After the night banquet, Lord Owen Merryweather was led by a silent Ironborn through cold, dimly lit spiral staircases and corridors. The stone steps beneath his feet were uneven from erosion by time and sea wind.
Torches in niches flickered, casting his plump shadow onto the walls, twisting and shaking just like his current uneasy mood.
He was led deep into the Sea Seal Tower to a stone room facing the sea. There was none of the banquet hall's noise and warmth here, only cold stone and a small cluster of flames in the fireplace barely dispelling the chill.
Euron Greyjoy stood with his back to him, gazing out the window at the sea, dark as satin and churning with white foam. Hearing footsteps, he turned slowly, eyes flickering with unfathomable light under the dancing firelight.
"Lord Owen," Euron's voice was smoother than the sea breeze but carried the same chill, "I hope Pyke's crudeness hasn't slighted an esteemed guest like you too much."
Earl Owen forced a smile, abdomen tightening slightly from nervousness: "Lord Greyjoy is too polite. The hospitality... was very thoughtful."
Euron smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. He paced forward without unnecessary pleasantries, lifting two items directly from the shadows. They were two unremarkable rough hemp sacks, but when they fell into Owen's hands, the heavy weight made his arms drop sharply. The sacks emitted crisp, enticing metallic collisions—Gold Dragons, so many that the sound alone indicated it far exceeded the scope of a usual "gratuity."
The other sack was much quieter but more heart-palpitating. Owen's fingers touched the sack and felt fine, heavy granules inside. He instantly understood what it was—the "White Gold Sand" that shimmered with pale light at the banquet, top-quality sea salt worth its weight in gold.
"A small... token for your trouble." Euron's eyes fixed tightly on Owen, like a sea monster locking onto prey. "Lord Owen traveled across the ocean, a tiring journey, and has to face His Grace's ardent expectations. It is truly not easy."
Muscles on Earl Owen's fat face twitched slightly. The weight of gold and the value of that salt burned his palms; a shudder mixing greed and fear shot up his spine. He opened his mouth, wanting to utter some decent refusal, but found his throat too dry to make a sound. He knew what accepting these things meant.
Euron leaned forward, voice lowering to a viper's hiss, intimate yet full of deadly suggestion: "The hardships of the Iron Islands... His Grace, far away in the Red Keep, perhaps finds difficult to truly appreciate. Here we have only salt, stone, and loyal hearts... and generous rewards for friends. I hope My Lord can speak a few words of 'fairness' for our 'hardships' before the King. Let His Grace understand that our loyalty is far warmer than those cold numbers, isn't it?"
He stressed the word "fairness" meaningfully. It wasn't a request, but more like an order, a threat wrapped in gold and silver (salt). Accepting it meant boarding a ship steered by Euron Greyjoy. In these crisis-ridden waters of the Iron Islands, either sail together or... be swallowed by the sea.
Fine beads of sweat seeped from Earl Owen's forehead, incongruous with the room's chill. He weighed his options rapidly—the Mad King's wrath was distant and terrible, but this bag of treasure was tangible, and this eyed man's threat was close at hand, bone-chillingly cold. His fat fingers tightened abruptly, clutching the sack opening like a drowning man grabbing driftwood.
"...I deeply feel... Lord Greyjoy's... sincerity." He finally found his voice, carrying a trace of imperceptible trembling. "The Iron Islands'... difficulties, I will certainly... report truthfully and earnestly to the King."
The smile on Euron's face deepened into a cruel smile of all-knowing control. He nodded with satisfaction, as if having just completed an incredibly fair trade.
"That would be best." He stepped back, receding into the shadows at the edge of the firelight, leaving only a silhouette and that burning eye. "May the... friendship between us be as solid as the rocks of the Iron Islands. The journey is long, Lord Owen; please rest well."
Earl Owen almost stumbled out of the stone room, clutching the two heavy sacks to his chest like two scalding hearts ready to explode.
Gold Dragons and White Gold Sand were given only to the Hand of the King. Giving them to the two Kingsguard would be an insult to them, no different from a slap in the face.
Most guests were already drunk and asleep. Only the heavy footsteps of patrolling Ironborn and the ceaseless sound of waves hitting the shore interwove. In this silence, Ser Arthur Dayne found Euron Greyjoy.
"Lord Greyjoy." Ser Arthur spoke, voice steady but carrying undeniable weight, breaking the sea's whispers.
"Call me Euron; I dare not accept 'Lord'." Euron declined repeatedly, eyes reflecting broken moonlight, emotion unreadable. "Ser Dayne, the night is long, yet you do not rest? Is Pyke's bed too hard for a White Knight's refined bones?"
