Countless torches were lit in the hall, their dancing flames illuminating the Greyjoy kraken sigil as if it were alive.
Long tables were piled high with roasted sea fish, spiced boiled crabs, and overflowing ale, but people's attention was clearly not on the food.
Euron Greyjoy's return turned what he thought would be an ordinary family dinner into a raucous feast.
Warriors who had participated in the Battle of the Stepstones were invited to the table. After several rounds of drinks, they began to speak of that legendary battle once more.
Though the war had ended some time ago, the tale of the eight giant beasts rising from the deep had long been sung by sailors and bards on both shores of the Narrow Sea. Someone lowered their voice to describe the scene—how pitch-black tentacles entangled warships, how the sea surface foamed with crimson, and how Euron's longship pierced the heart of the enemy fleet like the spear of the Sea God.
"Son of the Drowned God!" A drunken warrior raised his cup and shouted, immediately drawing a chorus of agreement.
This title had spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms, making the Ironborn both proud and awestruck.
At the center of the vortex, Euron simply leaned back in his high stone chair, his fingertips tapping lightly on the rim of his cup. Candlelight danced in his eyes but reflected no ripples. To his family, he was always this peaceful figure, a faint smile on his lips, as if those thrilling legends had nothing to do with him, and those terrifying titles were merely passing breezes.
When another nephew excitedly asked about the details of the sea monsters, Euron just patted the boy's shoulder gently and asked instead how his recent navigation lessons were going.
Under the fanatical gaze of the crowd, his eyes swept over the hall time and again, confirming the well-being of every family member. The warmth in his brows at that moment was worlds apart from the legendary "Son of the Drowned God" who commanded monsters and terrified enemies. To Euron, no glorious legend or resounding title could compare to his family gathering safely in this sea-wind-surrounded castle.
The noise of the banquet finally settled. Cups were empty, and candlesticks were piled with wax tears. The guests had long dispersed; now, only the blood-related Greyjoys remained in the dim hall. The sea wind poured in from the high windows, fluttering the ancient banners hanging there.
The topic returned once again to the mysterious sea monsters, the eyes of the younger generation shining in the dim light. At this moment, Euron stood up slowly. His previous gentle smile quietly faded, replaced by a deep, almost solemn expression.
"They are not monsters of legend," his voice wasn't loud, but it clearly suppressed the sound of the wind, entering everyone's ears. "They are the masters of the deep sea, and the guardians of House Greyjoy."
He looked around at the faces filled with desire and curiosity, making his promise.
"I promise you," Euron's tone was steady and powerful, carrying undeniable weight, "every one of you in this family will one day have such a sea beast partner. Their power will be linked to our bloodline."
He paused slightly, his gaze deepening as if looking toward distant seas. "Right now, in the waters of Uncle Balfour, a giant beast capable of fighting an entire fleet alone is patrolling, obeying his command. That is the proof of our power, and the foundation of our family's future."
Excitement broke through the initial shock like a tide. Young Rodrik and Maron almost jumped from their seats, faces overflowing with incredible ecstasy; even the always-steady Victarion relaxed his tight lips, a burning light flashing in his eyes; Asha grinned, her fingers unconsciously tapping the edge of the table, as if already conceiving how to command such power.
The entire family, in this moment, was tightly bound together by a promise of deep-sea guardians, the fire of ambition burning in their collective eyes.
"If Sea King beasts are being handed out, give one to me first. Even I don't have one yet!" Lord Balon slammed the table, making the cups rattle. "Enough!" His roar was like a sudden storm, instantly suppressing all whispers and excited discussions. "Little brats, are your ears deaf? You'll all have them eventually! Now, all of you roll back to your beds! We—" his thick finger slashed through the air, pointing to Euron and the few core kin remaining—"have serious business to discuss with Euron!"
The hall was immediately filled with reluctant murmurs and dragging footsteps.
---
The young Greyjoys—Rodrik, Maron, even Asha—looked back every three steps, eyes flashing with unsatisfied curiosity and unwillingness. But none dared disobey Balon's order, and they eventually disappeared into the shadows of the heavy stone stairs.
When the last footstep faded, the hall fell completely silent, leaving only the whimpering sea wind.
Balon, Euron, and Quellon, who had been silent as a reef, exchanged a glance. Without needing words, they walked together toward the low, shadow-swallowed oak door at the back of the hall.
The hinges groaned slightly as they were swallowed into deeper darkness, the door closing heavily behind them.
Inside the secret chamber, the air was stagnant and cold. Only a poor-quality oil lamp cast a wavering halo on the stone wall.
Lysa's figure almost merged with the darkness in the corner. Only when they approached did she step forward, her voice pitched extremely low but perfectly clear.
"New information from Harrenhal. Regarding the daughter of House Whent, Ariana Whent—the one crowned 'Queen of Love and Beauty' at the tourney held for her months ago. Now, the Mad King has summoned her to King's Landing, ostensibly to be a lady-in-waiting to Queen Rhaella." Lysa's tone was flat but chilling. "Hostage is the truth. And according to the latest secret report from inside the Red Keep... she seems to have already become the Mad King's mistress."
She paused slightly, letting this storm-stirring news sink into the listeners' hearts, before continuing:
"The North. Lord Rickard Stark left Winterfell with Brandon, Eddard, and Lyanna Stark, heading for Riverrun to complete Brandon's marriage to Catelyn Tully. But upon reaching Riverrun... Lyanna disappeared! Her father and brothers are searching frantically for her."
"Later, at the Inn at the Crossroads, someone saw her with Rhaegar, though the information is unconfirmed."
The lamp flame flickered, illuminating three faces with different expressions but equal gravity.
Lord Balon spat. The ale flushed his rugged face red. "Prince Rhaegar? Seduced the daughter of House Stark of the North? Eloped? Run away from home?" He scoffed, his voice full of mockery. "He really does such absurd things! Looks like a proper man, but in his bones, he's just like his mad old father!"
Quellon's gaze turned slowly to Euron. His fingers rubbed the rim of his cup silently, his tone flat but pointed. "Lust is a knife hanging over one's head... Isn't someone here just as guilty in that regard?"
Euron rolled his eyes directly, leaning back lazily in his chair, a faint smile on his lips. "My romantic debts have long been cleared; no need to worry." He steered the topic lightly, a sharp light flashing in his eyes. "Why don't you guess... if the rumors are true, and the noble Prince Rhaegar really abducted the Direwolf's precious daughter... what happens next?"
Quellon pondered for a moment, his gray-brown brows knitting together. "The North will go mad. Robert Baratheon—that stag holding the Stormlands—Lyanna's fiancé, will go even madder. They will settle the score with Rhaegar at any cost. No one in the Seven Kingdoms can swallow such humiliation."
"Exactly," Euron's voice dropped low, like the tide surging in a deep cave. "But what if this isn't just a duel or a trial? What if anger burns through reason and finally evolves into... war?"
Quellon shook his head, appearing somewhat hesitant. "It won't go that far, will it? The Mad King isn't completely confused yet."
Balon, who had been listening to their argument, suddenly waved his hand violently, interrupting the conversation. A look of near-hideous excitement appeared on his face. "Fight! Let them fight!" he roared, his eyes shining with the coldness and greed unique to the Ironborn. "They fight to the death, what's it to us! We can sit on the reef and watch the show! Maybe..." He grinned. "We can even snatch some benefits while we're at it."
The light of the oil lamp cast shadows of their varying expressions onto the stone wall—twisted, magnified. Euron knew that the storm about to sweep across Westeros was arriving.