Author's Note

Alright, here is chapter 2 of 4 today. Remember, any Mando'a translations can be found at the bottom of the chapter.

Go onward and enjoy!


Setting the Course Pt. 2

Mahin lives in a dingey one-bedroom apartment above the local cantina, The Flying Pig. It's got bugs and rats and the walls are so thin she can hear the raucous laughter and off-key singing of the patrons in the bar downstairs all throughout the night. But it's a roof over her head that mostly doesn't leak. She's got food in her fridge and she's kept warm during the cold nights.

It's more than others get.

Which is why she packs up a satchel with food from her own cupboards, plus some that she bought with the Mandalorian's money while passing through the markets on the way home. The sun has long since set but she heads back out again anyway, knowing the people she goes to see will still be up at this time of night.

It's best to go at night anyway. Less eyes on the streets. They've told her many times not to go see them during the day to limit her chances of leading anyone to their hiding place. If they're found, they'll have to leave, and Mahin doesn't want to lose the only people who've been like family to her in years.

She descends the narrow stairs, shouldering a door open to step into the wall of noise emanating from the bar. The nightly regulars are in full swing, drinking and laughing and talking way too loud for such a small bar. They have the best Crillian Nachos in the city, though, so it gets packed in here every night.

"Hmm, nachos," she mumbles to herself, eying the bar. The Mandalorian did give her quite a bit. She has leftover credits in her pocket, even after setting some aside in the satchel. She could afford to indulge a little.

Her feet point towards the bar before she can change her mind, her small size making it easy to slip through the bodies to grab one of the remaining barstools. She hoists herself up on the seat and flags the bartender down.

Familiar faces weave through the crowds as she munches on the rare delicacy of real, unprocessed cheese. Locals fill only about half the seats and floorspace. Arrivals from the spaceport take up the rest, all of them mixing together like old friends. She never feels the urge to join them, content with people watching. Too loud and drunk. She's never liked what alcohol does to people. Especially in bars since many drink more than they should. With quick fingers, she takes apart her nachos, hoping to get out of here before someone does something stupid, embarrassing, or both.

Something flashes in the corner of her eye, one person standing out in the crowd just a few feet down the bar from her. The Mandalorian. People give him a wide berth forming a bubble of empty space around him and the local he talks to. The local keeps looking nervously at the Mandalorian's hands. One rests on his blaster. The other on the back of the open pram.

She blinks in surprise. Kriff, he really does have a kid with him in that thing. A green kid with big dark eyes and huge pointy ears that look about three sizes too big for his head. He looks to be a toddler. Maybe two based on the talkative babbling sputtered between messy slurps from his cup of bone broth. But it's hard to tell. She's never seen a species like him before—at least not in these parts—although something about him feels strangely familiar. Like a half-remembered dream.

Though she thinks she'd remember something so kriffing adorable.

The Mandalorian finishes up his conversation with a frustrated sigh as the local makes a quick retreat across the room, clearly relieved to no longer be the focus of the Mando's attention. Armored shoulders rise as he takes in a deep breath. Mahin idly wonders if he's looking for a bounty as she finishes up her meal. Though, no, he'd have a tracking fob then. He wouldn't have to talk to locals in order to find a bounty. Maybe he's going from town to town looking for work? He has a kid to think about. Taking care of a kid while bounty hunting can't be easy.

He sidles further down the bar, closer to her, pram floating close to his side. He catches the bartender's attention with a wave of his hand. "I need information." He slides a few credits across the bar top to the bartender. "I'm looking for others who look like me. Other Mandalorians."

Mahin stiffens, eyes widening as she stares at her empty plate. Well, she certainly didn't expect that. Mandalorians usually only stick to their own coverts. What did he do, misplace his? Or is he looking for help, only trusting his own kind?

If he really is a Mandalorian. This could just be some sort of ruse to find out where the covert is hiding.

The bartender looks him up and down while sightlessly refilling someone else's drink. "Can't say I've ever seen someone looking like you. 'Specially that fancy helmet of yours."

Her shoulders relax a little at that. Their secret is still intact. But she has a decision to make here. She can help, but she first needs to be sure he really is Mandalorian and not some schmo who took this armor off of someone because it's shiny.

