Spoils of War

Episode XIV: The Funeral

She woke slowly without opening her eyes, confusion and general malaise the first sensations her drowsy senses found. Bits and pieces from last night floated across her mind, starting with the mad whirl of the party then ending with that: the thing that at first she thought she dreamed. The hallway. His confession. "I do think about us." The man in the armor panting for her, hard against her, his hands on her. A blur of lust and tenderness and anticipation. The breathless tilting dash to the room. Din muttering and cursing as he took much too long to clumsily peel armor off his body. Tala unzipping her flight suit as exhaustion saturated her body. Then what? Her recollections ended. Maybe it had been just a dream.

Her eyes faintly opened and she immediately grimaced against a headache and shut them again with a soft moan. Her body hurt. Everything protested. She shifted groggily because she'd chosen to fall asleep in a very ragged, uncomfortable position—then went still mid-shift when she realized the warmth across her lower half wasn't a heavy blanket. Blankets didn't breathe.

… Oh my gods.

It hadn't been a dream. With a racing heart, Tala eased an eye open cautiously and then both bugged wide. Everything froze in awed terror as her world changed forever. Din was in bed with her. His arm was thrown across her middle, ending with a bare hand with no vambrace attached. But more importantly and inexplicably, he did not have his helmet on. Buried face-first in the side of her ribcage was a shaggy, tousled head of brown hair. Her heart stopped and her breath froze. It was just hair, but it was his, and Tala swallowed against fast breaths, feeling a profound emotional response to seeing something about him no one else had. Then came dismay, because she didn't think this was supposed to have happened.

Kriff. What were we about to do last night? Why is his helmet off?! Did he mean to do that?

He chose that moment to stir in his sleep and make a soft sound of hmph, shifting just slightly. In alarm at the thought of accidentally seeing his face Tala flipped away, resulting in Din's head crashing into the bed and hers almost hitting the wall. She stayed stock still with her back to him, trapped between him and the wall, her racing breaths and heartbeat the only sound in her ears. Still deeply asleep he nestled into her, shifting and curling his body around hers, sighing softly. It was the most heartbreakingly sweet sound and action Tala had ever experienced. His arm looped around her at the lower stomach and hip area, pulling her close snugly as he rubbed his face into the space between her shoulder blades a couple of times in his sleep. Her eyes shut briefly in disbelief and elation as every single sense focused on him. All she could see in her mind's eye was that hair she'd just seen.

Tala momentarily opened her eyes and took stock of what she could, realizing her flight suit was still unzipped. Embarrassed that she'd been about to have her first sexual encounter while drunk and stupid—I should never drink that much again—she re-zipped as quietly as possible all while looking at Din's hand, which was against her stomach in a loose curl. The thought of touching it wouldn't leave her mind. It proved too enticing to ignore. After a long moment of hyping herself up she reached out, hesitant fingertips finding the spaces between his digits then softly, cautiously closing. Just so she could know how it really felt to hold his hand. Her hand wasn't small, but compared to his, it looked that way. Against her back, the soft rise and fall of his chest came with no chest plate there to dull the sensation away. She shut her eyes again, trying to hold onto this indescribable feeling she didn't know existed. For a minute, she imagined this was her life—not the stolen moment that it was. After that last thought, guilt and sadness crept in. What would his reaction be to this? Somehow, she didn't anticipate joy when he woke. She anticipated the opposite.

Her eyes opened slowly and haggardly. She let go of his hand sadly then drew in a deep, bracing breath. "Din." No response. "Din." That time it was louder. No response. She bucked her butt into him as she whisper-shouted through teeth. "Din!" That last one did the trick. She felt him wake then lift his head in bleary confusion. Then he went stiff with a sharp inhale. Tala had her eyes squeezed shut and for good measure went ahead and put her face down into the bedding.

"Kriff," he swore in panic. "Fuck." Yet again Tala froze. Without the helmet's modulation effect distorting his voice, he sounded different. Closer. Realer. Devastatingly so. Gods she wanted to see his face!

Hearing his alarm made Tala do something she didn't do a lot of, especially to him: she lied. "I didn't see anything, it's okay."

