Should battle be given, the perpetually damp ground meant that dragon fire would be unable to start any great fires. This was not, after all, the first time the men of Essos had faced dragons.
Unfortunately for these agents of slavery, my ancestor was flexible in his thinking.
...
As soon as he received word, Vaegon marched south. He did not waste time raising levying his new holdings. Even his personally trained soldiers of King's Landing had required extensive drills and preparations, both of which required time he did not have, making Pentos a poor source of troops.
Old Andalos had been depleted of men and coin for centuries and could not muster more than a few hundred dismounted knights and battle septons. And my ancestor was not about to entrust the fate of his new kingdom to sellswords, instead choosing to rely on the men who had sailed with him from Westeros.
The two hosts would meet south of the ancient city of Ny Sar, along the shores of Dagger Lake.
Ten thousand men marched beneath the dragons black and blue, the Cannibal soaring above their heads. Opposite them marched the men of the old order of Essos, numbering nearly two hundred times that number.
Their outriders met the sons Westeros by mid-morning, drawing away the Westerosi horse, leaving the battle to be decided by the foot soldiers of their respective hosts. The Unsullied alone numbered as much as the entire army of liberation, arrayed in an orderly line. Behind them, in accordance with ancient wisdom of those who had opposed the beasts of Old Valyria, the tens of thousands of missile troops were more haphazardly organized, to be less susceptible to attacks from above.
The Bright Prince ordered his lines to stretch out, matching the Unsullied legion, before taking the skies. But when the then-Prince began his first attack run on the assembled host of slavers, the fruits of ancient Essosi wisdom revealed themselves. Beset by a hail of lead, arrows, and bolts, Vaegon was forced to abort his attack before doing much damage, lest he took the chance of being undone by a lucky strike to a vulnerability in his armor.
Meanwhile, the Unsullied had begun their unyielding march on the remainer of the Bright Prince's host. Skirmishers exchanged volleys of spears with the eunuch host, though their iron discipline meant that the losses had little meaning as the gaps were quickly filled. Soon, the armies of the past and the future met, spear to spear and shield to shield. Unsurprisingly, the soldiers of liberty slowly gave ground, lest their already thin lines be reduced further.
It was here, the battle now split into three distinct conflicts, that my ancestor came to a fateful decision, one which has been endlessly analyzed: he dismounted. Vaegon Targaryen took up sword and shield, joining his dismounted knights and men at arms on the right wing of his army, furthest from the river. This does not mean, however, that the Cannibal quit the field, oh no. Now free of the duty of protecting his rider, the Cannibal was given free rein to wreak havoc amongst the sellsword infantry of the slavers with claw and fang.
All accounts agree that the day ended with the Cannibal well fed.
While the dragon was playing with his food, however, the battle had split into three distinct skirmishes. On the far-right wing, the light sellsword cavalry was wheeling and harassing the heavy horse of Westeros. Heavily outnumbered, slower, and less maneuverable than their Essosi counterparts, they could not catch their enemy. Despite this, they proved essential in keeping the light horse occupied, as every mistake by the light horse saw another sellsword brought down and could not be ignored lest they risk a devastating charge somewhere else along their lines.
In the center, the soldiers whose ilk had pacified the Stepstones maintained their strategy of slowly giving ground. Though the Unsullied undoubtedly took greater losses, their rigid formation preventing them from cycling their less exhausted men to the front, they were still marching steadfastly onwards.
Even the Bright Prince could do little to stop this advance. Even with his dearest companions and dismounted knights joining him in attacking the flank of the Unsullied formation, there were only so many of them, and they could only carve through their ranks so quickly. Whatever the Unsullied may have lacked in strength and endurance, they made up for it with unmatched discipline. No matter how many of their number were cut down, they did not break.
The back ranks shuffled, forming a new line to check the attacking infantry, while those in front sold their lives dearly.
