Land of the King
Chapter 64: Exodus
4397 E.L
They had failed. It was quite underwhelming. Three years of war had seen the Arnorians slowly pushed up the Rhoyne before the advancing Valyrian army. It hadn't helped in the slightest that the Valyrians could attack from Norvos and Qohor as well as Volantis. In many ways, the war had been over the moment Garin had lost, yet still they had fought on. The Arnorian forces had shed their blood, sweat, and tears to defend their allies but with the fall of Ny Sar, the war was all but over.
Aragost was very much not looking forward to meeting with Princess Nymeria. Before the battle, she had evacuated herself and all her people, which included many refugees that she had gathered to Ny Sar during the war, to Ghoyan Drohe. Before she had left, Aragost and Ciryaher had promised her that they would not let her city fall to the Valyrians.
Even now he remembered what Nymeria had answered to that, 'Don't make promises you can't keep Prince Aragost.'
Ny Sar had been a disaster to say the least. Overmatched and outnumbered, the Arnorians had struggled to hold the city against the Valyrians, when a Norvoshi force had been spotted approaching their rear from the north, Aragost had ordered the withdrawal. If they were encircled and trapped in Ny Sar, Arnor would suffer greatly from losing its First and Second Prince.
Though Arnor had many more men to spare to fight, the distance from Westeros made transferring troops difficult, especially given the dissent that still existed in parts of East Arnor. Furthermore, after the horrendous losses of the First War 110 years earlier, the will of the Arnorian people to wage another costly war was slim. No one wanted to send their sons to die faraway in a foreign land for foreign people. It did not help in the slightest that with the annihilation of the Grand Army of the Rhoynar, it had been Arnorian forces, not Rhoynar, which had taken the brunt of the fighting and the casualties.
In the eyes of the Arnorian people, their soldiers were dying fighting a war that had already been lost, trying to save a nation that could no longer be saved. As the casualties had piled up, and as more and more Rhoynar cities had been lost to the Valyrians, the demands of the Arnorian people to sue for peace grew greater.
To the people of the homeland, the war was some faraway conflict in Essos. Something that shouldn't overly concern Arnor and certainly not something that Arnorian soldiers should die fighting in. They didn't know what was at stake here, too short-sighted perhaps to realise that Valyria would surely attack East Arnor after the Rhoynar fell.
Aragost looked ahead toward their destination. Ghoyan Drohe, the last stronghold of the Rhoynar. With the fall of Ny Sar, Ghoyan Drohe alone of the Thirteen Principalities still stood free of Valyrian tyranny. For all intents and purposes, the Rhoynar League had been destroyed and the Rhoynar as a people were on the brink of annihilation. The loss of Ny Sar meant that Arnor lost all ability to project power on the Rhoyne. The war was over. They had lost.
"Do you think the Valyrians will follow us up here?" his brother Ciryaher asked, riding alongside him.
"I doubt it. Ny Sar controls the confluence of the Little Rhoyne and the Upper Rhoyne. Without it, we cannot project any power southwards, and the Valyrians have secured the link between Norvos, Qohor, and Volantis. Ghoyan Drohe is too close to our stronghold in Pentos to take without great cost and with their control of Ny Sar, they frankly don't need to take it."
"I agree. Ghoyan Drohe at least will survive. But to go from thirteen to one over the course of a single war, the Rhoynar have been dealt a great blow. And though our people refuse to see it, so has Arnor. Without the Rhoynar guarding our borders, Pentos, Myr, and the Flatlands are all exposed. If we're to hear tomorrow that the Valyrians are invading East Arnor, would there truly be anything we could do to stop them?" Ciryaher asked, worried.
His concerns were understandable. Ciryaher after all was the Prince of Pentos, he had governed the city and its attached province for over a hundred years now. Pentos was more his home now than Annúminas or Morlond. It was where his wife and children all were. Where his people were.
"No," Aragost answered honestly, "but despair not Ciryaher. For as exhausted and weakened as we were by this war, Valyria is just the same. They suffered grievous losses, in both men and dragons, and war is not cheap. They would surely not have the ability to prosecute an invasion of East Arnor anymore than we would have the ability to retake the whole Rhoyne from them. We are at an impasse, neither us or them can continue this war any further. But make no mistake, Valyria will emerge from this war with the advantage."
"All those years ago, Jaenara was right. Valyria came back with a vendetta," Ciryaher mused.
