If anyone had asked Din to bet on the true identity of the stranger Jos Merrick, the last person on his list would be Migs Mayfeld. His credits would be even more against finding him in a tiny village on a backwater planet on the Outer Rim- where Din himself had friends. But here he was, standing in front of him, his thumbs hooked casually in the pockets of the grey trousers Cara had given him in the hold of Boba Fett's ship before leaving the chop fields for Morak.
"Mayfeld. I didn't expect to see you here."
"I'm a dead man, Mando. You never know where I might show up." He chuckled at his attempt at a joke, but when his gaze fell on Grogu, still tucked against Din's side, his expression shifted to a sort of tenderness he never expected to see from the former Imperial. "Glad to see you got your kid back." He reached out to pat the child on the head, but Grogu shied away and pressed into Din's cuirass, flattening his ears and letting out a small growl from deep in his little body. Clearly he hadn't forgotten- or forgiven- Mayfeld's involvement in Ran's betrayal of Din on the prison ship. The sharpshooter pulled back, his gaze flickering uncertainly between the Mandalorian and his child.
Din took Grogu's hand before his ad'ika could try anything more violent with his powers, the clawed fingers instantly grasping his fingers, and his gloved thumb gently stroked the back of his hand. "It's okay, buddy; he helped us find you. He won't hurt either of us anymore." Fathomless brown eyes turned toward him questioningly then back to Mayfeld, and to Din's relief, he slowly relaxed in his arms, though his ears didn't quite perk back up completely. "He likes having his ears scratched," he offered. Even with the reassurance Mayfeld hesitated for several beats before he finally reached out and gently scratched the base of Grogu's oversized ears.
"I guess I deserved that, huh?" He rubbed a finger over the kid's ear, and while he didn't show any more aggression toward Mayfeld, neither did he lean into the touch and purr in contentment as he did with any of their close burc'yase. His hand fell away and he stuffed both hands self-consciously into his pockets, averting his gaze and scuffing the toe of his boot in the dirt like a child being scolded on the playground. "I'm no good at this kind of thing, so I'm just gonna come right out and say it: I owe you an apology, Mando. In truth, you have every reason to hate me. I was an ass to you for no reason except for the lies the rest of the crew told me about you. And then that stupid crap I said on Morak…" His eyes finally met Din's, and he was shocked at the look of sincere humility he found there. Din knew that tone and the remorseful cant of Mayfeld's head; if he had been Mando'ad, he would have sunk to his knees in the dirt, hands out to receive whatever punishment Din deemed suitable and a groveling 'ni ceta' falling from his lips. As it was he reached down and pulled a short kal from his boot and held it out toward Din, the handle toward the Mandalorian and the blade pointed at his own stomach. "Now's your chance. Take your pound of flesh or cut out my tongue or do whatever your creed says I deserve. I won't stop you."
Every muscle in Din's body froze. The gesture was extreme, even by his people's standards, but he could see that Mayfeld meant every bit of what he said, that something about his experiences since they last parted had broken down his pride and changed more than just his name.
Before he truly realized what he was doing his fingers wrapped around the handle of the knife, taking it from the other man. He held it for a moment, considering the weight of it- both literally and figuratively. In those few seconds it took to examine his feelings, Din found that he held no anger or bitterness toward the former Imperial. Insults, abuse, and betrayal had long since ceased to wound him even before the prison ship incident, rolling off his back like raindrops off his armor. The man clearly felt remorse for what he had done; Manda forbid that Din withhold what measure of cin vhetin he could offer.
He sucked in a breath, and in his peripheral he saw Mayfeld flinch, but he quickly recovered, squaring his shoulders and bracing himself for what was coming.
"You saved my life in that refinery- and helped save a Mandalorian foundling. There is no greater honor in our creed than to defend a child. Foundlings are the future." He flipped the knife in his hand then with a snap of his wrist plunged it point-first into the soft dirt at their feet. "All the rest, as we say, wer'cuy- it doesn't matter. This is the way."
