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wanderingjedi77 · 1 year

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Bo Katan x The Armorer (The Foundling)

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Summary: When a child and her mother are brought to the covert following a routine patrol, the lives of the Armorer and Bo Katan Kryze are forever altered.

It was Paz Vizsla who had found the girl half starved, the mother ill and unresponsive when he was patrolling Navarro. He had almost missed her, but something had made him turn his head, and he saw this small child pleading near his feet. Her mother was lying nearby on a dirty blanket.

His parental instincts had kicked in when the child asked if he had food or medicine and had quickly ordered his squad to take the mother back to the Covert.

"Come with me, child." Paz said softly. "We will help you and your mother."

"T...thank you sir."

"What is your name?"

"Satine." Satine answered quietly, and Paz picked her up like he would Ragnar, his son. Holding the child close and trying not to think about how light she was.

When they made it back to the covert, he had one of their female coverts get Satine a bath, new clothes and some food. The clothes were a little big, and she asked for her mother a few times; only to be told she was sick and needed rest as Paz contacted the Armorer and Bo. He knew they had a Jedi visiting, and wondered if she could help figure out what happened.

When Ahsoka met him outside the common area, Paz looked grim.

"The child was starving Jedi. And her mother is very sick."

Ahsoka flickers her gaze to the child and frowns. "How did you come across her?"

"She approached us." Paz answers. "I couldn't turn her away. She's so small. She needed our help."

"You did the right thing, Paz." Ahsoka answers. "I came here to pass along information, but I'll do what I can for the girl."

"Thank you." Paz answers. "I will go and check on the mother." He leaves, and Ahsoka takes a deep breath before she enters the room.

The girl couldn't be more than ten or eleven. With dark reddish hair and blue eyes that were fixated on the untouched food in front of her.

She was nervous, Ahsoka realised. Looking around like she was afraid someone would take it away at any moment. She curled her arm around the plate and looked up at Ahsoka like she sensed she was there.

"You can have seconds if you want." Ahsoka says gently as she sits across from her, tilting her head. "The covert takes care of all its foundlings." She adds, and the girl relaxes a bit, starting to eat her food. "My name is Ahsoka. You and your mother were brought in by Paz?"

The girl nods and pauses. "Mother is very sick." She looks at Ahsoka, hesitating. "You have a very pretty name. It's a lot better than mine anyway." She hesitates again as Ahsoka nods at her to continue

"My name is Satine."

Ahsoka smiled warmly. "You were named after the Duchess?" She asks, and Satine nods. "Your parents must have high hopes for you."

"I guess so." Satine shrugs. She looks at the doorway to see Paz and swallows nervously. Was something wrong?

"Young one? I need you to come with me." Paz says from the doorway, and Ahsoka is already on her feet.

"Am I in trouble?" Satine asks. She stands up and moves next to Ahsoka.

"No. It's..." Paz straightens up. "Please come with me Satine."

Ahsoka puts a hand on her shoulder. "I will come with you." She offers. Satine looks at her and nods before they follow Paz into the medical wing.

"She must go in by herself." Paz says suddenly. Ahsoka looks down at Satine and squeezes her hand. Trying to bring her comfort. She knows it's about her mother now.

He pauses at the door, and Ahsoka moves to lean against the wall as Satine lets go of her hand. She goes inside to her mother, who's been lying there for three days, and reaches out to hold her hand as Paz comes into the room.

It's cold.

"She's gone." Satine says suddenly. Her face feels hot, and she grips her mother's hand tightly. It takes a moment for Satine to realise that she's crying.

"She is with your Buir now and your ancestors." Paz replies and kneels down next to her. "But do not feel as though you are forgotten small one." He stands up. "I will be back in a moment."

Paz stands up and leaves the room, meeting Ahsoka outside; leaning against the wall. She looks at him, but death hangs in the air through the force, and she knows what Paz is about to say.

"The child's mother has died." Paz says. He looks at Ahsoka. "I will help prepare the rites, but the child must be accepted as a foundling of the tribe. You must speak to the Armorer." He looks back inside the room to Satine, who is crying quietly.

Ahsoka nods and thanks him before moving past Paz to Satine. She kneels down next to her and places a hand in her back. "Paz needs to prepare your mother for her funeral. I need you to come with me Satine."

Satine sobs, but nods; letting Ahsoka help her up. Ahsoka holds her close as they walk back to Paz, and the giant of a man places a gentle hand on Satine's head.

"It will be hard, young one, but you are not alone." Paz offers before moving away. Satine sniffs and wraps both her arms around Ahsoka tightly.

"It's going to be okay, Satine." Ahsoka tells her. She lets Satine hold onto her for as long as she needs until her tears are quiet and take her by the hand. "Come. The Armorer wishes to speak with us."

"Is she the leader around here?" Satine asks, trying to focus on anything else but her mother for a moment.

"She is." Ahsoka says, "But she has a soft spot for foundlings."

Satine nodded and didn't say anything else as they approached the forge. She kept close to Ahsoka when they approached the Armorer and a red-haired woman who had her helmet off. She didn't know Mandalorians could do that.

"This is the foundling?" The Armorer says as she puts down her hammer. She tilts her head as she looks at her, realizing she has been crying. "What has upset you adi'ka?"

"My mother..." Satine shakes her head and rubs tears from her eyes.

"...is gone." Ahsoka says. She looks at Bo, who is staring at Satine sympathetically. "Paz requested she be taken in as a foundling."

"A noble request." The Armorer answers. "You have no one else, child?" The Armorer asks softly.

Satine nodded and looked at the floor. She didn't want to look at anyone. She didn't want them to tell her it was going to be okay. Her mother was dead.

She really did have no one.

"Child, you must look me in the eyes when speaking. When you answer questions. " The Armorer explained. Satine looked at her, eyes unsure and cautious. "Good."

She turned to Bo, who had turned pale; frowning. Trying to figure out where she knew this child from. Why did she look so familiar?

"What is your name child? You're parents names?" The Armorer asked. "I must write it down so you don't forget your history."

Satine swallowed, nervous. "My name is Satine." She looked at Ahsoka, who nodded at her to continue. "My mother was Adalia, and my father was Koregan. But everyone called my buir Korkie. He died in the purge."

"He was Mandalorian?"

Satine nods. "I don't remember him though."

"You were young. It is understandable." The Armorer turned to Bo, who startled badly. She placed a hand on her arm and drew her attention. The Armorer tilted her helmet, so it touched Bo's and squeezed her arm as she pulled away.

"Are you wives?" Satine asked suddenly.

"We are." The Armorer replied, amused.

Satine brightened up. "Oh! That's so wonderful!"

Bo nodded in thanks but still didn't say anything. How could she? Not when the eyes of her late sister stared at them.

"I have to go." Bo says suddenly, ignoring the look Ahsoka sends her way. The room is suddenly too hot, too suffocating. How could no one have told her that she had a niece? That she wasn't the last Kryze.

How could they lie to her?

Satine watches as Bo leaves with a furrowed brow, her heart seizing in pain. Was she angry with her? Satine frowned. "Have I done something wrong?"

