Dragonstone.
An eerie aura clung to those treacherous volcanic hills, casting ominous omens upon all who beheld them.
From afar, a delicate mist perpetually shrouded the island's obsidian cliffs, evoking the image of smouldering embers rising from the ocean's depths.
Indeed, the island exuded intense heat, or rather, it was like the island was ablaze.
If one were to place a hand upon the black sand and close their eyes, they could almost envision a labyrinthine network of volcanic caverns, with molten rock coursing through them like fiery veins leading to the castle at its heart.
A foreboding castle situated on its namesake island, Dragonstone was constructed by the Valyrians using arcane arts.
Fire and sorcery, or perhaps if we took clue from the words of House Targaryen, Fire and Blood. Though I will withhold my theories on that for now~
With their mastery of magic, the dragonlords were capable of liquefying and reshaping stone with the power of dragonflame. They employed their mystical abilities to fashion Dragonstone into the likeness of old Valyria's absolute power.
Located at the entrance to Blackwater Bay, below the towering Dragonmont, Dragonstone served as the original stronghold of House Targaryen in Westeros. A citadel crafted from black stone.
Originally colonized and fortified as the westernmost outpost of the Valyrian Freehold, the castle's unique architectural features included intricate dragon motifs, with small dragons adorning gates, dragon claws holding torches, and dragon tails forming archways and staircases.
It was on this island did Aegon the Conquerer plan his invasion. And after he united the kingdoms, Dragonstone became the seat of the Targaryen heir apparent, known thereafter as the Prince of Dragonstone.
As the first-born male of King Viserys himself, Prince Rhaenar was the rightful heir to the title of Dragonstone.
However, due to a technicality, he had to wait until he turned 16 and officially came of age to claim his inheritance.
Until then, the rights to Dragonstone belonged to the King's brother, Prince Daemon, at least on paper. In reality, though, Rhaenar had already established control over the island.
Rhaenar took the initiative to visit Dragonstone regularly, familiarizing himself with the land, its people scattered in the few villages across the island. He also sought to build connections with the minor lords and neighboring houses.
The dragonkeepers stationed on Dragonstone, along with many of the soldiers, were staunch supporters of Rhaenar. Among them, Ser Alfred Broome stood out as someone particularly dear.
Ser Alfred had served in Dragonstone's garrison since the reign of King Jaehaerys. Despite his reputation for a sour mood and sullen disposition, Ser Alfred's demeanor transformed when in the presence of Rhaenar.
The two shared a deep passion for the castle, the island, and everything it represented.
From his early years, Rhaenar possessed a remarkable ability to forge deep connections with the people residing in the lands he would eventually govern.
It was like he regarded each person like he would a painting, and that infectious kind of attention satisfied a kind of vain craving we all have in one way or the other.
His genuine kindness and effortless immersion in their daily lives allowed him to cultivate a strong bond with the island's inhabitants.
Rhaenar's genuine concern for their well-being and his willingness to understand their joys and struggles earned him their unwavering loyalty.
As the ties between Rhaenar and the people grew stronger, his genuine rapport and compassion solidified.
The people found solace in his presence, knowing they had a leader who genuinely cared about their welfare. Rhaenar's efforts to spend time with the common folk, to listen to their stories, and to address their concerns cemented his place in their hearts.
However, amidst a world where treachery and betrayal often marked the downfall of those with pure intentions, I couldn't help but harbor a sense of apprehension.
Rhaenar's benevolence, while endearing and noble, also made him vulnerable. The harsh realities of the world could easily exploit his trusting nature, threatening to shatter the harmony he had painstakingly built. That's how it appeared to me.
I witnessed firsthand how Rhaenar might step on toes.
.
...
It happened within the walls of the Red Keep, around the year 105 AC, not long after he had been knighted. Prince Daemon had just returned from a visit to Dragonstone, the designated holding until Rhaenar came of age.
It was in the grand halls of Maegor's Holdfast where an intriguing, albeit passive-aggressive, exchange unfolded.
