Chapter Text
Hysio wished he could have had a long and restful night’s sleep, but even with the warmth of another body and an arm anchoring in place, he’d had no such luck. Honestly, he wasn’t sure why the Mandalorian hadn’t kicked him from their bed after the first nightmare woke him with a start, let alone the fifth.
But every time he woke with a start, soft words and gentle touches had urged him back down and back into sleep. Not that it had been instantaneous, but it had happened. And Din—the Mandalorian had never grumbled, never gotten angry. Not even when Hysio had slipped off his glove and pressed his palm to their gauntlet, losing himself in their love for Grogu for a time.
When he finally woke to light coming through the window, this time not hurtled up by a nightmare, Hysio let out a sigh. The last night had been everything he hated and everything he wanted. And everything he could never have. Moff Gideon was going to come chasing him at some point. And his family. And he would always be a marked man.
The Mandalorian had been good to Hysio, but Hysio needed to stop weighing the other down. There were plenty chasing them as well, and moving fast would be the best defense. Once Hysio got things sorted to get his training, he’d encourage them to head out.
Even though he really didn’t want to.
But Hysio had long ago learned he didn’t get what he wanted. Especially not where his heart was concerned.
“You awake?” The words were gruff through broken sleep and the vocoder.
Hysio made to sit up rather than answer, but the Mandalorian’s arm tightened around him.
“Meeting isn’t until noon. You can sleep.”
Tipping his head up, Hysio spotted Grogu up and leaning over its pram. “Doubt that.”
“Well, you can sleep.” The emphasis was definitely on the word ‘you.’
Hysio chuckled. “Nah.” He knew any more sleep would be just as nightmare ridden as the rest had been. “Come on, we have a womp rat to feed.” He dragged himself out of bed, the Mandalorian’s hand sliding across his torso until he was out of reach.
***
They ate firstmeal in the cantina. Well, there was a covered plate set aside for Din later and Hysio and the child were eating in the cantina.
Din hoped to spot Landros Dan, but he wasn’t in just yet. May well have just left for the night. Daylight was not the best time for the guild.
But it turned out he didn’t need to talk to Dan. Just as Din was wiping the last of the porridge off the kid’s face, a Mandalorian walked through the door.
The armor was durasteel. Din could tell the difference. And no signet was on the red pauldrons, in paint or otherwise. The rest was maroon, black, and a deep green, all good for disappearing into the background on a hunt.
They strode straight to Din’s table, barely looking around, and grabbed him by the pauldron. “What right do you have to wear this armor?” they demanded in Mando’a.
Din rolled his shoulder out from under their touch and stood. He was only a few inches taller, but it did give him a little room to loom. “I wear what my buir gave me at my verd’goten and my goran forged me since.”
Well, that got him a helmet tilt.
“I do not appreciate the implied threat before my child,” he added. He took his eyes away from the other Mandalorian for just a moment, and spotted that Hysio was standing, hand on the butt of his blaster, and the kid was chewing on the mythosaur pendant.
“Most beskar’gam hunters don’t come with children.” The other Mandalorian,the beroya tilted their head the other way, then sat in the free chair.
“I would hope you’d kill them and raise the child if they tried.” Din hesitantly sat himself. He gestured to Hysio and the kid to sit, but stay wary. It was a Tuskan sign he taught them both for situations much like this.
“Well, you sound like a Mandalorian,” they said dryly.
“Threatening a buir in front of their ad doesn’t seem very Mandalorian to me,” Hysio said.
Din sighed.
“Who’s the aruetii?” the beroya asked.
“Burc'ya,” Din corrected. Hysio was not an outsider. Not anymore.
“Hmm. Landros said you were looking for me?”
Din switched back to Mando’a. “My tribe was hunted down by the Empire. I look for others of our kind.”
“And I’m supposed to just believe that? You just happened to end up here?” They crossed their arms across their chest plate.
“Well I was looking for a place for them.” Din gestured at Hysio.
