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Cold Iron and Glamours

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Din was a little far from home. Mandalore was half a continent away, still cursed and scorched from the Purge. So he wanders, like the rest of his kind, under the banner of the mythosaur, finding connection only in the lonely watchtowers used by the coverts. 

The child changed this, slowly working his way into his life, till there was not a time when he couldn’t remember the weight of Grogu in the saddlebag at his knee, or held in front of him as his mount paced forward slowly. The child had an unusual fascination with frogs, and tended to eat anything he could get his hands on, but he was a happy, warbling toddler.   

Till the day Din woke up from his slumber next to Crest, looked over at Grogu’s nest of blankets, and found a small, pointy-eared green creature. Din reached for his sword automatically, drawing it from its sheath next to Crest’s saddle.

The creature stirred, yawning, then extended its claws towards Din. “Patoo!”

After recovering from his initial shock, Din examined the child. Grogu demanded food, wanted to ride on Din’s pauldron, and climbed over Crest’s tail, in the exact same ways before. 

“Well, you’re not human.” Din said, feeling like he was stating the obvious.

Grogu chewed on a piece of trail bread noisily. He also had tiny fangs now, Din noticed, though he had the feeling Grogu had always had those - it explained how he ate like he did.

“Are you from the southern lands?” Din asked, unrolling his map. “They have lizard-folk down there, I think.”

Most of his travels - and most of his map - was based around the remains of the lands united under the Iron Empire. For all that the Empire had cursed and salted his homeland, the nations remaining could afford to pay more readily than the inhabitants of the wild zones. 

Grogu babbles on in his toddler noises, unable to answer. 

Din sighs and goes to saddle his drake.




The lord of the next county he rides through pays him for his slaying of the kobold den, then notices the child. 

“You’ve a creature of Faerie there,” the dark-skinned man says thoughtfully. “Hello, little one. You’re a long way from home.”

“He’s a faerie?” Din asks, as Grogu babbles back in reply.

The lord looks at Grogu’s hand on Din’s bracer, the corner of his mouth quirking. “Looks like a changeling to me. Unless that’s not real Mandalorian iron.”

Din tips his helmet down flatly. “I suppose the legends of cold iron burning the fae are true then?”

“Quite real, Sir Knight. Our smith still makes some good coin selling off talismans, and our hedgewitch swears all her wards in cold iron to keep off the boggarts.”

“I don’t suppose you know where I could find a friendly faerie?”

The lord strokes his chin, then readjusts his cape. “Haven’t seen any since my grandmother’s time, when she was Lady here. We used to have a bargain with them to keep our lands safe, pure water, healthy crops. Not since the Emperor rooted them all out and burned them.”

Din nods, and turns to set Grogu back on top of Crest’s saddle.

“There is a rumor, though….”




It takes weeks of traveling, of chasing rumors and favors from one person to the next, interspaced with breaks where Din’s quests as an errant knight bring in more gold to keep them moving forward. A war drake, even a hardy Mandalorian one, eats a lot, and Crest has been with him long enough for him to think of the drake fondly. Din’s armor and weapons require maintenance, and he has to find an appropriate smith or magician to renew the enchantments on them. He thinks longingly of his gold-armored buir , who traditionally did such work, but she is long gone in her own quest.

Grogu watches his fights with fascination, staying out of the way on Crest’s saddle, or in whatever hiding spot Din places him in. Occasionally he toddles around their camp with a small stick in one hand, attacking the tip of Crest’s armored tail. While Grogu’s odd, green appearance, stays the same, most people do not automatically connect him to the Fae.

When a peddler for love tonics and elixirs waylays Din in a market - where he is just trying to buy ten pounds of meat, no bones - Din catches sight of Grogu’s little claw curling. A second later, the peddler, who is practically standing on Din’s boots and ignoring his demands to leave, sneezes and spots burst over his face. The man reaches up to feel his face in horror, shrieks at the onburst of monstrous acne, and flees.

Din gives Grogu a speculative look, hoists his bundle of meat over one shoulder, and goes to feed his mount. 

When an enterprising pickpocket snatches the beskar spear off of Din’s saddlebags, he barely gets two steps before a chamberpot falls on his head, he trips on a sudden root, and the seams of his pants split and wrap around his legs. Din retrieves his spear and begins cleaning it without a word, leaving the thief to his headache and messy embarrassment. 

