The family dining hall was filled with the distinct aroma of sea salt, roasted fish, and whale oil lamps.
The massive black stone long table lay like a whale skeleton washed ashore, cold and heavy. Flames danced in the hearth, casting twisted, flickering shadows on the rough stone walls, yet they could not dispel the chill that seeped into one's bones from the salty sea breeze that permeated the hall.
At one end of the table, Quellon Greyjoy, the King of Salt and Rock, sat like a reef in the seat of honor, cutting into a juicy piece of roasted cod. His wife, Sannsa Greyjoy, a woman from House Blacktyde of Blacktyde with a perpetual hint of melancholy between her brows, quietly flaked the fish meat, feeding it to her youngest son, Victarion, a babbling one-year-old in her arms. Also seated at the table was Quellon's younger brother, the fiery-tempered Master-at-Arms Balf Greyjoy, who was heartily swigging ale. And, in the seat next to the host, sat Euron's older brother—Balon Greyjoy.
The crisp sounds of cutlery occasionally hitting silver plates, Victarion's vague babbling, Balf's hearty laughter, and Balon's mischievous rendition of pirate songs filled the air.
Quellon swallowed a piece of fish, his rough fingers grasping a coarse pottery goblet. His gaze, heavy as a cast anchor, fell upon Euron, who was eating quietly at the other end of the table. His voice was not loud, yet like a stone thrown into a deep pool, it instantly shattered the surface calm:
"Today, two more lords proposed to me." Quellon paused, his gaze sweeping over every face present before finally settling on Euron's small face, which was composed to the point of indifference. "They wish for me to name you—Euron Greyjoy—as my heir."
Clink.
The silver spoon in Lady Sannsa's hand tapped lightly against the edge of her porcelain plate, making a faint but jarring sound. She looked up sharply, a flicker of panic in her eyes, and subconsciously tightened her hold on Victarion. Uncle Balf froze mid-swig, muddy ale dripping from his thick beard. His eyes widened as he looked from Quellon to Euron, and finally cast a complicated glance at his silent nephew, Balon.
The air in the hall seemed to be sucked out instantly, leaving only the crackling of the firewood in the hearth and the moaning of the sea wind against the high windows.
In the seat next to the host, Balon Greyjoy's thick arms held his knife and fork steadily. His eyelids were lowered as he focused intently on the food on his plate. He had certainly heard his father's words and understood the weight they carried.
Just before dinner, his father had asked him the same question in the armory. Balon's answer then had been crisp, even carrying a hint of acknowledgment for his brother: "Euron? That kid's got a weird streak, his brain spins faster than a storm. If he can really lead the Iron Islands to grab more gold and fatter sheep than me, what's wrong with him being in charge? It's Greyjoy blood flowing on the throne of the Iron Islands either way!"
Balon loved his family, loved all his brothers, including this Euron who always gave him the creeps. Blood was a chain, stronger than any bullshit law. Heir? As long as his father decided it, Balon Greyjoy wouldn't be an Ironborn if he even frowned! He just instinctively felt that bringing up such a major issue at the dinner table was a bit... too casual. Besides, he was waiting to see how that brat who always acted so deep would react.
Quellon asked nonchalantly while eating his fish, "Euron, what do you think?"
What do I think? How can I think!? I'll think lying down...
Euron felt no ripple of emotion inside, even feeling a bit like laughing as a meme about "Yuanfang" from a distant time and space slid inappropriately through his mind. His knife and fork didn't pause in the slightest, continuing to precisely cut the snow-white fish meat on his plate, his movements elegant and out of place for his age. He didn't even lift an eyelid, as if his father were discussing tomorrow's weather rather than the succession that would shake the foundation of the family.
In the suffocating silence, Euron finally put a small piece of deboned, tender meat into his mouth, chewed it carefully, and swallowed. He picked up his linen napkin, wiped the corners of his mouth methodically, and then raised his mismatched pupils. The left eye was like a chaotic abyss that swallowed all light, the right like a polar ice core that froze storms, calmly meeting his father's scrutinizing gaze.
"Primogeniture," his childish voice was clear and cold, devoid of any emotional fluctuation, stating it like the eternal laws of the tides, "has always been the traditional cornerstone of the Iron Islands, and indeed, all of Westeros." His gaze seemed to inadvertently sweep over Balon sitting opposite him.
Balon snorted through his nose and continued chewing his fish. He knew this brat would bring up tradition, putting on an act! The slight dissatisfaction in his heart from his brother being valued was suppressed a little.
Quellon took in Balon's expression and Euron's calm demeanor. He leaned forward slightly, like a seasoned captain testing unknown waters. "But you are a son of the Drowned God. The Iron Islands are different from the six kingdoms of the mainland; the will of the Drowned God is above mundane laws. Non-primogeniture succession... is not without precedent in our history." His words were like bait, probing for his youngest son's true ambition.
The corners of Euron's mouth curled up in an extremely subtle arc. He put down his knife and fork, his small body leaning back against the chair, but his gaze seemed to penetrate the thick stone walls, cast towards the roaring, boundless ink-black sea outside the window.
"Father," his voice remained calm but took on a grandeur and ethereality that transcended his age, almost like an oracle. "Wherever the smell of the sea can be smelled, or the sound of waves can be heard..." He paused slightly, every word like an ice crystal condensed from sea salt, smashing into the silent stone hall. "Is my territory."
This sentence swept through the entire hall like an invisible storm! Lady Sannsa gasped, her face turning pale. Uncle Balf's mouth fell open, oblivious to the dripping ale. Even Balon, who had kept his head down, tensed imperceptibly for a moment.
