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the-kittylorian-writes · 1 year

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"All The Little Foundlings"

Rating: General Audiences Type: One-shot Word Count: 6.5k+ Summary:

After Ragnar’s harrowing experience which sent his father Paz and a rescue party to come after him, the boy grew more fears and lost his confidence. The clan of two decide to help him in their own ways— but how will Ragnar take it?

Set after events of s03ep04 or Chapter 20 “The Foundling.”

Spoilers for s03ep04

Read on AO3 or here:

Trigger Warning: Discussion of phobias, exposure therapy, a scene of kids bullying each other

"All The Little Foundlings"

“Ragnar?”

Ragnar Vizsla burrowed himself deeper into his blankets. He’d shot the fabric over his head until it tented all over him and he was cocooned. He let the light of his antiquated datapad shine on his visor as he ignored his father’s call for the fourth time today. It was not even noon.

“Ragnar!” Paz’s bounding steps drew closer to their shared quarters as well as his booming voice, but the call wasn’t forceful or cruel.

“I’m studying, Dad!” was Ragnar’s brief reply. He’d yelled it once, certain that the thick blankets would muffle the words out.

He hated how his voice quivered. He’d skipped classes for a day as the Covert’s baar’ur suggested it after giving him a thorough once-over. Ragnar had suffered minor gashes and scrapes, but the real wounds which the baar’ur saw weren’t on the surface, Ragnar figured. He remembered how he’d respond seconds late to all the questions the good-natured medic had asked him; some questions Paz had to answer himself as Ragnar remained silent and uncooperative.

“He’s still in a state of shock,” Ragnar heard the medic tell his father, as if he weren’t in the examination room with them. “An entire day’s rest would do him good.”

Ragnar couldn’t sleep that night. The medic had given Paz something to administer to Ragnar should the boy be unable to get any restful slumber before the daylight hour struck. Whatever it was, it tasted like taffy. It made him drowsy but his mind raced and his insides trembled. His father had been by his side throughout the ordeal. Before he knew it, Ragnar had awoken from sleep he never knew overtook him. The flickering chrono on his datapad showed he’d only dozed for two hours.

The child would rather stay awake, in all honesty. When he shut his eyes, he’d feel the world tilt around him. He dreamt that the water had bubbled with all sorts of misshapen monsters, and the sky swirled and from a vortex of blood-red clouds spewed out another host of even more misshapen creatures. He’d wake up sobbing, but his father had been there at the foot of his cot. He was there when he awoke from that nightmare, and Ragnar had flung his arms around his father and wouldn’t let go. Paz had allowed it, but not right after the hulking Mandalorian was shaken awake himself by the abrupt weight thrown at him which was his son in frantic need of comfort.

He’d sleep and wake and sleep in a maddening cycle of instability within a span of a day and a half. Ragnar avoided the sleep-inducing taffy and snuck in some caf from the grown-ups’ table at first meal. One sip was enough to keep the child on edge, but Ragnar would rather endure small jitters than the dark dreams of being helplessly trapped within the raptor’s food pouch, stuck between throat and belly. It was sticky and disgustingly humid, with just enough air to sustain him without getting delirious. The pouch’s thick mucosa had kept him from thrashing no matter how hard Ragnar tried. He’d cried for long hours. It was the first time he’d heard himself wail piteously underneath the helm. He sounded like a disembodied soul.

Then, Ragnar knew he’d heard his father’s voice a few moments before the beast decided to cough him out into the open to feed its young.

It was his indeed father, and in a riotous burst of euphoria and then utter fright, Ragnar had thought he’d seen the last of himself and his beloved dad.

“Ragnar,” Paz called once more, pulling Ragnar back to the present. His father’s gruff voice encompassed the room.

Ragnar didn’t budge. He knew his father stood in front of him, but with the bundle of blanket all over his person, he also knew he was but a grey and shapeless mound in the eyes of one of the Covert’s best fighters.

“I’m studying Mando’a, Dad,” Ragnar insisted underneath his cocoon. The words on his datapad began to blur; he’d been staring at the same page mindlessly as the minutes ticked by. “I missed yesterday’s lessons.”

Paz released a chest-deep sigh. “You’re excused from lessons for now, ad’ika. Baar’ur would like to see you again. Would that be all right?”

The boy froze. Despite his general misgivings, he couldn’t exactly refuse his father. Paz had sacrificed so much to get to him and rescue him. The silver Mandalorian and the Nite Owl whose names escaped Ragnar had been with his father during that rescue along with a squad of others. It was the silver Mandalorian who’d brought him back to the safety of Paz’s arms. The ship which brought them home belonged to the Nite Owl.

Ragnar couldn’t look at both of them in the eye, so to speak. He’d run straight to the baar’ur as soon as he’d clasped arms with his fellow foundlings in a joyous greeting party. He’d never as much veered out of his way to chance upon the two Mandalorians since then. He avoided the little green foundling, too.

Ragnar sulked for a second. With a resigned frown, he unbundled himself from the blanket pile.

Paz was just a mere foot away; the giant of a warrior had taken a low wooden seat in a posture which spelled patience. His father may have been calling him multiple times, but his body language exuded a great degree of understanding.

The child marveled at how wonderfully gentle and relieved his father’s voice sounded. “Come on. Off we go.”

-*-*-

The baar’ur was a woman with deep orange and dark crimson armor. She had Ragnar hold both his arms out for a few seconds; she studied his posture.

