{ okay, the krayt dragon in the comics looks way more incredible than the show's, so I've adopted the comics-accurate look for the dragon. here goes my version! }

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005. A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME

( ⁠—The name does not reflect the essential qualities of something or someone. )

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Murder was a pawn to iniquity, no matter the dire prospects or how compelling the rationalizations were. Living things seemed to kill without stopping just to sustain themselves; that is the hand one is dealt. It was the natural cycle of birth, life, death and predation. Kill or be killed. Myra lived for five hundred years by yielding her high-handed instinct of death for immortality that would last her reminders of the wars every so often. 

Silently, she observed and listened to the negotiations that the Mandalorian and Cobb Vanth struck with the Tuskens and the townspeople. It was effective, but unseemly for a part. You'd think a serpent that bore no limbs, flaked in a gravelled hide, whose venom could corrode, that responsible for the death of their cattle in thousands would bring their frail minds to focus on the purpose. There always seemed to be a catch. 

"They raided our mines! They're monsters!" the townsfolk clamoured. Even in at the eleventh hour, their conceit preceded them. 

The Mandalorian became the embodiment of exhaustion once he established what was at stake here. Myra lurked by the door, riveting on him. He confronted them like a ruler, it was strange to think of him as anyone other than a recluse. Behind that whirlpool of a mind was the integrity of a warrior. If only she could See deeper, she could tell what the future held for this mission. 

"We have struck a deal," he calmly explained. "If we are willing to leave them the carcass and its ichor, they will stand by our side in battle and vow never to raise a blaster against this town until one of you breaks the peace."

Myra mistakenly caught the eye of a woman who watched her closely. She was repulsed by how the enchantress appeared—bathed in gold embellishments, baring her ebony skin for the mind's seduction, honing her daggers for the kill. Humbled and complaisant, Myra tucked her knee into the slit that slivered down the gilt chainmail dress.

They were in the presence of a witch who could vaporise the town to unite the sands. Before Myra could offer her a peaceful smile, the woman rose off her seat and pointed at her.

"What about the enchantress?" she hinted curtly. "What does it want with us?"

Myra instantly stiffened, unwilling to bow her head in front of them. In the thick of whispers and tension, the Mandalorian's heart raced under his armour. 

"I want nothing but to be released," she spoke lucidly.

"Not unless you kill the dragon, witch," the Marshal reminded in a softened hiss. 

She mocked his despair with a smirk. "I never promised anything. The Mandalorian is the one who split the difference. I remain his bounty."

He turned to face up to the Mandalorian, his tone accusatory. "Is that right, Mando? It could spare all our lives—Tuskens and ours—with a single hex. And it won't slay that thing?"

"Myra's Ways are ironclad to her oaths," the Mandalorian informed him in a stern voice.

He scoffed out a dark laugh. "You mean their whore Ways? What oath could it keep other than ill fate?"

Myra's resentment was unstoppable. "The very oath that's keeping me from pulling that foul tongue out of your pathetic head."

"Myra, I—" the Mandalorian sighed in defeat, just as the people began to gasp and exclaim in horror. 

Within moments, a blade threatened to puncture Myra's throat; a swift swipe on the Marshal's behalf. In a more finely-judged move, she furnished a reformed dagger from her amulet and needled it between the male's legs. She let a feline smile take over her furious expression as the town continued to break out their squallings. The air grew dense with the thirst for revenge. 

Behind the sneering Marshal, a true Mandalorian's blaster aimed at his head. "Drop it," he cautioned. "Now."

He was readily overlooked. The child, lingering by his foot, gave out a little cool. 

"I should tell you," Myra whispered to the Marshal, silver-tongued. The Ichor drove a spike of vindication in her veins at the sound of his slander. "This wouldn't be the first time I've plunged a dagger there."

His blade drew a sliver of blood at her neck. "I dare you, whore."

She bared her teeth at him. "Good. I was hoping to make this⁠ agonising, imp."

"Enough!" The Mandalorian bellowed out, cutting through their undue display of force. "Stop acting like overgrown younglings. I said drop them, now!"

Acquiescing to her adamant oaths, Myra vengefully knocked the flat trim of her dagger against the Marshal's arm to flounder his aim. He pocketed his blade and took a surrendering step back, not without fixing a menacing glare at the witch. 

