Chapter Text
Din feels Luke’s reaction before he hears it.
It had only been hours previous where Luke had told him the extent of his struggles with the Force, hadn’t it? Only hours before he had watched the Jedi, blue eyes blank and foggy, explain that “I can always feel the Force, that hasn’t changed, but it’s… overeager”. And, like a lot of things related to the Force and the powers Luke and Grogu share, Din hadn’t really understood. He knew what the words meant, understood the weight of them, and how the confession had only seemed to drag Luke further into himself, but it’s not the same as seeing, feeling the reality of it.
If the HUD of his helmet hadn’t confirmed it, Din would have thought the temperature drop, seven degrees, was just a product of his imagination, but he watched the numbers flicker downwards himself as much he felt it. Just like he felt the ramp of the Sage buckle under his feet and heard the ship creak with a warning. Just like he felt a fear that decidedly wasn’t his settle into his spine and turn his stomach to acid.
“What the fuck,” Luke hisses “are you still doing alive?”
Din makes a quick decision and keeps walking off the ramp, to settle himself between the two and watch whatever the hell was about to happen here. Grogu seems to understand the danger they’re in and stays quiet, even as he wiggles with discontent. And if Din had been unprepared to feel how eager the Force was to respond to Luke’s emotions, he’s certainly not prepared to see what it does to the man himself.
Luke’s hair floats gently around him, his black cloak rippling in a breeze that is not there, and his eyes literally glow in the shadow of the ship. His hand rests on his lightsaber but leaves it clipped on his waist, in a quiet threat of violence.
“This is dangerous; he’s dangerous” a part of Din’s mind whispers. Another, louder, potentially more stupid part, croons victoriously in response: “Isn’t he? Isn’t he beautiful? And he wants you.”
He can’t help but agree.
“Good morning to you too, Princess,” Boba sneers.
Luke growls: the sound of it ricocheting up Din’s spine and into the back of his head, sparking and glittering.
“I’ll kill you again,” Luke promises. He still stands on the ramps. His hands flex around the hilt of his lightsaber and-
And that’s Din’s sign to step in.
“Please don’t.” Din feels particularly out of his depth right now. “We’d have to find another person to watch the kid.”
“Fennec would do it.” Boba cocks his head to the side, clearly studying the Jedi even with the helmet obscuring his eyes.
“Fennec Shand?” Luke’s head snaps over to where Din stands, who shrugs in return.
“They helped me get the kid back from Gideon.” His gaze flickers between the two men. “Wait, how do you two know each other?”
Boba barks out a laugh. “You should let the Princess tell you that one. Come on, it’ll be a better story inside.” He plucks Grogu out of Din’s arms and leaves the two standing there.
Luke stays still like he’s glued to the ramp of the Sage. His hair no longer floats, his cloak is still, and his eyes are back to normal, and while Din almost mourns the absence of the display, the static of potential violence still crackles in the air.
“I didn’t know you two had history.” Din stays put. Something nags at the back of his head to stay where he is till the threat is truly gone, and he listens, even if he knows Luke would never-
The Jedi sighs. With the slumping of his shoulders, the tension evacuates, and Din watches the temperature slowly tick back up. “I thought he was dead, or good as.” Luke raises a hand and drops it again, gloved fingers flexing.
Din holds out his own hand towards Luke, who sees it as the invitation it is, and walks down the rest of the ramps, joining him out in the sun. The ramp of the ship withdraws slowly.
“Who is he to you?” Din looks down at their joined hands.
Luke keeps his gaze fixed on the castle while he speaks, and for a moment, Din wonders if he can somehow see past the walls. “He worked for my- the Empire. Helped hunt me down for Darth Vader. Nearly got me too, when I came back here looking to build my lightsaber after I lost my father’s.”
Things start to click into place for Din, whose finer thought processes had been distracted by Luke’s display earlier. “You were the one who put him in the Sarlacc pit?”
But Luke just shakes his head. “No. That was Han. He didn’t even realize he did it; he was still blind from the carbonite, but I don’t think he or Fett care about the finer details.”
He takes a slow breath in, counting the ways this situation could blow up in front of him. Boba won’t hurt the kid, he knows this. In fact, if Grogu was talking, he wouldn’t be surprised to retrieve him from Fett one day to find his son calling him Uncle Boba. But if Luke couldn’t trust him the way Din can that… complicates things.
Luke looks away from the castle and towards Din, again making eye contact with him that way that makes Din want to reach up and makes sure his helmet is still there. “I trust you,” Luke says. It’s not clear which one of them he’s reassuring.
He pulls the Jedi in towards him, hand on the back of Luke’s neck, and presses their foreheads together, just a touch too rough. Through the visor, he watches Luke exhale in a punched-out gasp and his eyes flutter shut. “Everything will be fine. Let’s go say goodbye.”
The way Luke lets Din lead him across the sand into the imposing building shouldn’t spark a feeling of pride, of vague, swirling possessiveness, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling it anyways. Din squeezes his hand for reassurance, and Luke responds in kind as they cross the threshold.
The throne room is empty but well lit. Fennec sits, well, sprawls is a better word, in the throne, watching Boba talk to Grogu in hushed tones. If he didn’t know any better, she would seem distracted, but he does know better. Din attempts to cut a line straight through the room, to where Boba stands by an unattended bar; dark bottles glinting from the shelves where they stand neatly.
