Requiem for a Mandalorian -

Ep .2

Awaken

A sense of sleep he never knew had washed over him in the final moments before he was just completely knocked out in a way.

He hadn't slept in so long.. Garth always thought that if he were to sleep now, he'd surely had died. Was this death after all? That was the question. Losing the way he chose to live by was almost like death... For the past three or so years he had felt just so disconnected from his heritage that he was starting to forget about all of it.

"To forget about who you truly are is a fate worse than death itself."

Those words echoed in his mind as he somewhat dreamed. His 'dreams' were not really of the sort. They were distant memories and nightmares from the past. Only the more vivid ones were dreams. Distant echoes of his past spoke of War... Bloodshed, and An Orphanage. For the first time in a long time, he was able to see it... How beautiful Mandalore was and how so badly he wished he could go there. Even though he'd never laid eyes on it only when he was just a babe, Garth just knew.
The Orphanage was where he called home for a fraction of his childhood. He was told his parents were dead and was constantly reminded of it throughout that time. After finding out that he was from Mandalore, the kids constantly picked on him for that as well... Saying that it was a dead planet.

Of course, there were good things in the orphanage... He had so to speak brothers and sisters. Those of which of the older children taught him how to speak Mando'a. They were taken and sold to slavery a few years later, separating them. Garth was never the same after that, the only reason why he was not taken was because the higher ups new something about him that he didn't. It was clear...

Awaken.. Both eyes open slowly, glancing around the seemingly room with sleep still heavy on the mind and body. A gaze came to rest upon on armor clad man sitting on a chair against the huts wooden wall. The dark helmet shifted slightly towards the boy. "Awake? Ba'gedet'ye.. Bantov bic ni skana'din. Ibac jare'la!"
'Awake? You're welcome.. Nonetheless you tick me off. That was STUPID.'

The man said, raising his voice slightly to get the point across. "You could've gotten your self killed.. A death wish is it? If you would've succeeded.. What then. Jaro."
'Death wish.'

"Pitiful.. To think I hail from the same kin as this die hard ade." Garth had then sat up in the bed at that, those words clingy to his mind while the rest brushed off. "Dar'manda." Garth spoke, grasping the arm that he'd cut open during the fight.. It was- Bandaged and well dressed. "That's what I feel like." The man then sighed, leaning over to place a gloved hand on the boys shoulder.
"You are not lost yet"

The Morning.. If not for the sun dials he wouldn't have known. He had been awake for a little while, only he was woken up by the sound of objects thrown against each-other. With what was about to come before him.. It wasn't nearly too concerned.
Garth had gone to investigate the sounds, finding that they were coming directly from the hanger.. A new set of helmets and armor pieces had been added to their 'collection'. Blood still caked on the surfaces of the armor. His breath hitched for a moment as he walked towards the pile, the faint smell of blood filling his senses. This was hard.. Especially because he knew these people. Garth knelt down before the helmets, pressing his folded hands against his forehead in respect to those who were now gone.

"Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum."

'I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.'

Garth had to say those words once. He would've hoped that he would never have to utter those words again in this lifetime. You can never escape death.

"Death follows you eternal. You can't hide."

He once more stood up, turning around for a moment to see his own helmet laying just beside his feet.. Must've dropped it there when he arrived. Garth bent over, snatching it quickly before he placed it with the others, sitting right with his own squads broken pieces. His squad-mates all shared the same face, the same voice.. But they were all different.

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The air outside the hangar door was.. Damp. It was going to rain. He never favored the rain or the cold for that matter. It was always the epitome to growing pain in a way.
He's killed people in the rain. The people he knew died in the rain..
His Mentor though.. Cold dead rain.

A/n Garth: I hate rain.. It's wet, and it's cold and it soaks everything. >:,(