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Crackclaw Point – Golden Port
The noisy bonfire feast finally wound down. Full and satisfied, the townsfolk and soldiers drifted away carrying dreams of the future and plenty of fresh gossip about their lord's new marriage alliance.
Soon only the servants were left in the square, clearing away the remains while the bonfire's embers glowed and faded in the night breeze—like the thoughts still flickering in certain minds.
After the feast, Pierce invited Prince Stannis to a "private talk" inside his lord's command tent.
Ser Davos Seaworth, Stannis's most trusted advisor, naturally came along.
Inside the tent, oil lamps pushed back the darkness but couldn't touch the heavy tension in the air.
Servants brought sobering honey water and were quickly dismissed. Stannis sat rigidly, all traces of wine gone from his face, back to his usual stern mask.
He stayed silent for a long moment, gathering his words, then fixed those sharp blue eyes on Pierce.
"Lord Pierce," he said, voice low and grave, "after you left Dragonstone, I didn't ignore the veiled warning you gave me about the queen… and her children. I conducted some… inquiries."
Pierce didn't look surprised. He simply met the prince's gaze calmly. "Oh? And what did you discover, Lord Stannis?"
"I discovered," Stannis continued, anger and pain tightly leashed beneath the words, "that my brother King Robert's three children all have Lannister gold hair—not a single one carries the Baratheon black. One child could be coincidence. Three…"
He shook his head, tone iron-hard. "That is no accident. I suspect they are not Robert's blood at all!"
Davos added at the right moment, "My lord, we can reference The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms. It clearly records the hereditary traits of each family. In every known marriage between Baratheon and Lannister, the children have almost always been black-haired. That alone is strong evidence their parentage is… questionable."
"Evidence?" Pierce interrupted softly, his voice almost cruel in its calm. "Ser Davos, Lord Stannis—one old book's probability table is hardly enough to accuse the queen of treason and declare the royal princes and princess bastards. In the throne room of King's Landing, in front of King Robert, under Tywin Lannister's eyes—do you truly believe a few hair colors and one book can topple the Lannisters?"
"I know you'll speak of law and honor," Pierce went on before Stannis could reply, his words cutting like cold steel, "but those things only work on people who choose to obey them—or on the weak. Against a family that controls the Westerlands' gold mines, tens of thousands of soldiers, and the actual power in King's Landing, law is just a piece of paper."
Stannis fell silent, face like iron. Pierce's words were harsh, but they struck straight at the fear buried deepest in his chest.
"So, Lord Stannis," Pierce asked, "what is your plan now?"
Stannis drew a deep breath as if steeling himself. "I intend to bring my findings to Lord Jon Arryn. He is the Hand of the King, Robert's most trusted man, and one of the most respected lords in Westeros. If he investigates, the truth will come out and this can be settled legally and justly!"
Pierce nodded, offering measured approval. "Seeking Lord Jon Arryn's help is a lawful and prudent course."
Then his tone shifted, dropping a question that made both Stannis and Davos tense. "But, Lord Stannis… have you considered what happens if… let us say if… Lord Jon Arryn were to suffer a sudden 'accident'?"
"What?" Stannis's head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief. "They would dare move against the Hand of the King?!"
"Why wouldn't they?" Pierce countered sharply. "When the stakes are high enough and the threat is close enough, nothing is impossible. Think about it—if Lord Arryn dies suddenly, what happens next?"
He didn't wait for an answer, laying it out himself:
"Your brother King Robert will grieve, he'll rage—but he'll need a new Hand to steady the realm. Who will he turn to? Most likely his 'brother' in the North, Eddard Stark. And knowing Eddard's character, he'll probably uncover the same truths… and then the conflict escalates—court intrigue, coups, even deaths. Possibly Eddard Stark himself… or anyone who stands in the Lannisters' way."
Pierce gave Stannis a meaningful look. "Anyone who blocks the Lannister path."
Stannis's breathing grew heavier. The picture Pierce painted was horrifying, yet terrifyingly logical. He didn't want to believe the Lannisters were capable of such audacity, but a colder voice inside him whispered that Pierce's "reasoning" wasn't baseless.
"Law… honor…" Stannis muttered, grasping for his last anchor.
"As I've said, my lord, those things are fragile when faced with raw power and naked self-interest."
Pierce's voice took on a colder edge. "Your brother sits the Iron Throne not because of some thin Targaryen blood in your veins. He sits there because of the Baratheon-Stark-Arryn-Tully alliance and the swords and blood of Robert's Rebellion."
"And how much of that alliance is left today?" Pierce pressed. "Lord Arryn is old. Lord Tully is frail. Lord Stark is far away in the North. And you…" He paused, staring straight at Stannis. "You sit on Dragonstone, rigid and honorable, with how many real allies in the capital?"
The words hit like ice water. Stannis, who had always clung to law and honor, suddenly saw the brutal truth he'd tried to ignore—power and loyalty mattered more than parchment.
Pierce leaned forward and asked the real question:
"Lord Stannis, be honest with me. If the worst happens—if King Robert meets an untimely end—do you intend to claim the Iron Throne? And do you have the preparations to make it happen?"
At the words "Iron Throne," a fierce light flashed in Stannis's eyes—the raw hunger for power—but he crushed it instantly, returning to his usual cold resolve.
"If the royal children's blood is truly in doubt," he said heavily, "then by the laws and succession of Westeros, I, Stannis Baratheon, am the rightful heir. It is my right—and my duty."
