pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C

word count: 9.2K

chapter summary: Din and Marathel fail to communicate, Grogu plays matchmaker, Din and Marathel communicate successfully.

warnings: sexual situations (18+, MDNI), fingering, violence to animals, mention of child abuse and infanticide, Mando'a and English cursing

Marathel was lightly dozing when she heard the Bounty Hunter's boots walking towards her and stopping. Then she heard a shifting noise and the pop of a cracking knee joint, followed by a soft thud and a grunt as the Bounty Hunter dropped to one knee beside her. Her eyes still closed, she smiled. "You can't sneak up on anybody."

"Rain bothers my knee."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"The rain is stopping."

Marathel rubbed her eyes, and then squinted up at the armored man hovering above her. "Was I sleeping long?"

"Not long at all. But I was watching the clouds and it looks like the rain is moving on."

"Well, then, we should all be up so we can go after some gwyrlan birds." She got up to one hip, and the Bounty Hunter put his hands under her arms — touching more of her bare skin than he had intended, even with gloved hands — to help her stand. Between her unsteadiness and his bum knee, they both struggled to get up, making Marathel laugh. "Oh, Frith, we make a pair."

"Are you still in pain?"

"Some, but I can manage. I should …" Din remained motionless, still holding her arms. "I … excuse me." Marathel reached up above her, and pulled the curtains down. The fall and swirl of the pieces of fabric made Din take a quick half-step back as he watched Marathel become obscured by the cloth. He heard the jacket fall to her bed. "Oh! Would you please hand me my tunic? I left it on the table." Her bare arm reached out; the bruises were still very visible on her skin. Din silently retrieved her tunic and placed it in her outstretched hand. Her hand closed around the tunic, and over his fingers as well. His leather-covered thumb grazed over her knuckles, and after a moment, Marathel gently tugged her hand loose, pulling her arm back between the curtains. She could just see the tips of his boots under the pleats of her curtain. Facing him just on the other side of the thin woven fabric that was just on the correct side of opaque, she raised her arms and dropped the tunic over her head. Din quietly inhaled at the whisper of the fabric against her skin.

"Gwyrlans are large sea birds," Marathel said, surprised that her voice was as even as it was, discomfited as she was by his lingering closeness. She put her jacket back on, found her hairbrush and mercilessly brushed her tangled hair. "They are good eating, but they don't stay long on the mud flats after a rain." She dropped her hairbrush back into a basket, and then stepped out of her curtains to find herself toe-to-toe with the Bounty Hunter. Her head tilted in surprise, his head tilted just enough in the opposite direction, that, but for the helmet he wore, they could kiss. Marathel dropped her eyes and stepped sideways. "I'll get Grogu." Moving towards the pram, she said, "You should bring one of your boomers."

Din turned to her. "Boomers?"

"The thing that shoots fire." Marathel opened the lid and began stroking Grogu's fuzzy head.

"Blaster. It's called a blaster."

"Well, bring that along, too. It might be helpful." Marathel put the yawning Grogu on her hip, tossed one of her gathering bags over her shoulder, and walked down the steps into the yard. Din quickly chose his favorite blaster, and joined her.

The drizzle had turned mostly to mist as they went back up the path towards the mountain, and then cut across a grassy meadow. "There are little clams that live in the mud flats. Gwyrlan birds love to eat the clams when they come up after a rain. It makes them easy to catch."

"How do you normally catch them?"

"Chuck rocks. I can usually get one, but that's enough for only me." Getting to a rocky patch, Marathel pulled herself up a short ridge. At the top, she turned and held out her hand to help the Bounty Hunter up. He looked briefly at her deeply bruised wrist, but put his hand in hers and allowed her to assist him up.

"Thank you," he said as he got up to the top.

"Naas baatir," said Marathel, smiling at him.

"You remembered," he said, still holding her hand. Attempting to cover it up, he gently placed his free hand on her shoulder. "Good girl."

Her smiling demeanor fell instantly from her face. "Don't call me that." Two spots of high color appeared in her pale cheeks as she jerked her hand away, taking several steps back. "Don't ever call me that. Ever." Several seconds passed. She rubbed her hand as if she had been burned. Grogu looked up at her with a worried frown. "This way," Marathel muttered, turning away. Din followed in silence.

After a short time, Din asked, "What are the Dahls doing?"

Marathel continued walking, but she looked out across the meadows. "Brooding. The females who caught kits will be building nests tonight." She sighed. "The females who did not catch kits are sad."

"Not all the females will be laying eggs? After all that — activity the past two nights?"

"Sometimes the females cannot catch kits."

Din shrugged. "Perhaps sometimes the males cannot give the females kits."

Marathel's brow furrowed, as if the thought had never occurred to her. "The day after tomorrow you will be able to leave." His head swiveled towards her. "Tonight, they build the nest, tomorrow night they will lay their clutches. Early the following morning I will collect the eggs to take to the Hold." They continued walking in silence. "I'm sorry that you had to stay so long. The Dahls do not follow a strict schedule." He did not respond, but simply turned his head back towards the path. Marathel looked over at the Bounty Hunter. "I suppose this has been one of the strangest bounties you've hunted."

"It's up there." The weirdest bounty involved an antique sofa, a Rodian who believed he was a demigod, and a Corellian freighter transporting farm animal birthing lubricant. Din was going to carry that story untold to his grave. He noticed Marathel shifting Grogu back up on her hip. "I can take him."

