Cara's dark eyes scanned the lunch crowd of the popular pub. Eventually she found who she was searching for. "He's over here," she grinned and clapped the back of Din's arm in her eagerness before making her way through the maze of tables toward the farther end of the room where the elderly caretaker sat by himself, contentedly already tucking into a hefty sandwich.
"Mr. Fendell!" she called in greeting, above the general noise of the restaurant. He didn't seem to hear her and remained in his own little world until they drew closer. Upon seeing Cara, his eyes lit up in excitement again like they had earlier that morning.
"Cara!" he exclaimed loudly and put down his sandwich in a slow rush to stand and hug her. "Cara Dune! You came!" Cara winced at his volume and how it drew the eyes of several nearby, but she couldn't keep the smile off her face.
"Yep, finally made it! Sorry it took a while…," she apologized. The older man laughed in his joy and hurriedly motioned for them to join him at the round table. Din freed Grogu from his pouch and settled him on a tall barrel that served as a seat before freeing himself from the child carrier.
"You know, darling, it's been such a long time since we've had a meal together here!" noted Alden with a pleased lilt to his voice.
"That it has. I hope they still have those roasted potatoes that I liked so well. After such a long hike, I'm famished," commented Cara as she reached for menus from the center of the table and pushed one into Din's hand to browse. "Hey, where's Mrs. Fendell?"
"Oh, she'll be along, she'll be along," promised the caretaker as he wrestled his sandwich back into his hands. "Had to grab a couple more things first. But she'll be here." Cara felt Din's eyes drift towards her in question, but she was too engrossed in the menu to bother.
"Oh good, they still have that hard spiced cider," she murmured to no one.
"Do you like to eat here often, Mr. Fendell?" inquired Din politely, his gaze shifting slowly back to the older gentleman.
"Oh, my yes. Loads of times," chuckled the caretaker between bites. "I usually like to go here after I check on Miss Cara here's cabin. I watch over it for her father, you know."
A cold, unsettling sense slowly began to wash over Cara, and her body stilled at her friend's odd choice of words. He'd already told Din that…
"You've taken excellent care of it," complimented Din calmly, his eyes darting once towards Cara with the smallest hint of concern.
"Oh, have you ever seen it? You should stop by it sometime," beamed Alden in surprise and pride.
Oh…oh no…please no… Cara's stomach dropped at the implication, and the room started to sway in a sickening tilt.
"Such a beauty of a structure. Old Thomas Dune sure knows how to build. It's a real joy to keep it up for him. I always keep his cabin in tip top shape for when he comes back. Will he and the rest of your family be joining us too, Cara?" asked Alden with hopeful innocence.
Cara suddenly lost control of her lungs as her fragile world which she had been trying to piece back together began to crumble more rapidly. The room instantly became too confining and stuffy—she needed air. As her lungs heaved for breath, she managed to mutter some excuse to leave and stumbled quickly to her feet. The abrupt scraping of a second chair close by resounded amid the now overwhelmingly loud noise of the pub, her senses on hyperdrive. She felt strong arms support her trembling frame—Din. But instead of ushering her outside to get some air, he instead directed her to a vacant section of the bar.
"You. A glass of something strong—now," Din commanded the closest barkeeper while gently guiding the shaking Cara to the counter's sturdy edge. She gripped the thick wood like a lifeline. The pain in her chest pierced deep and refused to abate. "Take a deep breath, Cara. Focus just on that," came the Mandalorian's steady words in her ear.
"I…I…I…c-ca…" was all Cara could gasp out, her eyes wide in panic at her loss of control.
"Yes, you can. C'mon now. Just one breath. I can't let you take a drink until I know you're not going to choke," coached Din firmly but calmly, his touch now gone but presence steady. The order of something stiff somehow appeared out of nowhere in a clear, short glass but remained guarded in Din's hand on the counter. "Breathe through your nose and out your mouth. You got this." The shock trooper followed the tried and true advice and worked to press her system into submission. It required a long minute, but she finally was able to settle her rhythm to a point where Din allowed her the alcohol. It burned going down, but she hardly felt it. Embarrassed at her brief panic attack, she slipped a discreet glance around her, and aside from the bartender looking a tad concerned, no one else seemed to have noticed. Had Din taken her all the way outside, it probably would have drawn more eyes.
"Thanks," she breathed out, still clenching her glass to keep her hands from shaking. A simple nod was given in return and Din leaned back a bit on the bar's counter to give her back her space and to regain his own. She felt the alcohol now ease her nerves some, enough to clear her head a bit more. What she wanted now were answers. "Hey," she stammered forcefully, trying to regain control of herself and fumbling. The bartender caught her implied request and came back over.
"You all right there, miss?"
"Yeah, um, ahem, I'm fine. Hey, listen." She glanced back towards their table where Alden was curiously offering Grogu a bit of cheese from his sandwich. "You know that guy? Alden Fendell?"
"Sure, he's in here nearly every day. In fact, I worry about him if he's not in. Often have someone go to check on him," noted the bartender with a fond smile hidden in his beard.
"He, um…" Cara had to swallow hard before she could manage her words. "He knew Alderaan blew, right?" At her peculiar question, the bartender squinted in perplexity for a second before his brow relaxed and respectful compassion dominated his features.
"You're a member of the Dune family that used to stay here sometimes, aren't ya? You don't look like the rest of us."
Cara could only nod quickly and had to redouble her efforts to school her expression. Push down the pain.
"Yeah, he knows. Or knew anyway. The dementia set in maybe about six years ago," the man broke to her gently. "He can function okay on his own for the most part, but his mind is stuck in the past."
"On his own?" questioned Cara, her heart already starting to pound again. "Miri…?"
"She died about four years ago," the bartender told her quietly.
Cara sucked in a long, slow breath through her nose and released it, shoving all the emotions back down, way down. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Din bite his bottom lip in disappointment and subtly shift his weight like he always did when he was concerned for someone else. A clear bottle, half full and sloshing with whatever same-colored drink she'd just had, was plunked down in front of her, shifting her attention back to the kind bartender.
