The Wandering Maester

Garth Flowers had called the Citadel his home for most of his life. He was a bastard of a nobleman from the Reach, and he barely remembered his mother and father. 

His father had decided to send him to the Citadel to train as a maester at a young age. The walls of the Citadel had become his world, and the only knowledge he had of the outside world came from tomes.

Garth was one of the best and brightest in the Citadel. He was even considered to be sent to one of the great houses after completing his training when a spot became available. However, by the time he finished his training, he had become disillusioned with the maesters' order.

The rigid structure, the secrecy, and the resistance to pursuing new knowledge left him questioning the purpose of all the years he had spent within the Citadel's walls. His favor among the Archmaesters had decreased over the years because of his interest in the more mystical aspects of the world, so he found himself at odds with most of his peers.

It was in the third year of King Aerys the Second's reign when he decided to leave the Citadel. He had always been enamored with the travels of Lomas Longstrider. He had read both of Longstrider's works many times; he wished to do something many Maesters were reluctant to do: travel the world as Lomas did and write about his experiences and findings. He wanted to surpass Lomas and go further than any Westerosi had gone before.

He began his preparations. He would travel the entirety of Westeros first, then to Essos, and step into the vast and mysterious East. He planned to go even further beyond and try to expand the map of the known world to reach its very edges. However, for this, he needed to prepare. He needed to learn new languages, chart his course, and procure the gold and silver required.

He prepared for years in secret, knowing the other senior Maesters wouldn't like his plans. He had only told his most trusted friends, and even they tried to dissuade him at first. Eventually, he convinced them to help.

In the fifth year of King Aerys' reign, he announced his plans to his peers, teachers, and senior Maesters. He was called before the council of Archmaesters.

"You are throwing your life away, boy," one Archmaester said, his voice dripping with disdain.

"You are the brightest in your generation, and you would throw it all away—years of learning wasted," another added, shaking his head in disappointment.

"It will not be wasted; I shall return," Garth replied, his voice steady but determined.

"Ha! He will return, he says," scoffed the man he had once considered his mentor, a hint of betrayal in his eyes. "It seems I was wrong about you, young Garth."

His mentor's words hurt him more than the others, but he was set in his ways, and he would not just abandon years of planning. He left the Citadel that day; the first steps out were liberating, but he also felt great sadness. He knew he might not return; the world was full of danger, and anything could lead to his end, but he was determined to face them head-on.

The first leg of the journey would be seeing the entirety of Westeros. He planned to visit his homeland of the Reach first, then he would travel to Dorne. From Dorne, he would take a ship to the Stormlands, then to the Crownlands. From there, to the Westerlands, Riverlands, and the Vale. Finally, he would go to the North and end his journey at the Wall.

.

.

.

His journey began in the lush, fertile lands of his homeland, where rolling hills and verdant fields stretched as far as the eye could see. Highgarden was just as he had imagined from the tomes he had read about the region. The magnificent castle, surrounded by sprawling gardens and fragrant blooms, was a testament to the wealth and power of the Reach.

From there, he ventured into Dorne, where the arid deserts and scorching sun presented a stark contrast to the greenery of the Reach. His journey was not peaceful, however, as a band of Dornish outlaws accosted him on the road. He was only saved by a patrol of Martell men.

From Sunspear, he took a ship to the Stormlands. The voyage was treacherous, with the Narrow Sea's unpredictable storms tossing the vessel like a toy. After seeing the legendary fortress of Storm's End, he traveled through the beautiful Rainwood to the Crownlands, where King's Landing awaited him. The heart of the Seven Kingdoms, the capital was a cacophony of sights and sounds, from the majestic Red Keep overlooking Blackwater Bay to the teeming masses in Flea Bottom.

He traveled to the west and saw the opulence and grandeur of Casterly Rock. From the golden Lannister hills, he journeyed to the Riverlands. The majestic Trident River guided him, its waters shimmering under the sun. He followed the rivers to their source in the mountains of the Vale. The trek was treacherous, and he feared an attack from the savages that lived in the mountains, but it was all worth it when he set his eyes on the Eyrie, perched high above the clouds, a sight to behold.

From Gulltown, he took another ship to the North, landing at White Harbor. The cold, harsh climate was a shock after the warmer southern regions. Winterfell was everything he had imagined, its gray stone walls radiating strength and endurance. Finally, his journey led him to the Wall, the colossal barrier of ice and stone that separated the known world from the unknown. Standing at Castle Black, he gazed upon the vast expanse of the icy wilderness beyond, feeling a mix of awe and trepidation.

He had seen all of Westeros. Now, Essos was next.

