#[ Corvus' face in the first one makes me wheeze every time ] | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

amiedala · 3 years

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SOMETHING MORE (the mandalorian x reader)

CHAPTER 24: There's the Kicker

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: this chapter doesn't warrant warnings except brief mentions of violence!

SUMMARY: When you hear your name, you think you’re hallucinating it. It comes out of nowhere, and the voice that it comes from is familiar, trusting, warm. And there’s the kicker: it’s unmodulated. You’re pretty sure you’re imagining it, because you’ve spent so many nights playing over Din’s voice in your mind, his promises, the way he broke them.

And still, you freeze, turning around, feeling completely suspended on the space-time continuum. Standing there, unmasked, heartbreak written all over his face, is your Mandalorian.

The Mandalorian. As your heart hammers, drowning out every impulse to run towards him and jump into his arms, you have to remind yourself he left you, and even though he found you, he’s not yours anymore.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: HELLO MY LOVES SO SORRY THIS IS DAY LATE!! i had a lot of family and personal stuff come up on the back half of the week, and the chapter just wasn't where i wanted it to be last night. i hope this makes up for it! and i promise, the next chapter is going to be muchhhhh longer, and (in my opinion) very good ;) ENJOY!!

Getting back to Hoth feels like trying to run up a staircase that doesn’t fully exist.

Your starfighter, the one you put together with your aching hands and a little bit of wishful thinking, is rebelling against you. It’s fitting, you think, trying to hit warp for the thousandth time, that in the Crest’s unceremonious, splintered death, it left behind a new ship for you can wrangle in its wake. Immediately, you feel awful, swearing and kicking the parts of your hand-me-down Rebel ship into shape, reminding yourself that your home—the physical part of it, at least—is gone, and it makes you want to break down in the middle of space, get lost in the stars and not think about anything in this forsaken galaxy ever again.

But every time you close your eyes, you see the lightsaber glow green, and you know somewhere deep in your chest that Wedge called you back for a reason. It’s colossal and monumental in the same thundering way finding Din and the baby for the first time was, as illuminated and fated as meeting Ahsoka. There’s something here, something real, something more, if General Luke Skywalker himself sent Wedge a hologram and shook your old friend up this badly.

Finally, you get the ship to move. You kick the malfunctioning warp system a few times before she shudders to life and groans under your pressure. “Kicker,” you mutter, flipping all the colorful, variant buttons on the dashboard to get her to move. “Kicker, that’s what I’m gonna call you. I’d name you Rebel,” you continue, punching the ship into hyperspace, “but that one might be a little too on the nose. What do you think?”

Because it’s a ship, Kicker doesn’t say anything. You smile though, a small, stolen one, and as you exit the crush of warp in front of the icy behemoth that is Hoth, you feel your heart aerating and releasing, nervousness building a colony of butterflies up in your stomach. Luke Skywalker, you whisper a few times, turning his name over in your mouth. You know he’s real. You’ve seen him before, only from a distance, but you’ve heard the concrete stories, the way he turned from desert farm boy into the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy. He’s the kind of man that can turn into myth with the right storyteller, and he’s always awed you. There’s a part of you that connects to him—something yearning and desperate, that part of the tales you always heard where he keeps trying to save people beyond saving.

Wedge knows him. Knew him, maybe, with the mystique surrounding the Jedi that Luke became, but you’ve seen the way Wedge talks about him, how the double suns of Tatooine shine in his eyes, his enthusiasm, his kindness. And you know they haven’t seen each other in ages, because Wedge has been from one end of the galaxy to the next, and Luke—you aren’t on a first name basis, he’ll always be General Skywalker, but there’s something about the way he appeared in your vision that makes you feel closer to him—well, Luke’s been becoming a Jedi.

And after perceiving said Jedi on the seeing stone immediately after your premonitions of Grogu getting whisked away by something evil? It feels like too close of a coincidence. And you don’t believe in coincidences to begin with.

The descent to Hoth feels even colder and slower when you’re shivering in anticipation before you even break through the planet’s atmosphere. You’re in your jumpsuit, and one of the spare blankets from your makeshift bed in the back of the cockpit is draped over your legs, but you’re still freezing. It feels like forever until you’re finally docked and you can sprint towards the control room where Wedge told you he would be, boots stomping heavy and intentional against the frozen ground.

“W—” you wheeze, immediately skidding to a halt the second that you breach the doorframe, all the breath leaving your lungs, “what did he say?”

The room, you realize, a second too late, is full. There’s seven people splayed around the hologram, and they’re all staring at you. You recognize all of their faces, both from seeing them around here on base, and from your youth when you were still a fully integrated member of the Alliance, and you feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you pull your helmet off, trying to walk over to where Wedge is standing with as much grace as you can muster.

“It seems like some of the message is corrupted,” Wedge manages, lowly, pulling you gently out of the way of the other people talking urgently over the holotable. “He said something about a new Jedi, though, and that he’s heading back to find them—”

“Me?” you blurt.

Wedge startles. “What?”

You bite your lip, grabbing his arm and dragging him a bit further away, hoping to avoid the other generals’ earshot. “I—I was on Tython,” you breathed, “just now. And before my fiancé and our kid abandoned—left me on Dantooine, we were on Corvus. Where we met with a Jedi—I think. I don’t know if she identifies as one anymore. Her lightsabers were white.”

Wedge blinks at you. “What?” he repeats, and you steal a nervous look at the others gathered around the hologram. Some of them are examining the table itself, others are watching you, and you feel both incredibly small and incredibly judged. “You’re not making sense, rebel girl. What about you?”

You inhale. It’s shaky, but it’s a start. You’re still out of breath. “I—I’m Force sensitive,” you whisper, as quietly as you can, “that’s why I was left on Dantooine. The baby—Grogu, our son—he’s also Force sensitive, and Moff Gideon was after the both of us. It was safer if we split up. Can,” you interrupt yourself, still out of breath, “can you play me the message? I think that Luke—General Skywalker—might have been talking about me.”

