Crackclaw Point – Golden Port
The next morning, Pierce was in his castle study reviewing production reports from the workshops when a knock sounded at the door.
After he gave permission, a guard on duty poked his head in and reported that a group of Seven Faith septons was requesting an audience.
Pierce was slightly surprised but agreed. The Faith of the Seven had always stayed low-key, but after centuries of quiet influence, no lord in Westeros ever dared underestimate them.
From his own investigations over the years, Pierce knew the Faith and the Citadel had played major roles in helping wipe out the dragons. Every major blow to House Targaryen's bloodline had their fingerprints on it somewhere. That was exactly why he refused to use Citadel-trained maesters—he had no intention of letting those people near his real secrets.
These guys really didn't waste time. Golden Port had barely started making a name for itself and they were already knocking on his door.
Soon, several men in plain brown septon robes were escorted in by Pierce's guards.
The leader was a tall, broad-shouldered man. Even in simple robes, he carried a rugged, battle-hardened presence. A thick, tangled beard covered half his face, and his sharp eyes held the weary wisdom of someone who'd seen too much of the world.
The moment Pierce saw him, he was reminded of a certain pirate captain from an old movie back on Earth.
He quickly placed the face. This was Septon Ray—the same man who, in the original timeline, would one day shelter and influence Sandor "the Hound" Clegane in the Riverlands.
Pierce remembered the actor clearly. The guy had played Blackbeard in a pirate movie.
"May the Father grant you wisdom, and the Mother grant you mercy, respected Lord Pierce Celtigar!"
Septon Ray led the group in a flawless bow. His posture was perfect, but his eyes quickly flicked across the study—especially lingering on the huge, highly detailed map of Crackclaw Point and the surrounding seas hanging on the wall behind Pierce.
Pierce could clearly see the shock in the man's gaze. No wonder—the map's accuracy and style were completely different from any known map of Westeros.
Just like the Citadel, the Faith had all kinds of talented people in its ranks. If not for the dragons and the Citadel's influence, the Faith of the Seven might have become something like a second Church in this world.
"Welcome to Golden Port, septons," Pierce said, setting down his quill with a calm tone. "What brings you here?"
Septon Ray stepped forward, hands clasped respectfully. "My lord, we have seen the prosperity and order of Golden Port. Such a beautiful and thriving city should not be without faith. We believe the light of the Seven should also shine upon this land of hope."
He glanced at Pierce's neutral expression, clearly trying to read him, then continued.
"We humbly ask for your permission to build a sept within Golden Port, so we may spread the teachings of the Seven and comfort the souls of your people. All costs for construction will be covered by the Faith ourselves. You will bear no expense."
Pierce leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers tapping the polished desktop. Crackclaw Point had always been weak ground for the Faith of the Seven. Aside from a few families like the Brunes who had close ties to the mainland, most locals either followed the old gods of the Children of the Forest and the First Men or secretly worshipped native deities like the Lady of the Waves.
Pierce had always taken a hands-off approach—neither encouraging nor interfering. Religious freedom prevented a lot of unnecessary trouble. But once any religion grew too powerful, it could easily become a threat to his rule.
The one advantage in this world was that there were many faiths, and the gods' power was inconsistent at best. No single religion could dominate completely. Still, the Faith of the Seven's influence was undeniable. Their teachings had even reached the North and the Iron Islands. Pierce was certain that without the Night King's return, the North would have been fully converted within another century.
After a moment of thought, he waved his hand, ordering the attendants and guards to leave. Once only he and the septons remained, the atmosphere grew noticeably heavier.
"Septon Ray," Pierce said, addressing the man directly, his violet eyes piercing. "I've heard of you. You're… different from most septons. I prefer straight talk. Golden Port doesn't go looking for trouble, but I like trouble even less. So tell me—what's your real purpose here? Is it truly just spreading the Faith?"
Septon Ray didn't flinch under Pierce's gaze. His thick beard twitched slightly as a faint, bitter smile crossed his face.
"My lord sees clearly. I, Ray, am merely a sinner who wishes to serve the Seven. We seek only a quiet place to pray and guide lost souls. Golden Port is growing rapidly with people arriving from all corners of the realm. Their hearts need guidance, and the teachings of the Seven—honesty, hard work, mercy—do not conflict with the order you have built here."
Pierce stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to see through the pious mask to the man beneath. The only sound was the distant chant of sailors working at the harbor.
"Very well," Pierce finally said, his voice calm but carrying absolute authority. "Remember your own words, Septon Ray. I will allow you to build a sept. The location will be chosen by my steward, and the size must follow my regulations. You may preach, but you will obey the laws of Golden Port."
He stood and walked to the window, looking down at the bustling harbor and orderly streets. Sunlight outlined his figure in gold.
"But remember this," Pierce turned back, locking eyes with Ray once more. "This is Golden Port. Here, there is only one voice—mine. Law stands above tradition. Order stands above doctrine. Whether it's the Seven, the old gods, or any other deity, none may rise above it. If anyone uses the name of the gods to incite the people, disrupt production, or break the peace… then no matter who they are, I will make sure they understand exactly who rules this land."
His words were quiet, but they carried the cold weight of steel. Septon Ray and the other septons instinctively lowered their heads under the invisible pressure.
Faith was a human necessity, especially in this world. Some people simply couldn't live without it. Better to let them build openly and keep them firmly under control than to have them operate in the shadows.
