"Next!"
After Rhaenar completed his one hundred push-ups, we inspected each person who approached, one by one.
On the shores of Manmaker Beach, we had set up a small station. There was the podium and a wooden shack we constructed for shade.
We all sat behind a long table, with Pheonix and Sari scrutinizing each volunteer. Theodore took their measurements, I jotted down any relevant information, and Rhaenar asked questions when necessary.
"Name," I stated.
Before us stood a massive individual struggling to articulate their name. "G-G... G-G..."
They had a sun-kissed complexion, blonde hair, and an imposing physique with a broad chest and muscular forearms. Their jawline was chiseled, exuding strength and overworldly genetics. A natural blend of size and power, with a hint of softness adding to the overall appeal, like a lovable grizzly bear made from melted cheese.
"Come on, George," Rhaenar reassured his old friend, "We haven't got all day."
"G-G-George!" he stated, perhaps riled by the Prince's words.
Sari winced, "G-G-Give me a break."
George, standing at an imposing height of 6'4" and hailing from a village outside of Brownhollow, was a true behemoth.
It was rumored that his sheer size was the cause of his mother's untimely demise, as she tragically succumbed to exhaustion shortly after giving birth to him.
George's father, a hardworking woodcutter, made a living by traveling around Crackclaw Point, offering his assistance to whichever lord needed trees felled on their land.
As a result, the confines of Crackclaw Point became George's entire world during his upbringing of 19 years.
Until he answered Rhaenar's call~
Theodore needed a stool to measure George's height correctly.
"You certainly wouldn't want to encounter this one in a dark alley."
Sari scoffed, "The bigger they are, the bigger the shit."
"Next!"
It would be impractical to provide a detailed account of every individual we screened that day. The sheer volume of people was overwhelming, and my wrist throbbed from the continuous note-taking.
However, amidst the multitude, there were a few noteworthy individuals who stood out.
In terms of intellectual prowess, we were fortunate to recruit a handful of individuals skilled in various trades.
Among them was a stone mason who had grown weary of the futile task of maintaining the dilapidated castle of Harrenhal, yearning instead for a life filled with excitement and new horizons.
Unfortunately, his age of nearly 50 did not work in his favor as far as first impressions were concerned. To make matters worse, his name happened to be Dick.
Hence, it took a mere two seconds for the boys to bestow upon him the nickname Dick Mason.
I'll hand it to him, though. Dick Mason took it in stride.
From Hayford, we had Hayden, a Cartwright who joined Rhaenar's ranks after discovering his wife in bed. With his own brother, no less!
Sari couldn't help but chuckle at the end of that story.
"So, you're Hayden the Cuck-right."
We couldn't help but feel sorry for Hayden Cuckright, but he did walk right into that one, pun intended.
Then there was Chit, a chatty fellow who frequently boasted, often at the top of his lungs, about his fishing escapades off the shores of Rook's Rest.
"Nobody knows the Blackwater like I do!"
Little did we know that Chit couldn't even swim.
Hunters, trappers, smiths, tanners, some pseudo-herbalists (Theodore and I questioned the validity of some of their undocumented country-side remedies). However, a lot of them were simple peasant farmers or from the cities, as we expected.
In our diverse sample, we encountered individuals ranging from the brilliant to the monotonous and even unexpectedly humorous.
To keep things concise, I won't delve too deeply into their stories, as I'm confident they will leave their mark without requiring any further effort on my part.
However, we did have some interesting and unforeseen arrivals.
There were a few elderly men who despised feeling useless and burdensome to their families. Orphans from the slums saw Rhaenar's call as a way to eat some bread. We also had women, some quite attractive, who came out of enamoured love for the Prince, a sort of celebratory infatuation.
Despite Pheonix and Sari's evident disdain for the less promising prospects, we diligently recorded the details of each and every person, bidding them to wait until we finished.
Prince Rhaenar maintained a welcoming policy. After all, it was only the interview stage.
It seemed prudent to be kind, considering the grueling week they would endure thereafter—a week that, we hoped, would separate the wheat from the chaff.
The plan was to ferry everyone to Dragonstone where the real training would begin. However, for the first week we remained on Manmaker Beach.
Only those who deserve to set foot on the Prince's island would make it past the threshold, or so we wanted to portray.
Pheonix and Sari turned into demons in that week. Though daily I was making them Archmaester Hobard's lemon-ginger throat concoction, they yelled so much that I was surprised they kept their voices at the end of it all.
The level of planning and organization dedicated to the training regime was truly commendable. Both Sari and Pheonix emphasized to Rhaenar the significance of discipline and authority. Whether one fought in the Fighting Pits or served in the Unsullied army, certain principles applied universally.
The Unsullied endured the removal of their manhood and were commanded to commit atrocious acts, like the murder of innocent infants, to prove their worth. Fighters in the Pits were relentlessly beaten until they became obedient, following instructions without question, solely focused on training, fighting, winning, and repeating until death.
While the slave masters employed extreme methods to break down their subjects, erasing their sense of self and individuality to shape them as desired, Rhaenar pursued a different path in building his army.
He aimed to establish a civilized approach that would mold his soldiers into a well-disciplined and strategic organism. However, his vision extended beyond mere obedience and military prowess.
Rhaenar sought to foster a deep sense of loyalty, not only to himself but to one another. He understood that his army needed to be bound together by the shared experiences of sweat and blood, forging a strong camaraderie that would stand unwavering by his side.
