Euron spread out a sheet of tough, slightly rough parchment. It was a unique paper of the Iron Islands, made from a mixture involving certain seaweeds, better suited to withstand the damp sea wind. He dipped his quill not in ordinary ink, but in a dark purple ink as deep as night, rumored to be made from deep-sea squid ink mixed with wine, leaving a unique fragrance in the writing.
"To Ashara,"
His handwriting was sharp and fluid, carrying an unrestrained tension, much like the man himself.
"The winds of the North Sea howl all day, yet they cannot blow your figure from my thoughts. Since we parted at Starfall, your eyes have been like the clearest stars, often appearing in my mind under this lonely night sky. The stones of Pyke are cold and hard; only memories of you bring a trace of warmth."
"Recently, the eyes of the Seven Kingdoms have focused on Harrenhal in the Riverlands. A tourney claiming to be the grandest in history is about to be held there. I have decided to go. Not entirely for glory or rewards, but because it is the perfect time for the voice of the Iron Islands to ring through Westeros once again. My lance may test its edge there."
"However, for me, this journey would only be truly complete with your company. Therefore, I sincerely invite you to join me at this grand event. Imagining you standing in the stands, sunlight gilding your silhouette... that sight would surely surpass the excitement of any joust."
"If you consent, we can agree to meet at Harrenhal. When that time comes, no matter the noise of the arena, I will seek you out first."
"Hoping the sea breeze delivers your reply swiftly.
— Euron Greyjoy, from Ironwind Island"
He set down the quill. Once the ink was dry, he carefully rolled the parchment, tied it with a dark silk thread, and then took a small piece of warm black sealing wax, dripping it carefully onto the seam. He pressed his seal—the Kraken of House Greyjoy. He summoned Maester Qyburn and ordered him to send this letter to Starfall in Dorne via the fastest, most reliable raven.
Days later, Ashara's reply arrived.
The sea breeze seemed to carry a trace of warmth because of this letter from Dorne. Euron opened the letter sealed with the sigil of Starfall, and Ashara's familiar, elegant handwriting came into view.
In the letter, she first responded to Euron's longing, her words carrying a maiden's reserve and affection. Then, she shared important news: "My brother Arthur (Arthur Dayne, the 'Sword of the Morning') is currently a guest on Dragonstone, studying swordsmanship and sparring with Prince Rhaegar. Though the sea wind of Dragonstone differs from Pyke, it has its own way of tempering the spirit."
Touching on Euron's participation in the Tourney at Harrenhal, her tone became more delicate and soft: "Knowing you have decided to go to Harrenhal, my feelings are complex. On one hand, I am genuinely happy for you, looking forward to seeing you win your glory under the gaze of thousands, letting the fame of the Iron Islands ring far and wide. But on the other hand, swords have no eyes and lances no mercy; my heart cannot help but hang in suspense for you. I wish for you to fight bravely, but even more, I wish for your safe return. Glory is brilliant, but only safety allows us a shared, long future."
At the end of the letter, she extended an invitation that was both personal and weighty: "Since you have decided to head south, why not leave a step early and detour to Dragonstone? Here, you have the best opponent—my brother Arthur's guidance and experience are undoubtedly precious wealth. You also have the most outstanding companion—Prince Rhaegar is generous and humble, and greatly appreciates men of valor. Training with them here would surely benefit you greatly, providing the fullest preparation for the battle at Harrenhal. Besides..."
She left a meaningful pause, as if hinting at a self-evident fact: "Prince Rhaegar is, after all, the Crown Prince, the future King. Making his acquaintance in advance would surely be of great benefit to you and the future of the Iron Islands."
This letter not only carried a maiden's concern but skillfully wove together networks and political threads, quietly awaiting Euron's response.
Euron Greyjoy's fingers tapped unconsciously on the rough stone table, Ashara's letter spread beside him. He wasn't focused on the scenery before him, but looking through the thick stone walls of Pyke toward distant Dragonstone, and that legendary, perfect Prince, Rhaegar Targaryen.
Rhaegar Targaryen's reputation was unimpeachable across the Seven Kingdoms. He didn't rely on the authority of the Iron Throne but won widespread love from nobles to commoners with his own brilliance.
People sang of Rhaegar Targaryen's tall, handsome stature. His silver hair, inherited from the Targaryen line, looked like platinum in the sunlight. His dark indigo eyes were so deep they seemed to hold ancient wisdom and a trace of insoluble melancholy. His martial skills were superb, yet he preferred quiet and solitude, often immersing himself in books and music. The harp he played and the songs he sang were said to be so beautiful and sorrowful they could move the proudest noblewoman to tears.
However, beneath this perfect facade lay the shadow of Summerhall.
Rhaegar Targaryen was born in 259 AC, on the very day of the Tragedy at Summerhall, where King Aegon V, his eldest son Prince Duncan, and his dear friend, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Ser Duncan the Tall, died in a fire that seemed like a child's game gone wrong. This fatal coincidence was like an eternal curse, making Rhaegar always believe he was "born in grief," adding a tragic hero's color to his melancholic temperament.
Ashara's invitation echoed in his ears. This was a rare opportunity to build a friendship with the future King. Training on Dragonstone with the Sword of the Morning and the Prince himself was undoubtedly a shortcut to the core of power in Westeros.
But Euron's thoughts went a layer deeper, because the future he "knew" was diametrically opposed to this bright prospect. In that clear picture, Rhaegar Targaryen, the perfect Prince who seemed to have everything, would ultimately be the man who lost everything.
To deepen ties with a destined loser, to invest in a future certain to collapse... was it worth it? Euron's eyes flickered with calculating light.
Should I use this "foreknowledge" to stay away from the vortex and protect myself?
Or should I approach him... perhaps to extract something valuable even from his defeat?
Euron weighed the pros, cons, and risks. Finally, he picked up the familiar dark purple quill and wrote a reply on the rough seaweed paper. He first accepted Ashara's invitation but noted that going abruptly would be rude. He asked her to write to Arthur in advance to seek Prince Rhaegar's consent. If Prince Rhaegar does not object, I will change my itinerary and head to Dragonstone first.
However, in the latter half of the letter, his writing revealed an unquestionable concern and longing: "Yet, what leaves me unable to rest easy is your journey to Harrenhal. The road from Dorne to the Riverlands is long, and the Seven Kingdoms are not peaceful everywhere these days. I cannot tolerate you bearing any potential risk. Therefore, once matters at Dragonstone are concluded, I hope you will allow me to come south personally to pick you up, so we may travel to Harrenhal together. Only then can I ensure your safety along the way."
The letter was sent immediately via raven.
Before long, Ashara's reply arrived at Ironwind Island, accompanied by the warm breeze characteristic of Dorne. The lines overflowed with joy:
"Knowing you wish to come to Dragonstone brings me immense joy. And thank you for thinking of my safety, willing to travel a thousand miles to meet me. Reading this warms my heart deeply."
"I have received my brother's reply from Dragonstone. Prince Rhaegar welcomes your arrival very much. My brother has mentioned you to Prince Rhaegar before, and not just because of our betrothal."
She then pivoted, dispelling his worries and revealing her future travel plans: "However, regarding the journey to Harrenhal, you need not worry overly much. When the time comes, I will not be traveling alone, but with the Princess of Dorne and our Prince. Yes, the two we both know well: Prince Oberyn Martell (The Red Viper) and his niece, Princess Arianne Martell. With the entire Dornish entourage and His Highness accompanying us, safety is assured. Perhaps we can meet at Harrenhal; that would surely be an interesting journey as well."
After receiving the reply, Euron prepared to leave the Iron Islands.
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