Crackclaw Point – Golden Port
The lord's temporary command tent was huge and airy. Thick canvas kept out most of the harbor racket, but nothing could block the nonstop hammering, shouted orders, or the endless crash of waves.
Inside, the setup was simple and practical. A big desk hammered together from rough timber took center stage, covered in maps, scrolls, ledgers, and stacks of reports.
Pierce sat behind it, fingers tapping the wood without thinking, eyes drifting through the open flap toward the frantic construction site on the eastern district delta.
The air smelled of sea salt, fresh-cut lumber, and a faint sulfur tang—the signature scent of black stone being processed.
Every gold dragon spent perfecting that strange Essosi technique had been worth it. Golden Port was changing by the day because of it.
From his seat he had a perfect view of everything: warehouses going up, docks expanding, even the foundations for the future walls—all moving at once.
Pierce knew the biggest bottlenecks in this era were money and manpower. Money was the one thing he never ran out of.
With enough coin, modern-level organization, and tech centuries ahead of its time, miracles could be stacked up brick by brick.
The tent flap lifted. Maester Ferren stepped in. The Braavosi scholar looked tired but wired with excitement.
"My lord," he said, laying a thick sheaf of parchment on the desk, "latest population census and influx report. As of yesterday we've got 31,321 registered souls in Golden Port and the surrounding villages and workshops."
Pierce flipped through it fast and nodded. "Decent pace, but nowhere near enough. Crackclaw's huge and empty. We need bodies to clear farmland, feed industry, and fill the ranks. Thirty thousand is just the starting line for a port that's going to own the Narrow Sea."
He looked up, violet eyes sharp. "Launch the immigration program. Draft ten different proclamations in my name—tailored for the Vale, the Riverlands, the Crownlands, and the Stormlands. Golden Port wants every hardworking man and woman. Thirty percent higher wages than anywhere else, three years tax-free on new land, skill certification, and real promotion tracks. Use every trick you can think of. I want the population doubled in six months."
Ferren scribbled notes like mad. When he heard the deadline he sucked in a sharp breath. "Double it in six months? My lord, the housing, food storage, and management pressure—"
"Those are your problems," Pierce cut in, calm but iron-hard. "I'll guarantee the gold and grain whenever you need them. Solve the logistics and the rewards will be more than generous."
Ferren bowed deep, equal parts overwhelmed and thrilled by the trust, then left with his new mission.
Pierce rubbed his temples and let his gaze drift back outside. Money flowing, people pouring in, order taking root… everything unfolding exactly as planned. The god-like rush of total control was addictive—like sitting at the obsidian table in the Gem Realm, moving the whole board.
A salty breeze slipped through the flap, carrying a faint, melodic hum. Pierce didn't turn. He already knew who it was.
Melanye—or rather, the Lady of the Waves now riding her body—glided in.
Her long silver-white hair glowed softly even in the dim tent light, clashing beautifully with her molten-gold eyes. Today she wore a flowing white gauze dress that moved like sea foam.
She walked straight to his desk without hesitation, plucked a perfect grape from the fruit bowl, and slipped it between her lips. The motion was elegant, yet carried that alien, otherworldly detachment.
Her golden eyes settled on him, full of divine pride… and just a hint of wanting approval.
"I've brought the Cayford people over," she said, voice echoing like waves in a cavern. "They're fools, but they're useful with certain sea beasts. A hundred left at Tearmark Lake will be plenty."
Pierce finally looked away from the construction and gave her an approving smile. "Well done. Your 'deep ones' have made Crab Bay richer than ever. We're pulling in fishermen by the boatload and solving part of the food problem. Though…"
His tone turned lightly teasing. "Could you tell them to ease up? No more midnight dances on the rocks or stealing salted fish and leaving wet footprints everywhere. The sailors are already spinning new 'Squidfoot' legends."
The perfect face of the Lady of the Waves showed a very human pout. "In the long dark ages, fear was the fastest way to make mortals remember and worship us. Those acts… were part of the ritual."
She softened, leaning closer with something almost needy. "But I don't need that anymore. You gave me a true statue and temple standing in the sunlight. I can openly receive prayers and offerings."
Pierce had copied the Braavosi model, reserving a central temple district where any faith could build shrines. It looked tolerant on the surface. In reality, it brought every religion under his control.
"Then," Pierce leaned back, watching the divine avatar settle onto his lap. His fingers trailed through her cool, silky white hair and down the curve of her spine, feeling the ancient power coiled beneath that perfect body. A hot surge of conquest and ownership flared inside him. "How do you plan to repay my… generosity, my lady?"
The Lady of the Waves' golden eyes shimmered. Instead of pulling away she pressed closer, arms sliding around his neck like water serpents. Her breath carried sea wind and deep-ocean kelp. "I thought our 'equivalent exchange' had already moved far beyond simple repayment, my lord…"
Her voice dripped with seduction, divine radiance and raw feminine allure blending perfectly.
But just as Pierce started to move, her gaze locked onto a plain black raven scroll on the corner of the desk.
The seductive look vanished. Extreme wariness and gravity took its place.
"Pierce…" Her voice dropped, low and deadly serious. "That scroll… the power on it… is very ancient. Very… cold."
She pointed one pale finger at the message. Her fingertip trembled slightly. "My power and the Drowned God's come from the oldest wills of this land and sea… but this… this comes from a far older time. It is the ultimate expression of death. The frost that silences everything!"
