Din Djarin/Mando/The Mandalorian: One Shots, Imagines, etc.

Rulers of Mandalore

A/N: requested by Username082 - i... umm... have yall seen this picture^^

Warnings: mild references to sex, hazy ideas of what a mandalorian wedding is like, a bunch of my ridiculous headcanons,

Translations: Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum = I love you, (the wedding vow translations are what she says)

Word count: 1162

Stars, you're nervous. It's not that you're worried your husband to be will abandon you, it's not that you're worried you'll stumble the vows, it's not that you're worried the parents will hate you - because there are not parents on either side, it's that this is a royal wedding. All because of some funky looking, glowing sword which happened to fall into the hands of your lover. There are going to be thousands of his subjects, all bedecked in their shining beskar and whispering to each other in Mando'a that you barely understand, and you simply don't know how they'll react to a bride who isn't one of them. You've never worn beskar before, you've never run through the corridors of a covert as a youngling, you've never watched an Armourer moulding plates of armour, and you don't know how that will go down.

Neither does Din, but he seems calmer. Maybe because he feels at home with these people, because he belongs with them, maybe because he's just holding it together for you, but the little glimpses you catch of him in the crowd soothe your pounding heart.

You're not used to seeing him in a ceremonial outfit; the only beskar he wears is a new helmet, with horns soldered onto the sides to symbolise the mythosaur his ancestors rode. Apparently, no beskar shows the strength of a ruler - he doesn't need beskar to protect himself, because he has the skills he's learnt about the whole of his life. His chest is left bare apart from the chunky beads adorning his neck, and your cheeks burn at the thought that every single person in here can probably see the hickeys you left on his skin last night. You bet he doesn't mind, you bet he wears your marks proudly, showing how the Mand'alor's fiancée has already claimed him as hers. He's probably strutting around, his sentences short but friendly as he exchanges words with his subjects, his long, fur lined cloack billowing out behind him, making him seem even larger than he is already.

You hate that before a wedding, the groom can't see his bride so the dress will be a surprise. You desperately want to run to him, to tuck yourself under his arm and huddle under his cloak with him like when you crashed Maldo Kreis with the frog lady, hidden from the stares of all those T-shaped visors. You want to tuck your trembling, cold hands against his bare skin so you can warm them, you want to close your fingers around his gloved ones. You want to tug at the beads around his neck and press your forehead to his, so that all the others fade away, so that he's all you can see.

'Nervous?' Fennec Shand asks. She's the only other non Mandalorian here, if you don't count Boba, who blends in anyway, and she seems far more at ease than you.
'Yeah,' you mumble, gnawing at your lip.
'Don't do that,' she warns. 'You'll smudge the lipstick before your Mand'alor gets the chance to do it himself.'

You're forced to hide a smile at Fennec's teasing. She saw first hand the bond between you and Din when the two of you stayed on Slave I with her and Boba, and she's not letting you forget that any time soon. Reaching out, you grab her forearm, a small, grateful gesture that she returns by patting your hand, throwing you a smirk.

'There's no need to be nervous. Once they see how deeply the two of you are infatuated with the other the only reason they'll be staring is because you look great in that dress.'
You grin again. 'Thanks, Fennec, but you don't need to flatter me to put me at ease.'
'Yeah, well - '

Fennec falls silent with the crowd, and you glance up, your heart in your throat as Din walks to the front, the Darksaber, which is clipped to his belt, bumping against his thigh every time he takes a step. Even from the back of the crowd, you can hear the clink of his beaded necklaces against each other. Your heart pounds, and you smooth down the white folds of your dress, lifting your chin and trying to look regal. You never expected this to happen to someone like you, the mechanic of a Mandalorian, but you guess the universe works in strange ways.

Din calls out something in Mando'a, his voice familiar and calming your thrumming nerves, and you recognise a few words, enough so that you can figure out he said something like 'make way for the bride,' or 'make way for the queen.' Focussing on translating the words in your head distracts you from the way the throng of Mandalorians is parting as if they all have the same mind, making an arrow straight path right through them with Din at the end, his helmet glinting in the light.

Forcing your breathing to slow, you take one step forward, then another, and another. The Mandalorians are dead silent, their heads turning as you pass, keeping the path open behind you. You're aware of Din's eyes on you, and you meet his gaze, lips twitching up in a smile as he tilts his head slightly when your eyes meet his. Holding his stare, you focus on him, letting everyone else fade away under the comforting weight of his eyes.

And suddenly, you stand in front of him, dressed in white, watching the beads on his chest move up and down with his breathing.

'Mesh'la,' he whispers, so quietly that only you can hear, only you know why a smile plays along your lips. And then he takes your hands in his. 'Mhi solus tome.'
'We are one when together,' you echo in Basic.
'Mhi solus dar'tome,' he answers, squeezing your fingers.
'We are one when parted.'
'Mhi me'dinui an.'
'We will share all,' you breathe out, leaning toward him infinitesimally.
'Mhi ba'juri verde,' he says, taking a step closer to you but not yet touching you.
You can feel his presence, heavenly in its closeness as you reply with the last line. 'We will raise warriors.'

The crowd roars, but it's barely a buzz in your ears as you collide with Din, wrapping your arms around him as he holds you so tight that your heels leave the ground. Fingers slipping just under the lip of his helmet so you can bury your hands in his soft curls, you press your forehead to his, eyes welling up as you smile so hard your cheeks hurt, submerging yourself in the sound of his laughter: deep and warm and desperately happy.

'Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,' he murmurs.
'Ni k - kar'tayl gar dar - darasuum,' you answer, stumbling over the foreign words but not caring because he laughs again, his arms wrapping around your waist and holding you tight; an unbreakable promise that you'll always have his heart.