A/N: Thank you all for supporting this fic so far! The feedback has made me smile and tear up many times this week and I can't thank you all enough for your kind words.
Once Elliotte’s eyes were covered by a wrap of thick fabric, the Mandalorian held two fingers in front of her face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Uh… three…? I don’t know,” came her response as her fingers sifted through the carefully aligned piles of flowers, all sorted by color, “You’re going to have to let me know what color I’m holding… and yes, it does matter.”
Elliotte felt the faint shift in the air as the man settled in the grass across from her. “I will, I will,” he replied, “And you can’t see anything, right…?”
“Even if I could, I have my eyes shut… but please, if you’re uncomfortable with this, you don’t have to--”
“You’ve been nothing but trustworthy since I met you. I can offer you this much as thanks.”
Ell became silent at that, sitting back on her knees and fiddling with the hem of her dress. After a moment came a soft pop and hiss as his helmet disengaged, and a faint thump as he set it aside in the grass. She could hear him draw in a faint breath, and in that moment it was difficult to determine who felt more nervous.
In an attempt to break the uncomfortable pause, Ell lowered her head in the direction of the flower piles and began feeling around for them. “What color is your hair…? Do you have hair? Are you allowed to answer that…?”
When the Mandalorian spoke next, it was without obstruction--the first time she’d heard it so. “...It’s brown.”
“Then let’s start with… red.” Beneath her blindfold, Ell’s brows furrowed with concentration as she tried to remember the layout of her flower piles. “These are…?”
“Yellow.”
“And these…?”
“Blue. To the left -- there.”
Elliotte’s hand finally settled over the proper color. She took a few in her palms and shifted forward on her knees, reaching out to him carefully. Her knuckles lightly brushed his cheek and the Mandalorian recoiled abruptly. “Sorry--! I’m sorry--” she began, but he settled himself and drew closer again.
“No, it’s… it’s fine,” he answered slowly, willing himself to concentrate, “Here,” he bumped her wrist with his gloved hand, guiding her touch upward until her fingers brushed the softness of his hair. Mando was stiff beneath her touch as Elliotte carefully measured out strands of his hair, trying to gauge how long it was and how best to arrange a pattern within it. She’d cut longer stems on her flowers in case his hair was too short to wrap the way she did her own, but she’d quickly come to find his hair was curlier and a bit longer than she’d originally anticipated.
Before placing each flower in his hair, she wrapped the bottom of the stem around her index finger and snapped it off, shortening it enough for her to disguise behind a curl of his hair. All the while, his eyes were on her blindfold, the anxiety that she could see through it never fully dissipating. Try as he might, though, his resolve began to crumble. Mando was able to watch the way she set her jaw in concentration as she looped a stem around her finger, and the way she chewed the inside of her lip as she fastened the flower securely in his hair.
Hearing her speak about artresmour before, he could not comprehend how the use of flowers could hold such a significant impact. How could putting flowers in one’s hair deepen a bond between people?
As he watched his companion work through the process with him, he could understand now.
The giver offered a piece of themselves within each flower; They hand-picked every flower, every stem, and each stem was finely woven between itself and other stems, invisible behind a curtain of hair. The giver was the artist, and the recipient, the canvas. The finished product was a work of art, but only the canvas knew the detail of every brushstroke and the genius behind it on a most personal level. It was a secret shared between the two of them. A silent dance of two souls in an empty meadow of flowers, and no one but the harpist and the Mandalorian around to know the significance.
How long had it been since someone touched his hair…?
Elliotte wove blossoms of red and yellow, alternating every so often and using nothing but her hands and muscle memory to guide her through the pattern. About halfway through her process, she felt the Mandalorian begin to relax. She felt the way his bunched shoulders loosened and how his breathing had mellowed out, and she knew if she could see him now without helmet or other obstruction, his eyes would be closed. He was no longer anxious.
She thought fondly back upon the countless nights her mother had tucked her into bed in a similar way, after Ell had been crying her eyes out over whatever trivial matter troubled her young mind. Her mother, always a patient woman, would sit at her bedside and sing nursery rhymes while speckles of white and blue flowers took shape around Elliotte’s head like a crown of petals.
It seemed so long ago, and life hardly ever offered moments of security and sanctuary like she had known when she was little. Even still, the act of artresmour was one of the best ways to ease a mind into a sense of belonging. Everyone yearned for it in some way -- even metal-clad men from a distant planet.
All good things must come to an end.
Elliotte fastened the last flower into his hair and felt briefly around his head to make sure everything was staying neatly in place. Once she was satisfied, she reluctantly retracted her hands from his hair.
The loss of comfort was immediate for both of them. Just as quickly as it had started, the honey-sweet solace brought about by the simplest of human contact was severed, and the weight of real life came crashing back to the forefront of their minds.