Mayfeld's jaw dropped, stunned into silence by the proclamation- or maybe he couldn't believe that Din would let him go without so much as a scratch for all his malice. The sharpshooter stared at him for a long moment before his jaw finally snapped shut and he scrubbed a hand over his face. "Never thought I'd be happy to hear you say that." Din smiled a bit, even though Mayfeld had no way to see it, recognizing the statement for what it was- an attempt to convey his relief and gratitude without giving into his emotions in the moment. They were interrupted a second later by Winta and a couple other children bouncing up to him, asking permission to take Grogu to see a litter of loth-kittens by one of the other homes. When his ears perked at the invitation, Din passed him off to the teen with a stern admonition to mind his manners. The children hurried off and as he straightened he briefly locked gazes with Mayfeld again, the other man sending him a look of gratitude before he turned and started back across the clearing to the piles of supplies that still needed sorted. Din followed close on his heels; now that the matter was settled between them, his curiosity was piqued at how the man had arrived on Sorgan.
The two worked in companionable silence with a few other villagers for some time, carrying the various crates and bundles to the communal storage sheds, where the supplies would be kept before being parceled out to the individual homes later.
"I know you're dying to know, so just come right out and ask," Mayfeld finally said, leaning back against a stack of crates and mopping the sweat from his face with the black kerchief around his neck.
"What?" Din pulled a canister of water from the box beside him and tossed it to the sharpshooter, who caught it out of the air with a nod of thanks, snapped off the top, and took a long swallow.
"How I ended up here. Not exactly the type of place you'd expect someone like me to settle down."
He shrugged; of course he was curious- anybody would be, all things considered- but he wouldn't push the man if he would rather not discuss it. "It's your story to tell- or not, and I'll respect that. You aren't obligated to tell me anything."
Mayfeld huffed out a laugh. "I appreciate that, but you already know some of the worst things about me, Mando. One more story isn't going to make much of a difference- not that it's much of a story, mind you." He settled back against the crates, folding his arms across his chest as he launched into his tale. "After the refinery explosion I stayed on Morak for a few months, working odd jobs in exchange for a meal and a bed here and there. You'd be surprised how many little towns there are scattered around that place that could use an experienced mechanic from time to time. Anyway, one day a trader came through looking for some grunts to work temporarily for him moving cargo. Pay was good so I volunteered and did that for a bit until I got bored then bummed around working for whoever would hire me. Everything was going great- I was learning new stuff all the time, seeing new parts of the galaxy, and I was even close to buying my own ship. Then I got roped into a deal with one of Ran's old rivals- though I didn't know it until I met with him- and he recognized me from the crew that cheated him out of a whole lot of weapons and spice about four months before the job you came in on. Suffice it to say, he wasn't too pleased with the fact I was still drawing breath and decided to even the score before I could get away into hyperspace. I don't remember much about the crash except for coming down in the forest and the pain- not even sure who pulled me out of the wreck."
He tugged up the hem of his shirt, uncovering a thick, ropey scar twisting across his abdomen. "Darek patched me up as best he could, and Pasia stayed with me when infection set in and I caught a fever." The fabric settled back into place over his skin and Mayfeld's expressions softened again into something fond and strangely domestic as his gaze trailed out the open door of the shed to the rest of the hamlet. "She's a good woman- much better than I deserve. I never expected such good people would welcome someone like me."
Din was quiet for a moment, thinking back to the way Mayfeld had swept Pasia into his arms upon his return and the tender kiss he had pressed to her cheek. The two were clearly enamored with each other. "Do they know? About your time with the Empire?"
"Yeah; it was the first thing I told them after I got past the infection. I figured it was best to let them know right off what they had saved so they could kick me out before anybody got too attached." A humorless chuckle slipped out, and Din could have sworn he saw a sheen of tears in the other man's eyes. In a blink the effect was gone, replaced by the familiar- if a bit tempered- impudence that still seemed to be Mayfeld's trademark. "Turns out an ex-Imperial isn't the worst character they've ever had stay with them- they still talk about the temperamental Mandalorian that tagged along with a Rebel dropper that saved their village."
Even without the smirk playing at the corner of Mayfeld's mouth, Din knew that the other man was only teasing him, pressing lightly to get some sort of reaction out of Din to test their fragile truce. Well, two could play at that game. He pushed away from the stack of crates he had been leaning against and moved toward the entrance of the shed, purposely clipping Mayfeld's shoulder with the edge of his pauldron and dropping his voice to the cold, menacing tone he reserved for particularly aru'ela bounties. "Just don't forget the prison ship, burc'ya." The smug grin vanished, but he didn't acknowledge the change as he continued past the sharpshooter and out the door to go find Grogu, ignoring Mayfeld's call after him asking what the last word meant. Din grinned to himself under his helmet; he would tell the other man- eventually. He'd just let him sweat it out for a day or two first.