"No adi'ka. Bo is just having a rough day." The Armorer puts a hand on Satine's shoulder and draws her attention towards her. "Come. I will teach you about our funeral rights and help you through the ceremony tomorrow."

The Armorer looks at Ahsoka as she leaves with Satine, and Ahsoka nods at her. She will go and check on Bo in the meantime.

"Bye, Ahsoka." Satine waves over her shoulder and turns her attention back to the Armorer.

"I'll see you in a bit little one." Ahsoka replies gently. She watches them disapear and then reaches out with the force. Bo is outside? Upset. Angry.

Ahsoka hurries.

By the time Ahsoka finds Bo, she's thrown her helmet to the ground and is pacing. Ahsoka approaches carefully, not wanting to startle Bo but understanding that the anger she feels is coming from a place of hurt.

"Bo?" Ahsoka says, and Bo turns to her, furious.

"Nothing you say can make this better." Bo snaps at her.

"Look. You can be as mad as you want in private. But not in front of Satine." Ahsoka argues back. "She's force sensitive Bo. She knew you were upset."

Bo swallows hard and breathes hard. But the anger still lingers. "Just like Kenobi."

"He never knew about Korkie. Why would your sister tell him he had a son? She wanted him to stay with the Jedi Order." Ahsoka answers. She steps closer to Bo and holds her arm.

"That child..."

"Satine." Ahsoka corrects gently. "Has just lost her mother."

Bo turns away from Ahsoka, trying to calm down. "I won't tell the child yet."

Ahsoka sighs. "Okay."

"I need some time, Ahsoka. Please." Bo pleads with her, red hair falling in her eyes. She clenched her fist and Ahsoka turned away.

"Come inside before it gets too dark, at least." Ahsoka says. "I'll go check on Satine." She walks away, leaving Bo alone with her thoughts.

And with her regrets.

#star wars #the mandalorian #bo katan kryze #star wars mandalorian #star wars the mandalorian season 3 #the armorer #nitearmor #ahsoka tano #paz viszla #korkie is a kenobi #korkie kryze #foundling #bo katan x the armorer #i hope you like this #long term fic

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readbythestarlight · 2 months

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Title: the things we are (the things we may become)

Pairing: The Armorer/Bo-Katan Kryze

Written for SW FemslashFebruary2024

Word count: 2022

Read on ao3

❤️❤️❤️❤️

There are days when the weight of her buy’ce feels too heavy for her.

They are not often, but sometimes it feels as though the severity makes up for the lack of frequency. Today is just such a day, the first since the covert has come to this new planet, hidden in their caves.

The pain is not weakness, she knows. She is not lesser for what she suffers. Fatigue, yes. Pain, often. Today, both, a pulsing throb behind her eye and a sluggishness in her bones that suggests she should have stayed abed rather than braved the usually comforting familiarity of her forge. But, as always, there is work to be done. Now more than ever, with so many new Foundlings to fend and provide for. Their armor must be made.

But it is telling, the toll it is taking on her, when she doesn’t even notice the visitor until a voice echoes in the chamber she has built her forge in.

“Are you alright?”

By instinct she stiffens, shoulders lifting from their hunch and head raising until she stands erect, proud, unshakable as always. Too late, she suspects, as she turns her head to find Bo-Katan standing in the entryway. Her face is pulled in a frown of concern, and the Armorer can see the way her eyes move, assessing, searching for an explanation.

“Kryze,” she greets. The formality causes a flicker of surprise, temporarily throwing Bo-Katan off of her hunt for an answer. The Armorer turns back to the forge, her eyes skimming over familiar pieces. “What brings you the forge?”

An impatient hiss of breath sounds behind her, followed by clipped steps. Blue and white enters the periphery of her vision and the Armorer turns her head to look, seeming languid in the movement. She tilts her head in silent inquiry. The action earns another huff of impatience.

“You’re avoiding my question,” Bo-Katan accuses. She juts out her chin, lifts it in a silent challenge as if daring the Armorer to ignore her again. “Are you alright?”

She sighs, knowing it must be audible with so little space left between them. She would have preferred to avoid this.

She sees the stubborn look in Bo-Katan’s eyes and knows that this will not be a fight easily won. Stubbornness runs in both of them, part of the iron will that she suspects has kept them each alive for so long. Most days it is an admirable trait in Bo-Katan. Today it is closer to an inconvenience. Even if she knows that the stubbornness now is less because Bo-Katan has been long accustomed to having her own way and more because she cares. Because they are—

Well. They have not put a name to it. This something between them. But it is because They Are. That is reason enough.

“I am well enough,” she answers. Against the tension in the back of her neck, a warning creeping at the edges of her mind that she steadfastly acknowledges and carries on in spite of, she takes hold of her hammer again. There is beskar to be forged, never enough, but the new Foundlings must have their buy’ce. She turns her focus from the warning ache in her skull and Bo-Katan’s hard gaze both, grips tighter on her hammer to still the slight tremble in her hands. “What can I do—”

The pain strikes her like a spear through her skull, searing through one temple and exploding into everywhere. It steals her breath away and leaves nausea curling from her stomach to her throat. For a moment she is merely off-balance, then it worsens still. She barely hears the clatter of her forge hammer as it falls from nerveless fingers to strike against the stone floor, does not have the ability to feel when her knees give way, or arms scoop around her waist to keep her from falling. She knows only the pain and that she must push through it, must breathe.

Breathe. Breathe. It will pass.

It does pass, slowly, from unbearable searing back to the dull throb of before. The nausea remains but the rest of her senses return, hearing, sight, touch the last, as she becomes aware of the cold steel of the forge at her back, the hard stone under her, and the pressure of hands cupped against the side of her neck, just barely to be felt through the thick fabric of her kute.

“Armorer? Armorer!” Bo-Katan’s voice is tight, and in it is an undercurrent of fear that she so rarely hears from her. “Dammit—stay with me,” Bo-Katan says, and it sounds so much like a command even as it is pleading. Bo-Katan raises her hand to her ear, activating her comm. “This is Bo-Katan Kryze, I need a medic in the forge—”

With a soft groan the Armorer raises a hand, laying fingers still stiff and nerveless over Bo-Katan’s. She gently draws her hand away from the ear piece, cutting off her message.

“Don’t,” she says. Her tongue feels heavy. “There is nothing a medic can do. It will pass.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bo-Katan snaps. “You need—”

“Bo-Katan,” she interrupts, and her voice must sound firm enough, or perhaps only weary enough, to reach her, because Bo-Katan pauses mid-reach for her comm again. She stares, frowning, frightened behind the steel of her eyes.

Her hand is warm as the Armorer squeezes it gently with her own. “It will pass,” she assures again.

Bo-Katan’s jaw moves, impatience warring with concern warring with that same admirable, infuriatingly stubborn will. She is unconvinced, but she waits, and when her comm comes to life with someone asking for clarification, she answers, “Give me a moment.”

