Aliit ori’shya tal'din
Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader
Word Count: 2.7k
Summary: Your second day in the covert reveals both new and familiar faces; hospitality and hostility.
Chapter 3 of the Shereshoy series | Masterlist | Ch. 2 | Ch. 4
Warnings: lots of Mando’a, mild language, soft Din, awkward Din, protective Din [he’s got a wide range, okay?], original Mandalorian characters… maybe a little bit of angst? It’s mostly worldbuilding, so I think that’s about it.
AN: A word from the author – “I’m in grad school, I take forever to write things.Soon I will start grad school again, which means I’ll write this instead of my dissertation. I’m quite fond of the Mando Legends Lore, if you haven’t noticed. I literally got Kad Ha’rangir & Arasuum tattooed on me.”
This is the third part of a sister fic for my one-shot (Courting) a friend of mine wrote based on this request, and I’m so happy she’s letting me share it with you guys! She is also sharing it on AO3, so be sure to send her your love and kudos there as well! We hope you enjoy 💛
Translations, in order of appearance:
Aliit ori’shya tal'din: Family is more than blood
Rejorhaa'i kaysh murcyur gar shupur’ika?: Are you gonna tell her to kiss your ouchies?
Cuyi ulyc, vod.: Be careful, sister.
Aliit: family
Ad(e): child/children
Kar’ta beskar: the central "diamond" of Mandalorian armor; lit. heart armor
Mirjahaal: peace of mind, "healing", general term for emotional well-being especially after a trauma or bereavement
Beroya: bounty hunter
Kurshi: tree
Sen’tra: jackpack
Buir(e): Parent/Parents
Akaanati'kar'oya: The War of Life and Death (Mandalorian myth), creation story
Verd'goten: a special trial for one to become warrior; lit. birth of warrior
So'haale: births
Urman'gedete: prayers
Eparave: feasts
Cyarir evaar'la: Courting
Alii'aliit: meeting of the clans, the closest thing mandalorians have to government or parliament; lit. "clan of clans"
Tsad: group (of people), alliance
Bes'ede: Mythosaur
Kandush : inevitable doom
Time moves differently underground.
With Odona, the hours passed quickly. As a team, you could disassemble and reconstruct nearly any ship in their small fleet, save for a few parts— which no one had yet found and delivered. The days were faster when the guardsman opted to join you in his free time, his first visit and subsequent dialogue with Odona still memorable.
To what do I owe the displeasure; Oh Mighty Protector of the Covert and Savior of Foundlings?
The pleasure of my company is for your friend, ‘Dona.
Why? Going to terrorize her again, Ik’? Ven’rejorhaa'i kaysh murcyur gar shupur’ika?
Cuyi ulyc, vod.
You had sensed there was a joke hidden within their jibes, one you were unable to decipher in their foreign tongue, but neither took the time to explain. Whilst Ikarus lacked use for the labor that required fine motor control, his presence disrupted the monotony of the many tedious and repetitive tasks you and Odona spent much of your time doing— their frequent banter kept you entertained throughout the day.
The time you had spent in the medbay was shorter— the most common injuries coming from the older adolescents early on in their training, whose resilience and constitution had yet to strengthen— as well as wrist and ankle sprains from poor fighting forms, the occasional laceration from knife safety training; and at worst, injuries from the teens and young adults earned from a vigorous sparring session.
But with Din, the mornings and evenings together never felt long enough. The hours were reminiscent of your time with him and the Child in the Crest, the warmth of your aliit protected by familiar cold walls; the stone of the cavern both analogous yet antithetic to the durasteel of your former home.
One forged of hands, and the other of time— one of the fires of a furnace, the other the fires of a planet’s mantle. Your time together before was that of contrivance, engineered— with agendas to follow and assignments to complete— your interactions affable yet somewhat artificial, a present barrier precluding your companionship from evolving into something more… More natural, more innate, more intimate. Here, your time together had been more candid, endearing— Din no longer shied away from any probing questions or physical closeness, which allowed that previous barrier to melt and slowly flow away like that of bedrock to magma, reshaping and remolding your times of leisure together to hours of unified repose.