"Gar echoy par ashi Mando'ade?" she asks, turning in her seat to face him fully.

You search for other Mandalorians?

His head snaps towards her, the air around him bleeding shock and caution. And the promise of violence if she says one wrong word. "Gar kar'tayl Mando'a?" he hisses.

He wants to know how she knows Mando'a, the language of the Mandalorians. Meaning, most likely, he really is a Mandalorian and he really does just want to find his people. Maybe he got separated from his clan somehow, lost, alone. Alone, and with a child.

Either way, it's just one guy. If he's not who he appears, he won't make it five steps before a vibroblade finds his back.

The Mandalorian's hand goes for his blaster again, losing patience. "Tell me how you—"

She shushes him, holding a finger to her mouth. He leans back, just staring at her. She winces a little. Yeah, probably shouldn't shush the dangerous Mandalorian with the itchy trigger finger. But the middle of a cantina really isn't the best place for this conversation. "Not here." She throws some credits on the bar and hops down from the barstool. "Follow me."

They weave their way through the crowd towards the front door, the Mandalorian a burning wall of anger and paranoia behind her. She tries to ignore it, stepping out into the cooling night and turning left down the street. She keeps her pace fast, taking two steps for every one of the Mandalorian's with his much longer stride.

She tries to ignore that, too. Ignore the fact that he's a lot bigger than her. That he can snap her neck with his bare hands before she can even blink if she's not careful.

But Mandalorians aren't inherently violent or mean-tempered, despite what all the rumors say. There aren't that many Mandalorians around anymore because of the Great Purge years ago, when the Empire tried their kriffing hardest to exterminate them all. Mandalorians have mostly faded away from public memory, and people love to embellish just as much as they love to talk.

He's just a man, not so different than her. A man in need of help.

She ducks into an alley and keeps walking, the Mandalorian staying right next to her as she leads him down dozens of twists and turns. "So you're looking for Mandalorians?" she asks.

"And you know our language," he growls, the baby making a fussy noise from the pram. "How?"

She looks back at him over her shoulder. "Because I know where you can find some Mandalorians." He doesn't say anything in reply, waiting her out while she debates how much to tell him. She has a pretty good feeling about him, though, and her gut never lies, so she decides to stick with the truth. "They arrived here a little over a year ago. Just one clan at first, acting as scouts for the rest of the covert.

"I was working at the shipyard when a mercenary ship arrived one day. The kind of people who will do just about any job, provided you can give them enough credits. Turns out they were on a smuggling job. Only they weren't smuggling weapons or drugs, they were smuggling people. I found them while doing some light maintenance on the ship's interior. I know ships—all kinds—inside and out, and there was something about that ship that didn't sit right with me. The dimensions of the rooms, the walls—they didn't add up right." She gives him a wry grin over her shoulder. "And I'm a naturally curious person, so I poked around a bit. Found the smuggling compartment. And a Mandalorian's blaster pointed at my forehead."

"Curiosity killed the cat, you know," he says dryly.

Her smile widens. Humor. Now they're getting somewhere. "Yes, but satisfaction brought it back."

He lets out a surprised huff at her reply.

She steps around an overturned dumpster, nose crinkling in disgust at the smell of the spilled contents before continuing, "I can be pretty charming when I want to be so I talked them down, got their story—as much as they were willing to tell me at the time, anyway—and then offered my help."

"Just like that?" he asks skeptically. "You just…offered to help complete strangers and potentially risk your own life?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "It's not like bounty hunters are after them. They just wanted a new place to settle down, someplace safe and quiet and protected. And I knew I could give them that. Besides," she kicks at a stone in her path, watching it bounce down the alley with a grim set to her mouth, "I know what it's like to lose everything and then try to pick up the pieces again."

She can feel him staring at the back of her head, question burning on the tip of his tongue. She waits for it. For him to ask. Everyone always asks what her story is, how she ended up here, why she has nothing and no one.

He doesn't. Just walks.

She swallows thickly, clearing her throat a little. "I, uh, I took them to a place I know. A place for them to be safe. Once the first clan was satisfied with the situation, they sent word to the rest of the covert to head here. I helped the clans find their way when they arrived and ever since then I've been helping them out however I can. In exchange, they look out for me. They kind of…took me under their wing. Not really as a foundling—I have no plans to take on the Creed—but as a…friend."

