Chapter 3: The Foundling

Din felt the wind completely knocked out of him as he collapsed to the ground on his back once more, his helmet hitting the rough terrain with a loud clink. He wheezed harshly, seeing his hazy surroundings spinning, as his opponent pressed forward for another attack, unrelenting. Although Din's neck pains had somewhat subsided, he was still acclimating to his new, permanent accessory. Despite its state-of-the-art technology - including a 360 degree view option - the beskar helmet that he wore now was more of a hindrance than an aid at this point, wholly disorienting and tricking his mind into thinking that it was difficult to breathe. As he desperately fought off a blow, and then another, Din's mind flashed back to when he had put the helmet on for the first time, remembering just how uncomfortable and restricting it was. Two Stripes had promised that he'd eventually get used to it; after all, he would wear it for many hours during a standard day. But fighting with it on? That was clearly a whole other story.

His opponent stopped attacking.

A shadow moved above him.

After a few, unbridled expletives and a low growl, he heard a string of Mando'a: "You're in the Fighting Corps now, boy! Act like it!"

Din, not quite understanding the words that were meant solely for him - though he did understand that the towering Mandalorian was not at all happy with his piss poor performance - didn't move, his body splayed out on the almost barren soil like a cross, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he continued to recover.

The clan's Trainer - a stocky, gruff Mandalorian clad in deep-green armour - lifted his arms on either side of him in obvious frustration, his booming voice rising an octave. "Two Stripes! Is your little foundling deaf?"

The handful of Mandalorian younglings who surrounded Din within the training grounds snickered amongst themselves, though not attempting whatsoever to hide their reactions. Din's opponent, however, remained silent, merely observing him at a distance.

Two Stripes looked up from his nearby conversation, a sharp eyebrow raised underneath his helmet. He met Din's gaze, releasing a low sigh when he saw his adopted son on the ground once more, then looked to the Trainer as an expletive escaped his own lips. "No, you di'kut! He doesn't bloody understand you!" With a long exhale, he strode past the Trainer, knocking on the side of his helmet. Perhaps too much brawn and not enough brain. "Use your translation visor, wiseass."

Din had been at this for months; the Mandalorian younglings, for years. They trained from sunrise to sunset on most days, expected to memorize every intricate movement and practice each one over and over again, only given respite when the Trainer deemed them deserving. They were exposed to many different fighting techniques and weapons, each lesson designed to build upon the other, becoming more complex as the months went on. Somehow, in between the physical training sessions and late into the night, Din also had to make time to learn Mando'a, the process making his brain hurt as much as his body. The Mandalorian younglings always seemed to excel at combat, as though the skills were in their blood to begin with. Din, no matter how hard he tried, was always left in the dust - or, as he was now, on the ground upon his back.

But Din knew that he was at a disadvantage not only because he was a foundling. Deep down within the young boy's soul, he didn't have the fight in him that he once thought he possessed. How could he live this nomadic, warrior life when he still couldn't move on? When he was still haunted by the demons of his past? He had resolved to go through the motions, to accept Two Stripes' offer, because he had felt indebted to him, to the Mandalorians who had saved him.

He didn't know at the time what he had really signed up for.

Two Stripes stepped beside Din's head and looked down at him. His armour glinted in the beaming sun. "You're going to have to learn one day, kid." He extended a hand to him, then gestured for Din to accept his aid. "The galaxy won't be easy on you. Trust me."

Din's breathing became heavier as the rage coursed through his veins. Coupled with his growing frustration, the emotions that erupted within him then oddly felt liberating. He had barely felt anything else but grief since his parents' passing. But rage? Perhaps that was his ticket out of his inner hell. With a grunt of annoyance, the young boy shook his head and refused to take Two Stripes' hand. Unwilling to succumb to his aching muscles, he pushed himself up on his own, shot the younglings a piercing look, and stormed out of the training area.

As Din made his way back to the barracks, he heard a female voice calling out behind him in his native tongue. Other than Two Stripes, no one else in the tribe really spoke to him in his language anymore. He knitted his brows in wonder and turned his head, seeing his former sparring opponent jogging to his side. Though clad in similar, tan clothing and silver helmet as Din, she was visibly smaller, almost rail-thin. It was a wonder that she possessed such athletic prowess given her size. But Din knew better than to judge a book by its cover. The Mandalorian youngling waved to him as they locked gazes. "Hey, wait up!"

Though his anger was not necessarily directed towards her, Din ignored her request and continued to walk away.

She grumbled something under her breath and pressed forward, hopping in front of him. She had moved so quickly that Din reared back, not expecting her to be before him after only a few heartbeats. "Well, that's rude! Mandalorians always greet each other, you know."

Din stopped in his tracks and clenched his fists. "Hello. Now, leave me alone," he uttered passably in Mando'a.