Luke jerks his hand out Din’s.
Din looks back, but Boba speaks before him, calling out: “No more Rancor down there for you to kill, Princess. It’s all just sand and broken droids, but you’re more than welcome to see for yourself.”
“Stop calling me that,” Luke hisses. He skirts his way around the room anyway, refusing to step on the grate Din himself stands on.
He spares a moment to look down as if the blackness below will tell him what the fuck Boba is talking about. But nothing arrives to provide knowledge, and he continues on to where Luke and Boba stand. Luke keeps his eyes glued to Boba and several feet between them; Boba seems unbothered.
“How long am I keeping the gremlin this time?” Boba lets Grogu climb up and onto his helmet, one gloved hand holding the child steady.
Din shrugs. “Not totally sure. It’s-“ he looks at Luke “-not clear how long we’ll be needed.”
He knows that Boba knows something is up, but he has the grace not to bring it up.
“Well, I’m more than happy to watch him for however long.”
“Thank you.”
Boba removes Grogu from his head, who immediately starts fussing, and uses his free hand to remove his helmet. Luke visibly flinches at the sight of him. The movement does not go unnoticed by Boba.
“Sarlacc pits aren’t known for being kind to the skin,” he tells the Jedi.
“Or for being survivable,” Fennec chimes in from across the room.
“Thank you, Shand.” Boba’s gaze flits between Din, Luke, and Grogu. “Stay.”
“We can’t.”
“I insist.”
Din resists the urge to sigh and look up at the ceiling in a silent plea. “Not for long.”
“Excellent. You remember where your rooms are?” He doesn’t wait for Din’s response before placing Grogu in his hands. “Go rest. I’ll call on you, both of you, later.” Boba leaves; Shand follows after him.
Luke surges forward and stops abruptly, hovering near Din’s shoulder. “We can’t stay.”
“Boba needs our help with something.”
Again, Din feels the Jedi bristling, feels his own hackles rise out of a fear that is not organic.
“He’s a good man,” Din says. “I have no reason to not trust him.”
Grogu is quickly losing patience, having stayed up for far too long, and Din has no desire to weather a tantrum in the throne room. “Come on,” he sighs. “Let’s put him down first.”
Luke follows him without a fight.
Grogu puts up a fight and it takes Din half an hour before he convinces him to fall asleep. The process makes Din even more tired. He leaves Grogu’s room painfully aware that back in Mandalore it must be so late it’s nearly morning. He’s so tired, in fact, that he doesn’t remember that the quarters Boba reserves for him has two rooms: one for Grogu, one for Din, and none for Jedi Master Luke Skywalker, till he enters the living room.
Luke sits on the couch in the shared space, staring blankly at the wall. Not for the first time, Din notices how tired he looks. There are dark, lavender circles under his eyes that were not there on Coruscant, and the blond seems a bit faded around the edges, less than somehow. He doesn’t even seem to notice that Din has entered the room.
He sighs. “You need to sleep.”
Finally, Luke looks over at him. “I get plenty of sleep.”
“How often?”
That makes Luke look away and blush. Gods, he had no idea someone could blush as much as Luke does.
“Enough.”
Din rolls his eyes, strides across the room, and pulls at Luke’s arm till he’s standing. “Come on.”
Luke blusters, but he doesn’t jerk out Din’s grip, not even when they enter the free bedroom.
“Sleep,” Din says. “You can worry about what Fett wants from us when the time comes.”
He watches as Luke’s gaze jumps from Din to the bed, and to Din again. “There are only two bedrooms.”
He nods.
“Then where will you sleep?” When Din stays quiet, Luke frowns. “You won’t fit on the couch.”
“I’ll be fine.”
That finally makes Luke pull away from him. “If you try to sleep on the couch, then I won’t sleep at all.” He’s still blushing, but he crosses his arms, and Din knows he means it. “It’s more than big enough for us.” Somehow, that makes Luke turn even redder for reasons that Din isn’t privy to.
He weighs his options. He’s not stupid enough to think Luke wouldn’t deliver on that promise, wouldn’t stay up and do more blank staring at blank walls, just to spite him. And he’s also tired enough that his eyes are sore, a headache beginning to beg behind his forehead. He knows from experience that the bed is more than comfortable, and finally, Din cracks.
“Fine.”
Luke offers him a small, satisfied smile. “Okay.” Then, he startles. “Oh, your armor! I can sleep on the c-“
Din cuts him off with a sigh so deep it makes the modulator crackle. “No. I- Hold on.” He reaches past Luke and jerks a pillow off the bed. He spares a moment to be thankful for the dark burgundy of the fabric and tears at the case, relieving it of the few inches folded over fabric that make up the hem. Once he tears at it again, he holds up the strip towards Luke, who looks mystified. “Can you wear this? Just while we sleep?”
Luke stares at the strip of fabric, dark and vibrant against his gloves, his mouth falling open in a silent “o”. “I can,” he murmurs at last. “If that’s fine with you.”
In lieu of answering him, Din reaches, slowly, and ties it. His heart is a hammer against his ribs, beating with a force that would worry him that his chest might crack open if Luke hadn’t already done that well before this moment. “Is that alright?” His voice is embarrassingly ruined, cracked, and rasping to belie a wrenching need.
