Reforged

This story was co-authored with the fabulous Dinah Lance.

---

Even through the filter of electrobinoculars, the icy glare from the vast Hothian ice field was blinding in the afternoon sunlight, but that didn’t stop the invading race of true Sith from marching through the massive dimensional gate that towered over the gathering troops and small ships.

For five horrible minutes, Minuet Avery Revan sat on her snorting tauntaun and watched the invasion begin, powerless to stop it. After nearly three years of searching, killing, and interrogating those who were waiting for their masters’ return, she’d finally found the coordinates for the ancient gate that would allow the Sith race to end their self-imposed exile on the other side of the galaxy.

Min hadn’t expected to live long enough to get this far—finding the information had taken her into the deepest part of what was left of the new Sith empire. It was a hollow victory now that she was sitting alone on this frozen rock of a planet, the message she’d sent to the Mandalorians she’d left behind on Dxun ignored. But then perhaps that wasn’t much of a surprise considering how she’d left. Charging off on her own, convinced as usual that she was the only one who could save the galaxy again seemed really arrogant and stupid now. Hindsight wasn’t just 20/20; it was a real bitch.

Now, with only a few thousand troops through the gate, the invading fleet was at their weakest; in a couple of days their forces would number in the hundreds of thousands. But there wasn’t anything left that Min could do on her own except make it back to her ship and send out warnings once again to the Mandalorian base and hope that this time they’d listen to her. If not, she’d have no choice but to contact the Jedi and the Republic Fleet—the last two groups she wanted to call. Even if they believed her and had the numbers to spare, they might try and negotiate. By the time they realized that there was no negotiating with these people, the true Sith would be burning worlds.

Left with no other options, Min jerked on the reins and prepared to turn back when the sound of ships boomed through the atmosphere above. Or not ships exactly. She turned the electrobinoculars up to the specks of light streaking toward the gate, getting bigger and bigger by the second. Memories of a war fought over a decade ago hit her right in the gut.

Basilisk droids. And this time, they were on her side.

Min fumbled with her comm through her thick gloves until she picked up a frequency filled with familiar voices barking orders in Mandalorian. Homesickness for a small bunker on a jungle moon caught her completely off guard, and it took her a second to find her voice.

“Use the droids to hit the power source first, and then the gate. Once you’ve cut them off, take out the ground troops last.”

Shocked silence crackled over the channel. Then a gruff drawl that she recognized as Xarga Ordo demanded, “Who the hell is this?”

Despite everything, she couldn’t help but smile. “It’s Revan, you old bastard.”

There was a surprised snort and laugh on the other end. “Figures. You going to tell me how to fight a battle now, girl? Teach your grandmother to suck eggs.”

“Only because I know that you can’t hit the broad side of a battlecruiser.”

“You keep up with that mouth of yours and I’m going to toss you in the dueling ring and beat the sass out of you,” Xarga muttered.

It sounded like he was going to say more, but a voice in the background cut him off. Min stopped breathing, straining to make out if it was Canderous.

The affirmative grunt by Xarga followed by a series of orders to the Mandalorian troops brought her attention back to the fight. The Basilisk droids made a sharp turn toward the gate’s power source, and a Mandalorian troop transport came into view on the opposite side of the field. The Siths defensive ion cannons opened fire on both.

Min nudged her tauntaun forward and lifted her electrobinoculars in time to see the transport’s bay doors open and Mandalorians spill out onto the battlefield led by a man in silver armor. While there was too much interference from the gate and the invading Force users to clearly sense him from that distance, there was no doubt who it was. Min’s heels dug into the tauntaun’s flanks. She ignited one of her lightsabers and charged into the battle.

Everything after that narrowed down to disjointed fragments of time and blurred instinct all focused on survival. Two Sith she cut down from behind falling to their knees, dead before they even hit the ground. Shouts, pointed fingers, and then blaster fire snapping and crackling against her lightsaber when the Sith sensed her approach. Flying through the air as the Force slammed her off of the tauntaun and into a nearby snowdrift, knocking all of the air out of her lungs and sending shooting pain through her ribs.

Strange and angry red faces covered in tentacles running toward her. The air charging and the spidery white crackle of lightning, followed by screams in an ancient language and the stink of charred flesh. Automatic, cold movements, making split-second judgments on who was an enemy and who was a friend. Pushing aside the ache in her ribs and the heaviness in her tired arms and the sweat that tricked down her back despite the bitter cold.

