Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Renais-Grado Border, Renais, Magvel year 804  

Eirika, princess of Renais, was a kind soul, ready and willing to aid all those in need, particularly those of her once ruined nation. In the process of rebuilding, it came to pass that an odd, very much ancient, gateway was unearthed, one which no maps had marked or which any records had stated existed, anywhere. It wasn’t even a prominent feature of Renais, or even Magvel’s, greater mythology, which was even more strange. Then there was the subject of the symbols carved into the gate; they matched no script ever written in Renais. This even held true for Myrrh, whose deceptively advanced age meant she had seen the sorts of linguistic shifts that might account for such. Her father Morva might’ve known what the text read, but he’d perished and had to be put down owing to the Demon King Fomortiis’s machinations. 

As it was, Eirika was intrigued: she’d always been the more inquisitive twin, compared to her brother Ephraim who was much more comfortable stabbing first and then asking questions later. Maybe not the best solution for governance, but he never picked a fight he didn’t (eventually) win, so there was that. In any case, Eirika made her way to the site of the ancient gateway, and almost immediately her bracelet began to react to it. Curious, but not particularly wary, seeing as several knights were on hand to guard her, including her loyal general Seth, along with Kyle and Forde, two other knights of great renown. She stepped forward, approaching the gate, and suddenly, the ancient engravings began to glow with power. “Some remnants of the stone’s influence…” she mused, even as the gate began to slowly spin, as if conjuring up energy in its center. Suddenly, there was a flash: in an instant the gate was filled with a blue whorl of… something, an indescribable mass of energy beyond understanding. Eirika stood in amazement, but then her bracelet pulsed again, as if calibrating to the strange gateway. Eirika began to turn to step away, now thoroughly convinced she did not want to go in.  

Unfortunately, there was now nothing for it: her bracelet, still firmly placed around her wrist, seemed positively attracted to the gate, and by now it was clear it would not break free. “Grab on, please!” she shouted, and her knights rushed to aid their liege lady, but then the portal’s link to Eirika’s brace grew far too strong, and she was ripped away, dragged into the open portal. 

“AFTER HER!” Seth roared, but before he or anyone else could react, the portal shut, having lost all ability to sustain itself. The commander, one of the greatest knights on the continent, found himself grasping at air, and he dropped to the ground. Turning to his men, he said, “Fellow knights of Renais, we’ve failed. Send the message to His Highness; he must know of what has transpired.” One of the knights, a young pegasus squire, obliged, even as Seth turned back to the gate. He wondered, quietly, to himself, milady… where did you go?  

Concordia, Mandalore System, 21 BBY  

“–do with her, hm?” 

“Lord Vizsla will know… hang on, she’s awake!” 

Eirika blinked her eyes open, glancing at the two figures before her. They wore similar armor, segmented and shining with a metal she didn’t recognize, and their faces obscured by dark helmets with a long, t-shaped tinted glass visor. She then glanced around. “Where… am I?” 

“Welcome to Concordia, moon of Mandalore,” said one, the one on her left. “What’s an outsider like you doing here?” 

Eirika sighed. “I’m… not sure, to be honest. One moment there was this strange gate, the next I awoke here on the ground. In any case, I am Eirika, princess of Renais, though we are clearly nowhere near there. As for you, in lieu of names, what to call you?” 

“We’re Mandalorians, uh… Your Highness,” said the other on her right. “Although I don’t think your title means much right now…” 

Eirika shook her head as she stood. “It certainly wouldn’t. In any case you mentioned a ‘Lord Vizsla’ before I awoke, so may I ask who he is?” 

“Lord Pre Vizsla, officially Governor Vizsla, oversees all Concordia for the benefit of the greater Mandalore system,” the left one, seemingly more senior than their companion, explained. “I imagine he’ll been quite interested to meet you.” 

Eirika nodded. “I look forward to speaking with the man.” Even as she said this, something in how they spoke suggested this Vizsla was no better than the corrupt generals of Grado during the War of the Stones. She quietly rested her hand on her scabbard, smiling to herself as she felt Sieglinde’s hilt. At the very least she would not be defenseless, much as she detested violence. Turning to her escorts, as it were, she then said, “Very well, lead the way.” 