Silence settles for half a minute. The Armorer shifts, movement ginger and tentative as she tries to avoid triggering that tension in her neck again. Pride already fled, she lets her head sink back against the forge, beskar meeting beskar with a soft ring. Bo-Katan watches her, both hands now on her knees, fingers twitching as she resists reaching out to help.

“What is it?” she finally demands.

The Armorer sighs, her eyes falling shut. “An old complaint,” she answers. “Few of us escaped the last days of Mandalore, fewer still unscathed. It is an old wound that strikes anew every now and then. There is nothing to be done for it but wait for it to pass.”

No response is immediately forthcoming. The Armorer allows the quiet the help settle the remaining ache, until it settles, dull but bearable, in a throb behind her eyes. When she opens them she finds Bo-Katan looking away, her jaw tight.

“Is it because you will not remove your helmet? Is that why nothing can be done?” Bo-Katan asks. The Armorer feels a spark of impatience that she strives to smother. Always it comes back to this.

“Bo-Katan—“

“We could find you a droid,” Bo-Katan interrupts, sharp again, impatient again. “It would not be breaking the Creed to allow a medical droid to see to you. I know the Creed does not allow you to show your face to a living thing, but a droid—”

“It will not make a difference,” The Armorer interrupts in turn. She speaks over Bo-Katan’s sound of frustrated anger. “It has been tended to before. There is nothing else to be done.”

She can see the war going on behind Bo-Katan’s eyes, her stubbornness battling hard against acceptance. She does not take defeat or helplessness well, no more than any Mandalorian. For a moment it seems she will push the issue further, call for the medic and have her way; but all at once she surrenders, her shoulders sinking. The Armorer smiles mirthlessly. It is a poor victory.

She welcomes it when Bo-Katan’s hand raises to her neck again, hovering near without touching this time. “Is it alright if I…?”

Another unseen smile. “It’s alright. I am not glass, Bo-Katan, however fragile this attack may make me seem.”

“I would never think of you as fragile,” Bo-Katan assures, amusement lacing into the words in spite of the heaviness still lingering between them. Her palm and fingers cup against the side of her neck again, thumb ghosting up towards the edge of her buy’ce. Were anyone else’s hands to stray so close she would have made them regret the impertinence. But here it is permitted. Bo-Katan won’t betray the fragile trust they have so steadily built.

“Is there anything I can do?” Bo-Katan asks. So uncertain. Tenderness has been a skill long lost to them both, emerging tentatively in moments like this. The Armorer treasures it, rare as it is.

“When I’m confident it won’t trigger another attack just to stand, you can help me back to my bed,” she says, pragmatic in her answer. Well-intentioned as her determination to see to the forge today had been, she was in no state to continue pushing her limits now. No one would fault her for leaving the work undone until tomorrow.

“Of course,” Bo-Katan agrees. “You should be resting.” There is an accusing edge to the words that are almost amusing. It’s a long time since she has been the one chastised for reckless behavior.

Once she feels able, Bo-Katan helps her to her feet with steadying hands. The journey to the small but private hollow where her bunk waits isn’t long, but long enough that she has no desire to repeat it again today. Her head aches again by the time Bo-Katan helps her lower to sit on the thin mattress pad, and neither of them speak a word as she undoes the snaps on her heavy cape and the latches on her cuirass. It is the most she is willing to remove before she lies down. The weight of her buy’ce finally eases as her head settles into the bundle of spare blankets she uses for a pillow.

Around her the room goes dark, the bare bulb strung above their heads dimming. It makes almost no difference through the HUD on the inside of her visor, but it was a kind thought.

Bo-Katan hovers, and were the circumstances different it would be charming to see how uncertain she is. Confident in so many things, but lost in a sickroom. The Armorer takes pity. “You do not have to stay. I’m in no danger.”

Bo-Katan doesn’t immediately move, momentarily frozen in a limbo of indecision. Her decision leads her not to the door but to the bedside, crouching down. Still lost, but unwilling to go. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Her instinct is to deny, to repeat that there is nothing to do but let the pain pass. But there is a vulnerability in her that finds its way to the front, creeping past the usual walls of iron that she has forged around herself. With a soft breath, almost a shiver as it leaves her lungs, she reaches out, offering her hand. Bo-Katan doesn’t hesitate before taking it in both of her own.

“Will you stay?” The Armorer asks. For once she nearly fumbles, her lips silently moving behind the safe shield of her visor as she tries to find the words. “I don’t… rest easy when this fit strikes. I think I may find it easier if you’re here.”

Bo-Katan’s eyes flicker with emotions too jumbled and quick for the Armorer to make sense of, settling briefly on a kind of beautiful devastation then shifting into what is almost gratitude. “Of course,” she answers. With a squeeze she brings the gloved hand between her two palms up to her face, pressing her forehead to the worn leather. It’s not quite a kiss, but it’s something close. A step nearer to a definition of this thing that They Are.

Bo-Katan rises from her crouched position to take a new place on the edge of the bunk. There is hardly any room but neither of them mind. To be close is the point. She doesn’t let go of the Armorer’s hand.

“Rest now,” she whispers. A tentative, beautiful smile pulls at her lips. “I’ll keep the watch.”

❤️❤️❤️❤️

@starwarssapphicweek

#swfsf2024 #BoArmorer #ArmorKatan #nitearmor #wlw #the mandalorian #my fic #bo katan kryze #the armorer #femslash #I hope somebody enjoys this because I’ve looked at it too many times now and idk lol #is everyone OOC??? maybe???#ANYWAY THO

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perigilpin · 1 year

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a little mystery to figure out

Bo-Katan x The Armorer

The royal warrior fallen from grace and the steadfast spiritual leader, ideological opposites with a common goal. It’s the sun and the moon, now perfectly aligned in an eclipse, and no one can look away.

Written for the @swfemmefrenzy prompt Mand’alor

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At first it simply reads as a strong showing of solidarity between the two factions. The pair’s mutual respect and partnership is a sign of understanding that all walks of life, all ways to be a Mandalorian, will be honored here on thier home world.

Such it is that when the Mand’alor speaks to the crowd, it is always The Armorer at her right hand. And when the Armorer leads ceremony at the Living Waters, the Mand’alor always stands not far behind her, in support.

Yet it is not just pomp and ceremony that tie the two together. It is no secret that they can often be found side by side by side talking on this or that, in the trenches rebuilding, overseeing the foundlings training, or just sitting by the fire. (At least one observer has even claimed to have seen them walking through the gardens together while talking in hushed tones.)

In short, where one goes the other is sure to follow.

So it’s no shock that the rumor mill is set ablaze. It’s a common ground a both groups have vested interest in, and they trade peices of information like currency.

( “The Mand’alor used to be involved with a Jedi”, a Nite-Owl whispers to a member of the Covert as they haul debris together to clear room for a larger camp.

“We don’t even know The Armorer’s real name. I don’t think anyone does.” he replies.)

Perhaps the first whispers started back on Nevvaro, within the Covert, when then now Mand’alor emerged scandalously bare faced from the humble forge, walking side by side with thier leader. Or maybe it was during the battle for Mandalor, as silver and gold sliced and swung in perfect sync as they led the charge.