"And the Mando'a?" he asks, something soft in his voice, like when he told her the rest of the ship repairs could wait and she could go home. His eyes on her feel just as soft. She can feel them drift over her from head to toe and she can't help but wonder what he sees.

"Like I said, I'm curious." She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear before running her fingers over her head. Finding her bun mostly destroyed anyway, she yanks the hair tie out to let her hair fall down around her to just below her shoulder blades. It curtains around her, hiding her face from his watchful gaze. "I wanted to know. To learn. About their language, their culture. About my new friends, whatever they were willing to share. So they've slowly been teaching me some things. And I really like your language. It's very beautiful."

She stops in the middle of an alley that looks like any other, empty save for her and the Mandalorian. Graffiti covers a large portion of the wall to her right. It looks like a bunch of colorful blobs all running together. It might suppose to be a ship flying among the stars. She's never been able to tell. She runs her hand along the swirls of the paint and dips between the bricks, fingertips searching.

"What are we doing here?" Mando asks, head shifting back and forth to make sure they're truly alone in the alley.

"Supposedly, about a hundred years after Ulta-7 was first settled, they went through a bout of prohibition. The local magistrate banned alcohol of any kind."

The Mandalorian makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a snort. "I bet that went over well."

She smirks at him. "Yes, just about as well as you're thinking. Lots of smuggling and secrecy and hidey holes to transport all the booze right beneath the authorities' noses. Literally."

Her thumb catches on a spot just barely recessed into the surrounding surface of the wall. She presses down, a click echoing in the dark before a section of wall the size of a door slides open to reveal stairs going down into a tunnel. "Most people forgot these are here. Only reason I know about it is because—"

"You're curious?" he finishes for her.

"Something like that," she chuckles, grabbing a flashlight hanging from a peg right inside the door and turning it on to illuminate the inky black filling the carved-out earth. She leads him down into a network of pathways just as winding as the alleys above. The door closes behind them with a soft thunk. "I helped the covert close up most of the entrances. Made it look like natural cave-ins. Now there's just this one and one in the woods to the north of town."

"It's like a maze down here," he comments, modulated voice carrying up and down the tunnels for what sounds like miles.

"Yeah, it's easy to get lost down here, so keep close, Mando. Especially your little one."

He reaches out a hand to the pram, bringing it closer to his side. The child looks up at him with a happy coo.

"He's cute, by the way," she finds herself saying before she can hold it back. She looks up at him apologetically. Mandalorians can get very defensive about their foundlings. "He is a he, right?"

"I believe so, yes."

He believes so. Meaning the kid really isn't his. Well, not biologically anyway. She's honestly not surprised. She's not sure what an adult version of whatever the kid is will look like, but she can't imagine those ears fitting beneath the helmet the Mandalorian wears.

"Does he have a name? Wait," she catches herself, sifting through what she knows of Mandalorian culture. "Never mind. Mandalorians don't reveal their names to outsiders unless really close friends so you couldn't tell me anyway. Forget I asked."

"You really have picked up a lot," he says in appreciation, stroking a finger along one of the little one's ears. "And you don't…find our culture odd?"

"Sure, the Way you guys live by is different, but I'm not about to criticize you for being different."

It would definitely be hypocritical of her.

"Ah, here we are." She pulls a large tarp hanging on the wall away to reveal a doorway, motioning Mando and the child inside ahead of her. They make it only a few feet before another Mandalorian steps out of the shadows into their path, bulkier than her new acquaintance and standing a few inches taller.

"Stop right there," he says darkly, the red highlights of his armer almost glowing in the light of her flashlight. He holds a blaster twice as thick as her forearm in his hands, pointing it right at Mando's head.

Mando's hand hovers over the blaster at his hip as he slowly sidesteps to put himself between the threat and the kid.

And her. He shields her as well. It'd be kind of sweet if it wasn't completely unnecessary.

"Calm down, cowboys," she says with an eyeroll, stepping between the two of them. She glares up at the taller Mandalorian, hands on her hips with a disapproving scowl. "Seriously, ori'vod, this is how you treat all your guests?"

