Dragonstone Castle – Dining Hall
Pierce's knife paused for the briefest moment as he cut into the cheese, then continued smoothly.
He understood instantly. Davos Seaworth—the Onion Knight—had been a smuggler in his younger days. Of course he knew Salladhor Saan.
Stannis had clearly heard about the Lysene pirate through Davos.
"Lord Stannis has sharp ears," Pierce said calmly, setting down his knife. "Yes, I made a deal with Captain Saan. He wanted a piece of the chaos in the Stepstones, and I… provided some limited assistance."
"Assistance?" Stannis's voice rose slightly, laced with suspicion. "Helping a pirate lord grow stronger? Pierce, you know the Stepstones are a cancer on the realm's trade routes! As Master of Ships, one of my duties is to clear them out!"
"I completely understand your position, my lord," Pierce replied evenly. "That's exactly why I believe it's better to back someone relatively… reasonable who has ties to us, rather than let the Stepstones stay in the hands of the even more brutal and stupid lieutenants who tore each other apart after 'Mad Hat' Jones died."
"Salladhor Saan has sworn loyalty to me. He handed over his entire treasure hoard and moved his family and roots to Golden Port. In a sense, he's no longer just a pirate—he's become my agent… or rather, an agent of our alliance with Dragonstone."
He cleverly tied Dragonstone into the equation, suggesting this wasn't solely Golden Port's doing.
Stannis's brow furrowed deeply. "An agent? Hmph. You're being too naïve. The waters of the Stepstones run far deeper than you think! It's not just pirates. Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr's slaver cities all have their fingers in it. They fund the pirates, raid merchant ships, trade in human flesh. Even the ironborn occasionally sail there for their share!"
"And don't forget the countless tentacles reaching out from Westeros itself. You think one Salladhor Saan can stir up that hornet's nest and come out ahead? You'll probably just end up building a fortress for someone else while getting nothing in return!"
Pierce listened quietly. He knew Stannis was speaking the truth. The Stepstones sat at the throat of trade between the Narrow Sea and the Summer Sea. The enormous profits and strategic value had turned the islands into a battlefield where chaos itself was a tool the various powers used to keep their slice of the pie.
"You also forget how the Kingdom of the Three Daughters was formed—because the Targaryens got involved in the Stepstones!"
Stannis might be rigid, but he saw things clearly. He didn't want Pierce dragged into something he shouldn't touch.
"Your concerns are valid, Lord Stannis," Pierce agreed, then shifted tone. "But precisely because the powers there are so tangled, any direct purge by the crown would be extremely difficult and might even force them to unite against the royal fleet. My approach is a… low-cost experiment."
"We're not investing much—just a few ships and some supplies. If Salladhor succeeds, we plant a wedge in the Stepstones. In the future we'll have better intelligence, more influence over those waters, and another tool against our real enemies. If he fails…"
Pierce swirled the amber ale in his cup, voice light. "Then we've only lost a small investment. It costs the realm and Dragonstone nothing. The pirates will keep fighting each other, the chaos will continue. We lose nothing. It's just a side move."
Stannis fell silent, weighing Pierce's words. He hated chaos and lawlessness, but he also understood harsh reality.
Pierce's method went against Stannis's black-and-white worldview, yet its pragmatism and low risk made it hard to outright reject.
Especially since Pierce had clearly framed it as an "investment" and tied Salladhor to Golden Port, which eased some of Stannis's instinctive disgust.
They were allies, after all. That was the only reason Stannis cared so much.
Over time, Stannis had been quietly reflecting on his own behavior—though with little success. He still couldn't match Renly's charm or Robert's easy popularity. Thanks to Selyse's diplomatic efforts, a few local lords had warmed to him, but he couldn't change his nature.
That was why he was now pouring all his energy into planning for his coming child.
Whether it was a boy or girl didn't matter—he was already thinking about the child's future. And that future might depend on Pierce.
With that in mind, Stannis softened his stance slightly. He knew Pierce was doing this for their alliance.
"…I hope you know what you're doing," he finally said. He didn't give clear approval, but he stopped opposing it. "If Saan does anything that threatens the realm or breaks the law, the royal fleet in King's Landing will not stand idle."
"Of course," Pierce replied with a smile, raising his cup. "For the good of the realm and the honor of the law."
Lunch ended in a somewhat heavy but outwardly peaceful atmosphere. Stannis claimed he had duties and left first. Lady Selyse excused herself with Shireen.
Pierce politely declined the offer to rest, saying he wanted to visit an old friend—Maester Cressen of Dragonstone.
…
…
With Shireen eagerly volunteering to lead the way, Pierce followed her through Dragonstone's maze-like cold corridors to the maester's chambers.
The future little princess seemed genuinely happy. She moved through the grim, freezing castle without any fear.
Years of loneliness had apparently made her forget how terrifying the place truly was, allowing her to wander freely.
Compared to the rest of Dragonstone, the maester's room felt more… human. Towering bookshelves overflowed with scrolls and leather-bound books. The air smelled of parchment, herbs, and faint ink.
Instruments, astrolabes, specimens, and bottles of strange liquids were arranged in organized chaos. The flickering fireplace provided the room's only real warmth.
