Chapter 14: Crab’s Rave - 106 AC

A solitary vessel adorned with the insignia of House Velaryon gracefully traverses the narrow strait nestled between Crackclaw Point and Claw Isle. Its hull, resplendent in steel lavishly kissed by the touch of gilded gold, evokes awe and admiration. This ship, surpassing the grandeur of ordinary war dromonds and stretching longer than the mightiest of longships, boasts a mast that spans the horizon, proudly unfurling the sigil of its noble lineage.

At the prow of this maritime marvel, two men stand resolute, their gaze fixed upon the imminent arrival at Claw Isle. With rapt attention, they observe as the ship nears the waters nestled between a small isle, aptly named Gryphonrock, and the very destination they seek.

With attentive gazes, they beheld the graceful dance of ships, arriving and departing from the harbor. Heavy stones, like burdensome giants, ascended through the air with the aid of a crane stationed upon the small island, a tower slowly erected. Along the coast of Claw Isle, they witnessed the gradual emergence of formidable walls, their imposing presence growing with each passing day. Such marvels had materialized since their last visit, a resounding testament to the rapid progress achieved by the isle.

A contemplative silence enveloped the duo, broken only by the musings of the younger man, whose eyes held a faint glimmer of both envy and avarice. Vaemond Velaryon, a commander of the Velaryon fleet, voiced his observations, dripping with a tinge of admiration, "They have flourished during these years, it seems."

His elder companion emitted a thoughtful hum. Corlys Velaryon, a man of seasoned years, responded, "While their prosperity may owe a debt to the fortuitous circumstances prevailing at the Stepstones, it takes men of great skill and sight to build such progress in the blink of an eye."

As the vessel drew closer, Corlys's eager gaze beheld a captivating sight, revealing the hidden splendors of the isle. Nestled in the distant corner of the bustling port, where pristine grains of white sand kissed the earth, a captivating tableau unveiled itself. Here, amidst the rhythmic symphony of hammers and saws, an assembly of unfinished ships emerged into being. Ethnically diverse men, their purpose united, plied their trade, their nimble hands transforming raw materials into maritime wonders. Corlys, with a swift calculation, discerned the spectacle of almost a dozen vessels being conjured simultaneously. Each ship possessed its distinct allure, varied in size, type, and purpose. From grand galleys to commanding dromonds, and even more diminutive crafts, these nautical creations took form, as if the very essence of dreams materialized.

"They're building their fleet. Fast." Vaemond further commented. "It seems they know a war is coming, and have prepared ahead of time."

A knowing smile graced Corlys' countenance, as if the satisfaction of a well-laid plan danced upon his lips. "I've told Bartimos to support us on our cause, he avoided answering, but…." He confided. "It seems he has anticipated it."

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As the ship of House Velaryon gracefully came to rest upon the harbor, the two men disembarked, their eyes alight with curiosity. Corlys Velaryon, with an attentive gaze, surveyed his surroundings once more. It was an enchanting scene that unfolded before him: a vibrant tapestry of diverse souls. Men hailing from the Free Cities, the North, the Vale, and the indigenous locals seamlessly mingled, lending an air of cosmopolitanism to the vicinity. Although such a spectacle was not entirely unheard of, for every port had witnessed such amalgamations, there was an unmistakable aura of rekindled energy within these immigrants. Perhaps it stemmed from the nascent blossoming of the town's prosperity, whispering promises of untold possibilities.

"Never seen this sight in Spicetown nor Hull." Remarked Vaemond. "Where we focused our efforts on bolstering our military might, it appears the Celtigars have devoted their attention to nurturing their port."

"Aye, and if we do nothing to address it, our fleet may find itself outpaced, decades later…" added Corlys, his gaze once again drawn to the far reaches of the harbor.

With those words lingering in the air, the duo strode across the wooden platform, flanked by their loyal household guards, each proudly bearing the sigil of House Velaryon. They immediately noted an absence of the customary welcome party or ceremony, yet for now, they chose to set this matter aside, proceeding towards the vibrant market, their inquisitive eyes roaming the town's activities.

And there, amidst the vibrant acts of vendors and traders, Corlys and Vaemond chanced upon a peculiar sight. Nestled amidst the heart of the market was a singular enigma—a dug up hole veiled by an intricate, cage-like structure. Within its confinements, hordes of ravenous crabs scuttled and scurried, voraciously feasting upon a skeletal remains, devouring every morsel of essence that clung to the weathered bones.

"Now I know why the Crabfeeder is rumored to be a bastard of the Celtigars." mused Vaemond, his voice laced with a hint of wistfulness.

"Bartimos is a man of… tender inclinations," Corlys explained. "His heart still aflame with love for his departed wife, he remains steadfast in his refusal to enter into another marriage. He would not sire a bastard child."

