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The Razor Crest is parked in a valley miles from the village. The countryside on this remote planet consists of high rolling hills and deep valleys — all the better for hiding a ship.
The Mandalorian keeps his head down, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. He recognises this hill — “We’re almost there,” he tells Grogu. The only indication that the child has heard him is a momentary flick of an ear in his direction. “Just a little farther.”
The hills here are covered in a thick layer of lush grass that has thrived in the temperate climate and brushes Din’s knees. For Grogu every step is a huge undertaking — for the first part of their journey he had slept peacefully in his sling and Din had made great progress wading through the grass. But then ten minutes ago Grogu had awoken and demanded in his own way — wriggling and whining — to be put down.
Now night has completely fallen and they are making very slow progress indeed — Din allows Grogu to set the pace, lighting the path for Grogu with his head torch. Small bugs flit across the beam between them as Grogu does his best to sweep aside the tall grass blades and step through the gaps he has made. The only sounds are the chattering of insects, the rustle of the grass and the tiny grunts of effort from Grogu.
As they finally crest the hill, as was inevitable, Grogu trips — he falls backwards, arms flapping in concern, and lands on his bottom on a natural cushion of flattened grass.
Din, a few paces behind, stops and lets out a fond chuckle.
Din’s good humour fades a few moments later when Grogu doesn’t get up — he just shifts slightly, settles on the grass, his large eyes focused on the sky.
“You okay, kid?” Din asks, uncertainty colouring his voice. He closes short the distance between them, the tips of his boots stopping just shy of Grogu’s head. He bends over at the waist to get a better look at Grogu on the ground — the child squints at the torch’s beam in his eyes, tries to use his tiny hands to block out the light. Din winces in sympathy. “Sorry,” he mutters, straightening to switch the torch off.
His helmet’s visor takes a couple of seconds to adjust to the change in lighting conditions before he can make out Grogu’s small shape in the grass again.
Grogu makes awed cooing sounds at the sky as he lies on his back. Reassured that he is showing no signs of distress after his fall, Din decides to copy him and looks up at the sky too.
Since he last looked up, the stars have come out — tiny, insignificant pinpricks of light against an inky black sky. Grogu, however, is enthralled, and Din makes a decision, mentally noting how close they are to the ship. “Fine, we’ll take a break,” he says with a sigh, grunting gently as he sits down on the grass beside the child. “Don’t get your hopes up, it’s just for five minutes.”
He stretches his legs out in front of him and Grogu doesn’t ask permission before he crawls onto Din’s lap and makes himself comfortable. “Ten minutes,” he concedes, without genuine reluctance.
Grogu sits and watches the sky, Din sweeps his gaze over the moonlit valley below them — and he loses track of time. A sense of naak washes over him, and the question of whether or not ten minutes have passed ceases to be relevant.
A vague memory comes to the surface, fuzzy around the edges — he looked at the stars once upon a time, sitting snug and secure between his mother and his father. He remembers little details like how his mother’s hair kept falling over his face when she whispered the name of a star to him or the rumble of his father’s chest as he talked. He doesn’t remember what the sky or the stars looked like.
Din takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. He knows in his heart, here, on this beautiful planet with his foundling resting safely on his lap, that he wants to see the stars. He wants to commit the night sky to his memory. He wants to experience this with his ad’ika without the barrier of a helmet between them.
He keeps Gorgu steady on his lap with one hand and carefully lifts the helmet off his head with the other. He places it with care on the grass at his hip.
Din feels the gentle breeze in his hair, lets out a steadying breath and opens his eyes. He blinks, his eyes focusing, and tilts his head back.
The night sky isn’t black at all — it’s a perfect mixture of deep blues and purples behind faint wisps of clouds that pass lazily overhead. The stars are brighter, appear closer, almost as if he could reach out and touch them.
“Funny,” he says after a few moments, “I forgot how the stars looked with no helmet on.”
At the sound of Din’s voice without a filter, Grogu is broken out of his reverie and turns to him. Din can just about make out his features in the moonlight. Din tenses slightly — Grogu has never seen his face. He musters his courage and meets the child’s gaze — Grogu’s eyes aren’t the pure black that the helmet had led Din to believe.
Grogu reaches up, places a feather-light touch to Din’s cheek. He babbles something when his claws scrape at the stubble on his buir ’s chin and Din thinks he understands what Grogu means.
“Hello,” Din replies softly, a nervous smile twitching on his face as he speaks, and Grogu is fascinated. He lets out a happy squeak — the feeling of acceptance almost overwhelms Din and his heart swells.
He can still see the stars, reflected back at him in Grogu’s eyes.
Something streaks across the reflection and Din looks up, breaking eye contact to see what it is. “Grogu,” he says quietly, pointing, “look.” Grogu follows his finger and coos as several shooting stars pass by overhead.
Din hugs Grogu a little closer as they sit on the hill and watch the shooting stars together.
The world around him blurs slightly as it hits Din how Grogu looked at him, at his face, into his eyes…
He looked at Din with the same reverence with which he looked at the sky.