White stone castle, golden roses; undercurrents stir at Highgarden's warm feast

The waters of the Mander River shimmered with golden light in the morning glow. As the shadow of the Glutton Black Dragon first swept across the confluence of the rivers, Daemon's gaze was first drawn to the castle perched atop the high hill—not the cold, imposing rocks of Casterly Rock in the Westerlands, nor the heavy gray stone of Winterfell in the the North, but a pure white expanse bathed in sunlight.

The white marble walls of Highgarden rise from the foot of the hill to the top, with three ring-shaped stone walls resembling honey wrapped in cream. Roses climb between the outermost crenellations, their petals swept away by the wind and drifting onto the stone slabs at the intersection of the Ocean Road and the Roseroad, filling the air with their sweet fragrance.

"Gods above—this isn't a castle, it's practically made of flower petals and sugar!" Myles Rivers, still carrying his beloved father's the North Battle Axe wherever he went, had a rose petal stuck to his face. He reached out to catch it, but the wind blew it away, making him stamp his feet in frustration. "It's even more beautiful than the silver ship on Fair Isle! Rupert, look at that fountain, the water is crystal clear!"

Rupert Crabb's silver spoon peeked out from his arms, the shoulder armor of his white armor brushing against Colin Celtigar's, but his eyes were fixed on the plant maze between the second city walls. The neatly trimmed hedges formed a dense net, and occasionally a maid carrying a basket would pass through, her figure appearing and disappearing in the maze like a sprite hiding among the green leaves. "We don't have these on Crab Claw Peninsula. The last time I saw such neat bushes was in the gardens of the other four dukes' residences."

"It's beautiful, but if we're talking about the most beautiful castle, it has to be the Eyrie in our Vale, right?" Lyonel Corbray suddenly spoke, twirling the hilt of his silver sword in his palm. "The Eyrie hangs in the clouds, and you can see half of the Vale below. When the wind blows, it looks like it's floating in the sky. Unlike Highgarden, which is flat and lacks grandeur."

The House Royce twins immediately chimed in, the older brother stroking the runic greatsword at his waist. "Exactly! The Moon Gate Keep of the Eyrie overlooks the entire Mountains of the Moon. In winter, when it's covered in snow, it looks like a jewel embedded in ice, much prettier than this white stone!"

Harlan Hunter nodded, his longbow slung across his shoulder. "Besides, the Eyrie's defenses are truly formidable. With just one Moon Gate, the enemy can only charge up the stone steps. Why would they need so many walls?"

These words displeased the newly recruited squires of the Reach. A young man in green robes blushed and said, "Can roses grow in your Eyrie the Vale? Can it have such a large labyrinth? Highgarden's marble is all transported from across the Narrow Sea, and each piece takes three months to polish!"

"Why can't we plant them?" House Royce's brother raised an eyebrow. "Our snow cherry blossoms in the Vale are prettier than roses. They bloom like snowdrifts in winter and are much more cold-resistant than your delicate roses!"

Just as the two sides were arguing noisily, a burst of hearty laughter suddenly came from ahead, mingling with the sound of the Mander River flowing by, making it particularly jarring.

The crowd looked in the direction of the sound and saw a group of people dressed in gold and green heraldic robes standing under the gate of the first city wall. The man at the head of the group had a round belly, as if he had just swallowed a fat goose, and his brown curly hair was tied up with a gold crown. He was none other than Lord Mathos Tyrell of Lord of Highgarden.

Standing beside him was a slender man in a simple grey robe, with a scholarly air about him; he was his uncle, Martyn Tyrell. Beside him stood Lady Florence, wearing a long emerald green dress embroidered with silver vines, and a ring on her finger gleaming softly.

Mathos's wife, the Duchess of House Redwyne, wore a pale purple dress with the grape emblem of Arbor pinned to the collar, exuding a gentle and refined air; the young man on the far right, with his tall and straight figure and calm eyes beneath his brown curly hair, was none other than Garlan Tyrell, the eldest son of the Duke and Duchess of Mathos.

"Your Highness Daemon! Princess Gael! We've been waiting for you!" Mathos strode forward, his round belly swaying with each step. He grabbed Daemon's wrist. "Please come in! I specially had the sweetest wine from Arbor brought out, and freshly roasted peacocks, served with their feathers still plucked. I guarantee you'll want more!"

Daemon followed him inside, his gaze sweeping over the family crest on the city gate—a golden rose against a verdant field, dazzling in the sunlight.

The maze between the first and second city walls truly lived up to its reputation. The hedges were so tall they could hide an adult man, and occasionally a hidden fountain would suddenly spout a trickle of water, causing passing maids to scream and dodge. Mathos smiled, his eyes crinkling. "This maze is quite ingenious; it's not only fun, but it can also defend against enemies! Last year, a lost merchant wandered around inside for three hours before finally getting out, and he had to shout for help to be pulled out!"