Vaemond arched an eyebrow. "Might it then be his brother, Gormond?"

"No, too young to have sired a grown man," Corlys replied, nonchalantly dismissing the notion. "Besides, it's clear that Cragas Drahar is a Myrish Prince, not a bastard of the Celtigars."

In an unexpected turn of events, the earth beneath their feet began to tremble gently, capturing the attention of the two men. Their gaze shifted towards the origin of this subtle upheaval. In the distance, a formidable squadron of mounted warriors gradually approached, their majestic presence commanding attention. Trailing closely behind them was an ornate carriage, gracefully gliding along the path. Without delay, the horsemen and carriage came to a halt, positioned directly before the Velaryon duo. The grand door of the carriage swung open, revealing the figure of Ser Gormond Celtigar emerging from within. Not adorned in his customary knightly armor, he instead donned an elegant robe of gray and white, evoking the air of a seasoned diplomat.

"Welcome, Lord Corlys and Ser Vaemond," he declared, a charming smile gracing his lips as he inclined his head, signifying a gesture of courtesy. "Please accept my apologies for the delayed reception. You see, my brother is currently absent from the island. I am genuinely surprised to witness your arrival in our domain. Did you not intend to partake in the king's marriage ceremony?"

"Ser Gormond," Corlys responded, reciprocating the gesture of respect with a dignified nod. "The king and I find ourselves embroiled in a… temporary disagreement."

"I see," Gormond replied with a knowing smile, gracefully stepping aside to pave the way towards the awaiting carriage. He gestured to the Sea Snake, his motion beckoning the man to enter. "Shall we proceed to the castle, then? It would be rather unseemly to prolong our conversation in this locale."

Corlys emitted a contemplative hum before acquiescing, "Very well."

Subsequently, the two men gracefully ascended the carriage, followed closely by Gormond. With the entire entourage of Celtigars and Velaryons trailing behind, the carriage resumed its stately progression, traversing the path leading to the imposing stronghold in the distance— to Crab's Return.

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Upon the winding path, the carriage traversed the rugged terrain, causing jarring vibrations that resonated within its sturdy frame. Yet, the tumultuous journey did not perturb the three occupants nestled within its cozy confines. Lord Corlys, with a gaze fixed upon the window, peered out onto the vast expanse of the isle's rolling hills. In the distance, a sprawling encampment caught his attention, where diligent soldiers honed their skills under the open sky.

"I must confess, Ser, I have seldom witnessed such remarkable progress in lands beyond Claw Isle," Lord Corlys proclaimed with a touch of awe. "It borders on the miraculous that your house has swiftly transformed this territory into a thriving port town within a span of mere years."

Gormond, his countenance adorned with a gracious smile, humbly replied, "Your praise overwhelms us, Lord Corlys. We have indeed been blessed by fortuitous circumstances in these recent years."

"Undoubtedly, the astute governance of Lord Bartimos plays a pivotal role," Corlys continued, his curiosity unabated. "Or could it be that his son is the true architect behind this… flourishing transformation?"

A chuckle escaped Gormond's lips. "It is a collective endeavor, my lord," he revealed. "We all contribute to the cause."

"I see," Lord Corlys mused, his curiosity piqued. He then turned his attention to the knight seated before him, delicately resting his hands upon his lap. "If I understand correctly, as a consequence of your brother's journey to King's Landing, you have assumed the mantle of regent for this territory?"

"The notion of a 'collective endeavor' I previously mentioned, Lord Corlys, holds no falsehood," Gormond affirmed suddenly. "It encompasses each and every one of us."

Corlys found himself bewildered by this unexpected revelation. "I beg your pardon?" he queried.

"It is not I who assumes the role of regent," Gormond clarified, his words enigmatic. "Rather, that distinction belongs to Clement, his one and only heir."

In this moment of tranquil silence, Ser Vaemond, whose voice had been hushed until now, arched his elegant eyebrow with intrigue. "However, is it not true that he has not yet reached adulthood?"

Gormond responded with a hearty chuckle that echoed through the carriage. "Ah, surely you jest, Ser Vaemond. To label him as a mere child would be an insult to the knights and lords who have suffered defeat at his hands in the tourney of 104 AC," the knight proclaimed with a touch of sarcasm in his voice. "Despite his youth, he possesses all the qualities befitting a regent, this land is a testament of his competence."

These words evoked a gentle smile from Lord Corlys,. "Then it is clear, Lord Bartimos could not have asked for a more exceptional heir."

"Indeed, lord Corlys," Gormond responded, exhaling deeply as his gaze wandered towards the expansive vista beyond the ornate window. A sigh escaped his lips, mingling with the ambiance of the room. "Indeed."

