Chapter 5: Town’s Ruler - 103 AC

For two long years, Clement has been navigating a tedious yet arduous journey. As a self-proclaimed 'ruler,' he has been presented with numerous challenges that have tested his resilience and mettle. As the third year approaches, Clement reflects on his father's wise words about the difficulty of this role. Nevertheless, he has managed to overcome the obstacles and emerge victorious.

One of the most significant challenges Clement faced was the need to construct dozens of warehouses in a short amount of time. Unfortunately, finding suitable land proved to be quite challenging, especially near the port. He was presented with two options: either displace the smallfolk and the market near the port or build the warehouses elsewhere, which would be further away and therefore more expensive to transport goods. Clement quickly made the decision to choose the latter option, as he believed it wasn't the right time to relocate the smallfolk. In doing so, he established a battalion of carriages to transport the crates to the warehouses quickly and efficiently.

Security was a top priority for Clement. The steward trained a group of smallfolk and equipped them with Celtigar armor to ensure that they could protect the warehouses. The warehouses were three stories high, with each floor decreasing in size to maintain structural stability. The complex of warehouses was located at the edge of the new part of town, covering almost a quarter of the old town's size.

Clement's incentives of lowering docking taxes and offering relatively low rent prices encouraged many merchants to flock to the new warehouses. Most of the warehouses were filled with long-term goods such as cloth, raw ores, sawed-off timber, and dried food that could be stored for long periods. The profits from warehouse rent and transportation fees began to roll in quickly.

However, with profits come problems. Merchants, known for their shrewdness, frequently attempted to write up fraudulent contracts when renting warehouse space. As a result, Clement requested his father's permission to establish laws and penalties to prevent these practices.

After enduring a few years fraught with trials and errors, House Celtigar had finally reached a point where their income had nearly doubled. This newfound prosperity had even attracted rare immigrants who were seeking something new in life, and they flocked to the house. Though these past years had been relatively successful in terms of tangible results, Clement harbored some dissatisfaction. He believed that the house was too reliant on external trade at the moment, and he feared that if their customers were to disappear, they would be in dire straits. He was currently in the early stages of devising ways to address this issue.

On this day, Clement had just turned fourteen and found himself standing on the cold, sandy beach of Claw Isle. The Pincer, a symbol of the house, was on his right hand and rested on his shoulder, while a man painted him in front. Clement, now almost a young man, was garbed in a noble-looking gray and red robe that bore the insignia of House Celtigar. He also donned a cloak made of wolf fur and red linen that was connected by a golden chain, also adorned with the Crab insignia. He was definitely taller, his hair long almost reaching his neck, and the baby fat on his face is slowly disappearing. The scenery around them was stunning, with the narrow sea behind him roaring fiercely, a clear blue sky above, and rocky cliffs in the distance.

Suddenly, a man atop a horse galloped towards them, stopping abruptly near the area. The man, clad in armor that clanked, dismounted and jogged over to stand beside the painter. Clement greeted the newcomer, Ser Phineas, politely, and asked what had brought him there.

"Morning my lord, sorry to interrupt," Ser Phineas said, bowing. "A man had just barged into your dwelling, claiming to be a representative of House Redwyne."

Clement raised his brow. "Why?"

"He said that House Redwyne demanded compensation for the tainted wine that was stored in our warehouse, my lord."

"Tainted? There's no report about tainted wine coming to my ear before this."

"Exactly, my lord. Master Selwyn suspects that the man is trying to commit fraud, trying to diminish the house's reputation, or trying to make conflict between the two houses. He was shouting when he came into your dwelling."

Clement hummed thoughtfully. "I imagined so. Did you arrest him?"

"He's in the dungeons, my lord. Waiting for you."

"Good. Send a raven to the Arbour and confirm if this is Lord Redwyne's will. I'll deal with him once an answer has been given."

"I shall ride to the castle posthaste, my lord," announced Ser Phineas with a bow. With a nod of approval, Clement watched as the knight briskly walked towards his horse and gallantly mounted the magnificent creature, galloping away in the direction of the castle. Clement stood there, silently observing the vast sea and its fierce wind, patiently waiting for the painter to finish his masterpiece.

