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

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, Garth had become disillusioned with the maesters' order. The rigid structure, the secrecy, and the resistance to pursue new knowledge left him questioning the purpose of all the years he 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.

Garth had always been enamored with the travels of Lomas Longstrider. He had read both of his works many times, and 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 wished to surpass Lomas and go further than any Westerosi had gone before.

Making up his mind about leaving the Citadel, 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 money 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 272 AC, Garth Flowers announced his plans to the rest of his peers. His teachers and seniors had not taken it well.

"You are throwing your life away, boy," one archmaester said.

"You are the brightest in your generation, and you would throw it all away — years of learning wasted," another one said.

"It will not be wasted; I shall return," Garth replied.

"Ha! He will return, he says. It seems I was wrong about you, young Garth," the man he considered his mentor fired back.

That one hurt Garth 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.

.

.

.

 

Journal of Garth Flowers

The Reach

Passing through the lush fields and fertile landscapes of the Reach, I couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the land. The Reach, my homeland, welcomed me with open arms. The lush landscapes and friendly faces offered a comforting embrace. The journey has not been without challenges. The terrain grew more rugged as I ventured towards the borderlands. I finally crossed into Dorne; this would be the most difficult part of the journey through Westeros, aside from the North, of course.

Dorne

Leaving the bountiful Reach behind, I stepped into the sun-soaked realm of Dorne. The climate's shift was immediate. The land was dry, and there was less and less green as I ventured inwards. Venturing into the heart of Dorne, I marveled at the Water Gardens of Sunspear. It was a testament to the ingenuity of the Dornish, a sanctuary nestled amid the unforgiving sands. Dornish cuisine was great. From the succulent heat of spiced dishes to the cool relief of Dornish wine, each meal felt like a celebration of life. I bid farewell to Dorne, though I will miss its food and people; I will not miss the heat. I left on a ship towards the Stormlands.

The Stormlands

It was a mistake taking a ship here. I mean, there is a bay called Shipbreaker's Bay for seven's sakes; why did I even decide to do this? The ship had almost sunk a dozen times, but by the blessings of the Mother, I arrived there safely. The Stormlands were a formidable domain. The air was thick with moisture, hinting at the tempestuous nature of the region. The people, too, reflected the land. Storm's End proved to be a very intimidating structure, just as it was written in the books. It rained constantly, though I have to admit there was a certain beauty to it.

Crownlands and King's Landing

I entered the heart of the realm and went straight to King's Landing. I expected great things from the capital of the realm, but by the time I left the city, I was sorely disappointed. The Red Keep was great to look at from a distance, as was the city, but as I got closer, the smell became unbearable. How was it  that the capital of the realm be in such a state? The city was a melting pot of all peoples from the Seven Kingdoms but also from the Free Cities. Despite its grandeur as the seat of the king, the reality of the city was far from glamorous.

The Westerlands

Casterly Rock was a grand sight. The sheer majesty of the rock spoke of the wealth and power the Lannisters possessed. The lands also seemed most at peace. Of course, it would be the kingdom which was most peaceful; the lord of the West was Tywin Lannister, after all. I saw Castamere; thinking of that incident sent shivers down my spine. The villages, cities, all seemed to be thriving here. I half expected gold to rain down.

The Riverlands

It was a monstrosity. I do not know what Harren was thinking when he ordered Harrenhal built; the charred remains of the castle haunted me. It was as if I could hear the screams of the burning men and women when Aegon had Balerion burn the castle. The rest of the Riverlands were more pleasant, though the travel was easier because of the rivers. I wondered why the River Lords never bothered connecting the rivers using canals. They could have built a system of canals that connected the Narrow Sea and the Sunset Sea... oh yes, the Ironborn, that's why.

The Vale

Entering the Vale of Arryn, I was immediately struck by the breathtaking beauty that unfolded before me. The towering mountains, their peaks lost in the clouds, meandering valleys, and high waterfalls. It was also here I almost died because of an attack from a mountain clan of the Vale. But luck was on my side as I was traveling with a group of knights headed for the Eyrie; they even captured some clan members alive which allowed me to talk to them. After visiting the Eyrie, I descended the mountain to the city of Gulltown. From there, I found a ship that would take me to White Harbor.

The North

It was freezing cold. I did not know how the Northerners lived here, but that just spoke of their resilience . Winterfell was old; one would know that by looking at Bran the Builder's second most significant work. The greatest would be my next destination. The first leg of my journey ended at the Wall. I took a glance at the lands beyond it. Who knows what lies there? Even I am not brave enough to venture there.

Braavos and Lorath

The second leg of my journey began with me arriving at Braavos. Immediately, I was engulfed by the vibrant chaos that defines this Free City. The scent of salt and sea air mingled with exotic spices as I traversed the bustling streets and labyrinthine canals. The Titan of Braavos loomed over the entrance, a sentinel guarding the secrets of the city. The Faceless Men, an enigmatic guild with their House of Black and White, intrigued me. The notion of a group dedicated to the art of assassination and the mysterious Faceless God left me both fascinated and wary.

