Chapter Text
The soft sounds of wild birds ring through the cooling air as the day begins to wind down. A gloved finger engages a new function as a code is pressed into the keypad on a freshly dusted Beskar Mandalorian vambrace. The sound of a holo recorder warms up and begins its function with a soft beep. Din Djarin lets out a gentle sigh, almost a grunt as the last bit of air is poured out.
“ Uhh, ok. This is my first log... I mean entry into this journal. This kind space wizard said his friend Lando introduced him to the concept of organizing my personal memories. Said this will, well…”
The Mandalorians' shoulders drop as he exhales, trying to relax, and recall moments of his past; he had not thought about those experiences in a long time..
“…Help me process things that have been on my mind lately. Ok… well. Where do I start?”.
He sits back in his chair overlooking a small pond, listening to the sounds of frogs and insects as the evening approaches.
“I was only a young boy when my adoptive father Din found me. Kriff, sometimes... Sometimes I can still feel my mother’s face against mine…”
The Mandalorians' empty stare pauses for a moment in silence, trying to find the words.
”I wonder if they’re still out there, looking for me…”
He adjusts a-bit, almost squirming in his seat.
”...surely I would have died in that vegetable box had my new Aliit not protected me. My adoptive father Din Rawn knew I had already lost so much. He gave me a new path to follow; taught me to bury my loss; and by the end of the Clone War I had trained myself to become a warrior. Damn near completed my verd'goten . Training to become a Mandalorian was not for the faint of heart. Not everyone recites the oath, or takes up the creed. “
He watches as a bug is eaten by some sort of orange acrobatic jumping pond creature, all as the sun sets behind the hills.
”The thing about loss is; the more frequently it happens the easier it is to lose… I just don’t think holding it in has ever really help-me any. It’s just… ever since I held that saber. I can’t help but feel the heaviness of my past, so that’s what you’re here for, ugh. Journal. The truth is, I don’t want to be crushed like that weapon…”
He looks directly into the recorder for a moment, rubbing the thigh he had sliced not too long ago, checking his surroundings before continuing
” I still think of that night, when my covert fought tooth and nail as Grogu and I fled Nevarro, to save the little one. Now look where we are…“
Soft playful babbles can be heard in the background as Din Djarin looks the opposite direction for a moment before he continues sighing softly…given how he’s never spoken to anyone about his past, let alone himself.
“By the time I was ten, I had already completed enough of my combat training, excelling in knives and hand to hand combat. The Armorer crafted me my first helmet. It was sky blue and dark auburn, just how I dreamed. That next day as I recited the Creed. My father Din Rawn was so proud. He raised me above his head, flying us up to touch the skies ‘Good job, Kid,’ he’d say.”
There is a pause, as if he was admiring the memories with a welcomed embrace.
“I can still hear the warmth in his voice, as he tossed me in the air, catching me into his arms. I remember the feeling of his gauntlets gently digging into my back. That helmet was the first thing I ever earned for myself since the end of the Clone Wars and the rise of the Empire. My father was often sent off on missions for the covert, leaving me with my aunts and uncles, even when I said I had no problem taking care of the foundlings myself. ‘ Aliit ori'shya tal'din. Family is more than blood’. An ancient Mandalorian tenet that I hope to pass to Din Grogu.”
He taps his hand just below the place where his chin sits, Din Djarin’s features hidden by his Freshly dusted Mandalorian helmet. The soft image of the night sky reflects off of the surface, the scene shifting as he shifts back into his seat.
”I can only hope that I’m right. That I can truly trust my Aliit, as I have been fooled in the past. I hope that the kid is up to the challenge and can follow the way of The Mandalore … Still don’t think he understands the importance of following The Way…. I worry that instead I could be setting him up for failure”
Din Djarin looks off in the distance, taking his surroundings in and, noticing that the night has settled in and Grogu has started to rest in his hovering pram.
