On the map of Westeros, when it cos to wealth and power, no one surpasses the Lannisters.
Their sigil is a golden lion roaring proudly on a crimson field, and their house words "Hear Roar!" are solemn and powerful.
However, more well-known and feared throughout the Seven Kingdoms is their unofficial motto, not carved on their crest: "A Lannister Always Pays His Debts." The promise and threat contained in this simple sentence far exceed their official words in fa. It represents an unquestionable fulfillnt: whether a debt of gratitude or a grudge.
Tywin Lannister might have many enemies, and his nature might be cold to the point of harshness, but he never lacks two things: unmatched gold, and the ruthless efficiency to use that gold to achieve his ends. He is never stingy with spending, especially when he intends to display family strength, win over, or deter parties through grand occasions.
Therefore, this grand gathering personally organized by him, bringing together almost all the dignitaries of Westeros, reached a jaw-dropping level of luxury.
Century-old golden Arbor wine was supplied unlimitedly like common ale. Tables were piled with rare delicacies from all over the world: from Dorne's spicy dragon peppers and Riverlands' fat trout to spices and candied fruits from the far East across the ocean. Even the serving girls shuttling among guests, delivering delicacies and wine, were carefully selected. Dressed in uniform attire, each beautiful and elegant, they themselves beca a flowing, pleasing scenery in this feast of power, silently speaking of House Lannister's bottomless financial power and ultimate control over details.
What Tywin Lannister initially plotted was the closest marriage alliance with the Iron Throne—marrying his daughter Cersei Lannister to Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, thereby thoroughly binding the bloodline of Casterly Rock with the True Dragon Dynasty.
However, at a banquet carefully organized by Tywin in King's Landing, after eating and drinking his fill, the Mad King Aerys flatly rejected this proposal in an extrely contemptuous and humiliating manner in front of the entire court, then announced the news of a marriage alliance with Dorne.
This public slap in the face caused the Lion and Dragon houses, already cracking due to suspicion and jealousy, to break completely.
At this mont, Tywin sat upright in the seat of honor. No ripple could be seen on his usually stone-cold face, but everyone knew that humiliation must be burning like lava in his heart.
Now, he turned his gaze to other top nobles of Westeros, seeking valuable marriage partners for his heir Jai and daughter Cersei to weave a new network of power.
Beside him, young lords who would shake the foundation of the dynasty in the future were chatting happily with him: the representative of the North, father of Brandon and Eddard, Rickard Stark; the representative of the Vale, Lord Jon Arryn; Quellon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands; Lord Hoster Tully of the Riverlands and his children; and the young lord of the Stormlands who already showed a bear-like physique and heroic spirit—Robert Baratheon.
They surrounded Tywin, their conversations low and continuous. Every smile and every nod could concern the future ownership of a river, a valley, or an ocean.
Euron Greyjoy stood a little further down, calmly observing the scene on the high platform. Suddenly, a cold and clear thought flashed through his mind like lightning, making him almost hold his breath: Eh? Those sitting up there chatting enthusiastically with Tywin... aren't they precisely the core leaders of the future "Usurper's War" that will sweep the Seven Kingdoms and overthrow the Targaryen dynasty?
In this mont, the luxurious banquet before him seed to lose its luster, revealing the turbulent historical undercurrents beneath. He felt as if he were standing before the loom of fate, witnessing those crucial threads being quietly twisted together in Tywin Lannister's hall.
The atmosphere of the banquet was in full swing; lodious music flowed through the brilliant hall. Suddenly, Ser Arthur Dayne crossed the crowd and ca to Euron. Beside him was a graceful, demure woman with violet eyes similar to Arthur's, deep and moving as a starry night.
"Euron Greyjoy," Arthur's voice was steady and solemn, "allow to introduce my sister, Ashara Dayne."
Euron was slightly stunned but quickly recovered his usual composure. He bowed elegantly to Ashara, extending his hand in invitation: "It is my honor. Lady Ashara, may I have the honor of asking you for a dance?"
A faint blush instantly dyed Ashara's cheeks. She shyly placed her hand lightly in Euron's and nodded. They stepped onto the dance floor. Euron's steps were unexpectedly fluid and precise, leading Ashara to spin in the lody. When the song ended, the blush on Ashara's face deepened. After whispering thanks, she quickly returned to her brother like a startled deer. After whispering a few sentences, Ashara Dayne ran away shyly.
Euron looked at Arthur Dayne, tone carrying a bit of self-mocking bitterness: "Ser Arthur, you should know very well I am only the second son of the Iron Islands. If you truly marry your sister, the pearl of Starfall, to , it would be too much of an injustice to her."
Arthur Dayne shook his head, his gaze sharp and sincere, as if seeing through appearances: "No, you are a piece of uncut jade not yet fully discovered by the world. They despise you only because of your origin and age, but they haven't seen your true brilliance."
"Or do you look down on my sister?" Arthur Dayne's tone was calm but carried an unavoidable sharpness.
Euron imdiately shook his head, his answer sincere and cautious: "No, absolutely not. Lady Ashara is like a pearl fallen from the stars—beautiful, gentle, with extraordinary temperant. Marrying her would be the greatest honor for any man, and I am no exception." He changed the subject, tone becoming more pragmatic, "Only, marriage is a major event; ultimately, mutual affection is best. Moreover, for such an important decision, my father Lord Quellon also needs..."
A trace of understanding flashed in Arthur Dayne's deep violet eyes. He reached out, patting Euron's shoulder firmly and solemnly, interrupting him: "I understand." His voice lowered, revealing deep affection for his sister. "Our parents passed early. Ashara is my beloved kin, raised by my own hand. In such matters, I must also respect Ashara's own wishes. And my only hope is not to find her the husband with the highest status, but one she truly loves, and who will love her deeply in return."
These words transcended the cold calculations of usual noble marriages, revealing the warmth and principles deep within this legendary knight's heart. They raised their cups and drank a toast, everything understood without words.
Just then, a burst of heroic, loud laughter interrupted the mont of tranquility. The heir to the Stormlands, Robert Baratheon, rushed over like a whirlwind of joy, his bear-strong arm wrapping around Arthur Dayne's shoulder.
"Ser Arthur! First Sword of Westeros! Paragon of true knights!" Robert's voice resounded all around, full of pure enthusiasm and belligerence. "Don't just drink and chat; co, co, co! Let's go to the courtyard outside and spar! Let see just how formidable the 'Sword of the Morning' is!"
Brooking no refusal, he laughed loudly and half-pushed, half-pulled the sowhat helpless Arthur Dayne away from Euron, leaving Euron standing alone. Robert Baratheon seed to have completely ignored Euron standing beside the "Sword of the Morning."
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