Luke just nods.
Din reaches up and pulls at the mechanism at the back of his helmet. It hisses as the HUD disengages, and then he removes it.
The shadowy red of the fabric makes the tan of Luke’s skin more vibrant, that much warmer like if Din reached out and dared to touch, he’d be warm under his hands, like a being made of light. But Din does not dare. He settles to stare, just a bit longer, at the dark blonde of Luke’s hair- he wonders if it turns bleached in the sun and if they had met at a younger age would Luke have been even more luminous somehow, defyingly- and he stares at the way Luke worries his bottom lip between his teeth.
“It’ll take me a while,” Din says, wincing at the way his voice sounds without the modulator there to filter out the need pulling at his nerves, “to take all this off.”
“Right, of course.” Luke steps away and begins pulling at where his cloak is fastened.
The Jedi sounds just wrecked as Din feels and the knowledge steadies him somehow, to know that neither party is leaving this moment unchanged. He stumbles through removing the rest of his armor, fingers catching and pausing in a way that they haven’t since he first started wearing it. But he follows the ceremony and eventually finds himself bare. His eyes find Luke sitting on the edge of the bed, all nerves and tension.
He lays down on the unclaimed side and waits for Luke to lay down. But it doesn’t happen. Instead, he stays sitting upright with his shoulders hunched.
“Luke-“
“I’ve never shared a bed,” Luke says in a rush. He follows it with a derisive laugh. “It’s new territory, I guess.”
Din studies his back. “You have to lay down first.”
Luke snorts, but he listens, stretching out despite the way he’s still visibly tense.
That won’t do.
“Tell me if this is too much,” Din murmurs, and then he crosses the expanse of the bed to wrap his arms around the other’s waist and pull him close. Luke gasps a cut-off exclamation, but he doesn’t fight it.
“Try to sleep,” Din whispers.
Luke nods.
And, despite the warm press of Luke’s body against his, the salt bitten fletching of bergamot of Luke’s skin, and the softness of his hair being electrifying, distracting to a fault, Din finds sleep much faster than normal.
-
Consciousness comes to him later, hours later, if the position of the sunlight filtering through the windows tells Din anything. He blinks the cobwebs of sleep from his eyes and listens for a sign that Grogu is awake. When he doesn’t hear the sounds of a child fresh from sleep and in need, he sighs and pulls Luke closer to him, content to doze off again.
His eyes fly open.
Oh, he had forgotten about the way he had pulled Luke close to him, nestling his body against Din’s own. It seems they haven’t moved much either, just enough to where Luke’s head rests on his chest, blond hair spread in a halo on the dark fabric of Din’s flight suit. Luke’s arm is thrown across his stomach.
The deep, consistent rhythm of Luke’s breathing tells him that he’s still sleeping. Din wonders when the last time Luke allowed himself to rest like this was, or could. They’ve skirted around the conversation before, where Luke vaguely gestures towards not sleeping but never explaining the cause. If he’s choosing not to sleep, pushing himself past his boundaries for reasons unclear, that’s a problem with an identifiable cause. Maybe not easy to fix, but easy to try. If it’s something else, something with the Force, then Din doesn’t know where to start. It’s possible that here is that start. That he can pull Luke into his bed every night, hold him close, and soothe the Jedi to sleep for long enough to keep him healthy.
It’s a painfully domestic picture; one that makes Din sigh with a longing unfamiliar to him. He’s never wanted someone like this before, didn’t think he ever would or could. For so long, it had been just him, and then him and Grogu, but he had never wanted more than what he already had. But Luke has disturbed that peaceful solitude, not that Din could ever bring himself to resent him for it. He burns with want and longing and need, and even though it fucking terrifies him at times, he can’t stop thinking about it. About Luke spending peaceful nights in his bed, but also about seeing Luke when he wakes up, sharing his meals, helping with Grogu, standing by his side. It drives Din crazy and despite his insistence -stupid idea- on taking things with Luke slow, he already wants to ask Luke if the forever he can see when he closes his eyes is one the Jedi could ever imagine himself joining.
Softly, slowly, Luke wakes up. He makes a soft noise, sighing, and finally wakes up. “How long were we out?” he asks. He doesn’t move, doesn’t jerk away when he realizes his head is resting on Din’s chest. Instead, he seems to settle in even more.
“A few hours,” Din says.
Luke hums and doesn’t move.
There’s a sharp knock at the door.
Din groans, annoyed. “What?”
"Need you in the throne room, whenever you and the Princess are ready.” It’s Boba Fett, speaking in a manner that’s too knowledgeable and too smug. “Don’t worry, I’ll take the kid with me.”
Luke sighs, this time it sounds regretful, and pushes himself up. “Let me know when I can take this off again.” He taps at the blindfold around his eyes.
Din does.
-
The throne room is still well lit when they enter it, much like they did that morning, with Luke following in Din’s steps and Din’s hand wrapped around his wrist, but the time the room holds evidence of being used. There are empty glasses littered around the bar and few tables, footprints pressed and overlapping in the sand, and a much more tired-looking Boba Fett sitting in the throne, this time with Fennec standing alert behind him.
“Nice to see you both managed to pull yourselves away,” Boba says in lieu of a real greeting.
