King's Landing – Dragonpit Worksite
The next morning Willas Tyrell showed up outside the big tent at the Dragonpit site again. His limp was the same, cane still needed, but his face had changed—less hesitation, more steel in his jaw.
Maester Lyster walked beside him, along with a handful of master craftsmen the Tyrells had brought from Highgarden.
Pierce had clearly been expecting him. He stood just outside the tent, watching crews haul timber and stone toward the yawning entrance. When he spotted Willas, a tiny, amused glint flashed in his violet eyes.
"Lord Willas," Pierce greeted him easily. "Looks like you've made up your mind."
Willas drew a steadying breath and kept his voice firm. "Yes, Lord Celtigar. After careful thought, I've decided we don't need to wait for word from Highgarden. As the Tyrell representative on the ground, I'm authorized to choose."
"Perfect." Pierce didn't look surprised at all. "Then let's head inside. We'll talk while we walk—nothing beats seeing it in person."
He waved them forward and led the way into the Dragonpit's dark maw.
Willas, supported by Lyster and a couple of guards, followed. Their craftsmen and maesters trailed behind with torches and glowstones, chasing away centuries of shadow.
The moment they stepped into the main hall, the smell hit them—old stone, dust, and a faint scorched tang that somehow still smelled like dragon breath.
The enormous circular chamber felt like the hollowed-out heart of a mountain. The dome soared so high it disappeared into darkness overhead. Thin shafts of daylight stabbed through collapsed sections, lighting lazy dust motes like floating ash.
The floor was uneven, filthy with grime and debris. Massive pillars—each one needing half a dozen men to circle—stood like silent giants holding up the ruined roof. Faint carvings of dragons and old sigils were still visible if you looked hard enough.
"An absolutely astonishing piece of work," Willas murmured. His voice echoed softly. "This scale is rare anywhere in Westeros. The Targaryens really poured everything into housing their dragons."
Pierce kicked a blackened chunk of stone with his boot, tone dripping with casual disdain. "Poured everything? More like they were idiots. Cramming that many dragons into one big box—Maegor had zero clue how to actually raise or respect them. Repressed animals get mean… and weak."
Willas frowned. Pierce talked like he'd personally bred dragons. "Oh? From the way you say it, Lord Celtigar, you sound like an expert on raising dragons."
Pierce turned, violet eyes catching the dim light with an odd sparkle. A slow, knowing smile curved his mouth. "Not just an expert. I've seen what dragons looked like in their very first days."
Willas blinked, thrown off. He couldn't tell if Pierce was serious or just screwing with him. He let the subject drop and focused on the Dragonpit itself.
Pierce started the tour along the planned route, laying out his vision for both teams.
He pointed at the huge, room-sized alcoves. "These right here—and over there—used to be the dragons' nesting areas. My plan is to keep the original layout, add new floors, and turn them into private shops and high-end banquet halls."
He tilted his head back toward the shattered dome far above. "I'm reinforcing the existing dome structure. The broken parts…" He paused, then dropped the bombshell that left Willas and Lyster gaping. "I'm restoring them with colored glass and installing one massive Seven-Who-Are-One stained-glass mural right in the center of the ceiling."
"A… Seven-Who-Are-One mural? Up there?" Willas nearly choked. He craned his neck until it hurt. "Lord Celtigar, do you have any idea how insane that is? Forget designing it—the sheer weight and height alone could bring the whole dome down!"
Maester Lyster shook his head so hard his chain rattled. "My lord, this is… reckless. The structural risk is enormous."
Pierce just grinned, completely relaxed. "Weight and installation aren't problems. We're not making one giant pane—that would be stupid. My crews will mosaic it—thousands of individual colored-glass pieces, all different sizes and shapes. And the adhesive…" He looked downright smug. "Golden Port just perfected a new formula. Lightweight, stronger than anything you've seen, and flexible. Perfect for dome work. My craftsmen will handle the full install. The finished effect is going to be spectacular."
He said it like he was talking about hanging a few lanterns. Willas, however, saw the trap instantly.
If Pierce pulled off this "miracle" dome mural alone, every single person who walked into the Dragonpit—Tyrell half or not—would look up first and be blown away by Pierce Celtigar's masterpiece. All the glory, all the stories, all the prestige would be his.
No way in the seven hells.
"Wait, Lord Celtigar!" Willas jumped in, forcing a warm smile. "A project this symbolic and artistic should be a joint effort. Highgarden should cover the cost. The Faith of the Seven belongs to the whole realm, and as protectors of the Reach, it's only right that we contribute."
