South of Gohor lay the place where the Upper Rhoyne and the Little Rhoyne converged.
The two tributaries merged into the main Rhoyne here, their combined current fast and violent.
Because the waters crashed so fiercely, few people ever came to this lonely spot.
Viserys and Lothan chose this place for a secret meeting. Lothan was tall and thin, while Viserys barely reached his chest.
One old and one young, one tall and one short, they stood side by side as the roaring river drowned out their voices completely.
"Freygo sent us three thousand sets of armor and plenty of weapons," Lothan said, leaning on his wooden staff as he watched the foaming waters.
"He has also hired the 'Brave Companions' to join our forces. We cannot use the same tricks again."
Concern creased the old elder's brow.
The thought of facing the full wrath of Braavos troubled him deeply.
Viserys nodded. Freygo had clearly sent "overseers." The Rhoynar had embarrassed themselves too many times.
One more defeat, and the fate of all Gohor would be sealed— which was not at all what Braavos wanted.
"Then we crush this so-called Brave Companions together," Viserys said. "And expose our stance to Freygo and Braavos outright."
"You are ready to confront Freygo?" Lothan asked.
"Yes. I plan to bring the fleet."
"But Volantis—" Lothan stopped suddenly, realization flashing in his eyes. "The River Old Man will help you, won't he?"
Viserys nodded.
"Yes. But we don't need to defeat Braavos. The one we must defeat is Pentos."
He laid out his plan.
He would break with Pentos completely, buying an alliance with Braavos in the process.
"I must unify all of Gohor before the next planting season," Viserys said. "From that day on, neither the Targaryens nor the Rhoynar will ever again dance on another man's strings."
He picked up a stone and flicked it into the river. It flew nearly a hundred meters before splashing into the current.
Lothan was stunned—he had never imagined the young king had such strength.
"When I went to Nasar, I found a great library left by the Prince," Viserys continued.
"It holds ancient Rhoynar texts. After we unify Gohor, we can use that knowledge to rebuild quickly.
We can create a civilization even more glorious than before—just as the Mother Rhoyne promised."
Lothan turned and stared at Viserys, his dark eyes suddenly bright.
Viserys had never mentioned this library before.
But Lothan did not doubt its authenticity..If anything, this strengthened his belief that the River Old Man truly favored Viserys.
Even if the library contained only a fraction of Rhoynar achievements, such knowledge would be priceless to a reborn nation.
Books were the most valuable things in the world— no printing presses existed, and every text was hand-copied by scribes.
Ancient Rhoynar manuscripts were not only knowledge—they were treasures.
Viserys chose this moment to share the secret, hoping to bolster Lothan's confidence. Judging by his expression, it worked.
Staring at the rushing waters, Lothan felt his heart hammering— as if the river itself surged through his veins, awakening the fire of his youth.
"Yes! We shall!" he declared, gazing southward along the Mother Rhoyne.
...
Reports soon arrived:
The Targaryen king had with him a group of half-grown boys from the Crackclaw Point region—none older than fourteen or fifteen.
The leader of the Brave Companions was Vargo Hoat, a tall, gaunt man with a goatee.
In the original story, this same sellsword company had been infamous— they were the ones who chopped off Jaime's right hand.
Qyburn, the twisted mind behind "the Mountain reborn," had once been among them.
The battlefield chosen was an open plain.
The land was flat, dotted only with scattered crops.
To the Brave Companions, this was ideal terrain. The Rhoynar could use their numbers to resist, and they—hired muscle—could stay out of the worst of it.
"We'll take the flanks," Vargo Hoat said. "You hold the center."
This was the correct choice.
Sellswords existed only to support. Putting them in front was not a question of money—it was simply unreliable.
They fought for profit.
Dead men earned no coin.
Bloodbeard had been the exception—a man with more brawn than brains.
"Very well. Thank you for your cooperation," Lothan replied coolly.
He had no intention of wasting words on this sly sellsword. Soon the battle would begin—and they would all be dead.
Even their horses had been tampered with.
Lothan was a master of herbs. Sabotaging them had been easy. But the performance still had to look convincing.
The elder's respectful demeanor made Vargo glance at the two girls behind him— Jona and Jorel.
Both Rhoynar maidens carried a wild, proud air, like spirited young mares. Exactly to his taste.
"Elder Lothan is blessed indeed," he smirked. "At your age, to be served by such young beauties."
At those words, Jona shot him a lightning-quick glare, nearly reaching for her blade.
The other sellswords snickered lewdly.
Fortunately, Lothan grabbed his granddaughter's wrist before steel flashed.
"You misunderstand, ser. They are my granddaughters," he said calmly.
"Oh, is that so? My apologies, my apologies." Vargo pretended embarrassment, but his eyes roamed freely over Jorel's figure.
"Elder Lothan," he continued, "our company has many fine knights and riders.
They're all unmarried. I hear the Rhoynar lost many men recently. I imagine many maidens are lonely. Perhaps we could—"
"I appreciate your kindness," Lothan interrupted with a polite smile. "But let us finish the battle first. Once we drive away that dragon-spawned kingling… then we may talk."
"Very well. I'll go calm those rude fellows of mine."
When Freygo hired him, he offered not only gold but the promise of a Rhoynar elder's seat.
The Brave Companions would become Braavos' new voice among the Rhoynar.
Most sellswords didn't even understand what an elder was—
but they understood land, taxes, and titles.
A keep of one's own was far better than a sellsword's life.
The temptation was enormous.
Thus they resolved to clash with the Targaryen army.
After Vargo left the tent, Jona burst out like an enraged filly, "Grandfather, I want to kill that man with my own hands!"
___________
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