Red Keep, Throne Room
"Let him in."
Robert's voice carried irritation from being interrupted, but even more curiosity.
He wanted to see how this Golden Crab—who had spoken with such fire moments ago—would handle an attack from his very own family.
The heavy doors swung open once more. Lord Adrian Celtigar of Claw Isle entered with his two sons, the eldest, Crissen, and the second son, Bartimos. All three strode in with stormy faces.
Adrian looked furious. His weathered, sea-bitten face was dark with controlled rage.
His two sons followed at his sides, their sharp features matching the trademark Celtigar build. Their eyes burned with hostility and contempt as they glared at Pierce.
The three of them spared only the coldest glance at the young man standing proudly in the center of the hall—eyes as frigid as the winter sea.
The courtiers in the throne room were seasoned observers. It took them only moments to sense the tension between the third son of House Celtigar and the rest of his kin.
The three newcomers bowed to the Iron Throne. Robert, annoyed and impatient, spoke first:
"Adrian Celtigar! Why aren't you on your little island counting your gold? What are you doing here?"
Robert had long heard whispers of the Celtigars' presence in King's Landing. And any threat to a man's gold was enough to sour the king's mood.
"Your Grace!" Adrian's voice came out hoarse from anger. "Forgive my intrusion, but I must expose this traitor's true face! Pierce—this thief, this parasite who betrayed the faith of his own house!"
He raised a trembling finger, pointing at his youngest son.
"The one million gold dragons he promised Your Grace, the wealth he claims to have earned—those fortunes were stolen from House Celtigar!"
The throne room erupted into shocked murmurs.
Robert raised a brow, intrigued again. The small council turned their attention toward Pierce, anticipating a desperate defense… or a collapse.
Stannis's expression, as always, did not shift, but a flicker of disdain touched his eyes as he listened to Adrian.
Stannis knew enough about Claw Isle to suspect something was wrong—and he was already considering whether to intervene for Pierce's sake.
But before he could say a word, something unexpected happened.
Pierce did not falter. His face showed no panic—only a cold, bitter, almost mocking smile.
He faced his father and spoke with chilling clarity.
"Your Grace. My 'dear' father. My lords. I reject these accusations."
His voice was firm, steady, uncompromising.
"Accusations require evidence." Pierce looked at Adrian as one would at a farcical jester. "So tell us, Lord Celtigar—what exactly have I stolen from House Celtigar?"
He stepped forward, eyes sharp as a blade.
"Was it the improved salt-drying technique I invented on Claw Isle? The same one I handed over freely to the family, in exchange for the Valyrian steel battle-axe in the treasury—Bloodstorm?"
Recognition rippled through the crowd. That technique had doubled the profits of Celtigar salt.
"Is an unused axe worth more than a method that doubled your wealth?" Pierce asked coldly. "Does that seem like theft?"
Adrian's face twitched. Before he could respond, Pierce continued:
"Or perhaps you mean the glass-making process and the blueprint of the crystal gardens? You refused to invest, claiming it was too risky. I funded the craftsmen myself—every copper—and succeeded."
"What? The crystal gardens on Claw Isle were your design?" Renly exclaimed. "I thought the heir of Celtigar did that? Tsk…"
He cast a mocking glance at Crissen Celtigar.
"I… I didn't…" Crissen stammered, unable to form a proper denial.
Pierce did not spare him a glance.
"And even then, the family did not pay me the agreed reward.
You gave me only thirty percent of the profits. Gold I earned with my work and mind—since when is that the family's 'inherited wealth'?"
He eyed Adrian sharply.
"Or is it the perfumes now popular among nobles in King's Landing and Oldtown? I developed them myself while serving in Oldtown. I sold the formulas to the family for gold—gold I used for my personal expenses."
"What? You had to pay for your own upkeep?" Jon's eyes widened. He had never heard of a noble son treated so shabbily.
Pierce let out a cold breath.
"Because I carry the blood of House Velaryon."
"Your mother was Lady Katelyn Velaryon?" Jon asked softly.
The court murmured.
The former Lady Katelyn was known to have died under strange circumstances. And Adrian's eagerness to warm the bed of a powerful political match had always been whispered about.
Pierce continued:
"My relationship with the Celtigar family has always been a business arrangement. They produce and sell—I receive commission. Every coin is accounted for. Where is the theft?"
His voice rose, fueled with long-contained resentment.
"I even paid my own way to Oldtown, to study under Ser Baelor Hightower."
That revelation alone was enough to ruin the Celtigars' reputation.
"So that friendship forged in war between you and Ser Baelor," Pierce said, staring at his father, "was worth less than three hundred gold a year in your eyes? Did you think I wouldn't find out that he waived all fees?"
Adrian's face twisted with panic and humiliation.
"And even then, you took my gold. You didn't even grant me a proper squire."
Pierce looked around the hall. Many nobles averted their eyes, ashamed for the Celtigars.
Finally, his gaze fixed on Robert and Jon Arryn.
"Your Grace. Lord Hand. Everything I have—aside from the name Celtigar, which I never chose—came from my own work, my own knowledge, my own blade. I have shed blood in Essos to earn what is mine."
Jon's stern face softened with deep approval.
"I have never denied the family's early support," Pierce continued. "But what I have contributed far surpasses what they ever gave.
And now they accuse me of theft simply because I seek to use my rightful wealth to serve the realm. Is this how House Celtigar treats those who build its prosperity?"
Silence fell like a hammer.
Adrian and his sons stood stiff, faces alternating red and pale. They had no evidence—only greed and panic.
Littlefinger, meanwhile, had gone rigid. His smile was frozen, brittle.
He had made a mistake.
Stannis gave Pierce an approving nod, while Renly laughed softly.
"Our Golden Crab not only wins battles—he builds and governs like a lord should."
Even the stern Jon seemed moved, his earlier doubts swept away. Pierce's clarity, talent, and composure could not be dismissed.
At last, Robert had enough.
"Enough!" Robert roared, shaking the hall. "Adrian, your son has proven his gold is clean. Am I to demand every loyal noble dump their house ledgers before me?"
His voice boomed like thunder.
"You've no idea how to be a father. Pierce Celtigar is bold, capable, and loyal. More than I can say for you."
He cut off any further objection with a sweep of his hand.
"I have decided. In the name of the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Protector of the Realm—"
He nodded to Ser Barristan Selmy, who placed a ceremonial sword in the king's hands.
Pierce knelt without being told.
"I, Robert Baratheon, hereby grant Pierce Celtigar lordship over Crackclaw Point, effective immediately. The land is yours. Keep your promise, Golden Crab—and guard my northeastern shores well."
The words echoed across the hall like a final verdict.
Adrian and his sons turned ashen, trembling with anger and humiliation. Under Robert's hard gaze, they bowed stiffly and fled the hall.
Pierce Celtigar—now Lord of Crackclaw Point—bowed deeply before the Iron Throne.
When he rose, the faint smile hidden at the corner of his lips was sharp, cold, and triumphant.
His true journey had only just begun.