“Caav Kiffar?”
“What of it?” Hysio asked darkly.
“Nothing to me.”
“Greef Karga on Nevarro heard there were Kiffar and a Mandalorian here and suggested we stop by.”
Another head tilt.
“He is head of the guild there.”
“And Landros admitted I was here.” They sighed “Of course he did.” They set their hands on the table and leaned in. “I’ll talk to my alor, after Landros and I have a few words about subtlety. You’ll be around for a while?”
Din nodded.
“Cute kid.” The beroya pushed to their feet and strode back out of the cantina as fast as they had arrived.
Only once they were gone did Hysio lean over and hiss, “What the kark was that?”
“A test.”
“Did we pass?”
Din shrugged. He thought they had, but… well, sometimes it was hard to tell.
***
Hysio didn’t love leaving his Mandalorian and Grogu alone after the incident over firstmeal, but he needed to meet with the quraal. And they’d all agreed that he needed to go alone.
He expected to find the Soraal in the front room, maybe the quraal. He did not expect to find the young man who’d stopped him in the street the day before standing behind an older man. Interesting.
“Welcome,” Tasian said, waving Hysio in when he paused in the doorway.
While the young man from yesterday was standing, there was also an extra chair by the table, and another cup.
All three at the table had the same tattoos—qukuuf. A double stripe over the nose in yellow with a curl around the right eye. A number of those in town had that tattoo, come to think of it.
Hysio touched his cheek and bowed formally before claiming the seat and accepting the cup filled with caff.
“Hysio, this is Drasian Ven, quraal. Cousin, this is Hysio Vet, recently returned to his kin.”
Well, there was more than a bit of a similarity in their features, so the cousin explained a lot. And it was likely the young man was at least distantly related. Shaved hair or not, he had the same nose.
“It is an honor to meet you, sir,” Hysio said.
Drasian Ven just huffed and hummed and sipped his caff.
“Young Vet seeks to master his gifts,” Tasian said formally. There was apparently a ritual going on here that hadn’t been covered in the texts she’d given Hysio.
“Hmm. Ex-military?” Drasian grumbled.
“Yes, sir.” It may well have been Hysio’s spine that gave him away. He had learned to relax, but something about this man put his back up, and his default was still military straight.
“Any training?”
“Some, though I cannot vouch for the quality.”
“Must be something for you to last this long.” Drasian’s gaze swept over Hysio, taking in his clothes, his blaster, his gloves. Ah, wait, that was a dig about his age.
Hysio smiled as depreciating as he could. “Full armor helped as well.”
The kid flinched hard enough he’d have clattered if he had long locks with all the decor like the other two.
“Well, we can get you some basics at least.” Drasian looked away dismissively. “Though you should get your qukuuf finished.”
Oh, kriff. Hysio clenched his jaw a moment and met the kid’s gaze. Yeah, he knew that rage. “It is exactly as it should be.”
Drasian gave him a raised eyebrow before turning to the Soraal.
“Young Vet chose a new path for his clan. It is his choice.” She managed to sound calm and confident about that choice, even in the face of the quraal’s displeasure.
“Very well. We return to my farm in two days. You will be expected to assist in exchange for training.”
“It would be my honor, sir.” Hysio did his best to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He could do this. He’d survived the general, and working under Darth Vader. He could endure this ass until he had the knowledge he needed.
And then he would be leaving this karking rock.
***
When he finally left the Soraal, the young man met Hysio near his boarding house. They both leaned against the opposite walls of an alley and studied each other.
“Did you mean what you said yesterday?”
Hysio cocked his head.
“About places I...we could go?”
There was a scuff down the alley, the sound of a rough shoe against the dirt.
“Yes. My friend knows a few places.” Hysio refrained from looking lest he scare their observer off.
“A Mandalorian?” the young man scoffed. “They’re in tight with the government here.”
“Mandalorians here may be.” And wasn’t that statement suggestive. “Mine isn’t from around here.”
