The outline of Pinkmaiden shrank gradually at the stern. The current of the Red Fork, like an unfurled blue silk, carried Daemon's fleet slowly eastward. The river course was indeed as winding as rumored. In the ripples cut by oars, the muddy riverbed was visible underwater. Reeds occasionally brushed past the gunwales, startling flocks of waterfowl.
"That is Red Deer Island." Larys Strong, feeding his grey donkey, pointed to a lush sandbar on the front left. Red deer on the island were grazing with their heads down. "I heard the ancestors of House Tully once set an ambush on the island, luring the Lannister golden lion pursuers—who were Kings of the Rock back then—into the shallows."
Daemon leaned on the gunwale to look. The terrain on the west bank of the Red Fork was visibly higher than the east. The banners of House Bracken were faintly visible on the distant hills.
Following the current downstream, the river gradually widened, but the flow slowed significantly. Ripples spread where the ships passed, like crumpled silver foil.
"Ahead is Mummer's Ford," Mycah Rivers spoke suddenly, pointing to a wide stretch of water ahead. "My father said troupes used to set up stages here, and later it became a crossing."
When the fleet passed Mummer's Ford, merchant ships moored by the shore came into view. Fishermen were unloading freshly caught trout, their shouts drifting on the wind. Daemon thought of the Tully sigil and couldn't help smiling—the trout in this river truly seemed like their family's living signboard.
At dusk, the silhouette of Riverrun finally appeared at the confluence of the rivers.
Two rivers embraced here. The turbulence of the Tumblestone collided with the gentleness of the Red Fork, creating white spray. Riverrun was like a wedge firmly embedded between the two rivers.
The triangular castle rose from the water. Sandstone walls glowed warm red in the setting sun. Although the moat on the west side wasn't flooded, one could imagine the grimness when filled.
"That is the Wheel Tower." Gael pointed to a corner of the castle. Ivy covering the tower swayed in the wind, and a huge waterwheel turned slowly with the current of the Tumblestone. "Just like Mother told me before, like a giant's toy."
When the fleet approached the Water Gate, Daemon saw the heavy iron portcullis clearly. The lower half was covered in red-brown rust, obviously submerged for years. Several boatmen were untying ropes from iron rings, preparing to guide the fleet through the arch.
"Princes Daemon! Princess Gael!" A resonant voice came from the water stairs.
Lord Grover Tully stood at the top of the stairs. He wore a red and blue striped silk tunic, a leaping silver trout embroidered on his chest. Behind him followed a group of children—the older ones already showing youthfulness, the younger ones still held by handmaidens, lined up like candied haws on a stick.
"Welcome to Riverrun!" Grover opened his arms, his smile hearty. "Thank you, Prince, for helping mediate the dispute between House Bracken and House Blackwood. The young and old of our House Tully have been looking forward to your arrival!"
As soon as Daemon stepped onto the stairs, a red-haired girl with pigtails rushed over. He remembered this girl; she had accompanied the Duke to King's Landing for the tourney celebrating Rhaenyra's birth last year. At seven years old then, she dared to ride a pony alone.
She held up a wooden carved trout: "Prince, this is for you!" Behind her followed a boy with a tiger-head appearance, clutching a reed leaf, probably wanting to blow a tune but only making buzzing sounds.
"This is my youngest daughter, Lia. You should have seen her at the tourney in King's Landing last year." Grover introduced with a smile. "That is my brother's third son, Edmure. There's a string of them behind; I won't introduce them one by one lest the Prince gets confused."
Entering the castle, Daemon paid special attention to the man-made moat. The gears of the sluice gate shone with metallic luster in the sun, clearly well-maintained. The crenellations and arrow loops on the sandstone walls were well-arranged, and the shadows of the towers perfectly covered the mudflats on the opposite bank. No wonder it could withstand attacks from the Kingdom of the Rock.
The Great Hall of Riverrun was simpler than imagined but exuded a heavy sense of history. The triangular structure of the keep made the space exceptionally compact. The high seat of House Tully was at the north end of the hall; a bronze bell hung in the room above, said to summon servants instantly at the Lord's command. Lord Grover invited everyone to sit. Just as he was about to speak, he was interrupted by children's laughter.
"Apologies," the Lord waved his hand with a smile, eyes full of helplessness and doting. "The house is just too lively."
The banquet was already set in the hall. The long table extended from the high seat to the door, piled with roast boar, stewed trout, and honeyed apples. Tully relatives sat squeezed together, from white-haired elders to toddlers just learning to walk. The chatter at the table was like boiling meat soup in a pot.
"Try this." Grover had a handmaiden serve Daemon a bowl of fish soup. Emerald herbs floated in the milky white soup. "Red Fork trout stewed in Tumblestone living water—Riverrun's signature."
Daemon took a sip; the delicious taste spread on his tongue. Grover took the opportunity to talk about family history, from Axel Tully building the castle to establishing a foothold during the Andal Invasion, tone full of pride: "We Tullys don't have grand ambitions. Guarding these two rivers well, guarding our family well, is enough."
He pointed to the house sigil on the wall: "'Family, Duty, Honor.' These three words are our roots."
Outside the window, the setting sun fell on the Red Fork, dying the river golden red. The waterwheel continued to turn, bringing the sound of flowing water into Riverrun's pulse unchanged for a thousand years.
During the meal, Lia brought several children to Daemon, pestering him for stories about The Cannibal.
Daemon was happy to steal some leisure to play with the children, smiling and gesturing the black dragon's appearance, drawing gasps of amazement from them.
Gael and Mysaria sat aside watching this lively scene, smiles appearing on their faces too.
Daemon Targaryen, however, was unusually quiet. This was the first time since delivering the letter at Saltpans and joining Daemon's retinue that he hadn't provoked the host's female relatives.
The seventeen-year-old's handsome, arrogant face rarely showed gloom. Since entering the game of love, he doubted his charm for the first time.
At this moment, radiating a melancholic aura—silver hair, violet eyes, combined with that handsome, dissolute face that melancholy couldn't hide—he unknowingly attracted the eyes of the Tully red-haired daughters fiercely.
After all, although the other Prince Daemon surrounded by children was even more handsome and alluring, the Princess and the sweet platinum-blonde handmaiden beside him looked like they were guarding him closely.
By the way, there was also that black-haired, green-eyed woman not far from the Prince. Her gaze at the Prince wasn't scary, but her voluptuousness involuntarily invited comparison from the Trout family's red-haired ladies.
"If the Prince doesn't mind, stay a few more days at Riverrun." Grover raised his wine cup. "Let the children learn some skills from you, and let me fulfill the duties of a host."
Daemon looked at the darkening sky outside, listening to the creaking of the distant waterwheel, suddenly feeling this tour didn't need to be rushed. Since it was a tour of the Seven Kingdoms, why rush every day? What harm in staying a few more days to let the retinue relax? He raised his cup and clinked with Grover: "Alright, then we impose on the Lord."
At dusk, Riverrun in the night saw the waterwheel still turning tirelessly, diverting Tumblestone water into the Water Gate.
Castle lights scattered like stars, echoing the fishing fires on the Red Fork.
Daemon stood on the east balcony of the keep, gazing at the shimmering waves at the confluence of the two rivers. Visiting here again today, he suddenly understood why House Tully could stand here for a thousand years—what flowed in this river was not just water, but the family's bloodline and heritage.
Tomorrow, perhaps he could visit the windowless dungeon, or walk along the water stairs to touch those stone steps worn smooth by time. After all, the road of the Seven Kingdoms was still long. Stopping occasionally to listen to the sound of the river wasn't bad.
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