Author's Note:

I will not be following a timeline from the game, nor repeating much content from the game's storyline-though it depends on those events for a base-all the way up to Chapter 14. As the title says-this story includes the missing pages between what we have seen during the game.

I will update the tags as other characters come into play-as eventually the story will touch on nearly all of them.

I'm no Star Wars expert so I am not calling anything here canon, as I don't have enough knowledge to begin to pretend to know! Also, languages, customs, anything and everything basically are really just my vision-using the game as a springboard. If there is an existing language like Mando'a I have used that (with translations) but I don't claim to know it in a way that means I got it all right. I've done my best to relay the meaning no matter what.

Chapter 1 Translations: For those who don't like to wait til the end to know what the non-english words mean (like me!) This works especially well if you open it in another window so you can just click back and forth to see the translations as you hit the words. (Right click and say "open in new tab") Translations are also at the bottom of the chapter!

WARNING: Contains spoilers of course!

**sooooo...I can't put links here lol good to know! I will create a master list on my profile of links to information. If you are anything like me you like digging into the characters and I have plans to put up character profiles and other tidbits that won't make it into the story but that I want to share! PS...if you really LOVE to know what is being said in Mando'a WHILE reading, you can go over to the OTHER site to read it-where you can just hover your mouse over the Mando'a word and it will tell you the translation and pronunciation inline.

Enjoy!

The wind whipped wildly around Torian, as he made his way across the camp to the planning tent where Mand'alor was waiting. While tent defined the structure, it hardly did it justice. It was a reasonably solid building, but one designed to yield to the heavy wind storms on this planet. Darvannis, a part of what once was the Hutt's holdings was his current residence, a horrible, isolated planet that was hot, sandy, and without even a single redemptive quality. Maybe the fact there were plenty of enemies to go around, but other than that...worthless. He glanced across the compound, a handful of people gathered around a fire in the center of camp. Others were pouring in and out of the planning tent. As it stood-"tent" was a pretty loose description of the structure. It featured stone walls and canvas and wood, having been built into a compound with multiple rooms and planning areas. One thing no one could ever accuse the Mando'ade of is not knowing how to make themselves at home where ever their adventures took them. They'd made this planet their home in just the few short months since they'd arrived, building a thriving community and a secure compound that was virtually impenetrable.

He leaned into the wind as he made his way up the hill from his temporary home, in an effort to keep from being thrown off course as the current shifted from one direction to the other, the sand making a pattering sound as it hit the metal of his armor. Apparently, Mand'alor had new mission details and word was that some fresh upstart had blown in during the early morning light bringing news from beyond their communication limits as well as offering some important information that would be integral to the success of their mission. The camp had been abuzz since the first whispered words that had leaked of the offworlder's impending arrival the day before. The clan camp wasn't exactly set up in a vacation spot, so visitors were unusual enough to cause quite a stir. The few ships brave enough to deliver supplies and news to them upon occasion knew better than to tarry on this planet since they faced brutal elements and even more brutal enemies.

He began going over the tactical plans for his next mission as he walked but his mind kept going back to the visitor. She was arriving from some unidentified location in the galaxy, no one seemed to know where, with some title or another meant to impress people. Torian rolled his eyes as he tried to remember the name that was mentioned...some "Commander" of some such force beyond his level of knowledge that he simply did not have time to consider with any kind of real merit. They clearly weren't much to be concerned with given the fact that she had arrived alone to this planet and not with a force to contend with the planet side threats. Irresponsible at the least, deadly at the worst. He was subject to keeping his people alive, not pandering to the soft egos of those would never understand their traditions or loyalties.

They'd seen more than their fair share of faces show up-most of them with weapons or plans or offerings of one means or another that they swore would turn the tide for them. Each one of them sounded like one of Gault's get rich quick schemes and Torian refused to even attend the meetings at this point. These situations certainly weren't unique to this planet. It was a crisis across the galaxy as far as he could tell. People had been vying for power plays from every front, every faction, every race, every culture since the Eternal Empire had wreaked utter destruction on the galaxy as it had once existed. Now there was a level of desperation to all of those throwing themselves into the ring either trying to ensure the survival of their way of life, or to dominate the world they now lived in to mold and meld all life to bend to their whims.

Either way, there were plenty of self-proclaimed leaders in their sector of space alone.

Stupid aruetii.

