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As Euron's merchant ship drifted toward the pier of black rock, the rulers of New Ghis were waiting in full force. They didn't greet him with humility, but with a silent, orchestrated display of deterrence.
The six Masters were draped in the flamboyant traditional robes of New Ghis—garments woven from the most expensive Tyroshi crimson silk, gold thread from Lys, and peacock feathers from the Summer Isles. Against the desolate gray-white background of the island, they burned as bright as fresh blood and gems on a pile of coal. Gold and silver threads embroidered intricate Ghiscari sigils across their chests, every stitch screaming power and wealth.
But far more oppressive than their finery was the wall of steel and flesh arrayed before them.
The front line was the War Elephant Corps. Massive beasts clad in bronze and wrought iron plate armor stood like moving mountains. Their sheer bulk cast shadows deep enough to swallow the sunlight. Their legs were thick as stone pillars, and their trunks occasionally twitched with unease, creating a dull whoosh as they cut the air. In the howdahs upon their backs, warriors armed with long spears and bows looked down with cold eyes, ready to unleash a rain of death at a moment's notice.
Behind the elephants stood the Iron Legions, solemn as a cliff face.
The soldiers wore uniform, polished black iron armor. Under their helmets were expressionless faces marked deeply by Ghiscari blood. Their halberds stood like a forest of metal, reflecting dangerous glints in the hot air, ready to tear any invader apart. The formation was dead silent, save for the faint, cold rasp of metal scales shifting in the sea breeze.
Behind the Masters, obedient servants held aloft massive banners of the Harpy.
The Harpy's claws and fangs were bared on the faded red cloth. Countless flags snapped in the wind like a flock of insatiable ghosts hovering over carrion, proclaiming the ancient and cruel laws of this land.
The rough stone pier was ignited by a slash of red—a heavy crimson carpet unrolled from the depths of the pier all the way to Euron's feet. In this fortress of black, white, and gray, that red was jarring, ostentatious, and almost provocatively luxurious. It looked like a river of blood flowing to welcome him.
Euron Greyjoy did not step onto the red carpet alone. By his side, inseparable as a shadow, was Alicia. She didn't lag behind but walked shoulder to shoulder with him, her hand resting naturally on his arm—a gesture that was both intimate and supportive.
Alicia's presence instantly seized attention. Though she rarely attended such events filled with hypocritical etiquette and gaudy robes, the aura of the Warrior Queen was blinding.
She wore none of the dazzling silks of the Ghiscari Masters. Instead, she was clad in a fitted, deep gray hunting outfit, leather and ringmail outlining a figure honed by battle. Her long hair fell simply behind her back, revealing a smooth forehead and eyes as sharp as a hawk's. There was no unease or fawning in her, only the calm of someone baptized by iron and fire. She walked beside Euron with steady steps and a straight spine—not the grace of a noble lady, but the composure of a field commander rooted in strength.
Euron had not known about this grand reception. But he wasn't surprised. He stepped onto the red carpet calmly, without breaking stride. This was simply the treatment he deserved.
The moment that elevated this welcome from mundane to eerie occurred as he passed the elephant herd.
Those bronze-clad mountains, draped in colorful silks, were terrifying beasts of war. But just as Euron approached, the lead elephant let out a low, almost whimpering rumble. Then, its massive front legs, thick as pillars, suddenly bent—
Its front knees crashed to the ground.
Like toppling dominoes, the second, the third... the entire row of war elephants followed suit, assuming a posture of submission. Heavy knees slammed into the stone with heart-stopping thuds. Simultaneously, they raised their thick trunks high, pointing straight to the sky like a ceremonial salute to a god.
A trumpet call, mixed with awe and wildness, tore through the air of the harbor—an ancient, barbaric hymn.
This was the highest honor New Ghis could offer a guest, and simultaneously a demonstration that they had absolute control over these beasts.
Euron Greyjoy and Alicia passed through the imposing wall of elephants and iron soldiers, stepping onto the platform at the end of the pier. There, the six Masters in their resplendent robes stood solemnly before a massive statue of the Harpy, awaiting their arrival.
The statue was ten feet tall, carved from a single block of obsidian, the same material as the island's foundation. The polished stone refracted an unsettling dark light under the blazing sun. The Harpy's spread wings seemed ready to blot out the sky, and the expression on her female face was cold and arrogant, carrying the imperious majesty of the Old Empire looking down on lesser beings.
Euron stopped before the Masters, his gaze sweeping over them calmly.
Without a word, the six rulers of New Ghis moved as one, as if they had rehearsed this a thousand times. They placed their right fists over their hearts and bowed deeply—the ancient Ghiscari salute, a gesture from the height of the Empire.