"I fear the worst is yet to come. This second war seems to be but a prelude to something greater. The third will not come next year, or the year after, but it will come one day, and we must be ready for it, because if we are not careful that third war will also be the last Arnor will ever fight" Aragost stated gloomily.
"You think it'll come to that?" Ciryaher asked.
"I don't know for sure, but there are not the same Valyrians we fought in the first war. They have been near as weakened as us from this fight, but like before they will come back, and come back with a vengeance, stronger and fiercer then before. And now, there is no buffer between us and them," he finished, and at that neither said another word.
By now, the army had reached Ghoyan Drohe and they passed through its opened gates. As they marched through the city however, there was no parade of triumph, no cheering crowds, only silence and dejected stares and angry glares from the downcast crowd.
Eventually the army began dispersing to its barracks, dismissed from their duties for the time being. With their failure in Ny Sar, Aragost knew that his men's morale was dangerously low and so ordered all of them to relax a little before returning to duty.
For Aragost himself and his brother Ciryaher and a contingent of high-ranking officers however, there would be no rest. The war had been lost, now it was time to determine how much they had lost.
The last of the royalty of the Rhoynar greeted them when they arrived in the palace. Prince Oberyn of Ghoyan Drohe had a cordial smile on his face, but his expression was notably subdued. His peer however bore a face that showed nothing, expressionless, neutral, and cold. It was like all the life had been sucked out of Princess Nymeria of Ny Sar.
"Prince Aragost, Prince Ciryaher, I welcome you back on behalf of my city," Prince Oberyn said welcomingly.
Aragost and Ciryaher dismounted their horses before nodding to the prince, "Our thanks, Your Highness."
As his social equals, and some would argue, his betters, Aragost and Ciryaher need not bow nor show deference, however they did dip their heads slightly out of respect, the man was the ruler of Ghoyan Drohe and their host after all.
"Your rooms have already been prepared and are waiting for you all."
"We are grateful for your hospitality Prince Oberyn. It has been a long march and all of us are very tired. It would be good to rest a little before matters of state demand our attention once more," Ciryaher thanked Prince Oberyn.
"Of course, but I would feel more comfortable if we can quickly discuss our next move. You must understand, Ghoyan Drohe is far too close to Ny Sar for comfort now," Prince Oberyn replied.
"And it is also close to Pentos. I swear Prince Oberyn, we not allow Ghoyan Drohe to fall into Valyrian hands, no matter what," Aragost assured
"And we all how just how much the Arnorians value their promises. I am sure that if you promise it Prince Aragost, Ghoyan Drohe will surely be safe for eternity," Princess Nymeria remarked sarcastically, speaking for the first time, before storming away leaving Aragost and Ciryaher to watch.
"Forgive her if you could."
Aragost turned to see Prince Oberyn also watching Nymeria leave. With how close he had come, Aragost was reminded of just how much shorter the Rhoynar was than him.
"She says it doesn't affect her, but deep down in her heart, the loss of Ny Sar is grievous to her. Though all her people were saved, the city itself is lost to her. Her beloved home. I do not know if she will ever recover. But she is right. You promised her that Ny Sar will be safe, now you promise me the same for Ghoyan Drohe, how am I to know that you are telling the truth Prince Aragost?"
Aragost wanted to tell him then, that holding Ny Sar or any of the other cities had always been a naïve dream surrounded as they had been by Volantis, Qohor, and Norvos. That Ghoyan Drohe so close to Braavos and East Arnor was safe, to reassure him that his city and his people could feel secure under Arnorian protection, but in Aragost's mind the memory of Princess Nymeria and their failure to save her city stopped him.
"You can't. Not truly. All you can do is hope."
It wasn't Crown Prince Aragost speaking then, in fact as a Prince of one nation to another, it was possibly the worst thing he could have said at that moment. But Aragost simply told the honest truth, not as a prince, but as Aragost Elendillion, from one man to another.
A pained expression appeared on Prince Oberyn's face, vanishing as quickly as it had come.
"I see. I entrust my city to your kingdom's protection Prince Aragost. I can only hope that my faith is not misplaced."
"Your trust honours us Your Highness," Aragost said, shocking all present when he bowed to the Prince of Ghoyan Drohe.
Later that night, Aragost was in his room when he heard a knock on the door.
"Come in!" he shouted as he made himself presentable.
In walked his brother Ciryaher, and his eldest son Ciryon.
"Brother, Nephew, what is the matter?"
