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When the clamor of the wedding finally settled and the vows and wine cups were put away, Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Gerold Hightower set out once more.
They didn't say goodbye to Euron or Ashara. Instead, they chose to slip away under the cover of darkness.
Their destination lay far to the north—the massive Wall of ice that spanned the edge of the known world.
There, they would shed their past glories and burdens, donning the black cloaks of the Night's Watch. In that land of ice and snow, so rarely sung about in the south, they sought their final resting place as knights, finding a new way to guard the realm.
When Ashara discovered her brother was gone the next morning, tears welled in her eyes. Euron comforted her, saying, "The Wall... I've always wanted to see it myself. When winter passes, we'll go visit him. I doubt it will be long before we meet again." Only then did Ashara smile once more.
---
The revelry of the wedding was like a summer storm in Dorne—intense but brief.
Although the hospitality of Sunspear was warm enough to melt the hardest reef, the Greyjoys were the masters of the Iron Islands; they could not drop anchor in these foreign sands forever.
During his stay in Sunspear, Euron found moments every day to slip away to a quiet residence in the city. There, Elia Martell and their young son, Caesar, lived in peace.
Little Caesar was already toddling, babbling vague sounds like "Pa... Pa..." He was a sturdy boy, his limbs filled with that rubbery resilience unique to children. His eyes were clear and bright, like the cleanest sky after a Dornish rain—lively and adorable. Euron often lay casually on a cushioned divan, resting his head on Elia's soft, warm lap, lifting his giggling son high above his head, or letting the boy's tiny fingers scratch curiously at his weather-beaten face.
In those moments, the air was filled with a simple, domestic warmth.
But beneath this quiet joy lay a cold reality. Elia's identity—the former wife of Prince Rhaegar, divorced yet still effectively a Princess of Dorne and a key member of House Martell—meant she could not sail away into the sunset with Euron like Ashara. She could not stand in the light as the Lady of the Iron Islands. She and Caesar had to remain under the protection of Dorne. Their very existence was a secret that had to be guarded with the utmost caution.
---
Three days later, at dawn, before the sun had fully ignited the dunes, Euron and his party were ready to depart.
On the docks, Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn came to see them off personally. Doran gifted Euron an exquisite hourglass filled with slow-flowing red sand, symbolizing that "time in Dorne always slows down for friends." Ashara, Arianne, and the other sisters embraced tightly, exchanging whispers and laughter in a final, private farewell among women.
Euron and Ashara stepped onto the deck of the Grey King's Wrath. She still wore her light Dornish silks, but a heavy, Ironborn-style cloak now draped over her shoulders to ward off the coming sea breeze. In her arms, she held little Daeron, bundled up tight with only his confused little face peeking out.
Before leaving, Euron had planted a deep kiss on Caesar's forehead. The look he exchanged with Elia held too many unspoken promises and helpless realities. Now, as the ship pulled away, Euron looked up to a distant tower. He saw them—Elia holding Caesar, watching him leave in silence. He raised his hand and waved.
Lord Quellon and the Ironborn kin were already aboard. The golden kraken banners unfurled in the morning wind, snapping as they filled with air.
With a command from Lord Quellon, the fleet slowly drifted out of the Sunspear harbor. Standing at the stern, Ashara looked back at the palace built of mudbrick and dreams, shrinking in her vision, and the burning red earth where she had grown up. She gently clutched a necklace shaped like a falling star against her chest—a keepsake Arthur had left her before he vanished. They had only just parted, but she was already worrying about her brother's future, wondering if he could endure the bitter cold of the Wall.
The prow sliced through the emerald green water, turning north.
The sea wind slammed into them, heavy with salt. Euron and Ashara stood side by side on the high forecastle, gazing at the waters ahead where ink-blue met grey. Ashara held the sleeping Daeron, staring silently at the strange ocean that was to be her new home. A trace of anxiety, hard to detect, lingered between her brows.
Euron caught the unease immediately. He reached out, his broad, calloused hand resting gently on her thin shoulder—steady and warm.
"The Iron Islands aren't just cold rocks and endless storms, as the stories say," Euron's voice wasn't loud, but it cut clearly through the wind. "There are magnificent coasts carved by the waves, and quiet bays that shimmer with silver under the moonlight. You will see a different kind of majestic beauty, far from the burning sun of Dorne."
