pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C

word count: 5.3 K

chapter summary: Din watches Marathel make bread, Din and Marathel have words, and Marathel asks Fennec a question

warnings: angst, mention and aftermath of: rape/object rape/ physical abuse/ritual sexual abuse/violence towards women/ torture/enmeshed misogyny, Mando'a and English cursing, gluten

Din awoke after a few hours of sleep with the kid draped across his throat. Grogu's hand was up under the edge of the helmet, and he had a good hold of Din's lower lip. Never did Din have a bed partner who invaded his personal space as much as this little green guy did. Din sighed and removed his glove to peel off the three little clawed fingers, only momentarily wondering when the last time was the boy washed his hands. Din kept a hand on Grogu and rolled up and out of bed. Opening the shutter, Din could see that dawn was still just under the horizon. He carefully placed the still-sleeping Grogu in his carry sack and crept out of the room, heading towards Marathel. Hopefully she was still resting, and hopefully her door was still open so that he could check on her.

As he passed the kitchen, though, he heard her scolding voice saying, "No, no, no! That is far too hot!" He backed up and entered the kitchen, noticing Marathel with her back to him on the other side of the room, lecturing a hapless crew of kitchen workers, as well as Silnima. Marathel was wearing a simple tunic top of a deep burgundy with slim black pants. She had tied a kerchief over her forehead to hide most of the gash down her face, and the ends held her long hair in a tail that cascaded down her back. "Water that hot will kill the leavening, and then you'll have a tough lump of cachu instead of bread." Someone in the gaggle of kitchen staff muttered something too low for Din to hear, and Marathel drew up to her full height and replied, "'Shit', madam, cachu means 'shit', and I prefer my meals shit-free, don't we all?" Someone else tittered, then they all laughed. Din felt a hand on his elbow. He turned to see Cobb leaning against the wall, nearly in shadow.

"Here for the show?" asked Cobb with a grin.

Din settled against the wall next to the lanky man. "I should have sold tickets."

Marathel was showing them how to test temperature on their skin, eschewing a thermometer as 'silly nonsense, just like boomers that shoot fire'. Cobb laughed."I like her."

Din preened unconsciously. "Thought you would."

"I wonder what she's like in the sack."

"Shut your mouth."

"I hope she's not as salty as that."

"I said," - Din turned his head to Cobb - "Shut your trap."

Cobb shut his mouth, and both men watched as Marathel tossed crystallized sweet into the stone hearth, which flamed up and burned. Marathel said the fire was far too hot; the sweet should have melted instead. Two of the kitchen workers began lowering the gas jets to bring down the temperature. Cobb took a breath, and then whispered to Din, "So how was she?"

Din whispered back, "Magnificent."

Cobb chuckled, and both men crossed their arms, getting comfortable against the wall. Apparently Marathel was satisfied that they could move past the leavening stage, but she was now chastising another worker for how they measured the flour by packing it instead of spooning it. By the time they got up to the dough kneading stage, Grogu had woken up and was silently watching his Mahr move skillfully around the kitchen. Marathel's hands were still in the wooden blocks, but Din noted that the color in them was much better. She was having a hard time explaining how to handle the dough, and she said, "No, no, you're not trying to resurrect a dead man's pudyn!" This sent up a titter of giggles — apparently no translation was needed. "More gentle!" Frustrated, Marathel finally snagged a paring knife and cut the tape off her hands. Din frowned, watching as her fingers curled up on themselves. With a grimace, she forced her fingers straight, grabbed a dough ball and began kneading it. "Like this! Gentle rolls, pull it out, back in together, flip it over. Gentle, but still firm, now!"

Cobb leaned over and whispered, "Is she kneading that dough or trying to get it pregnant?" Din snorted and bent over, trying not to burst out in laughter.

Marathel worked out the dough to her satisfaction and put diagonal slashes through it in a pattern. She once again tested the oven using the sweetener method, and pointed out that the oven was now at the proper temperature, as the sweetener melted. She slid the bread into the oven on a long paddle, and then watched as the kitchen workers continued their kneading technique. Some time later, Marathel's hands were trembling, and she looked down at her hands in pain. Din immediately went over to her, as did Silnima. Din carefully placed Marathel's hands back into the blocks as Silnima pulled out a roll of tape from her pocket and began to re-tape Marathel's hands. "Watching, were you?" asked Marathel.

