Promises are made to be broken. Deals are made to be kept.
[The Mandalorian Season 1-2]
I do not own the Mandalorian or any of the Star Wars Universe characters/settings. I own Alora and her unique story.
Prequel to Promises and Deals --> Truth...
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Warning: This chapter ends in a fade-to-black scene. You have been warned.
By the time they arrive back at camp, the sun is starting to fall. Alora slips away as Din has his hands full with Grogu and his new toy. She heads directly for the Armorer's tent where she finds them alone with tools set out before them.
With a heavy sigh, Alora removes her robe and sets out the materials: everything she got from Lando's facility and the discs themselves. Perhaps it is foolish to involve the Armorer, but they have not asked any questions about what the discs are or why she needs to fix them when they are so obviously disfigured.
They work as the sun sets in silence. The light dims from outside the tent, and even as the smell of fresh dinner wafts passed her, Alora continues to work. She focuses her efforts on the worst of the four discs, but the Armorer holds the one Alora had shown her earlier.
"I believe this is ready," the Armorer says just as the sounds of dinner and feasting begin to get louder.
Alora looks up to see the disc pieced together. It is only then that Alora realizes that this disc is not made to be played on some machine. Sure, it could be, and the Jedi Temple must have had capable machines, but the damage would make it impossible. To watch the contents, she would need to do more than fix the surface: she would have to use the Force.
Gulping nervously, Alora takes the disc into her palms and holds it in front of her. "Perhaps I should wait," she whispers. "When all of them are fixed."
"That will take time. Something tells me, you do not have much to waste." The Armorer stands and looks down at Alora. "I shall retrieve Din Djarin. You and I can continue to work through the night if you wish."
"Why are you going to get Din?"
The silence is deafening.
"It's not like that," she rasps, suddenly embarrassed. "Din serves his Creed."
"I have never seen a Jedi feel as you do."
"I am not a Jedi."
"That much is clear." The Armorer continues staring down at her, the helmet shining in the low light. "If you were, you'd be dead with the rest of them. The few that remain were smart during the slaughter. I implore you to be smart. Din Djarin is Mandalorian. Soon, so will Grogu. We do not prohibit connections. Standing together strengthens us. You will need strength for these." They motion to the discs before they walk out of the tent, leaving Alora in choking silence.
The Jedi were supposed to work together, to listen to their counsel, and train as a group, but they became fractured. History be damned, Alora will not let the Mandalorians fracture now. They have far too much to lose—not just their home planet, but the hope of a home. Alora knows what it feels like to long for belonging only to have it ripped away.