The first time the men trailing him show up and try to snatch Grogu, the child shrieks in panic and fear, and the man holding him convulses. Oozing blisters burst over his hands with the smell of scorched flesh, and Grogu falls out of his grip.

His partner, blocking Din’s strikes with a mage-forged shield, suddenly leans over and vomits inside his helmet. Din strikes him on the back of the head while he is occupied with trying to lift his visor, and rushes to the child. The first man flees, barely able to hold his sword in his afflicted hands, but not before Din sees the markings on his pauldron and the runes attached to his belt.  Someone from the remnants of the Iron Empire wants Grogu. 




By the time he finally manages to find a Fae, he’s made an odd circle of connections outside of the group of errant Mandalorians he usually socializes with. 

The Fae woman is a tall, olive-skinned warrior from the south, bearing two runed swords that are lighter than Din’s favored hand-and-a-half sword. 

Din approaches her with his customary straightforward nature. “Are you a Fae?”

She looks at him in a little amusement, then at the child, and sheds her traveling cloak to expose her bare arms, the intricate pieces of her leather armor. Everything about her seems to shimmer for a second, then normal, human aspects of her seem to fade away. She is just as tall, still humanoid, but her bone structure has changed, growths burst from her skin at elbow and shoulder like knots on a branch, and her eyes are a luminous amber-brown, quivering with reflected light. The tips of her ears have grown, curling into delicate points, and bits of webbing link her thumb and index finger. 

“Oh.” Din says, unnecessarily, and turns to introduce his child. 

The Fae and Grogu converse silently, linking hands and growing small flowers out of the moss next to them. Then Grogu rises, and buries himself back into the folds of Din’s cloak, turning his face away from the Fae.

“Aren’t you going to take him home?” Din asks, reaching down to put his hand on Grogu’s back.

The Fae holds out her arms silently. Din looks at her in confusion, then at the long expanse of brown skin, marred by scars and slashes of angry red, sections of swollen flesh around the small metal pins driven under her skin. Talisms and tiny charms are stitched into her flesh, leaving angry bursts of infection and blisters. “I am earth-bound, Knight of Mandalore. I can never pass through a ring or walk in Faerie again.”

“I don’t understand.” Din says uncomfortably, recognizing the wounds as self-inflicted. “Does Grogu have to do that? What does earth-bound mean?”

“That is his choice.” the Fae says steadily. “As he grows older, as he grows into his power, he will feel the call of Faerie strongly. Some heed this call and go to die, others descend into madness. To carry the weight of never having a home is something you know well, Mandalorian.”

Din thinks of the stories of Mandalore he was told as a child, of a land surrounded by the haze of curse wards, of rivers and lakes turned to glass, earth to multi-colored sand, where every step set off chimes and shrieks. Mandalore is only a story to him, as it was cursed before he was born, far before he was orphaned and found by an errant knight. Home is the grey stones of the watchtower with Paz, the heat of the forge with the Armorer, and the comfort of Crest’s scales against his back and Grogu’s presence on his lap. 

“And the...metal?” Din nods his helmet towards her arms.

“They stave off the call. They tie me to the mortal realm. It is my choice, even though the old ways of contracts and patrons are long gone.”

Din looks at her for a moment, his eyes shifting to the village behind her, where she had fought to free every mortal from their ruler and demonic summons alike, where the villagers had hailed her by name as their patron. 

“There are others.” the Fae says. “I have felt the gates to Faerie open again, as some of my kind passed through. Some chose to die by the hearttree, but some have returned to this realm again. Find one of them. They can help you and Grogu.” 

She teaches Grogu a little for this purpose, how to find and use a faerie summoning ring, and marks several likely spots on Din’s map. 




“I guess this looks faerie.” Din says skeptically, when they reach the ring of standing stones. There are a lot of mushrooms on the ground, and faint bits of moss, but he was expecting bioluminescent flowers and butterflies. 

“Alright, there you go, kid.” He sets Grogu down in the middle of it.

Everything promptly goes to shit. 

The attempts to snatch Grogu have mainly all failed, because Din is a knight of Mandalore, has been doing this for over fifteen years, and bears the blessing of the mythosaur carved into his bones, from the moment he took the Creed. The golems that rise up out of the earth in piles of dirt and stone break apart with strikes to their neck and head, but if Din can’t crush the scroll chamber in their heads in time, they just reform. 

The enchanter’s voice echoes across the plain, booming from some unseen location, demanding Grogu. 

