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Narrow Sea – Dragonstone
A small fleet cut steadily through the waters north of Dragonstone, heading straight for the island's increasingly busy docks.
At the head sailed Pierce's flagship, the Golden Crab. After multiple refits blending Essosi shipbuilding tricks with tough local timber, the vessel dwarfed most Westerosi warships. Its sleek bow was carved like a golden crab claw ready to snap shut, gleaming under the sun.
Pierce's ships were hybrids—part swan ship, part galley. They carried complex sails plus a hidden wight-powered rowing system that let them move even in dead calm.
Two graceful caravels followed close behind like loyal bodyguards, slicing through Blackwater Bay's dark-green swells.
Pierce stood at the Golden Crab's bow, letting the salty wind toss his hair and cloak. He watched the southern horizon sharpen into the unmistakable shape of Dragonstone—the ancient cradle of House Targaryen, now the bedrock of House Baratheon power.
This was the first stop on his voyage south to Dorne, and his first chance to stretch his legs after ten days at sea.
The ships were well-stocked, but nothing beat solid ground under your boots after that long. Pierce had once spent over a year drifting on the ocean. He still shuddered at the memory.
Without those brutal years, though, he'd probably still be some broke hedge knight scraping by in the backwoods.
As they drew closer, Dragonstone loomed exactly like the legends said: a black-stone monster crouched in the sea.
Volcanic rock formed the jagged, steep island. Sparse vegetation clung to the slopes, and the bare black stone glistened cold and damp under the gray sky.
At the highest point stood the famous castle—Dragonstone itself.
It wasn't built with ordinary bricks. Valyrian sorcerers had shaped the black stone directly, twisting the towers into coiling dragons and carving the battlements like spread wings. The whole fortress radiated an inhuman, ancient, almost magical menace.
The black-stone techniques Pierce now used came from the same source. He still couldn't shape the rock at will like the old Valyrians, but what he had was more than enough.
His trip into the Valyrian ruins had nearly killed him, but that knowledge had been one of the greatest treasures he'd brought back. If the ruins hadn't been so deadly, Valyrian steel might have become as common as cheap iron.
Unlike the grand, imposing Red Keep in King's Landing, Dragonstone felt more like an ancient weapon or a dark offering from another age.
And the castle was far bigger in person than it ever looked on screen—covering nearly the entire top of the island.
Guided by pilot boats, the fleet eased into Dragonstone's natural harbor, cradled by sheer black cliffs.
The old fishing village around the docks had transformed. Stone buildings stood in neat rows, and dozens of workshop chimneys puffed smoke. These were the glassworks. Most of the fine glassware in Golden Port came from here.
Using Dragonstone's rich obsidian veins, Pierce had set up a special black-glass production line. The unique magma-shaping process had made both him and Stannis filthy rich.
The glass was now selling all the way across Essos, turning life on the grim island completely upside down.
Soon Pierce spotted the small welcoming party waiting on the dock.
At the front stood Prince Stannis Baratheon of Dragonstone—Robert's younger brother and Master of Ships. He stood ramrod straight like the jagged black rocks behind him, face locked in its usual sour-lemon scowl.
Beside him were his wife, Lady Selyse, and their young daughter, Princess Shireen.
Shireen's cheeks looked much rosier and healthier than the last time Pierce had seen her. Baratheon blood still carried faint dragonlord traces. With the greyscale under control, she was blooming into a lovely girl.
Of course, to Pierce she was still just a child. Betrothal or not, he had zero interest in anything creepy.
Today she wore a beautiful purple Myrish lace gown and the jeweled necklace he'd once given her. Her clear eyes sparkled with shy excitement.
Noble girls matured early in this world, and the handmaids Pierce had sent had naturally sparked some innocent, budding feelings for her betrothed.
A faint blush colored her cheeks like sunrise as she watched him.
Behind the family stood a few guards and one colorful, bizarre figure—Stannis's fool, the Essosi jester everyone called Patchface.
Pierce's ships docked smoothly. The gangplank thudded down, and the visit officially began.
Pierce straightened his cloak, put on a polite smile, and stepped onto the cold stone pier with servants carrying gifts.
"Lord Stannis, Lady Selyse, Princess Shireen," he greeted with a slight bow. "Thank you for meeting me in person. May the Seven bless Dragonstone."
Stannis gave a stiff nod. Lady Selyse forced a thin smile, but exhaustion and distance lingered in her eyes.
Only little Shireen lit up at the sight of the beautifully wrapped gift boxes.
Pierce always brought her the strangest, most wonderful things. Her shyness had already melted into pure delight.
"Pierce, welcome back to Dragonstone," Stannis said in his dry, emotionless voice. "Your ship… is unusual."
His eyes lingered on the Golden Crab's distinctive lines, clearly trying to figure out what rules it might be breaking.
