***Note: as of this writing, the last we saw of Bo-Katan Kryze was at the end of Season 3 of The Mandalorian. This story takes place after that, during the rebuilding of Mandalore.***
"You should bathe," Koska said.
"I'm not gonna primp for him," Bo said.
"It might make this go smoother," Koska said.
"He's a barbarian. I think he'll probably respect the dirt and grime. They're like that, you know. Never take off the armor. Filthy bastards," Bo said.
"It might save some lives."
Bo looked at her friend. The implication sat between them. This wasn't the time to be defiant. Whatever the outcome, today's meeting would be the most important of her life. It needed to go well. If it didn't, there would be death.
"You really think a little perfume and polish will impress him?" Bo asked.
"I think he's a man. I think he's attracted to women. And I think you're an attractive woman," Koska said.
Bo nodded and rose from the throne. The palace had been emptied in anticipation of the summit.
"Strip the armor," Koska said. "I'll have it cleaned."
Bo nodded and started taking off pieces. She felt no shame or modesty in undressing. Koska knew every inch of her body. The intimacy they'd shared over the years was more biological than romantic, but it was, nonetheless, intimacy.
Koska gathered the various pieces, and the undergarments Bo wore. The sky-blue Nite Owl helmet sat on the arm of the throne. Koska picked it up as well.
"Take your time in there. It'll be an hour for me to clean all this," Koska admonished.
Bo made her way into her private quarters, off the throne room and drew up a bath.
If nothing else, this would be relaxing.
As she slipped under the warm water, she thought about what had led up to this.
Half a lifetime ago, she had led the Nite Owls and fought against the ways of pacifism. She'd been like the enemy she would face today. She'd believed that the warrior ethos was the only acceptable path for any Mandalorian. She'd been young and hotheaded and, she could now admit, a bit bloodthirsty.
In the years since, she'd seen Mandalore fall and rise again, slowly. She'd retaken the ancient home of her people and restored a semblance of order and honor to her culture. The very fact that she now sat upon the ancient throne was a testament to her leadership. The Darksaber was gone, but the clan's respect remained. She had earned the admiration of her warriors, and they had united under her banner.
And then, just when peace was at hand, a new faction emerged.
It seemed as though the very act of unification had generated a schism. As though fate had decreed that the Mandalorian culture could not tolerate a moment of harmony, even within itself.
A new tribe had emerged from the shadows. Its creed was aggression, domination, and the subjugation of any who opposed its ideals.
The new faction called itself the Black Hounds.
Bo could admit that their principles did not violate the Way of Mandalore. They believed in the sanctity of armor and arms. They believed in honor and glory. They believed in strength and respect.
But they also believed in the restoration of the Mandalorian Empire. They believed that it was the duty of all Mandalorians not just to thrive, but to conquer. They had decided to start with their fellow warriors.
Their first strikes had been hit-and-run attacks. The Hounds had taken bites on the fringes, probing for weaknesses. They found some.
For the last year, they had attacked her warriors in open battle, in sneak attacks, in tactically brilliant traps and counters that had confounded the best minds of her staff. They would end each battle with the transmission of a single message.
"Conquer or submit."
The Black Hounds would only respect warriors who could defeat them. So far, Bo and her warriors had been unable to do so. She had only vague reports on the enemy's strength. She had tried in vain to learn about their capabilities, their base of operations, their numbers.
The few things she had been able to ascertain had come with great cost.
Months ago, they'd managed to capture one of the Black Hounds and take him prisoner. The man had been more than happy to lecture his interrogators on all the ways that the Bo-Katan Kryze was dishonoring the legacy of her people. He'd filled them in on the philosophies of the Black Hounds. As it turned out, it was a ploy to buy time. The tracking device he'd activated had allowed the Hounds to call in a strike.
Bo had lost ten warriors, but she'd started to learn about her enemy.
She stepped from the bath, feeling refreshed and relaxed. She suspected that Koska had recommended it for that reason.
For what was to come, she would need a clear head.
The last battle had been significant. She'd lost people, but it was clear that the Hounds had lost more. There was one Hound in particular. His armor was black with red markings, where his brothers mostly wore flat black. Her warriors had noted the man's prowess in the past. The red-armored warrior had fallen in a tense firefight. When he fell, the Hounds secured his body, then withdrew.
Bo felt it was likely that the Hounds had lost a leader. Her people had reveled in the victory. It was the only time in this war where they had felt as though they'd won a battle.
The typical message didn't come this time. It was replaced with a new transmission.
Coordinates. The coordinates to the castle, her castle.
And a time. This day, at midday.
She wasn't sure what to expect. The Hounds assuredly held respect for the Mandalorian homeworld. They could have bombed it, had they chosen to do so, many times in the course of the conflict. But they respected the planet as a home and the castle as a historical treasure.
The choice to hold this meeting at her personal residence was either a sign of respect, or a sign of contempt. Perhaps they'd chosen it because they knew she felt comfortable there. Perhaps it was chosen to show they could walk in to her private sanctum and make demands.
The problem was, they could do exactly that.
