Chapter 3: Crab’s Return - 101 AC

In the quiet and peaceful chamber of Crab's Return, young Clement sat before a wooden desk with his eyes fixed on the open book in front of him. As the Maester paced about the room, he listened intently to the boy's voice as he recited passages from the ancient tome titled 'The Glory of Volantis.' Written in High Valyrian, one of this book's chapters recounts the tale of King Tommen II Lanister's quest to explore the remnants of Old Valyria, never to return to his homeland again. Not only did the book offer invaluable lessons on history, but it also served as an excellent tool for young Clement to practice his reading and speaking skills in High Valyrian, his supposed mother tongue.

While the Maester was not a master of the language, he possessed sufficient knowledge to impart valuable lessons to the eager young boy. His guidance on proper pronunciation and vocabulary proved invaluable to Clement's education. However, their lesson was suddenly interrupted by a loud knock at the chamber door.

"Enter," Clement called out, looking towards the Maester to see if he recognized the visitor, but the old man remained silent. As the door opened, a guard, clad in a crab-stamped helmet and garbed in ugly armor, bowed in deference and addressed Clement as "My Lord."

"A ship has been sighted bearing the banner of the house. It seems The Lord will return in a few moments," the guard reported dutifully.

Clement's eyes widened, excitement and nervousness flooding his senses. "Thank you for the news, Ser," he replied, grateful for the information.

The guard bowed once more and exited the chamber, leaving Maester Arwynn and Clement alone once again. As the Maester began gathering up the scattered scrolls and papers, he took the book from the desk and closed it, preparing to depart.

"I will summon a servants to assist in preparing your attire, my lord," he began, only to be cut off by Clement's determined voice.

"Do not trouble yourself, Maester," Clement replied with a sigh, rising from his seat. "I am capable of dressing myself."

The Maester watched as the young boy made his way out of the chamber towards his own room, shaking his head in resignation as he tidied up the room.

======

Bartimos, a man of middling age, was brought into this world during a time of tranquility that graced the lands for many years. Despite standing tall and possessing hair as bright as a silvery moonbeam, he could not be classified as particularly handsome. His rotund belly betrayed his love for the pleasures of the table, but when he occasionally smiled, it had a warmth that could melt even the coldest of hearts.

Now, as he stood on the edge of his ship, "The Iron Claw," which was christened after the metallic reinforcements adorning its hull and the sturdy ram at its bow, Bartimos was a sight to behold. His black and red robe danced wildly in the wind, while his short hair barely offered any defense against the biting cold. He had been absent from his home, his holding, for many months, but finally, he was on his way back to his humble abode, Claw Isle.

In the distance, he could witness the comings and goings of ships owned by traders hailing from faraway lands. These were the vessels that docked in his hometown. Suddenly, a voice echoed behind him, causing Bartimos to turn around. It was his brother, Gormond, who had approached him with a small piece of paper in his hand.

It was his brother, Gormond, who was more handsome than him, although he didn't envy him one bit. The two shared one thing in common, their belief in true love. While Bartimos got his, Gormond never did, his appearance seemingly hindered finding it, as most women approached him due to lust or riches. But, Bartimos does admit that his brother is quite useful in terms of diplomatic missions for trade or anything else, he couldn't even count how many times Gormond had secure trade deals from all around the realm for him. Despite their five-year age difference, the two were very close, and no treachery had ever come between them. They worked together harmoniously.

"Your son seems to be doing well." Gormond said with a smile, and Bartimos took the paper in his brother's hand.

Bartimos opened the piece of paper that Gormond had given him and read its contents. It was the maester's report informing him that his one and only son was as lively as ever and was no longer sickly anymore, at least in the Maester's observation. The news was like music to Bartimos's ears.

"It appears that the gods have bestowed upon us a miracle," Bartimos declared with a wistful sigh. "My son is healed, and it is not just a false hope as I had once feared."

"Well, just don't become too religious from that." stated Gormond, rolling his eyes.

Bartimos chuckled in response. "Oh, but Clement has taken an interest in religion, it seems."

Gormond raised a brow, seeking clarification. "What do you mean?"

"Recently, he had expressed a desire to explore Brackyore and its surrounding areas to Arwynn. During his travels, he asked many questions to Ser Phineas, his escort at the time. One of them being the absence of a place of worship in town," Bartimos explained.

"So what? Did he dream that he was saved by The Mother too?"

