Spoils of War
Episode IX: Promise Kept
Seated in darkness on the bottom of the stone steps at the sewer level, Tala's knee bounced rapidly with tense energy. She'd been waiting for Paz to show back up for something like half an hour now. Her adrenaline was still coursing and her emotions still charged. The ghostlike sensation of being choked was still too close to memory, and her bruised throat throbbed.
"The next time you defy me, I'll send an assassin!" The furious words and twisted face loomed in her mind's eye. The man whose blood ran through her veins, whose love she had never known, whose disease she'd been the unlucky sole heir of. His promise to send an assassin had never struck her as empty—she knew his vindictive nature. So why was she so shocked that he actually did it? And how had he even known she was here? Din had seemed sure Greef Karga wouldn't say anything to anyone, but this had happened too close to the bail bondsman recognizing her for Tala to believe the two situations weren't related. Regardless, theories of spies and betrayers ran wild in her threadbare mind.
What the blazes was she supposed to do? The dread built and built as she remembered Din's terrifying promise to Leon: "If you send anyone after either of us, either now or in the future, the last thing you ever see will be the end of my rifle." Shuddering as if cold, Tala put her arms around herself. Her knee continued jiggling nonstop. She knew one thing with total certainty by now: with very little exception, Din Djarin meant what he said. There were two emotions about this for her. The first was some profound stirring at the understanding that he would stand up for her repeatedly and defend her under threat of death. The second emotion was a great sinking shame that she had become this relentless hassle. This burden of responsibility he was stuck shouldering. Tala feared the seemingly invincible warrior would get himself hurt or killed trying to protect her. Din had done enough. More than enough. The one time that she'd saved his life would never make up for the trouble she caused. He would tire of this pattern. And she was so sorry.
"Trouble at home, trouble beyond." The words the Stryker men had always muttered about her, and only her. Tala choked down anger and grief alike. They'd never said that about her sisters, from whom she'd always been very different. They were all compliant and fearful while Tala had been the pariah: intrepid, dauntless, curious, spirited, and stubborn. Esha said these traits were Tala's strength, and Tala had grown to believe it over time, leaning into those qualities. But right now, it just hurt. Why was I born different? Why do I have to be like this? Why do I have to die for existing?
Her head dropped into her hands as heartache made everything too heavy to hold. She would be dead right now if not for Paz's intervention, and that was a thought that caused woeful amounts of embarrassment, fury, and defeat. If recent life was any type of barometer to judge the future, she would continue to become indebted to an increasing number of Mandalorians for the rest of her life. Kriff's sake. These people must find her so burdensome. They had enough trouble trying to survive in a hostile galaxy without her stupid intrusions. The thought crossed her mind to get up, climb the stairs, and disappear from Nevarro forever. Anything to stop bothering these people. The consideration to actually do it was gathering speed when Paz reappeared out of the tunnel directly ahead. All thoughts fell away. Instantly more nervous, Tala stood.
Behind Paz came the woman from before whose shoulders were adorned in fur, and whose bronze helmet was birdlike. Lingering at the tunnel entrance, a few other Mandalorians had drifted after curiously. Tala's nerves intensified. "Like I told you," Paz said as he reached her. "I convinced them." Tala felt her face release tension in astonishment. More questions rose that she had to slam down and sit on. Paz nodded at the silent woman at his side. She was the one Tala had recognized to be their leader. "The Armorer will tell you more."
This leader—the Armorer—came close to peer at the mark the chains had left on Tala's aching throat before she drew back with a somber nod. "Paz Visla did not exaggerate the brutality of this attack." The Armorer's strong voice was formal and calm, just as Tala remembered. "It has been settled among us all. An exception will be made for your sake, and that of Din Djarin. Your Tribe will shelter you." Each sentence made more disbelief and gratitude soar. Then the last part came. "And, while you are here, you will be given the opportunity to learn what it is to be Mandalorian."
Tala stalled. So that was how Paz had convinced them. Her reaction was mixed—the fear was that something would be forced on her. Having to suddenly upend life and hide with strangers after nearly being brutally murdered, she was already given to high anxiety. The comment rubbed her the wrong way. But, she still had the presence of mind to note that learning from the only known surviving Mandalorians was something no one else could say they'd been privy to. "Thank you," she rasped cautiously. Apprehension gathered about what lay ahead here in the darkness beneath the world above.
