"You've scared her off!"
The sound of Peli's accusation seemed to rip through all of Mos Eisley. Din warned her to be quiet, his voice more threatening than his weapons.
"She can't fly," Din huffed. "There's no way she's off planet."
"Come on," Peli retorted. "You either scared her off or that's been her plan this entire time."
"It wasn't like that," Din huffed. "She wasn't upset, she was…"
Peli leaned in with arms crooked like wings. "Why would she have been upset?"
"It's nothing," Din mumbled.
"I'd bet all the money she made me yesterday that some Mos Espa rat took her. Did she at least have any weapons on her?"
"My beskar staff," Din explained. "Unless someone stole it, it's gone. She must have had it with her."
"Yeah, well. If someone kidnapped her they definitely wouldn't leave that behind."
The two exchanged a long glance.
"I have to go and find her."
"Took you long enough," Peli breathed out. "Take the speeder. I'll keep working on your ship. Just bring her back in one piece!" Din was already halfway out the door as Peli called out to him. "Don't forget about yourself either!"
—
Somewhere in the Tatooine dunes, Rowan Type had watched the suns disappear and rise a total of three times. Three days. She'd been missing for three days. Was nobody searching for her? Had they simply failed? Her throat was burning from the heat and lack of water. One of the Tuskens had given her a black melon on her second day, but no further kindness came. They merely needed to keep her alive if she was going to work, but they didn't need to extend their generosity much further.
It didn't seem to help that they moved their camp every dawn.
Her face burned to the touch, and she was certain her even tan had become as red as a dwarf star. It stung with obvious blisters, the skin around her forehead and lips peeling in flakes like the sand blowing around her ripped boots. Her knee had been wrapped properly by the Tuskens, and she was grateful for the fact that it was now numb. Even though the lack of sensation made it harder to walk, it was better than the shearing pain that had once ripped through it.
She was in charge of hunting with the beskar spear, taking down small rodents that tracked their way through the camp. Younglings would often kick sand in her face as they played, sending further fire into her lungs.
The cuts on her arms had also been bandaged by the Tuskens, but beyond that there was little they could do to minimize the pain. No bacta in those parts. They were sure to leave nasty scars, but Rowan was simply thankful that it hadn't been her face.
The Tuskens seemed almost curious as they attempted to communicate daily through sign language.
Where are you from?
Can you fight?
Today, it was a new one.
Which Mandalorian gave you this spear?
Rowan was unsure of how to answer. Sitting in the sand like a limp wimp rat, Rowan squinted against the sun. Silver? What was 'silver' in Tusken?
Lifting a heavy finger, she pointed to the staff. "Same," she said shortly. "Color."
They looked from the staff and back to her, their voices suddenly raising. They had misunderstood her to be threatening them. Rowan sighed heavily, her face falling into her hands.
"Smooth," she tried again. "Shiny. Like…" She looked around. Nothing in the desert could be described as 'shiny'. Rowan looked up at the sky for an answer. In the distance, she could spot the stars twinkling as night threatened to come.
The stars.
Excitedly, Rowan pointed upwards. "The stars," she breathed. "He's like the stars."
After a few moments, the Tuskens seemed to understand. They dotted their fingers like the twinkle of the galaxy, allowing Rowan to nod and gesture to her entire body.
"Except it's all of him," she chuckled.
The description of the Mandalorian seemed to startle her captors. They had trailed off to their huts to discuss something, leaving her with nothing but a dry throat and more confusion.
Their meeting continued until the moon was high into the evening sky. Rowan was nearly half asleep when she felt a staff burrow itself into her thigh, even more surprised to come face-to-face with a Bantha.
"I can't stand," she said weakly. "I have no energy."
The Tusken twisted his staff further.
Stumbling against the pain, the mechanic shed her weariness and the ridges in the sand beneath her. When she finally managed to lean against the Bantha, the Tusken quickly shoved her atop the grazing animal. Rowan flung her body over, stomach pressed into its back. She realized how ridiculous she looked, but sitting up would only cause her arms to weaken further.
"I can't," she repeated wearily. "Not without water."
