A/N: Sorry that this one is so late. Started college a little while ago, and it's kicking my ass.

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Chapter 3: Table Talk

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It was hours yet before Shin made any progress whatsoever in trying to find civilization.

The rain had only intensified, turning the entire grassy plain into a vast muddy swamp.

Finally, when the sun was just touching the top of the horizon, he arrived.

A small village sat in a depression in the ground, low enough small buildings under the grass. Sharp eyes tracked the short, thin, earthen wall that stretched around part of the village, idly noting the placement of every building in the admittedly small community.

It took only a cursory look to see the village's main flaw. It was certainly an odd one.

There was only a wall on a single side.

It was like someone had got into their head to expend the time and effort to create a wall to defend their village, only to get bored in the middle and leave it be.

He also noticed the small army of carriages packed in among the huts, similar to the one he'd pulled from the mud.

Slinging his shield over one shoulder and his glaive over the other, Shin rolled his neck until he felt a satisfying *crk* and shook out each limb in turn. His armor was fitted for someone with a larger body frame than he currently had, and it was irritating to have to worry about it sliding around whenever he moved. There would be time enough to consider what to do about that soon, since he wasn't stupid enough to get rid of it.

But at the moment he was getting quite irritated with the half-useless metal stuck to his body, as well as being tired, sore and starving.

'I haven't eaten in... I don't even know how long. I'm going to need a while to build up my strength again.'

Shin turned his head to look over his shoulder. The small carriage from before was still following behind him. Judging from the amount of similar ones in the village, they'd most likely been headed to the same place. And had gotten left behind.

His eyes narrowed for an instant, but he shook his head. It wasn't his concern.

"...I'm going soft," he muttered to himself, and started walking down the village.

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Inside a small lodging house, several members of the Lhazareen caravan were gathered around a table, talking in hushed voices, while others warmed themselves by a fire or ate in silence. The innkeeper, or at least the local equivalent, sat at the back of his kitchen, while a young serving girl walked between the tables, quietly refilling drinks or handing out meals.

The village itself was one of the larger ones dotted along a caravan trading route the Lhazar used regularly on their way to different villages. These traders had been forced to stop here even though they would have preferred to continue onward, largely because of the sheer volume of rain making traveling difficult.

The dangers of the road were well known to every person there. Those who could not keep up, were left behind.

Due to the pounding rain buzzing on the thatch roof, none of them heard the small commotion that was brewing outside.

The door swung open; a few heads glanced at the new arrival, expecting to see a random villager or member of the convoy.

What they saw instead was quite different.

Standing in the door, water dripping from his frame, stood a young man of middling height, garbed in strange, scaled armor that looked too big for his frame, his eyes moving around the room in a single, sweeping glance.

After almost half a minute, when it didn't appear that he was going to do anything, the rest of the room gradually began to relax and conversation among them resumed, though the topic at most tables had rather abruptly shifted.

None of them had the faintest idea of who this armored stranger was. He was not dressed in the leather of the Dothraki, the chain-mail of the Free Cities or the plate of Westeros. Armored greaves encased his legs and feet, with bracers that covered his forearms and spikes on the armor of his left shoulder. His weapons and shield were made of dark metal, bearing designs entirely foreign to everyone who laid eyes on them.

His black hair, wet from the rain, was swept back, held in place in a rat-tail that kept it past his shoulders, while muscles were clearly visible beneath his armor. His skin was paler than any Lhazareen, but darker than any Westerosi save possibly the Dornish.

Shin began walking again without another moments pause, satisfied that no one he could see here was a threat. Walking over to what looked like the owner, Shin stared at the somewhat portly man, who only met his gaze for a little while before offering up a somewhat forced grin.

"...Can I help you, sir?" he said in somewhat accented Dothraki.

Shin simply stared at him for a minute, his eyes scrunched up in consternation at the bizarre set of circumstances he now found himself in.

In a new world, in the middle of a grassy plain that covered half the continent, and for the second time in only a few hours, he was hearing a language that he'd never come across before.

And yet, somehow, he understood it perfectly.

"Food," he growled, sounding as if he'd just swallowed sand, and walked away from the man to sit on a table in the corner of the room.

He gently set his glaive and shield against the wall next to his table, facing the door and the rest of the people in the building.

For a while, no one did anything, unsure of what the stranger wanted. The tavern-keeper had gotten into a heated, if quiet argument with the serving girl, whose wide eyes and darting glances at the mysterious young man made quite obvious what she was nervous about.

This only went on for another minute before the owner simply fixed her with a glare as he shoved her in the stranger's direction.

The young woman only paused for another second, before she nervously walked over, pausing well out of arms-reach.

"C-can I get you anything?"

For a while, conversation in the building was subdued as most tried to pretend they weren't waiting for a response.

"...Food and a cup of boiling water," he said without looking up, his voice low and throaty from disuse, his accent particularly atrocious. "Meat, if you have any."

She walked away to relay his order, not daring to ask if the young, fierce-looking man could pay. In this part of the world, that was sort of question that tended to get you killed.

Shin slowly considered the room around him, and the world that lay beyond it.

This entire situation was not something he'd ever envisioned possibly happening, and he certainly had no idea why it had happened to him, of all people.

'No', he thought, gritting his teeth. 'I really have no damn clue.'

