Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

The Harlow family's Ten Towers was not as somber and imposing as Pike Place City; it was more like a vast nest perched atop a gray cliff, pieced together from towers, studies, and an observatory. Even the sea breeze seemed gentle here, carrying the scents of parchment, old ink, and dried seaweed.

When Euron Greyjoy's small boat docked, there was no commotion as was usually heard when Ironborn visited. Only a few clerks in plain robes, their eyes sharp as hawks, silently led him through the stone steps marked with the marks of the tides. Euron was accompanied only by a guard of ten men led by Dagmer and his handmaid Lisa.

[Exploration: Discover Harlo Island, earn 80 points]

[Explore: Discover Harlo Island: The Library Tower, earn 15 points]

In the circular room at the top of the largest "Library Tower," he met Earl Rodrik Harlow, known as "The Scholar." Unlike most Iron Islands lords, the Earl was muscular and lean, wearing a worn velvet robe, his fingers stained with ink, and a pair of insightful gray eyes hidden behind a long table piled with scrolls and astrolabes.

"Euron Greyjoy," Rodrik's voice was calm, with the deliberate caution of a scholar, "the sea monster chick from Pike City has flown alone to Ten Towers. This is unlike Coron. Is it to borrow some books on greenhouse cultivation for the long winter nights to come?"

Euron bowed slightly, his manners impeccable, his heterochromatic eyes appearing even more eerie in the dim light streaming through the tower windows. "Earl Rodrik," he said, "my father's eyes are fixed on the grain ships to the east. I have come here for a matter of greater importance, one that concerns the future of the Iron Islands bloodline." Without beating around the bush, he produced a scroll carefully wrapped in sealskin. "On behalf of my brother, Baron Greyjoy, heir to Pikeshire, I propose marriage to Miss Alanis Harlow, the jewel of your family."

Rodrik didn't take it immediately. He simply tapped lightly with his fingers on an open ancient book, which was covered with intricate tide diagrams. "Baron... that child is like an unsheathed axe, sharp, but also prone to hurting himself and those around him. Alanis..." He paused, a hint of elder's gentleness flashing in his eyes, "She needs more than just a husband who can wield an axe."

"That is why this marriage is so fitting," Euron's voice was calm and steady. "Brother Baron possesses the will of a rock and the courage of an unyielding warrior. He is a natural-born warrior and leader, capable of leading Greyjoy's glory to new heights. And Miss Alanis, her wisdom, her medical skills, and even her precise swordsmanship (forgive me for the anecdotes I've heard), can be the most resilient vines on the rock, smoothing the rough edges and adding abundance. Greyjoy's fierceness needs Harlow's wisdom to guide its direction, and Harlow's knowledge and trade networks need Greyjoy's strength to protect them. This is not merely a union of two families, but a fusion of the spirit of the old ways and the path of the new, designed to make the Iron Islands stronger, not merely richer, in the coming winter and into the distant future."

He stepped forward and gently placed the document in a gap on the table. "Besides," he raised his eyes, his gaze seemingly piercing through the pages, "in the long night that is about to engulf the world, what could bring more warmth and strength than the close bond of blood? This is not conquest, but alliance, the oldest and most enduring covenant."

Rodrik remained silent for a long time; only the howling sea breeze and the soft rustling of papers filled the tower. Finally, he reached out, his fingertips brushing against the sealskin scroll, as if sensing its weight and the promise it carried. He looked out the window; the shadow of Ten Towers was slowly lengthening, covering the bustling port below and the endless sea in the distance.

"Alanis did say that in all of Pike City, only the wrath of Greyjoy's eldest son reminded her of the taste of Dornish liquor. However, I still need to consult her and her mother before I can reply," the Earl finally said slowly, a barely perceptible smile playing on his lips.

"Of course I should." Euron blinked and said, "This is my first time on Harlo Island, and I'd like to explore around. I wonder if it's convenient for me." Every time he explores a new location, he can earn corresponding points. It's shameful to waste them, but every little bit counts. Euron never complains.

Rodrik readily agreed: "Of course, our distinguished guest can!"