The Tusken didn't seem to mind. He crawled ahead, situating himself comfortably on the Bantha. Drifting in and out of sleep, Rowan only fully gained consciousness when the sound of a speeder rang into her ears. She awoke with the illusion of the Mandalorian flooding her mind for the hundredth time. It wasn't so. But whoever the human was, he seemed to be coming straight for her.
Rowan was surprised that the Tusken tribe was communicating with any humans, let alone ones from Mos Espa.
Yes, he was from Mos Espa. The smell of oil and grease was unmistakable.
As the Tusken flung her body forward into the sand, along with the beskar staff, she heard the man whistle between his teeth. "Nice find." His voice was like two rocks against another. "She's wanted in Mos Espa. Not to mention, this staff is certainly worth… something."
Rowan glanced up. He was young. Almost a boy. "I know you. You work for the Hutts."
"I know you too, Rowan Typhe." His smile was almost too white against the black night. "Mos Espa will be so glad to have you back."
Rowan gathered all the strength she had to stand. "I'm going to give you a chance to let me take that speeder and leave."
"Why would I do that?"
Rowan pointed to the beskar staff. "That's why."
"No, no. That's coming with me," he smirked. "Still carrying around your dead boyfriend's stuff?"
"That's not from Marius," Rowan muttered. "And you don't want to meet the owner. I'm doing you a favor; don't be stupid enough to pass on it.""
The boy laughed. "As if there's another Mandalorian making his way around Tatooine."
Rowan's chin drooped as sleep threatened to take over. "This is your final warning. When he finds me, he won't hesitate to kill you. Nothing you say or do will stop him."
Please let that be true.
Rowan's mind raced with their last moment. The way he had drawn closer to her, complimented by the tease in his voice when he asked what she thought he looked like.
Had he been… flirting with her?
"I'd like to wait and see, honestly." The boy's voice cut through her daydream. "I'm sure the Hutts wouldn't mind a bit more beskar in their bank, as it were."
With another gruff shove, Rowan was transported onto the speeder. Perhaps she had deserved it - any fight left within was now dissolved entirely. Instead, it was her mind that was moving.
Will he find me?
Does he even want to?
Her eyes searched for signs in the stars, but not even a twinkle came out.
—
Din Djarin had spoken to numerous Tusken tribes, asking about a woman with a beskar spear, but none seemed to understand. One even accused him of heat stroke. The only lead he had was a crashed speeder and a dead Klatoonian.
But where did she go next?
Din was thankful that she at least hadn't abandoned him on her own accord, making it easier to narrow down a location. The only place on Tatooine that wanted Rowan Typhe more than he did: Mos Espa.
Din despised Mos Espa. In fact, he despised most of Tatooine with the exception of Peli Motto's repair shop. And yet, trudging through crowds of villains, thieves, and scoundrels was worth it for that reckless mechanic.
As Din approached the gate of Mos Espa, it was hard to know where to begin. He couldn't directly ask about her location, as many would be curious to know where the tradeswoman is as well. The only lead he had was the fruit stall she had hid from him on their first meeting.
As he made his way toward the market, the owner's pudgy face began to turn sour. Before Din could even get a word out, he was met with a wad of spit.
"I deserve that," the Mandalorian sighed, wiping the water from his chestplate.
"Where's Rowan?"
Din inched closer. "Keep your voice down - there's a bounty on her head."
"The bounty you placed."
"The bounty that I gave up to help her."
Arden scoffed. "How am I supposed to believe that? She was practically my ward."
"You have no other choice."
The shopkeeper grunted in annoyance as he began to restock his fruit. Heads were beginning to turn. "If that's all true, why isn't she with you?"
"She was kidnapped. At least, I'm pretty sure. Slave traders operate on the edge of Mos Eisley." The thought sent a shudder down his back. "I need to know where to start."
"The Hutt Syndicate will want their coil mechanic back, but the Pyke Syndicate has more and more spice runners on the planet. The question of who's in charge is wavering." Arden took the risk of leaning in closer. "Whoever has Rowan, you're going to need to use every weapon you've got."
Weapons weren't the issue. After the condition of the speeder, he was certain Rowan was injured. What he needed was speed - and medical treatment.
"I'll keep Rowan safe," Din mumbled.
