The golden lion and the golden rose, a southwestern alliance?

The sea breeze of Blackwater Bay had just dispelled the dampness of the morning mist when it was stirred up by the horns of a new fleet.

The day of the martial arts tournament is drawing ever closer, and most of the lords from the Crownlands, the Vale, the the North, the Riverlands, and the Stormlands have arrived. In the past few days, many lords from the Reach have also arrived one after another, but the lords from the Westerlands have remained relatively quiet.

However, in the morning light today, two distinctly different banners sailed with the ocean current from the direction of Blackwater Bay into the Blackwater Rush, slowly approaching the port of King's Landing's Landing. On the west side was the House Lannister's red banner with a roaring gold lion, the gold thread on the fabric gleaming coldly in the sunlight, like solidified lava;

On the east side was the House Tyrell, its green background adorned with vibrant gold roses, its skirt-like banner billowing in the wind, mingling with the distinctive floral and fruity scents of the Reach, creating a striking yet wondrous contrast with the red and gold.

Daemon stood on the pier, holding Rhaenyra, who had just woken up. The little girl rubbed her eyes, her tiny hand still clutching the seashell that Laenor had given Daemon earlier.

Gael stood beside Daemon, her pale blue rose cloak fluttering as it swept across the sand on the cobblestones. She muttered softly, "The lords of the Westerlands hadn't sent a single servant before, so why has Duke Taimond suddenly brought them all here personally? And Duke Mathos Tyrell, how come House Tyrell is with the Lannister ships too?"

Mysaria held the box of honey cakes, a speck of fine salt from the sea breeze clinging to her platinum curls. "Perhaps we met them on the road? Last time on Arbor, Earl Redwyne mentioned that the Westerlands and the Reach were recently discussing wine trade. Maybe Duke Taimond and Lord Mathos are traveling together for that."

Johanna stood at the back, clutching the change of clothes she had prepared for Rhaenyra. Her gaze fell on the flagship— Taimond Lannister was wearing red and gold armor, the lion emblem on his breastplate appearing even more majestic than rumored. Beside him, Mathos Tyrell wore a brand-new gold and green brocade robe, his round belly bulging against his belt, a somewhat unnatural smile on his face, clearly not quite used to being so close to the lords of the Westerlands.

"It's Duke Taimond!" Rayford's voice came from behind the crowd. He held the list of lords in his hand and strode over to Daemon's side. "Several lords from the Westerlands have also come this time, all summoned by Duke Taimond. I heard that they were quiet before because the Westerlands were dealing with the remaining Ironborn longships, and they only managed to gather a group yesterday. Lord Mathos met Taimond when he set off from Highgarden and they traveled together."

As they spoke, the fleet reached the shore. Taimond Lannister was the first to step off the gangplank, his red and gold armor boots clicking on the bluestone. Behind him followed the lords of the Westerlands:

Earl Reynes of Castamere wore black armor, the Red Lion emblem on his breastplate stained with rust;

Following behind his father, the second son of the Earl family of Marbrand Ashemark secretly held a silver spoon in his hand, exchanging glances with Rupert Crabb across the distance. He even took it out and waved it in his hand when no one was looking. Last year, when Daemon toured the Westerlands, he had used the skill of picking up a sword with a silver spoon, which his uncle, Sir Lorent, had taught him during a competition. At the time, this amazing skill had completely captivated Rupert and his companions.

Mathos Tyrell followed behind with several Reach lords. When he saw Daemon, the smile on his round face stiffened even more, and he subconsciously shrank behind Taimond Lannister, clearly still remembering the embarrassment of being exposed by Daemon for his bastard son's rebellion at the Tournament at Rose Field.

As for his eldest son, Garlan Tyrell, who was standing beside him, he was dressed in silver-green armor and stepped forward, bowing to Daemon: "Your Highness, it's been a long time. Father said that during this trip to King's Landing, Martyn and Aunt Florence instructed that they must apologize to you for what happened last time—"

"Let's not dwell on the past," Daemon interrupted him with a smile, his gaze sweeping over Duke Mathos before turning to signal Lucas Tyrell in the rearguard to help receive the Reach delegation led by his uncle and cousin. "The well-being of the Reach's people is more important than anything else."

Upon hearing this, Garlan breathed a sigh of relief and immediately had a servant present him with a brocade box, "This is Highgarden's newly brewed Golden Rose Wine, for Your Highness and the Princess."