——————————————————————————————————————————

Pike City - Temple of Poseidon

On the wedding day, the Temple of Poseidon resembled more than ever the belly of a sunken behemoth. Beneath the enormous stone dome, hundreds of whale oil torches were embedded in iron rings in the walls, their flickering flames casting shifting shadows on the bizarrely tattooed bald heads of the drowning priests, and elongating, distorting the shadows of all the guests onto the slippery, salt-covered black stone floor. The air was salty and heavy, a mixture of seawater, burning oil, cold stone, and a more primal, mysterious aura belonging to deep-sea rituals.

Baron Greyjoy wore a brand-new black leather jacket with a golden krait embroidered on the chest. He stood ramrod straight, like a mast nailed to an altar, his jaw clenched, and his eyes, usually burning with rage, now held a deeper, more complex emotion—a solemn acceptance of the impending, inescapable fate. His gaze occasionally swept over the woman beside him.

Alanis Harlow did not wear the elaborate silks commonly seen on noble ladies of the continent. Instead, she wore a thick, dark green wool dress, simple in design, edged with silver-embroidered wave patterns, and a cloak woven from polished black fish scales draped over her shoulders. Her dark brown hair was braided into a thick plait that hung down her front, adorned with small, star-like pearls. In her hand, she did indeed hold a ceremonial dagger, its scabbard made of walrus ivory. Her posture was not that of a shy bride, but more like that of a female warrior about to swear a blood oath with her allies, her green eyes calmly receiving the various gazes cast upon her—curiosity, scrutiny, awe, and even a hint of barely perceptible jealousy.

The drowning priest's voice was loud and hoarse as he chanted the ancient Iron People's wedding vows, each syllable seemingly carrying the weight of the sea and echoing from the abyss.

"...You are the rock, and they are the chains that bind you, enabling you to stand firm in the storm..."

"...You are the blade, and that is your whetstone and scabbard, ensuring that your sharpness never fades and that you never harm yourself..."

"...The two of you will sail together to the other shore, where you will share a place in the Palace of the Drowned God..."

The climax of the ceremony wasn't the exchange of rings. The priest brought out a rough, black stone bowl filled with icy, almost black seawater. Baron and Alanis simultaneously dipped their hands into the water, the biting cold instantly tensing their muscles. With a coral-inlaid dagger, the priest swiftly drew a shallow line of blood across their intertwined wrists. A few drops of blood blended into the inky water and quickly disappeared.

"Salt!" the pastor shouted, sprinkling a handful of coarse sea salt into the bowl.

"With ice!" He threw in another small piece of ice that would never melt (legend has it that it came from the far north).

"With blood!" he finally said, pointing to their mingled blood.

"You shall unite! Until the seas run dry, until the stars fall!"

The ceremony is complete!

The pastor poured the seawater, which was a mixture of salt, ice, and blood, from the bowl onto the feet of the two men, where it seeped into the cracks in the rocks.

There were no sweet kisses, no cheers. Instead, all the Ironborn nobles and captains in the hall struck the ground heavily with the hilts of their swords and axes, producing a deep, rhythmic boom, like war drums, like the rumble of thunder before a tsunami—the highest form of recognition and blessing from the Iron Islands.

Baron turned his head, looking at his bride for the first time truly and carefully. Alanis was looking at him too, her face devoid of a shy blush, only displaying a calm assessment and resolute acceptance. She slightly raised the dagger in her hand, a small yet powerful movement.

Amidst the roar, King Coron remained calm, his eyes reflecting satisfaction at the consolidation of his family's interests. Lady Sansa held Victarion tightly, a hint of worry in her eyes, yet also a faint hope for the newborn's future. She stroked her belly, where a new Greyjoy awaited birth. Uncle Balf grinned broadly, playfully punching the shoulder of the person beside him.

Euron Greyjoy stood silently in the shadow of a massive stone pillar in the temple, watching the brother and sister-in-law, united in an ancient ceremony before the altar, destined to face storms and winters together, and silently offered his blessings. This marriage, which he had personally orchestrated, conforming to both "fate" and self-interest, had landed firmly in its predetermined position on the vast chessboard, but at the same time, he felt a heavier burden on his shoulders. He did not want his future nephew and niece to suffer any tragic fate.