Clubfoot, the gray donkey, and the dragons

The morning mist in Harrenhal had not yet dissipated, and the gravel in the Flowstone Yard crunched on the soles of my boots.

As Daemon mounted the Glutton's dragon saddle, he glimpsed the House Strong standing at the castle gates seeing him off— Earl Bywin looked grave, Harwin Strong gripped his sword hilt, but Larys Strong was nowhere to be seen.

"That cripple probably won't dare to come, will he?" Daemon Targaryen sneered beside Caraxes, leaning on his cane.

He had seen this guy, who looked just like him, yesterday while he was "wandering" around the castle.

The bandage on his left leg had just been changed, and the white linen was still taut, but that didn't dampen his enthusiasm for watching the spectacle.

Before the words were finished, a strange braying of a donkey came from inside the fortress.

The crowd looked in the direction of the sound and saw Larys Strong riding a gray donkey, limping out of the archway.

His black robe swept over the stray hairs on the donkey's back, and his left leg stretched out unnaturally. With each step he took, the donkey brayed, as if protesting the strange burden.

"By the gods..." Rayford Rosby covered his mouth, his shoulders shaking violently. Lyonel Corbray, standing beside him, turned his head, the hilt of his silver sword clenched white in his palm, but he couldn't stop the muffled laughter from his throat.

Rupert Crabb, usually so serious, turned his back as well, the shoulder armor of his white suit of armor trembling slightly as he suppressed a laugh.

Colin Celtigar paused as he arranged the navigation charts, his gaze falling on Larys's obviously deformed left foot, and an uncontrollable smile crept onto his lips.

The one who couldn't hold back the most was Myles Rivers, who pounded his thigh and laughed wildly, "Is this Harrenhal's new joke? Strong who uses a donkey for transportation!" A hint of a smile flashed in Jarman Waters's one eye, and he quickly lowered his head to pretend to check the bowstring, but the tips of his ears turned slightly red.

Larys, however, seemed not to hear. He rode his donkey to the front of the group and gently patted the donkey's ear. "Please don't laugh, everyone. My legs are letting me down. I'm afraid I'll fall off the horse. I'll have to trouble this ' Mr. Longlegs ' to give me a ride." He deliberately emphasized the words "long-legged," and his self-deprecating tone made the laughter even louder.

Daemon's gaze swept over the twisted corners of his mouth, catching a fleeting glimpse of coldness in that instant—like the chilling glint of a snake flicking its tongue.

But when Larys looked up, his dark eyes held only harmless mockery. He even bowed slightly to Daemon: "Your Highness wouldn't mind a donkey tarnishing your ranks, would you? After all, a lame man with a bad horse is a fitting match."

"Keep up with me," Daemon said calmly, and a low growl rolled from the Glutton's throat, as if mocking the absurd scene.

Just as the group was about to set off, heavy footsteps suddenly came from behind the fortress gate.

Alys Rivers carried a carved wooden box, her black hair cascading down like a waterfall, making the curves under her gray dress so exaggerated that even the morning mist seemed to freeze.

The gray dress was stretched taut, outlining a breathtaking curve. With each step, the silver chain around her waist swayed, making a soft, tinkling sound against the wooden box and the brass lock, as if tapping on everyone's heartbeats.

The women of the Strong family instinctively shrank back, the younger ones even lowering their eyelids, not daring to look directly at them;

Harwin Strong's hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his knuckles white. Had Earl Bywin not coughed in time, he probably would have rushed forward to question the woman about her presence.

The old Earl himself squinted, his gaze shifting between Alys and Daemon before finally settling on Larys's gray donkey—as if the donkey could give him the answer.

The laughter in the group had long since disappeared. Myles Rivers stood with his mouth agape, unable to close it for a long time, his hand still suspended in mid-air as he was massaging his legs;

Rupert Crabb turned around, forgetting to conceal his expression; his shoulder armor gleamed awkwardly in the morning light.

Jarman Waters's one eye widened unusually, his gaze lingering on Alys Rivers for a moment before quickly shifting away, pretending to check the bowstring, but his ear tips quietly turned red.

As if oblivious to the awkward silence around them, Alys Rivers walked straight up to Larys and handed him the wooden crate.

"Give it to the servant." Her voice was casual, yet carried a familiar, commanding tone.

Larys quickly slid off the donkey's back, stumbled on the stone slab with his limp, and then steadied himself to take the box.

His black robe swept across the donkey's legs, and the gray donkey scratched its hooves in dissatisfaction, as if mocking its master's obsequious manner.

Then, she strode towards the dragons.

"Daemon."

The two words were like pebbles thrown into an icy lake, instantly stirring up the surface.

Daemon Targaryen's eyes lit up, and he hurriedly slid down from Caraxes's back, his silver hair brushing against the red dragon scales. "The beauty called me?" His left leg was still tightly bandaged, but that didn't stop him from striking a dashing pose; he even deliberately puffed out his chest. "I knew it, the Strong family had someone like this hidden away..."

Before she could finish speaking, Alys Rivers stopped beside the Glutton's claws and looked up at Daemon on the dragon's back.

"You should stay with the group," Daemon's voice was as calm as the deep waters of Gods Eye, his gaze sweeping over her empty hands, "Or take a carriage."

Alys Rivers smiled, the curve of her red lips strikingly similar to the twisted mouth of the Isle of Faces Heart Tree: "You need me, don't you?" She took a half-step forward, the neckline of her gray dress slightly open, "There are some things about the flames that I can't tell you in the carriage."

