Title: His Reason
Author: jordannamorgan
Fandom: The Book of Boba Fett/The Mandalorian
Characters: Boba Fett, Din Djarin, Peli Motto, and [spoiler].
Setting: At the conclusion of "The Book of Boba Fett".
Rating: PG.
Length: 1,847 words.
Summary: After the battle for Mos Espa, Fett makes some observations, and has a few things to say about them.



Boba Fett didn’t waste time on introspection over the corpse of Cad Bane. He was very aware that an injured and angry rancor was still tearing through the town—and truth be told, he was almost as concerned for it as he was for the local citizens. The dust of combat with his old mentor had hardly settled before he turned away, jetting off toward the sounds of ongoing chaos in the distance.

…Only to hear those sounds suddenly dying down as he approached.

He followed the trail of destruction to where it ended. There in the middle of the street lay the rancor, sprawled heavy and still, and a momentary ruefulness flickered through Fett; but then he realized it was still breathing. Far from the ragged huffs of a mortally wounded animal, its sides were gently rising and falling in a slow, even rhythm. It was… asleep?

Then he saw the little green mite snuggled against its jowls. A figure he had seen only once before, at a distance, sitting atop a mountain on Tython—before monsters had come out of the sky to carry it away.

Suddenly the aftermath of this ordeal was a lot more interesting.

Locating the bright gleam of beskar at the forefront of a group of allies, Fett made a rather painful landing—ow, definitely a sprained ankle—and unshouldered his gaffi stick to lean on it. He limped over to where Din Djarin stood in silence, his gaze clearly focused on the drowsing green-and-tan bundle beside the rancor. The younger man’s expression may have been concealed by his helmet, but something like reverence—awe—was plainly visible in his very posture.

For some reason, Fett didn’t think it had entirely to do with what he suspected had just happened here.

“Your child… he calmed the rancor?” he ventured without preamble upon reaching Din’s side.

Din flinched as if a blade had swiped him under an edge of his armor. His head turned toward Fett, but it took him a moment to voice a breathy and slightly unsteady, “Yes.”

“I thought you surrendered him to the Jedi. How did he get here?”

“That’s what I want to know.” A more alert and pointed tone came into Din’s voice as he looked to a curly-haired woman at his other side.

The woman shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. The droid who dropped him off just said the kid was given a choice. He could stay with the Jedi, or go back to you—so I guess it’s pretty obvious which one he picked.”

Oh, but it was glorious to watch the way Din physically rocked back on his heels, a faint breath stuttering out of him as his gaze shifted back to the child. Fett observed the reaction with nothing short of glee.

About time those Jedi learned they can’t have it all their own way…

Then without a word Din strode forward. He was limping too; not as badly as Fett, but from the way he moved, he was clearly injured in other places as well. It wasn’t hard to guess he’d personally gone a round or two with the rancor before the child—for quite obvious and wonderful reasons—had intervened. Fett made a mental note to see that Din was tended to, or at least forced to tend to himself, when they returned to the palace.

Approaching his child, Din bent down to gather him very gently. Big brown eyes opened drowsily then. A tiny hand gripped the edge of Din’s cuirass, and the mite beamed up at him, making soft needy noises.

When the fearsome Mandalorian bounty hunter practically folded in on that tiny creature, arms clinging and cradling with equal need as he whispered things Fett couldn’t make out, the older man felt pieces of the picture fall into place that he hadn’t even realized were missing.

It made him feel an unexpected lot of things… not least of which was a certain degree of anger, on more than one front.

…He would deal with that later. For now, he needed to look after his people.

For all Fett knew he wouldn’t stay, Din Djarin was absolutely counted among them—and not all of his wounds were quite so visible.



It was a very odd and bedraggled procession that made its way back to the palace sometime later, half of them in need of medical attention. Among the guests Fett offered his hospitality to were the people of Freetown, as well as Din’s mechanic friend and her droids. Having received a proper introduction to Peli Motto, Fett was intrigued by the apparent unlikely genius behind Din’s splendid new ship, and fully intended to talk business with her later.

First things first, though. Still using his gaffi stick as a cane, Fett personally escorted Din to a private guest room where he and the child could recover in peace.

The room’s décor was hideous, Fett noted. He would have to do something about that in his renovations.

He waited until Din had set the sleeping child on the bed. Then, before the younger man could turn, he hefted the gaffi stick and used its blunt edge to deliver one very deliberate skull-rattling thump to his beskar dome.

