We retraced our steps north through the Kingswood, each stride carrying us away from the damp, storm-laden air and into the lush, oxygen-rich forest. Soon, we reached the point where the road diverged. With the distant capital city fading from view, we turned west onto the Roseroad.
The Roseroad, the primary southern route in Westeros, stretched all the way from Kingslanding to Highgarden. This ancient pathway had been traveled for centuries, but it gained official recognition and solidification during the reign of King Jaehaerys and his road initiative.
It seemed that the Roseroad held greater significance, perhaps due to the abundance available to the Reach lords, as it boasted more paved sections compared to other roads we had encountered.
Within a few days of leaving the Kingswood, we found ourselves surrounded by the sprawling meadow fields of the Reach. These fertile lands were dotted with rich farmland, where thousands of sheep and cows grazed. In the humble villages we passed, there was always at least one plump resident.
Undoubtedly, the Reach served as the breadbasket of the Seven Kingdoms, its abundance evident in the thriving fertility of its lands.
Before long, we spied the hills from which the mighty Mander River originated — the largest river on the continent of Westeros. Nestled at the foot of these hills was Tumbleton, a bustling market town adorned with numerous shops, a newly built sept, and inns that had gained some repute in the recent years, most notably the Bawdy Badger and the Bloody Caltrops.
Indeed, the air in the Reach was remarkably refreshing, and the climate consistently pleasant. These optimal conditions prompted us to pause and truly appreciate our surroundings. They also proved beneficial for our recruits, who initially struggled to keep up with our daily pace during our march through the stormlands.
However, as I have witnessed time and again, the human body is a remarkable testament to nature's resilience. Soon enough, our recruits developed hardened and calloused feet, and their legs no longer ached at the end of each day.
Whenever the Roseroad brought us near the banks of the Mander, we would lead the recruits down to the river each morning and teach them to swim. The spectacle of the Rhaenari engaging in various training exercises, setting up camp, and participating in mock battles never failed to attract curious onlookers from the nearby villages.
I took a brief flight south to catch a glimpse of Grassfield Keep, the ancestral seat of House Meadows. Situated alongside the Blueburn River, the surrounding lands stretched as far as the eye could see, covered in fertile grassy fields.
In an attempt to win my favor, Lord Meadows insisted on providing livestock for Sundance's feed at no cost. It proved to be a grave mistake, as Sundance's appetite knows no bounds when presented with limitless provisions.
It was not until we reached Bitterbridge, the seat of House Caswell, that we received a reception akin to that bestowed upon young lords vying to escort me in the Stormlands. Banners and riders galore.
Formerly known as Stonebridge, Bitterbridge acquired its name from the ancient stone bridge that spanned the Mander River, connecting to The Northmarch.
In bygone days, the Ironborn would sail their longships up the Mander, venturing as far as the venerable bridge.
However, it was during the reign of King Maegor that his tyrannical practices, including his polygamous unions, sparked the infamous Faith Militant uprising. The crown and the faith clashed in a brutal battle at the ancient bridge, resulting in such unimaginable carnage that the Mander River was said to flow crimson with blood for twenty leagues.
Furthermore, in the era of King Jaehaerys, there is a tale that the old king dismissed a Septon named Mattheus due to his disapproval of the king's marriage to his sister, Alysanne.
Legend has it that as Mattheus departed from King's Landing en route to Oldtown in his luxurious carriage, he encountered Septon Barth, a revered figure and dear friend of the Targaryen family, who was traveling in the opposite direction atop a humble donkey. Fortunate enough to possess a curious mind, I took the opportunity to inquire about this anecdote directly with Septon Barth while he was still alive, and he confirmed it to be true.
Immersed in the breathtaking countryside and captivated, our spirits were high and filled with mirth as we embarked on this journey together.
Given the profound historical significance of Bitterbridge, we felt compelled to create a memorable experience during our stay. We dedicated our time to enhancing the pathways surrounding the bridge and its general upkeep, while I devoted myself to capturing its essence on canvas and send the painting back to the capital upon its completion.
Though we sought to create a historic event, we lacked the donkeys or savage want to fill the Mander with blood.