With that, the two Mandalorians nodded, reaching to their belts for some… weapon of some sort she didn’t recognize, aside from faint memories of a summoner in a different foreign realm. Now feeling marginally safer, off they went.

Chapter Text

Concordia Central Mining Complex, 21 BBY  

Eirika glanced up at the large structure built into the mountainside she’d found herself warped to after her encounter with the gateway. Ahead of her were her two escorts, and they passed several more Mandalorians on patrol, weapons ready. “This seems rather excessive for a mining operation,” she said, having seen a few containers filled with ore lying about. “What is being extracted here that is so important to require such heavy guard?”  

“Beskar, ma’am,” said one of her escorts. “Mandalorian iron, as it is sometimes known. A metal significantly more blast resistant than common durasteel, able to withstand even lightsabers, the weapons of those ‘peacekeeper’ sorcerers, the Jetii.”  

“You seem to harbor much disdain for these… Jetii,” Eirika noted at the Mandalorian’s tone. “Is there a reason for such?”  

“Over a millennium ago, Tarre Vizsla, one of our Mando’ad, was inducted into the Jetiise. There he forged the Darksaber, a great Jetii’kad, that is, a lightsaber, which upon his passing our ancestors claimed from the Jetiise temple.” They paused. “Unfortunately, the Jetiise retaliated, declaring war on our forefathers–”  

“Did you not say the Jetii were peacekeepers?” Eirika interjected.  

“They’re hypocrites, is what they are,” said the other Mandalorian. “How can one be a peacekeeper and yet have no non-lethal weapons? Jetii’kad are notorious for being able to cleave durasteel plate like it was so much flimsiplast.”  

 Eirika wasn’t entirely sure what flimsiplast was, but she understood the implications. “I see… you may continue.”  

The first Mandalorian nodded. “In any case, the Jetii brought down the wrath of the Galactic Republic on Mandalore, and they proceeded to annihilate nearly the entirety of our once great world’s surface; now aside from tiny domed cities jutting from massive caverns, there is nothing but endless white stone.”  

The princess of Renais, having experienced such devastation before, blanched. “Surely this cannot be!”  

Her two companions sighed and shook their heads. “Since that day, over a millennium ago, the endless conflicts for resources stripped what little Manda’yaim had left and, eventually, the great warriors of ages past gave way to pacifists from a neighboring planet, Kalevala. They are dar’manda, as in, no longer Mando’ad, having abandoned our ancestral ways, and they are also fools. ”  

It was here where Eirika made to interject once more, when she realized they’d arrived at a small meeting hall. She decided to remain silent as the doors were opened, and she stepped inside. At the end of the table was an armored individual bearing some kind of marking on his helmet, flanked by two more of their fellows. The helmets were removed, and she could see the one with the marking was a somewhat gaunt man, with a receding blonde hairline; his companions were a redheaded woman, quite tall as well, and a grizzled blonde man with a noticeable beard. Or, well, the makings of one, anyway. The presumed leader stepped forward, bowing slightly, as he introduced himself. “I am Governor Pre Vizsla of the humble moon of Concordia, Your Highness; to my right is Bo-Katan Kryze, my chief lieutenant, and to my left is Gar Saxon, a fellow commander. May I ask who you are, how you came to be here?”  

Eirika nodded in turn. “Very well, Governor Vizsla. I am Princess Eirika of the kingdom of Renais on the continent of Magvel. My home continent was recently ravaged by war, and during the process of reconstruction my subjects encountered a gateway of some sorts; I went to investigate it but found myself warped here through means I do not understand.”  

“An unknown hyperspace gate?” Vizsla said, curious. “Well, such as it may be, I couldn’t help but overhear the discussion you were having with one of my fellow Mando’ad. Would you permit us to resume that discussion? Tarre Vizsla was my own direct ancestor, so as such I remain quite knowledgeable of his history. I even wield his blade, which ever since its reclamation has served as the symbol which the Mand’alor, ruler of all Mando’ad, is to be identified by.” 

