The Rogue Prince's Broken Sword
The stone walls of Pinkmaiden glowed with a soft rose color in the setting sun, and the Red Fork meandered around the castle, its surface shimmering like shattered gold.
When Damon's party arrived, Lord Piper was standing under the city gate, rubbing his hands together. His servants behind him held silver cups, but no one dared to speak first—after all, no one knew how this Targaryen prince would handle this melee caused by his young lady.
"Earl lord," Daemon dismounted, the scabbard of his Blackfyre lightly striking the red sandstone ground, "Tell me, what exactly happened?"
Earl Piper sighed, his flushed face contorted in a grimace. "Your Highness, it's about my daughters' marriages. Sir Torren and Sir Henrik have both come to propose. I thought... I thought that since both families are prominent in the Riverlands, and I wanted to avoid offending either side, I planned to marry my eldest daughter to Torren and my second daughter to Henrik. But who knew..."
"Who knew you wanted both families' dowries and wanted to please both sides?" Daemon Targaryen's voice came from behind, supported by Corlys, his limp making a soft thud on the stone slabs. "Old man, thank goodness you have two daughters, otherwise, you might have had to split one of them in two!"
Earl Piper's face flushed red instantly. Just as he was about to defend himself, the sound of light footsteps suddenly came from the inner courtyard.
Two women walked out quickly. The second young lady in front wore a light green dress, with a long braid hanging down in front of her. Her eyes were big and bright, like the shimmering water of the Red Fork.
The young lady behind her wore a dark red dress, her long hair loosely tied up, and her eyes held a calm concern. Daemon Targaryen immediately stopped his sharp tongue. The young girl's appearance was exactly the kind of mature and intellectual look that Daemon Targaryen currently preferred.
"Father!" The second young lady rushed forward to support Earl Paiber, her voice trembling with tears, "Are you alright? It's all my fault..."
The young lady stepped forward to straighten her father's clothes, her gaze calmly sweeping over Daemon and Daemon Targaryen before curtsying. "Greetings, Your Highnesses, and Your Highness the Princess." Her voice was gentle yet powerful, like the still waters of the Red Fork.
Daemon Targaryen had intended to make a few more jokes, but upon seeing the young lady's expression, he suddenly fell silent, his ears beneath his silver hair turning a subtle red.
After settling her father in, the second young lady looked worriedly at Sir Torrhen, who was being led aside by his servants, her clear eyes filled with heartache.
Seeing his daughter's expression, Earl Piper finally sighed, "So be it... since my daughter is fond of Sir Torren, let it be so."
"No!" Ser Hendry jerked free from his servant, his red hair and beard bristling like an enraged red bull. "She must have been bewitched by the House Blackwood Crowmen! Piper, I refuse to accept this!" He turned to Torrhen, brandishing his greatsword. "Dare to have a contest? The winner will marry the young lady! The winner will be the one to give her happiness!"
Sir Torren glanced at the second young lady, then at Damon and Earl Piper. Seeing the Earl's expression of interest, he made up his mind and gripped his longsword tightly. "I agree."
The second day's martial arts arena was set in the outer courtyard of Pinkmaiden. The red sandstone ground was swept clean, and the area was crowded with onlookers.
Daemon and Gael sat on the makeshift stands, Mysaria next to Gael, clutching a half-embroidered handkerchief in her hand;
Alys Rivers stood in the corner, her green dress contrasting against the red wall, like a flower blooming in a crack in the stone;
Larys, riding his grey donkey, watched with great interest from behind the crowd, occasionally nudging the person next to him with his limp leg and offering a comment.
The first match was a duel on horseback. Henrik wielded his greatsword with tremendous force, each strike carrying the power to split mountains and shatter rocks, forcing Torrhen to retreat repeatedly.
Torrhen's longsword moved nimbly like a snake, constantly parrying and dodging, but ultimately it could not withstand the opponent's brute force—when a crisp "clang" rang out and Torrhen's longsword was knocked away, Henrik let out a triumphant roar. The second young lady's face turned pale instantly, her fingers tightly gripping the hem of her skirt.
In the second archery contest, the wind was exceptionally favorable to Torrhen. He stood fifty yards away and hit the bullseye with all three arrows, the last one even piercing the fletching of the previous arrow. Henrik missed two arrows and, in anger, threw his bow to the ground, his red beard trembling like a ball of flame.
