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the-kittylorian-writes · 1 year

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"Dinui (Gift)"

This fic was originally posted on AO3 in December 2021. I’ve decided to share it here, so at least my Tumblr has more fic content. ^^; This fic is the first story of an “anthology,” and this anthology is part of a longfic series, but this fic can be read as a standalone. Note that I have given a headcanon name and traits to Din's adoptive father. Thank you and enjoy. :)

Support this fic with original author’s notes - AO3 Links to the next fic of this anthology - AO3 || Tumblr Link to the main WIP of this ficverse - AO3 Link to the main longfic series - AO3

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warnings: None Word Count: 5k

Anthology Summary:

Dinui means “gift” in Mandoa.

Din was christened with this nickname by his peers in the Tribe since they were children. It was a name used on him sarcastically, to get him to be a “blessing to everyone” even when he felt far from it. If only Din knew what a blessing he truly was, he would not have struggled too hard to find his place as a Mandalorian foundling, caught between an old life and the new.

This is a series of "Life Day" one-shots that explore the nature of Din’s heart as he grows older into the Creed, between what is real and what is a facade.

Story Summary: Growing up among the Tribe, happy in the company among new family and friends, Din Djarin has always felt that the Tribe was a gift to him. However, as the years go by, Din means more to the Tribe than he’ll ever know. And not just because it’s in his name. In this fic, Din is thirteen years old.

Dinui ("Gift")

“Kill him, Paz!! KILL HIM!!”

“I’m trying my best here!”

“Get him!!!”

Din Djarin, thirteen years old, was tumbling forward like a rocket in flight, clearly a good pace ahead of three more boys his age. They roared and growled as Paz Vizsla, Caelan Shar, and Saoul Elku hurled snowballs larger than the size of their growing fists straight at their target.

Din dodged two of their icy attacks easily, and barely missed the third one—the one hurled by none other than Paz, of course.

“You’re NEVER GOING TO CATCH UP!” Din yelled over the frustrated cries of the three boys as his breath fogged in thick milky mist as he screamed defiance and near-triumph. “Last one to Vhaasti’s is a dead tooka!!”

“YOU’RE the dead one, Djarin!” Paz’s yell rumbled through the frozen air like a lurching volcano.

It was two days until Life Day, but the pre-winter snows of the planet Abelor had already filled the Tribe’s world in pristine and shimmering white. Trees bent at the weight of the snowfall the night before, and the morning saw the foundlings and the rest of the Tribe’s children frolicking like colts on mounds upon mounds of fresh snow.

Din and the rest had been set with weaving their makeshift sleds into working order, slinging them onto their backs, ready to climb one of the highest hill peaks surrounding their settlement and noisily whoosh their way down the slopes, when a thick, fragrant pillar of smoke spiraled out of Vhaasti’s hut’s smokestack.

She was busy at work with her wonderful curry buns, which the kids loved.

The day before, Vhaasti had christened Din and his motley crew of gangly friends taste testers of her new recipe, and had pronounced that the first one to the foot of her door would get twice the servings. And her servings usually came in huge bundles. Who wouldn’t want to traverse back home to their respective huts, cradling about ten or more buns in well-deserved bliss?

The tantalizing aroma of baking bread and spicy meats had filled the air, and the race to Vhaasti’s hut had at once commenced. The four boys cleanly dropped their sleds, held on to their winter gear (despite winter not really settling in earnest yet), and scrambled across the expanse from foothill, across a wide clearing of untouched snow, and another ten meters or so until Vhaasti’s open doorway loomed overhead.

Din had the mind to put on his best snowshoes so off he went; the other three struggled and bounded in painful slowness over the crystalline dunes like aging Wampas nursing their brittle backs.

Paz’s plan to slow the little pipsqueak down was to throw snowballs at him, to which Saoul and Caelan agreed at once. Once Din was down, they further schemed, that’s when the real race would begin as all three would be finally able to drag Din along with them to a proper starting line.

However, Din had other plans, and that “proper staring line” never really did happen.

Also, Paz and the rest continued to slow down as they took precious split-seconds to pick huge spheres of snow from the ground and hurl them out in desired trajectories. None of which met their target, anyway, as Din was quite doing the zigzagging run trick cleverly.

