Star Wars Submission Of Bo Katan

***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.

"I am," she replied. "You are the leader of the Black Hounds?"

"I am," he replied. "My name is Hibir."

She paused, thinking.

"Hibir... the student, from the old Mandalorian, yes?"

He tilted his head slightly in respectful acknowledgement.

"The student, yes," he said.

Bo had decided that the longer this conversation went, the better it might go for her people. She decided to start here.

"What do you study?" she asked.

"Warfare, history, and engineering," he said. His posture changed. His stance was more casual now. She had managed to put him at ease. That was a good start.

"If you'd be more comfortable, we can speak in the banquet hall. I'm afraid this room only has the one chair," she purred, gesturing over her shoulder to the throne behind her.

"That won't be necessary," he said. "This doesn't need to be drawn out."

Punch and counter-punch. The dance was familiar to anyone who wore the armor. She doubted that he would be prone to much distraction.

"My people have many questions about yours," she said, trying to talk about anything but surrender.

"Those questions will be answered in due course," he replied.

"It would help both of us if you told me what it is your people want," she said.

"We've stated it many times for you. 'Conquer, or submit.' That's not a code. It's a request. Your refusal to do either has made it into a demand."

She shifted her feet and leaned in a bit, "How do you mean?"

"You occupy our homeworld. You sit in the castle. Your warriors were content to spend their days telling droids what to build and training for fights that never came. That is not the way of Mandalore. If you do not want to expand, to conquer, to seek greater glory for our people, then you should submit to those who do."

"You would have us take on the whole galaxy?" she asked, incredulous.

"A warrior culture that isn't fighting is prone to atrophy. Atrophy will lead to weakness. Weakness leads to death. That is the lesson we have tried to impart to you," Hibir said.

She rocked back on her heels a bit. The temptation to get angry was strong, but useless.

"My people don't have the numbers to become a conquering empire. And, no offense, but I doubt yours do either," she said. It was a milder version of the retort she wanted to give.

He paused and sighed, "I tend to agree."

She blinked under her helmet and crossed her arms, "Then what are we doing here?"

He sighed and looked around the empty room. He seemed to be very conflicted internally. She let him take his time.

"My clan believes in the old ways. My father believed in the old ways. I... take a different view."

She licked the side of her mouth under her helmet. This was interesting.

"Go on," she prompted.

"Of course there aren't enough Mandalorians to conquer a system, let alone the galaxy. This infighting is worse than useless," he said.

"Then why are you attacking my people?" she asked.

"I'm not," he said.

She scoffed, "This war has been raging for..."

He cut her off with a hand, "

I

haven't attacked your people. My father attacked your people. He united our warriors with a code of tradition and bloodlust. If he hadn't, they'd be a pirate rabble out there dishonoring the name of Mandalore in pursuit of blood and treasure. He gave them a purpose. Gave them a code. The only thing they would all respect is strength. The only goal they would all share was victory. So he united them with those ideas."

"And started attacking anyone who didn't agree?" Bo asked.

"He was a fool. And I thank your clan for killing him. As his son, I was held in high regard. My innovations and tactical plans helped us in several battles, so I was made the new leader. But I'm not a true believer. I'd much rather absorb your people than kill them," Hibir said.

"My people aren't barbarians. They're reasonable, rational. Apparently like you yourself," Bo said. "Tell your people to join us instead of fighting us. You

are

their leader, aren't you?"

"They only respect strength. If I'm seen as weak, then my uncle will put a vibroblade into my back, take over the clan, and systematically grind your people into dust."

She pursed her lips. This would be tricky to navigate.

"I still don't know what you want," she said.

"It's complicated," he said.

Bo was already sick of this dance, "Let's make it easier then. I'll go first. I want this war to stop. I want my people to have peace so we can remake this world and start something new. I want to unite

every

Mandalorian, including yours, under one banner that we can be proud of. And I want to retake our place as a respected culture in this galaxy. And none of that will happen if your people won't stop attacking mine."

A moment of silence filled the space between them. Then Hibir did something unexpected. He tilted his back and gave a laugh that echoed off the walls.

She wanted to take her blaster from its holster and put a shot through his heart.

When his mirth ended, he nodded slowly, "Honestly, I agree with every word. That's what I want too."

She remained silent. If this was mocking her, it didn't feel right.

"None of this is funny," she said, her hand balling into a fist.

He could sense her frustration and put a hand out to try and appease it, "Princess, please. I'm not trying to insult you. The irony is just so...."

"I don't need your irony. I need a ceasefire. A treaty. Some kind of peace so we don't kill each other off," Bo said.

"You won't kill off my people," he said, matter-of-factly.

"You won't do yourself any favors by killing mine," she replied. "Enough Mandalorian blood has been spilled by each of us."

"Again, we agree," he said.

"Why did you come here?" she asked, another of her big questions.

"I have a solution," he said.

She froze. This was the critical moment. She gathered herself and took up her proper stance again.

"I'm listening," she said.

"Your people can't conquer. My people can't submit. I think we can agree on that," he said.

"I'm listening," she repeated.

"I think the only solution is for our clans to unite. If we're seen unified, then there's no need for us to keep shooting at each other."

"How do you suggest we unite then?" she asked.

"Marriage," he said.

Now it was Bo's turn to laugh. It started out as a small giggle and bloomed into something more hearty. It rippled through her, breaking the tension in her muscles all the way to her toes.

She waited for him to join in the mirth. This had to be a joke.

He wasn't laughing.

She stopped.

He spoke, "Clans have united through marriage for thousands of years. Every culture, ours included, has found peace this way from time to time."

"You're not serious?" Bo asked.

"Whatever you are, you're still a princess of Mandalore. You can call my people barbarians all you like, but they do respect the culture. And they respect your place within it. There's a reason we never bombed this castle,

your majesty,

" he said, giving a faux-depth to the honorific.

"Why not just a challenge?" she asked. "Single combat. We duel in full view of the clans. The winner will have their combined strength." She let a wry grin commandeer her tone, "Or are you afraid you'll lose?"

"I'm quite certain I would win," he said. "But it wouldn't be enough. I need legitimacy. I had to use all my weight to get this summit in the first place. If I challenge you, win or lose, I'd still just be a warrior, nothing royal. The first thing my uncle will do is challenge me in turn. If he takes over, and he won't stop fighting until all of you are gone."