“Are you still feeling unwell, Ragnar?” asked the medic matter-of-factly. For a split-second, the boy turned to Paz who stood a few paces behind him on the examination table. His father gave him a small nod of assurance.

“I guess I feel much better now,” replied the boy.

The lie caught up with him quickly. Ragnar felt disappointment in his gut when he saw what made the baar’ur seem dissatisfied with his answer. His arms held aloft were quaking of their own accord. Ragnar couldn’t believe it at first; he’s always had great control over his body after long months of training—his arms betrayed him. He suddenly felt cold and his hands grew clammy.

“Hm,” said the medic thoughtfully after instructing him to take it easy. Impulsively, Ragnar crossed his arms around him; his mind went blank. The medic had set Paz aside and confided in him for what seemed like a stretch of hours.

Ragnar hated himself at the moment. He didn’t mean to be a handful. He didn’t mean to seem so weak, when he’d been told time and again that the Mandalorians valued strength. But above all, as the Armorer had drilled into their lessons: survival was their strength. As far as Ragnar knew, he’d been the first foundling who’d been successfully retrieved from the literal jaws of death. The others hadn’t been so lucky.

The baar’ur was speaking to him again before Ragnar realized that his mind had drifted off.

“What is that you’re most afraid of now, Ragnar?” she asked.

Ragnar flinched. “W-what?” When he turned to Paz for guidance once more, a chill struck him to the core when he saw that his father had stepped out of the room. The medic must have noticed that he boy kept relying on Paz’s approval for every move he made or every word he spoke.

Ragnar needed to be honest.

“I hate the water,” spat the boy at last. “I hate the sky. I hate… I hate this planet!”

He couldn’t reel himself in for the last one. He did feel a colossal wave of relief after admitting to those fears; it had taken a huge weight off his shoulders. An infernal ball of shame that overcame him trickled in seconds after.

“I—I didn’t mean…”

The medic gently motioned him to silence.

“It’s all right, Ragnar,” she said soothingly. It flowed like clotted cream from her vocoder. “We know this planet has brought us great challenge, but that was why we had chosen it. Trials and adversities sharpen us like tools. As for those fears—I believe we can get to the root of that. Every warrior has their fears, and we’d like to defeat those fears, yes?”

Ragnar’s voice was lodged in his throat. With a mute nod, he acceded.

The medic’s voice sounded hopeful. “Very well.”

Ragnar wasn’t sure if he was indeed amenable to the implications of those words.

-*-*-

“ STOP!! STOP IT!!”

Two other foundlings much older than Ragnar held him fast on either side as they slowly dragged him out into the open, straight to the embankment. The suns overhead were suddenly a blight over his skin, despite being covered from head to toe. The world was tilting around him again and the droll laughter of the two helmed teenagers gripping his arms, keeping him from breaking free suddenly felt like a shroud licking at his consciousness.

Ragnar shouldn’t have told them what he was up to.

The baar’ur had called it “exposure therapy.” His father had agreed to it as much as Ragnar believed he did so himself—he wanted to get better. Exposure therapy was gradual, but these two truants hadn’t taken him seriously. Ragnar had the spotlight for only one morning, on the day he returned in one piece with the rescue party. They’d showered him with praises: how brave he was, how steadfast his spirit was for weathering the night close to the belly of a raptor beast. There were pats on the back, clasps on the arm, warm head-butts and warmer cheers.

The novelty of it quickly eroded away. Now, he was just Ragnar the scaredy-Tooka.

“Little Vizsla can’t get near the water without wetting his underpants,” one of the older boys jeered.

“His dad’s gonna disown him ‘coz he’s nuna poodoo!” hollered the other.

Children can be cruel. Ragnar had always known this. He’d played with them and fought with them long enough to recognize power play among the foundlings. The more scathing the teasing, the better. He’d tried his hand in it himself, and with a heavy heart, he realized that he didn’t possess a knack for overly brutish insults.

“LET ME GO!” cried Ragnar as he planted himself heavily on the sand to weigh the teenagers down.

He began to tremble like a feeble newborn pup. The sky was so vast around him. He could hear the lapping of the shore nearby.

No adult Mandalorians were within earshot, it seemed. It was foolish for Ragnar to try to take the medic’s advice without proper protocol. From now on, Ragnar felt doomed to always learn the hard way. It seemed as though he’d become wired towards his own downfall.

Under the helm, Ragnar shut his eyes tight. An unbidden sob escaped his throat. The teenagers were prevailing over his strength. He thought he felt the weight of water jab at his boots…

Then he heard the shocked and vexed screams of his persecutors—they’d suddenly released him and to his own shock, Ragnar saw them fly out on either direction as if they’d been taken out by an unseen grenade blast.

They trailed forcefully over the sand, leaving jagged marks amidst a puff of golden yellow grains. They swore and coughed, and swore some more. “What the hell?!”

Ragnar felt bare, but his senses had suddenly become sharp as he’d been trained to, when he could be in real danger. He’d become more attentive now, especially after mistakenly letting his guard down which had allowed the raptor to snatch him up.

He’d turned to the source of an angry string of babbles.

There, standing under the shadow of a crest of sandstone was the little green foundling, both of his tiny clawed hands upright. He was wearing a very determined look on his crumpled little face.