"It's always a pleasure to watch a master at their craft," replied Din. "Your hands look better."

Marathel looked at Din straight into his visor and smiled at him for the first time in days. Din's heart leapt in his chest. "I wonder why," she said, arching her delicate eyebrow. She turned away and went back to the oven to check the bread. It was ready, and a worker pulled it out and immediately washed it with beaten eggs, Marathel explaining how the smell of the bread should be able to tell them when it's ready. After giving the bread a few moments to cool, Silnima passed it around. The slashes Marathel had placed in the loaf allowed everyone to easily pull off a part, and Din managed to grab pieces for himself, Cobb, and Grogu before it was all gone. Handing off a piece to Cobb, Din turned to the wall and shoved the bread into his mouth, burning his tongue and filling him with both contentment and the painful ache of nostalgia. How many more times will I have the honor of eating Marathel's bread?

Cobb took a large bite, chewed, and his eyes fluttered closed as he muttered, "Hot damn and hallelujah, that is good bread."

Din handed Grogu his share, now that the bread was sufficiently cooled. "Told you so."

"I would put up with any amount of salty mouth from that woman so long as she kept making that bread."

Din absently stroked Grogu's ear as he ate the bread. Me too. Me too.

Silnima was profusely thanking Marathel for her expertise, and Marathel accepted her praise with a blush. "If you would decide to stay with us, Marathel, you would be welcome," said Silnima as she gently hugged Marathel. Marathel dropped her eyes and tried to slip her trembling hands up her flour-dusted sleeves, alerting Din that Marathel was reaching her limit of what she could handle.

He moved to her side, gently taking one of her splinted hands. "Tired?" Marathel nodded, and he placed his other arm around her back, but only touching her upper arm, leading her out of the kitchen.

"Who is that tall man?" whispered Marathel.

Cobb stepped forward, introducing himself before Din could speak. "Cobb Vanth, Lady Marathel, I happen to be the Marshall of Freetown."

Marathel didn't understand half of what he was talking about, but she dropped her eyes and tilted her head. "Cobb Vanth," she replied quietly.

"Din has told me much about you, and your bread-making skills. I'm happy to find out that he was not exaggerating," said Cobb with just enough coyness in his voice that made Din want to punch him, and not in a friendly way, either.

"Here, Marathel, I'll get you back to your room," said Din, escorting her the short distance.

"A friend of yours?"

"An old friend, yes." The door to Marathel's room was open, and she stepped through, hitting the light switch with her wooden hand splint. "You should keep your door closed."

Marathel shook her head. "I can't bear it. I feel trapped in here. At least with the door open I know… I can get out."

"It would be safer." Din put his carry sack on Marathel's bed, and Grogu crawled out, sitting down to watch the two adults.

Frowning, Marathel looked at Din's visor. "Are you saying I'm not safe here?"

"No, no … the palace is safe."

"Then why do I need to lock myself in here?"

Din couldn't answer that, at least not using a frame of reference that she could understand. As someone who had probably lived more than half of her life outdoors in a covered wall-less shelter, doors with locks must be an anathema for her. The only doors with locks were probably the ones in the Hold … like the doors she walked through, holding her head high, to her assumed death, while he stood motionless with a bag of gold in his hand.

"Are you all right?" asked Marathel, worry in her voice.

Din shook himself out of his thoughts, noticing that Marathel had sunk into a highly overstuffed chair, and was looking up at him. Grogu had climbed up on Marathel's lap, snuggling against her. "Sorry. I was …"

"I understand you suffered a head injury," said Marathel.

"I was hit in the back of the helmet with the marchwyl."

Marathel looked away. "The hammer of the under-Captain. I know it. I know it well." Her mouth curved down in disgust.

Din sighed, wondering how much he should tell her. He dropped to one knee and gently took her splinted hand. He felt her try to pull it away, but he held on. "When you went through those doors, Marathel … I … after seeing them do those horrible things to you … I attacked the Captain. I didn't pay attention to my back, and the guy clocked me, and down I went." He looked at Marathel's face, which she was keeping expressionless. He turned his head to show her the back of his helmet. "What I don't think you understand, Marathel, is that the only thing that can do this kind of damage to beskar, is beskar."