It’s quite the tale really.

So of course people talk, as they always have, as they always will.

Sparring partners debate as they clash. (“I heard they got secretly married right after the battle for Mandalor.”

Then the adamant reply, “No way. I bet they actually hate each other. It’s gotta be be just for show.”)

Friends whisper to each other in the dining hall.(“Do you think the Manda’lor has seen her face?”)

There is one thing everyone agrees on though, and that is that there is much work to do.

Especially so in the forge. The Mand’alor has been leading parties in to the destroyed imperial base. First as search parties, now to gather the fallen imperial’s pieces of bastardised beskar.

The shiny white armor plates begin to stack up in the back of the forge, and while it means much work, it also means new armor for foundlings and repairs for those damaged in battle.

On this particular day, a curious gaggle of both helmeted and bare faced young Mandalorians watch The Armorer from a distance in the shadows of the cavernous great forge hall. She hammers at the forge, methodically working a large peice of metal until the sound of a small vehicle breaks her from her trance.

It’s the Mand’alor, backing up a speeder full of shining white imperial helmets, chest plates, and miscellaneous pieces.

The helmetless woman jumps straight of out the seat over the side of the speeder, and gestures with a flourish to the bounty. She says something playfully that, even straining, the group can’t quite manage to hear.

What they do hear is a laugh tempered with the lightest static from a voice modulator, that resounds throughout the cavernous chamber. The Armorer then closes the gap between herself and The Mand’alor, gently placing her gloved hands on the other woman’s shoulders before letting them fall, tenderly grazing the length of her arms on the way down.

“Ooo! I told you!” One of the foundlings squeals from the shadows , “They’re definitely in love.”

“They are not” her friend parries, not as quietly as they should have , “Just because YOU are in love with our Manda’lor does not mean everyone else is too.”

“Phstt, shut up! You’re just mad you lost our bet.” She playfully swats at her friend but the beskar on beskar contact sends a high pitched ping throughout the chamber and both Bo-Katan and The Armorer turn thier heads to to look in thier direction.

“Run! Let’s get out of here.”

“You owe me 10 credits!”

“I do not, that didn’t prove anything!”

Their voices carry throughout the chamber as they scurry away, despite their best efforts.

In the distance, on the grand pedestal of the ancient forge, Bo-Katan smiles despite herself focusing her attention back on The Armorer.

“I have to get this speeder back to the landing platform, but after that...” she lifts her hand to play with the ruffled furs on the edge of The Armorer’s cape, “I’m plenty free to prove anything you’d like.”

“Well my tracinya’ika” she replies in the soft voice that Bo-Katan has come to know is just for her, “I might have a few ideas.”

“This is the way.”

#bo katan kryze #the armorer #nitearmor #bo katan x the armorer #the mandalorian #Star Wars #SW #why yes the title is from all time classic Something To Talk About by Bonnie Raitt #I’ve been enjoying reading all the fic and wanted to contribute a little something #I’m so lost in the sauce in terms of this pairing #I could go on for hours but I won’t I’ll just post this instead #my fic #also #tracinya’ika should translate to little flame #I originally wanted to go with little owl but alas no word for owl exists #in this house we love a diminutive suffix #Harold they’re lesbians

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khaoticdax · 1 year

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So... Do y'all want some ArmorKatan Angst? 👀 I have an idea..

Someone say yes, please

#armorkatan #nitearmor #bo katan kryze #the armorer #the mandolarian #mandalorian #i LOVE writing Angst #fic #Bo katan

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juniperika · 2 months

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Your soul is ill, but you will not find a cure (12598 words) by KindOfASorcerer Fandom: The Mandalorian (TV), Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: The Armorer (The Mandalorian TV)/Bo-Katan Kryze Additional Tags: Adonai Kryze & Bo-Katan Kryze - Freeform, Bo-Katan Kryze & Satine Kryze - Freeform, Bo-Katan Kryze & Pre Vizsla - Freeform, Bo-Katan Kryze & Ahsoka Tano - Freeform, Bo-Katan Kryze/Koska Reeves - Freeform, Hanahaki Disease, Non-Fatal Hanahaki, romantic and platonic love, Time Skips, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, I'm trying to be canon compliant but canon is a mess, Blood, Injury, Vomiting, Minor Character Death, Zabrak!Armorer, The Armorer has a name, Implied Sexual Content, Marriage, Happy Ending

Summary: “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Your Highness.” “You said she has it,” Father hissed, his voice cutting through the confused silence. “How long before she suffocates?” The healer sounded genuinely baffled as she answered, “Your Highness, with all due respect, no one dies from a broken heart anymore.” “Her mother did,” Father gritted out. Bo withheld the urge to look up. They never discussed Mother. She didn’t even know what she’d looked like, never having seen a portrait, and everyone around her kept saying how much the little princess took after her father with her rust-coloured hair and freckled cheeks. Or, everything is the same, except whenever Bo-Katan refuses to acknowledge her feelings, she coughs up flowers. There might be a correlation.

This is the only thing I've written these past few months apart from spamming my WIP folder, see sob story in the endnotes

#nitearmor #armorkatan #self rec #the mandalorian fanfic #bo katan kryze x the armorer #wlw fic rec #I'm not sure how I feel about this one but it's done #might as well share it #I was going to proofread it before posting here but ugh yeah not happening right now

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wixiany · 3 months

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Side by Side

Summary:

Bo-Katan and the Armorer share a tent during a mission.

@starwarssapphicweek

#swfsf2024 #nitearmor #bo katan kryze #bo katan x the armorer #the armorer #my fics #one-shot #day 2 #prompt: only one bed #sw fanfic

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snakeplantships · 1 year

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One of my favourite things to headcanon about Mandalorian culture like the Children of the Watch, is that although they don’t seem to care about gender or species, they are very strict about sex. Like pre-marital eye contact is frowned upon, Manda forbid anything else.

Maybe this happened because displaced Mandalorians, whose lives were constantly in danger, were loathe to bring many children into the mix, as they might be left as foundlings with no one. Besides, there were enough other foundlings to be helped, why risk breaking the Creed to sate unnecessary urges?

Courting couples are only allowed to touch during combat training and all of their engagement takes place under the watchful eye of diligent chaperones so they aren’t tempted to break their Creed.

The taking off of ones glove to touch another’s armour is a scandalously direct invitation to sexual intercourse. And touching another Mandalorian, even with gloves, on an un-armoured portion of their body is considered very forward indeed (which is why Bo-Katan almost combusted and died when the Armourer touched her pauldron-less shoulder in season 3).

And a big no to touching someone else’s weapons (seen as an innuendo by all.)

This makes these Mandalorians fantastic bounty hunters because, although they will kill mercilessly, they never despoil the merchandise.

