019. IT TAKES A THIEF TO CATCH A THIEF

( —One who is skilled at evading the law is well-trained to find or catch someone who behaves similarly. )

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It was against Din Djarin's nature to betray, for it was the enemy of trust, and trust was the first step towards enduring respect. 

The first thing that arose in his mind when faith was mentioned, was the lonely Ungnaught farmer on Arvala-7. Honest, benefactor to a fault, the wisest person he associated after a certain special witch. The child had become too laborious to be around, needing constant attention and neither Cara nor Din circuitously there to be for it. Hence, the demand for a caretaker.  

When they arrived on the desert ridden planet, he could not help but think back to the last time he had been there. Nothing had changed since; the vast plains or the situation they had been immersed into. Myra had left this planet with a wronged cascade of words and he was here, still alone and without her.

The Ugnaught, not to his surprise, wordlessly allowed them to enter into his lodging—a little sand hut draped in cloth and fabric at ridges and concise enough to house his medium build. Far away on the outside, the blurrg cattle neighed louder and the slow gallops filling the silent contemplation of everyone.

The farmer curiously watched the child raise his hand at him with a small coo, almost like a call for attention. It titled its head. 

"It hasn't grown much," he declared. 

"I think it might be a Strand-Cast," replied the Mandalorian, thoughtfully. He could see the child associated with bioengineered beings and birth from scratch, given the agewise manipulation and strange capabilities. 

"I don't think it was engineered," the farmer hummed in inward reflection. "I've worked in the gene farms. This one looks evolved. Too ugly."

Din had to wryly smile under the helmet, turning his head to the baby that had been transferred from the cloud-coloured cradle to wooden crate, sinking into its thick jute clothing. He would not call it ugly at all, in fact, it was too adorable to be that small. 

"This one, on the other hand," the farmer interrupted Din's stupor with a nod at Cara's direction, "looks like she was farmed in the Cytocaves of Nora."

No kidding. Cara Dune was what one would associate with a seasoned female warrior. With cropped hair and leather clothing that is meant for combat, Cara was nothing like the past she had. 

"This is Cara Dune," he introduced formally. "She was a shock trooper."

The farmer was surprised. "You were a Dropper?"

Cara smirked, evidently amused as she cast him a sideways look that lacked fervour. "Did you serve?"

"On the other side, I'm afraid," the farmer replied in wearied tone, taking a seat in front of them with a small breath. "But I'm proud to say that I paid out my clan's debt, and now I serve no one but myself."

"Retirement is the word for you," Cara snorted. 

"You're missing a witch," the farmer looked to the Mandalorian. "Is she still on the run?"

Din's stomach did a small flip. He willed his eyes downward, his neck staying straight to confirm that he was unaffected. With a small clearing of his throat, he answered suavely, "She left again."

"She hasn't—"

Something moved at the entrance, directly behind the farmer and metal-clawed hands came into sight as the tall, familiar droid ducked to enter. The Mandalorian was agile, instinctual enough to grab his blaster from the holster and find a perfect aim. Beside him, Cara Dune had sensed the tension before him, her blaster readied and out of safety as she hovered a heavy finger over the trigger.  

"Would anyone care for some tea?" The IG-11 droid spoke in a mechanized voice. 

He had remembered the dismantled body of the droid that had faced the receiving end of Myra's witchcraft, its metal split at the seams and some parts welded back to a fit. He could see the extent of the damage as clear as day, still not feeling an ounce of regret. 

"Please lower your blasters," the farmer said patiently, raising a hand at them to calm themselves before taking any hasty decisions. "He will not harm you." 

Nobody budged a muscle in accordance.

"That thing is programmed to kill the baby," the Mandalorian stated hardly.

"Not anymore."

The duo annulled their aims, pinning their blasters back into the holsters. He was still careful the droid, hating the fact that it was in the same room as the baby.

"It was left behind in the wake of your destruction. I found it lying where it fell. Devoid of all life," he sighed desolately as the droid walked forward to place the tray of piping, hot tea of the short table. "I recovered the flotsam and staked it as my own in accordance with the Charter of the New Republic."