”Good, he’s asleep…From what that wizard, Luke, explained, Grogu has already faced so many trials in his past life as a Pa-da-wan. It’s a small galaxy, and we’ve both lost everything by the end of the Clone War. It hurts me to think that Grogu had lost any sense of self, and was moved, sold, or otherwise abused by his captures, falling deeper into his deepest darkest depression. I’m still trying to figure out why? That even though I have everything I ever wanted, this all feels like a horrible nightmare and I’m going to wake up back on that star cruiser alone… But, I’m not alone. I’ve got to make some decisions here, I have a clan to watch over; I can’t just sit on my rocking chair and watch the sun rise and set. If only, I could’ve..!“
He pauses, noticing that he’s just yelling at himself now, but it didn't feel good. Ahsoka says that one has to release these aggressive feelings, and that we’re in charge of finding healthy ways to get them out. So he takes a breath. In for eight seconds, out for eight seconds. This was an exercise the other kind wizard Ahsoka had taught Din Djarin, She said that ‘it was an ancient Jedi warrior practice to focus both Grogu’s mind and his own. He is just starting to understand how useful the practice is.
“When I was a boy, I became really good at fighting. And one night when my father was away, my Uncle Chio had asked me if I wanted to make money. I agreed to do whatever he had asked. Well, he and I flew over to the dark side of Concordia. It was just me, my uncle, and Ten other Mandos I had never seen before. I remember a tall ward wearing red and black armor and his tower of an apprentice, wearing a newly constructed helmet, like mine but with sharp spikes at the top. I thought it was too flashy, but who was I to judge? To this day I haven’t even bothered to complete my new armor’s paint job… Anyways, my Uncle Chio and the red Mando ward had worked out the rules. There were no rules, besides no weapons.”
Din Djarin takes a moment trying to remember what came next. He can't help but sigh deeply when it comes back to him.
“The red ward placed a camera down and said that the dark holonet was going to love this. Then the red Mando, my uncle Chio, the other Wards, and whoever they were talking to over the holonet made their wagers. I had never seen so many credits in person… So, the red Mandalorian apprentice and I took our sides in the sand. The red Ward gave his apprentice only what I assumed at the time was a pep talk; I can still see and hear the red Mando Ward yelling into that poor kid's face. At least my Uncle Chio didn’t yell at me. He just crossed his arms, leaning against the ship and nodding.”
Din adjusts himself, noticing he was beginning to slouch.
“I wish I had just come clean to my dad. He had tried to warn me saying that Uncle Chio drinks too much and that it makes him mean at night. I just laughed thinking he was being silly.“
Din Djarin can see that his pulse is rising through his vizor's hud as the flood gate of emotion that is this early childhood memory is unlocked. It is almost too much for the Mandalorian. clears his throat trying his best to get the words out…
“My uncle drew a circle in the ground and then called for the match to begin.”
A memory vividly flashes through Din Djarin’s mind. A gruesome, and chaotic scene of two children fighting. Not for honor, not for rising in my coverts ranks, and definitely not in the Mandalore's name. The fight was for nothing more than cold hard credit and clout on the streets. Locking in on how his opponent walks looking for any patterns in their steps, counting each inch as they close the distance.
“I was so young, the Creed was so fresh to me, I thought I knew it all…I remember the feeling. Hearing my heart beating so fast but time was moving so slow around me. I had already landed three blows before the red apprentice managed to grab me. Having flipped me over. It was a trick I had seen my father use, in a fight with a Devaronian bounty. They thought he had me, but I out maneuvered him, rolling out of his reach. Despite being the smaller kid in the fight, I stood tall, using my agility against him. Adapting to my opponent’s fighting style, quickly thinking of a new strategy. He got a few body shots in, I reacted by driving my foot high and around his block of my elbow and laying down a right kick into the side of his head, switching my stance mid- strike and landing an even more powerful left leg combo kick into his stomach. I needed that fight to be over quick. I had younger foundlings to look after back in the covert.“
The Mandalorian gets lost in thought, re-processing that night after so long. The wave of emotion hits him like a freighter; the pain of each traded blow stinging his muscles reflexively. He stretches out his shoulders.
”Before this Fighting was honor bound, I knew when to stop and take me Vod’s hand, lifting them in solidarity of a well fought match…But, this. I can still smell the scent of sweat and blood as it burns through my helmet's filtration system. Was it mine or his… An honorable Warden would have called the match by then, or. Would have never started it in the first place.“
Din Djarin adjusts his cape, covering himself as the coolness of the night kisses his helmet and fresh cool air is cycled in with a long inhale.