"Here. On the house. I think you could probably use it. For what it's worth, he's generally pretty happy and the town sees that he's looked after," the man offered in consolation. Cara forced herself to nod and accepted the gift before numbly turning to head back to their table, her frame stiff and defensive. She heard Din thank the bartender before he followed after her. The pair slowly sank back down into their seats, Alden none the wiser about what had transpired.
Din's stomach churned. He'd had his suspicions after first meeting the caretaker about the quality of his mind based on some of his answers but had known Cara was in denial. Now seeing her numbly pour another drink, pick at her food, and yet carry on the conversation at the table as if everything was fine, he worried about her. He knew her tendency to bury more sensitive issues. He figured he was the closest friend she had, and yet she seldom opened up on vulnerable stuff to him. Pressing her would only ignite her temper. But he knew a ticking time bomb when he saw one. The only question was how much time was left…and what the damage would be afterward.
He also felt unsettled for another reason. Ever since they'd stepped foot into the bar, they'd attracted the undivided attention of a certain man in the corner now nearest to them. Din tuned out the conversation Alden was currently having about an increase in poaching of various animals and instead studied the individual as cautiously as he could. This man seemed to be equally interested in Cara, Grogu, and himself, judging by the way his eyes shifted amongst the three of them—and he was none too shy about it either. The man couldn't have known Din or his background in any fashion as he wouldn't recognize him outside of the beskar. The threat of Gideon had calmed for well over a year now and no one had come after his son since, so he most likely didn't know Grogu in particular either. It was possible the stranger maybe knew Cara, but Din had seen her briefly glance towards the corner and not taken a second look—so there was no recognition on her end…which left Din without any answers. It was a position the Mandalorian didn't enjoy being in when his gut kept telling him something was wrong. A very deep and raw urge to protect swelled within Din. Beside him, his intuitive son must have picked up on his projections in the Force. The boy paused his munching on his messy ribs and peered up at his father, a small squeak on his lips.
Buir…?
It's all right, Grogu…
Din no longer cared to keep his own glances discreet, signaling a warning to the onlooker to back off. His threatening demeanor didn't go unnoticed by the stranger, but the message sent was disregarded. In fact, the man smiled slightly in acceptance of the challenge, casually took a small, last sip of his drink, and then rose to his feet to stroll over to their table. He kept his gaze trained on Din on his trip over but then pointedly shifted his eyes toward Cara and addressed her first.
"Excuse me, I apologize for interrupting your table's conversation, but I couldn't help but notice that you folks are not from around here, are you?" observed the man with a very neutral expression, twirling his empty glass in his hand. His faint accent took Din by surprise. The solid yet slick clip of phrases, the smooth and heavy pitch, the mature richness of a tonal quality that had stood the test of time—it was very familiar. And now with his presence juxtaposed next to Cara, the physical similarities were undeniable.
He's from Alderaan.
"It seems the same could be said for you," replied Cara, the observation obviously not lost on her either, but she kept her gaze on the table, not at all interested in making conversation with others no matter where they were from.
"That was a very long time ago…but perhaps you remember…?" the stranger trailed off casually while his eyes remained fixed on Cara.
Almost like a predator.
Din's frown deepened while Cara's brow furrowed in confusion before she responded.
"Look, I don't know who you are…" The man's calculating eyes narrowed infinitesimally into disapproving, disappointed slits for the briefest moment before easing back again. Din wasn't even so sure he had seen it, but his stomach twisted severely with intuitional warning. Meanwhile, Cara continued, her gaze still toward the table and ignoring the man. "…and I really don't care…"
"Oh! This is Ernesh Mercurius!" piped up Alden, eager to help out with the conversation.
"Of course, you remember who he is…" mumbled Cara to herself bewilderedly before taking a drink of her cider.
"He helps take the animals off my hands that I trap," continued Alden, oblivious to the tension. "I'm too old to manage that myself anymore…but I do still set the traps around the cabin!"
"Indeed, Fendell here is most gracious," Ernesh smiled a little too wide. "It's all a man can do to make an honest living nowadays…especially in my line of work, what with the threat of poachers around." Din's eyes squinted in knowing scrutiny. He'd encountered more than enough quarries who had tried to hide in plain sight by boasting about their own crimes.
"And what line of work is that exactly?" questioned Din in calm confidence. Ernesh merely slid his dark eyes over to the man and simmered his smile down to a more threatening thin line. He didn't even blink.
"Hunting." The sense of a cold void settled over Din's soul.
"And what exactly do you hunt?" scoffed Cara as she stared at her glass, only paying half attention and her tone barely tolerant of their uninvited guest. The man's steely gaze refused to waver from Din.
"Rare species," he almost purred, eyes boring into where the iconic Mandalorian T-line would have been. "But I only ever capture my fair, allotted amount of kills—even if it is just one." A shiver ran down Din's spine just as Grogu cooed in worry.
He knows. Somehow, he knows, the Mandalorian thought while his body ironically craved his beskar.
"Then you best be careful," Din countered aloud in warning. "Those types tend to put up the biggest fights." Ernesh's lips quirked upward in mild amusement.
"So the stories say…" the dark haired man shrugged, unperturbed. "It's…all a matter of finding the right bait," he observed while reaching his hand across Cara's throat. Instinctively Din's right hand whipped around to his back, easily slid into the handgun in his waistband, and clicked off the safety. But he stopped himself from pulling the gun around mid-second when he saw Ernesh's hand grab the bottle of alcohol sitting in front of Cara instead. Din's shoulders naturally slouched back as the spike of tension receded, but he'd unfortunately given Ernesh the rise he was desiring. The visitor did a purposefully poor job of hiding his satisfied, smug smile while smoothly pouring himself some of the liquid and raising the glass in mock solute. He then downed his drink in a single shot. Grogu released a quiet, timid trill of unease, and Din felt his son's worried gaze shift up towards him. The Mandalorian warrior would have loved nothing more than to turn up the heat to take this man down a couple pegs, but with Cara's state, Alden's vulnerability, and his son's exposure (not to mention the hidden posse Din knew was watching them via sideways glances), the odds weren't favorable. Swallowing his pride for the safety of his loved ones, Din regathered his control and eased his grip on the gun—but did not remove his hand entirely from the weapon.
