The morning dew still clung to the petals of Highgarden's golden roses when Daemon's retinue assembled outside the main keep.
Beneath the white marble walls, Ser Martin Tyrell stood in the green robes of his house, while Lady Florence stood beside him, her emerald green gown brushing the wet grass. They were at the front of the group, followed by the Duchess—today, she wore a simple linen dress, less opulent than usual but more dignified. She held a bottle of Arbor vintage wine given to her by her son, Garlan Tyrell, intending to present it to Daemon as a farewell gift.
Garlan wore his silver-green armor, the golden rose sigil on his breastplate catching the morning light. Several Reach lords stood with him: Count Thaddeus Rowan in green armor draped with dried flowers, Count Oakheart in silver armor adorned with his sigil, and Count Florent in his dazzling red-gold armor. The only person missing was Duke Matthos Tyrell.
"Matthos he... said he wasn't feeling well this morning, so he won't be seeing you off." Martin sighed, his voice apologetic. His fingers unconsciously rubbed the silver oak leaf on his cufflink. Clearly, he felt a deep sense of helplessness over his nephew's absurd behavior.
Everyone in the Reach knew Duke Matthos was terrified. He feared that the lords, already unhappy with Tyrell rule, would use the bastard sons' treason as an excuse to cause trouble. More than that, he feared the "Dragon" might settle scores before leaving. So, he hid in the main keep, daring not to show his face. Little did he know, Daemon hadn't given him a second thought.
Daemon smiled nonchalantly, Blackfyre leaning against his saddle. His silver-gold hair stuck to his cheek in the morning breeze. "It's fine. The Duke is busy. We should get moving."
His gaze swept over the young knights around him, his eyes warm. Since last night, over twenty second sons of noble houses and young knights from the Reach had volunteered to join his retinue. Among them were the youngest son of House Rowan, a nephew of House Florent, and the youngest son of House Oakheart. Each wore brand-new armor, gripped polished weapons, and had eyes filled with hope for the future.
"Prince! Once I handle things at home, I'll definitely come find you in King's Landing by the end of the year!" a boy in brown armor shouted suddenly. He was a distant cousin of House Peake named Tommen Peake. Yesterday at the tourney, Daemon had given him pointers on his lance work. Now, he held his oak lance high, his face flushed with excitement.
"Me too!" shouted a girl in silver armor. She was the youngest daughter of House Osgrey, named Leah. She had snuck into the tourney disguised as a boy, but after Gael and Daemon saw through her disguise, instead of punishing her, they gave her an exquisite dagger and invited her to be Gael's personal guard in the future. The girl was gripping the hilt of that dagger now, her eyes shining.
Daemon nodded with a smile and raised a hand for quiet. "I'll be waiting for all of you in King's Landing. We can have another contest there and see whose lance work has improved the fastest."
As the cheers subsided, Earl Redwyne rode forward on a white horse.
He wore blue and white armor with the grape sigil of the Arbor on his breastplate. Holding a parchment scroll, his expression was sincere. "Prince, thanks to you exposing the conspiracy of those bastards, you not only ensured our safety but saved the entire Reach. On behalf of House Redwyne, I would like to invite your party to travel on our fleet down the Mander and visit the Arbor as our guests. Let me show you some proper hospitality."
Before Daemon could speak, Gael handed him a letter sealed with red wax from her saddlebag. The seal bore the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. It had arrived just this morning.
"A letter from King's Landing this morning," Gael said with a smile, her pale violet eyes scanning the paper. "Father and Mother want us to stop by the Citadel in Oldtown on our way back. We need to pick up my brother Vaegon and Ser Lyonel Strong, who is to replace Lord Thymond as Master of Laws, and bring them back to King's Landing for the tourney at the end of the year."
Vaegon Targaryen was Gael's older brother and Daemon's "uncle" in this life. He was the seventh son of King Jaehaerys I and Queen Alysanne, known as "The Dragonless."
Obsessed with academics since childhood and possessing a caustic nature, he later became an Archmaester at the Citadel, dedicating his life to alchemy, astronomy, mathematics, and other esoteric studies.
Daemon took the letter, his fingers brushing the wax seal. He suddenly remembered something Ser Martin Tyrell had mentioned. "By the way, why didn't Count Hobert Hightower come to the Highgarden tourney?"
"I don't know. It seems the main branch of House Hightower has been busy repairing the Starry Sept in Oldtown recently. They only sent a few distant cousins to the tourney," Count Thaddeus Rowan chimed in, the ivy on his green armor swaying. "But Oldtown isn't far from the Arbor. If you take Redwyne's fleet, it's right on your way."
Daemon looked at Earl Redwyne, his eyes smiling. "In that case, I graciously accept."
---
By the time the large procession reached the banks of the Mander, morning light had flooded the land. The Mander River was like a silver ribbon winding west from the hills of Highgarden. The river was so wide the opposite bank was invisible, the current slow and gentle. Unlike the muddy, turbulent waters upstream, here it was clear enough to see the pebbles on the riverbed.
Over a dozen large Redwyne ships were docked at the riverbank. Their sails were striped blue and white, and their prows were carved with the grape motif of the Arbor—clusters of deep purple grapes on a blue field, symbolizing their famous wine.
Sailors bustled about the decks, loading luggage. Their shouts mixed with the sound of the flowing river, creating a festive atmosphere. Clearly, the Redwyne fleet was here not only to transport the Earl's family to the tourney and show off their strength but also for trade and procurement.