He arrived at Braavos taking a ship from the wall. The titan of Braavos was a marvel to behold. The labyrinthine waterways and towering structures of the city were a far cry from anything he had seen in Westeros. He spent days exploring the city, immersing himself in its rich culture and diverse populace.

From Braavos, he sailed to Lorath, a city known for its ancient ruins and enigmatic labyrinths. The isolated island city was shrouded in fog, and known for its labyrinths made by the mysterious mazemakers. The eerie silence and haunting beauty of the ruins left him both fascinated and unsettled.

Continuing his journey, he traveled to Qohor, the city of sorcerers and blacksmiths. The dense forests surrounding the city were home to ancient and dark secrets. He then moved on to Norvos which was perched up on a rocky hill The strict religious practices and the stern demeanor of the Norvoshi people contrasted sharply with the more liberal cultures he had encountered thus far in Essos.

Pentos was his next destination, a city of merchants and decadence. The sprawling city was a hub of trade and intrigue. He navigated the bustling markets and lavish manses, absorbing the opulence and political machinations that defined Pentosi life. He made valuable connections with merchants and scholars, learning much about the wider world and the trade routes that connected Essos.

It was also here that he began noticing the the more darker aspects of Essosi society even though slavery was banned in Pentos they continued it by using loopholes he tried to ignore it as best as he can but he was not sure he would be able to do this in the next cities he was about to visit.

Taking a ship from Pentos, he ventured to the Stepstones, a chain of islands fraught with pirates and danger. He visited Myr and Tyrosh In Myr, the city of artisans and alchemists, Garth was fascinated by the intricate tapestries and skilled craftsmanship. Yet, the presence of slaves in the workshops, their talents exploited without recognition, added a bitter note to his admiration.

He traveled to Lys, known for its beauty and vice. The city of pleasure and excess was enchanting, but he was once again deeply disturbed by the prevalence of slavery. He saw women treated as commodities, their lives bought and sold without regard for their humanity.

Finally, he arrived in Volantis, the oldest and proudest of the Free Cities. The city, split by the massive Rhoyne River, was known as the first daughter of Valyria. The Black Walls of Volantis housed the elite, while the masses toiled in the shadows. Slavery was deeply ingrained in the city's fabric, and he was appalled by the sight of branded slaves, their lives dictated by their masters. 

His next destination was Slaver's bay he wanted to avoid it as he was already affected by the lack of humanity he witnessed in the free cities but he had to go there anyway as he had to pass through slaver's bay to get to Yi-Ti.

He found a Merchant caravan to travel with and they set off along the demon road to Slaver's bay.

.

.

.

....the brutality and inhumanity of slavery I have witnessed have irrevocably changed me. To see it firsthand, rather than from the pages of the tomes I've spent my life studying, has had a profound effect on my understanding of Essos. The chains, the whips, the blank stares of the enslaved—all these images haunt me. The reality of it is far harsher than any written word could convey. I once thought Essos was a land of wonders and mysteries, but now I see it as a place of unimaginable suffering for so many.

This experience has made me question everything I believed about the world beyond Westeros. My travels through the Free Cities, especially the Three Daughters and Volantis, have been a stark lesson in the depths of human cruelty. I must admit, my heart aches with the injustice of it all, and I am left wondering what, if anything, can be done to change it.

I have decided to take a ship from Tolos to Qarth….

He stopped writing as he heard a disturbance in the caravan he was writing someone was arguing it seems the caravan was about to move again.

They had left Mantarys three days ago, and he was amazed to be so close to Old Valyria. He had looked to the Sea of Sighs from the city, hoping to see the large volcanoes in the distance, but alas, the distance was too great.

He had become friends with some of the people he was traveling with, including a Tyroshi named Daemon. Apparently, Daemon's mother was from Westeros, and he wished to know more about her homeland. Garth was more than happy to oblige, telling him all about Westeros.

"Stay close, Garth. These hills are a good place for an ambush," Daemon said, his eyes scanning the surrounding terrain.

"Ambush? Are these roads not safe?" Garth asked, a note of concern in his voice.

"No, there have been a lot of bandits that come down from the mountains for the last ten years," Daemon explained. "And we heard there have been more attacks recently when we were in Mantarys."

"Then why did we leave so fast?" Garth asked, fear creeping into his tone.

"Because our great leader over there is a greedy cunt who wishes to reach Tolos as soon as possible," Daemon replied, glaring at the said leader.

The caravan began to move as they ventured onto the Demon Road through rocky hills. The greenery gradually decreased, replaced by barren, rocky terrain. The ancient Valyrian road seemed to cut through the large hills or mountains with precision, leaving him wondering how the Valyrians had accomplished such a feat. The dark, glossy stones of the road, etched with intricate patterns, were a testament to the lost civilization's grandeur and skill.