It was just the four boys’ bloodcurdling shrieks and muffled laughter which dominated the settlement. They had always been the rambunctious bunch, thanks to Paz. They rotated leadership as suggested by the grown-ups, but it was Paz who always ended up ringleader for the most boisterous of games.

“HE’S GETTING AWAY!!” Caelan pointed out superfluously, his voice breaking. All their voices cracked and sputtered occasionally as adolescence began to hit them like a ton of grav charges.

Paz and Saoul didn’t reply, nor verbally react. Instead, they chose their remaining seconds to pick up speed and kick up a monstrous flurry of snow, leaving poor Caelan behind in their wake. They could hear his betrayed “HEY!” as they swiftly placed a good distance between him and their destination.

Din, in turn, finally realized that the hale attacks from his opponents had ceased, so he began to rush forth—but Din, to his current dismay, still had the shortest legs. Paz and Saoul had been towering over him for a while now, and Paz had always been the biggest kid among the boys.

Pretty soon, Paz was almost neck-on-neck and Din could hear the boy’s determined wheezing behind him.

Din pulled his own personal “last resort” move he nicknamed “the afterburner.” Din has seen those neat starfighters blast out huge molten rounds from their boosters and further speed up, thrusting higher and higher into the atmosphere—and that’s what Din wanted. Boost his efforts to the maximum to rightfully claim those much-coveted curry buns.

“SO LONG, SUCKERS!” Din laid out his meanest name-call yet (his buir discouraged too much swearing, especially in front of the elders), and proceeded to unleash “the afterburner.”

Well, Din hadn’t exactly mastered it yet. While he poured most of his energy to propel himself forward, he had little control of where his steps went. He tottered a little before he zoomed away, enough for Paz to catch up and gain a foot or three ahead of him.

The two boys barreled forward, and finally, in about thirty seconds, they both dramatically leapt into the air like bolo-ball athletes to lay their hands upon the endzone.

Din felt the snow-filled ground crash onto his bare face. None of them had worn their helmets—it was still optional at their age, even as they were heavily encouraged the wearing of their buy’ce in preparation of their Verd’goten. “Optional” had their attention that day.

“I WON!” Paz cried, and Din immediately looked up, sputtering snow.

The tips of his fingers and Paz’s own were touching the small wooden step leading to Vhaasti’s doorway at exactly the same position, with Din’s to the right of the step, while Paz’s to the left of the step.

“No way,” remarked Saoul, who was huffing and puffing, his voice jangling with his steps. His tone held one of amazement. “You bozos landed on the same spot at the same kriffin’ time!”

Paz’s stark blue eyes met with Din’s dark ones, both pairs on faces scowling in disbelief. They clambered to their feet at the same time as well, and were now squaring each other off for another argument—

“I got here first,” justified Din, soothing his pride, as his final trick had failed… in a way.

“Hey, easy, pal—It’s my hand that hit that step first!” Paz countered, his pale face turning crimson.

“Hey Saoul—spit it out! Don’t bluff. You know I made it here first!”

“HEY CAELAN! Can you please be on my side and say you saw me reach the step first?”

Caelan, who had naturally caught up last, trailed in lazy steps through the snow, sporting a dark doom-cloud of an expression. He was still sore from being duped into falling behind. “I don’t care, you idiots,” he said sourly, and also in half-jest.

Din was about to spout out another of his protests when someone very noisily cleared their throat, enhanced via modulator, by the doorway.

The boys’ stopped dead in their shrieking, and all grew silent as their heads turned to the source of the sound.

It was Vhaasti herself, in her polished ivory-white and muted red helmet. The boys didn’t know how old exactly Vhaasti was, but she couldn’t be no older than thirty, it seemed. She had a young voice and a young disposition, but oftentimes would act maternal towards the foundlings as she smothered them with her lovingly cooked meals.

She leaned comfortably by the door frame of her stone hut, plastered by frost which made her seem as if she were standing by a pile of glimmering sugar.

“Saoul’s right, I’m afraid. It’s a tie,” she drawled sweetly.