"Arwynn didn't mention it. But it might as well be the case." Bartimos shrugged. "I had almost lost hope when Arwynn sent that raven telling us Clement had caught a fever. I was almost sure that I would go home to a dead son laying in the crypt."

"I never lost hope." Gormond shook his head. "Your son is a strong boy, brother, you have yet to realize that."

"You know, a lot of men in your position would rather watch Clement die so I am heirless." Bartimos pointed out casually. "And possibly kill me too, so you're to be the Lord."

"We're the last of the Celtigars, I would be a fool to do that." Gormond scoffed. "Besides, even if Clement dies, you could still marry again and get another son." 

"You know I won't do that." Bartimos sighed. "The Gods have matched me with Alys, and I shall be with her after I die."

Gormond rolled his eyes, exclaiming, "Brother, even I, a staunch believer in love, find your devotion to be quite excessive. Gods, hearing you say that makes me shiver out of embarrassment."

Bartimos just chuckled at his brother's words, and both of them just stared at the approaching port, slowly arriving back at home.

======

Clement stood poised upon the platform of the bustling port, his eyes fixated upon the rough-hewn vessel before him. In his gaze, the ship embodied the very essence of House Celtigar's aesthetic, with its elegant metallic silver and red coloring and the fluttering insignia of the house that danced wildly in the wind. The steel-reinforced hull was both beautiful and intimidating, adorned with intricate depictions of crustaceans upon its metal surface. And then, there was the grand naval ram, positioned upfront, that looked as though it could slice through an enemy ship with ease.

This, he thought, is what he desired for House Celtigar's image. Not crab-stamped helmets or bulging insignia on armor, but this imposing vessel that spoke volumes of their power and might. Although he was no expert on medieval design, he understood the importance of making a good first impression. As a knight of a prestigious house, if he appeared foolish on the battlefield, his reputation would be tarnished.

But then again, a fool that is ignored in battle is a deadly force too if used correctly…

All of a sudden, two men stepped out of the ship using the detachable platform that is also used for hauling crates. One was a bit plump and older, and another looked like a handsome Valyrian knight. Of course, these two men are Clement's father and uncle. As soon as his father, Bartimos, caught sight of his son standing there casually, he froze in his tracks. Slowly, he descended from the platform and approached his son, with his brother by his side. Clement bowed respectfully to his kinsmen, "Father, Uncle."

"My son," Bartimos spoke softly, relief in his voice. "It appears the gods have finally answered my prayers. It's good to see you healthy and standing straight."

"Then perhaps it's time for you to allow me to train in the ways of a warrior, father," Clement said with a smirk, going straight to the point.

Bartimos's face fell, and he scoffed at his son's request. "No warm welcome, straight to demands, huh? You just recovered from a lifetime of suffering, and now you ask me to allow you to train like a knight? Absolutely--"

"Ah, brother, look at how lovely he is!" Gormond interrupted, laughing heartily as he approached Clement and ruffled his silvery hair. "As healthy as ever, and now a handsome young man, unlike you, and eager to fight like his uncle. What more could you want in an heir, eh? Let the lad train, he looks fine to me."

"No, as we discussed before, brother," Bartimos frowned. "He must be observed for a little while longer in fear of his sickness returning."

"But father, it seems Maester Arwynn is too focused with his research on the concoction he gave me," Clement pointed out. "He won't observe me properly, and his biases may affect his judgment. Unless you dismiss him and send for another Maester from Oldtown, it's just a waste of time. That's my opinion."

Gormond shrugged with a smirk directed at Bartimos. "Full of bad excuses, I see. Reminds me of someone."

Bartimos sighed, knowing all too well that his wife Alys had a habit of twisting his decisions with her bad excuses. "Well, we shall discuss this further later," Gormond said, ushering Clement towards the waiting carriage. "For now, let's go home. I'm famished."

The lord of Claw Isle shook his head in amusement as he watched his brother guide his son to the carriage, followed by their entourage.

======

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Clement and his family gathered around a lavishly set dining table, adorned with a bountiful spread of seafood that included the freshest crabs, lobsters, and oysters. The sweet aroma of the food and the exquisite wine tantalized their senses, making it feel like a grand feast fit for a king. However, the truth was that this was the norm for the wealthy household of Clement, a testament to their good fortune.

