Year 295 AC, King's Landing
The port of Mud Gate was the busiest place in all of King's Landing—and precisely because it was the busiest, the sheer number of people made it almost terrifying.
They swarmed like blood-hungry flies, searching for whatever small hope they could find.
"I truly don't understand why anyone would willingly live in a place like this."
Pierce Celtigar raised a hand to cover his nose, speaking with unconcealed disgust.
"At least the Red Keep never smells this foul! The perfumed ladies from Myr can cover it up!"
Ser Davos Seaworth, the Onion Knight, stroked his thick beard with an awkward expression as he answered. As he spoke, he again looked with puzzlement at the bold young man beside him.
The man was around twenty, tall and powerfully built—so much so that Davos felt as if he were looking at a younger Robert Baratheon.
"It seems the nobility are only noble because the filth around them makes them shine brighter."
"Lord Pierce, if I were you, I would hold my tongue."
At this moment, Davos regretted taking on this task—regretted it greatly.
"Hahaha… my apologies, Ser!"
Pierce glanced at the somewhat nervous Davos and added with a touch of self-mockery:
"I forgot. Soon enough I'll be one of those nobles shining above the filth."
Davos shook his head helplessly, then stepped forward to speak with the approaching City Watch guards.
"Come along, my dear young master of Celtigar. Or perhaps I should start calling you 'Ser' soon enough."
....
Red Keep, Throne Room
The throne room of the Red Keep was unusually lively today. King Robert Baratheon and his small council were discussing the man currently approaching the castle—Pierce Celtigar.
"Varys! Tell me about this Celtigar boy. Why have I never heard of him before?"
Robert's booming voice echoed through the large chamber. His massive body sank deep into the sharp blades of the Iron Throne as he gulped down wine, his face filled with curiosity.
Varys folded his hands gently, his expression humble, carrying the slightest hint of concern.
"Your Grace, Ser Pierce Celtigar—ah, forgive me, he is not yet a knight.
This young man has indeed been as quiet as the morning fog over the Narrow Sea. For the past five years, he has moved with surprising low profile."
He took a few soft steps forward, his voice sliding through the air like silk.
"As we all know, House Celtigar of Crackclaw Point is famed for seamanship and, hm… the accumulation of wealth.
Yet this third son, five years ago, seems to have had a… minor disagreement with his family. Instead of remaining comfortably on Claw Isle, he took a small sum of coin and traveled alone to Essos."
"Get to the point, Varys! I don't care about family drama," Robert waved impatiently.
"As you wish, Your Grace." Varys bowed slightly.
"At first, nothing he did stood out. Until he joined the Second Sons in the Disputed Lands. People thought he was just another Westerosi noble seeking excitement. But things changed very quickly."
Varys paused, recalling scattered reports from across the sea. "According to my little birds, Pierce possesses… exceptional charisma and a natural gift for strategy.
Under his influence, the Second Sons grew rapidly in strength and reputation.
They no longer took petty contracts. Their most famous victory was on the plains near Pentos—where they defeated a Dothraki khalasar in open battle."
"The Dothraki? In open plains?" Robert leaned forward. "How?"
"The exact details are unclear. The stories sound almost like legends.
Some say he used an unusual formation, others say he used terrain trickery. But one thing is certain—the khal never roared again."
A flicker of unease passed through Varys' eyes.
"That victory made the Second Sons almost comparable to the Golden Company in reputation."
"Interesting!" Robert laughed. "Seems he's not like the rest of those gold-counting cowards from his house."
"Indeed, Your Grace," Varys continued. "But then came something puzzling. Just as he was positioned to become their true leader, he sold all his shares in the company and vanished with a fortune."
"With this wealth, he recruited sailors in Pentos and built a sizable fleet. Then he set sail east—toward the legendary lands of gold and mist. Toward Yi Ti."
The hall quieted. Even Grand Maester Pycelle paused his dozing. To Westerosi ears, Yi Ti was farther and more mysterious than even Vaes Dothrak.
"And from there on," Varys spread his hands, "Pierce Celtigar's tale becomes legend."
His words immediately drew the interest of everyone in the hall—especially Renly Baratheon, while Stannis remained stern and unreadable.
"Some say his fleet reached Asshai by the Shadow, where he traded with silk-clad merchants.
Others say he found lost cities beyond bone-white mountains. There are even absurd rumors claiming he once served the emperor of Yi Ti and returned with unimaginable knowledge and wealth…"
Varys scanned the room, observing their reactions—except for one old rival who reacted little.
There was still one more piece of information he chose not to reveal: the suspicion that Pierce might be connected to a newly-emerging secret organization. But for now, it remained only a suspicion.
...
Red Keep, Throne Room
The heavy oak doors opened with a groan. The tall figure of Pierce Celtigar stepped into the throne room.
