In an open area beside the Upper Rhoyne, rows upon rows of gray-clad prisoners had been assembled.
There were more than a hundred formations in total, resembling battlements or patches sewn across the earth.
The soldiers from Westeros were filled with uncertainty about their future.
Among them were men from the North, the Westerlands, the Riverlands, the Vale...
They had left their homes and traveled thousands of miles to Essos.
After suffering such a devastating defeat, they had spent every day in a state of unease, terrified that Viserys would burn them all alive with dragonfire.
"We've been gathered here. Could it be that Viserys is planning to drive us into the river and drown us?"
A young red-haired soldier asked his companion.
He was only fifteen or sixteen years old. Death should have been a distant concept to someone his age.
Many of them had still been dreaming of "slaying dragons" before they crossed the sea.
But now, with dragons circling overhead and the great river surging behind them, they could not help but grow worried.
"Don't, don't talk nonsense. If His Majesty Viserys really wanted to kill us, why would he have just given us a full meal? There are so many of us..."
The soldier had originally wanted to say that with so many of them, they might still have a chance if they truly resisted.
But after glancing at the dragons overhead, he lowered his voice.
"There are so many of us. If Viserys really wanted to kill us, why would he waste food on us?"
At that moment, a noticeably older prisoner cleared his throat.
He looked as though he came from the Westerlands. His yellow hair might even have hinted at some Lannister blood somewhere in his ancestry.
The deep lines on his face gave him a weathered air that made his words seem trustworthy.
"Viserys claims to be the heir to the Iron Throne and the King of Westeros. He probably intends to give us weapons and have us fight for him."
At his words, the people around him immediately became interested.
"Really? He isn't going to kill us?"
The yellow-haired soldier continued.
"This time, the Targaryens are facing the combined forces of the entire world.
Even though they've won two consecutive victories, there are still plenty of battles ahead.
Why would he complain about having too many soldiers?"
"That works for me. Who we fight for doesn't really matter, does it? It's just a matter of charging into battle and firing arrows."
"Exactly. Besides, the Targaryens ruled Westeros for nearly three hundred years. That's a lot longer than King Robert has."
The prisoners began talking among themselves, and the tension and oppression from earlier noticeably faded.
"Hey! You over there! No whispering!"
The soldiers standing guard around them immediately silenced them.
Before long, the largest of the dragons appeared.
The prisoners, who had been sitting with their heads lowered like stalks of wheat, instinctively began to scramble to their feet and flee.
The patrolling guards quickly stopped them.
Then they saw the young, silver-haired king sitting atop the dragon's back, and deep awe filled the prisoners' eyes.
Viserys sat high upon the dragon's back, holding a bronze speaking horn as he addressed the tens of thousands of prisoners below.
"I am Viserys Targaryen III. I am your king.
I know that when you followed the Usurper and attacked me, you were acting under duress.
Therefore, I hereby declare every one of you pardoned!"
If the speculation of the Westerlands soldier had given the prisoners an optimistic expectation, then hearing Viserys personally grant them a pardon meant that they no longer had to fear for their lives.
Of course, in an age without microphones, Viserys's voice could only be heard by the several thousand people, at most, standing nearby.
The majority would have to learn what he had said through word of mouth.
Relying solely on the prisoners to spread the message could easily distort Viserys's meaning, so specially assigned soldiers stood around the formation, repeating his words like relays.
Viserys continued from atop the dragon.
"You should know that you are now in Essos, thousands of miles away from your homes. Returning will not be easy. But I can give you an opportunity."
Hearing this, every prisoner stretched his neck like a duck trying to see farther.
"What did His Majesty just say?"
"He said he'll give us a chance to return to Westeros, to go home!"
"Really?!"
A brief but intense discussion erupted among the prisoners, and the soldiers nearby struggled to suppress them.
When Viserys spoke again from atop the dragon, they gradually fell silent.
"Your first choice is this: I will grant each of you ten hectares of land.
That land will belong to you. You can cultivate it and earn the money necessary to pay for your journey home."
Most of the prisoners found Viserys's offer of land almost impossible to believe.
Their attention was focused entirely on the second half.
They had assumed they would have to work for money.
"Did he just say he's giving us land?"
"How could that be? You must have heard wrong. If we had land, wouldn't that make us lords?"
The prisoners joked among themselves, but a nearby soldier interrupted them.
"You heard correctly. His Majesty really is granting each of you ten hectares of land."
The moment they heard that Viserys truly intended to give them land, the prisoners exploded into an uproar.
Land?
Could men like them really own land beneath the sun?
They still could not believe it.
Viserys continued.
"Your second choice is to join my army.
After serving for three years, if you wish to return home, I will send you back by ship.
If you choose to remain, I will grant you fifty hectares of land!"
"Seven Gods! Fifty hectares! Did I hear that correctly?!"
If Viserys's first choice had made the prisoners boil over with excitement, then the second was nothing short of a thunderbolt.
Return to Westeros?
What the hell did Westeros have to offer?
That was fifty hectares of land!
Many prisoners immediately began imagining what it would be like to own fifty hectares of their own.
Who could still tell the difference between themselves and a lord then?
"I'll join His Majesty's army!"
The yellow-haired Westerlands soldier suddenly sprang to his feet.
The guards responsible for watching them instinctively reached for their weapons.
But once someone had taken the lead, others immediately followed.
"I'll join the army!"
"Me too!"
"Your Majesty! I am willing to serve in your army!"
One prisoner after another rose to his feet.
From the center outward, they formed a massive human wave.
Some even raised their hands high, afraid that Viserys might not see them.
If the dragon had not been watching them warily, they would probably have rushed over and rubbed their foreheads against Viserys's boots.
That was fifty hectares of land!
It was already comparable to the territory of some knightly houses.
In the end, out of the more than ninety thousand Westerosi prisoners, seventy thousand chose to join Viserys's army and march north to attack Braavos.
___________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/BloodAncestor