He huffed as he remembered one of the names he had heard in the scuttle-"The Outlander". It sounded absolutely pretentious and he was baffled as to how this particular person managed to garner an audience with not just the clan advisors, but with their leader. Mand'alor rarely entertained ideas or input from those outside their gathered clans, leaving all of her advisors to sift through the nonsense and bring to her any gems that were worth consideration. Torian couldn't think of the last time anyone other than the clan advisors had even approached Mand'alor.

He had to admit he had not been very in tune with what was happening around him these days. He kept his focus narrow on the missions and seldom allowed himself to be still to ward off restlessness that was sure to lead to the pain that was ever lingering. He avoided others at all costs apart from missions and depended on the advisors and Mand'alor to tell him anything that was pertinent enough that he needed to know.

It really was curiosity alone that made him respond to the message from Mand'alor...delivered as if the camp was on fire by a young adiik who had come tearing through his doorway without knocking, breathlessly relating that the Outlander had arrived. Torian had apologized awkwardly for drawing his weapon and tackling the boy to the ground when he burst in. He helped the boy up, who was backing away and quickly relaying that not attending the meeting was "not an option" as per Mand'alor herself and then exited quicker than he had arrived.

Torian couldn't hold back his frustration and kicked the chair across the room on his way back over to his makeshift desk.

Mand'alor well knew that the first two hours of Torian's day were devoted to scouring through the mountains of information that was forwarded to his datapad each morning. Ever since he had dropped Mako off on Carratos every morning there would be a dump of information gathered from all over the galaxy, both the core worlds, outer rim, and sometimes even from wild space-all sent to him bundled up the best she could. Sometimes the information was somewhat organized, every once in a while a few notations were flagged by Mako to get his attention, and then sometimes it was a jumbled mess that he could get lost in for hours. He couldn't really understand how she was able to get the information to him every single day when some days the sand storms made it impossible to effectively communicate from one base to another here on planet. Still, Mako had worked her magic on the device, had done her best to teach him how to use it-he could actually perform a few rudimentary functions on it thanks to her patient instruction-and every single morning he would spend a few hours scouring through the data he would receive from her on the chance her name had popped up somewhere…anywhere.

He was about 45 minutes into his routine, going through the data skimmed off of the Corellian Trade Route when he had been interrupted with the summons. He took under serious consideration completely blowing her off and apologizing later-as he knew it would not even matter to her if he was there, at least not normally, as he'd dodged many "mandatory" meetings in the past. But, this time the message included the word "ke'gyce" a polite way to issue a direct order. He'd packed up the datapad reluctantly and went a little slower than he needed to thanks to the high level of agitation he was feeling while going through his morning routine, taking far longer than he needed to secure his armor and stow his gear in the lockbox.

The last few months had been filled with far too many meetings with far too many words. To him at least, it felt like they spent an extraordinary amount of time talking and not nearly enough time doing. The level of politics and dissension among the clans in recent days was not something he desired to be a part of. He wanted to fight. It was the only time he felt alive.

He ducked his head down toward his chest, realizing he should have worn his helmet to cross the sand swept camp. It would have afforded his eyes some measure of protection, and would have certainly soothed the bitter sting of the sand against his face. Still. It was good to feel something. Anything, even if it was pain. Over time his life had felt relegated to simply moving from one place of numbness to another and then yet to another. Physically changing locations, but nothing really changing about where he was in his mind. In his heart.

He turned his head sharply toward the ongoing sand storm, briefly closing his eyes, letting the grains dust sharply on his face, relishing the moment of relief that the pain afforded him. To think only of it, a tiny manifestation, to distract him from where his thoughts were heading. He needed his head in the game today-no room for walking in the past.

He was trying.

He had mastered putting his feelings about his life up to this point in iron clad boxes. He knew that to give them any power, no matter how small, in his day to day life would mean he would become useless to his people. He was regarded as more machine than man these days, so exacting were his actions. Physical limits held no value to him. His open attitude about the state of being he was in didn't create vulnerability. Instead, it merited one of two responses. Fear, or envy. Fear that he was just far enough off the hinges that he would do pretty much anything-which unquestionably caused a lot of unease in everyone around him. Envy of what others mistakenly viewed as bravery and unwavering honor, which really was nothing more than a desperate attempt to occupy his body, mind and soul.