Wedge stares at you. After a second, he takes a half step back, but the look on his face, disbelief, is so close to Din’s of confusion and betrayal after you showed him the same piece of information about yourself. You swallow, suddenly self-conscious, pulling your braid over your shoulder.

“How long have you known?” Wedge whispers, voice urgent. “About your abilities?”

You shake your head. “Not long,” you promise, “two months at most. Listen—”

“Why did you say yes to me?” Wedge interrupts. “Why did you come here? We’re barely anything, right now, Nova, the Alliance is completely scattered after the fall of the Empire. There’s not enough of us to protect you.”

You blink, anger slowly filling up the expression on your face. “I can protect myself,” you hiss back, “and, besides, I’m not—I’m not dangerous, Wedge, and I can take care of myself. Besides,” you say, trying not to choke, “I think Gideon has the baby right now, b—because our ship was shot to shit—”

Wedge faces you again, putting both of his broad hands on your shoulder. Immediately, you close your mouth, suddenly anxious. You don’t know what he wants from you, and you don’t know if you should have told him about everything. But if he was friends—close friends—with Luke Skywalker, he shouldn’t be this uncertain about your Force sensitivity. You bite your lip, unsure how to react, but you can feel the anger and desperation slowly building back up in your chest, billowing like an old, ancient flame.

“Moff Gideon,” Wedge says, voice low, “is after your fiancé and your kid?”

Troubled, eyes furrow, you nod. “Yes.”

“And when you just left the base earlier today,” Wedge continues, his voice intense but slightly strained, “where did you go?”

“I—” You inhale, sharply, breaking his intent gaze to look over at the rest of the people in the room. Almost every single one of them is outfitted in the regalia reserved for admirals and generals, and the ones who aren’t are pilots. You know the uniform. You’re practically wearing it yourself. They’re all looking at you with a strangeness to them, eyes flickering back and forth between you and Wedge, as if asking for permission. “When we met Ahsoka Tano on Corvus,” you continue, trying to direct your conversation to both Wedge and the others in the room, “she told us—me and Grogu, my kid—that she couldn’t train us, because we had emotional attachments to one another. But she told us to go to the planet Tython,” you pause to swallow, mouth dry, “because it has a strong connection with the Force, and we could connect with a Jedi who could.” You stop, looking back at Wedge. “I heard him,” you whisper, “and I saw him. His lightsaber, lighting up the hallway of an Imperial cruiser. I know that Gideon was after my family.” You pause again, inhaling a shivering breath. “When I was just on Tython, I saw our ship. It was just rubble.” You’re trying so hard not to cry, but you can’t help yourself. “I’ve had visions, Force visions, for months now, of the planet. Gideon and his troops were after the baby, and I know Tython is where they took him.”

Wedge’s hand is up against his chin. He exchanges a quick, unreadable look at one of the generals, and then he faces back to you. “How many men does Gideon have?”

You look around at the people in the room again, and decidedly take a step forward, towards the table, towards the paused, flickering, blue hologram of Luke Skywalker pulsating up from the table. “A lot,” you admit, hand flying to your necklace before you startle with the realization that it’s not there, that you gave it to Grogu right before you were deserted out on Dantooine. “I know the galaxy is still in reparations from the fallen Empire.” You swallow, trying to meet the eyes of the rest of the people in the room. “But I don’t think the Empire is as fallen as we previously thought.”

Wedge moves in behind you, and a space opens up around the table. You smile, grateful, falling into rank with the other eight people in the room. “That’s what we’ve been afraid of,” he affirms, bumping his shoulder gently into yours, the same thing your dad always did when he wanted to include you. You let your stature relax, leaning in to examine the pulsing of the hologram on the table. “After we defeated the Empire, most people left the Alliance. It seemed like the natural thing to do when there wasn’t active, visible evil to fight off anymore. People wanted to get on with their lives.” He inhales, deeply. You can see worry lines chiseled into places they weren’t before, the last time you saw him. “Luke, though.” He stares at the rotating disillusion of his friend as he exhales, “Luke knew it wasn’t over. He’s been all over the place,” Wedge says, and this part sounds like it’s just for you, “trying to find people who can use the Force like he can, and like you can too. Trying to rebuild the Jedi Order.”

You swallow, looking up at him. “What does the hologram say?” Your voice comes out shaky and small.

Wedge sighs, pressing the button to play the message.

“Wedge,” Luke says, voice tinny but full of relief. “It’s been a long time, and I know you’re busy, but I need your help.” You watch, transfixed, at the blue, flickering image of the greatest Jedi in the galaxy. You swallow. “I think I’ve found someone. Maybe two people, I can’t be sure. I felt it through the Force.” He pauses again, giving Wedge a look that feels private, intimate, like something only for him to see. You avert your eyes. “I’m headed to the planet Tython. Then—then I’d like your help, and the Alliance’s, to help safeguard whoever I find.” You look at Wedge. “I know it isn’t fair to ask. I know I’ve been distant for a long time. But I need you to know that the galaxy is still in danger. I feel it, Wedge, and I know you can too. I’ll see you soon.” And with that, the holotable flicks off, the rotating, grainy, blue image of Luke Skywalker himself turned to dust.

“He found you,” Wedge says, but it sounds more like a question.

“No,” you whisper, voice small. “No—I saw him, but it was a premonition. I didn’t call out to him.” Your eyelids flutter, because you’re trying to hold back tears. “Grogu,” you say, voice even smaller than it was before. “Gideon has Grogu.”

Wedge exchanges looks with the others in the room, then looks back at you. You’re exhausted, and you rub your hands over your tired eyes, pressing until you see stars. “So Luke is going after Moff Gideon?”

“Yes.”

“So we need to help him.”