"No, no … he is no bother." Marathel unconsciously turned her shoulders — and Grogu — away from him. She was tired and her arms ached, but she wanted to hold the child while she still could. She looked down at Grogu; he was gazing back up at her with his beautiful, large eyes as he clutched the fabric of her tunic. He then laid his head against her, hugging her tightly with his tiny arms.

After a few minutes, they were behind a rocky outcrop, hearing the squawks of a number of sea birds. Both Marathel and Din took a peek over. The birds stood on the mud, balanced on their enormous webbed feet that were just as wide as their bulbous bodies. Their curved beaks dug up tiny clams, which the birds swallowed whole. "How many do you want?" Din whispered to Marathel.

Marathel bent to pick up some pebbles. "I'd like three, but it may be …" Marathel was suddenly interrupted by the loud pew-pew-pew of Din's blaster as he blew the heads away of three large birds near the center of the mud flat. Marathel ducked behind the rock with her hands curled protectively over Grogu.

Din quietly stowed his blaster. "Got you three."

Marathel stared at him, then stood up to look over the ridge through a thin film of smoke. Three fat birds, now headless, lay in a scattering of grey and white feathers. The other birds had immediately taken flight and had already gone. She sighed. "Well … you got them. You get to collect them."

Din took Grogu off her hip. "You heard her, kid. Let's go." He stepped over the ridge, setting Grogu down at the edge of the mud flat. Din stepped out to get the birds, and sank in the mud up to mid-shin. He looked back at Marathel, who was looking at him expectantly.

"Problem?" she asked. Din sighed and looked down at the mud. He took two more steps, the mud getting over his knees … and into his boots. "It keeps getting deeper towards the center. The birds' big feet let them stand on top of the mud," said Marathel with a hint of smugness in her tone. Grogu, for his part, took four wobbly steps forward, and fell face-first into the mud with a splat.

Din put his hands on his hips. "Could have told me."

"I would have, but I didn't get the chance before you were going all pew-pew-pew." Marathel reached over the edge to collect a mud-covered Grogu. "My idea was to scatter the birds to the edge by throwing pebbles before you used your boomer."

"Blaster," Din said through gritted teeth. "You could be useful and throw me a branch or something." After a moment, a four-inch twig landed in the mud directly in front of him. "Not helpful." She giggled. He continued moving forward, trying to make sure he was on solid ground on each step. But then a misstep took him hip-deep, and he quickly removed his blaster and held it above his head. With an exasperated sigh – making Marathel giggle again – he said, "If I drop this blaster in the mud, I will not be happy."

"Oooh, scary."

Din muttered a few choice Mando'a epithets under his breath — this must be payback for the tree incident, he thought — and finally reached the birds in the center, but not before he was chest-deep in the muck. He chucked the birds out of the mud in her direction, and then started the slog back. Marathel put the bird carcasses in her bag, and then found a long vine that she tossed out towards Din, splattering him across the helmet with mud. Din sighed again, but took hold of the vine and let Marathel help pull him in. She was barely concealing her merriment as they hopped down from the rocks. "Very funny," he grumbled.

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm not," she said, as the laughter erupted from her pursed mouth like a runner beast breaking wind. "Oh, Frith, all down your boots too … and that's the kind of mud that itches, so you're going to be very uncomfortable in a bit." Din brushed at the mud, flinging it to the ground. "I can wash your clothes for you back at the hut."

"I have nothing clean there to change into." Din scraped off another section of mud from his boots.

"Well, then, you can wear a blanket and sit behind the curtains. It won't take long for your clothes to dry."

"No," Din said, annoyed. He straightened, trying and failing to brush the sticky mud off his gloves. "I'll go back to the ship."

"Suit yourself. I'll take Grogu home and get him and the birds cleaned up."

"Fine." He turned on his heel and stomped off in that direction, his grand exit marred by the squelching noise his boots made.

Marathel watched him go with amusement. Even prickled up, the Bounty Hunter was still fairly mellow. She wondered what angry looked like on the Bounty Hunter as she headed back to the hut with Grogu and three fat headless birds in tow.

Irritating woman, thought Din mildly as he pushed his way through the tall grass. At least she had the wherewithal to not laugh at him as much as he had at her. He wouldn't have minded, though, so long as he got to see her laughing face, crinkles in the delicate skin around her sparkling eyes, the color in her round cheeks, her soft lips curled up in a grin.

Osik, how am I supposed to leave her here?

The day after tomorrow he was supposed to take her and however many Dahl eggs to that Hold. To the Bishop. To whomever had branded her. And he himself was honor-bound to his covert, to earn coin to pay forward his debt to new foundlings, and to ransom back the lost beskar of his people, and to eventually retake Mandalore. But he felt that he could possibly throw it all away if she asked it of him.

Din Djarin had been commanded by the Dahl Rodanthe to love her, but by Frith, he also felt that he possibly already did.

Din finally got back to the Crest, where he had one fine time getting rid of the mud. More clay-like than actual mud, it was caked deep in every seam, every pocket, dried hard to his armor. And damned if it didn't itch his skin something awful. He had to use a razor scraper to get it off his armor, and now he would have to re-oil and polish his whole damn rig. He had clean thermals, but the only flight suit he had clean was the one in sore need of repair. The elbows and knees were blown out, a couple seams were splitting, and he had forgotten about the knife-cuts on the back where he'd been stabbed a time or four. But it was clean and it fit. He stuck his feet back into his cold wet boots and grimaced. These were the best boots he'd ever had, and he hoped they were salvageable. Well, she offered laundry services, and he now felt sorely inclined to take her up on it. He gathered his few things, replaced his armor and helmet, and set back out to her hut.