And then the sky exploded into fire. She could only spare a glance or two, but from the shrieks of the red-skinned Sith, it was clear that the Mandalorians had taken out the power source and had turned their attention to the gate itself.

The fighting grew more intense as the Sith, now realizing they were cut off from both retreat and reinforcements, panicked. They moved in a frenzy of Force powers, blasters, and long, sharp weapons, breaking ranks as whatever military discipline they had shattered. The Mandalorian ground troops took full advantage, swarming over them and cutting them down.

Another large explosion, and then huge chunks of flaming debris rained down, as pieces of the gate scattered across the snowy battlefield. A screeching sound split the air above Min, and she hurled herself aside just in time to avoid being crushed by a piece bigger than her small spacecraft. This time instead of landing in a soft snowdrift, she landed on something hard. Pain sluiced through her arm, tuning everything out.

When she finally regained her wits, she realized that it almost silent. Min looked up to see Mandalorian and Sith bodies lying twisted on the ground, and two giant black stumps of twisted metal where the gate had stood. The sounds of the continuing battle were further away, drowned out by the howling of the wind.

Cradling her limp arm, she stumbled through the bodies, using the little that was left of her Force senses to find any that were still alive. She was unsuccessfully trying to dig out an unconscious Mandalorian with crushed legs from the chunk of metal that had nearly killed her when she heard the whine of repeating blasters powering up behind her.

She raised her good hand and shouted in Mandalorian, “Don’t shoot! I’m on your side.”

Min opened up her Force senses again and could feel the confusion of the men behind her. She didn’t want to hurt them, but she wasn’t about to get killed by friendly fire after everything she’d been through.

“Identify yourself,” one of them demanded. She could practically feel their twitchy fingers on the triggers of their weapons.

“She’s Revan,” said a low voice behind her.

His powerful, familiar presence, blazing with hot anger, seared her Force senses and tangled with her own emotions: three years of regret, loss, and pain for everything she’d cast aside. It all came crashing down on her at once and was too painful to bear. Min scrambled to close down her senses, before she did something completely foolish like break down sobbing.

She couldn’t stop herself from shaking as she turned around slowly to face Canderous. Or rather Mandalore’s helm. Min was torn between relief that she couldn’t see the anger on his face and aching to see him anyway. She just stared at him, not knowing what to say, until the creaking of the other Mandalorian troops shifting impatiently in the snow brought her attention back to the situation at hand.

Min nodded toward the wounded Mandalorian. “He’s still alive. I think I can lift the metal enough for you to move him, but you’ll have to be fast. I don’t have much strength left.”

She didn’t wait for a response; she simply moved toward the wreckage. When the Mandalorians were ready, she stretched out her good hand, focusing through the throbbing pain of her arm and limbs. The metal creaked and groaned as it shifted upward a few inches. It wasn’t much; she could have lifted it higher if she’d been at full strength, but it was enough for them to slide the unconscious man from under the wreckage. The second he was clear, Min let the hunk of metal slam down, relieved that she didn’t have to hold it up any longer.

Dizzy and panting from the effort, she leaned against the wreckage as the soldiers moved their wounded off the field, leaving her alone with Canderous.

“Will they be back?” he asked, his voice rendered distant and metallic from behind his helm.

Min shook her head. “I don’t think so, at least not in our lifetime. This was the only gate I found, and for them to travel by ship…” She shifted so she could cradle her broken arm easier. “It will take them decades to get here, if they decide to come.”

The dent in his breastplate and the way he stood gave away that he was wounded. Min wanted to offer healing, but she could barely stay upright at the moment, much less heal his wounds. Besides, she knew him well enough to know that any offer of help from her would be scorned.

Still, she couldn’t help but say, “You need a medic.”

“You too,” he grunted. He looked up at the darkening sky for a long, silent moment before speaking again. “My people will give you aid if you can’t heal yourself.”

My people. Not our people or your people. It didn’t matter that she was the one who’d made the distinction herself the day she left. It still hurt like hell.

She opened her mouth to protest, to try and explain and apologize for the awful things she’d said that day, but the words wouldn’t come, at least not standing in the middle of an icefield, surrounded by bodies. Not when she couldn’t see his face.

So she said, “Thank you,” instead. “After that, we need to talk.”

“After that, you need to leave,” he snapped.

