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kalevalakryze · 1 year

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This Is Not Your Weakness

I have just been thinking up middle paragraphs for each prompt on the bingo list and then trying to write around it. This one went longer than I intended and I’m not sure how I fee, about it? But… they’re my favorites so I’m gonna post anyway bc we deserve content.

“Scared or Ashamed to sleep because of their nightmares, especially around others.” / “head lolling as they no longer have the strength to keep it up.”

Mandalorians and fear was a tricky mix. Their entire lives were spent as both predator and prey, yet they were taught from a young age that fear wasn’t something worth feeding, that allowing that fear to consume you in the moment could lead to death. Bo-Katan Kryze had learned to control her fear before she’d started basic training, back when her father was around to teach her these important lessons. But there was no way to stop those fears when you were most vulnerable: asleep.

Bo’s best excuse for herself for each night of caff induced awareness rested on her reclaimed title. As mand’alore of a planet that had to build itself out of so many layers of ash and carnage, every hour of her time was accounted for. Eighteen hours of their nineteen hour cycle was spent busy: between getting satellites in atmo that would allow for off planet communication, to building homes, schools, and hospitals that could withstand the upper surface, to keeping Alamites at bay, recreating the boundaries between the two species.

She would sleep, sure, though never in the tent she’d set up between the two tribes. If she dared to close her eyes, it was in the privacy of her ship, moved further away from the others, and locked up tight. It was easier that way, when the nightmares attacked. She didn’t have to worry about the shame, wouldn’t have to worry about lashing out and hurting someone. She was fine alone. Always had been, always will be, thank you very much.

The lack of sleep had started to take its’ toll on Bo Katan, however, as she fueled her days with caff and tried to keep herself occupied. She wasn’t exactly a liability, yet. But she often found herself having to snap her head back to attention during her tasks, as if the helmet she wore to mask the bags under her eyes weighted several times it’s original amount.

Her last important objective of the day had been to visit with The Armorer. While the leader of the watch had passed control over to Bo fully, she still often sought out council on how to lead. She understood where she’d gone wrong in the past, had been so afraid of being like her sister, she’d tried to be a warlord instead (it felt like all she was good at, after all), so The Armorer would give her lessons, would help her understand a different perspective of it all.

The ringing of a dozen hammers ringed throughout the cavern as Bo approached, beskar being melted and forged by the adepts, tritanite and crystal being combined with imperial scraps to create their building materials being put together by apprentices and their foundlings. Despite all the activity, The Armorer was like a beacon to Bo, the way the blue flames of the forge twinkled against her helmet, or the way torchlight reflected and danced across gold paint.

“Funny, wasn’t expecting to see you here.” The Mand’alore greeted as she came to the woman’s side, observing as she worked a beskar plate into the shape of a thigh guard. The other woman was silent, though from the minuscule tilt of her head, Bo could tell the joke didn’t land.

“Come, lady Bo-Katan. While this cools, we can work on our next lesson.” The woman promised, setting aside the piece on a separate rack and stepping away. Her visor turned to stare into Bo’s for a step too long. “Perhaps we can even work on your comedy.” The mirth in her tone was palpable, though it left a pout on the niteowl’s face, which left her glad her helmet was on to cover a look so childish.

The Armorer led Bo through the cave system, torches lining the walls, as well as bits of plant life that had started spreading from the gardens. The two walked in silence, and it was then Bo’s head started to droop once more. Her feet kept moving, though only the scrape of her helmet against her breastplate was enough to jolt her back every few seconds. The Armorer, leading the way still, said nothing.

Soft light filtered into the humid natural greenhouse. Most who tended to the small farm and flowers were out at the time, giving the two the entire space to themselves. Out of familiarity, Bo sank down into a patch of grass. When The Armorer lowered herself closer to her side than normal, Bo didn’t notice. The smells and quiet were hitting just the right spot to lull her into that false sense of safety.

She hadn’t noticed when The Armorer started speaking, couldn’t process the Basic coming from her mouth as the other woman stayed on track for the entire reason they’d come down there. Every time her head lolled, she’d find herself snapping back to attention with the phantom pain of her hand being crushed once more, fingers flexing into tufts of grass to force herself to remember that they had healed, she had healed, and she was fine now.