Otto Hightower then approached, his green robe cuffs crumpled from gripping them, but he deliberately wore a gentle smile, "Duke Taimond, Duke Mathos, you must be tired from your journey. His Highness Viserys has prepared a banquet at the dock. Shall we rest first, and then discuss the tournament?"

As he spoke, he subtly led Dukes Taimond and Mathos toward Viserys. Most of the lords of the Westerlands and the Reach followed, with only a few remaining behind.

"Your Highness, I've been practicing the spear techniques you taught me during our sparring session in Ashemark last year!" Earl Marbrand's second son approached Daemon, waving the silver spoon in his hand at Rupert, "I'd like to have another match with you at this tournament!"

Earl Reynes of Castamere nodded in agreement. "The news of Your Highness burning the Ironborn longships in Lannisport has spread throughout the Westerlands. My son talks about it every day, saying he wants to join your Dark Blade Guard!"

Daemon responded to each of them, his tone calm yet gentle. However, these people were merely going through the motions; after a few polite words, they followed Lord Feng to Viserys.

After seeing the lords off, Daemon glanced down at Rhaenyra in his arms—the little one was yawning again, nuzzling her head against his shoulder. "Viserys, Aemma, I'll take Rhaenyra the Red Keep first. You two are in charge here."

He called out to Viserys and Aemma, who were not far away, and after receiving a response, he picked up Rhaenyra and led Gael, Mysaria, and Johanna toward the Red Keep.

Otto watched Daemon's retreating figure, a barely perceptible smile playing on his lips. Most of the lords were gathered around Viserys, while Daemon was surrounded by a cold, deserted crowd—this was exactly what he wanted.

But he didn't notice that before Earl Marbrand's second son left with his father, he secretly slipped Daemon a parchment scroll with the distribution of iron mines in the Westerlands written on it—

That was something Daemon had asked him to investigate, to prepare for reinforcing the Dark Blade Guard's armor and to procure equipment from the Westerlands Kingdom lords for the upcoming expedition.

Traces of morning exercises still lingered in the courtyard of the Red Keep; wooden swords and spears lay piled in a corner, and a few golden rose petals were scattered on the ground—one of the decorations sent by the Reach lords.

As Daemon stepped into the corridor, he saw a figure leaning against a pillar, the hem of his golden robe sweeping across the ground, a wine jug clutched in his hand—it was Daemon Targaryen.

"Little Daemon, you're finally back!" He shook the flask, spilling a few drops of wine. "I went shopping with that girl Lysa today, and her father Grover, was practically green with rage. It was so boring. Want to have a couple of drinks with me?"

Just as Daemon was about to speak, he heard a series of hurried footsteps— Borros Baratheon came running over carrying a battle axe, his armor covered in bits of grass, followed by Brandon Stark, whose leather armor bore several scratches.

"Little Daemon! I've finished sparring with Brandon, wanna give it a try?" Borros shouted, twirling his axe in his hand. "Brandon just said that the axes of the the North are stronger than those of the Stormlands, and I disagree!"

Brandon rolled up his sleeves, revealing his muscular arms. "That's right! My dad said that our Stark ancestors once cleaved Giants ' bones with an axe! When we get to the the North, I'll show you!"

Daemon Targaryen raised an eyebrow, stepped between the two, and placed his flask on the stone table. "What are you two arguing about? Little Daemon is the closest to me; I even took him out to Silk Street last time—neither of you gets that treatment?"

"That's nothing!" Borros exclaimed, stepping forward. "I hunted white stags with Little Daemon at Griffin's Roost, and he even taught me how to throw prey with a spear!"

"I made plans with him to hunt bears in the the North!" Brandon retorted, exaggerating, "That day after we drank, he even said he'd ride Glutton and take me flying!"

"I share the same name as him!" Daemon Targaryen swirled his flask. "We're both called Daemon, what a coincidence! Besides, I'm his cousin, so I'm the elder brother in terms of seniority!"

The three of them were arguing so fiercely that their spittle almost splashed onto Rhaenyra's face, who was in Daemon's arms.

Daemon sighed and rubbed his forehead, just about to intervene when a group of people walked towards the end of the corridor— Boremund Baratheon and Yobert House Royce walked side by side, William Dustin pushed Duke Ellard's wheelchair, Jocelyn and Rhaenys followed behind, and Jeyne House Arryn tugged at the hem of the guardian regent Yobert's clothes, her short legs stumbling as she ran; clearly, she was the one who had dragged Yobert to find Daemon.

"What's going on?" Boremund asked with a smile, his gaze falling on the three arguing individuals. "Borros, are you arguing with someone again?"