His breathing was all she could hear for a second. Rapidly increasing, harsh inhales and exhales as he slowly shrank from her. "Don't look." He sounded scared. And that made Tala worry even harder. She kept her face down in the bed as her stomach churned, and not from the hangover.

Din didn't say anything—she heard him scoop his helmet up and shove it on first then shuffle around, all while breathing like he'd just done sprints. A minute passed of him clanking his armor back on and Tala stayed exactly where she was, consumed by uneasiness. Finally, the all-clear came. "Done." His voice was scratchy, full of embarrassment, and modulated again.

Tala dared to peek at him from the pillow apprehensively. He sat on his storage bench and looked the same as always, but his energy was incredibly tense. "I didn't see anything," she insisted, sitting up opposite of him as her mind obsessed over the memory of the top of his head. "I don't even remember… coming in here." She cradled her head with a hand on her forehead briefly, cringing at how terrible her body felt. "Well, yes I do. A little. I passed out right away, I think."

"Yes, I think you did." He touched a hand to his helmet, apparently suffering the same headache she was. "I wasn't long after you." He swore under his breath again. His body language, as subtle as it was, made Tala incredibly stressed. She sensed that he was about to run away from her.

She tried to soothe him preemptively. "Din, we were drunk," she reminded, torn between staying seated across from him at this safe distance and going over and trying to—what? Hold him? Console him? Would he even let her? She stayed where she was, feeling powerless.

"I'm never drinking again," Din muttered evasively, then paused to look at her with concern. His voice softened. "… You okay?"

No, not at all. But the fact that he'd think to even ask meant a lot. Tala wasn't sure how to answer. "I guess." And she already knew the answer but asked him anyway: "You?"

He shook his head and hung it in exhaustion. It took him a long time to respond. "What happened last night in the tunnel—and what was about to happen here—" He stood abruptly. "We can't go down that road. Kriff." He explained nothing further and swept out of the room, leaving Tala stung and dismayed, wondering why. Why.

Her injured gaze wandered the room sightlessly before she registered a clear glass container full of tiny dried flowers on the shelf above his sink. She rose, feeling like she could cry, because were those…? She picked the container up and inspected it, recognizing all the flowers she'd ever left on the Crest. Her heart cracked. This made no sense.

"I do think about us."

Confusion swept her mind into a maelstrom as she remembered him against her, grabbing her close, cradling her face, fingers threading through her hair.

Warmth. Wanting. Mutual desire. Now this: cold emptiness.

…Why?

That was the only word she could come up with in that lonely, terrible moment.

Later
The Caves

The massive underground cavern where the Tribe practiced jet packing was quiet and empty except for one lone Mandalorian who sat on one of the jutting ledges overlooking the grand, dim space. Rugged and forbidding, it was the kind of natural wonder that reminded one of how small they were in the grand scheme.

And damn, did he feel small that day. Din's mind was a warzone. He wasn't sure how much time had passed since he fled his room and arrived here. The realization of what he'd done and how far he'd wanted to go was resonating in his bones—leaving him absolutely destroyed. A Mandalorian's helmet remained on around others no matter what. There were no exceptions. How ironic and dangerous that Din had discovered that (for him anyway) falling in love came with wanting to take the damn thing off. Because kissing. And closeness. And really looking into her eyes.

The imagined scenario of her seeing his face ran through his mind and it was bittersweet. He wondered what she'd think of his brown eyes and humble features on a face he felt was plain at best—the beard that came in patches, the hair he didn't bother to comb anymore because it had a mind of its own. He imagined her hands in that hair… then gave a miserable huff, bowing his helmet into a hand. Dank farrik, he needed to stop it.

This was torture; a situation he'd never predicted being in. No, he hadn't taken the helmet off to kiss her—he'd thought he was about to vomit—but Din knew himself. And dammit, just like clockwork, his stupid brain returned to the very thoughts he kept forbidding: him, her, and nothing else at all between. Not even his helm. That is exactly where he would end up with her—he knew it without a shadow of a doubt. Over time, or maybe not that long at all, he would wear down and give in and lose everything because of the intensity of what he wanted with her—the riduur he loved who didn't see herself as such. He didn't think. After last night… unless it was just the alcohol talking and doing… he'd gotten the feeling she might feel like he did. Which just made it hurt worse.