The look of judgment in Arden's eyes - laced with affection - was all the support Din knew he would receive. And yet, it wasn't a lie. She would be safe before nightfall.
He would make sure of that.
From the opposite side of the market, commotion began to split the crowd as a group of slaves were pushed toward the Hutt cantina. Onlookers avoided the sight, failing to partake in the one thing life would leave them at the end of it: humanity.
Rowan was teetering on the edge of sanity as her body was roughly shoved forward, fellow slaves at both her sides stumbling into her frame with no remorse. Was standing even worth it to begin with? If they wanted her so badly, why not be carried… or even drug? Just as her body began to sink with the idea, something glistened enough to recalibrate her mind.
The glint of beskar.
The immediately energy that flooded her veins sent Rowan's body hurling forward, dragging numerous other chained slaves with her. Through a gagged mouth, her cries were only muted groans drowned out by the bustle of the market.
"Get back in line!"
Rowan felt the sharp pulse of an electric charger meet her spine, the force or lightning crackling through every inch of her body. If she had intentionally been holding in tears, her release of them at that moment was out of her control.
Din had heard the commotion in the distance, but suspected it was nothing more than a brawl set off by unfair prices. By the time the crowds dispersed, nothing seemed out of the usual. For Mos Espa, anyway.
Until something was.
The glint of beskar.
A young man with jet-black, curled hair seemed to brazenly swing it around as he flirted with a nearby barista on her break. Rowan was nowhere to be seen, but that didn't stop Din from running up to clasp a hand over the boy's throat.
With one arm firmly locked around the man's gullet and his other driving a vibroblade into his shoulder, the gut-wrenching cry of agony caught the attention of everyone that side of Mos Espa.
"Where is she?" Din hissed, ripping the beskar back to his side.
The man weakly held onto where the blade had sliced his muscle. A pathetic swing at the Mandalorian only gave Din the upper-hand. One more twist and he would snap the kid's arm in two.
"You're going to tell me where she is. Arm broken or not. Your choice."
"She's in the N-nebulex Cantina." The quiver of his lip descended through his entire body. "Please don't hurt me."
It had been a long time since the Mandalorian had acted petty, but the moment was too tempting to resist a smirk.
Thankfully, Din Djarin knew Nebulex Cantina, having spent time there in his twenties. Had he and Rowan ever crossed paths? His armor was shiny and red back then, a sign of passionate and bygone times.
It was somewhat refreshing to watch those around him keep their distance as Din made his way through the market. The anger shooting off of him was clearly evident despite the full suit of armor. Just as Arden had said, it seemed that the tension in Mos Espa was pulled taut. The last thing anyone needed was a fight with a Mandalorian.
As Nebulex Cantina trickled into his narrow view, a group of chained slaves came along with it. Din could spot eight outside, but suspected many others had already been taken inside.
Each head was a different color - hair or skin - but none the dark shade he was searching for. If it hadn't been for a quick gust of wind, he may have never noticed the sweep of curls caught inside it on the ground below.
Rowan's body was crumpled on the floor, her arms wrapped with stained rags. Her hair was almost orange with days of sand tucked between its strands, and her golden eyes were shut against what seemed to be a concoction of pain, exhaustion, and dehydration.
The entire world seemed to freeze around him.
Without a blink, he found himself at her side.
The weight of her head in his palm was too heavy, but the tender gesture was enough to crack open those golden orbs. Her eyes met his as a crack of sunlight pierced through the market, causing them to sparkle in a way that erupts the blood in his veins that had frozen over for four days.
"Mando." Her voice was almost lost against the sound of the market. "Took you long enough."
"You're getting out of here." He quickly grabbed his blaster, shooting at the link between her cuffs. Rowan's legs had been tied as well, but the metal was no match for his vibroblade.
"Wait," Rowan mumbled as he attempted to lift her over his shoulder. "The others… w-we need to set them free."
"We need to go," he growled. "Now."
Rowan gripped at his cowl. "Please. They don't deserve it any more than I do."
Grunting in annoyance, Din helped Rowan over to a nearby alley. She sank to the ground instantly, her body too weak to even stand. "Wait here," he muttered, knowing she had no other option. "I'll be back."