"Whoa--"

Myles Rivers couldn't help but gasp and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Gael's brows furrowed, and a layer of frost appeared in her pale purple eyes. Mysaria quietly moved closer to her, the girl's shoulders trembling slightly, and her skirt was already crumpled into a mess.

Daemon Targaryen's cane clattered to the ground. Only then did he realize—the "Daemon" that had been called wasn't for him.

He froze awkwardly on Caraxes's scales, unsure whether to go up or down, so he picked up his cane and winked at Alys Rivers, "Little Daemon, you're something else..." He deliberately dragged out the words, his gaze lingering on Alys Rivers's face, "You've kept it well hidden. A beauty of this caliber, and you didn't even explain it to your brother first? Back in Silk Street..."

"Shut up." Gael's voice was as cold as ice.

Daemon Targaryen immediately fell silent, then winked at Daemon: "See, Auntie's yelling at me again. You've got more influence, though. If you hadn't begged her, I bet she'd have sent her back to King's Landing already."

Daemon ignored his teasing, bent down and pulled the dazed Mysaria onto the Glutton's back. The girl's fingers were icy cold and trembled slightly as she gripped his sleeve.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered, his fingertips accidentally touching the light pink needle marks on her wrist—marks left from her needlework a few days ago.

Alys Rivers watched this scene, her smile deepening. She turned to Gael and curtsied, "Your Highness, may I ride with you? The magnificent Dreamfyre is certainly more comfortable than a carriage."

Gael bit her lip and remained silent, which was taken as tacit consent.

But just as she was about to climb onto the dragon's back, Alys Rivers suddenly wrapped his arms around her waist from behind—the girl gasped in surprise, her cheeks instantly turning bright red, as if dyed by the morning mist.

Alys Rivers ' chest pressed against her back, and the astonishing softness made Gael stiffen all over, her fingers gripping the dragon saddle slipping.

"You..." Gael wanted to say something, but the hot breath that Alys Rivers exhaled in her ear made her forget her words.

Daemon, perched on Glutton's back, frowned, about to speak, when Alys Rivers looked up at him, her eyes devoid of frivolity, only a knowing calm, as if saying, "Trust me." He suppressed his displeasure and patted the Black Dragon's back. "Let's go."

The Glutton let out a low growl and took to the air first, the wind it stirred up carrying away the last few wisps of morning mist.

Caraxes closely behind, while Daemon Targaryen, perched on the dragon's back, muttered, "Fairness, so unfair... He's being held by a beauty and didn't even call me..."

As the Dreamfyre finally ascended into the sky, the wind whipped up by the pale blue dragon wings caused Alys Rivers ' black hair to brush against Gael's cheek.

Gael her face away, but couldn't help glancing at her out of the corner of her eye— Alys Rivers were indeed much fuller than hers, even Mysaria's combined probably couldn't match them.

She subtly puffed out her chest, then felt it was childish and pursed her lips in annoyance.

"Are we competing?" Alys Rivers ' voice was tinged with laughter, her warm breath brushing against Gael's ear.

The girl's face flushed even redder, and she suddenly moved forward, almost touching Dreamfyre's neck. "No!"

Caraxes suddenly leaned closer, and Daemon Targaryen's laughter drifted on the breeze. "Why is Auntie blushing? Are you embarrassed being hugged by a beauty? How about I take your place?"

"If you make another sound, I'll throw you into Gods Eye!" Gael's angry roar was tinged with tears, which made Daemon on the Glutton's back chuckle.

Mysaria noticed his smile, looked up at him, her eyes full of confusion.

Daemon looked down at her and suddenly remembered that Daemon Targaryen hadn't left his "quiet retreat" in the attic since he left. He wondered if their "Rogue Prince" would be frightened by the ransom money that Gael had hung in his tent when he returned to Silk Street.

Thinking of this, he couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"What are you laughing at?" Gael turned her head, and Alys Rivers also looked over, her eyes filled with inquiry.

Daemon shook his head and didn't speak. Gael, however, suddenly noticed that there was no mockery in Alys Rivers's gaze as she looked at him, only a faint pity, as if she were looking at a fragile treasure.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt Alys Rivers's hand tighten around her waist—the pressure wasn't affectionate, but rather a reminder of her future.

She looked at Daemon on the Glutton's back and saw him whispering something to Mysaria, the girl's face flushed.

Gael's anger subsided somewhat, and she turned to glare at the still-nagging Daemon Targaryen —this philandering scoundrel must have corrupted her Little Daemon!

As the morning mist dissipated, the turquoise waters of Gods Eye spread out below, resembling a giant emerald.

The shadow of the three-headed dragon was cast on the water, chasing each other as its wings flapped.

Daemon Targaryen's jokes, Gael's scolding, Alys Rivers ' whispers, and Mysaria's giggles mingled in the wind, creating a cacophony.

Only Daemon caught a glimpse of Larys riding his grey donkey, led by a servant at the very end of the procession. The arc of his black robes fluttering in the wind was strikingly similar to the smile hidden in the shadows at the corner of his mouth.

Meanwhile, Alys Rivers tapped her knuckles against Gael's waist, counting softly, as if conveying some kind of secret message.

Riverrun was still far away, but the shadow of Harrenhal had already crept into the depths of the Riverlands along with this group of people.