"Indeed. Come." The Armorer motioned then proceeded to the tunnel straight ahead, waiting for Tala to follow. Paz nodded deeply at Tala when she briefly looked at him. With a deep breath in, Tala left him behind and followed the Armorer meekly, feeling years younger and smaller than she was. She was left at the mercy of fate and this Tribe. The Mandalorians at the tunnel silently moved aside for her and their leader. Silence was maintained through the short journey into the larger common space where more Mandalorians watched as Tala and the Armorer passed through. Beyond the main space, Tala was ushered into a smaller tunnel that had been built into the sewers more recently. A row of shut doorways lined either side of the smaller hall. Above each door's access panel there was writing in a foreign language—each instance of it scrawled by different hands. Once the Armorer stopped and opened a seemingly random doorway, Tala realized the writing must be names labeling what turned out to be living spaces.
"Your quarters for the time being," the Armorer said, clasping her hands behind her back as they stood outside of the small room. "This one belongs to your riduur and serves as his place of respite and privacy when he is here. Waste disposal units are at the end of the hallway should you need one. In the morning, we look forward to your presence." Tala eyed the dim space briefly, then the Armorer, not knowing what to say or exactly how to act. This was surely considered intrusive to such a private, secretive society. But these people fully believed that she and Din were married, so was it intrusive? The woman in bronze tilted her head at Tala, the owlish helmet unnerving. "Tell me, Tala Stryker. Why do you look this way?"
Sincerely unsure how she looked and abruptly more worried, Tala shook her head shallowly. "… What way?"
"Frightened."
Tongue slowly wetting lips as she fought discomfort, Tala gave a totally honest answer. "Because I am."
"Faith!" the Armorer assured, then clasped Tala's shoulder emphatically. "There is nothing to fear. We will protect you as one of our own. Mandalorians are a proud, strong people. You may find us harsh or dogmatic on the surface, but look closer and you'll discover unmatched loyalty, honor, and principles. I would like you to come see me at the forge when you're ready to hear about our Creed." She drew something out of a small pouch on her belt and handed over a small vial of ointment. "While I'm afraid bacta won't do much for a bruise like this nor your vocal cords, this salve will help with the pain."
Massively humbled in the most utterly excruciating way, Tala had a hard time holding her head high. "Thank you." No more acts of kindness she could never repay. Please. She just needed to be alone.
Luckily, the Armorer was making her departure with a respectful inclination of the helmet. "Rest well, Tala Stryker." She left. In her retreating footsteps, Tala hesitated, then timidly entered Din's room and looked around as the door shut quietly behind her.
Soft lighting ran overhead, dimly illuminating the small, dark-walled room. Three garment hooks on the wall to her right were empty, but from the fourth one, a spare cape hung. Underneath the hooks, a storage bench that Tala did not open. Directly ahead, a small wardrobe for clothing, and beside it, a tiny wash sink with a shelf above. The shelf boasted a small mirror, grooming tools, a comb, and… what was that? Tala squinted and drifted closer, her heart lifting in surprise as she got close. A tiny yellow flower. The one she'd given him. In an unexpectedly soft trance, Tala reached her fingers out as if to verify it was real. It was. Why did he keep it? Just as quickly as she began to consider sentimental reasons, she reasoned that he could have forgotten it was in his pouch and just left it here one day when cleaning items out. There were more important things to worry about anyway. Her eyes caught her reflection, and she was given a small shock at the sight of her neck. She bruised easier than many people thanks to the disease, and her throat had a very gruesome-looking mottled band of purpling bruise across the front. Her fingers withdrew from the flower and her worries returned as she applied the salve and hoped for the best then contemplated the unfamiliar bedroom and fought the settling distress at being yanked out of a mostly-peaceful existence for the past seven months.
