King's Landing – Tourney Grounds West of the King's Gate
Three days after Jaime and Tyrion returned to the city, the tourney for Prince Joffrey's nameday kicked off in earnest.
Thanks to the buzz from the Silk Street "Star Selection" and the Dragonpit renovation, this one was way bigger and louder than the last few.
The crown actually had a little coin to spend. Not a fortune, but enough to make the whole thing feel like a real spectacle.
The huge open field west of the King's Gate was fenced off with tall wooden barriers. Bright banners snapped in the wind, and the air hummed with thousands of voices.
Nobles, knights, squires, merchants, and commoners poured in from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms. The smell of leather, horses, spices, and sweat hung thick in the air—raw, noisy, and alive.
The stands were divided by rank: plush noble boxes right beside the lists, simpler seats for knights and freeriders behind them, and a massive open area packed with smallfolk farther back.
Vendors wove through the crowd hawking ale, sausages, fruit, and cheap souvenirs. Puppet troupes were already putting on shows.
Pierce Celtigar arrived with his guards, dressed in a perfectly tailored deep-blue doublet embroidered with a subtle golden crab. He looked more like a wealthy merchant than a lord, and he was loving it.
He scanned the medieval-style chaos with genuine interest, already calculating new business angles and sizing up every faction.
His relaxed mood didn't last long.
Jaime Lannister stepped straight into his path—golden armor blazing like a second sun, green eyes burning with barely contained rage.
Jaime's usual lazy smirk was gone. His face was tight, jaw clenched. The twin bond had given him a sick, uneasy feeling about Cersei lately—something he couldn't control, something that scared him. After ruling out every other possibility, he'd zeroed in on this flashy new lord who'd been spending way too much time with his sister.
"Celtigar!" Jaime's voice was ice-cold and loud enough for half the stands to hear. "This is a place for real warriors, not merchants. Or did you come here to learn what actual manhood looks like?"
He added a mocking sneer. "Oh, Seven save us—I forgot. You're the type who hides behind women's skirts and piles of gold dragons!"
Pierce stopped, completely calm. His violet eyes studied Jaime like he was an interesting puzzle. "Ser Jaime. Good day. I'm just here to enjoy the knights' skill. As for fighting…"
He gave a small, dangerous smile. "I may not be a knight, but I've crawled out of more piles of corpses than most. I'm better at killing than I am at pretty jousts."
"Not a knight? Better at killing?" Jaime laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "Perfect! Then let's find out exactly how good the man who supposedly crushed Dothraki savages really is. Right here on the lists, Celtigar. Let's see if your courage matches your reputation… and your ambition when it comes to certain people."
The threat was crystal clear.
The crowd around them went dead quiet. Every eye locked on the two men.
One was the realm's most famous knight, a Kingsguard legend. The other was the richest new lord in Westeros. The sudden challenge crackled with violence.
Pierce looked at Jaime for a long second, then his mouth curved. He glanced back at Rosco Blount. "Rosco, enter me in the joust."
"My lord—" Rosco started, worried. A broken lance could kill a man.
Pierce waved him off. "Do it."
Rosco obeyed. A ripple of shocked murmurs swept the stands.
"He's insane? That's Ser Jaime!"
"Celtigar fought in Essos, sure, but jousting…"
"He's built, but against the Kingslayer? He's out of his depth."
Pierce ignored the whispers. He stepped close to Jaime so only the two of them could hear.
"Tell me, Ser Jaime—what do you think will happen if a man who never finished knightly training beats you in front of the entire realm?"
Jaime's face twisted.
"Oh, and one more thing," Pierce added softly, lips barely moving. "Your sister's really… wet."
SCHWING!
Jaime's sword flew out of its sheath in a blur of steel.
"You filthy—"
Before he could finish, a blast of horns cut through the air. King Robert had arrived.
"Save it for the lists, Kingslayer," Pierce laughed, already turning away. "I'll be waiting."
Jaime stood frozen, sword half-drawn, chest heaving. Killing a lord in broad daylight—even for a Lannister Kingsguard—wasn't something you walked away from. And something in Pierce's stance told him the man wasn't bluffing.
The standoff ended there.
Robert Baratheon climbed the royal dais with his courtiers and the rest of the Kingsguard. He looked regal in his fine clothes, but the years of drinking and whoring showed in the heavy gut and tired eyes.
He'd been spending most of his time at Littlefinger's brothel lately—especially obsessed with the new star Nia—so politics bored him. But a good joust? That still got his blood up.
After the usual boring opening speech and cheers, Robert noticed the commotion below.
When he heard that Pierce Celtigar had entered the lists—and was set to face Jaime—his big, coarse face split into a delighted grin. His booming laugh rolled across the stands.
"Ha! This is too good! Our Golden Crab's actually riding? Against Jaime? Seven hells, Celtigar, you never stop surprising me! Tell me—did you piss off my Kingslayer somehow?"