"You two need to pack it in until we're through with that monster," he stated hardly. "This plan will die in our asses if we don't focus on what needs to be done."

"Fine," the Marshal accepted. "But if it tries me again, I'm unconditionally shooting it down."

Myra simply rolled her eyes. 

The townspeople and the rest inhaled a collective sigh of relief. All of them had anticipated the Marshal's undeserved demise tonight. Although it did bother the Mandalorian that Myra hadn't verbally acknowledged him. 

The golden witch could only sink back into the wall behind her, folding her arms, and stare back at them with a victorious leer. If it was blood they'd wanted, she let them have it. An instinct swept up her spine to bristle when the Mandalorian grabbed at her elbow. 

"Don't touch me," she warned the hunter. His grip instantly loosened.

"You're not doing yourself any favours," he hissed into her ear. Unfortunately, Myra could only concentrate on the cold skim of his helmet across her cheek. 

"Cooperate," he said his vague demand.

"With their disrespect?" she contested, staring him down through his visor. 

"With their situation," he corrected. "Think of the children, Myra. They have no verdict here. So bite down and reinforce them."

Her eyes flashed to the child who lingered behind by the Mandalorian's feet, glancing up at them curiously. The littlest one here, she supposed. She couldn't bring herself to refuse his demand or that tiny innocent face. For the sake of the children. 

"If the Sights are kind, I will fend for them," she decided. Her eyes were guarded as she watched the silver of his helmet. "But first, you need to see something, Mandalorian."

He looked up from the child, his mind churning in perplexity. "See what?"

Myra held out her hands, palms facing up. "We'll have to go there."

A gentle recollection flitted in his mind as he stared at the thin divots in her palms. He was thinking back to Myra when he'd infiltrated the Cathedral to capture her, only to surprise him by complying with her arrest. Even now, she looked as radiating as the day he met her. She was gilded to the hilt and tongue meaner than a viper. There were flickering moments in his memory—her undying chokehold, a smattering of magenta tattoos down her back, an unforgettable trail of gold in the wake of her footsteps. 

"No time for reminiscence. Save it," Myra murmured, reaping out of his mind. If this went on, she'd have no choice but to deprive the town of his kindness. She wanted him all for herself. 

"Yes. Right." He bent to lift the child, tucked it into his duffel, and left it in the Marshal's supervision until he returned. He was more than content to comply, but not without an evasive warning about being alone with a witch. 

"I'll take my chances," the Mandalorian impassively said to the Marshal. 

 He settled to see Myra's side with one last look at the villagers. He watched her through his visor, unhesitatingly sliding his gloved hands against hers. He added a little squeeze to let her know he was ready. 

"Remember," she cautioned, "you cannot let—"

"Let you go," he finished for her. She perceived his disruptive grin under his headgear. "I know. It's not me with cognitive calibration."

She grumbled as she shut her eyes to invoke the Ichor in her. "Keep talking and something's surely getting calibrated today."

∞

There was only darkness when the arcane waters spewed them out from its drifting tides. A cold, familiar grey which expanded to no ceiling or floor until the farthest periphery where a single pinprick of light gleamed. A narrow ribbon of dust, stalagmites and rocks wilted upright from around the distance of the tunnel. 

Besides the already poised Myra, the Mandalorian heaved up from the floor and steadied his spinning head. He huffed out an expletive and brushed off his shoulders. Myra's nose wrinkled in disgust. 

"I'm going to have a word with your saintly supervisors about this shit," he mumbled breathlessly. He switched on his enhanced viewplate to inspect his bleak surroundings and soon, spotted a short trail down to a heat source. "Where the hell are we?"

"The abandoned Sarlacc pit," she told him. 

Din waited unbudging where he stood, more horrified than enraged. She was a picture of ease as she sauntered deeper into the tunnel, her hands linked behind her back and her ornaments rattling like alarms.

Had he heard her right? After last night, had the witch finally decided to evoke her revenge? Dangle him as bait to that sleeping creature? 

He nodded when he realized the most fundamental truth. "You're pulling my leg, aren't you? I'm not amused."

"We need to see how the land lies before you blow it up," she explained, grinning at him over her shoulder. She had the gall to be playful right now. "Have you forgotten your most basic training, Mandalorian?"