“I want...we want off this karking rock.” The young man held out his hand, and after a long moment a young woman came to join him. Her hair was a tangled mess, her clothes worn, and her face heavily scarred. Her’s weren’t just the scars of badly removed tattoos. Someone had intentionally marked her up. Knives. Burns.
Hysio nodded. “Then we get you off this rock. How much more training do you need?” Drasian has suggested the training took at least a year for most. Though that those in training were free labor for his farm might be a factor in the timing.
The young man scowled. “I’ve already been with him a year and a half. He says I’m slow. I think he just likes having a free servant. But I don’t… I want to know everything. In case our children…”
“Of course.” Hysio nodded again. If he were to have children, he’d want to know how to teach them himself as well.
“We have little money.” The woman’s voice was soft and melodious, the opposite of her ruined features.
“We’ll find a way,” Hysio promised her. Call it one small step in his redemption. “Are there many others trapped here like you?”
“Too many, though the government sends a lot of the younger ones somewhere else.”
The young man growled. “I wouldn’t let them send her away.”
She sighed, but looked fondly at him.
“Well, I’ll see what I can find out. And then we’ll look at other options for you two. Once you decide what kind of life you want.”
“You really know a farming community that would welcome us?” she asked. “Someplace safe to raise children.”
Hysio smiled broadly. “Oh yes.”
***
Hysio did not seem entirely pleased with the quraal or his meeting today, but he hadn’t seemed inclined to discuss it and Din did not want to pry.
But a year of training. Din couldn’t stick around that long. It wasn’t safe. Not for him, not for the kid, and not for Vernet.
And Hysio should be free to make his own choices. Din would stick around long enough to see if the local beroya would introduce him to their alor. Then he and the child would be off. They still had a Jedi to find. If they could.
“I know you cannot remain.” Hysio spoke in echo of Din’s thoughts. “I will miss you both.”
“Visit,” the child signed, then reached out for Hysio.
“Perhaps,” Hysio said, his tone sad. “Though you would be better not visiting the same places too often.”
“Unfortunately,” Din said softly. He would miss Hysio too. Still, he could give Hysio the comm number for the Crest. Then if Hysio moved on after his training, they might meet up somewhere else. He was about to say as much when surprisingly heavy steps came down the hall.
They all turned to the door, Hysio and Din setting hand to blaster.
When the steps were followed by a knock. The kid jumped into its carriage and closed the lid. Hysio stepped to the kid’s side while Din went to the door.
Din would miss having such a sensible partner. He would miss having backup at all.
He stood to the side and let the door swing open.
The beroya was in the hall. “My alor will meet with you,” they said.
“When?” Din asked.
“Now.”
Dank Ferik. He had no idea how long this might take, and Hysio was due to leave town in two days. He had hoped…
Yes, well, he did not have that kind of luck.
“My foundling goes where I do.”
“Of course. Foundlings are the future,” they replied. “And the caav Kiffar?”
Din turned to explain, but it was clear from Hysio’s expression that he knew.
“I’ll remain,” Hysio said, tone tight.
“I’ll wait for you outside.” The other Mandalorian disappeared back down the hall with much lighter steps than they had arrived.
Din closed the door and… froze. He didn’t want to leave. Not yet.
“The alor will meet with you?” Hysio asked, head cocked, shoulders hunching in.
“Yes.”
Hysio nodded. “Best now. You’ve already stuck around longer than you should.” He spun and quickly started packing the kid’s things. “I’ll be on the farm soon anyway. I hope their alor can help you.”
It took Din less than a minute to gather his own things and add them to the bag. The beskar he’d grabbed from the Crest while Hysio was in his meeting was already hidden in the kid’s blankets. He hoped to find this alor worthy of the gift.
“I may be back before you leave for training.” Din paused to press a small pouch of coin into Hysio’s hand. The room was paid through the end of the week, but he’d need to eat. And being completely without funds was never a good place to be.