You spin around, back to Wedge and the generals. “No,” you enunciate, trying to stress just how bad that idea is with a single syllable. Then your words come flooding back. “No. We—you, any of you—cannot go after Gideon. I know you want to, and I know you’ve taken down plenty of the Empire, so I know you’re capable, but you can’t.” You look back at Wedge. “You can’t,” you whisper again. “I’ve seen him. He’s flattened entire cities in his destroyers, and he’s ruthless. He’s power-hungry, and anyone or anything that stands in the way of that is something that will soon be dead. I held him off once,” you say, projecting this part to the rest of the room, “once, and I barely got out of there in time, and it drained me for days. I still feel that exhaustion here. You can’t help Luke with this. Protecting me, and whoever the other Jedi are—that’s what you need to do. I know this is horrible. I know you probably feel helpless.” You swallow, fingers grasping around open air around your throat where your necklace used to be. “But you can’t take on Gideon. Not alone. And not even with all of you. I’ve seen how that story ends. It cost me my family.”

Wedge stares at you. “So you’re suggesting we do nothing? To help Luke Skywalker? To get your kids and fiancé back?”

The question burns. You meet his gaze. “No,” you answer, finally, “I’m suggesting we strategize before we attack.”

There’s rumblings from the generals in the background, but Wedge holds up a hand, and the low voices cease. You swallow, trying to push your shoulders back, give off confidence, but you’re not sure if it’s working. Wedge nods at you, and you feel relief spread through your whole body as he turns back to the generals. “Nova’s right,” he says. “There’s not enough of us left to adequately fight off Gideon and the troops he has.”

“He has a weapon, an awful one,” you say, stepping forward. “It’s called the Darksaber.”

No one seems to blink an eye at that one, but Wedge looks at you. “Is Gideon Force sensitive, too?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“No,” you answer, softly, “but this weapon isn’t like a lightsaber. It’s cruel, and ruthless, and its blade is black, vibrating with a ring of white around it. He can use it, and he has, and he’ll continue to until he’s been stopped—”

Suddenly, all the lights start blinking, sirens blaring. You jump back in panic as everyone immediately mobilizes, starts pulling weapons out of hidden places, running out of the room. Wedge beckons for you to follow him, so you do, and your legs scream with the soreness of trying to climb to the top of the seeing stone back on Tython.

“What’s happening?” you yell, following Wedge into another control room.

“We’re under attack,” he answers, grimly, his face paling. “You need to go.”

You blink, coming to an abrupt halt. “What?”

“It’s Gideon’s men,” Wedge says, turning around to face you. “It’s not Gideon himself. But he’s sent in three fighters, and they’re big ones. I assume they’re after you?” he asks, and your stomach twists. Wedge starts striding towards the hangar, and you follow him, immediately getting blasted in the face with Hoth’s frozen air.

“It’s three fighters,” you say, urgently, “I’ve taken out six of them before, Wedge, singlehandedly, let me get in the air and I can shoot them down—”

“No,” he interrupts, “we’ve got it. I promise. You have to go. There will be a decoy ship alongside you, one that looks enough like yours so they’ll follow it. Only when that ship is clear do you leave the atmosphere, and then you immediately jump into hyperspace.”

You’re frozen.

“Do you understand?” Wedge asks, and you exhale, letting go of all the seizing stress in the pit of your stomach.

“Yes,” you answer, and he nods. You’re at Kicker, so you grab the parka out of Wedge’s outstretched hand, starting to climb.

“Rebel girl,” he calls, and you go back a step to catch his face. There’s so much there. You can feel it the same way you see how worn his worry lines were when you were reunited back on Dantooine. It’s longing, loss, and, somewhere hidden, hope. You see the way he’s trying to convey everything—condolences for your parents, plans to get Din and the baby back to you, whatever was going on between him and Luke—but he can’t vocalize it. You nod at him, smiling softly. “Fly safe,” Wedge says finally, “and let me know where you land. No matter what,” he tacks on, at the last minute, and you see for a split second how concerned he is, “do not turn around. Do you understand me?”

You want to defy him. You want to say no. You don’t want to leave, you want to stay and fight. You promised Din all that time ago that you wouldn’t run, and here you are, deserting the people that you’re supposed to protect. Finally, though, because of the look in his eyes, you nod. “Don’t you dare let them touch you,” you manage, and your voice only cracks on the last word, which is an improvement. Wedge nods back, and then he’s gone, running through the hangar to his X-Wing. You watch him take off, and your eyes track the decoy ship that’s supposed to be yours, and as the three fighters go after it, you exhale and punch it. You’re moving fast, too fast, and your takeoff is sloppy, but you know Wedge wouldn’t tell you to book it if he didn’t mean it, so you fly recklessly and you fly fast.

When you hurtle out of the atmosphere, you catch one of the fighters diverting from the group to chase after you, so you don’t even bother punching in coordinates. You just floor it. “C’mon, Kicker,” you whisper, voice low and desperate, as she shudders and groans to hop into warp. “I know you want to go slow, but now is really not the time—”

And, like the rebel she is, she sputters down to nothing.

“Fuck!” you scream, loud, too loud, it hurts your own ears, but you get up and start pounding on the dashboard while the fighter’s getting closer and closer. You look out the window as you flip switches and slam on buttons, and now you’ve got their attention, too, and you watch in panic as the ships flock to you, firing, trying to hail you on your comm.

“This is an order from Moff Gideon. Turn of your shields and lower your blasters.”

“Like hell,” you spit, “Kicker, I’m serious, I need you to work now—”

“This is an order from Moff Gideon. You have been warned once.”

“Warn me again, then,” you seethe, closing your eyes as you disconnect one of the wires and try to spark it with the other.

“This is an order from Moff Gideon. You are resisting capture. If you disobey one more time, we will fire on you instead of taking you prisoner.”

You ignore them. If this works, the ship will finally hop into warp, and you’ll be in the clear not only to evade, but to shoot back at them. If it doesn’t, you’re about to die in a fiery explosion, and all of your promises to Wedge would go—very quickly—down the drain. You cross your heart and pray to the Maker that you did the right thing, and then there’s nothing, just three very large—and very scary—TIE fighters about to surround you and take you prisoner at best, and then, finally, the glorious rebel she is, Kicker thunders to life. “Yes!” you scream, buckling in, cracking your neck, putting one hand on the accelerator and one thumb over your blasters. You have a second to do this, and you need to do it right.