"My most basic training is to survive. Which you've jeopardised by making us a nice hearty lunch for that thing." It was too hard to suppress his dismay now, and he whispered to make sure he wasn't waking the krayt dragon up. 

Discerning this, Myra spun on her heels to sigh at him. "The dragon only senses danger through subtle vibrations. Negative ones, from your weapons, armour, and the like."

He looked down at his striking armour and the generous display of weapons adhered to it. "Well, you don't say." 

It was official: she'd brought him here as blackmail, the cruellest he could suspect.

Her laughter was melodious while it lasted. "You've nothing to worry about. I've disguised you with a charm."

He stared at her for a long moment. When she squinted back with a building tease, he let out a sigh. "Fuck if I know, I should be dead by now."

Staking his life on fate, the Mandalorian cautiously strode forward and put himself between Myra and the gathering darkness. He depended on his viewplate to lead the way, wary about the noises he was making and listening as intently as possible. Of course, the golden witch's tinkling fineries weren't making it easier. 

"How safe is this charm?" he asked Myra, who may as well be whistling a tune. "Can it hear us? Is it awake?"

"Never question my craft. And of course, it can hear us. But we aren't at odds with it. It's reconnaissance." She made a dismissive motion with her fingers. "Worst comes to worst, we lull it back to sleep."

"We?"

"Me," she amended with a smirk. 

She'll be the death of me, he thought. Din shook his head at a loss for words. Of all the shrewd women in the galaxy, it had to be the most unpredictably unhinged one he chose to trust. 

While questioning everything he built his morals on, they'd reached a juncture in the dark tunnel where the heat source became stagnant as a sole massive cavity in his viewplate. His instincts refused to let him move further, even as Myra nudged him. 

"Too dark," he conveyed to her. 

"Ah," she dragged out. "Human vision."

He rolled his human eyes and clicked on the searchlight fixed on the side of his headgear. As their beacon lit up, so did the space. 

In the heart of the juncture, the menacing carnivore slept on without a care. It could've been bound for decomposition in the way it laid, coiled into its hind limbs and its imposing skull resting a few metres away from where they'd entered. His torch tracked across its overhanging traits that could cause their inevitable death. Death was its finest perfume, with stony scales as robust as beskar, its teeth shaped like individual spears, and its enormous horns on its grotesque head curving to the skies. 

Myra caught the Mandalorian's wrist as it itched to the blaster on his hip. Her low voice was furious when she spoke. "Haven't I said it enough? Negative vibrations. You're going to botch this for both of us."

Her anger deferred his first impulses, and he let his hand drop. She slammed her shoulder into his as she ambled forward, so shockingly relaxed in her gait. 

His beating heart wouldn't reach reassurance, even after bearing the fact a witch was indestructible. She was so small compared to the monstrous dragon, glistening like the desired bait between the light. He held his breath as she eventually approached it. 

As X marked the spot, the dragon sprung open a beady eye. What the Mandalorian believed to be its brows wrinkled down to form a dragon-ish sneer. 

He tensed up with a sharp exhale. "Don't take the risk, Myra, please."

"Funny to hear that from a Mandalorian." She dared to raspingly giggle at him. 

The adamantine jaw of the dragon flexed to bare its yellow-stained teeth, flaring its nostrils as it took in Myra's scent. Its rock-ribbed limescale changed shades under the Mandalorian's beacon, glissading along to tower over her as Myra stood motionless. 

"Hello," she wished, bowing her head submissively.

A thunderous growl ripped out of its throat—the Mandalorian fought off ultimate panic—when she lifted a steady hand to the pointed arch of its snout, lingering it on until the plangent rumbles finally quietened. 

It was her buoyant laughter that chimed off the cave walls next. "Incredible."

Gradually, Myra crept her touch along, treading to the slant of its lip as she sensed and fortified her contact with the creature. His tense shoulders slumped when he noticed what she was doing. The dragon-shaped strokes of ink on her bare shoulder mantled, glistening a shade of amethyst he'd painted his dreams with. Din had witnessed this one too many times, he'd been on the receiving end occasionally, the way she seemed to take her time in comprehending the mind. It was painstaking to not fall harder for her, especially when she forged bonds this way. Ah, how much he had missed this daring witch. 

"She's stunning, isn't she?" Myra asked in surprise, tipping her head to meet its argent eye. She directed her next words at the dragon, smiling broadly. "You're such a brilliant creature. And they call you a monster, tch. Good girl."