His boots echoed rhythmically across the stone floor. His richly-made clothing carried clear Essosi influence, standing in stark contrast to the attire of Westerosi nobility.
Yet the confidence and weathered steadiness in his stride made him impossible to dismiss.
He had long golden hair, light violet eyes, and a strikingly handsome face—enough to warm the attitude of those he passed. The handsome drew favor everywhere—Westeros was no different.
He stopped before the Iron Throne, dropped to one knee, and bowed with perfect precision.
Davos hurried forward to bow.
"Your Grace, this is Pierce Celtigar of Claw Isle, the third son of Lord Adrian Celtigar."
Robert shifted on the throne, staring down with keen interest.
"Rise, boy! Varys was just telling me your story. Sounds like you had more fun abroad than counting gold on that little island."
Pierce rose, maintaining a respectful smile.
"Your praise honors me, Your Grace. The sands of Essos are indeed harsher than the salty winds of home."
"Speak then," Robert waved a fat hand, already impatient. "You crossed half the world to see me. Not just to tell tales. What do you want?"
Pierce lifted his gaze, meeting the king's eyes.
"Your Grace, I ask that you grant me the lands of Crackclaw Point, as a new dominion for House Celtigar. I will tame that land and make it truly loyal to the Iron Throne."
Before the last word left his lips, a steady, aged voice intervened.
Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, stepped forward, his wrinkled expression filled with disapproval.
"Crackclaw Point? Young man, though it lies close to Claw Isle, it has never been formally granted to your house."
His eyes narrowed in surprise.
The clans of Crackclaw claimed loyalty only to the Targaryens, living like half-wild mountain folk. If not for the harsh terrain, they'd have been annexed long ago.
"Legally speaking, those lands belong to the Crown," Pierce answered calmly. "That is why I come before our great king—to request authority over them."
"You know very well," he continued, "that they have never sworn fealty to the Iron Throne. They pay no taxes. Not even the Targaryens controlled them fully."
He paused deliberately, letting the word "Targaryen" linger.
"A faction with a long coastline, so near Dragonstone… can we be certain they will never turn to certain exiled 'rebels'?"
His words cast a shadow across the council. Even Jon Arryn frowned deeply.
"I will pacify those clans," Pierce declared, "and unite Crackclaw Point under the crowned stag, turning it from a thorn into a shield guarding the Crownlands."
Then he turned toward Robert, voice rich with conviction:
"Your Grace, let me be your 'Golden Crab', rooted in those rocky shores, guarding your northeastern gate—unlike certain 'Red Crabs' whose loyalties are questionable."
"Hahaha! Will the 'Red Crabs' betray me like the Reynes did the Lannisters? And how am I to trust you, Golden Crab?" Robert pointed at the golden crab sigil embroidered on Pierce's chest.
It depicted a crab with great claws, shining gold, with large eyes and sharp hornlike projections—it looked almost monstrous.
Pierce offered his final and strongest card.
"To prove my loyalty and ability, upon my investiture I shall donate one million gold dragons to the royal treasury—for the betterment of the Seven Kingdoms."
"One million—?" Robert's eyes bulged. He leaned forward so sharply he nearly toppled from the Iron Throne.
For years, the Crown's finances had been strained. Even Littlefinger's cleverness couldn't offset the deficit. This sudden windfall felt like a dream.
"Well said! Golden Crab! Hahaha! I like this!"
Robert slapped the arm of the throne. "Then it's settled! Crackclaw Point shall—"
"Your Grace!" Jon Arryn interrupted urgently. "This must be considered carefully! To purchase land with coin—this is not an honorable precedent!"
Pierce responded at once, firm and clear:
"My lord Hand, this is no purchase. It is my offering—proof of loyalty and capability. How can a destitute knight guard the realm? Wealth used to safeguard the kingdom is the greatest honor."
"Well spoken!" Robert cut in. "Honor is fine and good, but it doesn't feed anyone! It doesn't build roads!"
He was fully convinced—swayed by gold and the Golden Crab.
"I—"
Just as Robert was about to declare the investiture, a clear, lazy, almost playful voice drifted from behind a pillar.
"Now, now… my dear king, a moment if you please."
All eyes turned.
Littlefinger, Petyr Baelish, stood by the column, wearing his unreadable smile.
"Before Your Grace makes such a generous decision," he said with a courteous bow, "may I suggest we first hear the opinion of Lord Adrian Celtigar—the head of House Celtigar—regarding his ambitious son and this proposed new domain?"
The atmosphere froze.
Littlefinger continued calmly, "Lord Adrian awaits outside. Should we not hear him first?"
Pierce's brow twitched ever so slightly, then smoothed again. But his gaze sharpened as it fell upon the grinning master of coin.