“This is your final warning. Either board our ship or die.”

“Die,” you answer, your voice calm and not much like yours. As you speak, you push the accelerator forward, hit warp, and fire. You catch the biggest fighter right on the wing, not a hard hit, but enough to knock it back into the other two.

“Get back here, scum—” the pilot shouts, but you’re already in hyperspace.

“That’s Rebel scum to you,” you say, and the grin that swallows up your whole face is worth every bit of the close call.

You don’t know where to go. You don’t really care, because the farther you get away from the Alliance, the safer they’ll be, so you just set Kicker to coast through warp and lean back, seeing how far she’ll take you. Maybe she’ll dump you on a desert planet, or maybe she’ll crash land you on Nevarro again. Your heart feels daggered, impaled. There’s no way you could go back there. Sure, maybe Din wouldn’t be there, but Cara would be, and Greef Karga, and all the other people you met in the Guild. They’d ask questions, for starters, and Cara might go after Din and kick the shit out of him, and it would just leave you on the verge of tears. You want to go somewhere populated, you think, like Dantooine was, even though you know you can’t go back there yet. It’s too fresh, and Gideon’s men might come looking, and, besides, if Din wants you back, he’s going to have to chase you a little.

“Novalise,” you whisper to yourself, echoing the time almost a decade ago where you only had your name out here to hold onto, to bring you back to life. It still sounds like yours—no matter Din knowing it, no matter how you shared it with Arlen, no matter that it’s what everyone in the Alliance calls you now, after you told Wedge you prefer it to your original name. It’s yours, and right now, your own self feels like home.

So you coast. You hop out of warp every few hours to make sure that no one’s after you, but no one seems to have tracked you anywhere. It’s quiet out here, but it’s not the kind of shattering silence that it used to be. You sleep sometimes, huddling under the next of blankets for warmth, and then you go back to your chair to spin and look out at the stars.

You’re not sure how long it takes, but it feels like a few days when you finally decide to hop out of warp for good. You’re not sure exactly where you are, but you need food, and you need fuel, and you don’t think you drifted into the Mid Rim. It takes a little searching for anywhere that looks populated, but when you drift into the middle of an asteroid field, you realize you’re in Polis Massa. You’ve never been here. It’s not as filled with people as it used to be, once you break through the atmosphere on the rock that holds the research base, but it’s large and it has food and fuel. This is where your dad would go, before he joined the Alliance. Here and Coruscant, or what was left of it, had the most history about language and linguistics, and he’d take day trips from Yavin to collect as much research as he could to bring back and share with you.

It feels familiar here. Even though it’s not home, or anything close to it, you know that there’s something pulling you here, and something anchoring you too. The city is dense, but there aren’t a lot of people out and about. It’s dark here, darker than you imagined, so when you park Kicker in a landing bay, you bring a small flashlight with you. People don’t pay you much mind out on the street, even while you’re dressed in glaring orange, which is comforting after the close call you just had back on Hoth.

You wander. For a while, until the city starts getting lighter on the horizon line. Soon, the cafes and small markets on the street open up, and you sit outside, still wrapped up in your parka, glad to not be shivering. You eat, eventually, and have a steaming mug of caf, which helps. You don’t live the way it makes you feel, all jittery and nervous, and you don’t love the taste, either, but you’re happy for the warmth. Eventually, people filter in and out of the streets and you start to make your way deeper into the heart of the city.

You trip over the cobblestones at one point, practically launching yourself into the person ahead of you. You wince at his dirty look. “Sorry!” you call after him, and you hear him grumbling, but he acknowledges you with a nod. When you stand back up, you see where you are—the research institute your dad always talked about, where he’d go and spend hours reading about the different languages in the galaxy, to write them down and bring them back to you. You hesitate, for a second, and then you’re climbing the stone steps, driven by ache and longing.

It’s massive in here. It’s gorgeous, but huge, and the shelves are stacked all the way up to the ceiling. You have no idea where to start, but you pick an aisle at random and start browsing. You’re not sure what you’re looking for, if it’s something to connect you with your family or to connect you to this new life you’re haphazardly building for yourself, but you stumble again and nearly knock over the librarian.

“I’m so sorry,” you manage, seeing how tiny she is, how frail. “I’m sorry. I—”

“It’s quite all right, dear,” she answers, kindly, adjusting the wire-rimmed glasses on her face. “Can I hep you find anything?”

“The…language section,” you say, decidedly, eyes still caught on how many books there are here, how many years it would take you to read every one. “Linguistics.”

You follow her deeper into the labyrinth of bookcases, and when she shows you where the linguistics shelves are, you thank her excessively, your gaze buried deep on the titles on the spines. Most of them are in Basic, likely for inclusive access to anyone who ventures here, but there’s so many that have unfamiliar letters, the way they jut out and curl around themselves, and when your finger finds one, it falls open.

You don’t know what it is at first. You just feel called to it, opening it up and poring over the pages, and then a familiar word catches your eye. Kar’taylir. To know. To hold in the heart. Your own heart catches in your throat, stomach twisting itself over in impossible knots. You slam the cover closed to look closer at the text, and you realize it’s a dictionary of Mando’a, and all its translations.

There are tears in your eyes. You came here, to be closer to your father, sure, but also because you wanted to build something new. And you walked through these doors that held millions of books, and the one you picked out was a dictionary of language that your fiancé shared with you. It’s too much. You choke back a quiet sob, hoping everyone else here for research can’t hear your silenced wailing. Against your better judgement, you tear through the pages, looking for the familiar syllables, and when your finger finds the word cyar’ika, you have to close your eyes and desperately beg your heart to stop beating so horrifically, to slow the pulse down.