Eirika nodded. “I assume we may sit for this?” The governor, of course, nodded, and ordered some food be sent down for a more proper meeting. This handled, Eirika asked, “The two who found me were just telling me of the history of your world; a great cataclysm befell it at the hands of the Jetii, and when the needs for resources became too great, Mandalore erupted into civil war.”  

Vizsla nodded. “That is correct; and while it pains me to say this, during this time many now dar’manda renounced our ancestral warrior ways, and amazingly, claimed Mandalore for their own. They have ruled it ever since, passing on title by birthright rather than through the leader’s raw strength, and in combination with their pacifism, they have grown increasingly soft and self-assured.”  

“You of Concordia see this as, of course, a foolhardy decision,” Eirika ventured. “For what reason? Surely peace would serve your devastated world much better, no?”  

The Death Watch commander shook his head. “Not when war has engulfed the galaxy, and Mandalore stubbornly refuses to choose a side, thanks to their need to remain out of the war. With our ability to import vital goods devastated, and with little means of growing our own crops, the whole Mandalore system will surely starve, all to serve some broken ideal that should never have existed.”  

Eirika nodded. “I see… In that case, what are your plans to alleviate the suffering of your people?”  

Vizsla’s mouth formed into a sinister grin, and the princess of restoration found herself seeing flashes of the positively maniacal Valter and Caellach in the governor’s expression. “If Duchess Satine Kryze, current dar’manda ‘ruler’ of Mandalore, will not see the foolishness of her choices, she will be made to see. And soon, rather than stand idly by, the Mando’ad will rise again and show the whole galaxy that warriors we were, and warriors, we shall always be.”  

The princess nodded faintly, even as she found herself shuddering at what the man before her intended to do; clearly, he felt he deserved to be, in his own tongue, Mand’alor, but what would he do to ensure he found himself in the position? She held her tongue, even still. Best not anger the man whose forces, all great warriors with far superior weaponry and armor, surrounded her on a completely foreign world.  

Eirika was broken from her musings by the governor saying, “In our culture, we have a saying: Aliit ori’shya tal’din. Family is more than blood. It is not uncommon for even fellow adults to adopt each other into their own clans, and from the looks of yourself you cannot be older than 20. The Mando’ad which brought you to me seem to have already formed something of a bond with you, and indeed, the elder is quite experienced: she is buir, a parent, having found and raised her son to aid her, the young man who was with her.” The princess blinked, but as she turned to face the two who had found her, she realized Vizsla spoke true. The woman was battle-hardened; stocky, if on the shorter side, but clearly ready and willing to defend her family, and her allies. Her son was a bit of a fresher face, in fact Eirika could tell he was slightly younger than she was, but that belied a bulky physique that even behind the beskar plating Eirika could tell he was quite well-built. The woman, his mother, spoke on behalf of them both. “I am Rena Woves, and this is my son Axe. Bit of a handful, he is, but he’ll certainly have your back if you need him… Eir’ika.”  

Eirika glanced at the woman, Rena, having heard the odd inflection she’d given her name. “I’m sorry, Ms. Woves, I believe you’ve messed my name up a little. It’s Eir -ika, emphasis on the ‘e.”  

“I certainly did not,” Rena countered. “Also, if we’re doing this properly, call me Rena’buir, Re’buir, or even just buir. None of this ‘Ms.’ nonsense.” 

“Very well, buir, but that still doesn’t explain the pronunciation,” Eirika sighed.  

“It’s kinda simple, actually,” said Axe. “ika added to any word in Mando’a basically means you care a lot about that thing, usually a person. Toss it on a name and you can shorten it, and well, you’re Eirika. ” He stopped, then added, “By the way, how do you spell that?”  

“E-i-r-i-k-a,” explained the princess, now a Mandalorian foundling.  

“All the more reason to use Eir’ika then,” laughed Rena. “It writes itself, really. You sure your parents weren’t actually Mandalorian, and you just got separated a long time ago?”  