Shin didn't bother trying to delude himself. Those voices, the ones that had spoken, before he'd been spat into the dirt… he recognized them.

How could he not?

And what they had asked of him…

It was at this moment that history turned for the world that Shin now found himself in.

Near anyone in his situation might have decided that one life of war was enough. That one world of bloodshed, where betrayal, death, and strife were par for the course, might not be one worth involving themselves in. Better perhaps to find a life of peace, to make a trade, settle down, and enjoy the gift that they'd been provided.

Shin was not, and had never been, such a man.

"Bah, I sound like Mouten," he grumbled to himself, running a hand through his shaggy hair. 'Who the hell cares what happened or why I'm back. All I know is, if I'm asked to do something by them of all people, then I'll do it.'

What else needed to be said?

"Your food, good ser," the serving girl mumbled, setting down the plates she carried a bit harder than necessary. The meat looked slightly unappetizing and the vegetables had been boiled to hell, but it was fresh, and, more importantly, hot.

He gave her a glance out of the corner of his eye. Her hands were shaking.

He inclined his head and handed her a coin. "My thanks. I hope this is enough."

The young girl nearly dropped it in surprise. A circular coin with a square hole punched through it, decorated with symbols she didn't recognize.

But it was the weight that made her pause. It weighed almost as much as a gold dragon from Westeros, an uncommon sight in these parts, but known for its incredible value. She stared at the boy, who she now realized was quite a bit younger than she'd first assumed.

"Where did you…" she started, only to flush as she remembered who she was talking too, before bowing and moving away in a hurry to help their other customers.

He slid back against the wall as she went, feeling his glaive against his side. He needed somewhere to put all of the useless trash he currently found himself with.

His old squad might have berated him for thoughts like that, but at the moment, it was an accurate thought.

His glaive and shield were too heavy for him at the moment, his armor ill fitting and drenched from the rain outside. It slid around on his frame, keeping him off balance and not providing adequate protection even if he did decide to use it. His hands could barely fit around the handle of the glaive, and the shield might as well have been an immense dinner plate for all the use it served.

The only thing on him that was suitable for a fight was the sword on his back and the clothes under his armor.

He smirked at that. 'Just like old times.'

The door opened again to the sound of the rains increasing, the sun almost at the horizon, lighting up each droplet like a thousand shards of glass. Framed in the doorway were five familiar figures.

Slowly, their entire bearing screaming exhaustion, the family he'd run into before stumbled into the room, the mother holding one of her smaller children in her arms, while the elder girl held the other, despite the fact that her knees were shaking from cold and exhaustion.

The father of the three hardly paused at all before walking over to one of the more important looking people in the room and getting into a hushed conversation with him.

The glances they occasionally they threw at Shin gave him some insight into the subject of their conversation.

The older woman pulled her children along to another table, where several other women were waiting with food and blankets.

He looked away. Not his problem.

Finally, the serving girl arrived with his hot water, which he accepted with both hands and a nod. He pulled a packet from inside his armor, sprinkling the water with a few tea leaves he always kept on hand.

"Not often that the ones who are left behind are able to make it back," she said absentmindedly, mostly thinking out loud.

"Wonder how that happened," he replied, making her blush as he sipped the water and took a bite of the food.

As he thought, it was bland as sawdust. But it was still warm, so he choked down a few mouthfuls, wishing he had some of Ten's spices with him. 'Couldn't have sent me back with something useful, could you?' he griped to himself and to anyone who was listening.

In the midst of his complaining, another face popped up at the side of his table, looking at him curiously.

"Why did you help us?" said the young girl from before, who'd managed to sneak over to him.

Pausing mid-chew and glancing over at the rest of the room, to see most of them hadn't noticed, Shin considered how to respond in the most dignified and respectful way.

"…Cause I felt like it. What's it to you, runt?"

Ornela blushed in anger, but pressed on. "No one helps anyone out here. Dad always says that this is a dog-eat-dog world, where anyone who's too weak will get swallowed up by the strong. Why would someone help complete strangers like us for no reason?"

Shin leaned up against the wall, sipping his tea. "Well, your dad's not wrong. Can you imagine why that is?"

Her head tilted to the side at the question. "Why he's not wrong?"

Shin shook his head. "Why this part of the world is like this?"

She opened her mouth to say something, but then paused as she wondered at his question. At first it seemed simple, but as she thought about it, the answer seemed to get more and more complicated.

He gave a small smirk. "Once you've figured that out, maybe you'll finally be someone worth having a conversation with, brat. Until then, buzz off."

Getting more and more red, the little girl crossed her arms. "And what if I don't?"

For the first time in the conversation, he actually looked her way, his eyebrow raised. The rest of the room mostly seemed to have noticed the little girl and who she was talking to. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the girl's father catch her mother's arm, stopping her in her tracks.

And through the rain, he heard another sound, that he knew and recognized.

"Then you'll be talking to someone who doesn't feel like talking," he finally replied. "Go back to your table, brat. Your parents are worried."

Looking around and finally noticing how many people were looking at her, she turned bright red and ran back over to her mother, who slapped her over the head and started speaking to the girl in hushed, angry tones.

"Besides," he muttered into his drink, turning back against the wall. "Those guys outside are bad news."

Seconds later, the door slammed open again, revealing a breathless and terrified young man, who yelled into the darkened room the one name that all Lhazareen both feared and loathed.

"Dothraki!"