An Absurd Cause
The wind of High Heart, carrying the unique dampness of the Trident, swept across the meadows covered with broom flowers.
The Glutton's shadow was cast upon the high hill, its massive claws crushing wildflowers, its breath scorching the grass into a charred black. Caraxes and Dreamfyre stood on either side, the red dragon's scales gleaming blood-red in the sunlight, the blue dragon's wings reflecting the pale gray of the sky—the three-headed dragon's imposing presence acted like an invisible net, instantly silencing the previously deafening battlefield.
The burly man from House Bracken Brecken froze in mid-air, his greatsword in hand. The knight from House Blackwood had his sword tip just inches from his opponent's throat, but it was blocked by the opponent's longsword.
The roars of the two groups were stuck in their throats as they watched helplessly as those around them dropped their weapons and scrambled away into the distance.
The mud of the Riverlands was stained with blood, leaving dark marks at the hooves of their warhorses, but no one dared to move again.
"Tsk, what a buzzkill." Daemon Targaryen, leaning on his cane, scoffed beside Caraxes. "Just warmed up and it's already over."
Daemon ignored his complaints and climbed off the Glutton's dragon saddle. The Blackfyre drew a silver arc in the sunlight, and the scabbard struck the belt at his waist with a crisp sound.
He walked over to Lyonel Corbray and patted the man's horse's neck. "May I borrow your horse?"
Lyonel quickly dismounted, the shoulder armor of his armor making a soft creak as he moved. "Your Highness, please."
Daemon leaped onto the saddle using the stirrups, and the Blackfyre was drawn with a "whoosh," the light reflected from the blade so bright it was blinding.
He spurred his horse's flanks, and the mount charged down the gentle slope of the hill. The sound of the horse's hooves pounding the grass mingled with the roar of the Glutton, like a battle horn.
"Separate!"
Before the shout had even finished, the Blackfyre had already struck like lightning. Just as the greatsword of the burly man House Bracken and the longsword of the knight Blackwood were about to collide again, they were abruptly separated by this unexpected sword strike.
The clanging of metal sent shivers down their spines, and the warhorses staggered backward, leaving deep hoofprints in the mud.
The House Bracken man Breken roared and swung his sword again, the wind from the blade whipping Daemon's sideburns.
Daemon's eyes turned cold. He slashed the Blackfyre diagonally, the spine of the blade striking the hilt precisely. The burly man felt a sharp pain in his hand, the greatsword flew out of his grasp, and landed in the grass some distance away, the hilt still vibrating.
"Still dare to move?" Daemon's sword tip pressed against the burly man's throat, the chill in his purple eyes colder than the Glutton's dragon breath. "The rules of the Iron Throne and the Riverlands are for you to kill each other with High Heart?"
Just as the Knight of Blackwood was about to step forward, he saw Daemon flick his wrist, and the edge of the Blackfyre swept towards his longsword.
The knight hurriedly sheathed his sword, but was swayed to one side by the wind from the sword, and the decorations on his saddle clattered to the ground.
Upon seeing this, the surrounding House Bracken and Blackwood tribesmen drew their weapons and tried to surround them.
Just then, a deafening dragon roar came from the high hill— Caraxes suddenly raised his head, his scarlet dragon eyes sweeping over the crowd, his dragon breath gathering between his teeth, making the surrounding grass and leaves glow red.
"Yo ho, it's my turn!"
Daemon Targaryen's voice, mingled with the dragon's roar, sounded particularly jarring. Ignoring his limp, he staggered off Caraxes, leaning on his crutch, and snatched the lance from Corlys Celtigar beside him. "Lend me your horse and sword!"
Before Corlys could react, the Rogue Prince had already mounted his steed, gun in one hand and the Dark Sister drawn from his waist with the other, his silver hair flying wildly in the wind. "Brothers, charge! Little Daemon is waiting for us! Little Daemon, wait for me!"
He kicked his horse's flank with one leg, and the horse, in pain, leaped up and charged down the hill. The others followed suit, mounting their horses and charging forward.
Daemon Targaryen's lance was pointed directly at the side of the Knight of Blackwood, while the Dark Sister drew a black arc in the sunlight, resembling a menacing red-winged bat.
On the high hill, Gael couldn't help but cover her mouth.
Mysaria's hands were so nervous she almost tore the hem of her skirt, but her eyes were fixed on the figure rushing ahead.
Alys Rivers leaned against an oak tree, her green dress billowing in the wind, a faint smile playing on her lips;
Larys a grey donkey, the hem of his black robe swept across the grass. A calculating glint flashed in his single eye, but it was quickly replaced by amusement at the spectacle.
The two warhorses Lyonel Corbray and Corlys Celtigar, who were originally the best, could only exchange a glance and smile helplessly.
"Your Highnesses Daemon, you really are..." Lyonel shook his head, drawing his silver sword. "Let's go, don't let them frighten the people of the Riverlands."
Corlys mounted a nag, twirling his longsword in his hand. "Truly worthy brothers, even our charging stances are identical. But we can't let His Highnesses and the others underestimate us."
How could they have imagined that their Prince Daemon was actually the great-grandson of another Prince Daemon, a hundred years in the future?
As the two spurred their horses down the hill, they witnessed Daemon Targaryen pierce a shield belonging to House Bracken with his spear. The Dark Sister, however, nearly lost their balance due to their leg problems and nearly fell on their horses.