The Ugnaught farmer continued to explain to them about the difficulty in reinforcing, restoration and redeveloping of the droid's consciousness. Its personality had become that of which to serve and protect, congealed under the character of the farmer. 

"Is it still a hunter?"

"No," the farmer was quick to disagree, "but it will protect."

"Mando," Cara nudged the side of his arm, looking to a separate entryway into the room which seemed to house another visitor. He cast the doorway a concerned glance as Cara continued to speak. "Who the hell is that?"

"A while ago, he arrived on my farm with your missing witch," the farmer rose from his seat to part the thinly draped curtains aside to allow them to view more clearly. 

Even in the brown threads that had replaced by his obsidian armour that hung nearby, one could tell he was paramountly regal—dark, curly hair and evidence of a vengeful sneer that could have twisted on his lips if he were awake. He was a royal warrior, barely recognized as the king he once was. His chest rose and fell with staggered breaths, a dried cerise muslin cloth wrapped around his midsection as if to keep his ribs from falling apart. The scent of essential oils and wildflowers assailed the others, distinguishing this wasn't a farmers handiwork.

"She insisted that the king stayed until he recuperated," he finished, letting the fabric partition fall. 

Din's mind tottered to halt, his lips parted under the helmet in the utmost astonishment. Other than knots in his stomach and the liquid that pooled with it, it was anxiety that overpowered everything. Anxious about her wellbeing and why she wasn't in here with her father. 

"Myra," Din breathed out softly, "she's here?"

"She left to scour for herbs for treating his royal highness, King Hyllus," he answered. "He had taken a blade to his chest—cumbersome to heal from such a wound."

"A blade did that?"

It couldn't have been a normal sword. Probably a sabre, to cut that deep and lengthwise. His blood was turning black at the wound's partitioning, however tight the cloth had sealed it. Poisoned, then.

"She seemed very unsettled," the farmer sighed out. "Refused to leave his side until a few hours ago to arrange for a remedy."

Before he could question the farmer about her whereabouts and more importantly, her safety, he saw the king stir up to ramrod straight position. His arm was around his abdomen as if to support his flank bones, wincing through his teeth. 

"Your grace," the Ugnaught farmer scurried to his side with a reliable hand over the king's shoulder. The king in return groaned, tending a hand over the farmer's weak shoulder. 

"My daughter," he whispered, wearied. "Where is she?"

"She will be back soon, your grace. Please—"

"She's not safe outside," he murmured, his face twisting with agony and fastening his arm tighter around his abdomen. "Karstark—he could be anywhere."

Who in the kriffing hell was Karstark, the Mandalorian thought to himself before breathing out loud in exasperation. 

"Please lay still," the Mandalorian requested instead, to everyone's surprise, and evading the meek set entryway. What he did not expect was the backlash he would face with extending a hand.

The king acted swiftly despite his infirmity, his hand outstretched to call for his battle-axe that lazed beside his warrior's clothing. The scythe portion had found a way to lodge dangerously to the clothing that sheathed his neck, the light dancing off the blackened silver tip. Cara, acting on a front, let her own blaster hover beside the king's temple. The king didn't seem to care.

The king's face was hardened to a grimace that could have frozen hell over. The Mandalorian swallowed hard, not in fear but in rage, his hand drifting to his hip to latch it over the blaster. He wanted to hold it out for defence—he really did—but, this was King Hyllus, Myra's father. A man he needed to be his collaborator—for Myra's sake.

"You're the Mandalorian," the king hissed out through his teeth, inching the blade closer. "The one who took my daughter off my own planet."

"I didn't take her," he said in a sanctioned, even tone how much ever he withered on the inside. "She came with me."

"Father," a smooth, suave voice interrupted their quarrel and her powers evenly pushing them apart. The humongous battle-axe fell to the deck with a clang, the king flinching as a force gently knocked him to a sitting position on the bed. 

Din saw the gold first, in her dress and then in her eyes. Myra was smiling, the most beautiful phenomenon to exist in the galaxy. Between her fingers was a cotton bag with a fragrance and a new symbol embellished at the crook of her elbow, a glorified, intricate knot that should have depicted a newly forged bond. It didn't take a genius to know that symbol was meant for her father. 

