Drums on Rose Field, Lords Gather at Highgarden

The morning light in Highgarden always cast long shadows of the golden roses. When Daemon followed Lord Mathos Tyrell through the third wall, the white marble floor was still covered in morning dew, cool to the touch like the waters of the Mander River. The roses entwined on the columns had just opened their petals, and water droplets from the petals dripped down the vines onto the stone slabs, spreading out tiny damp patches.

"Your Highness, look! That's our Rose Field!" Mathos suddenly stopped, his round belly causing the gold rose belt around his waist to sway slightly. He pointed to a wide-open green field in the distance where more than a dozen wooden stands had been erected. The main stand in the center was covered with gold and green velvet, and the Tyrell banners fluttered in the wind at its top. Several craftsmen were climbing ladders to hang gold wreaths around the edges of the stands.

Martyn Tyrell followed behind, a speck of grass clinging to the cuff of his grey robe. He brushed it away, his voice much more composed than Mathos': "The tournament is set for three days from now. It consists of three events: spear fighting, team fighting, and archery. Finally, there will be a jousting competition to determine the Queen of Love and Beauty. The prizes are prepared according to the Reach's rules: the first-place winner will receive five thousand gold dragons, a vintage wine from Arbor from House Redwyne, and an oak longbow from House Oakheart —all practical items."

Garlan Tyrell stood beside his father, his eyes, hidden beneath his brown curly hair, sweeping over the layout of Rose Field. He suddenly added, "To prevent any accidents, I've had wooden railings erected around the stands and have arranged for twenty guards. If any knights lose control, they can be stopped in time." His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a maturity beyond his years, a stark contrast to Mathos's carefree manner.

The illegitimate children following behind Mathos now showed a stark difference:

The largest one wore an ill-fitting silver armor, clearly given to him on the spot by Mathos, and his hand rested on the hilt of his sword, wanting to show off but also appearing awkward;

The youngest was only twelve or thirteen years old, clutching a wooden carved gold rose, his eyes fixed on the Glutton in the distance, yet he dared not get too close;

Only a tall boy in the middle remained relatively calm, standing next to Garlan and occasionally helping to tidy up the blueprints for the stands, somewhat resembling the House Tyrell.

"And another thing!" Mathos suddenly clapped his hands, almost hitting Martyn beside him. "I specially had a new golden rose planted in the center of Rose Field, even bigger than the one in front of the main castle! The champion of the tournament will personally water the rose with the first bucket of the Mander River. This is an old tradition in our Reach, symbolizing that glory is born from the land!"

Daemon's gaze fell on the newly planted seedling in the center of Rose Field. Its tender green leaves were still wrapped in moisturizing linen, and it was surrounded by a circle of white pebbles, as if drawing a circle around the newborn glory.

He recalled the blood and fire on the Red Grassland in his previous life, and then looked at the peaceful preparations before him. The black three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder suddenly felt slightly hot—perhaps this was the meaning of his transmigration, to let this liveliness last a little longer.

"Your Grace the Duke has certainly considered everything carefully." Daemon nodded, the hilt of the Blackfyre gleaming cool in his palm. "Perhaps the Glutton and Dreams can also come and witness the victory."

No sooner had these words been spoken than a low growl suddenly came from the other side of the square. The Glutton seemed to understand; the Black Dragon raised its head, its jet-black eyes sweeping across Rose Field. Its breath condensed into white vapor in the morning air, causing the craftsmen building the stands to stop in their tracks, even forgetting to strike with their hammers. Mathos laughed even more heartily, "With a true dragon of the royal family as witness! This tournament will surely make the Seven Kingdoms remember the glory of Highgarden!"

Meanwhile, in the garden on the west side of the Highgarden, a completely different scene unfolded.

Gael was wearing a wool cloak embroidered with pale blue roses. Mysaria was helping her tighten the ribbon at the collar of the cloak. Her platinum curls fell across her cheeks, and her fingertips still had rose petals she had just picked. "Your Highness," she said, "These roses smell even better than those from the Crakehall. Would you like to wear one in your hair?"

The Duchess of House Redwyn walked beside her, the hem of her pale blue dress with purple accents brushing lightly against the grass. She then raised a silver basket full of green grapes and smiled as she offered a bunch to Geri: "Princess Geri, please try some. These are just from Green Pavilion Island, sent to Highgarden from our Redwyn family. They're sweeter than any other grapes from the Reach. Every year at this time, our fleet is loaded with boats full of grapes and raisins, sailing down the Mande River to Highgarden. That fellow Mathous always insists on eating the first basket."