After a while, they came to a stop. He was at the back of the caravan so he walked to the front to see what had caused the delay. His heart sank as he saw the road blocked by large rocks. He looked around to see the rocky hills with their numerous hiding spots, perfect for an ambush.

"I know what you are thinking," Daemon said, looking at him. "It's a perfect place for an ambush."

He nodded as fear started to take hold of him. The caravan guards were on high alert, assuming a fighting stance. A hushed silence fell upon them, broken only by the distant cawing of birds. The air became thick with tension as the guards exchanged wary glances.

Without warning, a group of bandits emerged from their concealed positions in the rocky hills, descending upon the caravan like moths to a flame. The caravan guards swiftly formed a defensive line, their weapons at the ready, prepared for the impending onslaught. He , along with the other travelers, huddled around the caravan.

The fight was brutal. The guards clashed with the bandits, swords and axes ringing out as they struck metal and flesh. He watched in horror as chaos unfolded around him. The bandits, ruthless and skilled, overwhelmed the guards despite their valiant efforts. He saw Daemon, his newfound friend, fighting bravely. But then, with a swift, brutal slash, Daemon was cut down, his lifeless body falling to the ground.

He felt a wave of despair as the bandits started stripping the fallen of their valuables. To his great shock, they also began to put them in chains.

It looked like he would never make it to his next destination; his journey was to end here. He considered the fate that awaited him—a life of slavery, to be sold in some market to the highest bidder. He had never felt this helpless in his life before. The bandits huddled them together, and he closed his eyes, thinking back to his life at the Citadel.

'Huh, maybe the old man was right. I was a fool to go on this journey,' he thought.

As they were preparing to move, he heard something. He looked in the direction the sound was coming from. In the distance, he could see a man running towards them, flapping his hands, shouting and yelling to get their attention.

"Who is that ?" he heard one of the bandits ask in Valyrian.

"I don't care. Ride him down," the leader of the bandits ordered, causing one of them to ride towards the man.

He wanted to yell back, telling him to run away, but no sound came from his mouth. The man slowly came to a halt, seeming to realize the danger he was in. He sprinted back to where the large rocks were, trying to hide from his pursuer.

'Yes, run away,' he thought, sending a prayer to the seven that the man may escape.

He saw the man disappear into the rocks with the bandit following close behind. The other bandits began to line up the captives, ordering them to follow. His eyes remained fixed on the direction where the man and the bandit had vanished behind the large rocks.

Then something happened, something his mind could not comprehend. Something was launched into the air from behind the large rocks—not just something, it was the bandit. 

There was silence among his fellow captives and the other bandits, the only sounds being the scream of the flying man and the pounding of horses' hooves. The bandit hit the ground with a terrible sound, killing him instantly.

No words came from his mouth as his mind raced to understand what had happened. The mysterious man who the bandit was pursuing reappeared, now standing on top of the large rock yelling out something.

'The Madman was taunting them!' he thought in shock.

The bandit leader let out a roar and rode in the man's direction, the others following. His gaze was transfixed on the man as he raised his hands towards the charging bandits. 

'What is he doing?' he thought.

Then he felt the ground shaking below him as the bandits were flung up from their horses into the sky.

The bandits were suspended in mid-air, their limbs flailing helplessly.

The air echoed with their desperate screams, and the oppressive weight of the invisible force seemed to crush the life out of them. The once-silent lands now echoed with the sounds of their anguish; he could hear their pleas. The ground beneath him trembled once more as the screams of the suspended riders intensified. Then suddenly, they stopped and dropped to the ground like marionettes whose strings had been severed.

Silence once again spread as he saw the man falling down to the ground. 

One of the guards managed to free himself and began to free the rest of them.

"We have to go quickly before that monster kills us too," the caravan master said as they were freed from their bindings.

That brought him out of his thoughts, and he turned to the caravan master. "We have to help him," he said, feeling a need to understand what had just happened. He had seen magic firsthand. All his life he had been taught it did not exist, that magic was snuffed out from the world, yet here it was.

"Are you mad? You want to help that monster?" the caravan master asked.

"Yes," he said, his gaze still fixed on where the man was laying.

"Maester, we are leaving with or without you. I am not staying anywhere near that thing."

He looked at the man on the ground in the distance. He was afraid as well, but he quickly made up his mind. "Fine, you can go without me," he said as he gathered his possessions. 

He walked towards the man leaving the caravan behind. He had not felt this way since all those years ago when he stepped outside the citadel. It was a strange feeling but he hoped he made the right choice and hoped this mysterious sorcerer would not kill him like he did with the bandits.