Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

The messengers of King's Landing, carrying the king's will and burning rage, finally set foot on the rough and rebellious land of the Iron Islands.

Their arrival was like an ominous shadow, accompanied by thunder and lightning, suddenly enveloping the jagged towers and gloomy coastline of Pike City.

The delegation was led by the new King's Hand, Earl Owen Mariewes.

He had barely taken over the still-hot position left by Tywin Lannister, and before he could even gain a foothold in the power struggles of the Red Keep, he was banished by the Mad King to this remote, bitterly cold land filled with salt and hostility.

At this moment, Earl Owen Marie Weiss was in a foul mood. His usual fawning smile had long since vanished in the sea breeze, leaving only a hint of condescending annoyance and undisguised disgust—disgust for the damp air, the coarse food, and the iron-willed people before him who seemed to have never been tamed by civilization.

The two Imperial Guards accompanying him presented a stark contrast.

Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Dawn, is like a moving snow mountain. His handsome face is calm as water, containing unfathomable martial arts skills and unspoken majesty. Meanwhile, Levin Martell from Dorne carries the unique languid and dangerous temperament of his homeland, and his sharp eyes always seem to be able to see the most subtle fluctuations.

These three emissaries, with their distinct identities, together embody the cold will of the Iron Throne, and every step they take treads on the taut nerves of the Iron Islands.

When the King's Landing delegation, led by guards, entered Pyke, the sea-strewn, imposing main castle, they were not met with the expected presence of King Corren Greyjoy, or at least his successor Balon. Instead, they were met with a boy who was unusually young, yet possessed a composure beyond his years.

Euron stood in the center of the hall, tall and straight. Although only ten years old, he was already nearly as tall as many adult men, with smooth muscle lines that hinted at explosive power, like a young cheetah. His eyes held no childlike timidity or curiosity, only a deep calm, and a faint smile graced his face.

The new Hand of the King, Earl Owen Mariewes, immediately frowned, his patience, already dwindling due to the sea breeze and his bad mood, instantly exhausted.

He flicked his sleeves, which were still scented with King's Landing perfume but now damp with the salty air of the Iron Islands. His arrogance and displeasure were undisguised. "What does this mean?" he shrieked, his gaze sweeping over the empty head seat before settling on Euron. "Has the Greyjoy family run out of people? Sending a mere brat to greet the King's Hand and the Kingsguard? Where is Corinth? Where is Baron? Is this the true hospitality of the Iron Islands?"

Euron Greyjoy remained unperturbed by this almost humiliating question. He stepped forward, the silver platter in his hands motionless, the bread and salt on it serving as a silent declaration.

"Lord Marie Weiss," his voice was clear, yet carried a strange penetrating quality, echoing in the stone hall, drawing a slight glance from Ser Arthur Dayne beside him, "when I received news of your impending visit, my father, King Coron, and my brother, Baron, had indeed left Pyke City on important business. In the meantime, all affairs of the Iron Islands are temporarily being managed by me, Euron Greyjoy."

He slightly raised the silver tray, his movements as precise as if he had stepped out of an ancient book. "The rights of the guests are sacred and inviolable, regardless of the age of the person presiding over the ceremony. Please enjoy the salt and bread; gentlemen, you have had a long journey, and a place to rest has been prepared in Park City."

His answers were fluent and confident, showing none of the naivety or panic one would expect from a ten-year-old; instead, he sounded like a seasoned master.

These words and actions left Marie Weiss's anger feeling like it had struck tough leather, finding no foothold. The two Kingsguard, especially Arthur Dayne, no longer displayed their usual indifference in their scrutinizing gazes; instead, they held a subtle, inquisitive look.

This second son of the Iron Islands seemed quite different from any other noble son he had ever heard of.

Euron's gaze lingered briefly when it met Ser Arthur Dayne's, his eyes revealing not only the expected respect but also a barely perceptible, pure curiosity and scrutiny towards the legendary figure himself. At that moment, etiquette became the best armor, subtly concealing the Iron Islands' true brilliance beneath the veneer of propriety.

Bread represents a guarantee of survival, symbolizing the host's protection of the guest's life; salt symbolizes purification and eternity, implying the incorruptibility of the contract. Once a guest enters the host's home and accepts the bread and salt offered, their rights take effect immediately. From then until the guest's departure, neither party may harm the other. These rights apply to all social classes, from commoners to nobles.

Those who trample on the rights of guests are considered "unforgivable by the gods." For example, in the legend, the "Rat Chef" was turned into a white rat by the gods for killing the prince to entertain his guests, and was forced to eat his own son forever.

Earl Irving Marie Weiss, though displeased, knew the ancient tradition of honoring guests should not be disrespected. With a hint of impatience, he reached for a slice of coarse wheat bread from the silver tray, deliberately dipping it in the fine, white salt before putting it in his mouth, completing this ritual symbolizing security and contract. The moment the salt touched his lips, his previously dismissive expression faltered—it wasn't the expected harsh, bitter saltiness of sea salt, but rather an exceptionally pure, delicate saltiness, instantly revealing it to be no ordinary product.

"This is... 'White Gold Sands'?" Owen Marives raised an eyebrow, his tone deliberately exaggerated with astonishment, as if he had just tasted a rare delicacy. "Indeed, it's a fine product, with an extraordinary flavor. Unfortunately, in King's Landing, this stuff is more expensive than gold; those of us who serve the king can't afford even a drop." He then shifted his tone, his gaze sharpening as he looked at Euron, his greed almost undisguised: "The Iron Islands are where this 'White Gold Sands' originates; presumably... the price will be much more affordable there, right?"

The two Kingsguard—Arthur Dayne and Levin Martell—also silently carried out the ceremony.

Sir Arthur's movements were simple and dignified. He seemed unsurprised by the quality of the salt, his deep gaze lingering more on Euron, who was responding.

Whether it's coarse salt or "white gold sand," they're essentially just salty. Owen Marie Weiss's expression, combined with his words and tone, was tantamount to blatant extortion. Euron's face still held that enigmatic smile; his tone was calm, as if stating a perfectly ordinary business transaction: "You're right, sir. At the source, without the layers of merchants' exploitation, it's naturally much cheaper. If you deduct the costs of long-distance transportation, warehousing, and elaborate packaging—those unnecessary expenses—what remains is simply real value."

Euron leaned forward slightly, his voice softening as if offering a friendly suggestion: "Your Excellency, the Hand of the King, has worked tirelessly for the country and has traveled a long way. When you depart, you might consider taking some specialties from the Iron Islands as a token of our goodwill." This statement both saved face for the other party and seemed to agree to the request, yet cleverly limited the vague quantifier "some," defining it as a "gift" rather than "tribute," thus effortlessly transforming a potential extortion into a respectable gift.

Owen Mariewes's complexion improved slightly, and he took his seat with Euron.