Red Keep – Throne Room
"Let him in!"
King Robert's voice carried clear irritation at being interrupted, but even more curiosity about the drama about to unfold.
He wanted to see how this fiery "Golden Crab" who had just been so bold would handle the claws coming out from his own family.
The heavy oak doors opened once again.
Lord Adrian Celtigar of Claw Isle marched into the throne room with his two eldest sons, Cressen and Bathimos, trailing behind him like an angry storm.
The old lord's face was dark as thunder. Years of sea wind had left his skin rough and leathery, but right now it was twisted with barely contained fury.
His two sons had inherited the same tough, wiry Celtigar build. They flanked their father, shooting Pierce looks full of open hostility and disdain.
The three of them barely spared Pierce a glance as he stood in the center of the hall. Their eyes were as cold as the Narrow Sea in winter.
Everyone present was no fool. It took them all of two seconds to realize there was serious bad blood between the third son and the rest of House Celtigar.
After a stiff, collective bow toward the Iron Throne, Robert spoke impatiently.
"Adrian Celtigar! You should be back on your rock counting gold dragons. What the hell brings you to my hall?"
Robert had heard through the grapevine (and his visits to Silk Street) that the Celtigars had arrived in King's Landing. The thought that his potential gold might be in jeopardy already had the fat king in a foul mood.
"Your Grace!"
Adrian's voice came out hoarse with rage. "Forgive my intrusion, but I must expose this traitor for what he truly is! Pierce Celtigar is a thief! A parasite who betrayed his own family's trust!"
He thrust a trembling finger at Pierce.
"The one million gold dragons he promised the crown, and all that so-called 'wealth he earned himself'—every last coin was stolen from House Celtigar!"
Adrian's face twisted dramatically, as if he were mourning a dead wife. He took a shaky breath and continued.
"Without House Celtigar's upbringing and support, how could he possibly be standing here today? He has no right to that fortune, and no right to use it to buy himself a lordship! I beg you, great King Robert—do not grant this vile creature any lands!"
The accusation hit the room like a boulder dropped into still water. Low murmurs broke out everywhere.
All eyes turned to Pierce, waiting to see how he would respond to this deadly strike from his own blood.
Stannis Baratheon watched the ranting bannerman with a stone face, his opinion of the man dropping through the floor. He knew a bit about the Celtigar situation and was already considering whether he should step in to defend Pierce.
After all, since returning to the Seven Kingdoms, Pierce had been staying at Dragonstone's port and had done Stannis a significant favor.
But just as Stannis opened his mouth, he froze.
There wasn't a trace of panic on Pierce's face. Instead, the young man wore a cold smile laced with mockery and something almost like pity.
He turned to face his father, voice clear, steady, and chillingly calm.
"Your Grace! My 'dear' father, and all you lords and ladies—I reject these accusations completely."
Pierce's tone was ironclad. There was zero sorrow in his voice over his family's betrayal.
"Because accusations require evidence!" His lips curled with clear disdain, as if watching a jester's pathetic performance. "So please, respected Lord Celtigar—tell everyone here exactly what wealth I, Pierce Celtigar, supposedly stole from House Celtigar?"
He took one step forward, eyes burning straight into his father's shifting gaze.
"Was it the highly efficient salt-drying method I perfected on Claw Isle? I remember handing the complete technique over to the family. In exchange, you promised me the unused Valyrian steel axe sitting in the vault—'Bloodstorm.'"
Only now did the court realize why House Celtigar's wealth and industries had grown so dramatically in recent years.
"Will any lord here judge fairly? Trading a method that doubled our salt profits for one weapon that no one in the family could even wield—is that theft?"
Lord Adrian's cheek twitched. He tried to speak, but Pierce steamrolled right over him.
"Or perhaps you mean the glassmaking techniques and greenhouse blueprints I designed for the family? I remember the house calling the investment too risky and too expensive. I agreed to personally cover every research and craftsman cost upfront—and I succeeded."
"The crystal gardens on Claw Isle were your design?" Renly Baratheon blurted out, genuinely shocked. "I thought the heir was the one behind that project… tsk tsk."
Renly shot a contemptuous look at Cressen Celtigar, whose face had gone deathly pale.
"I… I didn't…" Cressen stammered weakly, but quickly realized he had nothing to say.
He could only glare hatefully at his brilliant younger brother, furious that those ideas had never come to him.
Pierce didn't even bother acknowledging his useless older brother. In his eyes, the man wasn't even worth the dirt under his boots.
"Furthermore, the family never paid me what we agreed upon. They only gave me thirty percent of the profits. The gold I earned with my own knowledge and investment—when exactly did that become the family's 'inherent wealth'?"
