Who do you think you are?
The lord declares proudly, you must bow down to me!
Different colors, but equal in power, each showing their true strength to settle the score.
The red lion fights the yellow lion, claws and teeth sharp, showing no mercy.
Every strike is deadly and ruthless, and who are you to forget, and who are you to forget.
Oh, that's what he said, that's what he said, the lord of Castamere said that.
But now, every rainy season, the rain weeps in the hall, yet there's no one inside.
But now, every rainy season, the rain weeps in the hall, yet there's no soul left.
As the last heavy, warning-filled note of "The Rains of Castamere" faded, the echo seemed to linger in the tent.
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Euron's expression didn't change a bit. He spoke calmly, with a touch of pure admiration in his tone: "This is the song I've heard the most times, and it's also the most powerful version I've ever heard."
Euron shifted the conversation slightly, his gaze deepening as he continued: "But it's not just a song. It's more like an invisible, incredibly sharp sword."
Duke Tywin Lannister's body leaned forward almost imperceptibly, a faint spark of interest flashing in those piercing, cold eyes that could see through anyone. He responded in a low voice: "Oh? How so?"
Euron met his gaze steadily and said frankly: "Fear itself is a powerful weapon." He explained his view clearly: "This song that's sung across the Seven Kingdoms makes everyone in Westeros understand the Lannisters better. It silently declares a fact: Anyone who dares to oppose Casterly Rock must first think about the fate of House Reyne, think about—the end of Castamere."
Duke Tywin's pale green eyes, as if embedded with flecks of gold, were fixed unblinkingly on Euron. After hearing Euron's analysis, his face showed no hint of pleasure or anger; he just replied flatly: "I've dealt with plenty of Ironborn from the Iron Islands. They usually put more faith in the axes in their hands and prefer the simplest, most direct way of talking. You, Euron, are an exception." His tone was even: "It seems the future of the Iron Islands is bound to shock everyone in Westeros."
Euron didn't take those words as flattery that needed humble denial. He simply accepted them and responded with facts, his gaze sincere and unwavering: "The greatness of House Lannister today started with your iron fist and foresight, Lord Tywin. And in my view, the Lannisters' future will reach even unshakable heights because of Ser Jaime Lannister's unmatched bravery and daring," he paused, glancing at the Imp nearby, his tone without a hint of hesitation, "and Tyrion Lannister's wit and intelligence that far surpass the ordinary."
Prince Oberyn Martell burst into a loud laugh upon hearing this, slapping the table hard and teasing without holding back: "Haha! Euron, that flattery was way too direct and loud!"
Euron wasn't fazed by the jab. His face stayed calm, but his tone was unusually firm: "That's not flattery, Red Viper. What I said is just the plain truth."
Sitting nearby, Tyrion Lannister felt a slight jolt in his small frame when he heard Euron openly mention his "wit and intelligence" in front of his father and the Westerlands nobles, even linking it to the family's "greatness." He looked up, his complex gaze mixing disbelief with a rare touch of being publicly acknowledged.
Duke Tywin's eyes also swept over his two sons, a rare, deeply complicated expression flickering across his rock-hard, stern face.
Euron was right—Jaime had unmatched valor and charm, while Tyrion inherited all the Lannister cunning and wisdom. But fate was cruel; these outstanding qualities hadn't come together in one person.
And the younger son, with the mind to carry the family's future, had been born in the form Tywin hated most and refused to accept.
Cersei Lannister's face turned extremely ugly the moment she heard those words.
She could tolerate the praise for Jaime, but for him to skip over her, the rightful Lannister eldest daughter, and instead hype up that dwarf brother she despised as "wise"—that was a massive insult.
He'd overlooked her, as if she were invisible! Wasn't she, Cersei, the perfect blend of beauty, bravery, and wisdom!?
Cersei let out a cold snort, shifting the topic with a sharp, acidic tone to vent her anger elsewhere: "I don't care about the Iron Islands' future. All I know is, ever since certain people caused that mess, it's been impossible to get good Arbor red wine anymore!" She pushed away the wine cup in front of her with disgust. "These substitutes taste so bad they make me sick."
Facing this sudden redirected fury, Euron just smiled faintly and replied smoothly: "No need to regret it, Lady Cersei. Once we get to Harrenhal, there'll be top-shelf red wine from the Iron Islands. I guarantee its unique, rich flavor will surprise you— it'll be so good you won't want to put the cup down."
Cersei smirked with extreme disdain at that, letting out a contemptuous hum: "Red wine brewed in the Iron Islands? That's the biggest joke I've heard." Her gaze swept over Euron, full of mockery. "I remember your Greyjoy words are 'We Do Not Sow.' Raiding and fighting are your specialties—I've never heard of any Ironborn having the patience for the fine art of winemaking." She raised her voice on purpose, making sure everyone around could hear: "That so-called 'big surprise'? Better not be some sour slop only fit for feeding pigs!"
Before Euron could respond, the usually gentle Princess Elia Martell frowned first.
Cersei's contempt for Euron and his family, along with her arrogance, had angered Elia. Her voice was soft but clear: "Ignorance isn't an excuse for reckless judgment, Lady Cersei. Just because you haven't seen or heard of something doesn't mean it doesn't exist or that it's inferior." She lifted her chin slightly: "I've actually tasted Kraken red wine, and its richness far outshines anything from the Arbor."
This direct rebuttal made Cersei's pretty face flush red instantly, green eyes blazing with anger, looking ready to explode.
At that tense moment, Prince Oberyn Martell let out a cold chuckle, jumping in to break the standoff: "Arguing about taste is the most boring thing in the world. Good or bad—let your tongue decide fairly." He glanced playfully between Cersei and Elia: "Lucky for us, I happen to have a bottle left with me."
He snapped his fingers and ordered a servant: "Go get that bottle from my bags—the one with the golden kraken emblem. Today, let's have these Westerlands nobles taste for themselves what Iron Islands 'pig slop' really tastes like."
The servant returned quickly, holding a bottle.
This was no ordinary wine bottle; its shape was unique, clearly custom-made. The whole thing was a deep glassy blue, but under the light, it shimmered with dark gold flows. On the body, a fierce and majestic golden kraken pattern was intricately carved, tentacles coiling, details so lifelike it seemed like it might burst out any second—full of power and mysterious beauty.
The overall packaging was incredibly refined, from the cork to the label, every detail showing exceptional craftsmanship and pure artistry. It was less like a bottle of wine and more like a collectible work of art.