Arthur ignored the subtle mockery, shaking his head with a smile: "Next month, Lord Tywin Lannister will hold a grand banquet at Lannisport. Celebrating his children's fifteenth nameday, and formally holding the knighting ceremony for Jaime Lannister." He paused slightly, observing Euron's reaction, articulating clearly: "Prominent lords across the Seven Kingdoms will receive invitations. Did the Iron Islands receive that raven from Casterly Rock? Will you go?"
Euron narrowed his eyes slightly. He had indeed received the letter sealed with the lion crest. Cold lead-grey paper, wording rigorous and distant—he had originally categorized it as "polite correspondence to ignore." Leaving his sphere of influence at this delicate moment to go deep into the Lion's Den of the Westerlands wasn't wise. He preferred to watch Westeros' changing winds from this familiar land of salt and stone.
However, the one asking now wasn't a messenger, but the "Sword of the Morning" Arthur Dayne himself. His appearance and personal inquiry were almost equivalent to the royal family's silent gaze and expectation. Refusal might be interpreted as double contempt for the Iron Throne and the Westerlands alliance. The sea wind whipped the hem of Euron's black robe.
He was silent for a moment, gaze turning again to the dark sea, as if weighing the undercurrents beneath the waves. His fingers unconsciously rubbed the rough stone grains on the windowsill.
Tywin Lannister's grand feast... a lion's den surrounded by wolves... an excellent opportunity to observe future rivals (or allies) personally? A stage to display the Iron Islands' new face before the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms? Risks and opportunities intertwined like twin krakens.
Finally, Euron turned back to face Arthur Dayne: "House Lannister's grand gathering..." He spoke slowly, voice like night tide rubbing against gravel. "Surely the Golden Lion's treasures will be blinding, and Westerlands wine much sweeter than ours." His tone shifted, becoming brisk but hiding an edge. "Since the 'Sword of the Morning' invites personally, representing the graciousness of the King and Lord Tywin... how can the Iron Islands fail this sincerity?"
Euron Greyjoy made his decision, voice clear and certain. "I would be happy to see... if the gold of Lannisport truly shines as legend says."
Hearing this, Ser Arthur Dayne let out a clear, low laugh tinged with slight emotion. The laughter was exceptionally distinct in the cold sea wind, seemingly dispelling some of the night's heaviness. He shook his head, moonlight flowing over his perfect jawline and the white cloak on his shoulders.
"Smart people are sometimes like this," Arthur Dayne's tone carried a near-tolerant teasing, yet hit the nail on the head. "Thinking too much, seeing a simple ball of thread as a web full of traps."
Arthur Dayne stepped forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with Euron looking at the sea swallowing the moonlight. "Inviting you is not the King's decree, nor Lord Tywin's instruction. Merely my personal... wish." He turned his head to look at Euron. "Because Lord Tywin invited me too, and I am the one who knighted Jaime Lannister. This is my honor and duty."
His voice became more pragmatic, even carrying a bit of elder-like guidance, though their age difference might not be that vast. "At that banquet, half of Westeros' young elites will gather. They are Lord Tywin's son, future Duke of Casterly Rock; the Red Viper of Dorne; young men from the Riverlands, the Vale... from major houses soon to inherit family businesses."
He paused, letting the sea wind fill the brief silence to let his words imprint more clearly. "They will be lords ruling regions, holding authority, deciding war and peace. You, heir to the Iron Islands, shouldn't you get to know your future... contemporaries in advance?" He used the word "contemporaries" rather than "friends" or "enemies," measuring the nuance perfectly.
"It's not a Feast at Hong Gate requiring you to take a side immediately, Greyjoy. At least not yet." Arthur's tone slowed, carrying a rare, almost sincere admonition. "It's just an opportunity. A chance to step out of Pyke's sea wind and salt mist, to see the outside world with your own eyes. Look at the faces you will deal with in the future, listen to what they chat about—how they live daily, whether they love poetry, romance, or prefer discussing iron ore, fleets, or taxes? This is more useful than guessing a thousand times here."
His gaze became sharp again, but with less scrutiny and more substantive advice. "The Iron Islands cannot just be the Iron Islands forever. Knowing new friends, or at least recognizing future opponents clearly—this itself is a form of power."
"Didn't you say you wanted to integrate the Iron Islands into the Seven Kingdoms? You can treat this gathering as a start for integration."
Euron was stunned. He hadn't expected Ser Arthur Dayne to take his casual remark yesterday to heart. He bowed sincerely and promised: "Thank you! I will definitely be there!"
After dawn, Euron saw the royal ship off. He waved incessantly from the shore. The Hand of the King thought Euron was greeting him and waved back. Little did he know, Euron only wanted to see off Ser Arthur Dayne!