Chapter Text
The eternally vast room of The Grand Convocation Chamber was brimming with tension as the whispers and murmurs from the numerous attendings were echoing around. Yet none of the words were loud enough to make sense. It was just a distinct flow of syllables, a background noise of sorts. Repulsorpods floated within the air, carrying creatures from across the Galaxy representing their own kind, as this was the New Republic's Galactic Senate Building. A symbol of fellowship between lanes and for maintaining democracy, which is much needed amidst all the wars that the people have faced. Once again a meeting has been called, although one that was so unexpected that the reason still remained unknown.
On the east side of the room, a figure stepped onto a pod to sit. The woman was regal, her dark brown hair styled into a long bun on top of her head, into which a golden spiral ornament was embedded, almost as it was resembling a crown. Her dress was padded at the shoulders, giving her silhouette an impressive stance, while the sleeves and hem flared out lower down. The midnight colored fabric's shiny pattern made the dress look as if the stars themselves had been sewn onto it from the sky. Her face was painted pale white, with black shadows around the eyes and small dark red spots on the apples of her cheeks. Her gaze was piercingly serious, face stone-hard, giving anyone who saw her a sense of intimidating coldness. But as a servant droid clumsily wiggled next to her and lowered a tray to offer her a drink, the stoic mask broke for a moment, revealing a gentle smile and kind voice that thanked the droid without hesitation.
The Queen of Naboo, Padmé Amidala, took a small sip from the drink, silently enjoying how the soothingly cold beverage calmed her nerves slightly. The invitation to the meeting had been surprising and the sudden quick departure that followed was exhausting. But Padmé was a queen who handled her work meticulously, not ever daring to skip any political discussion between the New Republic. With her posture straight and attention keen to the people around her she was ready to face any news thrown at her face. As the familiar call to arrange silence into the chamber was yelled, she leaned forwards automatically to put her whole focus into the middle of the room.
“Dear fellow Senators,” the voice of counsellor Mon Mothma spoke into the abruptly quiet room, “I must apologize for this sudden call for a meeting with little to no warning, but the matter in hand is in fact so sudden and important that we had to act quickly.” The echo of the last sentence hovered heavily in the air, for the hall had become so quiet.
“A change has happened, one so great that it could affect our union and the well being of our galaxy's democracy. The planet of Mandalore has been reconquered once again, and a new king has ascended to the throne.”
Those words broke the silence around the counsellor, as a wave of restlessness brought astonished yells with it. Padmé stayed still as a statue, keeping her face unreadable. Her hand squeezed around the glass for a second before relaxing again.
“It seems that a man has faced the former Sith Moff Gideon and defeated him. That man has now risen to the throne earning him the title of Mand’alor, leader of the Mandalorians. Now the clans have been reunited and the people of Mandalore brought back to the planet within just a few months, most likely to build a society.”
“And how is that The New Republic has not been aware of this?” one voice rose from the ground, demanding answers.
Mon Mothma’s face stayed as tranquil as ever. ”They had planned this so that no other planet could interfere with the construction of Mandalore. Only now they have risen from the shadows and declared the revolution to be official and Mandalore conquered and regained independence.”
The yells started once again. ”How arrogant!” yelled one. ”The disrespect!” other one spat. ”We can’t let them just decide that!” someone shouted.
Mon Mothma regarded the chaos that was threatening to bloom in the chamber, before lifting her hand as a sign of silence. “The New Republic is now well aware of the state of Mandalore, as the diplomats of the planet have finally taken contact with us. Our goal is to maintain a line of communication with Mandalore, and we have already negotiated international agreements in advance. We’re building a treaty and they have agreed to consider joining an alliance with our union.”
A wave of approving whispers passed through the senators. At a quick glance, nothing could be read from Padmé’s face, but if one looked closely, her dark eyes could be seen softening slightly. A sign of pacifist relief, for the queen would never wish conflict upon anyone. She let the voices of the senate wash over her as she lifted her gaze to see the counsellor’s face before her, their eyes meeting. The woman smiled and nodded in greeting, and Padmé had the feeling that her visit would not be as quick as she had hoped.
—
“I am glad that we were able to get you here on such short notice, your highness,”
Counsellor Mon Mothma’s voice was politely eager with a slight hint of fabricated flattery towards Padmé’s title. After the meeting was declared over, Padmé had been required to accompany the counsellor. They were walking through the halls of the senate building, with a small group of advisors and other senators mingling along. A steady flow of pleasant conversation surrounded them.
"It was no obstacle, counsellor," she replied in a steady voice, trying to give a calm impression. She tilted her head slightly downward to show humility toward the high-ranking alpha woman. It was like nature and a performance at the same time, something she had learned growing up as an omega in a royal family. It calmed alphas, made them think they were in control, but unknowingly gave Padmé the advantage.
“I would rather not skip anything related to the maintenance of peace in our galaxy. I’m glad to hear that the New Republic has created a connection to Mandalore,” Padmé continued.
Mon Mothma hummed in agreement, her face not betraying anything. “What do you know about the planet of Mandalore, your highness?” she asked while lowering her hand into Padmé’s lower back, guiding her into a common room. It was a dark gray space with wide windows facing the city. Outside a traffic of speeders could be seen flying past, showing the lives of people of Coruscant. Padmé’s attention was on them just for a moment before focusing on the question.