“No” was all she said, before starting toward the Mandalorian transport.

He grunted in pain as he grabbed her good arm. “It’s not up to you,” he snarled. “Not this time.”

“I’m not leaving,” she shot back. “I’m going home to raise my son, and unless you’re willing to kill me, you can’t stop me.”

His grip on her arm tightened. “He’s not your son. And it’s not your home.”

“Look, I know that I’ve screwed things up with you, but if you think I’m not going back to my kid that I haven’t seen in three years, you’re out of your fracking mind.”

He let go of her and tried to cross his arms over his chest before grunting again and dropping them to his sides. “What makes you think he wants to see you?”

“Nothing. He probably hates me if he even remembers me at all. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going back.”

“So you can just disappoint him when you leave again?” His gloved hand slashed the air between them, dismissing her words. “It’s not going to happen, Revan.”

“You act like no Mandalorian has ever left their child to fight a battle,” she spat as she started toward the transport again. From the stories of the old crones at their base camp on Dxun, she knew damn well that wasn’t the case, especially during the war with the Republic. “Ja’Taren is strong, and the child of two warriors. Someday he’ll understand why I had to go,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “Even if you can’t.”

An aggravated growl was the only answer she got, so she knew she’d hit the mark. Too tired and hurt to argue anymore, Min just fell silent and trudged toward the transport. When she looked back, there was only snow blowing over the icy plain.

---

The not-so-gentle nudging of an armored boot woke Min from her unexpected nap. Forced to wait while the medics took care of the more severe cases, she’d staked out a spot next to one of the transport walls like the other Mandalorians waiting. It hadn’t taken long for fatigue born from days without sleep to override the pain enough for her to drift off.

Min looked up from her spot on the medbay floor at the Mandalorian teenager openly staring at her. The kid wasn’t the only one; Min had been stared at the minute she’d set foot on the transport. Too tired to do anything else, she simply waited for the kid to find her voice.

It took a few seconds. “You’re Revan, right? Quinn’s ready to see you.”

Words seemed like too much effort, so she just nodded and tried to stand, grateful when the girl offered her a hand up. She led Min to a bed in the back of the medbay, past injured Mandalorians. It was surprising how many there were. Most she didn’t recognize, even though she’d known everyone at the base camp on Dxun.

The poor kid was obviously torn between Mandalorian discipline and intense curiosity. Another time Min might have indulged her, but at the moment she just wanted to get some kolto on her arm and ribs while she pestered Quinn for information. Quinn Fett had been her midwife when Min had been pregnant with her son, and Min had learned quickly that there wasn’t anything that entertained the Mandalorian woman more than knowing everything that went on in the camp.

The kid pointed to an empty bed and shot Min one last curious look before a shout in Mandalorian shocked her into scurrying off to obey orders.

Quinn rounded the corner, grey brows rising when she saw Revan sitting on the bed. When Xarga appeared behind her, yellow helm tucked under his arm, and activated the privacy screen, it occurred to Min that they weren’t there just to patch her up.

“So the rumors about you being back are true,” Quinn commented as she quickly got down to the business of cutting away the shirt from Min’s arm. Calloused, competent, but not exactly gentle hands examined and set the broken bones.

“Rumors?” Min asked through gritted teeth as she tried not to hiss in pain.

Xarga scratched at his grey-brown beard. “They’ve been causing trouble ever since Mandalore ordered us all to move out. About where we were going and whether or not Mandalore had lost his fracking mind. I have to tell you, girl, there was a lot of grumbling among the new recruits and reunited Clan members. They wouldn’t say it to his face, but there were some that believed we were being led by a lovesick Mandalore chasing after his missing mate.”

Quinn nodded in agreement as she jammed a hydrospray of kolto into Min’s arm. “It didn’t help that a couple of years ago he took off with the Jedi Exile when your ship showed up on Dxun. Some are still angry that Mandalore was gone for eight months. The battle over Telos shut them up for awhile, but the bitching started again when we left to come find you.”

Min’s brain reeled at as she absorbed all of the information just dumped on her. Bewilderment that Nico Kor-vas was back from exile. Worry about the battle over Telos, and whether or not her friends were okay. Guilt that she’d caused so much trouble for Canderous, combined with fury over the fact that Canderous had given her hell for leaving their son when he’d done the same damn thing himself.

