Game of Thrones: I am Dothraki, not a barbarian

Chapter 131 The Arrogant Reissians
As night fell, Harry remained alone in the reception room. No one came to see him, and no one paid him any attention, as if he were invisible.

Harry sat in the chair, back straight, expressionless, while the water and food in the room remained untouched.

His mercenary career taught him to endure all kinds of discomfort, whether in the desert or on the ice plains, a mere night of waiting was nothing.

In the morning, through the open door, Harry saw bank staff warmly greeting a group of elegantly dressed visitors.
They wore the Iron Vault emblem on their chests, and bank employees led them into another luxurious reception room, where they were accompanied by many others.

Harry gave a wry smile.

Lahalo may have overestimated him. He was just a mercenary who had become a commander by chance and was not good at marching and fighting. He was only good at accounting.

This forced situation, just as he had predicted, led to a dead end.

It wasn't until noon that the door to the reception room opened again, and a tall, handsome young man walked in. He took a bottle of wine from the cabinet, opened it, poured two glasses, and handed one to Harry.

“Sir Strickland,” the young man said with a smile, “I’m sorry you were treated this way.”

Harry cautiously took the glass, smelled it, and then took a sip: "Who are you?"

“Matthew Roger,” the young man bowed slightly, “is from a collateral branch of the family, nothing special, with only a pitiful three percent of the shares.”

"Master Matthew, what can I do for you?" Harry downed his glass of red wine in one gulp; he was indeed thirsty.

Matthew looked around and lowered his voice: “I don’t agree with the family’s conservative approach. Laharo is powerful, even Robert is no match for him, but those old guys in the family are still living in the past, always thinking that the Dothraki will never pose a threat to the Free State as they used to be.”

He glanced quickly towards the door, as if worried about being discovered. "Rogar Bank is hosting a banquet tonight at the Perfume Garden for the Iron Vault people, after which they will sign a contract. It's a pity you weren't invited, but I will try my best to facilitate the negotiations."

Matthew said a few words and then left in a hurry.

...

That afternoon, in the council chamber of Rogers Bank.

The twelve shareholders sat around the table. The major shareholder, Adrian Rogers, a man in his sixties with a hooked nose, suddenly slammed his hand on the table.

"Who went to see that mercenary this morning?"

Matthew stood up from the chair in the corner and said calmly, "It's me, Uncle. The guests have been waiting in the reception room all night, and we should do our best to be hospitable."

Adrian scoffed, "Young people are so naive, that's why you're stuck in the corner."

A hunchbacked old man sneered, "That Harry, supposedly a mercenary, a lowly man with blood on his hands, dares to negotiate on behalf of the barbarians? He's insulting us!"

“Yes! That man didn’t even have a decent piece of clothing! He looked like a farmer begging in the city!” someone chimed in.

“Lahalo is the commander of the Pentos Guard, elected by the Governor’s Council, and represents the interests of Pentos,” Matthew said calmly. “We should listen to the proposal Harry brought, not humiliate him.”

The shareholders exchanged glances, and Adrian made his final decision.

"After tonight's banquet, we will make it clear that we refuse to cooperate with Lajalo and give the Iron Bank an explanation."

“Serving as a dog for the Iron Bank?” Matthew thought to himself, then said, “I think we can take this opportunity to bring Rogers Bank’s business into Pentos…”

“Nobody cares about your advice,” Adrian interrupted impatiently, waving his hand dismissively. “You should go back to the Citadel and read your books, Matthew. Bank affairs are handled by professionals.”

...

As the sun set, Harry stood before the bronze mirror in the hotel, gazing at his reflection.

With a receding hairline, deep-set eyes, and smallpox scars on his face, he was, in short, a颓废 old man in his forties. Having spent years on campaigns, he was nothing more than a crude, uncouth brute. What merit did he possess to be sent by Khalil to deal with these cunning old foxes in finance?
Harry sighed, sat down at the table, took out parchment and ink, and began to draft a letter.

"Respected Rahalokao,
Negotiations have failed; they won't even allow a meeting. Rogers Bank had already decided that it had no intention of cooperating with us.

I am deeply sorry for letting you down. Perhaps I shouldn't have come..."

Just as I was about to seal the letter, there was a knock on the door.

A servant brought an invitation to a dinner party held at the Perfume Garden, along with a brand-new green velvet robe.

A small note was also attached to the invitation:

Please don't give up, there might be a turning point tonight.

The name is a capital M.

Harry stared at the note for a long time, then finally tore the letter he had written in half.

If even a kid with only 3% of the shares doesn't give up, what reason does he have to give up?
He changed into a robe, which was clearly Matthew's clothes. It was a bit long and a bit too tight, but still much more presentable than his old clothes.

Harry took a carriage to the Perfume Garden, not because he wanted to, but because wearing a robe required a carriage; otherwise, the sewage on the street would soil his robe and make it smell of excrement.

Walking through the bustling streets, street performers put on acrobatic shows, merchants drank heartily in open-air taverns, and elegantly dressed noblemen and women, accompanied by slaves, frequented various brothels. The entire city-state was immersed in a decadent atmosphere of pleasure.

The Perfume Garden is a white domed building with countless stone pillars guarding the hall. The eaves are carved with various rare birds and animals, and the exterior walls are covered with vines and flowers. The air is filled with an intoxicating fragrance.

When Harry got out of the carriage, there were already many elegantly dressed nobles and merchants who came in groups, commenting on the beautiful young women inside and showing their invitations to the waiters.

As Harry entered the perfume garden, he was stunned by the extravagant scene before him.

Tapestries with gold and silver threads covered the entire wall, vases and lamps were inlaid with gemstones, and crystal chandeliers in mid-air illuminated the hall in a dreamlike way.

A refreshing fragrance wafted in, and countless young girls, dressed in gossamer-thin gauze skirts, sat or stood, showing off themselves to the fullest. Some gathered in twos and threes, holding paper fans to cover their mouths and chatting and laughing in hushed tones.

Most of them were Valyrians, with platinum blonde curly hair and blue-violet eyes, snow-white skin, and elegant and graceful manners, yet with a deliberate air of allure.

There are also the summer island girls with skin as black as ink, and the blonde, blue-eyed Westeros girls; their skin tones are different, but they are all equally beautiful and charming.

Some played the harp, some danced, and others poured drinks and gave massages to the guests.

Behind a light gauze curtain, on a silk couch, men and women gathered together, all in white, the scene of zombies and ghouls was utterly unsightly and made no attempt to conceal it.

Harry stood in the doorway, feeling out of place.

The green robe, though luxurious, looked somewhat comical on him. The girls covered their mouths and giggled, while the men exchanged disdainful glances.

A young woman walked gracefully towards him and gave a sweet bow: "Sir, what service do you require?"

Harry shook his head awkwardly. "I'm here for the party. Here's the invitation."

The young woman took the invitation, glanced at it, her eyes crinkling into crescent moons as she smiled and said, "Then please follow me."

She gently took Harry's arm, led him through the hall, and whispered:

"Don't worry about what those people are thinking, Lord Harry. In the Perfume Garden, everyone has the right to enjoy their time."

(End of this chapter)