The old man stared at Gadriel as though he were still trying to decide whether this was another trick of fate.
Fear lingered in his eyes, thick and stubborn, and it took a moment before his lips finally moved.
"I… I'm fine," he said at last, his voice thin but steadying. "I think. Yes. I'm fine now."
Gadriel inclined his head slightly. "Good."
The old man swallowed and adjusted himself where he sat beside the wagon. His hands trembled faintly as he pressed them into the dirt to push himself upright.
"Thank you," he said again, more clearly this time. "For saving me. Truly. If there is anything you want from my wagon—anything at all—please, take it. I insist."
Gadriel shook his head. "I don't need your things."
The man blinked, clearly surprised. "You don't?"
"No," Gadriel said calmly. "But I would like to know what happened."
The old man exhaled slowly, some of the tension finally draining from his shoulders. He glanced at the fallen bandits, then at the three mercenaries—who stood awkwardly nearby, clearly embarrassed by the entire affair.
"Well…" the man began, rubbing the back of his neck. "I suppose there's no harm in telling you."
He took a breath and continued, his voice gaining strength as the immediate danger faded.
"I decided to cut through these rolling plains instead of sticking to the main roads. With all the detours and tolls they've put up lately, this route was far faster." He gave a humorless chuckle. "Or at least, it was supposed to be."
Gadriel nodded, listening.
"I knew there were bandits in these parts," the man went on, "so I hired three mercenaries to guard me." He gestured weakly toward them. "They came recommended, and I paid well."
"But as you can clearly see," the old man said with a sigh, "I overestimated their ability."
"I see," Gadriel replied simply.
The old man studied Gadriel for a moment, as though weighing whether to say more. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"No," Gadriel admitted.
"That explains a few things," the man muttered.
Gadriel glanced toward the wagon. "Where were you headed?"
The man's expression brightened slightly, despite everything. "The western market of Vaes Dothrak. I was going there to sell my wares."
Gadriel turned his attention back to him. "This place you speak of… what is it?"
The old man squinted at him, suspicion creeping back into his eyes.
"You truly don't know?" he asked slowly.
Gadriel nodded his head.
The man studied him for several seconds, then sighed. "You at least know who the Dothraki are, yes?"
"Yes," Gadriel said. "Nomads. Horse warriors."
"Good," the man said, relieved. "Then I don't have to explain everything from the beginning."
He cleared his throat. "The Dothraki may be nomads, but they do have cities—two of them. Vaes Dothrak in the west, and another in the east. Sacred places. No bloodshed allowed within their boundaries."
"That's… unexpected," Gadriel said mildly.
"Oh, don't misunderstand me," the man replied quickly. "They're still dangerous. Still brutal. But those cities? They're some of the safest places you can be—by Dothraki standards, at least."
"And profitable," Gadriel guessed.
The old man smiled faintly. "Very. Traders from all over Essos pass through. If you have something rare—or useful—you can make a small fortune."
"That makes sense," Gadriel said. "This city sounds… interesting."
The man raised an eyebrow. "Interesting," he repeated. "That's one word for it."
Gadriel allowed the smallest hint of a smile. "Fun, perhaps."
The old man snorted despite himself, then shook his head. "Whatever you say, stranger."
Silence settled between them for a moment, broken only by the soft wind moving through the tall grass.
Eventually, Gadriel stepped toward the wagon. "Let's fix this."
The old man blinked. "You don't have to—"
"I know," Gadriel said. "But I will."
Together, they worked to right the wagon and replace the broken wheel as best they could. Gadriel's movements were efficient, almost casual, his strength evident but never flaunted. T
When it was done, the old man wiped sweat from his brow and let out a long breath.
"I can't continue," he admitted. "Not without guards."
"That would be wise," Gadriel said.
The old man nodded, then hesitated. "Before I go… may I ask your name?"
"Gadriel."
The man inclined his head respectfully. "You have my thanks, Gadriel. Truly."
As the merchant prepared to leave, Gadriel stopped him with a raised hand.
"One more thing," he said. "Which way is Vaes Dothrak?"
The old man pointed toward the horizon. "That way. Straight across the plains."
Gadriel nodded. "Thank you."
The wagon turned and began its slow journey back the way it had come.
Gadriel retrieved Dust shortly after, resting a hand against her neck as he watched the merchant disappear into the distance.
"Well," he murmured softly, "it looks like we're going to Vaes Dothrak."
Dust snorted quietly, as if in agreement.
Gadriel swung into the saddle and turned them toward the open plains ahead.