Everything hinged on Din's return. And she had no way of knowing when that would be. Tala intensely anticipated and outright dreaded his reaction to this. Letting out a charged breath, Tala told herself to try to get some sleep. She kicked off her shoes then took off her thigh holster and set it along with her blaster onto the storage bench. Then she gingerly sat on the small bed opposite the wall hooks. The silence felt like it was pressing in all around. Briefly, Tala eyed Din's things—the wardrobe and the storage bench—but her usual curiosity wasn't anywhere to be found and didn't compel her to do a thing. She wasn't interested right now. She was nauseated by worry.
With a lot of self-consciousness, Tala laid down and sheepishly pulled the covers up, trying not to think much about whose bed she was in. It didn't end up working: she caught a scent and recognized it as his—weapon grease with a hint of laundry powder and something else distinct to him specifically. Surprisingly, that small instance of something familiar softened the harshest edges of her stress. The first time she saw him flitted through her mind, comparing itself to now. How strange, the way things could evolve. Settling into the bed more deeply, Tala exhaled heavy and hard, then reached over and hit the lights off function on the door panel while mentally preparing for a night of restless sleep.
The Next Morning
Tala's eyes opened and everything the amnesia of sleep had briefly erased flooded back along with a single thought of alarm that struck so fast all grogginess disappeared in a second: my medpen! She sat straight up, instantly distressed again. First thing in the morning was when she took her daily injection. In the chaos of last night's attack, she hadn't thought to get it (or anything) from her home. Kriff. She shut her eyes at the oversight. Yes, she could technically go without the injections, but it wasn't good to do long-term—the more days one missed, the more the disease progressed. She'd already missed crucial days this year while surviving on Bracca. Her mind quickly landed on the best solution: asking Paz to go get it for her.
With a job to do, she swung her feet over the edge of the bed, put her boots back on, neatened herself up using the mirror, then cautiously emerged into the residential hall, which was quiet. She studied several nearby door panels and made sure she memorized the way Din's written name looked in Mandalorian so she could find the room again. His penmanship was bold and gruff, which was exactly what she would have expected. After finding the freshers where the Armorer said they'd be, she nervously re-entered the common area.
Tala had conjured an image in her mind of a silent congregation of mistrustful Mandalorians waiting to interrogate her. Instead, she found the common area empty, but from there she could hear sounds of activity coming from the next alcove over. Peeking in, Tala saw that it was a training space.
Weapons (both real and for sparring) were neatly stored in the recessed areas of the room and central to the round space was a marked-out fighting circle. Two Mandalorians currently grappled there—and one was Paz. Other Tribe members watched in a mixture of standing and sitting, and Tala counted eleven of them, which definitely wasn't everyone. While most of them took notice of Tala's entrance, only one did more than send a lingering glance over. Closest to her, a Mandalorian whose size was much more like Tala's than Paz dropped down from a metal bar she'd been performing pull-ups on.
"Good morning, Tala Stryker," she greeted in a strong voice, putting a hand out for a shake. "I am Jal Yen, clan Sorza."
Here we go. Tala shook the hand, committed to being positive as possible—and getting that medpen sooner rather than later. "Good morning." Her voice was still rough but vastly improved from yesterday. That was a small relief that permanent damage wasn't done. Tala's mood rose a bit as a loud, excited bellow from Paz came, mingling with whoops and a laugh or two. He won and then challenged his next victim—the one in dark magenta armor named Sy'roc. Tala remembered her. The two clasped forearms briefly then began to tussle. "Is this how all the days begin here?" Tala asked, intrigued. The scene had a feeling of genuine community and zeal to it she couldn't quite explain but found likable.
"And this is how all the days end, too!" Jal proclaimed with a proud smile audible in her voice before she turned her faded green helmet Tala's way. "Are you hungry? I can show you to the supply."
Appreciating the continued shows of amiability she hadn't expected, Tala's gaze did not leave Paz. Her medpen was the only thing she was worried about right now. "Later, thank you."
She and Jal watched Paz. He was a good fighter, but he had weaknesses Tala could readily spot: due to his massive size he was slow, he didn't have much flexibility, and of course he had the same weak spot that every other Mandalorian had: limited field of vision on either side. But that didn't stop him from dominating. Paz achieved another victory after a few moments with a whoop of delight and Sy'roc accepted defeat with grace, exiting the sparring circle.