The beast echoed another rumble, its suspicion crumbling away to an acceptance. Its miles-long tail and helical abdomen splayed out a little far away, almost in an acquiescent motion. 

"I'm starting to see a pattern in your insane friendship preferences," the Mandalorian breathed out. He flicked a few fingers toward the entrance. "Myra, can you please get over here?"

"I think she likes me."

He sighed. "Well, I saw you first," he muttered.

With a dusty swish, sensing the unease, the dragon furled into an upright spiral, putting its slithering length between Myra and the Mandalorian. He could only hold his ground and watch the situation unfold. Obediently, it lowered its snout back to Myra and purred. 

That thing was protecting Myra. From himself. 

From the gaze of a stranger, Din understood why a witch like her so easily associated herself with a misconstrued creature like the bloodthirsty dragon. To them, there was no way to triumph over their godforsaken judgement. One look was all it took to create opinion, the beast or Myra's. 

Snoop, seduce, surmount, he'd remembered insulting her that night on Arvala-7. All of witch-kind were temptresses, vexatious to the point of queasiness. That had been his primitive impulse; to humiliate her and set his record straight. 

"The Tuskens were right. The belly is her weak spot," Myra instructed him as quiet as possible, pulling him out of his reverie. "But her hide remains invincible."

The Mandalorian impelled a foot forward to understand her clearer. "What's your plan B?"

"Hmm. The explosives could work from the inside out," she suggested, catching his eye. "Your ammunition should be strong enough to tear through her coat. That could..." Her glum expression visibly crumbled. She looked back at the thrumming dragon, stroking it again. "You know, you don't have to kill her. We could send her off someplace else."

"She kills to live, Myra," the Mandalorian advised, trying his best at benevolence. "I understand you're unhappy. But Cobb Vanth's cornered with the Tuskens. She's dusting off lives by the hour."

Her face went hard with a mocking smile. "Beasts kill for hunger, men for profit."

Another ear-splitting roar filled the cave. The dragon flailed its tail and thumped it against a wall, splintering it down to little pebbles. The Mandalorian bore up his vambrace to protect himself.  

"The Fates speak it, I suppose. She'll have a warrior's death," Myra accepted bleakly, stepping away. 

He held out a hand, cautious in maintaining distance from the dragon. "C'mere. We've got to run."

Myra watched him intently, carefully, but there was significance suffused deep in her golden eyes. She crossed the serpentine length of the leviathan with an elegant leap and slipped her palm between Din's. 

He gave it a delicate squeeze and his controlled breaths trembled back into him. He pulled her forth, ignoring every forewarning in his head that claimed he was taking it too far, and curled his arm around her waist. Finding her balance, she steadied herself by placing her palms flat over his armour. Something fixed an unrighteously provoking starvation in her. 

When her gleaming gaze met him, the world focalized on a single spot on her lips. "You haven't changed one bit."

"Impossible," she taunted.

Her neck craned upward, eyes half-lidded, innate and wanting. A moment passed, and Din felt his enraged vices snap. Her, her, her, was all he could make of the situation.

The dragon's guttural purr and the nudge of her muzzle against Myra's waist thankfully thwarted his irrationally-timed decision to rip the helmet off his head and bear the bliss of feeling her skin against his mouth. While a slaughterous beast watched on. 

Din closed his fists as inflexible as his strength could allow, breathed out hard and pulled away. "Stupid timing," he muttered.

"Quite so," Myra whispered with amusement but her eyes—oh, they bore an aurous storm, as unslakable as ever. 

His skin was hot, too hot. Sweat beaded up and rolled down his eyelashes at the heat of her unmoving stare. The cave rumbled with another vexing growl. 

"Your galling armour wouldn't have survived this time," she warned. 

∞

As Myra mournfully watched the Mandalorian's plan transpire without a successful plan A, she remembered the time Luna had explained the belief of devastation, how everyone existed to love, grow, and fail. The evidence of such a life was the pain of watching someone suffer and she stood there with rescue at her fingertips. When the smoke billowed and the beautiful dragon went to pieces, Myra turned her head away and shut her eyes. 

The Ichor cradled into her chest, billowing and surging, never meddling, allowing her to experience the loss. She wished the waters would take it all away. 

