ILLUMINATE • din djarin

PART THIRTEEN

The Mandalorian looked at himself in the full-length mirror in his room. He was wearing his full armour but had his helmet under his arm. He didn't often look at himself in his armour without his helmet on, with no real opportunities to access a mirror as long as this one. But he looked upon the beskar with content and pride. It was the cleanest it had been in weeks. He'd spent a good two hours polishing the iron himself. He did it meticulously; the way he was taught when he was just a boy – the way that had been ingrained in him for decades. He used a cloth to wipe at the iron with the cleaning solution, running it across the metal over and over. It was almost a meditative process, and it had been worth it. All the grime had disappeared, and the metal shone in a way it hadn't in a long time.

It was perfect for the occasion – perfect for the Founders Ball.

It had been weeks in the making, and he knew that Venelia was glad that it had finally arrived. For the Mandalorian, much of the past few weeks had been spent with Venelia. When she worked with the King and Queen, other allies and advisors, he watched as she used the reconnaissance information to inform the plan of attack for Fidelis. He watched and listened with pride, having coached her outside of these meetings with the help of some old tactic and strategy books he had on the Crest. 

But even with the coaching, there were times during the meeting when she specifically asked for his opinion on an aspect of the plan. When she did, the Mandalorian was grateful that his face was concealed as it heated up from all the eyes on him as he spoke. 

But the only eyes he really focused on were hers.

He had never planned to spend this much time with the runaway duchess, and yet he didn't find himself avoiding her. In this place that was so different to anything he was used to, Venelia was his solace. Even though the people on Olis were kind, she was the only one who made him feel comfortable here. He'd grown used to her company, which surprised him. He was used to being alone, or for the other members of the Roost to be around, but Venelia's presence was different – calming and welcoming. There were times when he had even forgotten she was there, he had become so used to her presence.

That feeling of comfort was never more apparent than the times they spent talking about nothing and everything. They would sit in his room on the chaise lounge for hours at night, and he was surprised at how much Venelia had revealed to him about her parents, about her ex-betrothed. 

She told him tales of her parents from when she grew up – the best parts and the parts she had said she wished she could forget. Her smile would light up the moonlit room, or her eyes would glisten with tears.

"You don't have to tell me if it makes you sad," he told her one night when a tear dropped on her cheek after she told him a story of when her father spilt wine on the Ambassador of Naboo.

Venelia had given him a small smile as she wiped the tear away and shook her head. "I want to tell you. Even though it hurts to speak about them, it helps to remember these things – celebrating them and remembering all the good they contributed not to just my life, but to the lives of Fidelians. It makes the hole they left in my chest feel a little healed for a bit."

The Mandalorian had nodded in understanding. Even though he did not talk of his parents, or really think about them because it hurt too much, he understood the need to do so in order to grieve. 

Venelia's parents seemed like they were good people, and he did not wish their kind of demise on anybody. But mostly, he wished they were still alive so they could see the kind of woman their daughter was and how she had rallied for Fidelis' reclamation to honour and secure their legacy – but he was sure they already knew, wherever they were.