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As Corlys and Vaemond made their way into the hall of audience nestled in the heart of the castle, they were greeted by a spectacle of artistry. Ornate tapestries depicting crabs adorned the walls, their intricate designs capturing the eye. Delicate embellishments adorned every corner, bestowing an air of elegance upon the space. At the hall's far end, a throne fashioned from a crabshell stood tall, accompanied by a portrait of Lord Bartimos positioned just behind it, and the figure of Clement positioned to the left. The room was bathed in the gentle glow of natural light, streaming through upper windows and casting divine beams that only nature's most favorable conditions could conjure.

Lord Corlys couldn't help but be surprised by the remarkable transformation that had taken place since his last visit. The hall, once a mere shadow of its current splendor, had undergone a breathtaking metamorphosis. The throne, too, bore a different countenance, demanding attention with its newfound grandeur. The two men proceeded to advance toward the center of the hall, and it was then that Corlys's gaze fell upon a young man seated upon the throne, observing his approach with a measured curiosity.

"Be welcome, Lord Corlys, Ser Vaemond—To Crab's Return," the young man declared, rising gradually from his seat. Descending the steps, he positioned himself to level with the Sea Snake. "It is a surprise that you grace our modest abode with your presence. I am honored to have the opportunity to meet you once again."

"The honor is mine as well, Ser Clement," Corlys replied, finding it somewhat peculiar to address a youth as "ser," yet continuing nonetheless. "I see you have grown, and this hall has undergone a remarkable transformation since my last visit."

"You refer to my late mother's marriage with my father, correct?" Clement responded, a smile adorning his lips.

Corlys nodded affirmatively. "Indeed."

"Rest assured, Crab's Return will forever extend a warm welcome to you as an esteemed guest of our house," Clement assured, his gaze slowly drifting toward Gormond, who stood nearby. In response to his gaze, Gormond smirked before departing the room, leaving only the trio—Corlys, Vaemond, and Clement. Turning his back to Corlys, Clement directed his attention to the portrait of his father. "I must confess, I am unaware of the purpose behind your visit, Lord Corlys."

"It is a matter of utmost importance, Ser," Lord Corlys replied. "A matter that cannot be decided hastily."

"My father has entrusted me with the authority to make decisions in his absence," Clement stated with a smile. "Speak your mind, Lord Corlys, and I shall determine if my father's counsel is required."

Corlys sighed. "Very well. I spoke to your father a year or two ago regarding the predicament in the Stepstones. I believe the time has come for our houses' banners to fly side by side as we set sail for war."

"War, you say?" Clement arched an eyebrow. "I understand. This is indeed a grave matter."

Clement gracefully ascended the steps to the elevated floor, reclaiming his position upon the lofty seat. From his elevated vantage point, he cast his gaze downwards upon Corlys and emitted a thoughtful hum. "And what shall our house accrue from this... undertaking, my lord?"

Corlys's countenance contorted into a frown. "I beg your pardon?"

"Surely you don't think that our house would sail with you without expecting any benefits." Clement smiled.

"Ah, I see." Corlys nodded sagely. "We could offer compensation. Gold shall pose no impediment."

Clement raised his brow. "Do you think our house is but a mere sellsword company, Lord Corlys?" He turned towards Ser Vaemond and continued, "Ser, what if the roles were reversed? What if I arrived at High Tide beseeching you to partake in war, only to proffer a pouch of shimmering golden dragons in exchange for the lives of your men? What say you to that?"

A hushed silence fell upon the room, with Ser Vaemond knitting his brow deeply, yet Lord Corlys remained composed. "I believe I shall talk to your father instead."

Clement waved off the man's words with a dismissive gesture. "My father, as my uncle has likely reiterated on numerous occasions, is presently occupied. He resides in King's Landing. At present, I have been entrusted with the authority to make decisions that he would assuredly endorse as well. So answer me, Lord Corlys, do you think our house is but a mere sellsword company that you can hire anytime you want?"

"Assuredly not," Lord Corlys responded with an unsettling calmness. "Yet your father vowed that he would sail alongside us to the Stepstones should the need arise."

"My father uttered no such promise," Clement retorted nonchalantly. "He conveyed an inability to furnish a definitive response, given that Claw Isle finds itself in a significantly pivotal phase of development."

Lord Corlys's brow furrowed. "So you are indeed aware of my impending arrival."

"Of course, Lord Corlys," Clement replied, his smile becoming increasingly austere. "Let us dispense with pleasantries and delve into the heart of the matter.  Let us create a deal. We only just recently trained seven hundred men-at-arms, with an additional five hundred on their way. Furthermore, we have constructed a fleet comprising twenty warships, complete with proficient crews to command them. Come next year, thirty more shall grace our naval forces, with further potential for expansion if we employ the patrol cogs."