“I remember the civil war mandalorians had during the Clone Wars. It tore the people in two so that when the Sith attacked, no one was ready to defend the planet. The mandalorians that survived the purge left and spread across the galaxy, leaving Mandalore abandoned.”
“Mandalorians are known to be a tribe of warriors. They swore an oath to a creed to never take off their armor, some even swearing to keep their face hidden. They value bravery and the thirst for battle, living for the sake of it,” Mon Mothma mused, holding eye contact.
“But do you know what is the most valuable thing to them?” Padmé shook her head meekly as an answer.
“Family,” the counsellor smiled, “There is a saying in the Mandoan language, about family being more than blood. They’re known for adopting children in need.”
“That is quite admirable,” Padmé said with a nod of her head.
“That brings us to the treaty between the New Republic and Mandalore," Mon Mothma continued as if casual, turning to gaze out the window with her hands clasped behind her back. Padmé’s posture stiffened slightly, focus sharpening.
"We have made a proposal for a consort who would represent the New Republic, someone who would bind the alliance with the Mand'alor," the woman turned back to face her. “And we think the royalty of Naboo would be the perfect principal figure to represent our union.”
Padmé stared back with a blank face. “Excuse me?”
“You have children above of age, correct?” Padmé's shackles rose at the question, taking a slight step back from the counsellor. A move that did not stay unnoticed.
“You have been a remarkable queen to Naboo and a precise example of a Senator, your highness. Your diplomatic record has always been on the right side of conflict,” Mon Mothma explained with an enthusiastic voice. “I need you to understand how grandly important this treaty would be to your people and all of the galaxy.”
“You would suggest that I sell my own children for marriage?” her voice was on the edge of threatening.
The woman pursed her lips. “I wouldn’t put it that harshly. Your offspring would just be doing their duty as royalty and bring honor to this alliance.”
At Padmé's hesitating face her voice turned low, almost pleading. ”You of all people should understand the importance of keeping kingdoms united. Your child would be the beacon of peace, keeping Mandalore at our reach, so that any chance of war could be avoided.”
Padmé stood motionless at the edge of the room, her dark, serious eyes staring at the face of the alpha woman. She thought about probabilities, a future in which the Mandalorians would refuse unity and choose bloodshed because the New Republic would not get their hands on them. And then again, a future in which her children would be sent away to take the hand of an unknown king.
”Please, your highness,” Mon Mothma’s voice made Padmé swallow.
They stood still in the quiet room, a tension between them fragile as a piece of thread, since they both knew that Queen Padmé Amidala would always choose the option that would keep the balance in the universe.
—
”Marriage.”
It wasn’t a question, but rather a bland statement that echoed in the hollow room. The newly fresh Mand’alor, king of Mandalore, sat rigidly at the end of a round stone table. The visor of his beskar helmet turned toward his chief of guards and his most influential advisor.
”Yes,” Bo-Katan Kryze simply said. ”It appears the New Republic wants to slither its way into Mandalore, apparently to bring brotherhood between our nations.”
”What do they know about brotherhood," Paz Vizsla spat, standing arms crossed on the other side of the Mand’alor.
”Apparently enough to give one of their royalties to us as consort for our king,” Bo-Katan mused.
”I don’t need a consort,” Din Djarin answered with a low voice. Originally he never even chose to be the Mand’alor, it was all just one consequence after another that eventually led him into sitting on a throne while his people cheered, as if he was some kind of holy saviour. Now the burden of responsibility hung heavy on his shoulders, increasing after the New Republic decided that Mandalore’s independence was their business.
”This could be turned to our advantage though,” Bo-Katan leaned her hands to the table, ”They’re basically handing a Republican insider into the heart of our planet, most likely to spy our development and hold us in check.”
”None of that sounds to be to our advantage,” Paz growled.
Bo-Katan turned to glare at him with a furrow of her brow, the interruption clearly not appreciated.
”As I was about to continue,” she drawled, ”From our perspective, we are receiving a hostage. An important figure we can control and use to our advantage. If we agree to this treaty, we can give them a false sense of security that just may help to reduce their interference, while preserving our independence.”
Din stayed silent, leaning into his seat while staring into an empty space, contemplating. He hasn’t thought about mating in a long time, it has never been his top priority anyway, especially at a time like this. But still a political marriage seemed to be so weird in his head, somewhat intrusive. Mating was about a bond of love. It was something sacred, where two souls bind.
He let out a heavy sigh, knowing that upsetting the New Republic would cause conflict in the long run. And any risk of war would be foolish in this state of economy, as his people were still vulnerable.
There was a hint of a smile on Bo-Katan’s face, as she knew what he was thinking. She grabbed her helmet from the table, placing it in the crook of her elbow. “Shall I send a message informing the Republic that we agree to the treaty?”
Din didn’t turn to look at her. “Only in one condition.”
Bo-Katan’s eyes narrowed, silently waiting for him to continue.
“My son,” Din said and lifted his head, “He has no partake in this. No outsider shall know about his existence, not the Republic or my future consort,” the last word was spat out like venom. “He will be kept hidden. Whoever they send here will not be part of my clan. This marriage is only in the terms of the Republic."
“Yes, Your highness,” Bo-Katan bowed, and the title made Din's shoulders tense. He watched her turn back toward the large doors at the entrance, walking away from the room. The loud creak from the closing of the doors drowned his heavy sigh as he rested his head in his hands.
Marriage.