"Ma, Ma! Tell us a story!" the eldest of the four princesses of House Martell begged her mother, Nymeria.
Nymeria of Ny Sar was the representation of a warrior and a princess. She had travelled far across the world, fought long, lost hundreds and seen thousands die. She had fought tooth and nail against the overlords of Essos and, after decades, finally had achieved something great.
She smiled at her unruly daughters and sat down on her eldest's bed. All of them had inherited her fierce spirit and in some way or hte other, her drive to fight in this male-dominated continent.
"What would you like to hear, my little nymphs?" she asked.
"Tell us of the great journey!" Arianne said, excitedly.
"No, tell us about the beginning of it all!"
"Hehehe..."
Nymeria smiled and nodded her head. Thinking about it made her sigh, usually. The thought of what she had gained here in Dorne, and what she had to pay for it, or what others had to pay for her.
One face in particular came to mind. One she owed a lot to, and one she couldn't help but wish were here right now, sharing this with her.
"Alright. Where should I begin... Ah, I know. A long time ago..."
...
In the days when the Valyrian Freehold stood at the height of its power, those who refused to kneel before the Dragonlords faced only two choices.
They could fight, or they could flee.
To fight meant inviting fire and, most likely, death. Old Ghis had chosen that path when Valyria was still quite young and much smaller than it is today, marching against the Freehold with all the strength that an arrogant and sole ruling empire could muster. And yet, the size of armies meant little against this new threat from the Freehold.
The armies of Ghis were burnt, its cities shattered, and its proud walls melted beneath the breath of the mightiest weapon the world has seen to date: dragons.
Five times did the old empire fight and try to achieve victory, and five times did they lose. A mighty power that spanned such vast distances was, in the end, reduced to become slaves, as they had used for ages.
The fate of the Ghiscari had taught the peoples of Essos a terrible lesson: courage alone was no shield against flame. And if you wanted to go against the Valyrians, you had better be prepared to deal with fire from the air."
...
Nymeria stopped for a moment and smiled. She looked into the distance, and thought back to her time then. When she was still young, when her mother and father had told her about the history of their people and Essos.
"We, the Rhoynar, had resisted the dragon riders as well. We were the children of the Rhoyne, a river so vast that some believed it to be a living goddess. Our warriors wore fish-crested helms, carried long spears and turtle-shell shields, and marched beside water sorcerers, who could command the river itself to fight for them.
We were a mighty people and more than once, we had driven Valyrian armies from our lands. Against all odds, we had even accomplished what many believed impossible.
We had managed to kill dragons.
For a time, our strength held the Freehold at bay. But another people, living beyond the protection of the Rhoyne, were not so fortunate.
The Andals had never been a people of deep roots. Their oldest tales claimed that they had first arisen in the lands of the Axe, east and north of what became Pentos. From there they had wandered south and west, armed with iron swords and clad in iron plate. They drove out the primitive peoples who lived before them and founded a realm of their own: Andalos.
For generations, the Andals knew peace.
Then the dragons came.
At first, we, the Rhoynar, stood between Andalos and the growing reach of Valyria. Along the banks of the Rhoyne, Rhoynish armies repeatedly defeated the forces sent against them, and at last our two powers agreed to an uneasy peace. Under the protection of that truce, the Valyrians established a colony at the mouth of the river.
They called it Volantis.
The city grew rich on the trade flowing along the Rhoyne. Its markets filled with silk, spice, silver, and slaves. Its towers rose higher, its walls grew stronger, and its influence stretched ever farther. It was there that the Valyrians first encountered the Andals.
War followed soon after.
The Andals resisted fiercely, but no army of iron could withstand the full strength of the Freehold. Valyrian infantry marched beneath bright banners. Armoured horsemen thundered across the fields. Above them flew the Dragonlords, casting vast shadows and fire over the earth.
The Andals surrendered their southern lands and withdrew toward the Axe, the country of their ancestors. Yet the Valyrians continued to advance. Fortress after fortress fell and villages burned. The surviving Andals were driven farther north and west until at last they reached the sea.