#mandalorian headcanon #star wars headcanons #potential fic stuff #bo katan x the armorer #nitearmor #the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #regency era in space but with weapons

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iamscoby · 7 months

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There it is again: Bo-Katan hugging her. The Armorer is hit with the full blow of the guilt of wanting more of it, wanting it tighter, wanting it to last longer, wanting so much of what she should not want from her friend - should not want from anyone now that she is the Armorer: faceless, nameless, devoted to her craft only.

“You got this”, Bo-Katan says again when she pulls away too soon. And that is when the Armorer remembers one more Jedi-Senator wedding arrangement she has forgotten to think about.

“Dank farrik, the blasters! I don’t have time to think of any…”

“Don’t kids usually like to help out with that sort of stuff? Why don’t you ask the new foundling?”

--------- Pairings: The Armorer x Bo-Katan Kryxe; Padmé Amidala x Anakin Skywalker Rating: T Words: 2.7k

#nitearmor #nitearmor fic #anidala fic #anidala #scoby writes

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lunarlathe · 1 year

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Bo-Katan smells like jetfuel to the Armorer, ocean waves crashing against the shore, petrichor. The way she always smells like she's just been outside in a storm, sweaty from a fight, the scent of iron in her blood, wind in her hair.

To Bo, the Armorer smells like red hot steel and beskar, gas and smoke coating her fur, cedarwood, pine and leather, freshly dug earth. The smell of a freshly lit hearth, fire crackling and burning warmly, iron struck with iron.

#idk how i'd get this in a fic so here have this #though it could make it into a fic of mine...#nitearmor #armorkatan #bo katan x the armorer #bo-katan x armorer #the armorer x bo katan kryze #just some thoughts about them I have #they truly live in my head rent free #spinning like a rotisserie chicken

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multifandomnonsense · 3 months

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: The Armorer (The Mandalorian TV)/Bo-Katan Kryze Characters: The Armorer (The Mandalorian TV), Bo-Katan Kryze Additional Tags: Marriage, Mandalorian Culture & Customs (Star Wars), swfsf2024 Series: Part 4 of SW Femslash February 2024 Summary:

Bo-Katan and The Armorer exchange traditional Mandalorian marriage vows

Femslash February Day 5: Vows (from the prompts on the tumblr blog @starwarssapphicweek)

#swfsf2024 #fanfic #fan fic #star wars #bo katan kryze #the armorer #the mandalorian #nitearmor #armorkatan #sky writes stuff

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armoralor · 7 months

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homecoming

Fic Rating: Explicit Pairing: Ahsoka/Bo-Katan/Armorer Summary: Set after the events of The Mandalorian Season 3, Bo-Katan is formally recognized as Mand'alor in the grand throne room. An old friend comes to visit. Tags: Alien Biology, Dualsex Ahsoka Tano, Implied Relationships, Ahsoka Tano has a big dick (and a cunt), Strap-Ons, Pegging, Vaginal Fingering, Accidental Voyeurism, Subspace, Wet & Messy Full AO3 Fic: here

#bo katan kryze #ahsoka tano #the armorer #nitearmor #bosoka #armorkatan #jedinitearmor #armorsoka #ahsoka tano x bo katan kryze x the armorer #sapphic star wars #star wars lesbians #star wars wlw #star wars femslash #the mandalorian #ahsoka #fics #mine #my writing

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kalevalakryze · 8 months

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Convalescence

Chapter 1

Pairings: Shin Hati/Sabine Wren, Bo-Katan Kryze/The Armorer, Hera Syndulla/Ahsoka Tano Characters: Sabine Wren, Shin Hati, Bo-Katan Kryze, The Armorer, Hera Syndulla, Ahsoka Tano, Ursa Wren Tags: Domestic Fluff, Rebuilding, Family Bonding, Forging, Beskar'gam, Mandalorians, Sabine Wren Needs A Hug, PTSD Mention, Lesbian Sabine Wren, Sabine Wren Has Issues, Bo-Katan Kryze Has Issues, The Armorer Is A Rock Word Count: 4,586 AO3 Link: fic & collection

Seeing Mandalore surrounded by trade ships and life again was like a breath of fresh air for Sabine and Ahsoka. Shin was sprawled out in one of the T-6’s newly installed chairs, snoring softly into the quiet of the cockpit, Sabine sat in the chair next to her, sitting on the edge of her seat as she tried to lean closer to the viewport. Hera stood beside Sabine’s chair, holding onto her seat back as they reached the still thunderous atmosphere of the planet. Ahsoka, at the controls, had a fond smile on her lips, even as the ship started to rock.

“Welcome home,” Hera called the moment they breached the storm to the bustling cities below. The surface was still covered in thick crystal in many parts, but domed cities stood tall, rebuilt stronger to survive the storms that rolled over the surface once a day. Several settlements were popped up outside of the domes, however, mining settlements that had set up shop at breaking away the crystals to be used in other construction and exports.

They could see the shipyards of mandomotors, finished ships coming off the assembly lines and being moved to the yard for their first flights as prospective buyers flocked to the market. Mandalorians on jetpacks flew in formation between villages with crates suspended between them, with tourists on landspeeders dipping between villages and the domed cities.

The T-6 landed on an open pad, waved in by helmeted Mandalorians directing incoming traffic to Sundari. The ramp lowered with a hiss of the Hydraulics while Sabine tried to wake her wolf up. “Shin, c’mon, we’re home.” She jostled the blonde, springing back just in time to avoid the flickering activation of a blood orange blade as the woman startled awake.

“Easy, kurs’kaded, we’re home,” She repeated, laying her hand on their forearm as their eyes jumped around the cockpit. “Put that away, Mandalorians don’t have a great history with Jetti, no matter where they fall on the broad spectrum.”

Shin was slow to disengage her saber, tucking it into her robes where it would not be visible.

Waiting for them at the bottom of the ramp, Mand’alor Bo-Katan Kryze was reuniting with Ahsoka, the Togruta and Mandalorian holding each other at arms length as if they hadn’t seen each other in some time. It has been some time, Sabine thought bitterly, thinking back to Bo-Katan informing them of the vice grip Moff Gideon had on the Mandalore system over ten years ago.

“Lady Wren,” Bo-Katan called once she caught sight of the mop of purple hair descending the ramp.

“Mand’alor,” Sabine’s head dipped, though she was startled when strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her close.

“It’s good to see you, verd’ika,” Bo-Katan finally released her, stepping back to study the younger Mandalorian in the same manner she had Ahsoka.

Age was starting to wear at the redhead, but if anything, she’d looked better than Sabine could ever remember. Her shoulders stood a little wider, chin held higher, and the air around her was no longer charged with the electrifying tension of the weight of the galaxy closing in on her. Retaking Mandalore and uniting the tribes after the series of devastating losses she’d seen Mandalore suffer through had been good for her, though Sabine quickly came to guess why the woman was so much more relaxed.

A stockier, golden helmeted Mandalorian stood off to the right of Bo-Katan, and while Sabine couldn’t see their face, she could just tell that they were staring at Bo with the same heart eyes she often sent Shin’s way when her own face was concealed.