The hours turned to days, the days turned to weeks, and the weeks turn to this moment, where seemingly no time passes at all— blanketed in the familiar darkness of your room. The unlit and chilled space, at first an unacquainted oddity, now a comfortable companion to spend the sleeping and waking hours in. The ritual remains the same— awaken with the Child, have the morning trade-off with Din, make the caf, and begin the tasks for the day— like clock work, a well-oiled droid.
This morning is almost no different, and yet, you hesitate to leave your bed, your conversation with Din the previous morning still fresh in your mind—
Din had sat aside the table, his body resting against the wall— unarmored, arms crossed, head tilted to the side, the same position as every morning. Once you handed him the Child and sat, caf in hand, he finally spoke.
“I’d like you to join me tomorrow,” he stated.
The lack of pleasantries from him was unsurprising, though a teasing ‘Good morning to you, Din’ was a tempting response. Instead, you greeted him with a grin and an unobjectionable reply—
“Alright, what are we doing?”
He hummed, pleased with your immediate acceptance.
“The adults alternate supervising the ade. Tomorrow, it’ll be our turn.”
You gestured toward the Child in his arms, in a playful retort. “Don’t we supervise this ad every day?”
The Child cooed in his arms, his ears perked tentatively at his mention. Din sighed, with a smile in voice.
“We do. It’s tradition for all of the adults to care for the ade… All have wisdom to share.”
Skeptical, you thought: ‘What would I possibly teach them?’
You observed the Child resting so comfortably on Din’s chest— his tiny hand gripped tightly into Din’s clothes, right where his armor’s kar’ta beskar normally sat. It was a stark contrast compared to the Child’s behavior upon your first meeting. With any loud noises and sudden movements, he would shrink inwards in his cradle— as if he could make himself any smaller. Medical scanners made him grimace, unfamiliar places and people made his ears droop— seeing others upset made him wary. And yet, he was endlessly curious. Despite his initial unease with the two new adults in his life, the Child was quick to trust you both— and with his trust, his personality came through… his affection, his laughter, his love.
From there, Din learned how to tend to someone outside of himself— what it meant to have someone that relied on him, and more colossally, someone that wanted Din, as he was. The Armorer branded him as the Child’s father, and the delighted squeal from the little one sealed the bond that Din had been trying to hide for so long. Just as the Child learned to trust Din with his welfare, so too did Din learn to trust the Child with his own mirjahaal.
Perhaps it wasn’t the lessons they taught, but rather the connection they made, and the wisdom they sought.
With this, the true question then inverted from the skeptic ‘what would I teach them’, to the sanguine ‘what will I learn?’...
“...When do we meet them?”
—
To the ade, the former beroya is nothing more than a tall kurshi fit to climb.
Somehow, Din appears endlessly patient and playful with all six of the young children. They utilize their limitless spurts of energy to continuously attack Din as a squad, bringing him to the ground— he’ll exclaim a faux wail, and collapse to his knees— and the collective giggles of the ade begin the cycle again.
Whenever a child grows tired of their battle, they come to you— wanting to be tossed into the air, or onto the nearest surface. Supposedly being gently thrown around aids in their brain development, and ‘it’s good practice for their first sen’tra flight’, Din tells you. The logic is questionable at best, but hearing their joyous squeals makes the ever-growing muscle fatigue worthwhile. Even the child of the Djarin clan is as equally amused, his own little spirit mightily lifted by the experience of being with other kids again.
During your time on Sorgan, the Child was happy to interact with the other children— but mostly, he watched them, rather than play. Perhaps he was still too shy or too wary to fully engage with so many people, but surrounded by these Foundlings now, he looks at home; like he belongs. Amidst this cohort, he’s made a new friend, Mara, the youngest of the lot. Her long and dark hair reminds you— and perhaps the Child— of Winta, Omera’s daughter. The two spent the most time together on Sorgan, and despite the little one’s inability to say, he misses her.