The faerie ring around the child blooms with flowers and vines, roots reaching up from the ground to intertwine with branches, trailing fronds weaving together to create a barrier. Brilliant golden lilies burst to life among the greenery, their stamen trailing a shimmering dust through the air. 

Din goes down in a pool of murk, and swings a gauntleted fist into the side of the golem’s head, battering it repeatedly till the earth gives way. He closes his fingers around the small clay cartridge inside until it shatters and the artificial life in the creation seeps away.

The child is gone, the nature barrier around the ring torn down and trampled under heavy foot treads. 

A burst of arcane fire spews from the area where Din left his drake. 

By the time the sun is starting to set, Din has lost the child, has a heavily-injured Crest, and has gained a -possibly vampiric- fellow Mandalorian, and his poison-spitting companion. 

“I shall join you till the child is returned to your care,” the possible vampire says, tugging his helm on. Din watches as the man’s scarred face and the glint of fangs vanishes under the steely reassurance of the T-shaped Mandalorian visor. The armor recognizes him and shifts slightly, fitting itself to his body; were he not under a Creed, it would have burned him. 

The woman next to him in her shrouded leathers just nods, spinning an arrow in one hand. 

Din draws a breath. “I’ll need some more help for this. He’ll have to be tracked magically.”




By the time they locate the enchanter’s tower - and kriff, if it isn’t one of the Iron Empire’s old crystal lodestones - Din is faintly surprised at how many came to his aid. Ser Cara and her holy aura blackened by guilt and whatever weight she bears, but still strong with mace and shield. Fett - who ignores the titles of knighthood with derision, for all that the armor of a Mandalorian knight accepts him. Fennec, who attaches herself to Fett, but takes the time to tell Din his crossbow skills are terrible. The Mandalorian princess is a bit of a wild card, and Din isn’t sure he believes her claim at all, but she and her guards fight well, and the princess’s paper magic is what locates Grogu and his captor. 

There’s a dragon perched on top of the crystal tower, idly scratching runes into the faucets with his claws, either in some harmonic resonance composing, or deep magic. 

“Ha,” Fett says. “Dragon’s mine. I love dragons.”

Din has no idea what to make of that statement - but it’s not unheard of for a knight of Mandalore to take down a dragon, he’s fought a few in his time.  

Twenty minutes after Fett sets off to lure, or confront, the dragon, the dragon rockets off of his perch, screeches in outrage, and wings it over the horizon. Fett does not reappear. Din eyes Fennec in questioning.

 She shrugs and taps her wrist, where Fett’s heart-symbol is tattooed on her skin. “He’s fine. Just a bit preoccupied.”

They make their way into the tower, then split up to cover more ground. Din follows the tug around his heart that leads to Grogu, his Clan, his child, and traces the heart thread to the cell where Grogu is ringed in cold iron.

Din knows that Grogu’s changeling nature keeps normal iron from hurting him, but the wards and runes set on the cell to imprison him are hurting him, and Din smashes every bit that he can find, tearing them out of their arcane settings. 

“Kid,” Din says awkwardly, feeling the resonance in his heart grow as Grogu reaches for his chestplate. “You’re safe. I got you.”

With the usual penchant for dramatics, the ex-Imperial enchanter chooses then to appear. He materializes in a teleportation ring, talks big about his plans, then summons a suit of ethereal armor and a glimmering mage-sword, rather than using his magic to fight.

Din side-eyes him, then beats him and his shiny armor into the ground with his beskar blade. Magic blade or not, the enchanter doesn’t have the experience to use it well. 

The enchanter’s ethereal armor vanishes under his concussion, and the hilt of his sword rolls oddly towards Din. All the runes on it’s blade light up, then flow off the sword, running across the stone floor in a ball of light, and attach themselves to Din.

Din kicks at it as the runes run up his boot, over the plates of his armor, before settling in a glowing orb embossed on his unmarked paldron. “Off!” 

Grogu watches this in fascination, blinking, then holds his arms up to Din to be picked up. Din scoops up his child, huffs at the glowing orb on his shoulder, then drags the enchanter by the collar off to find the others.

Princess Bo-Katan has a spitting fit when she sees the orb, and launches into a rant about the future of Mandalore, rightful monarchy, curses, wards, and how Din stole her destiny.

“You said it was a sword you wanted.” Din says in annoyance. “You never said it was a magical being that attaches itself to you after you beat it in combat!” He tries to scrape the orb off his shoulder. It refuses to budge, and his fingers pass through it. 