Euron's gaze swept over their shocked faces, finally landing back on Quellon. Deep within those mismatched pupils, a ghostly flame from the deep sea seemed to burn. "I prefer the oath of the Grey King: 'I shall rule the waves, and I shall rule the solid earth. Dressed in robes woven of seaweed, with the teeth of Nagga making my towering pale crown.'" He recited the oldest and most noble legend of the Iron Islands, his voice not loud, but carrying an unquestionable, heavy echo as if from ancient times.
You could hear a pin drop in the hall. Only the flames in the hearth danced uneasily, illuminating every face filled with shock.
Euron's gaze finally turned to his brother Balon, who was as silent as a mountain opposite him. His tone became unusually "gentle," even carrying a trace of childish innocence and mischievous teasing, as if poking fun at a hot-tempered but close companion:
"So, Father," he spread his small palms in a gesture of "take it and play," a glint of a successful prank shining in those mismatched eyes. "Let's leave these tiny Iron Islands to Big Brother Balon." He even deliberately adopted the tone of an adult coaxing a child, dragging out the ending as he added, "With his ability... he should be able to~~~ watch~ the~ house~ just~ fine!" That tone, that demeanor, was practically saying: Big bro, you play with this toy for now, just don't lose it, I'm going to play with something bigger!
Bang—SCREECH!!!
A tooth-aching sound of metal twisting suddenly exploded!
Balon Greyjoy's face turned the color of pig liver instantly! He understood! He completely understood the airy, treat-him-like-a-watchdog tone in this little bastard's words! What "watch the house"? He, Balon Greyjoy, was the wolf of Pyke, the Iron Captain who could tear enemy ships apart! How old was this cub? Daring to talk to him in that tone used for coaxing Victarion?! And "charity" with the Iron Islands?! That fury of being toyed with and belittled by his younger brother shot straight to his forehead! To hell with being a son of the Drowned God, beat him up first and let him know who the big brother is!
Violent strength instantly poured into the knife and fork in his hands! The thick, heavy table knife forged from refined steel was forcibly squeezed by him until it twisted and deformed like soft clay! The tines of the fork also sank deep into the flesh of his palm, oozing crimson beads of blood!
He jerked his head up, those eyes wide with rage staring dead at Euron, like a grumpy sea lion teased by a seal, his roar shaking the dust from the roof:
"You little brat!! I... want... to... beat... you... to... death!!!" In this roar, the monstrous anger was real, but deeper down, it was a brotherly rage mixed with embarrassment, defiance, and a "spare the rod and spoil the child" mentality after being so "disrespectfully" teased by his closest (albeit weird) brother. The bond of blood remained, but right now, he just wanted to grab this brat and spank his butt hard!
A scene of brotherly love appeared in the dining hall. Euron ran around the dining table dodging his furious brother until his mother smilingly pulled him into her arms. Only then did Balon stop resentfully and return to his seat.
After things quieted down a bit, King Quellon looked at Balf and held out his hand. "You lost, 100 Gold Dragons!"
Balf rolled his eyes. He originally thought it was a joke between brothers, who knew his brother Quellon would actually flip the table directly. Accepting the loss, Balf tossed over a jingling bag of Gold Dragons, shaking his head and sighing. "Sigh, logically speaking, shouldn't the younger brother plot to overthrow the older one, the older one gear up to eliminate the monster, and then the two of them fight to the death? How come the title of King of the Iron Islands is so worthless now?"
A bet? Betting on whether the two brothers would turn against each other because of this?
Balon was shocked and roared, "Bastard! You can bet on this kind of thing? You can joke about this!!!???"
King Quellon and Balf laughed heartily, not caring in the least. Euron, however, sensitively sniffed out something strange and frowned. "Maybe there really are a lot of people who hope to see the scene Uncle Balf described!"
Quellon sighed and smiled faintly. "Balon, I have to say, your brother's IQ is really much higher than yours!"
Balon was stunned for a moment, then realized and said, "Father, you mean someone is deliberately spreading these rumors, wanting to see discord between us brothers and disharmony in the family?"
"And then?"
"What 'and then'? The people doing this kind of thing definitely have bad intentions. Catch them and kill them!"
"But right now, there are quite a few lords with this idea. Some have conspiracies, some are following the trend, and some are sincere. Are we going to catch and kill them all?"
"Then catch them first, and there are plenty of ways to make them understand..."
"Those are all Ironborn of the Iron Islands, nobles, lords. They aren't salt wives you can kill casually, nor are they your captives. If it's not catching then it's killing, do you want chaos in the Iron Islands?"
"Ugh, then..."
Quellon ignored his single-minded eldest son and instead looked at Euron, asking, "Euron, what do you think?"
What do I think again? How can I think!?
"A very effective, and very vicious conspiracy. I mean..." Euron smiled. "We should just wait calmly. Also, since they want to see us brothers at odds, then let's grant their wish and let them see what they want to see. When the time comes, there will definitely be some people appearing around me, and around Balon, offering advice under various guises of being for our own good! Those who look the most enthusiastic, the most willing to provide all kinds of help, are the rats in the dark."
Balon scratched his head and said, "Acting? I'm good at that. No wonder everyone calls you a monster, thinking of an idea in such a short time. It's really strange, we all eat the same salted fish, how did your brain grow like that?" As he spoke, he rubbed Euron's hair and pinched his cheek hard.
"Brother, don't let the act become reality and really get played by those people! If you really chop me then..."
"Bastard, are you laughing at me for being stupider than you, or are you looking down on me?"
"It's okay, actually, a little bit of both."
The scene of brotherly love appeared once again in the dining hall...