"Mahin," Luca Vin grumbles, trying to sound gruff but she can hear the hint of affection in his voice. Luca slings the strap of his gun back over his shoulder with a shake of his head. "What have we told you about bringing home strays?"

"Hey, you all were my strays once upon a time." She jerks her thumb over her shoulder. "Besides, I'm not sure another Mandalorian exactly classifies as a stray."

Luca eyes Mando up and down, still a bit wary. "Never seen you around here before."

"I come from Navarro," Mando explains somberly.

"I heard the covert on Navarro got cleared out by Imps."

Mahin balks. Imperial troops? The Empire is supposed to be gone now. How are Imps still crawling around everywhere? She's heard whispers but never anything as concrete as this. And if they made an entire covert leave their home, then there's a lot of them. More than the New Republic would have them all believe.

Mahin's stomach twists and sours. Things were supposed to be better now. Safer. The fall of the Empire was supposed to mean she can relax, but if so many Imps are around still, then someone must be organizing them. Leading them.

The Empire didn't fall, then. Not truly. Not enough. How much is left? And how many of their operations and goals are still intact?

"It's true," Mando says, voice tight with barely controlled grief. She focuses on it, allowing it to pull her mind out of her spiraling thoughts. "Many of the covert fell not long ago, in an effort to protect me. And to protect this child."

He sweeps the pram forward to bring the child into the light, staring up at the bigger Mandalorian with wide eyes. He looks back and forth between the two of them, trying to puzzle out the apparent similarities.

Is he old enough to get that they're helmets and not faces?

"The foundlings are the future," Luca recites, dipping his head towards the little one. "This is the Way."

"This is the Way," Mando echoes simply, like it's a truth that burns brighter than a thousand suns. "I was tasked by my alor to search for others of the child's kind. I was hoping your alor might know something to help."

"I have some stuff for the alor as well," Mahin pipes in, lifting the satchel on her shoulder.

Luca sighs, "Mahin, we told you, you don't have to—"

"I want to," she says firmly, pushing past him. "Come on, Mando, the alor's this way."

Luca lets her slip past but doesn't move for Mando, the two of them sizing each other up. Mando tenses, one foot shifting backwards towards the pram, waiting to see what Luca will do.

Mahin rolls her eyes again. "Play nice, ori'vod, or I'm telling your mother."

Luca pivots to look at her, giving Mando and the pram enough room to pass. "Aw, come on, Mahin, you know I'm just messing with him."

"If you want to mess with him, ask him for a proper sparring match. But wait until after we talk to the alor."

She leads the way again, leaving Luca to his guard duty as they head further into the covert's home. Lights were installed in the ceiling in this part of the tunnels, making her flashlight unnecessary, so she turns it off for now. They leech power from the city, just enough to power this section of tunnels but not enough for anyone to take notice. Pattering feet and voices drift in from some of the rooms and side-shoots, a background hum a lot quieter than the city above.

"How many clans live here?" Mando asks, looking down the passing hallways and spotting some of his brethren, even a few of the foundlings.

"Five families total," she informs him, catching the sound of metal hammering against metal and following it. The alor is working late tonight. "Twelve adults and five children, all of them foundlings."

"Even smaller than my covert then," he says dismally. "There are so few of us left. No one knows for sure how many clans survived the Great Purge but…."

"Not enough," she agrees, offering him a sad smile.

It never seems like enough. They all lost way too much to the Empire. And the Empire still seeks to take more and more.

They turn a corner to enter a large, circular room filled with heat and soft orange light billowing out of the forge built into the center of the room. A woman Mandalorian works at the anvil, hammering something out that she holds in place with metal tongs. A low table sits at the front of the room near the door. Mahin and Mando kneel to sit on the floor in front of it to wait as the armorer finishes her task.

Mahin enjoys the rhymithic clangs of the hammer on metal. She can sit here for hours listening to its song, the alor's movements moving in a graceful dance.

Melinda Vin dips her work into a basin of water to rapidly cool before setting the hissing piece of metal aside. "Mahin," she greets without turning to face them yet, setting all of her tools back into their proper places first. Her modulated voice is soft and sweet, belying the strength hiding beneath the shades of her red and silver armor. Once her workspace is perfectly clean once more, she joins them at the table, kneeling across from them. "I see you brought a new acquaintance."