Xarga leaned against the wall. “A lot of the new recruits have been too long without Clan to have much discipline, and some are old Clans not used to having to answer to a Mandalore. We were right in the middle of rebuilding a base camp on Ordo when Mandalore ordered us here. If you hadn’t delivered a worthy enemy or battle, Mandalore would have been in deep shit. More than one Clan chief would have challenged him. They still might.”

It made her sick to think that she could have caused his death. Still, she couldn’t believe that Canderous would be defeated so easily. “You think they could beat him?”

“In a fair and honorable fight? No.” Xarga shrugged. “But those fights aren’t always fair or honorable, especially since we’ve quadrupled our numbers since you left. There’s a lot more at stake now than one small base camp on Dxun.”

“And now that they got their battle?”

“They’ll shut up for awhile, especially since a lot of the new recruits have finally been blooded properly.” Quinn wrapped a kolto bandage around her arm, and then turned her attention to Min’s ribs. “But whether or not it stays that way depends on you.”

Xarga pushed off of the wall. “Look, girl, normally whether you and one of my Clansmen end up fracking like gizka or killing each other would be none of my business. But he’s Mandalore and what the two of you do affects all of the Clans.”

Min was silent for a few seconds. “If you’re asking me to give up my son, it’s not going to happen, Xarga.”

“You’re planning on staying then.” The look on his face didn’t give away whether he thought that was good or bad.

“Yes.”

“Then figure this shit out between the two of you quickly and quietly, because there are Clan chiefs out there that will be looking for a weakness or opening to exploit. They’re going to see you as that weakness. Got it?”

Min nodded, worry twisting her stomach into knots. They didn’t have to spell it out for her any further. Being Mandalore wasn’t something you retired from; the only way out was on top of a funeral pyre. And her son... being the child of a fallen Mandalore would make him a huge target.

“Good. I don’t want that asshole calling himself the chief of Clan Fett as our new Mandalore.” Lecture apparently over, Xarga grunted and stalked off, leaving the two women alone.

Min quirked an eyebrow over at Quinn, who just shrugged. “Fett’s new chief is young, ambitious, and arrogant. I have to listen to him because he’s Clan chief, but that doesn’t mean I have to like the little shit.”

Even in the warmth of the medbay, Min shivered as Quinn kept working. In an effort to shake the mental picture of Canderous on a funeral pyre, she changed the subject.

“Have you seen my son lately?” she asked softly.

Quinn looked up from her work and smiled. “Mandalore brought him in a few weeks ago covered in fire-ant bites. Seems that he and a couple of other boys thought it would be fun to go poking around one of those giant ant nests.”

Panic mixed with a healthy dose of guilt caused Min’s stomach to heave. “Is he okay?”

The medic just chuckled and applied another kolto patch to Min’s ribs. “He’s fine. I just gave him an antidote shot for the poison. Held back the anti-itch cream. After a couple days covered in itchy bites, he won’t do that again. You should get Mandalore to tell you about it.”

Min didn’t meet the other woman’s eyes. “Canderous isn’t exactly talking to me at the moment.”

“Mmm. Men have such fragile egos.” Quinn stepped back and admired her work. “You could always ask Xarga. Tar spends a lot of time with him when Mandalore is away.”

Anger bubbled up again, but she didn’t get the chance to grill Quinn further. The medic stepped back and said, “We’re done. I’ve patched you up well enough that you should be able to heal yourself. Do you have a place to stay tonight?”

Min shook her head and Quinn snorted. “You can use my tent. Most of us will be camping on the ice field tonight, including Mandalore.”

“Thanks, Quinn. I appreciate it.”

Quinn’s nonchalant shrug was ruined by her troublemaking grin. “It’s not like I’m going to need it. Right after battle is the best time to take a Mandalorian male to bed. They’re so easy to take advantage of after a good fight.” She gave Min a pointed look, like she expected Min to hunt down Canderous and tear his armor off. Min sighed, sincerely doubting that the solution to their problems was as simple as getting naked and horizontal.

She slid off the bed and changed the subject. “If Canderous hasn’t come in already, you’ll need to track him down. Some of his ribs are broken. He might have other injuries, too.”

Quinn swore and hit the button for the privacy divider to recede. With a curt nod, she was off, hopefully to harass Canderous into getting patched up. Min exited the medbay in search of some clean clothes and a place to wash up before facing Canderous again.

