Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

The air atop the Park City Library Tower was thick with dust, mustiness, and the lingering scent of sea salt. A meager sliver of light peeked through narrow, arrow-shaped windows, barely illuminating the yellowed parchment piled on the oak table and the rough copying paper before Euron. The rustling of quills across paper was the dominant sound, occasionally broken by the slight clinking of inkwells or the distant roar of waves.

Lisa sat quietly opposite Euron, like a small salt sculpture. Three heavy books lay open before her: the Scrolls of the Drowned Gods, the History of the Ironborn, and the Laws of the Iron Islands. Her grey-blue eyes darted between the pages and Euron's unrestrained handwriting, fulfilling the "overstudent" duty entrusted to her by King Coron—ensuring not a single word was wrong, and no perfunctory work.

Euron was copying the doomsday prophecy of the "Great Drowning" from the Ancient Scroll of Drowning Gods. The ink on his pen blurred into a chaotic mess, just like the thoughts stirred by the dark doctrines in the book. He suddenly stopped writing, his gaze shifting from the stain on the paper to Lisa's calm face.

"Lisa," his voice broke the silence, carrying a hint of deliberate casualness, "you said you speak seven languages." Euron had always been curious about this maid, but with so many people on the ship, there was no opportunity to chat and probe properly. Now, however, it was just the two of them.

Lisa looked up, met his gaze, and nodded gently: "Yes, Lord Euron."

"Higher Valyrian," Euron's fingers tapped unconsciously on the table, making a soft knocking sound, "that phrase you said on the deck... 'Valar dohaeris.' What does that mean?" He mimicked her pronunciation, not quite perfect, but capturing the strange rhythm.

“‘All men must be served,’” Lisa answered clearly, her voice like a gentle breeze across the sea.

"Serve?" Euron's lips curled into a playful smile. "Serve whom? The Drowned God? The Seven Gods? Or some... Dragon King?" He deliberately emphasized the last two words, with a hint of provocation that was barely perceptible.

Lisa's expression remained unchanged: "This is a common greeting among the Braavos, and also used to express humility. Its original meaning is that all mortals are destined to serve some... higher purpose or being. The object of service depends on the speaker's beliefs and stance." Her Common was fluent and precise, with a soft Pentos accent.

"A higher purpose..." Euron repeated softly, his gaze sweeping over the text in the Drowned Scrolls about the whispers of the abyss and the destruction of the end times. "The Drowned God says that He reveals His wisdom in the bubbles of the drowned. Do you say that the Drowned God whispers in Valyrian?" His question carried an almost blasphemous curiosity.

Lisa paused for a moment, seemingly choosing her words carefully: "The whispers of the drowned gods... perhaps transcend any mortal language, Lord Euron. But Valyrian... it is the legacy of the ancient Freehold, the language of dragons and magic, the vessel of many ancient knowledge and secrets. It itself may contain the key to some 'higher purpose'." Her answer was both cautious and profound.

A glint of light flashed in Euron's eyes; this was exactly what he wanted to hear. "Teach me," he commanded directly, his tone leaving no room for argument, but a pure thirst for knowledge burned deep within his eyes, something extremely rare for him.

Lisa neither immediately agreed nor refused, but simply looked at him quietly: "Copying is King Coron's order, Lord Euron. Time is of the essence."

"Time?" Euron chuckled, pointing to the piles of books and manuscripts. "We've been locked up in this dusty tower filled with mad ramblings for a whole month. Copying is punishment, studying..." He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice, "...is a pastime, a key. Teach me a few words, just so... the ink's too thick, I need a break." He picked up the ink bottle and gently shook it.

Lisa's gaze lingered on his face for a few seconds, seemingly assessing his resolve and the deeper meaning behind his request. Finally, she nodded slightly: "As you wish. But only during breaks from copying, and you must complete your daily quota."

Youlun had just finished copying a prayer about the water burial ceremony from the "Ancient Scroll of Drowned Gods" ("What is your name? Where do you go? What do you want?"), put down his pen, and shook his aching wrist.

"How do you say 'name' in Valyrian?" he asked immediately.

"Hen (pronounced similarly to 'hate,' but with a flatter tone)," Lisa said clearly.

"Hen..." Euron repeated, savoring the short, forceful syllable on his tongue. "And the 'Drowning God'? What do you Pentosians or Braavos call Him?"

"The drowning gods of the Iron Islands don't have specific names in Valyrian," Lisa replied, "but they can be described. The 'God of Saltwater' is Ānogar Zōbrī, and the 'Lord of the Abyss' is Dārys Lenton."

"Ānogar Zōbrī…… Dārys Lenton……" Euren imitated with great interest. These syllables were more complex and mysterious than the rough language of the Ironkin, as if they contained power. "It sounds more weighty than 'Drowning God'," he commented, a strange light gleaming in his eyes.