Din’s hand was on his blaster instinctively as he spun, but by then Fett had already lowered the stick to an unthreatening position. By contrast, however, there were storm clouds in his expression.

“What was that for?” Din snapped.

“That was for being a fool and a liar.” Fett took a step forward, and if he hadn’t been feeling such ire, he would have been amused at how the younger Mandalorian retreated a step in turn. “I realize it now. It wasn’t for honor when you chose to make a final stand with me. You wanted to die. Or at the very least, you didn’t care whether you survived or not—because you couldn’t bear the thought of continuing to live without your child.”

As Din shifted and stiffened, Fett expected a denial, but after a moment he was surprised by the response: pauldrons sagging almost imperceptibly, a helmet tilting downward in an unmistakably guilty gaze at the floor.

“Before you sent Fennec to hire me, I found two survivors of my covert. I intended to rejoin them, and help them rebuild. But when they learned that I’d broken the Creed…”

The scenario that would have ensued was all too clear to Fett, and he released his breath in a slow hiss of anger. “They rejected you.”

Because of course they would. Din was too sincere in his beliefs to lie about his supposed sin, and they would never even bother to ask why he had committed it, much less care that it was necessary to save the foundling that same Creed had bound him to protect. For the sake of their dogma, they would casually sever his bonds to clan, to identity, to the entire worldview that was all he had left to ground him, making an orphan of him for the second time in his life—even when they knew he had already lost everything else he cared for. …Dank farrik, why did it seem like everyone else in the galaxy had to be such a zealot about something?

Din continued to speak, in an uncharacteristically small voice.

“And when I went to visit Grogu… I only saw him from a distance. He was finally in a place that would be safe and peaceful, learning things I could never teach him, and I thought…” There was a pause that sounded suspiciously like the swallowing of a lump in his throat. “I thought he’d forget me. I thought it would be better for him if he did. Because nothing I could ever give him would compare to what the Jedi had to offer.”

Fett barely tried to stifle his snort of derision. He’d thought Din was a fool in the first place to consider handing his foundling over to those other zealots. Damn them for thinking they could just do as they pleased with other people’s children, even now after all these years. It was hardly any better than…

Well. He wasn’t going to spoil the ending of an otherwise very productive and satisfying day by thinking about that.

“You’re wrong,” he informed Din with assurance. “The Jedi could have offered him the galaxy, but it still wouldn’t compare to the one thing they could never give him: the love of a parent.”

There was most definitely a tremble in the slow breath Din let out then. He stared at the little green mite, gloved fingers twitching slightly at his sides; as if he wanted more than anything to reach down and stroke those oversized ears, but he was still restrained by some inner hesitation.

Closing the distance, Fett clapped a hand firmly on Din’s pauldron. He deliberately chose the one that bore a mudhorn signet: the emblem of a clan of two.

“I know the losses you’ve suffered… but there’s nothing brave or honorable in a man sacrificing a life he no longer wants. There’s only the waste of what could be. …Now imagine if this child had made his choice, parted ways with the Jedi, and come looking for the one his heart chose—only to arrive here and find you dead.”

Even for a Mandalorian, Din was especially good at impassivity, but the sudden new level of deathly stillness under Fett’s hand said more than any words. He knew his point was made.

“…You do realize you’d probably be dead if I hadn’t stayed,” Din muttered after a long moment. “Besides, it worked out in the end.”

A short rasp of a laugh bubbled out of Fett, for all it made his bruised ribs hurt. He gave Din’s shoulder a fondly rough shove, and stepped back.

“With no small thanks to the little one. You know, it really isn’t so much that he’s yours… It’s more that you’re his.” The end of Fett’s gaffi stick stretched out to tap Din once, squarely in the center of his cuirass. “I think you’d better take care of what belongs to him.”

Din’s posture sagged again; but this time there was only a wondering sort of relief in the motion, like a great weight sliding off his shoulders. With a weak and just possibly damp-sounding chuckle, he slumped on the edge of the bed beside his child, reaching out at last to gently caress the back of a sleeping green head.

“Thanks, Fett.”

The older man’s answer was to sweep a waiting med kit off the bureau, blithely throwing it at Din’s head. “Start by patching yourself up, and then get some rest. There’s going to be a celebration tonight—and I’m sure you wouldn’t want your child to miss the fun.”

Din groaned with undisguised apprehension, clutching the captured med kit in front of his chest—for all the world like an extra layer of armor against the dread threat of festivity.

Oh, Fett couldn’t wait for this party.

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2022 Jordanna Morgan