Game of Thrones: I am Dothraki, not a barbarian

Chapter 42: Horses Entering Highgarden

The walls of Highgarden were built of white stone, with three walls extending upward in a circle, each wall higher than the one before.

The outermost city wall is covered with ivy and dotted with roses and honeysuckle, and looks like a green barrier from a distance.

Outside the city gate stood a long table covered with white linen. On a silver plate stood a piece of toasted bread, emitting a rich wheat aroma. Next to the silver plate stood a small dish of crystal sea salt.

If the guest accepts the bread and salt, the host must protect the guest's safety.

Likewise, guests must not harm the host and his family.

This is not a simple etiquette, but a sacred contract. In Westeros, whether it is the followers of the Seven Gods or those who believe in the Old Gods, they all regard it as a rule that cannot be violated.

If either party breaks their promise, they will be despised by everyone and cursed by the gods.

The Tyrells were about to offer Rhallor a treat of bread and salt, a promise to keep him safe during the negotiations.

Lady Olenna wore a robe of deep purple velvet, with silver threads outlining entwined rose vines. Her silver-white hair was tied in a bun, covered in a platinum-woven hairnet, and her eyes shone with the majesty of a superior.

She leaned on a jeweled cane in one hand, resting the other on Margaery's arm, her back straight.

Margery stood beside her grandmother, wearing a golden rose crown on her head, her long brown curls lazily draped over her shoulders, and a light green dress with a cluster of blooming roses embroidered in gold thread on her left shoulder.

The grandmother and granddaughter stood there, the Queen of Thorns and the Rose Girl, showing the pride of the Tyrell family to the fullest.

Behind them were the nobles of the River Bend, all craning their necks to gaze into the distance and whispering to each other.

The Seven Gods monks bowed their heads, held the holy image in their hands, and silently chanted the Seven Star Bible.

At this time, a cloud of dust rose on the horizon, and the sound of horse hooves came from far away. A group of cavalry gradually approached the city of Highgarden.

Rhahalo galloped at the front of the team, and the black horse under his crotch was particularly eye-catching. It was a purebred Dothraki warhorse, much taller than the Westerosi warhorses.

Ten Dothraki warriors followed closely behind, shirtless, with scimitars hanging from their waists, longbows hanging from their saddles, and quivers filled with feathered arrows. They looked fierce and murderous.

Margery stood on tiptoe with her hands on the awning, exclaiming, "One, two, three... Grandma, there are only eleven of them!"

"How brave!"

Mrs. Thorn narrowed her eyes and looked at the person who came. Even if he was an enemy, she had to praise him.

When they reached the city, Rhahalo dismounted, and the other Dothraki followed suit, their braids swung and their bells jingled.

The nobles of the River Reach had never seen barbarians before. Some of them turned pale and took a few steps back unconsciously, while the monks' prayers became noticeably louder.

Rhahalo looked up and around Highgarden, his gaze finally landing on the Queen of Thorns.

"Khal Rhahlo," Olenna said calmly. "You have entered the lands of the Tyrells. In accordance with Westerosi tradition, we will treat you with bread and salt."

Rhallor glanced at the items on the table, then turned to Lazar and the others and said in Dothraki, "These flower growers said that eating these will keep us safe."

Lazar looked at the surrounding flowers and plants and the gaudy-dressed guards with a look of disdain, and couldn't help but laugh out loud:

"Even death cannot subdue the Dothraki warriors. If they want to fight, let them fight! Look at those skinny soldiers, blood of my blood, we might as well just kill them all!"

"We come to take spoils, not to kill." Rhallor glared at him. "After eating this bread and salt, it will be like returning to Vaes Dothrak. No one is to take action. Do you understand?"

Margaery observed Rhaelor curiously and whispered, "What is the barbarian king saying?"

Rhallor suddenly looked at her and answered in the Common Tongue, "I am saying that the etiquette of your Westeros is as fascinating as yours."

Margaret didn't expect that he had heard her whisper. It was as if he had seen through her thoughts, and a blush appeared on her pretty face.

"So you can speak our language!"

"Through here," Rahalo pointed to his mouth, "I can learn your secrets."

