Reviews make me write faster! I use the quatermaester interactive game of thrones map when writing.
When the chapter reached 12,000 words I decided it was time to call it a day and just cut the dammed thing in half. Sorry, I know this won't please those who think the story is moving too slowly. But I've always said you have to move slowly to develop characters and set up plots if you want a decent payoff that people care about.
At least it means that most of the next chapter is already written so it will follow quite quickly
Renly Baratheon
"Your Grace." Septon Humfrey greeted as I entered to find Garlan with him already. "I'm glad to see you recovered."
"It was never of any concern." I off dismissively. "One of the perils of exploring all sorts of food. You never know which will disagree with you."
The septon smiled, the cloth of silver garments that marked him as one of the Most Devout clinging to a wiry frame. Given that he'd decided to wear his crystal coronet as well, despite most Most Devout only wearing theirs on ceremonial occasions, this man's weakness was clearly pride rather than food. Though as the current High Septon was known as 'The Fat One', he was likely very familiar with the concept of food as a weakness. I certainly was. If I wasn't training every spare moment trying to reach the level where I could reliably defeat a squire, I'd be in danger of getting the same moniker myself before too long given the prowess of Mace's kitchen staff.
"I'm glad you asked for this meeting, I had some matters that I wished to raise with you privately." The steel in his voice let me know exactly what those matters were, and that this wasn't a man to be put off with meaningless platitudes.
"Of course." I gave him a charming smile before letting it drop and going on the attack. "I suspect I know what they are already. Committing to knight Lady Brienne of Tarth? Allowing women fighters in my Rainbow Guard? Or am I wrong and it's just the plain old usurpation of my brother?"
The old man blanched as if I'd smacked him in the face with a wet fish. He did, however, rally quickly and change his approach.
"As to matters with your brother Your Grace…Any who would burn the holy statues of the Seven? Burn loyal Septons and those who come to their defence? Such men do not deserve to sit upon the Iron Throne and rule over the faithful, no matter their rightful place in the line of succession. The other things you mention are a different matter entirely. The Seven fashioned us all for our place in life. Maiden, Mother, and Crone. Smith, Warrior, and Father. Our roles are divinely inspired, which is why women cannot be knighted. Lady Brienne has her role to fill, you should not encourage her defiance of the gods."
A slight smile, emphasised by Septon Humfrey's well-trimmed white moustache, tugged at his thin lips as he issued the opening volley in my dressing down. It wasn't much, but with what I'd learned about him it was enough for me to gamble on choosing a specific angle of attack.
"Tell me, my dear Humfrey, do you want to continue this discussion pretending that we both believe in the gods? Or shall we move to the heart of the matter?"
"Yo…Yo…Your Grace!" The Most Devout stammered in shock before transitioning to indignation. "To admit to such godlessness yourself is bad enough! To accuse it of me is a mortal insult!"
"Oh come now, don't tell me you've been taken in by your own sermons." I laughed, allowing the old man's building anger to wash over me. "The Faith of the Seven is a wonderful philosophy I grant you. One of the reasons I like it so much is that it simply holds up a mirror to the people that worship it. No fancy origins, no promise of divine miracles, no flashy magic. Just a deep understanding of the grinding drudgery interspersed with moments of intense joy that is everyday life. Encouraging the best in its worshipers by asking them to be the ideal of the reflective aspect they're choosing to worship, and to help others to do the same. Indeed, instead of demanding the expensive sacrifices others demand, the Faith instead demands that you show your piety by improving yourself and offering comfort and assistance to those in need. A most practical philosophy. There is the distasteful matter of asking for donations of course. But saying your chances of heaven might be improved with a gift of a bit of coin or labour is very different to demanding you throw a family member into the fires of R'hllor, or onto the alters of the Black Goat. And that before the gods will even hear your plea."
My little spiel had taken the wind out of Septon Humfrey's sails. Thankfully Garlan had done nothing but raise his eyebrows, so I took advantage if Humfrey's uncertain footing and ordered full steam ahead before the good septon could recover.