The enchanter comes out of his concussion-induced daze enough to chuckle in a practiced tone, then wiggles his fingers. 

Din spins towards him as the ground erupts. “Cara, null him!”

Cara clamps her gauntleted hands down on the enchanter’s shoulders, her eyes lighting up as she struggles to summon what was left of her divine powers. The light flows from her eyes onto the enchanter, wrapping him in gold chains. 

She takes a heavy breath and steps back, slumping. “I can’t do that again,” she warns. 

The enchanter twitches in outrage. Fennec calmly points at the crystalline walls surrounding them, through which they can see where golems are pulling themselves out of the ground and floor, made up of the purple-white mineral of the crystal.

Din tucks Grogu into his satchel, pulls a fold of his cloak over him, and lifts his sword.




Golems made of the customary clay, or earth, Din can literally beat to death. These, made of the very tower itself, take a great amount of precise strength to crack open, and hit back much harder. 

Fennec’s arrows do nothing against them, and she switches to daggers and neck strikes. The princess pulls out her scrolls and strips of parchment in one hand, her beskar sword in the other, and tosses out blasts of force and summons vines to trip and herd. Her two guards, Koska and Axe, work in tandem, shielding and striking. Cara, with her enchanted mace, and Din with his greatsword, are the most effective, but neither can heal, and even the blessing of the mythosaur and Cara’s remaining ties to her deity can only go so far. 

They manage to clear the room, with a combined effort, and Fennec stomps around, crushing scroll cylinders. Outside the room, the evening sunlight shimmers over an enclosing circle of crystal golems. 

Din calculates as he tries to catch his breath. He doesn’t entertain grand thoughts of doom, ever, but this is...not good. 

Cara kicks the enchanter in frustration when he laughs and points out how badly they are at a disadvantage. “You’ve made a valiant stand - oof!”

Then Grogu tugs on Din’s cloak and lets out a warbling noise as he points. The earth ripples around them, enough that even the stone floor of the tower shifts. The hillocks around the tower rise up, spilling bushes and loose dirt, and rain begins to pour from sudden clouds overhead. The light from the sun fades, leaving only glints of sunbeams that jump between the faceted surfaces of the golems and crystal walls around them. 

The golems begin to sink into the soft soil. It slows them, tripping some, fouling their joints, as they all turn to surge towards an unknown point. A streak of green light lights up where the golems are trying to converge, and Din hears the familiar clash of metal against crystal, though oddly muted, changed, as if on a different resonance. 

It takes him a moment to realize the green light is from runes, lighting up the blade of a sword like the Fae woman’s, though hers were white. The figure wielding it can’t quite cut straight through the crystal, but the golems crack oddly and split into fissures as they are struck down. Tiny spews of sparks shoot upward as the runes on the sword meet the scroll cylinders controlling the golems. 

Din watches, sword in hand, as Grogu babbles softly. Most of the outer walls of the tower have dissolved into golems, and the rain and earth press upwards around the remaining room. The figure advances steadily, sparing precise steps to turn to one side or another to cut or block, moving through the line as the golems draw towards them. 

A unicorn stands at the edge of the mud, horn holding a faint reflection of that green light, and aims a few kicks at golems that get too close. It has a saddle and packs, but no reins, and the bridle on its dark head has war spikes where a bit should be. Din sees a faint outline of a banner rippling over its withers, but there isn’t enough light to make out the heraldry. 

The enchanter looks like he’s about ready to puke up his liver. He screeches something and Cara kicks him again without looking down. 

He should go out there and help, Din thinks, since this is a badly numbered fight, but this is also now a clearly one-sided fight, and he can’t stop staring. 

There’s a field of crystal shards scattered over the mud by the time the figure gets to the doorway of the room. They lower their sword and shake water off their cloak and hood, tossing the dark material back. 

Grogu warbles in excitement. Din sees the same kind of luminescent eyes the Fae woman had, but this man’s are blue, shifting in shade like a tidal pool. 

“Hail and well met.” the man says calmly. The green runes on his sword fade out slowly as he sheathes it. He’s in soot-treated armor from neck to toe, more leather than plate, with no helm. The gold of his hair is darkened by water around his forehead, but is short enough not to hide the point of his ears. 

“Are you a Fae?” Din asks, not quite thinking.

“Indeed.” There’s a gold lily worked through the clasp of his cloak, same as the ones Grogu created at the faerie ring. When the man shifts his gaze towards Grogu, Din sees the same lily emblem etched into the metal of his right pauldron. 

