Rhaegar slept deeply, wrapped in the warm, fiery glow of the bronze ring.
His vision merged with that of Dragonlord Ogo.
The sun rose, and the moon set.
Horns, war drums, and screams erupted over the Mother Rhoyne.
The war had begun.
Rhaegar knew the outcome of this battle from history books, yet anticipation still gripped him.
This was the most thrilling clash in the known world, the final duel between the sons of the Great River and the sons of the magic dragons.
Three hundred dragons. An army of over four hundred thousand men.
Spears like a forest. Armor like fire.
The silver scale armor of the Rhoynar clashed with the obsidian and black scales of the Valyrians, turning the battlefield into a churning sea of silver and black.
The Rhoynar deployed a vast host of two hundred and fifty thousand, while Valyria and its vassals fielded slightly fewer, perhaps two hundred thousand.
The giant elephants of Volantis stamped the earth, and the war drums beat louder and louder.
The elite Valyrian infantry in obsidian armor marched forward, flanked by auxiliary legions from Volantis and other vassal states. On the Rhoyne itself, the Dragonlords' warships cut through the current.
Bolstered by the arrival of the dragonlords, the morale of the Volantene auxiliaries soared.
Banners unfurled furiously in the wind, with the purple dragon of House Belaerys charging at the fore.
High above, three hundred magical dragons hung in the sky like countless suns.
Purple dragons bright as amethyst, black dragons deep as eternal night, gold dragons dazzling as the sun, green dragons lush as forests, and red dragons hot as molten lava. There was even a silver dragon, its brilliant light making Rhaegar's blood surge.
The multi-colored beasts circled and danced, painting the heavens with every known hue.
Their bodies shimmered with iridescent scales; though a dragon might hold many colors, one dominant shade always stood out.
Below them, the Rhoynar army stood ready, locked in battle formation.
Prince Garin's forces were split into three columns: marching along the east and west banks of the Rhoyne, with a massive fleet of galleys in the center to sweep away enemy ships. This fleet was the elite reserve of the Rhoynar.
Prince Garin had swept down the river, clearing every Valyrian village, town, and outpost in his path. For a time, he had been invincible, his prestige echoing across the seas.
But a spent force cannot pierce even fine silk.
Though Garin had marched from Chroyane with magnificent momentum, his army was now weary, their steps heavy. The Valyrians, meanwhile, were rested and waiting, their three hundred magic dragons fully deployed.
"I gathered my host from Chroyane and swept downstream, conquering all. But today, magic dragons blot out the sun. Is this where I am destined to die?"
"Great Mother Rhoyne, protect your people," Prince Garin cried out in grief. Regret struck him suddenly; it seemed all too likely that this day would drag the Rhoynar people into the abyss of extinction.
On the Rhoynar ships, water wizards raised their staffs and began to chant. Blue runes etched themselves onto their olive skin.
Before casting, the water wizards drank deep draughts of dark blue water to fuel their spiritual energy.
The great river boiled and churned, dancing with the wind; the waters roared, every drop surging upward. With the wizards' furious shouts, the droplets rose, fusing bit by bit into shape.
The currents transformed into towering pillars and walls of water; the river rushed forward in a frenzy, intent on drowning the Valyrian host.
Rhaegar noted that water magic seemed bound by location, it needed the river, and was far less volatile and aggressive than dragonfire.
The water wizards woke the river, guiding walls of water crashing toward the enemy, trying to wash away everything in sight.
Three hundred dragons danced wildly in the air, led by the two purple leviathans of House Belaerys.
"Dracarys!" Dragonlord Ogo blew his magic horn, and a torrent of flame erupted from every dragon's maw.
The fire from the purple dragons was black as night, hot enough to melt stone and glass, leading the charge.
At Ogo's command, the sky turned into an inferno.
Three hundred dragons breathing fire in unison, the greatest military force the known world had ever seen.
As the beasts danced in their frenzy, their scales glowed from the heat of their own bodies.
