Private Iron and Ember || Mia Monroe

[Aether Verd]

SUNDARI, MANDALORE
"Even iron needs a whetstone."​

Aether Verd nursed the weight of his people in one hand. The glass in the other helped lighten it—for now.

The bar was quiet. That mattered more than the decor, which was modest enough not to draw attention, and upscale enough to keep the riffraff away. The kind of place where warriors didn’t posture, and conversations weren’t recorded. Just a droid on standby, cleaning glasses it didn’t pour.

He liked it.

Not everything needed to be carved from stone or cast in iron. And besides—he didn’t ask for a throne when he called for her. Just time. Just presence. Just truth.

The Mandalorian Empire was steadying its legs. The borders were growing. The homeworld was no longer bleeding. But peace had a price. And power didn’t mean wisdom. He knew that.

So, he called someone who had worn the mantle before him.

His father used to talk about her like she was a storm wrapped in a smile. Said there were few people in this galaxy that made him feel like he could shut up and listen. She was one of them. Dependable. Grounded. Respected. The kind of woman you could trust with your back and your people.

She was one hell of a leader. Mand’alor the Protector. The one who came before the Crusades.

He took another sip. Let the warmth sit in his chest. This wasn’t a summons. It was a conversation. One he needed.

So, when the door opened and the footfalls approached, Aether didn’t rise.

He just gestured to the empty seat beside him.

"Figured a place like this was more your style.” he said, voice low but sure.

A pause. A flicker of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Old man used to sing your praises like a canary. Figured I’d ask your thoughts."

Mia Monroe​

 

[Mia Monroe]

Clad in black and gold, Mia scanned the streets of Sundari. They were different from what she remembered, but the an age of decimation and rebuilding was bound to change things. What it couldn't change was the dark pull she felt here. Echoes of the past, of a war…and her last death.

She shuddered, focusing on her objective. She hadn't expected anyone to reach out, with a profile as low as she'd been keeping, but there were always ways…old ways that old friends could reach her if needed, few and far between as they were.

The dimly lit bar was a welcome quiet, a stark contrast to mandalorians' usual watering holes. A good choice. She smiled beneath her helmet before moving forward, removing it as she did to reveal a crop of short dark hair framing a surprisingly youthful face and piercing blue eyes.

She set her helmet down before settling into the seat with a chuckle, waving a hand at the droid for a drink. “You figured right, but that doesn't surprise me.”

She studied him quietly, the corner of her mouth twitching into a smile at the mention of his father. It was a long time ago that Isley had stood with her…a different life. A different person.

“Your old man tell you the whole story, or just the good bits?” Mia asked as a glass was set before her.

Aether Verd

 

[Aether Verd]

Aether lifted his glass as the droid slid Mia’s drink across the table, taking a slow sip before setting it back down with a quiet clink.

Her question earned a smile — half-tilted, amused — the kind that came with old memories passed secondhand.

“You know how old men are. They paint stories rather than tell ‘em.”

He chuckled, eyes glancing down at the table for a moment before returning to hers.

“Whether they were embellished or true, the common thread was always the same — You tried to do what was best for Mandalore. So did the old man.”

He shrugged lightly, the grin softening just a touch.

“That’s all I’m trying to do now.”

Mia Monroe

 

[Mia Monroe]

Mia's returning smile was tinged with sadness. She had not always done what was right for Mandalore. It had burned because of her, and not just at the hands of Carnifex. Still she was grateful for whatever picture her old friend had painted. She took a breath, followed by a sip of her drink.

"What is best for Manda'yaim and her people is something that has been up for debate for some time. Abandon her. Rebuild her. Ally with the Jedi, ally with the sith. Fight both. Fight no one, fight each other. Crusade! And fight everyone! Make deep roots. Uproot and wander with no fixed abode. Stand together. Each clan for themselves."

She'd seen every version of events. Fought every war that could be fought. There was nothing that could surprise her anymore.

"Why did you take the mantle?"

Aether Verd

 

[Aether Verd]

Aether let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as she rattled off the litany of Mandalore’s ever-shifting fate. The way she laid it out—dry, unvarnished—painted the clearest picture yet of what she’d lived through.

“Old man used to list those like war stories. Each one with a different headache. Think he kept a bottle of painkillers in every room.”

His grin faded slowly as her question landed.

Why did he take the mantle?

He didn’t answer right away. Just sat with it—glass in hand, gaze drifting to the quiet droid behind the bar, then back again.

“I want Mandalore to last.”

The words came steady. Measured.

“In my lifetime alone, I’ve seen us collapse no less than four times. Always the same story—some great rise, then the fall. Glory, then ash. I’m tired of the cycle. Tired of watching our people claw their way back up just to start over.”

He met her eyes then—no fire, no pride. Just conviction.

“I want this Empire to outlive me. My kids. Their kids. Not for my glory. Not for statues. Just so our people have something stable. Something real. Mandalore deserves that much.”

Mia Monroe