Grogu he had not taken the time to cement the bonds to his family. But their circumstances are vastly different. That Din did not have a large and thriving Tribe like he does. By the end of that life there were less than ten mandalorians left. The first order had hunted them as ruthlessly as they had hunted anyone that was force-sensitive. And with the destruction of Mandalore they as a people had basically ceased to exist.

He pulls on his kute and is still debating on whether he wants to start on cleaning and repairing his armour or take a quick nap with Grogu first. The choice is made for him with a knock on his door. “Din” Boba calls from the hallway, “You decent?” he asks.

“Yeah, come in.” Din answers as he settles at his desks and pulls his helmet and cleaning supplies closer. He frowns at the amount of gunk stuck to the padding on the inside of his helmet. He will need to replace the padding completely.

The door opens and Boba and Fennec enter. Boba is carrying a box with repair tools and armour cleaning supplies while Fennec is carrying a tray containing food and drinks. Setting the box on the ground next to the desk Boba pulls the only other chair in the room closer to the desk.

Fennec places the tray on the desk before lightly slapping Din on the back of the head. “That was a dumb move.” She says as she stalks over to the bed and settles there.

Din shrugs as he pulls a tweezer out of the box of tools and starts the slow process of loosening the padding so that he can get to the electronics, “I knew it would work.” Finally pulling the material loose he places it on the desk and picks up a light to carefully scan the inside of his helmet. The dark-haired assassin sighs. “Old Din pulled a similar move, did he?” Fennec asks.

Din hums and leans over to the box and scratches around in it till he finds the soldering iron. “Jip, He was in a very similar situation.” He begins to carefully repair some of the damaged circuits. “Although he sort of did it by accident, and they lost far more people taking the krayt out than we did.”

Boba grunts in consideration even as he starts to cut new clean padding to be added into Din’s helmet. “So that is why you were so insistent on bringing the explosives on a bantha.” Handing the new padding over to Din, Boba continues. “You have far more of the other timelines memories than me and Fen?”

Putting the solder iron down Din carefully measures the padding before putting it to the side to be added to his helmet later. “Yes and no. There are large memory gaps that I know are there and that I will never have those memories and then there are situations like the Krayt, where the memories surface as I need them, or are in similar situations.” Donning his helmet he flicks through the functions and settings checking that everything is working as it should. Seeing everything in order he pulls the helmet off and starts to reach for one of his vambraces.

Fennec clears her throat pointedly and stares at the tray containing the food. Din rolls his eyes at her but does pick up a bowl of tiingilar. Taking a bite he turns to Boba. “I don’t know if you recall but the other you also had an encounter with a sarlac.”

Boba grimaces. “Yeah luckily for me this time round, my baby brother had a vision and warned me. So I was only stuck in that thing for about half an hour and not several months.” He runs a hand through his thick black hair. “I get to keep my hair.” He jokes.

Din pulls a face, “I am only one year younger than you.” He pouts. Boba grins, “Still younger though.” Also picking up a bowl he starts to eat as well. “So what are your plans now?” Boba asks.

“Nava has several high level bounties lined up for me.” Din answers. “I need a few big catches to bring my guild rating back up to what it was before my vacation.” He states drolly. Boba looks over at the still sleeping Grogu. “You taking the kid with you?” He asks. Din nods. “Where I go he goes.” He states firmly.

Boba merely hums and all three eat in silence for a while. Finishing his bowl of stew, Din places it back onto the tray and picks up his vambrace to continue with its cleaning and maintenance. Watching his brother work Boba continues to slowly eat. After a good few moments he clears his throat. “So I have something to tell you.” He starts, “I don’t know what it means. Whether it is good or bad, but you need to know this.”

Din puts down the now clean vambrace and turns to Boba, raising an eyebrow in question. “So remember about two years ago when I told you about a splicer in the Haat’Ade digging into your guild file?” Boba asks. Din thinks back for a moment before he nods.

“Yeah so, I have my own slicers keeping an eye on the cluster fuck that is Manda’Yaim politics at the moment.” Boba places his half eaten bowl of stew onto the tray and picks up a mug of shig before continuing.

Din nods because all mando’ade is keeping an eye on the situation. Most of the Tribes and the wandering clans may have left Mandalorian space, but they all still follow the Resol’nare. For the first time in more than forty years do they have an elected Mand’alor. He may be disputed by Kyr’tsad and the New Mandalorians, but he was elected in a formal clan meeting.

Boba takes a sip of his shig before he continues. “So a few weeks after Mereel was named Mand’Alor, a high level security trace was placed on you.” Din freezes and looks over at Fennec to see if he has heard correctly. “Wait, Mereel has placed a trace on me?” He demands.

Boba nods. “Yeah it is encrypted to hell and back, and from what my splicers can determine only Mereel and his Spy master has access to the trace.” Boba rubs tiredly at his eyes. “I have no idea why, but it seems that Mereel has developed a bit of an obsession with you.”

Din leans back in his chair and considers the new information. “I have not told anyone this, but I ran into Mereel when I was on Coruscant to meet with my tal’buir.” He looks over at his still sleeping child before turning back to his brother. “It was the morning after I had the vision of you dying on the hunt because your jetpack malfunctioned.” He swallows before continuing, “I was restless and more than a bit wired and both the force and the manda was buzzing under my skin prodding me to do something without giving me a clear indication of what it wanted me to do.” He breathes deeply. “The Goran of Kih’Keldabe had offered me his private training salle. I went there and was practising katas when I was interrupted by Mereel.” Din closes his eyes to better recall the memory.

“He had changed from when I had spotted him merely a day before. The Manda had fully laid claim to him. It was draped over him like a victory cloak while the war drums sang his praise.” he pulls a face. “I was tired and a bit punch drunk and challenged him to a spar.” The air in the room hung heavily. “We sparred and it was one of the best fights I have ever had. It ended in a draw.” Din swallows. “He asked my name and I told him that although he impressed me he did not impress me enough to earn that. Then I left before he could follow me.”

Boba moans and leans forward and knocks his forehead on the desk. “Vod, vod’ika, little dinui. You are a fucking idiot.” He groans out. Lifting his head he looks over at his wife. “Are you hearing this?” He demands from Fennec. The assassin is hiding her face in her hands. “I told you he is stunted.” she mumbles from behind her hands.

“Hey!” Din exclaims, looking between the two. “No, no, Din, you challenged an ori’ramikad to a spar. Fought him to a draw and this after you had basically escaped from him three times before.” Boba states. Din merely shrugs because yes that is more or less what has happened.

Boba shakes his head again. “I am comming buir and telling her she has done a terrible job with you.” He states resolutely. Din tilts his head in confusion. “I don’t… understand.” He says slowly.

“Yeah I get that.” Boba answers tiredly. “Well this does explain Mereel’s obsession.” Fennec state clearly amused at the situation. Din turns to look at her, “What do you mean?” demands.

She watches him for a moment clearly enjoying his confusion. “Din, you challenged him and then escaped him on several occasions. That is like waving a nuna in front of a tooka and then letting it go.” She actually giggles. “At this point I will bet you my favourite rifle that he is besides himself trying to hunt you down to either fight you or fuck you.”

Boba huffs. “Most likely both.” He grins when Din’s head snaps around to look at him. “Don’t look so surprised vod.” He waves up and down at Din. “You are prime riduur material for someone like Mereel.”

Din shakes his head. “No you both are reading far too much into this. Mereel is the Mand’Alor.” He stresses, “He has no interest in some outer rim bounty hunter.”

Boba gets to his feet and picks up the tray with the now empty bowls. “You keep telling yourself that, vod.” He says humorously. “And when he finally does pin you down I will tell you, I told you so with glee.” Fennec chuckles softly as she follows her partner out of the room leaving Din alone with his sleeping son and the uncomfortable feeling that he has missed some vital information somewhere.

Year 941 ARR/ 59BBY

Jaster waits until the Rishii chieftain leaves the hotel’s conference room where the Haat’Mando’ade had set up their war room before looking down at the map of the region that the chieftain has bought. He carefully inspects the map before he waves Montross closer. “We need to get better aerial maps of these cave systems to the east of the capital.” He states to his second. Montross inspect the map before he nods.

“Yeah if the cave system is deep and connected enough it will explain how the bandits can be on one side of the mountain before disappearing and then popping up on the other side with almost no time in between.” Montross agrees as he traces the mountain ridge that lays between the two main spaceport cities of the Rishii in this area.

Jaster nods and turns to Walon Vau. “Take a squad and first thing tomorrow morning start mapping cave entrances.” Jaster waits for Walon to acknowledge the instruction before turning back to the table and the rest of his commanders. “If the bandits are using the caves it will also explain why the Rishii have not been able to find them.” Everyone around the table nods in agreement. The Rishii are friendly and accommodating and while not very technologically advanced they are very intelligent.

“Yeah, no avian species that spend all of their time either in the air or in high aviaries are going to be equipped with searching underground.” Kal Skirata agrees as he steps closer to the table to also examine the map.

“We have to work fast.” Mij Gilimar states as he joins the group at the table. “I have spoken with their healers and some of the ade taken are far too young to be out on their own. Most are barely fledglings. We will need to get them back in the next few days or they will not survive. Especially if they are down in the damp and cold caves.”

Jaster clenches his fist. This is the main reason he had taken this job personally. The bandits that have invaded Rishi have taken several chicks hostage. The pay is good but the very idea that children are in danger is what is the driving force behind his agreement. In fact when it became known that this was not to be just a bandit hunt but also retrieving stolen children Jaster had ended up with four full companies on this job. No true mandalorian can walk away from children in danger. Children are the future after all.

“Montross, I want you to take the T’ad and Ehn companies tomorrow and set up a mobile command centre here.” Jaster points to a plateau half way between the two main cities. “Kal I want you to take Cuir company and head towards Plain City.” Jaster taps on the large plain on the other side of the mountain. “Most of the colonists live in this area. I want you to find out if any of their children have also been taken.”

Kal nods his agreement as he looks over the map. “I will stay here with First company.” Jaster continues. “Beck, I want you to take the carrier up into orbit above the mountain and monitor all incoming and outgoing traffic to the planet.” Jaster waits for Beck to acknowledge his instruction. “We know that at this point they are still on the planet, let’s not give them a chance to escape with their captives.” Looking around the table everybody acknowledges their instructions.

“Okay everyone, get some rest.” Jaster states as he starts to fold up the map. “I want everybody on the move four hours before sunrise.” He waits for his commanders to start leaving the room. “Montross, stay behind for a moment.” He calls to his second in command.

When the two of them are alone in the room Montross steps closer to Mereel. “What’s up Jaster?” he asks. Jaster presses his helmet into his forehead for a second before sighing. “I want you to keep either one of your seconds with you at all times out there.” He states.

Montross frowns, “Why ever would I do that?” He demands. “Because you are my second in command, dammit and I have received reliable information that Vizsla is gunning for you as much as he is for me.” Jaster reaches out and places a hand on Montross’s pauldron. “I need you to keep someone close that you trust to watch your back. The Haat’Ade cannot afford to lose you.”

Montross stares at Jaster for a long moment before nodding. “Only if you will do the same my friend.” He agrees. Jaster laughs, “Trust me old friend, with Tani watching my back, I will not even be able to sneak a slice of uj cake. Never mind having anyone sneak up on me.” Giving Montross a light push to the door, “Now go and get your company ready to move out. And then get some sleep, tomorrow is a very early start.”

****

Jaster makes another mark on the map. In the three days since they have been on the planet they have mapped out several cave entrances and systems. Montross had been correct. There are several large systems that cross the mountains. Kal has also confirmed that it is not just the rishii’s children that has been stolen but several of the colonists have reported children missing as well. In several of the cave entrances there has been traces of activity, but none that points directly to the bandits.

The other more worrying information that has come to the fore is the fact that they are not dealing with a loosely knitted group of rag tag bandits, but rather with a well almost military trained cohesive force.

His comm pins showing a private comm request from Beck. Stepping away from the table he mutes his out vocoder and accepts the call. “Beck.” He greets. “Mand’Alor,” Beck’s voice comes through his internal comm system. “So I have some information that is most likely not relevant to our mission here, but that I feel you will be interested in.”