He had been going off the rails internally long enough to realize he was broken, completely and utterly. Even the most stoic Mando'ade had some level of self-preservation in light of serving their clan. Not a fear of death, certainly not that, but they worked smart, fought smart. He knew he was reckless and brash in his methods. No doubt many of his vod were uncertain about being sent on a mission with him since he was unpredictable in battle. Cold. Calculated. Most were wholly terrified of him...which is saying a lot when your entire people had their reputation built on their fierce warrior attributes.

Admittedly, he was fully aware if he had been on the outside looking in he would see the same picture they did. He hadn't always been this way. He wasn't always this hardened. It happened so gradually that he hadn't even noticed. It wasn't until things had gone too far inside of himself that anyone else realized something was a little off about that aruetii turned ori'ramikad kid. Truth be told, he hadn't even realized how compartmentalized his thoughts were. Even when he was scouring through the holodata he was not thinking with purpose about her. Finding a level of detachment he was able to search the way one might research information about someone else's cousin. Nothing personal. Nothing ventured.

Nothing could have prepared him for the day his walls tumbled down.

It had been a mission with at least twenty warriors going in to rescue two of their vode who were trapped behind enemy lines. Despite a promising start, Torian watched as his brothers and sisters fell under the hands of the enemy one by one. There were only four of them left when Fett's voice sounded in the comms telling them to retreat. They would regroup and coordinate another attack so they would not be so underpowered and outnumbered.

The order washed over Torian in a way that screamed only one thought.

No.

It was as if a rubber band that had been stretched too far with time and age causing it to be brittle and weak and then it snapped. He wasn't walking out of this mission without those two captives. They would not lose one more of their people to this war.

Not. One. More.

He ignored the voice in his ear, pushing forward to the next barricade of droids.

The angry baritone of Fett in his ear was muffled by the sound of the dual blades in his electrostaff shooting out on each end, the blue current buzzing over the metal, the metallic noise that was impossible to describe but was a part of the intricate song of death that his actions created, a war cry echoing through the valley, as he took off the head of the droid closest to him. Turning his body, kicking his leg out to knock the second off balance as he buried his blade to the chest of the third. He grunted with satisfaction as the machine snapped and buzzed, shaking violently as it's circuits were fried, standing there like it was shocked at the outcome. Torian jerked his weapon backward and quickly sent the droids head flying across the sand. The other droid he had knocked to the ground was shifting to aim his weapon straight at his head.

That's cute.

He swerved and then pitched himself forward landing with the blade going through the chest of the droid all the way up to his hand. The electric vibrations buzzing through his arm as he sneered at the droid's face where smoke was starting to seep through the edges.

He stood up, putting his foot on the droid, keeping it in place as he removed his weapon. He kicked it for good measure, denting in the side and sending parts scattering, then looked up to the next barricade to measure the distance and how much time it would take him to get there. Before he could step forward Fett's voice was back. A litany of swear words, both Basic and Mando'a, filling his ear as he threatened him if he didn't turn back as ordered.

Fett's frenzied voice was drowned out by some interference, static and clicking noises, followed the shrill sound of Mand'alor issuing an unquestionable order, directly to him.

"Cadera! Ne shab'rud'ni! You will turn back and return to camp immediately!"

When he did not answer the line went silent and he thought maybe they had cut the lines. That would be good. He wasn't in the mood to listen to them yell at him anyway-he continued heading toward the next barricade.

He'd only been able to take two steps when the line crackled in his ears, a low, ominous voice seething. He could hear the absolute fury permeating every syllable.

"Haar'chak, Torian! If you do not turn back I will kill you myself."

A statement. A fact. It should have brought him into line. Before this moment it most certainly would have. He had never been anything at all if not an obedient Mando'ade-yet, in this moment, instead of causing him to relent and obey-it fueled him. He stood frozen. A single beat.

Rangir!

In a single moment his mind washed with the madness of the last four years, flashing through all of the nightmares he had woken up from-holding her bloody, mangled body, screaming as the last breath washed out of her. Sometimes she was torn into pieces, hacked apart with light saber wounds. Other times she was scored with bullets and burns. Too often, she just appeared whole and normal in his arms until the crimson red of her life began to trickle from her nose and mouth, and then the gurgling sound of her choking on her own blood as her internal wounds took her. Always arriving one moment too late. Searching for days and days inside his dreams for her, every room empty, every sound just a blank echo into the nothingness. He would wake from those dreams and punch something-hard. His hand had been broken several times from the force of these acts of frustration-but he never even stopped to notice. The pain was a reminder. Never forget. Never stop looking. And then the other dreams-the ones where she visited him-her voice real and alive, like silk covered air touching him and enveloping him in the warm velvet softness of it-covering him...making him whole. Her presence so real, so tangible, so perfectly his beloved-and then he would wake up, and already, before he had even gained full consciousness he would be screaming wildly, thrashing in his sleep. Having spent his entire life up until this point compartmentalizing his personal issues, putting each issue that might be a barrier to his success as a Mando'ade locked tightly away-he was well versed at composing himself quickly and using his discipline to push away the dreams so he could function, to breathe. The others found his behavior so disturbing eventually he moved out of the common quarters and found a small niche in the lower quadrant of the compound where he could be alone with his demons and still be protected by the clans.