When Din made his way out from the alley, he was met with a rainstorm of blaster shots. Human guards of the cantina were storming toward him, but not without Mando's own greeting of equal blaster shots.
Four against one?
The odds were looking good.
The heel of his boot was able to send open guard flying backward as his body stumbled down a nearby staircase. As limp as a Porg in a thunderstorm.
Din was able to meet the next shot with a simple raise of his wrist, the fire bouncing off his pure beskar and disappearing into the stifling air around them. Thankfully, nearby crowds were spreading like schools of fish, offering him more space to finish this quickly. And cleanly. Using the shock of the guard to his advantage, Din shoved his vibroblade into the man's upper shoulder.
Two down, he thought tiredly. It was never a question of if he would win, but when.
Pulling out his own blaster, Din was able to shoot down a guard who had already taken off on foot.
These are all the Hutts can afford?
The last guard was admittedly the largest. And yet, a weakness was clear to the Mandalorian almost immediately. Although Din wore a cowl himself, there were undoubtedly downfalls of such a fashion choice. In fact, it was always an extra chance to prove his worth. If the Mandalorian could fight with a cape and win, he was a much better fighter for it.
This man was not.
In the space of a second, Din flung his grapple hook onto the loose fabric to pull the guard face-down into the dirt. Gripping the wire, Din was able to drag the man's neck directly beneath his boot heel.
"The switch." The man wriggled under Din's grip. "Don't make this harder for yourself than it already is."
It was amusing to watch the guard fumble for the switch in his pocket, but he needed a laugh right about then. When the guard was finally able to press the lock release on the slaves, the whizz of loosening cuffs was accompanied by cries of disbelief and exhilaration.
"Leave quietly," Din warned. "Don't let your joy be your downfall." Taking a bag of credits from his pocket, he tossed them to an elderly slave. "Take these and the others to the shipyard. Get on the next flight out of Tatooine and go back to your families."
Din knew of their gratitude although no words came. He also knew of the guard's gratitude as Din lifted his boot off his neck, letting him spit in the dirt with the rest of his life left in question. It was enough of a punishment.
Rowan, although not having been able to watch the fight, was immediately aware when the Mandalorian was back at her side. His strong arms didn't hesitate to scoop her up, the heat of her savior slipping through layers of cloth and beskar. His heartbeat was untraceable, but judging by the tight grip on her frame, she suspected it was quickening.
This was yet another moment Din cursed the loss of his jetpack. His only hope was that Boba Fett had managed to secure it, but even that seemed like a far cry. To top it all off, Din wasn't even sure where Boba Fett was headed. A jetpack had been the least of his priorities when the price of Rowan Typhe had come up in conversation.
It was enough to make a Mandalorian faint.
It took until the suns were far beyond the horizon for Din and Rowan to make it back to Mos Eisley on Peli's speeder. With Rowan's body limping against his back, the Mandalorian knew slow was the key to getting back safely. Pitstops were out of the question.
When they had finally reached the ship, Peli seemed to sense their arrival and stumbled from the front door like a worried aunt. Her slender arms were quick to catch Rowan, whose body was slipping from the backseat as if she herself was made of sand.
"Let me get the bed ready." Peli's voice was flushed for the first time. "Your bed - she needs more room to rest."
Din wouldn't be sleeping anyway. He needed to make sure that she was hydrated, comfortable, well-rested. He cursed himself for ever taking away that opportunity from her. And for what? A slave trade? They were far more dangerous threats to them on Tatooine, and he had let her slip through his fingers because some childish flirting had made his palms sweat. Not to mention, they needed to leave Mos Eisley as soon as possible in order to follow the client's schedule. Otherwise, they'd start asking questions.
Din couldn't risk questions.
Pushing the thought aside, Din carried Rowan into her new bedroom. He could hear her mumbling something unintelligible as her consciousness bounced between illusion and reality. Her forehead was sweating from her freshly open knee wound and the sand that threatened to infect it.
"Bacta spray?" He called out to Peli.
Peli winced in the doorway. "Enough for that knee, but those arm wounds…" She gestured toward the bandages. "I'd have to see what sort of mess we're dealing with."