The dining room was hushed, and the only sounds were the clashing of silver plates and cutlery and the gentle flicker of candlelight. Clement sat at the left end of the table, his father at the opposite end, while Gormond sat in the middle, quietly enjoying his meal.

Breaking the silence, Bartimos spoke with a soft voice, his accent carrying a noble air, "How was your first trip to Brackyore? I heard Ser Phineas accompanied you."

Clement replied, "It was fine, father. The port was bustling, and I saw men from all walks of life. The smell of the sea was pungent, as always."

"Arwynn mentioned that you inquired about a place of worship," Bartimos continued, causing Clement to furrow his brow. "Are you curious about the faith?"

"A little," replied Clement. "I was reading about the history of the Targaryen dynasty and noticed a pattern when the Faith of the Seven is mentioned."

"Ah, it seems you have done your studies well," nodded Bartimos. "The Faith did rebel during the time of Aenys and Maegor. But what caught your interest?"

Clement took a deep breath before speaking. "It's just that the faith often blinds people from the fear of death. Even in the face of Balerion the Dread, those militants still stood their ground, even relishing the thought of being burned by its black flame."

"Indeed, but what does that have to do with a place of worship?" asked Bartimos, clearly intrigued.

"I was curious about whether, if I became a devout member of the faith, would the people protect me even in the face of dragons?" the boy murmured. "It's a strange thought, just ignore it, father."

Bartimos chuckled. "You needn't worry about that, son. The Targaryens won't harm us, and dragons as enemies are but a thing of legend, they are our allies now."

As they resumed their meal, Bartimos offered some wise advice. "But concerning loyalty, you don't have to be the most devout follower of the faith for people to protect you. You just need to be a just and good person. Those you are kind to will flock to your side, even in the darkest of times."

Clement mused over his father's words before asking, "But what about the Targaryens?"

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

"We helped them during their conquest, but why are we still here? Did they not repay us?" Clement asked. "We had a claim on Crackclaw Point before then, but they didn't give it to us. Even house Qoherys gained Harrenhal, they allowed the Valeryons to intermarry with them, yet they refused to marry us time and time again. Our position is the same as before the conquest, not Lord Paramount of the Claw, just lord of Claw Isle, right at the edge of the point. We're not the richest, we don't own dragons, we don't have a giant fleet, just a minor lord in the realm."

Bartimos let out a deep sigh, his silverware clattering against the porcelain plates. "Must we revisit this topic yet again, even after your illness?" he groaned. "Surely there are more productive matters we could discuss."

"Now that I am healthy I want to at least change that, father. Even in the tiniest bit." Clement said. "We have the gold, but why do we stay like this? A mediocre house, even though we descended from Valyria of old."

"Enough." Bartimos sharply said, but quickly calmed down. His gaze drifted towards the platters of succulent crab and fish arranged on the table, and he spoke once more. "My son, there is a tacit understanding among the island's fishermen and crabbers. They only keep the large, plump, and meaty catch, while the small and scrawny are thrown back into the sea." Bartimos leaned in, his eyes boring into Clement's. "Do you see now?"

Clement diverted his gaze. "Sort of."

"Good. so you now understand why I choose to be like this." the lord said. "One day you'll understand more, son. Being a noble in this realm is not as comfortable as it seems."

"Then at least grant me the privilege of training on the ways of a warrior father. Surely the small and scrawny need to defend themselves too in the sea." Clement beseeched his father, his words laden with rebellion.

Bartimos, with a heavy sigh, turned to his brother who had been silently observing the conversation. The handsome man appeared to be quite amused by Clement's appeal. Having ceased eating a while ago, he crossed his arms and waited. Gormond's nod confirmed that the topic had been discussed before their arrival at the castle.

"Very well then, tomorrow you shall commence your training under the tutelage of your uncle in the art of swordsmanship. However, this arrangement is conditional upon you showing no further signs of weakness, lest the training be terminated," Bartimos declared.

To this, Clement replied with a firm, "No."

Taken aback, Bartimos questioned him, "No?"

"Presently, I have no desire to train in the ways of the sword. While it may benefit me, perhaps in the future. For now, I wish to wield an axe," Clement explained.

Even Gormond was taken aback by this unexpected request, but it piqued his interest.

"An axe?" Bartimos raised a skeptical brow. "Are you asking me to give you the Pincer?"

"Of course, it's the ancestral weapon of our house. It is a waste to let it languish in the vault for years."