"Face-shower!" Paz boomed, pointing straight at Tala who balked at the sudden callout. Everyone's helmets turned. "Come! Show your Tribe how you bested me last night—if you can, this time!" He grabbed up a wooden staff and twirled it so fast and hard it made a whooshing sound in the air.
If he hadn't said that last part, Tala might have made excuses. She felt intimidated and out of place. Thrusting herself into the spotlight was the opposite of what she wanted. But you know what? She needed to get some of this tension out. To hell with it. Challenge accepted. Wordlessly she took the wooden staff Jal suddenly extended her way. The familiar feeling that preceded a fight welled up, giving her a rush of anticipation and enthusiasm.
Paz chuckled and gave a flourishing, joking bow as she entered the circle. She answered by whirling her staff just as hard as he had, then stopping it on a dime. An eager murmur and barking laughs came as the other Mandalorians beat on their armor, a sound that reverberated the space and seemed to be welcome applause—or maybe it was their version of trash talk. Unnerved by the intense sound, Tala focused on her opponent as the racket tapered off. Paz extended his forearm and Tala gripped it, they shook, then they broke apart. The match had begun.
They circled each other, sizing each other up. Paz advanced first as predicted: in a burst of brute energy meant for impact. As if dancing, Tala matched his lunge by springing back, missing his blow without needing to block it. They circled, and she gave him a coy little smile, challenging him to try again. Again he charged and again she matched his forward motion with a backward one, incensing him. Tala began to enjoy herself. He clearly liked to get right to business. Good. They circled again before he charged with more speed and exasperation than before. Anticipating it and already smirking, Tala dodged to the side, ducked and pivoted, then neatly whacked him on the ass with the long end of her staff without coming close to being struck herself. Why? Well one, it was not an armored space. Two, it was hilarious. The watching Tribe members whooped in glee, growing even more interested in the new fighter in their midst. The few who'd been seated got to their feet, heightening the energy of the moment.
Paz growled under his breath, but it was an excited growl. Tala gripped and re-gripped her staff and bounced her weight lightly between both feet, getting more and more into the match as the watchers did as well. She noted Paz begin to observe her the way she was observing him. He was switching tactics and going defensive. Good. She began striking, and the wooden staffs cracking against each other punctuated Paz's elation at the spirited encounter. "Ha! Good! More!" Back and forth they went, neither able to land a hit on the other. He was slow on his feet, but his reflexes were fast. Tendrils of Tala's hair began to come loose, and her breath grew fast and hard as Paz continued to compliment her as they fought. "You fight like a wild nexu!"
Tala was actually enjoying herself too—and grinning because of the devious little move she was about to use on him. "Not so bad yourself, but you need to work on your mobility."
She'd only trained with adults as a child. This made her better matched with a bigger opponent than a smaller one, or at least more familiar with the dynamic. She'd only started fighting in her own weight class here on Nevarro, so Paz was familiar territory for muscle memory. She faked him out with a strike that she didn't follow through on, sliding past him and whacking him on the butt again from behind as he swung his staff into mere air and stumbled forward to catch his balance. Raucous laughter and calls exploded as Tala's momentum allowed her to roll backward over a shoulder and spring back to her feet with a wily grin. By now, she had forgotten her medpen and was just having fun.
"Luubid ti te sheb!" Paz complained, tossing his staff aside and going into a wrestling stance.
"I think he's tired of her whacking his ass!" someone heckled playfully even as Tala also threw her staff down and prepared for the tides to turn. Paz knew what she did: he had weight over her. So she would cat-and-mouse him for as long as she could and hope for the best. Instead of directly engaging, she dodged his movements and allowed him to throw his weight around expecting to find purchase—but then each time she'd dodge out of the space he lunged for. He tired of the game and got more and more annoyed, which provided an opportunity for Tala to drop low into a squat at the right moment and bearhug an armored shin then pull with all her strength. The onlookers were loud and jolly as Paz hit the floor like a rock. Tala jumped on, trying to pin him and they began to grapple on the ground hard—each one finding a pin or a hold for a brief second before the other broke it and suddenly gained dominance only to lose it again. Finally, they arrived at a concluding impasse and Tala was pinned to the count of, "solus, t'ad, ehn!"
