Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

After introducing his daughter, Tywin Lannister's gaze naturally shifted to his son, who stood beside her like a mirror image. The blond, blue-eyed twins were inseparable, the most dazzling and closest alliance in Casterly Rock.

"This is my eldest son and heir, Jaime Lannister." Tywin's voice carried a subtle, different air of respect than when he introduced Cersei.

Jaime Lannister stepped forward, his near-perfect face radiating a sunny confidence and curiosity that contrasted sharply with Cersei's icy demeanor. He made no attempt to conceal his gaze upon Euron, a charming smile playing on his lips. "Ser Arthur mentioned you to me," he said in a light voice, "He said you also wield dual swords, and are quite skilled. We'll have to find a chance to practice after the banquet."

Euron bowed slightly, his tone humble and proper: "Lord 'Dawn Sword' is too kind. As you know, he is always happy to encourage the younger generation." He skillfully defused the potential contest into a gesture of mentorship from a senior.

However, Jaime then blinked and uttered a rather inappropriate comment: "Hey, your eyes are really special, just like my brother's, they're two colors." The words were spoken casually, but they instantly made Cersei's face even colder and created an awkward ripple in the air.

Lord Tywin Lannister astutely noticed the change in his daughter's mood. A sharp glance across Cersei's face revealed her complete lack of interest in the Iron Islands' second son. He then utterly ignored his younger son, who was lurking somewhere, as if he didn't exist in the family tree, and ended the introduction.

As Tywin Lannister turned and left with his two dazzling children, disappearing into the boisterous guests, Corin Greyjoy keenly sensed the lingering chill in the air. He walked to his son's side, his voice low and blunt, characteristic of the Ironborn: "Looks like it's over. That girl... didn't fancy you." His tone held little regret, more like a statement of observation.

Euron didn't seem disappointed. He pondered for a moment, then tentatively asked, "So... Ashara Dayne, what do you think?"

"The Dane family?" Corren's thick eyebrows rose slightly. "Dorn, the Dane family of Starfall City? The sister of Arthur Dane, the Sword of the Dawn?" He confirmed, his tone carrying a sense of weighing.

Seeing Euron nod affirmatively, Corren fell into a brief moment of thought. The pros and cons of a marriage alliance with Dorne's most prestigious knightly family needed to be weighed quickly. "Starfall City… the reputation of the 'Sword of Dawn' is indeed a substantial dowry," he finally said in a deep voice, not immediately rejecting the idea, "This matter isn't urgent, but… it's worth considering." He gave an answer that left ample room for maneuver.

After saying this, Corren turned and walked toward the other lords to continue his socializing and observation.

Just as Corren turned to attend to others, Euron's gaze slowly swept across the edge of the bustling hall. In a shadowy corner, he saw a lonely, small figure—Tyrion Lannister, alone, holding a glass of wine that seemed disproportionate to his size, gazing at the center of the commotion with a complex expression, like a forgotten gray silhouette.

Euron made a choice that almost none of the nobles present would have made—he did not chase after those glamorous figures, but went straight to the corner that everyone deliberately ignored, to Tyrion Lannister sitting alone in the shadows.

He stopped in front of the little dwarf, and their eyes met. Euron showed no pity or curiosity, but simply pointed to his own strange eyes, one black and one blue, and a frank and harmless smile bloomed on his face:

"Look, we're the same, we both have heterochromia."

The clamor in the banquet hall was like a warm tide, lapping against the magnificent walls, yet leaving cold shadows in some corners.

Tyrion Lannister sat alone in this shadowy window niche, a nearly untouched glass of gold wine at his feet. He watched the swirling crowd on the dance floor, watched his brother Jaime's dazzling figure, his eyes filled with a mixture of envy, self-mockery, and a barely perceptible bitterness.

Euron Greyjoy approached silently like a ghost, and following Tyrion's gaze, easily caught sight of that golden, eye-catching figure—Cersei Lannister.

Tyrion noticed his gaze, but without turning around, he simply shrugged, using a nonchalant tone to mask his true emotions: "I'm sorry, but my sister, who hates me, will definitely look down on you for that reason."

Euron let out a low laugh, like the scraping of gravel. "Heh," a playful glint in his eyes, "would you believe me if I said I don't like arrogant, narrow-minded people who are impossible to control?" His assessment was precise and cruel, hitting Cersei right where it hurts.

