Soon after, another lively figure burst into Euron's view.
Arianne Martell of Dorne, like a dexterous sand snake, blinked her cunning big eyes and jumped in front of him: "Hey! My uncle Oberyn mentioned you to me!"
Arianne Martell—daughter of the Prince of Dorne and Lord of Sunspear, Doran Nymeros Martell, and niece of the Red Viper Oberyn Martell.
"Oh?" Euron raised an eyebrow, smiling playfully. "Surely he said plenty of bad things about me?"
"Quite the opposite!" Arianne's voice was crisp and enthusiastic. "I've almost never heard my uncle praise someone like that, especially someone so much younger than him. He told me, 'If you must marry, Arianne, marrying that Iron Islands kid, you absolutely won't lose out.'"
Euron was amused by her straightforward words. He blinked, teasing her deliberately: "You were definitely tricked by your uncle. He probably just wanted an excuse to marry you, a troublemaker, far away to that bitter cold barren island of the Iron Islands."
Arianne Martell, like a ball of leaping Dornish sun, came straight to Euron with the passion of a sand sea. She unhesitatingly reached out, actively grabbing Euron's wrist, her hearty laughter crisp and pleasant: "Come! Let's dance!"
Her cheeks flushed with excitement, a color dyed by Dornish sunshine and uninhibited blood. She didn't mind the close distance between them at all; instead, she was open and natural. This actually caught the usually bold Euron off guard, rarely revealing a few moments of awkwardness belonging to his age.
The unique scent on the girl, mixing exotic sweet fragrance and sunshine, lingered at his nose, actually making him momentarily dazed.
In the spinning dance steps, she suddenly looked up, those cunning and bright big eyes looking straight at him, asking boldly: "Am I beautiful?"
"Beautiful!" Euron answered almost without thinking.
"Just that?" She pouted dissatisfiedly, with a trace of playful provocation. "No better adjectives? Like stars? Like the moon? Or like the sun of Dorne?" She had obviously heard Euron's conversation with Arthur Dayne just now and deliberately used his metaphors praising Ashara to tease him.
This overly straightforward questioning left Euron speechless for a moment, stammering: "Uh~ well..."
"Hahaha, teasing you!" Seeing this, Arianne burst into hearty laughter, happy as if a prank succeeded. "But seriously, wanting to marry me, Arianne Martell, isn't that easy! Even if my uncle Oberyn praises you to the sky, it won't do!" Her tone was confident and proud, carrying the unique edge of a Dornish princess.
The dance ended, music paused. Her gaze, like the most agile falcon, immediately locked onto a new target—the solemn-faced, prematurely mature Eddard Stark by the dance floor. She immediately let go of Euron's hand, like a happy sand lark discovering a new playmate, running towards Eddard with skirts flying, leaving Euron standing there, savoring that dazzling Dornish whirlwind alone.
Just as the atmosphere was relaxed, his father Quellon Greyjoy waved to Euron not far away. Euron moved his gaze from Arianne and walked towards his father. Quellon was standing with Duke Tywin Lannister. He introduced his son Euron to the Warden of the West.
Tywin Lannister's pale green eyes, like a frozen lake, slowly and oppressively scrutinized Euron, as if assessing the value of strategic material.
Tywin's voice was low and steady, as if stating a law natural as sunrise and sunset: "Lannister gold mines will be dug empty one day." His pale green eyes were sharp as a hawk, looking straight at Euron. "But the Iron Islands' 'White Gold Sand' can be sourced endlessly from the deep sea. Continuing like this, one day, the title of richest in Westeros might change hands to your House Greyjoy."
Facing these words seemingly of praise but full of scrutiny and probing, Euron bowed slightly, attitude humble and calm, his response watertight: "Lord Tywin, you jest. 'White Gold Sand' production is sparse and refining difficult; how can it compare to Casterly Rock's bottomless gold veins? The Iron Islands are barren, located in a remote corner far from the mainland's rich lands. Wanting to claim the title of richest merely by selling salt is tantamount to a fool's dream, fishing for the moon in water—baseless."
A trace of unreadable expression flashed in Tywin's eyes. He changed the subject, like an experienced hunter changing tracks: "I heard that for the past three years, you traveled across the Narrow Sea in Essos." This wasn't a question, but a lead-in.
Euron pondered slightly, as if countless scenes of beacon fires and different faces flashed rapidly in his mind, then answered slowly: "Ancient Eastern sages said: Reading ten thousand books is not as good as traveling ten thousand miles. And traveling ten thousand miles is not as good as meeting countless people." His voice carried a precipitation beyond his age. "Every city has its unique pulse and charm; every people has its distinct temperament and wisdom. Only by seeing the luxury and deceit of the Free Cities with one's own eyes, experiencing the vastness and cruelty of the Dothraki Sea, contacting all kinds of princes, priests, mercenaries, and slaves... can one truly understand the vastness of the world, and truly realize one's own insignificance."
This answer frankly stated his experience and implicitly displayed insight and growth far beyond the scope of an ordinary ten-year-old boy.
Tywin Lannister quietly savored Euron's answer. That insight and steadiness far beyond his age caused a trace of genuine appreciation to light up imperceptibly in his pale green eyes. He nodded extremely slightly, then raised his hand, speaking with the solemn gesture of introducing an important figure:
"Very good. Then, allow me to introduce my daughter: Cersei Lannister."
A tall, blonde, green-eyed girl stepped forward at the sound. Her beauty was like a carefully carved gem, brilliant but with cold edges. Euron met her scrutinizing gaze frankly, elegantly taking her slender white hand and planting a light, proper kiss on the back of her hand:
"Second son of King Quellon of the Iron Islands, Euron Greyjoy. The honor is mine, Lady Cersei."
Cersei Lannister's voice was as cold as the winter wind in King's Landing, carrying an alienation inconsistent with her age: "Hello. Honored to meet you." However, just as her gaze lowered and unintentionally glimpsed Euron's strange pupils—the left eye dark as a deep pool, the right eye blue as a glacier—her expression froze for an instant.
This heterochromia suddenly stung the deepest disgust in her heart, instantly reminding her of her dwarf brother Tyrion, who also possessed different colored eyes and whom she regarded as the family shame. Hating the house and its crow, that indelible anger transference immediately cast an unspeakable layer of aversion over this Iron Islands boy she met for the first time.
Euron clearly captured the flash of disgust and cold retreat in her eyes, but he only released her hand calmly, expression unchanged. Knowing the temperament and fate of this future "Lion Queen" well, he naturally wouldn't take her coldness based on prejudice to heart.