Bartimos looked to Gormond once again, who simply shrugged, indicating his agreement.

Exhaling a deep sigh, Bartimos rose from his seat, much to Clement's confusion. His meal was yet to be finished, yet it seemed as if Bartimos was intent on departing the room.

"Come with me," he commanded, casually strolling away from the table. Gormond trailed behind him.

"To where?" Clement inquired.

"To the vault," Bartimos replied simply. "Where else?"

======

Inside the family crypt, nestled deep within the castle, stood Clement, flanked by his father and uncle. Their eyes were fixated on an intricately built iron door, adorned with the image of a massive crab, seemingly standing guard. The door boasted an array of locks, which Clement's father slowly and meticulously began to unlock, one by one.

Bartimos, Clement's father, turned to him and inquired, "You've never been here before, correct? The family vault."

Clement shook his head, his curiosity piqued.

"Well then, treat it as a formal ceremony of becoming my heir," Bartimos continued, still unlocking the door. "Inside, our house's treasures reside."

Clement's uncle, Gormond, chimed in, "Mostly riches and exotic items. Your father likes to buy your mother lavish things."

"But that's all in the past," Bartimos interrupted, finally unlocking the last lock. "Once you're inside, don't touch anything except that thing I tell you can be touched, understand?"

Clement's brow furrowed with confusion. "Why?"

"There are some...dangerous things in there," Bartimos replied cryptically.

Clement turned to Gormond, seeking clarification, but his uncle merely smirked in response.

The door swung open, revealing a strange and pleasant scent wafting out. As they entered, Clement's eyes fell upon the opulence surrounding him - intricately designed carpets rolled up in the corner of the room, gem-encrusted plates and cups displayed on a beautifully crafted see-through drawer, a chest overflowing with red rubies, and a long, dusky-colored axe resting on a table. The steel of the axe boasted a rippled pattern, and the hilt was also crafted from metal, etched with a rough pattern.

Clement admired the axe, noting its sharp edges and the point on the opposite side designed to pierce even the thickest of armor. The weapon was impressively long, requiring two hands if not for the inherent lightweight nature of Valyrian steel.

In the far corner of the room sat a simple horn, its unadorned appearance belying its significance. Clement recognized it instantly.

As they stood before the table, Bartimos picked up the axe, examining it closely. The metal shone brilliantly, without a single dent or speck of rust.

"The Pincer," Bartimos hummed. "One of the only things our family brought to here from Old Valyria. In the eyes of other Valyrian families, we are but mere peasants, but this is a treasure that we are always proud of."

Clement couldn't help but ask, "Which is more expensive? A Valyrian steel sword or an axe?"

"It depends," Gormond replied. "In terms of this beauty, however, it's probably more expensive than the rest of the available Valyrian steel weapons."

Clement was intrigued. "How come?"

Bartimos answered, "From top to bottom, all made out of Valyrian Steel. Our ancestors ordered that the steel be carved, which made it more expensive. Our house has almost no gold left to travel to the West because of this."

Clement's eyes widened at the revelation. The idea of melting it down and creating swords from it crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it as foolish.

"Take this," Bartimos declared, extending the axe to Clement with a flourish. The weapon was presented precisely at the hilt, and the boy took it in his hands, eager to explore its heft and feel. "Though it is not high-maintenance, you should oil it occasionally to keep it glistening. If you're not utilizing it, display it in your chamber."

"Wait, are you giving it to me now?" Clement inquired, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Of course," Bartimos chuckled, patting his portly belly. "I have no use for it. I am not a warrior." As he spoke, he and Gormond scoured the space around them, assessing their treasures.

Sensing an opportunity, Clement pointed to a horn resting in the corner of the room and posed a question. "Father, is that the horn that can summon a kraken from the deep seas?"

"I cannot say for certain," Bartimos responded with a shrug, his gaze drifting towards the intricately adorned Volantine glasses with a hint of wistfulness. "Even if it were true, I doubt we could control such a creature. I suspect our ancestors may have fabricated the tale as a deterrent for outsiders."

"Hmm," Clement murmured, gripping the axe tightly as he continued to study the horn with great interest.

Bartimos let out a sigh, his hand hovering over the Volantine glasses before he withdrew it. "Let us leave this room. I do not care for staying here too long, as it makes my head spin."

With that, the trio departed, carefully securing the door and taking the axe with them as they made their way out.