Some prepared to make a final stand. Those who did so foolishly were consumed by dragonfire.
Still, the Andals in their pride and intelligence, knowing what would follow, refused to become subjects or slaves of Valyria. With the sea behind them and flame before them, they built a great fleet, gathered their families, weapons, animals, and gods, and sailed west across the Narrow Sea."
"Like you!" Arianne interrupted.
"Yes, like me, but earlier than me," Nymeria smiled.
"They landed in Westeros, as you already know, where they declared war upon the First Men of Westeros. And after their experience in Essos against the dragonlords, it was understandable that they underestimated the First Men.
But we ignore the Andals and focus on our story. The Valyrians were strange, and with the Andals gone, they turned their attention once more to us, the Rhoynar.
Deep beneath the Fourteen Flames, the mines of Valyria demanded an endless supply of labour, which they sated in the form of slaves. Men and women died there by the thousands, worked to exhaustion in darkness and heat, digging ever deeper into the volcanic earth for metals and other resources. The Freehold needed slaves as much as it needed air, and our prosperous cities of the Rhoyne offered both wealth and bodies.
The old truce began to fracture. The past wars were not forgotten, but ignored. The first new war began over the death of a turtle, if you can believe that.
The giant turtles of the Rhoyne were sacred to our people. Some believed them to be the consorts of Mother Rhoyne herself. When Valyrians butchered one of the creatures, outrage swept through the river cities. Violence erupted, and the Rhoynish city of Sar Mell was raided and burned.
This conflict became known as the First Turtle War.
It lasted little more than a moon, but its ending was remembered for generations. Our water sorcerers stood upon the banks of the river and called upon Mother Rhoyne. The waters rose in answer and crashed over the Valyrian city of Volon Therys, sweeping away streets, towers, soldiers, and slaves alike. Half the city vanished beneath the flood that day, and it was the answer to what the Valyrians started.
But neither this victory nor the earlier defeat brought peace.
The First Turtle War was followed by the Second. Then came the Fisherman's War, the Salt War, the Third Turtle War, the War on Dagger Lake, and the Spice Wars.
While the names changed, the struggle remained the same: water against flame, freedom against conquest, defence against attack, the river against the dragons.
We fought with extraordinary courage. Our spearmen exacted a bloody price from every Valyrian army sent against us. Our water sorcerers raised mists, floods, and waterspouts, showing just how deadly water truly was, even against the seemingly insurmountable threat that was the dragons. Our archers learned to fire from the shallows, where dragonflame was less deadly.
However, despite all our courage,... it was not enough.
The Valyrian colonies fought as one. When one city was threatened, the others sent soldiers, ships, and gold. When even that was insufficient, they appealed to the Dragonlords of the Freehold. And since the first wars against the Rhoynar, the Dragonlords had had time to grow in population in the safety of the Freehold.
We stood alone and possessed no such unity.
Each river city was proud of its independence. Each prince and princess guarded his or her own authority. We made the mistake of fighting the Valyrians separately, refusing to bend even to one another. By the time aid was offered, it often came too late.
One by one, the cities weakened.
Then... Sarhoy fell.
Sarhoy was the greatest and most beautiful of our cities upon the Summer Sea. Its palaces shone beneath the sun, its gardens overflowed with flowers and fruits, and its harbours were crowded with ships from distant lands and different languages. It was beautiful...
During the Second Spice War, a united Valyrian host descended upon it. Three Dragonlords flew at the head of the army.
The warriors of Sarhoy were slaughtered, its women and children were chained, its towers were broken, its temples desecrated, and its palaces reduced to smoking ruins.
By the time the Valyrians departed, the greatest city of the southern Rhoyne had ceased to exist, while the only ones left alive from there were now slaves to be used in labour, if they were lucky, or used for monstrous and dark experiments, no one could imagine."
...
Nymeria, who had lost herself in the tale, thought back to what her parents had told her about the event. There was nothing worse than to be taken alive by the Valyrians. And it was even worse to be taken alive as a woman.