He was positive they approved of his choices as no one ever came to look for him, and at least there in his private sanctuary he didn't have to pretend to be okay. He was not okay. During the day he was a loyal, brave, unrelenting Mando'ade, at night he was a man tortured by what was and what would never be. He was masterful at self control and discipline when he was conscious but when he was left to the wicked torture of his unbridled subconscious he was just a victim along for the ride. It was too much, these two different lives, two different people living inside of him.

I am done.

He looked forward to see that the next barrier with what appeared to be three more war droids who were far out of shooting distance and turned his back to them, knowing that he would hear the slightest movement if they advanced so honed were his senses, turning to face the direction of Mand'alor, somewhere beyond his line of vision, knowing that she was not only looking at him, but that she had a scope trained on him as the threat left her mouth.

He stretched his hands straight out to the side, his palms facing upward. An act of surrender. A bold invitation. He stood solidly still-waiting for the blast to bolt through him. He waited twenty more seconds. It never came.

Stupid di'kut-can't even be executed properly.

Exasperated, he threw his hands up in the air, shaking his head, completely furious, stomping his boots deep in the sand knowing that his message was more than clear without the use of words. Bring it or shut it. There was no in between for him. There were no more gray areas in his life, no room for any uncertainty anymore.

He was disobeying a direct order from Mand'alor. The time for caution was far past.

It was that moment that he considered he might be losing his mind. Losing. Lost. Who knew?

The line started to crackle again, and before he could hear the next barrage of threats he jerked his helmet off, tossing it in the sand away from him like it was a living thing bent on driving him to distraction. He closed his eyes and for a moment it felt like she was with him. Like he could sense her being there, heavy, and warm around him. Different than the dry, thick air of the planet. He took a deep breath, centering himself, turning back to the barricade and tearing forward he was like a demon set loose upon the desert. He flew through the air taking out two droids in his first stroke, his body feeling more alive than it had in years. Metal shards, wiring and circuits littering his path toward the entryway to the compound where his vod were.

He killed fifty-six enemies that day, alone, leaving the compound burning in its solitude, ripples of smoke darkening the brown skies making the sand in the wind appear to dance.

He delivered the two warriors safely into Mand'alor's tent. He held his head straight up, his shoulders squared, no defeat or concern in his stance, hard lined as it was. He had spent most of his life as an aruetii, thanks to his own father's disobedience to Mand'alor the Vindicated, and now he was walking upon that same broken path of self destruction. He had spent years proving himself, had finally cleared his name, wrenched his name free from the beaten down status it was in and bringing honor to it again. His dreams were filled with the future of his Clan at one point.

Clan Cadera.

Today he knew as sure as he knew his own skin that he had thrown that away-but the cause, it felt worth it. He knew two other families would spark and burn through the history of their people because he gave up his own. Even now, facing down the judgment of Mand'alor herself he stillwould make the same choice again. It was doubtful that anyone in the entire camp was unaware of his dishonor now. Their customs dictated the penalty, as any level of insubordination would undermine Mand'alor's authority and make others consider it something that could be done. The clans were having enough trouble as it was without power plays for leadership. He knew what was going to happen next, his execution would come swiftly. Whatever nerve she was lacking in the desert would not stop her here in her own domain.

Torian fell to the ground again, on his hands and knees gasping for breath as the red of his blood splattered on the dirty ground, causing odd patterns on the rough surface there. Shaking uncontrollably, coughs wracking his body as he attempted to breath through the thick blood blocking the way. He couldn't see clearly, one eye had already swelled shut and the other was too watery to make anything out with any clarity. He turned his head trying to see where Mand'alor had moved, his senses were going haywire under the stress his body was in, when a knee landed in the square of his back slamming him to the ground with such force the air in his lungs released violently, pain radiating through his chest that caused his toes to curl, his hands to cringe in on themselves.

