Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

After the banquet, Earl Owen Marie Weiss was led by a silent Ironman through cold, dimly lit spiral staircases and corridors, the stone steps beneath his feet uneven from the erosion of time and sea breeze.

The torch in the niche flickered, casting his obese figure on the wall, distorting and swaying, just like his restless state of mind.

He was led deep into the Seal Skin Puppy Tower to a seaside stone chamber. There was no bustling warmth of a banquet hall, only cold stone and a small cluster of flames in the fireplace barely dispelling the chill.

Euron Greyjoy had his back to him, gazing out the window at the sea, black as satin, its white waves churning. Hearing footsteps, he slowly turned, his eyes gleaming unfathomably in the flickering firelight.

"Lord Owen," Euron's voice was smoother than the sea breeze, yet carried the same chill, "I hope the crudeness of Pike City has not been too much of a disservice to you, my distinguished guest."

Earl Owen forced a smile, his stomach tightening slightly with tension: "Lord Greyjoy is too kind. The hospitality... is extremely thoughtful."

Euron smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. He strode forward, and without any further pleasantries, picked up two items from the shadows. They were two unremarkable rough burlap sacks, but when they fell into Owen's hands, their heavy weight made his arm sag suddenly, and the sacks emitted a crisp, enticing metallic clang—golden dragons, so numerous that the sound alone indicated they far exceeded the scope of ordinary "hardship fees."

The other bag, however, was much quieter, yet far more unsettling. Owen's fingers touched the bag, and he could feel the fine, heavy granules inside. He instantly understood what it was—the "Platinum Sand" that had shimmered with a pale light at the banquet, those exquisite sea salts whose value rivaled that of gold.

"A small... token of my appreciation." Euron's eyes were fixed on Owen, like a sea monster locking onto its prey. "Lord Owen, you have traveled a long way across the ocean, enduring a long journey, and now you have to face His Majesty's earnest expectations. It must have been no easy feat."

Earl Owen's plump face twitched slightly. The weight of the golden dragon and the value of the bag of salt burned in his palms, and a shiver of greed and fear ran down his spine. He opened his mouth, wanting to offer a polite refusal, but found his throat too dry to utter a sound. He knew what accepting these things meant.

Euron leaned forward, his voice lowered to a venomous hiss, both intimate and deadly: "His Majesty, far away in the Red Keep, may not truly understand the hardships of the Iron Islands. Here, there is only salt, stone, and loyal hearts… and generous returns to friends. I hope that you, my lord, will speak a few words of justice for our 'hardships' before the King. Let His Majesty understand that our loyalty is far warmer than those cold numbers, isn't it?"

He emphasized the words "fair words" with a meaningful tone. It wasn't a request, but more like an order, a threat wrapped in gold and silver (salt). To accept it meant boarding a ship helmed by Euron Greyjoy, sailing together in the treacherous waters of the Iron Islands, or... being swallowed by the sea.

Earl Owen's forehead was beaded with sweat, a stark contrast to the chill in the room. He weighed his options rapidly—the Mad King's rage was distant and terrifying, but the bag of treasure before him was tangible, while the bespectacled man before him posed a threat that was close at hand, chilling to the bone. His fat fingers tightened abruptly, gripping the bag's opening like a drowning man clutching a piece of driftwood.

"...Lord Greyjoy's...sincerity, I deeply feel." He finally found his voice, with a slight, almost imperceptible tremor, "I will...truly and earnestly explain to the King the Iron Islands'...difficulties."

Euron's smile deepened, a cruel smile that spoke of knowing and controlling everything. He nodded with satisfaction, as if he had just completed an impeccably fair transaction.

"That would be all the better." He took a step back, disappearing back into the shadows at the edge of the firelight, leaving only his silhouette and that single, gleaming eye. "May our...friendship be as strong as the rock of these Iron Islands. The journey is long, Lord Owen, please rest well."

Earl Owen staggered out of the stone chamber, clutching the two heavy bags tightly to his chest like two burning hot hearts that might burst at any moment.

The Golden Dragon and White Sands were only given to the Hand of the King. Giving them to the two Kingsguard would be an insult to them, tantamount to a slap in the face.

Most of the guests were already fast asleep, drunk, with only the heavy footsteps of the night watchmen and the ceaseless crashing of the waves breaking the shore. In this silence, Ser Arthur Dayne found Euron Greyjoy.

"Lord Greyjoy," Ser Arthur spoke, his voice steady yet carrying an undeniable weight, breaking the sea's whisper.

"Just call me Euron, sir. I truly dare not accept such a title," Euron declined repeatedly, his eyes reflecting the shattered moonlight, revealing no emotion. "Sir Dane, the long night continues, yet you remain restless? Perhaps the beds in Pike City are too hard, unsuitable for the White Knight's refined taste?"

