Chapter 8: Audience - 104 AC

With a retinue of loyal men trailing behind him, each bearing a chest brimming with golden dragons, Clement strode into the opulent tent belonging to House Celtigar. Despite the absence of servants and knights, the tent was hushed and still. Clement's eyes darted towards his father, who was patiently perched upon a regal chair at the dining table. Once the King's men had departed, leaving them alone, Clement approached his father, offering the chest of riches as a gesture of loyalty and fealty. His father, Bartimos, glanced at the chest with a glimmer of avarice in his eyes before turning his attention towards his son.

"How much?" Bartimos inquired, his voice resonating with authority.

"Not much in the grand scheme of things, thirty thousand." Clement replied, his tone respectful yet firm. "Shall we place it in the vault?"

Bartimos, however, dismissed the idea, waving his hand nonchalantly. "Nay, my son. You have won the tournament without my blessing, so the gold is rightfully yours. Take it and enjoy it as you will. Now sit."

Abiding by his father's orders, Clement claimed his rightful place at the dining table, opposite his father. As he sat, his father's scrutinizing gaze bore down upon him, attempting to read his thoughts.

"What are you doing? Are you aware you could die the moment you enter the fields?"

"Well, I didn't. So it's not really a valid question, is it, father?" Clement rolled his eyes. "Spare the lecture. It's been done, it's not going to change anything."

"You misunderstand me, my son. I do not wish to scold you for participating in the tournament. Rather, I wish to warn you of the recklessness that comes with it," Bartimos explained, his frown deepening. "You are approaching your fifteenth name-day, and in less than two years, you shall be a man, my heir, the successor of our house. The future of our family rests upon your shoulders. Thus, you must treat your life with the utmost care, for I have no replacement for you."

Clement let out a resigned sigh, acknowledging his father's words. "Very well, Father."

"But you did not answer my question," Bartimos persisted, his voice gentle yet firm. "What compelled you to enter the tournament? What are you doing, my son?"

Clement, playful as ever, responded with a hint of mischief. "Perhaps my reason is that I have no reason at all?" However, his father was in no mood for jest.

"Do you truly believe I would fall for such a flimsy excuse?" Bartimos scoffed, his voice laced with disapproval. "You chose Lady Laena as your queen of love and beauty. Is it her favor you seek, or is it her father you wish to meet?"

Clement let out a chuckle, amused by his father's suspicions. "As neighbors, should we not strive to foster a positive relationship?" he posited, his tone dripping with honeyed words. "Especially given your reputation for… peaceful ways."

"Of course, but as far as I'm concerned, our house and theirs have no conflict with each other."

Clement corrected him, "Bitterness would be a more accurate term, father. Consider what we have been doing for the past year. We have expanded our storage networks, and merchants are now flocking to our ports like hungry dogs eager to store their goods in our warehouses. Do you believe it to be a mere coincidence that every merchant is now quickly aware of our newly specialized port in just a few years?"

Bartimos raised an eyebrow in surprise. "What are you suggesting? Merchants trying to stock up on their goods to stabilize or even jolt up their prices are normal occurrences. It's dirty, yes, but it's the one we exploited upon."

"Are you aware of what is happening in the south right now?"

"The south? You mean Dorne? No, the Stepstones… Oh." Bartimos sighed upon realizing. "I see. Our profit is their misfortune."

"If there's one thing the Seasnake is sensitive about is his hunger for the throne, and his ships." Clement hummed. "What do you think we should do, father, do nothing?"

Bartimos sighed, his eyes reflecting a hint of regret. "What choice do we have, really? It is regrettable, but we are not the ones suffering here. It is nothing more than a bitter pill to swallow. He is not likely to launch an attack on our harbor out of nowhere."

Clement, however, had a different perspective. "Father, you are missing the opportunity that lies before us. The crown will not interfere, and the Seasnake will have to seek aid elsewhere. Eventually, they will come to us."

"For what purpose?" Bartimos asked.

"Why, for war, of course," Clement replied with a shrug.