More armor-beating filled the space as a victorious Paz climbed off and patted her roughly on the face. "Kandosii!" The way he said it Tala understood it to be another compliment.
Breathless, she took his hand and got to her feet, grinning despite herself. Who else could say they'd fought a Mandalorian hand-to-hand? It had been different, that was for sure. "Yeah, not a bad match big boy."
"'Big boy'! Ha!" He smacked her on the shoulder jestingly even as someone else ruffled her hair from behind and another person whacked her other arm enthusiastically. "A worthy opponent! And I think we'd all like to learn some of those tricks of yours."
"Yes, in time," Jal cut in diplomatically from further back where she watched with folded arms. "Give the girl time to just be here first, vod."
Paz grumbled and the vigor in the room began to calm. "Of course, of course," he muttered. From the sound of it, he was a little too much for everyone, not just Tala. He said something else in Mandalorian and left the ring to take a break. Tala followed, receiving a couple more rough and approving claps on the shoulder she didn't know how to react to. Paz sat on the sidelines on a low storage container turned bench and Tala sat beside him, still breathless from the very rousing match. Her thoughts returned to her medpen, but the question she'd started wondering in the past few moments came first: "Why were you there when I was attacked last night, anyway?"
Paz answered defensively, which wasn't what Tala had expected. "I watch the matches sometimes!" Maybe he just shouted everything he said.
Tala cleared her throat to keep from telling him to tone it down a notch. "Okay, well, anyway. Thank you, while we're on the subject." She hesitated, anticipating more bellows in response to what she was about to bring up. "And uh—I need my medpen."
He just looked at her blankly (or she imagined such, anyway). "Your what?"
"My medpen. I need you to go get it from my home. Please. And I'm sorry."
"Why, are you sick?"
"I have a condition. And I need it. So I need to know if you're going to get it." Otherwise… she would.
Paz hesitated, then leaned closer in a way that struck her as conspiratorial. "If I do it, promise you'll show me that shoulder roll of yours." He mimed the motion of diving shoulder-first into the floor then put his hand out for an agreement clasp.
Tala's eyebrows rose. Interesting. He had been watching the fights last night. And possibly others too. Front and rear shoulder rolls from standing height were one of her signature moves. "Sure," she answered dubiously, still wondering about why he'd really been there. He was a hard one to figure. Either way, she clasped his hand, gave him her door code, explained where to find the object, then Paz lumbered off. Tala watched the adults continue to spar and then run through a series of combat forms and drills.
Presently, she wandered to another alcove and found the Tribe's children in a common area that was clearly theirs: chalk drawings adorned the walls and long tables with chairs for studies and activities rested in the back of the area in front of a large board covered in Mandalorian writing. Handmade toys and dolls lounged in a storage barrel, and a tiny obstacle course had been constructed from various spare parts and found items. A small, raised greenhouse with a lamp grew small blue flowers and moss. In the room, there were eight small Mandalorians who looked to be between the ages of seven and twelve. They all wore helmets but bore no armor yet. A teenager in armor obviously tasked with childminding loafed in boredom at one of the tables with feet kicked up as the younger ones played kickball. Only the teen seemed to notice Tala at first, who lingered at the doorway and then sat on a large exhaust pipe that ran the length of the room. She wasn't sure what to make of children in helmets, and yet again wondered what was so wrong with a face.
That's when one of the children noticed her. The child kept looking over, then finally decided to approach then said nothing, merely standing in front of Tala in silence. "… Hello," Tala finally said with a bemused smile.
The child's head tilted. "Your face is so strange!" she remarked, a somewhat rude comment said in innocent fascination and a sweet, high-pitched voice.
Eyebrows risen and a half smile hovering, Tala wasn't sure how to take the comment. "… Is it?"
"We're not used to seeing them," the kid said, then cocked her head sidelong for a long moment, watching. "It… moves around so much."
