Sunspear – Hall of Fine Wines
Serena's voice cut through the quiet conversation like a silver bell.
"And now, please welcome five of the greatest wine masters in the known world to begin this historic tasting!"
The music shifted into something deeper and more solemn. Five figures rose from the guest seats and walked toward the dais with measured dignity.
Pierce's orchestra wasn't some amateur group—he had poured serious gold into training them and even fed them modern musical ideas. He'd been dreaming of building a full symphony orchestra someday. He wasn't a musician himself, but money fixes almost everything. Throw enough dragons at a problem and the right people appear.
Everything he was doing tonight was just setup for making even more money later. Once this Dornish event became legendary across the Narrow Sea and beyond, his name would climb to an entirely new level. Everyone would finally understand: Pierce Celtigar was the man who truly held the keys to wealth.
As the music swelled, every eye in the hall turned toward the direction Serena indicated.
The first master was Aurelio Volaris, a trade prince from Lys. A portly man in his forties wearing a deep-red robe heavy with golden embroidery. Famous for his obscene luxury and impossibly picky palate, his personal cellar was said to hold the rarest vintages in all of Essos.
The second was Grassis Moredo, a banker from Tyrosh. Older—around fifty—with a stern face and crystal-lensed spectacles. Known for ruthless precision, he had actually written a book called Wine and Economics, turning tasting into a complex scoring system.
Essos didn't have the same rigid noble hierarchy as the Seven Kingdoms. Merchants ran the show here, so powerful traders and bankers could do things like publish scholarly works—something almost unheard of back in Westeros.
The third came from Myr: Soro "Glasshand." The nickname came from his family's near-total monopoly on Myr's glass industry. Early thirties, handsome, elegant, a fixture at every major feast and widely called "the ultimate hedonist." His family's money let him play the role of a modern "Longlegs," traveling the world to taste every delicacy and planning to write his own book about it.
The fourth and fifth were the real heavyweights—the two most respected wine authorities in all of Essos.
The fourth was Haji "Spicetongue" from the Qartheen Wine Guild. A man in his sixties with skin like wrinkled parchment. Legend said he could tell which side of a hillside the grapes came from just by tasting the wine.
The fifth was Marco "Waterdancer" from Braavos. Not because he was a swordsman, but because his tasting technique was as fluid and precise as a dance. He served as the official wine taster to the Sealord of Braavos and had already served three different Sealords.
Plenty of people believed he would serve a fourth. The previous three had all died by assassination, and the current one was reportedly deathly ill—something even the best doctors couldn't fix.
The five masters climbed the dais, bowed respectfully to Prince Doran, then took their places in front of the glass wine cabinet.
Arianne leaned close to Pierce, voice tight with worry. "Pierce… the first three might be fooled, but Haji and Marco are true experts. Our so-called 'century-old cellars' are really just thirty-year vintages from some old estates along the Greenblood. They're excellent quality, but they're definitely not a hundred and seventy years old. Those two will know the second they taste it."
Obara frowned. "Master Haji once blind-tasted a so-called 'century wine' and correctly identified it as only twenty-two years old—with an error margin of less than three months. His tongue is sharper than any Citadel maester's tests."
Nymeria added, "Marco is even worse. He doesn't just guess the year—he can describe the weather during the vintage. Whether the summer was unusually rainy or if there was frost before harvest. If they expose us…"
Tyene clutched Pierce's sleeve, her cute face full of concern. "Are we going to be humiliated? Dorne will become a laughingstock!"
But Pierce stayed perfectly calm. In fact, the smile on his lips grew deeper. His eyes followed the five men on stage as he spoke quietly:
"Do you know what the most interesting thing in this world is?"
The four women looked at him, confused.
"Even authorities will bend," Pierce said. "And when they bend, they usually do it in the ugliest way possible."
He turned to face their puzzled expressions and explained patiently. "You're right—there's no such thing as real 'century-old wine' that's still drinkable. Oak barrels leak, clay jars crack, and glass bottles only became good enough for long-term storage in the last few decades."
Pierce knew all of this intimately—he was one of the people creating these very illusions.
"Those so-called century cellars in Essos are either blends, rebottled, or completely made-up vintages."
"I visited all five of these masters privately," he continued. "I promised Prince Aurelio that for the next three years he can purchase all his banquet wine from Dorne at cost price. That alone will save him at least fifty thousand gold dragons. To Grassis, I showed detailed five-year economic forecasts for Dorne. If he supports us, his bank gets exclusive rights to handle all of Dorne's foreign exchange business."