Her hand reached roughly around his face to rest under his chin, the other pulling his hair, jerking his head upward and back. He couldn't stop the strange noise that his body made.

Angry, hot, hissed words echoed faintly through the throbbing in his ears.

"Fight back you hut'uun! There is no honor in suicide."

He tried to breath, shallow breaths taking too much effort, in and out, too fast, too fast, trying hard to understand what she had just said. Suicide. It was true, all honor was lost in suicide.

She dropped his head back down, his face landing hard on the dirt, bouncing once before settling down in the cool wetness of his own blood as she stood up to finally deliver the killing blow. Peace was coming.

Lifting weakly up, his arms shaking and unsteady, as he spit a glob of blood out on the floor by her feet.

"Nar'sheb, shabuir."

Oh yes, there was no mistaking that he was choosing every word with care so that the impact would incite Mand'alor to further violence. He had been doing it from the moment he hit the floor trying to enrage her enough that she would just finish this once and for all. He couldn't understand what she was waiting for, other than to hear him beg. Perhaps she thought he would beg for mercy. She was wrong. He would beg for deliverance. Death was the only mercy left in this life for him.

Yet, her feet were still planted firmly in front of him.

He struggled, the pain in his body rebelling, protesting against his movements-gritting his teeth to remain silent, tasting fresh blood in his mouth as he bit his tongue-allowing ribs to puncture, allowing fragments to twist and snap as he drew himself up shakily to his knees, his sight nearly blinded in his good eye by the blood that was streaming from a wound on his forehead. He was shaking all over, involuntary no matter how much he was trying to control his body's response to death. He would face death in the eyes.

"Pirunir sur'haaise."

His bravado fell as another wave of pain shot through his mangled body. His head dropped down to lay on his chest, a feeling like he might lose consciousness washing through him.

"Gedet'ye, Mand'alor," he whispered softly.

Mand'alor squatted down in front of him, leaning her head down trying to see his face.

Why is she waiting?

He had been thoroughly confused when Mand'alor ordered everyone out of the planning center, walking him to the back of the compound to a room that was clearly designed for the exacting purpose of teaching any wayward Mando'ade how things really worked.

He was thankful now that he was staring down at the dirt floor into his own mortality. Weak and feeling small-he was thankful for the undeserved act of respect. It was normal to take a rebelling Mando'ade out into the camp and make a public example of them. But now, at the end of the struggle-he was glad to be in private as he felt a revelation there in the final few moments of his life.

It is nearly over.

All of it, the pain, the heartache, the nightmares, the stress, the worry, the fear, all of the beautiful possibilities lost to him forever. The unknowing. It was coming to an end.

And there at the end of it all he realized he had no need to pretend.

There was no one there but Mand'alor and she couldn't possibly hold him in lower esteem. No, there was no one to be stoic for, no need to downplay his suffering. He would not hide or cover or mute the deep despair of his heart, not here in his last breaths.

The moment he thought it, his body reared up as if he were a puppet on strings, and then tumbled backwards onto the ground violently, wracked with the impact of his emotions long held captive.

Gar serim, let it come.

The universe would be party to his pain, and he opened his mind fully to release his long tempered grief. He unlocked the deeply held prison of memories, of the forfeit dreams, of the missing pieces of who he once was. The dungeon walls crumbled, releasing the powerful demons kept wild and gnashing behind the gates for these long years. Deep, mournful sounds came from somewhere inside of him, working through the innermost parts of his being to be released after such long slumber, the sound that came from him something otherworldly, something that didn't belong to a man but a beast in the throes of torture and death. His body convulsed with the pain that ran from the depths of his soul, radiating outward, and rending it into a million shards. Each miniscule part of his pain being voiced in the sounds of agonizing grief. His entire being felt as it if were ripping in to pieces, flayed open, raw and demanding that it be recognized. He tried in vain to lift himself up off the ground, as the contents of his stomach were violently expelled, mixing with his blood on the ground.

He couldn't move, couldn't breath, the pain was sharp, tangled edges of barbed wire and salt ripping from every corner of his being. His body doubled over, lurching to curl in on itself, an instinctive response to his impending death, even in this moment the will struggled to live on. Curled tightly, body shaking and heaving under the weight of his released heartache.