“I am quite positive I would remember such being the case,” Eirika sighed. “Well, in any case, Re’buir, what happens now?”  

Rena grinned. “Well, we need to get you some beskar’gam. After that, I want to see how well you fight. I see that kad you’ve got, looks pretty nasty to me. Blaster training won’t hurt though.”  

Eirika nodded, and with that she followed her newly adoptive mother and brother (and wasn’t that a weird thing to say) out of the meeting hall. She had to admit, despite her misgivings on their emphasis on martial prowess, her newfound culture was starting to grow on her. And she really needed to know what beskar’gam was.  

Chapter Text

Woves Compound, Concordia  

Eirika couldn’t help but marvel at the large complex that housed her newfound clan; from what she’d gleaned Clan Woves was a somewhat insular, though still integral component of House Kryze. In any case, that translated to a large… not quite a manor, she supposed, but a large residence, nonetheless. She privately suspected Mandalorians, given their nature as warriors, mostly of the wandering mercenary variety, weren’t very big on ostentatious residences. A fair departure from her upbringing, but a year in service to her nation in barebones military camps had given her some appreciation for this simpler lifestyle.  

As she wandered about, eventually she realized the small device she’d been given on the way had been beeping. Glancing at it, her eyes widened as it began to emit a blue image of her new buir. “Hey, Eir’ika, meet me at the training grounds; seems to me like a girl like you hasn’t held a blaster before, and I’ll be very happy to correct that.”  

“I’ll see you there, buir,” Eirika said with a nod. “Do I get to choose?”  

Rena nodded. “Absolutely; you seem to me like a pistol gal, and we have plenty of those to choose from. Also, I do wanna see what that sword of yours can do; seems to me like it’s quite effective.”  

Eirika smiled. “My brother taught me much of swordplay, and I’m quite happy to demonstrate.”  

“It’s a deal, ad’ika,” Rena grinned. “Now get down here, we’re burning daylight.”  

With that the connection closed, and Eirika made her way to the compound’s main training facility.  

When she reached the facility in question, Rena was there, and she directed her to the armory. “This, ad, is the most important room in your life,” she explained. “Weapons are part of our religion, and while you look like you’ve got some decent fighting spirit in you, you’re going to need a blaster.”  

Eirika nodded, gazing over the vast array of weapons of all different sizes and functions. She found herself particularly drawn to a pair of sleek silver blasters that looked as though they fit her slender hands perfectly. Grasping one in her right hand, she went to pick it up, but before she could do so…  

“Uh-uh, don’t touch just yet,” Rena interrupted. Eirika moved her hand away and turned to her adoptive mother.  

“What is it?”  

“I just realized there were some key rules you absolutely need to remember before handling anything in here. Also, WESTAR-34s, nice choice, by the way,” Rena explained.  

Eirika nodded. “Those rules being…”  

“Rule number 1: Always leave the safety – that is, the small switch near the trigger – on unless you’re actively in a fight.” Rena pointed out the switch in question, and Eirika nodded. “Rule number 2: Only aim your blaster at people you plan on actually shooting. ” Rena picked up the pair of pistols, made to aim for Eirika, and explained, “This is what you don’t do.” Another nod. “Rule number 3: Don’t leave your blasters loaded unless you’re in combat.” The full-fledged Mandalorian tapped a switch opposite the safety and a small slot opened at the base of the handle. “This is where your blaster cartridge will go if you’re actually using it. If you’re not, just tap that switch and it’ll pop right out.” Rena then added, “Finally, rule number 4: Do not leave your finger on the trigger until you actually choose to fire. ” Rena slotted in a low-power cartridge and left her finger on the trigger, and then said, “Try pushing me.” Eirika did so, and then the blaster went off. She jumped back, and Rena said, “That’s what’ll happen if you do. Any questions?” Eirika shook her head. “Alright, let’s get going. We’ll start with just one for now, so you get the feel for it.”  

Once the two were down at the compound’s firing range, Eirika asked, “So, what happens here?”  

