Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 331 Euron's Conferment—Knight and Duke

The afternoon sun generously bathed the vast courtyard outside the Red Keep, where a grand wedding banquet was being held, its extravagance enough to showcase the new king's grandeur and the Lannisters' wealth.

The long dining table was covered with a clean white linen table, which looked like an exhibition of goods from seven countries.

The glistening, fragrant venison from the North, heavily spiced and roasted, gleams with the aroma of ripe meat; Reach wines of various vintages shimmer like jewels in crystal glasses; olives and cheese from Greentree Island are served on silver platters; Dornish dishes are laced with an irresistible spiciness; the aroma of the Iron Islands' golden sea monster wine fills the courtyard; and soft, golden honey cakes from King's Landing are piled high.

The air was filled with the enticing aroma of food and the intoxicating scent of alcohol.

Under the pavilion in the corner of the courtyard, the musicians played light and melodious tunes, the boldness of "Song of the Stag" and the tenderness of "Song of Love" intertwined.

The bard strummed his lyre and sang an impromptu ballad about the "heroic king and the peerless queen".

Nobles in their magnificent gowns, like colorful butterflies, danced and twirled in the hastily cleared space, or raised their glasses in small groups, chatting and laughing. Meanwhile, the commoners, allowed into the outer area, crowded around the fence, their eyes wide with amazement at this once-in-a-lifetime display of royal luxury.

To add to the merriment, the jesters put on a great show. One of them, comically dressed as Prince Rhaegar of the former dynasty, fled in a ridiculous and grotesque manner, his bare bottom exposed; another, wearing exaggerated antlers and wielding an inflatable leather hammer, chased after him with an air of authority. With exaggerated gestures, they imitated the Battle of the Trident, which determined the fate of the dynasty, their clumsy and comical antics eliciting bursts of laughter from the entire audience.

Robert and Cersei sat high on the main seats at the very front of the banquet.

Robert sipped his full glass of red wine, gazing at the joyous spectacle unfolding before him, a surge of triumphant pride filling his heart. His rugged face glowed with satisfaction, and he frequently cheered loudly for the captivating performances or lively music. Cersei sat beside him, maintaining impeccable queenly decorum, her long golden hair shimmering in the sunlight. Whether the depths of her emerald eyes burned with the same fervor as the celebratory atmosphere remained unknown.

As the banquet grew more lively, Tywin Lannister, the Queen's father, stepped forward to present the Lannister family's gift to the new king. A servant carried a tray covered with dark velvet, upon which lay a magnificent dagger.

The dagger's hilt was carved from lustrous ivory, its curve perfectly fitting the palm; a large, perfectly cut sapphire was inlaid in the hilt, reflecting a deep, cold light in the sunlight; the blade was entirely gilded, gleaming with a luxurious sheen that made it seem more like a work of art than a weapon. This gift not only showcased the astonishing wealth of the Western Regions but was itself a priceless treasure.

"May this blade clear all thorns from His Majesty's path." Tywin's voice was calm and even, revealing little enthusiasm for the gift, and sounding more like a formulaic blessing.

Overjoyed, Robert accepted the exquisitely crafted dagger, toyed with it a couple of times, then laughed heartily and set it aside. He clearly didn't ponder the deeper meaning behind the gift, only feeling that he should reciprocate.

"Thank you for your gift, Lord Tywin!" His booming voice drowned out part of the banquet's clamor. "As a return gift—I appoint Ser Ilyn Payne as Lord Helmsman!"

To others, the appointment was sudden, but it was actually a reward that had been planned in advance with the King's Hand. Ser Ilyn Payne, a knight known for his taciturnity and unwavering loyalty in swordsmanship, thus assumed the responsibility of representing royal punishments.

When it was Eddard Stark's turn to present the gift, two Northern guards laboriously led up a magnificent warhorse.

Its fur is as black and glossy as the night, except for its four snow-white hooves, as if it came on clouds. Its muscles are smooth and full of explosive power, its neck is held high, and its eyes burn with an indomitable wild flame.

"Good heavens!!" Robert's eyes lit up the moment he saw the horse. He jumped up from his throne and slapped his thigh excitedly. "This is a steed worthy of a king!" He rubbed his hands together, eager to mount the horse and gallop freely across the wilderness of King's Landing.

"Your Majesty." Handmaster Jon Arryn coughed lightly at the opportune moment, casting a slightly warning and reminding glance. Robert's high spirits seemed to be pricked by a needle. He looked around at the grand banquet and the hall full of nobles, and could only awkwardly and somewhat reluctantly sit back on the throne, but his gaze remained eagerly fixed on the steed.