Although he didn't know this particular septon well yet, Pierce had time to study him—and time to shape him into what he needed.
"We understand, my lord!" Septon Ray said gravely. "We will only spread the teachings. We will never interfere with your rule. The Seven teach us to obey rightful authority."
"I hope so," Pierce replied with a nod. "Discuss the details with Maester Ferren."
…
…
Not long after the septons left, Pierce received another report: a messenger from Dorne was requesting an audience. This surprised him even more. Dorne and Crackclaw Point were far apart and had no previous contact.
The visitor was a dark-skinned, sharp-eyed Dornishman dressed in light silk-cotton robes. He carried himself with polished manners.
After a respectful bow, he presented a letter sealed in red wax bearing the sun-and-spear sigil of House Martell.
Pierce broke the seal and read quickly. The signature belonged to Prince Oberyn Martell—the famous "Red Viper," known across Westeros for his deadly skill with weapons, his libertine ways, and his mastery of poison.
In the letter, Prince Oberyn warmly praised Golden Port's rise and Pierce's legendary exploits. He then politely pointed out that the various ales, fruit wines, and new-style beers produced in Pierce's workshops were already making serious inroads into the mid-tier markets of several Essosi city-states—markets traditionally dominated by Dorne's strong wines.
He sincerely invited Pierce to visit Sunspear to "discuss future trade opportunities" and find a path of "mutual benefit."
Pierce set the letter down, his fingers lightly tapping Oberyn's signature as his mind raced.
Dorne's desert climate produced distinctive, powerful wines that competed in a different lane from the sweet wines of the Reach. His own products, made from local grains and fruits with improved techniques, focused on price and accessibility, clearly threatening some of Dorne's overseas share.
More importantly, he had just helped Salladhor Saan stir up the Stepstones—right on the main shipping route Dornish merchants used to reach Essos.
Varys's spy network had probably already noticed the connection between the changing power balance in the Stepstones and Golden Port, and passed that information along to Dorne.
Pierce didn't believe for a second that Varys had no ties to Dorne. This world had some differences from what he remembered from the show—several book-only characters had appeared, yet most people still looked like their TV counterparts. It was strangely inconsistent.
Especially Varys and Littlefinger. Both were extremely dangerous opponents. Varys had deep Essosi connections and was likely tied to the infamous Blackfyre family. Littlefinger was even more slippery. According to Shae's reports, the man barely slept in the same place two nights in a row and apparently used body doubles. Even Shae's people had nearly been fooled once.
"Looks like our Dornish friends are starting to feel the pressure," Pierce thought with a cold smile.
Dorne had always been a unique player in Westeros politics—culturally and historically independent, with complicated relations to the Iron Throne and the other kingdoms. They were like a tough thorn in everyone's side. Used correctly, they could make even the powerful Reach extremely uncomfortable. A perfect piece for distraction and leverage.
Having made his decision, Pierce walked to his desk, laid out fresh paper, and began writing a reply.
His response was polite and equally skillful. He thanked Prince Oberyn for the invitation and accepted with pleasure.
He wrote that he had long heard of Dorne's unique beauty and spirit, and looked forward to seeing Sunspear's splendor and meeting its passionate people. He was confident that honest discussion would lead to stronger trade and deeper understanding between them.
He handed the letter to the Dornish envoy and ordered his men to treat the man well. He would depart the following day.
After the envoy left, Pierce immediately summoned his core team: Qyburn, Maester Ferren, Ser Rosco Brune, Ser Benard Brune, and Maester Moore. Melara sat quietly to the side.
"I will be traveling to Dorne for a diplomatic visit. The trip may take some time," Pierce said directly. "While I'm gone, Maester Ferren will oversee all affairs in Golden Port. Qyburn will handle technical matters and security. Rosco will be responsible for military and public order. Maester Moore will assist with internal affairs and the new population. For any major decisions, the four of you will discuss and decide together. If you cannot reach agreement, send me a raven immediately. I will stop for at least three days at each major location along the route and send word so you have time to reply."
He looked at Qyburn. "Continue testing and improving the Plowing Beast. We need it reliable as soon as possible. Keep pushing the Shifter training as well."
To Rosco he said, "Increase patrols at the port and borders, especially watching the Stepstones. Deal with any movement from Salladhor immediately."
Finally, to Maester Moore: "Prepare a gift list that shows Golden Port's character and strength without being overly flashy. I plan to sail south, with possible short stops at Dragonstone, Tarth, and Estermont before reaching Sunspear. Arrange the route and communications."
Everyone acknowledged their orders. They were long used to Pierce's decisive style.
Melara looked up, a faint ripple passing through her golden eyes. "Do you need me to accompany you?"
Pierce glanced at her and shook his head. "Stay here. Golden Port needs you more. The Lady of the Waves' 'ocean ranch' project cannot slow down."
Melara nodded quietly. She would have liked to go with him, but the Lady of the Waves disliked long journeys.
After the meeting, Pierce stood alone before the huge wall map. His gaze moved slowly south from Crackclaw Point, across Blackwater Bay, past Dragonstone, Tarth, and Estermont, finally settling on Dorne's long coastline.
This trip to Dorne wasn't just about trade negotiations. It was an opportunity to observe closely and plant new seeds.
The game in Westeros was growing more complicated by the day. He needed to make sure he held enough pieces—whether in the North, the Vale, the Riverlands, or this distant southern desert.
The storm was coming. He needed more allies… or more obedient puppets.