It looked like Lorath was under the control of Braavos. I was immediately struck by the sense of mystery that cloaked this Free City. The architecture, unlike anything I had encountered in Westeros or other Free Cities. The Isle of Tears, a small island off the coast of Lorath, housed the city's famous Maze. This labyrinthine structure, said to be a relic from the time of the Mazemakers. Oh, how I wish I could learn more about the Mazemakers.

Norvos, Qohor, and Pentos

It was here I started to see the ugly side of Essos - Slavery. Each city had its form of slavery. It is claimed by the Pentosi that they had abolished it, but the practice continued by using loopholes. Norvos and Qohor practiced it openly. Norvos was famous for its carpets and tapestries, while Qohor was famous for its smiths. What attracted me most during this leg of the journey was the Valyrian roads that connected all the Free Cities—all cities except Braavos, that is. I wish the Targaryens had built them in Westeros, but it seems the knowledge was lost in the fires of Valyria.

Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys

Myr was the city of glassmakers and lace weavers; the craftsmen were the best in the world. Lys, the Perfumed City or the City of Love, was intoxicating. The city smelled the exact opposite of King's Landing, as it smelled of sweet-smelling perfumes. Tyrosh was the center of trade in the region; it controlled the trade in the Stepstones. But I still couldn't ignore the great tragedy that unfolded behind the scenes of these cities. In Lys, I saw pain in the eyes of the enslaved courtesans; in Tyrosh and Myr, there were slaves everywhere. My journey through Essos seemed to get harder and harder. I have been greatly affected by the cruelty I have come to witness.

Volantis

The First Daughter of Valyria, the city was magnificent. The black walls were imposing; they divided the city's elite from the slaves and the common rabble. Here, I saw the worst of slavery, more than what I had seen in the other cities. I left quickly as I arrived. I am not looking forward to the next place I am going to visit—Slaver's Bay. What acts of cruelty will I have to witness there as well?

Final Journal Entry Until I Leave Essos

I plan not to write much until I pass through Slaver's Bay. I arrived at Astapor, and there I witnessed inhumanity in such a way I couldn't even comprehend. The city was beautiful, but ultimately it was ugly because of its inhabitants, those who run the city. It was the same for Yunkai. I didn't stay long, and I don't plan to stay in Meereen as well. I will update this journal more when I am more sound of mind. The brutality of the institution of slavery had reached depths I cannot even comprehend in Slaver's Bay, and I wish to be away from it as soon as possible. The entire region seems to exhale an atmosphere of misery and desperation. I write this as I travel to Meereen with a trade caravan; there have been talks of bandits in the area. I hope to reach Meereen safely.

.

.

.

 

Garth closed his journal; it was almost full. The caravan was about to move again, and he had become friends with some of the people he was traveling with, including a fellow Westerosi named Garth, an old man who had seen many battles. When they first met, they bonded over the fact that they shared a homeland and the same name.

"Stay close, Garth. We spotted some riders in the distance. Something's not right here," the other Garth warned him.

"Why move now? Why not go look if there's trouble?" he inquired.

"Because our great leader over there is a greedy cunt who wishes to reach Meereen as soon as possible," the other Garth explained, glaring at the said leader.

The caravan made its way to the city through harsh and unforgiving terrain. Rocky landscapes with jagged cliffs and large boulders were scattered everywhere. Thorny shrubs clung to life in the soil, their twisted branches casting long shadows. The distant horizon shimmered with heat. After a while, they came to a stop. Garth, who was in the back of the caravan, walked to the front to see what had caused them to stop.

His heart sank as he saw the road being blocked. Garth looked around to see large rocks scattered in the area, a perfect place to hide.

"I know what you are thinking," the other Garth 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 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 among the jagged cliffs, 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 clash of steel echoed through the cliffs as the guards valiantly fought. Sparks flew as steel met steel, but the bandits pushed ahead, and the guards fell one by one, their swords clattering to the ground.

He watched in horror as his friend was cut down. Realizing they had lost, the remaining guards surrendered. The bandits started stripping them of their valuables, and to his great shock, they also started 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, Garth 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.

"What is that madman doing?" he heard one of his fellow travelers say.

"He wishes to join us," another one said with a bitter smile.

One of the bandits rode towards the man. Garth wanted to yell back, telling him to run away, but no sound came from his mouth.

But the man slowly came to a halt; he seemed to have realized the danger he was in. He sprinted back to where the large rocks were, trying to hide from his pursuer.

It was only delaying the inevitable, he lamented. They would either kill him or capture him. A shameful part of him wished that he would be killed; slavery, as he witnessed in his travels, was worse than death.