Bo was quick to greet Hera, though, she was much less touchy with the Twilek, their interactions even across the span of the Rebellion had been brief and never in person, and no amount of praise from Ahsoka would get Bo-Katan to place that much trust in the General just yet. “Lady Kryze,” Hera took the woman’s offered hand, turning to Sabine after they parted. “It’s nice to see you doing well, same with Mandalore,” Hera remarked, recalling the stories Sabine had been shared over the destruction of the capital of the Mandalore system, and the planets surrounding it.

“There’s a surprising amount of progress to be made when we aren’t all trying to kill each other,” Bo agreed, her own gaze shifting to Mando Motors where a new-build star ship was being tested in their airspace. “Speaking of trying to kill each other,” Chartreuse colored eyes flickered to Shin, who had dropped back to Ahsoka’s side as introductions were passed around. “You’re the dar’jetti who almost killed my verd’ika?”

Shin’s gaze danced over to the redhead, brows furrowing as she sized her up. “There is no almost about it, if I wanted her dead, she would be, no?” They deadpanned, chin jerking up to meet the older woman’s narrowing eyes.

Sabine’s hand reached out to Shin’s shoulder, squeezing just around the armor. “Oro’nas, Kurs’kaded,” She whispered as she placed herself between the two.

Bo-Katan’s lips had pressed into a thin line as she studied the woman. Instead of pushing like she may have done just months before, Bo-Katan switched the subject to the woman standing to her right. “Ahsoka, Sabine, this is my Riduur,”

“Does your Riduur have a name?” Ahsoka followed up with her hands settling on her hips as she eyed the person who’d captured the heart of the Kryze. Hera reached to lightly smack the Togruta’s shoulder.

“Hey, be nice or I’ll leave you on the ship,” Hera warned, only half joking at the woman’s standoffish tone towards Bo-Katan’s… whatever the kark a ‘Riduur’ was.

“It’s my ship, cyarika,” Ahsoka pointed out with a shake of her head, a smile pulling at her lips as The Armorer stepped forward to take her hand, head nodding in an air of respect to the woman.

“You may call me The Armorer,” She addressed them all, though her focus was on Ahsoka until they released each other’s hands. The Armorer stepped back and turned her attention back to Bo-Katan, when the woman’s head dipped to allow the woman to take charge, she spoke up again. “If you would follow us, the Sundari Civic center has recently been reconstructed and will house everyone for their stay,”

“Vor entye, goran’alor,” Sabine’s head dipped, ignoring the looks she received from both Hera and Ahsoka as she grabbed Shin’s hand and followed The Armorer and Bo-Katan from the landing pad.

The throne room was a wonderful sight, clan sigils and important pieces of their history decorated the floors and the walls, the song of paz vizsla was etched into a column bearing the sigil of his clan, along with the songs etched by those who knew the stories of the ancestors. Along a far wall, a stained glass portrait of Satine Kryze was displayed prominently along the surface, the sigil of Clan Kryze residing near the stone closest to the throne as well, bathing the strip of royal blue carpet running up to the throne in multi-colored lights.

“Wow,” Ahsoka remarked as they walked between climbing pillars, filled with the history of their people. “Sundari’s always looked so artificial. . . It’s amazing to see it look like a home,”

“It hasn’t felt that way for a long time,” Bo-Katan mused thoughtfully, eyes straying from their path to the portrait of her Ori’vod. “I’m glad we were able to do this, after everything. And I’m sorry we didn’t send out the call, Sabine. I know you wanted to be here,”

Sabine’s eyes cast downwards to the several pairs of boots moving across the carpet across from her. “Yeah, but… we’re here now, and Mandalore is healing.”

Shin watched Sabine from the corner of her eye, catching Ahsoka’s gaze as well as they both felt the wave of grief that washed over their Mandalorian. Shin’s shoulder bumped against Sabine’s, before she was reaching to slide her thumb in the space between her moon’s vambrace and forearm, tugging her closer with each swing of their arms until both women were practically tripping over each other.

Ahsoka eased up when the grief was washed away by playfulness as both Apprentices tried to dodge tripping over each other. Hera walked beside Ahsoka, only staying quiet at the small shake of Ahsoka’s head when she was about to warn them to be careful.

“We built quarters into the foundations here, all of our tests have proven that in the case of…” Bo-Katan trailed off, only continuing when The Armorer’s hand rested on the small of her back, under her jetpack. “Well… They should hold up if there were an orbital strike… again.”

Shin knew that both Ahsoka and herself were having the same thoughts about the two unhelmeted Mandalorians in their entourage; They both had a knack for beating the hell out of themselves.

Even without a force sensitivity that Ahsoka could feel in The Armorer, the blacksmith seemed to recognize the shift immediately and stepped in. They paused, which had caused their whole party to stop, though no one breathed a word when The Armorer moved to press their helmet against Bo-Katan’s forehead, no doubt a silent conversation happening between the two women who needed no words to converse.

Shin had paused with them, though her own attention had been brought to her own Mandalorian’s reemerging spike of grief. With her hand still slid into her vambrace, Shin raised Sabine’s arm. Her movements were slow, but certainly succeeded in pulling her from her thoughts before the blonde could get her arm all the way to her mouth. “Shin, not right now,” Sabine’s cheeks darkened immediately, head jerking to the entourage around them.

“Mandalorians,” Ahsoka remarked as Bo-Katan and Sabine both came back from their proverbial ledges. Bo-Katan, in all her glory, only shoved Ahsoka hard enough to make her sway before they continued their journey.

Shin’s hand slid from Sabine’s vambrace to find her hand once more, letting their fingers lock together as the vaulted ceiling of the throne room turned into carved out tunnels and strategically placed lights and pillars, the entire structure ready to support a battle on as many fronts as possible.

“Sabine, your vod’ika sends his regards, and has been for… literally years,” Bo-Katan announced as they found the wing that had been purposed into quarters, strong reinforced doors along the halls, along with alarm lights and intercoms running all along the ceiling of the hall.

“Is he here?” There was a hint of excitement in her tone, after cutting her aliit off for so long, with her thoughts of failing her people and branding herself dar’manda as punishment for not helping, she couldn’t deny that she was excited to see anyone who bore the symbol of clan wren again, moreso her little brother, and she would be lying if she didn’t say she missed her buire.

She could sense the footsteps before she could hear them. When the door to the apartment opened, Sabine had barely a moment to brace herself before her mother’s arms were being thrown around her. Shin had stepped back when Ursa had hugged Sabine, their hand twitching to their saber on instinct, though, Ahsoka was thankfully right behind them to grab their elbow and mouth ‘mother’ to get the wolf to relax a smidge.

“Oh, ad’ika,” Ursa called as Sabine sank into the woman’s embrace. If it hadn’t been for Kanan and Ezra, she wasn’t sure the gap between them could have ever been filled, but now, even at thirty, Sabine was more than thankful for the warmth of her mother’s embrace.

“Buir,” Sabine returned, clutching at the gray and yellow painted armor of Ursa’s back-plate.

Ursa pulled back and reached to hold her daughter's face in her hands. “Ad’ika, look at you,” It had been some time since they had seen each other, since Sabine had the energy to leave Lothal, and since her mother’s health permitted her to travel far beyond the Mandalore system.