“Ma’am!” the boys croaked immediately, bashfully, setting themselves to rights like young soldiers standing to attention before their commander.

Vhaasti gushed forth in amused laughter. Just because one was a trained warrior, didn’t mean they couldn’t act like “normal people” once in a while. But what was “normal people” these days?

“Tell you what,” Vhaasti said as she met the boys’ sudden reverence with a proposal. “The first one to show kindness to the other will get thrice the serving of curry buns today.”

“Huh?” Caelan outright voiced everyone’s confusion and concerns. Like jittery clay sculptures, they moved their heads ever so slightly to meet each others’ eyes in lost consultation.

Din seemed to have gotten the idea when he proclaimed, “It’s okay, ma’am. Paz can have my share. He’s the winner, after all.”

Paz turned to Din, looking rather exultant and pleased, but Din’s grin was so false and wide that Paz had at once turned suspicious. He realized where Din was getting at. “Does fake kindness count, ma’am?” Paz inquired, irritably.

Din looked surprised and a little hurt. “It’s not fake.”

“Hey, ner vode,” called Saoul in sing-song as he strut up to his two warring friends and swung an arm each over their shoulders. “Why don’t we just all get along? I’m willing to give my share to you guys!”

Caelan was shaking his head. “I gave up chores this morning for this tomfoolery,” he was whispering to himself. “I wash my hands of you all,” he grumbled dejectedly.

“None of you get curry buns today,” asserted a strong, familiar voice from deep within the hut.

Din’s face perked up right away, as the boy recognized the voice.

From the recesses of Vhaasti’s hut emerged Raald Movan—who was also Din’s adoptive father. The tall Mandalorian in his once-blue armor now painted over with white bounded down, his two feet now standing on the very step which Din and Paz had fought over.

Din blinked and his ears turned hot. His buir had been visiting Vhaasti more and more often. He still wasn’t sure how to take in the possibility of his father holding courtship with another, and adding to their already content clan of two—

…But if it were Vhaasti… Din swallowed hard. His dad may have hit the jackpot. He fought to hide a giddy, albeit reluctant smile.

“Wipe that grin off your face, ad’ika,” Raald was firmly saying, which snapped Din back to the matter at hand, while the rest giggled spitefully at him being called little one in front of everyone. “I’m not letting you off the hook.”

Din scuffed an ice-crusted shoe. His buir had always been within reason—so what did he mean when he said that no one gets curry buns today? Are they being punished—?

“Caelan’s right, boys. You forsook chores for tomfoolery. And our lovely Vhaasti’s just messing with you—“

Oh yeah. The chores.

Here, Vhaasti seemed about to jokingly knock Raald lightly on the helmet to refute it.

Oh my Maker, they’re doing the googly eyes at each other, Din choked in his thoughts, biting his lip to hold back a feral squeal of mixed emotion. His thirteen-year-old mind could understand as much that sort of body language between two Mandalorian grown-ups.

“—so it’s best to please return to shoveling, and making sure the salt is on places where they ought to be. We do not want anyone slipping off to their deaths, do we?”

“Sir, no, sir,” responded the boys in unison, respectful but crestfallen.

As the boys all turned, shoulders hunched to face the morning routine they’d neglected in hopes of being excused as Life Day drew near, Din heard Raald and Vhaasti converse softly in Mando’a. Din was learning the language quickly.

They’re good kids, remarked Vhaasti, which warmed Din’s cheeks even further. Yeah. Even Paz was a good kid. Paz’s buir, Lir Vizsla, practically martyred himself over childrearing for this brute of a boy as an unlikely father. He recalled Raald sharing in the misery of sleepless nights, drummed by instances of “Vizsla waking up the damn neighborhood just because his kid’s got a cough.” Lir had the histrionics when it came to Paz and often sought advice in unholy hours of the night.

All insults were dealt fondly, of course. Paz was Lir’s foundling just as Din was Raald’s. The Tribe knew that Lir was doing his best for Paz, and Paz, while too headstrong for his own good, would intermittently take special pains so that Lir, at least, was “not pissed” at him.

