For three days, the morning mist clung stubbornly to King's Landing. Outside the Red Keep, the two main thoroughfares—one leading to the Iron Gate for the Vale lords, the other to the Gate of the Gods for the Riverlanders—had been adorned daily with fresh banners announcing new arrivals.
The black-cloaked members of the Darkblade Guard had begun to notice a pattern:
The Vale nobility, accustomed to rough mountain roads, often arrived by ornate carriage or via the harbor. Their banners and carriage curtains were embroidered with falcons, trees, and swords.
The Riverlanders, closer to the capital and traveling on flatter roads, preferred horseback. Their armor often carried the damp scent of the Trident, and their speech held the brisk, lilting cadence characteristic of the riverlands.
Early that morning, Daemon had just finished organizing intelligence on the Triarchy when Rayford's footsteps echoed outside his solar. "Your Highness, Lord Eon Arryn of Gulltown has arrived. Prince Viserys requests your presence at the Iron Gate."
Daemon set down his parchment, buckled Blackfyre to his waist, and walked out into the courtyard.
There, he saw Eon Arryn—the "Golden Falcon" and head of the Gulltown branch of House Arryn—surrounded by a gaggle of "friends," holding court with Viserys. His silver-grey tunic, emblazoned with a golden falcon, was dazzling enough to hurt the eyes.
Upon seeing Daemon, the group of Gulltown merchants and petty lords led by Eon immediately swarmed him with smiles. Eon was clutching an eagle-shaped pendant set with sapphires and rimmed in silver, his "presentation" to Viserys seemingly interrupted by Daemon's arrival.
"Oh, my dear Black Dragon Prince! Prince of Blackfyre! Warrior Incarnate! Your Highness!" Eon gushed. "The image of you leading our Vale coalition at the Gates of the Moon earlier this year, cleaving through the shields of those mountain savage clans with a single strike... this humble servant remembers it vividly! And your approachable nature during your stay in Gulltown remains unforgettable to all our citizens!"
Having finished flattering Daemon, the slick "Golden Falcon" pivoted back to Viserys.
Compared to the "High as Honor" main branch of House Arryn, this Gulltown cousin behaved less like a noble and more like a smooth-talking merchant for whom profit was king.
He pressed the pendant into Viserys's hand, his voice oozing "sincere emotion." "Prince Viserys, this is a specialty of Gulltown. The gem comes from the far reaches of the seas. I present it today specifically for the Jewel of the Realm, Princess Rhaenyra, to enjoy."
Viserys accepted it with a polite smile, while Daemon looked past Eon.
Lord Corbray was gripping the arm of Lyonel Corbray. The Earl's grey cloak was dusted with travel grime, but his eyes shone with excitement. "Lyonel, has your swordsmanship improved following the Prince? In your last letter, you claimed you could last three exchanges with him? And that trophy you sent home... your father shows it off to every neighbor within ten leagues!"
The tips of Lyonel's ears turned red. He pointed behind him at Daemon. "Uncle, you exaggerate. It's all thanks to the Prince's teaching..."
Before he could finish, Lord Corbray slapped him on the shoulder. "Good lad! You haven't shamed House Corbray. The swords of our house belong at the side of a True Dragon, conquering the world! Don't end up like your father, guarding his old castle and his three acres, too scared to move. He's barely left the vicinity of Heart's Home his whole life, let alone the Vale!"
Daemon smiled and stepped in to rescue his squire. "Lord Corbray, Lyonel is a squad captain in my Darkblade Guard now. He set the patrol routes for today. He is often more meticulous than I am."
Lord Corbray turned and bowed. "Your Highness, thank you for cultivating him. Before, he only cared about dueling at Heart's Home. Since touring with you, he's become steady. Even his letters home are more legible."
"Lyonel has talent," Daemon nodded. "I merely gave him the opportunity."
Not far away, Lord Hunter was speaking with his youngest son, Harlan.
Lord Hunter wore green armor, looking older than he had at the start of the year but still spirited. He patted Harlan's shoulder. "Serve well in the Darkblade Guard. Don't shame House Hunter. Prince Daemon is a True Dragon. Our house is small, and as a second son, following him offers you a far greater future than rotting in the Vale watching your brothers inherit."