Jaster sighs and rolls his eyes, Beck is a very good friend but sometimes he really does try Jaster patience. “What is it?” He asks. “So a ST-70 assault ship has just dropped out of hyper space and the mandalorian on board has requested a landing spot at the capital’s outer commercial dock space.” Beck responds, the sheer amount of glee in his voice clearly evident. “He gave the name Mudhorn.” Jaster freezes, it cannot be. “When I contacted him to ask what he was doing here, he stated that he is here to collect a bounty.”

Jaster curses silently, unsure if this was horrible or good timing. “I have his docking berth number.” Beck states smugly. Jaster closes his eyes and counts to ten slowly. “Send it to me. If he is still on the planet when we have completed our job I would like to have a talk with him.” Beck hums suggestively, “Mmm talk sure.” He drawls out. “Good bye Beck.” Jaster states firmly before disconnecting the comm.

“Mand’Alor?” Tani asks, stepping closer to Jaster to draw his attention. Jaster unmutes his vocoder and merely shakes his head. “Beck wanted to inform me that a mandalorian bounty hunter is heading for the capital on a hunt.” He can feel the raised eyebrow of judgement through Tani’s helmet. “Sure, the Mand’Alor needs to be informed about some nameless bounty hunter.” She drawls. She watches him for a long moment before softly asking, “Do you want to go meet him?”

Jaster shakes his head. “The job comes first. If he is still on the planet by the time we are finished with this then I will decide.” Tani nods and then turns back to the table. “Well then, we better hurry up and catch these bastards then.”

****

Jaster comes awake to the insistent beeping of his comm. Picking it up he accepts voice only. “Mereel.” He snaps. He looks at the chronometer and nearly groans. Three hours, he has managed to get three hours of sleep before he was awoken. It has now been five days total that they have been on the planet and they still have not managed to locate the bandits base and the stolen children. Time is running out and they are all getting desperate to retrieve the children.

“Mand’Alor, we have found something.” Jax, Montross second in command answers. “Al’verde Montross is requesting backup.” That brings Jaster fully awake. Montross will not ask for backup unless it is absolutely necessary.

“Send me your location.” Jaster commands as he gets out of bed and heads to where he has placed his armour on the only table in the room earlier. Getting the ping he checks the location. It is deep into the mountains. There is a deep cave system in the area that they suspect is the bandits main escape route, but till now they have not gotten any proof. “It should take us about two hours to mobilise and reach your location.” He continues as he starts to pull on his kute. “Are you secure or are you in imminent danger?” he asks.

“We are secure at present time, Alor.” Jax answers. “Very well, bunker down and wait for us.” He signs off and immediately contacts Tani.

“Somebody better be dying.” His squad lieutenant answers. “Montross has found something and has requested backup.” Jaster snaps as he starts pulling on his armour. “Wait! What!” Tani exclaims. Jaster can hear her move around, likely getting dressed. “Mij wakeup. We have to mobilise.” Tani snaps at her husband.

“Get everyone moving. I told Jax we will be at their location in two hours.” Jaster commands before signing off. Pulling on his helmet he starts checking to ensure he has all his weapons. Confirming that he is properly armoured, he comms Beck Ordo.

“Mand’Alor.” Beck responds, immediately. “Has there been any suspicious movement?” Jaster questions as he heads towards the conference room. Up and down the hallway of the hotel his super commandos are rushing about getting ready to move out.

Beck is quiet for a moment, most likely checking in with the watch crew. “None at all, Alor. The only interesting movement was the hunter hiring a speeder yesterday and heading out of the city. We have not been able to track him.” Jaster hums, “Do we have any information on who he is hunting?” He asks as he enters the room and starts packing up the equipment still there.

“It took a bit of digging but it would appear he is currently on the hunt for a Zygerrian called Taft D’Nar. From what our splicers could determine it seems that this D’Nar is an enslaver.” Beck is quiet for a moment before he continues, “Pirate Captain Nym of the Lok Revenants has posted the bounty himself.” Clearing his throat, Beck sighs. “If it was not against Guild rules I would say we should see if we can pick this being up ourselves.”

Jaster pauses, “Oh?” he queries. “Yeah the bounty is a hundred-thousand credits.” Beck answers. “Wayii!” Jaster exclaims. “What the haran did he do to earn Nym’s ire that badly.” He wonders out loud. “I don’t know, but whatever it is it can’t be good.” There is a pause, “The bounty clearly states alive and direct delivery to Nym himself.”

That makes Jaster pauses in packing up. “Even if I was inclined to poach from a Guild assigned bounty that is deterrent enough.” Beck laughs, “Yeah I would not like to tread into Nym’s lair either. Not without at least four full companies at my back.” A message notification pops up in the peripheral view of his helmet’s HUD. “Okay looks like we are ready to move out. Keep an eye on the traffic Beck.” Jaster states as he pulls the carrier bag containing the maps over his shoulder. “Good hunting, Mand’Alor,” Beck says, signing off.

Meeting Tani outside in the hall he hands her the other bag and together they head out to where their ships are waiting.

****

Jaster Mereel squats down in the middle of the clearing to get a better picture of the dead body in front of him. There are bodies scattered around the clearing. Tani walks up to him and falls into parade rest two steps back and to his left side. “It is confirmed, Mand’Alor.” She states clear and crisp, “These are definitely part of the bandit band we are currently hunting.”

Jaster hums, he has seen a lot of death and violence in his twenty-eight years of life. He is a mandalorian after all, but this. This is something else altogether. It is almost beautiful in the efficiency he can see in the kills. There are sixteen bodies in the clearing. He looks around before turning back to the body posed in the very centre of the clearing. This posing of the body was done deliberately. Getting to his feet he scans the clearing again. His HUD flickers with readings overlaid on top of the bodies. All clean kills. Single blaster shots to vital organs with four clearly having their throats slit. Jaster would bet his favourite blaster that those four were the first to die. He cocks his head. Two of the bodies are missing both their heads and right hands.

Tani notices him looking at the two headless bodies pulled to one side. “They were beheaded after death.” She confirms the unasked question. “Hmm, see if you can pull a chain code, but I would bet those two have active bounties on them.” Jaster instructs before turning back to the posed body in front of him.

Squatting down again he tilts his head. “Quiet everyone.” he instructs. Immediately the rest of his people stop moving and fall quiet. Jaster listens looking at the kneeling body of a human male, his hands tied in front of him in a prayer position. A wooden spear is stabbed through him, keeping him sitting up in a kneeling position. The spear entered his body just behind his right clavicle and penetrated his chest to come out of his stomach to go through his left thigh into the ground.

Jaster listens for a few more seconds before reaching out and gently pries the dead man’s hands open. There, clasped in his dead grip is a tracking fob. “Well, well, well. It seems that our nameless bounty hunter has left us a trail to follow.” He states as he stands upright, holding up the tracking fob.

“How do we know it is not some trap set by the bandits?” Montross asks as he stalks over to Jaster. Mereel considers it. “From everything we have been able to determine the bandits number less than a hundred.” He gestures at the dead bodies. “These all appear fit and well armed.” he points to the high quality blasters strewn around the area. “No, they would not sacrifice so many fighting men and weapons to lay such an easy to overcome trap.” He holds up the fob and turns it around. “Beside our nameless vod has left his sigil on it.” There on the back of the fob painted in vengeance gold is a mudhorn symbol.

Montross snorts, “For all we know he is working with them.” He waves a hand at the clearing. “Don’t you find it suspicious that he is on the planet a day and he finds a group of bandits while we have been looking for nearly a week?” He demands.

“That could always be the case.” The black and red armoured leader of the Haat’Mando’Ade concedes. “But consider the facts. We have a top tiered Guild hunter, who from everything we know is an orthodox traditional. And he is here on an assigned Guid hunt.” Jaster flips the tracking fob in his hand. “No, there is no way I can see someone like that working with slavers.” Pairing the fob with his HUD he slips the fob into a pouch on his belt. With a few taps on his vambrace he shares the live tracking data with the rest of the company.

“We split into three groups. Tani you flank them from the west, Montross you come in via the east.” Jaster looks at his people, “And Walon and I will be the loud group coming straight at them drawing their focus.” He waits for the group to split into three squads. He accepts the private comm from Tani that pings when her group starts to head west into the forest.

“I don’t like this Alor.” She answers without preamble. Jaster hums. “I know but this is the best way to pin them down.” He can hear the scepticism in her voice. “And your hunter?” She asks.

“He is here on a hunt, for a specific target and no matter how good he is, I cannot see him try to take on nearly a hundred slavers while trying to protect nearly ninety adiik on his own.” Jaster signals his squad to follow and start in the direction the tracker indicates, being as loud as possible. “Besides, he knows we are on planet. And I would bet my favourite kad he knows the ins and outs of our contract better than most of the ori’ramikad here.” Tani snickers, “You are hopelessly gone on him and you don’t even know his name.” Jaster just cuts the call and decides that since no one can see him he can pout about how mean his friends are to him.

It takes then nearly an hour of marching to reach a cave entrance. Here for the first time there are clear fresh signs of the slavers. Jaster halts his group and checks in on Tani and Montross’s progress. Tani has found another cave entrance higher up and to the west. She has reported old tracks, but that the entrance does not seem to have been used in a while. Montross has not found any cave entrance large enough for them to comfortably enter, but one of his scouts believe may have found one about a kilometre further up the mountain. Instructing Tani to wait for Montross’s signal, Jaster’s ori’ramikad starts to fortify and secure the entrance. His own scouts are mapping out the cave system.

His internal comm pings with an incoming message from Montross. “Jaster, we have found an entrance that I believe we can use.” Montross is quiet for a moment before he speaks again. “It is very overgrown. I doubt the bandits are even aware of it.” Jaster hums and then pings Tani. She joins the conversation with a quiet greeting.

“Okay,” Jaster starts, “From what the scouts have found, this system appears to have a large nearly straight downward tunnel to a series of large chambers.” He sends the map his advance scouts have created to his two commanders. He can hear Tani humming softly as she studies the map he sent. A ping indicates that she has made changes to the map. Jaster reopens it and sees the route she has mapped for her party. “The tunnel we are taking will come out high into what appears to be the main cavern.” She states. “If you can draw their attention we can drop in from above.”

Jaster is quiet for a moment, looking at the map. “Montross, do you have anything to add?” He asks. There is a long moment of silence before he gets a response. “Yeah, we haven’t scouted the tunnel we are currently in too far but from what our scans can pick up it curves upwards.”

Jaster frowns at that. “Well it will do us no good if you end up somewhere other than the main cavern.” He swears he can hear Montross grinding his teeth. The man has started to get sloppy of late. It was almost like he wants to fail on purpose. Sighing Jaster looks at the map on his pad again. “Montross fall back to my location. You will secure the cave entrance and ensure none of the bandits can slip past us.” There is a very long silence, and for a moment Jaster expects Montross to argue with him, before he gets a response. “Yes, Mand’alor.” and with a soft beep Montross signs off from the call.

“He is starting to become a problem.” Tani states softly. Jaster closes his eyes and breathes deeply. “Yes, but now is not the time or place to deal with whatever is bothering him.” He looks over at his troops and waves Bes Fenn closer. The young man has shown great promise since he joined the True Mandalorians and Jaster has marked him for command training. The young altiri’s armour is painted in various shades of blue, almost mimicking his skin colour. Unmuting his vocoder. “Bes I want you to pick five verd to secure the entrance and wait for Montross.” The young man nods and moves off. He motions for the rest of his soldiers to move closer. Opening the all call channel, “Okay verd we are moving in. Our first and most important mission is to secure the ade. After they are secure then we will show these bandits the error of their ways.” A loud chorus of “Oya!” rings out. The group forms up with the heavy infantry taking the lead.

It takes about fifteen minutes before they encounter the first of the bandit scouts. They are two trandoshans. They are taken out quickly and quietly before they even realises they are no longer alone. Jaster waves one of his verd that is known for their splicing skills forward. “Get us connected to their communications.” He instructs. The warrior nods before searching the two bodies, after finding three comms and a data pad it takes them only a handful of minutes to splice into the bandits comm frequency and to upload a far better map of the cave system to the company’s network. Jaster hums looking over the map.

Switching over to the private channel he calls Tani. “Jaster?” She answers the call. “We have encountered two of their guards. They have a better map, it has been forwarded to you along with a splice link into their communications.” He answers.