Bartimos went silent. "And what will we gain from it? Death? Loss of manpower? Ire of the king?"

"Renown. A strong ally. Land for an outpost." Clement answered. "Maybe a bride."

"A bride? So you are interested in Lady Laena?"

Clement chuckled. "Don't you want your grandson to ride dragons, father?"

"Alright, that's enough." Bartimos quickly cut him off. "Corlys won't accept it. He'll only accept a standing such as the king, a crown prince, or even a sealord's son."

Clement just shrugged. "It's worth a try. If the seasnake wants a conversation, don't give direct answers."

Bartimos shook his head. "I'm still the lord of Claw Isle, son, not you."

The nobleman deftly drew a piece of parchment from his palm and placed it upon the dining table before offering it to Clement. Eagerly, Clement peered at the parchment's contents, his eyes scanning the names of several ladies of noble birth written in precise calligraphy.

With a sense of intrigue, he queried, "What's this?"

"A list of marriage offers," Bartimos stated matter-of-factly. "Many have come to me, both before and during the joust, seeking to betroth their daughters to you." He paused, giving Clement a piercing stare. "You may choose whomever you wish, but I do not wish to wait too long. Do you understand?"

Clement examined the list of names, all of which were unfamiliar to him. He gently placed it aside and turned to his father. "Perhaps you should seek a match for Uncle Gormond," he suggested, "despite his eight and twenty years, he has yet to find a suitable woman."

"I'll deal with him too, sooner than later." The man then stood up from his seat, slowly walking to the exit. "You're to follow me to the king's tent, to deliver the gifts we've brought. And apologize for your exploitation of the loophole if he demanded it."

Clement sighed. "Very well."

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Clement, accompanied by his father and a retinue of servants bearing lavish gifts for the king's ascension, now found himself before a grand tent that was situated just outside the town. The tent belonged to the king and his family, and was guarded by soldiers adorned in Targaryen heraldries. The air was thick with the sweet fragrance of incense and fruit wine, as well as the savory aroma of roasted meat. Courtiers flocked around the tent, drawn by the prospect of the ongoing feast that was taking place inside. Tables were set up for the most esteemed guests, reserved for the most prestigious members of the nobility, and the House of Celtigar was one of the last to arrive.

As they made their grand entrance, the piercing gazes of the noble crowd were immediately drawn towards them and the lavish gifts they bore. Their exquisite attire, adorned with hues of fiery red and subdued gray, exuded an air of regality that was impossible to miss. The emblem of their house was prominently displayed on the back of their majestic robe, a testament to their lineage.

Clement leaned over to his father and whispered, "Where is uncle?"

"I have no idea," replied Bartimos. "I thought he was running an errand for you."

Clement was perplexed. "I never asked him to run any errands for me."

"Then let him be," said Bartimos with a shrug. "Perhaps he'll return with his own bride."

Clement sighed, feeling somewhat disconcerted by the frequent mention of "brides" that he had been hearing throughout the day.

After traversing a short distance, Clement and his father found themselves standing in the presence of the esteemed king and his regal kin. Before drawing nearer to the sovereign, they humbly performed a graceful bow, an expression of their deep respect. The ruler was perched upon a diminutive dais, which lent him an air of elevated importance, towering above his subjects. Consequently, the duo ascended a petite staircase to approach the monarch and engage in a courteous exchange.

Clement surveyed his surroundings, his keen eyes taking in the sight of the Velaryons stationed near the platform. Of course, it made sense, as Lord Corlys was the master of ships. His gaze then shifted towards the Hightowers, who were positioned nearby, with the Beesburys in close proximity to them. The grandeur of it all was not lost on him.

"Congratulations are in order, your grace," said Bartimos, his voice carrying a refined accent. The man's smile was as polished as his words. "May your reign be long and prosperous, like the old king before you."

The king inclined his head, acknowledging the well-wishes. "Thank you, Lord Bartimos, for the kind words," he said, returning the smile in kind.