“Why did I get a call that you were stabbed?” Ursa’s face turned serious in a flash, startling Shin, though it seemed to go as expected for Sabine who sighed.

“jetti osik, buir,” Sabine grumbled, though she did raise her shirt when Ursa started looking her over like she could see through her shirt. “She missed,”

“No, she didn’t,” Ursa’s fingers hovered over the mark before she spun to face Shin in a sweeping movement. Instead of backing down, the gray apprentice raised their chin and squared their shoulders to meet her head on. “You didn’t miss,” It was meant to come out like a question, though it was more of a statement.

Shin’s lips pulled back to bare her teeth. “I never miss,”

Bo-Katan’s hands rested on her hips as she watched Ursa, motioning for Sabine to walk slowly back to her as the young force sensitive and the older Mandalorian squared each other up.

“So you don’t,” Ursa backed down first, which came as a surprise to everyone but Hera and Shin.

Sabine’s eyes had widened as she looked between Shin and Ursa. Bo-Katan leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Your buir is going to try and fight them,”

“Oh gods,” Sabine grumbled as Ursa stepped back, allowing Sabine to wedge herself between the two.

“When I stabbed your mom, I had to fight Alrich,” Bo-Katan shrugged nonchalantly in an explanation as Shin looked between the Mandalorians.

“Do I need to take this out or not?” Shin’s hand wrapped around the saber under her hilt, glancing between Ursa, Bo-Katan, and Sabine.

“Nobody!” Ahsoka stepped in, laying her hand on Shin’s forearm and shaking her head. “Certainly not right now, oro’nas, Kurs’kaded,” Sabine mouthed a quiet thank you as the blonde let go of her saber.

“Moving on?” Hera butted in, jerking her head beyond the hall.

“Please,” Sabine grabbed Shin’s hand and tugged them to the front of the group, despite having no clue where they were going. Bo-Katan and The Armorer followed behind, and while the Mand’alor was content to watch the two get lost in the halls, The Armorer was kinder and reached to tap Sabine’s shoulder to guide each turn.

The next hall was full of empty rooms, though it was clear one had been cleared out to be made hospitable. “Ahsoka, General, this is where you guys will stay, everything else is storage at the moment,”

“Hera’s fine, you know, Lady Kryze,” The Twilek crossed her arms over her chest, a smirk pulling at her lips when Bo-Katan looked back at her.

“Then Bo-Katan is fine,” Because really, Lady Kryze made her skin crawl unless it came from The Armorer. And Bo, well… that one was reserved for Satine, The Armorer, Din, and Ursa… Everyone else who used it was on thin karking ice.

They moved on, the great forge had tunnels winding all the way to the Mandalorian palace. “Wow.” Sabine blinked at the sight of the quieted forge. The fires still blazed, simmering and casting a light blue glow around the dimmed workshop. Ursa’s hand rested on Sabine’s shoulder as she took in the sight. She hadn’t seen the forge since she was a toddler, ages ago.

“It’s beautiful,”

Shin’s eyes cast around at the in progress works on each workstation, paints shining in the dull lighting.

“Have we always just had… beskar lying around?” Sabine questioned as she stepped between the workbenches. “Just… here?”

“Beskar is mined from the planet, it belongs to Mandalore, to all Mandalorians,” The Armorer supplied, stepping forward to walk with Sabine as the rest of the group stayed back. Hera’s focus had drifted to the shriek hawks painted on pauldrons resting on workbenches, while Ahsoka kept a careful eye on Shin, who hadn’t taken her eyes off of Sabine.

“The Armorer doesn’t bite, wolf.” Bo-Katan pointed out as she settled her hands on her hips, watching the women as well. “Not unless you ask… really nicely.” Shin’s eyes snapped to her, and Bo-Katan simply hummed her response, nodding her head to the two experts of their crafts. The Armorer’s hand rested on Sabine’s shoulder as she showed off the different designs painted into resting armor pieces all across the room.

“What else will she do if she is asked nicely?” Shin’s brows furrowed, though it was clear this was not the response Bo-Katan was expecting. Instead of waiting around, Shin stepped away, joining the two Mandalorians at the workbench. “Me’suum’ika, Ahsoka has a question,” She interrupted, jerking her head towards the Togruta, the tips of her lekku flickering when she was spotted.

Sabine, confused and hesitant, dipped her head to The Armorer before joining her Master.

The Armorer did not turn her head, but her body language turned to the young wolf, waiting for her to speak.

“You made it,” Shin started after moments of silence. The Armorer’s head turned a fraction, though she did not speak right away. Their lips pulled back to bare her teeth. “If you-“

“Lady Wren did warn me you were rather volatile,” The Armorer circled them until her back faced the others, absorbed in their own things.

When the Armorer reached out, Shin did not cower, even raising her chin in defiance and permission to allow the fabric hiding the strip of leather, fabric, and ring of beskar.

“Your Mand’alor’s suit pokes out around it,”

“This is the way,”

Shin’s brows furrowed as they moved back, the Armorer’s hand dropping with no resistance as they covered it back up. “She wanted to make it herself,” They confided, quieter than before. “Your people do not make armor outside of Mandalore?”

“You have much to learn about our people, but for a long time, after the Mandalorian Purge, there were no Armorers to forge our beskar, there was a goran; a blacksmith or a metal worker for each clan,” Shin’s hostility simmered as they listened, until The Armorer was guiding them to the line of benches around the stage of the great forge.

“A goran was responsible for many of their aliit, their clan’s needs. Weaponry, hinges, latches, ship repairs… a goran trusted to mend beskar was an honor passed only between specific clans. It was passed to me young, when troubles in our people grew more pressing. True Mandalorians were banished from this world, at the actions of our predecessors, the Death Watch,” The Armorer paused, though Lady Wren’s wolf had not seemed to lose any interest.

“There were no goran’alor’s in the Death Watch, and none followed into Lady Kryze’s Niteowls.” The Armorer’s hands folded in her lap. “Lady Kryze had not had her armor maintained properly since she’d left The Death Watch, and much of their kits were passed from the fallen. A new coat of paint does not erase the damage underneath,”

Shin’s brows furrowed at the double meaning, though she was still just as silent, mulling everything over in her head. “You have found an apprentice,”

The Armorer’s head moved, Shin watched as the dark visor fixed on the Mandalorian, excitedly talking to her buir and Master about the legacy pauldrons lining the tables and their place in Mandalorian history. “Not yet, but perhaps one day,”

The Armorer motioned with her head for Shin to rise, leading the blonde back to the groups as Sabine and Ahsoka were looking over the nearly crafted chest pieces and the different designs each mandalorian had chosen for their heart.

When they rejoined the group, Sabine’s head dipped in acknowledgement of The Armorer once more. “You work is kandosii’la, goran’alor,” The artist complimented, making room as the golden helmeted warrior reached for one of the lone kar’tase on the table.

