Game of Thrones: I am Dothraki, not a barbarian

Chapter 4 Daenerys's Wedding

As the morning light breaks, the entire sea of ​​grass begins to boil.

Khal Drogo summoned his khalasar to the wedding, and they all came, a mighty host of forty thousand Dothraki warriors, and countless women, children, and slaves.

Thousands of tents were scattered across the landscape, bonfires were burning, and the sound of horses neighing could be heard one after another.

Dothraki men and women alike wore painted leather vests, horsehair leggings, and bronze sashes cinched their waists.

The men greased their long braids with animal fat until they were shiny black. They sat around the banquet, stuffing their mouths with roasted horse meat with honey and pepper, and drinking kumis and grape wine from their glasses. Their rough laughter shook the earth.

The women wore yellow or red veils and danced wildly to the beat of drums, revealing their long and strong legs, which drew roars and cheers from the warriors.

A warrior suddenly stood up, grabbed a dancer with his strong arms and pressed her to the ground.

On the other side, two warriors set their sights on the same dancer, drew their scimitars and confronted each other. The others quickly formed a circle around her, not only did they not stop her, but they watched the excitement with relish.
"Kill! Kill!"

The crowd shouted in unison, all with bloodthirsty eyes.

In an instant, blades clashed and blood splattered everywhere. In the end, only one person stood there, holding a bloody scimitar. Without even looking at the fallen person, he grabbed the girl and pressed her under him.

Every wedding on the grassland is a failure and will be ridiculed if more than three people die.

The Dothraki believe that important events in life should be witnessed by the sky, and the wedding will begin at dawn and last until dusk.

As the sun sets, the bonfire burns brightly, and the aroma of liquor and barbecue fills the air.

Daenerys sat quietly in the main seat, her hair combed so bright as molten silver, a heavy golden collar engraved with ancient Valyrian runes around her neck, and a dark purple gauze robe that set off her violet eyes.

Below her slender and tight legs, a pair of gold-rimmed sandals wrapped around her jade-smooth feet.

But her body was as stiff as a statue. Everything around her seemed to have nothing to do with her. The death and revelry of the warriors seemed like a meaningless nightmare.

The night she met the goat boy, Rhallor, she had a nightmare.

At first, she dreamed that Viserys had struck her, and blood had flowed from her chest, and then she was struck again in the back, and the pain was agonizing.

When she opened her eyes, Viserys was gone, and huge pillars of fire rose around her, with a giant dragon in the middle of the pillars.

It slowly turned its head, and its eyes, like molten lava, met hers...

When she came back to her senses from her memories, she saw three gifts placed on her knees: a whip, a longbow, and an arakh.

According to Dothraki tradition, these were symbolic gifts from the bride to be given to Drogo after the wedding.

Since they were little, Viserys had told her countless times that the blood flowing in their veins was the golden blood of the ancient Valyrian people, the blood of kings, the blood of proud dragons.

A true dragon would never mate with a beast, and the Targaryens would certainly not mix their blood with that of lesser races.

Yet now, Viserys planned to sell her to this foreign barbarian.

Khal Drogo.

The huge, hairy barbarian sat on the seat like a small mountain, chewing the roast meat with big mouthfuls, and commanding the maids to bring food continuously, piling it up into a small mountain in front of him.

Drogo's body was covered with scars, each one representing a victory. He was like a moving fortress, and just sitting there was enough to shock the entire audience.

At this time, Viserys presented Daenerys with a gift, two personal maids.

Among them, Jhiqui is a Dothraki woman with almond-shaped eyes, black hair and tan skin.

Doreah was a blond, blue-eyed Lys beauty.

"My dear sister," he said, with a smile of deep meaning, "Jhiqui will teach you to gallop in the open air, and Doreah will teach you to gallop in the tent."

Ser Jorah Mormont arrived next, with his gift: a small stack of histories and sagas of the Seven Kingdoms written in the Standard Tongue, the only text Daenerys could understand.

"Great Kaa." A greasy voice sounded beside him.

Daenerys looked up to see Illyrio Mopatis, the Governor of Pentos, saluting Drogo.

He was fat and wore a gorgeous silk robe embroidered with intricate patterns in gold thread. Each finger had a jeweled ring, and the jewels sparkled in the firelight.

"Khal Drogo, you are the pride of the Dothraki Grass Sea, the bravest warrior in this land, and the greatest king!"

Illyrio, his yellow beard curling and a trace of wine stain at the corner of his mouth, said flatteringly, "It is a great honor for me to be able to attend this wedding."

Then Illyrio waved his hand, and four slaves came over carrying a cedar chest.

After opening it, Daenerys' breath stopped, and she saw three huge eggs placed on the velvet brocade.

The eggshell was covered in tiny scales, and each giant egg was different. The dark green one had bronze markings, the milky white one had gold threads interwoven into it, and the last giant black egg was like the sea water in the middle of the night, but with dark red swirling ripples.

The egg was so large that Daenerys needed to use both hands to barely hold one. She thought it was made of pottery or glass, but when she looked closer, she found that it was different from any material she knew.

"What is this?" Daenerys asked softly.

"This is a dragon egg from the Shadow Lands east of Asshai," Illyrio said. "Fossilized by millennia, yet still beautiful and vibrant."

"Thank you, I will treasure them forever!"

Daenerys had heard rumors of dragon eggs, but she had never seen one in person, let alone had the opportunity to own one.

It was a priceless gift, though she knew Illyrio could afford it.

After all, just by selling her to Khal Drogo, he had made a fortune in horses and slaves.

At this moment, a loud sound of metal collision penetrated the noise of the wedding banquet.

Everyone's eyes were focused on a figure slowly walking out of the crowd. The laughter gradually died down and the surroundings were suddenly silent.

"I, Rhahalo, son of Khal Dro!"

Rhaharo walked to the center of the square, his eyes scanning the entire crowd until they finally stopped on Drogo's face.

"Drogo, you killed my father. Today, I will use your blood to take back the honor that belongs to me!"

Daenerys also raised her head at this moment, staring at the source of the commotion with her purple eyes, and her eyes gradually brightened.

She looked at the scimitar in Laharo's hand. The blade was covered with ripples like water, and it gleamed with a cold luster in the firelight.

Bloodrider Haggo also looked at Rahalo's scimitar, his face full of undisguised mockery.

"Sheepman," he said, as if coaxing a child, "look at this knife. It's so fancy, it's perfect for a loser like you who has neither braids nor honor!"

The surrounding Dothraki warriors heard this and let out a low laugh, their eyes full of amusement.

The Dothraki people value strength, and although it is rare to openly challenge a Khaa, no one would think it is rude. On the contrary, everyone is excited by the challenge!

"Heh, a lowly sheep-man without even a braid actually wants to challenge me!"

A cruel sneer curved Drogo's lips, and the gold and silver bells in his beard jingled as he moved.

Then he stood up, looking half a head taller than Rahalo, and slowly drew his arakh.

The battle is about to break out!
(End of this chapter)