Game of Thrones: I am Dothraki, not a barbarian

Chapter 176 A Lone Raid on the Camp
As night fell, Margaret sat alone in the central command tent, resting her chin on her hand, staring blankly at the candlelight, the shadows on her face flickering.

Lanli is still unconscious and needs constant care for his basic needs. It's unclear how much longer he has to live; perhaps this is the best possible outcome.

But her mind was not on that at all; it was on the Dothraki king she so desperately wanted to be with.

His obsidian eyes were as sharp as an eagle's, but when he looked at her, they became tender and affectionate. His rough hands could tear apart any enemy, yet they could gently caress her cheek.

Margaret closed her eyes and sighed softly.

She knew her decision was right, both for Highgarden and for Rahalo, yet a wave of emptiness washed over her, almost overwhelming her.

As the faint light of the torches outside the tent and the footsteps of the guards gradually faded into the distance, she stood up from the table, preparing to go to bed.

Suddenly, a gust of wind came from the gap under the tent, and Margaret's alarm bells went off. Just as she turned around, a dark figure wearing a cloak appeared silently behind her and hugged her tightly.

Margaret was shocked and immediately shouted:

"cloth……!"

The newcomer's lips swiftly sealed hers, and before she could utter the rest of her words, a familiar scent enveloped her completely.

That smells of horses, leather, and grasslands.

The hood slipped down, and the candlelight illuminated the sharply defined face. Margaret stared wide-eyed at Rahalo in disbelief.

"Why are you here?" She gently pushed him away, her heart pounding. "Do you know how dangerous this is?"

Rahalo grinned, revealing a set of white teeth: "It's not like this is the first time I've raided your camp, what are you afraid of!"

What if someone finds out?

“Then let them find out.” Rahalo untied his sky-blue silk dress, embroidered with hundreds of roses in gold thread. “No one can stop me from seeing my Queen.”

Margaret's heart pounded. Lanley was in the next tent. Dating here was both thrilling and exciting; she had never experienced anything like it before.

She reached out and stroked Rahalo's angular muscles. Their lips met again, and when she felt Rahalo's strength once more, she couldn't help but gasp.

Just then, Brienne's tentative voice came from outside the tent: "Your Majesty, is everything alright?"

“I, I’m fine, Brienne.” She tried to keep her breathing steady, but her fingers were digging into Rahalo’s body, signaling him to stop.

“I heard some strange noises,” Brienne said, her voice full of suspicion.

Margaret bit her lip, pressed her long fingers to Rahalo's lips, and glared at him, but the latter's eyes gleamed with cunning, and he ran even faster.

"I... I accidentally bumped into the table." Margaret lied without batting an eye. "You don't need to worry about me, go and rest, okay?"

After a moment of silence outside the tent, Brienne said, "As you wish, Your Majesty. I am right outside. Please call me at any time if you need anything."

"Thank you, um. Brienne."

As the footsteps faded into the distance, Margaret breathed a sigh of relief. The two looked at each other and smiled, embracing tightly in the darkness as if trying to merge into one another.

“No matter what happens,” Margaret whispered in his ear, “my heart will always be with you…”

The next day, Margaery, accompanied by Brienne and Loras, returned to her fiefdom with the Stormlands soldiers. The king remained unconscious, and the campaign to seize the Iron Throne was a complete failure.

Landau also temporarily withdrew his troops to Poplar Beach for garrison duty, awaiting further instructions from the High Court.

House Tyrell seized control of Stormlands without firing a single shot; they were utterly thrashed. Even if they supported Renly's ascension to the throne, they wouldn't gain anything greater. So what reason did they have to continue fighting?
However, the Stormlands operation in Lahallo ended abruptly and unexpectedly. Margaret's ransom was not received, and the sale of the flag only earned 100,000. Last night, they were too rushed and forgot to ask whether Margaret, the regent queen of the Stormlands, would still grant them Stonehelm and Crying Town.

I feel like something's missing.

He looked at Lazar and asked, "Does this count as avenging you?"

Lazar slapped his thigh. "My leg is all healed now. Renly is worse off alive than dead. You say you've taken revenge, so be it. It's your decision!" Lahalo then looked at Zheko, who had an expression of unfinished business.

I thought I'd have a big battle to fight in Andari, but I didn't expect to take down a king with just four punches.

"How about we take a stroll around King's Landing?" Rahallo asked.

As soon as he finished speaking, three pairs of eyes lit up at the same time.

The Dothraki now move freely through Dorne and the Stormlands. As long as they don't burn, kill, and plunder within their territory, even Randyll's troops will pretend not to see them.

It can be said that half of Westeros has already opened its arms to the Dothraki.

...

The hinterland of the river bend.

Screams and the sounds of weapons piercing flesh echoed through the village's night air before fading into silence.

Waghet wiped his blood-stained longsword with sheepskin, coldly watching the last villager fall into a pool of blood.

"The village chief hid thirty silver coins, that's all."

The obese Dothraki Zorro threw a money bag on the ground, scattering silver coins that gleamed in the moonlight.

“Brother Ert found several young boys in the barn,” Shagway grinned, looking utterly ferocious. “He has already begun his ritual.”

Wag waved his hand dismissively and looked outside the village, where dozens of corpses of the Long Table Hall reinforcements lay scattered about, and Bachelor Koben was rummaging through the bodies for valuables.

A man dressed in a military uniform with various vegetable patterns embroidered on his chest was escorted over by Yi Ge, his legs trembling with each step.

"My lord, I am a sergeant of the Earl of the Long Table Hall, please spare my life!"

“Your count has no more reinforcements to send,” Wag said with a grin.

The sergeant knelt down with a thud: "Sir, there's nothing left to rob in the Long Table Hall. If you can leave, I have a chance to make a fortune that I can tell you."

"Oh?" Wag mumbled, "What opportunity to make a fortune? Tell me about it?"

Seeing that the soldier hesitated to speak, Wag grinned and said, "If you speak, I swear to the gods I will spare your life!"

The sergeant swallowed hard and stammered, "A fully loaded convoy is quietly heading south."

Hearing the commotion, everyone gathered around, their eyes fixed fiercely on him. Timon grabbed the sergeant by the collar:
"say clearly!"

"I know one of them is a wheeled palace!" the sergeant hurriedly explained. "The wheel tracks are very deep; it must contain a lot of good stuff! Why don't you look north?"

Wag looked at his deputy, Uswick: "Can you trust him?"

“There’s really nothing left to rob in the Long Table Hall, and with the war going on in the south, we can’t go.” Uswick stroked his beard, a glint of shrewdness in his eyes. “Where did that wheelchair go?”

The sergeant pointed to the mountain road to the northeast, "They've already crossed that mountain and are heading south!"

Wag stood up and said, "Let's go see that mysterious wheel palace!" With that, a flash of sword light appeared, and the soldier's head fell off, his face still showing a look of astonishment.

As dusk fell, the Blood Opera Troupe quietly lay in ambush on both sides of the mountain path. Roger and Fang had already occupied advantageous positions, drawing their bows and arrows and lying in ambush at the high ground.

“They’re here!” Pug gestured.

A small convoy slowly approached, with a magnificent wheeled vehicle in the center and guards on both sides. They were without flags and moved furtively, as if trying to cross the bend unnoticed.

There's nothing of value here, is it really necessary to make such a fuss?
(End of this chapter)