You follow the word over to its translation in Basic. Cyar’ika, it reads, sweetheart, beloved.

Beloved. Beloved. It says beloved, it doesn’t just mean sweet thing, it doesn’t mean that you’re kind and close to his heart. Din had been calling you his beloved for months, and then he fucking left you.

It’s too much. Everything is hot and fuzzy. You slam the book shut, heart pounding a staccato in your chest. Immediately, you get up and run. You don’t know where you’re going. In hindsight, you should have put the book back, but you didn’t. You’re running. You promised Din you’d never run, but he promised you forever and then stole it away, so you don’t owe him a damn thing anymore. You’re crying, loudly, openly, and when you rush by the same librarian you toss her a halfhearted apology.

You trip going down the steps, bang your knee up something horrible. It makes your eyes flash white hot for a second, but you pick yourself up and just keep going. You only have a vague idea where Kicker is, but you run in that general direction, blood dripping down your scraped knee, and then you’ve found the landing slot. You hurry up the ladder, not even bothering to get out the bacta kit that you stowed in the hull of the ship, just desperate to get out of here, to go somewhere else. It doesn’t matter.

You have history with Din on so many planets, it’s impossible to pick one where he won’t be hanging in the air. But something feels horribly right about heading to Tatooine, considering he hates desert planets and you can hide in plain sight. Maybe you’ll go to Mos Eisley and pick up bartending, maybe you’ll be a hermit that lives in the sand, maybe you’ll learn to speak Tusken and really never be seen from again. But before you breach the atmosphere, you call Wedge.

“Rebel girl,” he sighs, coming in almost immediately. “I was worried. You didn’t respond earlier.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. That seems to be the only thing you can utter today. “I—I went into warp for a while, turned off my comm. I was just on Polis Massa, just for the day, but it’s not—”

“Safe there,” Wedge interrupts, and you want to tell him that’s not what you meant, but he’s still talking. “We intercepted the comms of some of the people sticking close to the Empire. There’s enemies there, I’m glad you got out.”

“Me too,” you say quietly. “I’m going to Tatooine. Not forever, just for a bit. I figure I can ditch Kicker—the ship—somewhere safe and get some sort of job for a few weeks, throw people off my trail.”

“Good call,” Wedge says, then he sighs. “Luke’s from there, you know.”

You swallow. “I know. Listen, don’t tell anyone else where I am, but if he asks—”

“I’ll tell him where you are,” Wedge assures you. “Can you get word out to your fiancé?”

You gulp, slowly coating towards the atmosphere line, watching how your whole vision fills up with sun and sand. “I’m not sure,” you say, barely anything at all. “Listen, Wedge, I gotta go. Thank you for checking in on me. I’ll tell you if I’m headed anywhere else.”

“Do that,” he agrees. “Lay low. Unless you need to go after Gideon. But if that happens, you call me. You have to promise you’ll let me help. Not the full Alliance, if you don’t want our guns and ships. But you have to call me. I’m not letting you go in there alone.”

Your eyes fill up with tears. You don’t have the energy to argue, really, so you don’t. You just nod, slowly, finding a safe place to land. “I promise,” you say eventually.

“Nova?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful.” You hear the line go dead, but you nod again against your own company in the cockpit. “

“I will,” you manage, low and deliberate.

It’s hot out here. It’s a no-brainer, you know how relentless Tatooine’s suns are, but it’s even worse than you imagined. You shed the parka, most of the jumpsuit, and tie your hair up on the top of your head before you step out into the sand, but even then, in just your tank top and light pants, it’s ridiculously hot. You struggle for the first few klicks, and then the suns slowly start to go over the horizon, and it’s a bit more bearable. You drink the last of your water, and keep stumbling closer and closer to a settlement.

It’s not Mos Eisley, but it’s a cantina. Smaller, probably lower profile, and you stagger in with your empty water canteen and your bag full of the few credits you have left, and you pick a small table out of the way to sit down upon. The wall is cool, and you press yourself up against it as you signal the waitress.

She’s definitely not human, but you’re not sure what race she is, because the dark in here is such a stark contrast against how blinding the light was outside, and your eyes haven’t fully adjusted. “Hi,” you say, your voice coming out cracked. “Can I please get some water, and—and something to eat?”

“What would you like?” she asks, and you balk at the menu, all of which has meat on it. The thought of putting anything made out of mat in your mouth makes your stomach roil, so you shake your head.

“Is there anything you offer—um, that doesn’t have meat?” you ask, and your words come out small.

“We have a plate of vegetables,” she answers, “but they’re not the freshest—”

“I don’t care,” you interrupt, warmly, “that’s fine, thank you.”

She gives you a soft smile and offers you a whole pitcher of water. You should pour some in your canteen, but you just start drinking straight from the jug, gulping it down as fast as you can, trying to get rid of the dry heat in the back of your throat. When she comes back with your food, the water it totally drained, and you ask for a refill as your stomach grumbles.

“Can I get anything else for you?” she asks, and you shake your head, and she starts walking away.

“Wait,” you call after her, mouth full of food, “wait—uh, do you happen to have any positions open? For a job? I can’t offer much, but I’m a good cook, or I could clean, I’m good at that too—”

“What’s your name?”

You swallow around your mouth of food. “Novalise. And I usually have much better manners than this, I’m sorry.”

She smiles. “I’m Kuna,” she answers. “We only have pick-up jobs available around here right now, I’m afraid. It’s not steady pay, but it’s something, and at least it’s out of the heat.”

“Yes,” you say immediately, “yes, I would love that, whatever you have for me. Thank you.”

Kuna nods. “Dinner’s on the house,” she says, voice still lowered, “and you can come back sometime tomorrow to start, if that works.”

“Yes,” you nod. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you so much.”

You sleep better that night than you have in the last week, which isn’t saying much, but at least the hulking silence of being alone in the ship is satiated with the knowledge that you’re not going to be easily accessible to anyone that doesn’t wander into the cantina, and after you hike back to Kicker, you fly her closer to the hangar on the edge of town and cover most of the ship with a tarp you find rolled up in the hull. As long as stormtroopers or anyone associated with Gideon doesn’t stop in the hangar on the outskirts of town, you’re safe.