Ciryon handed him a note, "It was transmitted from Morlond over glass candle. It's a truce offer from the Valyrian Senate. Grandfather and the Council of the Sceptre have already approved it."
Aragost took the note from his nephew, reading it carefully.
"They're offering safe passage down the Rhoyne to Volantis for negotiations? And they've requested that a member of the Royal Family lead the Arnorian delegation?"
"It seems so, it appears the Valyrians may not be as secure in their control of the Rhoyneland as we had thought," Ciryaher answered.
"How do we know this isn't a trap? They could be trying to get one of us as a hostage for leverage over Father, they tried pulling that in the First War."
"And it didn't work, furthermore it seems that one of the Valyrian Triarchs will trade places with you in a city of our choosing so long as it is in Essos for the duration of the negotiations, it's somewhere in there," Ciryaher continued.
Aragost checked the truce document again, and found what his brother had been saying written out clearly.
"And you came to me…"
"Because as the eldest son of Father, and the future King, you represent Arnor better than either of us."
"Very well. It seems I am to go to Volantis. Message Morlond of my acceptance."
The war was over indeed. And now it was up to Aragost to determine how much they would lose in the peace to come. But like his goodsister had said at the end of the First War, Aragost knew that this peace would be but another armistice.
Nymeria was tired. Three years of war would tire anyone. Even more so a war in which your people fought a war for their very survival. In the end, her fears and misgivings had been proven correct.
The War for the Rhoyne had never been a war the Rhoynar could win. Not even with Arnorian aid had they stood a chance. Perhaps they could have won if Garin hadn't been so foolish.
Oh Garin. She had been expecting it in truth, but even then, nothing could have prepared her for the moment word had come of the Battle of the Volantis, where the pride and joy of the Rhoynar, their Grand Army, had been utterly annihilated and destroyed by the Valyrians.
Panic had begun spreading along the Rhoyne when word came of the advancing Valyrians before the gates of Sar Mell and Chroyane and then… nothing. No dragons came swooping down upon the north, no armies came to sack the remaining cities. It was only weeks later when the world learned what had occurred. Garin's Curse. The Sorrows.
The stories told that in his last moments, Garin the Great cursed Valyria and Mother Rhoyne answered, killing nearly all responsible for the destruction of his beloved city. Whether the story was true or not, Chroyane became a cold and haunted place, full of mists and supposedly, monsters as well.
Hope had filled the hearts of the Rhoynar again then. With his final sacrifice, their beloved Grand Prince had bought them time until the Arnorian armies came and aided them. Yet hope was a dangerous thing, and often a bitter fruit. Hope did not save the Rhoynar when the Valyrians recovered from their losses at Chroyanne and came back with a vengeance. Hope did not help them when Norvos and Qohor threw in with their Valyrian overlords fully and sent forces down the Rhoyne to take the Rhoynar in the rear. Hope had not stopped Arnor from abandoning them.
Oh she had heard all the platitudes and excuses of the two princes. Nothing changed the fact that the armies of Arnor had not truly mobilised to fight this war, not like they had a century ago. There was no fire in the Arnorian war machine, no drive or spark. In some ways Arnor was just like Valyria, perfectly willing to send a million men to die for lands it wanted but unwilling to do the same to protect their allies.
Perhaps she was being too harsh on Arnor, too judgemental. What nation rightfully wanted to send millions to die again? Yet try as she could, Nymeria could not help but resent Arnor. Not for doing her any wrong personally, but because they had given her hope and then taken it away.
Years ago she had chosen Ny Sar over Garin and now she had lost both, along with almost all her people and their culture. All that the Rhoynar had left now was one city, on the edge of destruction at any moment from Valyria.
Oh there was a 'treaty' guaranteeing Ghoyan Drohe's continued survival and independence under the protection of Arnor but Nymeria had seen first-hand how much worth Arnorian protection had. Ny Sar or whatever the Valyrians would rename her former city to was too close for Ghoyan Drohe to ever survive more than a few generations.
Now Nymeria had only two options. Marry Oberyn and rule Ghoyan Drohe with him, trying their best to preserve the culture and legacy of their people or accept asylum in Arnor. The former option was preferable to most of her followers yet Nymeria feared it could see them all dead in less than fifty years. The second was also supported by many due to the large existing Rhoynar minority in Arnor but it would place them under the thumb and 'protection' of Arnor and that grated on Nymeria's pride more than she was willing to admit.
Yet safety came before pride and if bowing to Arahad and Arnor was what was necessary then she would do it. However as long as she could, Nymeria wanted to postpone her choice, giving herself as much time to think.
