Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 332 Brienne Tarth

The grand banquet, amidst the clinking of glasses and lively conversation, also served as a political event marking the first power distribution within the new dynasty.

Every nobleman who stepped forward to offer a gift was not merely expressing congratulations, but also reaffirming their status and loyalty before the new king. Robert's responses were not simply returns of the gift, but rather, in the name of the Iron Throne, a reaffirmation and endorsement of the existing order of the Seven Kingdoms.

Robert sat high in the main seat, drinking his fill of wine and savoring the moment of victory. Lord Jon Arryn, Hand of the King, stood by his side like his most steadfast foundation, and whenever a nobleman approached, the experienced Hand of the King would bow slightly and whisper in the King's ear the name, family, and their position and contributions in the War of the Usurper.

This silent whisper ensured that Robert could speak with perfect precision every time he opened his mouth.

The vast majority of vassals received a certificate confirming that they would retain their original titles and territories.

"In the name of my king, I hereby declare Tywin Lannister Warden of the Westerlands, Lord of Casterly Rock—"

"In the name of my king, Mace Tyrell is hereby declared Warden of the South, Duke of Highgarden—"

These seemingly repetitive investiture processes were actually of paramount importance.

In the laws and traditions of Westeros, everything bestowed by the Targaryen dynasty became invalid upon its overthrow. Now that a new king has ascended the throne, all lands and titles must be reaffirmed by King Robert to retain their legal validity.

This was not a mere formality, but a direct manifestation of the saying "a new emperor, a new court," symbolizing the Baratheon dynasty's complete takeover and recognition of the Seven Kingdoms order.

The bestowal of titles proceeded in an orderly manner until Euron Greyjoy was made Duke of Harrenhal.

When this news, like a boulder thrown into a still lake, stirred up silent yet turbulent waves among the nobility, everyone realized that the weight and suddenness of this reward far surpassed any previous one. It was not a confirmation of the old order, but rather, with an almost generous gesture, the creation of a brand-new, prestigious ducal title.

After a brief moment of astonishment, upon reflection, this reward was actually quite reasonable.

Given Euron's status as one of the earliest instigators of the rebellion, his unquestionable military achievements in key battles such as the Battle of the Trident, and his formidable strength in commanding the Iron Fleet and controlling the sea routes, he already possessed an influence far exceeding that of an ordinary lord. Granting him this largest and most symbolic castle in Westeros was certainly unexpected, but by no means absurd; rather, it was more like a belated yet highly significant public recognition of his existing strength and achievements.

More importantly, the former House of Harrenhal had sided with the Mad King in the war, and apart from Oswell Harrenhal, the former Kingsguard who was far away in the Tower of Joy, all the other male members of the Harrenhal family had died in the battle. After this war, the family no longer had the strength to control such an important castle.

The lengthy offering and investiture ceremony will last all afternoon.

When news of Euron's investiture as Duke of Harrenhal spread, a group of nobles quickly surrounded him to offer their congratulations. Flattery and polite words poured in like a tide, making it difficult to discern their sincerity.

Amidst the clamor, the approach of one figure stood out. Tall and slightly clumsy, she seemed out of place in the surrounding opulent atmosphere; it was Brienne from Tass. Her clear blue eyes held no trace of flattery, only a pure, almost unadulterated light.

"Congratulations," she said, her voice a little stiff but unusually serious, "Now—you are a knight."

Euron looked at the girl before him, with whom he had once made a promise, and a genuine smile, unlike the one he gave to others, appeared on his face: "Yes, I've finally kept my promise. Didn't we make a promise back then?"

"Yes." Brienne nodded vigorously, her hands unconsciously clenching into fists, her eyes resolute. "I'll definitely do my best."

Euron surveyed the noisy scene around him, filled with power exchanges and fake smiles, a barely perceptible hint of weariness flashing across his eyes. This kind of occasion was truly boring to him.

“Talk is cheap,” he suddenly turned to Brienne, his tone becoming casual and familiar. “It’s been a long time. Let me see how much you’ve grown.”

Upon hearing this, Brienne's face instantly lit up with undisguised joy—the excitement of finally being valued and recognized. "Excellent, my lady!" she exclaimed almost immediately. "I couldn't be happier!"

Euron turned to Selwyn Tass, Earl of Twilight Hall and Brienne's father, and smiled, "I wonder if Your Excellency is at ease?"

Brienne looked at her father expectantly. Selwyn Tass smiled and nodded, saying, "Go. The teachings of the Seven Kingdoms' greatest warrior are invaluable. Your Excellency, you've gone to great lengths."

Without another word, Euron and Brienne, one after the other, tacitly left the noisy crowd and quietly entered a relatively secluded training ground inside the Red Keep.

Soon, the silent space enclosed by high walls was filled with the distinct and powerful sounds of metal clashing. It was the whistling of swords cutting through the wind and the collision of solid defenses, more real and powerful than any banquet music.

The dust on the training ground swirled gently in the afterglow of the setting sun. After a fierce clash of weapons, the two finally stopped and sat down to rest against the cold stone wall.

Brienne's progress was evident. Her innate strength grew even more astonishing with age, each strike carrying a force heavy enough to shake a shield. What impressed Euron even more was her previously obvious weaknesses—whether it was her footwork, the speed of her sword strikes, or her agility—all of which had undergone extremely rigorous training. While not yet at their peak, she had shed her former clumsiness and become steady and effective.