The next time her head would drop and her vision would start to slip from reality, she’d felt an arm wrap around her shoulders. That arm was supposed to be safe, but in the moment, as she struggled between awareness and slumber, she couldn’t process that the arm was offering comfort, could only process the feeling of imperials hauling her to her feet, Gideon’s hand on her jaw.

“No!” She’d rasped, elbow flying out to jam into a beskar plate as she scrambled to her feet, arms raised defensively and breathing hard enough her vocoder picked it up, morphing and amplifying the sound. She blinked slowly then, head down turned to stare at where The Armorer sat expectantly. “I..” Bo trailed off, the muscles in her jaw flexing. It was a worry that ate at her often, finding new ways to prove to The Armorer that Bo was the last person who should rule Mandalore.

Instead of reprimanding Bo, The Armorer shifted, a gloved hand wrapping around her own. It only took a gentle tug for the woman to sink back into the grass, this time, close enough to The Armorer that she sat in the crook of her arm. “Remove your helmet?” The woman’s voice was low, soft, and undemanding. This time, offering a choice over an order.

Bo pulled her helmet off then, before the words finished leaving the other’s mouth. Her helmet was dropped into the grass with a dull thunk, where it promptly dropped over to its side, rangefinder dipping into the dirt. Her knees pulled to her chest then, one arm wrapping around them so her vambraces caught against her knee plates, while her other hand tried in vain to wipe the exhaustion from her face. She didn’t want to look at The Armorer, but soon found herself staring into a tinted visor anyway.

“You haven’t been sleeping.” The Armorer stated the obvious, like Bo needed to hear. She could feel the biting retort forming on a heavy tongue, though a tilt of the Armorer’s head, signaling her intention to continue, put that fire out immediately. “You’ve spoken, recently. That we should be setting examples for those who look to us for guidance.” And yeah, Bo remembered that day clearly. When things had been manageable enough with the thrill and the high of being home again had been enough to force the nightmares away. It never lasted, though.

“Your fears do not make you weak, Lady Kryze. You will find that those who follow you will not think less of you, when they see part of themselves they can relate to in someone.” Hearing it from someone so unflappable in everything, like The Armorer, who probably could have handled all of Bo’s trials with ease, only reignited that spark, that part of her that was so angry and looking for direction.

“Says the statue.” She’d snarked out, eyebrows furrowed. Green eyes squeezed shut tight, because she didn’t mean it, she hadn’t wanted to lash out on someone who gave her everything- before she could spiral more, she felt a hand interlocking with her own. Fingers molding together like they’d been made for this specific purpose.

“I have been afraid many times.” The Armorer admitted, visor not once leaving the fixed position on Bo Katan’s face. “Leading the covert somewhere new each time had been terrifying. Facing the Reptiles that rose against our covert the first time Ragnar attempted to take the creed, waking up with no memory of what had happened… it was haunting, bo Katan. We have all suffered, and we all have the right to handle our emotions, our fears, however we see fit. But brushing them aside may lead you to be just as big a liability as one who freezes in the field. Being Mandalorian does not mean you are unfeeling. You are worthy of the same time, care, and respect as any other.”

Bo’s mouth opened, she wanted to retort, of course, she’d never been good at allowing silence to hang, but… she hadn’t gotten much time with her sister, all things considered. And yet, Satine’s voice rang in The Armorer’s words. An older sister trying to talk a reckless child off their path, to make sure she understood that the same care she gave to others, she deserved in return. She’d brushed it aside then, had called Satine soft. But now, she found herself nodding mutely. ‘One does not speak, unless they know.’ And she didn’t know, didn’t know what to say or do, aside from nodding her head.

The silence hung for some time, as The Armorer’s head turned away. The arm never left her shoulders, Bo was glad, and as her head started to lull again, she felt herself being tugged closer. “I get nightmares, a lot of the time.” She’d admitted, arms wrapped around her legs, eyes half closed, hair falling forward to tickle the back of her neck. The Armorer, for her part, only moved to look down at the Mandalorian against her side, silently urging her to continue.