This generous gift was of considerable value. Eddard spent nearly 100,000 gold dragons to commission Euron, who controlled the sea routes, to travel to the Dothraki plains across the Narrow Sea to purchase it from a famous horse king. The sentiment and the price he paid far exceeded what was ordinary.

Overjoyed, Robert naturally wanted to give his dearest friend the most solemn response. He abandoned his playful demeanor and, with the solemnity of a king, proclaimed: "Edward Stark, my loyal brother and most trusted companion! Today, I, Robert Baratheon, in the name of King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, hereby bestow upon you the title of Warden of the North, Duke of Winterfell!"

Although Eddard Stark had long since returned to the North after the War of the Usurper, inheriting his father's and brothers' titles and responsibilities, it was only at this moment, at the king's coronation ceremony, that he truly received the formal and public investiture of the Iron Throne. This procedure provided the Stark family's rule over the North with an indisputable legal foundation.

As Euron Greyjoy slowly stepped forward, four strong Ironborn men carried a huge bronze chest, their heavy footsteps echoing as they arrived at the center of the banquet.

The box is embossed with the crowned stag of House Baratheon, which gleams in the sunlight.

The moment the lid was opened, the surrounding noise seemed to fall silent. On a deep red velvet cushion lay a warhammer, its entire body dark and seemingly able to absorb light. It had little decoration, but its smooth and powerful lines, and the primal, cold, and intimidating power inherent in the metal itself, made all those who knew weapons hold their breath.

Euron's voice was calm, yet it carried clearly throughout the entire arena: "This hammer is made primarily of meteorite iron and cold iron from the depths of the ocean. It was forged by the master blacksmith of Kohol, who wielded the hammer himself, and it underwent thousands of folds and tens of thousands of forgings." He paused slightly before uttering the most crucial sentence: "Its toughness is such that even the sharpest Valyrian steel sword in the world cannot damage it in the slightest."

"good!!"

Robert's cry of surprise was like a thunderclap. He practically sprang from his throne, rushing to the bronze chest, his eyes gleaming with the ecstatic joy of discovering a priceless treasure. He stretched out his strong hand, grasped the hammer handle, and with a slight effort, lifted the heavy warhammer steadily, feeling the perfect balance of the weight and the warmth emanating from his palm.

A reassuring amount.

For a warrior-king renowned throughout the seven kingdoms for his bravery, gold, silver, jewels, fine clothes, and vast territories were certainly valuable, but none could compare to a divine weapon that truly resonated with his soul. He caressed the cold hammerhead with obvious affection, his face beaming with pure and fervent joy—the highest praise for this gift that perfectly suited his heart.

King Robert's playful expression vanished completely. He pushed aside his heavy chair, his tall frame rising like a mountain, each step firm and powerful, as he walked to the center of the banquet hall, facing Euron directly.

His voice, booming like a war drum, was no longer the casual tone of a banquet, but carried the solemnity of recalling glorious years, clearly echoing in every corner: "At the tournament in Harrenhal, you won the individual championship with an invincible presence, and led your team to victory in the seven-team tournament!" His words pulled everyone's thoughts back to that era of shining stars.

"When we resolved to overthrow the Mad King's tyranny, you were one of the earliest initiators, swearing an oath with us!" he continued, his gaze burning as if piercing through time. "When the war began, we fought side by side, receiving three victories in a single day at Summerhall; we broke through the encirclement at Stonehall amidst the tolling bells; we besieged Harrenhal together; and then there was the Trident River, the decisive battleground—on the battlefield of a hundred thousand men, you never retreated a single step! It was we who, together, ended the Targaryen dynasty's rule!"

He took a deep breath and uttered the words he had been holding back for so long: "Though you are not a knight in the traditional sense, and have never been knighted by any lord, your bravery, your integrity, your virtue, and your glory have already been proven on the battlefield, surpassing the weight that any emblem or oath can bestow!"

Finally, Robert's gaze deepened, and he mentioned a seemingly ancient yet crucial agreement: "I remember—"

"Once upon a time on the island of Tass, you made a knightly pact with the Sapphire of Tass."

Euron smiled and nodded. Brienne, the sapphire from Tass, was in the crowd, her face flushed.

Robert's voice boomed like thunder, carrying an unquestionable, regal authority: "Now, kneel! Euron Greyjoy!"

