Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 355 Alexander Greyjoy—Euron's Son

The tallest tower on Pike Island was now filled with the mournful wails of a woman.

Ashara lay in the cold stone chamber, her black hair soaked with sweat, each contraction feeling like an invisible giant hand tearing her body apart.

Outside the delivery room, Euron Greyjoy paced restlessly like a caged sea monster.

King Balon, his elder brother, tried to stop him with his strong arms, muttering the traditions and taboos of the Iron Islands. However, when Ashara let out another painful scream that pierced the heavy wooden door, Euron's eyes flashed with determination. He broke free of his restraints and smashed the door open like a storm.

"The three sisters stay! Everyone else, get out!" Euron's deep roar echoed between the stone walls, leaving no room for argument.

The midwives scattered in terror under his horrifying gaze, leaving only the three loyal sisters standing guard outside like stone statues, isolating them from the rest of the world.

Inside, the air was thick with the smell of blood and sweat.

Euron stared at his wife's pale, contorted face. He leaned down, a cold hand gently stroking her high, trembling belly. The next second, a strange light flowed in his palm—he had activated the power of the Door-Door Fruit.

Above Asara's belly, the air twisted and peeled away like melting wax, creating a clearly defined "door" that emitted a ghostly light. There was no blood, only a supernatural glow dancing at the edges. Through this passage of life, Euron carefully reached in and gently but firmly lifted a warm, wet little life out of it.

Eulen deftly cut the umbilical cord connecting mother and child, and then the "door" that defied the laws of nature silently closed, as if it had never existed.

"Wow--!"

The baby's loud cries suddenly erupted, making the water glasses on the table vibrate and causing the torches on the wall to flicker.

The cries, like a horn announcing the arrival of a new king, shook the entire ancient stone tower.

The door was gently pushed open, and the three sisters, like three synchronized shadows, silently stepped aside.

The maids and nannies who had been waiting outside carried warm basins of water, soft cotton towels, and clean clothes, and filed in quietly and orderly.

The room was filled with a faint scent of blood and sweat, but more than anything, there was a sense of newfound peace. Asara lay on the bed, her hair damp with sweat and plastered to her forehead, her face pale yet carrying an indescribable gentleness and weariness.

Rachel gestured for the maids to come forward. Nitil tested the water temperature, while Zoia soaked and wrung out the softest cotton towel. Without saying a word, they began to gently wipe the sweat from Ashara's forehead and the bloodstains from her body, each movement filled with careful tenderness.

When everything was ready, an experienced nun gently placed a baby tightly wrapped in soft swaddling clothes into Asara's arms. The child was so small, his skin still had the red wrinkles of newborn, he had thick, dark hair, and violet eyes. He smacked his lips and made a soft, meow-like hum.

Ashra lowered her head, her eyes instantly filling with uncontrollable tears and tenderness. She carefully adjusted her posture, for at this moment she was holding the most precious treasure in the world.

Euron had been by the bedside the whole time. Now, he bent down and embraced Asara and their newborn child with his strong arms. He lowered his head and placed a long, tender kiss on Asara's sweaty forehead. All the hardship, waiting, and worry seemed to melt away in this silent kiss.

Asara leaned wearily but contentedly against Euron's strong chest, a weak smile playing on her lips. She whispered, "It's a boy."

Euron smiled and said, "Boy or girl, they are both treasures you have given me." He gazed at the wrinkled little face in the swaddling clothes, his eyes lingering on the hazy, open eyes. "Look, he has violet eyes just like yours, so beautiful."

Asara looked in the direction of his self-illumination, the softest part of her heart was gently touched.

"Have you decided?" She looked up at him, her eyes filled with hope. "What name should we give him?"

The door was gently pushed open a crack.

A little over a year old, Darren Greyjoy toddled in, his small face filled with a bewilderment and restraint beyond his years. He had listened to his mother's suppressed cries of pain for so long outside the door, and now that everything had calmed down, he finally rushed to Ashara's side, burying his face in her soft dress. His little shoulders began to tremble uncontrollably—the tears he had held back for so long finally burst forth.

Despite her exhaustion, Asara gently stroked Darren's back with the hand that wasn't holding the baby, offering silent comfort.

Euron watched this scene, a rare tenderness appearing in his eyes. His large, warm hand gently stroked Darren's soft hair. "Don't be afraid, Darren, Mommy's alright!" His voice held a reassuring power. Then, he looked up, his gaze meeting Ashara's in the air, and clearly uttered the name he had already chosen: "Alexander Greyjoy."

Asara paused slightly, her long eyelashes trembling slightly.

"Alexander?" she repeated softly, trying to search the scrolls of her memory for that syllable. It was a completely unfamiliar name, carrying the dust of a foreign land and an air of remoteness, and there was no trace of it in any family genealogy or Iron Islands legend she knew.

Euron noticed her subtle confusion and chuckled softly, "Yes, that name has never appeared in Westeros."

"I once read about it in a tattered ancient scroll." His voice was deep, with the rhythm unique to telling ancient legends, as he slowly recounted: "From the far east of the land of sunset, across oceans and deserts, there was a king named Alexander. He rode invincible warhorses, and his army traversed the territories of countless kingdoms, from golden palaces to towering pyramids, and even the distant banks of foreign rivers echoed with the horns of his expeditions."

Euron withdrew his gaze, gazing once more into the clear violet eyes of his son in Asara's arms: "He was not only a conqueror, but also a wise ruler who unified his vast empire. In those yellowed pages, he is the embodiment of 'greatness,' 'conquest,' and 'wisdom.' I hope our son," Euron gently stroked the baby's soft hair, "will inherit the spirit and glory behind this name."

Asara repeated those words in a low voice: "Greatness, conquest, wisdom—" A complex light flickered in her violet eyes. Her slender fingers unconsciously clenched the edge of the swaddling clothes. Behind the name that symbolized supreme glory, she seemed to see the cold glint of swords and the perilous waves of a long voyage.

Euron keenly caught the fleeting hint of worry in her eyes and said softly, "If you don't like it, we'll find another one."

"No, I love it." Asara gently shook her head, hugging the child tighter. She raised her eyes, her gaze tender and earnest: "But, Euron, perhaps all mothers in the world feel the same way. Greatness and conquest are too distant, too heavy. I only wish that our Alexander can grow up safely and healthily, without having to fight in stormy seas, without having to survive amidst swords and shadows."

"Heh," Euron laughed in a low, confident voice, "isn't that easy? We'll clear all the thorns in his path, and smooth out all the dangers and difficulties he needs to overcome. Then our son can simply take over a peaceful country and rule with peace of mind."

Asara's lips twitched slightly, but before she could respond, clear footsteps sounded outside the room.

The heavy wooden door was pushed open, and Baron Greyjoy's tall figure stepped in first, followed quietly by Lady Alanis, Lisa, and Balf, while the other Greyjoys crowded outside. Behind them, indistinctly, were the figures of the island lords gathered in the corridor.

In an instant, the intimate warmth was replaced by public attention.

Almost instinctively, Ashara straightened her back, the soft worry that belonged to a mother on her face quietly disappearing, replaced by the calm and dignified expression befitting Mrs. Greyjoy.