Saga - OT Frogs’ End (Frog Lady; Angstmongers Anonymous challenges #6 and #8; see warnings)

Title: Frogs’ End
Author: Findswoman
Era: 9 ABY (during season 2 of The Mandalorian)
Characters: Frog Lady (writer of the letter), Frog Gentleman (recipient of the letter), Grogu, Din Djarin
Genre: Most definitely an AU, angst, darkfic
Summary: Frog Lady wreaks revenge after her unhatched froglets are eaten.
CONTENT WARNINGS: Murder, major character death, suicide.
Notes: Written as an ad hoc contribution to two Angstmongers Anonymous challenges: the Dark Side Challenge(challenge #6) and the Letter of Apology challenge (#8). I have used all the bonus words from both challenges, as well (with occasional alterations for verb form): puncture, penance, and possess from challenge #6, and fathom, faithless, and flout from challenge #8.

Once again I thank @Raissa Baiard for taking the time from her hectic schedule to beta read.

Given the nature of the challenge, story, and summary, I feel compelled to make a few clarifications and disclaimers:

1. Grogu is not the character who dies in this; if so, I would have specified “child death” and “child murder” in the warnings. While I can do dark sometimes, child murder is too dark for me, and it’s not even a direction I’d make a dark Frog Lady go.
2. I know that in the relevant episode of The Mandalorian Grogu does not eat all of the Frog Lady’s eggs, but I have made him do so in this story in order to make the Frog Lady’s dark turn more plausible.
3. This story’s version of the Frog Lady has some particularly harsh words and feelings for Din and Grogu. Please note that that does not reflect my own opinion of these characters, whatever foibles they may have (what character doesn’t?). Instead, my own harsh feelings are directed toward whichever Lucasfilm writers saw fit to have Grogu feast on the eggs of a near-extinct species for laughs. That, right there, is really the raison d’être of this story.
4. And, of course, I’m sure you all know that I by no means condone murder!

---

Dearest—

Think of this missive as an attempt at penance, if penance is even possible now. We have lost everything, and it is my fault.

Yet I would have done nothing differently. Had you been there, I have no doubt that you would have done the same.

Even so, I should have known. I should not have entrusted my person and my most precious treasure— our most precious treasure— to that two-decicred tin-plated Human oddjobber (may the Waters obliterate his memory). Females of our kind, as you know— and especially those in the various egg-stages— have the gift of knowing before. That sense did prickle in my mind even from my very first meeting with the armored Human— the Mandalorian, as people called him— but in my desperation to reach you and safety I chose to flout my own inner warning.

At least now I can say with complete certainty that he— and hopefully also his gluttonous little brat— will never cause anyone else in the Galaxy misery and pain.

I should tell you everything, shouldn’t I? It began when I boarded the Human’s vessel, when he showed me to my seat in the cockpit. It was fairly cramped quarters, so I removed my egg carrier and set it down in the corridor behind us: my first fatal mistake. I was feeling fatigued from the heat and the unnaturally dry air on Tatooine, and I soon fell asleep: my second fatal mistake.

I don’t know how much later it was that I awoke to a strange, liquid slurping sound coming from the corridor. We were cruising steadily by that time, so I left my seat to see what it was. Even now I can barely describe the horrible scene (though fortunately by the time you read this I never will have to again).

A little context to start: The armored Human, for reasons I never fully learned, always had with him a small green-skinned humanoid, apparently a child of some other species who had lost his parents and whom he had taken as his own. An adorable little fellow, in some ways— just seeing him toddling along made me think of the time when you and I would see our own froglets wiggle along!— but to say he possesses a definite mischievous streak is a gross understatement. It didn’t help that the Mandalorian barely supervised him at all, letting him go wherever he liked aboard the ship at any time.

And when I reached the corridor, this accursed little menace was standing over my egg carrier, stuffing his greedy little face with my eggs— our future froglets!— as incubation fluid dribbled down his front!

I don’t recall what I did. I froze, I gasped, I cried out, I slapped myself to awaken myself because I couldn’t believe this could really be happening: perhaps all those things, perhaps none. But I do recall how I felt: as if a cold, rusty blade had punctured me to the heart, pinning me to the spot as it bled me to death. (That was, perhaps, my third fatal mistake: not grabbing the little miscreant and removing him from the scene myself.)

Oh, yes! And then I have a vague memory of the Mandalorian running up, scooping up the youngling, and saying “Those are not food!” or “I told you not to do that!” or something equally ineffectual, then hustling him off to whatever part of the ship passes for his room (a starship is no place to raise a youngling, I’m sure of that). All while I stood there, paralyzed, incredulous, unable to fathom what I had just seen.

I don’t know how many moments, seconds, minutes passed before I finally mustered the courage to look at the egg carrier.

There was nothing there but fluid.

That is about when the Mandalorian ambled back and tossed a “sorry about that” and a nervous laugh in my direction. I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. But perhaps that was what turned the blade in my heart from rusty ice to red-hot steel.

The ship, of course, continued on its way. I did not want to go back into the cockpit beside the Mandalorian, so I walked through the corridor, aimless and distracted. As I did, I passed the child’s cabin. He lay there in his cradle, eyes closed, mouth open, gorged on the eggs of the last breeding cycle of my life.

Dearest, if you too had seen him there, snoozing and snoring and drooling after doing what he had done, I know you would have thought as I did! Tiny youngling or no tiny youngling, I was angry at him with my whole being. I felt acid and fire fill my heart knowing that this spoiled little demon was resting in a warm cradle, and that my own froglets would never be able to do the same.

And I made a plan. No, dearest, do not misunderstand! It wasn’t what you think. A mean little brat, to be sure, and well deserving of some consequences; but he couldn’t really know what he was doing. His Human guardian, on the other hand, who had left him unsupervised, let him run amok, and gave him no real consequences…

Well, I would give him real consequences, all right. I am sure you see where this is going now, my love. That Human’s negligence bereaved a mother and father of their children. So, then! I would bereave the child of his father.

I said I made a plan, and I shall be brief and honest in describing it. I am using my venom glands for the first and only time, dearest; I know it is our people’s last resort, but this is my last resort. Once I build up enough of a supply, and once we are close enough to Trask, I shall secrete a small amount onto the blade of my pocket knife. The Mandalorian constantly wears that ridiculous armor, of course, but there are many gaps between plates. It takes only a little, and it will not take long…

When this ship arrives and docks, you will see his metal-encased corpse tumble and clatter down the ramp.

You will see mine tumble after it.

You will see these pages crumpled in my hand and the knife sticking from my neck.

Maybe you will see the green-skinned child, too. Do what you wish with him: take him in, turn him in, anything you like.

But do not weep or chorus for the wife who was faithless to the promise she made to you and our people. Do not mourn or miss the one who is the reason there will be no more Querm Rybet.

Farewell, dearest, till the Waters cover us.

If They still shall.

[name illegible]

fin

Spoiler: Notes

Querm Rybet is the name given to Frog Lady and Frog Gent’s species in The Star Wars Encyclopedia: The Comprehensive Guide to the Star Wars Galaxy (2024). The venom glands and the Waters are both my own fanon (on the Waters, see also The Silence of the Frogs).