Mand'alor stood over him, completely still in her inventory of his current state. This was as broken of a man as she had ever seen. Not just the physical manifestations that had come from her response to his disrespect...but broken internally. His mandokarla was broken. She had reserved the right to decide whether he would live or die by her hand. Her anger at his refusal to at least respond with dignity to her punishment had driven her to go almost to the brink of death. She realized too late that it was actually what he wanted. That she was being played. It had made her enraged, and then more than that, it made her curious.

Then something happened and it was like the air in the room was sucked out and all there was left was a dark, heavy, thick emotion that was death incarnate. It was like a living, breathing thing in the room with them.

And then the noise came, the noise of a million nightmares, wracked his body, wrenching it this way and that as it poured out of him like a man possessed loosened of his demons. It chilled her to the bone, causing her to step back, away from him, away from the stifling presence around him that seemed to grow more and more despondent by the minute. She had been present at the death of too many to count. Peaceful, horrific, quick, slow and painful. Nothing like this.

She walked slowly around him trying to make sense of what was happening.

What had happened.

He had been one of the most promising warriors she had ever met-certainly, he had no idea she had even taken notice of him-but notice she had, and there was such a future for him. She couldn't even count the number of young Mando'ade who would do their best to get her praise, her attention, desperate for it. Torian never did that. He was quiet, a man of few words, but when he spoke you listened. He was driven, focused, absolute in his devotion and dedication to not just her but all of the codes, traditions and customs of their society. He grew up with something to prove, long before he caught her attention, and he had proven it on a planet called Taris. She knew of his history, at least that of his father's disloyalty and that he had slain him to regain his clan's honor. After that he was rarely seen or mentioned in the clans, having taken off to find his own way. Then he answered her call, showing up one day almost four years prior, quickly becoming one of her most promising. He was a perfect Mand'alor warrior.

Maybe too perfect, she considered now, watching him slowly quiet down, still moaning, a guttural sound from inside, and then slowly, he grew still and silent, face tilted toward the light, blood and mucus on the ground around him, a stark contrast to his blond hair. His body shaking here and there in spasm of whatever was happening inside of him. She'd seen enough to not be phased by physical responses to death. Still she wasn't prepared for his emotional response, his face contorted in a horrible ugly way momentarily, as if the pain was finding its peak. As if something was torturing him though he wasn't being touched.

The only sound in the room was in Torian's own ears. Words, thoughts, memories, repeated. Yes. This was suicide. He realized it now. He wanted to die. Could not live without her. The universe was dark and cold and without any soul with her missing from it. The knowledge calmed him somehow. He gave himself over to the memories, wading through them quickly, knowing his time was short.

Mand'alor squatted down next to Torian's head, as close as she dared, knowing that the stillness of a hurt animal could be deceptive and that in their last throes of death they could become far more dangerous than they were at the peak of their health. The body's last resort, it's last effort to stay alive. She pushed her hair behind her ears looking him over, accessing his condition to decide how to proceed. She was puzzled when his face suddenly appeared to relax, the lines settling, smoothing out in a kind of peace that was out of place in this time and place. A face of contentment, still etched with pain around the edges, but resigned, almost completely, so close to being an expression of happiness.

She drew back at the sight of the tears that began to drip down the sides of his face, tempering her odd instinct of wanting to wipe them away.

Torian felt tears pooling and then dropping to mingle with the blood and bile under his head. Sweet release, relief. They poured from him, like the memories pouring through his mind. Steady, heavy. Her face, her beautiful face, so clear to him that it felt she must be standing right in front of him. He focused on it, her smile, the twinkle in her eyes, his love, his life, the tears still flowing, bringing her face to a clarity and precision in his mind so that at the instant of his death she would be with him. He felt fading. A darkness approaching.

She was glad she had ordered everyone out. It was calculated. A hope that he could be reasoned with and she could punish him justly and still teach him, lead, guide him. Despite what most considered the role of the Mand'alor, perhaps only those in the position understood, there was a fine line that existed in just punishment, and usable lessons. It was a brilliant leader who knew when to use which one. She didn't want witnesses to his punishment, whether it had ended in death or not. In fact, when she had realized that he was moving forward after Fett's order, she cut all comms except for his, Torian's and hers. Eventually, she cut Fett's as well, something he pitched an oversized pir'ekulor fit over.

Once Torian had went past the point she could see him, she had returned to camp.

She had the time to process the event and decide how she was going to handle it. She would lie. Whether Torian was successful, a highly improbable outcome, or died trying-his return would be one of victory, and of honor. He had been through enough speculation, unfair treatment, borderline abuse through his childhood. She wouldn't contribute to another moment of it. That wasn't her role. Despite her bitter anger at his disobedience, she felt an odd sense of needing to protect him. It was off putting, but undeniable.