But she didn't tell her daughters that. They were still too young for that. And maybe, she wouldn't tell them. She was sure that the Valyrians would meet their end at some point... He would make sure of it.
They wouldn't come here...
"The destruction of Sarhoy sent terror through every settlement along the river. At last, the princes and princesses understood that none of us could survive alone."
"Oh! Is this the moment that Garin arrives?!"
"Shhh! Let mother talk!"
Nymeria smiled at her daughters' enthusiasm.
"Yes, my little vipers, it is. Garin, Prince of Chroyane, was known as 'the Great'. He summoned the rulers of the Rhoyne to his festival city.
He was a true man, girls, one that you will most likely never see again. A warrior in both appearance and spirit, proud, commanding, and utterly certain of his cause. But he possessed the mind as sharp and deadly as the most well-crafted blade dunked in poison. He held himself with grace and authority that made all the women weak, no matter who claimed otherwise."
"Hehehe."
"Hihihihi."
The girls started giggling as their mother went on about how Garin looked and acted. They knew what he looked like, and it made even the oldest giggle.
"Before the gathered princes, captains, priests, and nobles, Garin spoke plainly. He had the charisma and a way with words that I have never experienced before.
One after another, the princes and princesses declared for him. Only one opposed the war..."
"You, right, Mother?" Arianne asked.
"Yes, Mother refused, since she wasn't controlled by pride and a cock, and understood what the smartest thing to do was," her second eldest daughter said.
"You are correct. I was the only one who talked against a war. But my words were drowned beneath angry voices. The other princes accused me of cowardice. Even my own warriors pledged themselves to Garin's cause, leaving me little choice but to join the alliance I believed would lead us all to ruin.
Garin began gathering his army at Chroyane.
Men came from the headwaters of the Rhoyne and from every one of its many mouths. Fishermen abandoned their boats. Farmers left their fields. Merchants closed their shops. Noblemen arrived with household guards in polished armour, while common spearmen came carrying whatever weapons they could find.
A quarter of a million warriors answered Garin's call. No host so vast had ever gathered upon the continent of Essos, and all of us were going to fight the Freehold.
As long as we remained near the Rhoyne, Garin told us, we need not fear the dragons. Mother Rhoyne would protect her children. Her water sorcerers would smother Valyrian fire beneath the strength of the river and bring us victory.
The soldiers shouted his name until the walls of Chroyane seemed to tremble. The male stench was so high that it could have impregnated any woman by simply standing close by.
...
Garin divided his forces into three great hosts. One marched along the eastern bank of the river, another along the western bank. Between them sailed an enormous fleet of war galleys, clearing the waters of Valyrian ships and guarding the armies from attack.
Then the gates of Chroyane opened.
The Rhoynar poured south.
Valyrian villages, outposts, and garrisons fell before us. The first true test came at Selhorys, a fortified city defended by thirty thousand soldiers. Garin's forces stormed the walls and butchered the garrison.
Valysar fell soon after.
With every victory, Garin's legend and strength seemed to grow. Men began to believe that the Freehold was not invincible. They began to believe that the age of the Dragonlords might end upon the banks of the Rhoyne.
Then the army reached Volon Therys.
There the Valyrians had gathered a hundred thousand soldiers, a hundred war elephants, and three Dragonlords.
The battle began beneath a sky darkened by smoke of flames and the sound of mighty dragonwings.
Valyrian elephants crashed into our Rhoynish lines, crushing men beneath their feet. Cavalry drove against walls of spears. The dragons descended again and again, pouring fire across the battlefield.
... Thousands burned where they stood. But we did not break.
Those who could fled into the shallows of the river. Dragonfire struck the water, filling the air with acidic steam, but the soldiers remained beneath the protection of Mother Rhoyne and survived.
The water sorcerers raised their arms, and the river answered their call. Great spirals of water rose into the sky and struck the dragons. Wings twisted beneath the force of the attacks. Flames died out at last, and as the dragons struggled to remain above, our archers loosed volley after volley.