The loyalty he desired was not enforced through fear and brutality, but earned through respect, mutual support, and a common purpose.
Rhaenar envisioned an army that embraced the values of unity and brotherhood, for it was through these bonds that they would become an unstoppable force on the battlefield.
"We must embark on a new path of extremity," Prince Rhaenar proclaimed during a meeting long ago. "One that keeps our cocks intact!"
Consequently, the first week of training was filled with intense shouting, tears, and physical agony.
"Behold and abandon your previous notions," Sari proclaimed. "The only 'sers' in this camp are myself and this one. When you address us, it's 'YES SIR,' 'NO SIR,' and 'May I take a piss, please, SIR?'"
Pheonix took charge of discipline, administering a multitude of push-ups, laps, and grueling tasks throughout that initial week, camp chores and all, earning himself a formidable reputation.
On the other hand, Sari liked to personally deliver his pain. There was not a man, woman, or child on Manmaker Beach who Sari didn't drop on their arse at least once.
Yet, it was Prince Rhaenar himself who endured the most punishment. This was all part of his deliberate plan to demonstrate that he, too, was not exempt from the scrutiny of his lieutenants.
"I will never ask anyone to do what I would not do myself," the Prince said to them. "Nor will I compel anyone to stay against their will. Leave, if you must!"
Interestingly, not a single individual was "kicked out" of the camp, regardless of the challenges they faced.
Whether it was Dick Mason and the elderly men struggling to complete their laps or the group's early mornings to witness Chit's attempts to learn how to swim, nobody was forced to leave. The withholding of food or the orders from Pheonix to dismantle tents only to set them up perfectly might have swayed some decisions, but it was their choice at the end of the day.
Even when the girls struggled to lift their wooden training swords, they were not discouraged. The only ones who left were those who chose to do so willingly.
Rhaenar made it clear that as long as they persevered, he didn't mind who they were. He believed in finding ways to harness their individual strengths for the benefit of the group.
It didn't take long for the initial admiration of the Prince to evolve into genuine awe.
Rhaenar demonstrated unwavering dedication and led by example in every drill and exercise. He did everything at once: the trainer, the trained, and the overall organizer.
For example, he actively assisted Theodore and me during theory lessons, where we emphasized the importance of honor, professionalism, and integrity.
We vaguely discussed the equipment they would be using and the remarkable accomplishments they would achieve after completing their training. We also delved into the history of our Kingdom, of Old Ghis that inspired Rhaenar, and the wider world.
As the sun began to set on the first day, Rhaenar captured everyone's attention with a demonstration.
While digging a fire pit, he wielded a prototype shovel we'd been designing and declared, "Feast your eyes, everyone! By having the fire in a hole, we mitigate the impact of the wind and maintain consistent heat."
Rhaenar then showcased a custom-made metallic frame stand, meticulously crafted by the smiths in King's Landing for this exact purpose. It sat securely atop the fire, the flames engulfing the metal mesh.
He reached for a unique utensil, resembling a half-pot-half-spoon due to it's long handle.
"We call this a Wok," Rhaenar announced.
With a few swift chops, Rhaenar prepared the vegetables before retrieving a small brown block from a pouch. It had the appearance of a polished, solidified cow dropping.
"As you chop your ingredients, you add a piece of lard like this," Rhaenar explained, demonstrating by dropping the lard into the hot Wok. "Swirl it around, coating the surface..."
As Rhaenar skillfully did what he called 'stir-frying', the aroma wafted through the air, captivating the hungry onlookers.
Within minutes, he poured the delectable contents of the Wok into empty bowls lined up on the table. The expressions on the faces of those who tasted it spoke volumes: "Delicious!"
"This is just one of the many dishes we will enjoy during our journeys," Prince Rhaenar beamed, pleased with the response. "I've witnessed meals cooked in prisons that could rival those fit for a king, all prepared on a far simpler Wok. It's quick, the flavors are delightful, and the fuss is kept to a minimum."
That evening, everyone joined in cooking their own meals. Rhaenar patiently answered any questions and demonstrated what to do to anyone confused.
The presentation alone required extensive planning over several moons. Rhaenar collaborated with the smiths to design the specific Wok, ensuring its functionality. He also coordinated with the pot shops in King's Landing to produce sufficient amounts of solidified lard, a task made surprisingly easy with Cleave's formidable intimidation tactics.
For someone who denies being the Mad Butcher, Kingslanding sure treated him as such…
All of this is to say that, ironically, the first week of training barely involved anything related to combat or warfare. It primarily consisted of a daily march, gradually increasing the number of miles traveled over time. Of togetherness and of fostering a curiosity of the world.
Some rudimentary sparring sessions were conducted solely for the purpose of Sari exerting his authority and disciplining those who made mistakes. Additionally, theory lessons were meticulously crafted by Rhaenar to instill the desired culture within his unit.
Indeed, that first week became a battle of endurance and willpower, physical and mental.
Out of the 1,881 recruits who initially arrived, less than a thousand remained. I won't delve into the specific statistics at this time, as we need to give Theodore something to do eventually.
And so it went. The ships sailed into the bay of Manmaker Beach, each bearing the banner of House Valereon. The horde of volunteers, now barely recognizable after just a week of undergoing the motions, boarded the ships bound for Dragonstone.
The next time they set foot on the mainland, they would emerge as a hardened, well-disciplined, task-driven conglomerate.
But we're getting ahead of ourselves.
Perfection doesn't happen overnight~
-Brien Flowers