Land of the King, Chapter 62: The Sorrows

The Black Walls of Volantis were a sight to see. Even from here, they were so massive and intimidating that Garin could see them in all their splendour. Supposedly, they were two hundred feet high and were so wide that no less than six four-horse chariots could race atop the battlements abreast. No siege tower could scale them, nor could any siege engine breach or damage them in any way. They were, for all intents and purposes, impregnable. Had he been almost any other man, Garin would have despaired at thinking he could possibly breach the Black Walls, but he was Garin the Great, Dragonslayer and victor of countless battles, not even the walls of Volantis would daunt him.

His army was massive, three hundred thousand strong, they had all come to break Volantis and break it they would. The Black Walls and the countless lesser walls beyond them all mattered not when the Rhoynar commanded the power of the River Rhoyne itself.

“Your Highness, the water mages have finished their preparations!” a messenger informed him.

“Good, order them to begin their assault on the city.”

Heeding his words, the messenger turned back the way he came and shortly after, great waves began rising from the river, preparing to break the walls of Volantis and allow his army to swarm into the city, both sides of it.

The waves were about to crash into the gates of the outer walls when suddenly, hundreds of deafening roars sounded in the distance, making all flinch. The Volantenes let out a sigh of relief, knowing they were saved from drowning, the Rhoynar all paled, realising their doom had come. To the east, four hundred massive dragons were bearing down upon Volantis and fast.

With a great roar, dragonfire was unleashed upon the Rhoynar host. Yet to their credit, they did not buckle or break. In an instant the waves summoned to drown Volantis were redirected to shield the main force of their army.

Thousands were reduced to charred ash and bone by the flames in seconds. Tens of thousands more were shielded by the water that covered them, instantly boiling away but protecting those beneath it.

Immediately, Garin gave orders for his army to counterattack. The artillery sergeants oversaw their anti-dragon weapons being readied to fire, their archers, for all the good they would do, lined up to support them. Throughout it all, the armies of the Rhoynar spread out into their trained formations, assembling into groups huddling close to the river as the water mages pulled more from Mother Rhoyne to both defend her sons and also to strike down her enemies and pull them from the skies.

With a roar of their own, the host of the Rhoynar fought back. Scorpion and windlance bolts were unleashed, arrows loosed and boulders flung from their trebuchets. Great spouts of water were shaped into spears and whips and shields and walls. Like the shell of a turtle, the water walls and shields formed an armour around the Rhoynar, only opening to allow their army to shoot back.

‘We can do this! We can fight back! The sons and daughters of the Rhoyne will be free at last from the tyranny of the dragons’‘ thought Garin as their tactics felled and injured several dragons as they flew in to try and burn through their watery shields. Yet he had celebrated too quickly.

“Your Highness!” cried out one of the water mages.

“What is the matter?” Garin demanded.

“It’s the water! We’re running out of water!”

How can that be possible?

It was true, a massive amount of water was needed to sustain the water walls and shields, especially when they were constantly being boiled away by dragonfire. Yet surely the mighty River Rhoyne, where at its widest points, a man on a boat in the middle could not see either bank, could sustain it? Garin turned to the river, hoping to see its endless waters for reassurance.

No, no it surely can’t be! 

“Mother Rhoyne, what are they doing to Mother Rhoyne!?” Garin choked out.

With gasps of shock, the Rhoynar all turned to the river where the Valyrians had redirected their efforts. With the power of hundreds of dragons, something thought unbelievable was being done before their eyes. The waters of the Rhoyne were boiling away, unable to remain in liquid form due to the sheer heat. All further attempts to draw more water failed and when the dragonlords turned their attention upon the Rhoynar once more, their doom had come.

Panic ensued then. With the protection of their beloved Mother Rhoyne stripped from them, the Rhoynar broke and began to rout, losing all hope in victory as the Valyrians smashed through each turtle formation, boiling away the water walls with ease now that they could not sustain the water.

It was then that the garrison of Volantis sallied forth in a thunderous kataphract charge and with the aid of their Valyrian masters, they destroyed the host of the Rhoynar, bringing a permanent end to his dream for a free Rhoyne. For Garin himself however, death would not come yet.

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“Now, what a prize has been brought before me. Garin the Great,” a Valyrian dragonrider mocked gleefully as he was brought forth in chains before the man. “Tell me Garin, how great do you feel now?”

Garin spat at his feet, mustering all his defiance. He tried not to think about his guilt and leading so many of his brothers and sisters to their deaths.

“Do not mock me dragonspawn. I might have been defeated here, but so long as a single Rhoynar lives by the shores of Mother Rhoyne, we will never stop fighting you! And when the Arnorians come, they will drive you back to the Fourteen Flames and then to hell where you belong!

“Yes you are right. Well right about the first point, I’m not so sure about the second but regardless, rest assured my dear Garin, that we have plans in mind for your people and for the new… management so to speak, of the Rhoyneland. Now we just need to figure out what to do with you,” the Valyrian replied.

“Torture and kill me if you like. If you think the threat of death will make me bend to you, you are sorely mistaken,” Garin said with determined resolve. Death was no less than what he deserved for his failure. He still wondered why it had been that he had lived while most everyone else had died.

