Din Djarin had grown up in a fairly orthodox community of Mandalorians. They had taken him in as a child, and trained him in his traditions. This meant not only Mandalorian fighting techniques, and war chants, but their strict rule of keeping his helmet on at all times, as well. Din had never met any other Mandalorians outside his tight community, which naturally meant he assumed they all had the same rules as him.

‘This is The Way’, he repeated every day. Like a mantra. Not allowing him to forget what he had been taught as a lost kid. The way of Mand’alor was the only reason he was alive today. The only reason he was so successful as a bounty hunter. If never taking his helmet off meant he would honour his people, then so be it.

Much was his surprise when he met a fellow Mandalorian. One actually born and raised in Mandalorian soil. One who could speak Mando’a better than Galactic Basic. One who had firsthand fought to keep the planet away from Maul’s hands. And despite appearing to be as Mandalorian as one can be, you did not follow his creed—the one Din thought every Mandalorian followed.

His steps were steady, the Razor Crest had been your temporary home as you dealt with this job. He had previously asked you to keep an eye on Grogu while he got the three of you some food and supplies. The first image he was met with upon stepping foot in his ship was your face. His head instinctively shot to the side, firmly avoiding your gaze. “What do you think you’re doing?”