"Few can withstand your power head-on these days," Euron said, wiping the dust from his brow. "But your power is too direct, lacking room for maneuver. Against a true fast swordsman, your ribs here," he gestured towards his own side, "will be a fatal opening."

Brienne didn't immediately refute, but frowned slightly, lowered her head to think about the scene of their fight, and then nodded seriously.

"Footwork too," Euron continued, picking up a twig and tracing it on the ground. "You focus too much on the stability of your lower body, which is fine, but the shifting of your center of gravity when moving isn't smooth enough. Think of waves crashing against rocks; it's not a hard collision, but a continuous surge and penetration."

His words were sharp and to the point, without the slightest hint of politeness.

Brienne listened intently, her blue eyes sometimes showing realization when her weakness was exposed, and sometimes appearing deep as she pondered solutions. She nodded emphatically from time to time, etching every word into her heart. In this secluded training ground, there was neither the duke nor the young woman, only two souls immersed in their discussion of martial arts.

Euron looked up with slight surprise and saw Jaime Lannister leaning against the archway of the training ground. The blond kingslayer was still wearing his Kingsguard's snow-white armor, standing out conspicuously in the twilight. He looked at the two who had just finished their duel, a fleeting, elusive darkness flashing in his famous emerald eyes.

Euron raised his chin at him, a carefree smile like the sea breeze on his face: "How about it, want to come down and practice? Stretch your muscles a bit."

James shook his head, his posture unchanged, only offering a curt, unsmiling gesture as a response.

Euron's gaze fell on his white robes, and as if suddenly remembering something, he asked with interest, "Speaking of which, the fact that you're still wearing those white robes makes me quite curious. Does your father—does he allow you to continue serving as a Kingsguard? Isn't he in a hurry for you to step down and return to inherit Casterly Rock and the entire Westerlands?"

When his father Tywin was mentioned, Jaime's eyes turned colder, and his tone carried a hint of barely perceptible irritation: "My father?"

"Of course he disagreed." He snorted and said, "We've argued about this countless times. But I insisted on staying, and he—"

There's nothing they can do about it for now.

Brienne, standing nearby, couldn't help but interject in her characteristically earnest, almost stubborn tone: "The Kingsguard is the highest honor every knight dreams of. If it were me—I would also be willing to wear the white robe for life."

Euron, upon hearing this, turned to Brienne, gave a mischievous smile, and then glanced meaningfully at Jaime: "Now, including you, there are only two Kingsguard left. Brienne, if you were a few years older and more skilled, you might actually have a chance to fill one of the vacancies."

Euron's gaze fell on Jaime's dazzling white armor, his tone calm yet direct: "Are you still agonizing over that 'king-killer' thing from King Robert's banquet?"

James shrugged, the movement seemingly nonchalant, but a self-deprecating smile played on his lips: "He's right, I am a king killer. This title, like this white robe, will probably stay with me for life."

Euron looked at him silently for a moment, and in some ways he did feel a unique sympathy for Jaime. He spoke, his voice low but his words clear: "To be honest, Jaime—if I had been in your position, standing beside that mad king, perhaps I would have made the exact same decision as you much sooner."

Euron's gaze was sharp, as if trying to pierce through the white robes and see the truth behind it: "No one would kill the king they swore to protect with their life, and no sane person would stand by and watch a madman use wildfire to kill half a million people in King's Landing, even if the one who gave the order was the king himself."

"Choosing between your own father, your family, and the lives of 500,000 innocent people in a mad king who is destined to burn everything—that's not a difficult decision."

James was slightly moved, but the long-standing stigma he carried made it difficult for him to let go. He said in a low voice, "But—many people say that I have broken my oath and disgraced this white robe."

Upon hearing this, Youlun suddenly laughed, a laugh filled with disdain for worldly opinions: "Why bother with their gossip? Right and wrong in this world often don't depend on how others judge them." He stopped laughing, his tone becoming deep and firm: "As long as you have a clear conscience, that's enough."

The gloom on Jaime's face seemed to dissipate somewhat because of this conversation. He forced a smile that wasn't exactly bright, but it made him look much more relaxed, and nodded to Euron, acknowledging his understanding.

Euron glanced at the sky, estimating that the power and social spectacle in the hall was still some time away from ending. He turned to Brienne, smiling, and asked, "Still got some energy? Come, let me teach you a movement technique commonly used by assassins across the Narrow Sea, a little different from the knights' steps."

Upon hearing this, Brienne's clear blue eyes instantly lit up, like stars ignited, and she nodded vigorously without hesitation: "I have the strength! Good!"

Exhaustion seemed insignificant in the face of her intense thirst for knowledge.

Even though Euron didn't explicitly ask him to leave, Jaime, standing to the side, displayed the demeanor expected of a knight. He knew the importance of the privacy involved in the transmission of martial arts, especially when teaching unique techniques. Without any hesitation, he simply nodded slightly in Euron's direction, then turned and, with his still elegant yet seemingly unburdened steps, quietly left the training ground, leaving the space gradually shrouded in twilight to the master and apprentice.

As the setting sun painted the clouds golden and red, the two left the training ground. They needed to wash and change, as a banquet was about to be held.