Oldtown – The Hightower
Margaery quickly shook off the thought. Pierce was far too young. If he really were the founder, he would have been building this organization as a child.
She remembered her own childhood—tea parties with other noble girls, nothing more complicated than gossip and sweets.
Moroya's eyes, however, lit up with sudden interest. "Tell me what you think of him. You've met him, haven't you? In King's Landing, during the Dragonpit renovation."
Margaery's mind drifted back a year. She had disguised herself as her brother Willas's attendant and gone to King's Landing to observe the sudden new lord of Crackclaw Point.
She had seen Pierce on the Dragonpit construction site and met him a few more times after that.
"He's very young," Margaery began, her voice softening without her realizing it. "He looks barely twenty, golden hair, pale violet eyes. His manners are elegant, his education excellent—exactly like the ancient Valyrian nobility I always imagined."
She recalled how he handled business: calm, rational, always offering practical solutions. When the Tyrells had "stolen" part of the Dragonpit shops, Pierce hadn't raged or sulked. He simply adjusted his plans, hired local King's Landing craftsmen and laborers, and turned the situation to his advantage—making the Tyrells look greedy in the process.
Later he had given her brother friendly advice, calming Willas's anger and turning a potential rivalry into a solid partnership.
"He's generous," Margaery continued. "Or perhaps he simply doesn't care about short-term losses. My brother Willas has become his friend. They exchange letters about agricultural improvements and trade routes. Pierce has given Highgarden useful suggestions and even shared seeds for new crops—without asking for anything in return."
Moroya listened intently. "And his abilities? His knowledge? Anything unusual?"
"He knows so much," Margaery said. "Not just commerce. Architecture, engineering, agriculture, even medicine. The Dragonpit redesign was his own plan—an entirely new concept that mixes business, entertainment, and daily life. The new foods, afternoon tea parties, perfumes… all his ideas."
She paused, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "And he's… brave. At the tourney in King's Landing he defeated several famous knights and fought Jaime Lannister to a standstill in the joust. Many people said if he weren't a lord, he could have become a legendary knight."
Moroya caught the subtle shift in her niece's tone and smiled. "You like him."
Margaery's face grew warmer, but she didn't deny it. "He's different from the other lords. He doesn't talk about honor, bloodlines, or war. He talks about making the land richer, ports more efficient, and people's lives better. And when he looks at me… he isn't seeing the Rose of Highgarden or a political marriage pawn. He sees me."
"Interesting," Moroya murmured, fingers tapping lightly on the table. "Very interesting."
She stood, walked to a specific shelf, and pulled out a rolled parchment—a detailed report on Pierce Celtigar compiled by Hightower spies across the realm.
"Let me tell you a few things you may not know," Moroya said, unrolling the scroll. "In a single year, Pierce Celtigar turned Crackclaw Point from a barren wasteland into a thriving port domain. He built the city now called Golden Port—complete harbors, orderly streets, an efficient administration. He attracted waves of immigrants, developed agriculture and fishing, and even assembled a small fleet."
She turned the page. "Even more surprising, he has an extensive network in Essos. The Iron Bank of Braavos, the merchant guilds of Pentos, the pearl traders of Lorath—they all have close ties to him. His merchant ships regularly cross the Narrow Sea, bringing Eastern luxuries one way and Northern furs and timber the other."
"And there are rumors," Moroya's voice grew even more mysterious, "that he keeps a group of strange advisors: a maester expelled from the Citadel, another said to dabble in forbidden research, even Eastern alchemists and engineers. The castle he built on Crackclaw Point uses a special black stone similar to Valyrian construction, yet somehow different."
Margaery listened, fascinated. She had known Pierce was capable, but she hadn't realized the full scale of his achievements.
At the same time, she felt a flicker of wariness toward the Hightowers' intelligence network. They were family, yes, but technically only sworn bannermen to Highgarden.
"But none of that proves he's the organization's founder," Margaery said. "He's too young. Grandmother said the Rising Tide has existed for at least twenty years, and Pierce is only—"
"Age can be faked. Identity can be disguised," Moroya cut in. "And who says the founder had to be there from the very beginning? Perhaps the original creator has stepped back, and Pierce is the new controller. Or perhaps he is one of the Gem Lords. In fact, the odds are very high that he is."
Moroya calmed herself and continued with cool analysis. Truthfully, if she had been in his position, she believed she could have done just as well. But one thing was certain: Pierce had to be a Gem Lord. No single house, especially one as minor as Celtigar, could achieve what he had—especially given his very public feud with his own family.
She returned to the table and looked seriously at Margaery. "I need you to do me a favor."
"What kind of favor?"
"The next time you see Pierce Celtigar, observe him carefully. Not just with your eyes—use your gem."
Moroya pointed to the emerald resting against Margaery's chest. "Gem Lords can sense one another, especially when the stones are active. If Pierce is one of us, you'll feel it. If he isn't… then perhaps we can use him to find the true shadow behind the curtain."
Margaery felt a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. "You think he's a Gem Lord?"
"I believe he is the Lapis Lazuli Lord," Moroya said with certainty. "The mysterious one who rarely appears but always brings important information. He focuses strongly on Westerosi affairs, especially the Crownlands. The timing of Lapis Lazuli's emergence matches Pierce's sudden rise perfectly."
