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Narrow Sea – Waters North of Dragonstone
Two weeks later, in the northeastern stretch of Blackwater Bay near Dragonstone, a warship flying the crowned stag banner of House Baratheon cut through the waves.
It wasn't as flashy or unique as Pierce's Golden Crab—just a solid, no-nonsense Westerosi war galley. Thick oak hull, practical rigging, rows of massive oars, and a stag-head ram at the prow that looked ready to gore anything in its path.
On the foredeck, two old men stood shoulder to shoulder, letting the sea wind whip their cloaks and hair.
Jon Arryn, Hand of the King—the man who actually ran the Seven Kingdoms. Sixty-eight years old, but his back was still straight as a spear. He wore a deep-gray traveling robe with the silver chain of office draped over his shoulders. His wrinkled face was pale, and his breathing carried a faint rasp in the wind. Years of ruling from King's Landing were finally catching up to him.
Without Jon, Robert's reign would have collapsed into chaos years ago. The king spent his days feasting, whoring, and fathering bastards, just like Aegon the Unworthy back in the day. Jon was the one who cleaned up every mess, patched every hole, and kept the realm from flying apart.
Today's voyage was about Robert too. A very different guest had arrived on Dragonstone—Princess Arianne Martell, heir to Dorne.
Beside him stood Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, the legendary "Barristan the Bold."
The old knight was sixty-one but still built like a warhorse. White armor, white cloak, white hair streaming in the wind. His face was grave, eyes full of decades of battlefield wisdom and unshakable loyalty to the crown—or at least to this crown.
Robert had won Barristan over with raw strength during the Rebellion, turning the Kingslayer's defeat into one of the great stories of the age. Some people whispered the old man had gone soft, scared by the Mad King's cruelty or simply too old. Opinions on Ser Barristan varied wildly across the realm.
But no one ever questioned his sword arm. Everything he had, he'd earned the hard way.
"This sea air is so much cleaner than King's Landing," Jon said, taking a deep breath, a rare smile touching his lips. "After too many years in the Red Keep, I forgot what the ocean really smells like."
Barristan nodded. "True, my lord. The air in King's Landing always carries… too many other things."
King's Landing perfume sold better than anywhere else—not because the city was beautiful, but because the place stank like an open sewer. The biggest city in the Seven Kingdoms produced enough shit and garbage every day to drown a lordship. Mixing that reek with perfume created a special kind of hell that could make a man drunk just from breathing.
The two men fell quiet for a moment, watching the black volcanic shape of Dragonstone grow larger on the horizon. The island looked like a beast crouched in the sea, with the castle itself perched on top like a sleeping black dragon.
"Barristan," Jon said suddenly, voice carrying over the wind, "what do you make of Pierce Celtigar?"
The old knight thought for a second. "An… unusual young man, my lord. I watched him at the tourney in King's Landing. Twenty years old but carried himself like a veteran. And the way he beat Jaime Lannister… that wasn't just strength or skill."
Barristan's eyes grew distant, as if replaying the fight. "I always read a man through how he fights. Pierce didn't chase glory. Every move had purpose. It felt less like a tourney bout and more like… executing a plan."
Jon's mouth quirked. "Oh? And what did you read in him?"
"Tactics," Barristan said firmly. "Jaime attacked like a storm. Pierce always found the perfect moment and the most efficient counter. No flashy moves—just cold efficiency. It wasn't sport. It was war."
He paused, then added with a small smile, "I also heard they had bad blood before the match—nearly came to blows inside the Red Keep itself."
"Oh?" Jon might not be one for gossip, but even the Hand of the King couldn't resist a good story. "What have you heard? Or are you spinning one of your famous versions again?"
Barristan was a good man in every way—except for his love of juicy rumors. Half the scandals in the Seven Kingdoms had at least three different Barristan Selmy editions.
The old knight shrugged. "Word is they fought over a woman… and Pierce came out on top."
"Jaime isn't Robert," Jon countered quickly. "He and his father both despise whores. Jaime would never lower himself."
"Exactly why I think it was a deliberate provocation," Barristan said. "Get the enemy angry, make him lose his cool. Best way to win. And it worked."
Jon gave the old knight an approving glance. "Your eye is still sharp. Varys tells me Pierce once led the Second Sons to crush a Dothraki khalasar in Essos. If that's true, his military talent may even outshine his business sense."
"A truly gifted man can master anything he sets his mind to," Barristan said quietly. A shadow of sadness crossed his face—he was thinking of an old friend who had been exactly that kind of person.
(If none of that had happened… the Seven Kingdoms might look very different today.)
Jon didn't notice his companion's private thoughts. He was still excited. "The Celtigar family are fools. If I were Adrian Celtigar, I would have done exactly what Randyll Tarly did—sent the worthless son to the Wall!"
