Ardrian Celtigar was a vassal of Dragonstone, much like House Velaryon, serving as a Targaryen vassal since the time of Valyria. The Celtigars had come to Westeros with the Targaryens before the Doom of Valyria. After Robert Baratheon ascended the throne, he granted Dragonstone to Stannis, making the Celtigars advisers to the Second Stag.
In the original timeline, Ardrian, also known as "Old Ardrian," did not take kindly to serving Stannis. His disdain only grew after Stannis abandoned the Faith of the Seven in favor of the Lord of Light. The feeling was mutual—Stannis found Ardrian to be a tedious vassal, likening him to an employee with no vision. When the boss proposes a grand project, Ardrian cares little for the bigger picture and focuses solely on whether it will bring enough investment to secure his own interests and power.
As was Stannis prepared to challenge Renly for the Iron Throne, Ardrian incessantly questioned how many lords in the Stormlands supported Stannis, how many soldiers they could muster, and how many men would follow. This constant nagging irritated Stannis to the point where he could barely stand to see him.
Now, Ardrian sat before his fireplace, a deep frown etched on his face. He had little faith that Robert would emerge victorious, yet as Stannis's adviser, he was obligated to send ships and soldiers. To him, this was a complete waste of resources, and the thought left him bitter. The large living room was dimly lit, with only four candles casting flickering shadows.
Grumbling to his son Arson, he muttered, "Seven gods, that's seven dragons! Maybe the Seven sent those dragons to help Prince Viserys. Robert is determined to march to his death, but why must he drag us down with him?"
Arson, who was no longer young, had long grown accustomed to his father's grumbling. "But father, we've already sworn our loyalty to Stannis. If we waver now, we'll be in for it..."
"What are you talking about? How dare you say that?" Ardrian snapped, stung by his son's words. "I'm just trying to save Claw Isle!"
Ardrian glared at his son, clearly displeased. "What about the ships for Stannis?"
"Thirteen ships in total, including our Red Crab, ready to—"
Ardrian cut him off, anger flaring. "Thirteen ships? Isn't that all we have?" He spread one hand, holding up five fingers before reconsidering. "Add the Red Crab, and that makes six ships in total!"
Young Ar nodded, indicating that he would go back and make the arrangements.
Just then, Ardrian's attendant rushed in to report: "My lord, a man claiming to be Jorah Mormont wishes to see you."
"Mormont?" Ardrian furrowed his brow, the name sounding familiar, yet he couldn't quite place it.
Arson, after a moment of thought, suddenly exclaimed in alarm, "Father, it's Mormont from Bear Island! I've heard that he now serves Viserys."
Jorah had come on Viserys's orders to "take the lead." When he was on Bear Island, he had heard tales of the wealth of House Celtigar. It was said that Claw Isle, due to its strategic location, was brimming with Myrish rugs, Volantene glass, countless rubies, and all manner of gold and silver treasures. Struggling to support his extravagant wife, Jorah had often wished that Bear Island could trade places with Ardrian's Claw Isle.
However, when Jorah arrived at Claw Isle with great expectations, he was disappointed to find that the castle was not as opulent as he had imagined. As he entered Ardrian's living room, he noticed the floor was indeed covered with Myrish carpets, but they were worn and frayed. The Volantene glass installed in the windows seemed dull and lacked the clarity he had seen in Lys.
Jorah suddenly realized that he was no longer the naive "rural lord" from Bear Island. Viserys had gifted him the lavish Tregar mansion, and he had grown accustomed to such luxury. The thought of leaving it behind was now somewhat distasteful to him. "Thanks to the His Grace," he mused.
What Jorah had once done reluctantly for Viserys in Braavos, he now did willingly. Not only had he amassed a considerable fortune, but his wife, who had once run off with another man, had returned to him. Although Viserys had advised him to let go of Lynesse, Jorah stubbornly refused.
Ardrian, eager to make a favorable impression, didn't wait for Jorah to even cross the threshold of his living room. He rushed out to greet him, as if afraid the man might flee before they could speak.
"Ser Mormont!"
"Ser Celtigar."
The two men exchanged bows, and then Ardrian, unable to contain his curiosity, asked eagerly, "Ser Mormont, you are here on behalf of Prince Viserys, aren't you?"
Jorah was a bit taken aback by Ardrian's enthusiasm and bluntness. He thought to himself, 'Your current lord is Stannis, yet here you are, eager to curry favor with Viserys.'
Despite his thoughts, Jorah needed to ensure that Ardrian's loyalty remained with the Targaryens. Claw Isle could become a crucial springboard for Viserys—whether for the imminent "Fire in the Blackwater Rush" or future endeavors to exert influence over Westeros.
Without hesitation, Jorah confirmed that he was indeed representing Viserys. Ardrian was overjoyed, and his son, Arson, standing nearby, was equally surprised.
"I have also received Prince Viserys's 'Great Announcement,'" Ardrian said, barely able to hide his excitement. "When will the Prince launch his attack on Westeros?"
After all, Robert's forces had already begun gathering troops and warships, preparing to strike at the Stepstones archipelago. Ardrian was anxious not to lose his investment. If Viserys could reclaim the Iron Throne soon, Claw Isle could be preserved.
"Ser Celtigar, you should address him as His Grace," Jorah corrected sharply.
Ardrian quickly apologized, and Jorah, satisfied with the correction, didn't press the matter further.
"His Grace will not be attacking Westeros just yet," Jorah informed him.
"Ah? Then he..." Ardrian began, his voice tinged with concern.
"His Grace is already making arrangements to destroy Robert's fleet," Jorah interrupted, "and His Grace himself is preparing to come."
"His Grace is coming?!" Ardrian was startled.
"It's time to renew your allegiance, Ser Celtigar."
Jorah expected the old man to be elated at the chance to serve the Targaryens once more, but instead, Ardrian hesitated.
"But Ser Mormont, I'm too close to Dragonstone... I'm afraid..." Ardrian trailed off.
"His Grace is not afraid, so what are you afraid of?" Jorah retorted, growing impatient. He began to suspect that Ardrian could not be trusted and contemplated leaving at once to report this hesitation to Viserys. His body tensed as if ready to rise from his seat at any moment.
Sensing the gravity of the situation, Arson quickly interjected, "Ser Mormont, my father is only concerned for His Grace's safety, not unwilling to serve him."
As the saying goes, no one knows a man better than his own son, and the reverse is also true. Arson understood his father's nature—Ardrian wanted to have it both ways. He believed Viserys would eventually triumph, but defecting now felt premature and risky.
They needed to keep Mormont onside; otherwise, House Celtigar might remain stuck on Claw Isle indefinitely. They still harbored ambitions of expanding their influence across the entire Crab Claw Peninsula.
"So Ser Celtigar is willing to pledge allegiance to the Targaryens after all?" A young, commanding voice suddenly echoed from the doorway. A silver-haired young man stood before them, sword in hand.
"Your Grace!" Ardrian began, but before he could say more, he noticed Jorah had already dropped to one knee.