The hunter's mind was a versatile instrument, made up of other myriads of fragments that somehow functioned in a disorder that produced a triumph. She was coming to adore relearning the facets of his design or if point A could go to point C without point B, and so on. 

It was the perfect distraction, too. Myra didn't want to dwell in the emptiness of heartache any longer before the Mandalorian started to notice. It was frustrating and curious to catch him understanding and accepting her Ways quicker than any human she'd encountered. It was like looking in a mirror that was broken and decayed, but the portion that survived was glaringly certain. Nothing had changed. 

As the Tuskens began to sever and rend the meat and bones that made the fallen krayt dragon, Myra narrowed her eyes at the Marshal who made his way to her with his battle-worn body. He'd relinquished his armour to the hunter who vowed to return the scraps to his ancestors, to whom it rightfully belonged. 

Myra's lips curled to a sneer as he inched closer up the dune she waited upon. "If you want pain, imp, just ask."

"Cobb Vanth," he introduced instead, his tone patient. She wanted to laugh at his face; he was offering his peace. "I know about your Ways. You may speak my name."

She stayed silent, looking ahead. 

"Mando told me..." he grunted as he lugged himself over the final circuit over the dune to stand by her side, "...that you were the one who told him about the second plan."

"Possibly."

"Thank you," he said sincerely. "On behalf of my people, too."

"I don't accept," she bit out through her teeth. 

He was bold enough to laugh, his hands pressuring his hips. "You're a pain in the ass, you know?"

"I try my best."

"I'm truly sorry about the dragon." The glare Cobb was returned were black ice shards that threatened to pierce his conviction. "I'm sure her death was dignified. She was a remarkable creature."

"Oh, if only she could return the favour," she mouthed off, shaking her head. "Marshal, I have nothing to say to you. Leave or be removed."

It didn't faze him the least. "Alright, got it. I thought I'd exchange some valuable information with you. For your support."

He waited. 

"About another witch who could help you on your due passage," he encouraged. He observed the glowing hilt of the lightsaber that hung like an ornament from her waist chains. 

"Another witch." Somehow, she couldn't imbue her voice with wrath. She was properly curious.  

"There's a Keshiri pilot back on Mos Espa who knows where your kind lives. The last I heard one was serving a commander of the Galactic Republic in the Outer Rim." 

She looked at him, astonished. Nevertheless, she read into the flashes of images in his head, a moment in a tavern when he'd come across the strange pilot. 

"I never asked."

"Give-and-take."

"Hmm. A pilot, you say..." She tried to think it through quickly. 

Cobb Vanth leaned closer in token interest. "No man could ever refuse a witch. Flirt a little and knock out the poor bastard." 

The unbearable impulses in the Marshal's head were sickening. Humans were such slaves to seduction yet were never tempted to acquiesce. Deny who they were, deny what they felt, deny their realities. Quite tragic if she thought about it.   

She grimaced. "I'm sure I'll find some other way to have my dealings."

"Your dealings?" A quiet vocoded response came from behind her. 

Myra whirled around to watch the Mandalorian approach her side. A few feet away, a speeder bike waited with the little one all strapped in, bearing his cut of meat and the melee of weapons. His belligerence was still amassed in his dented and besmirched armour, enduring bruises underneath it all. 

"What information do you need?" the Mandalorian asked. He wasn't curious, he was prepared to offer his support. 

Myra met his stare through the helmet meaningfully. "I can handle this on my own. You should look after the little one until I'm done."

"Yeah, and it's not exactly in a hunter's job description," the Marshal added, raising a brow. 

"I don't have one, Vanth. I'll do anything."

"Okay. What say you indulge in the art of seduction for this one? Shake those beskar hips for a buddy?"

Myra pressed her lips together, trying to hide her amusement. The Mandalorian's mind strived to offset his embarrassment with an intelligent counter, but he was coming at a loss. 

"It's alright," Myra reassured him. "I'll be alright."

X X X

{ also, I've changed my Eris the Grey casting from Charlize Theron to Indya Moore, because I felt like her character would be more unforgettably assertive if I cast a transgender woman in Eris' role and given Indya is a legit GOAT, I COULDN'T RESISTTTT! I can't wait for you to meet Eris and fangirl with me! AND OH MY GOD, SEDUCTIVE!MYRA IS A GO, I CAN'T BREATHE— }