Outside the Great Sept of Baelor, the High Septon labored down the long stone steps, supported on either side by attendants who served the gods with unwavering devotion.
Beneath the bright summer sun, the seven-faceted crystal crown upon the High Septon's head scattered prismatic light in all directions—sacred and dazzling, a physical manifestation of the Seven's divine grace. Novice septons and septas watched from a respectful distance, curiosity evident in their youthful faces.
The Great Sept boasted seventy-seven steps leading from its main entrance to the plaza below. The High Septon, corpulent and short of breath, had long harbored a particular dislike for them. Under normal circumstances, he conducted his sermons and ceremonies upon the elevated platform at the summit of the stairs, rarely venturing beyond the confines of his holy domain.
As if summoned by this very thought, seven additional servants appeared bearing an ornately decorated litter. They positioned it carefully at the foot of the stairs, opening its delicate door in preparation for the High Septon's arrival. All of King's Landing knew that outside the Great Sept of Baelor, the High Septon's feet seldom deigned to touch common ground.
With meticulous care, the High Septon steadied the magnificent crown upon his head, then lowered his substantial form into the specially crafted conveyance with a series of labored movements.
"Proceed," he commanded between heavy breaths, waving one beringed hand in languid dismissal.
The attendant closest to him immediately lowered the curtain of the litter, transforming the interior light to a soft, diffuse glow. The litter rose smoothly from the ground and began to sway with gentle rhythm, offering a subtle massage that the High Septon had come to appreciate during his many journeys throughout the city.
He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath of the faint incense that perfumed the litter's interior, allowing his thoughts to wander freely.
He was exhausted beyond measure.
The new king was far too willful for the good of the realm. The coronation ceremony on the seventh day of the seventh month had presented such a splendid opportunity—the king might have gained prestige from the proceedings, while the Faith gathered more devoted followers to the worship of the Seven.
But that giant who had appeared at the ceremony's conclusion had ruined everything.
From that moment forward, the common folk no longer directed their devotion toward the Seven out of gratitude or hope for divine blessing. Instead, awe and naked fear now dominated these ignorant lambs, driving them to their knees, making them malleable to manipulation by forces other than the Faith.
The Long Night? The Doom? The will of the gods? The High Septon believed none of it.
If such claims were true, why bestow divine grace upon the king rather than upon himself, the most faithful messenger of the Seven Who Are One?
To demonstrate their sincere service, the septons of the Faith surrendered their family names upon taking their vows. He had gone further still, abandoning even his given name, willingly transforming himself into a vessel meant to convey the gods' will to the mortal realm. Could all of this devotion have been mere vanity, signifying nothing?
The High Septon sensed a threat to the very foundations of his authority.
The king already occupied the most glorious and lofty secular position. Now his giant lived firmly in the hearts and minds of hundreds of thousands throughout King's Landing, threatening to supplant the image of the High Septon himself.
This development was more than troubling—it was catastrophic.
The world must understand that the Faith alone served as the true messenger of the Seven. Otherwise, no matter how many sermons were delivered, they would serve only to buttress the king's power rather than the Faith's.
The litter came to rest with a gentle thud. They had arrived at their destination.
The High Septon adjusted the crown upon his head once more, a practiced smile of benevolence settling across his round face before he parted the curtain.
A gold-robed functionary with coal-black hair gestured impatiently. "Make haste, Your Holiness. His Grace awaits your presence."
The High Septon narrowed his eyes, peering into the middle distance. The wide and magnificent doors of the throne room remained tightly closed, appearing somehow smaller than he recalled from previous visits. More troubling still, they seemed impossibly far away.
Do they expect me to walk the entire distance unassisted? Would they demand such exertion of the gods' chosen representative?
"Your Holiness?" the black-haired officer prompted again.
Finding himself within the Red Keep, the High Septon had little choice but to abandon his beloved litter and proceed on foot.
Yet even in this, he overestimated his capabilities.
It required a full quarter-hour for him to drag his substantial form across the few hundred paces to the throne room. By the time he passed through its imposing doors, he felt as though he had consumed a hundred holy meals in succession, performed a thousand rituals, and chanted ten thousand hymns—a bone-deep exhaustion that bordered on despair.
To his immense relief, he spotted an empty chair positioned before the Iron Throne.
The gods be praised!
The High Septon hastened toward it with what speed he could muster, his heart suddenly overflowing with gratitude.
"It would seem the sun shines favorably today. Your Holiness perspires most generously," observed Joffrey from his perch atop the Iron Throne, his tone light and unconcerned.
The High Septon raised his gaze. The Iron Throne before him had undergone a transformation since his last visit to court.