The second young lady secretly breathed a sigh of relief, a faint smile appearing on her lips.
The third match, a lance duel, was the most intense. The two clashed seven times, breaking six lance shafts, and their horses were so exhausted they were foaming at the mouth.
On the eighth charge, Henrik suddenly lowered the tip of his spear, striking Torrhen precisely on the breastplate of his armor— Torrhen tumbled from his horse and crashed heavily to the ground.
"Torrhen!" The second young lady screamed as she rushed onto the field, throwing herself at Torrhen's side without regard for etiquette, tears streaming down her face. "Are you alright? Are you okay?"
Torrhen, enduring the pain, reached out to wipe away her tears. "I'm alright..."
Henrik sat on his horse, watching this scene, his hand holding the gun slowly lowering.
He won the duel, but lost the heart he wanted to protect. Watching his beloved woman embrace his rival, two tears rolled down the burly man's bloodshot eyes, mingling with sweat as they fell onto the red sandstone.
"I... I've lost," he murmured, turning his horse around. "I'm not going to marry him."
After saying that, he spurred his horse and charged out of the arena. The House Bracken tribesmen behind him were stunned for a moment, then followed him out.
The next day, Henrik led his entourage away from Pink City. Surprisingly, Count Piper's eldest daughter accompanied him, the two riding side by side. The young lady wore a calm smile on her face and occasionally spoke to Henrik.
It turned out that after the martial arts competition, the young lady took the initiative to find Henrik and said that she was willing to marry him—rather than marrying someone who did not love her, she wanted him to give this complicated dispute a happy ending.
The most dejected person in Pinkmaiden became Daemon Targaryen.
When he found the young lady last night, she was on the city wall watching the flowing water of the Red Fork.
Seeing him approach, the young lady turned around, her smile tinged with apology, "Your Highness, I know your feelings. I also admire you, such a handsome and dashing dragon."
She paused, her voice gentle yet firm, "But I heard that you married Miss Rhea of House Royce in the Vale last year, a marriage of bronze and fire. You cannot defy the arrangements of your grandfather, the king, your grandmother, and your father, the crown prince, and I cannot disobey my father, the Earl. The House Piper may be small, but it has its honor and shame. It's just a pity... fate is cruel. It made us meet at the wrong time."
Daemon Targaryen opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but found his throat tightening. He thought of Rhea's always tense face, and the icy tone of her voice. Looking at the well-educated young lady before him, his heart felt swollen and bitter, as if soaked in the waters of the Red Fork.
On the day we set off for Riverrun, the wind in Pinkmaiden carried moisture, making our eyes watery.
Daemon Targaryen returned Corlys Celtigar's warhorse, patting him on the shoulder. "When we get to Riverrun, I'll have the Smith forge you a new lance, ten times better than this one."
Corlys smiled and nodded, but he didn't miss the loneliness in his eyes.
Daemon Targaryen, leaning on his cane, clumsily climbed onto Caraxes back. The red dragon flicked its tail in displeasure, as if urging him on. Once settled, he glanced down at the Dark Sister at his waist, then looked up towards Pinkmaiden —where the young lady's figure had long since disappeared before the city gates.
"Let's go," he said softly, his voice as light as the wind.
Caraxes took to the air and flew towards Riverrun with Glutton and Dreamfyre.
Daemon, riding on the back of the Glutton, glanced back at the figure on Carax's back—his usually boisterous great-grandfather, who was now facing away from them, his silver hair fluttering in the wind, his limp leg resting on the edge of the dragon saddle, motionless, like a forgotten statue.
Gael sighed softly, "He seems... really sad."
Mysaria nodded, her small hands gripping Gael's sleeve tightly. Alys Rivers watched Caraxes's shadow, a complex smile playing on her lips, but she remained silent.
The winds of the Riverlands came in gusts, blowing across the surface of the Red Fork, across the meadows of High Heart, and towards the distant Riverrun.
But no matter how the wind blew, it seemed unable to dispel the gloom in the heart of the seventeen-year-old boy on the back of Caraxes.
Daemon knew that some wounds could not be healed by Dragonfire, nor could time erase them.
Just as the stone walls of the Pinkmaiden are forever tinged with rose color, some regrets may remain there forever, gently pricking the heart of the young man on every windy day.