The wind on High Heart carried the unique humid breath of the Riverlands, rolling across the meadows blooming with gorse.
The Cannibal's black shadow was cast on the high hill. Huge dragon claws crushed several clusters of wildflowers. Dragon breath spewed into the air, scorching grass blades into curled black charcoal. Caraxes and Dreamfyre flanked him on either side. The red dragon's scales shimmered with blood-light in the sun, while the blue dragon's wing membranes reflected the pale grey of the sky—the deterrence of three giant dragons was like an invisible net, instantly silencing the "battlefield" that had just been shaking with shouts of killing.
The Bracken giant's hand wielding the greatsword froze in mid-air. The Blackwood knight's sword tip was only inches from his opponent's throat, but blocked by the other's longsword.
The roars of both parties were stuck in their throats, watching helplessly as people around them dropped weapons, scrambling and crawling to retreat into the distance.
The soil of the Riverlands mixed with blood, seeping dark marks by their warhorses' feet, yet no one dared move again.
"Tsk, truly a buzzkill." Daemon Targaryen leaned on his cane, curling his lip beside Caraxes. "Just warmed up and it's cold."
Daemon ignored his complaint, sliding down from The Cannibal's saddle. Blackfyre drew a silver arc in the sunlight, the scabbard hitting his belt with a crisp sound.
He walked to Leowyn Corbray and patted the other's horse neck. "Borrowing your horse."
Leowyn dismounted quickly, his pauldrons clinking lightly with the movement. "Please, Prince."
Daemon stepped into the stirrup and vaulted into the saddle. Blackfyre unsheathed with a shing, the reflection from the blade piercing eyes closed.
He squeezed the horse's belly with his legs. The mount charged down the gentle slope of the high hill. The sound of hooves on grass mixed with The Cannibal's roar was like a charging bugle.
"Separate!"
Before the shout faded, Blackfyre struck like lightning. The Bracken giant's greatsword and the Blackwood knight's longsword were about to clash again, but were forcibly separated by this sudden sword strike.
The crisp sound of metal colliding numbed both their arms. Warhorses retreated repeatedly, digging deep hoof prints in the mud.
The Bracken giant roared and swung his sword again. The wind from the blade blew Daemon's temple hair.
Daemon's eyes went cold. Blackfyre flicked diagonally, the sword spine smashing precisely on the hilt—the giant felt intense pain in the web of his hand. The greatsword flew out, sticking into the distant grass, pommel still vibrating.
"Still dare move?" Daemon's sword tip pressed against the giant's throat, the chill in his violet eyes colder than The Cannibal's breath. "Are the rules of the Iron Throne and the Riverlands for you to slaughter each other on High Heart?"
The Blackwood knight wanted to step forward, but saw Daemon twist his wrist, Blackfyre's edge sweeping toward his longsword.
The knight retracted his sword in panic but was blown aside by the wind of the blade, the ornament on his saddle falling to the ground with a clang.
Seeing this, surrounding Bracken and Blackwood clansmen drew weapons, wanting to surround them.
Just then, a deafening dragon roar came from the high hill—Caraxes jerked his head up, crimson pupils sweeping the crowd, breath condensing between his teeth, illuminating surrounding grass blades with red light.
"Yo-ho, my turn!"
Daemon Targaryen's voice mixed in the dragon roar, exceptionally piercing. Disregarding his lame leg, he stumbled off Caraxes with his cane, snatching Corlin Celtigar's spear beside him. "Borrowing your horse and sword!"
Before Corlin could react, he saw this Rogue Prince had already mounted his steed, spear in one hand, actually drawing Dark Sister from his waist with the other, silver-white hair flying wildly in the wind. "Brothers, charge with me! Little Daemon is still waiting for us! Little Daemon, wait for me!"
He kicked the horse's belly with one leg. The mount leaped in pain, actually charging down the high hill too. Others also mounted and charged one after another.
Daemon Targaryen's spear pointed straight at the Blackwood knight's flank, while Dark Sister drew a black arc in the sunlight, looking like a baring-fanged red-winged bat.
On the high hill, Gael couldn't help covering her mouth.
Mysaria's hands nervously crumpled her skirt hem, but her eyes were fixed on the figure charging at the front.
Alys Rivers leaned against an oak tree, green dress blown against her body by the wind, a faint smile on her lips;
Larys rode his grey donkey, black robe hem sweeping over grass blades. A trace of calculation flashed in his single eye, quickly replaced by the amusement of watching a show.
Leowyn Corbray and Corlin Celtigar, who originally had the best warhorses, could only look at each other and smile helplessly.
"The two Prince Daemons are truly..." Leowyn shook his head, drawing the silver sword at his waist. "Let's go, don't let them scare everyone in the Riverlands to death."
Corlin mounted a nag, twirling his longsword in hand. "Indeed worthy brothers, charging posture is the same. But we can't let the two Princes and others look down on us."
How could they imagine their own Prince Daemon was actually another Prince Daemon, a great-grandson from a hundred years later?
When the two urged their horses down the hill, they saw Daemon Targaryen flick away a Bracken shield with his spear, but Dark Sister nearly chopped his mount due to unsteady wrist from his bad leg.