"Ah, Rhaenar, my dear nephew," greeted Daemon with a smirk, crossing his arms. "I heard you were knighted while I was away. Congratulations."
Rhaenar, sensitive to any hint of condescension, replied, "Thank you. By any chance, did you pay a visit to Aunt Rhea during your... escapade?"
Daemon chuckled, his amusement evident. "No, the visit was cut short due to a lack of hospitality."
Curiosity sparked in Rhaenar's eyes as he expected another enthralling tale of his uncle's roguish adventures. "Oh? Pray, do tell."
"It appears that the garrison at Dragonstone has forgotten their manners," Daemon revealed.
"Are you referring to Ser Alfred and the others?" inquired Rhaenar sceptically. "I highly doubt that. They live shit and breathe the triple-headed dragon."
A subtle game of insinuation unfolded between the two, with each carefully choosing their words to convey veiled messages.
The underlying tension hinted at the shifting dynamics of power and loyalty within Dragonstone's garrison, a matter not lost on Rhaenar or the astute observers of courtly affairs.
"In any case," Rhaenar said, his boredom evident as he started to walk away, "Dragonstone won't be your concern for much longer. Good day, Uncle."
..
.
Rhaenar took a deep breath, "Ah! Don't you just love that salty smell in the air? Like smoke and brimstone!"
On the side of the island where the castle was situated, towering cliffs rose up, creating a formidable natural barrier.
However, as one ventured further inland, a surprising sight greeted them: patches of grass and hints of fertile land amidst the prevailing gray desolation. There was an ever-present wind and the occasional ship passed on the horizon.
The imposing castle of Dragonstone loomed in the distance, just a few miles away. It was in this area, surrounded by rugged yet relatively flat grasslands that had semblance of life, where Rhaenar and the recruits gathered.
Standing beside him was our usual entourage, now grown bigger with the addition of Lord Corlys Valareon.
"They look determined, I'll give them that," said Lord Corlys, his hands poised behind his back, scanning the degrees of height, age, and gender among Rhaenar's ranks.
"Or perhaps a bit clogged up," teased Rhaenar.
"I beg your pardon?" said Lord Corlys.
"We had to leave in hurry," said Pheonix, "No time to relief."
"To take a shit," translated Sari.
Corlys laughed, "And here I thought it was the volcanic fumes."
A steady stream of men traversed back and forth from the beach to our location, shouldering heavy boxes filled with essential supplies. In the midst of the bustling activity, Dillan emerged.
These days, Dillan's attention was consumed by the task of building Rhaenar's fleet and establishing connections with influential figures in Blackwater's trade.
As such, it was evident that Dillan harbored some resentment towards working alongside the Master of Ships, having spent a lifetime evading the crown's authority as a smuggler.
Nevertheless, the significance of the cargo compelled Rhaenar to entrust one of his own to oversee the job, so here Dillan was.
Dillan himself joined in carrying the weighty boxes, finally placing one before Rhaenar with a resounding thud.
"By the kraken!" Dillan exclaimed, his voice tinged with both awe and exertion. He stretched his back, savoring the satisfying crack that resonated through the air.
"These crates be holdin' a burden weighty as any shipload of contraband." Dillan continued, a wry grin playing through his exhaustion.
Lord Corlys stroked his chin, a spark of curiosity kindling in his eyes.
"Aye... I must confess, I'm rather eager to lay eyes upon the very cargo the prince has entrusted us to deliver."
"Don't get too carried away, you two," chuckled Rheanar, "It's not that exciting."
Rhaenar used a metal spike to pry open the crate, revealing a shield that I instantly recognized.
The traditional Unsullied operated in a tightly locked formation, interlocking their shields side by side to create a formidable defense and offense.
Despite their smaller size, the round shields proved effective, allowing for ease of replication and versatility in single combat situations outside of formation.
However, Rhaenar sought to combine the benefits of these traditional shields with the modern shields he had trained with under Ser Ryam Redwyne.
