Game of Thrones: I am Dothraki, not a barbarian

Chapter 231 Origin
After reading the letter, Rahalo remained silent for a long time. Daenerys also leaned over to read the contents, her expression growing increasingly grim.

"Hundreds of zombie mammoths?" she muttered to herself. "The dragons aren't even adults yet; they simply can't handle so many enemies..."

Laharo knew what an army of White Walkers of this size meant. Traditional warfare with cold weapons was like child's play in front of the White Walkers, just handing over his head. Even if he had unparalleled strength and could mow down enemies like mowing grass, he would only die from exhaustion.

This is not merely a military threat; it is a contest between two deities, the God of Cold and the God of Light, before whom individual abilities seem utterly insignificant.

However, he believed that there must be other means besides military measures to help him resolve the White Walker crisis.

Lahallo grasped Daenerys's hand; it was a little cold.

"This is a catastrophe concerning the survival of the entire world. If we lose, the long night will fall again, and this time, it may truly be the last."

As night deepened, the Red Keep fell silent. The Magnum Tower was under reconstruction, so the two queens had to temporarily squeeze into the Prime Minister's Tower for a while.

Daenerys had already removed her queenly robes and was now wearing a loose white silk gown, while Margaery Tyrell sat opposite her. Bathed in moonlight, the two heavily pregnant women radiated the gentle glow of impending motherhood.

On the table between the two was a charcoal stove containing a pot of sweet wine, which emitted a fragrant aroma as it was heated by the charcoal.

“I never imagined I’d be sitting here chatting with you,” Margaery said, picking up the jug and filling Daenerys’s glass. “Two women, both carrying the same man’s child, sitting together so peacefully.”

Daenerys gently touched her seven-month pregnant belly, her violet eyes filled with tenderness:
“This is not uncommon in the history of the Targaryen dynasty. But I admit that I found it hard to accept at first.”

She looked at Margaret and said, "You know what? When I first met you, I was both jealous and impressed."

“Jealousy?” Margaret seemed somewhat surprised.

“Your beauty, your wisdom,” Daenerys said frankly, “and behind you lies the entire Reach, while I have nothing but Lahallo.”

“His Majesty has three dragons.” Margaret took a sip of sweet wine, set down her glass, and a hint of envy flickered in her doe-like eyes.
“You are his Khaleesi. He was willing to go through fire and water for you, while I am just a captured enemy.”

“No,” Daenerys shook her head, “you were never an enemy. I can see that he loves you just as much as he loves me.”

The two remained silent for a moment, with only the faint crackling of the candlelight echoing in the room.

“Our children,” Dani said softly, “will be wonderful brothers and sisters. In the future, he or she could join the royal family.”

"you do not mind?"

Margaery knew very well that a large part of the reason Laharlal abdicated in favor of Daenerys was to acknowledge that the child in Daenerys' womb was the only legitimate heir.

In the future, he will not only be able to rule over seven kingdoms, but also the Dothraki people.

Daenerys pondered for a long time, "Love is not a cake, which diminishes when shared with others. Love is a flame, which, when shared with others, not only does not diminish your own flame, but also illuminates others."

She stood up, walked to Margaret's side, and reached out to shake Margaret's hand tightly.

"Besides, we are all women, we all have to face the pain of childbirth, and we all have to bear the responsibility of motherhood. In this male-dominated world, we are allies, not enemies."

Margaery felt the warmth of Daenerys's hand: "You're right."

She then changed the subject, saying, "My child, and his descendants, will be known as Tyrell for all eternity, and will never pose any threat to the dynasty."

I swear.

Our children will grow up in harmony, learning to share and cooperate, not to fight and hate.

“Then,” Daenerys sighed softly, raising her glass, “to the children, to peace, to friendship! Cheers!”

Margaret raised her glass, a genuine smile spreading across her face: "For friendship, for the children, for a new beginning."

The two drank it all in one gulp, and then held hands tightly.

Daenerys said, "Rahalo and I are both heading north. King's Landing is in dire need of rebuilding, and only you can shoulder the responsibility of protecting the dynasty."

...

The next morning, Rahalo mounted the red dragon Migo. Migo let out a deafening roar, soared into the sky, and headed straight for the old town.

Lahallo knew that the City of Knowledge, the center of knowledge in Westeros, might be able to provide the answers he needed.

The City of Learning is located in the heart of the old town and consists of dozens of towers, each with a different purpose and history.