“...Hungry?” Ell asked to break the tension, once again managing to draw the Mandalorian’s attention. She patted around in the grass until her hand brushed the roughness of the basket from the marketplace. She pulled the wooden basket onto her lap and opened it, fishing around until her hand closed around one of the palm-sized useme nuts. As she held it to him, he accepted it and the opportunity to eat a meal in the presence of another person without worry.
Elliotte retrieved one of her own and again set the basket aside, shifting in the grass until she was facing the lake ahead. She crushed the thin shell in her hand and peeled off the shards, exposing the large seed within and pulling it out of the rest of the casing. Mando copied her actions and bit into the seed. It was rather plain in flavor, as most freshly harvested nuts were, but there was a hint of enjoyable sweetness to it.
A comfortable silence filled the air between them as they enjoyed the cool breeze wafting across the hilltop, sending ripples across the surface of the lake. Elliotte was still blindfolded, but she didn’t seem too bothered by it. Truth be told, as much as the Mandalorian wanted to remove the slip of fabric and be met with her blue eyes once more, he didn’t want to mess up the artresmour by putting his helmet back on over it.
“I’m sure it probably looks ridiculous,” Ell said, snapping him from his thoughts, “We’re taught to do it pretty much from the day we’re born, and yet… I’ve never had to do it with my eyes closed. It’s kind of a fun challenge.”
“It looks wonderful,” he replied, and he meant it. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from his reflection in the lake, and he especially couldn’t look away from the spots of red and yellow tucked into his dark hair. He looked like autumn. He looked like fallen leaves and a fireplace--like telling ghost stories and silhouettes bundled in warm furs, tucked away from the chilling bite of an evening frost.
It’s like a picture.
Mando hadn’t realized he’d said the words out loud until he heard Elliotte shifting beside him. He turned his head to watch her discard the empty useme shell and reach up to her own hairline. For the briefest moment, he thought she was reaching for the blindfold and nearly sprang for his helmet, but her fingers instead wrapped around a curl of her hair that had become untucked and began playing with it between her fingertips idly. “In a way, it is,” she murmured, one shoulder lifting in a sort of half-shrug, “Me, I’ve always seen it as a sort of living poetry--just instead of weaving words, you’re weaving flowers. I’ve never been too good at putting words to paper, so artresmour makes for a satisfactory outlet.”
“And playing your instrument doesn’t?”
Elliotte gave a laugh that sounded more like a scoff. “The nobles make for a rotten audience. They don’t really listen to it anyway.”
“Then why do you play for them?” he inquired.
“It’s less of an outlet and more of a necessity. The nobility are… difficult to work with, to say the least. They lack respect and common decency, but they pay better than anyone else. You said you used to be a bounty hunter, right? Surely you’ve had to deal with a number of unsavory people in order to get paid.”
“I have,” he admitted, unable to count on both hands the number of names that immediately came to his mind, “But… in a way, I’m able to remove myself from it. They have no idea who I am beyond a suit of armor and an empty nickname.”
“Is that why you can’t take your helmet off? To maintain some sort of anonymity?”
“Partially. The main reason is due to my religion. No living person has seen my face since… well--in a long time,” he explained, trailing a gloved finger over the t-shaped visor of his helmet beside him. “I blindfolded you not because I don’t find you trustworthy, but because if you did see… I would have to kill you. Or else never put the helmet on again.”
“You don’t owe me any kind of apology or explanation, if that’s what you’re getting at. I would never ask anyone to make that kind of sacrifice just because I was feeling selfish! There’s no amount of curiosity worth overstepping a boundary like that,” Elliotte answered simply, crunching away at another useme nut.
“You’d be surprised at the number of people who believe they’re entitled otherwise.”
Ell angled her head toward him, brow furrowing in bewilderment. “You don’t say? Here I thought I’d seen the worst of people. A sprained wrist isn’t looking so bad right now,” she mumbled, lifting her wrapped arm to emphasize.
Mando’s gaze watched the movement of her forearm. “How does it feel…?”
“It’s not quite as sore today. Hopefully is isn’t as bad as I originally thought. Then again, I’m really in no hurry to go back to the palace…”
“Ideally, you won’t have to,” he said, finally reaching for his helmet and slipping it back on over his artresmour’d head. It clicked into place, and the next time he spoke his voice was once again muffled by the vocoder. “I’m going to pay you the same rate for your guidance that you were being paid for your instrument.”
As soon as the blindfold was removed from her eyes, Elliotte shot him an incredulous look. “Yeah, right, I wouldn’t ask that of you. That’s ridiculous.”
Before she could further protest, Mando was already passing her a handful of credits. “Please. It’s the least I can do. You need it more than I do.”
Ell hesitated for a moment, looking as though she made to reach for them, but instead her hands gently folded his gloved fingers back over the currency. She shook her head slowly, worrying her lip between her teeth. “Your offer is generous--truly, it is, and I’m exceptionally grateful, but… the truth is, the money isn’t specifically for me. I’ve got some… people I’m trying to look after. People who are in much more of a dire situation that myself. I have enough in my savings to keep me fed and a roof over my head for a while…”
“Then give it to them--I don’t mind.”
