The smoke of battle outside High Heart had not yet fully dispersed. Daemon's retinue, escorting the contingents of Houses Bracken and Blackwood, moved slowly along the muddy paths of the Riverlands.
The direction of Pinkmaiden was hidden deep in the mist. Ahead at the crossroads, the leader of the House Smallwood contingent from Acorn Hall who had been part of the standoff earlier—a young knight in a yellow cloak—waited on horseback. The six brown acorn sigils on his cloak were strikingly visible in the morning light.
"Princes Daemon, Princess Gael." The young lord dismounted and bowed, his voice carrying just the right amount of warmth. "I am Edmund Smallwood, heir to Acorn Hall. Today happens to be the first name day of my son Thoren. My family is hosting guests, and I earnestly invite the Princes and Princess to rest at our hall. It will not be too late to head to Pinkmaiden tomorrow."
Daemon pulled on his reins, his gaze sweeping over the castle surrounded by stone walls not far away. The oak gates were open, faint silhouettes of a bustling crowd visible inside, the yellow banner with acorn sigils snapping in the wind.
"House Smallwood?" He suddenly recalled the famous Hand of the King in history, known for his courage but failed as Hand to Jaehaerys I. His name, Myles Smallwood, was recorded as a warning to future generations. "Descendants of Lord Myles?"
Surprise flashed in Edmund's eyes, followed by a bow. "Indeed, my grandfather. Father often says when Grandfather served as Hand, he most admired the dragonfire and justice of the Targaryens under King Jaehaerys's rule." He stepped aside to clear the way, his tone increasingly respectful. "Lord Vance of Atranta, Lord Vance of Wayfarer's Rest, and representatives from House Goodbrook are all waiting in the hall. All respectable men of the Riverlands."
Gael patted Dreamfyre's neck lightly. The pale blue she-dragon lowed, as if in agreement. Daemon glanced at the tense Bracken and Blackwood clansmen behind him—Ser Hendry Bracken's red stallion banner and Ser Toren Blackwood's raven flock banner were still taut. He nodded in agreement. "In that case, we impose."
The stone walls of Acorn Hall bore traces of rain erosion. The oak gates were carved with the house words: "From These Beginnings."
Passing through the porch, the courtyard was bustling with voices. A septon in green-trimmed white robes was blessing the name day. Children chased round acorn-shaped wooden balls. The air was filled with the aroma of roast boar and ale.
The current Lord of Acorn Hall, Balon Smallwood, son of Myles, came out to welcome them. Several faint scars were visible on his face, said to be inherited from his father's valor.
He moved among the guests, his loud laughter revealing appropriate enthusiasm. Compared to his father Myles Smallwood's straightforwardness back then, he had a bit more tact for social maneuvering. "That the Princes grace my humble home truly brings light to our hall."
The Earl laughed loudly, leading everyone through the cloister. "Father often said, if not for King Jaehaerys's later support and lenient protection, House Smallwood would have long fallen into ruin due to King Maegor's harsh punishments after the Battle Beneath the God's Eye."
Myles Smallwood's story was known to almost every household in the Riverlands: he once accompanied Lord Alyn Stokeworth to hunt down the outlaw Harren the Red, defeated "Woodsman" Wat in single combat at the Battle at the Stone Bridge, and even stood beside Prince Aegon the Uncrowned against Maegor Targaryen in the Battle Beneath the God's Eye.
This knight known for courage and loyalty, though not successful as Hand to Jaehaerys I and recorded as a "warning example," still had his portrait displayed in the main hall. The dozen scars left by savage battles on his face remained a symbol of House Smallwood's martial valor.
Inside the banquet hall, the long table was covered with a yellow and brown cloth, complementing the Smallwood sigil.
Lord Vance of Atranta held a wine cup, the green dragon on white field of his quartered sigil floating in the candlelight;
Lord Vance of Wayfarer's Rest was conversing with the representative of House Goodbrook at the end of the table. Ser Clayton Goodbrook sat there, the blue wave on gold field sigil on his cloak exceptionally conspicuous, constantly reminding everyone of his status as a direct vassal to House Tully of Riverrun.