His eyes ached, threatening to flood. His life was defined by the Way. He would carry it forward for the rest of his life. He had to. And he would have to do it without her. Or, better put: without her in the way he most truly wanted. Everything was made so complicated by the marriage situation they'd blundered into. By the feelings that had grown for her. Wearily, Din reasoned with himself. He had to put last night's accident behind him and live with the guilt of it for a lifetime—both for the sin of removing the helmet and the crime of hurting his beloved. He had to never put himself into temptation like that ever again and hope that their relationship, the most profound one in his life, could somehow survive this. He feared it couldn't, and all the times they'd shared ran through his mind. Beautiful memories now tainted.

What will I do when someone asks me if I've ever removed my helmet in front of others?

Another wave of absolute heartbreak crashed over him. Din felt sad for himself. Sad for Tala. And confused by how complicated the situation was. He imagined in another life how things could be. He pictured them happy. Embracing. Faces touching. Mouths kissing. Eyes meeting. Then caught himself and gave a soft growl. Stop thinking about this for fuck's sake, Djarin!

Soft, approaching footsteps at a gait he recognized compelled him to close his eyes in both dread and affection. Everything fell away. He knew who it was before she appeared and sat at a respectful sidelong distance. "Been looking for you," she said quietly, then set something down between him. "Maybe this will help with the headache?" A steaming cup of caf, in one of the grails from last night.

He'd known she would come after him. But the thoughtful gesture, he hadn't predicted. It made him feel even worse. He should have said thank you, but all he could muster was the defeated bare minimum. Better to get this over with quickly and not raise any hopes. "You should go home, Tala."

The quiet hurt in her voice killed him. "Din." In cowardice, he refused to look at her. She tried again, her gentleness making everything worse. "Talk to me. Please. You haven't done anything wrong."

He bristled. He'd done everything wrong. "I broke the Creed." I tempted fate purposefully. "I removed my helmet in front of someone else."

"While I was passed out," she insisted, frustration tightening her voice. "I didn't see anything! That's what that rule's based on, right? Seeing the face. Which I didn't! You didn't break the Creed!" While given marginal relief because he could hear the truth when she insisted she hadn't seen his face, he remained unconvinced about the rest.

He was quiet for a long moment, still staring dead ahead of himself. "You sure you didn't see anything?"

"I didn't," she lied nervously.

Disappointed, he shook his head and pointed out the flaw in her deception: "Then how'd you know my helmet was off at all if you woke up with me behind you?" He paused heavily, watching her crumble. She had seen something. His heart rate picked up and his voice dropped softly. "What'd you see?"

She had become very quiet and meek and worried. Outright scared. "I… saw your hair," she confessed with vast worry in the smallest voice he'd ever heard from her. "It wasn't your face." She was panicking now. "I didn't see your face, I swear it Din. Last night was all an accident—you were drunk! We were drunk! We didn't know what we were doing!"

It was about more than that. A lot more. Her rising distress was making him feel the same distraught way. "Tala. We can't do—" Din came up short in frustration. "There's some lines we can't—" Kriff, this was hard. He just had to come out and say it so they could deal with the truth: "Last night was a mistake." It sounded so cruel to put it that way.

Finally, he looked at her and wished he hadn't. The hurt on her face was unreal. She had unshed tears in her eyes. "Why?" She was unable to hide how wounded she was. "Is something wrong with me?" Cold anger gathered even as a tear ran down her cheek. "You'll readily fuck someone like Xi'an, but you're disgusted at the thought of sleeping with me?" She stood swiftly to leave, face twisted into an injured mask. "Thanks."

Din stood too, his pained exclamation stopping her in her tracks as she charged away. "Xi'an is nothing!" She turned back slowly, those anguished eyes begging him to explain himself. "Nothing," he reiterated genuinely. Part of him felt broken over this. How could he make Tala understand? Ill-prepared, he began a series of sentences he only finished in his head. "And you're…" Everything. "The most—" Important person in my life. "I just—" Can't even begin to explain all this without opening up in ways that put me in danger. "Tala, if we slept together, it would destroy everything."