“Mando, you are one of them,” she said, and for the first time he noticed the wetness forming at the corners of her eyes. Elliotte paused for a moment to compose herself, closing her eyes to concentrate on how best to continue. “People have been stranded on this planet for months. Acquiring Listronian fuel these days is no easy or cheap task, as I’m sure you’re growing aware. If you burn through your savings, you’re sure to be put in a situation just like them, and with your kid--”
“Ellie,” he said, and judging by the way she jolted, perhaps it came out a bit sterner than he intended. “It’s going to be alright. You’ve already got enough to deal with; The last thing you need is to start worrying about me.”
Elliotte gave a weak laugh, lightly wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “I can’t help it--you’re very easy to worry about.”
Now it was his turn to chuckle. “Am I? Well… you’d be the first to think so,” he stood and offered her his hand to help her to her feet. “You seem to have rotten luck of your own. First the wrist, then an attempted robbery… can’t seem to catch a break this week.”
“Well, it’s not been all bad. I got some nice company out of it, didn’t I?” said Elliotte, retrieving the basket from beside her and turning to begin the walk back down the hillside.
Another soft laugh escaped through the modulator. “I’m not usually what people would consider ‘good company’.”
“I suppose the armor would be a bit off putting to some.”
“That and my typical encounters with people aren’t exactly the ‘friendly’ kind. When you have a lot of enemies, it’s best to hold your tongue in their presence. It’s safer for you if they don’t know much about you.”
Ell didn’t respond, and they were overtaken by silence as they descended the hillside, enjoying the coolness of the air as Cietovus 8 sank behind the hillside and left them in growing darkness. Before long, they’d reached the bottom of the hill.
Back on flat ground, Elliotte turned to give him a smile. “Thanks for humoring me all day. I know the market isn’t super fun, but it is essential to life on Listronus. Hopefully Listrona Hill was a bit more enjoyable.”
“It was… and thank you for showing me. You make one hell of a tour guide.”
She laughed and rolled her eyes as the countryside faded into darkness behind them and the lights of the city drew nearer. “Do you mind if we make a quick stop before we call it a night…?”
“I don’t mind.”
On Elliotte’s route, they crossed through the center of the city, passed the palace and her house further down the street, and continued along a quiet path to the western outskirts. Mando recognized the area quickly as the place he’d rescued Elliotte from the would-be mugger the night before… what was she doing in this part of town so frequently?
His question was answered soon after when Elliotte turned up the pathway to a worn-down house surrounded by overgrown shrubbery and hidden from the view of the street. Mando followed her to the door as she knocked rhythmically on the chipping wooden. Before too long, a woman with hair like fire opened the door. Her brown eyes were soft and full of kindness, and her presumably long hair was tied in place by dozens of tiny yellow flowers. She couldn’t have been much older than Elliotte, herself, but her expression immediately lit up when she saw her. The woman pulled her into a bruising hug and made some comment about how she’d told Ell not to be out at this time of night. The Mandalorian shifted his weight from foot to foot, and only then did she seem to take notice of him.
The redheaded woman recoiled in surprise, “Ell, I truly thought you’d brought me a statue, but… this must be the Mandalorian you’ve told me so much about.”
Ell only had time to give an embarrassed “Rhy--” before the other woman stepped aside and held the door open.
“Come in, come in. My goodness, you are tall.”
Mando gave a sheepish ‘thanks’ and stepped into the small building behind Elliotte. The interior wasn’t much more impressive than the outside; It was small and cramped, and the smell of wood rot was rather prevalent in the air. To his left, he was surprised to find a crowd of people huddled around the small fireplace. When they took notice of Elliotte, many smiled or waved in greeting. Hardly any of them were Listronian; Mando recognized a number of species from planets far off. All at once, things began to click into place.
The fuel crisis.
Elliotte mentioned that she knew a number of other people stranded like he and the child were, and said that a large portion of her income went to providing for those in a worse situation than herself. All this time, she’d been aiding them.
“This is Rhythimi,” Ell said, once the door was shut firmly behind them, “My best friend. Rhy, this is Mando.”
“Mando. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Rhythimi answered kindly, extending her hand.
“Wish I could say the same,” he replied, shaking her hand whilst stealing a glance in Ell’s direction.
Rhythimi chuckled. “No, don’t be silly. If I’ve remained anonymous, that means Elliotte’s done her job. That being said, if you’re here that must mean you’ve found yourself in a similar situation to all these folks… low on fuel?”
“That’s right.”
“In that case, I’ll be sure to add you to the wait list,” said Rhythimi.
“Wait list?” Mando inquired.
“Of course. For fuel.”
“You’re able to get it?”
“Sure, but it’ll be a few weeks… or even a few months. We aren’t exactly following legal protocols here. But… We’ll do what we can to get you home.”
The Mandalorian inclined his head.