Marathel's brow twitched as if she'd been bitten by a tiny insect. "You are correct. I don't understand."

"The marchwyl is made out of beskar. How, how, is there a weapon made of beskar on your planet?"

Marathel shrugged and dropped her eyes. "I don't know. I had never heard of beskar until you told me about your armor."

"Is there a possibility of any other beskar weapons in the Hold?"

"I don't know. I never paid any attention to the types of metal in the weapons. I just cleaned them."

Din was taken aback. "You … cleaned them?"

Marathel swallowed. "Every morning, myself and other girls would enter the Hold to clean, polish, and sharpen the weapons that had been… used… the previous night. I have cleaned the marchwyl many times."

"No other weapons seemed like the same metal as the marchwyl?"

"Blood cleans off one metal the same as another," Marathel said with a shrug.

Din, shocked at her blasé statement, looked down at the hand he was holding, the hand that was at the wrong end of the marchwyl. Her fingers were twisting against themselves, the skin a vile shade of yellow-green. "The marchwyl won't be used on any woman's hand again."

Marathel's face went white as a glacier on Hoth. "What are you saying?"

"I have the marchwyl. I will take it to my covert, to the Armourer. She will melt it down, to make armor. Beskar is not to be used for weapons. We will set that right. This is the way."

"You … took the marchwyl?" Marathel jerked her hand away. It hurt, but her outrage outweighed her pain. "You took it?" She leapt to her feet, hugging Grogu tightly, and began pacing. "How? How? How did you take that weapon from the Hold?"

Din stood up as well. "The women who brought you out, they were able to bring it. Olba, Tymfy, the other two … I never learned their names."

"They willingly brought you the hammer? No, no! They never would have!"

"It was not willingly … the woman with white hair and blue eyes was quite against it." He thought of her, with the fire in her eyes, spitting on his boot.

"Lorica, probably." Marathel's shaking hands carefully put Grogu down on the treatment table, and then her hands went to her forehead. "What have you done, Bounty Hunter?! You took one of the Elder's weapons? Oh …" She bent over at the waist, making a wailing noise. "What is it with you men? Take take take, that is all you do!Take what you want, take who you want, never a thought for anyone or anything! Not everything is yours to take!" cried Marathel.

"Beskar is sacred to my people, and it was taken from us! I am bound to bring it back!" snapped Din.

"And what of the people you take it from? You don't think they suffer because of its loss?"

Din stared at Marathel, knowing she could not understand. "Silnima is right. I only seem to upset you." He plucked Grogu off the treatment table and left Marathel's room in silence. As he stalked down the corridor, he could feel Grogu's cold look of reproach. "Don't look at me like that," Din muttered.

In her room, Marathel sat back down with a heavy sigh. No, he couldn't understand. Any behavior outside the acceptable in the Hold was met with swift punishment. Olba and the others would be made to suffer because they had brought her out to the Bounty Hunter. She couldn't imagine what would be done to them once the hammer was discovered missing. The under-Captain was mad about that hammer, and he liked to use it even in the most unnatural ways … as she well knew. She'd cleaned more than blood off that handle. She'd felt that hammer used on her in more ways than one.

Marathel leaned back in the soft chair, staring out the window. From this angle, she could only see the pale sky of this planet … Tatooine, that's its name … and I hate it. All she could see was sand and dust in all directions. She could feel it grinding into her skin, coating her hair. She longed for her hut, the rich blue sky, the sweet sea air that would waft through as she leaned against her post. Then Marathel felt a seeping line of blood fall from the gash in the middle of her face. She was so weary. She thought of her simple life before the Bounty Hunter … Din Djarin is his name. At least have the decency to call him by his name.

A name he didn't offer until I pleaded with him to tell me.

Marathel closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. The Bounty … Din meant well, or at least he thought he did. She should be more kind, for he had suffered as well to bring her here. And suffering should not be a competition.