---

Night fell quickly on Hoth, and so did the temperature. Seeing Revan again had taken Canderous back to Dxun, where their fights always ended with him in the undergrowth with blood on his blade and a fresh kill at his feet. There was nothing to hunt here. An hour or more of wandering across frozen wasteland, and all he’d found was a sharp-tongued shrew of a Fett sent to henpeck and shoo him back to the medbay.

She’d said the kolto wouldn’t work as well after his exposure to the low temperatures. Something about the dissolution rates of the chemicals and the flexibility of the muscles. All it meant to him was that his ribs still fracking ached.

The quartermaster had set up his tent, including his field cot and a blazing brazier. Canderous stripped off his shirt, feeling the material crunch beneath his fingers where the sweat had solidified into a web of thin ice crystals. He draped it over a chair near the brazier and watched as wispy tendrils of steam floated off. The massive purple-and-red mottled bruise on his torso stood out sharply even against his sun-darkened skin. Canderous more than half wondered if Quinn had left the injury partially unhealed on purpose, holding back the kolto like she’d held back the anti-itch cream from Tar after the fire ants. He bristled at the thought of being taught a lesson like an unblooded boy.

Not that he didn’t deserve it. His hands clenched into fists as he thought of Revan’s words. She’d done what she always did, in their bunker and in battle, twisting things against him, transforming advantages into weaknesses, even turning the ways of his people against him. One hand against his battered ribs, he sat on the edge of the cot, finally letting the weariness from the battle—both battles—wash over him.

Cold air poured in as the tent flap jerked open. Revan stepped through and sealed up the door before turning to glare at him. She pulled the protective scarf from her face and tossed it aside. “You son of a bitch! How dare you give me hell for leaving our son when you’ve done the same fracking thing yourself.”

Canderous looked up at her with a scowl, and a spike of hot anger burned through the haze of exhaustion. “Your message said there were enemies here. You expected me to bring him to a battlefield on some fracking hunk of ice?”

He could almost hear her grind her teeth. “Of course not! I’m talking about the eight months you spent traveling around the galaxy with the Exile, and all of the times you took off and left him with Xarga.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he snapped. “Now get out.”

As usual, she ignored what he wanted. Revan pushed her hood back and stripped off her gloves, shoving them in her coat pockets. “Really? Then enlighten me because the only difference I see is that you did it instead of me, you hypocritical ass!”

Canderous glared back at her, then swung his feet up onto the cot and lay back. “The difference is I went home again.” He rolled over and resolutely turned his back on her, ignoring the sharp jab from his ribs.

“Have you listened to a fracking word I’ve said? I want to go home. You’re the one trying to stop me and I don’t–”

She cut herself off with a snarl. He could hear her unzip her coat, then fabric rustling and the clank of weapons being tossed aside onto the floor. A cork popped and liquid sloshed in a bottle and he knew she’d found his firewhiskey. She must have taken a drink because she sputtered and coughed for a second before lashing out at him again. “This isn’t about me leaving our son, is it? This is about me leaving you.”

“Frack off,” he barked over his shoulder. His muscles tensed and his stomach clenched in anticipation of a blast of cold air as she stormed off into the night.

Instead she bent over him, close enough that her hot breath scorched his ear. “Get it through your thick Mandalorian skull that I’m not leaving this tent until we talk. Acting like an angsty teenager instead of facing me like a man is only delaying the inevitable.”

He flipped over, grabbing her arm and shooting to his feet to tower over her. “This conversation ended three years ago,” he spat.

Revan winced but didn’t pull away. “I know I’ve fracked up and that you want nothing to do with me. But I’m not going to let this go, Canderous. Not until you hear me out.”

His fingers unclenched from around her shoulder. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at her impassively. She apparently hadn’t expected him to stop arguing because she looked so surprised and overwhelmed that he wondered if she was actually going to say something or just stare at him.

“What I did to you the day that I left... what I said...” Revan shook her head, took a deep breath, and started again. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but what I did to you was wrong. I took a decision that should have been made by both of us and made it for you, because I was scared of what would happen if I didn’t. Because I couldn’t bear the thought of our son growing up not knowing his father. Because I didn’t want to see everything we’d built on Dxun collapse. It was arrogant and high-handed and I’m sorry.”

Anger still burned in his chest, fed off the tinder of three years of pain and rage. “You done?”