Her hut looked deserted as he approached. Then he heard laughter and splashing behind the hut. He went around the side to find Grogu sitting in a washtub, applying soap bubbles to Marathel's face. Grogu had a full bonnet and beard of suds, but he seemed more interested in getting Marathel as wet as possible. Marathel had already washed all of Grogu's tiny clothing, and they hung on a series of long poles over a smoldering smudge of fragrant herbs. Smiling at the Bounty Hunter, she said, "Oh, good, you're back. I'll trade your laundry for the little Godynferth here." Marathel rinsed off Grogu and pulled him out, wrapping his little green bottom in the towel she had over her shoulder, and then handing him off to the Bounty Hunter.

"Hey, pal," said Din, rubbing the boy roughly with the towel. "Where's your beskar shirt?"

"Oh, that's right here. It did get a bit of mud on it, but I wasn't sure how to clean this kind of metal." Din took the chain mail from her. "Why does such a small boy have armor?"

"He is my foundling, and part of my clan. Armor and weapons are part of the Mandalorian religion."

"Religion?"

"Our Creed. The rules my people follow."

"Like your rules about not removing your helmet, or your gloves, before anyone else?"

"This is the way."

Marathel's brow furrowed. "But I have seen your hands, your arms. And we have …" She dropped her eyes, blushing. "I hope that I have not caused you to break your Creed. I hope I have not offended you."

"Any indiscretions I may have committed are mine alone. And your needs, your … injuries were greater than the need to hold my Creed."

"Still, I … had I understood, I wouldn't have … I would have tried to act differently." She looked down at his boots. "Your boots need attention. Please, take them off, and I will clean and re-block them, so the leather won't be ruined." Her eyes flicked back up to his helmet. "But I suppose removing boots is off-limits too."

"Technically, in front of you, yes."

"Frith save us," Marathel muttered. She had essentially seen him in his altogether — albeit in the dark of night — yet wet socks and bare feet were out of bounds. She dumped his laundry into the tub and went around to her side of the hut, climbing up into her curtains, and re-emerging with a thick pair of socks and her knitted slippers. "Here," she said, pressing them into his hand, heading back to her washtub. "And what does your Mandalorian religion say about women washing your underdrawers?"

He shrugged. "This is the way."

Marathel rolled her eyes. "Typical." She grabbed her paddle and began swirling the dirty clothes to agitate them.

Din went around the corner, out of her sight, and changed his wet boots for the thick warm socks and the knitted slippers. He wriggled his toes, thinking he could get used to socks like these. Keeping Grogu on his arm, he brought the boots back to Marathel, setting them on the bench that held the washtub. "Do you happen to have anything for Grogu to wear while his things dry?"

"Oh, yes. I noticed he had a couple of sacques, so I thought this would work." Marathel handed Din a small drawstring bag in which she had cut foot-and-hand holes and had quickly whipstitched the openings. Din looked at the color dubiously.

"Pink?"

Marathel snorted. "Faded red." She held up a pair of the Bounty Hunter's pants, noticing a split seam. "I'll go over all these once they're dry, do some sewing work. It appears Bounty Hunters are very hard on clothing."

Din sat on the edge of the bench, and fed a squirming Grogu into the little makeshift sacque, tying off the drawstring. "There you go, kiddo, now you look like a fancy dessert at a snooty restaurant." Grogu giggled and put his hands on the Bounty Hunter's helmet. Din chuckled himself and tapped his helmet against the boy's forehead in quick succession. Grogu twisted around and reached for Marathel, saying "Mahr." Marathel looked over her shoulder at the boy and smiled, but Grogu kept reaching for her, calling Mahr, so she turned and took hold of Grogu's tiny hand, and then it seemed that she was pulled towards them, and she stumbled against the Bounty Hunter, causing him to wrap his arm around her and hold her close, his helmet tucking under her chin as she stood between his spread knees.

They stayed that way, connected by Grogu's little hands and Din's arm around her waist. His hand began to gently stroke her back. Why he couldn't keep his hands off her, he simply could not say, other than he knew that he would be leaving her, and wanted to remain in this three-person utopia as long as possible. And he had to give Grogu credit; he obviously moved Marathel here to hold the three of them together. Grogu did not want to leave his Mahr any more than he did. Din took a deep breath. Her scent was of herbs and crushed flowers and soap and just the slightest odor of whatever that horrible salve was, but coming from her magnificent skin it was simply part of Marathel.

Marathel closed her eyes, and swallowed against the Bounty Hunter's helmet as she slid her arm up his back, placing her hand at the base of his neck, her thumb caressing his neck gaiter. She felt her time running out. Oh, if she could remain in this moment, but such thoughts were futile. She sighed and said, "I do have much to do."

Din grunted and released his hold on her, letting her step back slightly, but keeping a hand on her waist, loath to let her go fully. "I do too. Do you have any wool rags?"

"Wool?"

"Animal fleece. I need wool to clean and polish my armor."

Marathel looked at him intently, deep in thought. "Oh. Gwalffwr. I do have some." She moved towards the back corner of the hut, and stepped up into the kitchen. She pulled out another basket and dug to the bottom. Din followed and waited. "Here it is. Felted gwalffwr." She handed him three small scraps. "This is all I have. The Bishop ordered all the gwalffaid killed long before I was born. Gwalffwr made him itch."

"Hutuun. He itches, so he kills off a whole species?"

