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English
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Part 16 of The Outer Rim
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Published:
2021-04-06
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860
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1/1
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for the darkness always passes

,

Summary:

Written for the Clan of Two Week 2021 on tumblr, for the prompt Memories. Din struggles after the events of chapter 8, The Redemption, but the darkness does not last forever. He shares a moment with the child.

Work Text:

The loss seethes beneath his skin, writhing beneath the armor. Beskar has never weighed him down as it does now.

The Tribe has fallen, and Din knows their destruction lies at his feet.

Of course, it is a choice they made freely, to lend him aid when he and the child faced certain death. Of course, it is a choice they had made before, would make a hundred hundred times if it meant protecting a helpless child. This was the Way, and had always been so. That is not what makes the breath catch in his throat.

It is the knowledge that if he’d not taken the reward, if he hadn’t returned to the Tribe with beskar in hand --

If he hadn’t made them targets… perhaps they could have gotten away clean.

 

 

He tries to focus on the child, the Armorer’s words a benediction still ringing in his mind. The mudhorn on his pauldron is exquisitely crafted, a reminder of the connection he shares with the little one. It binds them now.

But sometimes, catching the mudhorn in the corner of his eye, it isn’t pride that comes to mind. Its forging is forever tied to the blood of the Tribe. Sometimes his hand stills over the pauldron when he cleans and buffs the beskar, thumb tracing the curve of the horn, and it’s a millstone that crushes him until his chest aches.

Other times, though, the kid looks at him. Tilts his head, curiosity plain on his face, stares with those large, strange eyes. And Din sees the mudhorn glinting in miniature in the kid’s gaze, and it takes his breath away.

 

 

He carries them through the next weeks, whispered words traded to the right folk, odd jobs to keep them eating, furtive searching for other Mandalorians: for who else could he trust with something so important as the child’s fate? He knows the price they would pay for him, knows he would pay it himself with this life and a thousand others. He tells the child not to be afraid.

Yet the child is… perceptive.

One cycle they spend in darkness, traveling through a nebula where the only stars are distant smudges on the thermal indicators. In the lull of deep space Din remembers dragging his footsteps in the Nevarran tunnels, straining in the dark to understand the terrible shapes before him. He leans over himself, eyes closed, breathing hard. Just a memory. It’ll pass. They always do.

Soft hands on his leg, tugs on the fabric of his trousers. The kid climbs into his lap, murmuring little nonsense words as Din reluctantly opens his eyes. The baby chatters up at Din, then pauses, waiting for a response.

“What is it, kid?” Din asks roughly.

The child babbles again, giving him that look. Din sighs, and the dark tunnels of Nevarro recede into the background.

“You wanna talk, huh?” Not that Din can ever figure out what the kid’s saying, but he’s learned enough to know there are times the kid just likes listening to him for whatever reason. It’s looking like it’s one of those.

The kid reaches out and taps his claws on Din’s pauldron. The mudhorn’s metal chimes out brightly in the small cabin.

“You remember when we fought the mudhorn, right?” Din asks. “This signet means we take care of each other.” He can feel a crooked smile forming on his face, though the kid can’t see it. He tilts his helmet to one side. “That’s what Mandalorians do.”

Din’s fingers stretch forward, hooking the mythosaur pendant out from the little one’s robes. The light catches on the pendant’s curves and ridges, and shadows ripple across the grooves, settling in the eyes.

“This is the mythosaur. It’s... important. It helps us remember who we are.” He doesn’t have the words to explain its weight, but the kid gives him a trusting look, and he thinks maybe the meaning comes through anyway.

The child’s hands curl over Din’s fingers on the pendant, his claws making faint tink sounds against the beskar. Their hands are mismatched, Din’s orange-gloved fingertips dwarfing the kid’s delicate fingers and yellow claws. Still, the slight weight of the child’s hands on his own is heartening.

“I promise we’ll figure this all out,” he says. “We’ll find your kind. And mine.” He gently lets go of the pendant, leaving it in the kid’s grasp. The little one studies it patiently, entranced.

Din glances up, noting stars beginning to reappear in the distant void, faint glimmers of blues and whites and yellows countless parsecs beyond their little ship. The galaxy spins on, and out there, Din is certain, is the place the kid belongs. That is his focus now, not the past, not the sorrow in the dark. The kid burbles, raising up the mythosaur pendant in play, waving it back and forth.

Din pats the child on the head. “There you go, kid.” The mythosaur shines in the kid’s hands; the mudhorn on Din’s shoulder winks with a flash of reflected light as he shifts in his seat. He lets out a long breath.

Yeah. The dark will pass.

It always does.

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