“Sorry to drop in on you with a guest unexpectedly, Rhy,” Ell chimed in, “…we’ll be out of your hair shortly, but we did bring you these. Hopefully they’ll come in handy,” Ell said, setting the basket of useme nuts on the table.
Rhythimi smiled gratefully. “Of course they will. Every little bit helps. And don’t you dare apologize… seeing you is one of the few things I look forward to every day.”
Ell smiled, and the two exchanged a quick hug before she bid her friend and the refugees goodnight and made for the door. The cool air returned as she and the Mandalorian crossed the porch and descended the few stairs to the grass. “I apologize for not telling you about her sooner,” she said in a hushed whisper, trying to keep her voice down in case anyone was attempting to listen in, “I know you need fuel--I’ve known that since we met, but I hope you understand… I had to make sure you were trustworthy first.”
“I do understand,” he replied, turning his helmet in her direction. “And thank you.”
“For what?”
“Helping us.”
Elliotte turned to look at him, beaming with a smile that reached her eyes. “No worries… I’m glad to be doing something for a good cause.” The two reached the main street before she spoke again. “Thank you for your time today. I know it was… a lot of seemingly pointless information, but it feels nice to have someone to tell it all to.”
“Of course. I look forward to the lessons to come. In the meantime, I’ll walk you home,” he replied, and Ell looked like she wanted to protest, but he held up a gloved hand to quiet her. “No, you won’t be ‘troubling me’, stop it. You got mugged on this exact street corner last night. I’m not taking any chances.”
As much as she wanted to, Elliotte couldn’t argue with that. “Fine. But you have to take a cup of tea back to your ship with you.”
“Deal.”
By the time they began their trip down the street in the direction they’d come, the streetlights had begun to illuminate the ground around them. The Mandalorian felt much more at ease with the increased lighting the closer they got to the city, and much more relieved knowing she had agreed to let him walk her home at this time of night. Although his faith in her continued to grow, his faith in the city deteriorated. There were much more underlying issues here than he’d originally anticipated.
Between a haughty nobility, a fuel crisis, a growing homeless population, poverty-stricken individuals, and a greedy king atop it all, Mando couldn’t help but wonder how gentle souls such as Elliotte and Rhythimi had managed to survive on this planet. They both were a light in a tunnel of darkness… a clarity. A brightness.
A brightness the Mandalorian had scarcely witnessed in his many years as a bounty hunter. Without Elliotte, he hardly believed he would have given this planet more than a passing thought. He would know nothing about their culture or the people, and not too long ago he wouldn’t have cared. However, more than anything he now wanted to learn more.
Mando reached this conclusion the same moment they reached her doorstep. “Thank you again for everything,” she said, smiling over her shoulder at him. She reached for the handle and tried to turn it, but the door didn’t budge. She cursed and patted the sides of her dress, and even her sleeves.
There was a long pause before her forehead thumped against the wood of the door. “The key. I locked the key inside.”
The Mandalorian went to respond, but he watched her gaze shift from the door to the overhanging balcony a few feet up.
“Hold on,” she mumbled, crossing the small porch and taking a large jump. Her hands found purchase on the bottom of the balcony and she hoisted herself up with skillful ease.
“This hasn’t been your first time locking yourself out, has it,” Mando observed, watching with his arms folded until he was sure she was up safely. Then, he copied her motions and swung himself over the rail.
“First time while I had company,” she answered, pulling the balcony doors open. She stepped inside the revealed room without a second thought, but the Mandalorian hesitated. The room was surprisingly spacious, with a closed closet at one side, Elliotte’s harp propped against the wood of the door, and a large bathroom at the other. In the middle of the room was a small couch and coffee table, and to his left was a small bed encircled by a thin white curtain. It became clear rather quickly that he was looking into her bedroom, and he immediately felt as though he was intruding.
Elliotte seemed to notice his hesitation and lifted her hands to ask him to wait. “You don’t have to come in! You can stay there--I’m just gonna run downstairs to get your tea.”
Mando gave a single curt nod and graciously turned to busy his attention elsewhere… “elsewhere” happened to be looking out over the railing of the balcony. Without his helmet, he wouldn’t be able to distinguish the features of the buildings barely visible in the darkness, but he was able to recognize the shape of the palace down the street, and the neighboring homes on this stretch of road. The marketplace was empty, and the stalls were covered individually by large sheets to attempt to protect the wood from rain.
Before long, Elliotte made her way back upstairs, cupping her hands around a mug of steaming tea. “Here you are,” she said, carefully passing the mug to him, “Freshest Listronian tea you’ll get this time of night.”
He thanked her and took the mug from her. “Same time tomorrow?”
“We’ll start whatever time you want. I kept you out longer than I intended today, so… sleep in and spend some time with your kid.”
The Mandalorian smiled behind his helmet and realized a bit too late that she was unable to see it. “I’ll meet you here.”
The conversation should have ended there, and yet neither one of them made a move to leave. Instead, Elliotte averted her gaze, looking out over the city.