"… Destroy everything?" Offended confusion filled her features. "What do you mean?"

"You will always want something I can't give you," he insisted with rising passion, pointing to his head. "This helmet, off."

Tala's fire returned. "You're the one who took it off!"

Kriff. Din paused. He didn't clarify the reason he'd taken it off—that would only hurt her more. And anyway. She was right, more or less. "It—" He grasped at tatters, feeling backed into a corner. "I—" And nothing he could come up with sounded right. "I'm not ready to talk about this," he realized, then recognized something far more sobering. Something he did not want to say but realized he had to. His voice grew muted, full of grief he couldn't hide. "I think it's best for us to take some time apart." Because there was no talking this through. There was only fixing the damage done.

Her face fell like she couldn't have just heard what she did. "Wh—?" She gaped at him in rising despair, her anger a memory. "Time apart? What do you mean?!" Briefly she anxiety-smiled, like it had to be a joke. The smile faded when she realized it was real. "I don't understand. Din." He shook his head and turned from her, feeling miserable. He'd just betrayed and destroyed the dearest person in his life because of his own stupidity—all while risking everything and defying the Creed. All because he couldn't keep his hands to himself and his secret where it belonged: untouched in the dark. Behind him, she begged without pride which only made it worse. "Don't shut me out—please." He heard her coming closer, then felt a soft touch at the back of his arm just above the elbow. His eyes closed as he let a haggard exhale go. Even now, all he wanted was to turn around and pull her into his arms.

He'd known pain all his life after being constantly shot at, stabbed, sliced into, slammed around, etcetera. But nothing had ever hurt like this. He opened him mouth to reply. And never did.

Running footsteps announced a newcomer, and the distressed couple turned to see Jal Yen. "Clan Djarin!" Her voice carried indication that something was very wrong. She breathlessly approached, already posturing like she was about to run back from where she'd come. "Quickly. Come." Her voice wavered, catching on an inexplicable, out-of-character sob. "The Historian was just found dead."

Later

Here was the bitterest irony: The space which held a joyous wedding the night prior now served as the grounds for a funeral. The ones who had shouted themselves hoarse with celebration the evening before now quietly mourned the loss of one of their own. The feeling of shock cloyed the air, and Din felt like every other person there: deeply, ruinously desolate.

It was determined that the Historian died in his sleep. At age ninety-two, he was the eldest Tribe member, having thirty years over the next-oldest. With his loss came the loss of a person who had truly seen and lived the Mandalorian life as it was meant to be. His guidance and input and knowledge had been the foundation for people like Din, who grew up a Mandalorian in the hiding times. With the Historian gone, it felt like they'd lost an anchor. A touchstone into their past. Even the manner of his passing was woeful: A warrior's death was seen as highly desirable in Mandalorian culture. To pass on from old age in darkness and secrecy was an additional blow. A reminder of how dark the times they lived in truly were.

Every last Tribe member including Tala gathered in the main area where a pyre was dutifully built. Mandalorians cremated their brethren in the armor, burning everything away except that which remained through the centuries: the beskar and the durasteel. Besides the Armorer's closing remarks at the unlit pyre, Din heard little else of the eulogy she spoke. "We are Mandalorians," she said in conclusion, her strong voice stricken by heartache. "We are with each other until the end. This is the Way." She lit his pyre.

A soft, murmuring refrain came. "This is the Way."

And there they stayed. Encircling the Historian, all remained until the last flame burned and all that was left was bone and armor. Two hours of this. Silence. Respect. Grief. Memories. Anguish. Reflection.

Across from Tala the entire time instead of beside her, Din lost himself in the misery of what he had to do… the ways in which he needed to honor the Historian with the life had had left. More than ever he recognized how essential it was to carry the Way forward. His kind was almost extinct. Nothing—nothing—could distract him from this. Not even her.

As the somber Mandalorians began to break apart and go separate ways after the flames died, Din finally went to Tala and without a word, without even facing her squarely, he took her hand in his and squeezed softly, once. A silent goodbye, I'm sorry. A reminder that he held her in utmost gentle regard and always would. Even though things had to change now. Then he turned and left, his shoulders heavy and his eyes filled with tears as he thought of how much loss had come today. How much bitterness and heartbreak. How much he hated himself for hurting the woman he loved. How much his calling hurt.