Was that clear enough for her?

Apparently not. Though she remained in place, she hung her head apologetically to him. "Look, I'm sorry about the last sparring session. I know you haven't really had as much practice as all of us." She shrugged a shoulder. "You know what the Trainer is like. He just wants us to be the best warriors we can be!"

Even through the swirling thoughts in his head, Din knew that she was right; however, it didn't dissolve the anger that he was feeling. "I just want to be left alone, okay?"

(V)(V)(V)

Din finally made it to the privacy of his room without any other interruptions. In a fit of rage, he took off the helmet and threw it mindlessly upon the ground with a grunt. After a couple of bounces on the cement, it landed upright, staring back at him. "I don't want to do this anymore," he admitted out loud for the first time, gaze fixed upon his helmet as though he were addressing it. And yet, what was his alternative? He couldn't even get out of the city of Keldabe on his own, let alone the planet. How did he expect to survive on his own? He'd probably be enslaved by some galactic gangsters of the criminal underworld before he could even try.

Pounding knocks suddenly sounded upon the door, startling him. With a sniff, Din wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand and picked up the discarded helmet at his feet. He eyed the piece of beskar with a frown, suddenly feeling guilty for having tossed it aside. In one, swift movement, he donned on the helmet once more, the seal tightening as he opened the door.

"Mind if I join the pity party?"

Din looked up at his adoptive father, tight-lipped. "Do I have a choice?"

Two Stripes pretended to consider his question for a brief moment. "Not really."

Din sighed and stepped back from the door. Two Stripes strode inside, curiously observing Din's simple quarters. "I must say, you're pretty clean for a child."

Unphased by the comment, Din merely sat down on his bed, crossing his arms. "I don't belong here." He peered up at Two Stripes, anguish seeping through his tone. "I'll never become a Mandalorian."

Though Two Stripes had expected this to come from his foundling sooner or later - as all foundlings that he had come across had broken at some point - he was actually surprised that Din had given up this quickly, particularly given the amount of fire and...hope...that he had exhibited when he had pledged to be a foundling. But perhaps there was something else that he wasn't seeing. Something deep beneath the surface. He took a knee in front of Din. "What's holding you back, kid?"

The young boy raised his hands in the air in frustration. "Pain, anger, sadness...I don't know!"

Two Stripes raised a brow. "You just listed off three things. Pretty sure you know something…"

"I should just take the helmet off and go away." Unbeknownst to Two Stripes, fresh tears began to fall down Din's cheeks. "Then I won't be your problem anymore."

"That almost sounds like a threat to me," the older Mandalorian replied, amusement lining his tone. "A little dramatic, though."

Din shot up and pointed in the general direction of the training grounds to his left. "You've seen me out there! I keep getting beat up! All the younglings are better than me!"

"You let the past control you." Two Stripes stood, conviction reverberating from his form. "And if you keep doing that - if you keep letting it win - it will eat you up until you are no more." He placed a firm hand on Din's shoulder. "It doesn't matter if you're here or somewhere else in the galaxy. You need to make peace with what's happened to you, kid. I'm trying to help you, but really, it's up to you."

Din looked down at the mythosaur pendant that hung upon his neck. Whenever his nightmares had rendered him awake, and whenever he just couldn't seem to sleep, he would always reach for the piece of jewelry, finding that it was somehow a source of comfort. As he rarely ever took it off after Two Stripes had given it to him, it became almost a part of him; it was the one thing in this galaxy that he could say was truly his, not given to him only because he was a foundling in training.

Without a word, Din wrapped his tiny arms around his father's waist in a tight embrace.

"Oh, wait, what? We're hugging now?" Two Stripes muttered in a low tone, though hinted at a smile. He awkwardly began to pat the child on the back, not entirely used to or comfortable with the exhibition of these kinds of emotions. When Din remained in place after several moments, Two Stripes weaseled away from his grasp with a curt laugh. "Alright, alright, that's enough! Can't be going all soft now!"

Din appeared embarrassed as he pulled away. "Sorry."

"Just promise me that you won't beat yourself up anymore, okay?" Two Stripes lifted his chin. "Now get up, kid."

(V)(V)(V)

A/N: Thank you guys for supporting this story! Like I've mentioned, I'm going for a different "look and feel" when it comes to this fic compared to my first Mandalorian fic, "The Captive" (check it out if you haven't yet!). It might not be everyone's cup of tea, but hey, I just want it to be different and original! I mean, you made it all the way here, so it's not that bad, right?! :) I just love imagining what Din's (probably super harsh) childhood was like, so I'll be working towards exploring more pieces of his younger years. I'm also looking to add romance in upcoming chapters, so stay tuned! :) Thanks again. Cheers! xx IFHD