Marathel shrugged. "I do have these; they are made from nettles." She gave him some abrasive woven cloths, as well as some soft toweling for polishing. She watched as the Bounty Hunter went to the steps with Grogu. He methodically removed each piece of armor, speaking quietly to Grogu as he did so. Each piece had a meaning, each piece had an incantation, each piece served a special purpose, and now each piece was a lesson for Grogu to learn. Marathel was transfixed at the sight of the father and son, carrying on a tradition that was rich, pure, and good. She compared it to her life in the Hold, and felt even more unworthy to have witnessed the scene before her. Not wanting to sully their ritual, Marathel returned to the washtub. At the very least, the Bounty Hunter and his son would have properly cleaned and repaired clothing to wear with their fine armor.

All three remained busy the rest of the afternoon. Marathel finished the washing, hanging the Bounty Hunter's flight suits and thermals to dry above the smudge, musing that it had been a long time since she had washed the clothes of a man. Then she began the process of refurbishing the Bounty Hunter's boots by wrapping hot stones with cloths and shoving them inside the boots to restore their shape and dry them from the inside out. She cleaned the three seabirds and soaked them in sweetened herbed water to remove the fishy taste from the meat before she began roasting them. Grogu's tiny clothes dried quickly in the herbed smudge, so she was able to sort out what needed repairing, and pulled out some of her excess fabric to cut out some new garments for the boy. And in between, she even got some leavening started for a new batch of bread.

Grogu and Din cleaned and oiled the beskar — well, mostly Din, but Grogu was good at holding the oil bottle for the most part. Grogu was now more interested in chasing a small swarm of jumping bugs that were transversing Marathel's yard. Marathel sat on her table, tightening seams and darning holes. Her hands kept falling idle, though, as she was distracted by the armor-less Bounty Hunter. He seemed more human, less … like a Bounty Hunter. She supposed it was like seeing a strong, tall tree with its full foliage and then again in the cold season … still the same tree, still beautiful and strong, regardless of the cover of leaves.

Din looked up to find her watching him, and then he cloistered himself behind his curtains to remove and polish his helmet. The nettle cloths worked well to clean off the remaining mud, and the tiny wool scraps were just enough to work the oil into the crevasses. He loved the smell of the oil. To him it meant well-cared for armor and weapons, as well as the camaraderie of his covert, his family, his friends. But then the smell of roasting meat began to waft up underneath the smell of the oil, and Din closed his eyes, remembering the smell of the bread she baked and the herbs she cooked with, thinking a man could drown in his own saliva in this hut of hers.

He thought about her, sitting on that table only feet away, and he strongly considered just walking out there, without his helmet, laying her back on that table and kissing the living shab out of her. Then he remembered Grogu, and then thought it might be good for the kid to see that happen, to see his Patu kissing his Mahr like there was no tomorrow. Din opened his eyes to look down at his helmet looking back at him. Only once before had he felt so strongly to act against his Creed, and that was when he had to say goodbye to Grogu. There was no question in his heart that it had been the right thing to do at the time, even now with the guilt and devastation he felt as an apostate. Technically, he would not compound his transgressions more if he did show her his face … except that he would leave her behind right after he did so. Considering what they had shared, such an act seemed inexcusable. So, he replaced his helmet, and stepped out of his fabric cubicle to find her looking at him as he emerged.

Marathel studied the Bounty Hunter, looking him up and down, bootless and armor-less, and he felt his cheeks get hot. She said, "It's strange to see you like this."

"Like what?"

"Vulnerable." She looked back down to her sewing. "It would seem to me that not wearing the armor now and again would be comfortable."

"I do remove it when safety permits. But a Mandalorian must be ready for whatever comes their way. Danger is always out there."

Marathel smirked at him. "You've been here for five days and nothing's come to attack you."

Din shifted his weight to one hip, crossing his arms. "Except for you."

Marathel's face turned the color of dreamberries, and then she put her hands to her mouth as she laughed. "That doesn't say much about you as a Bounty Hunter if you can be taken down by a weak, fat woman with nothing but rocks and sticks."

Din grinned under his helmet as he looked down to the floor. The banter. Osik, he was going to miss the banter. He just genuinely liked this woman. "I disagree with everything you just said. You're as strong as a Mudhorn, you're as nicely curved as one of those gorugellys, and you forgot about the eggs." And her naked body.

Marathel's face kept that lovely shade of pink. "Mudhorn?"

"It's a very large, very ugly, very mean critter. I had to kill one once, but it nearly killed me first. Grogu first showed his power of levitation to me then. The thing was about to mow me down, and he lifted that Mudhorn right into the air, allowing me to kill it. It was then the Armourer declared us as a clan of two, and gave us the Mudhorn as our signet." He retrieved his pauldron to show her.

Marathel took the pauldron, and traced the engraving with her finger. "I wondered what that was." She raised her eyebrow. "And I remind you of this creature?

He bowed slightly. "Only in determination, fair lady."

Marathel guffawed and handed back the pauldron. "Rydchi'n llown hon'o."

"And that means?"

"You're full of it."

"As a mercenary and a bounty hunter, I appreciate the compliment." He turned away to go back to his armor.

"You're so full of it your eyes are brown, Bounty Hunter."

Din paused and looked back at her. "Actually, yes. My eyes are brown."

Marathel turned her attention back to her sewing in her lap. "I like brown eyes. It seems a shame that no one gets to see them." She began stitching again. Din looked at her a moment longer before he returned to his armor. He considered the pauldron in his hand, and then performed the stacking ritual, leaving his armor just outside his curtains. Satisfied, he went out into the yard to check out the new bug Grogu had discovered.