If he'd looked behind him, he'd see her watching—then pursuing when she saw where he was headed.

She caught up to him just before he hit the stairs. "Where are you going?" Her breathy, hurt question hung in the air, revealing how insecure she felt. Surely he wasn't leaving without saying goodbye.

He didn't turn around. He wasn't hostile, but he wasn't warm either. "Back to work." With those words, her heart was crushed to dust. Din's head turned her way just a bit as his voice softened and broke almost imperceptibly. "Take care of yourself, will you?"

Stung into silence, Tala watched with disbelief as he began to climb the stairs. Soft boot steps were all that was left after he reached the point where she could no longer see him. And then those faded too. He was gone. Again she grieved, grappling with the feeling of being totally lost. How could life have felt so marvelous and fun last night and so hopeless and bleak today? In the silent tunnel, dust swirled in the light reflecting off the stairs.

A small, worried voice spoke from the darkness nearby. "Is something wrong?" Intensely startled, Tala turned. Kal-Bruna came out of the shadows. Approaching thirteen, she was gangly and lean, growing into her body. Her small shoulders were slumped.

Tala was immediately concerned about why Kal-Bruna was here—she wasn't allowed. "Kal-Bruna! Are you all right?" And when had she left the funeral? "Why have you gone off by yourself?"

Kal-Bruna shrugged and hung her head, then sat down on the ground near the wall and hugged her knees.

Tala took a second to consider options, then joined cautiously, realizing she could take a guess about what was wrong. "Are you feeling sad about the Historian?"

Picking at a loose string at her knee, Kal-Bruna nodded, her voice weak and pained. "I just hope I don't die down here like he did."

That broke Tala's heart all over again. "Oh Kal-Bruna, come here." She put her arms around the girl and held her close. Kal-Bruna's armored arms hugged back tightly and she shook.

"Sometimes, I don't wanna be down here," she admitted tearfully. "And I think about how I could take this armor off and go up there and no one would ever know where I came from."

Tala proceeded with caution, understanding she was probably the only one in the world who Kal-Bruna could confide such a thing to. "Running away does sound very appealing sometimes." She thought of Din, and pain rippled. She thought of how she wanted to run away right now. To somewhere she wouldn't have to face this pain and uncertainty. In her arms, Kal-Bruna shuddered and cried. "It's okay to cry," Tala murmured, her eyes tearing up too. "And it's so okay to want to run away." She tried to catch Kal-Bruna's eye, peering around to the blank front of helmet. "Just promise no huge decisions when you're really upset, will you?"

With a feeble nod, Kal-Bruna agreed then pulled away, trying to steel herself. "I'm Mandalorian, I'm supposed to be brave." The brief strength in her voice gave way. "How can I be brave? And why do we have to live down here like this?"

It was hard to know what to say. "Sometimes just carrying on is the bravest thing we can do, Kal-Bruna." Taking caution not to say something that could misguide a child, especially a child who wasn't hers, Tala took a second. "Brave people cry."

Kal-Bruna studied Tala. "Why are you crying?" It was a gentle question coming from someone who truly cared.

A tense, worried gaze lingered on the place she'd last laid eyes on Din. "I'm worried about beroya," Tala murmured hoarsely, working hard to keep her deeper emotions at bay. "And so sad about what happened here today."

Kal-Bruna sighed and took a long moment, processing. When she folded her arms and looked at Tala with a certain spirited energy behind the movement, Tala knew the subject had been closed and that the tween's most common coping technique (silliness) was around the corner. "You know what would make us feel better?"

Suspicious, Tala narrowed her eyes as a smile slowly spread. "… What?"

"Babies."

"Kal-Bruna!" Tala admonished, laughing wearily against Kal-Bruna's cheerful, girlish giggle. She patted her helmet a couple of times in an affectionate but roughhousing way. "A jokester. She's a jokester!" With a tired sigh Tala stood and held out a hand to her little friend. For now, she was just going to soldier through all this. Deal with her private emotions later. "Come on, will you? Let's go see how everyone else is."

