The wind of parting
The meadow Riverrun was like a green velvet carpet soaked by the river. Morning dew rolled on the blades of grass, reflecting the rising sun and sparkling like broken diamonds. Daemon leaned against an old oak tree, watching the noisy scene in the arena, a faint smile on his lips.
Jarman Waters stood fifty paces away beside the target, his single eye gleaming sharply.
The short spear at his waist swayed slightly with his movements as he patiently corrected Myles Rivers's posture. "Raise your elbows, not so you can break the bow. Imagine your target is Giants's knee; steady, very steady."
Harlan Hunter, the second son of the Longbow Hall, demonstrated, his arrows piercing the air like meteors and striking the bullseye with pinpoint accuracy.
Myles gritted his teeth, his arm trembling slightly from the effort. The moment the bowstring was drawn, the arrow missed the target, eliciting a murmur of laughter from the onlookers.
The boy's face flushed red, and he was about to nock another arrow when Jarman raised his hand to stop him. "Take a break. You're wasting your energy; shooting more won't help."
On the other side of the open ground, Rupert Crabb and Colin Celtigar's blunt swords clashed with a loud crack.
Rupert's swordsmanship was expansive and powerful, carrying the fierce courage unique to the House Crabb, yet it did not lack skill, like a marigold in a swamp; Colin, on the other hand, was more agile, his footwork light and nimble, and he would launch surprise attacks from tricky angles like a crab from time to time.
Rayford Rosby and Lyonel Corbray stood outside the circle, discussing their moves in hushed tones. Lyonel held a twig in his hand, occasionally gesturing with it, his expression focused.
"Why don't you give it a try?" Gael's voice rang out beside her. She held a small wooden bow in her hand, and her light purple eyes gleamed with eager anticipation.
Daemon smiled and stood up, taking the bow she offered. "Little Auntie wants to learn?"
"It's not learning, it's competing." Gael raised her chin, mimicking Harlan's posture as she drew the bowstring. Though not perfect, her form was quite convincing. The arrow flew, grazing the target before falling. She stomped her foot in frustration, "Damn it!"
"Relax." Daemon walked behind her, took her hand, and adjusted her posture. "Imagine the bullseye is Big Daemon's head."
Gael was amused and burst out laughing. Although her next arrow still missed the bullseye, it was much closer.
A distant Dreamfyre let out a low hum, its pale blue dragon scales shimmering softly in the sunlight. The Glutton lay on a hillside further away, its massive head resting on its forepaws, seemingly dozing, but in reality, not a single sound escaped its ears.
Mysaria sat on the grass, learning about herbs with Alys Rivers.
Alys spread out a cloth, on which were displayed the leaves and roots of various plants, and patiently explained their uses.
Mysaria's platinum blonde curls cascaded over her shoulders as she listened intently, occasionally raising her hand to ask a question in a voice barely audible.
Under the shade of a tree, Larys Strong lay half-reclined, his drawing board propped on his knees, the charcoal pencil scratching across the paper.
No one knew what he was drawing; they could only occasionally glimpse the lines sketched on the paper, which resembled the course of a river or a rough sketch of some kind of formation.
He had a roll of parchment between his fingers, and every now and then he would lower his head and write a few words, his expression languid, yet revealing an indescribable sharpness.
The sound of children's laughter drifted from the riverbank. Edmure, the fourth son of House Tully, was fishing on the riverbank with a group of his younger siblings and nieces.
The red hair stood out vividly in the sunlight, like clusters of burning flames. Edmure patiently taught his youngest niece how to bait the hook; a wildflower was tied to the girl's braid, and she smiled brightly.
Just then, a loud dragon roar pierced the sky.
Everyone looked up and saw a scarlet shadow flash by like lightning. Caraxes's huge wings whipped up a gust of wind, making the grass ripple like waves.
On the dragon's back, Daemon Targaryen's black cloak fluttered in the wind, and he held a red-haired girl in his arms— Lysa Tully, the Triarchy of Grover.
"Look, it's Prince Daemon!" one of the children shouted, drawing cheers from the House Tully children on the riverbank.
Daemon Targaryen smiled and waved, then turned his dragon head. Caraxes circled once above the grass before slowly landing not far from the Glutton.
He flipped and jumped down, his movements slightly hampered by his leg injury, yet still graceful.
Lysa blushed and jumped down from his arms, clutching a bunch of freshly picked purple flowers, clearly a gift from Daemon Targaryen.
"Little Daemon, look who I brought!" Daemon Targaryen was in high spirits. He limped over to Daemon and patted Lysa on the shoulder. "Miss Lysa said she'd bring us some freshly baked honey cakes."