The work is hard, and slow, but it’s rewarding. It gives you that same distracted feeling that working with Arlen at the hostel did, and something to show for it. You mostly clean, sweeping out the freshers and scrubbing down the bar, but you get the stools spotless and you’re able to polish the backs and seats of some of the other cluttered chairs, moving tables back and forth to best optimize the space. After a few weeks of working a handful of days, Kuna lets you back behind the bar. Mostly, you’re making small drinks, no big cocktails or anything fancy, but you like it. It’s nice to interact with people, even if you don’t share a language with them, and it keeps your mind off the book of Mando’a and Din stranding you on Dantooine after promising you an eternity.

You don’t care that it’s temporary. There’s nothing momentary about heartbreak, nothing compartmentalized enough for you to simply forgive him. Not now. And maybe not ever. But your heart yearns for Grogu. Whenever you let your mind wander, you tap into the Force as much as you can, searching for him, or searching for Luke Skywalker, trying to figure out if they’re okay, if Grogu is still under Gideon’s grasp, and in the corners of your visions, you look for Din.

It’s involuntary. It hurts, and it leaves you reeling, heart spinning out into an abyss you can’t cartograph your way back from. So you try to stay distracted, try to keep busy. Days pass, and you’re not sure for how long, but they’re filled with work and you sleep at the end of them, restless, with nightmares, but you’re still getting sleep, and that’s all that matters right now.

Kuna lets you start serving drinks unsupervised, which isn’t much, but it makes you feel accomplished. The whole cantina looks better every day you’re here, and it’s something to be proud of, especially since you haven’t done anything to call attention to yourself other than being a woman in the middle of a skeevy bar in the desert, which just means you attract creeps instead of stormtroopers. It’s a good bargain. One night, you serve a regular, a Twi’lek with green skin, not purple, and you can look at her without seeing Xi’an, her dead body, or Din. She’s kind, and she asks about you as much as you ask about her, and you walk out of the bar to clean up the mess one group of people left behind, letting the rest of the people filter out for closing time.

When you hear your name, you think you’re hallucinating it. It comes out of nowhere, and the voice that it comes from is familiar, trusting, warm. And there’s the kicker: it’s unmodulated. You’re pretty sure you’re imagining it, because you’ve spent so many nights playing over Din’s voice in your mind, his promises, the way he broke them. And still, you freeze, turning around, feeling completely suspended on the space-time continuum.

Standing there, unmasked, heartbreak written all over his face, is your Mandalorian.

as always, reply here or send me a message to be added to the taglist!!!

I HOPE YOU LOVED IT!!! thank you all for being patient and bearing with me these past few weeks!! i promise more is coming, and we still have the whole last arc to go, so SM isn't ending soon ;) and when it does? i already have plans for a sequel in the works!

so sorry again that this is a day late!!! i hope you loved it anyway <3

xoxo, amelie

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theavengerfairy · 4 years

Text

One Step Closer - Chapter 3

Previously known as “Gravity”

"My King! King Ezran, wake up!"

"Mmm, five more minutes...."

Never before had Corvus defied an order, especially the order of a king regardless of whether or not he was half asleep upon its issue, but after a nanosecond of hesitation, he shook Ezran a little more forcefully while leaning a little closer to the boy's ear. "King Ezran, you need to wake up!"

"Alright, I'm up. I'm up." Groaning, the young king sluggishly dragged himself up into a sit and rubbed his eyes to clear away the lingering heaviness of sleep in his eyelids. As the world came into focus before him, he was puzzled to find Corvus kneeling in front of him, his usually impassive demeanor now riddled with anxiety that reached out to snag hold of him as well, and his bewilderment only grew when he noticed the darkness looming around them. "Corvus, what time is it? Bait, a little light please?"

No answer. Not even a grumpy grunt.

"Bait?"

Ezran's heart began to pound against his ribs as his eyes scanned his surroundings, a small, rather humid cave that was really more of a pocket in a wall of rock, but no matter where he looked, he could not find a yellow lump dotted with blue patches tucked away even in the darkest crevice of the den.

"My King-"

"Corvus, where's Bait?! Where are we?!"

Corvus's head dropped shamefully down between his shoulders, his eyes fixated on the stone floor because he could not bring himself to look Ezran in the face. "I...I do not know. I recall filling the canteens back up at the stream along the edge of our campsite while you slept, but after that...nothing."

"We need to find Bait and get out of here." By this point, Ezran was on his feet, his hands cupping around his lips to amplify his voice as he began calling out the glowtoad's name, "Bait! Bait, where are you-"

Faster than an archer's arrow, Corvus clamped a hand over the young king's mouth and yanked him to his chest, his eyes darting wildly about. "Lower your voice, my king! Whatever enemy brought us here might hear you!"

As if on cue, a sultry yet eerie chuckle shook the walls of the cavern, and Corvus grip on Ezran tightened till it was almost painful while his head snapped to look behind them at what the young king assumed was the cave's entrance.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to wake up."

Despite Corvus's best efforts to shield Ezran from the view of whoever or whatever was addressing them, the latter managed to wriggle loose from the hold of the former and peeked out his head just enough to catch a glimpse of their captor. Given the number of unusual characters that had entered into his life in the past few weeks, he shouldn't have been surprised to see that their newest foe was hardly human, but his youthful wonder remained undaunted despite the current situation. Below the man's waist where his legs should've been, a mighty cerulean tail instead swished lazily back and forth, its scales glittered likes hundreds of polished sapphires even in the dim lighting. His golden eyes and the golden jewelry hanging from his ears, wrists, and neck glowed equally as bright against the contrast of his caramel skin and midnight black hair that momentarily floated around his head like it had a mind of its own before settling against his chiseled shoulders and collarbone. He should have been utterly mesmerising, but the sinister smile that stretched across his face broke the enchantment of his physique with the revelation that his beauty was merely skin deep.