As she was sorting through her mail and documents however, she noticed one particular letter. It was sealed with a running direwolf, the sigil of the Starks of Winterfell, Royal House of the Kingdom of the North.
What do the Starks want with me?
Nymeria opened the letter and read it. It was written by one Prince Cregan Stark, the Crown Prince of Winterfell. He wrote that having heard of their plight, he felt moved enough to offer Nymeria and the people of Ny Sar and any other Rhoynar who wished to follow asylum in the North where they had plenty of land to spare. The Prince also went on to mention that he was currently in Pentos if she wished to meet in person.
The offer intrigued Nymeria and she decided to write back, asking for a meeting in person in Pentos to discuss his offer.
Perhaps there is a third option for my people.
A few weeks later, Nymeria had reached Pentos. She had been escorted to the city by Prince Ciryon, the eldest son and heir of the ruling Prince of Pentos, Prince Ciryaher.
Prince Cregan was waiting for her at the Prince's Palace and once all the formalities and greetings were over, both of them had sat down for a serious discussion.
"If I may be frank Prince Cregan, what exactly is your motive for offering me and my people asylum in the North? No doubt you have some sympathy for our plight, but somehow I doubt it is enough to go out of your way to import an entire race of people whose culture is very different from your own," Nymeria asked.
"As blunt as I've been told by Prince Ciryon I see. Very well Princess Nymeria, if I am being frank with you, the Kingdom of the North has long played second fiddle to Arnor. While we do not begrudge our southern neighbours their prosperity or power, we have no desire to be their vassals. The growth in Pan-Westeros sentiments in the North has also been concerning to my family. To that end we want the Rhoynar in the North so that your people may strengthen our kingdom and allow us to more even our imbalanced relationship with our ally. That we can extend a helping hand to those preyed upon by the Valyrians while doing so is a bonus."
Prince Cregan's honesty impressed Nymeria. That his offer of asylum was born out of a desire to strengthen his homeland and even their relationship with Arnor was also one that she sympathised with and understood. Despite her resentment toward them, Nymeria still respected and admired Arnor in many ways and she certainly did not wish them any ill, especially if it made them falter in opposing Valyria, yet at the same time she was once a sovereign Princess, she disliked the idea of bowing to Arnor's king and surrendering her people's independence. Would it not be the same in the North? She raised those concerns with Prince Cregan and he assured her otherwise.
"In Arnor, your people would be but a drop of water in the sea of Arnorians. All too soon your people's identity and culture would be subsumed by Arnor. I cannot say that will not happen in the North but with our much smaller population, I think the effects will be far lesser and that your people's culture will be able to survive in the North, far away from Valyria and safe. As for concerns over your status… I believe those can be settled by a political marriage between you and myself."
Nymeria raised an eyebrow, "Are you proposing to me Prince Cregan?"
"I do believe I am yes. It seems to me to be the simplest means by which we can deal with any issues of sovereignty and facilitate the integration of your people and their settlement in the North. This of course would all be dependent on whether you choose to accept my offer Princess Nymeria. The marriage offer and the offer of asylum are linked. My father will never accept allowing such a large diaspora of foreigners into the North unless House Stark stood to benefit directly from their coming."
"I need time to think on my decision Prince Cregan. And regardless of my own decision, it would be useless for me to agree if none of my people decide to follow me to the North from Ghoyan Drohe."
"Of course, take all the time you need Princess."
It was several days before she made her decision. In that time, she had spoken extensively with Prince Cregan, learning of his opinions, his hopes, dreams, and ambitions. She had acquainted herself with him to learn not only if her people would be happy in the North, but if she would as well, as its future Queen.
What she had learned had been promising. The North was an old and proud land. Its people still held to their Old Gods, the nameless gods of the forests and the lands even now though many had converted to the Arnorian worship of Eru. Its views on the succession of women and their place in society were… disappointing to say the least but not unsalvageable, especially given the precedent of the warrior-women of Bear Island. There was a strong sense of community and unity in the North, even with the aid of Arnor, winters were harsh and everyone needed to work together to survive.
There was also the land, lots and lots of land. The North had plenty of land for the Rhoynar to settle and grow, land they could never have in Arnor or Ghoyan Drohe. While it was true that the cold winters could be challenging, the Rhoynar were nothing if not enduring and tough and she knew her people could adapt to the harsh North and become all the better for it.