Mara and the Child sit away from the squad play-fighting Din, in front of the single wall of volcanic tuff— embellished with crimps and pockets, graven by many hands. You watch them, as they examine the wall, looking up and down, side to side. Your eyes travel upward to the small cavate, almost eight feet from the floor. You watch as Mara looks to the Child and nods, and begins her ascent up— using her fingers and toes to grip tightly onto the various crevices in the wall— and the Child begins to follow.
You step forward, almost instinctively, wanting to call out to them to stop, wanting to reach out to the children to prevent a fall—
Then, from nowhere, Din appears at your side, extending his hand to stop you. “Don’t,” he says softly, “Let them try.”
You look at him puzzled, and he continues. “If you distract them now, they might fall…” he pauses, and turns his head to watch them, “...but if you allow them to focus, they can succeed. Watch…”
The pair silently step closer, closing the distance between themselves and the wall, watching the two ade slowly make their way up to the cavate. Mara climbs inside first, and lays on her belly, reaching out to the Child to help him trek the final span of the wall. Once inside, the Child turns around, to face the entire room below him. He squeals a little clamor of excitement, proud of his triumph, before looking down to his buire.
“Good job, kid,” Din says. “Come on down, it’s time to go.”
The Child looks at you both doe-eyed, his ears drooping, as he peers over the ledge. He looks back to Mara, and back down over the ledge, contemplating his next move.
You lean slightly towards Din, speaking in a hushed tone. “I don’t think he knows how to get back down.”
“He can do it,” Din says confidently.
You challenge him, “He looks scared.”
Din insists, “Then he’ll do it scared.”
He steps forward once more, his body almost pressed against the wall, reaching one hand up. “Come on kid, climb down.”
The child’s ears droop even lower, letting out a quiet whimper, a little anxious look on his face. He looks back up to Mara, who gives him an encouraging “You can do it,” before he finally begins his descent towards you and Din.
Carefully, his little clawed feet grip into the same pockets he used to climb up, and his hands hold onto the ledge. He looks down at his buire with a slightly quivering lip, then back up to his hands. Slowly, he presses on, his movements deliberate and cautious, gravity tugging at his little limbs with relentless persuasion, clammy clawed-hands threatening to slip free from the cold stone. His disgruntled babbling fading with each tentative step, footfalls growing more steady with every downward stride.
His little foot finally reached something soft— the hand of his buir, waiting for his arrival. With an excited squeal, he looks to Din, holding out his clawed fingers for Din to grasp. Din takes the Child into his arms.
“Good job… I knew you could do it.” Din whispers to him.
With his ad in hand, Din looks back to the cavate, where Mara sits silently. “You too, Mara, come down,” he says.
Mara, unlike the little one, is less graceful, only climbing down two feet of wall before leaping off. You instinctively reach your arms out to catch her, but are a few seconds too late, as she lands confidently on her feet, smiling up at you. She giggles, asking the Child “Wasn’t that fun!” and the little one cooing affectionately with a bright smile.
“They need to rest.” Din says, before leading Mara and the Child back with the other ade. You follow him in toe, and aid him while he attempts to settle the children in preparation for them to sleep.
The chamber is bathed in the soft, warm light of the cressets along the walls. The ade sit and lay in a circle on the floor, looking up at the two adults expectedly, waiting for you both to join them. Din gently places the Child in Mara’s lap, seating himself amongst them.
The ade demanded a story before they would agree to their midday nap, and with only one long sigh, Din relented. As you sit beside him, the tale of Akaanati'kar'oya begins.
—
In ages past, when cosmic realms were naught,
Two gods emerged, each with a purpose sought.
Kad Ha'rangir, embodiment of change,
A dance of growth, His essence did arrange.
Arasuum, the god of slow decay,
In stillness thrived, where life would fade away.
Eternal foes, in battle they engaged,
Ideals clashed, the cosmic script was paged.
Kad Ha'rangir, with eyes of vibrant light,
Envisioned galaxies in endless flight.