"Hmm, I was expecting a bit more awestruck of a reaction with a healthy dose of terror, but I suppose moderately stupefied will do." the merman purred coyly as he flashed the boy a smug side-eye.

His instincts whispered for him to be afraid and to recede back into the shadows once more, but instead, when Corvus reached out to push Ezran back behind him, the young king swatted his hand away and marched a few steps closer to the cave's entrance, chin raised and shoulders squared in brazen defiance. Never, not even in his final hours, had his father cowered before an enemy, and neither would he.

"Who are you? Why did you bring us here? Where is Bait?"

"Oh good, you've got some fight in you after all. I was worried about things becoming mundane." the merman sneered with perverse delight as though Ezran were merely some animal that had just performed a trick for him, "However, I'll be the one asking the questions here, your majesty."

"I'm not saying anything until you give back Bait!"

"Oh? Is that so? You think you are in a position to make such a demand?" With a single flick of his tail fin, the merman was a mere inch away from the mouth of the crevice, startling Ezran into stumbling back a few steps while Corvus lunged to insert himself between the two of them. However, with a rumbling chuckle that rang off the walls of the tiny cavern, he gracefully glided back again, his grin now stretching from ear to ear. "Normally, I would have just killed your for such defiance, but I find your naivety rather...entertaining."

With another swish of his tail, the merman was gone, the cloud of bubbles left in his wake serving as the only proof that he had been there a moment before. Unfortunately, the brief period of peace lasted a little over two seconds before he reappeared, a squirming blob of blue and yellow with a glowing rune on its underside held out as far away from him as he could reach.

"Here's your fish bait, though I don't think you catch anything impressive with it. This one seems to have gone sour, and we sea-dwellers are more finicky about flavor than you would think."

"Bait!" Without thinking, Ezran immediately lunged to grab the glowtoad, but Corvus again blocked his path.

"No, my king! Let me get him."

Mild annoyance briefly flickered inside Ezran, but knowing that Corvus was merely trying to protect him, he stepped back without argument. Every muscle in Corvus' body tensed as he slowly inched toward the mouth of the hollow, which rippled and glistened as though some kind of gelatinous membrane had been stretched across it, but no sooner had he dipped his hand into the water did the merman hurl Bait at Ezran and snatch hold of the tracker's wrist, dragging him into the water.

"Corvus!"

Before the human had any time to react and start flailing, the merman painted an intricate, glowing rune identical to the one decorating Bait's underbelly onto the palm of his hand, which he then forcefully slammed against Corvus' throat. An involuntary gasp wrenched the tracker's mouth wide open, but instead of icy water, humid but refreshing air rushed into his lungs.

"I...I can breathe..." Corvus' astonishment wore off rather quickly, and upon noticing that the merman had let go of him, he immediately tried to throw himself at the creature in the best assault that he could manage while suspended in water. Unfortunately, his actions proved ill-advised as the merman easily swatted him away with his tail, sending him flying backwards into the bed of gravel below where he groaned and wheezed for a moment before trying to push himself back up.

"Are you done or do I need to smack you around some more for you to realize that you are in no position to take me head-on?" the merman jeered while lazily floating on his back a yard or so above Corvus' head, seeming quite carefree despite having just been attacked.

"You are making a huge mistake. The armies of Katolis will hunt you down and gut you like the slimy fish you are-"

"If you are going to waste my time with empty threats, I can just kill you and lure someone else down here who is willing to do whatever is necessary to rescue the boy."

"What do you want?"

With slow, languid movements, the creature glided effortlessly in a tight circle around Corvus before tucking his tail fin beneath the man's chin, forcing their eyes to meet.

"Rumor has it that Katolis stole the egg of the Dragon Prince as opposed to destroying it, and a shift in the magical energy on this side of the border has me convinced that they took something else from the lair of the Dragon King as well."

"That's all? You kidnapped us because of a hunch-"

"Please don't interrupt; it's rude." the merman chastised him with a firm thwack to the underside of his jaw for good measure. "You will go back to Katolis and search every crevice of the kingdom for a mirror decorated with runes. Bring this mirror back to me and I will release the three of you, unharmed."

"How long do I have?"

"The water-to-air enchantment that I've cast over the hollow will expire in about a week. Oh, and just so we're completely clear, don't even try bringing reinforcements back with you. I'm not particularly fond of uninvited guests." Skimming away again, the merman began tracing out another rune, this one much larger than the first, in the water. "Now, take one last big gulp of air. You will no longer be able to breathe once you have left my home."

With that, he pushed the rune outwards, and a mighty current dragged Corvus down large tunnel located on the other side of the larger cavern. Glancing back at the little pocket in the rocky wall, the creature caught a glimpse of the glower the young king was sending his way while he held the glowtoad protectively in his little arms.

"This isn't anything personal, your majesty. It's just business."

--------------------------------------

"You have until noon to meet us by the grove of wild pear trees on the other side of the town, understand? Don't get distracted and lose track of time!"

Anora's words repeated in Callum's mind as his eyes wandered to the sky above only for him to immediately regret his rather foolish choice as the bright sunlight stung his eyes.

"Are you sure that this is a shortcut because I'm starting to think that taking the main road would've been faster- Ow! When did a crate get there?"

"With as crowded as the main road gets at this time of day, these alleys are definitely going to get us to the shop sooner. Also, maybe if you kept looking ahead instead of up, you would've seen the crate coming." Madeleine replied rather smugly as she rounded a corner, quickly grabbing hold of Callum's sleeve and pulling him with her so that he wouldn't smack into the brick wall directly in front of him.

"Alright, you got me. How do you know that this blacksmith will help us, though?"

"Tobias only has one kid and the twit doesn't know a thing about smithing to save his life, so in exchange for my help with his shop, he gives Anora and I whatever supplies we need to survive." Glancing back at the prince, she added rather in a teasing tone, "What did you think we lived off of? Berries and grubs?"

