Tywin Lannister watched with cold detachment as Euron so decisively rejected the King, even turning the situation to his own advantage. A dark thought crossed Tywin's mind—a comparison to his own "disappointing" son, Jaime, who had foolishly chosen the White Cloak over his birthright. Tywin's expression darkened further.
On the Iron Throne, Aerys II took a massive swig of wine. As if the taste itself offended him, he violently smashed the exquisite silver goblet onto the floor. The dark red liquid splattered like blood.
"Pah! What is this swill? Kraken Red Wine? The very name makes me retch! It tastes like a cold octopus tentacle sliding down my throat—suffocating!" He roared, his eyes scanning the stands wildly. "Where are the Redwynes?! Are the people of the Arbor dead?!"
Lord Paxter Redwyne, Earl of the Arbor, had no choice but to stand up, bracing himself. "Your Grace, I am here."
"Where is your wine?!" Aerys shrieked. "Where is the vintage you claim is the best in the Seven Kingdoms? Must I let this Ironborn piss defile my throat?!"
Lord Redwyne stammered, "Your Grace, this..."
Varys, standing to the side, interjected softly. His voice was smooth as silk yet carried clearly to every ear. "Has Your Grace forgotten? Since that... unfortunate conflict between the Iron Islands and the Arbor, the Greyjoys not only emptied the Redwyne cellars and uprooted their vines, but they also declared that all the Arbor's master vintners were... 'lost in the fighting.' Oh, and yes," he added, as if just remembering, "they recently composed a rather popular song. I believe it is called 'The Flames of the Arbor.'"
Lord Redwyne stood in silence, the muscles in his jaw twitching. He fumed inwardly: Is this eunuch doing this on purpose? Must he tear open my scars and slap my face in public?
"Look! Look at them!" Aerys waved his arms, having found a perfect outlet for his rage. "This is the madness of the Ironborn! Savages! They dare kidnap the free people of the Seven Kingdoms and enslave them to brew wine! Such crimes cannot be forgiven!"
Having learned his lesson the hard way, Lord Redwyne knew there was no benefit in reasoning with the Mad King. He kept his mouth shut tight.
But Aerys II wouldn't let him be. He announced loudly, "I command the Iron Islands to return every single vintner they stole to the Arbor immediately! Not one missing!"
Redwyne finally couldn't help but ask cautiously, "Your Grace... what if they refuse?"
"They dare?!" Aerys's voice pitched up, filled with terrifying menace. "If they dare disobey my command, I will send the Royal Fleet to raze those cold, stony islands to the ground! I will sink every last one of their longships!"
Redwyne had heard this threat before. He sank back into silence, sneering internally: Fight then. Go ahead and fight. I'll stand on the sidelines and watch. If the Royal Fleet actually engages the Iron Fleet, I'll be the first to clap and cheer for the show.
However, Aerys leaned forward, his tone turning dangerously inciting. "Do you not want revenge, Redwyne? When the time comes, your Arbor fleet, the Shield Islands' fleet, and my Royal Fleet—three great armadas combined—will be enough to wipe those Ironborn and their wretched rocks off the map!"
Lord Redwyne's gaze flickered almost imperceptibly over the densely packed crowd. He thought to himself: Is it truly wise to discuss such sensitive military strategies in a public venue with thousands of eyes and ears? Is this King simply witless, or is he trying to use the Arbor as a spear to hurl at the Iron Islands again?
Suppressing his suspicion and dissatisfaction, he finally answered in a deep, deliberate voice, aiming to sound diplomatic while keeping his distance. "Your Grace, the Iron Islands... are ultimately part of the Seven Kingdoms. They may be wild and unruly, but they should not be wiped from the world. War is like wildfire—easy to ignite, but difficult to control or extinguish. In the end, it burns everything, and no one truly profits."
He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I believe that seeking a path of peaceful coexistence is a wiser long-term strategy than drawing swords."
Aerys II's face turned grim, clearly displeased.
---
Euron returned to the Ironborn encampment, where the atmosphere was as heavy as the perennial sea fog of their homeland.
Lord Quellon was still fuming. He paced irritably inside the main tent, his low voice rolling like thunder. "That madman! Yesterday he used a White Cloak to steal Tywin's heir, and today he dares to openly meddle in the succession of the Iron Islands! Who does he think he is?"
Euron appeared relatively calm. He analyzed the situation coolly. "His intent is obvious, Father. He wants to dismantle any potential alliances one by one. Perhaps... he has heard whispers and feels threatened."