The odd exchange was finally enough to wake Cara out of her pensive stupor. She twisted in her seat to face their unwanted companion. "You know, you've said a whole lot of nothing since you came over here. If there's a point you're trying to make, just say it."
"Oh, I believe I've already made my point," Ernesh assured her cooly, setting his now empty glass down on the table. He procured a cigarra from somewhere on his person and lit it with a single stroke of a match. He took his time taking a long first puff before nodding his head goodbye toward the caretaker. "Alden." He swiveled his attention back to Din and merely dipped his head slowly, promising to encounter him again. The Mandalorian kept his stare steady and remained silent. Ernesh mostly ignored Grogu with the exception of releasing a breath of smoke that rolled straight into the child's face, causing him to cough hard and Din's left fist to clench under the table. Finally, the hunter turned toward Cara and inclined his head towards the shock trooper. "Miss Dune," he acknowledged, a more wicked edge to his slick voice that accompanied the squinting, calculating eyes once again. Ernesh Mercurius then lazily took a step backward, released a quick whistle in signal to his men, and began to saunter towards the front of the pub. Like hounds on leashes, the pack of men in the corner rose from their seats and followed suit after their leader, weaving their way through the maze of tables and patrons toward the door.
Rotating back in her chair to face Din, Cara's brow remained scrunched. "That was…weird." Din finally slipped his hand subtly from his gun after resetting the safety. He knew Cara had missed most of the implied conversation as her thoughts had been distracted—he chose not to bring it up at this time.
"How did he know your name?" he asked instead as he willingly gathered into his arms his son who reached up anxiously to be held. The boy still coughed intermittently and clutched his little claws into Din's shirt, desiring comfort and assurance. Intuitive as his son was, Din had no doubt the child had also felt the unsettling vibe that man had exuded—or rather the strange "lack" that was exuded. Meanwhile, Cara shook her head in response to Din's question.
"Who knows…Alden said my name when we first entered pretty loudly," she sighed, eyeing the caretaker as he finished off his lunch and wiped his hands on his napkin—back in his own world. A flicker of sorrow resurfaced in her eyes when she looked at the older man. "Or it's possible he's familiar with my family name and the cabin since he said he collects trapped animals there."
"Did you recognize him at all?" Again, Cara shook her head.
"No. I mean, I guess it's possible our paths crossed way back when on Alderaan somehow, but he's no one of consequence to me," she stated, shrugging her shoulders at a loss. Din merely nodded in acceptance of her answer and turned his attention downward to Grogu.
You okay, bud?
Y-yes.
Don't worry about that man, Grogu. I won't let him hurt you. Big brown eyes peeked upward, and Din felt a shaky wave of fear and trust lap up against his core. He gave his son a small smile with soft eyes to reassure him before raising his hand to guide and cradle the boy's fuzzy head against his chest. A timid purr resulted which was good enough for Din.
Deciding it was time to take their leave in order to grab a few supplies before heading back to the cabin, Cara and Din said their goodbyes to the caretaker.
"It was an honor to meet you, sir. Anyone held in high regard by Cara Dune deserves the highest respect," nodded Din kindly as he shook the man's hand.
"Oh, well, likewise, son, likewise," assured Alden with a warm smile. "You keep an eye out for her, ya hear? Make sure she doesn't get into any trouble."
"That's a tall order, but I'll do my best," chuckled Din before stepping back to allow Cara a moment while he situated Grogu back into the infant carrier. The shock trooper forced herself to step towards the elderly man, not wanting to say goodbye. She sank back down onto her chair to directly face him. Her eyes roamed his face, soaking in every wrinkle, age spot, and gray hair. Not sure when her next memory of him would be made, she did her best to memorize this moment.
"You take care of yourself, okay?" she told him, perhaps a bit too firmly, but it was all she could do to keep her voice from wavering.
"Of course, darling," winked Alden and patted the back of her hand resting on the table. "But only if you let yourself be taken care of, hmm? You were always strong on your own, but don't forget that we're made stronger by those we keep close to us. So, keep them close," he advised in a steadier tone as his eyes bounced over her shoulder towards Din and Grogu before meeting her gaze again. Maybe she was dreaming, but Cara could have sworn for that moment she caught a glimpse of the old grandfatherly figure from her past. It soothed the ache in her heart a good deal more than she could have hoped for.
"I will," she promised, her eyes watering a bit, but she kept it together. "If you ever need anything, this town is looking out for you, all right?" Alden smiled brightly with a nod before giving her hand a kiss.
"Tell your parents I said hello, will ya?"
A sting of pain singed Cara's heart, sad that the blessing of the lucid moment was gone, but she swallowed in hard acceptance. "I will," she told him, forcing a small smile for him, before rising to her feet to rejoin Din and Grogu. The trio exited the bar to leave—only to find the posse of men loitering out front on the pub's porch.
Sigh…I am so done with this, groaned Cara in her mind, already exhausted emotionally from the day's events. While any other day she would have been energized to poke at a couple of them, all she wanted was to collect their supplies and head home. Pulling herself together, she strode out through the center of the group to cut a path to the street. "Gentlemen," she murmured with a mixture of sarcasm and warning as she shouldered past them.
"Oooo, babe, I'm flattered! C'mere, I've got a few nice names for you!" catcalled an almost maniacal voice behind her, followed by several laughs.
That does it.
But just as Cara turned in a spark of temper, an incredibly loud SMACK cracked through the air along with the unmistakable sound of bones being crushed. As the dropper finished her pivot, she found the brightest redhead of the group lying flat on his back dazed on the porch floor with blood gushing out of what used to be his nose. Directly above him stood Din, muscular frame taught as a wire and a bloody fist still raised from the reverberating drawback of his punch. Grogu took the opportunity to lean slightly forward in the carrier and with his angry, little version of a growl, he raised his own hand and evidently did something further to the man's broken nose through the Force, causing the man to yelp and cradle his face.
