After all I’ve done for that cunt Ronnel, now he demands this? He knew what I was fleeing in those days.. Now he orders me back to the dungeons and headsmen of the Tyrells or Mullendores or whichever damn southern lord that wants to curry favor? Too bad you can’t hit a blind man. S’pose you shouldn’t hit a lord either.
You see, I’m well-known in the reach. I’ve been to all the cities and towns and holdfasts. I’ve feasted with highborn and lowborn alike. The smallfolk especially love a tourney, and what’s a tourney without the gallant Ser Darron Brewlan!?
Ho Ho! Those were the days! The rush of tilting in front of cheering crowds. Jousting with the finest knights in the seven kingdoms to thunderous applause. No… I never did win one, but I held my own. I unseated Ser Dorrick Hawthorne to place third at Brightwater Keep! Can’t believe these northerners haven’t heard of him. He was better than half the kingsguard!
Well, I won’t go on about it. I swore my oath to Ronnel same as I made Phillip, Cedric, and Ella do yesterday. I’ll go with the rest of them, of course. What choice do I have as a true knight? Point is I’m dead if the wrong person recognizes me.
Luckily our ward-to be lies in the north of the reach. Closer to the Westerlands than Highgarden. Far from home. Far from the danger of those accusations. The wise maester has sworn to help disguise me as well. I will go without sword and under an assumed name. Trickery will by my armor. Wits my weapon.
To tell it true, I am curious to go back. To feast on the bounty of the reach and see those southern maidens again. Besides, it’s the Seven who decide when a man’s time is up and there’s nothing I could do to change that. If they decide now is my time to die, at least it’ll be under the southern sun with a belly full of Arbor gold! Ho Ho!