Although her words conveyed a sense of propriety, the color of her clothing suggested that the Duchess was already at odds with her husband, Duke Mathos. After all, it wasn't the green of Tyrell and the Reach punctuated with gold, but rather the color of purple grapes on her maternal Redwyne coat of arms.

Lady Florence followed behind, her emerald green dress contrasting beautifully with the surrounding vines. She suddenly pointed to a neatly trimmed patch of bushes in the distance. "Those were planted according to the legend of ' Garth Greenhand ' Garth. On the left are ears of wheat, on the right grapes, and in the center roses, symbolizing the abundance of the Reach. But Dorne haven't been peaceful in Dorne lately. Redwyne's fleet said they saw Dorne merchants in contact with Lys pirates at the Stepstones; it seems trouble is brewing."

The woman behind the former Master of Coin the Exchequer, who was known as the "Apple Prodigy" in his youth and was called the "Master of Coin of the Exchequer," had clearly long been disgusted by her husband's nephew's foolish behavior. She had no intention of getting involved in her nephew's wife's cryptic words.

Gael took the green grape, took a bite, and the sweet juice spread on her tongue. "The minds of the Dornish are always hard to fathom. But with Daemon here, and the Glutton and Dreamfyre, they shouldn't dare to act rashly." Clearly, although our "Child of Winter" has changed because someone rode Dreamfyre, he is still as innocent as a blank sheet of paper when it comes to these things.

Mysaria nodded in agreement with Gael, clutching Gael's sleeve tightly. Her gaze swept over the corner of the garden where Larys Strong's grey donkey, "Mr. Longlegs," had somehow slipped in and was now munching on roses. Larys, leaning on his cane, was chasing after him, sweating profusely, his black robe stained with petals, muttering, "You glutton! Yesterday you stole the side dishes, today you're stealing the flowers! If Duke Mathos sees you, he'll stew you!"

The ladies burst into laughter. The Duchess wiped away tears of laughter from her eyes, saying, "That Mr. Strong's donkey is even more lively than the nobles of our Reach." Lady Florence joined in the laughter, "I heard that when Your Highnesses were in Old Oak, this donkey loved to join in the fun. Seeing it today, it certainly lives up to its reputation."

Before the laughter in the garden had faded, the sound of horses' hooves suddenly came from the direction of the main gate of the Highgarden. The lords and knights of the Reach had arrived.

The first to arrive was the House Redwyne's party, led by a young man riding a pure white horse, his silver armor embroidered with the grape emblem of Arbor. He was none other than Earl Redwyne's second son, Alyn Redwyne.

He had barely dismounted when he spotted the Glutton in the plaza. His eyes lit up instantly, and ignoring his servants' attempts to stop him, he strode towards Daemon: "Your Highness Daemon! I didn't have a chance to learn spear techniques from you at last year's King's Landing's Landing tournament. I'd like to challenge you to a match at this Rose Field tournament!"

Following closely behind was a knight from House Florent, clad in red and gold armor, holding a longsword inlaid with rubies. He bowed to Daemon and said, "Your Highness, I am Mace Florent. Last year, your leadership of the Vale lords' allied forces in relieving the Moon Gate Keep has been widely known Reach! If you do not mind, I would like to serve as your bodyguard at the tournament!"

The crowd gradually thickened, and the lords of the Rowan, House Peake, and House Oakheart arrived one after another, some with cavalry, others carrying gifts. The golden rose flag on the square was made even more vibrant by the crowd.

At the edge of the crowd, a young man in silver armor was hunching his shoulders, trying to hide behind his companions. He was none other than Lucas Tyrell, Mathos's nephew.

Last year at the King's Landing's Landing tournament, twelve-year-old Daemon hurled him from his horse with a single spear thrust, his armor shattering. This story circulated among the Reach nobles for almost half a year.

Upon seeing Daemon again, Lucas's face turned pale instantly. His fingers gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, and the moment his gaze met Daemon's, he looked away as if burned. He even shrank back behind the House Florent knight beside him, looking like a rabbit that had encountered a dragon.

"Isn't that Lucas?" Garlan noticed his subtle movements and whispered to Martyn, his tone tinged with helplessness. "Ever since His Highness knocked him off his horse last year, he's been afraid to see him."

Martyn sighed, his gaze sweeping over his grand-nephew huddled in the crowd. "Mathos always says he's too cowardly, but in the last duel, His Highness's marksmanship was truly impressive. Anyone would be intimidated if they were challenged like that once."

Daemon naturally noticed Lucas as well, but didn't point it out. He simply smiled gently at the young talents who had gathered around him, "In the tournament, everyone will prove their skill. Sir Alyn wishes to test his spear skills, and I'm ready to oblige at any time; Sir Mace is willing to serve as my bodyguard, and I thank him in advance. However, winning or losing is not important; what matters is showing the Seven Kingdoms the demeanor of the Reach's knights."

