Chapter Text
“Do you know what it means?” Luke asked, spinning the image around toward Leia across the table. The other aurek had been acting strange for the last week or so, trying to brush her off until it seemed to be too much for him. They’d been on Hoth for four years now, and while Luke was a stand-up pilot, he always seemed just a little bit distracted. At first she’d thought it had to do with his Jedi training, even though he was stuck on his own, he was trying for something, but she knew it was more than that.
Luke wouldn’t even loosen up when they had parties at the base.
She’d finally gotten him to talk about it.
She looked down at the sketch he’d made. It was a weird three-pointed symbol with a set of lines drawn underneath it that might have been some kind of aurekbet, but it wasn’t something she recognised. She picked the paper up, looking it over carefully. She felt an itch in the back of her mind as though there was something familiar about it, but she wasn’t sure.
“Is this all you have to go on?” she asked, looking up at him.
Luke shrugged. “Well, that an a word… or maybe a name? Vizsla.”
She frowned. That too seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “Did you get this from one of the imperial bases?”
Luke had been going out on scouting missions with some of the other squads to take out imperial bases for the last few years. Sometimes he or one of his squad mates would come back with intel from the bases that were still in code. Luke tended to be a natural at code breaking, he thought it might have something to do with the force, but Leia thought it could equally have something to do with the fact that most codes used Huttese as a way of blocking out parties, since most people within imperial space didn’t know the language, but Luke was perfectly fluent.
“No,” he shook his head, putting his hands together and fidgeting with the top of his cuff. He bit his lip in a clear anxious tic, rolling it under his upper teeth as he did. “I’ve been having these dreams, lately. Well… for the last four years, but they’ve been getting intense more recently. Some of them are of a volcanic landscape, while others are of hyperspace or the inside of a ship. All of them though have this symbol and the word Vizsla. Sometimes those lines show up. I think it spells out Vizsla in whatever language it is. But I don’t know what it means.”
Leia frowned. “Let’s ask Threepio,” she suggested.
Luke shrugged. It was worth a shot. She stood up and waved the droid down where he was chattering with one of the other officers across the space of the dining hall. As the golden droid began to move toward her, the man visibly let out a sigh of relief before saluting Leia with a smile.
“Master Luke, Princess Leia,” C3-PO greeted, coming to stand beside the table. He turned his bright golden eyes on the two of them intensely. “I was having a very interesting discussion with Captain Antillese, so I hope this is of pertinence–”
“Do you know what this means?” Luke interrupted him, holding out the piece of paper in his direction. The droid snatched it out from between his fingers, holding it up near his head as he tapped his chin and studied it.
“It appears to be in Mand’o,” he informed him.
Luke looked at Leia and grinned. “Wow, why didn’t I think of this sooner? Threepio, what does it mean?”
“Hmmmm?” he tilted his head over at Luke and then back at the paper. “Well, it seems to be nonsense, as far as a translation can be made. It reads Vizsla, which does not have a full Mando’a translation into basic. It is probably a nominative."
“A nominative?" Luke asked, scowling at how unclear that statement was. What did the droid mean by that? Here he was thinking he’d made a giant step toward figuring out his dreams, only to be stopped by threepio’s riddles.
“Indeed. A word that indicates that it is an existing subject, recognisable by the context. For some languages you can change any noun or verb into a nominative through conjugation, but Mando’a is a very simple language. It only has one gender and only uses verbs when required for completely contextual understanding. They don’t even have a verb to indicate a state of being.”
Luke rubbed his forehead. “I don’t need a grammar lesson, Threepio, I just need to know what it means.”
Now he remembered exactly why he hadn’t come to the protocol droid sooner.
“Linguistics, master Luke,” the droid corrected.
“What?” Luke frowned. What did that have to do with the answer to his issue?
“You said that you didn’t need a grammar lesson, but I was trying to explain linguistics to you to help you better understand the answer to your question.”
Luke slammed his face into the table. “I know why Han wants to scrap you now.”
“Dear me, did Solo actually say–”
Leia placed a hand on the very anxious droid’s shoulder. “No on is scrapping you,” she said gently, compassion in her tone. “Now, what you’re saying is that Vizsla is a name, right?”
“Why, yes, of course it is a name,” he pointed to the drawing above it. “This is a clan symbol,” he set it down on the table. “As you know, I wasn’t just programmed with knowledge on translation, my databases also have been programmed with the cultural information about dozens of different planetary cultures! I know a great deal about Tatooine culture as well as Mandalorian culture. Mandalorian families are all separated into clans, usually associated with their family name. When marriage between Mandalorians happen the older and more powerful clan takes the couple in. Each clan has a symbol that connects to either the history of the clan or the area that they inhabited on Mandalore during the early days of the culture.
“Clan Vizsla is one of the oldest clans. According to Mandalorian legend, the founder of the clan was the first sole ruler of the planet. This is the symbol of clan Vizsla.”
Luke jerked back up. “You’re saying that this symbol belongs to a powerful Mandalorian clan?” His heart was pounding faster in his chest, thoughts of that day on Tatooine entering his head. No matter how hard he tried to forget the heat he’d spent with the Mandalorian zerek, he never could. Every time his rut came on, even on suppressants Luke would hump the rutroom mattress or stroke his cock with thoughts of that Mandalorian on his mind. He would tear into the pillows on his bed imagining it was his bare throat.
Luke had never believed in true mates until he’d found himself unable to stop thinking of this man after so long.
Leia frowned. “Do you know a Mandalorian?”
Luke felt a flush rise up into his cheeks. He thought about that day again, the way it had felt so right when he slid into the other man’s wet cunt, the way he’d moaned his name as he’d fucked him, how good it had felt to wrap his hands around the man’s breastplate as he used it as leverage with each thrust. He thought about the leather of the zerek’s gloves on his thighs, squeezing around his bare ass. The way Luke had sunk into it and felt like he’d ascended to heaven.
He quickly felt his blood moving toward his groin and bit his lip, reminding himself that Leia was right there and he would be utterly humiliated if she saw him growing hard like this. She is like a sister to him. Sometimes, with how her scent was so familial he thought maybe she was his sister, but he couldn’t be sure.
“I met one, once,” Luke admitted, trying to fight down the flush on his cheeks. She was staring at him though, her gaze focused on them, intent.