“Well, to start with I’ll be giving you some stationary targets to shoot at,” Rena explained, and on cue an old combat droid rose from the floor. “I’ll give you tips on the basics, but what I want to see is at least 10 shots at center mass or the head at a given distance. We’ll start at 5 meters and go from there.”  

Eirika nodded. “Sounds simple enough.” With that, she noted the short wall where she would presumably stand behind and shoot from. Taking the pistol from Rena, she raised it, but immediately:  

“Alright, first mistake: Your stance is too thin.” Rena pointed down at Eirika’s legs. “Get your legs about hip width apart.”  

Eirika did so, then levelled the blaster again. Flicking the safety off, she pressed down the trigger, and a brilliant blue bolt sailed out… and ended up flying past the target’s head. She then realized her arms were shaking slightly.  

“Weren’t expecting that kick, were you?” Rena said. “That’s recoil, all blasters have some.”  

“I certainly was not,” Eirika sighed. “How would I compensate?”  

“Asking the right questions, great! Anyway, that trick with your leg stance is part of it, but for a little extra bracing, for now hold that pistol with both hands. In time you’ll have the strength to handle one of these one-handed but stick with a two-handed grip right now.”  

Eirika nodded, placing her left hand on the handle. Pressing the trigger again, she fired off a shot. This time, it did connect, high on the droid’s left arm. “I hit it!”  

“There you go, you’re getting it,” Rena grinned. “Now keep going; that pistol’s got 20 shots in the clip, and that wasn’t a center or head hit. Still got 10 more to hit.”  

Eirika nodded once more, focusing as she steadied her blaster a third time. Another shot, and this time it hit the target dead-on, right in the abdomen. “There’s one.” She fired again. This time the shot tagged the left thigh. “Keep it steady…” she muttered. Suddenly she remembered a key tip her brother had given her when she was first learning swordplay. “My weapon is an extension of my arm. Where my arm goes, so too will my weapon.” She fired off another shot. Headshot.  

Rena, having caught the statement, and of course the headshot, asked, “Where’d you learn that from?”  

“My brother – that is, my original twin brother – explained it while he taught me sword fighting. I assumed it might apply here,” Eirika explained.  

“Good on him,” Rena said. “Alright, keep going, that’s 3.”  

Eirika nodded and returned her gaze to the practice droid. Another shot. Right arm. Then another. Left breast. Again, right lung. Once more, liver. Then again, headshot. Another. Miss. A tenth shot . Right shin. And on it went, until Eirika had exhausted the 20 shots in her clip. In total, she’d scored 13 hits to either center mass or the head, and of those, 4 had been headshots. In fact, on her final shot she’d landed a headshot so perfectly the droid’s head popped off despite the low power.  

“Wow, you’re a natural, ” Rena said in amazement. “How is your aim so good, ad?”  

“I’m quite proficient with rapiers,” Eirika explained. “When you have to find the tiny weak points in a foe’s bulky armor consistently you become quite adept in placing your thrusts.”  

“Alright then,” Rena nodded. “Since 5 meters was easy enough, we’ll move back to 10. The end goal is landing 10 shots per cartridge consistently at 50 meters; in the meantime, we’ll be building that arm strength so you can wield this one-handed, since knowing you, that sword of yours is going to hurt.”  

Eirika smiled. “I look forward to that. And yes, this sword is quite strong: It is called Sieglinde, and it is charged with lightning.”  

“Ooh, an electric sword?” Rena said. “Now I gotta see it. But later, you’ve got some more shots to hit!”  

Eirika nodded, turning back to the range, where the droid was now standing a fair bit further away. Raising her blaster again, she fired.  

One hour later…  

One miss. Then another. Then a third. With a sigh, Eirika ejected the spent cartridge and holstered her pistol. She’d been getting unfocused, unable to properly aim at the worn-out combat droid standing about 10 meters ahead of her. Turning to leave, she noticed Rena walking up to her.  

“Calling it quits now, huh?” she said.  

Eirika sighed. “I suspect I’ve been attempting to focus too hard; I can’t even think straight.”  

