I flew east until we reached land, guided by Eldric's rough directions.
We circled around Lordsport and continued south along to Banefort and the sunset coast. Eventually, we came across the Straits of Fair Isle and flew inland.
I had expected the Rhaenari to have reached Ashemark, but I was mistaken. Instead, we found them near Sarsfield, a castle deep in the heart of the Westerhills.
As Sundance and I swooped around the campsite, the men cheered and raised their spears in greeting. It seemed they had been camped here for a while, near a river running from the mountains.
However, the large number of camp followers had caught up to us, and the air became thick and the stench overwhelming due to the many latrines.
I landed and exchanged greetings with my comrades. We gathered at the edge of the camp, where training drills were taking place. Phoenix had the rookies doing hill climbs, while mounted archers from House Sarsfield conversed with our scouts.
As I neared the end of my tale, I explained, "Eldric is now with us. Treat him as family."
Ser Steffon's face was visibly relieved, "You could have perished at sea. I'm relieved to see you back unharmed."
I winked, "Our little secret. Tell me, Ser, did we encounter any trouble?"
Ser Steffon shook his head and said, "The local lords have been cooperative."
Dirty Douglas interjected, "Actually, we've received reports of petty crimes from the followers. Nothing major, just some stolen livestock here and there."
"Unacceptable," I declared. "The smallfolk depend on those animals. Were the offenders punished?"
"They were dealt with," replied Douglas. "But if we don't move on soon, things will get worse."
I let out a sigh, "Then my fears have become reality. We kept ahead of these issues with our steady pace, but if we linger for too long, the civilians catch up to us. They do not possess the same discipline or appreciation for the land."
"We could manage if we had more numbers," said Douglas, "The stormlanders have been ready to take their vows for a while now."
Indeed, my journey across the continent began with our original 501. We had been trailed by followers since our departure from King's Landing. However, those who joined us from the Stormlands had undergone a training period much longer than our initial boot camp.
Despite this, I hesitated to swear them in. Their training lacked the intensity and focus that we experienced during our time on Dragonstone.
Moreover, that boot camp was not with strangers. I had spent years flying all around the Crownlands, familiarizing myself with the land and gaining the acceptance of its people. Everyone who gathered at Manmaker Beach had a familiarity with me, and they held a deep respect due to our previous interactions.
While I recognized that many recruits met the technical requirements to join our ranks, I wished to delay their induction until we could establish ourselves in one location for at least a week. This would afford me the opportunity to prioritize the our development and provide the recruits with an authentic experience during their final grueling challenge, which we dubbed "HELL WEEK."
"I'll decide when they're ready," I said, turning to Pheonix, "In any case, I'm impressed. I see our scouts have been talking to the mounted archers of House Sarsfield?"
Pheonix, who was standing straight, somehow straightened even more as he spoke to me, helmet held in the armpit, "Yes, Prince Rhaenar. As you commanded."
"Good. I will speak with them also. Ah!"
I stretched my arms and took in a deep breath, "It's good to be back! The sea is a lonely place. Makes you realize how storied this land is; I can feel the earth vibrate beneath my feet. Oh, how I've missed you all! Where is Brien?"
"He and others are still on that errand you ordered," said Ser Steffon.
That displeased me. "And here I thought I was running late… Very well. Send word to the men. We leave at dawn."
.
..
…
..
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Meanwhile, north of Sarsfield
"How far do we have to go?" asked Sari Sicai.
"Not far," said Theodore.
It had been some days since we left the Rhaenari camp with our little band. Sari and Ser Lorent as well as Captain Zane, and 20 riders, acted as our escort.
Sari yawned, "These hills all look the same. Tell us a story, Brien."
I groaned inwardly. In the days of Rhaenar's absence, Sari grew increasingly restless, as if such a thing were even possible. He rode at the forefront with his usual nonchalant demeanor, but frequently he would have to double back and rejoin us, having ridden too far ahead. I had been against his inclusion in our mission, but after the fool started indiscriminately killing recruits for the most trivial of reasons, we had no choice but to bring him along.
"My knowledge of Westerlandi songs is rather limited," I explained, "That repertoire is better suited for Theodore."
"His stories are shit," Zane remarked, his horseback riding more awkward than that of us scholars. The Rhaenari captains were notoriously lack in riding skills, peasants and commoners for the most part. "Come on, Brien. Tell us something new!"
This tradition had become deeply ingrained in our camp, courtesy of Prince Rhaenar. The men relished gathering around the flickering campfire, sharing stories and belting out songs.
"Very well," I replied, searching my mind for inspiration, only to draw a blank.
"Here's a story about the Silent Sisters. It goes something like this..."
"….................................................…................................................."
"— You jest?" said Zane after some awkward silence, absent minded as ever.
"Shh!" I said, "You interrupt the best part!"
"If I wanted silence, I would have slit your throat and been done with it," Sari retorted.
"Not if you want to lose your hand," Ser Lorent replied sternly, a reminder of his responsibility for Theodore's and my safety, entrusted to him by Prince Rhaenar.
"Maybe I do?" Sari chuckled darkly. "One less hand to level the playing field."
"And one less hand to wank with," Zane said.
It dawned on me that we had made an ill-advised decision by pairing those two together. It was no secret that Captain Zane held Sari in high regard for his lethal skills, as did many of the unruly Rhaenari who fell under the influence of what Rhaenar had dubbed the 'Anti-socials'.
Initially, the term seemed paradoxical, as many of our fighters with questionable dispositions were boisterous, loud, and sought attention during our feasts. They lacked not in social skills.
However, 'anti-social' served as a broad term for those who defied societal norms. Rhaenar had a knack for identifying these misfits, and they, in turn, gravitated toward him. I suppose I, too, am an example of that.
Sarcasm tinged my words. "I apologize. Was my story not sufficient for you ingrates?" I snapped back. "Perhaps you should learn to exercise patience and wait until a tale is finished before passing judgment."
"Not true," Sari said. "I can spot a warrior's skill from the moment he hold the sword."
Before I could counter his argument our attention was diverted as we crested the hill.
Before us lay a sprawling valley, graced with a serene pool of water mirroring the heavens above. Mountains encompassed the scene, and perched overlooking the pool was a castle. Two stout towers stood sentry at the entrance of the mountain stronghold.
"There it is," I exclaimed, recognizing our location from the descriptions I had read. "Castermere, the seat of House Reyne. Now, that's a tale worth telling. Would you like to hear it?"
Theodore let out a groan. "Not if we intend to stay awake."
However, the men were stirred by Zane's japes. "Boo! Quiet, you! We want to hear!"
"It's not particularly lengthy," I began, "House Reyne traces its lineage back to the days of the First Men and the age of heroes. They constructed their keep, Castamere, named after the pool on which it sits.
"The castle is built atop mines abundant in gold and silver. The wealth of the Reynes rivals that of the Lannisters, if you still believe the old rumors. There isn't a soul in the Westerlands unaware of the Reynes. Jet-black hair and cunning eyes. Their blood runs deep."
As if on cue, when we approached the gates of Castamere and they swung open, Lord Reyne and his family personified the description.
Their dark hair contrasted sharply with the ginger locks and freckled pale face of our companion.
"Welcome back, Theo," Lord Reyne greeted.
"Thank you, uncle," Theodore replied
"It's good to be home."
-Brien Flowers, 108 AC.