“What the—“ The two teenagers seemed to have caught the drift of things. Even through their visors, Ragnar could feel raging disbelief emanate from the two older boys. Dusting themselves up, pinning the little green child with their helmed gazes for a second, they began bolting for the sanctuary of the cave.

“Yeah, that’s right!” roared Ragnar shrilly at the two. “Touch me again and you’ll get what’s coming to you!”

There were no replies of retaliation. Ragnar was panting from the adrenaline surge of his earlier panic. He calmed his heart down, and when all was quiet, he turned to the green baby.

He felt heat course over his cheeks. He’d had a bit of contempt towards this child before. Rumor had it that this kid was special, other than the fact that he was of a different, rare sort of species.

“Th-thanks,” Ragnar finally told the green baby after a lengthy standstill of him and the kid just staring at each other in uncertainty.

The kid’s face was suddenly alight. Ragnar was mystified. The child was grinning, baring his tiny sharp teeth and pink tongue. Then, he giggled and waved in glee.

The baby didn’t toddle away. Ragnar didn’t know how else to continue this interaction, but he couldn’t linger out in the open. When he took a few steps forward, the child waddled awkwardly to the same direction, his beige robe hampering his steps. Ragnar took a few steps to another direction; the baby followed.

Where’s the kid’s dad? Ragnar wondered.

The suns were beating down on him again, and once more Ragnar felt his pulse race.

The baby seemed to understand his inner dilemma. The green child’s head tilted and made a sound of inquiry. “Baaah?”

Ragnar was dumbfounded. This kid’s dad was right—he didn’t know how to speak. Without words Ragnar could understand, he was at loss.

“Grogu!”

Ragnar gasped; the green baby squealed in delight in reaction to the voice.

Out from a rocky bend emerged the silver Mandalorian. “Grogu,” the man called again, and said child immediately broke into an even more gawky run towards his father.

Ragnar hardly moved a muscle as the silver Mandalorian took notice of him.

Grogu, Ragnar thought, memorizing the kid’s name.

The Mandalorian had picked his boy up, and Grogu settled easily on the crook of his father’s arm. The man regarded Ragnar for a while.

“You alone out here, kid?” inquired of the silver Mandalorian.

Ragnar shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “Wasn’t. Roarke and Joff tried to bully me but—“ Ragnar talked fast and was out of breath when he pointed at Grogu. “He saved me. How does he do that? Does he have powers?”

The words came out the moment Ragnar thought them. He’d become too excited and flustered. Maybe that’s why they’d told him the kid was special. He’d been told that Grogu once trained with sorcerers. Did that make Grogu a baby sorcerer? That would be… wizard.

The silver Mandalorian didn’t beat around the bush. “He does.”

“That’s so wizard!” Ragnar remarked aloud. He didn’t mean to sound as though he choked in his own fascination. “So what else can he do?”

Grogu made a sound of what seemed like a squeak of protest. The kid’s father chuckled in response.

“You’ll see. Grogu and I were on our way to feeding the raptor hatchlings when he knew you seemed to be in some kind of trouble. We’re going there now. Wanna come with?”

Oh gods, Ragnar thought, breaking in cold sweat. He forgot to mention this to the baar’ur. What else did he fear?

Those raptors.

He forgot all about the baby raptors. He hated being in storage within their mother’s food pouch. He hated the way he’d been flung about in the clawed hold of the beast at breakneck speed. Now, there were three of its babies the Covert needed to manage and tame. These beasts were too wild and this planet seemed too frontier. They had little experience with such savage creatures.

Exposure therapy, Ragnar also reminded himself, and this time, he was in the presence of a grown-up. Maybe he’ll be okay—and his dad seemed to trust the silver Mandalorian enough.

Ragnar gathered all his courage before he replied.

“Okay.”

-*-*-

The hatchlings’ enclosure had been quickly welded together. It was wide and high but tucked over a large stone outcrop where it would not be too exposed to the elements. The enclosure was reinforced by beskar, it seemed. Ragnar held his breath as he heard the raptors’ little shrieks again, and with their small beaks tried to nibble at the enclosure frame. The frame rattled but held fast.

Ragnar trailed his gaze upwards. A sentry watchtower was positioned nearby where a Mandalorian guard can keep an eye on the hatchlings in shifts.

They were, after all, now part of the Covert as foundlings. Ragnar had scoffed at the thought. Their mother had tried to make her babies eat him, for Maker’s sake! And who knows how many bits of unfortunate foundling made their way to these babies’ bellies? Ragnar grew squeamish.

Ragnar stilled his quivering breaths. He gingerly followed Grogu and his dad, who approached the enclosure in very calm and sure strides.

Grogu uttered a series of melodious babbles that reverberated through the enclosure.

What followed shortly took Ragnar in complete and utter awe.

The hatchlings ceased all their frenetic squawking and flailing. They quieted down as Grogu held out his three-fingered hand over them.

The raptors eyed Grogu curiously with their beady eyes on their skeletal-hollow features.

“Easy, Grogu. Remember—easy does it, kid. Like last time. All right?” encouraged his father.

Soon, the raptors were trilling happily after cautious sniffs and attempted bumps of their equally skeletal beaks on Grogu’s hand.

The silver Mandalorian turned to him.

“Here,” said the man, propping Grogu into Ragnar’s arms with little warning. Grogu giggled and wiggled in his arms. Ragnar hissed nervously; he didn’t want to drop the baby. In that vein, Ragnar was surprised that Grogu weighed no heavier than a Loth-wolf pup of about a week old.