“It happens, yeah,” Rena agreed. “Everyone’s a rookie to start. Besides, those twigs for arms you’ve got have got to go, and now’s a good a time as any.”  

Eirika gulped; she’d seen the sort of strength training Ephraim had done, and still did, on a regular basis; sure, it gave him a (reported) eight pack (she didn’t necessarily trust Tana on that one) and limbs like hardy tree trunks, but it was intense. Unfortunately, Rena noticed. “Oh, don’t worry, we’ll start off light,” she laughed. Eirika sighed. She had a feeling that ‘light’ was not something Mandalorians understood very well…  

Later...  

The princess of restoration found herself lying flat on her back, her arms and legs utterly spent from all the running and pressing and pulling and pushing she’d had to do at every single machine, of which there were enough to fill a very spacious room. She tried, vaguely, to move so much as a finger, but even that proved far too difficult. So, there she was, lying on a mat. “Do… I… have… to… do… this… every… day?” she moaned.  

“Well, no, this was mostly just to see where you’re at right now,” Rena explained. “In the future you’ll be in here for maybe an hour or two every other day for about, I dunno, a month? Maybe two?”  

Eirika sighed. That was manageable, she supposed. “What about… blaster training?”  

“ That’s going to be every day for at least an hour,” Rena stated. “Again, I want at least 10 shots hitting center mass or the head at 50 meters outta you. Until you get there, you’ll be on that range.”  

Eirika nodded… or, well, tried to. “When will my… beskar’gam be ready?”  

“We’ll have to take some measurements first,” Rena explained, “But once we do, I’d give it about a week. I bet you it’ll look great.”  

Eirika smiled, then attempted to sit up. Groaning in frustration when she realized she couldn’t, she asked, “Do you… mind helping me up?”  

“Can’t do that yet, I’m afraid,” Rena laughed, causing Eirika to pout. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine soon enough. It’ll be just in time for some dinner, too!”  

With that, Rena left the gym, leaving Eirika alone and still unable to really move anywhere. With only the blank walls and ceiling to stare at, she eventually realized that she was far more tired than expected, and so she just… fell asleep.  

Chapter Text

Eirika blinked her eyes open, realizing she was currently sleeping on a small, but certainly functional, bed. As she slowly lifted herself up, she began to take in the small room she’d been apparently moved to. Aside from her bed, there was a small table with a few shelves with assorted items, a closet presumably stocked with clothing, and on the table, next to her bracelet, was the projector.  

At that moment, the projector chimed, and after finding the button to activate it, Rena appeared from the base, saying, “ Eir’ika, get down here; the armorer’s here and she needs your measurements.” The projector then shut off, and she hopped off the bed to get changed into something more practical.  

A couple minutes later she’d entered the main room of the great compound, and standing at the entrance was Rena with another exceedingly tall woman who, it was clear, was significantly more solid in stature than Eirika was. “Are you the armorer?” she asked tentatively, to which the woman gave a solemn nod. “Alright... what do you need of me?”  

“I will tell you at the forge, ad,” said the armorer. “Suffice to say that you are not truly Mando’ad yet.”  

“I see...” Eirika sighed, though she really, really didn’t.  

Woves Clan Forge Complex  

Eirika had never properly been in a forge before; she’d never really had much of a need to begin with, considering all her weaponry and armor was specially crafted or was otherwise a sacred relic with little need for reforging. As she passed through the twin sliding doors leading into the complex, the first thing she noticed was the heat. Even this far from the actual heating chamber, the air was oppressive with the sheer force exerted by the hot air, and even in the relatively light shirt and pants she was wearing she was already beginning to sweat.  

As she followed the armorer down the steps, there was a turn and suddenly she was face to face with the great furnace that, presumably, melted down beskar for use as plating, and it was bright. There was a brilliant golden glow emanating from the molten metal as it was poured into crucibles and molds, and she could hear the massive bellows shunting air continuously into the path of what she thought was a flame, but honestly appeared too... consistent to properly be one. She didn’t really know what it was though, and said nothing, as the armorer stopped.  

