Chapter Text
The rising sun cast the throne room in brilliant hues of crystal and gold, turning the tapestries adorning the walls to stained glass.
It was beautiful.
It weighed heavy on Din’s heart.
His Clan tapestry was among them, hanging proudly behind the throne, finally solidifying his rule of Mandalore even though Din had sat on the throne for years. It was nothing more than a formality, a tradition to uphold, and yet it had become Din’s lifeline. The sun had not risen enough to wash over it, but it hardly mattered. Din couldn’t bring himself to look at it regardless of how beautifully the morning light painted it.
He’d spent years looking at it, weaving together threads of silver and gold by hand.
He was so sick of looking at it.
And now it finally hung, finished, mocking him, tightening the leash around his neck with every second it loomed over him.
He had stalled for as long as he could.
Din didn’t know how many times he’s unwoven the threads of that shroud under the guise of perfection. Enough for his fingers to bleed and his hands to shake. Enough for the nobles to grow angered and agitated, to pound against the doors to his rooms, to demand answers and truths Din refused to give them, to grow weary and dangerous enough that Din had grown afraid.
Not for himself.
But for Finn.
For Grogu.
For his sons.
He would not let them get hurt because of his own stubbornness and longing. He wouldn’t. So it was with a heart full of dirt and soot that he finished his Clan shroud while he tried desperately to think of another way to hold the nobles off, that he sent Finn and Grogu to Concordia to stand in his place for treaties and negotiations because he did not want them to stand in the fallout of this, that he sealed his fate in a moment hardly longer than a heartbeat with the tying of a single strand of silver thread.
The nobles would descend upon him like vultures as soon as they saw that shroud.
Din knew that.
They had never liked that Din had spent so long ruling Mandalore on his own, that the spot beside the throne his husband once–still–occupied had been empty for so long.
It had been empty long enough that the nobles demanded it be filled, that Din take another spouse, that he stop ruling on his own, that he finish his grieving and accept what everyone else already had, that the war Luke had fought in was long since over, that he was dead and never coming back.
And while Din still held onto his faith in Luke, he had agreed to their demands, if only to shut them up.
He was still a king despite whatever grief and sorrow he may be carrying. He had people to take care of. Lands to maintain. Order to uphold. He couldn’t let the nobles simply take what they wanted from him. He had to keep them controlled, had to keep them firmly under his hand, and so he had said he would remarry as soon as the shroud was done–if I am to remarry, he had said, if the Mand’alor is to have a spouse, there must be a shroud to write their name into–even though he never had any intention to finish it.
And it had been enough for a while.
The nobles and his Court had remained sated, if not agitated, by Din’s insistence on tradition and formalities, and they let Din work.
But the weeks had turned to months, and the months had turned to years, and Din was…
…Din was almost out of time.
The thought hit him hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs.
How long has it been since he’s seen Luke?
It was hard to remember.
Finn had still been a child then, just learning to walk and already so eager to run. He would toddle along the palace halls on shaky legs, his tiny hand holding so tightly to Luke’s bigger one. Luke would catch him every time he fell, scooping Finn up into his arms before he could hit the ground, smiling so brightly while Finn shrieked with laughter.
Now he was grown, a young man, a prince with the same grace and poise and kindness of his father.
Even Grogu had aged, learning to speak in fractured sentences, asking on the darkest of Mandalore’s nights why his buir was always so sad.
Din leaned heavily against one of the many pillars holding up the throne room’s ceiling and–in this moment–what felt like his heart.
It was not Luke’s fault that he left.
There was a war on the horizon, and Luke had made a promise to his sister long before he met Din.
He hadn’t wanted to go.
He hadn’t wanted to leave his husband and sons behind.
He had to go.
Din had been the one who told him it was okay, that he understood, that even though he would worry he had no right to keep Luke from the rest of his family. He’d been the one to let Luke go, to send him off with his blessing and a promise that he would wait for however long it took for Luke to come home.
He couldn’t just marry someone else.
Because Luke still hadn’t come home.
Because Din was still waiting.
The japor around his neck clinked against the iron heart of his chestplate as pushed himself away from the pillar. Din lifted his hand without thought, pressing his fingertips against the carved pendant as he turned to gaze out over the open terrace. It was one of Luke’s favorite spots. He loved to be on that terrace, to hold Finn and Grogu and show them the world that was waiting for them, to lift Din’s helmet just enough to sneak a kiss when they had the time, to stand out there when night had fallen and greet the stars like he knew each and every one.
“Please,” Din whispered. He wrapped his fingers around the japor snippet, squeezing it tightly enough until he was sure its carving would be pressed into his palm even with the leather of his glove standing between them. “I can’t give you much more time.”
The Kelta’s usual raging waters lay still and silent below him.
“Your shroud is beautiful.”
Din did not turn around.
He was not startled by his mother’s voice.
He had been expecting it, truthfully.
“You’ve done wonderful work.”
“It could be better.” Din said hollowly.
“Could it?”
Din glanced over his shoulder.
His mother was standing only a little ways away from him, the morning sun turning the gold of her helmet into the dark red of a beating heart. And yet she was not looking at him. She was looking at the shroud, at the mudhorn that adorned it, at the names of his Clan members that Din had refused to add.
A finished shroud, technically, but still so terribly incomplete.
“Have you chosen a suitor?” His mother asked. She reached a hand out, running the tips of her fingers along the edge of the shroud before pulling away.
Din clenched his jaw.
Yes. He thought viciously. Years and years ago, when I said my vows.
His mother finally looked at him when he didn’t answer.
“Din–”
“You can tell the Court I will marry.” Din cut her off, turning to look back out over the terrace. It was why she had come in here, Din knew. It was no secret that he had finished his Clan shroud, and the nobles and his Court were already hounding him, demanding to know when he would uphold his word. Sending his own mother to speak with him was the best option. The safest option. The one that would be the lesser risk of Din’s ire. “But I will only have the strongest of our people stand at the throne.”
His mother was silent for a long time.
Din waited patiently.
“You’re invoking the riduur’akaanir?” She finally asked.
She sounded genuinely surprised.
“I am,” Din answered.
It was an old tradition, one that had fallen out of practice on such a grand scale as this one would be, although Din was certain everyone on Mandalore would be excited by the prospect of it. A competition among his suitors, a fight until only one was left standing. It could last days. Weeks. Months, if he was lucky.
It was not enough time.
It had to be enough time.
“Your Court will want to speak with you about this,” his mother said after a long moment.
If it was supposed to be a threat, it was a weak one.
Din was not afraid of his Court.
“They know where to find me.” He said curtly.
The world outside was so still, so tense and taught that it seemed like it was just waiting to break.
“Din, my son–” his mother placed a careful hand on Din’s shoulder. He stiffened, not even hearing her close the distance between them, but didn’t shrug it off. “I admire your dedication to your husband, but even you must admit that you’ve been waiting too long for him to come back.” She paused, weighing her words carefully. Din wished she would stop handling this like it was glass. “I never wish to see your hurting, but if you were to choose your suitor–”
“I appreciate your advice, but my decision has been made.”
Din did shrug her off then.
His mother took a step back.
“Very well,” she murmured.
Din was careful to listen, to follow the footsteps of her leaving, and it was only when he heard the heavy throne room doors close did he relax, reaching one again for the japor snippet around his neck.