Quellon Greyjoy hurried back before the Lannister family's grand event, specifically bringing his son Euron to Lannisport.
The noise and luxury of Lannisport formed a sharp contrast with the rough coldness of Pyke. In this grand event ostensibly for celebration but actually to display Lannister power and weave alliances, Euron Greyjoy, the second son from the Iron Islands, stepped into the core of Westeros' top power social circle for the first time.
Euron wore a smile, seeming very close to everyone, but in reality, he watched coldly from the sidelines like a spectator outside the play, observing these future protagonists not yet fully carved by fate.
Duke Tywin Lannister sat at the head seat, like a golden lion—majestic, indifferent. His pale green eyes flickered with the light of calculating everything, as if every guest present was a chess piece on his grand blueprint.
Beside Tywin were the dazzling twins—Jaime Lannister and Cersei Lannister.
Fifteen-year-old Jaime already possessed handsome looks and spirited demeanor that eclipsed the sun. Golden hair, emerald green eyes, and a confident smile bordering on arrogance hung on his lips, as if the whole world should applaud him by right. His sister Cersei Lannister was breathtakingly beautiful, with golden hair and green eyes, unparalleled in looks. She wore an exquisite dress with perfect deportment, but in those emerald eyes so similar to her father's, hidden were ambition, arrogance, keenness, and a trace of imperceptible paranoia inconsistent with her age.
Euron's gaze swept the crowd, seeing more familiar yet strange young faces:
From the Stormlands, young Robert Baratheon already showed a bear-like physique and bold spirit. He was laughing loudly and drinking mead, though his eyes still held unconcealable exhaustion and sadness (likely over his parents' death).
Eddard Stark and his brother Brandon Stark—heir to Winterfell. Eddard was quiet and steady, his brow already showing the fortitude of a Lord of the North; Brandon was more outwardly fiery, known as the "Wild Wolf."
Shuttling low-key among guests, Petyr Baelish (Littlefinger), of humble birth but with sharp eyes, glanced around flexibly with a shrewd look.
The three children of Duke Hoster Tully of the Riverlands: eldest daughter Catelyn Tully, dignified with red hair and blue eyes, a standard noble lady; her sister Lysa seemed shyer and more sensitive, her looks far inferior to her sister; young Edmure Tully appeared slightly immature and a bit dull.
Ser Arthur Dayne of Starfall was also present. Beside him was a woman with the same violet eyes and demure temperament—his sister Ashara Dayne.
The youngest daughter of the Lord of the North, Lyanna Stark. She carried a wild beauty incompatible with the surrounding exquisiteness, her smile uninhibited and free.
Members of House Frey from the Crossing, such as Rhaegar Frey (Note: Likely a minor Frey or typo, meant Walder's brood).
Arianne Martell of Dorne had also arrived, bringing the South's passion and mystery, beautiful beyond things.
From House Selmy, niece of "Barristan the Bold" Barristan Selmy.
From House Tyrell of Highgarden, the heir Willas Tyrell.
Domeric Bolton of the Dreadfort in the North, the only legitimate son and heir of Lord Roose Bolton.
Barbrey Ryswell, youngest daughter of Lord Rodrik Ryswell of the Rills.
...
When Euron Greyjoy's gaze swept the noisy hall again, a sudden realization poured over him like ice water.
He noticed that almost every prominent noble gathered here from all corners of the Seven Kingdoms was a parent—Duke, Earl, or Lord—inevitably accompanied by one, sometimes multiple, young heirs similar in age to Jaime and Cersei Lannister.
These young men and women were all dressed in finery, their behavior carrying practiced elegance and reserve. And sitting at the head, Duke Tywin Lannister's pale green, deep-pool-like eyes were slowly, untraceably scanning every eligible young person with a near-cruel scrutiny, assessing their family background, deportment, and value, as if counting a batch of precious livestock waiting to be sold.
At this moment, the strange expression on his brother Balon's face before departure—that half-smile, hesitant speech—suddenly had a reasonable explanation.
Euron instantly understood why his father Quellon was whispering with other lords, pointing at the young people in the field, exchanging low comments—that wasn't simple chat, but a silent negotiation about alliances and bloodlines.
All clues connected at this moment, pointing to a startling fact: He, Euron Greyjoy, was not merely here to observe a knighting ceremony. He had unwittingly stepped onto a chessboard meticulously laid out by Tywin Lannister, the most calculating golden lion—a massive Matchmaking Assembly for the top noble youth of all Westeros!
Duke Tywin was using his daughter's beauty and son's inheritance rights as bait, calmly screening, evaluating, and attempting to bind the highest quality alliance partners for his family's eternal power.
The air was filled not just with the scent of sweet wine and melodious music, but with something invisible yet deadlier: cold, precise calculations regarding power, bloodlines, and future unions. Behind every smile and every dance might lie the future of a river or a castle.
Euron looked around the venue of fragrant clothes and surging undercurrents, a bitter smile only he understood curling his lips. He thought inwardly: Seems no matter which world or era, one can't escape the awkward yet expectant drama of "matchmaking."
Since it was unavoidable, he simply relaxed his mind. Fine, discussing marriage at ten is a fantasy in my past life, but here, in this world of ice and fire, it's the standard, most realistic script for the noble class.
Since I'm here, I might as well keep my eyes open and try to find a girl to my liking, right?
At this time, Quellon Greyjoy finished exchanging pleasantries with old friends and returned to his son. Their eyes met. Seeing the look of understanding and teasing in Euron's eyes, Quellon immediately knew one of his purposes for this trip had been seen through by this overly clever son.
"Actually, there's no need to hide it from me," Euron spoke first, tone relaxed as if discussing the weather. "I never said I didn't want a wife."
Quellon grunted, voice low and realistic: "In noble marriages, there's never such a thing as 'mutual affection' sung in ballads. Only interests, only power; these are the eternal foundations."
Euron smiled bitterly: "Speaking of which, finding a Rock Wife in the Iron Islands has always been done within our own archipelago. Is it appropriate for me to suddenly marry a noble woman from the Seven Kingdoms? Will other lords have thoughts?"
"You are only the second son!" Quellon interrupted him, tone decisive. "Your brother Balon is the heir to the Iron Islands. He has already followed ancient customs and married an Ironborn as a Rock Wife, stabilizing the foundation. You have no such obligation! Your marriage can be the tentacle House Greyjoy extends outward."
Euron stroked his chin, eyes flashing with practical light: "Alright, in that case... at least find someone beautiful, virtuous, gentle, and clean." He stated his most simple requirements.
Hearing this, Quellon almost laughed in anger. He pointed his chin at the prominent noble girls in the hall, sneering: "Look whose daughters these are? Tully, Stark, Martell... What qualifications does a second son of the Iron Islands have to pick and choose here? Hmph, if anyone takes a fancy to you and is willing to accept a marriage proposal, it's already the Drowned God's blessing!"
Fair point... In that case, why bring me here? To be embarrassed? Euron rolled his eyes.