The countless jutting spikes and blades that had once defined its fearsome silhouette had vanished, replaced by flowing lines etched into the platform of the throne itself. These supported the king at the throne's apex, as if the ancient seat of Aegon the Conqueror had shed its former menace.
The Iron Throne appeared to have surrendered its majesty, or perhaps more accurately, to have transferred that majesty directly to the young king who sat upon it.
The High Septon straightened his posture with effort. "I beg your forgiveness, Your Grace. The demands of my holy office allow no idle moments. My days are consumed with prayer, leaving little opportunity for exercise. Thus, I typically travel by litter."
"I see. Your Holiness is indeed the voice of the Seven, truly devoted to their service."
Though the king's tone betrayed no obvious mockery, the High Septon found himself distinctly uncomfortable beneath those bright green eyes. "May I inquire as to why Your Grace has summoned me this day?"
A servant appeared bearing iced red tea, which the High Septon consumed in a single desperate draught.
Joffrey's gaze lingered upon the crystal crown adorning the High Septon's perspiring brow. "Nothing of great consequence. I merely wished to discuss certain points of doctrine."
Refreshed by the cool beverage, the High Septon felt his spirits lift considerably.
"What aspects of the Faith puzzle Your Grace? You need only ask, and I shall enlighten you."
Joffrey smiled thinly. He believes I don't understand? The arrogance is breathtaking.
"Your Holiness may be unaware," the king began, his tone suggesting that what followed was not merely idle speculation, "but the symbols representing the Seven have been incorrectly rendered for many years."
The smile adorning the High Septon's face vanished as swiftly as morning dew beneath a summer sun.
"Father, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Smith, Warrior, Stranger—the Seven manifest in these seven aspects, guiding mortals throughout their earthly journey," Joffrey continued. "Yet we all acknowledge that the Seven are One."
The High Septon could raise no objection to this statement; these were foundational tenets of the Faith.
"Then why does the Faith employ a seven-pointed star as its primary symbol?" the king inquired, a dangerous light kindling in his eyes.
The High Septon blinked in confusion, unable to formulate a response to this unexpected challenge.
"Your Holiness, which aspect do you believe the Seven favor above all others? The Father? Perhaps the Mother?" The king's question carried the weight of genuine interest.
The High Septon answered with practiced piety: "Any aspect pleases Them equally, Your Grace. The Seven love the world and all living creatures without distinction."
The king shook his head slowly. "You have misjudged Their nature. The Seven love all beings, true enough, but above all else, They cherish Their aspect as the Father, who presides over judgment and justice throughout creation."
Joffrey raised a gleaming brass star with six points. "Therefore, the Father should occupy the central position, worshipped by all the world, while the remaining six aspects should surround him. The Seven should be represented by a six-pointed star!"
The High Septon gaped in astonishment. A six-pointed star? The boy has gone mad!
But the king descended from the throne, each step leaving fiery red footprints upon the steel beneath his feet. "You doubt my words?"
"You truly disbelieve?"
The air grew so hot that even drawing breath became painful. The High Septon found himself unable to voice the objections that rose to his lips, instead lowering his gaze in wordless submission.
The king extended his right hand and grasped the seven-faceted crown that had adorned the High Septon's head for so many years.
"The Seven have bestowed divine grace and revealed Their will to me alone. Naturally, I know what pleases Them best. I tell you plainly, They favor the six-pointed star."
As the heavy crown was lifted from his brow, the High Septon experienced not only a physical lightening, but also a profound emptiness within his heart, as if something vital had been torn away.
His thoughts returned unbidden to the coronation ceremony—to the crown and scepter that the king had claimed by his own hand, to the light and heat emanating from the giant who had appeared. Gods forgive me, I considered resisting such divine power!
With a sharp sound, the High Septon flinched involuntarily. To his relief, the king merely pressed his heated palm against the crown of his head.
"Your Holiness," the king intoned, his voice suddenly calm and distant, as if emanating from some unknowable vastness, "the Seven have manifested Their grace and revealed Their will. Kneel before Them."
Divine grace. The High Septon sank to his knees with newfound devotion.
"The entire Faith shall be reorganized as the Gospel Department, under the authority of the Divine Envoy, tasked with spreading the true word throughout the world."
"Every seventh day shall be proclaimed Worship Day, when all believers must offer prayer."
The High Septon trembled as an inexplicable power flooded his consciousness, impossible to resist or deny.
"The covenant is sealed."
When at last he raised his head, the High Septon's eyes burned with a fanaticism and sincerity he had never before exhibited, as if gazing upon the Supreme Father in Heaven incarnate. "Your Grace," he whispered, "it is indeed the six-pointed star."
The king merely smiled, content with what he had wrought.
"Four days hence, on the twenty-sixth day of the seventh month, we shall observe the first Worship Day. The Faith must perform its duties with proper devotion."
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