Chapter 105: The Rhoynar

The Battle of Seagard drew to a close.

Since the beginning of the Greyjoy Rebellion, the Iron Islands had suffered heavy losses, including the death of one of Balon Greyjoy's sons. The morale of the Iron Throne forces had been somewhat dampened by their initial setbacks, but the victory at Seagard had rallied their spirits. They now leveraged their advantages in manpower and supplies to organize a counteroffensive.

Armies quickly assembled.

The horn sounded.

Knights from the Riverlands, clad in their armor, boarded warships bound for Fair Isle, where they would gather before engaging in battle with the ironborn. Stannis Baratheon personally led the Royal Fleet, sailing around the Arm of Dorne and through the Summer Sea to join the combined forces at Fair Isle.

Eddard Stark, Duke of the North, heeded the king's call.

Leading the northern cavalry southward through the Neck, they awaited the arrival of the royal warships before sailing to Pyke to claim the head of Balon Greyjoy.

King Robert, who had initially planned to lead the charge himself, was convinced by his Hand, Jon Arryn, to remain in King's Landing.

Still, in the following days, he grew restless and petulant. Eventually, the old Hand reluctantly agreed to let the king join the fray, but only if he would stay in the rear and avoid direct combat. Robert, eager to leave King's Landing, readily agreed, though the sincerity of his promise remained uncertain.

As chaos reigned in the Sunset Sea off the western coast of Westeros, all eyes turned toward the unfolding conflict.

Meanwhile, on the continent east of the Narrow Sea, Anderlos was also on the move.

...

Viserys, clad in shining silver armor with a longsword at his waist and a black and red cloak billowing behind him, rode a snow-white steed.

With no helmet, the young knight's curly silver-gold hair spilled onto his cold armor, fluttering in the breeze.

"Onward."

The young king spurred his horse forward, then reined it in to survey the troops gathered around him.

Prince Oberyn Martell stood at the ready, joining Viserys on this campaign. He wore black armor emblazoned with the radiant spear piercing the sun, the sigil of House Martell. Oberyn held the hilt of his sword with one hand.

His white horse pawed the ground restlessly.

Viserys, the Silver Knight, rode his white steed in a circle before the troops, demonstrating his horsemanship and the bond between horse and rider that conserved his strength.

"March!"

With the command given, the forces of Anderlos broke camp.

From a bird's-eye view, the army began to move like a living organism, heading east toward the lands along the Rhoyne.

Anderlos, a city of only Andal people, had long since reached its developmental ceiling.

Viserys' numerous titles included King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and he had long set his sights on the eastern lands of the Rhoyne, where the Rhoynar people dwelled.

...

And so, finally, taking advantage of the war that broke out across the Narrow Sea, Braavos, the 'suzerain,' shifted its attention to Westeros.

Viserys chose to go on the offensive, reclaiming the settlements of the Rhoynar people.

...

A persistent autumn rain fell without end.

Clip-clop-clip...

Horses' hooves thundered on the muddy ground, and the knights atop them shouted their battle cries.

A bloodstained lance sent a corpse flying through the air.

Thud—

The body then crashed heavily onto the ground.

"Break them!" Viserys yelled, his white warhorse's mane now dyed crimson. Holding the reins with one hand and gasping for breath, he gripped a lance in his other hand, its sharp tip dripping with blood.

The Andals and Rhoynar had a deep-rooted historical enmity that erupted at this moment.

"Kill them!"

Both sides roared with battle cries that shook the heavens.

A flood of Andal warriors poured through the breached town gate.

Both the Andals and Rhoynar had glorious histories, and their powers were closely matched after their collective decline.

But now, united under the leadership of the Andals, like their ancestor who had once ruled the Andalos plains, the unified Andals displayed even greater power.

The Andal warriors were better equipped and more well-trained, and as a result, they easily crushed the Rhoynar's resistance.

Finally, they conquered the small Rhoynar town.

"Those of Andal, Rhoynar, and the First Men – surrender, and your lives will be spared!"

The air in the town was thick with the stench of burning, flames raging everywhere. Countless figures darted through the chaos, their footsteps a cacophony of noise accompanied by shouts and battle cries.

Viserys's lengthy title was not only impressive, but it also held meaning.

At the very least, it provided an excuse for those Rhoynar who wished to surrender but couldn't find a reason to kneel.

"I surrender."

Clang—

Once one person laid down their weapon and surrendered, the rest followed suit. A large number of the resisting Rhoynar dropped their weapons.

"Your Grace."

While the majority recognized the situation and surrendered, there were still some who stubbornly resisted.

Viserys rode into the town on his warhorse, reins in one hand, his bloodstained, gleaming armor attracting the enemy's attention.

"Kill him!"

Rhoynar soldiers hiding behind a burning wall raised their bows to shoot Viserys, but his royal guards raised their shields in time to block the arrows.

Thud-thud-thud—

Upon witnessing this scene, Viserys's desire to offer clemency vanished.

"Hmph—"

Viserys dismounted, donned his shield, and led a few soldiers to deal with the remaining stubborn resistors personally.

Though young, Viserys had already been 'battle-hardened' by fate, having seen and participated in numerous wars. It was hard to say whether this was fortunate or unfortunate.

In less than half a day, the forces of Andalos had conquered the Rhoynar town. .