Private Of Iron & Water

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Aether Verd //:
//: Attire //:

Mandalore.

A planet she despised. Which said much, since Quinn usually enjoyed exploring new worlds. But not this one. Instead, she found herself traveling to the once-barren rock claimed by a warrior culture she considered crude and without morals.

Fortunately, their new leader was different. Aether had been part of her life since childhood — a man she valued for his mind as much as his strength. He was, in her eyes, above the path he'd chosen.

Her nose wrinkled at the thought of Mandalorians gathered in one room, armor left unwashed for weeks, maybe months. She hated even the idea of it. Looking out the shuttle window at the barren landscape only soured her mood further.

She snapped a few holos and sent them to her mother and another person who shared her distaste Srina Talon .

<: Look where I am… I want to come home. :>
<: Why couldn't Aether meet me on Jutrand? :>​

Of course, she knew why — but complaining was her privilege.

The shuttle landed. Quinn gathered her things, irritation giving way to an almost girlish anticipation. Aether had been her first real friend when she moved in with her godmother. Her first playmate. Her first confidant. Even her first crush.

Lucky for him, she had moved on. Most of her lovers met terrible ends. The thought made her chuckle as she waved off the guards who trailed behind. She didn't need them. She'd studied Mandalorians exhaustively, knew how to fight them, and more importantly, knew how Aether fought. They'd both been trained by the same hand.

Her heels clicked a measured rhythm through the halls of the enclave. Larger than she remembered, but she supposed Aether would have invested in his kingdom.

The grand doors opened. She was announced, and she waited for the boy she had once known — now Mandalore — to greet her.

"Hello, Aether," Quinn said, her smile sly. "It's been some time, hasn't it?"

 

[Aether Verd]

Wearing:
Beskar'gam - Darksaber​

COURT OF IRON, MANDALORE

Aether had known the moment the request crossed his desk that the room would turn sharp with quiet tension. He could feel it even now, the way the eyes of his commanders had fixed upon the back of his helmet when he spoke her name and named the world that had shaped her. Princess of a faith that had scarred Mandalore half a century prior, heir to a legacy most of his people did not bother to separate from the present day. Sith were Sith, history was blood, and memory lingered longer than reason ever did. Distrust was not taught among Mandalorians; it was inherited.

Still, they trusted him.

Orders were given, measured and unyielding, and they were obeyed without question. When her vessel touched down upon Sundari’s landing platform, the response was precise rather than hostile. Supercommandos formed a disciplined escort, armor polished, rifles held with ceremonial restraint rather than threat. She was brought through the palace as any dignitary would be, announced with proper formality, afforded courtesy instead of suspicion. Aether had demanded nothing less.

He did not keep her waiting.

The doors to the throne room parted, and Mand’alor the Iron strode forward in charcoal beskar’gam and a crimson cloak that caught the light like a banner pulled from living fire. His steps were unhurried, confident in a way that belonged to a man who had learned how to stand alone beneath a thousand eyes. He came to a halt before her, helm angled just enough to acknowledge familiarity without surrendering command.

“It feels like it's been forever...” Aether said, his voice steady and resonant through the vocoder, threaded with something warmer beneath the steel. “And here I distinctly remember us vowing to stay in touch.”

For a moment longer, he let the room exist as it was, banners hanging high, the faint echo of armored presence along the walls. Then he turned his head, attention shifting to the guards and Supercommandos stationed throughout the chamber. Two words followed, spoken with absolute certainty.

“Leave us.”

There was no hesitation. Armor moved in practiced silence, boots striking stone in unison before the monumental doors closed behind them, sealing the throne room with a deep, solemn thud that carried like a vow.

Only then did Aether reach up and remove his helmet.

The man beneath it was unchanged in the ways that mattered, dark eyes bright with recognition, expression breaking into a wide, unapologetic grin that belonged to memories far older than his crown. He lowered the helm to his side and regarded her openly, amusement and genuine affection woven together without pretense.

“I never thought I would see the day my Quinnie would come all this way to see me.” he said, warmth coloring every word. “But I am so glad you did.”

Quinn Varanin