Tyrion finally turned his head, his face bearing the defensive sneer typical of dwarves: "You may not like my sister's personality, but you must like her looks and figure. I have that much self-awareness."

"Haha, that's true." Euron frankly admitted, his gaze sweeping over the bright spot in the hall again. "Men in Westeros who don't like your sister's looks and figure are probably rarer than living dragons." His praise was devoid of any warmth, more like he was assessing a precious trophy.

Tyrion took a large gulp of his drink, his tone hardening as if dismissing something: "You don't need to pity me. This isn't a day for chatting with a dwarf like me. Go find some glamorous people."

Euron did not leave. He leaned against the cold stone wall, his posture relaxed, as if this were the center of the banquet.

"Pity you?" Euron repeated, his tone genuinely surprised, then shifting to a cold, equal gaze. "I am the second son. Although I am neither a dwarf nor a bastard, in this situation, the second son is no more advantageous than a dwarf. A second son without inheritance rights seems to have far fewer choices."

He looked down at Tyrion, his gaze devoid of the usual pity or disgust, only displaying an almost cruel bluntness: "I don't pity you. What's so pitiful about a dwarf? Besides being shorter than a normal person, what else is there?" His gaze deliberately shifted downwards, sweeping a crude mockery over Tyrion's crotch, "Is it shrunken down there too?"

This incredibly vulgar joke pierced Tyrion's defensive shell. Like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, he suddenly straightened his small body, his face flushed with anger: "Bullshit! I'm a man among men! A super manly man!" he growled, his voice sharp with excitement.

Euron laughed heartily, seemingly pleased with the reaction. "That's good." He stopped laughing, his eyes sharpening. "So, you shouldn't be hiding in this corner like a sinner awaiting judgment."

"Dwarfs are unwelcome, dwarfs are monsters," Tyrion's voice deepened, trembling slightly. "My father... wouldn't want me to go out and embarrass him either." His words held the chilling sting of years.

"But," Euron's voice was firm, interrupting his self-pity, "you are a dwarf, and will always be a dwarf. That is an unchangeable fact. You are the third son of the Lannisters, and all of Westeros knows that. No matter where you hide, no matter how dark a corner you hide in, that fact will not change."

"Only fools worry about things they can't change!" He pointed a finger, almost touching Tyrion's forehead. "So you should walk out there, head held high, and tell them—even though I'm shorter than everyone else, I'm still a Lannister. Tell those muscle-bound idiots: so what if I'm a dwarf? I may be shorter than you, but I can crush you with my words and my intelligence until you kneel and lick my boots! A dwarf in body can be a giant in mind and intellect!"

"To gain recognition from others, you must first recognize yourself! Acknowledge your shortcomings and recognize your strengths, and you will see the path you should take! If you always live in the shadows, you will forever remain an unrecognized shadow dwarf!"

Tyrion was completely stunned. He had heard countless expressions of pity, mockery, and disgust, but never had anyone spoken to him in such a cold and unbiased tone, words that were almost encouraging.

There was no false comfort in his words, only a stark acknowledgment of reality and a philosophical counterattack. His small fingers gripped the wine glass tightly, his eyes flashing with a complex light as he fell into deep thought.

Just then, a light footstep broke the heavy atmosphere in the corner.

Jaime Lannister, like a ray of golden sunlight cleaving through the shadows, beamed a radiant smile as he casually and powerfully put his arm around Euron's shoulder. "Hey! Greyjoy! What kind of profound philosophy are you spouting about with my brother here?" he laughed heartily, then pulled Euron up without further ado. "Come on! The courtyard outside is bright and airy. They all say your swordsmanship is a direct descendant of the Water Dancers. Let's have a match! Let me see if your blade is faster, or my sword is sharper!"

Euron was half-pushed, half-pulled away by Jaime. He glanced back at Tyrion, a strange glint flashing in his eyes, as if to say, "See? I told you. Your brother is one of those muscle-bound idiots!"

Tyrion smiled, remaining alone in the shadows, watching the two figures depart. The clamor of the hall enveloped him once more, but this time, something within him seemed subtly different. He slowly set down his wine glass, his back appearing to straighten slightly.