"I mean the idea that there are all knowing and omnipotent Gods knowing every tiny minutia about every aspect of our entire lives? Keeping score on our actions as if we were acolytes of the Citadel looking to forge our next link? I find it impossible to believe Humfrey, and I think you do too." I waved dismissively. Resolutely not thinking about how I had ended up here as I spoke. Life was difficult enough to deal with already. I didn't need to load a religious crisis onto my shoulders as well.
"I do not say that to attack the Faith, but rather to exalt it. I've said that the Faith's philosophy and tenants encourage personal growth and care for fellow man among its adherents. But that is not its only virtue. It is said that the Faith and the Crown are the two pillars that hold up the world, and that is certainly true as the Faith's holy orders are essential to the lives of all citizens. Its brothers and sisters help people to cope with the burdens and tragedies of their lives, its septons officiate the great joy of marriages and births, give the forgiveness of the confession, and comfort at the end of life. Its septas teach the tradesmen and farmers to count, give food to the poor, and care for the orphans, while the Silent Sisters prepare us for our final journey with dignity and grace. From cradle to grave the clergy of the Faith brings the people of the Seven Kingdoms great comfort and security in a world that gives them precious little of either."
I raised a glass of lemon water in salute. "That, in the end, is far more valuable than the truth that the gods are merely the reflections that we see in the mirror life holds up to us."
The Most Devout was silent for a long time, staring at me as his mind clearly raced behind a carefully blank expression. Eventually a small appraising smile grew on the wiry old man's face. "As you say, Your Grace. The presence of the Faith in this world is essential, no matter what awaits us in the next. But that only weakens your position. The ways and roles of the people have been set, to contradict them only weakens the stability you cherish."
Hidden behind my back, I clenched my fist in victory. "Perhaps, septon. But then change is needed from time to time, and with your other options unpalatable and the rewards for your co-operation great I think you'll find your way to accepting them. Especially when you're made High Septon."
"The Fat One is in good health by all accounts, surely you are not suggesting murder Your Grace?" Septon Humfrey countered, filling his own glass of lemon water with a smirk as he matched my bluntness.
"With regards to The Fat One…his name is 'The Fat One' and King's Landing is starving. How long do you think he'll last once he has to step one foot outside the doors of the Great Sept?" I murmured, thinking of the riot that Joffrey had started that had seen the High Septon literally torn apart.
"A long time if no one stirs the crowds against him. The judgement of the gods is a powerful thing."
"Many besides me move against The Fat One. He will meet the Father soon one way or the other. All that remains to be seen is whether you will be the one to benefit from that event." I left the implication that if we came to an agreement and the riot was butterflied away, or the High Septon survived it, then I'd order The Fat One dealt with myself hanging in the air.
The wiry old man's raised eyebrows said he heard the unspoken words clearly.
"I would have to go to King's Landing to be named High Septon. Nearly half the Most Devout are resident in the Great Sept, and the Holy Conclave requires that at least half must be in attendance for it to be valid. That is something I cannot do if I declare for you before you have taken the city. By your own words it seems unlikely The Fat One will last that long, so any agreement between us would be pointless. Unless his successor were to swiftly meet the gods too, which would not be a good look. For either of us." The note of warning in his tone was matched by a look of caution from Garlan over his shoulder.
"Just so." I allowed. "But consider for a moment, we know The Fat One is in danger. He does not. And as the second most important location in the world for the Faith, a significant portion of the Most Devout are already resident in the Starry Sept. If you were to call those among the Most Devout in the Great Sept that you are certain support you to Oldtown, along with all the Most Devout resident in the septries, motherhouses, and septs in the Stormlands, Reach, Dorne, and Riverlands, surely you could halve the required half of all Most Devout in attendance when The Fat One tragically meets his end? And have a majority in the Holy Conclave you convene?"
"The Fat One would never let them go, but even if he did my opponents would never come. I cannot reach half of all Most Devout with my supporters alone." Septon Humfrey frowned.