“Earlier today, you called me ‘Ellie’... I don’t know that you meant to, but you did. No one’s called me that since I was a kid.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean--”
“No, don’t apologize,” she said quickly. She scratched her arm sheepishly, vision still focused on the flickering lights in the buildings across the street. “That was my mother’s nickname for me. It was my favorite.”
Mando didn’t miss the hurt in her eyes when she mentioned her mother, but even more so, he didn’t miss the fond smile that crept over her lips. He turned his helmet slightly to the side, still watching her through the visor. “...Thank you for today, Ellie... I learned a lot.”
The corner of her lip turned upward. “I did too.”
“You learned a lot about your planet today? Here I thought you knew everything,” he said, hoping his humor wasn’t lost through the vocoder.
“Not about Listronus,” Ell replied earnestly, “About you.” For a moment, her blue eyes were drawn away from the visor and moved to his shoulder, where a red flower petal had fallen out from beneath his helmet. She lifted her hand to brush it off and watched it flutter to the balcony’s floor.
“Oh…” he responded lamely.
And then Ell did something that surprised them both.
She kissed him.
A soft brush of her lips against the smooth beskar of his helmet’s cheek. She pulled back just as quickly as she’d initiated it, face flushed the color of a rose, before she cleared her throat, offered a soft “goodnight” and padded briskly into her room, shutting the balcony doors behind her. Whether she or the Mandalorian was left more flustered was debatable, as she’d immediately fled the area and he remained standing on her balcony for several long moments after she’d closed the door, a gloved hand pressed lightly against the spot on his helmet she’d touched.
After a few moments, he collected himself enough to turn his gaze from the doors she’d disappeared behind and back toward the view overlooking the city. Reluctantly, he eased himself back over the balcony’s railing and dropped to the street once again, ready to begin his walk home.
WORDS: 1.4k || WARNINGS: Nudity; Implied sexual content between minor characters toward the end of the chapter.
The next morning arrived sooner than Elliott would have liked. The light of Cietovus 8 pierced through her windows, bathing her room in the early light of dawn. Elliotte quietly picked herself out of bed and threw on casual morning clothes as she went about her morning routine in the washroom, brushing her hair and picking out any petals from the flowers that could have gotten stuck last night.
Then, she quietly stepped out onto her balcony, rubbing sleep from her eyes and hoping to get a glimpse of the sunrise before Cietovus 8 became too blinding to look at during the heat of the midday. As she neared the railing and folded her arms across the polished metal, she caught a glimpse of movement down below.
It was odd to see--her balcony overlooked the marketplace, but it was still far too early for the merchants to be opening shop. When Elliotte leaned over the railing to get a better view, she was taken aback by the source of the movement.
It was a man.
Made of metal.
Or at least… heavily clad in it. He wandered the empty street silently, a rather intimidating presence even from this far away. He certainly didn’t seem confused, but definitely a bit out of place.
Elliotte tipped her head to the side, watching curiously as he lifted one of the merchant’s tarps as if looking for something specific. The rays of sunlight reflecting off of his silver armor normally would’ve been enough to give Ell a headache, but she was far too curious to miss even a moment of a sight like this. She’d never seen anything like it--anything like him. His head was guarded by an impressively shaped helmet--probably hand carved. A t-shaped black-tinted visor obscured the man’s eyes from view, and a long cape billowed around his shoulders.
Before she could stop herself, she decided to call out to him. “Sir? The market doesn’t open until--”
The man of metal whipped around with enviable speed, already pointing a blaster at her head from below.
Elliotte could only muster a surprised squeak as she ducked down, taking cover behind the railing. “Sorry! I’m sorry! You just seemed a bit lost, is all!”
There was an excruciating pause, but Elliotte didn’t dare risk a peak back down below her balcony. Her heart was pounding so hard, she thought it might leap out of her throat.
“I’m not… lost.”
So he could speak? The man’s voice was muffled by the helmet and vaguely distorted by some sort of modulator.
“Apologies, sir, I didn’t mean to presume… you just seemed to be interested in the merchant stalls, and, well… seeing as they don’t open for another few hours…” Elliotte tried her luck and carefully peered over the banister, relieved to find that although the strange metal man was still looking at her, he no longer pointed a weapon in her direction.
“Where can I find fuel?” said he, ignoring that she’d ever spoken.
Elliotte gave a weak scoff of a laugh, once again folding her arms over the railing of her balcony. “Hell if I know. There’s a horrible shortage at the moment… about a two-month waiting list if you’re going through the government.”
“I don’t have two months,” said the stranger sternly, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
Elliotte simply shrugged. “And I don’t have fuel. Looks like we’re both losers.”
She could hear his sigh from a floor above him and watched as he raised a glove hand to his helmet to further punctuate his annoyance with his current predicament. Elliotte had seen the same expression on countless visitors prior as they left to find lodging for their unexpected stay.
“Do you need a place to stay? I have a friend who--”
“I’m fine. Thank you,” said the man curtly, turning away from her to begin his walk out of the marketplace.