“I do believe,” the Fae says, not breaking eye contact with Grogu, “that I’m here to join your party.”




Din’s entire knowledge of the Fae comes from what bits he has learned while trying to find one for the child. 

Cara, with all her esoteric knowledge from her life as a paladin, gushes facts. “There hasn’t been a Fae Knight since the Empire seeded Faerie with iron! Have you sworn to a kingdom or become a patron?”

“I’m errant,” the Fae replies. “Too much ground to cover to pick just one place.” Grogu is in his arms, claws tapping against the metal of the man’s dark bracers.

Din swallows, looking at the child. “Are you going to take him home?”

“There is no home.” the Fae says softly. “The hearttree is laced with iron, and if you stay in Faerie long enough, you will die.”

Din thinks of Mandalore again, of the desert, the trees and bushes turned to bone, the frozen statues that once had been sacred beasts, the dry air that sucks moisture out of all it touches. 

“If he doesn’t go back, what will happen to him?”

The Fae knight regards Grogu carefully. “If he keeps hexing people like he’s been doing, he’s going to get very restless and feel the call. As a changeling he does not have to return, but he will find it hard not to make a pilgrimage someday. If he does that, he will need to know how to use his magic, how to protect himself, and how to find the strength to return.” 

The man tips his head and looks up at Din’s visor. “You’ve sworn Clan with him. That will tie you two together and aid him in finding his way back to you.”

“So he’s not going to leave?”

“Not now.”

Din remembers what else the man said. “And you’re….joining us?”

“Indeed.” the Fae says. There’s a faint crinkle at the corner of his mouth. “This is the Way.”

Din starts. “It is not. You can’t say -”

“Apologies. But it is much the same as how your mythosaur blesses you and provides guidance. I am brought here by the same channels of fate, just different.”

“So you’re coming with me? Where?” Din’s entire quest of the last two years has just abruptly ended with the realization that he can’t take the child home, Grogu’s home is with him, apparently. He feels a swell of relief in his chest. 

Princess Bo-Katan glowers her way into the conversation. “You’re going to bond with the spirit and free Mandalore as its new king.”

Her two guards nod in affirmation of this.

“Absolutely not.”

Bo-Katan launches into a rant about duty and honor, and the powers the spirit gives. Din tries to get a word in edgewise.

The Fae knight stands back with Grogu, watching in faint amusement. “Humans are so cute,” he says in an undertone to Grogu.

Cara catches this, and whips her head around in new curiosity. “If you took oaths of knighthood, you have to have to be at least partially human by now.”

“Partially.” the Fae cedes to this, his mouth crinkling again. 

Din decides the best course of action is a hasty retreat. 




“Sorry about the rain.” the Fae says apologetically, as they slog through the mud to get out from under his localized rain clouds. Fennec trails after them without a word.

Cara claimed custody of the enchanter, and is planning to head to the nearest temple. The princess and her guards are going back to their station near the Mandalore border, after Din reluctantly agreed to show up later. Much later. 

“It’s fine.” All things considered, Din can handle some water over getting torn apart by crystal golems. Grogu is back in his satchel, under Din’s cloak to stay dry. 

The unicorn trots over to meet them once they leave the mud, and shoves its head into the Fae’s shoulder. 

“Is he...yours?” Din watches the exchange, as the unicorn is careful not to scratch the man with his spiked bridle, and the man pats his neck in return. The unicorn is built like a destrier, heavy in the shoulder and flank. 

“She is.”

Din pauses to think. “I need to go find my drake. He’s at Fett’s lair.” He can stop there, reassess and pick a direction from there. 

Fennec snickers at this. The Fae lifts an eyebrow slightly, then gestures for him to lead on. 




By the time they reach the abandoned temple Fett has claimed (Din is a little worried he desecrated it, but there’s no evidence of divine retribution or curses yet) Din has noticed that the Fae has a mouthful of delicate fangs. Not like the pronounced canines that Fett has, but like that of a shark, needle-like and pearlescent. They are the same as Grogu’s fangs, just more of them.

 Din can’t keep from noticing, every time the man smiles at Grogu, or relaxes enough to actually open his mouth when he speaks. It seems a little out of place, since after two days on the road, he’s seen enough of the Fae to see him out of combat and - and with his gold hair, soft features, and lithe build, the Fae is ethereally beautiful. 