I know they’re good kids, replied Raald in Mando’a to Vhaasti’s very lenient and generous statement. They also need more discipline. Their Verd’goten is only a month away.

Let kids be kids, offered Vhaasti in reply. They won’t be kids forever.

That’s true, Din agreed in his head, his father’s and Vhaasti’s voices fading out of earshot as he and the rest of the gang dutifully trudged their way back to the shed for their snow-clearing tools. They’d all become adults, so to speak, after the Mandalorian coming-of-age ritual called the Verd’goten. This was probably the last winter where he, Paz, and the rest of the thirteen-year-olds would truly enjoy freely. These sort of chores was a good transition, he hoped, for the more mature years ahead.

****

“Get out of the way, Rula’an,” Caelan said, admonishing a small boy of eight standard years as the child stood just in the path of the older boy’s shoveling. Remembering his manners, Caelan added, “Please and thank you.”

“I need help,” deadpanned the red-haired child, his wide eyes of the strangest purple hue blinking at Caelan.

“Purple-eyed freak needs help,” Paz magnified as he observed Caelan’s struggle in keeping his cool as Rula’an held his ground.

Din smacked the butt of his shovel lightly below Paz’s knee, and the older boy yelped. “You’re the freak, freak.”

“How da—“

“My kite got stuck on the trees back there,” elaborated little Rula’an, expressively turning his head to point at a distance yonder.

Saoul squinted to measure their probable adventure. “Nah. Sorry, Ru. We’re not allowed beyond a certain point at our age. Maybe in a month after we all pass the Verd’goten.” The boy smiled toothily, and not unkindly.

“Why don’t you ask the grown-ups?” Din asked of the younger child, bending to a knee so that his gaze met Rula’an’s more comfortably. It was something he kept seeing Raald and the other grown-ups do when speaking candidly with small children.

Rula’an was quiet.

“OH!” quipped Paz loudly. “We got ourselves here a fellow deviant. Skipped a chore or three to play, Ruru? Grown-ups will get mad if they find out you’ve lost your kite while skipping chores?’

Rula’an mutely nodded. The child added after a while, “I know I did bad. But I was hoping you’d help me but if you can’t, I’ll tell my mom that—“

“Hold on a minute there,” Paz interrupted, his bare face forming a splendidly scheming smile. “Don’t tell your mom just yet. Come on, guys. Let’s get this salt chore over with stat, and let’s all help Ruru…”

“You go ahead, fellas,” Saoul cut in, a little nervously. “After salt duty, I got clean-the-flamethowers duty. My buir’s gonna tan my hide if I don’t get those finished by afternoon.”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m stuck with same situation of helping the old lady with the speeders. She’s on maintenance shift and she’d like me to tag along. It’s a no go for me, guys,” supplied Caelan, trying not to meet Paz’s, Din’s, and little Rula’an’s glances.

“You’re both being sus,” spat Paz presently, sounding disappointed. “Anyway, Din and I are done here, so we’re gonna help Ru. Are we, Dinui?”

“Stop calling me that, Spazzy Paz,” Din retaliated.

Paz snorted with utter exaggeration.

Whenever Paz called him by that monicker, it was meant with a bit of sarcasm. While all the kids had provided the most infantile of nicknames when they picked on each other, Din’s was by far the most ambiguous. “Dinui” meant “gift” in Mando’a. Loosely, it also meant some sort of blessing. To call Din a “blessing” had been weaponized against him, Din thought glumly. It was a form of guilt-tripping. If Din refused, then he’d be effectively no one’s blessing at that particular point. He could always refuse, but… Paz knew Din’s weakness. Din just loved to help that it was almost pathetic—at least, to the mean-spirited eyes of Paz.

The bigger boy shrugged. “Fine by me if you’re all wusses.” There was an edge to his tone as Paz, with surprising gentleness, held Rula’an by the shoulder to have the child lead him to where he needed to be. “Sally forth, my liege!”

“Hey, wait,” Din called out, jogging to Paz and Rula’an, so that he flanked the smaller boy on one side as Paz did on the other. “Our dads aren’t gonna allow any of us to go alone. Let’s just take their advice and do the battle buddies thing at all times necessary.”

