A Star Wars Side-Blog

“You seem to have been doing well thus far.”

“Jedi, look at me,” the Mandalorian snapped. Tano stopped short, glaring over her shoulder at him. “He is capable of things I have no way of understanding: this is for his own good because I am not enough. If you refuse to teach him, you're dooming him to a life of being hunted without the means to fight back.”

“Is that what you want?" the Jedi said flatly. “For him to fight?”

“What choice does he have?" Mando barked. “He's going to outlive me and be killed by the first person who wants to dissect him to find a way to tap into those powers themselves— He deserves a chance to live. He needs one of his own kind to teach him to wield his powers. A life with me is no life for a kid; he's a target by association and the danger I face compounds his own. Without instruction, he'll have to keep running simply because he can use whatever it is you Jedi sense. This isn't about training him to protect others," Din said. “This is about him being able to defend himself when I'm gone.”

Ahsoka paused. He continued, frustration lacing his tone.

“Even if there comes a time Moff Gideon is defeated, even if I'm the one who does it and I survive, my life is incredibly short in relation to his. He may very likely still be a child if- if I'm old enough to die of natural causes. Even that fate seems unlikely. Mandalorians do not have a long life expectancy.”

Ahsoka glances away. He sees it.

“And if I can't defeat the Moff, if we’re always on the move, what kind of life is that for a child who ages at a tenth the rate I do?"

The Mandalorian continued. “You said you knew one like him, yes?”

“… Yes," Ahsoka said cagily.

“How old were they?"

She hesitated.

“How old were they?" Mando demanded. She still didn't answer. He huffed in agitation, gesturing to the child playing on the rocks. “He is fifty years old, Jedi. And he's a child. I'm not going to live long enough to see him become the age where he's even capable of taking care of himself, let alone protecting himself.”

“Has he ever lashed out in anger?" Ahsoka interjected. “You said yourself he's a child.”

“He doesn't use his powers to hurt people. He heals them. I've seen it.”

“He's never used his powers to harm someone not at fault? Think hard.”

“Of course not—!”

“Because that's not what he told me.”

Din froze. The Togruta woman smiled bitterly, clasping her hands behind her and looking out over the moors. “I asked him when we spoke if he ever retaliated in anger. Trained Jedi can usually tell when the mind— especially that of a child— lies, but there was no need. He told me he once thought you were in danger, and he strangled a woman with the Force to keep you safe.”

There was a gap of silence as Cara Dune's panicked expression flashed across his mind's eye, and the Mandalorian's shoulders slumped. He'd had to rush to the child and assure him that he was unharmed, that Cara was a friend, and had the child not understood him he would have been at a loss for how to break the child's focus and get him to release whatever invisible, intangible grip he had on her throat as Cara silently choked for air.

Ahsoka bowed her head. “The Jedi were not infallible. We're still mortals capable of making the same mistakes as anyone. It's why the Order held themselves to such high standards: we knew how capable we were of these kinds of feats and sought to rein in the possibility of failure because the consequences of acting on our emotions instead of discernment would always be more destructive and devastating than those of ordinary people. Accountability was paramount. Discipline is difficult; it extended to every aspect of our lives. Left without it, Force users succumbed to their feelings of fear, anger, and hatred.”

“So train him. Teach him that discipline.”

She turned back to the cairns where the child played, spreading his fingers through the moss. ”If he loses touch with the Force, he's less likely to hurt innocent people, including those he loves.”

“But if he loses those powers,” Din pleaded, “Who's going to keep him safe when he's alone?”

Author’s Note: At this point in the season Mando should have been desperate to find the kid a teacher for the kid’s own good because he knows that’s his best chance of survival. If Ahsoka was in search of Thrawn, there was never a chance she would have taken Grogu as her apprentice. I think she should have told Mando that at the beginning and given him the location of Tython so he could be on his way without wasting his time. She was planning to storm the castle herself anyway, and Mando has no connection to the people of Calodan.

“You seem to have been doing well thus far.”

“Jedi, look at me,” the Mandalorian snapped. Tano stopped short, glaring over her shoulder at him. “He is capable of things I have no way of understanding: this is for his own good because I am not enough. If you refuse to teach him, you're dooming him to a life of being hunted without the means to fight back.”

“Is that what you want?" the Jedi said flatly. “For him to fight?”

“What choice does he have?" Mando barked. “He's going to outlive me and be killed by the first person who wants to dissect him to find a way to tap into those powers themselves— He deserves a chance to live. He needs one of his own kind to teach him to wield his powers. A life with me is no life for a kid; he's a target by association and the danger I face compounds his own. Without instruction, he'll have to keep running simply because he can use whatever it is you Jedi sense. This isn't about training him to protect others," Din said. “This is about him being able to defend himself when I'm gone.”

Ahsoka paused. He continued, frustration lacing his tone.

“Even if there comes a time Moff Gideon is defeated, even if I'm the one who does it and I survive, my life is incredibly short in relation to his. He may very likely still be a child if- if I'm old enough to die of natural causes. Even that fate seems unlikely. Mandalorians do not have a long life expectancy.”

Ahsoka glances away. He sees it.

“And if I can't defeat the Moff, if we’re always on the move, what kind of life is that for a child who ages at a tenth the rate I do?"

The Mandalorian continued. “You said you knew one like him, yes?”

“… Yes," Ahsoka said cagily.

“How old were they?"

She hesitated.

