Game of Thrones: I am Dothraki, not a barbarian

Chapter 212 The taste of hometown

The waves crashed against the shore, making a deep, rumbling sound.

Arya Stark stood at the bow of the flagship, with twenty Dothraki warships behind her, their prows gleaming in the morning sun.

In the distance, Seal Rock, standing fifty feet tall, resembles a sleeping giant guarding the entrance to White Harbor.

On the rocky summit, the ruins of the ancient ring fortress are clearly visible, with the figures of ballistae and crossbowmen faintly visible moving about.

The ancient Wolf's Den fortress sits on the shore, its stone walls weathered, and a white stone staircase winds its way up to the new fortress on the mountain.

On either side of the steps, marble mermaids hold bowls of whale oil, with flames burning brightly inside, radiating a warm glow.

Arya took a deep breath. The saltiness, the fishy smell, and the fresh scent of distant pine forests—this was the taste of home.

She was captivated.

"Alarm! Alarm!"

The port was filled with the urgent tolling of bells. After the garrison soldiers rushed back to their lines, someone shouted, "Dothraki! Dothraki warships!"

Soldiers on the city wall nocked their arrows, and the crossbows slowly turned towards the sea. On the more than twenty oared warships moored in the inner harbor, the crew members jumped up and grabbed their weapons. The entire White Harbor instantly erupted in excitement!

"Protect the port!"

The sound traveled on the sea breeze to Arya's ears.
She was startled and quickly raised her hands, waving them frantically and shouting, "I am Arya Stark! Arya Stark of Winterfell!"

The sound echoed across the water, but the defenders clearly didn't hear it. The archers drew their bows to the brim, aiming at the warships and ready to fire.

Soon, eight strong men carried a magnificent sedan chair down the castle steps and stopped at the dock. A huge figure struggled to peek out from it.

Count Wiman Mandel.

He was about sixty years old, with an astonishingly large belly, and his thick, sausage-like fingers gripped the edge of the sedan chair tightly. When he saw the petite figure at the bow of the boat, he froze.

“Arya?” Wyman’s voice trembled. “Arya Stark, my lady?”

“It’s me, Lord Wiman!” Arya’s voice was already choked with emotion.

Lord Wyman was overjoyed and waved his hand, and the guards immediately laid down their weapons. He struggled to get out of the sedan chair, almost rolling to the ground, and staggered to his feet.

“My lady! You’ve finally come home!” Earl Wyman opened his arms wide, his eyes brimming with tears. “The Manderley family will forever remember the Stark family’s kindness!”

The ship docked, and Arya jumped onto the pier, throwing herself into Wyman's arms. The man, as fat as a small mountain, embraced her gently, as if she were his own daughter.

“Child, we all thought you were dead,” Wyman choked out. “Bran, Rickon…they were all killed by Theon, that damned Greyjoy!”

“They’re still alive!” Arya said firmly. “I came back to save them!”

At this moment, the gangway was lowered, and a thousand Dothraki elites began to disembark in an orderly manner. They wore half-body armor, wolf-skin cloaks, and scimitars at their waists, with sharp eyes.

Wyman couldn't help but gasp. These Dothraki were highly disciplined, well-equipped, and exuded an aura of seasoned warriors.

Suddenly, a dark figure jumped out of the cabin.

The jet-black ghost leopard "Shadow" landed silently on the dock, its golden eyes scanning its surroundings.

It is larger than a bison, with taut muscles and explosive power.

The guards stared blankly, swallowing hard, and the port fell silent instantly.

The shadow slowly walked to Arya's side, lowered its head and rubbed against her hand, letting out a deep growl.

"Oh my god..." Weiman was closest to the shadow, and he almost thought he would be the first one to be eaten. With his physique, he was fat but not greasy, with an excellent taste, and he couldn't escape even if he wanted to.

"Arya, what...what have you been through all these years?"

"It's a long story," Arya said, patting Shadow's head. "Let my men set up camp first."

She turned to her deputy, Bakdo, and said, "Set up camp where you are and let the soldiers acclimatize to the climate here."

Barkold nodded in agreement and began directing the warriors to set up camp on the open ground of the port.

Wyman's face darkened. "My lady, I must tell you something," he said in a low voice. "Last year, when I attended the Winterfell harvest celebrations, I proposed building a navy and a mint for the North. I also wanted to marry Lady Horwood, but then..."

He paused, a flash of anger in his eyes.

"Ramson Snow, that bastard kidnapped Donara Howood. I sent troops to retake Howood, but now things are worse. Ramson is no longer a bastard; Roose Bolton has acknowledged him. He's marching on Winterfell, claiming he's going to take back the castle for House Stark, but I don't think he's up to any good."

Arya clenched her little fists involuntarily; Lahallo's drama had foreseen this all along!
How many secrets does Lajalo keep hidden in his heart?

She watched the warriors bustling back and forth between the warships and the shore. Although she was anxious, she also knew that the harsh winter in the North was completely different from the warmth of the Dothraki Grasslands, and both men and horses needed time to adapt.

She couldn't let these warriors die so that she could follow them away from the grasslands.

"Rest for three days," Arya ordered. "We'll depart in three days. Destination: Winterfell!"

She looked toward Winterfell, a burning desire for revenge raging in her heart.

Ramsay Snow, I'm going to kill you!

...

Three days later, they entered a dense forest.

Ancient oak and pine trees provide ample shade, with sunlight filtering through the leaves and casting dappled shadows. The forest is filled with the scent of damp earth and the fragrance of decaying leaves.

A loud wolf howl came from afar. Arya reined in her horse, her whole body tense, as she felt a call from the depths of her blood.

"Everyone stop!" she raised her right hand.

The warriors stopped immediately, and the horses began to pace restlessly, raising their front hooves high. "Shadow" also let out a low growl, arching its back and its thick, stiff mane standing on end. They all sensed a threat.

Deep in the forest, countless green eyes gleamed with an eerie light.

One pair, two pairs, ten pairs...

Finally, nearly thirty wolves emerged from the shadows!
They had different colors of fur: gray, brown, black, and even a few white ones. The leader was a huge gray wolf, twice the size of Nymeria in Arya's memory.

“Nameria…” Arya’s voice trembled.

The wolves automatically parted to make way for the giant wolf, which slowly approached Arya. Its body was covered in scars, a piece of its left ear was missing, and there were three parallel claw marks on its right cheek, but its amber eyes remained gentle.

Arya dismounted and walked toward her wolf.

Nymeria's warm breath brushed against her face, and her tears finally burst forth.

"My girl! I'm back..."

She hugged Nymeria tightly around the neck, feeling her fur and her strong, powerful heartbeat.

Arya closed her eyes, her consciousness completely merging with Nymeria's. Through the wolf's memories, she saw a horrific atrocity unfolding less than half a day's journey from them.

(End of this chapter)