Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 186 The Valley Heir – Eisen Erin

As night fell, Harrenhal's massive torches were lit one by one, illuminating the arena as bright as day, but casting even more flickering and distorted shadows.

The nighttime duel between the seven groups is about to unfold in an even more unpredictable atmosphere.

King Aerys II arrived at the stands, his presence always accompanied by an invisible oppression. Tonight, he had specially summoned the Duke of the Eyrie, Jon Arryn, Warden of the East, and a host of important lords and nobles from the Vale, gathering them beside his throne to "enjoy" the upcoming performance.

Aerys II leaned languidly against the cold spikes of the Iron Throne, a morbid expectation flickering in his eyes that danced with firelight.

While ordinary sword fights and flying limbs might please him, what truly excites him, sends shivers down his spine, and makes him unable to suppress a smile, is fire. He is obsessed with the sight of those orange-red demons devouring flesh and blood, and he is intoxicated by the agonizing screams and contorted expressions of victims as they are burned alive—to him, it is the most moving symphony and painting in the world.

Lord Jon Arryn, who had been summoned to his side, looked far more somber. He hadn't come out of a shared interest with the king, but because the elite force known as the "Ironhawk Bloodguards," representing the Eyrie, was about to take the field that evening. As a lord, he had to be present to oversee the battle and, more importantly, uphold the honor and dignity of the Vale before this increasingly unpredictable king.

He sat upright, his gaze fixed on the arena, but his thoughts were far more profound than the battle off the field.

The arena was filled with the deafening sounds of battle under the cover of night. Seven factions clashed fiercely amidst the flames, while cheers and gasps from the audience rose and fell like waves. However, on the high platform, another contest was taking place.

Euron and King Coron exchanged a glance, their gazes sweeping over the valley nobles who had suddenly gathered on the stands and the king sitting in the center. Image Bay had seen Iris and the others' scheme before, and it would probably unfold before their eyes in a moment.

Just as the battle off the field reached its climax, Aerys II's languid voice rang out, like a viper's hiss, precisely piercing the ear of Lord Jon Arryn beside him: "Jon Arryn, I suddenly remembered, why didn't your wife, Rowena Arryn, come with you? It would be a pity if she were absent from such a grand event."

Duke Jon's face suddenly turned ashen, as if covered in frost. He forced himself to remain calm and said in a deep voice, "Thank you for your concern, Your Majesty. My wife, Rowena, unfortunately passed away two years ago, dying from a cold winter."

Lord Jon's first wife, Jeanne Royce, died in childbirth, along with her unborn daughter; his second wife, Rowena Arryn, also passed away before bearing him an heir.

King Iris II, however, seemed to have just learned of the news, drawing out his words, "Oh—how unfortunate." He tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest of his throne, then changed the subject, "And you—have you any plans to take another wife?"

Duke Jon's knuckles were clenched so tightly they turned white, but he maintained a calm demeanor: "Your Majesty, we had not previously considered this plan."

"If I remember correctly," King Iris II said, twirling his tangled beard, firelight flickering in his eyes, a cruel smile playing on his lips, "you were born in 218 AC, and you're sixty-two this year? No, sixty-three, and you still have no children." He paused, his voice suddenly rising, echoing like a declaration in the now-silent noble circle, "You are the Guardian of the Eastern Border of the Kingdom, the Duke of Eyrie! What will happen to Eyrie if you die? What will become of the Eastern Border?! Wouldn't that plunge the Kingdom into chaos!"

At that moment, Jon Arryn felt all the blood rush to his head. His clenched fists trembled violently inside his sleeves, his nails digging deep into his palms. He could almost hear the grinding of his teeth.

How could there be such a monarch in this world?! He actually greets the lords and nobles of my valley with a "concerned" smile, asking them what would happen to my fiefdom if he were to die!

Aerys II seemed oblivious to the icy rage in Jon Arryn's eyes, or rather, he simply didn't care.

He laughed, like the cawing of a crow, but the sound was clear and deliberately carried throughout the stands, announcing his true purpose: "The kingdom needs stability, Your Grace—you need an heir."

Jon Arryn's icy gaze was fixed on the king like a hawk's. He remained silent, not immediately responding. A surge of rage welled within him, but he suppressed it with sheer willpower. He wanted to see just how far this mad king intended to place him, and the dignity of the Vale, in this public spectacle.

King Iris II seemed to take his silence as acquiescence, and turned directly towards the Valley Lords and nobles, raising his voice to call out, "Is Eisenba Ayrin of the Ayrin family in Seagull Town present?"

A middle-aged nobleman stood up from his seat in the valley, his face showing a mixture of surprise and barely perceptible expectation: "Your Majesty, I am here." Essenba Erin was a member of the Erin collateral branch in Seagull Town, whose blood ties with the main branch had become distant.

Aerys II wore a smile that seemed to bestow a great favor, and speaking to Jon Arryn in a voice loud enough for the entire assembly to hear, he said, "Behold, the solution is at hand. You may make Eschenba Arryn your heir! He too is of Arryn blood, and I have heard of his extraordinary abilities—"

"His Majesty!"