He tried to hand it back. “You’ve done quite enough for me already.”
Paid quite enough. Din could read between the lines. Still, he shook his head and refused the return. “In case the farm doesn’t work out.” He bit his lip, and realized he’d picked up the habit from watching Hysio. “I have friends on Nevarro, Greef Karga and Cara Dune. They’ll help you out if you tell them I sent you.”
Hysio looked surprised. He’d heard Karga’s name setting up their trip here, but maybe he hadn’t made the connection.
“Or your new friends, if they want that kind of life.” Din remembered what Hysio had said about the caav Kiffar youth he’d met with the friend. He did want to help.
“Thank you,” Hysio said. “Take care of the kid. And yourself.”
“Ret'urcye mhi.” Din took a moment to lean in and press his forehead to Hysio’s. Just for a second, the illusion of touch through his buy’ce. Then he grabbed the bags, tethered the kid’s carriage to his vambrace, and left.
***
The beroya was waiting outside and led in silence to a low slung landspeeder on the edge of town.
Din switched his HUD to 360 as they settled in and headed out of town, straight local north into the mountains. They continued on for kilometers before, following a path known only to the other Mandalorian, they began to weave their way more easterly.
No one was following them, as best as Din could tell. And he had been watching.
They continued another hour before swinging more southerly and sliding out of the foothills into farming country. Fortunately, by this point the kid had decided sleep was the best option and was passed out in its carriage.
“I never come into town the same way,” the beroya said. “I have a random path generator to make sure things stay irregular and no single path is ever easy to track down.”
Din nodded. This was sensible. He’d had a number of routes through Nevarro city that he’d taken to muddle his own path.
“So please refrain from discussing the route or where we end up.”
“Our secrecy is our strength,” Din proclaimed as his alor had many times. “I was beroya for my tribe. Before…”
“I suspected as much.”
***
They traveled for another hour in silence before arriving on the outskirts of a farm in the dusk. Fields of varied plants spread out from a mountainside, the farmhouse tucked in next to a cliff. Even in the dusk, there were several adults and teens in the fields and a few children playing by the house. But they did not seem surprised when the speeder stopped by the house. Rather, the adults waved, metal glinting at their wrists in the light from the house.
Din wondered at that. His HUD compensating for the lighting showed the adults were Kiffar with sun bleached tattoos and rough, homespun garments. The youngsters looked much the same if less sun worn. But those really looked like vambraces at their wrists. In fact, most of those over the age of puberty might just be wearing vambraces.
While interesting, Din set the observation aside for now. The beroya led the way on foot to a plant covered cliff, then inside. It turned out there was a cave entrance covered by the waterfall of plants over the cliff face. Din checked, and the farmers were back at their work, ignoring the two armored Mandalorians. Interesting. And inside the cave was another Mandalorian, armed and on guard.
“Beroya.” They just nodded and let Din and his companion pass without any further investigation. Even if they were expected, Din found that lacking in caution.
The beginning of the tunnel was dark and only Din’s HUD settings allowed him to stay close to his guide. But soon they passed a turn in the tunnel and light showed ahead.
Not only light hinted at the presence of others. As they walked, the tunnel split and twisted and the sound of children playing began to echo. Then they passed one passage with the smell of good Mandalorian cooking wafting out.
He knew it was good when the kid, who had awakened at the sound of playing children, began to sneeze.
“Your child all right?” the beroya asked.
“It isn’t fond of spice, unfortunately.” Din was smiling under his buy’ce.
The beroya paused and gave him a look over their shoulder. “Odd for a Mandalorian child.”
“I’m trying, but it may be a species limitation.” Din rested a hand on the child’s head.
“Hmm.” The beroya continued on without further comment until they arrived in a cavern.
The cavern was lit by lights run along the walls and ceiling, and ten Mandalorians sat around the open space. There was a bit of beskar or a mix in the armor of these Mandalorians, but none showed the shine of Din’s own. Not even the one who had the air of the leader.