As soon as he finished speaking, the Glutton suddenly let out a deep dragon roar. Its black dragon wings flapped gently, creating a gust of wind that caused the golden rose petals around it to fall and land on Daemon's silver hair, like a handful of gold dust.

Dreamfyre echoed from a short distance away, its pale blue dragon breath condensing into white vapor in the morning sky, intertwining with the Glutton's black flames, causing everyone to look up, their eyes filled with awe and excitement.

"Your Highness's dragon is truly magnificent!" Alyn Redwyne gazed at the Glutton with longing in his eyes. "If I could follow such a dragon, I would definitely burn down those Ironborn longships that came to plunder our little fishing village below Arbor last time!" Mace Florent nodded in agreement. "With a dragon around, let alone Ironborn longships, even if the Three Whores ' fleet came again, it would be burned to ashes by Dragonfire!"

Seeing the lively scene, Mathos was overjoyed and patted Daemon on the shoulder. "Your Highness, look! All the best talents from the Reach are here! The tournament in three days will surely be even more exciting than the one hastily organized in King's Landing last time! I've also had the best ale and roast meat prepared, I guarantee everyone will eat and drink to their heart's content!"

Gael and Mysaria also came from the garden. Gael saw the young knights surrounding Daemon and a smile appeared on her lips, "It seems our Little Daemon is more popular in the Reach than elsewhere." Mysaria then offered a peach that had just been picked from the garden. "Your Highness, have some fruit to cleanse your palate. The Duchess just said that this is the last batch of peaches this year."

Daemon took the peach, his fingertips tracing the fuzz on its skin. He looked toward the direction of Rose Field, where the artisans had already hung the last string of golden wreaths. The velvet of the main grandstand swayed slightly in the wind, and the Mander River in the distance shimmered with golden light, as if preparing for the tournament three days later.

He suddenly felt that the wind in Highgarden was not only warm, but also carried a power that was about to be unleashed, like those eager young knights, like the dragon's breath of Glutton and Dreamfyre, and even more like the flame in his heart that refused to be extinguished.

Larys Strong finally caught the grey donkey stealing the roses. He walked over to Daemon, his black robes still stained with petals, and said, "Your Highness, I just heard from the House Florent that the House Peake have brought fifty knights this time, probably intending to compete for first place in the tournament. They have a long-standing feud with the House Tyrell, so you should be careful."

Daemon nodded. He had known about the feud between the two families since his previous life. His gaze swept over the banner of House Peake in the crowd—the black and orange emblem was particularly conspicuous in the sunlight. The leading knight was looking at Garlan with a provocative gaze, clearly not taking House Tyrell seriously.

"Understood." Daemon gripped the hilt of the Blackfyre, the Valyrian steel patterns on the blade gleaming coldly in the morning light. "There are rules to govern the tournament."

As the sun gradually set, the white marble of Highgarden was dyed golden red. The lords followed Mathos to the banquet hall one after another. Lucas Tyrell lingered at the back, and only dared to walk slowly with his own branch of the family when the crowd had almost dispersed. When he passed Daemon, he quickly bowed and did not dare to raise his head.

Daemon watched his retreating figure and suddenly smiled. The burly man who had been knocked off his horse last year still carried a hint of fear, but within that fear lay a deep reverence for the strong.

Meanwhile, the eyes of the enthusiastic young talents around them shone even brighter, like sparks waiting to be ignited.

Gael walked to his side, her pale purple eyes reflecting the setting sun. "The martial arts tournament in three days is sure to be very exciting." Mysaria nodded in agreement, clutching a rose petal in her hand. "I'll cheer for His Highness then, and I'll also bring some fresh berries for Dreamfyre."

99

The Glutton and Dreamfyre huddled together in the open space of the square, their dragon breath condensing into white vapor in the twilight, reflecting off the lights of the Highgarden.

Daemon knew that three days later, Rose Field would hold not only spears and swordsmanship, but also the undercurrents and hopes of the Reach. He wanted to be a witness and a guardian of this excitement, just as the Glutton guarded the Dreamfyre, just as the Blackfyre guarded the glory of the Dragonblood.

As night deepened, bursts of laughter echoed from the Highgarden's banquet hall. Mathos's booming voice, mixed with the clinking of glasses, drifted on the wind, mingling with the sound of the Mander River flowing by, like a prelude to the tournament.

Daemon stood in the square, gazing at the distant Rose Field, the brand on his right shoulder slightly burning, as if echoing the passion and glory that would ignite in three days.