Jon Arryn broke his silence, his voice like cold steel, decisively interrupting the king. He stood abruptly, his tall frame casting a resolute shadow in the firelight. He no longer concealed the chill in his tone; every word was clear and forceful: "The affairs of the Vale will be handled by me. As for the question of the Arryn family heir," he said, his gaze sharp as he looked directly at Aerys II, "there is no need for the king to concern himself with it."

In an instant, the entire stands fell silent, even the battle raging below seemed distant. All the nobles held their breath, staring in disbelief at the Eastern Guardian who had openly defied the king.

Aerys II abruptly waved his hand, as if to sweep away all dissent, his voice rising sharply, carrying an unquestionable authoritarianism that resounded throughout the stands: "What are your personal gains or losses compared to the stability of the kingdom!" He stared intently at Jon Arryn, declaring, word by word, "Until you bear a son—if you are still old enough to have one—Essenba Arryn is your rightful heir! This matter concerns the very foundation of the kingdom, and is beyond discussion; it is settled!"

"You—!" Jon Arryn's chest heaved violently, the word "you" containing endless shock and anger, but because of his status as a subject, it was forcibly stuck in his throat.

Seeing the duke speechless, King Aerys II's face flashed with a cruel pleasure, and he let out a cold sneer: "Hmph, you senile old fool, daring to defy your king to his face!" His gaze, like a poisoned dagger, pierced the duke without mercy. "If it weren't for the fact that your Arryn family has guarded the Eastern Frontier for generations and has rendered some minor service, I could strip you of your title right now, so you'll understand what it means to be unpredictable in royal authority!"

At this moment, the atmosphere before the emperor plummeted to freezing point. This was no longer a discussion, but the most blatant humiliation and coercion.

After Iris II finished speaking, he suddenly stood up, his scarlet royal robes drawing a resolute and arrogant arc in the firelight.

He didn't glance at Jon Arryn again, as if what he had just issued wasn't a tyrannical decree, but merely the handling of a trivial matter. He led the silent Council members away from the stands in dead silence, leaving behind the uproar and endless discussions.

The king's departure seemed to unlock the shackles of speech, and the lords and nobles of the valley erupted in chaos. Astonishment, whispers, resentment, and scheming—various emotions spread through the crowd, and everyone's gaze involuntarily turned to the two figures that had become the focus of attention.

Lord Jon Arryn remained frozen in place, his chest heaving slightly with suppressed rage. His gaze, sharp as an icy blade, shot towards Essamba Arryn not far away. His eyes, piercing as an eagle's, seemed to penetrate the man's slightly hesitant yet undeniably ambitious exterior, revealing a soul secretly delighted by the king's favor. This was not the gaze of a vassal looking at a collateral descendant, but that of a duke looking at a potential traitor, a traitor nurtured by the king.

Eisenba Erin instinctively straightened his back under that gaze, trying to maintain his composure, but the fleeting glint in his eyes betrayed him. It wasn't guilt, but rather the anxiety and resentment of seeing a shortcut to heaven only to be blocked by a boulder.

In his eyes, the elderly duke was no longer just the patriarch, but a stumbling block preventing him from reaching a higher position of power.

The brief eye contact between the two seemed to have intertwined countless silent declarations of war and future conflicts.

Below the stands.

King Coron gazed at the farcical scene that had ended in discord high above, and sighed heavily. His deep voice carried an undisguised worry: "I was initially skeptical of the magic concerning fire and prophecy—now it seems almost all the schemes have come true." He paused, his gaze deep, "Only one last thing remains, yet to happen."

Euron's lips curled into a slight smile, showing no surprise whatsoever, as if everything was under control: "It's only two days from now. What's meant to happen will happen."

King Koren nodded silently, and the two fell silent, turning their gaze back to the fiery arena below.

The seven groups there had fought to the final stage of their duel.

In the arena, the "Iron Eagle Blood Guards" of the valley indeed displayed astonishing combat power.

With their unwavering will honed through years of bloody battles with mountain savages, their tacit teamwork forged through rigorous training, and their superior gilded armor and weapons, they ultimately swept away their opponents and won victory.

Their leader, Ser Brynden Tully the Blackfish, raised his blood-stained longsword and let out a wild shout. The surviving Vale warriors also raised their weapons and saluted their lord in the stands, as well as the Duke of the Eyrie and Jon Arryn, Warden of the East, immersing themselves in the pure glory and ecstasy after the bloody battle.

Lord Jon Arryn rose from the stands and waved to the warriors who had won him the victory. He wore an appropriate smile, but it was stiff and forced.

What lingered in his heart at this moment was not the joy of victory, but the humiliation and coercion from the king that had just pierced his heart like a dagger.

The warriors who fought and cheered on the battlefield were unaware that while they were fighting for the glory of the valley, the Duke to whom they had sworn to serve was experiencing a storm of dignity and succession in the stands.