Tani is quiet while she reconciles the bandits map with what she has. “Okay this will work out even better than what we had planned. The tunnel we are in drops down to right above the cavern where they are keeping the ade. We should be able to secure them quickly without too much effort.”

Zooming in on the section of the map that shows where the tunnel he and his company is in branched into three before connecting to the cavern. “If we split in three and take all three entrances with you at their back we will crush them between the two of us.” Tani hums her agreement. “I will let you know when we are in place and ready to drop down.” She states.

“Yes I want you to go first, because there is a large chance that if we enter first that they will go for the ade to use them as living shields.” Jaster replies before signing off. He waves over Walon and two of his higher ranking commandos over and instructs them in the plan. He waits for them to brief the rest before splitting the group in three. Once he is certain that everyone understands their orders he signals for them to move out. It is another twenty minutes of brisk marching before they reach the split in the tunnel. With quick hand signals they split into their groups and slowly moves towards the large central cavern.

“Is it just me or does anyone find it strange that we have not encountered any more scouts or bandits yet?” Bes quietly ask on the all call system. The uneasy feeling that has been growing stronger in the pit of his stomach nearly makes Jaster snap at the young warrior. “Be on your guard.” He instead instructs the whole group. “They may be planning an ambush.” Getting to the spot he has marked as a waiting point for Tani’s signal he does a quick final check on his weapons before comming her.

“Jaster,” She immediately responds. “It seems that our bandits have picked up some sabotage damage.” She answers. “Oh?” he asks, intrigued. “Yeah, I think I found what your hunter has been up to,” she sends him a link to her visor feed. She is looking down at the cavern from at least twenty meters up. The cavern is large, at least two hundred meters by a hundred. The camp the bandits had set up was at one point very organised. With tents set up in a grid pattern with cooking and latrine areas clearly marked out, but looking at it now Jaster can see clear signs of sabotage, just like Tani said.

“Their communications area is damaged. Several tents are damaged and at least ten small fights have broken out in the last few minutes.” She continues her report.

“Turn your head slightly to the left.” Jaster instructs. Watching as Tani slowly turns to look left, “There!” he says. On the far side of the cavern in the dark shadows a flash of silver and then another set of lights go out. More than half of the lights strung around the cavern have now gone dark. There is a flicker on the visor feed as Tani changes her settings. It takes her a few minutes to pick up the hunter again.

“He moves fast.” She murmurs as another section of the cavern goes dark. “Very,” Jaster agrees. “Do another scan. How many are wearing helmets or night vision gear?” he asks. He waits patiently as Tani scans the cavern. Reports start to filter in through from the other scouts with Tani.

“None of my people have managed to spot your hunter yet.” She sounds amused. Jaster merely hums, there is no way in hell that he is telling that the only reason why he has seen his hunter is because every time he is near the Manda war drums take on a smug and possessive tone, drawing Jaster attention like a magnet draws iron particles.

“So, very few that I can see are wearing any type of night vision gear.” Tani says in derision after scanning the area below. Another section of the cavern goes dark. Now the only light is right in the centre where the largest tent is located. Jaster clicks the all call channel open. “Five minute countdown to attack.” He states. He draws his blaster, takes a deep breath and pulls in the calm that lets him focus during battles. Watching the countdown clock in the corner of his HUD he signals his ori’ramikad. As the countdown reaches zero the last light in the cavern goes out and he hears Tani shout and the sound of jetpack firing echoes through the cave. Using that as a signal he rushes into battle with his soldiers. They fan out taking out the confused bandits with extreme prejudice.

Jaster moves single-mindedly towards the command tent. He notes that although the bandits seem well trained they really are no match for a force of sixty mandalorians. “The ade are secured!” Tani’s voice cuts through the chatter of his people calling out secured areas just as Jaster ducks into the large tent.

He ducks avoiding the vibro-blade aimed for his throat and shoots at the trandoshan who has attacked him. Before he can recover he gets tackled by a large wookie. He uses the momentum to flip them over and roll off before the wookie can pin him. A hand on the top of his backplate pulls him out of range of the trandoshan who has followed the wookie to try and corner him. Jaster immediately knows who is at his back and allows himself to relax just a bit. His hunter has his back.

They spin around and his hunter shoots the trandoshan in the head while Jaster ducks low pulling a beskar dagger from where it is hidden under his backplate and guts the wookie. Twisting around his hunter he grabs at the zygerrian who tries to exit the tent. Seeing two more bandits coming out of the back of the tent Jaster pulls his hunter close and spins them around so that he can get a clear shot at the two newcomers. His left hand brushes the hunter’s right hip before he steps away shooting another bandit that has come into the tent. It takes him a second to realise that the fight is over. He turns to talk to his hunter only to find him and the zygerrian gone.

“Mand’alor!” Tani calls as she rushes into the tent. Jaster signals the all clear before sighing. “Get someone to get the lights back on. I want this camp to be thoroughly searched. They are far too well organised and armed. I want to know who their backer is and who they were hoping to sell the ade to.” He snaps as he stalks out of the tent in irritation.

He waits for Tani to finish passing on his instructions and join him. “Your hunter?” She asks very softly as she steps up next to him. “Slipped away with his bounty.” He grits out through his teeth. Tani tilts her head in consideration. “This would have been far more difficult without his aid.” She murmurs.

Jaster merely nods. They stand in the darkness of the cave for several moments before there is a small flicker. Then several more flickers and all the lights come on at once. Jaster’s HUD automatically adjusts to the new light levels. Looking around he takes in the dead and dying bandits. Over the next several minutes all of his commandos checks in. They have not lost a single being. There are a few injuries but again nothing life threatening. Tani is right, without the sabotage of his hunter the fight would have taken much longer and have been far bloodier.

“Jaster, we have captured one of the bandit captains alive.” Walon Vau comms in. “Good,” Jaster answers, “Bring him to the command tent.” He switches over from the command channel to the company wide channel. “I want feedback on the condition of the ade.” He orders.

There is a flurry of discussions and replies at the same time. “One at a time!” Jaster snaps. It goes quiet before Mij replies. “It is not looking good, Alor. All the ade are alive but several are in dire need of medical attention.” This makes Jaster pause. He tries to remember the topography of the area around the cave. He knows he cannot reach their ship in orbit from as deep down as they are, but…

“Montross!” He calls on the command channel. It takes a few seconds before Montross responds. “Mand’alor.” He answers in a tone that is just a hairs breath from being snide. Jaster swallows back a sigh. “What is your position?” He asks instead. “The cave entrance is secured.” The response comes almost grudgingly. “Contact Beck and have him land as close to the entrance as possible. We need to evacuate the children and get them medical care as soon as possible. Send down as many verd as you can spare to help with the evacuation.” For a long moment there is no response then Montross replies with a simple, “Alor,” and signs off.

Jaster motions to Tani to follow him back into the tent, they have a captive to interrogate and he wants to search the tent for any information.

He is halfway through the drawers of the only desk he has found in the tent when Walon Vau enters dragging a human male behind him. His hands are tied behind his back and Jaster can see two blaster wounds. One to the right shoulder and one to his lower left leg. His armour is high quality. Jaster has seen the likes on elite soldiers on several core worlds.

Jaster points to the spot in front of the desk he is currently sitting at. Walon shoves the prisoner forcing him to stumble and drop to his knees. “Now,” Jaster starts, “you are going to tell me everything I want to know about this operation. Who funded you? Who hired you? Who are you going to sell the children to?” The bandit spit at Jaster and Walon smacks him hard enough in the back of the head to make him fall over. Muttering so softly that his vocoder only picks up grumbles and not actual words, Walon pulls the prisoner back up into a kneeling position. “When the Mand’alor asks a question you answer.” He snaps before painfully digging his fingers into the blaster wound on the man’s shoulder.

Jaster sits back in his chair and watches the man scream. This might take a while.

Year 941 ARR/ 59BBY

Jaster stands under the stream of warm water of the shower, allowing the heat and pressure to sooth away his muscle pain. The last week has been draining. It had taken them nearly two whole days to treat the children and transport them to where Beck had landed the carrier. Then it had taken another two days to ensure that the children were returned to their proper guardians. It was in the process of returning the children that they discovered that several of the colonists’ children had no families to return to.

That had caused a serious dust up between the Mandalorians and the local authorities that explained the children without families can work as indentured servants so they can pay for their care until they are old enough to buy out their contract. Jaster had nearly shot the official who made that comment in the face. Needless to say there had been several adoptions shortly there after.

Once all that had been settled, Jaster had collected their payment. He split the group up and sent several of them on different contracts while the main force returned to Manda’Yaim. He had then taken his personal ship along with Tani and Mij Gilamar and Kal Skirata to Leritor. He has now been here for just over three days negotiating with the leader of the Sauvax for minerals and crops. Both are dreadfully needed back in the Mandalore system.

Yesterday morning while he and Mij were on a tour of the greenhouses that houses a large variety of medical plants he had heard the Drums change to that possessive beat they take on whenever his hunter is close.

Shortly thereafter he had felt himself being observed. Jaster sighs and picks up the soap to wash his hair. He has spent most of his time in negotiations with his helmet off and the warm salty air has been havoc on his hair.

Finally feeling clean and relaxed enough he shuts off the water and starts to dry himself with the ridiculously fluffy towel the hotel has provided.

Wrapping his towel around his waist he contemplates shaving before deciding it can wait till morning. He is tired and honestly a little disappointed that he has not managed to spot his hunter. Through the Manda he knows the man is close, but that is the extent of his knowledge.

He is so deep in thought that he does not realize that the drums have changed until his back is slammed into the wall.

His hunter has him pinned with his left arm across Jaster’s throat, his right hand slamming Jaster’s dagger into the wall next to his head. The same pure beskar dagger that Jaster had commissioned from the Goran be Keldabe. The very same dagger he had slipped into his hunter’s empty sheath during the fight on Rishii.

“Why?” The silver armoured warrior demands. His voice a low hiss through his vocoder.

Jaster arches an eyebrow. “Why what?” He asks with a small smirk. Relaxing into the hold, letting his hunter carry more of his weight. The man shifts slightly, his left thigh pressing in between Jaster’s legs.

“Why this? Why me?” The demand comes even as the tone shifts slightly. “You are the Mand’alor.” He asks, sounding a tad bewildered.

“Because I am the Mand’alor.” Jaster replies. “And because I am the Mand’alor, I deserve the best.” Reaching up he grasps the top of his hunter’s breastplate pulling him even closer. He lifts his right leg slightly and hitches it around the warrior’s leg. “And you mesh’la, is the best.”

For a moment the hunter is silent and then all of a sudden the room plunges into darkness. Before Jaster can even begin to respond he hears the small hiss of a helmet seal being broken.

A soft breath caresses his ear. “Do you think you have what it takes to hunt and catch me, Alor?” the voice purrs. Jaster shivers and blood rushes down to his cock. Before he can even contemplate his actions he reaches up with his free hand and tangles his fingers into the hair of the man pinning him to the wall. He jerks his head closer and slam their lips together.

The kiss is brutal. It is a fight, not for domination but of passion. His hunter gives as much as he takes and it is only a need for oxygen that brings the kiss to an end. His hunter’s breathing is heavy as he recovers from the kiss.

Jaster feels the man’s lips brushing his ear again. “You have impressed me, Alor.” The man whispers. “Din. Ner gai Din. Show me how you hunt Mand’Alor.”

Jaster swallows his throat suddenly dry. “Oya!” He breathes out. Before he can say anything else there is pounding on his hotel room door.

“Mand’alor!” He hears Tani shout. In the blink of an eye his hunter steps back and then he is gone. Seconds later the door slams open and the lights go on. “Jaster?!” Tani rushes into the room. “Are you okay?” She demands before stopping to take in the picture in front of her.

Jaster briefly wonders how he looks still leaning against the wall, his lips slightly puffy from the kiss. “Tani,” he sighs. He loves his friends but sometimes they are extremely inconvenient. He rolls his eyes as Kal and Mij come charging into his room behind Tani. “Is there a reason for bursting into my room?” He asks dryly.

He pushes off the wall and crosses the room to the table where his armour and kute is placed. He picks up his kute and freezes for a split second. There neatly attached on his gun belt is a dagger in a scabbard. A beskar dagger marked with a mudhorn sigil. He smiles, his hunter, his Din has accepted his courting.