Grogu seems delighted to see the two of them, which makes Din smile under his helmet, finding himself incapable of letting his annoyance with Fett outdo seeing his son.
Luke, however, manages to stay annoyed. He’s let himself be led to the edge of the dais, but now gently pulls out of Din’s grip to walk forward. “What do you want Fett?”
Boba studies the Jedi, head tilting in a mirror of all the times Din has done the same. “Djarin,” he says finally. “Can we leave the kid with Fennec?” His gaze never leaves Luke, who still stands there, returning the stare in kind.
Din nods.
The handoff happens quickly, and Boba stands before putting his helmet back on; he gestures with his chin for the pair to follow him. He takes them through the back exit of the throne room and the dim, winding halls of the palace.
“So, Skywalker,” Boba calls over his shoulder.
Luke walks shoulder to shoulder with Din, stalking down the halls with a preternatural grace that Din can feel under his skin. “What?” He says it in a tone that, if Din had not come to know Luke so well in such a short amount of time, would have sounded nonplussed, breezy even. But Din does know Luke, and he knows how close Luke is to snapping.
“Or is it Organa now? Is there a reason you’re hiding behind your sister’s name?” Fett sounds unbothered. He is unbothered. Din can read it in the slope of his shoulders and his, by all means underserved, carefree tone of voice even with his back turned on someone who threatened to kill him only hours before.
He catches a glimpse of Luke rolling his eyes as he answers Boba Fett. “It’s not hiding. I just- I want to keep politics out of the new order.”
Boba cocks his head to the side like he’s thinking it over. “You could always just say no.”
Luke inhales sharply. “It’s not that easy.”
“If being the last Jedi doesn’t garner the ability to ignore those old fucks sitting on Coruscant, then what hope do any of us have? From what I can see, you get even less done hiding. So, is it cowardice or is it shame?” Boba leads them around a corner, taking the right in a fork in the hall, and they come to a door. He turns around to look at them, to look at Luke, expectantly.
The Jedi doesn’t say anything. He just stares at Fett, with a curious expression, like he’s revaluating what he knew about Fett and trying to understand what he’s seeing in front of him. Slowly, Luke nods, just once.
Din feels like he’s missed something like he blinked and the key to understanding what changed between the two of vanished, but Boba seems appeased. “I need you to keep my name out of the New Republic’s mouth.” He’s still talking to Luke.
Luke bristles again. “If you’re going to threaten me you didn’t need to go to all this trouble.”
Boba shakes his head and crosses his arms. “No. Not a threat. A promise.”
Coming from him, Din isn’t totally sure what the difference could be. He keeps that thought to himself though. Instead, he watches as Fett keys a code into the pad in the wall and remembers what exactly is behind the door.
Inside is a medical center, which, in itself, would not be spectacular outside of the secrecy that surrounds it. What makes it stand out is the small number of people currently inside. They range from children, the youngest barely walking, to the elderly. Med droids, white and sterile, drift around the center, cataloging, healing, and beeping. In the corner, there is a specialty droid, one that Din helped Boba relieve from an Imperial remnant months ago, slowly and precisely removing transmitter chips from the backs of the newly freed slaves that populate the room. A few people acknowledge their collective entrance with a nod, but business continues on as usual.
Luke gasps, so quiet that Din barely hears it, and pushes past him. “You…“ He trails off, words seeming to fail him.
“There will be no more slavery on Tatooine,” Boba says simply like he’s commenting on the color of Luke’s robes rather than putting an end to a centuries-long practice. “I thought you, of all people on Coruscant, would appreciate that.”
“I- The New Republic-“
“The Old Republic couldn’t- didn’t do anything even at its prime. The New Republic is still on shaky legs, and even if it wasn’t, they would still be useless. I, however, get results,” Boba’s expression remains obscured by his helmet, but Din is quite familiar with the smug smile that colors the other man’s tone. “It pays to be ungovernable.”
Luke snarls something in a language Din doesn’t understand, Huttese he thinks, and stalks towards Boba. He prepares for the worst, to have to stop Luke and Boba Fett from killing each other, but instead, Boba laughs, tilting his head back, and takes Luke’s outstretched arm, one hand wrapping around his forearm.
"You have my word,” Luke says, tone reverent, “I never saw you, and I don’t know who rules Tatooine.”
“I knew you had some sense knocking around in that pretty head of yours.”
As Luke laughs, Din has the sinking feeling that this newfound friendship? Camaraderie? Will be more trouble than when they wanted to kill each other.
-
It’s still just dark on the moon when they finally arrive. To Luke, it feels fitting. Ten hours ago, when they had left Tattooine, they had left at night, with the three moons low and slivered in the sky, all of them caught somewhere in between half there and gone. Walking out to a cold, freezing nighttime felt natural, inevitable, even as he finds himself clenching his teeth so hard, they ache in a fruitless attempt to hold back a shiver.
“Are you sure this is where it’s at,” Din asks from beside him. Luke can only assume that his armor includes some kind of heating element, or, in an impressively annoying feat, the cold really doesn’t bother the Mandalorian.
In lieu of an answer, Luke simply walks away from the edges of the Sage’s ramp and further into the woods that they’ve landed in. Seemingly content with the silence, Din trails behind him just a half step away from the Jedi. It’s not till they come to a break in the trees, a beach with dark, stone studded sand that’s more mud than anything else, that Luke breaks his silence.