"Leave my Mandalorian be."

"You know this man," the king questioned her in a throaty voice. It was a simple statement, one she would answer in the most Myra-est way possible. Meanwhile, Cara dropped her blaster with a weary sigh and mumbling something about 'overkill' and sauntering out of the stuffy containment. 

Myra looked at Din with a short-lived wink. "I love this man."

The king was least to say, displeased. "Myra, Myra—child—ȳdra daor mazverdagon nyke gaomagon bisa."(Please don't make me do this.)

How much would Din give to hear Myra speak the language he spoke.

"Oh hello, little one," Myra cooed, blatantly ignoring her father's word and getting onto the balls of her feet to lift the child that had reached her feet. She made a face of a pout when the child let out a soft giggle, holding it to her chest. 

"Answer me," the king hissed. "skoros iksis issa—issa Gungan?" (What if he's a—a Gungan?)

"He's not."

"But—"

"Rest for now," she whispered. "I want to talk to him."

∞

It was true what they said, diminishing returns is the outcome of restriction. Not in their positions; not when their craving for each other was like wanting to feel wildfire in the stillness of a pond. And then Din realized, even if the universe crumbled to a bleak end behind them, his desire to want her by his side would mean more.

With her maddeningly vibrant tunics, beautiful Ways and intricate ink—Myra was his anchor and the one stability in the galaxy of chaos.

She never left his mind, staying for better and for worse; mentally if not physically. His one stable force, his own Ichor, the one balance that he so desperately needed in his life. It was overwhelming; the feeling was so strange that it spread from the tip of his head to the ends of his toes. Unbound by depth or length;  just absolute. Not dangerous or safe; just silence.

In seconds, Myra had owned his entire being. His helmet tipped over and nothing else mattered anymore, only her. Her glimmering golden eyes were solidified for a fleeting moment before her lips granted him the taste of heaven he had missed for too long.

"I'm sorry," she breathed between heated kisses, swallowing his pants into her lips. They never failed to caress his as she spoke, her nails dragging into his hair. "I'm sorry for what I did, my love. I never should have left you like that."

"Don't ever leave me like that," he mumbled into her lips, swallowing her panting moans like having been a drought for decades.

"I won't," she breathed, stroking his hair. "I won't ever."

"I'm sorry too," he tried to say but he was obsessed, too needy and in want for her love. He had been deprived of it for a while that felt like a decade. 

He was kissing her back, his hands trying to touch her where he could. The warm air of Arvala-7's deserted plateaus wrapped around their parched skins, blanketing them in their embraces. Far, far away was the farmer's abode, out of plain sight and falling deeper. 

"I," she kissed him again, softer this time. "I should have—mm, I should have—"

"Ssh," he said quietly. 

He shook his head, his hands roamed around her waist pulling her close and feeling her stroke her nose with his tenderly; affectionately. His kisses refused to die out, tentatively making up for the days' worth of love he had lost. It was electric, magic and sensuality—all rolled into one divine woman in front of him.

"I know," he finally whispered. "Fortunately, I still love you."

"And I, you," she laughed, biting her lip. Her lips teased him with a soft puff of minty air. "Do you think we have time?"

He smirked, tracing a hand down the plushness and releasing her lip from between her teeth. She playfully bit on it with a grin. "Seriously?"

"My father's practically dead—"

"What?"

"—asleep."

He burst out into breathy chuckles, placing a warm kiss. "Only you, princess."

In swift trices, the back of her hand met his cheek with a gentle yet stinging slap. Din was grinning like a loon, rubbing the side of his face.

Her grimace broke to a grin when he replied, letting her forehead fall forward to rest it underneath his eyes. Her svelte body was fixated between his fingertips, feeling the satin slide with his vambraces. He hated that he couldn't feel her, touch her with his real hands.

"Myra."

"Yes?"