Year 941 ARR/ 59BBY

Jon Antilles sits slumped into his chair at a table in the corner of Krayt’s Lair Cantina on Tatooine. In the year since he has first met Boba Fett while assisting the man’s brother the Force has consistently led him back to the town of Mos Pelgo and the mandalorian guild master. When he was injured, when he was tired or even if he just needed to restock the Force led him back here. It has gotten to the point that he has spent more time at the Krayt’s Lair in one year than he has ever spent at the temple on Coruscant.

At first he had brushed it off as merely the Force wanting to keep him in the Outer Rim. But as time passed and he was consistently brought back here he is starting to consider that the Force has other motives. By the fourth time he rocked up here, the mandos that call the town home had started thawing towards him. By the sixth time they had started calling him by name and including him in their conversations.

The seventh time he had shown up wounded with four children he had rescued from slavers. That is when things started to change drastically. He had been far too injured to hide the fact that he was a Jedi, but instead of capturing him or even attacking or killing him, he had been given medical treatment. The children that he had brought with him, had been treated as well and when it was determined that they had no living relatives to return to, Jon got to see how Mandalorian adoptions work.

It was shortly after that that he had noticed Mandalorians trailing him on missions. It wasn’t always the same mando’s but in total Jon would say it was about six that took turns following him around. After what he thinks is a very well earned freak out he had just come out and asked them why they were following him. That is when he was sat down and given a lesson in mandalorian culture the different factions and how the Tribes differ from the Houses and how they differ from the New Mandalorians.

The Ja’hai’ade considers it their duty to guard and offer assistance to Goten the Ka’ra, or star touched. What they call Force sensitives. When Jon had pointed out that he was not mandalorian and was in fact a Jedi who was ancient enemies of mandalorians. The one doing the explaining had merely shrugged and stated that Mand’alor Tarre Viszla had been a jetii and since it was clear that Jon was not really affiliated with the Coruscant Temple and the republic they will just consider him as one of their charges until he comes to his senses and decide to swear the resol’nare. At that stage Jon had mentally just thrown his hands in the air and decided that as the Force was quiet on this he was just going with the flow.

He looks up when one of his mandalorian shadows slips into the seat next to him and places a plate of food and a cup with water in front of him. “Epar, eat.” The instruction comes. He just sighs tiredly and picks up the spoon. He has stopped fighting with them, it was just easier in the long run to eat when they handed him food. He eats in silence while his companion reads on their tablet. He is nearly finished when a hush falls over the room.

Looking up he notices Mando stalks into the room. Jon does not need to be Force sensitive to see that the silver armoured man is pissed. The warrior crosses the room in large strides, his child waving at everybody from where he is being carried in a satchel hanging on his father’s left side. The hunter ignores everyone and heads through the door at the back that leads to Fett’s personal chambers. For a moment after the door slams close behind him everyone is frozen, then Fett nearly trips over himself getting up from his chair in his rush to follow his brother.

As soon Fett leaves the room a buzz starts doing the round. Whatever has happened has all of the mandos in a tizzy. Several get up and leave while several more come running into the cantina. Jon turns to his companion, “What is happening?” He asks. They are quiet for so long that Jon starts to think that they are not going to answer when, “Something momentous,” They whisper. “Good momentous or bad momentous?” Jon asks. “That remains to be seen.” The answer comes.

Year 941 ARR/ 59BBY

Boba nearly trips over his own feet in the rush to follow his brother as the younger man storms down the hallway to Boba’s office. Fennec joins him halfway down the hall on the way to his office. “Is it true?” She asks over their internal comms. “I don’t know. But it sure as kriff looks like it.” Boba replies as they follow Din into the room.

Din barely waits for Fennec to close and lock the door before he rips his helmet off. He is practically vibrating with tension. For a moment it looks like he is going to toss his helmet across the room, but a soft coo from Grogu seems to drain the tension out of him. He places his helmet carefully on the sideboard before gently taking his son out of the satchel he is carrying him in. “Sorry ad’ika, I did not mean to scare you.” He says softly while giving his son a gentle headbut. Groku reaches out and holds Din’s face in his claws while headbutting him back, “Bo!” He shouts and then proceeds to giggle while Din tickles him with his scruffy beard.

Din bends down, placing his son onto the ground, taking out the shiny silver knob of his ship’s hyperspace lever. Crouching down so that he is closer to his son he hands the bauble over. “Why don’t you play with this while I talk to you ba’vodu’e?” Grogu squeals with delight and grabs the ball before running into the corner of Boba’s office where a play mat has been set up for him. Din looks at the heap of new toys that has joined the corner since his last visit a mere two weeks ago. Turning to his brother he raises an eyebrow.

“No!” Fennec states clearly, taking off her own helmet. “You are not distracting us from the bantha in the room.” Placing her helmet next to Din’s she points at his right side and the sheath with a dagger in it clearly visible. “Because I clearly remember that sheath being empty two weeks ago.” She continues to glare at Din even as he sits down in a chair. “And you were supposed to go to only two places, Rishi where the bounty was headed and then to Lok to deliver him to Nym.”

Boba’s helmet joins the other two on the sideboard before he turns to face his brother, “Fenn asks an excellent question.” He states as he sits down in the chair opposite Din. He reaches out and grabbing Fennec’s hand pulls her down on the armrest of the chair.

Din snorts, “You do realise that you did not actually ask any question, right?” He mutters sarcastically. “Semantics,” The dark haired assassin bites back. “Semantics are important.” Din replies.

“Din.” Boba interrupts, with just a hint of warning in his tone. Din slumps deeper into the chair and tilts his head to face the ceiling. He is still for a moment before he carefully pulls the dagger from the sheath at his side. He holds it out hilt first to Boba all the while staring at the ceiling.

Boba takes the dagger and studies the sigil carefully inlaid with precious stones into the bone of the hilt. The blade is made from pure beskar. “This must have cost him a fortune.” He says softly. He turns the dagger in his hand. On one side of the blade the mandalorian marriage vows are beautifully engraved in ancient script while on the other side is the extremely lifelike engraving of a charging mudhorn.

“The handle is made from mudhorn, horn.” Din says. “He must have had it custom made,” he continues. “If you look just beneath the pommel is the crafter-mark of the Goran be Keldabe.”

Turning the dagger Boba spots the mark. “He must really have it bad.” Boba laughs. Din lifts his head to glare at his brother. “This isn’t a laughing matter.” The younger warrior snarls. “No it is not.” Fennec agrees as she takes the dagger from her partner to inspect it for herself. “Since you are still carrying it I take it he now has yours at his side?” she asks.

Din just nods and runs a hand over his face. A month before his seclusion period was over he had taken some of the beskar and precious stones that he had been saving to his mother and asked her to craft him a courting dagger. Before he could stop himself he had asked her to engrave the Mereel family crest onto the blade. He had never really intended to give it to Mereel. For all that the Force and the Manda had indicated that he had a role to play in Mandalore’s future. He had assumed that it would be something like a guard to watch the Mand’alor’s back.

“I don’t know what to do.” Din nearly whines. Boba looks at Din before taking the dagger from Fennec and passing it back to his brother. “Are you actually interested in Mereel or is this a Force thing?” He asks seriously.

Din takes a moment to consider the question. “Truthfully…” he sighs, “I have been interested in him since the first time I saw him on Pagodon.” He sighs, “But it was different then. He had just taken control of a smallish mercenary company. And yes his thesis was gaining attention, but that was it.” He waves a hand in the air trying to express his frustration. “Now… Now he is the Manda chosen Mand’alor.” He drops his hand into his lap and closes his eyes.

It has been more than a day and he can still taste the man on his lips. The kiss had been everything that poets write about. It had caught him off guard but he had given himself to it wholly when he realised he could feel Mereel’s desire as strongly as his own.

“He might be the Mand’alor but that dagger clearly states his intent.” Boba states quietly. “What are your plans now?” He asks. Din takes a deep breath and releases his more overwhelming stress into the Force. “I told him to show me how he hunts.” He replies suddenly shy.

Boba and Fennec stares at him before both bursts out laughing. “Oh, manda but that is priceless. I need to tell buir about this.” Boba gasps out between breaths. Din crosses his arms and pouts at his siblings.

It takes several minutes for the other two to get their mirth under control. “You do realise that by this time tomorrow it will have spread throughout the galaxy that you are carrying the Mand’alors courting dagger?” Boba demands. Din groans, “Yeah I am very aware that the gossips you like to call guild members have already told everybody they know.”

Boba leans forward and slaps Din’s knee. “Ramikadyc Vod. If he is worthy of your attention then let him proof himself. Besides I am pretty sure that neither the Force nor the Manda will stop you from seeking love.” Din nods. This would not interfere with his task of preserving the mando’ade.

“Onto other matters.” Din suddenly shifts the conversation. “Did you know that Jango Fett was born four years later than the other’s life?” Din asks. Boba stills and then shakes his head. “No, I was not aware. I wonder what prompted that change in the timeline?” He muses.

“I think that every time we change or shift something in the right direction it gives the Force the power to make corrections on a larger scale.” Din states. Fennec cocks her head. “That would make sense. We are currently very far away from the events that lead to the creation of the clones and the rise of the empire.” She concurs. “The problem is that although we got a large amount of their memories we did not get everything and some very large gaps remain.”

Din nods. “Like, I cannot for the life of me remember the Emperor’s name,” he says. Boba freezes and turns to look at his wife. Fennec shakes her head. Clearly just as bewildered by the fact that neither of them can remember it either. “You know this whole saving the galaxy thing might be harder than anticipated.” Boba states. “Pa-Too!” Grogu shouts from the corner where he is playing as if in agreement.

 

 

Chapter 8

Year 941 ARR/ 59 BBY

Coming out of hyperspace just outside of Mandalore’s gravitational pull, Jaster sighs as the comm on his ship lights up with priority calls. Really you would think that between Beck Ordo and Montross they would be capable of handling things for two days without constant input from Jaster. A part of him is worried when he sees over forty call requests logged in the last two days. He sincerely hopes that there has not been a Death Watch attack.

He waits until his current companions are settled into seats before he contacts Beck Ordo. He has barely put in the call request before it is answered with an aggressive, “What the kriff did you do Jaster?” from Beck the moment the call connects.

Jaster studies his friend. He is dressed in full armour even though it is deep into the night cycle in Keldabe. He has repainted his armour in the week since they had split up on Rishi. It now has a base of duty green with highlights of loyalty blue and shereshoy orange. With his ka’rta beskar lined with cin vhetin white. Beck is one of the ori’ramikad who has adopted a foundling on Rishi. The little twi’lek girl is a fighter. She is smaller than most of the rescued children, but Tani had explained how she had hit the first of the verd to enter the cavern the children were being held with a stick. The tiny little thing had realised that something was happening and had organised the children to take advantage of the distraction to escape.

When Mij had carried the girl onto the ship, kicking and screaming she had managed to break loose and stole a dagger from him and made a run for it. In the organised chaos of everything she had gotten turned around and ran straight into Beck. It had honestly been love at first stab. Jaster had never seen his friend go so gentle and soft so fast. When it was discovered that Lati was one of the ade without family Beck had been quick to explain the adoption process to the girl and had spoken the gai bal mando the moment she had agreed.

Jaster is glad that he is wearing a helmet as he grimaces at Beck’s tone. “I have been in hyperspace for the last two days. As you very well know Beck.” He answers calmly. He inputs his course for Keldabe and the landing bay at Keep. He waits as he gets clearance for his flight plan and landing. Beck is silent for a few minutes before his shoulders slump. Even through the distortion of the holo comm Jaster can tell that his friend is tired and stressed. “Shortly after your check-in two days ago, several of the Traditional orthodox clans reached out wanting to meet with you.” Beck pauses and looks down at something out of view of the holo capture. “And this afternoon a delegation of Ja’hai’ade showed up at the First Forge demanding to meet with you.”

The Mand’alor hums as he starts the process to enter the planet’s atmosphere. “Have they given any indication for why they want to meet with me now?” Jaster asks. Beck shakes his head. “No, although there have been strange comments of a Ka’ra gaanla and that they need to see.” Ordo briefly uses the palm of his hand to press his helmet into his forehead. “They are all very insistent on seeing you.”