Marathel must have dozed off in her chair, as she heard Fennec telling her to wake up. It must be time to glue me back together, thought Marathel. Fennec had been nothing but kind to her, and she knew she was taking up so much of the woman's time with these injuries of hers. Fennec had glued her skin twice already now. Marathel knew that this Fennec Shand was very important in this palace, somehow equal to this Boba Fett, the helmet-less Mandalorian. She had not spoken more than two words to this Boba person, but he'd been kind as well. Spare of speech, like Din had been in the first days at her hut. Then there was this lanky man named … Cobb Vanth, that was it. A curious man, with his easy smile. Marathel wondered what a Marshal and what a Freetown was. Silently, Marathel got up and mostly closed the door, leaving only a slight sliver of open space. If there was at least a splinter of light coming through the gap, Marathel felt safe from her fear of being closed in, of being caged.

Marathel felt comfortable around Fennec; the dark-haired woman's dichotomy of no-nonsense backside-kicking versus her fairness and quiet poise reminded her of Diwhyn Olba. There had been a question on Marathel's mind for however many days now, and whatever Fennec had injected her with to help with her pain seemed to have the same warm and fuzzy effect of too many dreamberries, as Marathel lay face-down on the table, stripped to the waist. The painkillers also seemed to have loosened her tongue … or at least her inhibition to chatter.

Fennec had been working in silence for some time before Marathel posed her question. "Fennec, what does it mean if a man says to you, I'm fixed and I'm shooting blanks?"

Fennec dropped the bacta spray bottle on Marathel's back. "I'm sorry?"

Marathel, surprised at Fennec's shock, wavered. "I, uh … nothing."

"Who … Mando told you that? When? How? What were the circumstances?" Fennec went around the table and dropped down to Marathel's eye level as Marathel flushed with embarrassment and closed her eyes.

"Please Fennec, leave it alone. I shouldn't have …"

"No, this is very important, I mean, we know practically nothing about Din Djarin … so you two got … cozy, right?"

"It is … a lot to explain."

"I have time. Nothing but time."

Marathel sighed, and started with a brief explanation of the Dahls and the story of how she could hear the Dahls and how she was able to bond with them. This fascinated Fennec. "That's the kind of thing I read about in fantasy stories as a child … or in religious texts of certain systems. You mean you had an actual biochemical reactive bond to these creatures?"

"I suppose you can say that," said Marathel, flushing bright pink once more. Closing her eyes tight, she relayed the tale of the first night of the Dahls mating, including her reaction to the Dahls … and the Bounty Hunter's reaction to her.

Fennec's jaw hung open. "Dank ferrik, Marathel … right up against a post? I mean, good on you. But did Mando … he didn't seem to mind, did he?"

"I suppose not; but then, why would he mind? He is a man, after all." Fennec frowned at this statement, but Marathel didn't notice. "But … he was kind after. He calmed me, covered me up … he asked me if I was all right."

"You mean was if it was all right?"

"No, he meant me. I was so frightened and upset. I think he knew it wasn't quite me, not fully."

"Not quite you?"

"I mean, I was there, but … because the Dahls were so loud in my head, almost possessing my mind, it was as if I was outside myself, although I could still … feel him. But that didn't matter to him at the time, I don't think, that first time."

First time? Holy loth-cats. "So, he asked if you were all right … and then?"

"He told me I had bitten him very badly."

"You bit him?"

"Yes, I did. At the end of Dahl mating, the female turns her head and bites the male, as if she's saying, get off me. I apparently bit him when I was … fully pleasured." Fennec's eyes went wide. "He had his back to me as he was cleaning his wound. He asked me if my cycle was the same as the Dahl's, and I said no, it wasn't, and then he said 'well, you should be okay anyway, I'm fixed, I'm shooting blanks.'"

"Just like that?"

"Yes. And then we went to bed … each to our own."

Fennec stood and went back to gluing Marathel's skin. Gently, with what she hoped was an off-hand tone, she asked, "Why were you so frightened after?"

"I was afraid and upset because … it ruined me."

"Ruined you?"

"For the Bishop. I was marked for him, and no other was to have me before he did. I was to be his Whyn and no one else's, not even the under-Bishops."

"And I'm assuming a Whyn is a girl who reaches an age of a certain … usefulness?"

"Well, yes. More or less."

"You weren't one before you left the Hold?"

"No. I was changing but … it seemed to be taking such a long time. My cycles were … A girl cannot be made a Whyn until her cycles become regular. Then she is ready. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, of course."