Elliotte watched him for a moment, unable to shake the feeling that she should be doing something more. Her visit with Rhythimi the previous night was still fresh on her mind. “If… there’s anything else you need, please let me know. I’d be happy to help.”
Unsurprisingly, the man didn’t offer a response.
Elliotte pulled away from the railing finally, and returned to the comfort of her bedroom after pulling the balcony door shut and flipping the lock. As interesting as the stranger was, he was clearly in no mood to talk or answer her questions so she thought it best to let it die. In the meantime, she readied herself for another full day of work.
She swiftly changed into proper attire--a simple but elegant gray dress adorned with patterns of glittering silver beads. It mimicked the style of the nobles enough to warrant her presence in the palace without drawing too many scornful looks, and yet was distinct enough to set her apart from them to those she passed on the street.
She was a worker, like them. They didn’t have to hide their possessions and avert their eyes anxiously as she passed them by, instrument folded beneath her arm tightly. By the time she arrived at the steps leading up to the grand pillars of the palace, Cietovus 8 had risen far enough above the treetops that life began to stir in the nearby streets. The marketplace would be opening any time now.
Elliotte made her way into the palace, dipping her head to the two guards keeping watch over the outside. Once she was within the grand halls, she retrieved a small sheet of paper from her sleeve. She had only four clients today, regrettably. Rhythimi would not be pleased with the haul tonight. Heaving a quiet sigh, the musician tucked her sheet away and continued her route throughout the palace hallways. Each hall was lined with the lavish rooms belonging to the nobility who worked directly under the King. Each time Elliotte found herself inside one of them, it never failed to surprise her just how large their living quarters were; Elliotte herself was fortunate enough to own a house near the city center, but a single noble’s room was just as large as her dwelling---and far more luxurious.
Elliotte stopped outside the room of her first client for the day. This was the room of Lord Miryus, potentially one of Ell’s least favorites to work with. All of the nobles were clueless to some extent, but Miryus was as insufferable as they come. Nevertheless, credits were credits, and she was in no place to deny service to any one of the royal court.
Elliotte steeled her nerves and lifted her hand to knock on the door. It was almost a full thirty seconds before there came an answer in the form of Lord Miryus, naked save for a towel wrapped around his waist, pulling the door open with a gruff greeting. Miryus was balding, with wiry gray hairs that couldn’t be flattened perfectly to his head no matter how often he attempted it. His face was rounded out, and his eyes had a rather dull look to them these days, a recurring pattern in those nobles who worked so closely with the brainless antics of the King. Behind him, a much younger woman dove out of sight, covering her exposed breasts.
Elliotte cleared her throat softly to maintain some form of professionalism. “Good morning, Lord.”
He grumbled in response and pushed the door open for Elliotte to make her way inside, then turned to call out to the prostitute covering herself with the bedsheets, “It’s alright, Amarissa, baby! It’s just the musician,” he cooed, reaching for her.
Elliotte fought every urge to roll her eyes while she opened her instrument, setting it to its full height and taking a seat beside it while she gave a few testing tugs against the strings. The Lord and his company were far too caught up in their own business exchange to pay much mind to the harpist as she performed, the soft notes bouncing off the walls with enviable acoustics. Truly a pity her performance was wasted on such a man as this. Elliotte felt worse for the poor prostitute---how many hours had she spent with the stingiest man in the court, hoping for a fair bit of compensation?
Elliotte figured it wasn’t her place to question. Instead, she focused all of her attention on the instrument between her hands as if it were her lifeline, her island in a sea of unrelenting waves---her steady rock, and the one thing that could offer her peace in a world that only knew turmoil.
CLARITAS. The Mandaloran/Din Djarin x Original Female Character (Part 7)
A/N: It's been a hot minute! I had a few weeks where I felt so burned out I couldn't get any writing accomplished... Hoping to change that in the coming weeks. Thanks for your patience!
WORDS: 2.2k || WARNINGS: None
When Elliotte awoke the next morning, it wasn’t to the familiar sight of sunlight peeking through the shades of her bedroom balcony, but to the cool and soft darkness of the Mandalorian’s ship. She sat up quickly, readjusting to her surroundings and doing her best to pat down any bed head she’d acquired throughout the course of the night.
After a few moments, she’d willed herself to stand up and reenter the main segment of the ship but before she could get much further, she heard Mando climb down from the upper level and join her in the main area.
“You’re awake,” he acknowledged, “Here. I brought you this.” He turned a small purple object over in his gloved hand and passed it to her.
Ell took it from him and couldn’t resist a smile as she recognized the familiar round shape he’d offered her. “That’s very kind of you---but why are you giving me a grange fruit?”
The Mandalorian had no response readily available to such a question, aside from a slow tilt of his helmet. Then, after a long moment of consideration, “To… eat?”
Elliotte looked back down at the fruit and nodded slowly. “I appreciate the gesture, truly. Grange fruits are… a Listronus specialty… but they are incredibly toxic. Not for eating. But… excellent medicinal properties, and the skin can be boiled into a delicious tea when mixed with some of the local flowers. Very tasty.”