Cara had to fight back a grin as she watched Din silently give a final sweeping glare to the rest of the shocked group—who were also now silent save for the one howling on the floor—as well as to Ernesh who merely stood watching with an unreadable, blank expression. Point made at least for the moment, Din uttered no sound as he bent to brush the back of his bloody hand on the redhead's shirt before rising again and turning to rejoin Cara in the middle of the street. The pair walked away without a second look back.
"You know I could have taken that guy, right?" smirked Cara.
"That's not the point," was all Din said, and Cara didn't bother to stop the grateful blush that rose to her cheeks.
Ernesh's cat-like eyes watched the trio leave from the porch's edge, a plan formulating in his mind. But another agonizing howl on the ground from his second interrupted his thoughts and he frowned.
"Get him up," he ordered annoyed. Two men hustled to obey and escorted their bleeding and moaning cohort back into the bar to tend to his injury. The rest hovered in curiosity near their boss in silence—Ernesh at least had to give them credit for that. They'd at least learned not to interrupt him when he was planning.
"So, what's the plan, boss?"
Well, almost all of them. Ernesh sighed out his frustration along with his most recent puff of his cigarra and glanced sideways at the man who had spoken—it was the rookie of the pack.
"How are you sure that's the Mandalorian with the bear?" inquired the younger man, a naïve sense of vigor in his eyes. Might as well not kill his inquisitive zeal and instead make this a teaching opportunity. The better they learn, the better they poach, and the better off he'd be.
"For one thing the odds were good. We don't get many new people in this town," Ernesh pointed out the obvious. His eyes continued to trail the trio as they disappeared from view down the street. "But it was in the way he held his head."
"Huh?"
Sigh. Ernesh shifted his gaze along with his body to face his men to explain. So annoying being the only one with a brain around here…
"His head…the way he'd tilt and cock and look and move. No one moves their head like that unless you're used to wearing a helmet for most of your life," pointed out the gang's shrewd leader. "His body's posture too…he always held himself in a way that compensates for armor. Habit. One he probably doesn't even realize he's doing." His dark eyes stared down his own men. "Observing these subtleties is what distinguishes a good hunter from a great hunter. Remember that." And apply it once in a while, he wanted to add with a slight eye roll.
"So…do we just follow him then to get the beskar?" ventured a man from the back of the group. "There's more of us than him."
At least they can do math…
"No," refuted Ernesh and paused to drag on his addiction. "Remember, when hunting a hunter you must first outsmart before you can overpower. A Mandalorian would die before giving up his armor—and with the danger of the metal's lucrative properties on this planet, I'm sure he's got it hidden safe somewhere. Overpowering him will do no good." He paused to think of how best to lay this out clearly—he had probably already gone over their heads with using the word "lucrative". He switched tactics. "How do you catch a mountain bearcat?"
"You steal its cubs to lead it where you want it," piped up a quick answer. Ernesh nodded and continued.
"And how do you draw out a shimmer wolf?"
"You set a fire to its den to flush it out."
A wicked smile distorted the right side of the leader's face. "Precisely. Mark my words, boys, there's no difference to hunting men."
"And what of the woman?" came the next question.
"Oh, don't worry…I've got something extra special planned for Carasynthia Dune of Alderaan," promised Ernesh as he dropped the remainder of his smoke and ground it into ash with the toe of his boot.
It was drawing close to evening by the time Cara, Din, and Grogu made it back to the cabin—both of the adults a bit tired from the long day. After trudging through the door, Cara dragged her pack toward the kitchen counter to unload all of their supplies they'd picked up in town.
"I'm sorry they didn't have more bacta—that's the problem with living on an isolated planet with practically no outside trade," apologized the marshal as she pulled out a very small bottle of the healing gel from the stash of food.
"It's not a problem. It'll be enough for Grogu," assured Din as he carefully extracted the wiggly child from against his chest and set him on the ground to run off his stored energy. The father smiled fondly as he paused to watch his son zoom off to run laps around the living space before turning toward the kitchen. "What can I do to help?"
"Sigh, well…," thought Cara as she chewed her bottom lip and surveyed their options. "If you don't mind getting a fire going in the pit out back, I'll work on dinner. Should be a nice evening—would be a shame to waste it."
"Sounds good," nodded Din and headed towards the front door. Cara raised an eyebrow at his trajectory.
"I said the fire pit's out back," she repeated curiously.
"I know." Din felt the skeptical look of his friend's face behind him as he reached for the bolt lock.
"You know we're isolated out here, right? The only threat is the wildlife and it's unlikely the bears will try the door," huffed Cara in slight amusement.
Best not to worry her, thought Din as a conversation from earlier replayed in his mind.
"Oh, I just thought of a treat we should make tonight that even you can't mess up. Be right back," promised Cara and disappeared down one of the aisles in the small, local general store before Din even had a chance to ask. Waiting patiently at the front counter with the rest of their supplies and Grogu (who was distractedly munching on a bearclaw Cara had spoiled him with), Din made sure his friend was fully out of earshot before turning to the store manager behind the large, wooden counter.
"Is this the only general store in town?"
"Yep, you bet! Family-owned and going on the fifth generation," nodded the weathered woman proudly as she continued to ring up Din and Cara's goods. Her more friendly demeanor towards outsiders and her ability to greet each local by name who had entered since Din had arrived suggested her skillset was well-matched for her livelihood. It also was a promising lead for information.
"Have you ever encountered an Ernesh Mercurius by chance?"
"Oh yes, he's in here as often as anybody else," nodded the woman, but something about her demeanor grew cautious. She carefully eyed Din with guarded scrutiny. "Are you a friend of his?"
"No. I only just met him several minutes ago," Din stated casually and was sure to inflect assurance in his tone. Judging by the way she relaxed her shoulders, he deduced she was not protecting Mercurius—but she clearly knew things. "I was curious where he was from…" he gently pressed.