"Rightful! Duty!" Pierce echoed the words with the faintest trace of mockery. "Yes, in law and truth, perhaps. But in the eyes of the realm? In the eyes of the lords of the Seven Kingdoms? Robert has three 'official' children carrying noble Lannister blood, Baratheon blood, and even a drop of Targaryen. You would be the uncle rising up to steal his niece and nephews' inheritance. To most people you would be another 'Viserys the Second.' Even if you win the throne, the stain of usurper and Lannister hatred would follow you forever, making your rule a constant struggle."
Pierce's voice grew even more brutally practical. "Do you truly believe the small force on Dragonstone and in the Narrow Sea, plus your shaky legal claim, is enough to put you on that throne?"
"My claim is correct and lawful!" Stannis snapped, voice rising as if volume could banish the shadow Pierce had cast. "I am Robert's rightful successor! That cannot be disputed!"
"Correct? Lawful?" Pierce replied calmly, returning to his favorite line. "As I've said—law and honor only bind the weak. Let us set them aside and face reality, Lord Stannis. Tell me: if you raise your banners the moment Robert dies, how many of the Seven Kingdoms will actually support you?"
Before Stannis could answer, Pierce began ticking them off one by one:
"The North? Eddard Stark might back you out of loyalty to Robert and love of truth—but remember, the North is culturally very different from the South. They may have their own ideas."
"The Riverlands? Lord Hoster Tully is old and weak. His heir Edmure… well, we both know his capabilities. And the Riverlands themselves are hardly united."
"The Vale? Same problem—the young Lord Robert Arryn, real power in the hands of the lords. Will they risk open war with the mighty Lannisters for your legal claim?"
"The Stormlands? That's your brother Renly's domain. Will he support you? From what I hear, Renly is very popular at Highgarden."
"The Reach? What goodwill do the Tyrells have toward you? They'll likely back Renly if he looks like the winner—or simply stay neutral."
"And finally—the Westerlands? Dorne? The Iron Islands? How likely are they to support you? Hard to guess, isn't it?"
With every region Pierce named, Stannis's face grew darker. By the end he realized he was almost completely isolated. His mouth opened, but no rebuttal came. Pierce's analysis had wrapped him in an iron net of cold reality.
The tent fell into a long, heavy silence, broken only by the soft crackle of the oil lamps.
At last Pierce spoke again, breaking the quiet:
"But Lord Stannis, a difficult road is not a dead end. You lack supporters, you lack soldiers, you lack gold… and all of those, I, Pierce Celtigar, can provide."
Both Stannis and Davos looked up sharply.
"You… would support my cause?" Stannis's voice was hoarse with disbelief.
"Yes. Based on the marriage alliance we just sealed, based on the principle of equivalent exchange, and based on… certain investments I wish to make in the future."
A faint, knowing smile touched Pierce's lips. "I will train you an elite army—initial target of ten thousand men. They will be stationed near the Stepstones. Officially they will be 'pirates.' In reality they will be your army."
Stannis's heart hammered. Ten thousand elite troops—that could shift the entire balance of power!
"And the price?" he asked coolly. Stannis never believed in gifts without strings.
"The price is simple. You will use your position as Prince of Dragonstone and Master of Ships to ensure the royal fleet does not interfere with my merchant convoys. You will also intensify anti-piracy patrols across the Narrow Sea, Crab Bay, and beyond to protect my trade routes. In addition, I require full and unrestricted rights to mine dragon-glass on Dragonstone, plus first refusal on all output."
Stannis weighed the terms carefully. Pierce's demands weren't excessive; in fact, they overlapped with duties Stannis already held. And dragon-glass was, to most people, just odd black rock—nowhere near as valuable as gold.
"Agreed," Stannis said solemnly. "I swear on the honor of House Baratheon: so long as you do not betray the realm or its laws, I will honor my word."
"Excellent." Pierce smiled, satisfied. "We can work out the details later—Ser Davos with my Maester Ferren."
The secret meeting lasted deep into the night.
…
…
The next morning, Stannis's family and Davos boarded Fury to return to Dragonstone.
Unlike their arrival, Stannis's mouth now carried the faintest hint of relaxation. Little Shireen hid shyly behind her mother, stealing glances at her future husband with a little girl's mix of innocence and nervous excitement about the future.
Once the Baratheons had sailed away, the gentle smile on Pierce's face vanished. Without wasting a second he strode toward a heavily guarded area behind the keep district. It looked like an ordinary large warehouse, but the patrolling soldiers were sharp-eyed and heavily armed.
Pierce passed through an entrance guarded by several blank-eyed but unnaturally agile "Tyrant" wights, lifted what appeared to be a plain heavy tent flap, and revealed a downward staircase built of glossy black stone.
The passage was dimly lit. Strange glass-like fixtures embedded in the walls gave off a steady but eerie glow—weakened versions of the glass candles, powered by dragon-glass energy. Not very bright, but they never needed maintenance.
The stairs descended. The air grew colder, carrying a strange mix of rot, herbs, and sulfur.
Ventilation shafts cleverly hidden in the walls kept the underground space breathable, yet the chill never left—like stepping into the Lands of Always Winter.
Pierce passed through several thick black-stone doors covered in complex runes before reaching the deepest and largest chamber.
The temperature here was even lower. Thin white frost coated the black-stone walls. In the center of the room stood several enormous black cubes, perfectly smooth with no visible seams, radiating an ominous presence.
Maester Ferren and several pale-faced scholars in heavy fur robes were already waiting. The moment they saw Pierce they bowed deeply.
"Begin, Maester Ferren," Pierce ordered curtly.
Ferren nodded, stepped up to one of the black cubes, and placed a glass candle on its surface.
A low, ice-cracking crunch echoed through the chamber. The cube split slowly down the middle. A stronger wave of rot and freezing air rolled out.