Instead, we resorted to a tried-and-true plan: indulging in excessive revelry for three consecutive days.
I admit, the men exhibited great willpower in the aftermath of our wild carousing. Their pride refused to let them waver in their training, hangover or no, which served an exemplary model for the recruits.
So it was that we left Bitterbridge behind. From there we had two options: continue along the roseroad, or veer south and march along the Mander. Either route would take us to Highgarden, but would offer different experiences.
If we took the roseroad, we would get the typical experience of countless before us who traveled this tried and tested road. This way would allow us to pass Appleton, which as their name suggests, boasts incredibly juicy apples.
But that was pretty much the only plus side, and what would be the point of that if we would have fruits aplenty as soon as we reached Highgarden anyway? No. I opted for the second option of following the Mander.
This alternative route provided us with numerous advantages. We were able to continue training the recruits in the art of amphibious warfare, broadening their skill set. It also granted us the opportunity to visit quieter villages nestled away from the bustling roseroad, allowing us to immerse ourselves in the authentic local culture. Moreover, we had the privilege of exploring keeps like Longtable, situated at the converge of the Mander and the Blueburn.
Venturing further south, we encountered Cider Hall, where Lord Fossaway and his people produced barrels upon barrels of the eponymous alcoholic beverage.
The men welcomed this detour, and it allowed me to fulfill my promises to Lords Caron and Dondarrion with its favorable position for my flight over the Dornish marches.
It was during this time that I encountered a young and intriguing knight, Ser Criston Cole, the son of a steward serving Lord Dondarrion.
Overcoming his initial awe in my presence, Criston won my admiration with his heartfelt devotion to the ideals of chivalry and romanticism portrayed in the songs. He patrolled the Dornish marches with keen vigilance, displaying deadly proficiency with his morning star. His skill was so impressive that it prompted me to reconsider the design of the Rhaenari shield to reinforce it for greater durability.
"Knights from the capital are green as summer's grass," I remarked to Criston before mounting my departure from Blackhaven. "Should you ever seek higher purpose, go there."
On my flight back from Blackhaven, I descended near the town of Ashford. This was the first time I had encountered a castle designed in the shape of a triangle, a unique architectural marvel.
The town surrounding the castle exuded a pleasant ambiance, bustling with a cheerful market and adorned with whitewashed houses topped with thatched roofs. As I explored Ashford, I couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the Reach and the difficulty of choosing which place held the title of the region's finest gem.
I rejoined the men at Cider Hall, and together we pressed onward.
At this stage, we found ourselves deep within the heartland of the Reach. Our camp had swelled to thousands, and I had conflicting emotions about this development.
On one hand, the influx of people brought prosperity to the local economies wherever we ventured. However, it also brought forth the less desirable aspects of such a large procession — the strain it placed on the land as we foraged and consumed its resources.
It struck me as ironic, considering my upbringing in Kingslanding, where I had witnessed the squalor that can arise from large clusters of humanity. But actually witnessing the before and after effects of our passage through the countryside opened my eyes even further.
I realized that if these thoughts were crossing my mind with a modest army of 501, the impact of a force numbering in the thousands would be even more devastating to the environment.
If we were to live up to my artistic principles of leaving a place better than we found it, I would require the assistance of brilliant minds to help brainstorm sustainable practices. Either that or it seemed I'd have to adjust my expectations and accept that as our party grew, our need to move on swiftly from each area would also increase.
We continued our journey southwest along the Mander until we stumbled upon the familiar roseroad, crossing a lesser-known bridge.
The roads noticeably improved, now paved and better maintained, bordered by towering trees that had been planted long ago, purposely planted at intervals, their leaves and flowers displaying a delightful array of colors.
As we marched forward, the number of nobles we encountered increased, each eager to join our company and extend their greetings. The local populace exuded vibrant health, their glowing skin a testament to their well-being. Along the way, children from nearby villages delighted us by showering our path with flowers.
We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, time flowed slowly in those parts. Then we beheld our destination — the grandest seat of the Reach, and the sun blazed against its walls of white stone.