22nd day of the 8th Moon, 269 B.C.
The Hour of the Rest (1 P.M.)
Ser Alaric Mormont, Lannisport, Lion's Den
The septon spent the entire meeting in silence, barely reacting to the words spoken, only to drop a bombshell like this the moment he first spoke.
"Why didn't you mention this before?" Tywin asks.
The septon turns to the Hand.
"I hadn't realized. It was only when Ser Alaric mentioned feeling a similarity between my miracle and the miracles of the Faceless Men and the Drowned God that I began to consider the possibility. I spent the last four days reflecting, trying to remember what I felt when witnessing those demonstrations of magic from the Red Priests and whether they resembled my miracles."
"Do they?" Archmaester Culler asks, making Mycah turn to him again.
"Perhaps. I feel a similarity, but I possess nothing to compare it against to declare so with certainty." He then turns to me.
I already know what he is going to ask of me.
"Therefore, I ask Ser Alaric if it would be no trouble to demonstrate your magic to me, so that I may have something to compare and know how to speak with certainty."
I stare at him in silence for a time.
This man is an enigma to me. Despite wanting me to perform something that his own religion, and almost everyone in this room, considers demonic, I found no malicious intent coming from him.
"Wait," Maester Dunaver speaks in a confused manner, drawing everyone's attention to himself. "According to the rumors, didn't Ser Alaric tell Your Grace, back in Old Wyk, that he did not learn his magics through the Old Gods? Wouldn't that also make him a 'miracle user' like Mycah?"
From the genuine confusion I feel coming from him, this seems to be accidental assistance.
But then Tywin opens his mouth.
"Yes, I remember him saying that, which raises another question: If Ser Alaric is a 'miracle user,' how can he say that Septon Mycah is truly an envoy of the Seven without having someone of his own to compare?"
His look toward me was anything but subtle.
The implication was simple: either I am a liar, or I am incompetent.
Aerys stared at me in clear judgment.
"Interesting," Archmaester Culler says.
The left side of his mouth was arched while he fiddled with his Valyrian steel staff on the table. His eyes, nearly covered by the mask, showed deep reflection.
"I was not aware of these rumors, but I recall Ser Alaric saying that the magi—miracles used by the Faceless Men and Drowned God felt different from his. So I presume that, even if his magics originate from a divine gift, they are not like these miracles."
"Ser Alaric," Tywin calls my name, requesting confirmation.
"This is a personal matter of the North, Lord Hand," Rickard says, trying to help me.
"It's alright, Lord Stark," I calm him, then face the Hand of the King. "The Archmaester's observation is correct. Although I learned my magics with the Old Gods, I do not perform them by drawing energy from them, like Mycah and the Faceless Men. My source of energy is different; that is all I can say." Responding to Tywin, I turn to the septon. "And yes, Septon, I can perform a demonstration."
I raise my right hand, touch my index, middle, and thumb together, and begin to speak in Druidic, generating sounds of embers and wood snapping as I rub my fingers against one another.
Flames appear in my hand in a burst of red particles within a second.
The reaction of those seated at the table was interesting.
Aerys, witnessing my magic for the first time, observed the flames floating in hypnotic fascination. Thanks to the Septon, this was not the first time he had witnessed magic, but the reaction was as strong as the first, probably because the magic created fire this time.
Will I be the one who triggers his obsession with fire in this universe?
Looking out of the corner of my eye, I notice Rickard looking not at the fire in my hand, but at those who were. He was analyzing their reactions.
Tywin gave only a disinterested look at the flames before turning his eyes to the hypnotized Aerys.
In contrast to the King's Hand, all the maesters looked at the fire with interest, narrowing their eyes to see it well, as if they were analyzing it.
But I am not referring only to those seated. Behind the seated Archmaesters, two young maesters, their assistants, looked at the flames in my hand with the same interest, but it was deeper for the one behind Archmaester Culler. Marwyn.
But the reaction that intrigued me most was the septon's.
Again, he showed no repulsion at witnessing something his religion claimed to be demonic. And again, I do not detect him masking any negative feelings. The only thing I catch from his eyes is a sense of fulfillment.
"They were green," Culler points out. "The lights, before the magic, were green. Septon Mycah was white. They are different."
"Different origins. Different appearances," I explain without going into detail.
"And you imitated sounds. Of fire and embers. In a perfect replica. The septon spoke words."
"Different origins. Different requirements."
This seems to have been enough to satiate his curiosity.
"What is your verdict, Septon?" With the king still hypnotized, it was Tywin who asked.
Septon Mycah, who until then had been observing the fire in my hands, finally averts his gaze and gives his final answer.
"Unfortunately, it seems we possess the worst option. My miracle possesses and emits a totally different sensation than what Ser Alaric's magic emits. I no longer believe in the existence of a possible coincidence between the similarity of my miracle and the magics presented by the men and women in red from my vision."
With his verdict, I extinguish the flames in my hands, making the room darken slightly.
This seems to have awakened the king from his illusion, as he begins to blink suddenly.
"What—the fire. Why…"
"The septon has already given his verdict, Your Grace," Tywin explains.
Aerys, in confusion, shakes his head and wanders his gaze across all of us seated.
"What did he say?"
"We will have to fight another god."
"Who possesses an army much larger than the Ironborn," Archmaester Gilbert adds. "We cannot underestimate them."
Archmaester Culler, feeling attacked, clenches his jaws.
"I will command Lord Rosby to increase our spies in Essos in search of possible invasion plans. And as Tygett is currently in Essos, I will ask if he has heard anything," Tywin says.