“There,” he says, pointing with one gloved hand across the frozen lake to where he can make out a temple embedded into a cliff wall, barely visible in the early morning light of the moon.
Din looks between Luke and where he’s pointing before he starts to begin a path around the lake.
“Wait,” Luke says. It’s somewhere between a gasp and a statement, jarred by the violent shiver that he couldn’t hold back. There’s concern in the way Din’s helmet tilts just so – some distant part of Luke tries to remember when he could start reading the other man so fluently – but Luke pushes past it to finish his sentence. “The ice. I think we can walk on it.” He walks forward and finds himself right. The ice that covers the lake is clear, pockmarked, and scratched, but visibly several feet thick, at least, and only seems to grow thicker as they venture further out, as solid as any soil. But he finds himself unable to shake the unease of walking across the water.
Din, for his credit, seems unbothered, at least by the ice. Instead, he seems alert. Like he’s looking for a potential threat to come barreling through the trees or swooping down from the sky. Luke tries to let his vigilance soothe him, but as the temple draws ever and ever closer, the more he wants to stop, to ask Din to come back with him, and never think about this moon ever again. It’s a shamefully cowardly thing to think, unlike a Jedi, so Luke takes deep, purposeful breaths and keeps walking forward.
The temple itself bulges out of the side of the cliff. Clearly, it’s part construction and part carving in the cliff, but maintains an air of natural severity, as though it has always been a part of this cliff, of this moon, and that the Jedi of old simply leased it from the moon for a time. The grey rock is ragged and worn, with no delineation between rock and temple outside of the sudden sharp angles of the walls. Also, alarmingly, there seems to be no door.
Luke circles the outside several times, scrambling over rocks and trying to ignore the way Din nearly lunges forward every time a rock gives way, or he nearly slips on mud, before he finds something familiar. “Hah!” he yells, triumphant. His voice echoes across the lake, sharp in the dead silence like a gunshot. His unease only burrows further deeper into his gut.
“What is it?” Din says, clearly also shaken. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, sorry,” Luke says, much quieter this time. “Come here. I found something.”
When Din is closer, Luke gestures to the walls of the temple, where a small carving is inscribed, almost impossible to see due to its size and through the wearing of the rock. “I might be wrong, but it looks like it might be…” he trails off, reaching out. When his fingers, bare and real, graze against it, the etching lights up in a gentle blue. “It’s a holocron,” Luke finishes, grinning. “They put a holocron in the wall? That’s-“
Both men find themselves stumbling back in surprise when the form of a Zabrak, male and older, flickers into being before them.
“What the f-“ Din starts, hand flying to a blaster, but finds himself cut off, both Luke’s hand grabbing him and the Zabrak- the hologram – speaking.
“You wish to gain access to the temple?” he asks them. His voice is calm and unshakeable.
“Yes,” Luke replies.
The Zabrak studies Luke then. His eyes flicker over his form several times, but his face remains composed. “Only Jedi may enter this temple, according to the emergency sanction put in place by Master Zlutar. State your name.”
“Luke Skywalker,” he says. His posture straightens automatically, in a gesture of pride, maybe shame, definitely nerves.
Another scrutinizing look.
“There is no Jedi by that name.”
Luke blinks, stunned. “I- I am. My name is Luke Skywalker and I am a Jedi, like-“
“There is no Jedi named Luke Skywalker.” The Zabrak shifts and clasps his hands together in front of him.
“Your records are out of date,” Luke says. His brow is furrowed together now.
“Not possible,” the Zabrak replies, tone ever serene.
“I am a Jedi. I was trained by Obi-Wan Kenobi and Master Yoda and- “his voice wavers only momentarily before finally: “and Anakin Skywalker.”
The holo of the Zabrak is quiet again, clearly sorting through some kind of register that neither Luke nor Din can see. “Those are indeed the names of Jedi.”
Luke huffs and takes one step forward. “Those are the names of the masters who trained me. I am a Jedi, and you will let me enter.”
Finally, the Zabrak’s expression breaks and takes Luke in again, looking like he’s sizing up a particularly distasteful bug. “There is no Jedi by that name. And your lack of control makes it clear why.”
That stings so harshly that Luke doesn’t even notice the step he takes towards the Zabrak, like a physical force could intimidate a holo. “I am the last remaining Jedi. If I am not one, the Order is gone.” He can hear his voice turn cold, but he feels helpless to stop it, or maybe even reluctant.
“Then perhaps that is for the best,” the Zabrak says, raising an eyebrow, “if this is the best you have to offer us. Look at you. Your emotions betray you. Without control, then you are no Jedi. With attachments,” he spares a look towards Din, “you are no Jedi. It is better to go extinct than to allow one such as you to claim the title.” He disappears, and the holocron stops glowing, becoming a part of the rock once more.
Luke stumbles back from the force of the Zabrak’s parting words as if they were a physical shove like the holo had planted his hands on Luke’s shoulders and pushed as hard as he could. “I-“Luke finds himself choking on words, choking for anything to say through the lump in his throat, the ice in his stomach, and the stinging in his eyes. “I-“ he hears himself stutter again. He feels both too in his body and wildly disembodied. The physical manifestation of his feelings is too pressing to bear but he can also see himself from above like he’s just watching from the sky rather than experiencing it. It’s confusing and painfully embarrassing, adding insult to injury. Grinding salt into an already infected wound.