The gwrlyan birds roasted perfectly, if Marathel said so herself. They were falling apart as she lifted the birds out of the roasting pan. As soon as meat hit the cutting board, she saw the Bounty Hunter and Grogu drift towards the hut. Men are the same all over, she thought. By the time she got the tubers and the gorujellys in their bowls, her boys had materialized table-side. "Take what you want, Bounty Hunter. I will fix a plate for Grogu."

Din saw that Marathel had also roasted the gorugelly fruits. Over the top of two fruits, there was a generous spoonful of a berry-type sauce. The third just had sweet syrup and dried fruit. He immediately reached for that bowl, but Marathel interrupted. "No, that one is for Grogu, we get the ones with dreamberry sauce. Dreamberries are … it's hard to say in Newtalk. If you eat or drink too many, you get silly and everything slows down."

"They are alcoholic? Fermented?"

"I suppose."

"How strong are they?"

"Um … I would say that this is a very little amount of dreamberries, just enough to warm you up. But then, these have been sitting in my kitchen for a while."

Din was dubious, but took the fruit and a generous helping of meat and tubers. He looked up and down the table. "No bread?"

"Not yet. You can go without bread for an evening. You'll survive."

"No, I'm not sure I will. Your bread is the best bread I have eaten in my life."

"Well … thank you. I'm happy you enjoyed it." She lifted Grogu up just before he made it up to the table top, and sat down to feed him. Din went to eat behind his curtains. He thoroughly enjoyed the roast bird. It would be difficult to go back to travel rations after these past few days. The gorujelly reminded him of a fruit from his homeworld. It was fibrous and sweet, and the skin was papery. The dreamberries, though, were something else. He put a small spoonful in his mouth, and all he could taste at first was a sweetness, but then when the berries reached the back on his tongue, he tasted a heated spice that warmed on the way to his gut. Whoa. That is potent. But there wasn't that much sauce, not even the equivalent of a small spotchka. Still, if he got a little light-headed, he wasn't going anywhere.

He got up to return the dishes to the kitchen, and just managed to walk in on Grogu belching in Marathel's face again. And again, Marathel responded with a belch of her own, this time by belching Gro-GU so loudly that Din took a step back. Grogu cooed and clapped, and Marathel bumped the side of her fist against her stomach, saying, "Woo! That felt good to get out."

"Dank ferrik, woman."

"Thank you, thank you."

"Grogu likes your cooking. I do too."

"Well, I would hope you weren't clearing your plate out of spite."

"No. You're a good cook, Marathel. You're a good woman."

Marathel smiled and looked down. "It pleases me to please you," she said, and then dropped her smile and looked anxious. Din noticed but he wasn't sure what to do or say. Instead, he picked up Grogu.

Placing his dish in the dry sink, Din said, "I think this one needs a walk."

"Be careful out there."

"I have a light." He flipped up the beam projector on his helmet.

"Well, aren't you handy." Din and Grogu stepped off the platform and headed off into the semi-darkness. Marathel put the dishes and roasting pan on to soak, and checked on her bread rise. It looked good to go, so she quickly gave it a last knock-down and turned it into pans. The fire was at a good temperature, so she might get some of the smaller loaves out by the time she finished the dishes.

Marathel was scrubbing the roaster when Din and Grogu returned. Without stepping up, he called, "We will be in the yard."

Marathel was bemused by how casual they'd become towards each other. "Okay," she called back. She'd timed it perfectly: the small rounds of bread could come out now. The Bounty Hunter would be pleased. She got the remaining bread situated in the fire, and then she went to the front of the hut. The Bounty Hunter and Grogu were exploring the tall grass, the boy jumping up after hopper bugs every now and again. Marathel looked out towards the mountain, and saw a pale glow in a cave near the top. "Oh! They're coming!"

Din immediately tensed and reached for his blaster that wasn't there. "What? What's coming?"

"The fairylights!" Marathel flipped back her sleeping tick and pulled out the tarp from a few days before. She ran out to the middle of the yard, and spread the tarp out. She bounded back to the hut, grabbed her tick into a bundle, and spread it out on the tarp. She sat down and reached out to Grogu. "Grogu! Lay down next to me, they'll be here soon." Grogu trotted over and lay down next to her as Din stood a few meters away. "You too, Bounty Hunter. I don't bite."

"Yes, you do."

Marathel's head popped up like a gochgoch, her eyes wide. "Um … I promise not to again."

"Okay." Din came over and lay down on the far side of Grogu, so he was between them. "What are these fairylights?"

"They are flying insects that will light up in the dark as they fly. They live in a cave high on the mountain. Each season, after they lay their eggs, they fly out from the cave and out into the ocean. As they fly, they glow the entire way, in different colors."

"What happens when they get to the ocean?"

"They get too tired to fly, so they drop into the sea, where they die. But then the fish get a lovely dinner. This usually happens after a good rain."

The three of them lay silently as the sky grew darker. Shortly, the sky lit up again as thousands of tiny flying insects came fluttering overhead. Their abdomens glowed with pale light of pink, yellow, or blue. They flew in lazy patterns, so many of them swirling about that the sky almost looked like water. Grogu cooed in delight, stretching out his hands to the pretty lights. Marathel leaned towards Grogu, still looking at the insects, and whispered loudly, "Grogu, I have a secret to tell you. I like the yellow fairylights the best."