“Certainly glad I didn’t try to eat it myself, then. I suppose I’ll have to have a chat with the merchant who tried to pass it off as edible.”
Elliotte chuckled, scraping a fleck of dirt off of the grange fruit with her fingernail, “Try not to go too hard on ‘em. Everyone’s just trying to make a living around here---not that it excuses the selling of toxic fruits to visitors!” With a sigh, she let her arm drop to her side, “I apologize. We used to be more hospitable people.”
“You have quite a bit of knowledge about this planet… have you lived here for a long time?” Mando asked, quietly taking a seat on one of the storage containers across from her.
Ell nodded stiffly. “I’ve always lived here… This is my first time even setting foot on a ship like this! I’m impressed, I must say. All these boxes… and you said you practically live in here, right? So you must do a lot of travelling.”
“Mostly for work.”
“What do you do?”
“I used to be a bounty hunter. I guess… I still am, but I’ve got the kid now so I have more pressing matters to prioritize.”
Elliotte tried to hide the white-hot fear that coursed through her at the mention of bounty hunters. It had been a concern of hers for a long time that Listronus’s king would call for bounty hunters to shut down operations like Rhythimi’s… still, it was hard to believe that this particular Mandalorian would travel from so far for something like this. Ell felt he was being sincere… perhaps her bit of trust was misplaced, but he’d given her no reason not to believe him. “So you aren’t here looking for someone?”
“No. I’m just here for fuel.”
“Many are… I’ve seen a few travelers have to bite the bullet and settle down here. The king has monopolized all fuel resources and imports and distributes them in miniscule portions. There’s not nearly enough to go around.”
“You may find it difficult to believe, but this isn’t the worst planet I’ve been stranded on. I don’t mind staying here until my turn.”
Elliotte fell silent for a moment, gaze drawn once again to the grange fruit between her hands, “You know, if you’ll be here for a while, you’ll have to learn not to be deceived by tricky merchants. Maybe you could use a guide.”
“Are you offering?” said the Mandalorian, catching her by surprise yet again. Her eyes shot up, meeting the t-shape of his beskar as she carefully pondered her answer. “I can pay you for your time,” he continued.
The thought of money during her recovery period made her graze her fingertips over her sprained wrist. “Well… it’s not like I’m really able to work my regular job, is it? Sure. I’m offering. I’ll teach you how to deal with the locals and the nobility, and… which fruits are toxic and which are fine to eat,” she chuckled, “and… whatever else you’re hoping to learn about this planet.”
“Great. When do we start?”
“Right now?”
Mando’s armor clinked together with a metallic sound as he stood. Ell did the same, but before she headed for the ramp, she glanced just past his shoulder to the ladder to the upper level, where he’d taken the little green child the night before.
Mando followed her gaze for a brief moment, then brushed past her and made his way toward the ship’s exit. “He’ll be fine. This won’t be the first time he’s been left alone during the day.”
The harpist was quick to follow, squinting against the harsh sunlight as she stepped out into it. “I’ve overslept,” Ell noted, “If I was scheduled to work this morning, I’d already be starting with my third client.”
“Good thing you aren’t, then,” came the beskar-clad man’s reply, “Where would you like to start guiding?”
“The marketplace. Perhaps we can negotiate a refund for your grange fruit,” Elliotte said, increasing her pace so she could properly walk beside him as they returned to the city center. “I’m sure many places in the galaxy practice negotiations and trades---on Listronus, it’s a way of survival. If you play the right cards and talk to the right people, you can start with a grange fruit and end up with a house.”
By the time the stalls of the crowded marketplace had come into view, Elliotte had gone over numerous negotiation methods valued by the local Listronians, and as she came to a halt in front of one of the vendors, she held up the purple grange fruit to demonstrate. The man before her was short and stocky, a thick beard covering his lower face and a few orange-tinted blossoms wrapped around some of the fine hairs to add an interesting accent to his dark features.
This particular merchant’s stall was covered in decorative strands of beads, all hand-crafted and sewn together to create beautifully elaborate color combinations and designs. As Elliotte began to offer her trade, chattering quickly with the merchant in their native tongue, the Mandalorian reached for one of the bead strands in a nearby basket, turning it over to closely survey the craftsmanship.
It was rather cheaply made, with inexpensive strands of cloth wrapped around thin white beads that matched the color of the wilting flower petals in Elliotte’s hair, but there was still something simple and beautiful about it.
Mando was no expert in the Listronian language, but he’d done enough travelling in his time to be able to recognize a few words in his companion’s conversation with the merchant.
“....Wife… heart… ill…”
They discussed intently for a moment before Ell’s expression brightened and grew into a wide smile. She handed the merchant the grange fruit, and after it was in his grasp, the man gestured to the basket of bead strands. “Three.”