“Sir?” Ragnar didn’t know what else to call Grogu’s dad.

“It’s Din,” the silver Mandalorian told him. “Just call me that. I’ll be back in a jiffy. The raptors’ food should be ready.”

Grogu wriggled some more in Ragnar’s arms. The boy stared at the green baby, then at the raptors, then at the baby again.

“Let me get this straight,” Ragnar said thoughtfully. “So, you’re a kid sorcerer who’s now a foundling who has magic powers, and your dad’s name is ‘Din.’ Did I get that correct?”

“Bwahhh! Baa!” said Grogu.

Ragnar shrugged. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ You really should learn how to speak Basic soon, so you can swear the Creed like me and the other kids, and get a pretty amazing helmet. And soon after that, they’re gonna teach you Mando’a. It’s part of our six tenets so that part sure is coming.”

“Ooooohhhhhh,” bawled Grogu in seeming affirmation. He held a hand again and the raptors had sat on their haunches, behaved, peaceful as peas on a pod. This certainly didn’t escape Ragnar’s attention.

“And I suppose you can—like—I don’t know, tame creatures and make them like you?”

Ragnar felt a little doltish speaking to a child who can’t communicate normally as other foundlings did.

“Eh, eh!” replied Grogu with a grin. His huge green ears arched in what Ragnar believed was pride.

Ragnar found himself giggling in spite of himself. His giggle morphed into a more nervous one when he realized that Din hasn’t made his way back yet.

“What’s taking your dad so long, Grogu?”

Abruptly, the three raptor babies shot out in unison, seemingly freed out of their serene mood. Ragnar had been close to yelling in fright, but in embarrassment, he soon spotted Din hauling a large sloshing vat full of dinosaur turtle meat. There had been so many left over from the kill Din himself had done over a fortnight ago. They’ve already been swimming in dinosaur turtle broth and jerky for days.

The irony was that the monstrous creature had tried turning Ragnar into food then, and these raptor hatchlings’ mother had been outright dinner for another dinosaur turtle in the churning, horrid waters. That was as much Ragnar saw as Din had scooped him out of plunging into sure death.

Ragnar’s blood turned cold. He couldn’t imagine his father Paz all alone again, mourning for him for Maker knows how long. Other parents were still grieving over the foundlings they’d lost.

“Okay, Grogu. Ragnar,” Din breathed, settling the vat down.

Ragnar’s heart leapt when he heard a familiar grunt of effort not far behind. Sure enough, Paz’s towering form appeared seconds after, the heavy gunner hauling two vats in his wake.

The boy silently chuckled at how Din seemed to feign disinterest over his father’s feat of strength. The silver Mandalorian was heaving over one vat. Paz barely broke a sweat over two.

“Dad!” Ragnar called happily over the ruckus caused by the hungry hatchlings. Their bony avian wings flailed about in anticipation over a hearty meal.

Paz was spiritedly huffing. “Thought it’d take you a good minute to finally face this sort of fear, Ragnar.” The large man plucked a couple of feeding spikes from the side of the outcrop where implements to care for the hatchlings were stored.

“Dad!” Ragnar protested in annoyance. Not in front of Grogu and Din!

“Now—careful, don’t get too close,” Paz boomed without skipping a beat. “These guys need to be fed twice a day with moderately large feedings. This would be their first meal of the day.”

“We don’t know much yet about these raptors,” Din added. “This species seems native to a couple of systems, but we haven’t encountered one this close before, let alone one adult and three babies.” “I bet,” Ragnar piped up without much thinking. He stiffened when he caught Paz shooting him a look through the visor. The boy quailed a little. Grogu was still buzzing like a bee in his hold.

When feeding proper began, Ragnar didn’t feel too inclined to release Grogu from his hold. The green baby seemed to be expertly keeping the hatchlings at bay. The boy only held his mettle for as long as he did because he’d felt that Grogu was shielding him from danger. However, Din was motioning Ragnar to return Grogu to his hold… the boy hesitated.

“Ragnar,” came Paz’s tone of gentle reprimand.

“Um…”

Din appeared to consider something. The man turned to Paz in some sort of wordless comprehension. His father gave Din a curt nod.

Din had popped open his vat of hatchling food. Taking a feeding spike, the man drove it through the vat, successfully spearing through three large pieces, arrayed like barbecued steak.

He had such a fearless, devil-may-care stance as he moved ever closer to the hatchlings. Ragnar swallowed hard; Din was no farther than a meter away. He held the feeding spike up, and like famished womp rats, the hatchlings hacked at the meat with their bony beaks. Din held his ground, keeping the spike in place as the babies ravaged their meal.

The hatchlings were oddly quiet, chomping at the meat in bliss, their eyes half-closed in contentment.

“Ragnar,” began Din, to the boy’s surprise.

“Yeah?” Ragnar had begun to find comfort in Din’s timbre. It was unlike his father’s, but there was truly something… paternal about it, all the same. A father’s voice held a secret kind of wisdom. Ragnar couldn’t place it; he just knew that such phenomena existed, as evidenced by Paz’s own voice.

The silver Mandalorian’s helm hadn’t turned to him as he spoke, but it was somber and respectful. Ragnar felt oddly peaceful.

“When I was your age, did you know what my biggest fear was?” Din continued.

