The adrenaline was gone. My daggers had disappeared. I looked into the brown eyes of my companion to see loss humming in their depths. My breath was erratic. Blood was stained on my armor from my fallen brothers and sisters. His helmet was on the ground beside mine and my dual pistols were still drawn in my hands. The emotion in his eyes slowly changed as my own dark brown eyes searched him.
Rage glittered across his face like he had seen a banquet table full of food. I lacked the ability to conjure such an emotion as I continued to hold his older but still youthful gaze. "Ni ceta, Manda'lor."
And that was it.
I sheathed my pistols and grabbed my helmet. I avoided his arms as he made a lunge for me while saying, "Me'ven?"
My jetpack had been damaged so I had to take a brave sidestep and pray he didn't shoot me down or kill me with his own two hands. He looked like a man that could kill already and my fleeing seemed to break the rage in his system. His face twisted into one of sorrow and pain as I took a final look at him. He howled at me. His voice cracked, "Hut'uun!"
I kept running. My body took amazing, graceful strides in my beskar'gam through the vegetation but I could still hear him calling me coward, the greatest insult to a Mandalorian, over and over again in my head as I fled for my life away from the one I had grown to care for deeply.
12 Years Later...
I was surprised when Walon Vau sent me a holocall. I was shocked when he told me Jango Fett wanted me to train some boys by him. I was near hyperventilating when he said I should be honored that Jango picked me personally despite whatever happened because Vau had no idea if the rumors he heard were true. Vau was older than me but the respect he showed was clear even over a hologram. He had heard of me, clearly, or the fact that Jango Fett wanted me made him respect me automatically.
I was wearing my beskar'gam as I left the pilot seat of my freighter that was decorated with restraints and tools plus several cages. I had made a career out of bounty hunting, like Jango, but I preferred less popular hauls. However, I was almost as well known as him. Our names were shared in stories about him killing Jedi with his bare hands and me fleeing when we were the last two standing because he told me to.
He and I both knew that last part was not true and because it was never fixed with any tongue, I only assumed he never said anything like me.
I opened the ramp and met Walon Vau in person. He was wearing his own beskar'gam. The darkness of his armor surprised me. The black armor was not a color you see often. Normally, there would be something close to a rainbow of colors, excluding some. My own bronze colored armor was a sharp contrast to his. I seemed to glow with light while he was a shadow. He removed his helmet to strap it to his waist and I mirrored him.
Our own appearances were contrasting. My dark eyes were dull with what I've seen and his amber eyes glowed with age and life. My lips were thin and chapped and his full and only split in the middle. My hair was a thick, straight red that exploded from my helmet and swept around my shoulders, much unlike his black mat. My skin was pale and scarred on my right cheek while his was tanner than mine and flawless around his face.
Our armor, however, reflected stories of battle and poor souls we had hunted. It reflected the same story with various turns and series. That was one of the greater things about being a Mandalorian in armor. Gender and appearances were forgotten and your armor told your tale. You may outgrow your armor over time but there are pieces you could always reuse when making new armor and I used as much as I could.
He smiled. It lighted his eyes but I could see war written on his face. "My name is Walon Vau, although, I'm sure you remember that, Valkyrie Frira. Olarom to Kamino." Welcome to Kamino.
