To bypass the blockade set by the Dragonstone fleet, the Celtigar family had entrusted one of their business partners in the Free Cities to deliver their letter of surrender to Stannis, departing from Tyrosh.
This journey required crossing the Narrow Sea twice and had taken over five months.
Given how long it would take to receive a reply, Lord Adrian Celtigar, the head of the family, waited patiently.
But the sudden, violent storm that struck just a few days ago had shaken even his calm.
The storm had destroyed a makeshift harbor he had been relying on.
The merchant ships used for business on the island had also been reduced to wreckage.
Now, the old crab Adrian stood at the devastated port, on the verge of tears.
Aside from a couple of merchant ships still in the Free Cities, nearly twenty of the family's vessels had been destroyed by the storm.
It was as if someone had carved the flesh straight from the old crab's chest.
"My ships! Damn storm! Give me back my ships!"
Heartbroken, the old crab wailed to the sky, cursing furiously.
"Uncle, it's okay. We can always build new ships or buy them. I heard Braavos has just launched several new designs. My father used to say that the new is always better than the old."
The one trying to console him was his eldest nephew, Crispian.
"You fool! You're just like your spendthrift father—never learned to be frugal. Do you know how hard I worked to build up this family?"
Crispian hadn't expected his attempt at comfort to be met with a scolding.
Helpless, he glanced over at his younger brother, Clement.
"Don't be too upset, Uncle. Try to think positively—what if the Targaryen fleet was destroyed by the storm too?"
The old crab had lost his son in his later years, while Crispian and Clement had lost their father young. Though they called each other uncle and nephews, the bond between the three was closer to that of a father and his sons.
Despite having a decent relationship, the brothers often found their uncle's stinginess hard to bear.
Still, Clement's words gave the old crab something to consider.
That's right!
Crab Isle wasn't far from Dragonstone. If Crab Isle had taken such a beating, what about Dragonstone?
Perhaps their fleet had been torn apart as well?
But the old crab didn't seem satisfied. He kept wailing with a hint of desperation.
"Oh, you damned storm, why didn't you blow the Targaryen ships into my harbor instead? That would've been over a hundred ships!"
Crispian and Clement were speechless.
It was bad enough he was grieving for the loss of his own ships, but did he really have to go wishing the same on someone else's fleet?
Just as Clement was about to continue consoling his uncle, he caught sight of something dark looming in the distance. He turned and froze.
"Clement… we should take Uncle back… Clement?"
Crispian noticed his brother's dazed expression and followed his gaze. The moment he saw what Clement was staring at, he too froze.
Meanwhile, the old crab, who was still sobbing, noticed that neither of his nephews was paying attention anymore, and cried even louder in frustration.
"Uncle, stop crying. Look—look over there!"
The old crab squinted in the direction they were staring, and upon seeing it, dropped straight to the ground in shock.
The ground was wet, soaking through the seat of his pants. He immediately scrambled back to his feet.
Mother of mercy! The Targaryen fleet!
The three of them stood in stunned silence. Then they recalled what the old crab had just said.
Why didn't the storm blow the Targaryen fleet into his harbor?
Well, now it had. And he certainly didn't look happy about it.
"Clement, quick! Get Uncle out of here!"
"Right!"
The two brothers tried to drag their uncle away in a flurry of panic, but the old crab suddenly stopped them.
"No. Forget it. Don't bother resisting. That fleet likely includes the Kingsguard. You two idiots wouldn't stand a chance."
Only then did the brothers remember: during the recent battle at the Gullet, three long-missing Kingsguard had reappeared.
What could a tiny island like Crab Isle do against that?
Judging by the number of ships, there had to be seventy or eighty at least.
Crab Isle's garrison barely numbered a thousand, and their armor was old and worn—utterly incapable of holding out against an invasion.
...
Inside the castle of House Celtigar, Viserys sat on the high seat.
He touched the cushion beneath him, noticing it had started to pill, and felt a bit puzzled—
Wasn't House Celtigar supposed to be wealthy? This didn't make sense.
Looking at the three men—uncle and nephews—kneeling below, Viserys spoke:
"Lord Adrian, I've sent you… at least ten letters over the past few months, haven't I? Not a single one reached you?"
Faced with Viserys's questioning, the old crab knew the king had come to hold him accountable.
But how should he respond?
Greedy men are rarely fearless.
As he hesitated, his eldest nephew Crispian spoke up:
"Your Grace, I intercepted the letters. I believed House Targaryen's cause was lost. If anyone should be punished, let it be me."
The old crab stared at his nephew in shock, then quickly stammered out:
"Y-Your Grace! N-no, no, not him—don't listen to his nonsense…"
"Uncle!"
"It was me, Your Grace!" Clement crawled forward on his knees to confess as well, but the knight standing beside Viserys drew his sword and ordered him back.
"Enough!"
Viserys cut them off.
"Lord Adrian, I intend to bring everyone and everything from Crab Isle to Dragonstone.
Back when your ancestor came to Westeros with my forebear Aenar, he helped my ancestor Aegon conquer this land.
But now the usurper has taken the Iron Throne. I plan to gather strength across the Narrow Sea and take it back. Will you help me?"
Of the two houses—Velaryon and Celtigar—Viserys only intended to punish the former with blood.
After all, Lord Lucerys Velaryon had always played the sycophant while Rhaegar was alive. Once King's Landing fell, he defected immediately.
There was no way to forgive that.
As for the old crab, it was clear he had intended to betray them too.
But his betrayal hadn't succeeded yet.
Viserys was short on loyal men now, and anyone who could amass such wealth through trade clearly had some ability.
He could be made something like a "Master of Trade."
It was a time of crisis—best to turn a blind eye where possible.
The three men exchanged glances, and seeing that Viserys had no interest in taking their heads, they quickly agreed:
"I will, Your Grace! It is our duty!"
"Yes, yes, our duty, absolutely."
Viserys and Ser Jeyne exchanged a look, then nodded.
"However, the thought of betrayal is still a crime. From this day forward, House Celtigar is stripped of its comital title. You are now barons."
This punishment didn't seem too severe to the old crab.
"Oh, just a drop in rank. I thought it would be something worse." Clearly, he didn't know Viserys very well.
Viserys continued, "Sir Adrian, I am giving you a chance to make amends."
...
"Careful, careful! That's a Myrish carpet and lace—worth their weight in gold!"
"Gently, that's Volantene glass."
"Seven help me, that chest of gold was my first ten thousand coins."
The old crab buried his face in his nephew's chest and sobbed uncontrollably.
The king had emptied his vault, raised his rank to viscount, and left him hollow.
Watching the stream of wine, cloth, and gold being hauled onto the ship like water flowing through fingers, the old crab felt like his heart was being ripped apart.
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