Daemon's Blackfyre moved with impunity, weapons falling to the ground wherever the blade swept across, screams and pleas for mercy mingling together, yet not a drop of blood was spilled—his sword always stopped before touching flesh, only using the hilt to knock out the resisters.
"Hey, Little Daemon, that was a good move!" Daemon Targaryen mimicked him, smashing his spear with the butt of his gun at a charging squire, but he didn't control his strength well, and the spear snapped in two with a "crack".
He paused for a moment, then simply threw away the broken gun, brandished the Dark Sister with one hand, and limped around on his warhorse in the crowd, managing to scare no one away.
In no time at all, House Bracken and Blackwood's forces were subdued. The leaders of both families had their hands tied behind their backs to horse posts, while their tribesmen squatted on the ground, their weapons piled up like small mountains.
Daemon sheathed his sword and was about to turn around when he saw Daemon Targaryen jump off his horse—or rather, fall off.
He twisted his left leg when he landed, letting out a "ouch" sound, clutching his leg and grimacing, looking just like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.
Daemon suppressed a laugh and quickly called to his attendants, "Help His Highness up!"
He turned and walked toward the House Tully envoy not far away, a smile still lingering on his lips.
Upon seeing Daemon approach, Tully's messenger immediately bowed and greeted him, "Greetings, Your Highness."
The surrounding Riverlands nobles also stepped forward to pay their respects, their eyes filled with awe—the charge just now, with the intimidation of the dragon and the personal command of the prince, was swift and decisive without causing any casualties, and the fact that he still had a smile on his face was truly admirable.
"Tell me," Daemon's gaze swept over the two bound men, "Why were you fighting in High Heart?"
Just as Tully's envoy was about to speak, a group of knights carrying pink maiden emblems suddenly stepped out from the crowd. Leading them was a burly man with a red face, who bowed awkwardly, blushing, and said, "Your Highness, this matter concerns my House Piper."
He paused, then explained, "Ser Hendry of the House Bracken and Sir Torrhen of the House Blackwood both went to Pinkmaiden to propose marriage to my Earl. The Earl's second daughter... favored Sir Torrhen, but the Earl felt the House Bracken was closer and doted on his youngest daughter, so he wanted Torrhen to marry the outgoing eldest daughter, Henrik to marry the introverted second daughter. However, the Earl hadn't clearly stated his choice, and the two families happened to bump into each other on the wedding day. The second daughter secretly told Torrhen the truth, and Sir Torrhen thought that Ser Hendry had bribed the Earl. He believed our House Piper looked down on the House Blackwood, so they argued openly and each sent representatives here..."
"Ha," Daemon Targaryen, supported by his servants, limped over, the Dark Sister still in his hands, "For something like this? Worth resorting to knives and guns?"
Ser Hendry, his face flushed, roared, "The House Blackwood worships the Old Gods and is unworthy of the second daughter of the House Piper! The second daughter must have been bewitched by him!"
Sir Torrhen gave him a cold glance. "It's better than your House Bracken, who dare to defy even their own lord."
"What did you say?" Henrik struggled to lunge forward, but was tightly bound by ropes.
Larys, hiding behind his black donkey, silently covered his face. He, who had been confident he'd learned the truth from the villagers, was experiencing for the first time the power of rumors so accurately. There was no rye, no poisoning, no venting of a blood feud; it was all about a woman...
Damon raised his hand to stop the argument between the Sirs of Blaken and Blackwood, his gaze falling on Tully's messenger. "Where is Lord Piper?"
"The Earl is waiting for news in Pinkmaiden," the messenger replied. "He intended to come and persuade them, but was stopped halfway by both families."
Daemon nodded, looking at the two bound men. "Since it's about the marriage, let's go to Pinkmaiden and clear things up." He turned to Lyonel and Corlys, "Untie them, keep an eye on them, and take them to Pinkmaiden."
Lyonel and Corlys responded in unison and began directing the servants to untie the ropes. Daemon Targaryen, leaning on his cane, approached Daemon and lowered his voice. "Hey, Little Daemon, do you think the second daughter of the House Piper is pretty? She's causing them to fight over her. What do you think of Alys?"
Daemon ignored him and mounted his horse. Seeing that the conflict had subsided, Gael on the hill urged Dreamfyre down, and Mysaria quickly went to meet her and helped her down. Alys Rivers and Larys also came over, and Larys's gray donkey sniffed around in the crowd, making several servants laugh.
"To Red Powder City." Damon turned his horse, his black fire sword gleaming in the sunlight. "Let Count Paiber see how his two 'sons-in-law' are making a fool of themselves in the Noble Heart."
The Glutton let out a low growl and soared into the air first. Caraxes and Dreamfyre followed closely behind, their massive dragon shadows casting shadows across the grass, enveloping the House Bracken and Blackwood families. Daemon Targaryen, being helped onto a worn-out horse by his squire, muttered, "Honestly, I think Alys looks better..."
Daemon turned around and glared at him, but couldn't help laughing.
Lyonel and Corlys looked over, both wanting their warhorses back. Corlys also wanted to ask Daemon what to do with his lance, but seeing the two princes Daemon's expressions, the thoughtful Rupert could only pull them over and hug each other, silently comforting one another.
The wind blows across the meadows of High Heart, carrying the fragrance of broom flowers, while the distant Trident gleams green in the sunlight.
From the direction of the Acorn Hall, the faint sound of bells could be heard. A thin mist still lingered in the direction of Pinkmaiden. Daemon spurred his horse forward, the Dragon Mark on his right shoulder and the hilt of the Blackfyre slightly warm, as if echoing his heart.