"This is the Mander, the mother river of the Reach," Earl Redwyne said as he accompanied Daemon onto the lead ship, the Arbor Queen. He ran a finger over the carved railing, his voice full of emotion. "It is the longest and widest river in Westeros. It starts in the hills near Tumbleton, flows west past Bitterbridge and Longtable, and only calms down near Highgarden. Upstream, the current is fast and full of hidden sandbars—only small skiffs can pass. But down here, even ocean-going vessels can navigate it, thanks to the dredging done by the Gardener kings of old."
Daemon leaned on the railing, looking out at the water. Sunlight danced on the surface like scattered gold. Occasionally, a school of fish would leap out, splashing cool water onto the deck.
Gael stood beside him, her pale blue rose cloak—a gift from a girl of a Tyrell cadet branch—fluttering in the river breeze.
Mysaria stood next to her, clutching the bottle of wine from the Duchess. As she adjusted the Princess's cloak, she whispered, "I heard from Ser Martin that Garth the Gardener built Highgarden on the hill by the Mander. No wonder the water is so clear here."
"It's more than that," Earl Redwyne added with a smile. "In the past, the Ironborn used to raid up the Mander all the way to Stonebridge. Garth VII Gardener built fortifications on the Shield Islands and manned them with commoners, calling them the 'Shields of the Reach.' Later, King Aegon conquered the Seven Kingdoms, granted Highgarden to the Tyrells, and named them 'Warden of the South' and Lord Paramount of the Mander. This river has witnessed almost all the rise and fall of the Reach."
Larys Strong was draped over the back of his donkey, "Mr. Longlegs," lazily leaning toward the riverbank. His dark brown curls hung over the water as he gently placed a golden rose petal on the surface, watching it drift away with the current. He looked at Jarmon Waters beside him. "This river is much calmer than the Narrow Sea. If the whole journey is like this, it'll be very comfortable." Seeing his father, who was still at the Citadel, was a bonus; he was enjoying the relaxed pace.
Rupert Crabb leaned in, shaking the silver spoon at his waist. "When we get to the Arbor, I want to taste the wine there. I heard it's sweeter than the stuff at Casterly Rock!"
Corwyn Celtigar was chatting animatedly with the Redwyne first mate, the blue crabs on his silver armor reflecting the grape sigils of the sailors. "Can your ships handle the storms of the Narrow Sea?" Having spent so much time with Rayford and Myles, he had shed his aloof exterior just like Rupert. He was quite friendly now. "Next time, I'll take you to Claw Isle. The crabs there are bigger than washbasins!"
On the other side of the deck, several newly joined young knights surrounded Myles River, listening to him recount Daemon's burning of the Ironborn longships at Lannisport. "The Prince was riding the Cannibal, and with one blast of dragonfire, those longships lit up instantly! The Ironborn were crying for their mothers. It was incredibly satisfying!" Myles spoke with great animation. Rayford Rosby chimed in with details at the right moments, and Tommen Peake listened with shining eyes, his hand trembling on his lance. "If only I had been there! I could have killed Ironborn with the Prince!"
Earl Redwyne watched this scene and suddenly turned to Daemon with a smile. "Prince, your charm as a true dragon is truly admirable. My daughters were staring straight at you yesterday when you were crowned on dragonback. Even my sons look at you like an idol now, pestering me every day about when they can learn lance work from the Prince again."
Daemon followed his gaze. The Earl's youngest daughter, Margaery [Note: assuming a generic name or ancestor name, not the Margaery Tyrell], was hiding behind a sail, peeking out. When she saw Daemon looking, she blushed and ducked back. The Earl's third son, Oliver, was whispering to his brother Alyn, asking for details about the duel with the Prince at the tourney, his eyes full of worship.
"They're young; it's good for them to be lively," Daemon nodded with a smile. The three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder felt warm again. The Cannibal was circling above the fleet, his black wings catching the morning light. Dreamfyre followed, her pale blue breath condensing into white mist over the river, causing sailors to stop and stare in awe. "It really is a true royal dragon! We are a fleet under dragon protection!"
Gael held Daemon's hand, her fingertips brushing the callous on his palm. "When we get to Oldtown, let's go to the Citadel to see Brother Vaegon, okay? Seeing you might actually make him happy for once. I heard he and Brother Aemon were quite close back in the day."
"Alright." Daemon squeezed her hand, gazing toward the horizon of the Mander.
Where the river met the Sunset Sea, the water and sky merged into one color. The Redwyne fleet was slowly setting sail, canvasses unfurling in the wind like a flock of blue and white seabirds spreading their wings.
He knew this journey down the Mander was about more than just picking up Vaegon Targaryen and Lyonel Strong. It was about solidifying the bonds in the Reach. Those young knights who followed him, the Redwyne family willing to lend their fleet, and this mother river that had witnessed the rise and fall of the region—all of them might become the strength he needed to protect Westeros in the future.
Martin Tyrell and the lords still stood on the riverbank, waving goodbye. Lady Florence's emerald green dress grew smaller and smaller, eventually becoming just a dot.
Matthos Tyrell might still be worrying in the main keep of Highgarden, unaware that the dragon he feared had already set his sights on places much further away—the Citadel in Oldtown, the grapes of the Arbor, the tourney in King's Landing at year's end, and the looming threat of the Others.
The sails filled with wind. The current of the Mander pushed the fleet westward. Sunlight spilled onto the deck, as warm as Highgarden wine.
Daemon looked at Gael and Mysaria beside him, at his lively followers, and at the two dragons circling above. He suddenly felt that this journey across a century, though filled with thorns, was also full of hope. He was more convinced than ever that as long as the dragons were there, and as long as his people were by his side, he could protect this land, and protect the peace and warmth along the banks of the Mander.
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