"As a token of our long and ancient connection to our houses, we have brought rare gifts that we have acquired through our trade affairs," Bartimos explained, stepping back from the king's sight. With a flourish, his servants opened the chests they had brought, revealing their contents.

From within, they displayed an impressive array of rare and exquisite items, including a dozen Volantene glasses, jeweled cups, and silver plates. The servants then unrolled several Myrish carpets, their intricate and beautiful designs on full display.

The king was taken aback by the lavishness of the gifts before him. At that moment, it was the queen's turn to speak. She addressed Lord Bartimos with utmost politeness, "Your gifts are nothing short of magnificent, Lord Bartimos. House Targaryen and the crown shall not soon forget the kindness and generosity of House Celtigar."

"Indeed," he murmured as he turned his attention to Clement. The king's curiosity had been piqued by the boy's actions, joining the competition under the guise of a mystery knight. "Ah, this must be our clever young champion," he mused, his gaze appraising as he looked the boy over.

Clement bowed his head respectfully, aware of the eyes of the court upon him. "I apologize if my actions offended you, Your Grace," he said humbly, his tone polite and deferential.

Viserys laughed, the sound ringing out through the throne room. "Offend me? Not at all! You have shown yourself to be a skilled warrior and a clever rider, all at such a young age. It is no small feat to hold your own against such seasoned veterans."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Clement replied, his heart swelling with pride at the king's words.

"And you, Lord Otto," Viserys continued, turning to address one of his advisors who sat nearby. "Do you not agree that such a display of skill and bravery deserves recognition?"

Lord Otto frowned, his bushy eyebrows drawing together in thought. "The boy is but four and ten, Your Grace. It may be premature to grant him the title of knight."

Viserys shook his head, a smile still playing at the corners of his lips. "Age is but a number, and this boy has proven himself to be a formidable combatant. Lord Bartimos, what say you? Shall we make your son a knight while all the nobles are here to witness his honor?"

Bartimos hesitated, his hand resting on his chin as he considered the proposal. "I would not want to overextend myself, Your Grace," he said cautiously. "My son has already been rewarded handsomely for his victory in the tournament."

Viserys waved a dismissive hand. "Nonsense. Thirty thousand dragons is but a pittance to a house such as yours last I heard. Let us honor your son in the best way we know how - by granting him the title he so rightfully deserves."

Bartimos cast a fleeting glance towards Clement, who in turn responded with a casual shrug. Bartimos let out a deep sigh before turning his attention back to the king. "It will be an honor for my son to be knighted by yourself, my king."

The king beamed with satisfaction, rising from his seat with regal poise. "Excellent!" he exclaimed, beckoning for someone to bring him the sword. "And you, knight-to-be," he directed his attention towards Clement, "kneel before me."

Upon hearing the command, Clement descended down to the ground, kneeling down in front of the king. The moment the king descended down the steps, the lords and ladies ceased their conversations, rising from their seats and falling into a hushed silence. Clement could feel their piercing stares on him, particularly those emanating from the Hightowers, the Velaryons, and the Targaryens, who were all seated in close proximity.

Without delay, a servant appeared, bearing Blackfyre, which the king wielded with masterful ease, planting it on the ground. "Clement of House Celtigar," the king spoke in his booming voice.. "In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave," he proclaimed, touching the sword to Clement's right shoulder. He then proceeded to touch the left shoulder, "In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just," he intoned, before once again touching the right, "In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent." With one final touch on the left shoulder, the king proclaimed, "In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women."

With a grand gesture, the king lifted his sword and returned it to its scabbard, which lay gracefully on the ground. His regal voice boomed throughout the tent as he addressed Ser Clement, "Rise, Ser Clement, a knight of the seven kingdoms."

Slowly but surely, Clement rose from his kneeling position, feeling the weight of the momentous occasion. The sound of thunderous applause echoed in his ears as he stood tall, no longer 'merely' the heir of House Celtigar but now a true knight. The honor of being the youngest man ever to receive knighthood in the kingdom would be his to cherish for a long time to come. Others may eventually surpass him, but for now, Clement would bask in the glory of his newfound title and all the significance it held.