"The other girls would regulate quickly, but my cycles were erratic, maybe only happening once to other girls four or even six cycles. And I always bled so badly, for many days longer than the other girls, to the point where I could barely do my chores. Some of the girls I started with had borne one, two children, and I was still not yet able to be a Whyn. Then I heard the Dahls, and I left the Hold. I think … I think Olba wanted me out of the Hold, that she feared I would have to be made a Diwhyn instead. That happens, sometimes. And for me, who was specially marked for The Bishop … it would have been so shameful. He might have made me a Belwhyn instead, out of spite, just because I was unable to be his Whyn." Marathel's voice started getting strained, panic-stricken.

Fennec wanted so much to ask Marathel about the different Whyns, what each title meant exactly, but she also knew that Marathel was getting close to shutting down and did not want to derail Marathel's train of thought. "What if … what if you had been able to stay away from Mando while the Dahls began to mate? If you and he hadn't …?"

"Then I … I would have lied. That I had indeed taken him. My confession would have been believed over his protests, regardless of the truth. In all things the woman is at fault; the woman must be punished."

"But … why would you do that? Why lie?"

Marathel was silent for a while, and then she said in a small voice, "I would rather be made a Belwhyn for one day, and die, than live however many seasons as the Bishop's Whyn."

Fennec worked on Marathel's wounds quietly for some minutes. "Marathel, when you came here, you assumed you were dead. Can you tell me what was going to happen to you in that Hold?"

Marathel blinked and took a breath. "I go the the Hold, the Bounty Hunter gets the coins, he leaves. I … stay."

"You knew what was going to happen to you?"

"Of course."

Fennec frowned but did her best to keep her voice gentle. "All this, just for coins?"

"I was to be made a Belwhyn anyway, because of what I had done with the Bounty Hunter. The Elders didn't need the coins, not when the Bounty Hunter told me they would be a great help to his people."

"Did Mando … the Bounty Hunter know this would be done to you?"

"No."

"Did he try to stop it?"

"No."

Maker. "Why not?"

"I told him not to."

This woman made a Mandalorian not fight for her. Fennec, amazed and disturbed, was silent for a few moments. "What Mando was telling you was that for whatever reason, he cannot father children."

"So, he was telling me that he would not impregnate me?" Fennec hummed in affirmation. "That is a good thing. If he had, the infant would possibly have been killed right after birth, and I still would have been made a Belwhyn regardless."

"Is that what happens to women who have … been with others outside the Elders?"

"Yes. If there is a pregnancy, it must always be brought to birth. If it seems obvious a girl-child was not fathered by the proper Elder, or by one of his highest underlings, then the cord is not tied off, and the infant just … slowly bleeds to death. I've sat with mothers during those births. It takes so long for the infant to die. It's such a terrible thing to watch, and no one is allowed to intervene, for the suffering of the mother is most important. Olba had sharpened a long thin piece of hard wire, and she and the other midwives would drive it into the top of the infant's head to shorten all our agony. Most of those mothers kill themselves before being made a Belwhyn. I would have."

Fennec swallowed. What is this horrible place she came from? "They only kill girls? What about baby boys? And what happens to the men? The ones who father these children?"

"Nothing. Nothing happens to them. Why would it?" Marathel began to cry. "Please, I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Of course, Marathel." Fennec surreptitiously wiped her eyes and went back to spraying and gluing Marathel's wounds in silence.

In the corridor, Din quietly moved away from the door, where he had been eavesdropping from the moment Marathel posed her original question. He turned and began walking away, unaware of which direction he was going, deep in his own worrisome thoughts. Sometimes children die, Marathel had told him. Sometimes mothers die. He thought about how the meteorite burning up in Unmanarall's atmosphere was the tears of a mother whose child was taken away to be killed. The stars were the eyes of the mothers that went before her, who had to watch over the girl-children, because the boys were already protected. The Elders were systematically killing baby girls, and only baby girls, because of doubtful parentage? There was so much Marathel refused to tell him. Fennec had now heard Marathel speak of Whyns, Diwhyns, and Belwhyns, but she did not ask Marathel to define each, although he was sure she wanted to know as much as he did. He knew now that the torture inflicted upon Marathel was referred to as "making her a Belwhyn", but the significance was still murky. And the knowledge that Marathel was willing to lie about her having had sex with him — so that she would be punished regardless — disturbed him greatly.

