The Mandalorian was never the verbose kind of man. It wasn’t as if he lived by a code that said, “Actions speak louder than words” or anything. No, that’s just how he was. It kind of fit, really. People didn’t see his mouth move due to two reasons. He didn’t speak that much. And no one had ever seen that face underneath his helmet. No one, not even Omera.
He remembered the first time he saw her. She was standing outside with the children and the other villagers when he came rolling in through on the wagon. She failed to have any lasting interest on him. To be fair, he hadn’t been interested in anyone for the last 20 or so years he had been alive since. It was a defense mechanism, one that he didn’t know quite yet. Why bother learning anyone’s name or face if he had to leave soon or they would (usually) end up dead?
She sought him out after the village dinner celebrating his and Cara’s efforts. The plate of food he was brought was filled with the standard farm fare—a plate of bread, vegetable mush, and some precious gongordian meat that someone brave hunted down. He nodded, said his thank you, and went back to polishing his rifle.
She laughed. The noise triggered him to smile underneath that hard exterior, and he didn’t bother hiding it for there was no use. He moved away from his small armory and placed his hands on the small windowsill overlooking the other huts. There was still a large fireplace going in the middle with some dancers twirling around, singing in a foreign language that was both beautiful and melodic. The Mandalorian didn’t know how long he spent staring at the dancers, but he barely reacted when he felt a person next to him.
“The song they’re singing. It goes back hundreds of years.” Her soft voice drew his attention immediately. Commanded it, even.
“What is it about?”
Omera cleared her throat and began to sing.
On this dark evening by the shore
We see twilight twinkling ever more.
There my darling, do you see?
My warrior is coming back to me.
During the song, he turned away from the window and tilted his head back toward the night sky. His eyes were closed as he focused on the woman’s singing. It sounded much like a lullaby, he remarked out loud.
“It is. Whenever Winta finds it hard to fall asleep, I sing just one verse and she’s out like a light.” Omera smiled to herself and tucked in her chin, as if she were sheepish. “If you find The Child not falling asleep, maybe you can try this lullaby as well?”
The Mandalorian laughed. He caught himself but not before Omera grinned with a thousand bright suns.
When they left, The Child’s heart broke. He didn’t speak his pain, but the Mandalorian could understand. He felt the same. His gloves were thick, but he felt the warmth of her wrists when he gently grabbed them. Omera.
He hoped, to death and to the stars, that she understood what he felt. His voice that betrayed how much he truly wanted to be there with her, they conveyed more than any confession.
That night, he sang to the best of his ability Omera’s Lullaby, and The Child slept peacefully without a coo or a whine.