The tallest building is the clock tower, followed by the Raven Tower, then the observatory, and finally the library tower that houses ancient books. These towers are connected by stone bridges and corridors, forming an intricate yet well-ordered architectural complex.

Rahalo flew over the old town on his Migo, causing unprecedented panic. The townspeople screamed and fled in all directions, but the maesters of the Citadel remained calm.

They peeked out from their respective towers, admiring the legendary creature.

"A dragon! It really is a dragon!"

"The Targaryen family has returned..."

Ignoring the chaos below, Lahalo piloted Migo directly to the central plaza of the Academy City.

With a loud crash, Migo's paw crushed the pebbles, sending fragments flying and dust billowing everywhere.

From each tower, many middle-aged and elderly intellectuals emerged one after another. Theobad, the chief academician, tremblingly leaned on his cane, taking small, shuffling steps, his chest adorned with various metal chains that jingled as he moved.

Maester Dolan followed closely behind. He was an expert in history and had a deep curiosity about dragons. His gaze toward Migo shone with curiosity.

In addition, there is the medically skilled Maester Galen, and the young but learned Maester Leo Thaler.
Behind them were hundreds of young scholars from all over the world, all looking at the king with curiosity and awe.

"Your Majesty!" Grand Scholar Theobard recognized Lahalo's identity and bowed respectfully. "The Citadel welcomes you!"

The other maesters also bowed and addressed him as "Your Majesty." Clearly, the ravens couldn't fly as fast as dragons, or perhaps they were eaten by Migo. In any case, news of the Targaryen restoration hadn't yet reached the Citadel.

“My brothers,” Rahalo said without offering any explanation, “I have come here today to find out the truth about the White Walkers and the Night King. I need someone to help me. His name is Samwell Tarly.”

The scholars exchanged bewildered glances, and Theobard nodded, saying, "Scholar Tali is indeed with us. Your Majesty, please allow me to send men to find him."

“No need.” Rahalo waved his hand, then raised his voice and shouted, “Samwell! Samwell Tully!”

His voice was so loud it hurt everyone's eardrums, and even the tallest clock tower could hear the echo.

In the square, a chubby figure was holding a thick ancient book, watching the excitement from among the crowd. Suddenly, a thunderous shout rang out: "Samwell! Samwell Tully!"

Sam was so startled that his hand trembled, and the ancient book fell to the ground with a thud, scattering parchment everywhere. He hurriedly knelt down to pick up the pages, and when he looked up again, he found that the king's tall figure had already loomed over him.

“You’re Samwell Tully?” Rahalo stared directly into his eyes. Sam’s eyes widened like saucers.

The legendary figure who conquered King's Landing stood before him like a mountain. He was about to bow when Rahalo grabbed him and pulled him up.

“Yes, yes, it is me,” he stammered, “I am Samwell Tully. Your Majesty…”

"You've killed ghouls?"

"Yes Yes……"

“I need your help,” Rahalo said. “Come on, let’s talk somewhere else.”

After saying that, he pulled Sam into the City Tower without further ado, and led him to the Hall of a Thousand Candles.

This is a huge circular room with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, densely packed with ancient books, scrolls and parchment.

In the center of the room were several oak wooden tables, piled high with books and scattered papers.

As its name suggests, the room is lit with thousands of candles, their flickering light illuminating the entire room as if it were daytime.

“This should be quiet enough.” Rahalo looked around and nodded in satisfaction.

Samwell was still in shock and hadn't fully recovered, but his apprenticeship compelled him to begin tidying the books on the table. King may be king, but his job couldn't be neglected.

"Your Majesty, what help do you need?" Sam asked as he tidied up.

Laharo told Samwell about the threat from the Night King and the White Walkers, and the latter's expression immediately turned serious.

He put down the book in his hand and strode towards a row of bookshelves dedicated to ancient texts. "Your Majesty, records about the White Walkers..." He moved among the bookshelves, his fingers constantly sliding along the spines of the books, searching for records.

“Here it is.” Sam pulled out a leather tome, clearly quite old, with a badly worn cover. He placed the book on the table and carefully opened it. “The accounts of the White Walkers are mostly vague and full of mythology.”

He turned to a page, his thick, chubby finger pointing to the text: "It is generally believed in the Citadel that the White Walkers are an ancient and mysterious species, and they have no clear king or leader."