Ragnar exchanged glances with Grogu, but the green child only stared back at him with the same wide-eyed expression. He fought the urge to turn to Paz and ask for assurance as he would often do in times like these.

“No, um, Din, sir,” replied the boy. He couldn’t just address someone else’s dad at an overly comfortable first-name basis.

“It was droids,” deadpanned Din.

Ragnar was seized with puzzlement, coupled with the curiosity of knowing the rest of Din’s story. “Droids, Din, sir?”

Din spaced out the conversation by taking the spike to the vat once more and provided the hatchlings with their second serving. As the raptor babies munched on, Din’s stance further relaxed.

“I lost my birth parents to battle droids. I was orphaned at a very young age, like you. And like you, the Mandalorians rescued me, welcomed me into the Tribe, gave me a family and a home. But I never forgot the droids. They frightened me, and it didn’t matter if they were battle droids or not. For years, I hated droids.”

That was when Din slowly turned to him. “I’ve undergone exposure therapy too. It’s never easy, but it had to be done. I struggled, I cried, I threw up.”

Din didn’t seem perturbed over Paz’s small chuckle. Ragnar wondered how far Din and his father heralded back. Did they grow up together? There appeared to be common memory of what Din was relaying to him. There was still so much to know.

“You can’t go into battle half a warrior, kid,” Din went on. “You’ll do fine. You’re handling it better than I ever did.”

To Ragnar’s surprise, and very much to his suppressed delight, it was Paz who punctuated today’s lesson on courage:

“Learn to face the fire that burned you,” Paz said, tone regal and low.

Oh great, Ragnar thought, however brimming with elation he was over his dad offering him more of his fatherly wisdom. The dads are tag-teaming me about my fears.

The hatchlings were growing restless again after chewing on the last meaty bits scattered all over their makeshift nest.

Din then handed him the feeding spike. “Now you try.”

Ragnar breathed out a thorough sigh to unravel his nerves. He turned to Grogu again, and the child gripped his arms once, as though giving him a bit of reassurance.

“Thanks, Grogu,” gulped Ragnar. With another heaving sigh, he exchanged Grogu for the feeding spike from Din’s outstretched hand.

“Here goes nothing,” muttered Ragnar as he dove the spike into the vat, and the slosh of still-fresh dinosaur turtle meat met his ears.

-*-*-

In three days, Ragnar felt he’d known Grogu all his life. At least, that was the reason he gave himself to justify always keeping the green child by his side. Grogu was indeed like a literal shield. Roarke and Joff had ceased to pester him whenever Grogu was around, and when Grogu wasn’t, they were in training where no one was allowed any form of miscreant behavior.

Grogu was with him when Ragnar would train closer to the water. He still broke in cold sweat, and he thought he’d even unfortunately developed a temporary stutter, but all it needed was Grogu’s melodious little babble to keep him grounded.

When they’d feed the hatchlings, Grogu would always be there. At least either Din or Paz would supervise them; eventually, Ragnar felt the trail of minuscule disapproval from his father which quite saddened him. He knew Paz wouldn’t shock him with a scolding over not fully facing the fire. Ragnar soon wondered if his “gradually” was “too slow.” He’d been told that everyone healed at their own pace, but what if he were deliberately stunting the journey?

Four days, then five. A full standard week, and nearly not a single waking hour had passed without Ragnar stringing Grogu around. Din couldn’t even get a minute with his own son as Grogu appeared to have become quite comfortable with Ragnar’s company. Another irony, considering that they didn’t exactly start off on the right foot.

One afternoon, as the suns set, Grogu had led Ragnar much closer to the edge of the water. The child motioned Ragnar to sit beside him, upon the wet sand.

“You sure this is a good idea?”

Grogu patted the space close to him.

“Okay,” Ragnar dubiously complied.

The boy stilled his breaths. He felt his insides turn to ice as the water and the sky beat on him again, and he was a kettledrum, beat until his inner world was bruised. But Grogu was here. He kept his heart rate at a steady pace. One can control one’s inner workings with discipline. Those were one of the many lessons during training.

Upon the warm sand, Ragnar continued to settle from within as he had settled without.

He felt Grogu’s clawed hand drape over his own.

Something like a fizzle of unexplainable energy sparked from Grogu’s little hand to his. Ragnar described it afterwards as he reviewed the day before bed that it felt like he’d swallowed a huge mint and now his insides were all… minty. It wasn’t a bad sensation at all. He remembered how calm he’d become, how secure he’d felt even as he sat barely inches away from what was still one of his worst fears.

Ragnar thought he’d imagined rocks dancing all around him. Wow, had I lost my mind or what?

Grogu sputtered out in bursts of laughter as the rocks grew spindly legs. They walked sideways and all-the-ways, but never bumping into each other and flitting over the two children.

“Crabs?!” Ragnar marveled aloud.

The crabs this time of year had shinier mother-of-pearl shells. They all crawled patiently into the water, and the suns had shone on their bodies. Soon, the water appeared to be filled with a million faceted diamonds, or stars; the water shimmered in glorious colors. His HUD registered it tremendously, and perhaps even enhanced it. He was transfixed.

Ragnar tried to hide the exhilaration in his voice. “Hey—that’s actually pretty,” he told Grogu simply. He didn’t want to sound that this experience was knocking his equilibrium off-guard as well as strangely stabilizing it, all at the same time.