Knowing that any slight sensation would sting like a Tatooine sunburn, the Mandalorian was careful to take the removal of her bandages slowly. As Peli left to search for aid, Din was able to remove his gloves. Seeing his bare hands in the presence of another human was somewhat nerve-wracking, but additionally somehow exhilarating.
Using just his fingertips, Din began to peel back the Tusken wrappings. They had likely saved Rowan a nasty infection, but that couldn't stop the lump growing in his throat when he saw the full extent of her wounds. It was complimented by a shriek from Peli back in the doorway.
"Oh yeah," she breathed. "I don't have enough bacta for that."
Deep cuts from the metal of the speeder and nearby canyon rocks had sliced Rowan's forearms from her elbows down to her wrists. The wounds had already started healing over, but without stitches and proper medical care, the skin was twisted and gnarled. Fresh blood was oozing from the points where her body had struggled to heal itself, but thankfully her hands had received little damage. Her palms had been ripped and bloodied at one point, but had miraculously managed to recover over the course of three days.
Din could only do what he was able. Applying the little bacta Peli stocked, he was out of options to sit and wait. The thick liquid rested on Rowan's sunburnt skin, struggling to find a way into the damaged surface.
"We need fresh wrappings," Din muttered. "See what you can find."
Seeing that her hands were suitable for physical labor, the Tuskens hadn't put much care toward any other part of the woman's body. After several minutes watching the bacta struggle to heal both wounds, Din knew that he needed to take matters into his own hands. Quite literally.
Mending skin was something he had done to himself several times in desperate situations, but inflicting the pain on someone else had never been a choice. And yet, there was no other option.
"Peli. Silver nitrate."
It seemed impossible that the woman's beady eyes could grow larger, but she proved him wrong. "You're not a professional, Mando."
Din thought about the scars he bore beneath his armor. "I'm not entirely far off."
Peli hesitated, but under his watchful gaze, placed her trust in the mysterious hero. She moved quickly, keeping the droids out of the room to the best of her ability although their curious nature was almost certainly in the way. Din was thankful Rowan had slipped into sleep, as she would have likely punctured a vein yelling at them to stay out of her room.
When Peli came back with the equipment, Din released a trapped sigh. "Sorry, Typhe. This is gonna sting."
The Mandalorian brought the heated metal directly in contact with Rowan's skin. It was as if there were some kind of switch to wake her, as her body flung forward with a gasp of air. Surprised by the rude awakening, Rowan's bloodshot eyes flung toward the Mandalorian with a vivid expression of fear.
Din clasped her shoulder. "Hey, hey. You're in Mos Eisley; you're safe now."
Rowan could now understand what had woken her. Pain. Sheer, agonizing pain. Looking down at her forearm, she could see skin bubbling from the recent touch of fire. When she saw the Mandalorian wielding a blazen stick, she shoved her body further into the corner.
"Keep that away from me!"
"You've got to close that wound or things are going to get really nasty," Peli stepped in.
"B-bacta spray. There's got to be someone who-"
"Rowan, it's been too long." She flinched at the sound of her own name on the Mandalorian's lips. It meant he was serious. "You need to let me finish."
Truthfully, Rowan had suffered worse wounds. The issue was that she could heal them immediately. These were the result of days kicked around in the desert.
Rowan was a fighter, but it didn't always mean she was strong.
"Let me help you." There was weakness in the Mandalorian's voice. "Please."
Rowan's bloodshot eyes began to reflect in a tear of pools. They never left the rim of her eyes, but something about the threat of them made Din's heart race. The last thing he had hoped to do was make her cry. But it meant keeping her safe, then she could have flooded the entire town.
"Please," he repeated.
Rowan waited a moment before finally positioning herself at the edge of the bed, dangling her injured arm weakly over the side. As Din took her arm in his bare hand, all thoughts of the medicine slipped from her mind.
Those were certainly human hands.
Was that all she was allowed to know about her companion?
Din didn't hesitate to use her confusion to his advantage. He pressed the heated metal against her skin without a second of hesitation. At first, the sensation felt cool. It was only after several moments that Rowan could feel the heat piercing her skin. Knowing that a cry in the night might give herself away, her jaw set itself so firmly it felt on the edge of being crushed. Just as she knew the pain was no longer bearable, her entire vision went dark.
