The afterglow of the setting sun dyed the silhouette of Tarth a warm gold as the fleet slowly sailed into the harbor.
Tarth was also known as the "Sapphire Isle," not because the island abounded in gems, but because of the breathtaking azure waters surrounding it.
The sea surface was calm and ripple-free. The deep blue swallowed all traces; the three ships and nearly a hundred lives seemed to have never existed. The ocean buried its secrets in eternal silence.
Only when her feet stepped onto the solid docks of Tarth did Princess Elia's heart gradually settle.
The suffocating fear and the subsequent shock of the reversal intertwined, finally finding a moment to breathe.
Her mind involuntarily replayed the terrifying yet spectacular scene—the massive tentacles, the leaping whale, and the "King of the Near Sea" that obeyed commands like a guardian deity of the deep. Connecting this with the ancient legends circulating in the Iron Islands and along the coasts of Westeros about the "Son of the Drowned God," an unbelievable yet incredibly logical guess formed in her heart.
Princess Elia hesitated for a moment, but eventually couldn't suppress her burning curiosity. She walked up to Euron, her voice much softer than usual, carrying a trace of careful probing. "I'm just asking casually," she paused, seemingly feeling it might be offensive, and quickly added apologetically, "Those giant sea beasts—they seemed to understand your will. This must be your secret, right? I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry—"
Euron turned his head, the setting sun casting a halo behind him. There was no offense on his face, only a frank smile.
"It doesn't matter," Euron's voice was calm, as if speaking of an ordinary matter. "It is an innate talent. House Greyjoy descends from the Grey King of the Age of Heroes, and I seem to have awakened certain talents of the bloodline. I was born able to converse with the denizens of the sea and command them." He paused, casting his gaze toward the vast ocean that had swallowed their enemies and protected them, his tone filled with absolute confidence. "Otherwise, knowing there was an ambush ahead, how could I have led you straight into it without the assurance to keep you safe? From the moment they decided to ambush me at sea, they were destined to die in it."
Princess Elia smiled and nodded, recalling her brother Oberyn's assessment of Euron: A monster at such a young age! If you are his friend, he will be a sincere and lovely friend. If you treat him as an enemy, he will absolutely be the most dangerous enemy.
Under the shroud of twilight, jagged rocks and verdant woodlands guarded the ancient castle of Evenfall Hall.
Guided by attendants, Euron and his party stopped before the heavy doors of the hall.
Following the ancient and sacred tradition of Westeros, they accepted bread and salt from the host's hands, tasting them solemnly. In this moment, Guest Right was in effect; within this hall, they were guests protected by sacred pact.
Receiving them was the head of House Tarth, Lord of Evenfall Hall and ruler of the island, Lord Selwyn Tarth, known as the "Evenstar."
The lord was tall, kind, and gentle. The weathering of years and a trace of insoluble, heavy sorrow were etched between his brows. He stood there, like Evenfall Hall itself, steady and resilient. Yet, deep in the eyes looking at his guests lay a desolation only readable by those who have experienced profound loss.
The fate of his children had been ill-starred—daughters Alysanne and Arianne had died in the cradle; his son Galladon, in whom he had placed high hopes, had been claimed by the ruthless sea at the age of eight. Now, Brienne, his only surviving child, had become the Evenstar's sole hope and sustenance, the only future heir to this castle.
The doors of Evenfall Hall slowly opened. When Lord Selwyn Tarth's gaze passed Euron and landed on the pale, noble woman behind him, a clear trace of surprise flashed across his face—Princess Elia Martell's visit was evidently not in any prior notification.
But he quickly recovered the composure and courtesy befitting a lord, turning surprise into a warm smile. "Your Highness, your presence brings light to Evenfall Hall." He bowed solemnly, then looked at Euron with equal warmth. "Lord Greyjoy, welcome."
After the pleasantries, Lord Selwyn turned with a look of subtle pride mixed with complex emotion to introduce someone. "Please allow me to introduce the most precious treasure of my life—my daughter, Brienne."
A young girl stepped forward—Brienne of Tarth.
It was hard to believe that Brienne, born in 273 AC and only 8 years old, stood about 1.7 meters tall (approx. 5'7"). She stood there like a growing poplar sapling. Her short-cropped blonde hair had the color of withered straw in autumn sunlight, looking somewhat frizzy and brittle. Her frame was massive, her shoulders broad, already revealing the solid outline of a future warrior. Her face was round and rough, covered in small freckles, but her eyes were huge—clear, bright blue. At this moment, they looked at the guests with the unique innocence and directness of her age, full of curiosity.
Tarth was not a wealthy place, and Lord Selwyn had never liked extravagance. Thus, this name day feast did not invite guests from far and wide. Those present were mostly neighboring nobles who had personal friendships with the Earl, largely members of other Stormlands houses.
The purpose of this banquet was simple: to tell the lords and his liege that the heir was decided, and it would be Brienne of Tarth.
As part of the Stormlands, Tarth had always been loyal to Storm's End. Therefore, the Lord of Storm's End—Robert Baratheon—was naturally the most honored guest at the banquet.
In the great hall of Evenfall Hall, firelight danced on the stone walls, illuminating the figures of the guests.
Euron's gaze swept the crowd and soon found two familiar faces—the honest Balf, and standing beside him with a face full of reluctance, the "Sorrowful Man" assassin, Miss Victoria Daniels.
Seeing Euron, Balf immediately raised his cup in a toast from afar, flashing a rugged grin. Victoria beside him rudely turned her head away, her bright lips pursed in displeasure, clearly still angry.
After Euron approached, Balf lowered his voice and explained with a mischievous smile, "Hehe, don't be offended. Just now, a few lords asked about the girl's identity. I casually said she was your salt wife—seems the joke went a bit too far." This immediately earned him an even fiercer eye-roll from Victoria.
The commotion here also attracted the most boisterous guest in the center of the hall. Lord Robert Baratheon of Storm's End was swigging from a giant horn cup, mead dripping from his beard. Seeing Euron, his bell-like eyes lit up instantly, his booming laughter drowning out the noise of the hall.
"HA! Little Kraken! You finally made it!" he shouted loudly, stretching out a thick arm to pull Euron close, loudly introducing him to the curious nobles around them. "Everyone come look! This is the lad who, back in Lannisport, made that freshly knighted lion cub with eyes on top of his head—Jaime Lannister—lose three times in a row! Clean and swift defeats! Haha! Truly satisfying!"
This introduction made Brienne of Tarth, standing quietly aside, widen her blue eyes in surprise. She looked at Euron in disbelief—could this boy, who didn't look as muscular as she imagined, consecutively defeat Jaime Lannister, famous for his handsomeness and swordsmanship?
Robert's enthusiasm was thoroughly ignited. He slapped Euron heavily on the back, reeking of alcohol and battle lust. "Come, come, lad! No point just talking! Let's have a go! Let me see just how formidable the swordsmanship that humbled the Lion cub really is!"
Fortunately, just then, music started timely, announcing the beginning of the dance. A bold noble lady approached with a smile, taking the arm of the lusty Lord.
Robert's attention was immediately diverted. Laughing, he grabbed his partner's waist, instantly throwing the thought of a duel to the back of his mind, and stomped his not-so-elegant steps into the merry crowd.
---