1 Chapter 1: A Long Dream - 101 AC

On top of the towering castle, situated in the heart of Claw Isle, a tiny yet mighty isle at the edge of Crackclaw Point of the Crownlands, a seemingly ordinary day had arrived. The region was enshrouded in thick rain that heavily poured from the sky, cascading down the edges of the castle walls like a thousand waterfalls. The mighty waves surrounding the island, akin to those that traversed the narrow sea, fiercely battered against the isle's rocky beaches. The sky roared with booming thunder, temporarily illuminating the dreary and bleak atmosphere that had descended upon the region.

Seated on his chair, Maester Arwynn, the scholar employed by the Lord of House Celtigar, wrote an entry in his daily journal. Crab's Return, the grand seat of House Celtigar in Claw Isle, loomed around him with an oppressive and ominous mood that matched the weather. Unfortunately, the Lord's eldest and only child, Clement Celtigar, was struck with a severe fever and had been unresponsive for the past few days. The child, who had only just reached his eleventh name day, was bedridden and unable to feed, drink or even move.

Lord Bartimos had lost his wife during childbirth, leaving Clement as his only heir. The future of House Celtigar now rested on the shoulders of the sickly child, and it was imperative that Maester Arwynn cure him, lest a succession crisis tear the House apart. Should Lord Bartimos, a man that is already in his mid-life, fail or refuse to remarry and sire another child, Clement was his last hope.

It is now one hundred and one years since Aegon's conquest, and Crab's Return is practically empty as the lord and his brother are traveling to Harrenhal, to answer the call of the old king on the matter of his succession. It will be a while until Lord Bartimos returns, and depending on Maester Arwynn's work, when he returns, the lord would either be greeted by a healthy son, or a dead one.

As Maester Arwynn put down his quill, he gently closed his journal with a sense of tenseness, he was so absent-minded at that time as the ink was still fresh on the parchment. With a measured stride, he approached the desk that housed his medicinal tools, an array of dried herbs and powdered substances carefully arranged in labeled drawers.

A deft hand reached out, selecting a handful of herbs from their designated compartment and placing them in his mortar and pestle. With a gentle but firm touch, he began to grind the leaves and petals, the aromas of the herbs filling the air with their sweet fragrance. As the pestle made its final rotation, the Maester took the resulting powder and transferred it to a well-made wooden bowl, ready to be mixed with warm water.

With the concoction in hand, Maester Arwynn carefully carried the bowl on a tray, making his way down the narrow stone corridors towards the chambers of the young Clement Celtigar.

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As if a bolt of lightning had struck him, Clement stirred from his deep and agonizing sleep the moment the Maester administered the concoction. Despite the harsh and wintry gusts entering the room from the window, the young lord was drenched in sweat. He inhaled the air as though it was the first time he had ever been granted the privilege of sensing the oxygen in his surroundings. His gaze darted restlessly, akin to that of a person in the final stages of rabies.

Standing by the boy's bedside was the Maester, equally astonished at how efficacious his concoction had proven to be, almost convincing him that he was a genius. He glanced at the brew he had concocted and then promptly changed it to that of a cup.

"Are you feeling better?" the Maester inquired calmly, rapidly filling the cup with water for the ailing youth.

Clement guzzled the water down as though he had not had a drink for several days. His breathing was still labored, and he looked about as if the place was unfamiliar to him.

"Where am I?" Clement quavered, his voice trembling.

"You are in your chamber, my lord," Arwynn sighed, observing Clement's attempt to rise from the bed, prompting the Maester to intervene. "But I must urge you to remain in bed. You are suffering from severe thirst, so please, my lord, drink up."

The young lad continued to sip on the water that the Maester had kindly provided, nearly draining the cup in its entirety. As he quenched his thirst, he placed the vessel down and gazed down at his open palm. His expression contorted into one of disbelief, as though he couldn't fathom what he was seeing.

"Clement...Celtigar?" he muttered under his breath, puzzled and bewildered.

"That is, indeed, your name," replied the Maester, nodding in confirmation. Without hesitation, he poured another cup of water for the boy, which he promptly downed. "Would you like me to summon a servant to change your attire?"

The boy's confusion was palpable. "Servant?" he repeated, perplexed. But he quickly regained his composure and answered the Maester, albeit with a stutter. "Y-Yes..."

"Very well, but please, I implore you not to leave your bed while I fetch one," cautioned the Maester.

With a swift departure, the Maester left the boy to his own devices in the dimly lit chamber. The young lad's eyes darted around, seeing drawers filled with books, until they settled on a magnificent and intricately designed mirror, a striking contrast to the mundane furnishings of the room. An inexplicable urge to examine his reflection overcame the boy, and gingerly he rose from his bed, but alas, his legs betrayed him, and he tumbled onto the frigid floor.

