Game of Thrones: I am Dothraki, not a barbarian

Chapter 79 Dothraki Women
The horse kicked the ground with its hind legs and began to jump and circle wildly in the field, its four hooves flying up and down, splashing pieces of mud.

Garland was thrown around and his knees were in excruciating pain, but his legs were tied tightly to the horse and he could not move. He could only grit his teeth and hold on to the horse's neck tightly with his arms.

In fact, the horse was also very uncomfortable. The more it struggled, the tighter its abdomen became, which made it even more angry.

A man and a horse were caught in an endless confrontation.

An hour passed and Garland's arms began to shake.

Two hours passed. Sweat soaked Garland's clothes and dripped down the corners of his clothes. Every minute on the horse seemed as long as a century.

Three hours passed and Garland's consciousness began to blur, but he still clung to the horse mechanically and refused to give up.

By the fourth hour, Garland felt sore all over and seemed to have lost weight. He felt like he was about to die.

By the time the sun set, Garland had been on horseback for nearly five hours, and the wild horse's movements gradually stopped.

Garland felt the change in the horse and finally loosened his limbs. He gently patted the horse's neck and said something so unclear that even he himself could not hear it.

"Sorry, I still win!"

The wild horse seemed to understand what he said. It moved its ears, snorted, and stopped struggling.

It accepted the man on its back.

It worked!
Every muscle in Garland's body ached, and his breathing felt like it was burning. He weakly untied the rope around his ankle and found that it was already covered in blood.

His body went limp and he fell off the horse, splashing a cloud of mud.

This time he fell even more miserably than the last time, but no one laughed at him. Instead, there was a burst of warm cheers.

The warriors rushed forward, some took Garlan's horse to bathe and feed it, while others helped Garlan up, patted his shoulders, and pushed him to and fro, which was the Dothraki way of expressing recognition.

Laharo untied the golden belt around his waist and took out a copper bell, and handed them both to Vera.

"Go braid our warrior's hair."

Vera took it with a smile, walked to Garland, looked at his brown-black shoulder-length hair, gently lifted a strand behind his ear, and braided it for him.

Finally, the bell made a crisp sound.

Garland felt the touch of Vera's fingertips, and he couldn't help but get goose bumps all over his body.

He tugged at the braid behind his ear, listening to the sound of the bells, his eyes flashing with uncontrollable excitement.

This is not just a bell, it is earned with his sweat, and it is the recognition of him by the Dothraki!
He is finally no longer just an outsider!
Vera patted Garland on the chest, turned him around, and began to tie the sash on him.

"Brave Garlan, don't be too happy too soon. Dothraki men can ride sheep at the age of three, horses at the age of seven, and are considered adults when they can tame a wild horse at the age of twelve. Compared to them, you are still far behind."

Garland was stunned and froze in place.

Veela glanced at him and said in a teasing voice: “If you want to become a true Dothraki, you must learn to tame Dothraki women.

I'll give you just one chance, ride me!"

After saying that, he grabbed the golden belt around Garland's waist and pulled him towards the nearest tent.

Garland looked at Vera's innocent profile, his mind went blank, and he involuntarily followed her towards the tent.

He found that he seemed to have fallen in love with this straightforward and wild Dothraki woman.

The curtain slowly closed behind the two of them, and the afterglow of the setting sun shone through, leaving behind two swaying shadows.

...

At the same time, on the west coast of Westeros, Margaery Tyrell pushed her brother Willas's wheelchair, facing the sea breeze, looking at the port of Qingting Island in the distance.

Twelve large warships with two hundred oars each, with huge triangular sails raised on three masts, fluttering in the sea breeze.

The long oars moved in unison, like two hundred giant arms waving, cutting through the calm sea and pushing the warships slowly out of the harbor. Twelve warships, carrying half a million gold dragons, were bound for Pentos in exchange for Garlan Tyrell, the second son of Lord Mace.

...

King's Landing was unusually noisy at noon, but in the Tower of the Hand, the noise seemed very far away.

Eddard Stark pulled at his collar so that the cool breeze could blow across his sweaty chest.

On the table in front of him, there was a mountain of documents and account books waiting to be processed.

On his right hand was the family tree compiled by Maester Merion, and on his left was the letter he had just received, with the wax seal broken. It was sent by Catelyn from Winterfell.

Bran woke up, but he could no longer move his legs.

Ned rubbed his temples hard. He had never had a good night's sleep since he came to King's Landing.

Jon Arryn's death, Cersei and Jaime's relationship, Bran's fall, there are so many questions but so few answers.

The nobles and commoners were looking forward to the tournament tomorrow, but he was only bored.

At this time, there was a knock on the door.

"Tomorrow's tourney is sure to be lively, Lord Eddard."

Littlefinger walked into the study wearing a plum-colored coat with a mockingbird embroidered on the chest and a black and white striped cloak.

"Princes and lords killed each other in a riot of joy and could make a fortune from someone's death."

"May no one actually die tomorrow, Lord Petyr."

Ned raised his head from the pile of documents, rubbed his sore eyes, and complained in his words.

"The tournament is already expensive enough, and the national treasury can't afford a few more coffins."

Little Finger sat down on the chair opposite, with his signature sly smile on his face.

"Lord Ed, I must inform you.

The King had added another 40,000 gold royals to the prize pool this morning, saying he wanted to make the tournament to commemorate the new King's Hand the best it had ever been.

It seems that the financial advice given in the Imperial Council has been thrown into the seventh circle of hell again."

Ned sighed. "In honor of the new Hand of the King, His Majesty has found a useful shield."

"You've done so much for the kingdom, and I sincerely hope you can stay longer than your predecessor."

Littlefinger's eyes flashed, and he sighed heavily, "Alas, Jon Arryn's passing is so sudden, it's really sad!"

Ned frowned and stared at Littlefinger. "What do you want to say, Lord Petyr?"

"Of course it's about the tournament, official business."

Little Finger smiled and said, "By the way, let me inform you that the Queen has confirmed that she will bring the three princes and princesses to attend the tournament tomorrow, and the King has agreed.

Our Majesty loves to display his golden royal family in public.

Prince Joffrey just got a sword today and can't wait to show off his skills."

"The prince is only twelve," Ned frowned. "He shouldn't be participating in a tourney."

"Oh, don't worry, it's just a performance."

Little Finger waved his hand dismissively. "I imagine that when the little prince defeats his enemies, his golden hair will surely win the hearts of thousands of girls."

Ned's heart moved inexplicably, "Blonde hair?"

(End of this chapter)