“How old were they?" Mando demanded. She still didn't answer. He huffed in agitation, gesturing to the child playing on the rocks. “He is fifty years old, Jedi. And he's a child. I'm not going to live long enough to see him become the age where he's even capable of taking care of himself, let alone protecting himself.”

“Has he ever lashed out in anger?" Ahsoka interjected. “You said yourself he's a child.”

“He doesn't use his powers to hurt people. He heals them. I've seen it.”

“He's never used his powers to harm someone not at fault? Think hard.”

“Of course not—!”

“Because that's not what he told me.”

Din froze. The Togruta woman smiled bitterly, clasping her hands behind her and looking out over the moors. “I asked him when we spoke if he ever retaliated in anger. Trained Jedi can usually tell when the mind— especially that of a child— lies, but there was no need. He told me he once thought you were in danger, and he strangled a woman with the Force to keep you safe.”

There was a gap of silence as Cara Dune's panicked expression flashed across his mind's eye, and the Mandalorian's shoulders slumped. He'd had to rush to the child and assure him that he was unharmed, that Cara was a friend, and had the child not understood him he would have been at a loss for how to break the child's focus and get him to release whatever invisible, intangible grip he had on her throat as Cara silently choked for air.

Ahsoka bowed her head. “The Jedi were not infallible. We're still mortals capable of making the same mistakes as anyone. It's why the Order held themselves to such high standards: we knew how capable we were of these kinds of feats and sought to rein in the possibility of failure because the consequences of acting on our emotions instead of discernment would always be more destructive and devastating than those of ordinary people. Accountability was paramount. Discipline is difficult; it extended to every aspect of our lives. Left without it, Force users succumbed to their feelings of fear, anger, and hatred.”

“So train him. Teach him that discipline.”

She turned back to the cairns where the child played, spreading his fingers through the moss. ”If he loses touch with the Force, he's less likely to hurt innocent people, including those he loves.”

“But if he loses those powers,” Din pleaded, “Who's going to keep him safe when he's alone?”

Author’s Note: At this point in the season Mando should have been desperate to find the kid a teacher for the kid’s own good because he knows that’s his best chance of survival. If Ahsoka was in search of Thrawn, there was never a chance she would have taken Grogu as her apprentice. I think she should have told Mando that at the beginning and given him the location of Tython so he could be on his way without wasting his time. She was planning to storm the castle herself anyway, and Mando has no connection to the people of Calodan.

The Mandalorian didn’t stay long at his home base when he was there. Long enough to stock up on supplies and get some repairs done, but he didn’t linger. Cargo and shipments for the covert were dropped off, lists of needs taken to his ship. He said little and mostly kept to himself.

Tomás loved the children of the covert. He did not interact with them, though.

For the longest time, any band of Mandalorians with foundlings that he’d been a part of was wary of him in the beginning because he seemed to avoid them, at least directly. He would occasionally ask the smith or huntsman or rangemaster how the children were doing, especially if he'd been away for some time, but he didn't spend time watching or teaching them when he was back at their base of operations. He wouldn't directly tell a child no if they asked to be picked up, but he would gently redirect them to one of the other adults, some lighthearted reasoning or teasing (excuse) used to keep from having them any closer than arm’s length.

That being said, some of the adults found that simply placing one in his arms during a conversation without asking first was the easiest way to see his regard of them. Despite his seeming aversion to the children in the regular day-to-day, he instinctively knew where to sit them on his hip or forearm and keep them balanced, a hand on their back or cradling the back of their neck to keep them supported if they were held against his chest. If the rangers and smiths left him to attend to their own tasks, they would often come back to find him walking with the child or swaying in place, humming something low or murmuring in conversation, even if they couldn’t speak.

The Mandalorians eventually accepted that he likely had his own tasks to get back to and simply didn’t want to be waylaid longer than he should be so that he could accomplish them. They thanked him for his time and did what they could to keep from stalling him. There weren’t many of them who had a ship and the kinds of connections he did, and he had never protested or complained at being asked to help provide for them.

—

He’s… embarrassed about one delivery, simply because it’s not his spouse he’s collecting things for. One of the women of the covert was expecting.

They hadn’t asked for anything in particular, but he remembered how taxing pregnancy had been on his wife, and he’d also come to see how stubbornly Mandalorians across every species and gender refused to admit when they were inconvenienced or in pain. A consistent personal mantra for most was that they were to put on a brave face and soldier on.

Be that as it may, Tomás wasn’t going to wager on the health of someone in his community when they were going through something that didn’t have to be more uncomfortable than it already was and there was something he could do to alleviate some of that pain. Whichever Mandalorian it was, they and their child stood a much better chance of a safe delivery and recovery if they were already well-provisioned before the birth.

—

The Armorer sifted through the new crates of supplies delivered by the bounty hunter. One of them, he said, was specifically meant for the expectant mother and her spouse in the covert, and as the Armorer divvied up the supplies her curiosity got the better of her.

A support band designed to go under armor and take some of the weight off the wearer’s back. Boots that had been broken in, but provide good arch support. Something to sterilize bottles. Lanolin.

The last package the Armorer found had her turning her head, trying to decipher the script. It wasn’t until she handed everything off to the father-to-be when he arrived that she discovered what it was.

“These are seyara, it’s a street food from Vatti’s homeworld,” he said in wonder. “This mix of meat and spices is so hard to replicate off-world; the ingredients don’t taste the same grown elsewhere. I have no idea how he knew she’d been craving them or if he just took a shot in the dark, but she’ll be ecstatic.”