Early the next morning, Euron walked through the gloomy and somewhat secluded corridors of Harrenhal, arriving at a small, temporarily furnished hall that was relatively comfortable.
Here, Ser Arthur Dayne was gathered with Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, Princess Elia Martell, and his sister Ashara Dayne, conversing in low voices.
Euron approached, first bowing respectfully to Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia. Then, he turned his gaze to Arthur, speaking sincerely but politely. "Ser Dayne, forgive my intrusion. I wonder if I might have the honor of inviting Lady Ashara to tour this legendary castle together? Its scale and history are truly astounding, and I wish to share this awe with her."
Prince Rhaegar Targaryen's violet eyes, tinged with faint melancholy, flickered almost imperceptibly upon hearing Euron's request. His gaze swept over the unconcealed anticipation in Euron's eyes as he looked at Ashara, then quickly glanced at Elia beside him—his wife in name, yet separated by an invisible distance. An extremely complex expression—mixed with envy, wistfulness, and even a trace of bitterness—flashed swiftly across the depths of his eyes.
Rhaegar seemed to see something he yearned for but never truly possessed: the freedom to draw close purely out of love, without scruples. But he soon recovered his usual calm and elegance, only nodding slightly to acknowledge he heard, saying nothing more, perfectly concealing all emotions under the reserve of a prince.
A gentle, slightly sentimental smile appeared on Princess Elia Martell's pale face.
She looked at the young lovers whose eyes held only each other, then at her noble but distant husband beside her. An indescribable envy and longing surged in her heart.
Perhaps what Elia longed for wasn't Euron himself, but that visible, burning love and the freedom of companionship. She hugged her daughter tighter, as if drawing a sliver of warmth from her, silently lamenting the chasm between political marriage and true feelings.
But she maintained her excellent breeding, turning that sentimentality into a soft, kind phrase. "Go, Ashara. Such an experience is indeed worth sharing."
Ser Arthur Dayne watched his sister's cheeks flush instantly and her eyes light up, and he couldn't help but laugh heartily, his smile diluting the gloom of Harrenhal. He patted Euron on the shoulder, his tone full of teasing and brotherly affection. "Alright! My sister was just sitting here restless and distracted; turns out she was waiting for you? We've only been apart for a short while, and you're already so impatient to take her away from me?"
Arthur deliberately sighed, shaking his head as he said to Rhaegar and Elia, "Look, a grown girl can't be kept at home. It seems I, the brother, will soon be ranked second!" His teasing diluted the subtle atmosphere just now and made Ashara's face even redder, though she glowed with happiness.
Ashara didn't speak. She just ran to Euron's side, took his hand, and ran out quickly.
Euron and Ashara strolled side by side in the massive, eerie courtyard of Harrenhal, eventually walking beneath the shadows of the five skyscraping towers.
This castle itself was a heavy parable about arrogance and destruction.
"King Harren the Black once boasted to all monarchs that this colossal fortress, into which he poured forty years of effort and countless lives, was impregnable." Euron's voice echoed in the empty courtyard as he pointed to the twisted, charred, massive walls. "In a way, he was right. No traditional siege engines or armies could shake it in the slightest."
Euron paused, his gaze turning to the hideous silhouette of the tallest tower, his tone carrying a trace of fatalistic mockery. "But he miscalculated one thing—Aegon the Conqueror, and his dragons."
"Dragons... cannot be stopped by any walls or towers in the world," Ashara interjected softly, the charred traces of the tower reflected in her violet eyes, as if she could see the catastrophe from a hundred years ago.
"Correct." Euron nodded. "Thus, Harren and all his sons and followers were trapped inside this fortress he thought was indestructible. Aegon's dragon, Balerion the Black Dread, simply descended from the sky. With dragonfire hot enough to melt rock, he turned this stone tomb into their infernal furnace. Harren himself was roasted alive in that tallest tower." He pointed to the most terrifying high tower. "So, it is now called Kingspyre Tower."
The closer they got, the more they could feel the horror of that ancient disaster.
The extreme heat had not only devoured lives but permanently altered the form of the castle. In many places, the stone presented an eerie state of having been scorched, melted, and then re-solidified—like black candle wax that had flowed and suddenly frozen—shocking to the eye.
Among the five giant towers, even if the shortest one were cut in half at the waist, it would still far exceed any building in the Iron Islands. However, not a single tower was intact. They looked as if twisted by divine force; the tower bodies were warped, giant stones cracked, and many places still retained the hideous scars and glassy crystallization left after being melted by Targaryen dragonfire centuries ago.
Standing before these ruins caused by inhuman power, the two fell silent for a long time, their hearts left with only deep sighs for the destructive power of dragonfire.
"No matter how magnificent a fortress, before true power, it is but a futile struggle." Euron finally whispered, his words dissipating in the howling wind of Harrenhal.
Ashara leaned gently against Euron, looking at the charred, twisted wreckage of the giant tower before her, sighing softly. "Yes... but now, there are no dragons left in the world. Sturdy castles have also lost their true natural enemy."
Hearing this, Euron blinked cunningly. He lowered his head and laughed in her ear with a tone akin to sharing a secret. "Who says? Dragon eggs still circulate in the world. When I traveled across the Narrow Sea, by a stroke of luck, I bought two."
Ashara looked up, laughter and a hint of reproach for his whimsicality in her eyes. "I've heard those rumors too. But everyone says those are dead eggs, turned to stone over too many years, never to hatch again. Your gold dragons were swindled."
"Yes," Euron's tone was relaxed but meaningful. "Most people think so. But... who can say for sure?" His gaze cast into the distance, as if staring at some possibility of the future.
Ashara followed his gaze, speaking rationally. "Even if... even if dragons could really break out of their shells, they need dragonriders. Ancient bloodlines are the key; only the blood of the true dragon can control them, just like... like Prince Rhaegar." Her voice carried awe for ancient legends and the power of bloodlines.
Dragons, such magical and terrifying creatures, made them both fall silent in unison, imagining their massive figures and terrifying pressure in their minds.
Euron thought: If my Conqueror's Haki reaches the top level, could I make a dragon submit to me? Or... make it faint and fall from the sky...?
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