Chapter Text
Din had never been aboard a Star Destroyer before, but it was every bit as enormous as he had expected.
When he followed the traffic controller’s instructions to dock in the Venator’s lower bay, he hadn’t expected quite so much commotion to surround the Crest. Some clients were picky about making secure transfers, of course, but this was ridiculous.
Droids and white-armored troopers swarmed outside the ship, running scans and tying it down with durasteel cables. Din sighed, trudging down to the hull where his quarry stood frozen in carbonite. He ignored the slaver’s raucous complaints, dragging the large Trandoshan by his cuffs to the ramp door.
“Are you the bounty hunter?” A stormtrooper clipped sharply as soon as the panel slid aside.
Din turned to slowly regard the quarry in his hold before meeting the trooper’s visor again, shoving the slaver roughly into their custody. “Looks that way.”
“Follow us.”
Din was instantly flanked by nothing short of a platoon. At this rate, he was beginning to feel like a wanted criminal. They marched through the lower decks and up to the command level, where the platoon leader stopped them in front of a nondescript door.
“Lord Skywalker will see you now.”
Din mused for a moment on the familiarity of the name but came up with nothing in particular. Whoever Skywalker was, he seemed to be quite high up in Imperial ranking.
The doors to a large room opened with a loud swoosh, and Din was escorted inside.
Skywalker narrowed his gaze on the bounty hunter. He appeared to be a Mandalorian at first glance, but even with the helmet, Skywalker could tell the man was uncomfortable surrounded by such heavily-armed security. It wasn't necessary — Skywalker could have handled any potential danger himself — but who was he to argue with protocol?
"You can leave us." He grasped his hands firmly behind his back with a shallow breath as the wave of troopers fled the room on command.
"You're the bounty hunter that brought back Sok?"
Sok was a wealthy slave trader who had been operating illegally in Imperial territory for years. He was very intelligent and — most importantly — great at remaining behind the scenes. Sending a bounty on the man had been nothing but an empty action with hardly any promise of success, neither Skywalker nor his father were really expecting anyone to capture the slaver.
“I am,” Din replied hesitantly. “Was something… unsatisfactory?”
The puck said 650,000 credits alive, and that was precisely what Din had done.
”No,” Skywalker clarified. “Quite the opposite, actually. I’m impressed. I was expecting to deal with the situation myself, so you can imagine my surprise when you showed up with the job completed.”
Skywalker looked the Mandalorian up and down, inspecting his worn armor and helmet of pure beskar. “You’re a Mandalorian, aren’t you? Your reputation as excellent warriors precedes you.”
Din nodded, flushing inexplicably with the praise. “Did you need something else?”
”I suppose not. I can pay you the credits and you can be on your way. Unless you would prefer a more... steady stream of high-income jobs?”
Din tilted his helmet.
“Are you offering?”
The idea of working directly for the Empire rubbed Din a bit uncomfortably, but he supposed there was no harm in exploring the opportunity.
”Potentially.” Skywalker folded his arms over his chest. Things had gotten far too busy for him or his father to handle on their own, and the prospect of training an assassin strong in the Force was not preferable. He had seen Sith inquisitors backfire far too often, but maybe this Mandalorian was a safer option for the task. “You would be contracted by me directly, and I would expect loyalty.”
Din huffed dryly. “Jobs aren’t hard to come by. My rate is competitive.” The young man’s piercing yellow stare seemed to sharpen. Din resisted a shiver. “…Respectfully.”
”I would expect a competitive rate from someone of your caliber. Typically means you’re good at what you do.”
Skywalker moved to sit upon one of the larger, cushy seating spaces in the room, crossing a leg over his other and gesturing to offer the seat across from him. He wasn’t surprised when the Mandalorian didn’t accept, choosing to stand stock still across the room instead. “What would you like to be paid?”
Din watched awkwardly as the Imperial officer (politician, possibly?) swept across the room and settled in a graceful wash of black fabric. The way he moved was almost unnerving—like a Loth wolf sizing up its prey.
The young man carried himself powerfully for someone who looked rather harmless.
“Depends what you’re looking for,” Din answered neutrally.
Skywalker hummed to himself, studying the Mandalorian carefully as he stood unwavering. “750,000 credits per job at a steady rate, and full maintenance of your ship as needed. You would be working exclusively for me, not the guild—we can discuss a higher rate if this isn’t enough for you.”
Din hoped that his visor was enough to conceal his shock at the exorbitant offer. “Hunting, then?”
The blonde man smirked as if Din said something funny. “That’s what you do, isn’t it?”
Din nodded. The imp raised an elegant eyebrow, expectant.
“What kind of jobs are we talking?”
“You’d be collecting high-profile enemies of the Empire—slavers, criminals, black market dealers. Anything that slips past you would come straight to me. I’m attempting to lessen that load.” Skywalker explained casually “Do you usually ask this many questions? I was under the impression the guild had a ‘no questions asked’ policy.”
Din frowned at the young man’s icy, critical tone. His hand went to his hip, shifting his weight petulantly. “ They do. But this isn’t guild work, is it?”