Their armor was green and black with highlights in gray. They had none of the signs of leadership Din was used to from his alor. No fur, no kama, no brighter colors. This was a figure set to hide in the shadows, and yet they had the strong presence Din knew well.
“Alor.” The beroya stepped across the cavern and stopped before the leader, fist clapping to chest with a clang of metal. “This is the one who came to speak to you.”
“Your effort is appreciated, Beryoa,” the alor said, nodding their head. “Welcome, Mando’ad. You and your foundling are safe here.”
Din clapped a fist to his chest in respect. He was amused to note the child was standing in its carriage and did the same.
“Beroya reported your people were attacked by the Empire?”
“Many were killed. The attack was ordered by Moff Gideon.”
The audience hissed and cursed. One in the back lifted their buy’ce enough to spit on the ground. That last… Din wasn’t sure what to make of that.
“That is cursed name,” the alor said. “The New Republic thinks him dead. How certain are you that he gave the order?”
“He said as much to me when I met him.” Din looked down at the child. “He wanted the child. My people helped us escape.”
The alor nodded. “Why would the leader of the Purge want a child?” The alor cocked their head, clearly studying the child.
“The child is special. It has magic. My alor quested me with returning it to its people, the jetii.”
A surprised hiss through many vocoders echoed through the room. The alor rose even as the verde in the back again raised their buy’ce to spit on the ground, cursing as they did so.
“May I?” The alor stepped close, holding their hands out to the child.
The child cocked its head, ears up. Interested. Din nodded.
“Su’cuy, ad’ika.” The alor carefully picked the child up, studying it as it signed back.
“Hello!”
There were several startled movements, but the alor just signed back, one handed. “Welcome. Safe.”
The child smiled up and patted the alor’s helmeted cheek.
“Sweet ad. I see no magic in it.” The alor tucked the child in their arm.
“It saved my life.” Din touched the mudhorn on his pauldron. “It can lift a mudhorn and cure poisoning. I don’t… It is not something I can understand or train. It needs its people.” Din was getting frustrated. He was already feeling talked out.
“Unfortunately, the jetii died with the Old Republic.” The alor handed the child over and Din tucked it against his chest. “You would be better searching for someone star touched.”
Din cocked his head. That sounded… not quite familiar. Something from an old story perhaps?
“Though those with the training may be as dead as the Jetii. I do not know if any left Manda’yaim before the Purge.” The alor shook their head and returned to their seat. A gesture had one of the Mandalorians pull a table over from the wall, another grabbed a chair. They were set before the alor in invitation. “Come, sit. I cannot help you find a jetii, but we can offer a safe place for you and your foundling.”
Sitting, still holding the child, Din said, “Moff Gideon is still hunting us. It is not safe to stay anywhere for long.”
The alor chuckled, their tone dark and vicious. Several of the others joined them.
“I’d like to see him try.”
Remembering the pile of beskar on the floor of the tunnels, Din shook his head. “I would not. I have seen what he will do. Your children deserve to be safe.”
“Oh, they are,” another Mandalorian said, this one in full tank plate that reminded Din of Paz. “We are more secure here than we were on Manda’yaim.”
Another snorted. “We have more verde together than we had on Manda’yaim by the end.”
That...stunned Din. He did not really know how many warriors had fought in the Purge. His covert had left long before. But he knew from the muddled stories he’d heard as a child that Manda’yaim had been a mess under the Empire.
The alor tilted their buy’ce in the way that Din’s alor had when they had been pleased. Like a smug smile on an aruetii. “There are twenty thousand Mando’ade on Vernet. We have contact with fifteen other colonies on fifteen other planets in the Mid-Rim, all with similar populations.”
Din was beyond shocked. He wasn’t sure he could even imagine that many Mandalorians in the entire galaxy.