“Battle buddies” was, as the name suggested, a buddy system where soldiers went in pairs so they could both watch each other’s backs. It was an exercise of undivided trust between two comrades-in-arms, and this sort of system prepared the kids for training in the Fighting Corps.

Paz let out another snort. “Of course we’d do that,” he said, as if it had been obvious the entire time. “Now let’s get this over with so they wouldn’t miss us for lunch.”

****

“Tell me how we ended up like this?!” Din cried, feeling the undesirable pop of his veins in suppressed rage. He, Paz, and even little Rula’an had climbed the highest tree of the forest surrounding the settlement, and were now stuck like loth-kittens on the branches. They had retrieved the kite, but as they were about to make their way down…

“Do those ice wolves eat people, Paz?” Rula’an asked softly, very terrified and clinging to the older boy like a leech.

Paz was fumbling for words to sound not too devastatingly alarmed as much as he really was. “Well, when they’re hungry… they’ll eat about anything.”

“Anything? Do ‘people’ fall under anything?” Rula’an seemed to know the truth in any case, but had just wanted some delusion before a disastrous end befell all three of them.

“YES! Yes, Ruru, they do eat people when they’re hungry. Sorry to break it to you, but lying’s not gonna make it any easier,” Din huffed, keeping his feet firmly latched on the snowy bark. The tree thankfully held, but the two ice wolves at the foot of the trunk, about sixty feet below them, had begun circling them with their glowing, wild eyes and low, guttural growls.

“Ain’t lying!” argued Paz. “It’s a euphemism, you dolt! Have you heard of it?”

“Did you at least bring a com-link?”

“Umm…”

“We’re kriffed. Uh, sorry, Rula’an. Don’t tell your parents you heard bad words from us.”

“Thanks a lot, battle buddy,” Paz muttered unhelpfully at Din. Din grimaced.

“Do we scream at the top of our lungs for help?” Rula’an suggested, his purple eyes turning watery with tears. Din’s heart fell. He doubted their deaths would fall to the hands (or jaws) of a couple of juvenile ice wolves, but they could still get mauled if worse came to worst. Paz would be strong enough to take on one, maybe.

Din sighed. “I’ll try to get help.”

Paz shot him a look. “You’ll scream it out?”

Din shook his head. “No way. We might end up calling those ice cubs’ parents instead, and we’d truly be kriffed. I’ll get to the tree nearest the settlement, try to get down. If I can’t, then I’ll scream for help.”

“You’re gonna get there by swinging, monkey man?” Paz asked, voice quivering. Din wanted to kick Paz in any manner possible, yet the fear had become palpable in Paz’s voice. They all had been trained to climb up and climb back down, but informally so, and not on trees deep within a snowy wilderness with no adult supervision. Din had always known how to get from tree to tree. He’ll try his luck with this one.

“Stop being a wuss,” Din said gruffly, earning a half-enraged and half-petrified look from the silver-blue-eyed boy. “I’ll be back with help. Rula’an, make sure Spazzy Paz doesn’t wet his underpants.”

Rula’an giggled at Paz’s expense. The said boy’s face was a vibrant shade of beet-red. Paz knew that he’d be too cumbersome for the task. His way up the tree in the first place was none too graceful and he had already skinned a hand.

Din began gingerly scrambling from branch to bark to branch, testing his weight on them before clambering over, pulling his weight again and again until his arms began to ache. Despite the freezing cold wind that blew incrementally, Din had begun to sweat profusely. He fell to sulking at their fates. Why was it that every time they had tried to disobey, one way or another, things went awry? It was too annoyingly cliche.

At that moment, Din didn’t care if Raald tanned his hide, or if Lir ended up, for certain, doling out disciplinary action for Paz. Same for poor Rula’an. They all had it coming. Might as well face the music.

But first, they needed rescuing. The only factor that helped them save face was that they were not Verd’goten initiates yet. They were still small, irresponsible kids capable of and forgivable from all spectrum of stupid mistakes until that day came.

They’d probably be grounded for Life Day.

Oh well.

Din had finally made it to the last tree, and about a mighty stone’s throw away, Din was comforted by the warm sight of Vhaasti’s smokestack churning out another batch of deliciously scented spirals.