Once the bow was complete, the lead Master, Hizdahr zo Loraq, stepped forward. His voice was steady. "Great Lord of Sea Monsters, Euron Greyjoy. New Ghis welcomes your arrival. Please, follow me."
As the representative, he guided Euron and Alicia to a ceremonial altar built specially by the harbor.
This temporary altar was also built of rough obsidian, topped by a smaller Harpy statue identical to the colossus behind it—a projection of their vast power.
A priest in black robes, his face covered by a golden Harpy mask, emerged like a ghost from the shadows. He approached the altar silently, holding an archaic bronze goblet in both hands. The cup was filled with a liquid thick as blood, gleaming with a dark red sheen in the sunlight.
The priest offered the cup to Euron. His voice, distorted by the metal mask, sounded hollow and solemn:
"Drink this blood wine. In the name of salt, blood, and ancient oaths, you shall become the most honored friend of New Ghis. Our ports and markets shall be open to you."
The air seemed to freeze. All eyes focused on that cup. It was an ancient ritual, a bridge of trust.
If the guest accepted this "friendship," he had to drink. The act symbolized the outsider voluntarily integrating into New Ghis's deep-rooted system of power and faith, acknowledging the constraints of its rules.
Euron didn't hesitate. He took the cup and drained it in one gulp.
---
As the welcome speech faded into the solemn air, the time for gifts arrived. The lead Masters stepped forward one by one, their words and postures carefully calculated.
Master Max mo Kandaq nodded slightly, his voice booming with ceremonial weight. "Welcome, honored guest from the Iron Islands, Lord Euron who makes the four seas tremble. Your arrival brings new luster to this ancient port."
Master Hizdahr zo Loraq stepped forward, his demeanor more composed and reserved, representing the will of the entire city-state. "On behalf of New Ghis, we welcome you! May the memory and friendship of this land leave a deep impression on you."
The obese Master Reznak mo Reznak wore a perfectly plastered smile. He clapped his hands lightly, signaling servants to bring forward a gift box. His voice was oily. "As a token of our respect, please allow us to present a small gift. A token of New Ghis's regard, which we hope will not disappoint you."
Euron Greyjoy's single eye swept over these well-dressed rulers, and he responded in a low voice, "Thank you for your grand hospitality."
Then, the gift personally presented by Hizdahr zo Loraq was revealed. Its value immediately demonstrated New Ghis's sincerity and deep pockets.
First to catch the eye was a longsword resting on black velvet. The blade was slender, featuring a dark, rippled texture like water—steel that could only be forged in the volcanoes and magic of Valyria.
"This sword is forged of true Valyrian steel," Hizdahr's voice carried the solemnity of unveiling a treasure. "Light as a feather, sharp beyond compare, and never to rust or dull. It is the gift a warrior desires most. Only the truly strong are fit to possess and wield it."
This was not just a weapon; it was a symbol of status, a legendary item any lord or king would dream of owning.
Then, a second "gift" was silently presented.
From the other side of the pier, a group of slaves was brought forward. They were distinct from ordinary slaves: skin the color of fine amber, features delicate and refined. Most strikingly, every one of them possessed golden curly hair and amber eyes.
"These are over three hundred slaves from the Isle of Naath," Hizdahr said calmly. "They are renowned for their beauty, gentleness, and artistic talent—favored bedwarmers, musicians, and attendants of lords across the Free Cities. Since Lord Euron is now the Protector of Naath, their fate belongs to you. We of New Ghis promise never to purchase Naathi as slaves through any channel again."
This "gift" truly surprised Euron.
He had expected gold, gems, perhaps even a warship. He had not expected living people with the blood of Naath.
Hizdahr zo Loraq was indeed clever. He had bypassed vulgar treasures and touched directly upon the deeper desire of a ruler—not to be flattered, but to be deeply understood and respected. He knew how to truly "please" an entity like Euron: not by piling up material wealth, but by feeding him precise symbolic significance.
Of all the heavy gifts presented, those Naathi with their golden curls and amber eyes brought Euron the most genuine pleasure of respect.
What this gift represented was an acknowledgment of Euron as the Lord of Naath.
"Master Hizdahr," Euron's voice was loud enough for everyone around to hear clearly. "In my eyes, they themselves are not gifts."
"They are a bridge! A token! They represent the unbreakable friendship just forged between us!" Euron chuckled lightly. "On their behalf, I thank you for your mercy! Thank you for saving them from a fate of wandering and bringing them to the wider world of the Iron Islands!"
Hizdahr zo Loraq bowed slightly, his response proper and humble. "The honor is ours, Lord Euron. May this 'friendship' be like the bronze of Old Valyria—enduring and ever-new."