The mention of the sizable force of men-at-arms piqued Corlys's interest. Driftmark, their sole stronghold, housed a force twice that size, but the ability to muster more men held great appeal, enhancing their capacity to defend and safeguard their lands.

"Then what do you propose?" Corlys asked, playing along for the moment.

"Let us not treat this as a business transaction, but rather as an embrace of kinship? After all, we are of Old Valyria." A warm smile graced his lips, enhancing his words.  "My lord, the offer I present is simple. Let our noble houses unite through marriage, and once the victorious tides of war have settled, we desire nothing more than a modest isle nestled within the heart of the Stepstones."

Once again, a hushed silence descended upon the room. Lord Corlys's composed countenance gradually shattered, his gaze fixed intently upon Clement. "And which individuals are to be joined in marriage?"

"I humbly request Lady Laena's hand in marriage," Clement clarified.

"Laena is already betrothed." Corlys argued. "To a powerful Braavosi family."

Clement just chuckled. "We both know that's a lie.  The previous sealord's son holds no value to you, Lord Corlys. However, you refrained from breaking the betrothal, fearing the judgment of other lords. I have taken the liberty of resolving this predicament for you."

Corlys furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"He is here," declared Clement. "In our dungeons."

"What?" exclaimed Corlys, taken aback by the unexpected revelation. "You were aware of his presence? How did you manage to imprison him?"

"The strait between Crackclaw Point and Claw Isle bustles with activity, my lord," replied Clement. "Braavosi vessels invariably traverse this route to access Blackwater Bay. You know how superstitious sailors can be—'avoid the open seas,' they say, or 'sail near the coast, and trouble shall not befall you.' It is a daily occurrence in these waters to apprehend smugglers. And with our swift ships, we happened upon a vessel carrying sacks overflowing with Braavosi coins and a man who claimed to be the sealord's son."

"And how can I be certain that you speak the truth?" queried Corlys.

"If you wish, my lord, you may personally visit the dungeons," suggested Clement nonchalantly. "But I am not so devoid of honor as to deceive you."

Corlys delved into deep contemplation, refraining from further inquiries to Clement.

"Should you consent to this alliance, his head shall grace a spike, and the coins he carried will be dispatched to the Iron Bank," Clement elucidated. "I understand your reluctance for Laena to wed him, my lord, as it would transfer his debts onto your noble house."

"You have meticulously pondered this, have you not?" mused Corlys. "I must admit, lad, I am impressed. Yet, you have overlooked one crucial detail."

"That you might reject the proposition?" countered Clement. "The choice lies with you, my lord. I do not seek to coerce you into any action. If you decline, my men will abstain from entering the war, while continuing to reap the benefits of the situation until you've dealt with it. Meanwhile, you will expend more gold and lives each year you remain in the Stepstones alongside the prince, devoid of significant allies."

Corlys's eyes widened at Clement's concluding words. "How do you possess knowledge of Daemon? He has yet to depart from Driftmark."

Corlys scoffed, a hint of amusement gracing his countenance. "Truly, you are an intriguing lad," he retorted, his voice laced with a touch of curiosity and intrigue.

"I am most grateful for your flattering words, Lord Corlys," Clement replied, his shoulders rising in a casual shrug. "So, what shall be?"

"I will repeat your terms to confirm your words. Betrothal to my daughter, and a small island in the middle of the Stepstones after the war." Corlys said.

Clement shook his head with a measured motion. "Forgive me, Lord Corlys, but you have misconstrued my intent. I did not say 'betrothal'; rather, I spoke of marriage. I understand your plan to indefinitely postpone Laena's betrothal to the sealord's son, and I will not fall for such petty tricks."

Corlys frowned. "How much do you know about me and my house, huh? Are there ears within High Tide that belong to you?"

"Your kind words are overwhelming, but I do not possess such abilities," Clement chuckled, his tone carrying a touch of mirth.

Corlys gazed intently into Clement's eyes, his own searching for the hidden depths of his opposite's thoughts. With a contemplative sigh, he shifted his attention to Vaemond, who found himself equally bereft of a solution in the current predicament.

"I cannot answer it immediately," Corlys articulated with measured poise. "I have to send a raven to Driftmark, to speak to my lady wife."

"Then Maester Arwynn will help you in that regard." Clement interjected, his words resonating. "For the present, allow Crab's Return to extend its gracious hospitality, to welcome you as esteemed guests."

Finally, a solemn inclination of Corlys' head confirmed his acquiescence before he turned away from Clement, gracefully striding towards the towering gates of the hall of audience.