Moroya was sharp—sharper than most people in the Reach gave her credit for. They only saw the "madwoman" label and missed the brilliant mind behind it. Her so-called madness was simply her love of knowledge and her unconventional way of doing things.
"And lapis lazuli is a special stone," she added. "It symbolizes truth, wisdom, and insight—qualities that match everything Pierce has shown."
The theory made Margaery's heart beat faster. If Pierce really was the Lapis Lazuli Lord, then he wasn't just the young lord she admired—he was her colleague in the organization. They already shared an enormous secret.
Her thoughts drifted back to the moments they had met: the shock of their first encounter, the stories she had heard about him, and the image of him riding toward her after winning the tourney, carrying the victors' wreath…
But Moroya's next words brought her back to earth.
"Don't let emotion cloud your judgment, Margaery," her aunt said, voice turning serious. "Even if Pierce is the Lapis Lazuli Lord—even if he is the one behind everything—remember this: in the game of power, personal feelings are a luxury, sometimes even a fatal weakness. House Tyrell needs allies and interests, not romance."
Margaery nodded, but deep down she wasn't sure she could stay completely rational.
She knew that whenever she thought of Pierce, her mind always returned to the same image: golden hair shining in the sunlight, pale violet eyes focused and steady, every lance strike precise and elegant. She remembered his courteous, warm manner during their brief conversations and the ideas he shared that seemed decades ahead of their time.
"I'll be careful, Aunt," Margaery promised. "But I still don't understand—why are you so determined to find the true founder? Grandmother says we're already gaining wealth and influence through the organization. Why dig deeper?"
Moroya smiled, and in that smile Margaery saw a hunger she couldn't fully understand.
"Because of knowledge, my dear. Because of truth. And because of…" She raised her hand, looking at her still-youthful skin. "Immortality."
Margaery stared at her, confused.
"Look at me, Margaery. I appear thirty, yet I am forty-seven. Women my age have loose skin, graying hair, weakening bodies. I do not. Why?"
Moroya's gaze grew distant. "Because of the power of the gems. Because of the knowledge I have gained from the organization. But this is not true immortality—only a delay. I want more. I want to understand the true nature of magic in this world. I want to master the secrets of life and death."
She took Margaery's hand and squeezed it tightly. "House Hightower has guarded Oldtown for a thousand years not for power or gold, but to protect the flame of knowledge. The Citadel studies the natural world. The Starry Sept studies the gods. We… we study what is forbidden—the true face of the world."
"Pierce Celtigar," Moroya concluded, "whether he is the founder or not, he knows things we do not. His rise was too fast, his knowledge too broad, his abilities too strong. It isn't natural. That is why I want you to get close to him. Learn from him. If possible… acquire what he has mastered."
Margaery suddenly felt the weight of responsibility settle heavily on her shoulders. For a brief moment she wanted to forget all of this and go back to being a carefree noble girl. But Moroya's next words ignited something else inside her—purpose.
"Once you possess real power and knowledge, no one can control your fate."
"I understand," Margaery said, drawing a deep breath. "I will do it."
Moroya nodded in satisfaction and released her hand, returning to her usual calm poise. She picked up her teacup once more and sipped the tea from Golden Port.
"The tea has gone cold," she said. Then she lightly twisted the sapphire ring on her finger.
A small miracle happened: the liquid in the cup began to glow faintly, then tiny wisps of steam rose. The tea was perfectly hot again.
Margaery's eyes widened. She had seen the power of the gems before, but every new display still left her awed.
"A simple trick," Moroya said with a smile. "Once you fully master the emerald, you will be able to do far more astonishing things. Every gem has different properties and abilities. Emerald is connected to life and growth. If you develop it properly, you may be able to make crops flourish—or even heal wounds."
She stood and walked to the door. "The tea party is over, Margaery. Remember our conversation. Remember your task."
Margaery rose and curtsied. "Thank you for your guidance, Aunt. I will remember."
As Margaery's footsteps faded down the spiral staircase, Moroya returned to the window. She looked out over the rooftops of Oldtown, the bustling streets, the distant harbor, and the vast sea beyond.
Her fingers gently stroked the sapphire ring. Deep inside the stone, the tiny stars spun faster.
"Pierce Celtigar," she whispered to herself, "who exactly are you? Where did you come from? What do you want?"
There was no answer—only the sea wind blowing through the window, carrying the scent of salt and distant shores.
In the shadows of the Hightower, in the streets of Oldtown, and in faraway places like King's Landing, the Wall, and the Stepstones, countless threads were being woven and countless plans set in motion.
Moroya knew a great drama was about to begin. As the Sapphire Lord and guardian of House Hightower, she had to carve out her own place in it.
Not for power. Not for wealth. But for the ultimate pursuit: knowledge, truth, and the possibility of rising above ordinary humanity.
She lifted her gaze to the tower's peak. The glass lantern room had already been lit, guiding ships through the night.
And higher still, the real stars were beginning to appear in the twilight sky, watching the world below—cold, indifferent, and full of secrets.