Gael followed behind, riding Dreamfyre. Her pale blue dragon wings gently brushed aside the roses overhead. Mysaria clung to the dragon saddle, looking down. A fallen petal clung to her platinum curls. "Your Highness, look at that stone sculpture. It's the same as the one in Old Oak. It's Garth Greenhand Garth, isn't it? He's even holding ears of wheat in his hands."

As you pass through the third wall, the core of the Highgarden finally unfolds in full: white marble columns line the courtyard, entwined with grapevines and roses, and water from the fountain drips from the fingertips of the "Garth Greenhand" Garth statue, splashing into the pool below and reflecting the surrounding blooming golden roses.

The farthest main castle tower is as slender as a needle, and the golden rose flag on its top flutters in the wind, reflecting the shimmering waters of the Mander River, like a dyed parchment scroll.

"This was all rebuilt by Mene Gardener VI," Mathos said, leading the group towards the banquet hall, his brown eyes brimming with pride as he recounted the family history. "The Dornish burned Highgarden to the ground, and it was our House Tyrell ancestor, Ser Osmund, who united forty other families to reclaim Highgarden and then helped Mern VI rebuild it. Look at this marble, all transported from Tyrosh, each piece costing ten gold dragons! And those ' Three Singers ' in the Godswood, said to have been planted by ' Garth Greenhand,' three Heart Tree growing together, their branches intertwined!"

He paused, then patted his chest. "Later, after Aegon's conquest, my great-grandfather Ser Harlan Tyrell offered Highgarden to His the Conqueror, and His Aegon granted us the Reach and bestowed upon us the title of Lord Paramount of the Reach! Now, our House Tyrell is one of the wealthiest in the Seven Kingdoms, with grain piled higher than the gold of Casterly Rock. The House Redwyne fleet and the warships of the Shield Islands can set sail at my command at any time!"

Martyn Tyrell stood to the side, his grey robe stained with wine. He tried to interject several times but was interrupted by Mathos, and could only give Daemon an apologetic look.

Garlan Tyrell followed behind his father, his fingers unconsciously stroking the hilt of his sword. His gaze swept over the Reach nobles in the banquet hall, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes. The House Florent nobles in their red and gold robes, the Rowan nobles in their white and gold robes, and the House Peake nobles in their black and orange robes, all bowed, but their eyes held a hint of aloofness, clearly not taking this "butler-turned-duke" seriously.

The banquet hall's long table was covered with a gold and green tablecloth, laden with delicacies from the Reach: golden-roasted peacocks, venison drizzled with honey, cream cakes piled high with fresh berries, and soup made with fresh fish from the Mander River. It wasn't much different from the cuisine of Oaktown, only the ingredients were more expensive.

Mathos had a jar of Arbor wine opened. The wine was a pale golden color, shimmering delicately in the silver goblet. He personally filled Daemon's glass. "Your Highness, please try it. This wine is aged in oak barrels for ten years. Lannisport reds are much sweeter!"

After a few rounds of drinks, Mathos suddenly clapped his hands, and several young girls in floral dresses entered. Leading them were his daughters—some with pigtails, others with long, curly hair—all dressed in formal attire with gold and green heraldry, they timidly curtsied to Daemon. Mathos grinned like a bear that had stolen honey. "Your Highness, these are my daughters, the eldest fifteen, the youngest only twelve. They are all well-mannered and knowledgeable. If you wish, please choose one to accompany you for a stroll through the gardens of Highgarden?"

Gael's grip on the silver spoon tightened abruptly, a hint of coldness flashing in her pale purple eyes. Mysaria also subtly moved closer to her, her face taut beneath her platinum curls. But Mathos seemed oblivious, beckoning over several young men. "These are my sons. Some of them came to King's Landing last year, as you met them. Others—well, they're kept outside. They're all very capable. If you need servants, just pick two to follow you!"

Martyn Tyrell's face darkened further. He coughed, trying to interrupt, but was glared at by Mathos: "Uncle, don't worry about it. His Highness is a distinguished guest and must be treated well!" Garlan Tyrell reluctantly raised his cup to Daemon in apology, and said in a low voice, "Your Highness, please don't mind. My father—he was just a little too enthusiastic."

This scene reminded Daemon of his father Aegon the Targaryen IV, from his past life. Wasn't Aegon the Targaryen IV the same way to him and his other bastard brothers?

Seeing Garlan Tyrell's current predicament reminded Daemon of his brother Daeron's situation back then.

Daeron's situation was even worse. At least Mathos treated his legitimate and illegitimate children equally, but Daeron's father's affection for him was less than that for others—of course, his father cared more about each of his new lovers.

As their thoughts drifted back, an even more frustrating scene unfolded at the banquet for Gael and Mysaria. Mathos suddenly glanced at Alys Rivers in the corner, his eyes lighting up as if he'd discovered a new continent. He nudged Daemon's arm and winked, "Your Highness, that lady in the green dress looks quite extraordinary. Is she your maid? I think she has a certain something in her eyes, much more interesting than the noble ladies of our Reach. You'd better make the most of her!"