The Night King as we know him is merely a legendary figure living in the Age of Heroes, and moreover, he was defeated long ago and could not possibly be alive today.

Sam walked to another bookshelf, pulled out a few related books, and quickly flipped through them. "The White Walkers are more like the cold offspring of the Great Other God, who is a deity that doesn't even have a physical form and can be killed."

You cannot kill a formless god with a regular sword.

“But dragonglass and Valyrian steel can indeed kill White Walkers, can’t they?” Rahalo asked.

Sam nodded and quickly flipped through the book in his hand.

“Yes, Your Majesty, dragonglass and Valyrian steel can indeed kill individual White Walkers. When they are struck by these weapons, they melt and steam, revealing blue blood.”

He found the relevant page and pointed to the record on it, continuing: "But the problem is that even if we kill a White Walker, or even a group of White Walkers, the entire army of the dead will not collapse as a result."

The ghouls feel no pain or fear; they will swarm endlessly, and for every one of us we sacrifice, we only gain another enemy.

“You mean,” Rahalo thought of a terrible possibility, “that as long as there is war in the world, the threat of the Long Night will never cease?”

“Unfortunately, that’s the case.” Sam closed the book. “In other words, the White Walkers are a systemic, elemental threat, an imbalance of the ancient forces between ice and fire.” He looked dejected. “The threat of the Long Night, in my view, is simply unsolvable…”

Samwell wiped the sweat from his brow. His research at the Citadel these past few days had heightened his awareness of the White Walker threat.

He had once witnessed those terrifying blue-eyed creatures on the Great Wall, and the chilling aura they exuded still haunted him.

As one of the few who confronted the White Walkers head-on and survived, he understood better than anyone just how powerless humans were in their presence.

"Bullshit! I don't believe it! There must be a way!"

Sam shrank back in fright. He could only keep moving between the bookshelves, pulling out one ancient book after another, flipping through them, searching, and taking notes.

His fingers slid quickly across the pages, occasionally pausing to carefully read a passage, then shaking his head and moving on to the next book.

Laharo's brow furrowed deeper and deeper. He'd been king, had a child, and for the sake of long-term peace, was it really that difficult to fight the White Walkers?
Just then, a clear voice rang out behind them: "The truth you're seeking, I have the answer!"

Laharo and Sam turned around at the same time.

Countless pairs of eyes were peering out from the entrance. A slender girl parted the crowd and walked in through the entrance of the Thousand Candles Hall.

Her skin was the olive color typical of Dornish people, and she wore a grey maester's robe, but her demeanor was not as somber as that of a typical maester. Her brown eyes sparkled with liveliness and energy, and she wore a string of small copper bells on her ankles, which made a soft tinkling sound with each step she took.

"Who are you?" Rahalo asked.

“Call me Laresa.” The girl smiled slightly. “I am a seeker of knowledge and have had the privilege of accessing some ancient scrolls from the continent of Essos, among which are records of the origins of the Others. Chu Yan and Xiong Han, have you heard this phrase before?”

Samwell stared in disbelief, then began to stammer, "What, what do you mean, what Chu Yan and Xiong Han?"

“It’s understandable that you didn’t know,” Laresa said, walking to the table. Sam quickly made way for her.

She placed the book she was holding on the table and unfolded it, saying, "Because I took this book!"

"What??!"

Samwell was even more bewildered. He had been searching for so long, only to have the answer taken by this little brat?
Sarella pointed to the words in the book: "The sister serves the King of Light with fire, the brother serves the God of Darkness with ice. When brother and sister fight, the world trembles."

She looked up and explained, "The Son of Light is not Azor Ahai. The Son of Light and the Son of Darkness actually refer to Nissa Nissa and the first Night King."

"What??!"

Samwell looked shocked, clearly not believing Laresa's statement.

As a rigorous scholar and a survivor of the White Walkers, he was reluctant to believe such a revolutionary theory, but the more he read, the more alarmed he became, because the accounts in the book did indeed point to this possibility.

“According to the research of Brother Bass, the Hand of the King, during the reign of King Jaeheris I,” Laresa said, “he also believed that the Child of Light was a woman, so is it strange that Nisha Nisha is the Child of Light?”

"Why did you take the books without permission?" He stammered for a long time before finally managing to say this.

“Because,” the girl drawled, then chuckled, “how can saving the world happen without my involvement?”

"??!"

(End of this chapter)