“No.” She crossed her arms. White teeth flashed against dark skin as she bit the words out. “No, I’m not done. I will never be done with you or Ja’Taren. That’s something you’re just going to have to get used to, whether you like it or not.”

He turned his back on her again and stared into the blood-red belly of the coals piled in the brazier. There was something else, something besides anger pressing against his gut, and he forced the words out. “I slept with Lashowe.”

For a long time, the only sound was the icy wind howling outside of the tent, until she finally asked in a voice so hoarse that he could barely hear it, “When?”

One of the coals popped, sending a shower of sparks into the air and toppling the pile in on itself. “A couple of years ago now. Before we left Dxun.”

“Five minutes after I left? Five months? A year?” Her voice cracked. “Did you have her in our home? In our bed? Did you introduce your lover to our son?”

He whipped around to face her, renewed fury a shield against her pale, stricken expression. "'Our son'? 'Our home'? When you left, you made it clear it was all mine. You put all of that on me." He stabbed a finger at her. "You left me. And don't even try to pretend you thought you were coming back. You walked away from all of it. I went with Kor-vas because I was looking for you. I left Tar, I sought another woman's bed to try and forget that I'd been tossed aside like a rusted blade."

Her fists clenched. "I thought I was going to die! I didn't want you to die with me, dammit! But you... you crawled into bed with that schutta. You should've just run me through with your blade. It would have hurt less."

"Yeah?" he snarled, scowling down at her. "Live with that pain for three years. Feel the knife twist every time you look at your own son. Then you can accuse me."

Tears spilled down her cheeks, but it didn't stop her from lashing out. "I'm such a fool. I thought you meant it when you said you were my man 'til the end. But what you meant was you were my man until I pissed you off and wounded your pride, then you belonged to that blonde whore five minutes after I broke the atmosphere."

He barrelled toward her, grabbing her shoulder and shaking her, not caring if it was the arm she'd injured or not. "I live to fight your enemies! You took that from me! For the second time in my life, you took everything."

Revan's fists unclenched. The anger in her voice twisted to grief as she started to tremble under his hands. "I know I hurt you. I knew I was doing it when I left. I told myself that it was necessary; that I was doing it to protect you and Ja'Taren, but really I was doing it for me.” Long fingers touched his cheek. “You gave me the most precious thing you had and I destroyed it because I was arrogant and scared. I know I have no right to expect you to be waiting for me, but I wanted to believe that you still..." She trailed off, squeezing her eyes shut and dropping her hand. "You must hate me so much."

He wanted to hate her. He wanted to shake her again. After she touched him, he wanted to throw her down on his cot. And he wanted to see her standing on a canyon ridge, black hair blowing in the wind, dark skin glowing in the desert sun, their son beside her.

A frustrated growl escaped him. “If you left again...” He couldn’t finish.

It seemed to take a few seconds for his words to sink in. When they did, she went completely still.

“Without you and Ja’Taren, the last three years have been empty. Never again.”

He tightened his hold on her. “I’m serious, Min. You stay. You let me fight. You let me protect you and Tar. You let me die if that’s what it comes down to.”

Her voice steadied and her breathing calmed, as she wiped the tears off of her face with the back of her hand. “I stay. We fight together, watch each other’s backs and protect our son, and if death comes then it comes.” Min looked up at him, dark eyes red rimmed from crying. “But I need to know now if she's waiting for you to get back. I can’t share you. I just can’t.”

“It’s been over a long time.” Her hair was longer. His hand slipped though the dark strands, then slid down her back to her waist. “I don’t want other women,” he said gruffly.

When she reached out and touched his chest, a cool wave of energy washed away the ache in his ribs. “I thought that was why you shaved your beard off.”

He snorted. “I just don’t like having a beard in the desert.” He placed his hand over hers, holding it against his chest.

Min laced her captured fingers through his and leaned against him, moving hesitantly, like she expected him to change his mind and toss her out of the tent at any second. “It suits you.”

Beneath the smells of smoke and wet clothing was a familiar scent, a scent that had lingered in their bunker on Dxun and kept him from sleeping in their bed. “I thought you liked the beard,” he murmured.

“I do.” She looked up at him; her fingernails bit into his chest. “But right now I need to see your face and feel your skin against mine.”

He crushed his lips against hers, and a hotter fire burned away the anger in his veins. And at least for one night, three years drifted away like smoke.