Ashara turned her head, meeting his insightful gaze. A faint smile touched her lips as she shook her head. "I don't fear a hard life, Euron. A daughter of Dorne can make flowers bloom in gravel." She paused, and her voice took on a note of genuine apprehension. "What worries me is... as your wife, a woman from Dorne with the water of the Greenblood in her veins... will the Ironborn truly accept me?"
Hearing this, Euron let out a low, magnetic chuckle. The sound mixed the wildness of the sea breeze with an ironclad resolve. He leaned down, bringing his lips close to her ear. His tone was half-joking, half-oath.
"Accept?" He repeated the word as if tasting an amusing concept. "The wife chosen by Euron Greyjoy does not require the 'acceptance' of others."
His gaze swept over the busy Ironborn crew on the deck. As his eyes passed over them, every man straightened his spine instinctively.
"If anyone dares to whisper half a word of 'no'," his voice remained smiling, but his eyes sharpened like daggers, his fingers subconsciously brushing the hilts of his twin blades, "let them ask my swords if they agree."
This almost barbaric declaration strangely dispelled the gloom in Ashara's heart. She finally laughed comfortably, a smile like Dornish sunlight piercing the Northern clouds. She leaned her head gently against his chest, solid as a reef. The sound of his powerful heartbeat mixed with the crashing waves, bringing her a sense of warmth and peace she had never known.
---
The massive flagship was carrying more souls than it had arrived with.
On the eve of the fleet's departure, Euron had made a special request to Prince Doran Martell: to release hundreds of criminals from the dungeons of Sunspear and its vassal holdfasts. His fleet would transport this "human cargo" to the Wall to bolster the Night's Watch.
When Prince Doran heard this, his deep eyes lingered on Euron's face for a moment. He asked for no details, simply agreeing with an open hand. "It serves the realm to strengthen the border, offers a path of redemption for these sinners, and cleans out Dorne's cells. Three birds with one stone. I have no reason to refuse."
In truth, the Night's Watch sent pleas for men every year, drifting like snow to every castle in the Seven Kingdoms. But Dorne lay at the southernmost tip of the continent, thousands of miles from the Wall. The journey was long and treacherous.
Wandering Crows rarely set foot on these burning sands to recruit, and Dorne was naturally unwilling to spend vast sums of gold and manpower to march a group of criminals halfway across the world. It was a losing trade that no one usually bothered with.
But now, Euron Greyjoy's fleet was heading north, solving the logistical nightmare.
As the fleet left Sunspear, the hold contained a special batch of "passengers" alongside the Greyjoy warriors. Shackled and grim, they would endure the long voyage to land at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. There, they would take the black, spending the rest of their lives guarding the realm in a world of ice to atone for their crimes.
For Doran, it was a favor that cost him nothing; for Euron, it was an investment in the future—he had always intended to build good relations with the Wall, and this was a perfect start. For the Night's Watch, it was unexpected rain after a long drought.
Tyrion Lannister was also on board.
The Lannister dwarf had not returned to the Westerlands with his family. Instead, he chose to board Euron's flagship.
Tyrion had always preferred the company of those with superior intellect and broad horizons. In their interactions, Euron Greyjoy was one of the few who didn't look down on him for his stature, but rather appreciated his sharp mind. More importantly, Tyrion harbored a burning desire—to experience sailing the true open ocean on a warship of this magnitude.
"I've heard enough stories about the land," Tyrion told those who questioned his choice. "Now, I want to hear what the waves have to say."
Euron, in turn, needed a brain like Tyrion's. He was already plotting trade routes across the Narrow Sea and to lands even further away, as well as how to deal with financial institutions like the Iron Bank of Braavos. These complex schemes were beyond the grasp of ordinary warriors. What he valued was the precocious wisdom Tyrion displayed in finance, management, and the game of power—wisdom far beyond his years.
And so, an exile seeking knowledge and experience, and a Pirate King in need of a master of coin, formed a temporary alliance on this voyage north.
As the sails of the Grey King's Wrath filled with wind, Tyrion stood by the gunwale, watching the coastline of Dorne recede. He felt a freedom he had never known before, and at the same time, he vaguely realized that Euron's discussions about "banking matters" were going to be far more than just idle chatter.