Pierce followed her gaze. The scroll was Qyburn's latest secret report. It said the maester's "device" had been successfully developed. He hadn't expected such a violent reaction.
"I know," he said calmly, even picking up the scroll and weighing it in his hand. "Cold and death… it does sound terrifying. But power itself is neither good nor evil. What matters is how it's used. Your seawater can nourish life or swallow entire fleets."
"No, you don't understand!" For the first time the Lady of the Waves showed real fear in front of him. "This power is fundamentally different from ours. It is the opposite of order. It is the natural enemy of all living things! Toying with it is like building a nest on the edge of a volcano!"
Pierce only smiled, completely unfazed. "Precisely because it's so powerful and dangerous… it has real value."
Right then Rosco Blount's respectful voice came from outside the tent. "My lord, sorry to interrupt! There's a red priestess named Melisandre who just arrived from the east. She insists on seeing you. She says… the Lord of Light gave her a vision."
Pierce's eyebrows rose. Melisandre? Why the hell was she showing up in Crackclaw Point right now?
He patted the Lady of the Waves on the waist, signaling her to stand. She rose reluctantly, golden eyes still fixed on the raven scroll with clear dread.
"Send her in," Pierce called.
The tent flap opened again. Melisandre stepped inside—red robes dusty from travel, yet unable to hide her stunning beauty.
Her heart-shaped face carried the usual distant insight of someone who had seen too much, mixed with fanatical certainty.
But the moment her eyes landed on Pierce, that certainty shattered.
She froze. Her red eyes contracted violently. Her body began to tremble. All color drained from her face until it was paler than her robes.
She staggered, nearly losing her balance.
Pierce watched her reaction with open curiosity. "Lady Melisandre? What exactly do you see when you look at me… that would make a servant of the Lord of Light lose her composure like this?"
Melisandre opened her mouth but no sound came out. Her gaze was nailed to him, as if she were staring at something that had crawled out of an ancient nightmare—an error that should not exist in this world.
When she remained trembling and speechless, Pierce lost patience. He glanced at the Lady of the Waves. "What's wrong with her?"
The possessed Melanye had returned to her divine, arrogant posture. She watched Melisandre like someone enjoying an entertaining play.
Hearing the question, she gave a light laugh, stepped forward, and pressed a cool, kelp-scented kiss to Pierce's lips. Then she whispered so only he could hear:
"In her 'eyes,' you are apparently not the 'kingly figure' she expected… but something else entirely. You're not exactly a normal human, my dear lord."
Her tone carried both teasing and a faint hint of possessiveness.
As if triggered by the Lady of the Waves' words or actions, Melisandre suddenly convulsed. A burning, almost visible red aura exploded out of her body.
The ruby at her throat began to pulse like a beating heart. The temperature inside the tent spiked. The air itself seemed to warp.
Pierce clearly felt an ancient, scorching will—full of destruction and rebirth—descend briefly through Melisandre as its vessel. That will was aggressive and probing, locking directly onto him.
Almost at the exact same instant, another will rose from the Lady of the Waves—cold, deep, carrying the immense weight of the ocean and the ancient scent of salt. It wasn't as openly hostile, but it firmly shielded the space around Pierce, meeting the red will head-on.
Two primordial forces from completely different sources collided silently inside the small tent. Pierce could almost hear the crackle of flames and the roar of deep-sea waves clashing in the realm of pure will.
The standoff lasted only a few seconds. The red will withdrew like a retreating tide. The glow around Melisandre faded rapidly.
She gasped for breath, sweat-soaked red hair plastered to her forehead, looking utterly disheveled. But when her eyes opened again, the arrogance had returned—now mixed with cold certainty.
She straightened her robes and looked at Pierce once more. Though a trace of lingering fear remained deep in her eyes, her voice was steady and powerful:
"Lord Pierce Celtigar, the Lord of Light R'hllor has given me a clear vision. Ancient darkness is gathering… and you are one of the keys to facing this coming crisis. I, Melisandre, will remain in Golden Port, by your side. I will lend you my knowledge and power to guide fate toward the light."
Pierce narrowed his eyes at the typical priestess nonsense. "Assist me? Tell me exactly what you can do. Be specific. Use real words."
Melisandre frowned slightly at his bluntness but answered:
"I am skilled in fire magic. I can glimpse fragments of the future and… influence the minds of others. I can guide lost souls onto the true path and make the weak-willed speak the truth."
"Mind control and interrogation," Pierce said flatly.
"…You may understand it that way," Melisandre's mouth twitched, but she kept her composure. "But this is the guidance of the Lord of Light, meant to—"
"Enough." Pierce cut her off. "I actually have the perfect position for you. Rosco!"
Rosco Blount stepped in immediately.
"Take Lady Melisandre to the intelligence department. She will serve as my special advisor, assisting with… information analysis and sorting."
"Intelligence department?" A flash of understanding crossed Melisandre's eyes.
The Rising Tide naturally had its own highly efficient intelligence network, but Pierce had always used it discreetly. As the hidden puppet master, using the organization too openly risked exposing his true identity and making the other Gem Lords suspicious.
He needed visible, seemingly independent pieces on the board to draw attention. Melisandre—this suddenly arrived, mysterious, and exceptionally gifted red priestess—was the perfect lightning rod.
Mixing her with some of his actual Rising Tide intelligence personnel to create an official lord's intelligence office would let them work effectively while misleading outsiders. It would make his "Lapis Lazuli Lord" identity look like that of an ordinary business and tech partner rather than the true shadow ruler controlling everything.