This was the longest he’d stayed at the edge of the water as he watched the crabs gradually disappear into the depths. Nary a massive creature shot up from the waters or shot down from the sky.

When they’d both left the bank, the suns were close to setting. The horizon was a thin veil of rippling orange and purple.

“Hey, Grogu,” Ragnar nudged at the green child as he walked at the baby’s pace. He’d decided not to hold onto Grogu this time like a shield.

“Bwaaah?” asked the child.

“They’re totally right. You are magical.”

Grogu giggled.

-*-*-

By the end of another standard week, even the Armorer was impressed.

So far, Ragnar and Grogu were the only two foundlings who had begun to feed the hatchlings by hand. The rest of the kids still hung on to their feeding spikes as though those tools, in turn, were their shields.

Judge had vocalized the very words which the adults had wanted to convey:

“It can take months to be able to feed wild creatures by hand. It takes endless patience. That’s a very viable sign that a wild beast has been tamed—when they can finally eat from your hand with no sign of aggression.”

Ragnar and Grogu, this time, claimed the spotlight in tandem. Ragnar knew that such glories were fleeting, as he’d witnessed before. But soon the rest of the foundlings were a gaggle around him and the green child. The smaller ones who hadn’t sworn the Creed yet looked up to them like he and Grogu were the embodiment of Kad Ha’rangir themselves, whom they learned in school was the ancient Mandalorian god of destruction and rebirth.

“A little extreme,” Ragnar had commented to Grogu, “but yeah, we’ll take it.”

Grogu agreed.

-*-*-

The hatchlings were soon tame enough to be let out of their enclosure. The Armorer had forged for each of the three juvenile raptors a collar which identified the creatures. They were all young males but still looked fairly identical. The little mythosaur-embossed collars were draped on the creatures by none other than Ragnar and Grogu. Their respective fathers had the honor as well of adjusting the collars to each raptor’s size, until they were comfortably custom-fit but left enough room for growth, before adjustments would commence again.

“One day, we’re gonna ride these guys,” Ragnar had suggested to Grogu. Grogu made huge motions with his stubby arms.

“I’m not sure what you just said, honestly,” Ragnar admitted, “but if you said you’re claiming Lotho, nope, too bad—I’ll be riding Lotho! You can ride Argo or Buck!”

Lotho, to Ragnar’s eyes, was the handsomest of the raptor brothers—considering how skeletal and sharp and leathery they all looked. They were starting to grow the tough hide of their mother.

On one feeding session, Ragnar hardly believed his own ears when he’d specifically apologized to Lotho over having their mother killed.

“I’m sorry, Lotho. It was either me or your mom. I don’t think I’m sorry that I ended up alive, but I’m sorry all the same that you lost your mom. I think she was a good mom, all things considered.” Ragnar shuddered at the memory; there were still vestiges he knew would not leave him for a longer time. “I hope you’d forgive the Mandalorians for that.”

He also remembered how silly he’d become, confiding in non-sentient creatures which only acted according to their respective natures. When Ragnar was kidnapped to be turned into raptor dinner, he’d made peace with the fact that it was nothing personal. He was visible prey and was taken because he’d let his defenses down, crushed by his defeat to Grogu at the time.

Lotho had bumped its beak over Ragnar’s outstretched hand.

Grogu had been at a farther end with Din, and they had been adjusting Buck’s collar. The raptors’ names weren’t their idea, moreover. He giggled at the thought of the Nite Owl, whom he now knew whose name was Bo-Katan, had provided the monickers to the raptors.

“I’m just naming them after the Corellian hounds my dad had when I was little. They were seven, but I’ve named them after my best three.”

There was warmth to her voice which Ragnar had grown accustomed to, as well.

-*-*-

A standard month had passed. The Covert was abuzz with all sorts of news but Ragnar and Grogu had their own affairs. They were prepping another of the foundlings, Alia, to swear the Creed.

On the other hand, Ragnar and little Alia were trying to make Grogu repeat some words after them, parts and parcels of what Ragnar remembered was the Creed he needed to declare during his own verd’goten.

Grogu wasn’t repeating words. He repeated inflections, but he continued to babble and buzz. He sounded like intermittent com-link static sometimes.

“You’ll learn to speak Basic eventually,” Ragnar insisted. “There’s no way I’d grow up and maybe start a family and all that, and your dad’s grown much older, and you don’t have your helmet yet!”

Something struck Ragnar after a while. Alia had skipped to her parents in further preparation as the Covert had gathered close to the water once again, just as they had when Ragnar had earned his helmet, to never take it off again in front of any living being.

The boy bent over to Grogu, and with a kind whisper, asked the child—

“Grogu… is speaking Basic one of your worst fears?”

The green baby looked very hesitant. Grogu fidgeted; he shot his wide-eyed gaze everywhere save on Ragnar.

Ragnar instantly felt regret of bringing it up. He tenderly laid a hand on Grogu’s fuzzy head.

“Don’t sweat it for now,” he advised his friend. As an afterthought, Ragnar added with a sagacity he’d siphoned from his father, Paz Vizsla: “One day, you’ll learn to face the fire that burned you.”

That afternoon, it was Grogu who’d insisted on staying in Ragnar’s arms instead of Din’s during Alia’s verd’goten. Even Lotho, Argo, and Buck were there, charmingly obedient by Bo-Katan’s side. Ragnar gave out a wide smile at the sight, certain that no one would see that stupid grin on his face underneath the helmet.