"Not from around here, I can tell you that much. Rumors say he was from Alderaan but based on his lack of love for it, I'm not even so sure," confessed the storekeeper as she brushed a stray wisp of hair from her face.
"How do you know he has no affection for it?" Din questioned, still keeping his tone light all the while listening intently. The woman paused her hands' work as she took more care in parsing her thoughts. When she spoke, her voice dropped to a hushed octave and her eyes nervously flitted toward Din's.
"He's made a few comments…I'd guess something happened in his past that turned him sour. But more than that, it's more of an unnatural absence of any affection. For anything."
Din's eyes squinted in rapt attention. "I'm not sure I follow…" he pushed carefully.
"He's a hunter, yeah? A good one—brings in more than anyone else. Difficult kills too—skullers, ruuskins, shimmers…I suspect he might even be the one selling more than his allotted share in other towns farther out. And that's the symptom."
"Don't you mean the problem?" asked Din, the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach returning. The woman shook her head and leaned slightly forward.
"No. I have had many hunters come and sell me their kills, so I can sense when something's off. Ernesh is indeed a hunter…but not just in profession. Instead of an honorable need to survive or provide…well, there is no need with him. It's almost like he…enjoys it," the woman confessed, a warning whispered through her lips. "Nothing else seems to light his fire for life than death. And he's never satisfied. Trust me—in those moments where you see the flame begin to ignite in his eyes, you suddenly find yourself wishing for the dark void instead."
At that moment, the front door's bell jingled from another customer entering, shaking the woman from her thoughts. Suddenly afraid she'd said too much, she returned to busying her hands about their purchases but shot Din one last glance and this time kept his eyes. "If you have any dealings with Ernesh Mercurius, I'd suggest you watch your back."
The sound of the cabin's front door lock clicked under the Mandalorian warrior's hands as he bolted it shut, the noise echoing in the large, open room. "Just a precaution," was all Din told Cara as he then headed toward the rear of the cabin to get a fire going.
Cara watched her friend disappear down the hall and shook her head at his paranoid actions. Whatever. She continued to root around in their stash of food before she heard a pitiful little cry down near her feet. Looking down past the counter, she found Grogu near her ankles, the small bottle of bacta clutched in his paws. Man, that kid moves quick and quiet. She was also slightly unnerved at how he had obtained the tiny bottle as well. She'd of course seen him use his powers in various ways, but it still kind of gave her the creeps sometimes.
The child huffed and puffed in frustration with the bottle's cap before gazing upward with a clear plea written across his face: help me!? Cara couldn't help but grin and admit the sight was rather adorable before kneeling down to his level to assist.
"Here, kid, let me do it." She easily twisted the cap off and presented the bacta back to him. But instead of accepting it, the boy promptly just turned around and remained still. "Oh…you want me to do it?" asked Cara surprised. The infant babbled something she couldn't understand but the tone sounded affirmative. "Is it your back?" She hesitantly but carefully lifted up his little tunic and promptly found the dark green and yellow bruises scattered across his bare back. "You poor thing," muttered Cara as she promptly squirted the cool gel onto the baby's skin and rubbed to soak it in. The child shivered a bit from the temperature but purred in gratefulness.
Once she was finished, Cara tugged his tunic back down, careful not to aggravate his bruises. "Now go and play while I make dinner," she told him, standing back up to her full height. Grogu turned to blow her a kiss before giggling and scampering back to the living area to resume his circles. Just as Cara was throwing away the empty bottle, Din returned from outside. His eyes caught her movement and his forehead furrowed in question. "I put the bacta on him," she explained before turning to wash her hands at the sink.
"Oh…thank you," nodded Din, his tone a bit surprised but grateful. "Hey, do you have any lighter fluid?" Now it was Cara's turn to squint in confusion.
"Lighter fluid? Can't you start a fire yourself?" she asked, amusement seeping into her voice.
"Yes, I can," defended Din with an eyeroll, his head slightly mirroring the arcing motion. "It's just faster."
"Better not let your covert hear you couldn't start a fire without your flame thrower," teased Cara mercilessly while fetching the lighter fluid from under the sink. She slapped it into his open palm.
"We all use our flame throwers," mumbled Din gruffly as he stalked back down the hall, Cara's loud laughter following him.
An hour later found the trio huddled around the blazing campfire in the chilly night air, bellies full and spotchka bottles half drunk. Grogu sat contentedly in Din's lap watching the fire as the man reclined slightly in the spacious wooden seat, his ankles crossed and propped at the edge of the fire ring. Cara sat next to him in her own chair, a sherpa blanket tucked around her legs and waist.
"I still can't believe you had never tried a s'more before," mused Cara, her nerves easing with the help of her beverage.
"I still can't believe you ate the whole thing in one bite. Very lady-like," observed Din dryly before raising his bottle in mock solute and taking a sip.
"Hey, it was more attractive than whatever chaotic disaster of stickiness you had going on with yours," rebutted Cara with a snort. "That was first-class entertainment."
"At least I took the time to enjoy mine, which was a masterpiece by the way…"
"Right, and you became an expert in s'more art when again? The same time you became an expert in fire building?" teased Cara and threw him a sideways glance.
"At least you admit I'm an expert," Din conceded, tilting his head in acknowledgement. Cara laughed out loud at the banter before justifying herself.
"Growing up with brothers meant you had to inhale food when you had it before it got stolen. S'mores were no exception." She paused in thought, the humor of the moment settling more into a comfortable companionship. "Did you ever have problems like that growing up?"
"Mm-mm," negated Din with a shake of his head as he finished swallowing his latest sip, the alcohol also relaxing him and making him chattier. "Didn't eat with others, remember?" He tapped the rim of his bottle once to his temple where it should have rung with the beskar.
"Oh, right," nodded Cara. "And you were an only child before that…" Din's eyes strayed to the fire as a log popped and hissed as it burned. He paused for a solid minute before deciding to respond, his fingers distractedly stroking one of Grogu's ears.
"I wasn't going to be." He felt Cara's head swivel fully towards him, abandoning her gaze into the fire.