One dragon fell... then a second.
The third managed to escape. He was wounded and bleeding, but managed to fly east toward the heart of the Freehold, where our foolishness would soon be revealed.
As the terrible battle came to an end, the Rhoyne rose once more. A monstrous wall of water crashed upon Volon Therys and drowned the entire city. Towers vanished beneath the flood, walls crumbled, and the remaining soldiers, slaves, and citizens were swept away together.
When the waters receded, our victorious army acclaimed its prince.
From that day onward, he was known as Garin the Great. He could do no wrong at that point, and all our people would have followed him blindly into the depths of hell.
Which, unironically, most of us did.
Our host continued south. News of his arrival reached Volantis, where the rulers of the city looked north with growing dread.
They did not march out to meet us, however. Instead, the Volantenes withdrew behind their immense black walls and sent desperate pleas to Valyria, who already knew of Garin from that one Dragonlord who managed to escape.
The Freehold answered, and our hubris was revealed in full.
We had thought ourselves mighty, victorious and unbeatable after suffering such casualties when fighting three dragons.
...
Fools!
The end arrived.
This time, not three dragons arrived. Not ten and not even thirty. No... Three hundred came.
The sky darkened above our precious river.
They fell upon Garin's army as if they were a flock of sheep.
No amount of water sorcery could fight so many. No river could shelter hundreds of thousands of men. Dragons swept across both banks, burning entire formations in minutes. War galleys became burning wrecks, soldiers threw down their weapons and fled into the water, believing Mother Rhoyne would save them.
Thousands drowned in the blood-darkened current and tens of thousands more burned. The mighty host that had shaken Essos disappeared beneath flames and turned into a new river of blood.
Garin was captured alive.
The Valyrians would not grant him the mercy of a quick death. Instead, they placed him inside a golden cage so that he could witness the punishment of his people. He was forced to watch, as they carried him along on their victorious march north, as they sacked, slaughtered, burned villages, destroyed fields, took hundreds of thousands of slaves and killed anything else.
Nothing was left to rebel.
All the while, Garin was forced to watch from his cage.
At last, the army reached Chroyane, the festival city where Garin's great campaign had begun. His cage was hung from the walls.
Below him, the gates were broken. Valyrian soldiers flooded through the streets. With so many husbands, fathers, and sons dead in the south, few remained to defend the city. Women and children were dragged from their homes, raped, beaten and chained together. Palaces were plundered, our temples were profaned, and the city of festivals became a city of grief.
Garin could do nothing. He had been forced to watch and was chained so that he couldn't kill himself. Even his mouth was fixed to prevent him from biting off his tongue. They tortured his mind before they would torture his body.
He had promised his people victory. Instead, he had led their warriors to death and brought the Dragonlords to the gates of his own home.
I don't know precisely what happened, as I had been quick enough and smart enough to realise the folly of our plan and leave, but what I heard... He never told me exactly what happened, and I don't think he ever will, but that is his right."
Nymeria stopped talking for a moment, thinking about the expression her friend had when she asked him what happened. On that day, when he suddenly appeared from the dead and came to find her... his expression was that of a dead man.
He was spiritually and mentally dead, it seemed. Nymeria could only imagine how bad it truly was.
"All I know is that apparently, as darkness fell, Garin called upon Mother Rhoyne in his anger and immense pain.
He cursed the Valyrians. He cursed their soldiers, their masters, and the city they had stolen. He begged the river to avenge her children and punish those who had brought fire and chains into her lands.
That night, the Rhoyne answered.
The river rose with a force no living person had ever witnessed. It burst over its banks and swept through the streets of Chroyane. Water filled the houses, temples, and palaces. A thick fog rolled in with the flood, swallowing towers and walls until the entire city disappeared from sight..."
"But that wasn't the end, right, Mother?"
"No, that wasn't the end of Garin, as it turned out. You have already gotten to know him."
"Where is he now?"
"Will he come to visit on my nameday?"
"I don't know, my love. Garin has his own campaign to fight. All I can do is hope that he will return one day."