Alys Rivers was picking at a piece of cake with a silver fork when she heard this. She looked up, a hint of mockery flashing in her green eyes, raised her glass to Mathos, and gave a faint smile to her lips.

Daemon paused, subtly avoiding Mathos's arm. "Your Grace," he said, "Miss Alys is my advisor, not some maid. Besides, my aunt Gael, is here. Isn't it inappropriate to discuss these things?"

Mathos then noticed Gael's icy gaze and chuckled awkwardly, "My memory is terrible, Your Highness, please don't be offended, I'm just too happy today! Come, Your Highness, let's drink, let's not talk about this!" As he spoke, he poured wine into Daemon's glass, the liquid overflowing and spilling onto the tablecloth, unaware that his uncle Martyn Tyrell and eldest son Garlan exchanged a helpless glance.

Larys Strong, with his grey donkey, had somehow slipped into the banquet hall. He was now hiding in a corner feeding Long- Mr. Legs a piece of honey cake. The hem of his black robe swept across the rose petals on the ground. He looked at Mathos, who seemed completely oblivious, and then at the aloof the Reach nobles. A faint smile played on his lips—this Duke of Tyrell probably only saw the golden rose of Highgarden, but not the thorns hidden beneath the petals.

Halfway through the banquet, Mathos began to recount the "glorious history" of the House Tyrell, from Osmund's suppression of the rebellion to Harlan's surrender of Highgarden, from the marriage of Mern VI to how he managed the estates of Highgarden, but he made no mention of the discontent of his lords, nor of Dorne's recent unusual activities on the Stepstones.

Daemon listened patiently, occasionally nodding in agreement, but his gaze swept across the banquet hall windows. The golden rose flag outside gleamed in the night, and the faint sound of the Mander River seemed to remind him how many unspoken undercurrents were hidden in this seemingly warm Highgarden banquet.

"Your Highness, please allow me to take you to the Godswood tomorrow to see the ' Three Singers '!" Mathos patted Daemon's shoulder, his round belly causing Daemon to lean back slightly. "Those three Heart Tree were planted by ' Garth Greenhand,' their branches intertwined like a family, you'll definitely like them!"

Daemon smiled and nodded in agreement, but his gaze fell on Gael and Mysaria. The girls were huddled together whispering something. Gary was still gripping the silver spoon tightly in Gael hand, while Mysaria secretly gave Daemon a "be careful" look.

He suddenly realized that the sweet fragrance of the Highgarden not only contained the scent of roses, but also a hint of indescribable tartness, like biting into an unripe green grape.

As night deepened, the banquet hall remained brightly lit. Mathos was still drinking and playing drinking games with the Reach nobles, their voices so loud they made the candlelight flicker; Martyn Tyrell and Garlan were whispering in a corner, occasionally glancing in Daemon's direction with a hint of inquiry in their eyes; Alys Rivers had somehow moved to the window, her green dress shimmering with dark patterns in the moonlight, gazing at the Highgarden night view outside, her fingers unconsciously stroking the silver chain at her waist.

Daemon stood up, walked over to Gael and Mysaria, and gently comforted them, "Are you tired? I'll take you for a walk in the garden and let you get some fresh air."

Gael's expression softened a bit, and she nodded. "Okay, it's too stuffy here." Mysaria also got up, clutching a freshly picked rose in her hand, which she carefully placed in her bosom.

The three walked out of the banquet hall and strolled along the marble columns towards the garden. The Highgarden was exceptionally quiet in the night, with only the sound of the fountain and the chirping of insects. The golden roses shimmered softly in the moonlight, and the sweet fragrance of roses was even stronger than during the day. Suddenly, Gael stopped and looked at Daemon: "Duke Mathos went too far just now, actually introducing you to his son and those illegitimate children—".

"Don't be angry." Daemon chuckled and ruffled her hair. "He was just a little too enthusiastic. I don't think he meant any harm. Don't you know me, Auntie?"

Mysaria whispered, "Yes, Your Highness, Her Highness only cares about you and everyone else; she won't pay attention to those people."

Daemon grasped their hands, his gaze fixed on the distant main castle tower—its lights still shone, and the faint sound of Mathos's laughter mingled with the flowing waters of the Mander River. He suddenly recalled Larys's gaze, the distant expressions of the Reach nobles, and the strange movements of Dorne on the Stepstones —the splendor of Highgarden was perhaps more fragile than the gold of Casterly Rock, and this seemingly warm banquet was nothing more than the calm before the storm.

"Let's go to the Godswood tomorrow to see the ' Three Singers,'" Daemon said softly. "Then we'll go to Rose Field to see the martial arts tournament."

No matter how many undercurrents are hidden in Highgarden, we still have to go down there.

Gael and Mysaria nodded, and the three of them walked slowly along the garden path. The moonlight shone on them, reflecting the rose petals scattered on the ground, like a golden path leading to the future.

Meanwhile, in the banquet hall behind them, Mathos was still drinking, completely unaware that the Highgarden beneath his feet was already entangled in undercurrents, waiting for a future opportunity to unleash a raging storm.