“…didn’t matter. The match was called the moment my opponent threw up inside of their helmet. I had stuck out my hand hoping to make amends with him. I wanted to show him that just because there were no rules, and although we fought in the dirt, I wasn't an animal. He just swatted my hand away saying ‘You shouldn’t kick, that’s cheating,’ stammering off. I never got his name…“
Din Djarin looks down and out, knowing that this fight is what led him to take on some many questionable contracts and jobs. Running with Gangs, leaving good people behind. Constantly leaving the Covert, aimlessly, chasing credits. Allowing Snakes like Ranzar Malk, to play with his mind, and put blinders over his already covered eyes.
“I can still remember hearing that apprentice cry… He didn’t know I was there doing the same thing…I was trying to get into my uncle's ship.”
He remembers nudging his leaning uncle, who had fallen asleep in the copilot seat after locking away all of the credits.
”That was a lonely night. I had to fly myself home because my Uncle Chio had passed out…“
Din Djarin again looks out to the pond, and far into the distance, processing the intense emotions of his traumatic childhood.
”Worst thing is, I didn’t even get any of the credits from the fight. Chio had kept it all in a secret safe aboard his ship, saying that he ‘needed it for the cost of putting the fight together’, and for all of his ‘future managerial fees’. That I’d need to win three more fights to start earning real credits, enough credits for the two of us, But, he told me I couldn't tell my Ward Din Rawn, or else the deal was off…I'm such a Blasted Fool! ”
He slams a heavy fist on his beskar thigh plate, and the celestial ringing resonates throughout the space.
”It was by the fifth fight, I realized I was being played. My father Din Rawn could tell something was off, but I would hide it behind my helmet, so he was none the wiser... This was my problem, and I was going to solve it myself. I should’ve…I never got the chance to tell my father before he…”
There is a somber moment and his voice cracks.
“I-I miss you old man. I’d make you proud. Dad. I did it, Mandalore is free again…and the Waters…”
He can sense that his exclamations had stirred awake his young apprentice. Din Djarin looks over his shoulder reacting to a disembodied coo he had heard. The Mando turns toward the little being making all that noise, floating towards him, awake once again.
“I’d never let anything like that happen to you little guy…”
Din boops Grogu gently on the nose, taking a breath with the lad. Din Grogu babbles and puts his arms up, wanting to be held.
”I’m trying to figure out how to be a peacetime Mandalorian, for the both of us…What does that even mean…?”
The Mandalorian sighs deeply. Trying to keep up with this ever expanding galaxy has really dragged him down. He’s just happy that he is not alone, and unhoused anymore. Din Djarin bends and lifts Grogu into frame, the child squirms with excitement.
”Well, we're doing our best to figure it out, and that’s all we can do, kid… I guess in a way this journal is for both of us. You can watch these whenever you want, but I don't know why you would ever want to listen to the tales of this old fool of a warden you have, huh?”
The Mando waves at the recorder, then placing Grogu on his knee.
“Say hi, kid”
Din Djarin gently begins taking off his helmet, revealing that he is smiling ear to ear, wiping some tears away with his free hand; taking in a shaky breath of the fresh dewy night air. Placing the helmet on the ground beside them.
The wee baby Din Grogu looks up to him, smiles and waves mimicking his father facing the camera, exclaiming a few incomprehensible babbles. He giggles, pronouncing a loving “ManDoo”.
Din Djarin giggles with Grogu, lifts him to eye level, and gently tosses him in the air, catching him and enjoying the moment with his son.
“The Galaxy is changing so quickly now. I’m just happy we’re learning to live, not just survive. We’ve got a nice home, I’m no longer hoping from star tour to star tour line... What a miserable life I’ve lived…” He clicks his tongue, placing Grogu back in his crib. Stretching for a bit as he sits back down, he places his hands behind his head as he sits back to relax.
And after another long deep sigh, Din continues:
“Ah, Dank Farrik… ”
He murmurs quietly to himself.
“I see what this Lando guy is talking about… I’ll try and think of other stories I need off of my shoulders…Things can only get better… “”
Din Djarin scratches the back of his neck, feeling a sense of long needed release from a weight that he had been carrying around since his childhood.
”And I have to be better, for Grogu…Well. That's enough of that… Uhh. Din Djarin, signing off. Till next time.” With a press of another key on his Mandalorian gauntlet; a soft chime plays and the recording flickers before it cuts out…