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Game of Thrones: House of Black Dragon
Game of Thrones: BLOODTHIRSTY BASTARD
Game of Thrones: Dragon Knight of Harrenhal
Game of Thrones: Archer's Ordinary Life
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The Evening Banquet.
The tedious ceremony of gifts and investitures had concluded, shedding the afternoon's solemn and tense political coat to reveal the essence of unbridled indulgence. No serious talk of power or law remained in the hall; only primal desires steamed amidst the noise—drinking deep from big bowls and eating hearty chunks of meat.
The nobles cast aside the reserve and calculation of the afternoon. Gathering in groups of three or five, arms around each other's shoulders, they boasted of their valor or travels with flying spittle, claiming kinship and friendship, true or false. The air was thick with the charred scent of roast meat, the heavy fumes of spilled wine, and the heat generated by the throng of bodies.
The center of this carnival was undoubtedly the new King, Robert.
He had long since torn open the collar of his tunic. His massive golden goblet was filled and drained time and again.
Amber wine spilled like a waterfall from the corner of his mouth, splashing recklessly onto the front of his expensive doublet, darkening the exquisite embroidery and plastering the wet fabric against his chest. He didn't care in the slightest; instead, he grew more excited. His booming laughter and rough shouts drowned out the musicians' playing, as if he intended to burn away all past repression and future worries in this hearty, uninhibited drinking session.
In the clamorous banquet hall, shadows danced, and the sounds of laughter and clinking cups were endless.
Euron's gaze, however, was like a falcon's. It cut through the noisy figures to lock precisely onto one person—Jalabhar Xho, the exiled Prince of the Red Flower Vale of the Summer Isles.
The prince wore a luxurious cloak woven from countless bright feathers, red and green intertwining to create colors as brilliant as a tropical jungle. It formed a stark contrast to his skin, smooth and black as midnight, making him exceptionally eye-catching in the crowd.
Euron clearly remembered encountering this exiled prince in the shipping lanes of the Stepstones while escorting Elia back to Dorne. At the time, he had casually taken Jalabhar aboard and eventually dropped him off at Sunspear.
However, Euron had been deeply embroiled in the troubles concerning Elia and his relationship with Dorne back then. After delivering Jalabhar to Sunspear, he had almost completely forgotten about the destitute prince.
He hadn't expected the tracks of fate to be so wondrous.
This prince from the distant Summer Isles had eventually found his own way to King's Landing, and even appeared at this core banquet within the Red Keep.
Amidst the noise, Euron held his wine cup and walked slowly to the prince in the brilliant feather cloak.
"Prince Jalabhar," he asked with a faint smile on his lips, "do you still remember me?"
Hearing this, Jalabhar Xho turned immediately. His face showed just the right amount of surprise and respect as he bowed slightly. "My Lord Duke's words truly frighten this humble one. How could I dare forget? That was a life-saving grace; Jalabhar will never forget it." A warm smile bloomed on his dark face, his words flowing with flattery. "Furthermore, the Lord Duke's name is sung across the four seas. The world chants your titles—Son of the Drowned God, Lord of Krakens, Blade of Justice, Crown of the Sea Skulls, King of the Stepstones. If I couldn't even recognize your majesty, this head of mine would be truly useless."
Euron made no comment on the flattery, simply smiling and cutting to the chase. "I remember at sea, you mentioned hoping to borrow troops to retake your throne in the Summer Isles. How is that progressing?"
The smile on Jalabhar's face instantly took on a bitter tinge. He lowered his voice. "King Robert himself is full of lofty sentiments and very much wants to help. But... His Grace has just ascended the throne, and the affairs of the Seven Kingdoms are cumbersome. Added to that, the royal treasury is empty. The Hand of the King, Lord Jon Arryn, explicitly told me I must wait some years until the situation is stable and finances are ample before we can make long-term plans." His tone held obvious disappointment.
Euron sighed lightly at the right moment, his words striking the core of the issue. "The King is the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, with a domain of ten thousand miles. How could he easily cross the vast ocean and personally lead troops to the distant Summer Isles? Moreover, as far as I know, the current Royal Fleet can't even scrape together a decent squadron of warships. Even if His Grace has the ambition, who knows how many years or months you would have to wait?"
Jalabhar was a sharp man; he immediately heard the implication. The flame of hope reignited in his eyes. He asked urgently but cautiously, "Then... what about you, my Lord Duke? If you were willing to act, with the strength of the Iron Fleet and your ability to command sea monsters, a voyage to the Summer Isles would certainly be feasible!"
Naturally, I am willing, Euron thought to himself. Otherwise, why would I waste so much breath on you?
On the surface, however, he remained impassive. After pondering for a moment, he spoke steadily. "This matter... is not impossible to consider."
He changed the subject slightly, offering a reasonable delay. "However, it also requires a period of preparation. I have just been named Lord of Harrenhal. By reason and logic, I must first go north to inspect my castle and handle the initial affairs of my fief."
Jalabhar was overjoyed. As long as he could find powerful support, waiting was not unacceptable. He agreed hastily, "Of course, of course! I am willing to wait for my Lord to handle your important business!"
Euron nodded with satisfaction and made a more practical arrangement. "In that case, follow me. I will introduce you to my father, King Quellon, and my brother Balon. When the festivities end in a few days, you can return to the Iron Islands with them and settle down for a bit. Once I have dealt with matters in the Riverlands, I will return to the islands. We can discuss the details of dispatching troops then."
Like a puppy that had found its master, Jalabhar followed closely behind the tall Euron, his brilliant feather cloak looking both obtrusive and humble in the crowd.
Euron led him straight to King Quellon, who was drinking heavily with several old captains. After a simple introduction, King Quellon merely grunted gruffly. He didn't show much interest in this black-skinned foreign prince, clearly not yet understanding Euron's intent.
It wasn't until Balon, possessing a bit more foresight, pulled Jalabhar aside to loudly ask about the customs, ports, and resources of the Summer Isles, that Euron took the opportunity of pouring wine for his father.
He leaned down to Quellon's ear. In a voice so fast and low only the two of them could hear, he whispered four words:
"The Summer Isles."
King Quellon's hand holding the wine cup paused slightly. His eyes, sharpened by years of sea wind, shot up to look deeply at Euron.
In just that split second of eye contact, the old King who had ruled the Iron Islands for years understood completely. He grasped his second son's unfinished sentence and the deep-seated ambition behind it.
No further words were needed. Euron had set his sights on those rich, warm islands thousands of miles away. He didn't just want to help the prince; he wanted the islands.