Jocelyn, looking worried, walked over to Daemon and asked, "Did they bully you? Should I tell your uncle?"

Duke Ellard shook his head, his eyes warm. "Lady Jocelyn, don't worry. Young people, a little competition makes things exciting. When I was young, my brother Benjen and I even fought over a rabbit."

Yobert House Royce looked at Daemon Targaryen, the coldness in his eyes lessening somewhat. Having served as regent in the Eyrie for so long, he didn't really know his nephew-in-law very well. He had previously been unhappy with the rumors of Damon leaving Rhea hanging and the two of them causing a scene in Runestone. But now, seeing him arguing like a child over "elder brother," he found this "Rogue Prince" somewhat endearing.

"That's what a man's youth is like," he sighed softly. "Back then, my brother and I would compete so fiercely, our faces turning red and our necks bulging. Thinking back now, I do feel nostalgic."

Boremund patted Ellard on the shoulder. "You're right! Come on, let's find a place to drink. I came to King's Landing this time, so I brought a few jugs of Storm's End ale. Watching them have a contest is much better than listening to the ministers ramble on in the Small Council, isn't it?"

Ellard and Yobert nodded with smiles, Jocelyn and Rhaenys didn't stop them anymore. Watching the three young people bickering was much more pleasant than watching the lords scheming against each other. Rhaenys even winked at Daemon: "Don't try to stop them, let them argue, they'll be done when they've had their fun."

A group of elders walked toward the wine cellar chatting and laughing, leaving Daemon and the women standing there.

Rhaenyra, nestled in Daemon's arms, had woken up and was watching the arguing three with curiosity, her little hand still clutching Daemon's silver hair.

Jeyne, who had been left behind by her guardian, walked over to Daemon and gently tugged at his cloak. "Little Daemon, are they going to fight? Can I watch?"

Just as Daemon was about to slip into the room and say, "Look, I'm going to catch up on some sleep," Gael grabbed his arm, her pale purple eyes full of displeasure. "No way! You've been so busy these past few days, you haven't taken me for a walk in the garden! Little Mei said there were new varieties of flowers blooming in the garden yesterday, and you didn't even see them!"

Jocelyn came over and touched Daemon's cheek, her voice full of concern. "You have dark circles under your eyes. Did you stay up all night processing intelligence again? I specially asked the kitchen to make pigeon soup; you have to drink it while it's hot."

Rhaenys then led Laena and Laenor over. Laenor pounced on Daemon's legs, "Uncle! My sister and I drew Glutton, do you want to see it?" Laena nodded helplessly, holding up a drawing by her younger brother Laenor. It was a piece of parchment covered in black lines—a crooked Black Dragon was drawn on it, with a few stars drawn on its wings.

Daemon looked at the women and children who had gathered around him. Rhaenyra was still babbling in his arms, wanting to be held. Jeyne was tugging at his cloak and wouldn't let go. Gael was clutching his arm. The maid behind Jocelyn was still holding a food box containing pigeon soup. Mysaria and Johanna stood to the side, their eyes full of smiles.

He sighed helplessly, but a hint of warmth flashed in his purple eyes.

The exhaustion from processing intelligence and the tediousness of dealing with the feudal lords all melted into tenderness in my heart at this moment.

"Okay," he compromised, "Let's look at the dragons you drew first, then go to the garden to see the roses, drink the pigeon soup, and finally I'll play with you, is that alright?"

"Okay!" the children shouted in unison. Laenor wanted to take the opportunity to kiss him on the cheek, but was pulled away by his sister Laena.

Rhaenyra, who had just woken up in Daemon's arms, got there first, leaving a faint drool mark.

Gael smiled and helped him wipe it clean, while Jocelyn handed him a bowl of pigeon soup from the maid behind her; the temperature was just right.

From the distant arena came the cheers of three young men as Borros's "Storm," Brandon's "Wolf's Tooth," Daemon Targaryen's "Dark Sister" clashed together, producing a crisp sound.

Daemon held Rhaenyra in his arms, looking at the chattering women and children around him. He still felt that, compared to the power struggles of the Small Council and the scheming among the lords, the liveliness and warmth of this moment were what he truly wanted to protect after traversing a century.

As the sun began to set, the bells of the Red Keep rang out, mingling with the laughter from the arena. Daemon sipped his pigeon soup, listened to Gael describe the new varieties of flowers blooming in the garden, watched Laena and Laenor display their paintings, and felt Jocelyn's gentle gaze. Suddenly, he felt that even if he couldn't catch up on sleep, this kind of "trouble" was quite nice.