“Take three,” Ell followed up, offering the Mandalorian a smile before gently shaking the merchant’s hand. “May she have a swift recovery.” With that, she turned and made her way back to the Mandalorian’s side, just as he finished retrieving three strands from the basket.
As they moved on from the stall, Elliotte lowered her voice just a bit. “It’s not difficult to barter here… everyone needs something, whether it’s a piece of furniture for their dwelling or leaves for tea. Grange fruit, as I mentioned earlier, has great medicinal properties. Joju’s wife has been feeling ill this week, with a high fever and heart pain… the fruit will help ease her fever when prepared the right way. In exchange, we have three bead threads.”
“Why didn’t you just purchase them? They weren’t expensive,” inquired Mando, curious to follow her process.
“If you bought everything in the marketplace with credits, you’d be broke within weeks. If a merchant knows you can pay the full price immediately, they’ll raise it… that’s how you wind up convinced a grange fruit is edible.”
“Fair point… Now we have beads. What’s a step up from that?”
“Now, you consider who’d have the most use for beads. You’d have trouble selling beads to a fruit salesman---what use would he have for them, right? So instead…” Elliotte trailed off, smoothing her hand down the side of her dress and tapping at a few of the beads sewn into the fabric, “You’d be better off approaching a seamstress.” She nodded further down the row of stalls where two female merchants were sitting, smiling at customers and engaging in polite conversation while they threaded a pattern into a violet-colored dress shirt.
Elliotte maneuvered through the crowd, followed closely by Mando, until she came to a halt in front of the seamstresses. Up close, Mando noticed that they, too, boasted brightly-colored flowers in their hair. It was then he reasoned the flowers must have some sort of cultural significance on Listronus, but he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around how or why.
The seamstress closest to the front of the stall lit up as Elliotte drew near. “Ellie! Long time no see… glad to see the dress I made is holding up! Is your arm alright…? What’s happened?”
“No need to worry, Lisete. Just a little accident… and yes, the dress is marvelous. Comfortable… fits like a glove… absolutely perfect.”
Lisete was positively glowing by the time Ell had finished speaking about the quality of her dress. “Is there something specific you’ve come here for today?”
“My friend and I have just come to offer you these,” Elliotte said, passing her one of the strands, “Your beadwork is always so impressive, and I know you love to use many shapes and sizes in your patterns. Would you have any use for these?”
Lisete hummed thoughtfully as she pulled at the cheap cloth until a bead came loose in her palm. “They’re awfully tiny… but not useless by any means. I have a skirt that these would look lovely on. What are you hoping to get for them?”
Ell hummed softly, leaning down and folding her arms across the table. “I was wondering if you had any string… some firm but flexible string.”
Lisete glanced over her shoulder toward the other seamstress, who nodded and passed her a spool of rolled string. “We can offer you this. This is made from ostratine root fibers rather than our typical fabric threads… it’s stretchy and resilient, but not very comfortable if you’re hoping to wear something made of it.”
“This is perfect, Lisete, thank you,” Elliotte said, “Would you trade the full spool for three bead strands?”
“Sure would.”
Ell passed her the beads and took the wrapped string before saying her goodbyes and making her way back into the marketplace.
“You’re good at this,” Mando stated.
“I’ve been doing it for a long time. It’s important to build up a bit of a reputation here in the market, so people know you won’t screw them over. Learn about them. Buy from them. They’ll come to trust you. Do you want to try the next exchange?”
“... I suppose.”
“Take a look at these stands… who do you think would have the most use for a string like this?”
The Mandalorian turned his helmet, scanning the nearby stalls slowly before settling on one at the opposite side of the aisle, where a lanky man was laughing and shaking hands with a customer with a handful of fish wrapped in parchment. “A fisherman,” was his answer through the modulator, “He can use the string for his poles.”
“Great eye. You’re a fast learner,” Elliotte replied, passing him the spool.
As Mando went to cross the street, a figure from further down the row caught his eye. He stood out in the crowd with expensive-looking robes made of fabrics that certainly weren’t being sold in the marketplace. The hood of his robe was fused with some kind of animal bone with various pointed tips, like a crown around the back of his neck. The skin around his eyes was decorated in royal blue paint, a color that only seemed to accentuate his worst features. He was balding, so he wore no flowers, but Mando still recognized him immediately as Listronian.
“Lord Miryus,” he heard Elliotte breathe from beside him, “He’s the one who sprained my wrist.”
“He did this?”
“Yes. He’s a nobleman who lives in the palace. It’s awfully pretentious that he dresses like that here in the market---the antlers and paint are a sign of status… as if any of us could doubt it, when he struts around like the king himself anywhere he goes.” Elliotte said, and Mando didn’t miss the way her nose wrinkled with distaste.
“If you have such a dislike for the nobility… why do you work so closely with them?”
“I need money. They like music… it’s like I said before---Everyone needs something; there’s always an exchange to be made,” Elliotte finally drew her gaze back to him and forced a weak smile, nodding to the spool of string in his hand. “Speaking of which, it’s time you pitch yours.”