"Oh?"
"Well, eventually anyways," amended Din, his voice dipping a bit softer. "I knew my parents were trying for another one." Before they were killed.
Cara respectfully matched his tone but kept things light. "And what did you want? A brother or sister?"
"Oh, I wouldn't have cared," he shrugged in honesty. "My neighbor down the street had a little sister and that seemed nice to me, but I would have been happy with either."
"I was content with having brothers," reminisced Cara, snuggling deeper into her blanket. "We fought hard…played hard. We gave our parents some gray hairs for sure."
"Oh, well, now you've got to give me an example," pushed Din with a small smirk as he took another swig. Grogu even diverted his attention from the dancing flames to perk his ears in interest for a story.
"Hmm. Well, there was one time my brothers and I were out in the woods here playing and Levi fell down some hole. It was probably some abandoned well that had long since dried up or something…not really a part of the forest we played in much, so we didn't know it was there. Levi was about six at the time," the dropper recalled, the campfire's shadows stroking her face. "Dalen and I rushed back in a hurry to get our parents but neither of us thought about leaving one of us behind to stay with Levi…we were just so in a rush to get help."
"Doh," Grogu gulped, his ears lowering slightly in concern. Din smirked at his son's engagement in the campfire story and lazily scratched the boy's back.
"Anyways, long story short we couldn't find him again for the longest time," admitted Cara sheepishly. "We searched for hours and hours, calling and calling. We weren't really able to hear Levi's cries due to the depth of the well. Mr. Fendell even came to help search. We eventually found him late that night after dark, but boy, were we all forbidden to play in the woods for a while. Scared my parents half to death."
"Mmoah," remarked Grogu with a sigh of relief.
"The funny thing was that Levi was more upset over leaving his beloved toy soldier or something down in the hole rather than being rescued so late," sighed Cara in exasperation. "I ended up buying him a new one with my own spending credits just so I'd quit hearing him talk about it."
Din humphed a laugh under his breath. "Funny how what we love changes our view of circumstances," he mused. Grogu purred loudly in agreement and tilted himself into Din's hand surrounding him to hug him. The Mandalorian's fingers curled in tighter then patted in loving response. Cara, however, bit her lip at Din's comment and turned back toward the fire.
"I'm sorry about today," she stated.
Her sudden shift caught Din off guard.
"Huh?"
"I'm sorry…for not listening to you earlier. About Mr. Fendell…" apologized Cara, still unable to meet Din's eyes. She took a deep breath before sighing it back out. "You were right. And I was blinded by the past." Her shoulders slumped in defeat now that she'd confessed, and she slouched back in her chair. "I just…thought for a second there I had a small bit of normal back and…" She looked down, unable to finish her sentence. Din chanced a sideways glance at her before replying.
"You don't have to apologize or explain anything to me," he comforted calmly. "We both—no, we all three…" Grogu's big brown eyes peered upward with a depth beyond his long childhood. "…we all lost our families, our homes—our worlds—in a sudden and unexpected way." He now earned Cara's large brown eyes as well. "As a baby, a child, or an adult…doesn't matter when it hits you. It still hurts." The shock trooper again chewed on her lip, deliberating before deciding to speak again.
"I guess…I just thought I'd be more recovered than this. Stronger than this. I mean, it's been fifteen years! You'd think I'd have adjusted to the new normal and move on by now," Cara huffed in frustration, her voice escalating briefly before diving into silence again.
Before Din could reply to her, he felt a tremor of concernworry in the Force from his son. He paused to prod back through the Force in question.
Hurt for her, explained Grogu in his broken way of communicating. His eyes peeked back up at his father, full of genuine care. But don't understand her…?
She's disappointed in herself, ad'ika. She's forced herself to bear this burden alone all these years in order to try to build the strength to keep bearing it.
Oh…not working.
No, it's not working. We both have learned that we need others—each other, our covert—to help with that. And Cara has us…she just is learning how to accept that in a deeper way. We just have to be patient, Din reminded, his presence in the Force warm and assuring like the campfire.
Mmm. Patient is hard sometimes, thought Grogu as his eyes strayed back to his hurting friend, the desire to makebetter rippling in the Force. Din's thoughts softened in understanding and agreement before sharing with his son wisdom that had once been given to him.
Yes, ad'ika. But sometimes we are asked to do hard things for those that we love. That is love.
A purr of contentmentunderstanding rippled back in the Force which ended the short conversation.
Only a minute had passed from Cara's response and judging by her dazed, unblinking stare of fear and anger into the flames, the dropper was still at war with herself. Din drew in a deep breath before calling her name to gather her attention. She didn't turn her head or her gaze, but he knew she was listening when she blinked once and the raw emotion settled a little. However, Din could tell she was still too fragile at the moment. He was forced to take his own advice: patience. Choosing his words carefully, he finally spoke.
"When we receive wounds, they bleed," Din explained very gently. "Eventually our wounds heal and scar over, and we learn how to live with them. We're no longer the same, and we learn the new normal—how to adapt with the scars that are now a part of us. But sometimes something causes that scar to tear open a bit and we bleed again. It's never as bad as the first time and it heals over in time too…but we still bleed." Cara sucked in a long breath and held it while Din continued. "We bleed again not because we grew weaker, but because we're still human. We're reminded we're still alive."
"But what about the times when it just won't seem to heal on its own?" the shock trooper asked in defeat, finally shifting her gaze toward him. He saw in her eyes the haunted glint of hopelessness that no one but him ever noticed on rare occasions. But before Din could reply, Grogu on his lap suddenly sprung to life, having been listening. The boy babbled something in jibberish before hurriedly shrugging himself out of his tunic. Both Din and Cara exchanged a look of confusion and surprise by the strange and abrupt flurry of activity and chatter. Grogu managed to remove his tunic so he stood nearly naked in the night air and promptly turned around to show Cara his back, his previous bruises now healing with the help of the bacta she'd applied earlier. He chirped something once more before glancing sideways at his father. A small, proud smile crossed Din's face as he interpreted.