Old Maester Cressen was bent over his desk writing when they entered. When he looked up and saw Pierce and Shireen, his wrinkled face broke into a warm, genuine smile.
"Lord Pierce! Princess Shireen!" He set down his quill and struggled to stand. Pierce quickly stepped forward to help him.
"No need for such formality, Maester Cressen," Pierce said with a smile. "We're old friends. I'm glad to see you still looking so well."
Shireen added sweetly, "Grandmaester, Lord Pierce came to visit you."
"Good, good…" Cressen patted Pierce's supporting hand and motioned for them to sit.
After a short while, at the maester's kind gaze and Pierce's thanks, Shireen obediently left, leaving the two men alone.
Maester Cressen had raised and cared for the three Baratheon brothers. His loyalty to the family ran deep. That was why he had followed Stannis from Storm's End to this gloomy rock—an extremely rare choice for a maester, who were usually bound to one castle for life.
It showed just how strong his feelings for House Baratheon truly were.
Once servants brought hot milk (Pierce's suggestion—he'd been sending good breeding stock to Dragonstone), the two men exchanged pleasantries and caught up.
As the conversation deepened, it naturally turned toward more serious matters.
"Pierce, those… unconventional ideas you brought last time, along with your correspondence with Archmaester Marwyn, caused quite a storm in the Citadel," Maester Cressen said, sipping his milk with a mix of nostalgia and worry.
"Oh?" Pierce raised an eyebrow, pretending ignorance. "I only provided some ancient texts and a few… immature speculations. Archmaester Marwyn is a true seeker. What did he do?"
"What did he do?" Cressen shook his head with a bitter laugh. "Using the materials you gave him, he gathered a group of like-minded—or rather, heretical—young maesters and acolytes. They formed an organization called the 'Brotherhood of Magic.'"
"Marwyn the Mage" had always been an oddity in the Citadel—the first to forge a Valyrian steel link. Many archmaesters disliked him, viewing him as a spreader of dangerous nonsense.
Magic was mysterious and dangerous. Because they had studied the Doom of Valyria, the Citadel had long suppressed magical research. They didn't want Westeros to become another Valyria, so they had quietly worked for centuries to erase traces of magic.
Cressen sighed and continued, "It started as a small academic circle, but their influence grew quickly. They openly questioned the Citadel's centuries-long suppression of the 'higher mysteries.' They argue that this closed-mindedness has left Westeros unprepared for real threats—like the Long Night."
The old maester gave Pierce a complicated look. He suspected Pierce's materials were the spark that had thrown the Citadel into turmoil.
"They're calling for the re-examination of magical texts that have been locked away for generations. Some are even demanding the 'restructuring' of the Citadel and the end of the archmaesters' monopoly on power."
Pierce listened quietly, his face showing no surprise—only a faint, knowing smile. This was exactly the outcome he had wanted.
By feeding carefully selected but provocative "magical" knowledge through Marwyn, he had dropped a stone into the stagnant pond of the Citadel, stirring up long-buried curiosity and the desire to explore.
"The archmaesters are furious, of course," Cressen continued. "They see the Brotherhood of Magic as heresy and a direct challenge. They've tried every means to suppress and isolate them. Some young participants have even had their links stripped and been expelled."
"But strangely, no matter how much pressure they face, the Brotherhood always finds a way to survive. It's almost as if… they have secret support."
He gave Pierce a meaningful glance. "The Hightowers of Oldtown have taken an extremely ambiguous stance. They neither helped the Citadel crush the group nor openly supported it. Their silence alone feels like permission."
"The Citadel is now full of undercurrents. The archmaesters are exhausted but have no effective solution. Pierce… the move you made has pushed a thousand-year-old order into unknown territory."
The old maester's tone carried a hint of reproach, but mostly deep concern for the future.
Pierce finally spoke, his voice calm yet carrying unshakable conviction:
"Maester Cressen, knowledge itself is never the sin. Suppression and fear are the true shackles holding civilization back. Is the Long Night only a legend? Is the magic of the Children of the Forest truly powerless? Why did the dragons die out—and why might they return? The Citadel has no answers. Worse, they refuse to even look for them. At least Marwyn and his brothers are willing to try. To explore. Isn't that better than clinging to outdated dogma until disaster strikes and we're left helpless?"
He stood and walked to the fireplace, staring into the flames. "The Hightowers' silence… perhaps they realize the world is changing. Ancient powers are awakening. Instead of resisting, they may choose to ride the wave. The Citadel needs reform—whether it wants it or not. As for the consequences…"
Pierce turned, shadows dancing across his face. "I believe true order and vitality are often born from chaos. Our job is to seize the initiative during that change."
Maester Cressen looked at Pierce as if truly seeing the young man for the first time. He opened his mouth, but no words came. He simply let out a deep sigh and turned his gaze toward the gloomy sky outside the window.
He was old. Many things were beyond his control now. All he wanted was to watch Stannis's child grow up in peace.
In his youth, Cressen had studied magic for a time. His research on ravens had shown him that the birds in the North and certain wild areas were noticeably more intelligent than normal.
He didn't believe for a second that Pierce knew nothing about magic. He even suspected this young man who had traveled the world might have obtained something truly extraordinary.