Crackclaw Point – Mountain path near Brown Hollow
Pierce's army moved like a steel python winding through the rugged roads of Crackclaw Point. In this era, without local guides, any force would have gotten hopelessly lost in these wild hills.
Pierce had no such problem. Between Rosco Blount and the detailed maps he'd made, plus the compasses some scout captains carried, they stayed right on track.
His compass business was famous across Essos. The big merchants in Myr were drooling over it. If the Rising Tide didn't have such deep power, they would've been eaten alive already.
As the column snaked through the dangerous pass at Brown Hollow, countless eyes watched from the shadowed woods and rocks on both sides.
High up on a hidden ledge, "Stonebreaker" Castor Blount lay behind a massive boulder, thick fingers digging into the cold stone until his knuckles turned white.
Dozens of his best warriors crouched behind him, holding their breath as they stared down at the heavily armed force below. Their eyes mixed greed, fear, and bitter frustration.
"Chief, we're really just gonna watch them pass?" a young warrior whispered, eyes locked on the long supply wagons loaded with grain, tools, and mysterious cargo. "That's a fat fucking sheep! The rear guards look light!"
A few others shifted restlessly. They'd lived by raiding their whole lives. Watching this much wealth roll through their territory without striking was pure torture.
Castor whipped his head around and glared. "Fat sheep? You dumbass! Open your fucking eyes—that's a bull wearing sheepskin!"
He pointed down at the disciplined column and broke it down, voice thick with dread:
"See those longbowmen and crossbowmen? At least three hundred. They don't even need to get close—one volley and we're all porcupines pinned to the rocks."
"Look at the infantry—chainmail and plate mixed, a hundred strong. They move like a walking iron wall. Our axes would be lucky to leave a scratch."
"And the worst part? Those hundred cavalry!" Castor's voice dropped with real despair. "Down in that valley they can charge us flat. We'd never make it back into the trees."
The young warrior muttered, "We could hit their tail, grab what we can and run…"
"Run?" Castor almost laughed. He pointed at several mule-drawn wagons covered in oilcloth in the middle of the column. "You know what those are? Ballistae. Ten of them. Those things fire spears that can nail a man and his shield to the mountainside like fucking fish on a stick. You think height saves you? Against those, we might as well be standing in an open field!"
He looked around at his uneasy men and said bitterly, "The entire Brown Hollow Blounts—every man who can swing a weapon—only numbers five hundred. Attacking this army isn't hunting. It's suicide."
Brown Hollow might be mid-tier on Crackclaw Point, but their maze-like mountains let them survive by collecting tolls and raiding.
After Castor's words sank in, the men fell silent. Only heavy breathing remained in the woods.
Cold reality had killed their greedy dreams.
"Chief… then what the hell do we do?" an older warrior asked helplessly.
Castor stared at the seemingly endless column and the huge golden crab banner snapping in the wind. He stayed quiet for a long time.
Yeah… what now? Fighting meant death. But kneeling like Dagos Peake and becoming a hated traitor?
Little did he know that Dagos's traitor reputation was mostly his own doing—rumors he'd spread everywhere.
Were they really just supposed to wait like lambs for slaughter?
Castor's heart twisted. As chief, he had the whole clan to worry about. Attacking Dagos earlier had been a desperate gamble for their future.
"Forget it," he finally sighed. "We watch for now."
The future of House Blount of Brown Hollow disappeared into thick fog.
…
…
Crab Bay – Warsong Keep
Warsong Keep was less a castle and more a big, messy coastal settlement.
Crude wooden huts and tents clustered together, surrounded by a mediocre wooden palisade. A few crooked watchtowers leaned like drunkards.
The air stank of fish guts, sea salt, and rotting garbage.
Inside the largest longhouse at the center, the mood was thick enough to cut with a knife.
The top men of House Boggs and several smaller chiefs who lived off them or raided nearby waters were packed in, arguing loudly.
Sitting at the head was the current Boggs patriarch, "Old Fishspear" Hollan Boggs—an old man with gray hair and skin like tree bark from decades of sea wind. He held the family together through cunning and experience.
He banged the table. "Quiet down! The enemy isn't even here yet and we're already falling apart?"
"Quiet?" A tall, thin, mean-eyed man shot to his feet. "Raider" Quentin Hardy, leader of House Hardy, known for bold cruelty. "Celtigar's fleet is already sitting outside the bay! Three big ships packed with well-armed soldiers! Are we supposed to hide behind these shitty wooden walls like turtles and wait to die?"
"He's right!" another voice barked. "Shipbreaker" Wilmer, a small-time pirate captain with a nasty facial scar. "We know these waters. We know every rock! We should hit them first—burn their ships while they're still getting organized. At sea, we're the kings!"
"Bullshit!" a deep voice countered. "Iron Anchor" Togg, the Boggs man in charge of land defense, built like a barrel. "Their ships are bigger and better armed. Taking them on at sea is suicide! We use the palisade. They'll have to come by land and can't bring many men. Hold the walls and we win!"
"Hold the walls?" a sharp voice cut in. "Leech" Philip, a calculating middleman who handled fencing stolen goods and negotiations. "Have you forgotten what happened to Dagos Peake? That Pierce Celtigar is full of tricks. He won't fight fair—he's probably already planning how to tear us apart from the inside!"