As the painter finished the outlines of the painting, he exclaimed, "You need not stand there anymore, milord. I've completed the outlines, and you're free to go." Clement loosened his grip on his axe and stretched his body, feeling the tension in his muscles release as he had been standing still for hours.

"Thank you, Marcus. Once you finish it, I presume you'll be sending it to the castle?" Clement inquired, expressing his gratitude to the painter for his hard work.

"Indeed, milord. You have nothing to worry about; I will send it on time," replied Marcus with a slight bow.

"Take as much time as you need, Marcus," Clement waved his hand in dismissal as he walked towards his horse, which was grazing on the lush grass by the beach. "Take as much time as you need…" he repeated, emphasizing his appreciation for the painter's dedication. Finally, Clement departed from the painter, leaving him to marvel at the awe-inspiring beauty of Claw Isle's magnificent shoreline.

======

On his trusty steed, Clement strode through the inner depths of the town with an air of calm assurance. The hustle and bustle of the marketplace surrounded him, as men and women hauled crates and goods to and fro, their voices raised in lively chatter. The metallic ring of blacksmiths' hammers filled the air, blending with the salty scent of the sea that permeated the growing town. As the new co-owner of the ship, Clement had overseen great changes in the place, including the construction of smooth stone roads in the port area, and the expansion of the bustling marketplace. Ships of every size and shape filled the harbor, their sails billowing in the wind. New buildings were sprouting up everywhere, their wooden skeletons standing tall amid the bustle of construction.

As Clement strolled casually through the town, he was greeted warmly by the smallfolk, from the youngest children to the oldest elders. He had listened to their concerns and found solutions for them, such as the wells that now dotted every corner of the town. This had been a difficult task, given the town's proximity to the salty sea, but it was worth it to make gathering water easier and to improve sanitation. With wells in place, the town was also better equipped to handle fires.

Suddenly, a man in his forties approached Clement. The man was a blacksmith, his leather apron smeared with black oil. He greeted Clement with a respectful bow and a warm smile. "Good morning, milord," he said. "Your armor is ready. Where shall I take it?"

Clement nodded in acknowledgement. "You can send it to my dwelling, Harlon," he replied.

The blacksmith hesitated. "When could I send it, milord?"

Clement considered for a moment. "Right now would be preferable. And the gold is already in your hands, correct?"

The blacksmith nodded. "Yes, milord. Though it's a couple of silver stags too much, I shall--"

Clement cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Don't bother," he said. "You can keep it. Consider it extra payment for your good work."

"Milord, I express my gratitude for your graciousness. The armor will be dispatched with haste," the blacksmith spoke in a reverent tone. Clement nodded in response, acknowledging the words of the skilled artisan. He took a leisurely stroll through the bustling streets, eventually making his way to his residence. The abode was an impressive sight, boasting two stories- one for administrative affairs, and the other for his personal use. After tethering his horse to a nearby station, he made his way inside.

As he entered, he was greeted by a pair of men who seemed to be waiting for him. They both bowed their heads in deference, and Clement simply continued on his way. Deeper into the building, he encountered Selwyn, conversing with an elder man.

"Master Dario, what say you to an offer of fifty golden dragons annually? You can reside, work, and even take on apprentices here. Although, it is expected that you take on as many as possible," Selwyn inquired. The old man was taken aback by the offer, scratching his beard in contemplation.

"That's a considerable sum," he stammered, unsure of what to do.

"Do you not desire it? You could live the rest of your days in comfort and even take a wife," Selwyn persuaded.

"Of course, I would accept. Where shall I work?" the elderly gentleman relented.

"At the eastern side of the port, your workshop is being built, either for repairing ships or constructing new ones," Selwyn explained, producing a parchment for the shipmaker to sign. "Can you read, Master?"

"Yes, I can," he replied, signing the document with ink and quill. They rose from the table, shook hands, and parted ways, with the man paying his respects to Clement before leaving.

"My Lord," Selwyn greeted Clement with a respectful bow. "I trust your painting session went well?"

"So-so." Clement shrugged. "Is there any news to report, Ser, other than finding a shipmaker and a Redwyne's envoy intruding?"

"Nothing substantial, my lord. Although there have been numerous designs submitted for breakwaters and seawalls," Selwyn answered dutifully.