Well… she wasn't wrong. "Yes, I… guess it does." She wasn't really sure how to act around kids. She hesitated, then introduced herself. "I'm Tala. What's your name?"
"I'm Kal-Bruna Visla."
Visla. That was Paz's last name. Was Paz a father…? The thought felt strange. Surely not. "Nice to meet you." Tala offered a little smile over then scanned the scene again briefly, wondering about the society's set up around children and families. She'd heard of cultures that believed in raising children tribally, and she wondered if that was what the Mandalorians did. "Where're your parents, Kal-Bruna?"
The little Mandalorian shrugged. "Oh, my parents are everyone. I'm a foundling, just like beroya was."
This was a word Tala had never heard before. Well, two of them. Foundling, and beroya. "A foundling is someone who was… found parentless?" she guessed.
There was another nod. "Someone put me in the sewers when I was a baby, and my Tribe found me."
"Oh my goodness," Tala commented in genuine compassion and surprise. "And what's a ber…oya?"
"Bounty hunter. Din Djarin. Your riduur." Kal-Bruna crossed her arms thoughtfully and she sounded like she thought something was funny or cute. "You probably don't speak much Mando'a yet, do you?"
Tala winced apologetically. "Can't say that I do." Her mind had landed on one point of focus and lingered there: Din. A found child. The thought pulled her in and she commented aloud without entirely meaning to. "I didn't know he was a foundling." Her mind wandered and wondered.
"I thought married people knew everything about each other!" Kal-Bruna hopped to sit beside Tala, peering up at her while swinging her feet.
"Not always," Tala evaded, feeling a spike of anxiety when she realized these people and their children were going to be making assumptions left and right about her relationship to the bounty hunter. Beroya. She switched the subject. "How old are you?"
"Nine. How old are you?"
"Eighteen."
Kal-Bruna liked that. "Oh, double my age!" Tala chuckled. Despite not seeing this girl's face, there was a bright spirit and verve that were very likable about her.
"Yes." Tala decided it was her turn for a question. "Why do you have Paz's last name?"
"I was named in honor of Tor Visla, one of our great leaders in the time before darkness." Kal-Bruna spit the oddly propagandistic sounding information out without missing a beat, then readily moved on to what she found much more interesting: "Will you play kick the ball with us?"
Tala felt a twinge of abrupt emotion and looked over at the playing group of kids—several of which peered over and seemed to be wondering what Kal-Bruna was. If the strange lady with the face would come play with them. Tala swallowed a surprising lump in her throat. Because she and her sisters had been educated privately and kept to very strict places and times making little public appearance and having little to no friends—this was the first time ever that kids had asked her to play with them. Her heart welled and she nodded, trying to act more casual than she felt about it. "I'd love to."
Meanwhile
Kizzo's
Din entered the mechanic shop from the airfield side, scanning around for the familiar young woman who was nowhere to be seen. Having just returned from a big well-paying job, he was ready to order parts and talk about those Razor Crest projects he needed a hand with.
In one of the chaotic corners of the shop, Kizzo was diligently welding something back together under a shower of sparks to the tune of loud, guttural whirring. Din approached, helmet swinging back and forth as he found all of Tala's usual spots empty. He hadn't noticed her on the landing field, either. Maybe she was in the back, or the office, or the storage garage. Seeing his approach, Kizzo paused his work and propped his blast shield up onto his head above his three eyes. A friendly smile popped onto his bony face. "Mando!"
Din skipped pleasantries. "Is Tala not working today?"
Kizzo put a hand on his hip, leaning onto a large durasteel frame as his expression became less sunny. "Well she never showed, and she's not at home either." Behind the helmet, Din's face fell then deeply pinched. Kizzo scratched his head absently and shrugged in concern. "Hope nothing bad happened. Think you can do some poking around? I know you two are friends."
Din was already on his way out to the Nevarro streets, his pulse elevated unpleasantly. He neglected to reply to Kizzo, descending deep into rapid thought. Not at work, not at home, no callout—that didn't seem like Tala from what he knew of her. Premonition filled his gut and he headed straight for the end of the building where her staircase was while hoping there was some explanation—but his mind was readily going to very bad places. Had Greef said something to someone about Tala's presence on Nevarro after giving his word that he wouldn't? Had Maxie Mon done something? I shouldn't have let her think it was all-clear when I knew it wasn't. I should have told her there was a small risk. Damn you, Djarin. As he turned the corner into Tala's alley, he collided hard with someone else with a metallic clonk.