Hand in hand and then arm in arm briefly on their way back to the Tribe, Tala had to reflect on no matter what happened with her and Din, she hoped she could still be here. She loved the children. Especially Kal-Bruna. The thought of not being part of this world anymore hurt.

Months Later
Kizzo's

What could be said of what life had become all these months after the wedding and the funeral? Din didn't really talk to her anymore. He didn't visit. The thoughtful items left on her rooftop stopped. The few times she'd tried to catch him in the street, he'd been lukewarm and unresponsive. He even started to get the Crest repaired off-planet, which hurt more than it should have. He still came to help with the Tribe deliveries, so she'd seen him about four times, but he said only what needed to be said. It hurt. It had killed something inside of her. But that was life, and the days kept coming. Whether or not she would ever understand exactly why he'd chosen to push her away like he had, she had to adapt or die.

The days blurred together. Nevarro was in its chilly season, and the shop was busy which helped pass the time. Two new employees had been hired—Teem and Lodra. Around here, employees tended to come and go. But for now, at the opposite end of the shop, constant whirling and drilling sounds came as the newbies double-teamed a kyromaster ion engine repair.

Adjacent to her dedicated workstation, Tala pushed with tiny backward steps on the rolling stool from the worktable to the J-type engine she was servicing. Huge goggles protected her eyes from all the sparks that kept shooting off. With industrial-strength pliers, she twisted with concentrated effort at an element that had melted into the motherboard.

Kizzo shambled up and wiggled the hydrospanner he'd borrowed at her before letting it plunk into her hovercart of repair tools. "Thanks again," he said, then paused on second thought before retreating. "Hey uh—everything all right with you lately?"

A glance flicked his way. "Yeah, why?"

Kizzo dillydallied briefly, wiping his grubby huge Gran hands on his dingy work apron. "Well… you don't hum your little songs anymore. And I noticed you've dropped off the fighting roster almost completely." The pliers abruptly lost their grip on melted metal and jammed, causing Tala to lurch and stare at her hands with a tight jaw. Called out on how depressed she'd gotten and how hard she was working to ignore the fact, she exhaled hard. She didn't need this right now.

"I'm good," she lied, returning to the difficult task of separating metal from metal. Just leave me alone.

Kizzo gave her a little nod, sensitive to her closed energy. "Always here if you need an ear, kiddo."

Tala sent a weak smile his way. She did appreciate the care. But everything felt like shit, even his innocent, caring question. "Thanks, Kiz." She continued the difficult work of her hands, unsettled and distracted now.

Kizzo didn't move, and just as Tala was about to send him a look that said get out of my workspace please, she realized he was looking at the nearby wall with thoughtful hands on his hips. "What's that lil doo-hickey you got up there?" He cocked his head to the side and three eyes blinked as Tala followed his gaze over her shoulder impatiently. She went still, expression falling. On her project board, a blinking device hung off a hook. "Looks like an after-market distress signal receiver."

Tala was standing and pulling her goggles off in disbelief and rising alarm. "… That's exactly what it is." She went over and pulled it off the wall, sure that it couldn't be actually blinking. But it was.

"Who's that belong to, again?" Kizzo touched his chin thoughtfully. "Your Mandalorian friend, right?"

Stricken, Tala nodded silently, unable to stop looking at that red blinking indicator. Yes. The Mandalorian friend who had hemmed and hawed two years ago about installing the distress signal at all. The only reason he had agreed in the end? Tala's persuasion—which had been more like cajoling and pleading. Her fist tightened around the blinking beacon as anxiety squeezed her throat. "He's in trouble." Her two eyes raised to find Kizzo's three. Consideration didn't even occur. She surprised even herself a little bit when she said it, meant it, and was ready to immediately act on it: "I gotta go." She didn't even pause. She was already grabbing her jacket and striding out of the shop with the distress signal in her hand.

Author's Notes: this chapter hurt me. ;_; I gotta know! Did anyone think Din's face would actually be revealed? Let's have your predictions now on when it might happen :D *grabby hands*

Sidenote: been going through a very rough time in life this past year and writing this fic/hearing your lovely feedback has been so nice for my mental health. Getting to escape into an epic story that dropped into my mind and knowing others are loving it too is really soothing somehow. So, thank you!