Apparently there was some truth to all those myths of Mandalorian kings keeping captured Fae as consorts. Din is not entirely sure about any of their shared history, since apparently Mandalore has never been a Fae-friendly place, after they removed all the rings. But the desire to have claim to a beautiful being that can kick his ass - Din totally gets that now.

Din is positive that beautiful was not the first word that came to mind when he saw the knight. No, it was more like he’s good, and can I ask him to show me that stance? This has to be a Fae thing, some kind of glamour, because he is also positive the man is shorter.  When he stepped into the crystal tower, he could meet Din’s eyes straight on; now he has to tip his head up. And his eyes keep sparkling, and Din has never been so glad for a full-face helm before, since he’s sure neither of them will accept the answer of “I just want to classify what color your eyes are” as an acceptable reason for staring. 

Fennec watches all of this with a knowing smirk, and Din badly wants to ask her what she has noticed, but also is too afraid to ask, since that will probably result in something embarrassing. He’s going to find out anyway, as soon as she tells Fett.  

Everyone is momentarily distracted by Fett’s new housemate, who is an adult dragon, in the midst of moving his rock collection into the courtyard. The dragon pauses to give them all a dirty look, then bestoes a few words in human speech about how rude they are being, before ignoring them all.

“We’re friends now,” Fett assures them, tossing a bottle of something bright blue at Fennec.  Din can almost smell the fumes through his helmet when she tugs the cork out. “Good, you got the kid back -” Fett stops, tilts his head, and bares his fangs. 

“You kidnapped my brother-in-law.” The Fae says cooly. Din quietly notes that the Fae is taller now, broader in the shoulder, and his eyes have gone dark. 

“You got Skywalker ?” Fett whirls on Din. “Don’t tell me you summoned him?”

“No?” Din says in confusion, trying very much to not think of the name, since Fett is being rude to give out names unasked. “He showed up to save Grogu and uh, is here with me.”

The Fae drums his fingers on his sword hilt. “I demand retribution.”

“Oh, kriff off,” Fett snaps, looking annoyed. “Solo broke a contract and I was just doing my job.”

The Fae raises an eyebrow pointedly. “Because doing your job entirely demands using your full nature.”

Fett stiffens indignantly. “He asked for the biting.” 

“That’s not how he tells that story.”

“He also tell you about our torrid affair on the island of Ight?”

“Torrid?” The Fae sounds nauseated. “Ok, stop talking now.”

Both of them eye each other for a moment, then jointly turn to glance at Din. Din wonders when he got selected to be everyone’s parent. 

“Food?” he suggests.




The first time Din sees the Fae out of armor, he walks into a wall. 

Grogu chortles in amusement. Din takes a step back and shakes his head.

“Do you need to have your visor adjusted?” the Fae asks, putting Grogu down and coming over to Din. His hand hovers in the air near Din’s helmet, then withdraws. “I’d help, but I can’t touch you.”

All Din can think of is the fact that the Fae is bonded to a unicorn, and he’s not sure if unicorns require sexual purity in how they determine who is pure of heart or not. “Um.” he says, intelligently, because he might break if he has skin contact. 

“Your armor.” the Fae says patiently. “Beskar is just as bad as cold iron.” He’s in the close-fitting tunic and leggings worn under his armor, and the curve of his waist is within grabbing range, the edge of his collarbone peeking out of the notch of his tunic. Without the layers of steel and leather padding out his frame, he looks soft and crystal-edged to the touch, the layers binding him down to the moral realm gone. 

Din has the intense urge to fit their frames together, mold the man into his arms and see if his skin is as soft as it looks.

“I’m sorry.” the Fae says, his eyes darkening. He grows a little taller before Din can speak. “I’ll use the glamour.” The serene air of his warrior persona drowns out the beauty, making him more human, somber and reserved. 

Din wishes he could melt into his armor. “Forgive me, Sir Knight, that was...inappropriate.” His face is red, probably flushing across his neck and shoulders.

“Oh, you didn’t do anything.” the Fae says easily. “It just happens sometimes - I’m aware of my nature.” 

“My spoken name is Skywalker,” the Fae continues. “You may use it.”

Din nods at this. He has been consciously avoiding the name till he received permission. He lingers a little, feeling the odd urge to reciprocate. Well, it’s probably only fair, given the others know his name. “My spoken name is Djarin.”

“Well met, Djarin.” Skywalker smiles at him, and Din sees the glint of fangs, the wild ocean waves in his eyes.