Din smiled, and also leaned towards Grogu. "Grogu, I was wondering … I think Mahr would like the yellow fairylights the best, wouldn't you?" he whispered. He rolled his head and his visor met Marathel's eyes. She smiled at him, and then they went back to watching the sky. Grogu had a nice full tummy, so he began to get sleepy by the time the fairylights had finished passing overhead. The Bounty Hunter felt warm and relaxed himself, thanks to the dreamberries,he supposed. Marathel lifted Grogu up to her chest, where he dozed off, stretched out face-down, with his head on her sternum and his little hands on the swells of her breasts, which the Bounty Hunter felt a thin thread of jealousy about. Marathel seemed unconcerned, and she rubbed his little back while softly humming. He asked, "Is that the same tune you hummed yesterday?"

"Yes. It's the only song there is."

Din's brow furrowed at that. "You only know one song?"

"There are no other songs, so yes."

"Is it about the Elders?"

"Well, no. Not directly, I guess. But I don't like the words, so I don't sing them."

"What are the words?"

"They are in Oldtalk. I … will try to translate." Marathel was quiet for a while, her lips moving silently as they worked out the best conversion of words.

"My sweet, my dear, my darling child

The pain only lasts a while

The blood will stop running, so do not fight

Your tears will dry soon, so do not struggle …" Marathel paused and took a breath. "Be still, be still. There is more, but … that's about it, really."

"This is a lullaby?"

Marathel shrugged. "It's the only song. I suppose it has many parts, though. We only sing the words that matter at the time."

"Who is 'we'?"

"The women and girls."

"But not the men?"

"Oh, no. Never. Even the little boys who live the Hold don't sing it. It's only for the women to sing, and the women to hear."

They went quiet again. A meteorite fell, and Marathel gasped. Din said, "Make a wish."

Marathel whipped her head to the side, making Grogu's ears wiggle. "Make a wish? Why in the name of Frith would I make a wish on that?"

"It was a shooting star."

"No … That was the tear of a mother whose child was taken to be ki- … a mother … whose child has died."

They kill children? "So, to your people, the lights up there are …"

"Those are the eyes of the mothers that were before us. They have to watch us."

"Why do they have to watch?"

"Because the boys are already protected."

Din felt his anxiety about the Hold go even higher. "Children … die in the Hold?"

Marathel gave a half-hearted shrug, "Sometimes babies die."

"Yes, yes … sometimes." Din decided to change the subject, but filed away another deep concern about the things that happened in the Hold. "These lights above us; I know them as stars and planets. I told you I came from the planet Nevarro?"

"Yes, you did."

"Nevarro is very far away. But I found Nevarro in the night sky. Scoot over here." Marathel did scoot over, doing her best to not jiggle Grogu too much. The Bounty Hunter raised his arm, and he put his arm around her shoulders, gently maneuvering her head to his shoulder. He held up his hand at arm's length, holding out his fingers and thumb in a 90-degree angle. "Here, look just in the crook of my thumb, do you see that very faint twinkle?"

Marathel leaned in to look down his arm and did indeed see the tiny pin prick of light. "Yes, I do."

"That is Nevarro."

"But that is tiny."

"It is very far away."

She would have moved away, but his arm held her there, laying with her cheek against his shoulder. "Is that where your Mandalorian people are from?"

"No, not originally. But my family covert is there now. I'm not even from there. It's just where I happen to spend most of my time, more than anywhere else."

"The 'planet'… is it a big land like this?"

"It's different. Nevarro has more volcanoes and fewer trees."

"I never thought about there being a somewhere else." She thought for a moment. "If the planet is called Nevarro … and I'm on a planet that is very far away to Nevarro … then what would they call here?"

"Your planet's name is Unmanarall," said Din.

"Unmanarall? Really?"

"What does it mean?"

"It means Nowhere."

"They're not wrong, Marathel."

Marathel rolled to her back but did not move away from the Bounty Hunter's side, keeping her head on his bicep. "The more you tell me, the more I realize that I know … nothing." She looked down at the boy on her chest. "Grogu is sleeping."

"He looks comfortable."

"He's drooling on me."

Din laughed. "I guess it's his bedtime, then."

Marathel sat up. "I'll do it, if you don't object. Please?" Din gave his approval, whispering Mando'a into Grogu's ear. Marathel got up, holding the sleeping child to her chest. "Stay there," she said. "I'll be right back." Humming softly again, she stepped up in the hut to lay Grogu in his pram. She kissed his head and ears, whispering "Rwy'n di'rugar." She closed the pram, and pulled the bread pans from the waning fire. The bread was perfect. She took one of the tiny rondels of bread, and stepped back down to the yard, where Din lay with his hands behind his helmet, still feeling warm and fuzzy from the dreamberries. She placed the bread on his chest. Din lifted up his head, picked up the bread, and held the crusty loaf under the edge of his helmet. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Marathel, you marvelous creature."

Marathel, also feeling warm and fuzzy from the dreamberries, giggled. "Do I need to give you two some privacy?"

"No, just close your eyes, and turn around." She complied, and she heard his teeth crunch through the crust and his groan of pleasure. With her eyes closed, she imagined that the sounds he made could very well be … attached to some other activity. Oh, those dreamberries were strong, she thought. After a moment, Din called, "You can turn around now." She turned to see the Bounty Hunter holding up a hand to her. She put her hand in his, and he guided her back to her previous position against his shoulder. "And what was that you said to Grogu?"

"I told him I love him." She sighed. "I hope he remembers me."

"He will. I will make sure of it." He stroked her upper arm as she lay quietly. Marathel went back to looking at the stars. Din went back to looking at her. He wanted to memorize her face. He wanted to know what happened to her in that Hold. He wanted to tell her that he knew about the brand. He wanted to touch her skin.

"When you leave with the reward, Bounty Hunter, what will you do?"