Considering everything Beck has stated, Jaster wonders if this is in connection to the moves Death Watch is currently making. “Meet me at the dock when I land.” He says as he checks the time in Keldabe again. “Inform the Ja’hai’ade that I will meet with them at the Forge an hour after first meal.” He frowns as he thinks. “How many delegates of the Traditionalists are currently physically in Keldabe?” Jaster asks.

Beck looks down at what Jaster presume is a data pad. “Currently four, but three more have sent requests to meet with you.” Tilting his head to the side Jaster runs through various scenarios before deciding on what seems to be the best course of action. “Inform the four from the Traditionalists that I will meet them all at the same time tomorrow after mid-meal.” He checks his ship’s instruments. “I will be landing in an hour. I will see you and Montross then.” Jaster ends the call before Beck can say anything else.

It is quiet for a while on the flight deck, before Tani clears her throat drawing Jaster’s attention to her. “So what do you think this is all about?” she asks. The black armoured leader shakes his head. “Honestly, I do not know. There are currently too many things going on to speculate.” He turns to look at his friends. “It can be about Death Watch, the New Mandalorians. The rebuilding of Keldabe.” He sighs, “Kriff for all I know it can be about the colour of the paint we are using on the guard towers.” He snidely concludes, before turning back and turning his attention back to piloting his ship. Sometimes he wonders why he agreed to become Mand’alor. The drums take on a discordant tone so he quickly discards that thought.

****

He has barely taken two steps off his ship when he hears Beck Ordo starting to swear. Coming to a stop in front of his friend he waits for the man to finish. “Well I can guess what has the Ja’hai’ade riled up.” The man snaps. Pointing at the dagger proudly on display on his right hip. “When exactly did you get that?” Beck demands. The question and pointing draws Montross attention and it takes the man mere seconds before he too is swearing.

Ignoring both their antics Jaster brushes past them, heading into the keep. It is only an hour before sunrise and he wants to shower, get dressed in a clean kute and have first meal before heading to the First Forge to meet with the Goran be Keldabe. He needs to discuss certain things he has learned about his ven’riduur before he meets with any of the delegates.

Reaching the entrance to the Keep he waves Tani and Mij off. His friends stare at him for a moment before nodding and heading off in a different direction. He is followed through the building to where his apartment is located by Montross, Beck and Kal. There are quite a few Mando’ade out and about in the hall. All stop and nod to their leader as he passes them. There are also a few double takes as the dagger on his hip is spotted. He grimaces in the safety of his helmet, certain that by the time he has reached his apartment it will have spread through most of Keldabe that he is courting.

The apartment door is barely closed before Montross turns on him. “What the fuck are you thinking Jaster?!” He demands angrily, he waves a hand before Jaster can respond. “No, no you’re not thinking. You are following your dick!” He snarls. “You are letting your infatuation for some unnamed nobody bounty hunter overrule your common sense.” He is breathing heavily, almost shaking with anger.

Jaster calmly steps deeper into the room and removes his helmet, placing it on the bar dividing the living area from the kitchen. Turning to face Montross he raises an eyebrow, very clearly unimpressed with the other man’s outburst. “Remember who you are speaking to Montross.” He softly states. The calm in his tone sends chills down the other man’s backs.

Montross freezes for a moment. Although they have been friends since childhood, Montross is acutely aware that he has no hope of ever beating Jaster in a fight. The man is faster, stronger, smarter and deadlier than Montross can ever hope to be. There is a reason he was chosen to lead the Headhunters and that same reason has led to him being named Mand’alor.

“And you would do well to remember that the Tribals very seldom share their names with those outside of their circle.” Jaster continues. Beck’s deep inhale crackles through his vocoder. He pulls off his helmet and holds it in his hands in front of him. “Are you certain he is tribal?” Beck asks.

Leaning his back against the bar Jaster nods. “Very certain.” He confirms. Beck scrubs a hand over his face as if to rub the tired away. “He must be rather high ranking.” He states as he moves to place his helmet next to Jaster’s.

Montross makes a disagreeing sound. “For fuck sake Montross use your head.” Beck snaps as he moves past Jaster into the kitchen area and starts boiling water to make shig. “The man is wearing pure beskar armour.” He pulls out three mugs and places them on the bar next to his and Jaster’s helmets. “His sigil is not painted on, it is forged in.” Beck looks over at Montross “Only the highest ranking Goran’s are allowed to do that. Do you really think they will craft such armour for some no-name bounty hunter?”

Montross sputters in indignation. “Beck is right, Montross.” Jaster states even as he turns to take a cup from Beck as the man pours boiling water over the shig leaves. “It will also explain why we have a delegate of Ja’hai’ade here.” He takes a sip of the shig and nods his thanks to Beck. He carefully pulls the beautifully crafted dagger from the sheath at his hip. He holds it up to show Montross the craftsmanship but does not hand the dagger over. “Does this look like something some down on his luck bounty hunter could afford?”

Montross shakes his head, turns and storms out of Jaster’s apartment. Jaster sighs and turns to Beck, raising an eyebrow in question. “Don’t look at me. I have got no idea what is up with him lately.” Beck responds, taking a sip from his own cup. “Can I have a closer look or are you going to continue holding that thing like a ik’aad holds a stuffy?”

Kal snorts and pulls off his helmet to place it with the other two on the counter. “He has been clutching that thing like it holds the answers to the galaxy.” He drawls as he reaches over and picks up the last cup.

Jaster takes another sip of his shig. “You are being mean to me.” He pouts. “Yeah yeah, big meanies we are, now hand it over so that we can get a decent look.” Beck responds holding out a hand. Jaster sighs dramatically but does hand over the dagger to Beck.

Beck carefully takes it, he stares at the blade for a moment. The side facing up has the words of the resol’nare inscribed underneath the mudhorn sigil. He carefully turns it over, on the other side is the Mereel family crest. Beck runs his thumb down the blade before he carefully taps it against the edging of his left vambrace that is a high beskar alloy. The blade sings with the sound of pure beskar. “The crafting is beautiful,” he says. He brings the dagger closer to his face to look at the pommel. It is carved from some type of wood to resemble a stylised mythosaur. In its mouth it holds a small glowing blue stone.

Jaster clears his throat drawing both Kal and Beck’s attention to them. “What I am about to tell you does not leave this room.” He stares at his friends, “I am dead serious, if I were to find out that what I am about to tell got shared I will kill the person responsible.” Beck and Kal remain motionless for a moment before nodding, “Haat, ijaa, haa’it ner Mand’alor,” They both swear.

Jaster takes a deep breath. “The wood is japor and the stone…” He seems to brace himself, “The stone is a kyber crystal,” both men stare at him before lowering their eyes to the blade still in Beck’s hands. “I am reasonably sure that my hunter is from the tribe Goten teh Ka’ra.” Beck swallows thickly before slowly handing the dagger back to Jaster.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Kal demands. Jaster slips the dagger back into its sheath. “The lost Tribe isn’t lost because they were captured or killed.” He answers, “They are lost because centuries ago they have lost all faith in the Mand’alor and the endless need for expansion and senseless violence.” He drains his cup of shig and places it onto the bar. “They are lost because they decided to leave Mandalore and to break with the Great Houses.” He stops and considers his next words carefully. “The only Tribals that have openly entered and interacted with Manda’yaim has been the Ja’hai’ade.”

Beck nods slowly. “They act as a go between between the Tribes and the rest of us.” He surmises. “Yes,” Jaster agrees. “I am also certain that is why there is a delegation here now.”

“If one of the Ka’ra tigaanur have accepted your courting it could mean a return of their whole tribe.” Kal breathes out excitedly. “This will strengthen your rule. This would be proof that you are the rightful Mand’alor.” He stops when he realises that he cannot tell anyone about this. “Why, why would you keep it a secret?” He demands of his friend.

“Because Kal, courting is private. He has agreed to be courted, when and only when we exchange vows will things change but till then I will respect his wish for privacy.” Jaster pushes off from where he is leaning against the bar. “The Tribals are the most stringent in their devotion and adherence to The Way. I will do nothing to go against his religious beliefs.” he starts to head to his sleeping area and his fresher, “Now get out. I have to shower and change before my meeting with the Goran.” He commands.

Beck and Kal share a long look before picking up their helmets and heads for the door.

Year 941 ARR/ 59 BBY

Grogu tries to wipe off the muck that is clinging to his coat. The muck is everywhere. He turns to glare up at his buir his ears pulling down to indicate his disgust at the situation. The silver armoured warrior merely sighs and tries to shake of the mud clinging to his, well everything. “I know ad’ika, I know. But we are almost back to the ship then we will get the shabuir into the carbonite and we can each get clean.”

Turning in the satchel his buir is carrying him in, Grogu huffs and crosses his arms. He only likes mud when it is fun! This is not fun, this is sticky and icky and he is tired and hungry. He leans forward and tries to glare at the bound bounty that is walking in front of them. This being made buir chase into the mud.

Grogu flicks his claws using the force to poke the being in the back. The being stumbles. “Grogu.” His buir warns, lightly tapping him in the force as a reprimand. Grumbling Grogu settles back into his satchel. Only to cringe as more of the muck squelches between his toes. It takes another ten minutes of walking before the landing bay where their ship is located comes into view.

The bounty decides that now is a good time to try and make a break for it. Buir merely sighs again and shoots out his whipcord. Catching the being around their feet and causing them to fall hard to the ground. Grogu snorts, he doesn’t understand why beings try to run from his buir, don’t they understand that he is the very bestest and that he can catch anybody. He can feel buir’s amusement with his thoughts in the Force.

Buir gets the being back onto his feet and marches him over to their ship. Buir presses some buttons on his kom’rk and the back hatch opens and the ramp descends. Just as they start up the ramp someone calls out to his buir.

“Mando!” a tall purple skinned Togruta with blue and yellow striped montrals calls out and comes hurrying across the space between their ship and the big building that they had gone into when they had landed. Grogu glares at the new person. No, no he doesn’t want buir to talk to any more people. He wants buir to freeze the bounty and then clean both of them and then make lunch. He is hungry! Just as he is about to pitch a full blown tantrum he feels buir gently rest a hand on his head soothingly stroking one of his ears with his fingers while at the same time pushing soothing thoughts through the force. A feeling of just a few more minutes coming from the tall warrior.

Grogu settles with a grumbling. But does push impatient waiting back at his parent. “Takaal.” His buir greets the man as he runs up to them slightly out of breath. The Togruta huffs out a few breaths, he is clearly out of shape, Grogu decides. “We are finished with the refueling of your ship but could not load the supplies due to your ship’s lockdown protocol.” He says.

Grogu can feel his buir freeze. That same stillness that comes when buir senses danger. “I did not order refueling or supplies,” Buir states in the scary quiet voice. Grogu watches the purple being stills before swallowing. He pulls out a data stick from his pocket and holds it out to buir. “A J. Mereel has arranged and paid for everything. He also sent this message for you.”

Grogu looks between the being and his buir. He has heard of Mereel, that is who ba’vodu’e Boba and Fennec always teases buir about. He lifts his ears in question at his buir. Buir’s feelings always go funny when this Mereel is mentioned. He watches as his buir takes the data stick and places it into his kom’rk. It is quiet for a moment, Grogu can feel his buir’s emotions rushes and change far too quickly for him to understand before finally settling into a sort of warm fuzzy glow. It kind of feels like his favourite blanket.

Buir relaxes and nods at the man. “Please load the supplies in the cargo hold. But do not go deeper into the ship than that.” He instructs as he starts to walk past the being pushing the bounty in front of him into the ship and where he keeps the carbonite chamber. Finally, this whole day has been far too long.

****

Din walks into the cargo bay of his ship finally in a clean kute. His armour is carefully placed onto the small table in the galley area to be cleaned. But he needs to inspect what Mereel has decided to send him.

It had taken nearly an hour after getting the bounty into the carbonite to clean himself and Grogu. Then he had to feed his fussy child. After eating, his son passed out dead tired. He had debated on whether to leave the planet and head to Nevarro or to stay. In the end the safety of hyperspace and his home port had won out and he had headed off planet. Now that he is safely in hyperspace, he can inspect the gift that Jaster has sent him.