Fire met river. A red glow swallowed the sky. The blinding light of the flames outshone everything.
The blaze swept the plains; a boundless ocean of red fire rolled forward. Like a volcanic eruption, like a prairie wildfire, the world trembled and burned, turning everything in its path to ash.
The dragons stretched their bodies fiercely in the air, sending wave after wave of destruction.
Water and fire clashed; the Rhoynar's water power was unstoppable, but the Valyrian dragons were supreme.
The water walls were majestic, like great fortifications, but the dragonfire melted them away, inch by inch.
"Mother Rhoyne, will you not protect us!" the lead water wizard cursed aloud, before being consumed by the flames.
The ships on the river melted like lit candles.
The fire seemed to come from hell itself, burning the Rhoynar in both flesh and soul.
The dragons swooped and dove, weaving left and right, igniting fires everywhere.
The mighty Rhoynar army began to disintegrate. Against the most overwhelming violence in the world, they were powerless.
The war was short, and it was cruel.
It ended a struggle that had lasted two and a half centuries.
Dragonlord Ogo wore a cruel smile, his face lit by a sickly red glow as his dragons rampaged.
The beasts wheeled and turned, displaying dazzling aerial skills.
The dragonlords were masters of their craft, controlling the fire and flight of their mounts with perfect precision.
Especially Ogo. He soared through the sky, man and dragon moving as one.
Strafing, fleeing, baiting, every maneuver was flawless.
The small rune on the dragonlord's forehead shone with brilliant light.
Rhaegar's eyes were opened wide, his heart filled with a wild passion.
This is the true way to ride a dragon.
Wherever the magic dragons passed, armor melted and soldiers charred.
The Rhoynar suffered a crushing defeat; the sea of silver armor seemed to liquefy, tens of thousands burned alive. Surviving soldiers rushed madly into the river, praying for the Mother's protection, only to drown.
Wild dragons swept over the water, boiling the river itself.
The battlefield became a feast for death.
Wisps of black smoke, white ash, searing heat, and soldiers tormented by burns and broken hearts.
The Rhoynar had lost the war of nations completely.
Garin the Great did not die; he lived on in temporary shame.
Both banks of the Rhoyne became a vast execution ground.
Volantenes and Valyrians pursued the routed enemy, sweeping the field and executing every warrior they found.
The great river roared, turning red with slaughter.
Prince Garin was surrounded, disarmed, and met his tragic fate.
Ogo and Oris approached, holding their prized swords, high-spirited and ambitious.
"Raise your head! Standing before you is the son of the Chief Dragonlord of the Valyrian Freehold, the First Heir of the Great House Belaerys, Dragonlord Ogo Belaerys." Ogo drew his sword, True Dragon, and pressed it against Garin's hair.
The precious blade was razor-sharp, and Ogo was arrogant and domineering. His purple robes fluttered in the wind; even these robes, worn for war, seemed etched with runes.
"This is a great victory. I have won glory for House Belaerys."
"Kill me quickly, you incestuous bastards!" Garin roared.
The prince was knocked to the ground, stripped of his silver scale armor, his silver fish helm, and his silver spear, left in only thin garments. Garin's face was pale as death; the war was over, and they had lost everything.
Dragonlord Ogo laughed triumphantly. "I want you alive. I want you to watch as we sail north up the river, destroying Sar Mell first, and then your Chroyane, the place you Rhoynar call the Festival City."
Prince Garin stopped speaking, staring at Ogo with pure hatred.
"Bring the golden cage!" Ogo commanded. A gleaming cage of gold was brought forward.
It was the victor's right to decide the fate of Essos and utterly destroy the Rhoynar.
Soldiers stuffed Prince Garin into the cage, handling him like a monkey.
The Valyrians then hung him from the prow of the ship, forcing him to witness the annihilation of Rhoynar civilization with his own eyes.
Curled in the cage, blood and tears streamed from Prince Garin's eyes.
The Great Rhoyne, the great civilization of the Rhoynar, was destroyed in a single day.
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