He glanced up at the stage where the five men were now solemnly inspecting the bottles. "Soro's family wants to expand into the Westerosi glass market. I promised them thirty percent of Dragonstone's glass orders. As for Master Haji and Master Marco…"
Pierce's voice dropped even lower. "Haji's grandson got caught in a scandal in Qarth that required a very large sum of money to clean up—I provided it. Marco has always wanted to open his own wine academy in Braavos but lacked the funds and venue. I promised to finance it."
The four women stared at him in stunned silence.
"So…" Nymeria murmured, "they're not here to actually taste the wine. They're here… to perform?"
"They're here to crown this feast," Pierce corrected with a smile. "They will lend their authority to endorse 'Nymeria's Longing.' After tonight, anyone who questions the wine's authenticity will be called ignorant, tasteless, or jealous of Dorne's good fortune. Because five of the greatest masters in the world have all certified it as a legendary vintage lost for over a century."
Arianne took a deep breath. Looking at Pierce's calm profile, she felt a chill run down her spine. This man calculated human nature down to the bone.
"Gold…" she whispered. "This is what you meant by weaknesses?"
"Gold, power, fame, leverage, desire," Pierce nodded. "Everyone has a price. Find the right one, and you can move the world."
"You… you're really terrifying!" Tyene said, at a complete loss for better words.
They were literally committing fraud, yet Pierce had the power to turn the fake into something everyone accepted as real.
She was seriously starting to wonder if there was anything Pierce couldn't do. If he picked up a random rock and declared it a dragon egg, she half-believed half the world would rush forward to swear it was genuine.
…
On the dais, the tasting ritual moved into its next phase.
Serena clapped her hands. Ten serving girls in matching uniforms glided onto the stage.
They wore fitted deep-purple gowns embroidered with silver grapevines, hair pinned up neatly, and thin white gloves that looked as delicate as butterfly wings.
Each carried a tray holding an elegant set of tools.
"Honored guests," Serena announced in a clear, carrying voice, "before the five masters begin their tasting, please allow our sommeliers to demonstrate the exclusive decanting ritual created specially for 'Nymeria's Longing.' This ceremony was designed by Lord Pierce Celtigar himself, blending ancient Rhoynar traditions with the highest modern craftsmanship."
Down below, Pierce quietly explained the same lines to the four women beside him while Serena narrated them onstage. Their voices synced perfectly, like two halves of the same mind.
"Wine is like a beautiful woman," Pierce said in a calm, magnetic tone. "After sleeping for a century, she deserves a gentle awakening."
Onstage, one sommelier lifted a bottle from the glass cabinet. The glass was thick, deep brown, with an intentionally aged label.
She placed it on a velvet-covered table and selected the first tool from her tray.
"Step one: removing the seal," Pierce explained, and Serena echoed the words exactly.
The sommelier took a slender, curved blade and carefully sliced through the wax seal. The wax looked ancient, even imprinted with faint, blurred sigils.
"Please note the integrity of the seal," Pierce continued, and Serena repeated it word for word. "True ancient wine fuses with the neck of the bottle. It requires extreme patience to remove cleanly. Any roughness will send wax flakes into the wine and ruin the flavor."
It took the sommelier a full two minutes to peel the wax away in one perfect piece. She placed it on a small silver dish and held it up for the nearest guests to see. The inside of the seal showed perfect impressions matching the bottle neck.
"Step two: uncorking."
She switched tools to a complex three-stage corkscrew with multiple moving parts.
First she fitted a metal collar around the neck, adjusted the tension, then inserted a long, thin spiral needle straight into the center of the ancient cork.
"Old corks are extremely fragile," Pierce explained while Serena mirrored him. "Pulling them out directly causes them to crumble. This 'Key of Time' corkscrew uses three progressive stages of gentle pressure to extract the cork whole."
With a soft, almost reverent creak, the cork slowly rose. When it finally came free, the entire hall let out a collective gasp. The cork was perfectly intact—only the bottom stained deep purple from the wine.
"Step three: observing the color."
The sommelier didn't pour yet. She took a special glass funnel edged with tiny crystal prisms and fitted it into the mouth of an empty crystal decanter. Then she tilted the bottle.
The deep-red wine flowed out like liquid silk. As it passed through the funnel, the crystal prisms split the light, letting every guest clearly see the color: a profound ruby red with a brick-colored rim—the unmistakable signature of long-aged wine.