Lisa opened the History of the Ironborn and pointed to a rough illustration depicting the Black Stone Castle on Pike Island: "'Stone' in Valyrian is Dārys, which shares the same root as 'Lord.' It means solid, eternal, and domineering."

Euron's gaze swept over the rugged Pyke Castle in the illustration, then fell upon the faintly visible Black Stone Tower outside the window. "Dārys..." he murmured thoughtfully. "The ruling stone... Drowned God is the lord of the abyss, Pyke is the ruling stone... Interesting." He picked up a quill and hastily wrote "Dārys" and "Lenton" in the margins of the manuscript.

Euron stopped again when he reached the passage in *The History of the Iron Seeds* describing a bloody family feud. The pages were filled with words like "chopped with an axe," "drowned," and "betrayal."

“Blood,” he said, looking at Lisa, “Valerian.”

"Sȳndor," Lisa replied.

"Sȳndor..." Euron murmured, feeling the word carry a rusty, metallic scent. "'Knife'? Or 'sword'?"

"Tegōn (泰-贡) generally refers to a sharp weapon, and 'sword' is Vala (瓦-拉)," Lisa added. "Valerian steel swords are called Valyrio Tegōn (瓦-利-莉-RIOTA-贡), meaning 'Valerian blade'."

Euron's eyes sharpened instantly as he recalled the lower-grade Valyrian steel daggers among the spoils. "Valyrio Tegōn…" he repeated, his fingers tracing lines on the table, as if sensing the legendary blade. "Sounds more deadly, more precious than the 'Dragonsteel' the Ironborn spoke of." He paused, a calculating glint in his eyes. "Lisa, 'Knowledge is power'… how do you say that in Higher Valyrian?"

Lisa paused slightly, seemingly unprepared for the question, but quickly and fluently replied, "Rūklon daorun hen henkirī (Rūklonda-o-lunhenhen-ki-ri) – 'Knowledge is the foundation of power.'"

"Rūklon daorun hen henkirī..." Euron repeated slowly, word by word, as if trying to etch each syllable into his very bones. He stared at Lisa, the smile on his lips deepening, growing colder. "Well said. Continue copying." He picked up his pen again, but the words beneath seemed to carry a new weight and sharpness.

When Euron reached the cold, hard note in the Iron Islands Law concerning the felony of breaking oaths and the transience of promises made to landmen, a glint of light flashed in his eyes. He slammed down his pen, splashing ink everywhere.

“The law,” he asked eagerly, “in Valyrian!”

"Ryptra," Lisa replied.

""chain"?"

"Hēnkirī (hate-base-li) - is the same word as the 'foundation' in 'foundation of power'."

""oath"?"

"Avy (阿-维)".

""sand"?"

"Kepā (凯-帕)".

Euron quickly jotted down these words in the margins of the manuscript: Ryptra (law), Hēnkirī (chains/foundation), Avy (oath), Kepā (sand).

He stared at the words, then glanced at the note in the book, and suddenly burst into a low, jubilant laugh, jarringly loud in the silent tower. "Ryptra henkirī (Laws are chains)...but Avy kepā (Oaths are like sand)...especially oaths to landmen!" He pointed to the words, his eyes gleaming with the excitement of discovering a loophole in the rules. "Lisa, do you see? It's written in cold, hard words that promises to landmen can slip through your fingers like sand! And Valyrian...it proves it with sound! Avy kepā! Oaths are like sand! How...apt!"

Lisa looked at the excited Euron, then at the Valyrian words he had written on the margins. A complex emotion seemed to flicker deep within her grey-blue eyes—was it alertness? Worry? Or some kind of understanding of this dangerous wisdom? She said softly, "Words are frozen sound, Lord Euron. And sound... is fluid. The meaning of an oath sometimes lies in the one who speaks it, sometimes in the one who hears it, sometimes... only in the wind."

Euron's laughter subsided, and he gave Lisa a deep look, as if truly scrutinizing the little girl he had chosen from among the captives for the first time. "The flowing sound..." he murmured, savoring the word. "Well said, Lisa. Very good." He said nothing more, picked up his pen again, and began copying the remaining legal texts. But his handwriting was more deliberate, as if he were not tracing words, but rather the blueprints of some weapon he was about to master. His lips always held that cold, all-knowing smile, one that seemed poised to exploit everything.

When the last stroke was finished, Euron put down his quill, his fingers stained black with ink and the rough paper. Lisa carefully examined the three copies of his manuscript, which were written in a wild but surprisingly complete style, and confirmed that they were correct.

Only the eternal roar of the waves remained in the tower, pouring in through the narrow window openings, like the distant sigh of the drowning god, or the lingering breath of the ancient Valyrian dragon.