"Or maybe you're talking about the new perfumes that are all the rage now among the nobles of King's Landing and Oldtown? Those were my own research while I served as a squire in Oldtown. I studied ancient texts and ran the experiments myself. The moment I perfected the formulas, I handed them straight to the family in exchange for gold to cover my daily expenses!"
"What?" Jon Arryn's mouth fell slightly open. "You had to pay for your own expenses inside your own family?"
The Hand of the King was hearing this for the first time and was genuinely stunned at how poorly Pierce had been treated.
Pierce gave a low, bitter chuckle.
"Because I carry Velaryon blood in my veins."
The words were icy cold, and everyone understood there was much more left unsaid.
"Lady Catelyn Velaryon was your mother?" Jon Arryn asked, suddenly connecting the dots.
He remembered that the woman was the aunt of the current Lord of Driftmark and was rumored to have outlived two husbands. She had been somewhat older than Adrian.
Several people in the hall were privately thinking the same thing about the despicable lord of Claw Isle.
"Everything between me and House Celtigar was pure business. The family handled production and sales. I took a commission. Every single gold dragon can be accounted for. Where is the theft?"
Pierce's voice rose, heavy with long-suppressed anger.
"Even the cost of me serving as squire under Ser Baelor Hightower in Oldtown—I paid for that myself…"
By now, House Celtigar's reputation had sunk to the level of a Silk Street whore.
"Father, was your old friendship with Ser Baelor from the Stepstones really worth less than three hundred gold dragons a year? I already know the truth—Ser Baelor waived all my fees!"
"What?!"
Adrian stared at Pierce in shock, his face cycling through shades of red and white, breathing ragged.
"Yet you still deducted that gold from me. The family didn't even provide me with a single proper attendant!"
Pierce swept his gaze across the hall, taking in the varying expressions of the lords and council members before finally settling on King Robert and Jon Arryn. His voice grew heavy and solemn.
"Your Grace, Lord Hand—everything I possess, except for the surname 'Celtigar' that I had no choice in, I earned with my own knowledge, sweat, and blood spilled on the knife's edge in Essos."
Jon Arryn's face showed clear emotion. For a moment he saw the young Robert Baratheon standing before him.
"I have never denied that the family gave me an initial platform. But what I gave back far exceeded what I received. And now my father and brothers want to brand me a 'thief' simply because I wish to use the wealth I rightfully earned to serve the realm and build my own future… Is this truly how House Celtigar rewards those who contribute?"
Pierce's logical, detailed, and powerful rebuttal left Lord Adrian and his two sons red-faced and speechless. They stammered but couldn't produce a single piece of real evidence to counter him.
They had rushed to King's Landing the moment they heard the news, yet somehow forgot that the family's current prosperity had all been built on the back of this unwanted third son.
Littlefinger's face had turned ugly. Petyr Baelish was quietly regretting acting without doing proper research first.
Stannis Baratheon, who had stayed silent, showed rare emotion on his stony face. He pressed his lips together and gave Pierce a small, approving nod.
Renly actually chuckled out loud, speaking loud enough for those nearby to hear:
"It seems our 'Golden Crab' young lord isn't just capable of crushing Dothraki on the battlefield—he's equally impressive when it comes to territory development and management."
Even Jon Arryn, who had initially opposed the idea, had softened considerably. He valued honor, but he valued truth and justice more. Pierce's defense had clearly won his respect—and sparked a seed of admiration.
King Robert had finally run out of patience with the entire farce.
He let out a loud snort, his powerful voice booming through the hall.
"Enough! Adrian, your son has proven his money is clean. Are we supposed to make every lord who wants to serve the realm drag out his family account books first?"
The fat king radiated authority as he glared hard at Lord Celtigar.
"Looks like you never learned how to be a decent father. Pierce Celtigar here is a damn fine young man—capable, brave, and loyal to the crown!"
He gave no one else room to object and declared in a tone that allowed no argument:
"I have decided! In the name of the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm—"
After nodding to Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Robert received the ceremonial sword he hadn't used in years.
Pierce knelt smoothly on one knee, ready to receive the honor.
"I, Robert Baratheon, First of My Name, hereby grant Pierce Celtigar the lordship of Crackclaw Point, effective immediately! The land is yours! Remember your promise, Golden Crab. Guard my northeastern gate well!"
The king's verdict fell like a final hammer.
Lord Adrian and his sons turned deathly white. They shot Pierce one last venomous glare, but under the king's unyielding stare they could only bow stiffly and slink out of the throne room in defeat.
Pierce Celtigar—the newly minted Lord of Crackclaw Point—bowed deeply toward the Iron Throne, carefully hiding the cold, satisfied smile that finally broke across his lips.
His true journey had only just begun.