The sudden presence of a hand, gentle and gloved, snaps Luke back into himself. He can feel the tears, searing on his face in the brittle cold of early dawn, and refuses to wipe them away, as if refusing to acknowledge them won’t draw attention to them.
“Luke,” Din says. His voice is gentle, even through the modulator of his helmet. “Are you-“
“I’m fine. We should go.” Luke doesn’t wait for the argument he can practically hear forming in the Mandalorian’s mind. Instead, he pushes past him and sets a brisk pace back onto the ice.
“Luke!” Din follows him like he always does. “Luke!”
He’s sure that if he was a better Jedi, then Luke would keep walking. In fact, if he was a better Jedi they wouldn’t even be in this situation. They’d be inside the temple. Or, better yet, Luke wouldn’t even need to be here. He’d be calm. Serene. Untouchable. If he-
Three quarters across the lake, Din’s hand on his shoulder once again interrupts Luke’s fuming, but this time Din pulls on him, making the other man face him, as close as they can get to eye contact. “Luke,” Din says again.
“What?” Luke snaps.
“You shouldn’t listen to him. He- It was-“
“Right?” Luke interrupts.
“No-“
“He is! He’s right! I’m not a Jedi! I’m an embarrassment to the Order. I’m too emotional! I’m too attached! I’m too- I’m too-“
Din’s shoulders visibly tense and square up, like Luke has hit a chord of some kind. “Too attached?”
In an instant, Luke realizes what he’s said, and despairs. “I’m supposed to be a Jedi,” he says. The begging in his voice is clear, even to himself and he finds it pathetic. “Jedi aren’t supposed to have attachments. I- I can’t have attachments. You heard him! I’m not a-“
“Luke-“
“I can’t! My father-“ he purposefully cuts himself off this time before he can fall on his own sword.
“That holo was-“
“Was a Jedi! He was trained in the Order. And I’m- I’m-“
“What?”
“My father’s child!” Luke shouts. “My father was Darth Vader! It was his attachments! My mother- us- all of it- that made him fall and I-“
“You are not your father Luke,” Din says, so sure and solid that for a moment, Luke despises him for it.
“But I am! Can’t you see it? I can’t let go and it kills everyone around me!” He flings his arms out to the side and ignores the sharp crack that echoes through the air.
Din puts his hands up in a motion that looks like he’s trying to soothe a wild creature, just like that night, so many nights ago, on Mandalore. “Woah, Luke-“ He takes a small, hesitating step, but nevertheless brings himself closer to him. “Luke, you don’t have to do this alone.”
“You don’t know me!” The words ring false and immature even as he says them, but he says them anyway and uses his hands and the Force to push.
There’s another crack, this one louder and ear-splitting, that finally catches Luke’s attention. But it’s too late. Din doesn’t go flying back like he should have. Instead, the ice, despite its sturdiness and years of accumulated depth, shatters from his outburst. Luke falls through the ice before he can truly comprehend what he’s done, and then there’s nothing but freezing cold and deadly blackness.
-
When Luke comes to, he’s surprisingly dry and warm. He’s also sitting cross-legged on the floor of a small room he’s positive he’s never seen before. The floor is wooden and well-polished, but also well worn, showing its age in scratches and dents and wear. The walls are a pale blue, almost white, and studded with large windows, every one open and letting in a soft breeze that makes the white, gauzy curtains sway gently. With every movement of the curtain, Luke gets a glimpse of a vividly blue sky, white clouds, and golden sunlight. It’s the most beautiful place he’s ever been. If he could only remember how he got here.
“This was my mother’s home,” says a voice.
Luke’s gaze snaps to the man sitting across from him on the floor. Like Luke, he’s resting on top of a simple cushion, feet tucked his legs. He’s never seen this man before. “It’s beautiful,” Luke offers. Strangely, he finds himself content to find out what’s going on rather than demanding answers.
“It is,” the man says. He smiles, and suddenly Luke becomes aware of how ageless the man looks. The man is just that, a man with dark skin and warm, even darker eyes, with a full head of hair and beard to match, but the harder Luke looks, the less certain he is of his age. He might be Luke’s age, possibly much younger, maybe even older. There’s a nagging feeling that maybe it doesn’t matter though.
“I spent a lot of time here as a child,” the man says, gesturing around him. “Only natural, of course. But it never stopped being home for me. Though, I’m sure you understand Luke.”
“I- Yes. I think I do.”
The man smiles then. “It’s nice to meet you, Luke.”
“It’s nice to meet you too… I’m sorry I don’t believe I know your name.”
Somehow, the man’s smile only gets larger. “Oh, no. You wouldn’t. Though I think I’m often referred to as Prime.” He clasps his hands in his lap and cocks his head to the side, watching Luke for his reaction.
He’s not disappointed. Luke, despite all he’s seen and done, finds himself openly gawking at the man before him. “You’re the first Jedi?”
The man shrugs. “Ostensibly so, yes.”
“That’s- Oh- Am I- Am I dead?”
Prime laughs heartily, tilting his head back towards the ceiling. “Oh no, far from it.”