“Well, ad, we are here. Rena (this was said in a different tone than Eirika pronounced it) informs me that you have need of your own beskar’gam. I have already been informed of key figures, so now, I will ask but one question.”  

Eirika, still silent, nodded.  

“Envision that which is most important to you,” the armorer began. “What you wish to do, and what you aim to represent. The most righteous combatants always have a cause, and I’ve seen eyes like yours before, ad.” She leaned in closer, even as she took the first gleaming ingot of beskar and lowered it into the furnace. “So, tell me, then. What do you wish to be?”  

The lost princess of Renais froze, not entirely sure of what the question meant, but as the fire flared up around the beskar, she could swear she saw something forming out of the flickering embers and sparks. In that moment, she knew what it was, the idea striking her like one of Sieglinde’s great lightning bolts.  

“I fight... to restore what once was,” she began. “For those who have no hope of their own, and who seek only a guiding light to show them the way to salvation. My armor shall be a beacon of hope, my weapon a symbol of truth and justice.”  

The armorer nodded, and said simply, “I see. In some ways, a naïve answer; however, in these desperate times, where the dar’manda claim what is no longer theirs, it may be what is necessary.”  

Eirika wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that, but then as the first ingot was melted down and poured into a waiting crucible, the armorer said, firmly, “Go . I will return with your armor when it is finished. And you will see the nature of that which you have wrought.”  

Quietly, the princess of Renais turned to leave, now waiting with bated breath for the armorer’s interpretation of her convictions.  

Sometime later...  

Eirika had just completed a full lap around the entire clan compound and was about to set off for her second when the armorer approached carrying... something. She couldn’t quite tell what it was, but then the two locked gazes, and the much taller woman beckoned her over.  

“Is this what I believe it is?” she asked, to which there was a nod.  

“Come. You must show your buir,” the armorer explained.  

With that, the two entered, and there Rena stood, smiling as the armorer handed the newly forged plating to Eirika. She felt the weight of it in her arms, even as she began taking the components and putting them on. She was offered no assistance, but neither did she need it, and after some minutes, the entire set was assembled... all save for the helmet.  

As she had assembled it, already she noticed where it differed from those of her newfound relatives; on the pauldrons she saw, oddly, lightning bolts that seemed to branch down to her vambraces, and on her breastplate, over her heart, was the symbol of a crescent moon. In general, the color of the accents was slightly different too; rather than the dark, ocean blue she’d seen on much of the Kyr’tsad’s armor, her own was a more turquoise hue, lighter, brighter than most.  

The princess with no kingdom noticed an odd slot inside her right vambrace as she attached it, realizing it seemed to fit snugly around her bracelet, its glimmering silver sheen evident even alongside the metallic shine of the beskar plating. She smiled, tapping it with her fingers as she tended to do.  

Finally, she viewed her helmet, painted with the same turquoise lining that adorned her breastplate and greaves along the rim of its glass (at least, she assumed it was glass) eye socket, and noticed that on either side was painted Sieglinde, crackling with energy and, interestingly, having its branched, outreaching hilt formed into the shape of another crescent moon.  

“I don’t know what I was envisioning,” Eirika said finally as she placed the helmet over her head, “But this has far exceeded all my expectations.” She turned to the armorer and gave a solemn nod. “I thank you, armorer, for your efforts.”  

The armorer said nothing, and simply nodded in return. With that, she left.  

Eirika then turned to Rena and asked, “Who exactly is the armorer?”  

Rena sighed and replied, “She’s from Clan Vizsla proper, though I’m not entirely sure of her relation to Pre and the main branch. I don’t know too much else, but she’s a lot younger than you’d expect her to be; I think she’s barely pushing 25.”  

Eirika balked, but then remembered that Seth, greatest general of Renais and probably the greatest strategist in all Magvel, had barely been around the same age a scant few months before the War of the Stones. Coupled with the general martial mindedness of the Mandalorians, she realized she could see how the armorer was so young for someone so immensely skilled.  