Close to the water and under the sky, Alia repeated the Creed after the Armorer, and nary a beast shot out of the ocean’s depths or shot down from the burning bright horizon.

“This is the Way,” Ragnar recited in unison with the Covert, when Alia’s helmet had been secured in place. Grogu recited in his own vibrant stream of inflections.

Ragnar smiled wide again and held Grogu Djarin tightly.

-*-*-*-

Paz had come to Din one morning as the latter was making maintenance repairs on his N-1 starfighter.

The hulking Mandalorian knew Din sensed his unmoving, towering shadow over him as Din needed all the daylight he could get whilst in the middle of his tinkering—and Paz was blocking the glare.

“You know, you can talk whenever you want,” Din had told him, and said no more. He buried himself back into his work, allowing Paz to take his time as he’d conveyed.

Paz heaved a sigh, then chuckled.

“You and your son have done so much for Ragnar and me than we can ever repay,” Paz spoke at last. “We are eternally in your debt, my brother.”

Din seemed to hardly believe what Paz had proclaimed. He popped his gleaming head out from under the N-1 for a second before drifting back to his repairs.

“This is the Way,” replied Din at length.

Paz leaned on his haunches so that Din had his daylight back and Paz had sight of Din, in respect towards his brother to be at his eye level as best as he could.

Before Paz could utter another word, it was Din who broke the silence.

“Where did you learn that?”

Paz blinked under the helm. “Learn what?”

“That… proverb. Or whatever that was.” Din let out his own chuckle. “Learn to face the fire that burned you.”

It was Paz’s turn to be confused. “Din—that’s odd. You haven’t heard of it before?”

Din had fully slid himself out from under the N-1, his silver armor losing some of its sheen from engine grime. “I don’t think I ever have, Paz.”

Paz mused for a moment.

“Your adoptive father told me that.”

When Din couldn’t reply, as though suddenly his life before the loss of his own Mandalorian father flashed before his eyes, Paz felt a wave of compassion flow through him.

“I’m glad, Din,” Paz finally said, his gruff voice breaking with the rare emotion he displayed through cadence.

Din’s helm settled upon Paz. “Glad of what?”

Paz chuckled with an easy air as he lifted himself up and began to stride away casually.

“That you became our foundling. This is the Way.”

Din sat there as Paz walked back to the training grounds, readying the equipment and laying out the barricade which separated the glistening, dark ocean from the children.

From afar, Din heard the joyful squeals of children at play. Ragnar and Grogu were at their fifth round of training darts outside of Judge’s jurisdiction. Din sighed. The kids could be well covered in those bright green paintball splotches from head to toe after all that racket.

“This is the Way,” he said softly.

******

Mando'a words: *baar’ur - medic *ad’ika - little one; a term of endearment for a son, daughter, or a young person *verd’goten - lit: “warrior birth;” a coming-of-age Mandalorian ceremony

Authors Notes: I’ve been gathering info on how Ragnar could’ve survived in the raptor’s “belly” overnight as the raptor had to regurgitate Ragnar out to feed her babies, but Ragnar wasn’t only whole, he was still alive. Turns out that they may be based on real world avian species which do have a “food pouch” (an enlarged part of their esophagus) to store their prey (perhaps relatively unharmed). I just added some details to make it more harrowing for our poor Vizsla child. x’D

Grogu’s fear was a random idea I entertained, considering a few factors that Grogu seemed to not want to speak Basic even though it looks like he can clearly understand it. Let’s pretend he’d witnessed something bad in relation to learning Basic which made him reluctant about it. ;_;

P.S. Forgive this little slice of life. Seems like reclaiming Mandalore and/or finding the Mythosaur has been momentarily delayed. ^^;;

*****

Read more stories on Clan Vizsla's own clan of two: Paz and Ragnar 💙:

"A Future Yet Unknown" (also on AO3)

"Only One Creed" (also on AO3)

"From The Ashes" (also on AO3)

#the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian season 3 #mando season 3 spoilers #star wars fanfics #star wars fanfiction #mando fanfic #the mandalorian #brotherly bonding #father and son relationship #paz vizsla #ragnar vizsla #din djarin #grogu #space dads club #ragnar and grogu become besties #foundlings are the future #my fics #my writing

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yamitsuki-devillie · 1 year

Text

Prompt day 10: Angst

This is a small moment that happened just after Moby survived a mer hunter attack, he's extremely hurt and exhausted. Yami and Gin rescued him and brought him to their crater to recuperate, they already patched him up, but the poor guy keeps having nightmares and can't rest properly, so Yami came to comfort him while Gin takes care of the mer kids.

Prompts list by @intistone

Tw: Blood

Prompt and small drabble under the cut.

A long night with a whale and a salad.

On the middle of the ocean, there's a small pack of whale mers swimming, the youngest one, a 5 years old male sperm whale mer, is swimming close to its mom, making happy warbles for his mom while the bigger blue whale mer is chuckling at her adorable baby nuzzling him. "Stay close, okay sweetie?"

The baby mer nods bapping at his mom while swimming around him. His mom smiles watching him before a stir starts on the pack and she immediately perks up, trying to understand what's happening. "Father, what's wrong?" She looks at the oldest whale mer on the pack holding her kid close, who's confused about what's happening.