It was Paz, and for whatever reason, he sounded surprised and glad. "Vod! Good, you've returned. I have news."
Even fouler than before, Din brushed past impatiently. It could wait. "Forget your news, I have a problem."
"Ha! About time you admitted it!" Din turned to glare at his comrade who as always had no idea of how to read the room or when to kriff off. "You do have a problem," Paz said, his tone turning more serious and finally catching Din's full attention. "Your riduur was attacked by a Stryker assassin last night in the streets." Din's blood froze. Oh no. Horror began to seep across his skin in prickles, and then Paz made a much-too-slow addition: "Lucky I was there, huh?" He held up Tala's medpen and Din understood, or at least enough, anyway.
The flood of relief evaporated as the implications began to sink in. Din snatched the medpen away, his rising anger burning hot as lava. "Where is she?"
Soon After
The Covert
Even the teenager had joined into the kickball game by now, and a few Mandalorian adults lingered watching the feisty game continue. While children apparently never ran out of speed or energy, Tala finally admitted she needed a break and collapsed into a chair at one of the study tables as the game continued. Kal-Bruna joined immediately, a magnet to Tala's side. "Will you tell us the story of how you met beroya?" she asked. "Please, pleaaase?"
Laughing and red-faced with frizzed hair from all the physical activity, Tala shook her head—Kal-Bruna had already asked this twice, and three others had asked too. Tala was wearing down. "Soon—maybe!" She punctuated 'maybe' with a lifted finger and a grin. Her mood was totally different after the lively morning she'd had. She felt light and relaxed, which was a bit bizarre considering everything. It probably had something to do with the magical and sweet sound of children laughing, and all the endorphins from the cardio.
"How soon?" Kal-Bruna badgered endearingly. "And why maybe?!"
Tala didn't get to answer. Her face fell. At the rounded entrance to the room, Din Djarin stood silent and still, the sight of him striking her still. He was back so soon. Her stomach began churning as reality returned and her good mood evaporated. For a long few seconds, the couple merely looked at each other across the distance—Din silent and unreadable, Tala apprehensive and dismayed. And then everyone else spotted the newcomer.
"Beroya!" the children chorused, briefly surrounding Din with greeting. He patted some on the head and shoulders, greeting them fondly and humoring them until they returned to their game. Then his helmet pivoted back to Tala and he made a subtle 'come here' motion with a jerk of his head then retreated. She stood slowly, every bad feeling returning at twice the intensity as before. She followed him after a pause, her heart beating fast. She threw a, "be back soon," to the kids who watched her leave, especially Kal-Bruna.
Nearby, Din waited in a short tunnel that served as storage. There in privacy and quiet, Tala slunk toward him, her emotional distress mounting with every silent second. Not knowing what he knew made her uneasy and his anger was visceral even though he hadn't said a single word. He was angry at her. She was sure of it. From the angle of his helmet, she could tell he was taking in her bruised throat. Finally, he spoke. "I vowed to kill him if he tried this. It wasn't an empty threat." That mellow voice of his was full of quiet fury, and every intention to follow through made each word hot like fire. And then he said the last thing she ever expected: "But if you tell me not to… I won't."
His deferral to her left a dumbfounded ringing in her ears. She tried to understand—and the only conclusion she could find was that he was giving her a say in this because of who Leon was. Her flesh and blood. Her father. The consideration should have touched her heart, but instead it brought an overwhelming tidal wave of inexplicable panic and claustrophobia. "… I'm endangering everyone by being here," she realized in growing horror, mind whipping up into a frenzy. Kal-Bruna. The Tribe. Din. What was she thinking, dragging these people through her problems? How selfish could she be? This had gone far enough. "I'm getting on the next passage ship off this rock," she declared in shaking dismay, then abruptly attempted to dash off but his arm shot out, palm into the wall to block her way.
"Don't."
