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Dragonstone Castle – Great Hall
By evening, Dragonstone's usual gloomy atmosphere had lifted. The Great Hall blazed with extra torches and candles, casting dramatic shadows across the coiling black-stone dragons and making the carved beasts almost seem alive.
Compared to the simple lunch, the dinner Stannis threw for Pierce was noticeably more formal and generous. Clearly Lady Selyse's influence had been at work. Deep-red velvet covered the long tables, silver candelabras and plates gleaming under the firelight.
Roast lamb, honey-glazed chicken, spice-crusted sea fish, vegetables in cream sauce, and fruit pies from the Reach arrived one after another. It still wasn't extravagant by King's Landing standards, but for Dragonstone it was the highest hospitality they could offer. The air smelled rich with roasted meat and fragrant spices.
Stannis had also invited his chief vassal lords and their families—an obvious signal of how seriously he took this alliance with Pierce, and a chance to show his bannermen how tight the bond between House Baratheon of Dragonstone and the rising power of Golden Port had become.
The hall felt livelier than usual. Noble ladies in colorful gowns mingled with lords speaking in low voices, pushing back some of the castle's permanent chill.
Pierce, seated at the place of honor on Stannis's right, handled the conversation with effortless charm—talking shipping routes in Blackwater Bay one moment, Vale weather the next.
It was here that he finally met his distant Velaryon cousin: Monford Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark.
Ser Monford had the classic Velaryon look—silver-gold hair and purple eyes—but his natural handsomeness was undercut by a permanent air of arrogant pride.
He wore a deep-blue velvet doublet embroidered with the seahorse sigil of House Velaryon. The tailoring was excellent, but the style felt a little dated, like he was stubbornly clinging to memories of his house's glory days.
"Lord Pierce," Monford raised his cup with carefully polite distance, "I hear Golden Port is growing at an astonishing pace. Even the merchants in King's Landing are talking about your new goods. Quite… surprising."
His words were courteous, but his eyes clearly said, A Celtigar actually made something of that backwater Crab Claw Point?
Pierce smiled back easily. "Driftmark has always been the true jewel of Narrow Sea trade, Lord Monford. House Velaryon's glory is something I've long admired." His tone stayed humble, as if he hadn't caught the slight edge of jealousy.
At that moment, the woman beside Monford gently touched her husband's arm and spoke in a soft, melodic voice. "Lord Pierce is too modest. Golden Port's rise is the pride of every sailor in Westeros. I heard tales of your fleet's exploits all the way across the Narrow Sea."
Her voice was smooth as aged honey, carrying the faintest exotic lilt.
Pierce turned to her. Lady Anna Velaryon was a strikingly beautiful woman—cascading golden hair and summer-ocean blue eyes that matched her husband's coloring. But her beauty wasn't fragile or delicate; it was ripe, full-bodied, like a perfectly ripened peach.
"Thank you for the kind words, my lady," Pierce nodded, then asked with casual interest, "Your accent… you spent time in Volantis? A magnificent city."
A flash of surprise crossed Anna's face, quickly turning to appreciation. "You have a keen ear, my lord. My mother's family is indeed from Volantis. I spent my girlhood there."
Her words neatly distanced her from the main Velaryon line while explaining her slight foreign cadence.
Monford seemed uninterested in the conversation—or perhaps too wrapped up in his own faded glory. He gave a small grunt and turned back to his plate.
Lady Anna offered Pierce a small, apologetic smile. It was warm, graceful… and carried a hint of quiet melancholy.
Halfway through the feast, the musicians began to play. This was the troupe Pierce had originally "gifted" to Dragonstone—freed slaves from Slaver's Bay with genuine talent. He had given them freedom and good pay; in return, they kept their eyes and ears open for him.
The opening notes of a haunting, distant melody filled the hall—May It Be, the song that had started spreading from King's Landing and was nearly impossible to copy perfectly.
May it be an evening star…
Shines down upon you…
May it be when darkness falls…
Your heart will be true…
You walk a lonely road…
The ethereal female voice and soaring strings painted a picture of a lone traveler walking through endless night, guided only by starlight and unbreakable hope. The song's depth and emotion silenced the hall far more effectively than any heroic ballad or bawdy tavern tune.
Lords set down their cups. Ladies stopped fanning themselves. Even Stannis's tightly clenched jaw seemed to soften just a fraction.
Princess Shireen clasped her hands over her heart, blue eyes wide with wonder, lost in the music as if seeing distant dreams.
Lady Selyse tilted her head, gaze distant, searching for comfort in the notes.
Lady Anna Velaryon stared at the singers, her expression complex—deeply moved by the line about the "lonely road."
The music wove through the stone walls, soothing some hearts and stirring others. Pierce watched everyone's reactions calmly. He knew culture could cut deeper than any sword.
…
…
The feast wound down on the lingering notes of May It Be. Guests began to leave—some retiring to their rooms, others strolling the courtyards to clear their heads. Pierce politely declined further conversation and wandered alone toward the famous Aegon's Garden.
The garden smelled of crisp pine. Tall black trees rose around him, along with wild roses and thorny thickets. Cranberries grew in the muddy patches.
Pierce stood beneath one of the ancient trees, feeling the weight of history and mystery in the soil. Dragonstone had been the first Valyrian foothold in Westeros—the launching point for the Targaryen conquest.
Then his sharp senses caught soft footsteps behind him. He turned smoothly.
