Game of Thrones: I am Dothraki, not a barbarian

Chapter 222 Framed
As night fell, the Dothraki camp fell silent.

The warriors sat by the campfire, silently tending to their wounds. More than a thousand warriors had been killed or seriously wounded in today's battle, an unprecedented and devastating loss.

Lahalo sat in the large tent, listening to reports of battle losses.

Eight hundred dead and three hundred seriously wounded—for the once invincible Karasa, this was an utter disgrace.

Old Mosso entered the tent, his expression somber. As the commander of the initial assault, he believed he bore undeniable responsibility for the failure.

"My blood is my blood, it is my incompetence!"

“No.” Rahalo waved his hand firmly. “I underestimated the enemy. Jaime Lannister is more difficult to deal with than I thought.”

"What do we do now?" old Mosso asked.

Rahalo frowned, staring at the map of King's Landing on the wooden shelf. He knew very well that King's Landing was not a city that could be blasted away by a few cannons.

Artillery is an effective means to compensate for a lack of manpower, but it is not a decisive means.

The current disadvantage is time, and we are the ones who are anxious. The most important task at present is to turn the disadvantage into an advantage.

Just then, a scout strode into the tent and presented a secret letter on oiled paper with both hands.

"Kao, this letter was sent from inside the city."

Lahalo took the letter and slowly unfolded it; it was Littlefinger's handwriting.

"My lord, if you can coordinate a night attack, it will be the best time to rescue the Queen. I have already arranged for assassins; with just a little chaos, we can send her out of King's Landing. I know you have a secret weapon; I am in charge of the funds for repairing the walls, and the fish market on the west side of the King's Gate is the weakest point in the walls."

The signature was a capital "P".

Lahalo casually tossed the letter into the stove, watching the flames devour the lines of text.

"Lazar!" he called out towards the door.

"My blood!" Lazar entered the tent upon hearing the shout, his body still wounded, but his spirits were unusually high. "When will we attack the city again?"

Lahalo looked up at him, his finger pausing on the wall near the fish market, east of the King's Gate and west of the Mud Gate, on the map.

"I'll give you a hundred elite soldiers to launch the explosion tonight."

Meanwhile, Lacalo will lead his troops to create a show of force on the other side, drawing the attention of the defenders.

...

The King's Landing.

Tyrion rode his horse along Nightshade Alley with a clatter. Hearing the sound of hooves on the cobblestones, several furtive figures hurriedly darted into a corner.

He reined in his horse and turned to scan the street behind him.

"To hell with it," he muttered.

Cersei had been sending men to follow him, and he was tired of living in constant fear. He spurred his horse and galloped out of the narrow alleys towards his lover.

At such a high speed, if someone were following, their presence would inevitably be revealed.

Upon entering the courtyard, Tyrion handed his horse to the Iban man who guarded the stables, and then went straight to his lover's room.

“My lord,” Sheryl said with a smile. “You’ve arrived.”

Tyrion loved her smile, a smile that flowed naturally and effortlessly across her beautiful face.

She wore a purple silk dress with a silver belt, which perfectly accentuated her jet-black hair and smooth, fair skin.

She had been waiting for Tyrion at the door for quite some time.

Tyrion pulled her upstairs, and as soon as they entered, he lifted her robes. Even though the whole city stank like a pigsty, she always smelled wonderful.

Today, he also went up the city wall. Shaga almost died there. He finally saw just how terrifying the Dothraki were. Now he only wanted to seek that simple and sweet pleasure with Shae.

At least here, he is popular and needed.

A few minutes later, Xueyi got out of bed, brought him a glass of red wine, and then snuggled up to him, gently stroking his chest with her fingers.

“My Lannister giant,” Shae said softly, “you look tired.”

Tyrion sighed, tilted his head back, and finished a glass of red wine. The battles outside the city and Cersei's madness had exhausted him, and Shae's tenderness was his only solace in this cruel world. "Sleep," Shae gently stroked his hair, "I will protect you."

Tyrion soon fell into a deep sleep in her arms.

She waited a while, and only after confirming that he had completely lost consciousness did she quietly get up.

She went to the window, lit a candle, and placed it in the lower left corner of the window.

This is a signal to Littlefinger's men.

...

Podrick Payne was cleaning Tyrion's armor in the outer room. The boy was diligent, showing no sign of slacking off even in this chaotic night.

Suddenly, the faint sounds of battle cries came from outside the city. He sighed, a hint of fear flashing in his eyes, but he didn't notice that the door behind him opened silently.

Two masked men entered the room, and before Podrick could make a sound, a cloth soaked in a sedative was placed over his mouth and nose.

“Be careful,” one of them whispered. “Don’t make any noise. The boss needs him to get to his destination unharmed.”

Podrick struggled for a few moments before losing consciousness. The masked man picked him up and disappeared into the night.

...

The Great Cathedral of Baylor, the dungeon.

Littlefinger looked at Podrick, who had been brought there.

The boy had woken up, but his mouth was gagged, his hands and feet were bound, and his eyes were filled with fear.

“I’m sorry, child,” Littlefinger said softly, his tone surprisingly sincere, “you were just born in the wrong era and followed the wrong master.”

He turned to his men: "Hurry up, we have important business to attend to. Remember, make sure the scene is staged."

His subordinate nodded, and then, with a flash of light, Podrick's life ended. He died without ever knowing why Lord Petyr had killed him.

Half an hour later, Littlefinger led his men to the cell where Margaret was being held. They had already dealt with the guards and obtained the key.

“Your Majesty?” He stopped in front of the heavy iron gate.

Margaret heard someone calling her in the darkness.

At this moment, shouts of battle could be heard from outside the city, mixed with the roar of cannons.

She had been listening for most of the day and knew the battle was fierce. Things weren't peaceful in the city either; she had just heard hurried footsteps and loud shouts coming from the upper levels of the sanctuary.

"Who?" she asked wearily.

“Petty Baelish, Your Majesty, I have come to your rescue.”

The iron gate creaked open, and Margaret saw Littlefinger.

“Lord Petyr,” she stood up, straightening her wrinkled dress, “why did you save us?”

No sooner had she finished speaking than another huge explosion rang out in the distance, shaking the entire sanctuary. Stone chips rained down from the ceiling, and the cousins ​​huddled together in fear.

“Please come with me.” Littlefinger was completely unfazed by the explosion and gave an elegant bow. “Because in Rahalo’s eyes, Highgarden Rose is worth a city like Casterly Rock.”

Littlefinger, who always values ​​his life, is going to leave King's Landing eventually. Rather than leaving alone, he might as well do Rahallo a big favor before he goes.

Margaret and her sisters walked out of the dungeon, stepping over the corpses and blood of the guards. The corridor was filled with the pungent smell of blood, and the shouts of killing outside grew clearer and clearer.

Through the narrow window, she saw thick smoke rising outside the city, and the firelight illuminating half the sky.

Chaos erupted from the streets outside; people were running, crying, and panic gripped the entire capital.

Littlefinger's carriage was already waiting outside. He personally helped them into the carriage and instructed his assassins to accompany them.

“Lady Petyr,” Margaery asked, “aren’t you worried about Cersei’s revenge?”

“Your Majesty, King’s Landing is in complete chaos. Who can say what has happened?” Littlefinger chuckled.

(End of this chapter)