The mention of grubs brought a wave of unpleasant phantom bugs slinking about in Callum's throat and stomach, nearing causing him to gag aloud, but the prince quite literally swallowed the sensation and blocked the memory of Lujanne's "cooking" from his mind before it could make him sick again.

"I might be getting a little too personal here, but you and Anora seem to really trust and care for each other."

"So do you and Rayla."

Callum's cheeks lit up with bright pink fire, but he continued to ramble on as if he hadn't heard the remark, though his words were noticeably more jumbled and rushed now, "How did you two get like that? I mean, why did you start to trust each other? Rayla and I had the common goal of getting Zym home and ending the war, and even then it took awhile for us to warm up to each other."

A blanket of sincerity settled over Maddie, momentarily masking her impish nature, and a softer, sweeter smile replaced her mischievous grin. "Well, Anora was gentle and kind and beautiful; basically she was the exact opposite of everything that I had been taught about elves. The whole saving my life thing definitely helped with winning me over too. It still took time for us to reach the point we're at now, but a little compassion can take you a long way. Any more burning questions?"

"Well, actually-"

"Oh look at that, we're here!"

Callum's unamused glower went entirely unnoticed by Madeleine as she waltzed up the short set of creaky stairs that led up to a little porch with a back door, the gleaming brass knob looking extremely out of place next to the weathered wood that somehow didn't give way as Madeleine yanked on the handle.

For some reason, the groaning of the door sent a flurry of uneasy butterflies fluttering about in Callum's stomach. "Are you sure that we can just come in this way? Maybe we should circle around to the front-"

"Callum, you're overthinking this. I already told you that Tobias is a friend. Look, you can wait out here if you really want to, but this is all gonna go a lot faster if I have an extra set of hands to help carry the supplies."

She made some good points, and while a few of his nerves still flitted about in an anxious tizzy, most of Callum's initial jitters had subsided. However, his feet still dragged somewhat as he trudged through the door in pursuit of Madeleine after she had already disappeared inside.

Callum had somewhat been expecting a blast of muggy heat to the face as the miniature hallway attached to the back entrance widened into what he assumed was the back room and workspace of the blacksmith's shop, but the air was actually cooler than it had been outside. The stone forge located against the wall on their left was completely dark and appeared to have been that way for at least a few days, and the room was unexpectedly tidy and free of any loose pieces or signs of labor. Callum didn't have to ask Madeleine if something was wrong; the bewilderment with a pinch of apprehension smeared across her face told him all he needed to know.

"Maybe we should go meet back up with Rayla and Anora and try again later. He could just be out at the moment-"

Madeleine didn't even hear Callum as she wandered past the cold forge and the untouched tools lined up neatly in their appropriate spots and poked her head through the doorway that led to the front of the shop. This room too was devoid of the usual signs of life as particles of dusted lazily floated around the room instead of browsing customers and the bell above the front door hung still and silent. The daylight streaming through the windows provided enough light for Madeleine to carefully navigate her way over to the service counter without bumping into anything, but it was just as bare as the back room aside from a faint blanket of dust.

It wasn't long before Callum poked his head into the room as well. "Madeleine?"

"Tobias always leaves a note if he has to go somewhere, even if it's on short notice."

"Maybe he just forgot."

"No, that just isn't like him. I know he said that he would be leaving to go sell some wares at a fair towards the outskirts of Katolis soon, but even after telling me ahead of time, he still would've left a note just in case."

"Well, what do we do now?"

Madeleine was at a complete loss, and it was at that moment that the squeal of the back door being opened again rang out throughout the shop. Mind clouded with relieved excitement, she dashed past Callum back into the workroom only to clumsily skid to a stop when she was met not my the jolly old blacksmith with tanned skin, a kind face, and an unruly black beard that she had come to adore but by a lanky young man with a harsh scowl and even harsher eyes.

Callum and Madeleine both hardly dared to breathe as the newcomer regarded them with surprise followed by anger and then malevolence, his lips stretching from a tight line into a dastardly sneer.

"Well, what have we here? Two rotten little thieves snooping around in my dad's shop?"

The hairs on the back of Madeleine's neck rose on end. "What are you talking about, Midan? You know full well that your dad and I have a deal to work together. Where is he?"

"A deal, you say? You got this deal written down on paper?"

"What? No!"

"No? Then you might just be lying to me so I don't call the authorities on you for breaking in and trying to steal from my old man. I knew you were going to be trouble from the moment Dad told me about you, little rat."

"We weren't going to steal anything! I just need to talk to Tobias-"

"The only person you're going to be talking to is the sheriff," Midan hissed before slyly adding, "unless, of course, you give me a good reason for not turning you over."

Callum's heart had jumped into his throat as Midan and Madeleine were arguing, but he nonetheless managed to find his voice somehow, though there was a distinct quiver to it now. "We need help. We're going on a long and important journey and we need supplies-"

"Couldn't care less." Midan sharply cut in, not even sparing Callum so much as a glance. Instead, he kept his eyes locked on Madeleine, his devilish grin never wavering as he waited for her to arrive at the conclusion he knew she would have to face.

"What do you want?"

And there it was.

"Well, with Dad in the hospital after breaking his foot a few days ago, it seemed that I was going to have to regretfully withdraw the business from this year's Five Kingdoms' Artisans Fair since...well..."

"You can't even craft a chamber pot?" Madeleine quickly chipped in, not one to miss the opportunity for a witty jab even in her current circumstances.

Midan's smile soured but he tried to pretend as though the girl's comment inflicted no damage upon his pride. "You and your friend here are going on a journey, huh? Well, it looks like your trip is going to include a pitstop at the fair. Now won't that be fun?"

#tdp #THE DRAGON PRINCE #tdp oc #tdp fanfic #tdp fanfiction #runaan #tdp runaan #runaan x oc #tdp callum #tdp rayla #tdp zym #tdp ezran #tdp corvus #Runaan

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