Game of Thrones: I am Dothraki, not a barbarian

Chapter 114 Encounter
Ned felt himself drifting in chaos, with waves of pain washing over him and receding, and time losing its meaning in the darkness.

He would occasionally regain consciousness briefly, feeling the wooden plank beneath him swaying, and his abdominal wound burning with pain. Someone would change his dressing because he could smell the herbs. Fingers would press on his inflamed wound, squeezing out pus and blood. The excruciating pain would plunge his consciousness back into darkness.

When he woke up again, someone fed him a strange-tasting medicinal soup.

He tried to ask himself where he was, but when he opened his mouth, he could only let out a weak groan.

Those who cared for him didn't speak, but silently repeated their work before leaving.

Ned dreamed of Winterfell, of Catelyn, of his children.

Did Robb become Lord in the North? Are Sansa and Arya safe and sound? Will Bran be able to stand again? Does young Rickon still remember what he looks like?
How is Jon Snow doing on the Wall?
Each problem feels like a knife cutting into my heart; by comparison, the knife wound itself doesn't hurt as much.

After an unknown amount of time, Ned finally regained consciousness and opened his eyes. There were no windows, only an oil lamp hanging on the wall, emitting a faint yellow light.

The air was thick with the stench of excrement and urine and the heavy smell of blood. He lay on the floor, his abdominal wound still throbbing. He touched it and saw that the wound under the bandage had scabbed over.

Suddenly, the sound of clashing swords came from outside, followed by a deafening roar of cheers and screams from the crowd.

"Where is this?" Ed asked hoarsely.

Suddenly, a faint clanging of chains came from the shadows in the corner, and a burly man, completely chained, slowly leaned forward.

The oil lamp illuminated his face, revealing a scar that stretched from his forehead to his chin, looking quite gruesome, as if the sword had split his head in two.

"This is the seventh level of hell."

The man paused, a sinister smile creeping across his face, revealing a set of uneven, black teeth.

"Welcome to the Astapor Arena."

...

Pentos.

The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted from the shops on Grain Street, more enticing than any perfume Arya had ever smelled.

She swallowed hard and slowly approached a pigeon pecking at breadcrumbs.

Sensing danger, the pigeon prepared to fly away, but Arya swiftly struck with her wooden sword. The pigeon let out a mournful cry, flapped its wings, and fell to the ground.

Arya rushed over and grabbed the pigeon. It struggled desperately and pecked at her hand, but when she twisted its neck, she heard a crisp sound of bones breaking.

Catching pigeons is much easier than catching cats.

Arya tied the pigeon to her belt and continued walking down the street, passing a two-wheeled cart piled high with jam cookies, exuding the aroma of blueberries, lemons, and apricots.

Her stomach rumbled loudly, and she looked at the stall owner. "Can I have one?" she asked. "Lemon, or any flavor is fine."

The man pushing the cart looked her up and down. "Three copper coins."

"How about I trade you a fat pigeon?"

"If you have money, eat; if you don't, get out!"

The freshly baked jam cookies smelled tempting, but she had no coins, not a single one.

Her father taught her not to steal, but she couldn't remember why.

She looked at the man pushing the cart, ready to grab a piece of bread and run, but before she could do so, two Shields of Pentos walked over, wearing white robes with red horsetail markings on them.

Arya could only take one last, reluctant look at the jam tart before turning and running away.

Since she learned to hunt birds with a wooden sword, she rarely went hungry, but eating pigeon meat every day made her nauseous, and she even ate it raw twice.

She also ate the free food that Lajalo distributed every quarter. That day was a day everyone looked forward to, when all the civilians gathered in Victory Square to receive the food.

It was originally called Glory Square, but it has now been renamed Victory Square to commemorate Laharlal's victory over Robert and Eddard, her father.

Arya was utterly stunned by what she saw. Countless four-wheeled carriages were piled high with fragrant toast, stew, and even beer.

She mingled in the crowd and spotted Daenerys Targaryen distributing food.

She was so beautiful, even more beautiful than Sansa. She was probably the most beautiful woman in the world.

In contrast, her hair was covered in mud and her face was grime black. She had long forgotten when she last washed her face. She probably thought she was a beggar.
Daenerys placed a piece of bread and a bowl of stew in her hands, smiling at her and showing no concern for her appearance.

Arya smelled the aroma of the food and felt it was the most delicious thing in the world.

But then she realized that this was not right. This was food from the enemy, and she could not accept the favor offered by the people who killed her father!

People around her called out Rahalo's name with reverence. Every bite she took felt like a betrayal, but the stew was so delicious that she couldn't resist.

After drinking a glass of ale, she hid in an inconspicuous corner and fell asleep. She dreamed of the little wolf Nymeria, running freely in the forest.

I also dreamed about Jon Snow.

He squatted down beside her, called her "little sister," and messed up her hair. When she woke up, she was already in tears.

She wanted to go home, but leaving Pentos and returning to Westeros was far more difficult than she had imagined.

She needed money to take the boat, and she didn't have any.

She had intended to sell the silver bracelet for money, but it was stolen the night she saw Syrio die.

That day, she witnessed Syrio's body being transported back to the city; it was already rotting and stinking, but she could recognize the clothes Syrio was wearing when he left.

That night, all her belongings were stolen, leaving her only the clothes she was wearing, her wooden sword, and her sewing needles.

Arya arrived at the fish market south of the port, where there were many sheds set up by fishermen. Since the fishermen might be at sea for several days, she could get a good night's sleep there.

Arya walked across the dock. The northern commercial port was under renovation these days, and many merchant ships were moored at the fishing boat dock.

Suddenly, she saw a merchant ship flying a blue flag with a white diagonal cross, and her heart began to pound. It was a ship from Westeros!

While the crew was unloading cargo, Arya quietly slipped aboard and hid in a corner piled with canvas.

That's how she avoided the children who bullied her, and she always managed to escape successfully.

She had just covered herself with the canvas and breathed a sigh of relief when she felt a large hand suddenly pull back the canvas, grab her collar, and lift her up.

"Look what we found!" a rough voice said from behind. "A little mouse."

She turned around, and saw a burly man with a full beard. He snatched the sewing needle from Arya's waistband, praising her repeatedly.
"Excellent, truly a fine sword!"

"Give me the sword back!"

Fear hurts more than a sword. Arya silently recited the mantra Syrio had taught her, struggling desperately and scratching with her nails, but the man slapped her down on the deck.

The burly man grinned maliciously as he inserted a sewing needle into his belt.

"Get off, you little beggar, or I'll throw you into the sea to feed the fish."

Arya would never give up the gift Jon had given her. She got up, her eyes filled with murderous intent, like a wounded little animal.

Just as she was about to rush forward and fight to the death, a girl's voice came from the shore.

"Sam, give the sword back to her!"

The burly man's face changed drastically upon seeing the newcomer, like a mouse seeing a cat. He hurriedly explained, "Miss, this little beggar is an illegal immigrant...!"

"I said, give the sword back to her!"

Arya turned around and saw a girl wearing a white silk dress, with black braids hanging down her chest, her almond-shaped eyes filled with anger, and she was holding a bag of oysters in her arms.

(End of this chapter)