"I am bound to tithe to my covert, for the debt I owe them. They took me in after my parents were killed, and raised me in their ways. Now I have the honor of supporting new foundlings to our clan." He looked back up to the sky. "But the Aurodium … if the coins actually exist …"

"They do."

"You've seen them?"

"No, of course not." Marathel shifted herself closer to him. "But if the Elders say they exist, then they do. The Elders … they do not lie."

"If so, then … so much money would be a great boon to my people. We lost much of our beskar in the Purge, and I am also bound to rescue as much as I can. Sometimes the only answer is to ransom it back."

"The Purge?"

"The great battle between the Jedi and the Mandalorians. The Jedi slaughtered a great many of my people, scattered us to the corners of the galaxy. We even lost our home world. Perhaps, with the money from the Aurodium … we could regain what the Mandalorians have lost."

Marathel lay quietly, considering his words. Oh, she hoped that it was true, that the Elders had these coins to trade for her. The Elders didn't need such things, not if it could help the Bounty Hunter's people. She vowed to make the trade happen, even if it would be her last act on the place she now knew as Nowhere.

After a long silence. Din rolled to his side, facing Marathel, who continued to lay on his arm. He placed his other hand on her upper abdomen. Through his glove, he felt the flutter of her breath. "Marathel, I …" He swallowed. "I'm sorry for the last two nights."

"Why?"

"Because … I took advantage of you. You were possessed by the Dahls, and you were unable to consent. It wasn't you there with me."

"But I was there. The whole time. I could feel you holding me, touching me … inside me."

"You didn't have control of yourself. I didn't either."

Tears sprung into her eyes. "Were you not pleased?"

"Marathel …"

"Did I not please you?"

"My mesh'la, you did. You pleased me greatly. But …"

"That is all that matters, isn't it?"

Oh, cyar'e. He moved his head so that his helmet was against her temple. "I'm worried about you, being here alone."

"I don't understand."

"When I leave, you'll be alone again. And the Dahls will rise again without … someone with you, to help you." His thumb made tiny circles on her stomach. "I'm afraid that you will hurt yourself, by throwing yourself off a cliff again, by getting lost, by having to use … objects on yourself."

Her eyes closed in shame. "I will manage."

"You'll manage?"

She wasn't going to tell him it didn't make any difference. "I know better now what the Dahl's effect is on me and why. I'll be fine."

"Marathel, I …"

"This is the way."

Din, surprised to hear the call of his covert in her voice, pulled his head back to look at her. He raised his hand to stroke her cheek. "Marathel, you said that Diwhyn Olba explained ways to … help you when the Dahls rise to mate, but it never helped you."

Marathel swallowed. "No. It did not."

"I could … only if you would allow me, I could show you. I could show you how to …" Her eyes remained down, closed off. "Marathel, please look at me, please let me see your eyes."

Her eyes flicked up,and then her brow furrowed. "It is dark, and I cannot see you at all, just an outline, really." Din remained silent. "Can you … can you see in the dark?"

Oops. "I can, at least the helmet allows me to. It is my standard setting, and I forget … that you cannot see what I see."

"Are you able to turn it off, to not see in the dark? It would be only fair. We would be on even ground. Please."

She was right, of course. He reached into his helmet and turned off all the visual power, but left the modulator on. His vision went black. "I cannot see you at all now." His hand went back to her stomach. "As I was saying … Would you let me help you? You have to give me your permission, Marathel, I don't want to take any more from you."

"I …"

His words came in a rush. "It's okay to be scared. If it's too scary, tell me. If it hurts, I will stop. Please, Marathel." His forehead went back to her temple. "You have to say yes or no. I can't see you."

Marathel closed her eyes tightly. Yes, he was asking for permission, but she was still compelled to comply, for he was a man, after all. But the pull, the desire, the want to feel his hands on her again was too strong to resist. "Yes, Bounty Hunter … yes."

His thumb continued their small circles for a while, and then he reached across her to pull off his glove with his other hand. He returned his hand to her abdomen, but lower this time, down near the hem of her tunic. His thumb began circling again. He whispered, "I'll be as gentle as anything you've ever felt, my mesh'la." His fingers reached down and grasped the edge of her tunic, gathering the fabric together and lifting it up to her chest, exposing her midsection. He laid his bare hand on her skin, and a shudder ran through him. "Oh, your skin, how I love your skin. Are you all right, Marathel? May I continue?"

"Yes …" she breathed.

Her abdomen was warm and her skin was soft, and he made slow patterns with his hand across all of her exposed skin, fingertips occasionally skating just under the edge of her drawstring waistband, and brushing the bottom curve of her breasts. He curled up tighter against her side, flexing his leg muscles as his erection started to swell. He lifted his hand and untied the drawstring, slipping his hand under the drawstring waist to stretch out the fabric for better access.

"Oh …" Marathel gasped.

His hand stopped immediately. "All right?"

She took another breath. "Yes."

He touched her abdomen again, moving his hand down and under her waistband. "Bring up your knees," he whispered. She complied, and his hand slid lower with gentle touch, as she listened to his breathing getting harder from his helmet. His fingertips entered the hair on her mound, and she gasped again.

Before he could ask, Marathel was already saying, "Yes, please." He stroked her soft curls — oddly much softer than the hair on her head — forward and back, encouraging her to open her thighs a bit more with each pass of his hand. Her breathing began to quicken, and she felt so warm where his hand lay. He used his first and third fingers to gently press aside her labial folds as he gently dropped his middle finger on the exposed bud of her clitoris.