"This is a Mandalorian from Navarro," she tilts her head to the man beside her. "He's come here looking for information. But first." She slips her satchel off her shoulder, opening it to place the contents on the table. Ration packets, bottles of water, canned fruits, a new blanket she crocheted herself, a few small stuffed toys for the children, and half the credits Mando gave her.

"Mahin," Melinda sighs with a hint of disapproval, "you don't need to do this. We will be fine. We are fine. You should keep these things for yourself."

The child looks at the supplies curiously, standing up in his pram. Mahin watches him out of the corner of her eye as he slowly starts to ease himself over the side of the pram.

"Tough," she says bluntly, pushing the supplies closer to the alor. "I want to help."

"You help even though you are not one of them?" Mando asks, not really judgmental or offended like she would expect. Mandalorians don't often accept outside help from strangers, but Mahin doesn't see it that way.

The child plops onto the floor, toddling over to the table to peek over the top. Despite the table being so short, the child still has to stand on his tiptoes to see over the top.

"They're my friends," she mumbles, shrugging one shoulder as she glances between them. "Alor, your covert has done so much for me since you got here. It's only fair I return the favor."

"You've done enough, ad'ika," Melinda says softly, reaching across the table to grasp Mahin's fingers in her gloved hand. "You brought us to this place. Helped us make a home here. It is us who owe you, not the other way around."

"Tough," she says again around a tight throat. "You're my friends, and I want to help my friends. There's no changing my mind."

"At least take the credits back. You need them more than us."

The child reaches over the top of the table, going for the pouch of credits since it's closest to him. The claws of his three little fingers clink against the tabletop. Mando intercepts quickly by picking the child up without a word to place him on his lap. Mando hadn't even seemed like he'd been paying attention to the child. He hardly even looked.

The child makes a sad little noise but doesn't try to escape, instead nestling comfortably into his guardian's lap. Mando looks down at the pouch with a tilt of his head. "Are those the credits I gave you for the work you did on my ship?"

Mahin bristles slightly. Honestly, can't she just be nice without any talkback? She slips her hand out of the alor's and gets up abruptly. "They're my credits. I do what I want with them. And I'm choosing to give them to the covert."

She turns on her heel to stalk out. When she reaches the doorway the alor calls out, "Ad'ika? Vor entye."

Mahin looks back. With the tilt of Melinda's head, she imagines a soft smile on her face, a face she's never seen and probably never will. But she's okay with that, so long as these people continue to stay in her life. "Aliit ori'shya tal'din."

Family is more than blood.


Author's Note

So, some original Mandalorian characters. It's my understanding that Din's view of the Creed and the Way, what he was taught by his covert, is a traditional, even archaic, view. Bo Katan makes mention of it when we first see her in the series. Seeing other Mandalorians outside of his own covert teaches Din that he only knows one interpretation and that he can choose to live differently, to show his face. It's what ultimately leads him to remove his helmet at the end of season 2 and be at peace with it. I've chosen not to have Din meet Bo Katan and Ashoka in this fic, at least not how it happens in the show. I might include them eventually, but meeting them is the first domino that leads to Luke taking Grogu away. And I don't want to do that. I may have the characters show up eventually, but it'll be under different circumstances and wouldn't happen for some time.

But I like Din seeing other Mandalorians. Learning a different interpretation. And so, I decided to make Mandalorian OCs who will, in time, show him that it's okay to show his face to others. It'll take time to get there, though. I also really loved developing Mahin's relationships with them, giving Din and Mahin something else to help bridge them together.

Next chapter will be up in a few hours. I'm gonna break for lunch.

Hope you enjoyed, PLEASE REVIEW, and see you all next time!


Translations (thanks to mandoa dot org):

Gar echoy par ashi Mando'ade? (You search for other Mandalorians?)

Gar kar'tayl Mando'a? (You know Mando'a?)

Ori'vod (big brother)

Alor (leader, chief)

Ad'ika (little one)

Vor entye (thank you, lit. "I accept a debt")

Aliit ori'shya tal'din (Family is more than blood)