"Pray, may I have a look?" inquired Clement, his curiosity piqued. Selwyn nodded in assent, and with measured steps, strode towards a sturdy chest. He deftly extracted several scrolls, which, by the look of them, contained designs of some sort.

With nimble fingers, Selwyn unfurled all of them simultaneously, revealing the detailed schematics of seawalls and breakwaters. "My lord," he admitted, "most of these designs appear to be quite fanciful, bordering on the impossible. However, this particular one," he pointed at a drawing done by an architect hailing from the city of Myr, "seems to be the exception. It employs a clever approach, utilizing the shallows of the beach to create the wall instead of erecting it in the open sea. This way, the port would be guarded on one side, with ample space for expansion, if need be."

Clement was impressed. "But how would we reclaim the land for the wall?" he inquired.

"By utilizing a mixture of stone, sand, dirt, and gravel," Selwyn explained, "And shaping it like a flight of stairs. The stone would break the strong waves, providing the necessary support. Truthfully I don't understand it myself, but Maester Arwynn seems to be impressed with it."

"Budget?"

"It is quite a sizable investment. Lord Bartimos would only agree to it if he is assured that it will work and last for a considerable period of time."

"Then let's do a test for it first. Make a small one at the other side of the coast, and observe it for five or so years. How about it?"

"It could be arranged, my lord." Selwyn nodded. "Very well, I shall see to it."

"Anything else?"

"I have already sent your plan for the city's layout to Lord Bartimos," Selwyn replied.

"And his response?"

"He sees no need to approve it, my lord. It is a long-term project, and he will most likely be deceased by the time it is completed. It is your task to make it happen, not his."

Clement sighed. "That is true. The walls alone will take twenty years or more."

"However, he did offer a suggestion," Selwyn continued.

"Oh?"

"He believes that the city need not encompass the entire island. It is crucial to preserve some space for wildlife to thrive. Our roots are selling crabs, if we are to drive out the crustaceans, your house's symbol will mean nothing."

"He does have a point." Clement sighed. "Very well, I shall work on it more, even discuss it with this architect from Myr that gave this design."

Suddenly, a knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Without waiting for a response, a household guard entered, announcing the arrival of a blacksmith carrying a crate of armor.

"Ah, just in time. Send him up to my quarters," Clement commanded.

======

Clement stood proudly next to the skilled blacksmith, gazing upon the magnificent armor he had commissioned. The armor stood on a sturdy stand, on full display for all to admire. Unlike the previous armor from House Celtigar, this new armor was a true masterpiece. The chestplate alone was a work of art, adorned with a stunning crab insignia in the center. Intricate decorations resembling the undulating waves and currents of the sea could be seen at the bottom of the plate, as well as on the shoulders. Beneath the plate, fine chainmail provided additional protection, while the neckguard featured exquisite depictions of a majestic ship sailing through the high seas, enveloping the chin in a protective embrace.

Moving on to the helmet, it was an unconventional shape, reminiscent of a crustacean, with a triangular top that added to its unique and daring aesthetic. The faceguard was thoughtfully designed, leaving only small gaps for the wearer to see through. Clement was filled with a sense of satisfaction at the sight of his new armor, but he felt that it was still lacking something.

"What do you think, milord?" the blacksmith inquired, with a hint of nervousness in his voice.

"It's truly remarkable, Harlon," Clement replied, his voice filled with admiration. "However, I feel that it could use a little something extra."

"Something extra, milord?" Harlon's voice was tinged with uncertainty.

Clement nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I was thinking of some red ribbons on the helmet and a few more on the arms."

"Ribbons, milord?" Harlon seemed surprised. Forgive me, milord, but armor is not the same as a dress…."

Clement smiled understandingly. "Indeed, Harlon, but I need it to be more than just functional. I require it to be well-decorated for an upcoming tourney."

"A tourney, milord?" Harlon sounded taken aback. "Then I shall do my utmost best to fulfill your request."

Clement's smile widened. "You are a skilled blacksmith, Harlon, you could work here to make it quick."

Harlon was clearly flustered. "I-I wouldn't dare, milord."

"Harlon," he spoke, his voice smooth and honeyed like a true nobleman's, "we need not bother with the formalities. Time is of the essence, and I implore you to complete this task with utmost haste."