Anyone else who tried to make her stay in one place like that would have gotten an uppercut to the jaw. But Tala stayed there, torn and confused. "My problems are not anyone's but mine," she insisted in an angry, tearful undertone.
"Untrue," his low voice said, and even though his sentiment was kind, he sounded harsh. "You're not alone anymore. Like it or not."
Tala shook her head hard, tears beginning to gather as she cursed herself for causing so much strife for him and now his entire Tribe. "I won't be responsible for your death too," she whispered severely. Esha had been enough. Not Din too.
He softened. Both his body and his voice. For a long few seconds, he said nothing. Then he sighed heavy and long. "Tala, don't think this way." He took his arm down slowly and she did not flee. After another pause, Din spoke again. Gently. "Everything I've read on your brothers indicates that unlike your father, they don't take unnecessary risks and they prefer being alive over maintaining appearances." Tala's chest pulled. He'd read about her brothers. When? Why? "I'll be discreet," he continued. "And then I'll return. Alive. You won't have to look over your shoulder anymore."
That had been what they'd thought before, though. And that was beside the point. "But it's not your job," she protested weakly.
"It is." He reached into his belt and drew something out. Her medpen.
Tala looked at the object for a long moment, her eyes glassing with tears before she took it and admitted defeat and let him do what he so clearly wanted to do. "Promise." Tala knew he couldn't. But the scared child inside of her begged for reassurance. Even if it was a lie, it would make her feel better. "That you'll come back."
And that was how Leon Stryker's fate was decided. Din took in a deep breath, nodded, then distanced himself with a step backward. "I will."
Tala stayed at the wall, in a disbelief that made her feel trance-like. She barely heard his words. "Be careful," she pled, drifting closer to him and then stopping short. This was happening too fast. "Please, be careful."
"I will be," he promised, but it didn't do anything to alleviate the ramping anxiety. He turned to leave, then halted briefly, waiting a long couple of seconds before the helmet fractionally turned her way. "And I'm really glad you're okay." He swept out of the tunnel, leaving Tala to reconcile very big and terrible things and stare after him in rising misgiving—she should tell him not to. She should stop him and change her mind. But she didn't, and that only made more guilt grow. He disappeared into one of the many passageways and Tala found herself hovering at the opening of the tunnel uncertainly, her mind too shaken to know what she should do next.
"You fear for his safe return."
Tala's heart jumped and her head turned hard in surprise. It was the Armorer. Had she been listening in? Put on the spot, Tala could only come up with two things: "Of course I do." That, and the recurring thought that threatened to burst her from the guilt. "All I've done is cause him trouble."
The Armorer shifted on her feet and folded her arms thoughtfully. "How so? A Mandalorian chose to save you. This was his decision. We honor it. So should you."
"It lost him so much money," Tala protested faintly, thinking of the children and the beat-up ball they played with. The jumpsuits she'd noted were ragged and old. "Money you could have used. Associating with me puts him in danger."
The Armorer was businesslike and calm. "Money comes and goes. Danger is a guarantee in this life." She raised her chin. "Honor above all, Tala Stryker. Din Djarin has the trust of his Tribe. He provides for us, he sustains us, and we him. Understand, this. He is your riduur. He is prepared to die for you. He is prepared to die for any one of us. This is the Way."
The words struck terrible and fearsome feelings into Tala's heart. Where was the catch? Why the hell would Din blindly lay his life on the line for her and want to? These Mandalorians were beyond her grasp. "I don't understand."
There was a tranquil smile in the voice. "You will."
Author's Note: hey everyone and omg, thank you SO much for the continued support and reviews! I am elated that everyone's enjoying my little contribution to the Din/OC world, and I'm only getting more and more excited to reveal to you all the twists and turns ahead as our couple grows more bonded :D I am like foaming at the mouth for this damn couple to hurry it up but sigh, I do love the slow burn too. I hope to have the next chapter for you pretty soon, as most of it is drafted already, woop woop!
BTW, shoutout to reader WhiteyWolf who not only coined the ship name for us (Mandala! How cute!) but has been an incredible sounding board for plot points and Mandalorian lore. Thanks very much WW!