In this world, eighty years spanned nearly five or six generations.
To live to eighty was to become something close to a living fossil.
Lothan was now at exactly that age.
He slowly stood up, allowing his two granddaughters to help him straighten his robe.
The robe had been a gift from Viserys.
Golden sun patterns had been stitched into it with fine gold thread, giving it an especially refined and dignified appearance.
In the courtyard, Jorel's children were playing. They were the children of Jorel and Oswell.
A few years ago, Viserys had allowed Oswell to marry Jorel without requiring him to leave the Kingsguard.
Lothan had been very satisfied with that arrangement.
He looked at everything before him with greedy eyes, filled with deep attachment.
"Grandfather, you really don't need to go with them. His Majesty already said you could stay in Gohor."
His other granddaughter, Jona, spoke with a hint of complaint.
"If not for His Majesty, how would the Rhoynar have what they have today?" Lothan said calmly. "What I'm doing is only a small gesture of my gratitude."
He looked at the princely spear placed on the table, his tone steady and deliberate.
"Jorel, Jona, remember this. Our king is still young. In the future, he will have many more subjects.
Only unwavering loyalty can secure an irreplaceable position."
What he did not say was that he had his own motives.
At over eighty years old, Lothan could feel that his life was nearing its end. He no longer had the strength to watch over his granddaughters.
The only path left was to die on the campaign against the Dothraki.
If he fell on the battlefield, Viserys might remember his loyalty and treat his granddaughters with greater care in the future.
He wanted to burn himself one last time and pave the way for those who came after him.
"But Grandfather, my water magic is almost as strong as yours now. Wouldn't it be the same if I went in your place?" Jona said, still unable to understand.
Lothan ignored her complaints and instead spoke of a dream.
"I dreamed that House Targaryen would possess dragons once again. We are fortunate to have met His Majesty.
The homeland of the Rhoynar will not suffer the fate of being burned by dragonfire."
He smiled faintly. "More importantly, Princess Rhaenys carries Rhoynar blood."
In truth, many in Gohor had already begun to speculate. Would the future heir of Viserys be the child of Rhaenys, or of Daenerys?
Those who supported Rhaenys believed her age was closer to Viserys.
Those who supported Daenerys believed her bloodline was purer.
As an elder of the Rhoynar, Lothan naturally hoped that Rhaenys would bear the future heir.
The three of them finished preparing quickly. They gathered over three hundred water mages they had trained in recent years and set out.
Since the final battlefield would be near the Mother of Mountains, beside the so-called Womb of the World lake, bringing water mages was a necessity.
Accompanied by his granddaughters, Lothan arrived at the military camp.
The vast camp was filled with the smell of steel and leather.
At a glance, there were at least thirty thousand men.
Soldiers lined up to receive weapons, while warhorses devoured their feed.
Outside the camp gates, many civilians stood watching, bidding emotional farewells to their families.
Lothan was quite famous already. As soon as he arrived, soldiers quickly led him toward the inner command area.
There, he saw that nearly all the commanders had already gathered.
Ock, Clement, Marcus, and many academy officers were present. Oberyn Martell was there as well.
Of course, Oberyn was not part of the command structure.
He was simply there to observe.
After all, this was a massive campaign—hundreds of thousands of troops from across the Free Cities marching together against the Dothraki sacred city.
Such a war was rare even in the histories.
With his personality, Oberyn would never miss it.
He could not command troops, nor act independently, but in his mind, an army of over a hundred thousand facing twenty thousand could not possibly fail.
As Lothan observed the camp, he noticed Davos speaking quietly to his sons.
When Davos saw Lothan, he immediately walked over to greet him warmly. His sons followed, offering respectful greetings.
"Elder Lothan, what brings you here?" Davos asked.
"The Rhoynar owe everything to His Majesty. As their elder, it is only right that I repay him."
"But His Majesty already said you didn't have to go."
"This is what I must do."
Lothan smiled, though there was a hint of envy in his eyes.
He had pledged loyalty to the Targaryens before the rise of Gohor, but he had never fought through true adversity with them.
Davos was different.
Viserys trusted him deeply, even entrusting him with the fleet. The gap between them was enormous.
Davos' fifth son had already come of age.
His eldest remained in Gohor, the second handled logistics, and the third, fourth, and fifth would follow Viserys to the front lines.
Their entire family stood firmly with the Targaryens. Even if Davos did not go himself, Viserys would still remember his loyalty.
As the two men spoke, the camp suddenly grew quiet.
Then cheers erupted.
A voice rang out:
"His Majesty the King has arrived!"
Both men stepped onto a raised platform and looked toward the entrance.
Viserys appeared clad in black armor, a cloak behind him like the night sky.
Behind him stood Arthur Dayne, Gerold Hightower, and Jon Connington.
Now fully grown, Viserys stood nearly 1.9 meters tall, rivaling Arthur in stature.
But the youth and sharp presence he carried made him shine like a jewel set upon a blade.
For an army of over twenty thousand, such a command lineup was exceptionally powerful.
Before the campaign, Viserys had selected eight hundred Dragonriders as his personal guard.
Valyrian steel spears and breastplates were their standard equipment.
This decision was influenced by Melisandre's prophecy.
Viserys believed neither the Faceless Men nor the Dothraki could harm him directly.
If there was danger, it would come from something unseen.
Valyrian steel, he believed, might help resist such forces.
The Valyrian steel statue had yielded a significant amount of refined steel. Viserys had forged swords for his most trusted commanders.
In front of the assembled army, he personally handed Valyrian steel blades to Gerold, Arthur, and the other leaders.
For himself, he had forged a two-handed Valyrian steel sword.
Its hilt was shaped like a dragon's head, and three large rubies were embedded in the blade.
With a sharp metallic sound, the sword was drawn.
Its rippling patterns gleamed under the light.
Viserys raised the blade and pointed it toward Vaes Dothrak.
"March!"
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