His gaze drifted to the item in question, a glimmering set of armor. "And while we're at it, do you think it possible to create more of these? I understand it may require a simpler design for mass production, but that is of no concern to me. I merely require the end result to be of a good quality. For our household guards."

The blacksmith, Harlon, looked up at Clement with a mix of awe and apprehension. "M-milord," he stuttered, his accent thick with the inflections of a noble in the Seven Kingdoms. "H-how many sets shall I create for your household guards?"

Clement considered the question for a moment, his mind whirring with numbers and calculations. "Twenty or so should suffice for now," he answered finally. "But I understand that this will take time, Harlon. Do not rush the process, for I value quality above all else. Simply send the bill for the cost of production to the castle once it is completed."

Harlon nodded, his gaze respectful as he bowed low before his liege. "As you command, milord," he murmured, his tone filled with reverence. "I shall complete the task with all due diligence and send the bill to the castle as instructed." And with that, he turned to his work.

======

Two additional sunrises had passed, and Clement found himself standing in the very center of the dungeons, grasping a small parchment within his hand. A missive from the Arbour had arrived, delivering the answer that Clement had been seeking. It seemed that the rumors of tainted wine were, in fact, false, and the individual who had been vehemently spreading such falsehoods just a few days prior was nothing but a liar.

Clement took a measured step towards the cell opposite him, and with a flick of his wrist, a guard unlocked the iron door, dragging the man held within it outside. The prisoner was then hauled towards the corner of the chamber where a closed trap door lay in wait.

With an air of composed tranquility, Clement posed the query, "Who sent you to do the things you did?" He then placed his hands calmly behind his back while the guard slowly worked to open the trap door.

"I was sent by Lord Redwyne to demand compensation for the tainted wine that was deposited within your warehouse, boy," the captive spat, venom seeping from his words. "I have already conveyed this message to your guards several times, yet you still refuse to believe me. Expect retribution from my lord."

"I dispatched a raven to the Arbour, and the contents of this missive," Clement said, producing the small parchment from his hand, "confirms that the wine you speak of is not tainted." The man's eyes grew wide with disbelief, but he remained calm. "I shall ask again, who sent you?"

"That's a forgery," the man scoffed, dismissing the piece of parchment with a wave of his hand.

At last, the guards finished opening the trap door. The captive peered downwards into the dark abyss, and his face twisted into an expression of pure shock.

Inside the hole, numerous crabs of varying sizes were scurrying about. The opening was constructed of solid stone to prevent the creatures from escaping, and it was quite deep, reaching a height of twelve feet. The crabs appeared to be agitated and famished, having not been fed in quite some time.

"What is the meaning of this?!" the captive bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls of the dungeon. "Are you planning to murder an envoy from the Arbour? Do you want to start a war?!"

"I told you, Lord Redwyne does not acknowledge you," Clement said, nudging the man closer to the opening. He then caught him by his shabby garments, preventing him from falling. "For the last time, who instructed you to carry out these actions?"

"I'm telling you the truth!" the captive pleaded.

Clement sighed. "Very well." He released his grip, allowing the man to stand on his own. Without warning, however, Clement kicked him in the stomach, sending him hurtling into the hole. The man's screams echoed through the chamber as the crabs descended upon him, devouring him alive.

Clement knelt down, peering into the hole. "You are on Claw Isle, our territory. You cannot act with impunity. Do not believe that just because we are a small house that we can be easily ridiculed. That is not the case."

He rose to his feet, brushing off his garments. "Stay here. Perhaps he will confess. If he does so, well..." He glanced at the trap door once more, watching as the man struggled to escape, only to be thwarted by one of the guards who quickly closed the opening. "We may consider releasing him."

"W-Wait! A-Agh— I-it was A MERCHANT—AGHH! A MERCHANT FROM VOLANTIS—AAAGHHH!"

"See, that wasn't so bad." Clement smiled to himself, but his smile dropped instantly. "Too bad, you're too late. The crabs are hungry, you see, haven't fed them for so long, so you'll have to do for now."

"N-NOO—AAAAAGHHH!"

Suddenly, a man came down from upstairs, it was Ser Phineas. "My lord. You are to ride to the castle immediately."

"What? What happened?" Clement asked.

"The old king, my lord." Ser Phineas continued. "He has passed away."