The atmosphere in the stone chamber shifted rapidly from the intoxication of tasting to the cool calculation of business negotiation.
The family steward took a deep breath and asked the most critical question: "May I ask, what are their prices?"
Euron didn't answer directly. He leaned back, fingers tapping lightly on the chair, a calculating glint in his eyes. Instead, he threw the question back: "Since the Iron Islands decided to venture into the wine business, we have invested heavily and brewed painstakingly for years, yet we have never sold a single cup or barrel to the outside world. You are all experts, well-traveled and knowledgeable—in your opinion, what would be a suitable price?"
When the steward heard Euron say "brewed painstakingly for years," the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. A bitter smile mixed with absurdity and resignation had to be forcibly suppressed in his heart.
He clearly remembered that shortly after the Battle of the Arbor, the "Queen of Thorns," Olenna Redwyne, had sent a sharp, grief-stricken condemnation to every corner of the Seven Kingdoms, furiously accusing the Ironborn of piracy and kidnapping all their best master winemakers. At the time, King Quellon's response was a flippant, almost rascally "All battle casualties," brushing off the theft of the century.
Now, these "Kraken" vintages flowing in the cups, whose quality even surpassed the originals, had a self-evident origin—they were born precisely because of those "battle casualties" and their skills.
Heh, "brewed painstakingly for years"... The steward knew in his heart that these "years" likely started counting from the moment the Arbor lay in ruins.
But his expression was perfectly controlled, showing no ripple of emotion. He knew very well that in this setting, knowing the truth and not knowing it made no difference. Digging into the roots was the stupidest thing to do. His task was merely to buy the best wine for Harrenhal. Whether the wine was stained with grape juice or blood and fire... what did it matter to a steward? What did it matter to the feast of House Whent?
He downed the brilliant "Golden Kraken" in his cup, letting the luxurious taste cover all useless thoughts.
Some truths, like anchors sunk into the deep sea, are best never brought up.
The steward pondered for a moment, his mind rapidly calculating market and value, and soon gave a professional assessment: "Taking the 'Blue Kraken,' which is closest in quality to the classic Arbor flavor, as the standard, its price should be on par with the top-tier Arbor red wines of the past. The 'White Kraken' has a unique taste but lower purity; its price could be half of the 'Blue'. The 'Purple Kraken' is outstanding with complex flavors; its price could be thirty percent higher. As for the 'Golden Kraken'..." He paused, his tone certain. "Its quality is superb, rare in this world. Pricing it at double the 'Blue', or even higher, would absolutely be worth it."
"A very fair valuation," Euron nodded in agreement. But then, his tone took a sudden, sharp turn, throwing out a proposal that surprised everyone: "However—this time, I do not intend to 'sell' them to you."
The steward froze. The professional expression on his face solidified instantly into a blank mask of confusion. "...?"
The corner of Euron's mouth curled into a meaningful smile as he slowly revealed his true intention: "I have decided to supply all the wine needed for the upcoming Tourney at Harrenhal with the 'Kraken' series—free of charge."
The steward fell into an even longer silence, his brain struggling to process the massive amount of information in this proposal.
"......?"
Euron didn't give him a chance to breathe, clearly laying out his conditions. "The prerequisite is: during the Tourney at Harrenhal, at all banquets, in all tents, in public or private settings, only our 'Kraken' wines from the Iron Islands may appear. Secondly," he emphasized, his eyes shining with undeniable light, "House Whent must solemnly introduce and explain to every noble, knight, and prominent guest attending that all fine wines for this event are fully sponsored by House Greyjoy of the Iron Islands. Especially this 'Golden Kraken'—make sure its name rings in every corner of Harrenhal."
The steward finally recovered from his shock, looking troubled. Such conditions were far beyond his authority. "Lord Euron, your proposal... is profound. But in such a major matter, I truly cannot make the decision. I must ask for instructions from Lord Whent immediately."
"Of course," Euron appeared very reasonable. He stood up, signaling the end of the meeting. "You can rest in Pyke for the night and enjoy the hospitality of the Iron Islands. I will have Lisa prepare comfortable rooms and more 'Kraken' wine for you. I will wait here for Lord Whent's reply."
---
Before the procurement team arrived, Euron had told his father and brother about his plan.
Everything was fine before he mentioned the price. But when Euron proposed providing tens of thousands of gold dragons' worth of "Kraken" wine to the Tourney at Harrenhal for free, King Quellon and Balon, who usually didn't interfere with specific business details, exploded instantly.
"Free?!" King Quellon's roar was like thunder, shaking the Seastone Hall. His massive body shot up from the throne, eyes spitting fire of disbelief. He looked at Euron as if looking at a complete madman, wishing he could swallow this prodigal son alive. "Do you know what you are saying? Do you know how many gold dragons that is? That's enough gold to cover half the dock!"
Balon's reaction was equally fierce. He almost lunged to grab his brother by the collar, veins bulging on his forehead. "You're crazy! Euron! We won the war, stole the people and the technology, not for you to give it away for nothing! How much steel could that wine buy? How many warships?"
Facing the nearly tangible rage of his father and brother, Euron remained unusually calm. He even smiled slightly—a smile that looked exceptionally cool against their fury.
"The wine provided this time is indeed a lot, and its value is comparable to a small gold mine," Euron admitted they were right, but then pivoted, his voice clear and penetrating. "But, Father, Brother, you need to lift your eyes from the docks of Pyke and look at all of Westeros! Even across the Narrow Sea to the future!"
He took a step forward, eyes shining with ambition, as if he could already see the scene of the tourney. "Imagine, at the grandest ceremony of the tourney, in front of all the nobles, knights, and wealthy merchants of the Seven Kingdoms, the host loudly announces: 'For this Tourney at Harrenhal, all banquet wines are generously sponsored by House Greyjoy of the Iron Islands! White, Blue, Purple, Gold—there is always a Kraken suitable for the noble you!'"
Euron opened his arms, envisioning the future. "Think about it! From that moment on, the 'Golden Grapes' of the Arbor will become a thing of the past, forgotten by everyone! Every person attending the event, their tongues, their memories, will only remember the name and taste of our 'Kraken'! We are paying with some wine, but we are buying the taste buds of all Westeros for the next hundred years! Isn't that more valuable than a few tens of thousands of gold dragons?"
Euron's words were like a precise harpoon, striking the core hard.
The anger of King Quellon and Balon gradually subsided, replaced by a slowly growing contemplation, shaken by Euron's massive ambition.
For the first time, they truly realized that what Euron sought was far more than the profit of a single deal—it was total replacement!
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