Pierce didn't even hesitate. "Really? Lord Willas, your piety is admirable. In that case, yes—Highgarden pays for materials and crafting. My teams will still handle design and installation guidance. They know the adhesive and mosaic technique best."
Pierce agreed so fast and looked so innocently pleased that Willas felt like he'd just punched a pillow. His chest tightened with pure frustration.
He'd been played. Again. Not only had he failed to steal the spotlight, he'd just volunteered to foot the bill for what was obviously going to be an obscenely expensive showpiece—while Pierce kept the technical control and the lion's share of the fame.
Willas's face went red, then white. He gripped his cane until his knuckles ached.
The rest of the tour passed in near silence. Willas trailed behind, jaw locked, offering only stiff nods. Maester Lyster kept sighing under his breath.
After more measuring and arguing (mostly Willas second-guessing everything), they finally split the site: Pierce took the eastern half, Willas the western—the section Willas had convinced himself was "slightly better" after hours of studying the plans. He now seriously wondered if Pierce had buried some trap there he simply hadn't spotted.
"Then it's settled." Pierce stuck out his hand. "Pleasant cooperation, Lord Willas."
Willas shook it like he was gripping a hot coal. "Pleasant… cooperation."
The ink on the agreement was barely dry when Pierce's crews—already geared up and waiting—flooded into the eastern section like an invading army. Shouts, hammers, and measuring calls exploded instantly. The dead silence of the Dragonpit shattered in seconds. Their speed was downright ridiculous.
Willas stared at the sudden whirlwind of activity across the divide, then at his own side where a handful of craftsmen stood around awkwardly waiting for orders. His teeth itched.
He practically snarled a refusal when Pierce invited him to "lunch to talk details," then stormed off the site, head high but boiling inside.
Facing Pierce Celtigar, he felt like every lesson in noble poise he'd ever learned had just been tossed out the window.
...
...
King's Landing – Silk Street, "Golden Rose Crown" Tavern
To cool off and avoid another round of Pierce's infuriating efficiency, Willas didn't head straight back to the Red Keep. He stopped instead at the "Golden Rose Crown," a quiet, upscale tavern on Silk Street that belonged to House Tyrell.
In a private second-floor room he found Margaery already waiting. She was still dressed as "Matt," but her brow was furrowed and her honeyed wine sat untouched. She clearly had problems of her own.
"Margaery? What are you doing here?" Willas asked, dropping into the chair across from her.
Margaery looked up, saw her brother's thunderous expression, and set her own worries aside for a moment. "Willas, you look like someone just stole your horse. Did Celtigar back out?"
"No—he agreed. Immediately." Willas's voice was flat as he recounted the entire dome-mural trap in painful detail.
Margaery listened, first stunned, then her face twisted with the exact same mix of fury and regret. "That slippery bastard! He planned this from the start! He knew we'd never let him hog all the glory, so he baited us into paying for it ourselves! We walked straight into his net!"
She took a deep breath, then shared her own disaster. "My morning didn't go any better. I went to line up craftsmen and glassworkers for our western half through the guilds, but…"
She gave a bitter little laugh. "Every decent craftsman, every skilled apprentice—gone. All of them. Pierce's people got there first and offered thirty percent over market rate plus fat bonuses. The guilds are basically empty now. What's left is either mediocre or too old to handle a project this size. Same story with the glassworkers—his Golden Port sucked them all up."
Margaery's voice rose with frustration. "And Loras—don't even get me started! He's been too busy 'admiring flowers' with Lord Renly to lift a finger. He swore he'd help the family, but the moment we actually need him he's nowhere to be found!"
Willas sighed and patted her hand. "Complaining about Loras won't fix it now. His head's just… not in this fight."
Margaery slammed her cup down. "I swear, I could strangle Pierce Celtigar right now. He's blocked every road before we even started!"
She calmed herself, eyes hardening with resolve. "Fine. We'll scrape together whatever decent workers are left. I'll send ravens to Highgarden for more of our own people—yes, it'll cost extra and slow us down, but we start construction immediately. We cannot let the city think the Tyrells are sitting on our hands while Pierce's half is already humming."
Willas nodded heavily. The two of them sat in the quiet tavern room, staring at the mountain of problems in front of them.
The lord from Crackclaw Point had just given them another very expensive, very public lesson in exactly who was running the show.
And somewhere in the back of Margaery's mind, her earlier spark of curiosity about Pierce Celtigar had quietly sharpened into something fiercer—equal parts anger and burning determination to beat him at his own game.