Game of Thrones: I am Dothraki, not a barbarian

Chapter 117 The Savior, the King, and the Blood Troupe
As we turned the corner, an old monk stood on a wooden crate and began to speak. He was tall and thin, with gray hair and a face full of wrinkles. He wore a woolen knee-length tunic and held a whip in his hand, whipping himself as he spoke.

He was surrounded by a group of monks, all dressed in simple woolen coats, who looked at the monk on the box with fanaticism.

"King's Landing has fallen! The gods have abandoned us!" the monk's voice was hoarse. "The one on the Iron Throne has betrayed the gods, and Rahalo is sent by the gods to punish us! He is the Scourge of the Gods, and he will burn away all evil with his fiery wrath!"

"Look at the sky! That's a warning from the gods!" The monk pointed to the red comet in the sky. "The dragon will rise from the east, the sea will turn to blood, and fire will rain down from the sky! Calamity will once again befall the seven kingdoms!"

"Help us!" a woman cried out.

"We have committed a sin! We must repent!"

Then the crowd knelt on the ground, some drew seven-pointed stars on their chests, some began to tear their clothes, and some smeared mud on their faces. No one paid any attention to the king's funeral anymore.

“Look, he is the savior of the king! The one who rescued the king from the fire!” someone recognized Jaime and shouted.

Jaime was taken aback. He was used to the name "Kingslayer," and he was surprised to hear someone call him that. If it weren't for the inappropriate occasion, he would have laughed out loud.

The one who will save the king?
He merely brought back a corpse, delivered a blow to the loyal Hand of the King, and preserved the Lannister throne.

He looked up at the red comet in the sky, and if the gods were really watching, he hoped they would remember to punish Jaime Lannister.

...

In the Red Keep, candlelight flickered in her bedchamber. Cersei stood by the window, swirling a glass of wine, a smile involuntarily playing on her lips.

Finally relieved.

Although Robert's death did not happen as she had planned, the outcome was the same.

Her son inherited the throne, and she became the regent queen mother as she wished, wielding great power.

The only threat is that Dothraki, but she has already sent word to her father for help.

She looked up, and the red comet was clearly visible. Whatever the omen, she would not let anyone take her power away.

Joffrey paced back and forth on the ground, his blond hair gleaming in the candlelight, a hint of madness flashing in his eyes.

"Traitors deserve to die!" Joffrey kicked over a chair with a thud. "Especially that Stark!"

Cersei watched her son vent his anger calmly, a slight smile playing on her lips. "My dear child, anger solves nothing."

Joffrey seemed not to hear, grabbed a dagger, and slammed it into the table. "Ned Stark actually altered the will and wants to seize the throne of Regent. Who does he think he is?"

“Thanks to Jaime,” Cersei said slowly, taking a sip of red wine, “Edward will never be a threat again.”

“I hope Uncle doesn’t let him die so easily,” Joffrey chuckled. “If it were me, I’d chop him up and feed him to the dogs!”

The wind blew into the room, the candlelight flickered, and Joffrey's shadow twisted and distorted on the wall.

He walked to the window, placed his hands on the windowsill, and looked down at the city below. "His daughter is in our hands."

I will make her regret being born into a family of traitors. I will make her cry and beg for my forgiveness before the court officials!

I will hang the heads of all traitors on the city walls! Robb, Stannis, Renly—none of them will be spared!
And that Rahalo, I'll make him pay the price, make him kneel before me weeping and begging for forgiveness, and then, in his most terrified moment, I'll tear him to pieces!

Joffrey grabbed a wine glass and smashed it against the wall, splashing red wine onto the white wall, making it look as red as blood.

Cersei looked at her spirited son and felt genuinely proud of him.

"It's getting late, my dear child. Tomorrow you have to attend the small council to discuss the matter of your coronation."

“But I haven’t finished!” Joffrey protested, his face flushed with anger. Cersei put her hand on her son’s shoulder. “A wise king knows how to conserve his energy. We’ll discuss the revenge plan tomorrow; you need to rest now.” She kissed his forehead. “I’ll have your servants take you home.”

After Joffrey left, Cersei poured herself another glass of red wine, and a moment later, someone gently knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Amory Lodge entered the room, covered in filth, short and fat, with a pale pig-like face and small, pig-like eyes.

He knelt on one knee. "Your Majesty, Lord Tywin has sent me with a message."

Cersei took the scroll and glanced at it. "Ser Rocky, when will my father's army arrive?"

"Not necessarily, Your Majesty. They are currently locked in a standoff with the Tullys, and must also be wary of the Starks moving south."

“I need reliable people, immediately.” She couldn’t wait that long; she was eager to implement her grand plan. “You’ve followed my father for many years, do you have any recommendations?”

After a moment's thought, Amori said, "If His Majesty needs to handle any secret matters, the Warriors would be a good choice."

"The Warriors?" Cersei raised an eyebrow.

“They call themselves the Warriors, but many people call them the Blood Troupe,” Amory explained. “They are an experienced mercenary group. Your father will hire them for some, well, missions that are not convenient for them to show their faces.”

"I want to see them."

“They happen to be in the city; I can make arrangements immediately.”

An hour later, the Warriors were already standing in front of Cersei.

The leader was a middle-aged man, tall and thin, with a goatee and wearing a necklace made of coins.

"The Warriors salute you, Your Majesty. I am Vargh Hot, the commander of this force."

He spoke unclearly, as if he were chewing something, and he was drooling.

The others are "Pious" Uswick, Brother Ert, Qyburn, and the clown Charlotte.

There was even a Dothraki named Yigo among them.

Cersei forced herself to endure the disgusting look on Varg's face as she spoke, scrutinizing the group, especially the Dothraki.

Seeing him reminded Cersei of Robert's death, and then of Laharo, and a chill ran through her.

“I want you to go to the Reach. Create chaos there,” Cersei continued. “Burn villages, slaughter civilians, but make it seem like the Dothraki are responsible.”

To instill fear in the Tyrells, weaken their power, and ideally, break their alliance with Renly.

Wag glanced at Yigo, whose lips curled into a cruel smile. "Sounds like something Lord Tywin would use."

“I am my father’s daughter,” Cersei said coldly. “The only difference is that I have a child.”

Wag drooled a long line: "Understood, Your Majesty. We will leave evidence at the scene and have survivors recount the Dothraki's atrocities."

After the warriors left, Cersei poured herself another glass of wine. She looked up at the red comet, a surge of strategic ambition rising within her.

Her father would be proud of her; she is not only Tywin's daughter, but also Tywin himself, and perhaps even more.

(End of this chapter)