Despite the pain wracking his body, the boy refused to be deterred. He used whatever objects he could find, whether it was a chair or a table, to prop himself up as he made his way towards the ornate mirror. Upon finally reaching his destination, he gazed into the reflective surface, only to be stunned by the face that stared back at him, not his own.

The boy's eyes bulged with shock as he exclaimed, "Gods...be good." Though the unfamiliar curse words he had just uttered weirded him out, his attention was focused on the face staring back at him. It was not his own. The eyes are blue like the vast ocean, silvery blonde hair, and a slightly smaller frame than his. It dawned on him that he had been reincarnated into another's body. His last memory was of falling from a cliff in his previous body, an unfortunate accident that had claimed his life. Slowly but surely, foreign memories began to enter his mind, making him feel dizzy and disoriented.

Finally, his legs gave out again, and he crumpled to the ground, his limbs wobbly. It was at that moment that a young woman entered the room, accompanied by the Maester. Upon seeing the boy on the ground, they quickly rushed to his aid, helping him back to his bed.

"I told you, my lord, that your body is too weak to stand right now. Please, stay in bed," the Maester sighed. "Another servant will fetch you some food presently, so be patient."

Still in a state of shock, Clement obediently followed the Maester's instructions, allowing himself to be guided back to his bed.

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Seated atop his bed, Clement appeared meek as the servant, armed with warm water and cloth, tended to his bare torso. Despite his discomfort in the presence of an elderly man and a young woman, both of whom stood close, the latter bathing him, he remained silent. Meanwhile, Maester Arywnn, perched at the desk, scribbled on parchment, dutifully chronicling the day's events.

"My lord," inquired the Maester, "do you still feel the chill?"

"No," Clement replied simply.

"How about muscle and bone pain?" the Maester probed further.

"None," Clement replied, his voice weary.

"Itchy eyes?" the Maester persisted.

Clement sighed, "Maester, I feel fine, except for exhaustion."

The servant's hand reached lower, causing him to tense up and halt her progress. "Thank you, I can handle it from here. You may leave the clothes on the desk."

The servant, taken aback, bowed and scurried away, leaving the Maester and Clement alone. Grabbing the cloth, he began to clean himself, taking slow, measured strokes down his thigh.

As the Maester continued to record his thoughts, occasionally glancing at the mixture he had concocted, Clement slipped into deep contemplation. His current predicament was not lost on him. Memories of this body were now coming together, like pieces of a puzzle. He was the heir to Claw Isle, a member of House Celtigar. As a sickly child, he had to be content to just read and learn, and he was good at it, quite unlike himself in his previous life, where he had failed as an actor. This boy's body loved to absorb knowledge and revel in tales of distant lands. He was ambitious, yearning for his family to ascend to the upper echelons of power, but limited by his frailty and his house's passive disposition towards politics.

Oh, how well acquainted he was with this world, Westeros. The lore and legends of the realm were at his fingertips, though he dared not claim the title of a fanatic, for even he could not recite the entire history of this vast universe. Many holes and gaps remained in the timeline and stories, left untouched by the writers' quills.

One such gap existed in House Celtigar, a house that had continuously faded into obscurity throughout the annals of the Targaryen Dynasty. Their members had served as hands of the king, masters of coin, and offered their daughters to the Targaryens, only to be rejected. They seemed content to remain inactive in the politics of the land and held little to no power in terms of their house's holding, allowing their name to become a mere footnote in the history of the Seven Kingdoms. To make matters worse, some of their members had committed future betrayals against their sworn lieges due to their imprisonment.

Despite their lack of political ambition, House Celtigar was rumored to possess an abundant wealth of treasures from all corners of the world. They even possess a rare Valyrian Steel axe, which this body recalls as "the Pincer". While of Valyrian descent, their many marriages with the locals have resulted in a somewhat diluted appearance. Most of them lack the ethereal beauty of the Velaryons and Targaryens, their features having been mixed with those who hailed from the Andals. Thankfully, however, at least Clement possesses some handsomeness, although he is undoubtedly not as comely as the Targaryen princes.

The question is why? Why did they not show themselves to the rest of the Westeros? Why did they not claim ambition for the Iron Throne like Corlys Velaryon? Why are they content on this barren island that is full of crabs and only hosts a castle and a small trading town at the coast? Why do the Targaryens not want to marry one of them?

As far as he recalls, Targaryens were a minor dragon lord family, the Velaryons were a merchant family, but what of the Celtigars? Are they mere peasants in terms of the rest of the Valyrians' eyes? Or are they something else? There must be some answers to that, and maybe that question lies with Clement Celtigar's father, or the library, but even in the memory of this body, the library doesn't have such knowledge, so only his father remained as a potential man that could answer those questions.