"He says then you ask for help."
"Patu," agreed Grogu, now peering over his shoulder, his big brown eyes pouring into Cara's. The dropper managed to release something between a laugh and a sigh before nodding once in acknowledgement, her eyes pinching in either deep gratitude for the reminder or from the fire's smoke. It was hard to tell…and no one was going to tell.
A spell of silence dominated for a few minutes as the mood passed and a mutual peace settled between the three friends. Eventually, Cara turned in her seat and eyed her friend with a flicker of mischief.
"I have an idea."
"What's that?" inquired Din as he struggled to wrestle Grogu back into his tunic. The infant refused so he ended up swaddling the soft blanket that was across his lap around his son to keep him warm.
"We should each tell a story. Or a secret. Something juicy and good. Personal. It's what always inevitably happens around evening campfires," enticed Cara with an ornery smirk. Din raised a single eyebrow as he finished situating Grogu against him and surveyed her in his peripheral. Whether she knew it or not, she was sporting the same grin she'd had in the family photo—which Din took to be a good sign.
"All right, fair enough. You go first."
"Hmm. Okay, how about this…I'll say it's a talent," boasted Cara half in jest as she sat up straighter in her chair with pride. "I can make the forest light up on demand." This time Din raised both eyebrows and pursed his lips in mock belief. He motioned a hand out toward the pitch black night beyond the campfire.
"Be my guest," he offered and slouched further in his seat, ready to observe. Grogu blinked curiously with wide eyes toward Cara from within his fluffy blanket nest, snuggled on top of Din's belly.
"Okay, I have to warm up first a second…it's been a while since I've done this," she warned her friends as she cleared her throat.
"Oh, you're going to sing? I thought you were going to do a tribal dance or something around the fire," mocked Din as he crossed his fingers in eager anticipation.
"I'll leave the tribal stuff to you Mandos," the shock trooper zinged back, earning a chuckle from Din.
"Is that really what you think we do?"
Cara ignored him and continued to focus. She coughed once before finally getting her voice box situated to her liking. She then sucked in a long breath and released it in a high-pitched, loud howl.
"Doh," jumped Grogu a bit, claws clutching the edge of the blanket tighter. His ears perked up as he waited in anticipation for the dark forest to do something.
"Your singing is terrible," remarked Din dryly with a small yawn.
"Hush, this is quality stuff here." Cara let two more howls echo off the trees before she was finally answered. The responding cry was far more bone-chilling and ghostly than her own impression had been. The hairs on the back of Din's neck stood up and Grogu shivered in fear against his stomach. But the eerie call was nothing quite as mesmerizing as the psychedelic colors that began to ripple throughout the forest near the floor, all darting about. As the howling grew louder, the vibrancy pulsed faster and brighter, and clearer shapes began to form.
"Are those…the shimmer wolves?" asked Din as he sat up straighter, entranced by the sight of nearly twenty luminous forms pacing back and forth in the forest's depth just beyond their campfire.
"Yep. These are the shimmer wolves," beamed Cara, grinning widely at the gorgeously haunting display of sight and sound. "They get their name from their fur—changes color instantly depending upon their environment to blend in during the day. It's practically impossible to see or even hear a pack sneaking up on you until it's too late. Sometimes you might get lucky if you can spot their eyes, but generally you don't see them until they howl like this." Din squinted into the darkness and amidst the show of spectacular, flickering shades of illuminated fur, he could just make out an occasional pair of intimidating blood-red eyes glowing back.
"Are they a threat?" he felt he had to ask the obvious, his arm snaking around Grogu to assure himself his son was actually still there and not a snack for the pack.
"Yeah, they're a danger," nodded Cara but ironically leaned back once again in her seat, her eyes glued to the sight. "But as long as we stick to the fire, they won't bother us. And we're not bleeding out or anything so we're not really piquing their interest." Grogu continued to stare mesmerized out into the night, a reverent coo escaping his lips.
"I'll give it to you, that's quite a talent," nodded Din in approval as the shimmering of the wolves faded back into the abyss of the night as their howls died down. But the occasional pair of glowing crimson orbs peered back in the dark.
"Thanks! Now it's your turn," prodded Cara. The Mandalorian remained quiet in thought for a long while, brow furrowed as he deliberated what secret to tell. The silence went on for a solid length of time, and eventually the dropper became antsy. "This better be something really good and not a big fish story like 'I bagged three bounties at once'. Remember, it's gotta beat me putting on a light show, Din," she reminded him as she lifted her bottle to her lips.
"My name's not Din."
Spotchka promptly spit-sprayed into the night air.
"W-what?" choked Cara, struggling mightily to get her breathing back into rhythm.
"I said my name's not Din. Well, my given name isn't anyways," shrugged the bounty hunter nonchalantly.
"Nuh-uh. Shut up," the marshal refuted between coughs. Her eyes never left his face and refused to blink, desperately trying to read him and failing to tell if he was joking or serious. "You're lying."
"I promise, I'm not," the man assured her with a shake of his head. "Din is my family surname. My given name is Djarin. On Aq Vetina the names are in the opposite order from what's more typical." Cara's eyes just bore into Din as if he'd just told her he actually hadn't been a Mandalorian all along.
"Hold up…you're kriffing serious," realized Cara, her eyes widening even further, though Din thought it almost impossible. "How have I not known this? Does anyone else know this? Why have I not known this?"
"Greef knows."
"KARGA KNOWS BEFORE ME?!"
"Well to be fair, I didn't entirely tell him like that. I told him my son was now officially adopted as Din Grogu and he made the connection."
"That was over a YEAR ago!"
"Technically my covert has always known…"
"I can't believe this…"
"…and obviously Grogu knows."
"Patu!"
Cara sighed loudly in disbelief and buried her head in her hands. "I feel like I don't know you anymore," she mumbled with a pathetic whine into her palms. Din finally couldn't help but huff a short laugh.
"On the contrary, you now know me better than most," he amended with a soft smile. "Since that naming convention is not the predominant order across most worlds in the galaxy, I never bother to correct anyone. Most don't know my name to begin with anyway."
