Summary: You're confused at how a vendor gives you tomatoes for free. Spoiler alert, it's because you're Mando's wife.
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You shifted uncomfortably, eyes flitting between the bag of tomatoes on the counter and the rupees that had been shoved back into your purse. You moved your hand to give her the rupees again, but her hand was quick to gently slap them back where they came from.
"Why are you giving me six tomatoes for free?"
"You are Mrs. Mandalorian, no? The Mandalorian's wife?"
You stared at the middle-aged farmer, who had given you the tomatoes free of charge because you were married to Din Djarin. It wasn't that weird, because you'd seen people do the same for Din, but it was unexpected because he wasn't anywhere near you right now.
Then, she called you "Mrs. Mandalorian" which was even more out of the blue. How did she know you were married to Din and recognize who you were so quickly? It was only the second time that you'd ever been to this marketplace and you didn't think you've ever seen this woman before.
Also, your husband wasn't the only one of his kind. So, why would his name be the Mandalorian rather than a Mandalorian? It didn't really make sense. And on your title, it wouldn't make sense to call you Mrs. Mandalorian if you weren't a Mandalorian yourself.
You answered that you were Mando's wife and tried to exploit her flawed logic, but before you could, she ushered you out into the open square. "This is the Mandalorian's wife!" she screamed. Maker, her voice was loud. She yelled those words out in the middle of the marketplace and everyone seemed to stop what they were doing, turning to look at who she was talking about.
All of the unassuming shoppers stopped what they were doing and glanced in your direction. The wary looks and judging eyes pricked and you shuffled your feet clumsily, unused to the attention.
"Okay, lady." You turned around to face the woman who had given you the bag of free tomatoes hanging from your left arm. You forced your bewilderment out of the way and rose your voice so that the rest of the market's vendors would hear you. "Thank you for offering, but, I don't need free food, I can pay for it. It doesn't really matter that I'm 'Mrs. Mandalorian.'" You flexed your right hand's fingers anxiously as you waited for someone to object. Of course, it was the farmer again.
"Of course it matters, you're The Mandalorian's wife!"
"Again, I don't understand-"
You were startled by the sudden lack of weight on your left arm. Alarmed, your head reflexively looked down at your empty arm and back up to identify the tomato thief, only to see the man that the woman was raving about. Seeing the familiar beskar of your husband, you relaxed.
"Oh, hey," you said, relieved that the attention wasn't all on you anymore. Glancing behind you again, you saw that the apple vendor, who you had just bought golden apples from, had joined the farmer who told you that you had a title. "Those people are calling me 'Mrs. Mandalorian' and giving me free food," you said, explaining why you had looked back for someone.
You stared into the helmet, but you had no way of knowing what expressions were forming underneath those layers of beskar. It was only when he spoke that you began understanding the confusing situation. "I spent a lot of time here when I was younger. A lot of the people in this town saw me grow up, which is probably why they were quick to memorize your face. To most of them, I am the foundling that they saw grow up into a Mandalorian."
Images of Din as a foundling were seeping into your mind. They were of what you'd imagined Din as a kid to be—the happy, unsuspecting, cheerful Din that had chubby cheeks and no scars. Pictures of the women in the marketplace—women like the farmer who announced your arrival—acting as second-mothers to him followed soon after.
"So, to these people, I am always going to be The Mandalorian and you will always be Mrs. Mandalorian," Din said. The modulator was not able to mask the tender, reminiscent undertone of that sentence.
You smiled lightly at the irony of your husband's words; he was known as the hardened bounty hunter that killed in cold blood, yet one trip to a certain market took him back to his childhood days, becoming the soft, emotional Din Djarin that you knew and loved.
You smirked before saying, "I kind of like being called Mrs. Mandalorian."
"My wife," Din said, apparently satisfied with your words. "My Mrs. Mandalorian."