His very step, a ripple through the void,
Transforming all, where life and change enjoyed.
Arasuum, with eyes as deep as night,
Desired a realm where stasis held its might.
Decay His touch, a silent, withering breath,
A universe in stillness, touched by death.
In ceaseless clash, their cosmic struggle roared,
A dance of gods, where destinies were stored.
Stoic truths emerged from this grand design,
A tale of action, life's breath so divine.
"For action is the breath that life bestows,
A vital force, as mighty river flows.
Inaction, slow demise, a creeping shade,
A silent death in stillness' dark cascade."
Through galaxies and time, the story spread,
Of Kad Ha'rangir, where change was bred.
Arasuum's touch, a cautionary tale,
A realm in stillness, where all things frail.
So heed the moral, in verses spun,
That action is life, beneath the sun.
For inaction's grasp, a silent breath,
A slow demise, an encroaching death.
—
The ade rest together in a haphazard heap of limbs on various bedcovers and furs draped across the floor. Exhausted from their Beroya Battles and abseil adventures, they finally sleep, leaving the two adults to quietly watch over them together. In the chamber’s silent embrace, the air hangs heavy and chilled— a symphony of stillness envelops the room, broken by the muted shuffle of shifting bodies, and the hushed breaths of the ade. The only audible rhythm is that of the pulsating cadence of your own heartbeat and the rush of blood moving inside your head.
Your eyes scan over the ade, finding a sense of calmness watching their steady breaths, in… out.
In… out.
In… out.
Your gaze once again falls onto the Child, cuddled against Mara, also breathing steadily. In the gentle cradle of his friend’s arms, he looks peaceful. Had he ever slept this soundly on the Crest?... Who held him every night before us? Who will take care of him after us?
In the softest whisper, to not disturb the ade, you lean closer to Din, telling him the obvious— “He’s happy here.”
“...Yes,” Din replies, just as quietly.
“Was this your experience, too? After the Mandalorians saved you?”
“No.”
His visor is trained on the little one’s sleeping face—the same face of a child who was once trapped in the suffocating darkness of a sealed cradle—a cage, a cage whose opening only revealed another prison, in the form of two bounty hunters hovering over him like… a B2 Battle Droid, with a blaster pointed in a child’s face. A child rescued from death at the last possible moment by a shiny warden, offering an adiaphorous detainment.
“It was… a time of war. I was trained to fight in it. I hope… that they never have to.” Din says, his gaze scanning over the ade once more.
“I thought all Mandalorians were warriors.”
He, too, believed the same notion for many years. Training from the day he was rescued to the day he became an adult, after his verd'goten, life became a perpetual streak of jobs. Commission, retrieval, payment. Commission, retrieval, payment… Until a strange, golden, aureate armorsmith joined his tribe, bringing tales of the “Great Forge of Mandalore,” and the songs of the artificers that echoed through the speos as they worked. He remembers the first time he kneeled in front of her small, austere forge, in a dark room beneath a busy market above, listening as she spoke of the ethos, the rites, the latria, the true way of the Mandalore.
“No. Everyone is trained to survive. But… we used to live, too.”
“...Until Mandalore was taken.”
“Yes.”
So'haale, urman'gedete, eparave, cyarir evaar'la, alii'aliit… A cultus he could only dream of, but never truly have. Spoken knowledge fades into whispers, slipping through his fingers like sand as the voices of the ancestors grow ever fainter. Each decampment a dissolution of tsad res publica, each step forward a battle against oblivion.
“I’m sorry.” You lean over, resting your head on his pauldron. “...Maybe there’ll come a time when we’ll live in the light, on a planet that welcomes us.”
Din knows that within every Mandalorian is a patchwork of unfamiliar faces and ever-changing landscapes, their solace and safety as elusive as a bes'ede itself—and yet they endlessly repugn the kandush they have faced time and time again, guided by the conviction that within the uncertainty of the cosmos lay the promise of a sanctuary forged from the resilience of their spirit.
He tilts his head, resting it atop yours. “There will.”