As she had approached the command center, Fett was there pacing, heels stomping the ground, his hands clenching and unclenching. He had confronted her then, asking what she planned to do with the aruetii. She responded loudly enough that the entire camp would hear it-that she would be doing nothing, he had come to an agreement with her on how he would proceed and was acting under her authority. Her stance was defiant. Daring. Challenging.

She had to stop herself from laughing at the way Fett's face went a terrible shade of red, looking as if he were going to explode any second. She watched him as he struggled with correcting her version of the story, but slowly, he settled himself, nodding a curt agreement and walking away. She would have to deal with him later she was sure, but he was wise enough to know confronting her publicly wasn't in either of their best interest.

She wasn't sure why she had done what she had. She saw something in Torian, when he had turned, toward her, and knowing that she could put a bullet through his heart at that very moment, and would have been justified to do so. There was just something there. In his eyes. In his challenge. She couldn't have put her finger on it but it was becoming pretty clear now. Something had broken him and he had kept it at bay for as long as he could.

She held her breath, broken from her thoughts, when he started whispering words, her curiosity maddening as she leaned ever closer weighing the risks carefully but the desire to know what he was saying winning out.

"Cyare, Riduur...ner Cyar'ika..."

"Laandur ca'nara, gedet'ye, gedet'ye, mhi solus tome...tome..."

"Ner Raeyn, Riduur, skotah ca'nara...kar'taylir darasuum...Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum."

At this Mand'alor jerked back a bit, steadying herself on with her hands. Raeyn? Could it be? She was working through the puzzle in her mind.

"Yaimpar, Cyare, gedet'ye, linibar yaimpar bah ni...gedet'ye Xaraeyn"

Understanding settled over her like a cold waterfall-remembering a challenge from a rising star in the Empire, a young lady who certainly had a lot to prove and had proven it those many moons ago on Rishi when she had the nerve to walk straight into the center of their arena and challenge her house. The Champion of the Great Hunt, Raeyn, and her unnamed companion. The two of them fought like a well oiled machine, beautiful, exacting, and utterly lethal. Their strength, unity, and skill was exquisite. She had thrown out her best to them, the best challenges, and then the best couple her clan could offer-a testimony of bonded strength-except next to the Champion and her companion they looked like virtual strangers. It was clear they were married, it was true enough that after years a team can create a good rhythm to their fighting style-but this was something completely other. It wasn't a rhythm, it wasn't a style...it was more like they were bound together, tethered by some unseen bond-and it wasn't platonic-clearly the result of a strong riduurok. The emotional connection felt like a tangible force in the room, a rising, pulsing spark. It showed in every movement, every breath. One of them would have been a formidable opponent on their own-but together, they were insurmountable. That force moving around them binding and drawing them, their movements like a graceful dance, and their precision unerring. She had been proud to yield to them at the end, humbled by them. They could have beaten her. Her whole clan, all of House Vizsla-but they hadn't been there for anything other than negotiations for a partnership, something she had flat out denied. After they had left her curiosity had gotten the best of her and she had dug around to get some information on the two of them, determining that their armor was indeed beskar upon close inspection, and signaled that they were both Mandalorian-though she did not know either of them by sight since they wore their helmets and had no distinguishing marks other than the colors of their armor which she did not recognize.

"Gedet'ye, Cyar'ika, Mando'ad draar digu..."

"Aay'han, mar'e, tome..."

It had been a short while after that when she heard through the scuttle that Raeyn had been lost in the first battle with the Eternal Empire along with Darth Marr and no one had any hope of finding them. Word of this was always followed with the way her crew had been hell bent on finding her and had torn through multiple planets looking for her. Eventually, she heard that they had given up...resigned to the idea that she was gone, the holonet was riddled with pictures of her, and her crew...and there was always a Mandalorian there-always in full armor like he was ready to take out the universe to find her. Memorials set up, mourning periods-but no one had any real time to stay focused on what was-war had been declared and it was going to require everyone-no matter who they were or what they had lost to come together to fight for their lives. She'd lost track of the story at some point while trying to fight the new fight.

She understood now that Torian was that companion. She saw it now. It was so clear and she hated herself for not seeing this sooner-maybe she could have helped him. His Riduur was the Grand Champion-Raeyn. Everything made sense.