---

The sounds of the Mandalorian camp stirring dragged Min out of deep sleep. She cursed under her breath, burrowed under the blanket, and tried to ignore it. True her stomach was growling, the cot was too small for two people, and she was being crushed by Canderous’s arm, but it had been too long since she’d woken up next to him. She wanted to soak in the heat of his body, the way his skin felt next to hers, feel his chest rise and fall against her back, not get out of the cot and go back out into the ice and cold.

But the sounds of footsteps crunching in the snow and low voices speaking in Mandalorian only got louder, and then some sadistic bastard started banging cooking pots right outside their tent. When she felt Canderous stir, she knew that she was going to have to accept the fact that it was time to get up.

She groaned and rubbed her face with her hand. “I’m going to kill whoever’s banging those pots.”

Canderous grunted. “You’ve been away from camp life too long,” he muttered into her hair, though she noticed he made no move to actually get up himself.

Min wanted to roll over but balked, the knowledge that he’d taken a lover fifteen years her junior still ached, and she couldn't stop the mental comparisons between herself and a woman who didn’t have to worry about waking up with puffy eyes or laugh lines starting to appear on her face.

“How much longer are we staying?” Min asked, as she tried to untangle her hair with her fingers.

“Not long.” Canderous was still a moment longer, then the cot shifted as he slid out from under the blanket, leaving only cold air in his place. “Long enough to burn the dead and set up a garrison.”

After a couple more unsuccessful attempts to untangle her hair, she gave up, pushed aside her insecurities and focused on more important things like making sure Canderous didn't end up on a funeral pyre. “Good. I don’t want to wait to see Ja’Taren. And it’s probably wise for us to return to Ordo as soon as possible anyway.”

Canderous dressed quickly, then stoked the coals in the brazier, prompting a shower of sparks and smoke. “Feeling the need to thaw in the desert?”

Min stood and wrapped the blanket around herself, picking her way through the tent in search of her scattered clothing. “Yes.” She hesitated, glancing in his direction, unsure even after last night that he'd trust her enough to let her help. “But that’s not all. You stopped the rebuilding on Ordo to come find me. Xarga told me that some of the new Clan chiefs might use that as an excuse to challenge you.”

Canderous snorted. “Xarga thinks he’s my mother.”

“That doesn’t make him wrong. I’ve already caused trouble with the Clans by asking you to come here, and I don’t want them using me as an excuse to get to you.” She considered for a moment. “At least until we’re ready for them.”

Canderous crossed his arms over his chest. “They’re snot-nosed di’kute. I am ready for them.”

She dropped the blanket on the cot and began to pull on her clothes. Even though the chill air of the tent was starting to warm up, she shivered. “That’s why they’re dangerous. They won’t play by the rules you will. We need time, to find out what they’re up to before they challenge you.”

He bent to retrieve his pack, then opened it and began to lay the pieces of his armor on the cot. “I’m Mandalore,” he said, pulling out the helm and placing it with the rest. “What do you think is going to happen?”

“I think they’re going to try and take it from you, by any means possible. The Clans are growing. The more powerful the Clans become, the more tempting it will be for someone to make a move.” She reached out, skimming the silver breastplate with her fingertips, lingering over the dent made in the battle the day before. “I just want to know when you step into that dueling ring that it’s going to be a fair and honorable fight. If you let me I can make sure that happens.”

He gazed back at her for a long moment, steel-gray eyes slightly narrowed. “In other words, you want to fight alongside me,” he drawled. “You don’t want me to be an arrogant jare and go off on my own to die.”

Chagrin heated her cheeks, and she was grateful that her skin was too dark for him to see it. “Something like that,” she murmured.

Strong hands circled her waist. “What was it you called me? Hypocritical ass?”

She threw her hands up. “Okay, okay. I’m a hypocritical ass, too.”

He snorted. “You’re a piece of work.” One of his hands slid up her back to caress the nape of her neck. “Ner akaan gar,” he said. “My war is yours. That’s what we agreed.”

It was astonishing how a few words and a touch could make her insides melt. Overwhelmed, she swallowed the lump in her throat and inclined her head towards his breastplate. “Then let’s get your armor on, Mandalore, because we’ve got a battle to fight.”

He nodded but made no move to pick up the steel on the bed. Instead his arms wound around her. Heat ignited the night before flared between them again, slowly reforging bonds almost broken into a new armor, one to withstand ambitious Clan chiefs, past mistakes, and even the cold Hoth ice and snow.