“Kill you and make you into a martyr? That won’t do my dear Garin.” A sickening smirk grew on the dragonlord’s face. “I have something better in mind. Throw him in the golden cage, and hang him by his arms from the grills! Our dear Grand Prince will be my personal guest for the duration of this campaign!”

At that Garin lunged for the Valyrian, restrained from choking the life out of his smug face only by the chains holding him back. Screaming at him, he shouted, “Kill me! Kill me you bastard! Are you too much of a coward to do it? Go back to the abyss Valyrian! Fall into the nothingness that awaits you and your people!”

The dragonlord grew wroth then and his fake politeness dissipated. “Do you not know death when you see it, mongrel? This is my hour!” He shouted as he drew his sword into the air. Flames burst into existence, running along the length of the blade and drawing in all the air around them, making it hard for Garin to breathe.

The Valyrian soldiers grabbed his arm and forcibly extended it before the dragonlord brought his blade down upon it. The fiery Valyrian steel cut through his flesh and bone like a hot knife through butter, cauterizing the wound as it cut through so he did not bleed out.

Garin fell to the ground in agony, screaming until his voice was hoarse. Walking forward, the dragonlord stomped upon the stump of his right arm, making the pain even more unbearable before he kicked him in the stomach and beat him all over his body, over and over again.

When he was satisfied with his cruelty, he had his men drag Garin back to his feet to speak to him. “You will find Garin, that I am the very antithesis of cowardice and soon, very soon, you will rue the day you crossed Valyria. You do not get to die so easily. Take him away!” he barked to his soldiers.

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As he hung naked from the golden cage, unable to use even water magic and half starved, Garin had been little aware of what was occurring, having been blindfolded. The man holding him hostage, Rhaekar Rollareon, a Triarch of Valyria by his own word, had told him almost nothing. From eavesdropping on his guards, he had been able to determine only little snippets of the wider war. That Sar Mell had fallen to the Valyrians but that the Arnorians had also landed in Sarhoy and were threatening to defeat the Valyrians before they could march further north.

Not for the first time, Garin cursed himself for his pride. If only he had listened to Nymeria, if only he had waited, then perhaps he would have succeeded, or perhaps without the momentum of an offensive he would have failed nevertheless and the Valyrians would have defeated them before Arnor arrived.

There was little use in dwelling on the past now, but Garin clung tightly to old memories of happier times to keep himself sane. Nymeria, he muttered to himself over and over again. He would never see Nymeria again and Garin bitterly regretted that he had foolishly broken their friendship out of anger and spite all those years ago. If he hadn’t, perhaps he could have spent more time with the woman he loved.

Now, he knew that no matter what the Triarch had said, his days were numbered. He could only hope that Nymeria could escape the onslaught and build a better future for herself and their people. A future without him.

It was days after that when Garin realised the truth of the torture the Valyrians had decided for him. They opened his blindfold and for the first time in his life, he despaired to see his beloved Chroyane. He told himself he wouldn’t beg, but all too soon he would break that promise.

“Please I beg you, kill me and spare them! They’ve done you no wrong! Surely with my example, they would know not to defy you again. Burn me, flay me, have me thrown to your dragons to be devoured alive, I care not, but please, please, spare my people!” Garin begged, his pride utterly forgotten.

The Triarch ignored him before giving the orders and Chroyane was sacked before his eyes. The buildings set afire, the men slaughtered, the women raped, and the children enslaved. It was a horrible sight, yet Garin could not turn away, not because the Valyrians had ensured that he couldn’t, but because his own guilt compelled him to watch.

This is my fault… I did this.

In his mind’s eye, he saw Nymeria and all his family and their people judging him. As the sun set, his visions changed and he was looking at the accusing faces of his army as they burned, bathing in dragonfire. Yet even as the guilt swelled, so too did the hatred. He started screaming, cursing the Valyrians and the Triarch with every insult and curse he knew while in the back of his mind his guilt and self-loathing made him apply them to himself as well.

Finally, he had screamed his voice hoarse, but the smoke remained, as did the smell of the burnt flesh and the sobbing of the enslaved and tortured remnants of his people. It was then that Triarch Rhaekar turned back to him and spoke.

“I warned you that the day would come that you would rue ever crossing Valyria.”

Garin only glared back, too tired to do anything more than stare, and look.

As he hung there, he knew then in the depths of his heart that he regretted making the wrong decisions, but he would never regret standing up to fight Valyria. Unable to use water magic with his arms bound and hanging, Garin could only pray, pray that Mother Rhoyne would answer his call as he cursed the Valyrians.

“Mother… if you are listening, if you are real, I beseech you, avenge your children, make the Valyrians know what despair feels like, let them have a taste of the doom they pronounce upon others,” he whispered.

No answer came, but Garin continued praying, continued cursing the Valyrians with every breath he took until finally, his prayers were answered. That night, the waters of the Rhoyne rose to drown their defilers. Almost every single Volantene and Valyrian at Chroyane perished with the survivors telling tales of Garin’s Curse.

For Garin himself however, he watched the slowly rising water level with glee as it crept upon the Valyrian camp before the waters emerged from the river in a great wave and drowned them all. As he was submerged beneath the flooding waters of the river he so loved, Garin felt satisfied that vengeance was his before his lungs filled with water and he drowned.

Garin the Great was dead, and in his place, the Sorrows had risen.