His eyes drifted downwards to the bend of her neck where a few floaters in her hair covered the mark of the All-seeing Eye. He pushed the hair away, grazing a finger over the magenta tusche inked into the marble skin. She was concerned because of the Ways—the Sight that she had incurred from it.

"Your father," he whispered, "I don't think he's particularly fond of me."

Myra smirked the ineffable tease in her barrelling forward to ruin his surprises. He had a love-hate relationship with a playful Myra, sometimes she took so far that she ended up having it her way.

"Me neither," she shrugged. "It's just how all Iegoans are."

He laughed through his nose. "All of them?"

She bit her lip. "Most of them."

"And is the king coming with us to Nevarro?"

"My father is too weak to join us," she murmured, instinctually looking ahead to the little cottage that paid refuge for his royal highness' ailments. "I have a contact on a planet called Panna. I trust her to keep my father safe until we return."

"Who is it?"

"Circe Vanis," she scratched the back of her neck as if discomforted by the recollections that rocked her. "She and I, uh, we go a long way back."

Din raised a perfect brow, intrigued. "As in...?"

"It was a silly indulgence, we were both young," she cleared her throat, her cheeks lifting in colour darkly. "It's all good now."

In all truth, Din did not know how to react to the information that he was placed with. He could only verbalize a wordless hum, hoping soon it would form words and save him the embarrassment. 

"So, um, you two—you and her—you and her?"

First, it was flat out green-eyed jealousy. Not even the fact that her ex had been a girl worried him, it was the standards he would have to meet with the one before him. Did the woman take care of her better than he did? Maybe she loved and left. 

She shrugged simply, her eyes lightening with an offence. "Yes. A problem?"

"No, no," Din's eye widened in alarm when he sensed her disgust roll-off in repugnant waves. "I mean, I—I was just surprised. I'm fine but, of course, I—"

"Ssh," she placed a soft palm over his lips, her eyes lightening in amusement. Golden eyes searched his own for some sort of emotion but her lips only broadened with what she had found. 

"You're adorable for a human," she said, chuckling under her breath. "You fumble with words like a child when the helmet leaves your head."

Din didn't know how to respond, clearing his throat awkwardly. She always seemed to take pleasure in flustering him, flirting with him just to get him uncomfortable and let his lips run. Perhaps it was the effect of all witches, he thought. But considering Myra and her effectual tricks, he knew his notion would be kicked to the curb. 

"You're doing this on purpose," he grumbled.

She laughed. Her golden eyes were swirling like molten gold, inquisitive and playful. He saw how the dark ravines of her iris pulled apart when she was in a choice mood, keeping it in his memory for the future. 

"It takes a thief to catch a thief, my love," her lips met the edge of his for a small kiss. 

"What is up with you and idioms?" Unknowingly, his hand reached out to tug on a tress of dark hair that floated with the breeze, pushing it over her crown. 

"They're a way of life," she winked. "And I know it turns you on."

"It's official," he laughed in disbelief once the actuality of her words and the shock registered into his system, shaking his head. Sure it was ecstasy and whatnot, but why did she have to be so stupid?

Myra didn't answer, grinning away, while looking towards the sandhills beside him. The dunes started to shift with the racing winds, just as easily as the mood between them. In a swift change of events, he had her pinned against the soft sand of a nearby dune. 

"You are insane."

Mischief was evident when she toyed around with him teasingly, there was nothing more he wanted than to let her play her game. His head rocked back onto the dune when she pinned his hands to the sandy dunes and nibbling on his lip with a sultry chuckle.

"You know," he hummed. "Two can play at this game."

"I'm faster and stronger," she winked.

In the blink of an eye, his arms had moved to a perpendicular position and startling Myra. The sudden movement had Din strike to push her behind into him and trap her there. 

"Stronger, huh?" He smirked. 

Again, his hands had pinned themselves back onto the sandy barrier with an invisible force tying it down where they were. Flipping her hair over her head, she faced him with a game smirk and a perfect brow arching up.

"That's cheating," he let his head fall back down with a thud.

"All is fair in love and war, my heart."

∞

{ silverfalcons, this one's for you June :) and hey, how was this one? next one is positively harmful— }