"Ugh, I hate you, Din—Djarin!" winced Cara as she corrected herself.
"You can still call me Din if that's easier," laughed her friend with an amused smile. "I truly don't mind."
"I don't know if I can switch," muttered Cara in a daze to herself as she slightly shook her head, eyes still wide with shock and chin resting defeated in her palm.
"So, ahem…does this make me the winner of the campfire revelations?" Din couldn't help but inquire with smug innocence.
"Oh, shut up."
More lighthearted teasing and conversations lasted well into the night and early morning until the final stubborn embers of the fire gave out in one final yielding whisp of smoke. Grogu had passed out hours before, huddled against his father's chest and wrapped up snug and secure in the blanket. It was almost two in the morning when Din and Cara finally rose to head inside to bed, both too tired to bother changing their clothes. Yawning widely and cradling his sleeping son, Din wished Cara goodnight as she sidled past him to trudge up the stairs.
"Good night, Djarin," she tiredly sassed in a slur of sleepiness, and the smile on Din's lips lasted until he collapsed exhausted into his own bed, the lingering scent of campfire smoke on his body filling his nostrils as he fell right to sleep.
Thick, gray smoke billowed throughout the dusty streets, making it difficult to breathe. As another bomb blast went off, young Djarin shrunk deeper into his father and buried his nose and mouth against the sweaty fabric at his shoulder. He felt his father's strong arms and hands protectively tighten around his thigh and keep his head close. His mother's hands fluttered about, helping stabilize so he wouldn't fall. Drawing comfort from their closeness and familiar touch, Djarin's own hands clutched at his father.
Not but an hour ago they had been sitting at their small table eating breakfast cakes…now this.
Another bomb blast exploded nearby—enough to make his father stumble. The boy's red hood shifted due to the jerky movement and his bare cheek now rested against his father's face. The soft scratch of his father's slight beard rubbed against the soft skin of his own cheek, and he could hear his father's huffing and puffing directly in his ear. His mother's body hugged close to his side, her right arm bracing his back as she helped to hurry her husband along. She shouted something but her voice was drowned out by another Separatist ship flying low overhead.
Djarin's wide brown eyes peered over his father's shoulder at the carnage in his hometown's main street. A massive droid without flinching shot down three people within seconds—it had looked like the weavers from the shop where his mother often bought crimson cloth, but Djarin couldn't be sure. He'd squinted his eyes shut as soon as they fell.
Not long after, his parents slowed their gait and his father set him on the ground. People scurried past them, still shouting and crying and screaming. Djarin's heart pounded as his father shifted him into the loving arms of his mother which encircled him and pulled him close to her chest. He did not cry but raised his hands to clasp onto his mother's in complete trust as he watched his father wrench open the heavy doors of some storage cellar. Were they all going to hide in here?
"Get in, son," his father hurriedly instructed while glancing around the open courtyard. Djarin didn't hesitate and reached for the ladder before he was pulled back by his mother into a tight hug. His mother was not a crier…so when he spotted silent tear tracks down her cheeks before she held him close, his instincts began to scream. No no no no no! They were coming with him, right? When his mother forced herself to release him, his father turned him back to give him directions again, but Djarin grasped at his arms with a vice grip.
"Papa…"
His steady nerve began to shake, and he pinched his eyes tightly in tears as his father took a moment to plant a kiss on his forehead.
"Djarin, listen to me," his father spoke quickly but solidly. His face was so close the boy could feel his warm breath, see every bead of sweat and grit of sand on his skin. The noise of invasion faded for a moment as the grasp of his father's hands on either side of his head grounded him along with his mother's hands still at his back. "Djarin, you need to hide in here and stay until things are safe."
"But I don't want to leave you," pleaded the boy, his voice choking at last on the smoke and the certainty of separation.
"Your momma and I will come back for you," his father promised with a smile, soulful dark eyes staring into their begotten pair. "Remember, son, sometimes we are asked to do hard things for those that we love. Promise me you'll stay?" The sound of glass shattering resonated in the heart of a building somewhere nearby.
"I'll stay…I promise I'll stay," nodded Djarin and tried to be brave. He was ushered down the ladder into the dark and dusty cellar, his parents' loving hands bracing and guiding him along the way. It wasn't until he reached the bottom and obediently tucked himself against some crates that the sense of being alone hit him full force. His little body screamed for the consoling strokes of his mother's fingers and the strong, protective embrace of his father's arms. As the lids creaked closed, Djarin raised a single, bare hand…begging for comfort and companionship. His father's face shone above him, haloed by the bright sun, and this time Djarin's hand remained open and empty, his final words to his father replaying in his mind.
"I'll stay…I promise I'll stay…"
The doors shut. A sudden crash resounded. The cellar rocked. And telling silence reigned. Smoke from the street filtered through the crack in the lids—choking the child's plea to a whisper as the empty, small, bare hand drew back from the world outside.
"Papa?"
The smoke began to grow thicker, now making it harder to breathe. A pain began to grow in Djarin's chest.
"Buir?"
The need to cough was excruciatingly demanding but his lungs had forgotten how to swell properly.
"Buir!"
Now another demand—insistent and worried and urgent—tugged at his body, every fiber of his being in fact. Someone needed him…
BUIR!
Din Djarin woke forcefully and sucked in a lung full of smoke. Pain shot through his chest as his body instinctively reacted. Wracking coughs shook his entire frame as he struggled to roll over and right himself a little on the bed. As his senses sluggishly awoke from a deep sleep, his ears registered a terrifying roar about him as well as a frightened squeak. Forcing his eyes to blink open, Din found the cabin bedroom surrounding him fully engulfed in flames.
Things are now certainly heating up...literally...
Thank you all for your patience! I'm trying to keep ahead with writing future chapters so I'm trying to be careful how often I upload already written chapters...don't want to rush them all and then leave you with a long waiting period as I finish future ones. A huge thank you to all who review and follow...your encouragement is very much appreciated!