The would-be client’s yellow eyes narrowed. Din shrugged.
“Doesn’t matter. We can make a deal.”
"Good," Skywalker smiled brightly. He stood from his seat and swiftly moved over to his data-pad across the room. "I'll make sure you're heavily compensated for today. Do you have a debit code I could transfer your credits to?"
Din almost found it more uncomfortable when the strange man cracked a bright, warm smile. It felt out of place among the stark metal trappings of the room. He nodded, raising his vambrace in an awkward gesture.
The black-robed imp arched an eyebrow, waving the data-pad as if to beckon him forward. Din stepped across the space, stopping an arm’s length away. He quickly tapped his bracer to pull up his chain code, holding it out for the other man to view.
Skywalker loudly tapped in the Mandalorian’s chain code to his pad and initiated the transfer for today’s bounty, along with an additional 150,000 credits for good measure.
“Now that I have your chain code… we’ll be in touch?”
Din stared at the blinking transfer confirmation for a long, disbelieving moment. He supposed this is what he had to look forward to now. “Okay. I’ll be around the sector.”
__ __
Nevarro had been Din’s home for longer than he could remember — a place to return to after a long job, a place to provide for. Mandalore had a long and complicated history, often described to him as a mess that Din decidedly chose not to deal with.
After his covert had been shunned from the other Mandalorians when he was a child, they settled on Nevarro. It was known to most residents that the tribe lived below the city, but the smart ones chose not to bother them. The planet had a Guild headquarters, which was perfect for Din — though he supposed that didn’t matter much anymore.
When he entered the underground tunnels, he headed straight for the forge.
The space was bathed in warm orange and eerie blue, flickering softly as the Armorer worked. She pulled a blazing-hot chest plate from the flames, pounding a dent out of the alloy with decisive strikes before turning expectantly toward Din.
“I got paid,” Din offered frankly by way of greeting. “A lot.”
The Armorer’s eyes widened beneath her helmet as he flashed his account from his vambrace. “That amount of credits will sponsor many, many foundlings. As well as a new shipment of materials from Mandalore.” She tilted her helmet suspiciously, “Where did you find such a job?”
Din pulled his wrist back to initiate the transfer of credits.
“The Empire. Picked up a slaver they’d been after.” He looked up from his vambrace, meeting the Armorer’s ever-watchful visor. “They offered me a contract. Exclusive work, but it pays like this.”
The Armorer didn’t react. Din shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“I took it.”
Another moment of silence.
"The Empire has kept a neutral trade relationship with Mandalore since the end of the Clone Wars. While you should remain cautious in this contract, they have no reason to lead you astray. They likely believe you are one of hers. "
The Armorer looked off in the direction of her remaining beskar ingots. She was running low and would likely need more from Mandalore soon, but for now, it would be more than enough to craft what she had in mind. "High rewards come with high risk. You will need armor worthy of such peril."
Din shook his head in dissent. “My armor is fine. I would rather the resources go to the foundlings.”
Din owed a life debt to his covert. It was the least he could do, but the Armorer disagreed.
”You have more than earned it. You have provided much for this covert through the years. It is only proper that we provide for you as well,” She explained unvarnished with no room for argument.
“This is the way.”
Din felt himself flush with pride under the Armorer’s words. Ever since he was small, lost and taking refuge in the warmth of the forge, her approval meant everything to him. He nodded. “This is the way.”
Din ducked his helmet, sucking a deep breath as he regarded his worn duraplast cuirass. When he looked up, the Armorer hadn’t moved. “Thank you. I… would like a new chest piece, if we have the material.”
”Every piece of your armor will be remade in pure beskar, and I will craft whistling birds for your protection.” The Armorer asked, “Have you trained in the Rising Phoenix?”
Din blinked rapidly under his beskar.
“When I was a boy, yes,” he answered hesitantly. His memory drew up vivid images of the Fighting Corps trainers in their gleaming beskar, swooping through the sky and wearing armor like a second skin. “That would be a great honor.”
“Yes,” She agreed. “Do you know much about your Imperial contractor?”
Din shook his head. “Only that he ranks very high in the command structure.” And apparently has access to their entire capital reserve, he added internally. “He… doesn’t look like a fighter. I don’t think he’s military. They called him ‘Lord Skywalker’ .”
There was no way he could have seen the way the Armorer’s eyebrows raised in shock beneath her helmet. On the outside, she remained still, though her voice was still laced with the smallest bit of surprise.
“You were hired directly by the Imperial Prince?”
Din recoiled. “What?”
The longer the Armorer stared at him, the clearer it became that Din had missed something. The excessive security forces, the man’s strange but powerful demeanor, the high-paying jobs…
“…Oh. Maybe.”
”The one who goes by Skywalker is the Emperor’s son. There have been… whispers of the Emperor and his children—about who, or rather, what they are.” It wasn’t common knowledge amongst the general public, but it could be found if you dug deeper into the Fall of the Republic and the Jedi Order.
“Sith,” She spoke seriously. “Over the centuries, the Sith have allied with the Mandalorians against a common enemy: the Jedi. They are ruthless, and they are powerful. You would be wise to proceed cautiously in your business with him.”