Harlan nodded vigorously, his eyes locking onto Daemon with unwavering loyalty. The Battle of the Gates of the Moon had shown him a leader worth following for a lifetime.
---
While the Vale lords arrived, the Riverlands caravans began appearing outside the Gate of the Gods.
The most conspicuous banner belonged to House Strong: white with pale blue, red, and green stripes, becoming clear through the mist.
Lyonel Strong paused, his bald head gleaming in the morning light. Larys, leaning on his cane, followed his father, his black robe sweeping the ground, his eyes quietly scanning his family's retinue.
Lyonel's eldest son—and Larys's older brother—Harwin Strong rode a black destrier at the front.
Behind him was the old Lord of Harrenhal, Bywin Strong. He looked much frailer than he had earlier in the year; the stripes on his tunic were worn. He looked at his son Lyonel and grandson Larys, smiling. "Lyonel, being Master of Laws in King's Landing suits you; you look more spirited than when you returned from the Citadel. But Larys... your leg. Did the remedies your father found at the Citadel help at all?"
Larys bowed slightly. "Grandfather, the Citadel's medicines are useless. However, following the Prince and handling intelligence has made me feel much more agile lately."
Harwin dismounted and gave his "Clubfoot" brother a warm hug, followed by a bear hug for his father. Larys, helpless in the embrace, glanced at Daemon.
Daemon nodded in understanding, his gaze sweeping over the other Strongs. Several cousins were surrounding Lyonel asking about maritime laws, while Larys stood on the periphery, occasionally interjecting with a casual remark like, "The docks of King's Landing are far busier than Harrenhal's," seemingly indifferent, yet observing everyone.
After greeting his father, Harwin patted Larys on the shoulder. "Larys, are you well in the capital? Father says your intelligence reports are clearer than the ledgers Great-Uncle keeps for Harrenhal."
Larys nodded gently. "Thank you for your concern, brother. I am well."
The cunning was gone from his dark eyes, replaced by a rare warmth. Family, after all, could soften even the coldest nature.
---
Next came the fleet from the Three Sisters.
At the riverside, Lord Sunderland wore a blue-and-green tunic embroidered with the three female heads of his house. Behind him stood his bannermen—Lords Borrell, Longthorpe, and Torrent—all looking cautious.
Instead of the River Gate, they had circled to the King's Gate via the Fishmarket, led by Colin Celtigar to meet Daemon privately.
"Your Highness," Lord Sunderland whispered, handing over a scroll. "This is the trade manifest for the Three Sisters. If you need intelligence from the Narrow Sea, our merchant ships are ready to carry messages. Since pledging loyalty to you, apart from a few Ironborn and Triarchy vessels, we haven't touched anything illicit."
Lord Torrent added, "We heard about Lord Bennard Brune. The Three Sisters are caught between the North and the Vale. As vassals of the Arryns, we cannot be as bold as Lord Bennard. We only ask to follow you and keep our fishermen safe. Please forgive us."
Daemon took the list, smiling at the detailed routes. "Rest assured. As long as the Three Sisters are loyal to the Iron Throne and honor the oaths we swore, I will let no one bully you."
Lord Sunderland exhaled in relief and slipped a small bag of pearls to Daemon. "A small token. For Your Highness and Princess Gael."
---
Shortly after, a message came from Viserys: Lord Barrington of Acorn Hall had arrived at the Gate of the Gods.
Daemon arrived to find the old lord holding a bundle of brocade—his grandson, Joseth. Last year, the boy had just passed his first nameday. Now, seeing Daemon, he reached out a chubby hand, babbling, "Dwagon... Dwagon."
"He talks about your glory and dragons every day," Lord Barrington laughed, handing the boy over. "He sleeps holding the wooden dragon you sent him."
Daemon took Joseth, and the boy immediately grabbed his silver hair, giggling and delighting the crowd.
By evening, the retinues of House Blackwood and House Bracken arrived simultaneously.
Toren Blackwood rode a black horse, flanked by his wife, the second daughter of House Piper, in pale pink.
Behind them, Henrik Bracken rode with his wife, the eldest Piper daughter, in deep green.
The two parties kept a strict ten-pace distance, refusing to even make eye contact.