Olenna, seeing the conversation about to go off track, coughed hastily. "Since Lord Kaa is willing to accept hospitality, why don't we move inside the city? The dining hall has prepared lunch. How about we talk while we eat?"

Laharo nodded, tore off a small piece of bread, dipped it in salt and ate it, which meant he agreed to the contract.

The other Dothraki followed suit and ate as well. Led by the guards, they entered the city. Apple trees, pear trees, and peach trees lined the streets, and fountains and streams crisscrossed, with clear water flowing through the cobblestone waterways.

The guards wore green and gold uniforms with the golden rose of House Tyrell embroidered on their chests. They held spears and stood on the roadside about every ten meters to maintain order.

However, the residents on the street suddenly saw a group of ferocious foreigners coming, and they were so scared that they scattered and hid.

Some people secretly spat at them, while others knelt down and prayed for the blessings of the Seven Gods.

A little boy was so scared that he started crying. His mother quickly covered his mouth and held him tightly in her arms.

Rahalo noticed the crying little boy, pulled the reins on his horse, suddenly made a face, and blinked.

The boy was stunned, tears still on his face. He timidly poked his head out of his mother's arms and looked curiously at the guy with bells on his braids.

Behind the inner city wall is the main keep of Highgarden, with its white stone tower rising into the clouds. On the top of the tower hangs the banner of House Tyrell, with a green background and golden roses fluttering in the wind.

The group quickly entered the inner castle and came to the restaurant on the first floor.

A huge tapestry depicting the Tyrell family hangs on the wall of the restaurant, and candlesticks inlaid with gems are neatly arranged on the table and in the corners.

The warriors looked at the decorations curiously. Jiku picked up a vase, smelled the flowers inside, and suddenly sneezed loudly, which caused the other warriors to laugh.

Some warriors gathered around the jewel-encrusted candlesticks, loudly discussing how many war horses or female slaves each candlestick could be exchanged for.

"Do these pagans even know what etiquette is?" a noble muttered.

Lady Thorn didn't take it seriously. She glared at the noble and then smiled and introduced Rahalo:

"I'm old, and my memory isn't very good. I forgot to introduce you. This is my granddaughter, Margaery, the most elegant girl in the Reach."

Margery gently pinched the hem of her skirt with both hands, lifted it a few inches to reveal the toes of her shoes, and then she knelt down to salute.

"Lord Kaaul," she said, her smile shy and sweet, a hint of cunning hidden in her gentle, elk-like eyes, "thank you for your presence in Highgarden today."

"This is my eldest grandson, Willas," Olenna pointed at Willas in the wheelchair. "Although he's a cripple, he's the least idiotic of the Tyrell family."

Willas's face flushed. He raised his right hand and tapped the badge on his chest, greeting Rhallor. "Willas Tyrell, Highgarden's greetings to you. I didn't expect you to be so young."

Laharo was much younger than Willas, and whether intentionally or unintentionally, Olenna's mention of "that kid" also included him.

But he didn't care. He smiled and nodded to Willas, saying, "Youth means more opportunities to achieve success. If you are interested in visiting the Dothraki Grass Sea, I can take you to hunt Hraka."

"Heraka?" Margaery asked curiously.

"It's the white lion." Vilas explained to her with a hint of longing in his eyes.

He was fond of raising hunting dogs and falcons, and was an excellent horseman. He enjoyed hunting and galloping, which coincided with the lifestyle of the Dothraki people.

Moreover, he was also an undefeated knight in the past, on par with Garland.

However, during a duel with Red Viper, he accidentally fell off his horse, his foot got entangled in the stirrup, and when he fell, he was crushed under his mount, resulting in a comminuted fracture of his knee.

Since then, I have never been able to stand up again.

Every day he watched his falcons flying freely in the sky, but he felt extremely lost.

"What a pity. I could go there before, but now..."

Vilas smiled bitterly and patted his lame leg.

Laharo said nonchalantly, "The world is so big, and there are all kinds of strange things. Who dares to say that your leg can't be cured?"

In fact, what he meant was that Thoros had resurrected Beric Dondarrion, and Moqorro had healed Victarion's arm. It was just a matter of healing a leg. It shouldn't be that difficult, right?

"Thanks……"

Seeing Vilas's disapproving expression, Laharo knew that he took his words as a polite remark.

(End of this chapter)