Before she could think any longer, Rena cleared her throat to get her attention. “Alright, ad’ika, you’ve got some more work to do now that your beskar’gam has been prepared. First order of business: acclimating to the weight.”  

“And how am I to do that?” asked Eirika.  

Rena chuckled. “Simple: wear that all day, every day, for the next 2 weeks. You are only allowed to take it off when showering or sleeping, and you may only remove your helmet, and nothing else, while eating.” She then added, “Trust me, Eir’ika, it takes a lot less time to get used to it than you think.”  

“Am I to do anything special while in the armor?” Eirika asked.  

“Certainly,” Rena replied with a grin. “Your usual physical regimen, and after the 2 weeks are up, we’ll start proper close quarters combat training, hand-to-hand.”  

Eirika gulped. “Hand-to-hand? No melee weapons?”  

“Of course not!” Rena laughed. “You can’t always expect to have that beskad of yours ready; what if somebody jumps you in a tight space?” She then continued, “Also, I’ll be real; I... don’t have much practice with swords of that length.”  

“I’d request sparring with Governor Vizsla, I suppose, but not for a while yet,” Eirika admitted. “Do you happen to know anyone who is proficient?”  

“I think one of Axe’s friends knows a thing or two about beskad combat, but I don’t know if they have one handy; you can certainly ask, though.”  

“I do believe I will, buir,” Eirika nodded. “But first... acclimation.”  

“Right. Remember, 2 weeks with that on all the time, and no breaks unless you need to eat, sleep, or use the refresher.” Rena then tapped a few buttons on her vambrace comm. “Time starts... now.”  

A few days later...  

Jab. Beneath her helmet, Eirika saw the light blow coming a mile away, and dipped out of the way.  

Hook. The follow-up was swift, but she’d always been light on her feet. It missed wide left, glancing off the gleaming chest plate.  

Kick. A sweeping kick was the follow-through, aimed at her lighter-defended shins, but with a short leap of her own she transitioned into an elbow drop to the chest.  

Block. Her impromptu jump strike missed its mark, having been staved off by bulky vambraces.  

Tackle. As she was pushed back, her opponent made a swift charge of their own, barreling into her shoulder first and dropping her to the floor.  

Step. Staring at the incoming foot of her seemingly victorious opponent, she did the one thing she could think of and yanked it sideways, sending them crashing down and allowing her to get back up and turn the tide completely.  

TIME.  

“Not bad, vod,” said Axe with a subtle grin beneath his helmet. “Neat trick with the feint drop. Where’d you learn that?”  

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me,” Eirika laughed.  

“Nah, I’ve heard my fair share of crazy stories from buir,” Axe chuckled. “Now come on, spill.”  

“Well, it’s an adaptation of a trick that’s effective against centaurs, where you bait them to rush you and use their own momentum to tip them over,” she replied.  

“Centaurs? The hell are those?” said Axe, confused.  

“Part man, part horse, exact origins unknown,” Eirika stated. “Similar techniques work against mounted soldiers, assuming they’re not moving too fast.”  

“Huh,” Axe muttered. “Probably wouldn’t work on a speeder bike, then.”  

“It might, assuming you had enough weight backing you up,” Eirika pondered. “You’re basically trying to act like a boulder in the path of whatever’s barreling down on you.”  

“I mean at that point you’d just... get a big rock,” Axe chuckled. “Still though, good spar. How long’ve you had that beskar’gam now? Three days? Four?”  

“Should be my... third day, I think,” Eirika recounted. “Is this about on pace?”  

“Considering what buir’s told me about you I’d say we’re right on schedule. Give it a week and you’ll be a natural.”  

“Perfect! At that point, think you could see about finding out who here has a sword I can try to duel somebody with?”  

“I know a guy who might know a guy,” Axe grinned. “I still haven’t seen what, uh... Seeg-lund? Can do, and it looks nice.”  

“Sieglinde, but yes, it is certainly interesting.” Eirika nodded. “Now, I think it’s time we get some food.”  

“Can do, vod.”