Din nodded slowly. “That’s… good to know. Thank you.”
The Armorer nodded in turn. “But you will represent our tribe with honor. If what you say is true, your rewards will support generations.”
Din warmed with her confidence in him as if he’d stepped closer to the hearth. “I hope so.”
“Return to me tomorrow evening, and I will have your armor completed. This is the way.”
“This is the way.”
__ __
A few standard weeks passed before Skywalker saw the Mandalorian again — or, rather, before Skywalker needed him again.
He carried himself swiftly through the silver halls of the Destroyer to meet his bounty hunter on arrival, but what met him instead was a vision in pure beskar from head to toe.
"You have new armor," Skywalker stated the obvious, a bit roused by the sight. "A jetpack as well. It seems you put the credits to good use; beskar isn't cheap."
Din felt his cheeks go hot as the Imperial ( kriffing ) Prince dragged hungry yellow eyes up and down his form. He shrugged, thankful for the concealment of his visor. “Needed an upgrade. What’s the job?”
A beat passed. His client raised an amused eyebrow.
Oh. Manners, Din reminded himself.
“Lord Skywalker,” he added awkwardly.
”Please, call me Luke, the rest isn’t necessary.” Luke shook a step forward towards the Mandalorian, softening his intimidating expression. “You never told me what I could call you?”
Din cleared his throat, resisting the urge to fidget. Something about the man’s searching gaze and open expression pulled Din’s name right to the back of his teeth.
The Sith was every bit as unusual as he remembered.
“Mando is fine.”
“Whatever you say, Mando.” Luke spoke his name slowly, feeling the way it fell upon his tongue and teeth with satisfaction.
Luke gestured his head for Mando to follow him down the sharp, metal hallway. “I’m sending you after an illegal arms dealer. Alive if you can, but it isn’t necessary. He’s difficult to find and likely heavily secured.”
Din nodded as he fell in step with the prince. Every quarry worth its price tag was ‘difficult to find’ and ‘heavily secured’—at least according to clients.
“Okay. Is there a tracking fob?”
”No tracking fob… but I have a name, a face, and a last known location. See what you can do with that.” Luke knew it was a difficult task, but if this was something his Mandalorian couldn’t complete, then perhaps this wasn’t the proper arrangement between them in the first place.
“And don’t get yourself killed in the process. If you run into too much trouble, retreat and call me.”
Din held back a scoff. Given a few jobs, the Sith would know better. “You got it, boss.”
Luke produced a data-pad from beneath his cloak, transmitting the information with a few decisive taps. Din forwarded it to the terminal on the Crest, noting the… extensive location history. A sector-hopper, then.
“Can I fuel up here before I leave?”
”Of course—ship repairs, fuel, anything you need is part of our agreement.” The only thing Luke expected was someone competent, and someone devoted. He would know soon enough if this Mandalorian fulfilled that description. “I can have one of my men fill your ship. Or would you rather do it yourself?”
Din shook his head. “I can do it.”
The Crest was old and finicky; the last thing he needed was some kriffing stormtrooper jamming his fuel lines. “…Thank you.”
”Anytime, Mando . I hope to see more of you soon. I’ll have some fuel brought to your ship.” Luke flashed him a reserved smile before turning on a heel and abruptly leaving the Mandalorian in the hallway.
__ __
Din returned to the familiar Star Destroyer a week later, with his quarry in carbonite and his medkit stretched to its limits.
The sleemo himself wasn’t much of a threat, but he traveled with a pack of loyal cronies who were not happy to see him go. Din managed to outlast them long enough to drag his target out a window and wrestle him back to the Crest.
When he began to descend the cockpit ladder, he let out an embarrassing yelp at the lance of pain through his shoulder. Torn rotator cuff? Great—exactly what Din needed. With a groan, he carefully maneuvered himself down to the hull before slamming the thaw switch on the freezer.
A handful of stormtroopers waited expectantly outside, true to form.
Din opened the side door, peeking around the durasteel frame. “Delivery.”
"Take him to the detention area." A wave of troopers stormed forward, two on each side of the prisoner to escort him away from the Mandalorian in a timely fashion. "Lord Skywalker will want to see you."
"Thought so."
Like clockwork, Din was surrounded by troopers and led through the long, sharp tunnels of the Destroyer. He hoped they would eventually grow past the need for such intense security, but for now, he was a stranger to the Empire.
"Mando," Luke's voice boomed from across the hall where he had hurried to meet the ensemble of troopers. He frowned thinly at them, gesturing for his men to leave the Mandalorian alone. "He doesn't need to be escorted."
Din wasn’t sure whether to be relieved at the troopers’ dismissal or unnerved by Skywalker’s prowling approach. He nodded stiffly in greeting.
“I got your guy.”
Luke said nothing at first, only gripped his hands behind his back, approaching the Mandalorian slowly. Only a week and this bounty hunter had managed to succeed where even top Imperial hunters had not.
He hummed to himself in delight, nodding his head as a grin crept up the edge of his mouth.
“Yes, and it looks like I’ve got mine.”