House Goodbrook's lands neighbored House Smallwood's. Generations of geographical ties made the two families close. House Tully, as the liege lord of the Riverlands, though controlling less territory and military strength than their vassals like the Vances, remained the key existence balancing all factions.
Ser Clayton glanced occasionally at the Bracken and Blackwood directions, scrutiny in his eyes—after all, Daemon's purpose was to go to Pinkmaiden to arbitrate for these two houses, and Riverrun clearly didn't want the dispute between two major vassals in their territory to spiral out of control.
"This is Lord Armistead Vance of Atranta," Earl Balon introduced in turn. "That is Lord Robert Vance, the pride of Wayfarer's Rest. And Ser Clayton Goodbrook, a capable arm of Lord Tully of Riverrun."
Daemon nodded in greeting, his gaze lingering briefly on the sigils of the two Vance houses—historically, these two branches split over fighting for Riverlands hegemony, but now drinking harmoniously at the same table was quite a sight.
The people of Bracken and Blackwood were arranged in corners. Though Hendry and Toren still didn't exchange a word, they both restrained their hostility.
After three rounds of wine, Earl Balon carefully brought out a swaddled infant. The baby looked around with bright black eyes. "This is Thoren." He presented the child to Daemon and Gael, expectation in his tone. "If he can receive blessings from the Prince and Princess, he will surely live a long life."
Gael gently touched the baby's cheek. Dreamfyre lowed outside the window, as if echoing.
Daemon thought of his own sons who died young in his past life. His heart moved slightly, and he untied a dragonglass pendant from his waist—the amulet given by Gael. "May he be like an acorn, taking root as soon as he lands." His voice wasn't loud but reached everyone clearly. The Earl was overjoyed, quickly asking the wet nurse to keep the pendant safe.
Rayford, Rupert, and others raised their cups. Mycah Rivers even started singing a Riverlands toast song.
Hendry and Toren, constrained by the occasion, also raised cups in gesture.
After more wine, Daemon Targaryen naturally didn't "disappoint." He took his wine cup to the Vance ladies' table. A few jokes made the ladies blossom into smiles, silver-bell laughter echoing in the hall.
Lord Vance of Atranta shook his head helplessly but didn't stop him—on such a day, no one wanted to offend this Prince with dragon blood.
Lord Vance of Wayfarer's Rest exchanged a look with Ser Clayton, as if saying "The Targaryen nature truly never changes."
"The Rogue Prince is still the same," Earl Balon chuckled low, no dissatisfaction in his eyes. "Targaryen blood indeed all carries fire."
Late at night in Acorn Hall, candles grew sparse. Earl Balon looked through his father Myles's diary in the study. The yellowed pages recorded the confusion of serving as Hand back then: "Courage of a warrior alone is ultimately hard to cut the tangled threads of the court."
He remembered his father's dying words: "House Smallwood's roots are in the Riverlands. When the wind comes, one must root firmly, but also know how to bend." Outside the window, the camps of Bracken and Blackwood were separated by some distance. Bonfires flickered in the dark, but the daytime tension was gone.
By the next morning, Earl Balon finally let the Prince and Princess's retinue leave for Pinkmaiden.
When Daemon's retinue prepared to depart, Earl Balon insisted on gifting a cart of acorn wine. "The arbitration at Pinkmaiden won't be easy," he patted Daemon's shoulder kindly. "This wine warms the body and emboldens the heart."
Daemon looked back at Acorn Hall. The yellow banner unfurled in the morning breeze. The retinue slowly left Acorn Hall, stone walls and oak gates receding gradually.
The Bracken and Blackwood contingents still kept their distance, but the tension in the air had noticeably eased.
Daemon took a deep look back at the yellow banner fluttering in the wind. Perhaps Earl Balon's intention was exactly to use this name day celebration to ease the conflict happening near his fief, giving both tense parties a face-saving chance to breathe, and providing a buffer space for the Riverlands dispute.
Toward Pinkmaiden, the mist gradually dispersed. And the story of Acorn Hall might, like those fallen acorns, sprout new branches one day in the future.
After all, House Smallwood's words had long proclaimed: "From These Beginnings," so everything held new possibilities.
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