Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 155 The Tower of Burning Kings - The Power of Dragon Fire

The next morning, Euron walked through the deep and somewhat secluded corridors of Harrenhal and came to a small hall that had been temporarily furnished to be quite comfortable.

Here, Ser Arthur Dayne is gathered with Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, Princess Elia Martell, and his sister Ashara Dayne, conversing in hushed tones.

Euron stepped forward, first bowing respectfully to Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia, then turning his gaze to Arthur, and said sincerely yet politely, "Sir Dane, forgive my intrusion. May I have the honor of inviting Miss Ashara to tour this legendary castle? Its scale and history are truly astonishing, and I would like to share this awe with her."

Prince Rhaegar Targaryen's violet eyes, tinged with a hint of melancholy, flickered almost imperceptibly when he heard Euron's request. His gaze swept over the undisguised expectation Euron held when he looked at Ashara, then quickly glanced at Elia, his nominal wife but always kept at an invisible distance. A complex expression—a mixture of envy, wistfulness, and even a touch of bitterness—fleeted across his eyes.

Rega seemed to see something he longed for but never truly possessed: the freedom to act without restraint.

The freedom to draw near purely out of love. But he quickly regained his usual calm and elegance, merely nodding slightly to indicate that he understood, without saying anything more, perfectly concealing all his emotions under the prince's reserve.

A gentle, slightly melancholic smile appeared on Princess Ilya Martell's pale face.

Looking at the young couple before her, who only had eyes for each other, and then at herself and her distinguished but distant husband beside her, she felt an indescribable envy and longing welling up inside her.

What Elia longed for was perhaps not Euron himself, but rather the obvious, passionate love and the freedom of companionship. She gently embraced her daughter, as if drawing warmth from her, silently lamenting the chasm between a political marriage and genuine affection.

But she maintained her good manners, and her sadness transformed into a gentle and kind remark: "Go, Ashara, such an experience is indeed worth sharing."

Ser Arthur Dayne, seeing his sister's cheeks flush and her eyes light up instantly, couldn't help but laugh heartily, a laugh that dispelled the gloom of Harrenhal. He patted Euron on the shoulder, his tone full of teasing and brotherly affection: "Well, well! My sister was just sitting here restless and distracted, so she was waiting for you? It's only been a short time since we parted, and you're already so eager to take him away from me?"

Arthur deliberately sighed, shook his head, and said to Rhaegar and Ilya, "Look, daughters grow up and leave home. It seems I, the older brother, will soon be second in line!" His teasing eased the subtle atmosphere from before and made Asara blush even more, but her face was radiant with happiness.

Asara didn't say anything, but ran to Euron's side, took his hand, and ran out quickly.

Euron and Ashara strolled side by side through the vast and gloomy courtyards of Harrenhal, eventually walking into the shadow of the five towering towers.

The castle itself is a heavy allegory about arrogance and destruction.

King Harren, the “Black-hearted” king, boasted to all the monarchs that his colossal fortress, built with forty years of painstaking effort and countless lives lost, was impregnable. “Euron’s voice echoed in the empty courtyard as he pointed to the twisted, charred walls. “In a way, he was right. No traditional siege weapon or army could budge it an inch.”

Euron paused, his gaze fixed on the menacing silhouette of the tallest tower, a hint of fate's mockery in his voice: "But he overlooked one thing—Aegon the Conqueror, and his dragons."

"Dragons cannot be stopped by any high walls or towers in the world," Ashara replied softly, her violet eyes reflecting the charred marks of the tower, as if she could see the catastrophe of a hundred years ago.

“That’s right,” Euron nodded. “So Harren and all his offspring and followers were trapped in this fortress he thought was impregnable. Aegon’s dragon, the Black Death, Balerion, simply descended from the heavens and, with his dragonfire strong enough to melt rock, turned this stone tomb into their infernal furnace. Harren himself was roasted alive in that tallest tower.” He pointed to the most terrifying tower. “Therefore, it is now called the Tower of the Burning Kings.”

The closer you get, the more you can feel the horror of that ancient catastrophe.

The extreme temperatures not only claimed lives but also permanently altered the castle's shape. In many places, the stones exhibit a bizarre state of being charred, melted, and then re-solidified, resembling flowing black candle wax that suddenly solidified—a truly horrifying sight.

Even the shortest of the five towers, though halved in height, still far surpasses any other structure in the Iron Islands. Yet, none of the towers are unscathed. They appear as if twisted by divine force, their bodies contorted, massive stones cracked, and many places retain the gruesome scars and glassy crystals left centuries ago by the Targaryen dragonfire that melted them.

Standing before the ruins created by inhuman power, the two remained silent for a long time, their hearts filled with deep awe at the destructive power of the dragon flames.

"No matter how magnificent a fortress may be, it is nothing but a futile struggle before true power," Euron finally said softly, his words fading into the howling wind of Harrenhal.

Asara nestled gently against Euron, gazing at the charred and twisted remains of the giant tower before her, and sighed softly, "Yes, but now, there are no more dragons in the world. And even the most formidable castles have lost their true natural enemy."

Euron winked slyly upon hearing this, then leaned down and whispered in her ear with an almost secret-sharing tone, "Who said that? Dragon eggs are still around. I bought two by chance when I was traveling across the Narrow Sea."

Asara looked up, her eyes filled with amusement and a hint of reproach for his wild imagination: "I've heard these rumors too. But everyone says they're all dead eggs, that they've gone through too much time and can never hatch. Your golden dragon has been fooled."

“Yes,” Euron said casually, yet meaningfully, “most people think so. But—who can say for sure?” His self-sunlight shone into the distance, as if gazing at some possibility of the future.

Asara followed his gaze and said rationally, "Even if—even if dragons can still hatch, they still need dragon riders. Ancient bloodlines are the key; only the bloodlines of true dragons can control them, just like—just like Prince Rhaegar." Her voice was filled with awe for ancient legends and the power of bloodlines.

The sight of the dragon, this magical yet terrifying creature, caused both of them to fall silent, imagining its enormous size and terrifying aura in their minds.

Euron wondered: If my Conqueror's Haki reached its peak, could I make a dragon submit to me? Or perhaps, make it faint and fall from the sky...?