Worse for the forces of liberty, the back lines closer to the river, too, separated from the rest of the eunuch host. They formed a fresh line and marched around the Unsullied stopping the knights, threatening to wrap around them and flank the army of liberation in turn. And this could well have become truth instead of mere conjecture, had they not forgotten about the river.
Or mayhaps more importantly, about the Ironborn who had been waiting in boats just upstream. With an ease owing to years of experience raiding, the Ironborn were able to turn an orderly disembarkation into a ferocious charge that carved through the Unsullied lines. The proper soldiery was able to exploit these gaps, spelling the doom of the quickly surrounded slave legion.
They did not accept it meekly, however, fighting on for several more hours. Mayhaps they thought the sellsword infantry to their rear would fall upon the reavers. Even if this had been the case, the impatient backline of said reavers chose to charge the missile troops while they were distracted by the dragon in their midst, dashing that hope.
Attacked by a dragon in their midst and by Ironborn from another side, the sellsword infantry quickly broke and fled the field. Thus freed from keeping them distracted, The Cannibal turned his ire upon the cavalry, routing them in short order.
All told, the slavers' army lost several tens of thousands of soldiers, though sources dispute the precise numbers. What few magisters and their households survived were captured, their remaining wealth confiscated, and summarily executed.
The War of Liberation ended as all should have expected: with an overwhelming victory in my ancestor's favor. More than that, it had been a victory that would have been impossible without the precise combination of forces on display that day. Knights, soldiers, Ironborn, dragon, each and every one had been necessary to guarantee victory.
The Bright Prince ordered the dead burned and their ashes collected before returning north. But not to Pentos, no, but to Old Andalos for his coronation. Vaegon Targaryen was crowned alongside his wife Maegelle, anointed with blood and ash, and proclaimed High King of the Pentoshi, the Andals, and the Rhoynar, Protector of Pentos, Hugor Returned, and Dragonlord of New Andalos.
For any other man, that would have been considered the climax of their life, but Vaegon Targaryen was not any other man. Or past thirty years of age, for that matter. Naturally, it was time for him to enact yet another ground-shaking change. Namely, from where he would rule.
Not Pentos, that city belonged to the magisters. Not Old Andalos, that region having been stripped bare over the centuries of Pentoshi rule. What did that leave?
He had found the answer when had marched north to his coronation, though he had not said so at the time: Ny Sar. Though quite thoroughly ruined and abandoned, much of the ancient city still stood. And all around it, all along the mighty Rhoyne, its ancient people still lived. More importantly, it was one of the few bridges across the Little Rhoyne. Given how poorly his envoys had treated by his neighbors beyond it, it was only natural that he chose to keep a close eye on them.
But there were other such ruins all along the Little Rhoyne. As the host marched north, the Bright Prince bestowed upon his companions the wardenship of one bridge and its attendant lands after another. Other, lesser holdings, from villages to more thoroughly devastated ruins to towns were bestowed upon other prominent members of his host. In this manner did he plant the seeds of a Westerosi population along the banks of the Little Rhoyne, establishing a loyal bulwark against hostile forces.
Among his many achievements, Vaegon would come to see Ny Sar as his eighth greatest, and the very greatest not of his body. For those who wish for an exhaustive breakdown of how, precisely, Vaegon managed to rebuild a ruined city and turn it into the center of learning and trade in Essos, I invite you to visit your local shrine to peruse his personal writings on matters economic, legal, political, and philosophical.
As for those of you who wish to learn about the rest of the first Dragonlord's reign and the reign of his heir, I suggest turning to my colleague Archmaester Drummond's Death in Four, Vaegonite!, copies of which are available in the Library of Aerea. Aside from his bias against the reverence we of New Andalos hold for our ancestor, and against our ancestor and his line in general, it is otherwise of acceptable scholarship.
Excerpt of Lives in Parallel: Vaegon Targaryen, Written in the Fifteenth Year of Dragonlord Aemon II by Plaeton Targaryen, Archmaester of History, Citadel of the East.