Luke just blinks rapidly, trying to piece together how he got here. He can remember finding the temple and the holocron in its walls. The Zabrak and the ensuing conversation. Din following him across the ice and – “Oh,” he whispers. “Are you sure I’m not dead?”
He nods with confidence. “This would look very different, trust me. I wouldn’t be here, for one, nor would we be in my mother’s house.”
It’s Luke’s turn to nod, though he does so with far less certainty, eyes darting around the room. “Why am I here?”
“This is your show, I just came when invited.” Prime adjusts his legs and stretches briefly before fixing his shirt. “What do you need?”
This stumps Luke for a moment. He looks down at his hands, one still gloved and one bare, before answering, still looking down. “It’s been a while since I’ve been asked that.”
Prime hums sympathetically. “Well, take a moment to think it over.”
For once, Luke does take a moment. He silently catalogs each callous on his hand, the whorl of his fingerprints, the small tears, and signs of overuse in his glove before he looks back up. “I’m the last of the Order. If I don’t continue it, then it will die with me.”
Prime just nods thoughtfully. “This is not the first time the Jedi have faced this situation.”
“But- “the words catch in his mouth for a moment “I find myself lacking.”
“How so?”
Luke looks back down at his lap and wipes his palms on his legs, dragging them up and down his thighs a few times. “My emotions are stronger than I would like. They overwhelm me often. And- attachments. I can’t seem to let them go.”
“And you think this precludes you from being a Jedi? From continuing the Order down in the next generations?”
Words seem to be impossible, so Luke just nods and blinks away the tears swimming in his eyes.
Prime hums again and is silent for a moment. The sounds of nature fill the room: the soft rustle of the breeze in the curtains, trees, and greenery jostling in the wind, birds calling to each other, and so quiet as to nearly be missed, the sound of an ocean crashing against the shore. Luke lets himself get lost in it for a while, choosing to think about standing on the shore and watching the water rush in and out. No matter how many times he sees an ocean or the torrential downpour of a jungle planet, he thinks it will always be awe-inspiring.
When he becomes aware again, he finds Prime staring at him with a thoughtful smile on his face.
“The Order that fell was different from the Order that I started. The Order I started was different than the one I died in. It’s natural. And necessary. To survive is to change. To be relevant, useful, a force for good means to change. Do you understand?”
Luke nods, slowly and a bit jerkily. “I think so. I should change the Order?”
Prime cocks his head to the side. “If you think if you must. But most change, the best self-sustaining change is slow, natural. If I understand, the warnings against attachments and emotions were to avoid selfish action. To avoid hurting others to protect our attachments. Perhaps there is room in there for attachment and to learn how to love without selfishness. Perhaps there isn’t. That’s for you to decide as you raise the Order from the ground. But, no matter what, whatever you create will not be the Order your father helped destroy.”
Luke winces.
“I don’t say that to punish you. Your Mandalorian was right. You are not your father. But what you create will reflect you in some way. It’s unavoidable. The best you can do is create something moldable and teach and attract people who will correct you when you are wrong. But you must trust yourself, Luke. You don’t trust yourself, and in turn, you don’t trust how the Force lives and acts in you. You must embrace your emotions as a part of yourself, and only then can you truly find the balance you are looking for. If you can’t, then you will destroy it.”
Luke takes a deep breath in and lets it go. “You make it sound easy.”
“Well,” Prime shrugs. “Been there, done that, as we used to say.”
He laughs, surprised.
"It won’t be easy Luke. But you don’t have to do it alone.”
He looks at Prime. “Thank you.”
Prime just shrugs. “Least I can do for the first person to jerk me out of the Living Force for the first time in eons.”
Before Luke can react to that, he feels a tugging, sharp and insistent in his gut.
"Hm, you should probably follow that,” Prime says brightly, “before you drown on that tiny little moon.”
“Wait, what-“
-
When he finally pulls Luke out of the water, the Jedi is ghostly white, tinged with a violent blue that makes Din’s heart shudder in his chest.
“Please don’t be dead,” he gasps, shaking from the cold water that’s flooded his suit. His helmet lays abandoned to the side several feet away and on its side, a victim of the split-second decision to not find out if it’s waterproof enough to not drown him when he went in after Luke. There’s a voice in his head, small yet insistent, panicking about the chances of someone else being on the moon and seeing him, but the sight in front of him is much more pressing.
He fights to remove his gloves. The icy water has plastered them to his hands, and he curses the extra seconds he has to spend wrenching them off. “Fuck,” he hisses and looks for Luke’s pulse with his own shaking fingers. “Fuck. Please don’t be dead,” he pleads.
No pulse.
His mind goes blank for a few petrifying moments before he remembers the lesson taught to him by a much older Mandalorian, before he had taken his helmet.
"If you’re doing it right,” she said, “you’re going to break a few ribs.”
“Fuck!” he yells, just for good measure, before tipping Luke’s head back, desperately gasping for air, and moving down to try to help the Jedi breathe back to life. All the while, he tries to ignore how this is the first time they-
Luke comes jerking into consciousness before he can make it all the way down to him. He lunges forward, trying to sit up in rush so fast that Din almost doesn’t jerk out of the way in time. For a second, he just sits there, sopping wet, panting, and a handheld grasping at his chest. “Oh, fuck it’s fucking cold,” he gasps.
Din laughs despite himself. It bubbles out of him, small and weak.