This was the first time Stannis had seen the vessel. He couldn't imagine where Pierce had found—or built—something like it.
The thought naturally drifted to Golden Port, deepening his respect for his future good-son's growing power.
Stannis was quietly glad he'd allied with Pierce early. He had a feeling Golden Port was on its way to becoming one of Westeros's great port cities.
"Just a few small improvements for better sailing," Pierce replied modestly, gesturing to his servants. "A few small gifts. Nothing special."
Stannis nodded in acknowledgment.
For Lady Selyse he brought the newest perfumes and skin creams from Golden Port—rare flowers and sea plants distilled into elegant glass vials that gave off a delicate scent.
For Shireen there was a set of exquisitely carved and painted ivory sea-creature models: seahorses, sea turtles, and several brilliantly colored fish. They were so lifelike that Shireen let out a soft, delighted gasp, her face lighting up with pure joy.
Finally, Pierce personally handed Stannis a long wooden box. "My lord, this is a sword forged from Crackclaw Point's special 'black steel.' Specially tempered—tough and rust-resistant. I hope it meets your standards."
Stannis opened the box and ran his fingers along the dark blade with its faint forging patterns. A rare flicker of real appreciation crossed his eyes.
He valued strength and practicality. This gift clearly pleased him far more than perfume. In that moment, his opinion of his future son-in-law rose another notch.
"…Thoughtful," he grunted.
Pierce simply nodded. He knew exactly what kind of man Stannis was, so the gruff thanks felt like high praise.
But just as the greeting felt almost warm, something strange happened.
The fool Patchface, who had been staring at Pierce with his head cocked and eyes glazed, suddenly jerked like he'd been stung. He let out a piercing, blood-curdling scream.
"Under the sea! Under the sea! The scales are talking! Shadows eating shadows!" He flailed wildly, painted face twisting in terror as he stumbled backward. "Don't come closer! Cold! So cold!"
Muttering nonsense, he turned and fled in panic. His colorful, ridiculous figure looked especially grotesque against Dragonstone's gloomy backdrop.
The moment turned awkward. Lady Selyse frowned and muttered, "Stupid creature."
Shireen looked worriedly after Patchface. He was one of her favorite companions—strange and mad, but always gentle with her.
Stannis's face darkened, but he said nothing. His gaze toward Pierce now carried a deeper, unreadable scrutiny.
He knew very well how capable—and secretive—his future good-son truly was.
On the surface, Pierce stayed calm, but inside he tensed.
In the instant Patchface screamed, Pierce had felt an extremely faint but unmistakable ripple of soul energy. It carried the chaotic, ice-cold traces of something that had been forcibly invaded or torn apart.
The feeling vanished quickly, but it was unmistakable.
Patchface wasn't simply mad.
He had likely been Shifter-possessed once—or come into close contact with a powerful soul-level force. It had shattered his mind and left a permanent, instinctive terror of certain presences.
'Dragonstone really isn't simple,' Pierce thought.
Outwardly he smiled apologetically at Stannis. "It seems my arrival startled your fool."
Stannis grunted. "Pay him no mind. He's always been mad. Lunch is ready. Come."
When Pierce had last visited, Patchface had been ill and they'd barely crossed paths. Pierce had left soon after for King's Landing. This sudden outburst was completely unexpected.
…
…
Dragonstone Castle – Dining Hall
The dining hall carried the same heavy, gloomy atmosphere as the rest of the castle. Tall black-stone walls swallowed most of the light, so candles burned even during the day.
A long table covered in dark cloth was set with meticulous silverware—perfectly in line with Stannis's rigid, almost obsessive style.
Some things were almost impossible to change. Even after Pierce had spoken with him many times, personality didn't shift overnight.
Lunch wasn't lavish but filling: roasted fish, honey bread, stewed beans, and salted ham, served with plain ale. Compared to Golden Port's refined variety, it felt simple—almost austere.
This was actually an improvement. Pierce felt slightly less guilty about the Summer Islander bed-slave he'd secretly arranged for Selyse. Life might be better now, but she was still eating like this.
Stannis ate quickly and silently, as if eating was just another duty to finish.
Lady Selyse picked at her food and occasionally tried to steer conversation toward King's Landing or Storm's End, only for Stannis to answer in short, uninterested grunts.
Shireen ate quietly, stealing occasional glances at Pierce across the table.
Pierce didn't mind the plain food. He hadn't come for a feast. He ate calmly, giving Selyse polite replies now and then, but mostly observing and waiting.
Sure enough, halfway through the meal—after the servants cleared the main dishes and brought out apples and cheese—Stannis wiped his mouth with a napkin, fixed Pierce with those sharp blue eyes, and spoke bluntly:
"Pierce, I hear… you've grown quite close with that Lysene pirate, Salladhor Saan?"