Game of Thrones: I am Dothraki, not a barbarian

Chapter 108 The Dragon in the Stone
The four dragon eggs were stained with blood and gleamed faintly.

A soft cracking sound rang out, and cracks appeared on the surface of the first dragon egg, spreading like a spider web. Then came the second, the third, and the fourth. The four young dragons struggled to break free of the eggshells, letting out sharp cries.

Their scales shimmered with a metallic sheen; one was as black as the midnight ocean, one as green as a forest, one was white and gold, and one was as red as blood.

Daenerys stared at the scene in disbelief.

A dragon, a real dragon, was born before her!

To her even greater surprise, the wound on Rahalo's chest had healed at some point, leaving only a faint flame-shaped scar that seemed familiar.

His body trembled suddenly, and he slowly opened his eyes, his obsidian-like pupils gleaming with a layer of purple light.

“Dani?” His voice was hoarse.

Daenerys could hardly believe her eyes. Laharo, back from the dead!
Just then, the palace finally collapsed completely, with a deafening roar, but all the debris seemed to be deliberately moving away from them, unable to harm them in the slightest!

Meanwhile, somewhere, two pairs of eyes opened simultaneously. One pair was as cold as an abyss. The other pair had one eye that was as red as blood.

...

Garland Tyrell stood in the crowd, her body charred black, half of her beard burned away, but she could no longer feel the pain, only staring in disbelief at everything.

Amidst the ruins, Lahalo and Daenerys stood unharmed, surrounded by four young dragons.

The black dragon perched on Daenerys's shoulder, spreading its thin, transparent wings as if trying to take flight. A green dragon coiled around her arm, a white dragon lay at her feet, and a young red dragon clung to Rahalo's neck, nuzzling his face.

“This is impossible,” Garan murmured, “Dragons are extinct…”

Vera's face was filled with shock and joy, and tears were streaming down her face. She knelt down, her forehead touching the ground, and kept muttering Dothraki.

Not only the Dothraki, but also countless civilians watching were incredibly excited, prostrating themselves on the ground, burying their foreheads in the dust, and worshipping them!
The dragons roared to the sky in unison, their voices sharp and long, causing Garan to shiver.

Just then, he noticed a little girl, not even ten years old, standing alone in the crowd, completely different from the people around her.

Her clothes were tattered, her hair was disheveled, and her eyes were wide open, her gray eyes flashing not only with shock but also with what seemed to be anger.

She stared at Rahalo, who seemed to be holding something in her hand—it was…

A rapier?
Garland tried to call out to her, but she seemed to realize someone was watching her, glanced quickly at Rahalo, and then turned and disappeared into the crowd.

...

The warship rocked and swayed in the waves, the wooden planks creaking, and in the cramped cabin, the oil lamps rose and fell with the hull.

Ned sat by Robert's bedside, his knees aching terribly, but the pain was insignificant compared to what Robert had suffered.

Robert Baratheon, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and his dearest friend, is now on his deathbed.

He still feels lingering fear when he recalls that horrific explosion.

The archer from the Summer Isles attempted to assassinate Robert. The Kingsguard surrounded Robert and his men, but no one could have imagined that his target would be those inconspicuous crates on the docks, which would then explode.

Apart from Jaime Lannister and Barristan Selmy, the Kingsguard was wiped out. It was thanks to their shields that Ned and Robert were not killed by the explosion, but were instead thrown into the sea by the huge shockwave, thus narrowly escaping death.

Before losing consciousness, Ned saw a large, flying splinter of wood embedded in Robert's stomach. His armor had been lost in the previous defeat, and when he came ashore, he was only wearing the king's robes. "Ned..." Robert's weak voice pulled him back to reality from his memories.

Ned braced himself against the edge of the bed and approached the dying king. His stomach was a mess, with a foot-long piece of wood still stuck in it, and his churned intestines were almost visible from the outside.

Blood and filth mingled together, filling the intestines, and overflowed, falling onto the sheets and the floor, filling the air with the stench of death.

The military doctor was at a loss, saying that removing it would only hasten death, and that they could only leave it intact.

Robert could only gradually feel his own death, in a way that was infinitely more humiliating than dying in battle.

There were only three people in the room, plus Lancel, the young Lannister servant standing behind Ned, who was looking at them with a strange expression, acting suspiciously.

But at this moment, Ned had no time to pay attention to him.

“Paper and pen, Ned,” Robert groaned. “I need to write my will…”

Ned found a roll of parchment and a quill, spread them out on his lap, and said in a hoarse voice, “Your Majesty, please give your orders.”

Robert coughed, his body convulsing in pain, then he spat out a mouthful of bloody froth. "The following is Robert I of House Baratheon, King of the Andals and whatever, put all those damn titles in there, you know which ones..."

He paused for a moment, then said with difficulty, "I hereby appoint Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Hand of the King, as Regent and Protector of the Realm… until my death… he shall rule in my stead… until my son Joffrey comes of age…"

Ned paused, pen in hand. "Joffrey isn't your son," he wanted to say, but he couldn't bring himself to say it.

Robert's pain was clearly written on his face. He had two opportunities to tell the truth before, but he didn't. Now he couldn't bear to inflict pain on him.

So Ned lowered his head and wrote furiously, changing "my son Joffrey" to "my rightful heir".

"What were you doing?" Robert finished his business, then suddenly laughed self-deprecatingly. "Look at me. I was saved by that damn Kingslayer! The Kingslayer! I hate Lannisters more than anything, and yet a Lannister saved me. Is fate playing a cruel joke on me...?"

With a crash, Lancel knocked over a cup and hurriedly tried to find something to clean it up, but there was nothing there, so he rushed out.

“Robert,” Ned said sadly, “when we get to King’s Landing, Pysell will heal you. The country needs you.”

Robert gripped his hand tightly. “Ned Stark, you fucking can’t lie. This country… knows very well… what a tyrant I am, just like Aerys. Gods forgive me.”

“No,” Ned told his dying friend, “Your Majesty, you are by no means a tyrant.”

Robert forced a smile, blood still stained his lips. "At least, people will say... the last thing I did in my life... wasn't wrong. You won't let me down. This country is in your hands. Have you finished writing?"

“Alright, Your Majesty.” Ned handed the paper to the king.

Robert hastily signed his name, leaving a pool of blood between the lines. "Ned, the sealing needs witnesses. Have Lancel gather all those nobles, whoever they may be, Parker or anyone else. I don't trust that woman; we need several witnesses!"

"Lansel!" Ned looked around and then remembered that he had just run out.

"Do I dream?" the king suddenly asked.

Ned gave him the answer, “Your Majesty, you will.”

“That’s good,” Robert smiled. “Ned, I’ll give my regards to Lyanna.”

(End of this chapter)