The longship cleaved through the grey-green waves like an iron plow tearing through frozen earth, finally bringing the jagged towers of Pyke back into Euron Greyjoy's sight.
The salty, cold sea breeze carried the familiar scent of home—damp rock, rotting seaweed, and the ever-present smell of beacon smoke. The splendor of Lannisport, the fragrant wine of the South, and those whispers entwined with power and desire all seemed like a blurry, noisy dream.
The dream faded; reality was the cold, hard bedrock of the Iron Islands.
In the Great Hall of Pyke, rough stone walls illuminated by roaring braziers and dense whale-oil candles shed their daytime chill, revealing a near-savage warmth and noise. The long tables were again piled with roast fish, blood pies, and large cups of red wine. The atmosphere of House Greyjoy's internal banquet was far more relaxed than when entertaining outsiders.
Euron sat on one side of the long table, methodically cutting a piece of seal meat. However, he soon became the focus of the feast.
The marriage alliance between House Greyjoy and House Dayne, between the Iron Islands and Starfall of Dorne—what this union would bring to the Iron Islands in the future was yet unknown, but it was undoubtedly a major event concerning the entire Iron Islands. Though Euron was a second son, no one in the Iron Islands dared look down on him. Arthur Dayne, the fame of the "Sword of the Morning" alone was enough to draw the Seven Kingdoms' attention. Arthur Dayne was Aerys II's Kingsguard; Kingsguard hold no lands, take no wives, father no children, and serve only their monarch. As the eldest daughter, Ashara Dayne would be the future heir of Starfall.
Balon's voice carried undisguised teasing, drawing roars of laughter from several distant relatives: "Heard that in the Lion's Den of Lannister, not only was your swordsmanship amazing, taking down that little lion, but you also snagged yourself a wife from Starfall? Fast moves, unlike your usual dawdling style. Heard she's a white-skinned, purple-eyed, pretty dame. Is it true?"
"Mind your manners, Balon. She will be your future sister-in-law!" Euron looked up, glancing indifferently at his brother, putting a piece of meat into his mouth.
But this silence fueled Balon's arrogance. He leaned forward, deliberately lowering his voice but making it audible to the whole table: "What? Did I hit the mark? Heard that Ashara Dayne is a delicate beauty, not a flower our Iron Islands can raise. You kid put on quite an act, bluffing people pretty well? Come on, tell us, how did you trick her? Did you learn those tricks from southern bards and recite sour poems to her?"
Euron didn't want to bother with this big fool, sighing: "How can a marriage alliance be called trickery! You make it sound like our Iron Islands are so bad we aren't qualified to marry noble ladies of the Seven Kingdoms!"
Father Quellon Greyjoy sat at the head. His usually serious face was rarely relaxed, carrying a bit of amused smile. He sipped his wine, joining this "siege": "Hmph, recite poems? If he knew that, the Drowned God would wake up laughing. I recall someone at a certain ball nearly stepped out of his boots inviting a lady, stiff as a mast soaked in seawater."
Louder laughter erupted at the table. Quellon seemed interested, continuing to spill details: "Also, heard that when leaving the Lannisters to meet the Dayne lady, our fearless Ironborn adjusted his collar three whole times outside the door, voice tighter than a new sail when speaking? Is that right, Euron? That 'prettense' was quite different from your current dead look."
Mother's reaction was starkly different. Lady Sronsa sat beside Quellon, listening to her husband and eldest son's teasing, but her face brimmed with a satisfied and gratified smile. She looked at Euron, eyes gentle, as if seeing that once nervous and helpless boy. "Alright, alright, stop teasing him."
Mother finally spoke, tone protective but unable to hide her joy. "It's the Drowned God's blessing that Euron can settle down and find a wife of noble birth and dignified conduct like Lady Ashara. House Greyjoy is gaining a new member; what a joyous event." She dabbed the corners of her eyes gently with a handkerchief, as if already envisioning grandchildren around her knees. "My little Euron is finally growing up to be someone's husband and father..."
She wiped the corner of her mouth gently, looking eagerly at Euron, voice full of impatient expectation for grandchildren: "Euron, my dear, since the marriage is settled, when exactly is it? Did Starfall say... when Lady Ashara can marry over? We need a definite date to prepare early."
Euron's hand cutting food paused slightly, then resumed as normal: "It's early, Mother. Ashara Dayne was born in 269 AC; she's just turned eleven. According to House Dayne's wishes and the initial agreement, she will stay in Starfall for three full years, learning etiquette, history, and... how to be a qualified mistress."
The smile on Lady Sronsa's face froze instantly, replaced by massive disappointment. She almost cried out, fingers unconsciously gripping her skirt. "Gods, doesn't that mean waiting full three years? That... that's too long!" Her gaze turned to her husband Quellon, carrying a trace of pleading. "Quellon, can't we discuss it again with House Dayne? Maybe... two years? In two years she'll be thirteen, about marriageable age. In our Iron Islands..."
"Nagging woman!" Quellon Greyjoy interrupted her impatiently, heavy palm slapping the table, rattling cups and plates. His thick eyebrows knitted together, bearing the absolute authority of the head of the house. "House Dayne is an ancient, proud Dornish family, not the daughter of just any Iron Islands captain! When we agreed to this marriage, we agreed on the time. Is it something you can change just by saying so? Three years is three years, not a day less, not a day more! The matter is settled, stop your noise!"
Lady Sronsa was cowed by her husband's anger. Her lips moved a few times, but ultimately she made no sound, just lowering her head in disappointment and sighing softly, as if seeing her expected grandchildren recede much further away.
Euron listened silently to his parents' dispute, expressionlessly putting a piece of meat into his mouth, chewing slowly: Three years? He sneered silently in his heart, a laugh only he could hear, full of cynicism and indifference inconsistent with his age. Even after three years, wait another three years, I'll only be sixteen, she seventeen. I still feel it's too early...
Thirteen, fourteen—in another world, this might be the age of ignorant youth. But here, in Westeros, on this continent where ice and fire intertwine, where power and survival are paramount, this is the most common age for noble marriage alliances.
In this world, love is a rare luxury. Marriage is a tool to consolidate alliances and pass down bloodlines. Placing pieces early on the board is the only way to seize the initiative.
Euron wiped his mouth, ending his meal—This is the fate of nobles. Early marriage, many children, weaving a web of power with offspring and in-laws.
Resist? Pointless.
No choice... these are the rules of the game.