“About Gideon, usually. Of the purge. Of Death Watch and my sister…” she trailed off, because how could you talk about a death you’d only felt? She’d created enough scenarios in her head since she learned her sisters fate, could imagine the entire memory as if she’d been there, watching as the dark saber went through her sister’s back. Just like with Pre, and the way the Zabrak had brought the blade down against his neck faster than the man could even finish speaking.

“I always wake up feeling worse, like I’m going to leave my ship and I’ll walk right into any of those memories. Like every choice I make could lead to the fall of Mandalore, again.” She couldn’t stop once she started, even if she’d wanted to. Speaking of them was making those fears real, but they felt… like an obstacle to work through when they were palpable.

“You will not lead to the fall of Mandalore. And you hadn’t before.” The Armorer finally spoke. “I understand you surrendered the Darksaber to Gideon in an attempt to save our people from more harm, you couldn’t have won in any situation. Surrendering then gave you the ability to be here, to walk this path, the right time. Mandalorian’s are no longer killing each other. That would have never been accomplishable had you not walked both ways. This is what is different between then and now. We follow you not for the darksaber, who’s legacy died with it, but for your ability to unite.”

“You are not a destroyer, Bo-Katan Kryze, you are a uniter, a warrior, a Mandalorian.” And kriff, if that didn’t make Bo’s heart stop, the tears that welled into her eyes were wiped away quickly then, as she trained her gaze literally anywhere else. “These nightmares are not your weakness, either. You have overcome many obstacles on your journey to this point. Your song speaks of your hardships and your triumphs. When it is sung amongst our next generations, they will not remember you for your fears, they will remember you for who you are. The uniter that brought our people home.”

Bo’s face was pressed into the side of The Armorer’s breastplate at this point, her cheeks tinged red as salty tears carved paths down warm cheeks. “Thank you.. I think, I needed to hear that, more than our normal lesson.” She finally spoke, inhaling the scent of the flowers, and the woman beside her. It was enticing, the way the sweetness went with the smell of soot and leather.

“You did, however, I believe you may need sleep, more than any more lessons in learning the truth about yourself.” The other woman stood then, leaving Bo on the ground to lean against nothing, before she was helping her Mand’alore to her feet. Once steadied, she’d reached down for Bo’s helmet in the grass, wiping away the green blades and the dirt that had time to settle. The piece switched hands back to its rightful owner’s, and Bo dipped her head in thanks once more as she pulled it back over her head.

The Armorer once more took the lead through the tunnels, leading Bo back to the forge, and then outside. Instead of parting ways like Bo had been expecting, The Armorer kept leading, past her tent and to Bo Katan’s. Wordless understanding passed between them, and Bo led the other woman inside.

The interior was spartan in design, considering how little it was used as a sleeping quarters. A data pad sat against an old wooden crate, with her drafts for the New Republic still waiting to be checked over. Her cot, still stiff from whatever factory the vendor on Nevarro had obtained it from, sat unmade against the far corner, positioned in a way that she would be able to see whoever entered before they saw her.

The two didn’t need to speak, as the golden helmeted warrior moved the data pad and sat on the crate, which creaked its protest at the weight, but still held strong. Bo dropped herself onto the edge of the cot, exhaustion weighing her down as she started to remove her armor. With the Armorer right there, it encouraged her to be mildly more careful with each piece than she had tended to be lately. Carefully stacking them beside the bed in a way that she would still be able to dangle her arm and touch Beskar.

“I will be here, for you.” The Armorer promised as Bo lay back, pulling rumpled sheets forwards her chin as green eyes watched the other woman. She hadn’t wanted to admit her relief at the assurance. That when she woke up, even if she would be walking into a hell scape of her minds creation, she had someone to hold onto, who wouldn’t let her deal with it alone. When she fell asleep, it was blissfully silent and dark, aside from the way, even in her dreams, the view of crystal fractured sunlight gleamed off a golden horned helmet.

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