Din was leaning against the wall, so lost in his thoughts that he did not notice Cobb talking to him until the taller man took hold of his elbow. "Din?" Cobb asked, his voice full of concern.

"Hmm?" Din gave himself a shake and turned his attention to Cobb.

"Are you all right, friend?" Din gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. "Let's go out into the courtyard. Get some sun. Your tan is fading."

The two men went outside and sat on the wide low wall that went around the perimeter of the courtyard, leaning against the palace wall. Cobb turned his face up into the sun, while Din sat with his knees up, hugging his knees with his elbows while he contemplated a slow-moving beetle on the ground, listening to the children and Grogu play. The boy seemed to make friends wherever he went, and the children of the palace residents were no exception. He'd been once again adopted as an unofficial mascot, and it seemed Grogu was teaching the others the alleged rules of Marathel's running game, which still made no sense to him.

"How is she doing?" asked Cobb.

"It is hard to say."

"You know … it's not your job to fix her, right?"

Din swiveled his head to Cobb. "Isn't it?"

"I don't believe she blames you."

"She doesn't have to."

Cobb chuckled. "You two already fight like an old married couple."

They sat in silence for a while. "I think I should go to Nevarro, get my helmet repaired. She's out of danger for now."

Cobb nodded. "Good idea. Taking the kid?"

"Of course. Keep an eye on her for me?"

Cobb grinned. "Never has an easier promise been made."

"Dank ferrik," said Din with a sigh. Cobb clapped him on the shoulder.

Grogu came running over. "Sad Patu," he said, jumping up to hang off Din's arm.

"Hey, kiddo," Din swung his arm, making Grogu laugh. "You up for a little trip to Nevarro? See everyone at the covert?"

Grogu squealed and jumped into Din's lap, making him grunt uncomfortably. Grogu put his little hands on Din's helmet. His eyes turned sad. "Mahr?"

Din shook his head. "Mahr has to stay here. She still needs medical attention. But we will come back to Mahr. I promise, little guy." Grogu hugged Din tightly, and then jumped down and toddled off back into the palace. "I suppose I'll see you when I get back," Din said to Cobb, as he got up and followed the boy, down this corridor and that, until Din could see the tall figure of Marathel walking slowly away from him, splinted hand trailing lightly on the wall for balance. "Marathel?" called Din, softly. She carefully turned, looked at Din, and then turned her attention to her feet: Grogu had attached himself to her ankle again.

"I appear to have grown a Grogu."

Din nodded. "You're walking."

"Fennec and Silnima want me up and moving as much as possible."

"Grogu and I are going to Nevarro."

"To your people?"

Din nodded again. "I must have my helmet repaired."

"You must also give the Aurodium coins to your people … and … and the marchwyl."

"This is the way."

"This is the way, just so." Marathel carefully bent down and picked up Grogu. "Are you coming back? Do I need to say goodbye to Grogu?"

"We're coming back, mesh'la."

Marathel looked up at Din, and then stepped over to him. She carefully placed her splinted hand on his arm. "Stay safe … Din." Upon hearing her say his name, he wrapped his arms around her as gently as he could, but she stiffened in his arms, making him regret his move. "Stay safe, and keep Grogu safe," she whispered.

"I will."

Marathel swallowed nervously. "I'm scared to be here by myself."

"Don't be. Every one of these people here will kill anyone who tries to hurt you."

"What about that Cobb Vanth?"

"Oh, he's a menace. Stay away from him." Marathel laughed at that, the sound making his heart leap. "Mesh'la, cyar'e …" He pressed his forehead against hers. "I will be back. Keep getting better. Gar morut'yc."

"Din Djarin … th'ych'lyth, Din Djarin, far'hosa."

Din pulled back and stroked her cheek. "What does that mean?"

"'Be safe, Din Djarin, be careful.'" Marathel gave him a tight smile, kissed Grogu on his cheek, turned away, and continued her walk down the corridor, before her eyes gave herself away … her Oldtalk words were not what she told him. She didn't tell him to be safe and be careful.

She had said, come back to me, Din Djarin, I await your return.