Suddenly, Clement's attention was drawn to the whereabouts of his father. "Where is my father, Maester?" he inquired with urgency.

The Maester paused for a moment before responding, "Your father is currently traveling to Harrenhal, my lord. The old king has called for a great council of all the lords of the kingdoms."

Clement's mind wandered to the significant event that occurred during the last great council in 101 AC, which some might argue marked the beginning of the Targaryen Dynasty's downfall. "Who will oversee the castle's affairs while my father is away?" he asked, his concern evident.

"For the moment, no one." said the Maester, surprising Clement. "Though if there's any emergency event that arises, I am to send a raven to Harrenhal and the steward will take care of it."

"So the steward." Clement sighed. "Could you take me to Brackyore?"

The Maester hesitated, a bit surprised by the sudden request, glancing at the young lord lying in bed. "My lord, you have just recovered from a severe illness. I suggest you rest for a few more weeks."

Undeterred, Clement insisted, "Take me there after I have rested. The day after tomorrow."

The Maester seems to see a change in the boy. He never asked something so forcefully before. So, the maester just sighed. "Very well, I will tell a couple of the household guards to escort you to the town in two days' time."

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In the shroud of the nocturnal hours, Clement sat upon his high-backed chair positioned near the window of his chamber, where he had a clear view of the vast and narrow sea in the distance. The storm had subsided several hours ago, and now, a magnificent full moon was on display amidst the cloudy skies of Westeros. In his hand, he held a book named 'The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms'. This tome was periodically updated by the Maesters of Oldtown every ten years or so, documenting the new names and the deceased members of the Houses, keeping track of their relations and, of course, the history of the land itself.

Clement pored over the pages of the book, specifically the section that detailed the lineage of House Celtigar. However, he found it to be unimpressive. The ancestors of House Celtigar had only married into the local houses, especially the lords of Crackclaw Point and its surroundings. They were known for being a loyal house to the Targaryens, but there was no mention of a victorious commander, no nickname-bearing lords, and no famous knights - only servants to the crown. The history of House Celtigar was that of mediocrity.

Despite being of Valyrian descent, only the Targaryens and the Velaryons were deemed the last pillars of Old Valyria - an indirect insult to the Celtigars, at least in old-Clement's opinion. The boy who had previously inhabited this body was quite bitter about it, and his ambition was quite wild if he had grown up and actually lived his life. However, it was the present-Clement who was now living in this body, and he also did not approve of the reputation of House Celtigar. The House's reputation was simply sub-par, not akin to that of a house of Valyrian descent. He knew the lore and had this lingering feeling that he would like to change the fate of House Celtigar, to transform it from a mediocre house into a great one that would be worthy of the Targaryens' acceptance of marriage proposals or even become a significant threat if a rebellion ever arose.

Like the dance of dragons.

The thought of the impending war thirty years into the future caused Clement's eyes to widen with trepidation. He contemplated his future self, who would be around forty years old at that time, wondering how he would fare during the turbulent times that lay ahead. Despite having ample time before the war, the books he read indicated that he would not be the lord of Claw Isle during that period, as Lord Bartimos Celtigar held the coveted position of master of coin in the Blacks' council.

"Ugh, master of coin again…" he grumbled to himself.

Yet, fate was unpredictable, and anything could happen in the span of thirty years. Perhaps his father would die prematurely, or he would step down from his position due to old age. Clement could only heave a deep sigh as he closed the book that he had been reading. Should he rise to the challenge and make a name for himself? But how high could he climb the ladder of success? He certainly couldn't sit atop the iron throne himself, but maybe his bloodline would…

The ambition of the old-Clement seems to swelled up in his heart, perhaps this is why he's reincarnated, to help the sickly old-Clement to achieve his dream, as now, he feels healthy as ever, hell, he could even argue that he was healthier than his previous life. His experience as an actor in his previous life and the old-Clement's brilliant scholarly mind could come in handy in his present one.

If he wanted to elevate House Celtigar's status, he needed to start by building a strong foundation right here, at Claw Isle. He envisioned developing the castle, the town, and the people, which would enable him to expand his influence beyond the island's borders. His gaze shifted to the distant town of Brackyore, which he planned to visit in two days. The old Clement rarely ventured beyond the castle's confines, but the new Clement was determined to explore every nook and cranny of the surrounding region, perhaps even finding something that would make his goal reached even faster.

Now, the old-Clement and the present-Clement are one people, just a man by the name of Clement Celtigar, the heir of Claw Isle.

With his mind buzzing with ideas, Clement rose from his seat, carefully placed the book in the drawer, and retired to bed.