Pierce bowed smoothly. "No personal grudge, Your Grace. Perhaps Ser Jaime simply wants to show the realm how strong the Kingsguard truly is."
Jon Arryn, standing beside the king, looked worried. The old Hand leaned down and spoke quietly but firmly.
"Lord Celtigar, this is no game. Ser Jaime is one of the finest knights alive. Crackclaw Point has only just found stability under your rule. The realm needs your… contributions. Please, think of your safety."
His tone was gentler than before. The Braavosi maester Pierce had recommended was actually helping little Robert Arryn, and the Dragonpit project was easing King's Landing's overcrowding. Jon's opinion of the young lord had shifted from suspicion to cautious respect.
The opening ceremony ended. Tomorrow the real jousts would begin. Fools and mummers took the field to warm up the crowd.
Pierce caught Cersei's eye across the stands—a long, heated look that promised later. She quickly had someone pull the still-furious Jaime away.
Satisfied, Pierce left the noisy stands and headed to his private exhibition area.
The stall was perfectly placed beside the noble walkway, draped in silk and ribbons. Golden-crab banners fluttered proudly. On display were the best products from Golden Port's workshops—already proving they could dominate the market.
New-style farthingales with stiffened underskirts and lavish embroidery drew flocks of noble ladies. Outrageous hats trimmed with feathers, satin, and silk flowers made them gasp. Sleeker, figure-hugging gowns and brilliantly dyed fabrics that held their color forever had servants running back and forth with baskets.
Crystal-clear glassware, elegant metal candlesticks, scented candles, preserved pastries, jewel-like jams, and perfectly standardized spices flew off the tables.
Light, strong new saddles and gilded stirrups gleamed. The star attraction—a brand-new shock-absorbing carriage—had a constant line of curious lords climbing in for a test ride.
Pierce's commercial tentacles were reaching into every corner of noble life. After today, Golden Port's name would be on everyone's lips.
While he was inspecting the displays, an unexpected visitor arrived—Willas Tyrell.
Willas leaned on his cane as usual. Beside him walked a strikingly handsome young "squire" named Matt—actually Margaery in disguise.
Pierce's gaze lingered on "Matt" for a second. There was something different about this one—definitely not an ordinary page.
He assumed it was Willas's secret lover or some Tyrell cousin. It never crossed his mind that the famous little rose of Highgarden herself was standing in front of him.
"Lord Celtigar," Willas greeted him with a carefully neutral tone. "This is my… distant cousin, Matt Tyrell. He's very interested in your novel wares."
Margaery gave a flawless squire's bow, but her bright eyes openly studied Pierce and every item on display.
Pierce knew exactly what game Willas was playing by hiding her gender. He smiled warmly.
"Lord Willas, Matt—welcome! Anything that catches your eye is yours. Consider it my gift."
Margaery's attention locked on the new dresses. She couldn't help asking, voice pitched low but still melodic. "Lord Celtigar, these styles… I've never seen anything like them. Are they from the east?"
"Exactly," Pierce said, enjoying her curiosity. "Inspired by distant eastern lands, then improved for Westerosi tastes and… figures."
"From Yi Ti?" Margaery pressed, clearly fascinated. Rumors said Pierce had been there.
"Yi Ti's style is older and more ornate—I haven't brought the full version yet." He picked up a sketch of a gown with a unique neckline. "Personally, I prefer the fashions of the Isle of Leng—especially the women's dresses with that… special detail in the back."
He gestured behind his own shoulders. "A little raised section, almost like a knot or a soft cushion. Very distinctive and…" His smile turned wicked as he touched the jade pendant at his throat. "Extremely convenient for… anytime, anywhere activities."
Willas's face went beet red. He understood the filthy implication instantly and cut in, mortified. "Lord Celtigar! Please watch your language—Matt is still… young!"
Pierce shrugged innocently. "Relax, Willas. We're all men here. Isn't that design made exactly for our convenience?"
Margaery froze for two full seconds, then the meaning hit her. Her fair cheeks blazed scarlet. She was equal parts embarrassed and furious, barely keeping her squire's composure.
Pierce saw the reaction and knew for certain she was a woman. Satisfied, he changed the subject smoothly and led them to the other side of the booth.
"Come, let's look at the more serious items. These might actually interest you, Lord Willas."
He guided them toward scale models and diagrams—new ship designs, advanced fuels, weapons, and papermaking techniques. Black-tech prototypes that could change the face of war and trade.
Willas's eyes widened. As heir to Highgarden, he instantly understood the military and economic power these represented.
His gaze on Pierce turned dead serious. The earlier grudge faded beneath pure, calculating interest.
This Pierce Celtigar wasn't just rich or clever with luxuries. The man held secrets that could reshape entire kingdoms.
And Margaery, watching silently beside her brother, felt that same dangerous fascination spark even hotter inside her chest.