Sending an heir to the Night's Watch was considered a wise move by many lords. Blood mattered more than sentiment when it came to keeping a house alive.
But Adrian Celtigar had basically cut off his own arm. Jon shook his head, a rare spark of genuine pleasure in his eyes. "Thank the gods Pierce had more spine. He built everything himself. Otherwise the crown would have lost one of its brightest talents."
He paused, then continued, "Princess Arianne Martell traveling with him to Dragonstone… that's a very good sign. Dorne and the Iron Throne have always had a… delicate relationship. If Pierce can be the bridge…"
Pierce's moves were exactly what Jon liked to see. Not only had he solved Dorne's long-standing isolation, he had quietly tied the southern kingdom tighter to the crown. Pierce was Robert's own creation—a lord of the crownlands—and now Dorne was trading directly with him. That made Jon happy. To him, Dorne had always been a jar of wildfire sitting too close to the flames—one wrong move and the whole realm would burn.
"You seem to hold the young Celtigar in very high regard," Barristan said respectfully. He knew better than most that Jon Arryn was the real reason the kingdom hadn't torn itself apart.
Jon sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion and hope. "Barristan, I'm old. The small council is a nest of vipers—Varys plays his own game, Littlefinger only cares about gold, Grand Maester Pycelle… well. Stannis is too rigid, Renly too frivolous, and Robert…"
He didn't finish. Both men knew: Robert was no longer the warrior who had beaten Barristan and toppled the Targaryens. He had become another Aegon the Unworthy.
"Pierce Celtigar," Jon went on, eyes bright, "gives me hope. A man who went from third son of a crab island to rivaling the Sea Snake's fortune in just a few years. A man who has won the trust of Dorne's heir. A man bold enough to demand land from the king and prove his worth with a million gold dragons…"
He turned to Barristan. "Do you know what I admire most? Not the wealth. Not the courage. It's his vision. Everyone else saw Crackclaw Point as worthless swamp and rock. He saw opportunity."
Jon's voice dropped. "I may not live to see it, Barristan, but I have a feeling that in my lifetime we will witness the rise of a great house—not through inheritance, but through ability and foresight. House Celtigar of Claw Isle… Hah. Those idiots have no idea what they threw away. Soon the only name people will remember is Pierce Celtigar."
The wind suddenly strengthened, snapping their cloaks like banners. Jon gripped the rail. "Stannis made the right move betrothing Shireen to him. It's the smartest thing I've seen Stannis do in years."
Barristan thought of the young man from the tourney. "Pierce has the makings of a great knight, but I believe he would be even better as a commander—like Randyll Tarly. The realm needs him."
"Why can't he be both?" Jon asked, eyes twinkling with wisdom. "Tyrion Lannister brought you a book after his visit to Golden Port, didn't he? On War."
Barristan's face grew serious. "Yes, my lord. I haven't finished it yet, but what I've read… it's made me think for days. The way it discusses formations, logistics, morale, terrain, intelligence, even psychological warfare—it's nothing like the Citadel's old manuals."
The old knight's voice held real awe. "If Pierce truly wrote it, his military thinking is decades ahead of our time. I tested a few of the scenarios in the book. Some of the worst defeats in history could have been avoided if those commanders had followed his methods."
Jon nodded. "Exactly. So you see—he's both merchant and strategist. If he can turn Crackclaw Point into something great and lead armies… Barristan, I've begun to wonder if one day Pierce could take my place."
Barristan looked startled. "My lord… you mean as Hand of the King?"
"Why not?" Jon gazed at the growing silhouette of Dragonstone. "Robert doesn't just need someone to manage the realm. He needs someone who can keep it stable and meet every threat. Pierce is young, energetic, capable—and so far, loyal to the crown. At least for now…"
He trailed off with a touch of regret. "Sometimes I think… if Stannis hadn't moved first, I might have suggested Robert consider betrothing Myrcella to Pierce. Lannister blood and Celtigar talent… that would have been a formidable match."
Barristan was quiet for a moment, then said carefully, "That might have given Lord Tywin dangerous ideas. The current arrangement is safer. Pierce allied with Stannis strengthens the crown's hold on Dragonstone without provoking the Westerlands too much."
Jon gave the old knight an approving look. "You're right. We must think of the whole board. At least for now, Pierce is on our side."
The warship began turning toward the harbor. The two old men fell silent, each lost in thought.
Jon was thinking of the kingdom's future, of his own failing body, of how to leave Robert and the realm in stable hands.
Barristan was thinking of the unfinished book On War, of Pierce's performance in the lists, and of the changes this young man might bring to the Seven Kingdoms.
Seagulls wheeled overhead, crying sharply. Sunlight turned the waves to liquid gold. In that peaceful moment, a small pilot boat raced out from Dragonstone to guide the royal warship safely into port.