"Your Highness, we remember the marriage mediation from last year," Toren bowed. "But... the Brackens are the same as always. They think we got the better end of the deal."
Henrik huffed. "You Blackwoods stole the oak grove first!"
Seeing that Daemon Targaryen—still nursing his first heartbreak over the eldest Piper girl—remained silent, Daemon Blackfyre stepped in, waving a hand wearily. "You are both Riverlords. Stop bickering. The tourney is approaching; if you cause a scene in King's Landing, the King will not be pleased."
Both men shut their mouths but turned their heads away. The two Piper sisters, however, exchanged a secret glance, hiding smiles of resignation.
Later arrivals included Lord Belmore of Strongsong, Lord Lynderly of Snakewood, and Lord Grafton of Gulltown (the main branch).
Their arrival was uneventful. Belmore brought Vale wool, Lynderly brought Snakewood timber. Lord Grafton was dragged by Eon Arryn to discuss trade with Viserys. Daemon stood by, asking occasional questions about the mountain clan defenses.
That night, the four generations of House Strong gathered in a side hall of the Red Keep.
Lord Bywin looked at Lyonel's maritime documents and flipped through Larys's intelligence notes, sighing. "Lyonel, you are too serious; governing Harrenhal requires flexibility. Larys, you are too active; you need to settle your mind. You father and son should learn from King Jaehaerys—combine hardness with softness."
Larys smiled, saying nothing, simply handing his grandfather a cup of Arbor gold.
Lyonel replied, "Father, maritime affairs are not like Harrenhal. A slight error affects the trade of the Seven Kingdoms. I cannot be careless."
---
Night turned to day. The first light had just touched Daemon's window when he was woken by urgent knocking.
Rayford's voice was filled with unprecedented panic. "Your Highness! Trouble! Bad trouble!"
Daemon threw on a robe and opened the door. Rayford stood there sweating, clutching a crumpled note. "Two parties arrived simultaneously at the Iron Gate and the Gate of the Gods. The Regent of the Vale, Yorbert Royce, with Lady Jeyne Arryn and Lady Rhea Royce... and the Lord Paramount of the Trident, Grover Tully, with his family. They're all here!"
"Isn't that good?" Daemon took the note. "Viserys is meeting the Royces at the Iron Gate? Then the Tullys..."
"The problem is Prince Daemon Targaryen!" Rayford interrupted, dropping his voice. "He took the Gold Cloaks and beat Prince Viserys to the punch. He went to the Gate of the Gods to welcome Lady Lysa Tully! At the Iron Gate, Lady Rhea and the Royces are still waiting!"
Daemon froze. The note nearly slipped from his fingers.
He remembered Daemon Targaryen's indifference when Rhea was mentioned, his calmness greeting the Brackens. He hadn't expected the Rogue Prince to make such an absurd choice between his lawful wife and the girl who had healed his heartbreak—Rhea at the Iron Gate was his wedded wife; Lysa at the Gate of the Gods was a girl he had known for a few days at Riverrun.
"Where is Viserys?" Daemon's voice deepened.
"At the Iron Gate, with Yorbert Royce and Lady Jeyne. His face is thunderous," Rayford said urgently. "The Royces are whispering, the Tullys are making a ruckus, and the Gold Cloaks are cheering for 'Commander Daemon welcoming Lady Lysa.' If this gets out... the Crown's face..."
Daemon walked to the window, looking toward the Iron Gate. Through the mist, he could faintly see the Moon-and-Falcon of Arryn and the Runes of Royce. From the direction of the Gate of the Gods, he could almost hear the cheers of the Gold Cloaks.
He gripped the hilt of Blackfyre, his knuckles white.
Daemon Targaryen's stunt wouldn't just enrage House Royce; it would strain the relationship between the Riverlands and the Vale, and give Otto Hightower a perfect weapon.
The sun burned away the mist. The bells of the Red Keep rang on time, but they lacked their usual lightness. Instead, they sounded like a heavy alarm tolling over King's Landing.
Daemon took a deep breath and turned to Rayford. "Saddle the horses. To the Iron Gate."
He didn't know yet what kind of hidden dangers this farce, born of a "romantic entanglement," would bury for the upcoming Grand Tourney.