In the moonlight and lantern glow stood Lady Anna Velaryon. Her golden hair seemed to glow with its own light, and her ocean-blue eyes sparkled like stars in the dark.
"Lord Pierce," she said softly, voice clear in the quiet, "I didn't expect you to be drawn to such an ancient place."
"Lady Anna," Pierce nodded calmly, "old places carry forgotten stories. The legends of the dragonlords will always have their pull."
"Yes…" She stepped closer, gazing up at the sorrowful weirwood face. "In Essos people worship many gods—R'hllor, the Black Goat, the Night Lion… Coming back to Westeros and facing the Seven and the old gods can sometimes leave one feeling… lost."
Her question carried a philosophical edge and a trace of personal longing.
"Faith lives in the heart, my lady," Pierce answered carefully. "The form doesn't matter most."
Anna turned to him. Her blue eyes locked on his, reflecting the moonlight in mesmerizing ripples. Then she smiled—warm, mature, and boldly teasing. "Lord Pierce… forgetting faith for a moment… do you find me beautiful?"
As she spoke, she unconsciously—or perhaps deliberately—straightened her posture, letting the curve of her body show more clearly beneath her fitted gown.
"Forgive my bluntness," she added, voice dropping to an intimate whisper, "I'm still nursing my child… my figure may not be as slender as it was in my girlhood… I simply wanted to know if I still possess any charm."
Pierce's gaze swept over her openly—from the shining gold of her hair to those captivating blue eyes and the lush, ripe curves of her body. A slow, knowing, slightly predatory smile curved his lips.
"Beautiful?" he said in a low, husky voice, stepping closer until the distance between them felt dangerously small. "My lady, the way you look right now… you don't resemble a follower of the Seven at all. You look more like… one of those ancient goddesses from the old legends, come down to tempt mortal men. Beautiful enough to stop a man from thinking straight."
His words struck like a spark on dry tinder. A flush bloomed across Anna's cheeks, making her look even more breathtaking.
But she didn't retreat. Instead she stepped forward boldly, offering him a dazzling smile.
The next moment Pierce stopped hesitating. He reached out, wrapped one strong arm around her slender yet full waist, and pulled her tight against him.
Lady Anna gave a short, surprised gasp—but it was instantly swallowed as Pierce lowered his head and claimed her lips in a deep, demanding kiss.
…[The night that followed was one of passionate intensity—two people giving in to long-suppressed hunger with no restraint and no regrets…]
…
…
When Pierce woke the next morning in one of Dragonstone's guest chambers, soft dawn light filtered through the window. The spot beside him was empty, but a faint, lingering trace of Anna's perfume and a single long, bright golden hair on the pillow proved the wild night had been very real.
He sat up, rubbing his temples. The door opened quietly and in walked Loana—Shireen's chief handmaiden, one of the Summer Islander bed-slaves Pierce had carefully chosen and sent to Dragonstone. Smart, loyal, and highly skilled at looking after a man's needs, she carried a basin of warm water and fresh towels, a respectful yet slightly knowing smile on her lips.
"My lord, you're awake," she said softly, beginning to help him wash and dress with practiced hands.
"How did things go last night?" Pierce asked while she fastened his belt.
Loana kept her voice low. "Ser Monford Velaryon… after the feast, he invited one of the male lute players to his chambers. The musician didn't leave until dawn." She paused, then added, "The player reported that Lord Velaryon was… very enthusiastic."
Pierce raised an eyebrow. Suddenly Anna's desperate, almost frantic passion the night before made perfect sense.
Her husband—a man obsessed with his house's faded glory and whose tastes clearly ran both ways—had long since stopped satisfying a vibrant, mature wife.
She had simply come looking for a powerful, exotic cousin who could make her feel desired again.
"As for the other lords," Loana continued, "Lord Guncer Sunglass drank himself senseless. Lord Jothos Bracken and his wife retired early—nothing unusual."
"And Lady Selyse?" Pierce asked.
"Still being escorted to her chambers by… Blackskin," Loana replied with the faintest trace of disdain. "The maids who clean that wing say it was quite… energetic."
Pierce nodded. Selyse's growing addiction to the Summer Islander bed-slave was exactly as planned. The "gift" he'd given Stannis was quietly doing its work.
"What about Lord Stannis?"
Loana's expression turned almost pitying. "His lordship remains… very proper. He has never touched any of us. He shares Lady Selyse's bed only rarely, and now that she is 'with child' he follows every rule strictly. Most nights he works in his study or practices archery and swordplay in the yard. Very… dull." She added the last word in a tiny whisper.
Pierce understood perfectly. Stannis's rigid sense of duty and law had created the perfect opening for his wife's secret indulgences.
Thinking of the child growing in Selyse's belly—the one Stannis protected so carefully, never suspecting its true origins—Pierce couldn't help feeling a touch of dark irony for his future good-father. The man was so determined not to disturb his "pregnant" wife that he had no idea he was already wearing an invisible crown.
Once he had the full picture, Pierce waved a hand. "Understood. You may go."
But Loana didn't leave immediately.
Her cheeks flushed. She twisted the edge of her skirt, then looked up at him with shining, hopeful eyes and whispered, "My lord… do you… require my services this morning?"
Pierce studied the pretty, eager handmaiden. The heat from last night with Anna still hummed faintly in his blood.
He reached out, gently tilted her chin, and watched her lashes flutter as her face turned rosy. A low chuckle escaped him.
"Tonight," he said. "I'm staying three full days."