Bo-Katan shifted her weight, shoulder brushing The Armorers as she turned. “General Syndulla! You’re a pilot, MandoMotors is releasing a new prototype Kom’rk class fighter, lets go check it out,” Everyone but Sabine was funneled from the forge, through the tunnels, and to the factory producing the next generation of starfighters.

“I have heard much about you, Lady Wren,” The Armorer started after a pregnant pause permeated the air around them.

Sabine shifted the weight of an unpainted beskar pauldron in her hand, staring at the glint of the lights in the reflection. “Hopefully not all bad,” The violet haired woman didn’t look up, though she could see The Armorer reflected in the metal.

“Mandalorian, you are a Mandalorian. Through the good times and the bad,” The Armorer moved to take. “Through peace and through war,”

“When has there ever been peace?”

There was a sound from the vocoder, almost like a warm chuckle, distorted through the crackling sound. “Tell me, Lady Wren,” The woman reached to take the pauldron from her hands and set it back aside. Sabine’s breath caught in her throat as the woman’s hand reached out again, though she did not touch, gloved fingertips just an inch from the kar’ta at the top of her chest plate. “How do you keep your heart?”

Sabine’s jaw locked as her eyes focused on the strip of metal, high up on The Armorer’s chest, keeping her heart in place. “Pain only makes us stronger, I had to hold on tight,”

“The hottest fires forge the strongest steel,” The Armorer agreed, her hand dropping as she studied the younger Mandalorian’s heart, threatening to break free from the protection around it. “When you keep it under the fires too long, however-” Her hand raised once more to press into the metal, it gave quickly under her touch. “It becomes malleable, growing near impossible to forge into protection over time,”

Sabine looked down at the orange and silver heart in the woman’s hands. She’d repainted it time and time again with the promise of starting over, even when she’d packed her heart away after the fall of Mandalore. “Come,”

The Armorer led Sabine to the great forge, turning knobs and sparking fires as she circled the mass of stone and heat to get it to temperature. The forge burned hot in no time, and soon, The Armorer was walking Sabine through submerging her chest plate in the smelter with The Armorer’s instruction. Watching her armor melt in the smelter, dirt, paint, and other impurities catching fire as it melted down.

Beskar ingots were added once the impurities were removed, giving them more material to work with when it was finished. Once the metal was all liquid, The Armorer guided Sabine through using the tongs to raise the stone pot and walk it to the many molds. The Armorer then retrieved a datapad with the many different chest plate designs, allowing Sabine to find the mold closest to her own.

The Armorer took the lead in pouring the metal into the first mold, creating flat plates of beskar. After the casts were cooled enough to shape, The Armorer moved the plates to the machine to the side of the forge, smaller flames reheating the metal enough for it to take shape once more. The slamming of the files against the metal filled the room, when Sabine froze, The Armorer pushed onwards.

“We lost contact with Clan Wren…” Manadlore was lost, Imperial transports were landing to raze everything that survived the bombs, “Sabine… They’re gone…” Electricity arcing across her skin as The Duchess was turned against her. “You named your weapon after my sister?” “You ran from the Empire, you ran from your Family, so what’s the truth?!” “I left to save everyone! Everything I did was for family! For Mandalore!”

“Ezra! Please! Get out of there!”

“Hey Sabine, sorry for disappearing on you. I made this recording because more than the others, I need you to understand. As a Jedi, sometimes you have to make the decision no one else can. So, that’s what I did to defeat Thrawn. We’ve been through a lot. Grew up together in this Rebellion. And.. we’re not really family, but you’re like a sister to me. I know your fight isn’t over, and now I won’t be there to help you. But I’m counting on you to see this through. May the Force be with you.”

The Armorer was holding onto her arm, Sabine’s fingers dug into the leather of her gloves, a hand settled on her back to keep her steady. “There are many instances that come to define a Mandalorian,” The Armorer started as Sabine’s focus came back to the fitted metal on the table. “The forge has ways of reminding us all of the steps we’ve taken to get here,”

Sabine was led to a bench, The Armorer returning with a canteen of water and an Imperial ration bar, leftover from the none too recently halted occupation. Both were taken none too graciously as the artist recentered herself, The Armorer sitting by her side helping her find a tether to the world without the weight of her beskar on her chest.

The world outside began to retire, indicated when their group had returned to the great forge. Bo-Katan approached, her hand resting on Sabine’s shoulder as her and The Armorer waited for the metal to cool. “Will you be coming to bed tonight?” The Mand’alor questioned, her attention entirely on the golden helmeted woman as she peered over the work.

The Armorer glanced towards Sabine, who stubbornly shook her head. “We shall reassess where to go from the next phase as soon as the armor is ready.”

Bo pursed her lips, but patted Sabine's shoulder and leaned in to press a kiss to the smooth side of The Armorer’s helmet. “Don’t forget, you both need sleep too, and I know there’s a particular kurs’kaded that’s been missing this one,”

Sabine’s eyes traveled over to their weary looking group where Shin was standing between Ursa and Ahsoka, looking rather out of place among the two ‘clone war relics’. “We’ll be done soon, right? If it only takes a few hours to repair, it can’t be… that long… to make a new piece?”

It turned out that the metal would take hours, equalizing the temperature, quenching it in oil, and allowing it the time to temper. Grinding away excess and smoothing out hard edges took hours after the fit was perfected to her old design. A neat space was carved out to leave room for her heart, the only piece that they did not melt into something new, which sat undisturbed in the younger Mandalorian’s belt pouch.

Sabine didn’t crawl into bed until The Armorer urged her away as she nodded off. Shin was already curled up in bed, wearing the extra sleep clothes Sabine had thought ahead to bring (she found early on that her wolf was horrible when it came to packing for a trip), with her jacket bunched up in their arms.

The Mandalorian shrugged out of the rest of her armor, placing her kar’ta on the nightstand before she slipped her boots and flight suit to the floor. The jacket was pulled carefully from Shin’s hold, tossed over their shoulders as she slipped herself into place to tug her wolf into her arms.

“Finally,” They grumbled sleepily into her throat, teeth nipping at exposed skin in a gentle reprimand for taking so long.

“Mhmm, go to sleep,”

“Di’kut.” Shin’s use of the Mandalorian phrase kept Sabine awake longer than she’d liked to admit, just what did her buir teach her while she was in the forge?

Translations: Kurs'kaded - Wolf Jetti - Jedi Verd'ika - Little warrior Dar'jetti - Dark Jedi/Sith Oro'nas, Kurs'kaded - Stand down, Wolf Riduur - Spouse Cyar'ika - Darling Vor entye, goran’alor - Thank you Armorer ('alor' giving a position of status) Ori'vod - Older sibling Vod'ika - Little sibling Aliit - Clan/Family Buire - Parents Buir - Parent Ad'ika - Daughter/Child Osik - Crap/Shit Karking - Expletive (fucking) Me'suum'ika - Moon Goran - Blacksmith Kandosii’la, goran’alor - Stunning, armorer Kar'tase - Hearts Di'kut - Idiot Kar'ta - Heart

30 notes · View notes