“My buir left Manda’yaim before the Empire rose and made it their goal to find safe havens for our people. We are in areas in need of support and forgotten by the government, secure with relationships with the local leaders. We protect Vernet from bandits and they let us settle the southern continent. An attack by the Empire here would be driven off, and would attract attention from the New Republic. They can ignore bandits, but the Empire being so bold? That would get their attention.”
Perhaps the alor had a point, but Din couldn’t begin to accept it. He could not begin to imagine life with so many Mandalorians, so open. But it did make sense of the Sanvert residents’ attitude toward Mandalorians.
“So when I say you are welcome to find safety here, I do mean that. And if you prefer to continue on your quest, know we will welcome any Mando’ade should you direct them here.”
Din nodded, still beyond words. This was… amazing. His alor would not believe…
Ah, yes. His alor. Din reached into the carriage that had followed him to the table and removed the bars of beskar he’d hidden inside. Setting them on the table, one beside the next, he said, “From my goran to yours.”
Murmurs of shock and awe. One Mandalorian stepped out from where they had been leaning against the wall and carefully picked up one bar, turning it in their hands, checking it against the light.
This Mandalorian wore a hammer on their belt.
“This is pure beskar,” they said.
Din nodded.
“How is it that a small group had so much beskar?”
That question Din had expected at some point. He nodded toward the child. “I was beroya, offered a camtono of beskar for a target fifty years of age. How could I say no?”
Many helmets nodded, but the goran stared through Din.
“The Empire knew no Mandalorian would accept a bounty on a child.” Din’s voice choked up, and the child patted his chestplate. “They lied and twisted the truth, but I could not leave the child in their hands.”
“The child is—”
“Fifty years old,” Din answered the alor. “Or so the Empire said. I do not know its race, but from what I have learned, they are very long lived. One was a jetii’alor under the Old Republic.”
The alor leaned over the table and studied the child again. “Perhaps…”
“The beskar will find good use amongst us,” the goran said, scooping the bars up and vanishing them into one pocket or other. “Your beskar’gam?”
“My old beskar’gam was destroyed by the mudhorn the child saved me from. My alor chose to use the beskar in rebuilding.” Something Din would forever feel guilty for.
“And now you defend the child. It is right.” The alor spoke over several murmurs, some sounding displeased. “We thank you for the beskar. Should you rediscover any of your people, they will have a place here on Vernet for as long as they desire.”
Din nodded again, accepting the exchange. Beskar for safety. It was a proper debt and payment. He would have to find a way to contact his alor before they left Concord Dawn, to let them know of this option. To let the other coverts his alor had contact with know that there was another way to stay safe.
So long as he did not stay. And he would not. He had now been told twice that the Jedi were dead. Many said the same of the Mandalorians, and yet here he was being told there were fifteen colonies of twenty thousand Mandalorians each. He would continue his hunt. He would find the child’s people.
“It is late,” the alor said. “Let us at least offer food and shelter for the night.”
“That would be appreciated,” Din said with a nod.
Then, to Din’s shock and horror, the alor removed their helmet. The alor was Kiffar, with green tattoos that had rarely seen the sun. They were older than Din, their tight curled hair gone gray.
But Din barely noticed these things. He stood, sharply, as another helmet came off, and another. Several Kiffar, a human, a Twi’lek.
Din stumbled backwards and the alor stood. The child was staring at the alor, the other faces, confusion on its little features.
“Be at peace, vod. I am Toros, clan Orddo. You are safe here.” They held out their hands toward Din, but he shook his head.
“You show your face.” He would not use their sacred language with dar’manda.
The alor looked startled. “Ruyot’ad?”
“I am leaving.” Din did not know that word, did not care to parse it. He just wanted to take the child and get away from these dar’manda. There were too many to fight. Kriff, he was a fool. The beroya had started by questioning his right to wear beskar. He should have started out questioning theirs.
He held the child close and began backing toward the tunnel. He did not pull his blaster, but he kept his hand near the butt. In his HUD, he saw the beroya move his way. Din whirled and ran.