"Nu draar dar'tome tug'yc...gedet'ye...Cyare..."

She steeled herself, hoping that her decision was the right one. Reaching out, pinching a nerve in his neck rendering him completely unconscious.

He felt a sharp pain in his neck and then he was gone. Death was quiet. There were no dreams there. He was thankful for the darkness.

His body fell silent and still, only the struggling rattling of his breathing and the occasional jerking nerve as his body tried to inventory its injuries. Responding to pain he could no longer feel.

Mand'alor walked out of the room to get her personal medics. She trusted them and knew they would be discreet in their handling as per her instructions. Handling Fett was going to be something else altogether, but she would figure that out when it was necessary. Right now all she knew was that he was going to be in a lot of pain when woke up. She hesitantly admitted, that she wasn't completely sure he would wake up. Her medics were good, but they might not be that good, and if he did survive they certainly didn't have any protocol for mending a broken heart.

Thanks for reading my first chapter! I'd adore any comments, feedback, or even corrections! (again, no Mando'a expert here haha) THANK YOU for honoring me by taking time to read this! 3

The Translations:

aruetii [ah-roo-AY-tee] - traitor

adiik [AH-deek] - child aged 3 to 13

ke'gyce [keh-GHEE-shay] - order, command

ori'ramikad [OH-ree-RAHM-ee-kahd] - supercommando (Mandalorian designation of elite special forces)

shab'rud'ni [Neh shab-ROOD-nee] - Don't mess with me (extremely strong warning - much stronger than jurkadir - and likely to be followed by violence)

haar'chak [HAR-chak] - Damn it!

rangir [RAN-geer] - To hell with it!

di'kut [DEE-koot] - idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)

hut'uun [hoo-TOON] - coward (worst possible insult)

nar'sheb, shabuir [NAR-sheb, SHAH-boo-EER] Contemptuous, extreme insult-along the lines of "Shove it, jerk" but much STONGER.

pirunir sur'haaise [PEER-oo-NEER soor-HIE-say] - make their eyes water (slang for kill, injure or defeat)

gedet'ye [Geh-DET-yay] - Please

gar serim [Gar sair-EEM] *Yes, youíre right.* *That's it.*

mandokarla [MAN-doh-KAR-lah] - having the *right stuff*, showing guts and spirit, the state of being the epitome of Mando virtue

pir'ekulor [PEER-ek-OO-lor] - weep

"Cyare, Riduur...ner Cyar'ika..."

cyare[SHAH-ray, REE-door...nair shar-EE-kah ]

"Beloved, wife...my darling..."
_

"Laandur ca'nara, gedet'ye, gedet'ye, mhi solus tome...tome..."

[LAHN-doo-er KAH-nah-RAH, Geh-DET-yay, Geh-DET-yay, mee SOH-loos TOH-may...TOH-may]

"Time is fragile, please, please, we are one together...together..."
_

"Ner Raeyn, Riduur, skotah ca'nara...Ner kar'taylir darasuum...Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum."

[nair Raeyn, REE-door, SKOH-tah KAH-nah-RAH...nair kat-tay-LEER da-RAH-soom...nee kar-TILE garh dah-RAH-soom]

"My Raeyn, wife, time is short, my love, I know you forever."

"Yaimpar, Cyare, gedet'ye, linibar yaimpar bah ni...gedet'ye Xaraeyn"

[yay-EEM-par, SHAH-ray, Geh-DET-yay, lee-NEE bar yay-EEM-par bah ni...Geh-DET-yay Xaraeyn"

"Return, beloved, please, I need you to return to me...please Xarayn"

riduurok [ree-DOO-rok] - love bond, specifically between spouses - marriage agreement

beskar [BESK-gar] - Mandalorian iron

"Gedet'ye, Cyar'ika, Mando'ad draar digu..."

[Geh-DET-yay, shar-EE-kah, Man-DOH-ad drahr dee-GOO]

"Please, sweetheart, a Mandalorian never forgets."
_

"Aay'han, mar'e, tome..."

[AY-ye-haan, MAH-ray, TOH-may]

bittersweet perfect moment of mourning and joy - *remembering and celebrating* at last together - meaning - "These sweet memories make me happy, at last, we're together"

"Nu draar dar'tome tug'yc...gedet'ye...Cyare..."

[noo DRAR dar-TOH-may too-GEESH...ge-DET-yay...SHAH-ray]

"Let us never be separated again...please...beloved..."