Through in-depth discussions with Pheonix and multiple prototyping sessions, we ultimately settled on a straightforward round shield that drew inspiration from the design of the Unsullied.
We made crucial modifications to address safety concerns regarding formation gaps that could expose soldiers to arrows, and thorough experiments confirmed the shield's increased efficacy in offensive manoeuvres, particularly in bashing opponents.
The resulting shield boasted a larger concave shape, measuring approximately 33 inches in diameter and weighing around 14 pounds.
Its carefully crafted design allowed it to rest comfortably on the shoulder, providing stability and support.
To ensure optimal performance, we constructed the shield using three layers: a robust wooden core at the centre, a protective bronze outer layer facing the enemy, and a supple leather interior.
The most revolutionary aspect of the shield was its grip, positioned at the edge and supported by a leather fastening at the centre for the forearm.
These two points of contact eliminated any swaying of the shield after being struck, ensuring you were less likely to lose your shield during combat.
In the end, Pheonix had to confirm the new shield had increased mobility, capitalized on its offensive capabilities and provided better support in formations.
Rhaenar stood firm, the shield perched confidently upon his shoulder.
Despite being designed for individuals of larger stature, ranging from 5'7" to 6' in height, he refused to let any hint of discomfort show on his face.
With unwavering determination, he stood resolute as the sun broke through the gloomy clouds, casting its rays upon the bronze surface of his shield.
The metal had been custom tinted, a smoky burgundy crimson shade that seemed to hold the hint of bloodshed, each gleam promising to make spilled blood sparkle upon its formidable surface.
"Congratulations on making it this far, everyone," Rhaenar spoke loud enough for all to hear, "But our first week was only the tip of the iceberg."
"During our training, my fellow recruits, we will undergo a process that turns us from lumps of the earth to shining diamonds.
"In our first 'phase,' we will focus on the fundamentals, learning the importance of formation, close order drill, and physical fitness. Just like the Lockstep Legions of old, we will master the art of moving as a synchronized unit.
"Moving on to the next 'phase,' we will delve into practical survival skills and familiarize ourselves with the essential tools and equipment accompanying us on our travels.
"We will improve our swimming. Learn to sew, provide basic first aid, navigate the landscape… This will also be when you are issued your equipment, such as this shield.
"Finally, we will enter the most exhilarating 'phase' — the combat training.
"Here, we will have the opportunity to apply all that we have learned. No longer confined to theoretical knowledge, we will engage in intense combat exercises, honing our skills in advanced infantry tactics and maneuvers.
"We will find ourselves immersed in simulated warfare, living in the forest, digging and sleeping in fighting holes, subsisting on field rations, enduring minimal sleep...
"We will conduct mock patrols, experience simulated ambushes, and engage in 'firefights' with training weapons.
"Also, we will undertake arduous forced marches spanning 10 to 20 miles.
"During these marches, we will carry a significant load of nearly 100 pounds of gear, testing our endurance and fortitude!"
The Prince's words hung heavy in the air, eliciting groans and whispers of anticipation for a jest that never came. Doubt crept into the minds of each person present, questioning their purpose for being there.
"Hahaha! What's with those faces?" Rhaenar bellowed, attempting to dispel the unease, "I thought that stench was the sea, but now I see I'm surrounded by pussies! Leave if you must. Those without resolve won't survive!"
As Sundance let out a mighty roar overhead and the distant waves continued their rhythmic dance upon the shores, a deafening silence engulfed the gathering.
Only the shuffling of feet could be heard as a few, disheartened souls made their way towards the Valereon ships, abandoning their allegiance to Rhaenar's call.
Among those who remained, a peculiar look passed between them, their eyes reflecting a mix of uncertainty and the fear that perhaps Rhaenar's madness had infected them like the lingering stench of a dragon upon its rider.
I understood the unspoken question that echoed in their minds.
'What have I gotten myself into?'
"You'll get used to it," I murmured.
The words got lost in the ambient noise of the surroundings, unheard to anyone but myself.
-Brien Flowers