Euron stepped further into the main tent. Besides the angry Lord Quellon, Balon, Victarion, and several key Ironborn lords were present. The air was oppressive.
Euron glanced at the group, his voice calm but carrying undeniable weight. "Leave us. I have family matters to discuss with my father and brothers."
The Ironborn lords immediately understood. Whatever Euron wanted to discuss was surely related to the scene on the stands regarding the succession. They exchanged glances but said nothing, filing out of the tent in silence.
The heavy flaps of the tent fell shut, cutting off the noise from outside. Now, only the core members of House Greyjoy remained: Euron, Lord Quellon, Balon, Victarion, and the Red Priestess Gwendolyn, who stood quietly to the side, blending into the shadows.
Euron's gaze slowly swept over his family. His voice was low and clear, creating invisible ripples in the silent tent.
"Do you... believe in magic?"
The question plunged the tent into a brief silence.
Magic was widely considered a lost force in the Seven Kingdoms, existing only in old legends and maesters' books.
However, they knew Euron had always possessed an unusual interest in such mysteries. Moreover, standing right there was living proof—Gwendolyn, the Red Priestess who could read flames, and somewhere unseen was Evelyn, the Shadowbinder who manipulated shadows.
Before anyone could answer, Euron's expression turned incredibly serious. He emphasized every word. "What you see and hear in this tent today must never leave this tent."
Seeing Euron's gravity, the others nodded.
Euron reached into his tunic and pulled out the strangely patterned Vision Shell. Without further explanation, he injected a sliver of power into it. The surface of the shell began to glow, and the scene recorded earlier in the stone chamber projected out like shimmering mist—
It clearly displayed Aerys II and his small council plotting. It showed the entire process of how they planned to use marriage, assassination, empty promises, and discord to thoroughly fracture and dismantle any potential alliances. (See Chapter 173 for details).
"What a vicious scheme..." Lord Quellon's voice was low, filled with suppressed rage.
When the vision revealed the secret that Prince Rhaegar might be forced to divorce Princess Elia, shock was written on everyone's face.
After a long silence, Lord Quellon looked up, his eyes sharp as he looked at Euron. "Should we... show this vision to the others? To Stark? To Arryn?"
Euron shook his head slowly, his eyes deep. "Father, this kind of magic shouldn't exist in this world, and ordinary men won't trust it. Even if we showed them, they wouldn't question the King's madness first; they would question the source and authenticity of the image. Who would believe a phantom of a royal secret council projected from a seashell?"
He paused, then threw out a more practical problem. "And even if they did believe it, what then? Aside from spreading panic prematurely, what would it change?"
Lord Quellon frowned, trying to sort through his thoughts. "At least... it would let the allied houses know of the Mad King's plot in advance, so they can prepare..."
"Prepare?" Euron's tone was calm to the point of coldness. "Part of what is in the vision has already happened; we cannot undo it. The other part hasn't happened yet, but we are equally powerless to stop it. The Mad King is in King's Landing, and his will is enforced by the Kingsguard and the entire power of the Crown. We are far away on the Iron Islands. How can we stop what happens inside the Red Keep?"
Euron looked at each of his family members, his gaze finally resting on his father. "Revealing the existence of magic to the public would only make the lords of the Seven Kingdoms fear us, shun us, and view us as heathens or enemies. What good does that do? The Iron Islands need power, not isolation." He made the decision final. "This matter must be kept strictly secret."
Lord Quellon pondered for a long time. The anger on his face was gradually replaced by a heavy sense of reality. Finally, he nodded slowly, accepting his son's judgment.
Euron's voice remained steady and firm. "For us, the most important thing right now is to be fully prepared. We sharpen our axes, we reinforce our longships, and we unite the Iron Islands as one, ready for any battle that may come. As for the conspiracies in King's Landing and the shifting winds of the Seven Kingdoms... we simply watch and wait."
Lord Quellon let out a heavy hmph, his eyes flashing with insight and anger. "The Mad King thinks he's brilliant, thinking he can break alliances with marriages and promises. He doesn't realize that playing with power like this, trampling on tradition and dignity, will only make every noble hate him to the bone! The accumulated hatred is like an undercurrent beneath the sea. One day, it will roar to the surface and swallow him and his mad reign whole!"
"You are right, Father," Euron agreed. But then he shifted the topic, pulling everyone back to the immediate present. "However, I still have the melee this afternoon, and more importantly, the seven-sided team combat tonight. That is the battlefield where the Iron Islands will prove our strength and seize glory. Rather than worrying about distant troubles that haven't happened yet, let's focus our energy on winning the fight right in front of us."