He was close enough to hear the rattle of baking within Vhaasti’s hut, and many worried voices of grown-ups to go with it.

Uh-oh. Did they already have a clue that three kids were missing?

With a huge intake of breath, Din braced himself and screamed for help with all his might like a tortured banshee.

It was Vhaasti herself who heard first, then a swarm of other Mandalorians heeded his call and came to his direction.

Din couldn’t exactly remember the rest—except that he and Paz were indeed grounded for Life Day, but not before Raald had shoved a warm curry bun in his hands. There was a relieved smile in Raald’s voice, underneath that gleaming helmet of his. His voice, moreover, was almost sad but without regrets, when he told Din: “Ad’ika, you’re insufferable. I swear, you and Paz are trying to get each other killed, and the other kids killed. Anyway, sit this over. I’m sorry, but Life Day’s not in the picture for you this year.”

Din nodded wordlessly, understanding, and relenting. He cradled the curry bun.

“And oh—don’t you worry. Vhaasti and I…”

“You’re getting married?” Din burst forth, unsure of how to take the news now just as he hadn’t been certain how to absorb the first possibility of it.

Raald seemed a little too shocked at first, taken aback by Din’s perceptiveness. Then his father slowly shook his head, but held nothing heavy nor hateful with that gesture.

“Not anytime soon, kiddo. Happy Life Day, ner Dinui.”

Raald must have caught Din’s own profound shock of realizing that he had knowledge of the nickname, and had taken the liberty to use it as it was: unadulterated and genuine.

Din smiled, shrugged, and took a bite from his curry bun, knowing the answer to this dilemma of his father marrying off all this time.

“Happy Life Day, Pa.”

****

That was twenty-four years ago.

Gone were the days when the Tribe’s foundlings grew up under the open sky, feeling the sun and wind on their skin. The harrowing years that followed the Great Purge had the Tribe burrowed underground among the lava flats of the planet Nevarro. They had been reduced to a Covert, huddling in alarmingly fewer numbers.

Rula’an, long since grown and covered from head to toe in helmet and armor, stood in front of Din’s alcove, which served as his private quarters where he rested after a tiresome series of bounty hunting missions.

It was only Din who had been granted the sacred burden of being their sole provider, as exposure of Mandalorians in bigger numbers had become too disgustingly perilous.

This would also be the fourth time over the years when Din would be missing Life Day.

Din would try his best to make it a point to return to the sanctuary of the Covert in time for Life Day. He’d only done it successfully the first time, but he had been so exhausted, and was recuperating from injury that he had simply slept through the holiday itself.

No one dared disturb Din when he was gaining his strength back, when he was getting his all-too-valuable sleep.

He missed last year’s Life Day. He had been hampered by a delayed mission and only returned over a month after. Still, when Din returned, he was spent—hardly had any time to socialize and talk. And when he did, it was with the Armorer for repairs. Then he disappeared to the alcove in his bunk.

There was a tiny light overhanging the wall atop his section of the alcove which indicated whether anyone from the Covert may seek his company or not. When it was turned on, it meant that his helmet was in place, and Covert members can come knocking in without accidentally violating the Creed.

That rarely happened—the light turning on. It was usually off, and the alcove would be blanketed in semi-darkness. Tendrils of light only fell on the walls when there was daylight streaming from the sewer vents.

It would be Life Day in a few hours, and in vain, childish hope, Rula’an had patiently waited by Din’s alcove “door,” which was really an archway sealed by very thin durasteel. One can open and close it by sliding it sideways.

The light remained off, and Din had been home for ten hours already. Surely, he’s been rested. He had reported no injuries, so Rula’an had hoped that Din would be well enough to emerge.

Rula’an held something tightly between his hands. It was the last box of curry buns which Saoul had managed to bake despite missing an arm from fighting in the Purge. It all had been horrible since then—Caelan was gone, and so was Rula’an’s big family—and so many others.

Din and Paz had lost their dads.

But to their smallest of comforts, Saoul hadn’t forgotten Vhaasti’s curry bun recipe, and he, in turn, had tried to make it every year for Life Day.