Perhaps what appealed to her the most about the North was its potential. If she allowed the Rhoynar to remain in Ghoyan Drohe, it would only hinder them she believed. Even if they were not caught in the middle of the next great war between Arnor and Valyria and destroyed, what could the Rhoynar build for themselves in Ghoyan Drohe alone, fenced in by Arnor, Valyria, and Braavos, with nowhere to grow and prosper and the reminder of their former glories downriver taunting them? Their culture might remain, unchanged and preserved, but they would always be but a shadow of their former glories.
And Arnor? The culture of the Rhoynar might cease to exist entirely. Nymeria had met some of the Arnorian Rhoynar, descendants of the original exodus centuries ago and she was honestly disappointed with them. Barring a few exceptions like their equal primogeniture and their water magic, there was nothing Rhoynish about them. Many did not even speak Rhoynish! They proudly called themselves Rhoynar but in truth they were but Arnorians wearing a Rhoynish mask. She did not blame them for that, but that was not the fate she wanted for her people or her children.
Yet in the North the Rhoynar could make something for themselves. Nymeria could make something for herself. Yes, their culture was unlikely to remain as it was now but that was not necessarily a bad thing, cultures changed, they evolved, so long as they did not forget what it meant to be Rhoynar they could forge a new future for themselves in a new land, build a new civilisation that could stand the test of time. That would be her legacy, and as a proud woman, Nymeria was not ashamed to admit the idea appealed to her.
"You wished to speak with me?" Prince Cregan asked as he entered the room, snapping Nymeria out of her thoughts.
"Yes. I've spent many days thinking on it and I believe I have come to a decision," she answered.
"That's excellent news. And your decision is?"
Nymeria opened her mouth to answer, "I have decided to…"
'Was it the right decision?' Nymeria wondered to herself.
Even now she still wondered. She had spent days in Pentos thinking about it, agonizing over it in truth. Those days had been spent learning about the North, speaking with Prince Cregan, befriending him and learning if he was a satisfactory husband. While she did not love him, she felt that perhaps they could be happy together. Above all however the safety and prosperity of her people mattered the most to her and she had decided that their future was in the North.
It had taken quite a lot of convincing to get the Rhoynar to follow her. Prince Oberyn had not approved of her decision and many Rhoynar had been split. Several had chosen to stay in Ghoyan Drohe, choosing to join with the last independent Rhoynar state. Others had joined with Arnor, leaving Nymeria with but a mere fraction of the people she had once ruled in Ny Sar.
Yet as they arrived in White Harbour to the cheers and welcome of the Northmen, Nymeria felt her fears dissipating slightly. Their people could have a new start here in a new land.
Prince Cregan walked off the ship onto the pier before turning back to her, offering his hand. Behind him, the large cheering crowds awaited.
"Well, are you coming Princess Nymeria?"
Nymeria took his hand and allowed herself to smile. Yes, she could build a new future for the Rhoynar, here in the Kingdom of the North. Or as it translated in the language of her people, Norda.
"With the signing of the Treaty of Volantis, we are one step closer to our vengeance," a man said. His hair was silvery blonde, and tied up in a neat ponytail, framing his amethyst eyes neatly.
"It was a shame that we lost Rhaekar and much of his army and dragons as well. Even in death Garin proved to be a nuisance. Chroyane is useless to us now," the man's partner, a similarly silver-haired and purple-eyed woman said in turn.
"Perhaps not, our mages are already working on means to cleanse the Sorrows as well as treat that damnable new disease. With Chroyane opened again, the Freehold can settle the Rhoyne and re-establish our link with Norvos and Qohor. If the Darkwater-Shivering Sea canal is built as well, our economy and military can only be strengthened, and we will once again have free access to the northern seas. It will require time and patience, it may not happen in our terms as Triarchs or even our lifetimes, but one day soon, the dreams of the Triumvirate will be realised, Valyria will have its revenge," the man continued.
The woman smirked, pointing to the cavern beneath them where blood mages, fleshsmiths, and armourers all worked, tending to their grand project, their secret weapon. Three large wingless dragons, not yet fully grown, but already massive.
"And when that time comes, the Arnorians will know true fear when the beasts of their legends come out of the fairy tales to haunt them. They will dread the coming of the Glaurungs."
As if recognising the name, the three beasts in question began thrashing against their restraints before unleashing a deafening and terrifying roar.
Author's Note: Beta finished his exams so out comes 64! The Second War is now over, and the hints laid in place for the Third…