Lysa timidly raised the basket in her hands, curtsied to Daemon and Gael, and said in a soft voice, "Your Highness, Your Highness." Her red hair fell across her face, obscuring most of her shy expression.
Gael smiled and took the basket, "Thank you, Miss Lysa."
As Daemon looked at the undisguised smile in Daemon Targaryen's eyes and the unusually gentle gaze he gave Lysa, a strange feeling suddenly swept over him.
The Rogue Prince had broken his sword in the Pinkmaiden just a few days ago has changed so much in the last few days. The sadness between his brows has been replaced by a lightheartedness, which is obviously due to the enthusiastic company of the red-haired House Tully woman.
Inside the tower of Riverrun, Duke Grover was discussing the approximate harvest of the Riverlands this year with his third son, Hoster.
Upon hearing the dragon's roar, the father and son happened to walk to the window and witnessed Caraxes landing. When they saw the two people on the dragon's back, Grover's brows furrowed instantly.
"That's... Lysa?" Hoster's voice was filled with surprise.
Grover's face darkened, his fingers gripping the windowsill tightly. "Daemon Targaryen fulfilled his engagement last year to Rhea of Runestone House Royce." He recalled Rhea House Royce's notoriously fiery temperament, then looked at his own innocent and shy daughter, a wave of worry washing over him. "This isn't good news."
Hoster paused for a moment, then said, "Should we... remind Lysa?"
Grover shook his head. "Let's see. Hopefully it's just youthful impulsiveness and they won't cause any trouble." He looked at the scarlet dragon shadow outside the city and the silver-haired prince chatting and laughing with Lysa, his brows furrowing even more.
The next morning, the moment to bid farewell to Riverrun finally arrived.
Almost the entire House Tully was present at the city gates to see him off. Duke Grover held Daemon's hand and repeatedly urged him, "The matter of Pinkmaiden is thorny. House Bracken and Blackwood have a deep-seated feud, and this journey may pass through both territories. Your Highness will need to put in extra effort."
"Rest assured, Duke," Daemon nodded in response.
As the team prepared to depart, Daemon Targaryen and Lysa Tully whispered to each other.
Lysa placed a trinket embroidered with a trout pattern into his hand, her eyes red-rimmed.
Daemon Targaryen then took a ruby ornament from his waist, placed it solemnly in her hand, and whispered something, which made Lysa burst into laughter through her tears.
This scene elicited varying reactions from the crowd.
Daemon stared at the accessory, his worries deepening. Daemon Targaryen's actions were far too ostentatious, not at all like how he would treat an ordinary friend.
He glanced at the two knights from the House Royce branch in the group; their expressions were indeed not good, and one of them even slightly tightened his grip on his sword hilt.
Most of the knights in the Vale knew Rhea House Royce's temperament and clearly felt that this was inappropriate.
The men of Riverrun wore complex expressions. Edmure frowned, Hoster's gaze was warning, and Duke Grover simply turned his face away, clearly unwilling to look any longer.
"It's time to go." Daemon patted Daemon Targaryen on the shoulder, his tone meaningful.
Daemon Targaryen reluctantly bid farewell to Lysa and climbed onto Caraxes's back. The red dragon let out a long roar, as if in response to its master's reluctance to part.
Daemon flipped himself onto the Glutton, and the jet-black dragon spread its wings, stirring up a gust of wind.
Gael led Mysaria onto the Dreamfyre, its pale blue dragon wings like clouds hanging from the sky.
Alys Rivers, unusually, did not ride a dragon, but instead climbed into a carriage, saying she wanted to finish reading the books she had recently acquired from Riverrun while traveling.
As the procession slowly drove away from Riverrun, Daemon looked back and saw a patch of red hair standing out vividly in the morning sun at the city gate, like surging red waves.
The House Tully lived up to its reputation for being prolific, with dozens of men, women, and children, creating a lively and heartwarming scene.
"It's truly spectacular." Gael's voice came from the side. Dreamfyre and Glutton flew side by side. She looked at the gradually shrinking red waves below, a strange envy flashing in her eyes.
Daemon nodded, his gaze returning to Caraxes beside him. Daemon Targaryen was looking back towards Riverrun, his gaze lingering for a long time. He sighed inwardly, hoping that this great-grandfather "cousin" with the same name wouldn't really cause any trouble.
The wind swept across the plains of the Trident, carrying the scent of moisture and grass. The group headed towards the Inn at the Kneeling Man, the road ahead long. The brief tranquility and turmoil of Riverrun these past few days had quietly left different marks on everyone's heart.