Luke looks over to him, a smile on his face and lips still blue before it registers that Din is helmetless. His eyes widen before he whips back around. “Shit. Din, I didn’t see anything. I promise. I-“
“I want you to,” Din says. “Look at me, I mean. Please.”
Luke goes rigid, just only for a moment though, before his body is wracked with a violent, full-body shiver. “Oh, gods,” he bites out.
In a moment, Din decides. He stands and grabs his helmet in one hand before pulling Luke up with his other arm. “Come on. If I let you freeze to death out here your sister will kill me.”
“Oh, she absolutely wouldn’t. She’d just make sure my headstone said something insulting about my intelligence.” Luke goes easily, letting Din help him up and across the rest of the frozen lake, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the distance.
There’s not much conversation from either of them as they hobble across the ice. They’re slower than Din would like, and he finds himself constantly looking the other man over for signs of frostbite and hypothermia. When they finally get to the ship, it’s light outside, and what little wildlife that exists on the moon is up for the day. It’s not any warmer, at least not to Din’s limited perceptions, and he tries not to noticeably shiver as the ramp of the Sage slowly lowers to the ground. Luke can’t seem to stop. Every few seconds he shakes uncontrollably and swears when his efforts to best his hardwiring fail.
“Come on,” Din murmurs, and guides Luke inside. He tries to ignore the twinging pain of hurt he feels as he notices the other man firmly refusing to look at him. “We need to get you warm.”
“I’m fine,” Luke says. He’s undercut by another shiver, which makes him frown.
Din snorts and just keeps walking them into the ship. “You don’t have hypothermia yet but I’d rather you not get any closer to it.”
Obligingly, Luke presses the button for the fresher door when they finally get there. He also straightens up, clearly intent on breaking out of Din’s grip and walking inside. And, for a moment, Din considers letting go. He doesn’t want to force anything, but-
But he’s having a hard time forgetting what Luke looks like when’s nearly dead.
So, he just keeps walking.
-
Luke stumbles when Din follows him into the fresher. He nearly looks up, to try to make eye contact with that familiar dark visor when he remembers that the helmet is currently being held in Din’s other hand and he keeps his eyes fixed to the floor.
When Din lets go, Luke both mourns the loss of contact and feels like he can breathe easier. It’s too much, too soon, having him that close that soon after the back-to-back distresses of the Zabrak, meeting Prime, and coming to on the ice. And yet, he wishes that Din would come back. Instead of dwelling on it anymore, Luke sets to peeling his wet, freezing clothes off of his body.
Din is very pointedly, or at least it feels pointed, keeping his back turned and messing with the shower. The water starts in a rush. “You should get in,” Din says with a quiet voice as he turns around.
Luke, standing only in his underwear, black like everything else, immediately fixes his eyes back on the ground. “I- Thank you.”
The other man sighs. “It’s a gift,” he says. He crosses the small space till he’s nearly chest to chest with Luke. He reaches out and places an ungloved hand, cold even to Luke, on his jaw. “I wish that you would take it.”
The tender stroke of Din’s thumb against his cheek causes something to crack in Luke’s chest and he decides then. A decision that he’ll know he’s going to have to wrestle with later and one that determines, well, simply everything.
He looks up.
He looks up into warm brown eyes, lined with wrinkles that give his face a sense of genuine kindness, and sees how they study him, searching for something.
Luke smiles. “Thank you.” And he rocks up onto the balls of his feet and kisses him.
-
Epilogue
For the population of the universe who cared, Commander Luke Organa’s, war hero and brother to the Chancellor of the New Republic, eventual retiring from the position of Ambassador to Mandalore was inevitable. The news comes in a form of a holo-conference between the Manda’lor and the Chancellor, who is accompanied by a small council.
“Manda’lor,” the Chancellor says, with a slight nod and a smile, politely betraying nothing. “Luke.”
The blue, flickering form of the Manda’lor nods in return. “Chancellor.” Luke stands behind him, and, as far Leia can tell, is wearing his black, Jedi uniform, hands clasped in front of him.
“Is everything alright?” she asks. It’s a genuine question. The message that requested this meeting was sparse, which was more concerning than if it had spared no detail.
There’s a pause, and Leia swears she sees the two men look at each other for a split second, but the connection flickers for a moment and she can’t tell for sure.
When Luke speaks, not the Manda’lor, she hides her surprise behind a slight shifting in her chair.
“I would like to step down from my position of Ambassador to Mandalore,” he says.
She cocks her head to the side. “Manda’lor, is this agreeable to you?”
The king only nods.
“May I ask why?” she asks.
It’s Luke who answers. “I would like to remove myself from any governmental actions, in order to focus on restoring the Jedi order. As the last remaining Jedi, I feel as if it’s my duty.”
Leia smiles. Her council erupts into shocked chitters and whispers.
“And,” Luke says, and this time Leia clearly sees him glance down towards Din, “I believe you’ll find that I have a conflict of interests if I continue serving as Ambassador for my husband’s planet.”
From behind her, she hears one of her council stumbles and swears as the rest of them assume a stunned silence.
“You would be correct,” Leia says. “Your request will be fulfilled in a timely manner.”
For the first time during the meeting, Luke smiles, clearly relieved.
“Though, Luke,” she says, “you can expect my call on a private line in a few moments.” Then she ends the call.