Marathel's reaction was immediate and powerful: her back arched, she cried out, she raised her hips off the ground, thrusting against his touch so hard she nearly threw off Din's hand. "Right there, Marathel? Is that all right, my mesh'la?" He gave soft strokes along the sides of her hood, making her twitch.

"Oh, yes."

"Do you want more?"

"Please, yes."

"Then give me your hand." She remained still. "You need to learn how, Marathel."

"I …"

"Will you let me teach you?"

He felt her take one breath. Two breaths. Three. "Yes … teach me." He then felt her right arm move; he was using his right hand as well. As she slid her hand down to meet his, he placed his hand over hers, guiding it down to her labia. She mimicked the movement of his fingers with hers, and her middle finger pressed down on her clitoris, already engorged. As she gasped, he encouraged her fingers to strum out a soft rhythm on herself, and with each touch, her hips would buck. He could feel the vibrations of her clenching muscles; he, fully aroused but only touching her at three points: her temple, the outside of her knee with his knees, and her most delicate area through her hand. They both stroked her clitoris together, getting faster as her excitement grew. "Still with me, my mesh'la?" Marathel whimpered. "You have to say yes or no, cyar'e."

"Yes, yes …"

"Continue, cyar'e?"

"Yes! Yes, please!" she cried out.

Din guided her hand down further, a bit of a reach, but Marathel lifted up her left leg, and she held her leg with her left hand. Her pelvis now curved up a little more, he was able to guide both her middle finger and his into her wet, warm tunnel. This time, she moaned, and her leg muscles flexed. After the initial touch — and some fumbling —Marathel was able to finger both her vagina and her clitoris with the same hand, languidly thrusting her fingers in and out while flicking her bud with soft strokes. Her breathing grew ragged, her hand moved faster, and her hips thrusted harder as she rode towards her climax.

"I've got you, my mesh'la, just let yourself go." Marathel suddenly reached over and grabbed his flight jacket, rolling herself to face him, placing her left leg on his side, drawing up her leg so that her knee was almost at his shoulder. This angle allowed them both to reach her better, and she slipped another finger inside her hot wet opening as her hand flew back and forth against herself. "Let yourself go, cyar'e, I will catch you."

She arched her back again, crying out as she began to come. Din felt her tremble, felt her blood rushing through her groin with every wave of pleasure, felt her muscles spasm as her leg pressed down on his ribs. "Cyar'e, ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, mesh'la. Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, gar ganar ni" Din whispered as Marathel came hard on their hands, crying out the words, "Fi ng'riad, d'lwch fi, chi yd'w fi," shuddering, trembling, her warm fluid flowing down their fingers. She slowed down the pace of her hand, finally removing their fingers from herself, and then she did something Din did not expect her to do: she lifted their hands together and took both his and her fingers in her mouth, sucking them clean, rolling her tongue in between and down the sides of their fingers, and Din nearly lost consciousness. He groaned, struggling for control. This one's gonna hurt, he thought. To her, he groaned, "Are you all right?"

Marathel, coated with a thin sheen of sweat, struggled to remove their fingers from her mouth, and finally whimpered, "oh, oh, Frith …" He felt her tremble some more, and she gripped his flight jacket hard in her fists, riding out another small wave of her orgasm.

Din put his hand on her face. "Are you still with me, Marathel?" he asked weakly.

Her hand went to where his cheek would be on his helmet. "I never left."

"Are you pleased?"

"Very much so." She listened to the Bounty Hunter breathing hard. Oh, she thought. "But you …"

"No, I don't, Marathel."

"You need, yes?" Her hand slid down his chest towards his groin. Her fingertips just brushed against his erection before he captured her hand.

"No, I … this was all for you, Marathel. For no one's pleasure but yours." He found her right hand, and pulled her fingertips just under the lip of his helmet, where he could smell her on her own hand. He begged Frith for the strength to not rip off his helmet and bury his face in her damp curls. He wanted to drown there in the apex of her legs, haar'chak, he wanted to let her crush his skull with her inner thighs. Instead, he tied her waistband drawstring closed, and smoothed her tunic back down to cover her, allowing himself one single caress of her breast over the fabric, skating his thumb over the puckered nipple. He breathed and struggled for control as Marathel came down from her pleasure high, leaning forward to touch her forehead to his. Din started: she had unwittingly kissed him. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, feeling the wave of emotion that flowed through him. Her hand dropped down to his chest, where she felt his rapid heartbeat.

"Stay with me tonight, please? Sleep next to me?" she whispered.

"Of course." He could think of no better place to be.

"But … we need to move back into the hut. Otherwise, creepy crawlers will get into my bed." Din was almost instantly on his feet, taking Marathel's hands and helping her up. She gathered up the tick, he gathered the tarp. Together they got her bed arranged. He lay down in the same spot he had just occupied. Her voice came out in the darkness, "Would you like a blanket?"

"No, I don't need one." Marathel shook out her blanket and climbed underneath it, far across the tick from the Bounty Hunter. "What are you doing all the way over there?"

"Giving you room," she said.

"If I'm in bed with someone they're not giving me room." He reached across her and gently pulled her to his side, recreating the positions they were in a few moments ago. Touching her face he said, "All right, cyar'e?"

She sighed as she rested her forehead to his again. "Yes, I am … and thank you."

"It pleases me to please you, Marathel," he said sleepily. Those words froze her heart for a moment, but she refused to let her fear take over now, not when she was in a man's arms, one who was kind, one who seemingly cared for her, one who would stand next to her as she handed herself over to the Bishop. A man who was hers, and only hers, at least for one more day.

Drained, exhausted, satisfied, in each other's arms, they fell asleep.