Arthur ignored the subtle sarcasm, shaking his head with a smile. "Next month, Lord Tywin Lannister will host a grand banquet in Lannister Harbor to celebrate his children's fifteenth name days and to formally knight Jaime Lannister." He paused briefly, observing Euron's reaction, and then stated clearly, "All the prominent lords of the Seven Kingdoms will receive invitations. Iron Islands, have you received that raven from Casterly Rock? Will you attend?"

Euron narrowed his eyes slightly. He had indeed received the letter branded with the lion's wax seal. The cold, leaden paper, the carefully worded and distant invitation—he had initially categorized it as a polite letter to be ignored. At this delicate moment, leaving his sphere of influence and venturing into the lion's lair in the Westerlands was not a wise move. He preferred to remain in this familiar land of salt and stone, observing the changing winds of Westeros.

However, the one who issued the inquiry was not the messenger, but Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning himself. His presence, his personal inquiry, was almost tantamount to the silent watch and expectation of the royal family. A refusal might be interpreted as a double disregard for both the Iron Throne and the Westerlands. The sea breeze ruffled the hem of Euron's black robes, making them flutter loudly.

He remained silent for a moment, then turned his gaze back to the dark sea, as if weighing the undercurrents beneath the waves. His fingers unconsciously traced the rough pebbles on the windowsill.

Tywin Lannister's feast... a lion's den surrounded by wolves... a golden opportunity to observe future rivals (or allies) firsthand? A stage to showcase the Iron Islands' new face to the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms? Risk and opportunity are intertwined like twin sea monsters.

Finally, Euron turned to face Arthur Dayne: "The Lannister feast..." he began slowly, his voice like the night tide rubbing against gravel, "The Golden Lion's treasures must be dazzling, and the wines of the Westerlands far sweeter than ours." His tone shifted, becoming lighter yet sharper, "Since the Sword of the Dawn has personally extended this invitation, representing the King and Lord Tywin's hospitality... how can the Iron Islands possibly refuse such sincerity?"

Euron Greyjoy made his decision, his voice clear and firm, "I'd love to see... whether the gold of Lannister Harbor truly shines as the legends say."

Ser Arthur Dayne, upon hearing this, let out a clear, slightly wistful chuckle. The laughter was particularly distinct in the cold sea breeze, as if it could dispel some of the night's heaviness. He shook his head, moonlight streaming down his perfect jawline and the white robes draped over his shoulders.

"That's just how smart people are sometimes," Arthur Dane said with an almost tolerant, teasing tone, yet it was also very insightful. "They overthink things and see a simple ball of yarn as a spider web full of traps."

Arthur Dayne stepped forward, standing beside Euron as they gazed at the sea that swallowed the moonlight. "This invitation is not the King's decree, nor Lord Tywin's instruction. It is merely my own personal...will." He turned to look at Euron. "For Lord Tywin also invited me, and I am the knight of Jaime Lannister. It is my honor and my duty."

His voice became more pragmatic, even carrying a hint of elder-like guidance, though the two might not be that far apart in age. "That banquet will gather half of Westeros's young heroes. They are Lord Tywin's son, the future Duke of Casterly Rock, the Red Viper of Dorne, the young men from the Riverlands, the Vale... the young men who will inherit their families' mansions."

He paused, letting the sea breeze fill the brief silence so his words could be imprinted more clearly. "They will all become lords, wielding power and deciding war and peace. You, heir to the Iron Islands, shouldn't you get to know your future...contemporaries?" He used the word "contemporaries" instead of "friends" or "rivals," striking the perfect balance.

"That's not a trap that requires you to take sides immediately, Greyjoy. At least not yet." Arthur's tone softened, carrying a rare, almost sincere admonition. "It's just an opportunity. An opportunity for you to step out of the sea breeze and salt fog of Pike City and see the outside world with your own eyes. To see the faces you'll be dealing with in the future, to hear what they talk about, how they live their daily lives, whether their hobbies are poetry, love, iron ore, fleets, or taxes. That's more useful than guessing a thousand times here."

His gaze sharpened again, but that sharpness contained less scrutiny and more substantive advice. "The Iron Islands cannot remain just the Iron Islands forever. Making new friends, or at least recognizing future adversaries—that in itself is a strength."

"Didn't you say you wanted the Iron Islands to be integrated into the Seven Kingdoms? You can use this gathering as a starting point for that integration."

Euron was taken aback. He hadn't expected that Ser Arthur Dayne would take his casual remark from yesterday to heart. He bowed sincerely and promised, "Thank you! I will definitely be there!"

As dawn broke, Euron saw the King's ship off from King's Landing. He waved repeatedly from the shore, and the Hand of the King, thinking Euron was greeting him, waved back. Little did he know, Euron was only seeing off Ser Arthur Dayne!