Daemon's Blackfyre, however, entered unmanned territory. Wherever the blade swept, weapons fell. Screams and pleas mixed together, yet not a drop of blood was spilt—his sword always stopped before touching flesh, only knocking resistors unconscious with the pommel.
"Hey, Little Daemon, that move is not bad!" Daemon Targaryen mimicked him, smashing a charging squire with the spear shaft, but didn't control his strength well. The shaft snapped with a crack.
He froze for a moment, simply throwing away the broken spear, waving Dark Sister one-handed, limping on horseback running randomly through the crowd, actually bluffing so no one dared approach.
In moments, the Bracken and Blackwood contingents were subdued. The leaders of both houses were tied to hitching posts with hands behind their backs. Clansmen squatted on the ground, weapons piled into a small hill.
Daemon sheathed his sword. Just as he wanted to turn, he saw Daemon Targaryen jump off the horse—more accurately, fall off.
His left leg twisted upon landing, letting out an "Ouch," grimacing while holding his leg, looking exactly like a cat whose tail was stepped on.
Daemon suppressed laughter, quickly shouting to attendants: "Help the Prince up!"
He turned to walk toward the Tully messenger not far away, a smile still lingering at the corner of his mouth.
Seeing Daemon approach, the Tully messenger bowed quickly. "Greetings, Prince."
Surrounding Riverlands nobles also stepped forward to bow, eyes full of awe—that charge just now had both dragon deterrence and the Prince's personal conquest. The methods were clean without taking lives. Now seeing him smiling was truly admirable.
"Speak," Daemon's gaze swept over the two tied men. "Why fight on High Heart?"
Before the Tully messenger could speak, a group of knights holding the pink maiden banner walked out from the crowd. The leader was a red-faced burly man, bowing awkwardly and blushing. "Prince, this matter concerns my House Piper."
He paused, explaining: "Ser Hendry Bracken and Ser Toren Blackwood both went to Pinkmaiden to propose to my Lord. The Earl's second daughter... favored Ser Toren, but the Earl felt House Bracken was closer and doted on his youngest daughter, so he wanted Ser Toren to marry the outgoing eldest daughter and Ser Hendry to marry the introverted second daughter. Who knew the Earl didn't clarify the candidates? On the day of welcoming the bride, the two families happened to meet. The second daughter secretly told Toren the truth. Ser Toren thought Ser Hendry bribed the Earl. Our House Piper looks down on House Blackwood, so they quarreled face to face, each calling people here..."
"Heh," Daemon Targaryen limped over supported by attendants, Dark Sister still dangling in hand. "Just for this? Worth drawing swords?"
Ser Hendry flushed red, roaring: "His House Blackwood believes in the Old Gods, unworthy of House Piper's second daughter! The second daughter must have been bewitched by his sorcery!"
Ser Toren glanced at him coldly. "Better than your House Bracken, daring to talk back to even your own liege lord."
"What did you say?" Hendry struggled to pounce but was tied dead tight.
Larys silently covered his face behind his black donkey. He had just confidently believed the truth learned from villagers—what rye, poison, venting ancestral feuds... turns out it was for a woman...
Daemon raised a hand to stop the quarreling between the Bracken and Blackwood knights, gaze landing on the Tully messenger. "Where is Lord Piper?"
"The Earl awaits news at Pinkmaiden," the messenger replied. "He wanted to come mediate but was blocked halfway by men from both houses."
Daemon nodded, looking at the tied men. "Since it's for a marriage, go to Pinkmaiden to make it clear." He turned to Leowyn and Corlin. "Untie them, watch them, take them to Pinkmaiden."
Leowyn and Corlin responded in unison, directing attendants to untie the ropes. Daemon Targaryen leaned on his cane, moving close to Daemon, whispering: "Hey, Little Daemon, is Piper's second daughter pretty? Causing them to fight. Do you think she compares to Alys?"
Daemon ignored him, mounting his horse. Seeing the conflict subside, Gael on the high hill urged Dreamfyre down. Mysaria quickly went to help her dismount. Alys Rivers and Larys followed too. Larys's grey donkey sniffed around in the crowd, making several attendants laugh.
"To Pinkmaiden." Daemon turned his horse, Blackfyre flashing in the sun. "Let Lord Piper take a good look at how his two 'sons-in-law' embarrassed themselves on High Heart."
The Cannibal roared low, taking off first. Caraxes and Dreamfyre followed. Huge dragon shadows were cast on the grass, enveloping the Bracken and Blackwood contingents. Daemon Targaryen was helped onto a nag by attendants, still muttering: "Seriously, I think Alys's type is prettier..."
Daemon looked back and glared at him, but couldn't help smiling.
Leowyn and Corlin looked over, both wanting their warhorses back. Corlin wanted to ask Daemon about his spear, but seeing the two Prince Daemons, they could only be pulled away by the attentive Rupert to hug each other and comfort silently.
Wind blew across the grass of High Heart, carrying the scent of gorse. The distant Trident Riverlands shimmered green in the sun.
Faint bells came from the direction of Acorn Hall. Mist still lingered toward Pinkmaiden. Daemon urged his horse forward. The dragon brand on his right shoulder and Blackfyre's hilt grew slightly warm, as if echoing his heart.
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