She had sat with her advisors. Koska and Axe and the others had confirmed what she already knew.
They didn't have the means or the manpower to win this struggle. If she couldn't negotiate an end to the conflict, then the conflict would end her people. The only solution to preserve the culture was to compromise.
But compromise was not something that came easily to any Mandalorian.
Carefully, Bo-Katan donned her armor. This was for her own pride, but also a part of the negotiations. Her opponents only respected those they considered to be true Mandalorians. And a Mando without a helmet and armor commanded no respect at all.
She checked the pauldrons, the bracers. The chestplate conformed to her curves. She laced her boots up with military precision, as her father had taught her. When each piece of the armor was in place, she checked herself in the mirror.
She found no flaws.
Her red hair was a stark contrast to the blue beskar on her chest. Her headband gave a dark contrast to her pale skin. She huffed, looking into the mirror. Nothing about her face would matter in a moment. Once the helmet was on, she could look an utter fright and it would be as nothing to the leader of the Hounds.
She lifted the rounded helmet off of the arm of the throne. When it seated over her face, she took a deep breath. Koska had done her work well. All she could smell was soap and beskar. If the new leader of the Hounds was indeed partial to women, she was at least starting out with some appeal.
Her comlink chimed and she keyed the button for it.
"They're coming in," Koska said, presumably from the courtyard.
"How many?" Bo asked.
"Three ships. A small fighter and two landing craft."
"If they do anything sketchy, you blow them out of the sky," Bo said.
"Copy that. They're heading for the castle. No hostile moves," Koska said.
Bo left the link open but didn't reply. They'd be here in a few minutes. She pulled up the holoprojector and watched the feed from the gate.
The snubfighter was bulky and ugly. The Black Hounds didn't care much for aesthetics, but they cared a great deal about firepower. The two landing craft that flanked the fighter bristled with weaponry. She thought about her own forces.
There were less than two thousand Mandos left under her command. She hadn't started with many, and the losses in this war had cut deeply. One of her spies reported that the Hounds may have as many as six-thousand, but she couldn't bring herself to believe that.
Because if it was true, she had already lost this war.
For all the glorious valor of the Mandalorian culture, she could not reasonably ask each of her people to take on a three-to-one fight against opponents who were, almost certainly, their equal.
kShe had known Mandalorians who were brave, who were cowardly, who were kind, and who were sinister. But the adjective that most readily applied to the Black Hounds was tenacious.
She frowned as the enemy ships landed. She shivered as their warriors, clad in the armor her people took such pride in, spilled out into the courtyard. They formed a line of battle, rifles slung over their backs. They moved with precision and efficiency. Their actions weren't threatening, but they were clearly prepared to strike at the slightest provocation. Each of them wore black, with varying levels of red stripes or chevrons or other such decorations.
Through observation and interrogation they had determined that the red adornments of the Hound's armor were a sign of rank. A warrior had to earn his red to earn the clan's respect.
When the snubfighter's hatch opened, Bo-Katan's breath caught in her throat.
The warrior that stepped out had an armor that was a deep red from head to toe.
She noted the stark crimson helm, redder than her own hair. The red pauldrons and chest plate, all gleamed in the midday sun. The only part of the armor that wasn't a searing scarlet were the clan signets on the shoulders and above the right chest plate. The signet was an angry black kath hound, snarling at an unseen enemy.
The fighter had landed beside the path that led from the castle down to the shore. Only about a hundred meters separated the castle gate from the ocean. She saw the warrior step out and walk up the path that led to the castle's entrance.
He walked with measured confidence. She could tell he was still young, she guessed no more than twenty-five. He kept his eyes level and forward as he strode towards the gate.
On his left, his men stood as silent sentinels as he passed. On his right, Bo's warriors watched their enemy and looked for any signs of hostility or weakness. The numbers on each side were roughly equal. They would stare each other down as they waited for their commanders to come to terms.
On her orders, the castle gates opened to let the Hound's commander in. She watched on the projector as he entered the atrium and paused. He glanced at the empty entry, surveying the bare walls and windows. Bo had been too busy building her clan and navigating this war to bother with decorations. And the Mandalorians in general did not go in for unnecessary beautification. He seemed to approve of the bare look to the place. Bo turned off the projector and looked to the door.
He would be here in less than a minute. She debated how to stand for his arrival. She sometimes enjoyed lounging on the throne, draping herself over it in a way that would look casual and even a bit seductive. But that wasn't right for today. It might be seen as a sign of weakness or even an insult that she wasn't taking this seriously.
Deciding that nothing could be inferred from a simple stance, she stood, arms at her sides, square to the door. When the large doors spread open, she presented herself as a proper Mandalorian. Straight back, chin up, weapons ready, but not brandished. She knew that this was about as prideful as she could appear without the benefit of a smirk. The view from inside her helmet showed that he was every bit the proper warrior himself.
He walked in and strode forward. With about ten paces of distance between them, he paused and snapped to attention.
"You are Bo-Katan Kryze?" he asked, then corrected himself, "I'm sorry,
Princess
Bo-Katan Kryze, leader of the warriors of Mandalore?" he asked.
