After the practice ended, sweat soaked both their foreheads, and the sea breeze brought a touch of coolness.
Euron sheathed his sword and stood, mentioning seemingly casually: "Ser Arthur, I heard you recently eradicated the Kingswood Brotherhood that had been plaguing the region."
As the words fell, Arthur Dayne's expression, which had slightly relaxed from the spar, suddenly tightened, as if covered by a layer of frost. He was silent for a moment, a trace of indelible sorrow passing through his violet eyes.
"They were not bandits, but a group of demons fallen into the abyss." His voice lowered, as if soaked in the ice of the North; every word carried heavy weight. "They... nailed infants to oak trees, using blood to draw twisted smiling faces on the bark. There was a madman... just because a mother hid half a bag of life-saving salt, he chopped her young son... into mincemeat right in front of her."
He looked up, gaze passing through Euron, as if seeing that hellish scene again. "We counted thirty-seven bodies," he continued, voice suppressing thunderous rage. "Among them, twelve were children. They should have had a future."
It was this heinous atrocity that made Arthur Dayne resolutely petition King Aerys to personally lead the troops to crusade against them.
According to Ser Jaime Lannister's later recollection, the "Smiling Knight" could be called the Mountain of his era—"mad, cruel, yet strangely possessing a twisted sense of chivalry, and most crucially, he knew not what fear was." This shows the terror and high strength of the Smiling Knight.
But in the end, Arthur Dayne personally beheaded the Smiling Knight in the decisive battle, eradicating this cancer in one fell swoop, thus winning the heartfelt love of the people of the Riverlands and the Crownlands.
The reason Arthur Dayne became a legend, deeply admired by later generations like Jaime Lannister, Barristan Selmy, and even enemy Eddard Stark, was not only because of his unsurpassed martial arts but also due to the kindness, integrity, and nobility rooted in his soul.
He was a living example of a "True Knight"—brave and upright, sworn to protect the weak and innocent, especially women and children who could not protect themselves; his conduct was unsullied, his demeanor elegant and possessing a soldier's unique awe-inspiring manner. Jaime once even praised him in his characteristically sharp tone: "Ser Arthur Dayne could piss with his right hand and use his sword with his left, and still cut down five of you useless wastes."
However, even such a near-invincible knight was not completely undefeated in his countless battles. His only two defeats in his life were to the same person—Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.
This prince was not only the King's eldest son and future ruler of the Seven Kingdoms but also Arthur Dayne's closest friend.
Was there water in this? Only the parties involved knew. At least in Euron's view, Ser Arthur definitely held back in those two matches. But this was not cowardice; perhaps it was another manifestation of his loyalty and chivalry—cherishing friendship and maintaining the dignity of the Crown Prince.
Euron praised sincerely: "You are a true knight!"
Arthur Dayne sheathed his sword, saying with genuine appreciation: "You possess extraordinary skill and courage. If you wish, becoming a true knight in the future will certainly not be difficult."
Hearing this, Euron couldn't help but laugh aloud. His laughter spread in the sea breeze, carrying a bit of Ironborn unruliness: "Haha, Ser Arthur, have you ever heard of an Ironborn from the Iron Islands being knighted? That probably... doesn't quite fit the Drowned God's will." His tone was half-teasing, half-stating the cultural chasm lying between the Iron Islands and the mainland.
Arthur Dayne also revealed a knowing smile, adding: "Besides, I remember they all say... you are the 'Son of the Drowned God'." This sentence indicated that those extraordinary rumors about Euron, even his mysterious title, had reached the ears of this Kingsguard.
Euron's smile restrained slightly, tone becoming more pragmatic. He looked toward the distant barren coastline and busy harbor: "My father has always yearned to change the Old Way, change the Ironborn, and let the Iron Islands truly integrate into the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. But all along, difficulties have been immense. The Seven Kingdoms have never let go of past prejudices against us, still calling us pirates, or even uglier nicknames to this day." His gaze returned to Ser Arthur, pointing to this land. "You see it too. The Iron Islands are barren, unsuitable for farming. What we can trade is only salt, iron, and fish. If we truly follow the King's order and pay triple salt tax... that would be tantamount to draining our lifeblood, forcing us to walk the Old Way again!"
