Volon Therys

Volon Therys is a walled town on the eastern bank of the Lower Rhoyne, the last significant settlement before the river reaches Volantis. In A Dance with Dragons, it becomes the decisive staging ground for the Golden Company’s invasion of Westeros, the place where the exiled sellswords gather after their voyage from Volon Therys and where Jon Connington finally unveils the true identity of the prince he has guarded for years.

Location and Setting

Volon Therys stands on the eastern bank of the Rhoyne, a day’s journey downriver from the Sorrows. Its high white walls rise above the waterfront, and the town is large enough that Haldon Halfmaester remarks that it “would be a city in the Seven Kingdoms.” The climate is hot and sticky, with a “ferocious southern sun” beating down. The town is ruled from Old Volantis, and its riverfront is crowded with shops, stalls, storehouses, and piers where poleboats and Volantene river galleys tie up. When the Shy Maid arrives, the town is already tense: Dothraki riders have been glimpsed moving south along the river’s eastern shore, and Volantene warships crammed with slave soldiers patrol the waters, as the triarchs fear an attack upon Selhorys.

The Golden Company’s Encampment

Three miles south of Volon Therys, beside the Rhoyne, the Golden Company pitches a camp that even Arthur Dayne might have approved of—compact, orderly, defensible, with a deep ditch, sharpened stakes, tents in rows, latrines beside the river, and horse lines to the north. Two dozen elephants graze beside the water, pulling up reeds with their trunks. Tall battle standards of cloth-of-gold flap atop lofty poles, and armed sentries walk their rounds with spears and crossbows. The camp is commanded by Homeless Harry Strickland, the captain-general, who is soaking his blistered feet in salt water when Jon Connington and Prince Aegon arrive.

The Revelation of Prince Aegon

It is at this camp that Jon Connington, still disguised as the sellsword Griff with dyed blue hair, reveals the truth to the company’s high officers. “No man could have asked for a worthier son,” Griff declares, “but the lad is not of my blood, and his name is not Griff. My lords, I give you Aegon Targaryen, firstborn son of Rhaegar, Prince of Dragonstone, by Princess Elia of Dorne… soon, with your help, to be Aegon, the Sixth of His Name, King of Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.” The announcement is met with silence, but Connington realizes that most of the captains have known all along. Strickland admits that he told them when the company reached the river, because the men were restless after walking away from an easy campaign in the Disputed Lands.

The War Council and the Change of Plan

A heated war council follows. Strickland argues that Daenerys Targaryen is never coming west, that she is stuck in Meereen while her foes gather, and that the company cannot reach her by sea because the harbor is blockaded. The Yunkish envoy has already offered twice the pay Myr was giving them, plus slaves. Strickland is inclined to accept. But Prince Aegon speaks up: “Then put your hopes on me. Daenerys is Prince Rhaegar’s sister, but I am Rhaegar’s son. I am the only dragon that you need.” He insists on sailing west instead of east, to claim the Iron Throne by himself. The captains are swayed. Franklyn Flowers laughs and says, “Sail west, not east. Leave the little queen to her olives and seat Prince Aegon upon the Iron Throne. The boy has stones, give him that.” One by one, the men of the Golden Company rise, kneel, and lay their swords at the young prince’s feet. The last to do so is Homeless Harry Strickland, blistered feet and all.

Aftermath and Departure

With the decision made, Jon Connington sends Haldon Halfmaester back to the Shy Maid to fetch Lady Lemore and Ser Rolly Duckfield, along with Illyrio’s chests of coin and armor. Yandry and Ysilla are thanked and dismissed; their part in the plot is done. Alone in his tent, Connington peels the glove from his right hand and sees that the nail on his middle finger has turned black as jet, the grey creeping up almost to the first knuckle—the mark of greyscale. “Death, he knew, but slow. I still have time. A year. Two years. Five. Some stone men live for ten. Time enough to cross the sea, to see Griffin’s Roost again. To end the Usurper’s line for good and all, and put Rhaegar’s son upon the Iron Throne.”