The older sperm whale mer immediately answered: "Human hunters! Stay together everyone!" The pack of whale 5 mers enter on a defensive position around to the mer who has a kid. The blue whale mer immediately perks up in surprise growling defensively to the ships moving over to them.

She looks down to her kid, feeling dread for some motive, before quickly hiding him in a submerged cave, saying in a fully worried voice. "Stay here sweetie, don't come out till I come to get you."

The kid warblers worried, hesitantly nodding for the blue whale mer. The big female mer immediately swims over to join the group while her kid is hiding, ready to help out in protecting the group. The baby sperm whale mer hides deeper in the cave, starting to wait for his mom.

He waits… and waits… and waits… after several hours, the mer slowly perks out wondering what is taking his mom so long…. He never regretted something more than he regretted it. He regrets that moment more than anything. Especially after seeing his mother… with no glow on her eyes and red everywhere in the water.

The sperm whale mer, who now is a 20 years old young adult, jolts awake, hissing in pain before looking around him in a frenetic movement… He is in a covered area, in the island he was brought to after finding him hurt in an isolated shore, the black sperm whale mer sighs in relief, black bags under his eyes, before hearing another voice.

"Another nightmare?" The sperm whale mer snaps his head in the direction of the soft feminine voice, seeing one of the… kelp creatures that brought him here, kelpies they called themselves, the female kelpie walking over to him with an empty mug of a hot drink… cappuccino, that was how the kelpies called it right?

He looks at the female kelp creature for some seconds before hesitantly nodding to her question. "....Yes…"

The kelp creature nods in understanding, putting down her mug on the nearby beach table, moving closer to him. "I came to check on you."

The massive mer slowly looks at the kelp creature, before looking at the strange white patches on his body, the female kelp creature called it bandages, she said it would help him to heal his wounds. "..... It hurts…"

The female humanoid salad looks at the bandages before sighing, looking back at him. "I know they hurt… but it will get better." Moves even close to him, signing for him to lay down.

The sperm whale mer tilts his head in confusion, not understanding her signal and he just looks at her, confusion in his eyes, before he understands she wants him to lay down to rest. The mer complies after the realization hits, laying down in a comfortable position before looking over at Yami, he hesitates before asking her. "Do you promise? Do you promise they will get better?" The kelp creatures didn't hurted him and treated him well during the days he's here, but he still isn't 100% sure he can trust them…

The female sea monster nods, before answering: "Of course I promise…" She slowly lifts her hand, making the mer tense a bit, before she gently starts to pet his horn and head, being careful not to touch his bandages, a sad expression for seeing such a creature so hurt.

The mer tenses more, confused about what she's doing… It's weird but not in a bad way, it's actually…. nice and comforting to be touched like this, he doesn't know what she's doing, but she isn't going to complain about a nice and gentle touch, the mer leans against her hand unconsciously.

The kelp lady blinks a little surprised, smiling softly for him and she keeps petting him, wanting to comfort the poor mer. ".... Mind if I stay here with you?"

The mer looks at her, very surprised before starting to think about her offer… if she stays here it means more of these nice touches… He nods a bit, trying not to show that he likes her staying close to him.

The kelp woman smiles, before taking out a beach blanket to sit on, resuming her petting. The mer is still a bit confused about her action, before it clicks that she didn't meant to stay just for a while, but indeed for a long while, not like he's complaining.

He thinks for a while, before asking in a soft and sleepy voice, leaning more into her touch. ".... What 's your name?" He opens his eyes looking at the female kelpie with bright violet eyes.

She perks up, looking at him surprised, she could swear she said her name to him, but she answers him nonetheless. "My name is Yamitsuki or just Yami, and you?" Keeps petting his head.

He makes a soft rumbling hum. "Yami huh?..." He thinks about his name, he doesn't even remember his name, it's been so long since he last heard it… "....I don't have a name."

Yami blinks surprised and looks at him…. "Oh.. I see…" She thinks for a while, before looking deeply in his eyes. "..... Mind if I give you one?" She pets his horn gently, waiting for his answer.

The massive whale mer's eyes widened in shock. She wants to give a name to him? The cogs are turning in his mind for some moments. He snaps out his shock, before nodding a bit, still laying down. "..... I would like that…"

The tall female kelpie smiles, her violet eyes shining, before she observes him for a while to think of a good name for him… She has a good idea of a name and smiles. "What about… Mobydick? or just Moby for short?"

The mer thinks, checking how to say his name. "Mobydick… I like this name." His eyes have a glow of happiness.

Yami smiles at him, proud of his new name. "So your name is Mobydick, I hope you like it." She resumes petting the massive mer, sitting on her haunches while humming a soothing and calm song.

The mer unconsciously leans against the kelp lady, his eyes becoming heavy, he likes her singing… It makes him remember his mother, when she sang for him to sleep every night. The mer slowly falls asleep being petted by the kelp lady, his green eyes closing while he enjoys her voice.

Yami blinks softly, surprised by how easy he fell asleep, before smiling, her eyes becoming even more softer. She keeps petting the sleeping mer, who this time sleeps without nightmares about his conturbed past. Soon the female kelp creature fell asleep alongside the mer, no more nightmares for either one tonight.

#mermay 2023 #personal blorbos #personal bean #Mer hunter au #kinda of salad family #these two have no idea they are future besties #Yami just wants to comfort the mer #and moby wants and appreciate being comforted #angst but it becomes wholesome #My art

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