Youlun: "————" His body remained motionless, like a statue carved from sea stone.

Robert's patience was quickly worn down by the silence, and he roared in a deep voice, with an unquestionable kingly air: "Damn it!"

"I'm the king! Making you kneel won't kill you!"

Hearing this familiar, domineering yet affectionate urging, Euron's face showed a helpless bitter smile. He finally gave up, bent his right knee, and knelt steadily before Robert, lowering his head, which he had never bowed to easily before.

Robert, seeing this, grinned with satisfaction and habitually reached for his waist, only to find his sword empty; it wasn't on him. He immediately raised his voice impatiently, "Sword!"

Jaime Lannister, who was closest to him, almost reflexively drew his ornately decorated longsword with a "whoosh" and presented it to the king with both hands.

Robert glanced at it, his eyes flashing with undisguised contempt, and his booming voice carried a chilling sarcasm: "The sword of the 'Kingslayer' is unworthy to be used to crown the strongest warrior of the Seven Kingdoms!?"

These words were like a poisoned dagger, piercing Jaime's heart. His handsome face instantly lost all color, becoming extremely ugly. His fingers, gripping the hilt of his sword, turned white from the force, but in the end, he said nothing, simply sheathing his sword in silence.

"Barristan!" Robert shouted, no longer looking at him.

The White Knight, Barristan Selmy, who had been standing solemnly to the side, immediately stepped forward upon hearing the sound. With fluid and dignified movements, he removed his battle-worn longsword, a symbol of glory and protection, and respectfully presented it to the king with both hands.

Robert gripped the longsword Barristan had offered. The cold touch and familiar weight slightly tempered the wildness on his face, replacing it with an expression of solemnity and reminiscence befitting a king and warrior. He looked down at Euron, who knelt before him, his booming voice echoing throughout the banquet like a proclamation of law: "In the name of warriors, I demand courage from you." The sword struck gently against Euron's right shoulder with a whistling sound.

"In the name of the Father, I demand justice from you." The sword moved to his left shoulder, steady and powerful.

"In the name of the Virgin Mary, I beg you to protect the weak and the innocent."

"In the name of a young girl, I ask you to protect the honor of all women."

"In the name of the blacksmith, I demand that you remain faithful to your duty."

"In the name of the old woman, I demand that you possess wisdom."

With each recitation of the oath, the blade bearing the glory of "Fearless" Barristan's life touched Euron's shoulder once more. This ancient Andal ritual, performed between an Ironborn and a king renowned for his warhammer, was particularly striking.

Finally, Robert gently touched the tip of his sword to Euron's head. He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice as if speaking only to Euron, yet loud enough for those nearby to hear: "Euron Greyjoy. Rise, knight of the Seven Kingdoms. Heh heh, you are the first knight I, your king, have appointed!"

Euron stood up as instructed, his gaze calm, and smiled, saying, "That would truly be my honor."

Robert's investiture was not yet over. He sheathed his longsword, propped it on the ground, placed his hands on the hilt, straightened his posture, and swept his gaze across the assembled nobles. His voice rose again, as if announcing a new conquest: "However, the honor of a knight is far from the full reward for your deeds!"

He paused, making sure everyone's attention was focused. "Harrenhal, that colossal city built by the wicked Harren, large enough to hold the entire army of Westeros, that castle that witnessed the rise and fall of the Targaryen dynasty in flames!" He swung his arm sharply northward, as if the magnificent ruins were right before his eyes. "It should no longer remain abandoned, silenced by the ghosts of the past!"

His gaze returned to Euron, filled with unquestionable trust and respect: "I, Robert Baratheon, in the name of the Kings of the Seven Kingdoms, hereby declare—from this day forth, my brother and strongest warrior, Knight Euron Greyjoy, is appointed Duke of Harrenhal! He shall rule over the lands surrounding the Lake of God's Eye, and restore its former glory!"

These words shocked everyone present.

Harrenhal, the largest and most magnificent castle in Westeros, embodies a ducal title whose power and status far surpass that of an ordinary lord. This reward is truly exceptionally generous.

Robert grinned, looking at Euron, and added a final sentence whose meaning only they fully understood: "I believe that you are most suitable to rule that castle of ashes and legends! You are more worthy of it than any knight who merely follows dogma!"

The investiture is complete.

The "sea monster" of the Iron Islands has since become one of the lords of the Riverlands, dwelling atop the magnificent castle that symbolizes power, curse, and legend.

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