He has to admit that he is quite impressed. This was a spur of the moment bounty. More as a I’m bored and want something easy to do than a I need to take a job right now to earn credits. The payout isn’t all that great but then it was hardly a long or difficult chase. And yet not only had Jaster managed to track him down from more than half a galaxy away, he had also arranged gifts to be delivered to him.

Opening the first container reveals high end ration packs. The really good quality stuff. The second container is filled to the brim with different ammunition packs for both his blasters and his ambam rifle. The third box is what makes him pause. It is smaller than the other two, but it is stuffed full with soft blankets, toys and tiny outfits for Grogu. He slowly reaches out and touches the tiny brown kute with his sigil embroidered on the right shoulder. He gently pulls out a large paddy frog stuffy that is nearly as big as his child. He closes the box and heads up to their sleeping quarters. He places the stuffy next to Grogu in his hammock, before heading up to the flight deck.

Settling into the pilot seat he opens the message again. It is in dadita. “My beautiful hunter, things here on Manda’yaim are getting difficult. Tor Vizsla’s Death Watch has attacked several civilian targets. We are also suspecting them of abducting children for their training camps. As such I cannot leave at this time, but I have arranged a few things to be delivered to you, so that you can see my seriousness in courting you. May your hunts be fruitful. Ret’urcye mhi ”

He leans back into his seat. What touched Din the most is not the ammo or the rations but the fact that Jaster had taken the time to order things for his son. He smiles. This is a worthy courting gift. He will need to arrange something equally personal for Jaster.

Year 942 ARR/ 58 BBY

“There’s a pirate on the boat!” a strong female voice sings out blaring over the intercom. “Go and call on Captian Coke. Call on Captain Coke.” a chorus of voices sings back echoing throughout the transport ship.

“I am the pirate on the boat!” The female voice sings out again, and the chorus again answers with “Go and call on Captian Coke. Call on Captain Coke.” The song is punctuated with shots being fired and the screams of those dying. A strong male voice continues the song, “Show you everything you got beside my ugasanaka. Show you mango lassi chunky chicken masala.” There is laughter and a voice pleading for mercy before a final shot rings out and the sounds of battle dies down. “And I’m gonna show you oh what’s fun, if you give me rum pum pum.” Calypso ends the song as she stalks over to where the dead Death Watch mandalorian is slumped in the pilot chair of the ship her crew has boarded.

Pushing the dead being from the seat she sits down, waving over her personal navigation droid CH-1P. “Chip, can you get into their system? I want all the data that there is to be had.” Chip beeps and whistles in indignation as it connects to the ship’s computer. Leaning over she places her elbow on the chair’s armrest and rests her chin on her palm. “I really don’t know where you have learned such language,” She tuts.

“Now that is a lie if I have ever heard any.” Din answers as he enters the command deck followed by a large besalisk.

“The ship is secured, Captain.” The besalisk states. Calypso smiles brightly up at her second in command. “Splendid news Grant. How is the take looking?” she asks as she sits back into the chair, before turning and kicking her feet up to drape them across the arm rest.

“Very good Captain. Even accounting for Mando’s here price, this has been a very profitable take.” The besalisk pirate turns to Din. “Are you sure you only want the ship and the beskar aboard?” He asks, clearly puzzled at the low take of what Din had claimed as payment for giving them information and assisting them in taking the ship.

Din nods, “The credits and cargo is yours but the beskar and the ship are mandalorian and will stay in mandalorian control.” Grant just shakes his head and rests his lower arms on his hips while he crosses his upper arms. “You are a strange one Mando.” He states. “Honourable but strange.” He turns back to his captain. “Any other orders, Captain?” he asks.

Calypso turns to look at Chip. “Yeah start moving the cargo over to our ship. Make sure the credits are placed in the communal chest and locked. We will divide it when we are on our way back to base.” Tilting her head to take in her oath-brother she continues. “Get the crew to place all the Death Watch bodies in the cargo hold.” Din clears his throat drawing Grant’s attention. “Make sure to emphasise that nobody tries to remove their armour. Death Watch loves to booby trap their armour.” Grant’s eyes widen and he nods. He is already shouting instructions as he turns to leave the deck.

Calypso waits until she is certain that they are alone before she sits up straight. “Did you get what you are looking for?” She asks. Din nods and walks over to stand next to her. “Yes this was definitely a weapon buying trip.” Chip beeps and disconnects from the ship’s computer. Rolling over to Din it holds out a data stick with one of its mechanical arms. Din stares at it for a long moment before taking it. “Thank you Chip.”

“Look at you growing as a person.” Calypso claps her hands. Din tilts his head looking at her. She snorts and gets to her feet. “Your issues with droids are well known, Mudhorn.” Din sighs, “I am working on it.” He grits out. “Oh I know, and I am not saying you shouldn’t have any issues with droids, what happened to your covert was horrible.” Din shoulders slump slightly, “But not all droids are the same, just as all beings are not the same.”

Calypso pats him on the shoulder. “So what is the plan now?” She asks as she starts to rifle through storage spaces that are easy to see. “I fly the ship to Bimmisaari. I have a modified R2 droid that will then take the ship to where it needs to go.” Calypso hums as she pulls out a bottle out of a storage space, opening it she gives it a sniff before pulling a face and closing the bottle. “This is vile.” She states as she puts the bottle back. “Sending him anything else beside the ship and dead Kyr’stad?” She enquires as she starts to head to the door clearly done with her half-hearted search for goods to pillage.”

“Maybe.” Din responds, “Thank you for helping with this.” He says. Calypso smiles. “Oh no dearest brother, thank you. We just netted over a million credits worth of wupiupi and I don’t even need to speak of the nova crystal. No my dearest Mando we have made out royally today.” She tilts her head and gives him a serious look. “Are you sure you don’t want a cut of the money? Your tribe has just taken in several foundlings.” She asks softly. Din merely shakes his head. Calypso frowns at him for a moment and then nods. “So I will see you around?”

Din shrugs one shoulder. “I have a bounty to pick up after this and then I need to go and rescue Boba from Grogu.” Laughing, the curly haired pirate heads for the door. “Next time bring the whomp rat with you.” Din merely shakes his head and watches as Chip follows its owner out the room.

He heads to the pilot seat and starts the process of configuring the ship for single person operation. It takes about twenty minutes when he gets the all clear signal from Calypso and he watches as the Red Shadow jumps to hyperspace. Taking a deep breath he keys in his destination and makes his own jump.

Year 942 ARR/ 58 BBY

Jaster is looking at the casualty report from his scouts that is currently in Binjai-Tin the capital city of the planet Nag Ubdur. The Haat’ade had been contacted by the locals after a series of Death Watch attacks. In the last several months they had been fighting Death Watch all through Mandalorian space. Tor Vizsla has stepped up his rhetoric about how he is the true Mand’alor and how mandalorians need to return to their conquering ways. He has also stepped up his attacks on civilian targets. Jaster also knows that Tor has lost several of the traditional clans due to Jaster’s courting of Din.

It is this loss of some of Vizsla’s supporters that has led to Jaster being on Nag Ubdur. Vizsla has taken to attacking ally planets trying to undermine Jaster’s support. What Vizsla does not seem to understand is that with every hospital, school and public spaces that he attacks he loses more and more of the Moderate Traditionalist.

A commotion outside of Jaster’s command tent draws his attention away from the current report. Before he can decide if he wants to ignore it or check it out, Walon Vau rushes into the tent. “Jaster you are needed.” He breathes out, slightly out of breath as if he has been running. Frowning Jaster picks up and dons his helmet.

Switching to the internal open frequency comm line he listens to verde shouting information at each other. Muting the line he turns to Walon. “What seems to be the issue?” He demands. Walon turns and heads outside. “A Kom’rk just landed outside of camp.” The answer comes. Jaster’s step falters for a moment before he is again striding in the direction of the largest amount of shouting.

He slows as he nears the edge of their camp. There neatly parked in the middle of the open field away from their other ships sits a relatively brand new Kom’rk class fighter. Taking in the size of the ship Jaster realises that it is the largest model of the ship. The length is 68.1 meters and it has a width of 54.2 meters. “Has anyone spoken with the pilot?” Jaster demands. Kal Skirata who is standing towards the rear of the ship shakes his head. “No, and we have not been able to contact anyone else on the ship.”

Just as he finishes speaking the rear of the ship opens and the ramp descends. The warriors at his back has their weapons drawn and aimed before the door is even partly open. An astromech comes trudging down the ramp the moment it is fully lowered. It stops at the foot of the ramp clearly scanning al of them. Jaster know the moment it spots him. The astromech trills a series of beeps far too fast for him to understand. He steps forwards towards the droid. “Alor!” one of his verd calls out. Jaster merely holds up a hand and cocks his head listening to the drums of the manda. There is no warning in the drums, no, instead it has taken on the same tone as when his hunter is near although a lot softer than normal.

“Slower please.” He commands the droid as he walks up to it. “Unit Jaster Mereel. Controlling unit of the group True Mandalorians.” It states in binary. Jaster has never in life been more glad that he has studied binary as a hobby in his youth. “That is correct.” He agrees with the droid’s naming of him. “Unit Mudhorn has sent unit R2-A6 to deliver this gift to you.” All of his verd at his back stills.

Jaster swallows, glad that he is wearing his buy’ce. “And what has the Mudhorn sent me as a gift?” he asks. A section opens on the astromech and a manipulator arm extends holding out a data stick. “He has sent you this ship, twenty kilograms of beskar and the bodies of five Death Watch units. He has also instructed unit R2-A6 to assist Unit Mereel in any duties that he sees fit.”

You can hear a pin drop so quiet it has become on the field. This is not just any courting gift, this was a priceless gift. The R2 series has only been released to the public a month ago and their cost was incredibly high. The droid and the beskar was already a priceless gift but add to that the ship as well. Then that was a truly amazing gift.

“What is on the data stick?” He finally asks even as he slips it into a pocket on his utility belt. “Message and data on Death Watch movements.” R2-A6 responds. “What are your core protocols?” Jaster demands. “I am to assist the Unit known as Jaster Mereel Mand’Alor. I am to follow only his instructions and his alone. No other units are allowed to instruct me or gather data about unit Mereel from me.” Something in Jaster’s gut unclench. He should have known that his hunter would ensure that any gift from him could not be used against Jaster.

“And what do you want to be called R2-A6?” Jaster asks. The astromech seems to freeze for a moment before it responds. “Unit Mudhorn has given me the mando’a language packet. Unit Mudhorn has also informed me that I must choose my own identity.” It stills again for a moment, “You can call unit R2-A6, Atin he/him.” Jaster feels a smile pull at his lips. “And why would you name yourself stubborn?” He asks. Atin responds with a few nonsensical beeps before, “Unit Mudhorn states that I am very stubborn. In my defence, ration bars are not enough substance for an active organic organism to subsist on.”

Several of Jaster’s warriors burst out laughing, with Mij shouting from where he is standing towards the back of the guards. “Finally another being with common-sense.” Jaster merely shakes his head and waves Walon Vau closer, “Well come on then lets inspect my courting gift.” He says as he heads up into the ship.

Jaster watches Atin inspect his tent. The astromech is using one of its arms to poke into everything beeping softly to itself. After standing around for several minutes of observing he goes and sits down at his field desk. He removes his helmet placing it on the corner of the desk and picks up one of the reports coming in from his scouts about Death Watch activities on Krownest.

“Unit Mudhorn does not remove his helmet in the presence of others.” Atin beeps. It is clear that he has finished whatever investigation it was doing. “The more correct statement would be that he does not remove his helmet in front of those that are not part of his tribe and his aliit.” Jaster corrects without looking up from the report he is reading. The droid is quiet for several long moments clearly digesting that statement.

“Unit Mudhorn does not consider unit Atin tribe then?” The droid beeps mournfully. Jaster places the report down and turns to look at the astromech. “The more likely answer is that he does not consider you tribe yet.” Jaster scratches at his chin and realises that he will need to shave soon. “None of the Haat’ade has seen his face and I am the only one that knows his true name.”

The droid seems to pull into itself and goes dark for a moment before beeping and lighting up again. “Unit Atin will prove to unit Mudhorn he deserves to be tribe by protecting unit Jaster Mereel.” It moves around the desk and opening another compartment holds out a comm unit. “Secure form of communication for units Mudhorn and Mereel.” It turns and moves to the front of the tent. “Unit Atin will stand guard.”