Rula’an was hoping he could hand it over to Din himself. It’s been ages since he’d spoken to Din.

“Leave him be,” came a gruff, jaded voice. Rula’an turned to see Paz Vizsla, still mountainous and as stubborn as he can be, make his way towards him. “Din ain’t coming out of that. We’ll just pester him with questions. He can’t be bothered—especially on Life Day. Everyone’s gonna be on his nerves.”

Rula’an kept his helmeted gaze down.

“You’ve always been cold to him after the Purge, Paz…”

Paz growled dismissively. “None of your business, Ruru. Now, let’s both get out of here, leave Dinui alone, and go get ourselves some uj-cake, eh?”

Rula’an knew Paz himself was struggling with Din, more so than the rest of everyone in the Covert. It only made Rula’an balk into forlorn smog when he noted how defeated Paz had become, how stooped and sunken, despite his best efforts to remain proud of their Mandalorian legacy in spite of the shadows.

Paz was about to gently drag Rula’an out of his stupor when he took a step forward and tenderly laid the box of curry buns at the foot of Din’s flimsy durasteel door.

“Dinui,” Rula’an bravely proclaimed while Paz looked on, somewhat amused. “I know you can hear me, and I know that you kinda hate that nickname, but I’m holding you to it. We all miss you, buddy.” He paused, masking the crack in his voice. He held fast. “The kids were asking for you back at the main hall. Dinui, don’t be a stranger. Okay, I’m done with my speech. Happy Life Day.”

Paz was shaking his helmeted head, fueling Rula’an’s dull sense of dismay. The older man seemed to be telling him that there was no hope anymore for Din. Wherever Din was, while he’s physically here, he’ll always be far away.

Just as he and Paz turned around to make their way back to the main hall for Life Day preparations—they were only doing this for the foundlings’ sake at this point, to offer them vibrant memories of tradition and home in these utterly bleak times—when the alcove lit up a little.

Rula’an held his breath when his gaze met the tiny bulb on the high alcove wall, now turned on in its beautiful icy hue. Its light filled the space with memories of winter back at Abelor, twenty-four years ago. The day they all got into trouble because of some silly kite. Despite all that, it was still his favorite childhood plaything.

Perhaps he’ll never get to play it anymore, out in the open ever again, with the foundling children.

He sought joy, however, with the fact that Din’s light was on. But Paz had bumbled off the alcove grounds.

Rula’an didn’t care. If Paz hated Din, that was Paz’s problem.

However, whether Paz admitted it or not, and Rula’an was more than willing to admit it himself, they came to an agreement that Din was their gift. He had always been, and he always will be.

“Happy Life Day too, Ruru,” came Din’s soft and sad voice, modulator on, from behind the durasteel door.

******

Next fic in this series - AO3 or Tumblr

*****

Author's Notes: *buir - parent (plural - buire) *buy’ce - helmet *Verd’goten - Mandalorian coming-of-age ceremony taken when a child usually turns thirteen. Literal: warrior-birth *ner vode - my brothers/sisters/comrades (singular - vod) *ad’ika - child, term of endearment for children 3-13 years old *ner dinui - my gift

1. In this ficverse and one of my headcanons, the Tribe was nomadic and lived in the open before the Purge. After the Purge, the Tribe sought refuge away from the surface and became covert, hence their name.

2. The planet I’ve used here, planet Abelor, is an EU/Legends planet but I’ve found so little details of it so far that I felt I can get away with using it for this fic. xD

3. Mild spoiler for my main longfic (on hiatus atm): there are characters here which are further introduced and fleshed out in “For Only The Strongest Shall Rule.” Yep, the unfamiliar names are all OCs. ^^;; Feel free to check the longfic out, but as I mentioned, this can be a stand-alone. Happy Holidays once again! ^_^

#the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin-centric fanfic #kid!din djarin #kid!paz vizsla #original mandalorian characters #part of a series #but can be standalone #mando fanfic #life day fic #ficmas #star wars fanfiction #canon characters with headcanon details #din djarin's adoptive dad #flash forward to the present #my fics #my writing #the mandalorian covert #the children of the watch #the mandalorian tribe

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