Arthur Dayne nodded with a grave expression. He confessed frankly: "I understand your predicament. But I am only a Kingsguard. I have no say in the Small Council's decisions regarding taxation and state affairs." He paused, making a knight's promise. "However, I will report what I have seen and heard in the Iron Islands, especially your actual difficulties, truthfully to the King. I believe that after understanding the truth, the King will make a fair judgment."
Euron nodded. He believed Ser Arthur Dayne would report truthfully; his character and chivalry were unquestionable. But at the same time, he believed even more that the Mad King on the Iron Throne would never have the patience to listen, nor would he make any "fair judgment."
The luncheon was a simple affair. Lord Hand Owen Merryweather did not appear, ordering servants to deliver food to his guest room, evidently preferring to linger in bed with the two Lysene women. Starting in the afternoon, the Lords of the other six Iron Islands began to arrive at Pyke by ship, one after another, as ordered.
Inside Pyke's main hall, the salty sea breeze mixed with the chill of the stone floor. With the arrival of each Iron Islands lord, the atmosphere gradually became heavy and meaningful. Euron Greyjoy stood in the hall, calmly welcoming every arriving vassal.
The Lord of Blacktyde strode in first. This old captain, known for his explosive temper, unconsciously restrained his usual arrogance the moment he saw Euron. His burly body leaned forward slightly, bowing far more than necessary etiquette required, speaking in a hoarse but unusually solemn tone: "Lord Euron." Two words, short and powerful, but full of unmistakable recognition.
A Lord of Harlaw followed closely (not Balon's father-in-law, but a branch of House Harlaw). He was an elder known for shrewdness and learning, yet showed no negligence now. His right hand touched his chest, performing a nearly mainland-style salute uncommon in the Iron Islands, scrutinizing Euron with sharp eyes, tone steady and certain: "Summoned and arrived, awaiting your orders, My Lord." His wording was cautious and precise, as if reporting to a recognized ruler.
The representative from Saltcliffe was a relatively young captain. His awe carried undisguised eagerness. He almost trotted to Euron, eyes shining with worship, voice slightly high with excitement: "Lord Euron! We saw when your fleet returned! It was truly..." He seemed unable to find the right word, finally nodding vigorously, "...truly magnificent!"
From Old Wyk came a taciturn old man, his face like a reef etched by sea wind. He said little, just walked up to Euron, stopped, looked deeply at Euron with grey eyes that had seen through countless storms, then slowly, extremely solemnly lowered his head that had never easily bowed. This silent respect carried more weight than any flowery language.
Lords from other islands arrived successively. Their expressions might differ in detail, but the core was consistent: gazes tightly following Euron, seriously catching his every word and every subtle change of expression, as if his words themselves contained unquestionable weight and wisdom.
Throughout the process, no one questioned why Euron was presiding over the situation. That natural acceptance and respect formed an invisible field, allowing onlookers to clearly feel—Who was the person truly in control here.
The two Kingsguard—Arthur Dayne and Lewyn Martell—stood like two silent white statues in the shadows of the hall, sharp eyes missing no details. They took in the demeanor, movements, and words of every lord facing Euron. That was definitely not superficial etiquette, but a respect rooted in the heart, almost instinctive.
Ser Arthur's handsome face remained rippleless, but a trace of very faint surprise and scrutiny passed through his deep violet eyes. He had seen countless nobles across the Seven Kingdoms, from Riverlands vassals to Dornish princes, and knew deeply that such heartfelt awe was not easily obtained merely by noble birth or martial force.
Beside him, Lewyn Martell, the Kingsguard from Dorne, raised his eyebrow slightly. He recalled Prince Oberyn Martell's evaluation of Euron before departure—the Red Viper known for his sharp eyes had said: "Three years traveling with that kid, the only thing I'm certain of is that he is another favored son of heaven kissed hard by fate, besides the True Dragon. Given time, no one in the Seven Kingdoms will be able to ignore his name." At the time, Lewyn thought it was just the Prince's usual exaggeration. Seeing it with his own eyes now, he realized the weight of it.
The two knights exchanged a very quick glance. Without words, both understood the shock in each other's hearts. The image of this young second son of House Greyjoy suddenly became deeper and more extraordinary in their minds. He had evidently conquered these Ironborn lords, known for their unruly nature, with some wisdom, boldness, or indescribable personal charisma far beyond his age, winning their true recognition, and even... extraordinary loyalty.