Jaster stares at the comm unit in his hand, swallowing. This was it. He has not tried to contact Din directly because he was not sure how to get a secure channel without the whole of Manda’yaim finding out about it. Mandalorians are fanatical gossips.

Before he can talk himself out of the act, he opens the comm and calls the only contact stored in there. It barely rings before it is answered. “I see R2-A6 has made it safely to you.” a warm rich voice answers. Jaster takes a deep breath, “He has declared that his name is Atin.” he says instead of a greeting. A warm dark rich laugh comes through the comm. Part of Jaster is deeply saddened that the call is voice only, but on the other hand he is grateful to hear his hunter’s voice without the distortion of his vocoder. “He is a stubborn little thing.” Din replies when he stops laughing. Atin beeps in indignation from where he is guarding the entrance of Jaster’s tent.

“I have several verd that are seriously put out with you.” Jaster states. “Oh?” Din asks.

“Yeah, apparently you are setting a standard far too high for courting gifts.” Jaster answers dryly. “You are the Mand’alor.” Din responds. Jaster shakes his head before realising that Din can’t see him. “That does not place me above the rest.” Din merely hums. “Did you have time yet to check the data I sent with, Atin?”

“Just quickly. I removed the private message and then handed it over to my spy master.” Jaster tells Din.

“Walon Vau.” Din says, “Yes he would be the best person to make sense of the data I have managed to find.” A very small part of Jaster wants to be surprised that Din knows who his spy master is as most of his inner circle is not even aware, but Din has proven to be a very good hunter.

“Did Grogu like his presents?” Jaster asks instead. He hears Din sigh over the comm. “The paddy frog stuffy has become his favourite toy. So much so that I had to turn around and return to Tatooine when he forgot it there earlier in the week. Causing a whole day delay on my last hunt.” This time it is Jaster that burst out laughing. “Oh that is precious.”

The conversation lulls for a second. “Listen I cannot always call, but we can send each other messages.” Din says tentatively. Jaster’s heart skips a beep. “I will like that very much.”

“I have to go.” Din states with a sigh. Jaster can hear some kind of alarm going off in the background. “Ret’urcye mhi, ner beroya.” Jaster says goodbye. “Ret’urcye mhi, ner Mand’alor.” Din greets before ending the call.

Jaster sits back in his chair, uncertain on how to feel. On one hand he is elated with finally establishing a line of communication. On the other the expand of the space that separates him from his hunter seems unfathomably large.

Year 942 ARR/ 58 BBY

The steady beep of his alarm draws Jaster’s attention from Din’s letter. In the last six months he and Din have exchanged irregular communications. The infrequent letters, the random comments, and the three voice calls, (once when Jaster was drunk, one where Din was high on pain medication and the third where both had been too exhausted to do more than mumble at each other,) has proven what he already knew down to the very core of him. Din was perfect. They fitted in ways Jaster could have barely conceived of in the beginning. Din has a dry sense of wit that pairs perfectly with Jaster’s sarcasm.

Their communication ranges across an expanse of topics. By a mutually unspoken agreement nothing personal has been discussed. With each exchange it feels to Jaster if their very souls get woven tighter into each other. But every time Jaster thinks about asking Din to join him the Manda’s drums whisper not yet.

Atin beeps at him. “Fifteen minutes until we exit hyperspace.” Sighing Jaster closes the comm unit and hands it over to Atin. The droid had quickly become a trusted confidant. Picking up his helmet he clips it to his belt before heading to the bridge. Something about this whole mission feels off, but it is the best lead they have gotten till now on Tor Vizsla.

Death Watch’s attacks have stepped up significantly. It is now basically open warfare between them and the True Mandalorians. Jaster cannot understand the extreme fanaticism that the Kyr’tsad members display, nor their wanton need for violence. Now he likes a good fight as much as the next mandalorian but, there is no honour in killing the defenceless, the weak, the injured and children. And that is what Death Watch is doing. They are not conquering, they are destroying. And through it all there is Tor waving the Dark Sabre around as if merely holding it somehow magically makes him a ruler, whipping his followers up into a frenzy.

So while Jaster’s commandos hunts Death Watch, he has been hunting Tor. It has not been easy going. Tor is a coward that disappears the moment it seems that there is even a whisper of a threat against him. And in between Jaster’s hunt, he still has his duties as both the Alor of the Haat’Mando’ade and as Mand’alor.

This tip about Tor’s whereabouts is the first in weeks. Montross has assured Jaster that the information is solid and the informant trustworthy. But for the life of him Jaster cannot figure out what Tor is doing on a space-station on the edge of the unknown region. The closest known planet is Jedha and that is at least one sector over.

He reaches the command deck just as the ship drops out of hyperspace. The space station sits there in space like a fat spider. Big bloated body with spindly arms stretching out into the void of space. A shiver of dread runs down Jaster’s spine and the drums take on a warning note. If the information had come from anyone other than Montross then Jaster would believe it to be a trap. But they have been friends since childhood, and Jaster trusts Montross.

“It’s a pirate den.” Kal breaks the silence. Jaster nods as he watches them carefully move closer to the large station. He can pick out several known pirate ships, including… “That’s the Red Shadow.” He points at one of the ships docked to the one of the stations arms. “This is very far from the Revenants usual hunting grounds.” Walon comments as he joins Jaster and Kal at the observation window.

After several moments of silent thought Jaster speaks up. “The main force remains on the ship.” He commands. Walon turns to look at him frowning, but it is Kal that voices dissent. “Is that really wise Jaster?” The Mand’alor stares at the space station as their ship carefully drifts in to land in one of the large open hanger bays. “Something is up. Until we know what and have verified the information, I do not want anyone getting trigger happy.”

Walon nods. “Who do you want to take with you?” He asks instead of trying to argue. “You, Tani, Bes Fenn and Lar Ordo.” Jaster says. The spy master merely nods and heads out to round up those Jaster has chosen.

Kal steps closer to Jaster, “Do you think this is a trap?” He asks softly. Jaster stares through the viewscreen at the dock workers loaded and unloading ships. “Yes, but I am not sure for who.” The dark haired alor replies. “If it is a trap should you not take more people with you?” The man asks.

Shaking his head Jaster turns to head back to his cabin to collect his last weapons. “No, more verd will be far more noticeable and might force neutral parties to turn against us.” He stops at his door and turns to his friend that has followed him. “But, I want you to keep a company on standby. We will keep the comms open so that you can track us in real time.” Kal stares at his commander and friend before merely nodding as an answer and turning away he calls his company to gear up. Entering his quarters Jaster is quick to rearm himself fully before he heads out to the left access door where the rest of his party is waiting.

Jaster tightens his grip where his hand rests on his gun belt next to his blaster as he and the rest of his group walks down the corridor to where their prey is said to be. They have met with Montross’s informant in one of the seedy cantina’s that dots the space station where the thin pale pink twi’lek male had furtively spoken about a mando with the Vizsla sigil on his armour. After some prompting from Walon the smuggler had given them the current location of their quarry.

If this really is Tor Vizsla then by capturing him it would break the stalemate of the current war between Kyr’tsad and the Haat’Mano, but Jaster has his doubts. From what his spy master has been able to glean is that this mando shows up about once a month and always comes alone. He rents a room for a night or two and then leaves. But although he had not been able to get a clear description the one thing that is confirmed is that the mando wears House Vizsla’s sigil.

They stop in front of the door that the informant has told them Vizsla is staying. Jaster considers several ways of getting in but the Drums of the Manda is still beating caution. Taking a deep breath he moves his right hand to rest on his blaster as he rings the bell with his left hand. He and his group waits for several minutes before he rings the bell again.

He is just about to ring the bell for a third time when the door slides open. He freezes with his hand still half raised. In the open door scantily dressed in a red silk gown, is the infamous Pirate Captain Calypso. Her hair is mushed and there are several dark bruises clearly visible on the side of her neck as she tilts her head taking in the five mandalorians standing in the doorway.

“Mereel. Now I know you aren’t stupid enough to try and collect the bounty on my head.” She drawls, her voice slightly husky. It reminds Jaster of a well aged whiskey. He merely nods in acknowledgement of her statement. She hums before stepping aside and waving them through the door. Stepping in, Jaster realises that it is not just some room as they were told but an apartment. Waving the door closed the female pirate turns and heads toward the eating area. “Vizsla, put on your bucket! You have company!” She shouts as she starts water boiling. She pulls out a cup and holds it up “Caff?” She asks.

Jaster shakes his head no and signals to the two younger members of the group to stand down. Both Bes and Lar has started to pull their blasters when Calypso had shouted for Vizsla. Shrugging at Jaster’s refusal, the pirate makes two cups of caff. She plunks a metal straw into the one cup, but leaves that one on the counter. Taking a sip from her own cup she sighs in contentment. The shoulder of her gown slips slightly down her shoulder revealing more bruises and what appears to be bite marks. Jaster looks pointedly at the amount of skin on display, telegraphing enough that his disapproval shows even with his helmet on.

Calypso snort. “Yeah that look does not work on me.” she states as she takes another sip from her cup.

“It does when it is your Father giving it.” Another voice answers. Jaster turns to look at the speaker. He is a very large solidly built mandalorian dress in full heavy infantry armour. His armour is different shades of dark blue with the Vizsla sigil painted on his right pauldron in vengeance gold. On his left pauldron is the same marking as Jaster’s hunter. A tribe member then. The only other colour than shades of blue and gold is a maroon sigil on the newcomer’s left vambrace.

The man seems to freeze for a moment when he realises exactly who his guests are. “Mand’alor” he greets Jaster, his left fist over his Kar’ta Beskar. His acknowledgement of Jaster’s position releases some of the tension that has been building in the room. Calypso snorts and drains her cup. “I am going to get dressed.” She states as she heads towards what Jaster presume is the sleeping quarters. Stopping at the door she turns back to look at the six mandalorians standing in the living area. “No fighting. If you get blood on the carpets I am going to be pissed,” and with that she disappears into the back room.

Vizsla merely shakes his head and walks over to the counter and the cup of caff waiting there. He carefully lifts his helmet without revealing any part of his face to take a drink using the straw. Placing the cup down and resealing his helmet he looks over at Jaster’s group. “Did she at least offer you something to drink?” he asks.

Jaster nods.”Yes she did.” He takes a deep breath steadying himself. “I did not know of any Vizsla that has joined the Tribes.” Vizsla crosses his arms over his chest, “Several Vizsla’s have done so over the generations.” He merely stated. Jaster merely tilts his head and remains silent. Vizsla sighs and uncrosses his arms, fidgeting for a moment before he picks up the gun belt slung over the high chair at the counter and starts checking the blasters and ammo on it. “My buir left the House after my ba’buir threatened to drown me. She joined the tribes as she believed it would offer us the most protection.” His answer is the dry stating of facts that hides a lot of grief.

Behind Jaster Walon hisses. “How old where you?” Jaster asks. Replacing one of the blaster power-packs on the belt with one from his one belt Vizsla answers. “I was six years old when we joined the Tribes.” Jaster closes his eyes and breathes out slowly. “Paz Vizsla son of Tre Vizsla.” He whispers. Paz merely nods before pulling the vibro-knife from its sheath on the belt and inspects the blade. “Naz Vizsla stated that you two were killed in an aircar accident.” Jaster continues.

“Yes well he couldn’t really admit that he tried to have his bu’ad murdered and that his eldest child had defied him and escaped from his control.” Paz Vizsla’s voice is drier than the wastes of Tatooine. Walon snorts at the reply. Returning the knife to its sheath, Paz places the belt and its weapons down on the counter. “I take it that you are not looking for lost Vizslas?” He asks.

Jaster shakes his head. “No, we were told that Tor was here.” Vizsla burst out laughing. “That hut’uun, on a place like Nassua.” He shakes his head, “No he would not come anywhere close to where he could run into me or any of the Revenants.”

Before Jaster can respond Calypso comes walking back into the room dressed in her standard clothes. Tight black leather trousers with black and red knee high boots. A ruffled low cut blood red silk blouse. On her left arm is a mandalorian vambrace painted in the same shades of blue as Vizsla’s armour. Everyone watches in silence and she picks up the gun-belt Paz had been inspecting and fastens it around her hips. The tall mandalorian holds out her deep burgundy coloured coat. She slips it on and picks up her hat. Doffing it she turns the Paz. Knocking two fingers on his Kar’ta beskar. “Stay alive, guard boy.” she says softly. Pulling her hat down a bit Paz answers softly with. “Stay free pirate girl.”