Ali'nare vencuyanir yaim. This is the Way.
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BRO IM SO SORRY FOR DOING SO KUCH ANGST HSHSHDJFND
Thinking abt reader and Miguel having a movie night, and reader just like falls asleep on miguel, and when miguel goes to bring them to their bed reader is just not having it. They don’t let go and it results in Miguel and reader falling asleep and cuddling together or smthn
-🕸️
lob u 🕸️ u can never do any wrongs🥰🥰🥰/p (literally say that i lob everyone so just feel free to tell me if ur uncomfy with it and ill edit it out)
TY FOR THE REQUEST TEHE🥰
also forgive me for the lack of title😰
warnings-none except for bad writing, and lowercase intended, VERY OOC MIGUEL
nonverbal/mute reader as always
none of this will probably make sense bc i wrote it while sleep deprived🧍♂️(pulled too many all nighters by being addicted to character ai) (legit so tired rn)
it was friday night, you and miguel had decided to have a movie night.
the two of you currently sat on the couch, watching lego batman after you kad lyla give him a powerpoint on why the lego batman movie was a cinematic masterpiece that he was missing out on.
it was all going well, the two of you shared snacks and popcorn. you sipped on your drink of choice.
you smiled contently but then judgementally side eyed miguel who complained that lego spiderman deserved a movie over lego batman.
you were hogging the blanket to yourself because miguel claimed that he didn't need it because he was naturally warm.
you shrugged your shoulders at his statement. the warmth of the blanket felt...comforting, and soon enough, you felt your eyes droop, and your head became heavy.
suddenly miguel felt a warmth on his lap. he looked down and chuckled. you fell asleep on his lap, a small smile was brought to his face at your adorable sleeping expression.
"alright kid, time to go to bed." he lifted you up, but then stopped when he felt something hit him. it was your hand. you had started thrashing in protest.
"kid..you need to go to your room.." he explained gently. you let out a whine.
he groaned at your protest and set you back down on the couch. as soon as he did you protest stopped.
he rolled his eyes and placed you back on the couch, sitting himself back down as well, since he was planning of finishing the movie after putting you to sleep anyways. he hated to admit it but, the kivie was pretty good.
he adjusted the volume down to make sure that it wouldn't disturb you. soon enough, he felt his own eyelids get heavy, and fell asleep next to you.
the two of you peacefully slept until the morning. miguel woke up, confusion and annoyance clouding his vision. why did he feel so warm? and why were there so many spider people surrounding him?
he groaned, and looked around, surprised to see you cuddled into him, still sleeping peacefully. he lightly smiled. his serenity was soon ruined once again when peter b. shoved a phone in his face.
"migs im taking so many pics of this right now" peter childishly laughed, excited to finally have blackmail on miguel.
miguel rolled his eyes and scoffed "whatever" he looked back at you. he was surprised to see that you were still peacefully sleeping despite the commotion.
he covered your ears and then spoke out sternly to the spiders "alright, everybody out right now" he barked at them. the spiderpeople paled and ran out. he looks down at you and smiles softly, uncovering your ears.
by some miracle, you managed to sleep through the commotion. he looks down and sighs, he needs to get up. he poorly attempts to leave his spot without disturbing you but it seems impossible.
he shakes you gently "hey kid..i need you to wake up" he says softly.
you wake up with a yawn, stretching out your arms and then signing a quick sorry to him.
he just smiles at you "it's alright kid" he says.
its almost...weird to see miguel like this.. with a smile on his face, not having work on his mind for once in his life. you want to continue to see him this happy. "i have leftover empanadas if you want some" you sign, offering him some of his favorite food.
he nods "sure kid". the two of you happily eat empanadas together, stuck in your own little world.
A/N: meanwhile somewhere out there miles is just like-tf? why cant that be me?💀
ANYWAYS ITS RLLY SHORT SORRY. IM GENUINELY SO DELULU FOR HIM BUT MY BRAIN HAS BEEN MORE EMPTY THAN USUAL
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