"Philip, stop scaring everyone with that shit!" Quentin snapped. "Anyone who betrays us gets my axe first!"
"Blood and steel!" Wilmer roared, pumping his fist.
The meeting broke up ugly, full of shouting and suspicion. No real plan was made.
Old Hollan Boggs watched them leave and rubbed his tired eyes. He felt completely drained.
House Boggs looked strong on the outside, but inside it was fractured—pirates, fishermen, and land herders all pulling in different directions. True unity against an enemy? Nearly impossible.
That night, in a plain tent on the edge of Warsong Keep, "Raider" Quentin Hardy—the same man who'd shouted about fighting to the death earlier—was now nervously rubbing his hands as a dark figure slipped inside.
The shadow wore simple fisherman clothes, but his eyes were sharp and movements quick. He was one of Pierce's Rising Tide spies planted on Crackclaw Point—code name "Gray Shadow."
"Master Gray Shadow…" Quentin forced a flattering smile. "You… you came yourself? It's dangerous!"
Gray Shadow's voice was flat and calm, stating simple facts. "Chief Hardy, the master's main army will arrive soon. And Warsong Keep is about to get a new owner."
Quentin's face paled, but he kept smiling. "Y-yes… Lord Celtigar has a powerful force…"
Gray Shadow cut him off. "The master wants total submission and order across all of Crackclaw Point. Warsong Keep will become the lord's personal port. A real castle will rise here."
His tone sharpened as he stared hard at Quentin. "But the Point is huge. The lord needs loyal, capable men to help run this new territory. So tell me, Quentin—do you want to keep living as a hunted pirate who could get wiped out any day… or become a real lord with legal lands and a castle?"
Quentin's heart hammered.
Real lord… a castle… It was worlds away from his current life of hiding and constant danger.
He clenched his teeth, eyes fierce. "Gray Shadow, please tell Lord Celtigar that Quentin Hardy is ready to serve! What do you need me to do? Just say the word! Everything I said in the meeting today was just to keep those stubborn old fools Hollan and Togg off guard!"
He pulled out a heavy coin purse and pressed it into Gray Shadow's hand. "A small token. Please put in a good word with the lord. I'm not like those idiots!"
Gray Shadow pocketed the gold without expression. "Good. Your task is…"
Similar secret meetings played out over the following nights with several other ambitious mid-tier chiefs. Gray Shadow moved like a ghost through the chaotic settlement, carefully planting the seeds of division and betrayal.
Pierce's strategy was simple: make the water already muddy even murkier.
…
…
King's Landing – Silk Street, private room in Littlefinger's brothel
Petyr "Littlefinger" Baelish listened to his trusted bed-slave's report, fingers tapping the table lightly.
When he heard that Pierce wasn't just marching overland but had also sent a naval squadron to blockade the coast, those usually smiling eyes flashed with a rare hint of darkness.
"Land and sea at the same time… bold move," he murmured. "I thought his wealth was around two million gold dragons. Looks like it's far more. He's been hiding it deep."
Pierce's speed and hidden strength had exceeded Littlefinger's calculations. A powerful, uncontrolled neighbor this close to King's Landing was a serious threat.
He wouldn't allow anything to disrupt his carefully planned game to upend the power structure of Westeros.
He walked to his desk and quickly wrote two secret letters, sealing them with different stamps.
"One to Lady Lysa at the Eyrie. Remind her to keep an eye on this newly risen 'Golden Crab' lord. Perhaps… hint that he has ambitions on the Vale."
"The other," he paused, eyes turning cold, "to Vargo Hoat at Harrenhal. Tell that mercenary captain that Crackclaw Point might offer some 'profitable opportunities'—but he needs to move fast."
He would create problems for Pierce his own way—at the very least, force him to waste time and energy.
Almost at the same moment, in a hidden room inside the "Golden Tassel" jewelry shop on Silk Street, a woman in a golden hooded cloak that kept her face in shadow studied the beautifully carved ruby ring on her finger.
Her posture was straight and proud, her voice carrying natural arrogance and coldness.
"He's arrived?" she asked.
A servant answered respectfully. "Yes, my lady. Raven reports confirm Lord Pierce's main force has reached Crackclaw Point and will soon move against House Boggs at Warsong Keep."
"Hm." The woman gave a soft sound, as if everything was going exactly as expected.
"Send word to Maidenpool. Have our people offer 'appropriate' assistance—but stay hidden. Also… keep close watch on King's Landing, especially the Eight-Legged Spider and Littlefinger."
"Yes, my lady."
The servant bowed and slipped out silently.
The woman stood and walked to the window. Through a secret slit she gazed at the bustling yet filthy streets of King's Landing. A faint, almost invisible smile curved her lips.
"The tide… has already begun to rise…"
Two ravens carrying different schemes and calculations flew out from King's Landing in opposite directions.
The seeds of chaos had been planted long ago. They were already taking root, slowly growing into trees tall enough to cast shadows across the entire continent of Westeros.
Some people had already noticed.
Others still had no idea.