She steps away from him and heads to the door. When she draws even with Jaster she stops and gives him a long look. Jaster sees the moment when she reaches some conclusion. She pats him on his chest and he feels her slip something into the top of his hal’cabur. “He doesn’t really have a sweet tooth but he loves shuura fruit.” and with that she sweeps out of the room. Nobody moves for a long moment before Bes blurts out. “How the hell did you score someone like that?”

Jaster merely sighs as Tani smacks the back of Bes’s helmet. Vizsla burst out laughing. “Hell if I know verd’ika.” He shakes his head. “But I would bet that if you ask her, she would tell you that she caught me.” Itching to touch the data stick that the pirate had slipped him, Jaster musters all his self control. “What did you mean earlier that Tor would not come close to Revenant territory?” Jaster asks, trying to steer the conversation back to its original purpose.

Vizsla takes a moment before he answers. “For the fact that the Revenants are pirates there are three things that are an automatic death sentence by them. Do you know what they are?” He asks. Jaster shakes his head no. “Slavery, child abuse and rape.” The tall mandalorian pauses. “Tor has made himself guilty of all three.”

Jaster feels rage burn through him. “You are certain of this?” He demands. Vizsla nods, “About a year ago he attacked a small town on the planet Gotar. He killed most of the adults and took the children to be trained and brainwashed into good little Death Watch solders.” He stops and swallows thickly. “He and his followers stayed in the town for a while and used several of the young woman as… entertainment. Killing them before leaving.” He curls his left hand into a fist causing the leather of his glove to creak ominously before slowly relaxing his hand. “Only one of the women was not as dead as he thought and managed to call her brother who is one of the Lok Revenants.”

Jaster closes his eyes. “The more and more I learn about how far Tor has fallen, the more it becomes clear that he needs to finish off quickly.” Vizsla merely nods, he seems to consider something before he speaks again. “You have drawn the Tribes attention. Most are waiting to see what kind of leader you will be, but… But if you call, there are a great many who would come.” Jaster stares at Vizsla in astonishment.

“Is there anything that we can do to offer any assistance to the Tribes?” Jaster finally asks. The blue armoured mandalorian shakes his head. “We are pretty self-sustaining. Although several of our young verde would like to do some training with the Fighting corpse. Specifically the pilot program. We do not have many that can teach the different star fighting techniques.”

Jaster hums. “They will have to apply like everyone else, but accommodations can be made for their religious beliefs.” Vizsla ducks his head in thanks “Vor’e Mand’alor.”

Jaster merely nods and with “Ret’urcye mhi” turns to leave the apartment. Walon and Tani follow on his heels with Bes and Lar bringing up the rear. Switching to a private internal comms channel with Walon and Tani the moment they are well away from the apartment. “Well this was an interesting meeting.” Tani states, speaking for the first time.

“Truly,” Walon agrees.

“If we had gone in guns blazing it would have been a disaster.” Jaster states. “Yes, killing both of those two would most certainly cause trouble in very different ways.” Walon agrees.

“Killing Paz Vizsla would turn the tribes against you.” Tani states. “And Nym would mark you for death if you were to harm his daughter. Mand’Alor or not.” Walon finishes the thought.

“Yes and we were very cleverly set up.” Jaster muses. “Walon, I want you to trace where this tip originally came from. Do not alert anyone of who we met here or what was discussed. Especially Montross” Walon nods his agreement. “You think that he is compromised?” The Spy master asks. “He or his contacts.” Jaster replies with a heavy heart.

Jaster stops and turns to face the two young warriors that had come with them. “You will not say a word about what has happened here to anyone. You will not even discuss it among yourselves. If anyone asks, it was a false trail and we did not meet anyone.” The two you men look at their leader before saluting him with their fists across their hearts. “Elek Mand’alor.” satisfied that his instructions will be followed, Jaster turns and heads back towards his ship. He needs to return to Keldabe and continue his search for Tor Vizsla from there.

Year 942 ARR/ 58 BBY

Jaster stands in the burnt out shell of his friend’s house. Cassus Fett had sent him a message a week earlier stating that he had important information for Jaster concerning Kyr’tsad movements on Concord Dawn. That message had led to Jaster taking his private ship and company, who had returned to the name Head Hunters and heading out to Concord Dawn. It has been seven years since he has been banished from the planet for murdering his then superior officer in the Journeyman Protectors for being corrupt. Technically the ban has not been lifted, but Jaster is the Mand’alor and his friend had asked him to come.

Their ship had been shot down as they came to land in the field near the Fett homestead. It had taken some really impressive flying from Kal Skirata to get them to the ground in more or less one piece. It had not taken long for Jaster to realise that this was a Death Watch ambush. They had barely cleared the burning ship before it had exploded. In the smoke and confusion they had managed to flee from the wreckage of their ship with everybody.

Halfway across the field they had come across the four year old son of Cassus. Jaster had grabbed the crying boy while on the run. Once they had crossed the field and had gotten a few moments of safety in the woods bordering the field, Jaster had been able to calm the young boy.

When Jaster had asked him what he was doing so far out in the field, the four year old had replied that bad people had attacked their house and his parents had sent him out into the field to hide. He had then told Jaster very seriously that Jaster should come with him to the hiding place because the bad people would never find them there. He had also very seriously told Jaster that his buir said he should help the Mand’alor, so he would show him the secret place.

Jaster would admit that he had been charmed beyond words by the brave little boy. Jango Fett had then led them to a hidden bunker stocked with medical supplies and weapons. It had been clear to Jaster that Cassus had been stocking up in the case of a siege on the homestead. Only they never got the chance to use it. They had sheltered the night in the bunker taking advantage of the safe space to treat their wounds and rest.

With first light they had moved out of the bunker ready to retake the homestead and free his friends. Only to find the home abandoned and burnt to the ground. “Alor,” Bes Fenn says as he steps up next to Jaster. “We have found three bodies. Two adults and one child. The… the bodies are burnt beyond recognition.” The young man’s voice breaks on the word child. Jaster closes his eyes in grief. “Gather up the adults beskar’gam and what else can be salvaged.” he instructs, the young warrior salutes and heads out to follow his instructions.

Jaster pauses and looks over the burnt yard. Suddenly feeling far older than his twenty-nine years of age. A part of him wants to rage to the stars about the injustice of it all. Another part of him does not think he can do this, how many friends and people will he have to lose in this senseless war. The Drums of the Manda takes on a soothing note, similar but not quite the same as when his hunter is near.

He slowly turns again, taking in the destruction of a place he had spent many a happy day as a child. Before the plague had taken his parent’s life and he had ended up in the orphanage. Squaring his shoulders he forces the memories away. Now is not the time for lingering on grief, there will be time for that later.

Heading towards where Kal is busy trying to get a communications array working. “Any luck?” he asks as he nears his friend. Kal nods, “Yes I was just about to call you over. I have managed to secure a connection to Yaim.” Jaster sighs in relief. “Call in the troops, we end it here.” Kal takes a moment to stare at Jaster before he nods and turns back to the comm unit. “They will want to hear it from you.” he remarks as he fiddles with the settings. “I know,” Jaster sighs.

Taking a moment to straighten his cloak he waits for Kal to connect the call. “Mand’alor.” Walon Vau greets as the call connects. The holo projection is wavery, the signal dipping in and out. “Call up the troops.” Jaster says instead of greeting. “Kyr’tsad is on Concord Dawn. We end this here and now.” He can hear muttering in the background of the call but only Walon is showing on the holo projector. The spy master salutes with his hand over his heart. “It shall be as the Mand’alor commands.” He says before signing off. The whole conversation has taken less than five minutes but in those five minutes things have shifted. The Drums lament has turned into a war chant. The next few moves that he makes are going to be very important. But first he has a personal mission that he must undertake.

He heads back to the bunker where they had left their wounded in the care of their medic. Ducking in through the low door leading into the bunker that is built into a hill covered by a scraggly wood. “Su cuy’gar, Baar’ur Syllar.” Jaster greets the cathar medic. “Su, cuy, Mand’alor.” The medic greets in return. “How are the verde doing?” Jaster asks as he steps up next to her. The medic shrugs one shoulder, “All should live. The Ka’ra is on our side and none of the injuries are very serious.” Some of the tension Jaster is carrying leaves him, “It is a relief to hear that.” He looks around the space, “Where is young Jango?” he asks when he cannot spot the small child. “He is in the very back.” the medic clicks her tongue in frustration. “He keeps trying to sneak out to go look for his aliit.”

A small wounded sound manages to escape from Jaster. The sound causes the medic to freeze her large eyes widening. “Oh, oh no.” She breathes slowly. “The whole family?” She asks softly. Jaster can only nod. She turns looking towards the back of the bunker. “The poor dear. Does he have any family left willing to take him?”

“He has some distant relatives, but they have not been on speaking terms with Cassus for years.” Jaster answers. Something that has started as a mere fleeting idea starts to take hold and grow. The more he thinks about it the more the Drums of the Manda beats out its approval. Squaring his shoulders Jaster heads towards where young Jango is playing with some carved wooden warriors. Settling on the ground next to the small boy Jaster picks up one of the toys. “Ner buir has marched on?” the dark skinned boy asks without taking his eyes off the toys he is playing with. His voice was rough from crying. “Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaj’la.” Jaster murmurs. Jango nods but Jaster can see the tears starting to form in his eyes again. It is heartbreaking that such a young child should already understand the tragedy of life. “What will happen to me now?” he asks, his voice catching in his chest as he fights not to start crying again.

Jaster swallows, this is a big step that will alter the course of not only his life but that of this small child as well. “I want to adopt you. Take you as my ad.” Jango looks up in surprise the tears glimmering in his eyes making them look even larger. “You do?” He asks, “None of our other aliit wants anything to do with us.” he continues his voice soft.

Jaster reaches out and waits for the boy to nod before picking him up and pulling him into his lap. “Your buir was my vod. We were friends since we were not much older than you are now. It would be my honour to speak the gai bal manda to you.” The man watches as the child looks at him with eyes far too smart for one so young. It takes a moment before the boy nods, “Can I keep my name.” He whispers, “So that I can remember them?”

“Of course you can,” Jaster chokes out. “Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’ad, Jango be aliit Fett teh House Mereel.” With the speaking of the vows Jaster feels something clicks into place. Jango’s eyes go large and he starts looking around, “Where are the drums coming from?” He asks, still looking around. Jaster wants to rage at the very stars for laying such a heavy burden on one so young. “The drums are a secret.” He says softly to the small boy. “You must never tell anyone that you can hear the drums.” Jango looks up at Jaster, “Okay but why?” he asks.

“Only those the Ka’ra favours can hear the drums, they will guide you all your life if you listen to them.” Jaster stops, uncertain how to explain it without scaring his child too much. “But there are those who are jealous of Ka’ra’s favourites. So we must keep it a secret.”

Jango frowns before nodding. “I promise I won’t tell.” Jaster pulls off his helmet and sets it on the ground next to him. Placing a soft kiss on his son’s head, “Good it will be just our secret.” Jango hums before snuggling into Jaster’s chest and falling asleep.

Jaster has no idea how long he sits there on the ground of the bunker with his new child asleep on his lap before he is disturbed by Kal looking for him. The man’s brown and tan coloured armour blends in with the earth tones of the bunker, so it takes a few moments for the tired Mand’alor to notice his friend standing in the shadow. “Kal,” he breathes softly as he becomes aware of the man.

Kal slowly removes his helmet, resting it on his hip he stares at his friend, “I take it your records need to be updated?” Jaster huffs, “Yes and that of my son’s.” It feels so strange to say that. “Okay then.” Kal merely nods. “I just got feedback from Tani, the first group will be here in five hours. The main force will take another two days.”

“Good,” Jaster breathes, “With the vanguard we can secure our position here until the main force arrives.” Turning to leave, Kal speaks over his shoulder, “Get some rest Jaster, you will need it in the coming days.” Jaster laughs feeling slightly hysterically. Rest sure, he can do that.

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