Aerys nods in acceptance. "Do that."
Tywin then turns to the septon.
"Septon Mycah, may I assume that you will also do your part during a possible invasion?"
"Yes, Lord Hand, but during the invasion. I have another mission to fulfill until then."
This alerts all of us.
"Another vision?" Aerys asks, leaning forward.
"No, Your Grace. This vision is the one shared by all Septons: To protect and guide the people of Westeros."
"Hm, yes."
Aerys leans back into the chair with a disappointed expression.
"And how do you intend to do this?" Archmaester Gilbert asks.
There was suspicion and discomfort in his voice. And looking at Tywin's distrustful eyes, he was not the only one apprehensive about the septon's mission.
Even Culler, the archmaester of higher mysteries, formed a worried expression.
Are they afraid of a resurgence of the Faith Militant? Septon Mycah does not seem like the type of man who seeks something like that.
"With the eminence of a war that could destroy Westeros, it is time to begin spreading the gift presented to me by the Seven with those who are deserving."
Oh shit. He intends to change Westeros forever.
"And who are these deserving ones?" Archmaester Culler asks. There was eagerness in his voice.
Despite the silence, Aerys carried as much hunger as he did, as did the young Maester Marwyn behind the Archmaester.
"Septons."
The three men instantly wither.
"But only those truly faithful, who did not become one for power or will not become corrupted during our mission. Unfortunately, I realized on my journey through the Riverlands that this type has become somewhat rare."
"I imagine it is not a matter of choice to pass your abilities only to septons, is it?" Archmaester Gilbert asks.
"It is not. But it is for the best. Even if I could pass this knowledge to anyone, it would not be wise to do so. Many would use it wrongly as a tool of oppression or a means to power."
He really does not seem like someone who wants to recreate the Faith Militant. Quite the opposite.
"I have an idea that might help you, Septon," Aerys speaks.
Here we go.
"When the tournament ends and the time comes for us to return to King's Landing, I want you to come with me and visit the Sept of Baelor. Not only will you be able to find and analyze the various septons who inhabit it, but you can also announce to all the septons scattered throughout Westeros that you are looking for those truly faithful and will wait for them at the Great Sept of Baelor."
With his fingers interlaced over the table, Aerys smiled while looking at the septon with a sparkle in his eyes.
The target of his gaze, on the other hand, shifts uncomfortably.
This is the first time I have seen him lose his serene expression.
The idea of going to King's Landing, to the Great Sept of Baelor, seemed to… repulse him?
The septon was not the only one with a negative reaction. Beside the king, his Hand seemed to be clenching his teeth together.
"That is an idea, Your Grace." Aerys's smile grows even wider. "As I said, my journey through the Riverlands, where I protected the weak and helped the needy, made me realize that good septons there are rare, few, but not nonexistent."
Aerys's smile diminishes a bit. He feels he is being rejected.
"Before leaving the Riverlands entirely, I want to pass my knowledge to those few who have not lost their way from the path of the Seven. Thus, the smallfolk will have someone to turn to when they need help."
There was tenderness and concern in his expression and voice when speaking of the Riverlands and its smallfolk.
"In times of war like these, the Riverlands are invaded by bandits, and with the men capable of fighting away, we are left at their mercy until the men return. Having me there diminished much of the damage, but with me now away, things must already be returning to how they normally are. Having several septons, capable of doing what I do, scattered throughout the Riverlands before my definitive departure will put a permanent end to this problem."
'We.' He said, 'We are left at their mercy,' not they. And, again, more concern.
"Yes, the devastation of the Riverlands in times of war has always been a common problem throughout the history of Westeros."
There was no tone of solidarity with the struggles of the Riverlands in Aerys's tone or words.
Beside him, his Hand sends him a side glance but says nothing.
"How long until you finish this?"
Before Mycah could answer, Tywin added his thoughts.
"Matters of the higher mysteries are not something to be taken lightly, so it is understandable that it may take your time."
Was this goodwill from Tywin toward the septon? No. Tywin's previous dissatisfaction with the invitation shows he only wants the septon far from King's Landing and the heart of the Faith of the Seven.
Aerys gives an unsatisfied look to Tywin but says nothing.
Mycah, who was about to answer before, stops for a moment to think, or rethink his answer.
"Not long. I already know a sufficient number of those I consider true faithful. When I return to the Riverlands, I will only need to ask Lord Tully to allow me to send letters of summons to Riverrun and teach them there."
"I will tell the Tullys to accept."
It seems Mycah was about to refuse the offer, but stopped himself. "Thank you, Your Grace."
Aerys leans back in his chair with a satisfied smile.
"I have been thinking," Maester Dunaver starts, "Would it not be wise to cancel the tournament to begin preparations against the undead and the Red Priests?"
Silence takes the table.
This was obvious, but those with the power to do so were also those who had an interest in its continuation.
"In uncertain times like these, it is important to celebrate victories and show strength," the Hand argues.
"Exactly," the king agrees. "Sending everyone away, sacrificing so many dragons and hours lost in travel and preparation, would only make the kingdoms imagine the worst. Yes, I want the tournament to be a demonstration of strength. Of all the best we have to offer…"
His tone slowly faded as he spoke, as if he had realized something.
"Septon," he calls.
"Your Grace?"
"I have heard quite a lot of the deeds your group performed in your travels over the last few days. They are quite impressive."
Wait.
"Why don't you join the tournament?"
Oh no.
"In the Mock Battle, for example. Ser Alaric intends the same. With your inclusion, there will be no discussion of injustice that only Ser Alaric can use magic. What do you say to me?"
Fuck.
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