"I'm not suggesting that you tell them that you're calling them to a Holy Conclave while the High Septon is still alive Humfrey!" I fought the urge to shout in frustration, but my voice still rose. I took a breath to calm before continuing. "Say it's a studying committee, a peace initiative, a gods dammed drinking contest if you must! Use as many lies as needed to get them on the fucking road! Once they start travelling they'll be almost entirely cut off from communication until they reach Oldtown. None of them will know that you've summoned them with lies, nor that you've summoned any of the others unless they meet them on the road. Even then they could never find out that you've summoned enough to convene a valid Holy Conclave until they actually arrive. And by that point The Fat One will be dead, and the only place with a majority of the Most Devout present, or at least close enough to hold a Holy Conclave in any reasonable amount of time, will be the Starry Sept. A most fortuitous coincidence of course, but not one any will dare to call you on in your own city. Especially not if they realise just how large a portion of those present your own represent."
"You are a sly one." The Most Devout sounded impressed as he smirked. "But such blatant manoeuvres would undermine my legitimacy as High Septon. Why should I not wait and take my chances at a Holy Conclave convened in the Great Sept under King Joffrey? As all would expect? Unlike Lord Stannis he has nothing that prevents the Faith, that prevents me, from supporting him."
"Because of exactly that. Joffrey will give you nothing." I countered. "He has no problems, but he will give the Faith no rewards either. And any Holy Conclave held in King's Landing would also be held in the shadow of Tywin Lannister. Which would make your selection, as a Reachman, problematic given that the banners of House Tyrell and House Lannister will be meeting on the battlefield by then. I, on the other hand, would be most eager to see you elevated. And in return for certain considerations, I am prepared to allow you to claw back some of the power the Faith lost in their attempts to overthrow the Iron Throne."
Garlan looked ready to explode at the suggestion, but I stared at him harshly till he subsided. None of us denied that the Faith had tried to overthrow the Targaryen's by staging a mass revolt against Aenys I as soon as his father, The Conqueror, was dead. Nor that they had tried again by backing the Hightower led Targaryen-in-name-only Greens to the hilt in the Dance of the Dragons.
Unfortunately for them, their first attempt had failed when Maegor the Cruel had usurped his inexperienced nephew, then hammered every attempt at rebellion into the ground until the rest of the Targaryen dynasty was strong enough to stand against the forces arrayed against them without him. That attempt had cost the Faith their military order and their separate ecclesiastical courts for clergy, as both had been stripped from them by Jaehaerys I in the aftermath.
Their second loss in the Dance of the Dragons had cost the Faith their exemption from all royal taxes as well. The Iron Throne had learned just how well gold could counter numbers when the Greens, backed with the gold mines of Casterly Rock, the deep vaults of the Faith, and the stolen royal treasury, clashed with the significantly more numerous but gold poor Blacks. In the aftermath the Iron Throne had moved to pre-emptively strip as much gold as possible from any future Faith backed rebellion by stripping away their tax exemption.
It depended on how much they believed in the gods as to which loss each member of the Faith considered worse, but none denied they'd been deathblows to the Faith's ability to wield temporal power. While they'd managed to recover their spiritual power and authority, they'd never been able to claw back any of those cold, hard, privileges that allowed them to compete with the Crown and Lords Paramount on the battlefield. Not even under Baelor the Blessed. Not until Cersei and Tommen.
"Am I to believe you'll allow us to reform the Faith Militant? That you'll see the Warriors Sons and the Poor Fellows reborn?" The Most Devout snarked, insulted at a blatantly false ploy.
I wasn't surprised at his derision. Only a secular ruler who had drunk their own kool-aid would ever allow the Faith Militant to rise again. Even the zealot Baelor had been successfully convinced that the threat to the secular authorities at every level of the Seven Kingdoms' administration was just too great.
"Of course not, the Swords and Stars will never return." I dismissed. "But the right to try your own, for any of the Faith's clergy accused of misconduct to be tried in Faith courts rather than by the local lord…that's a different matter."
That grabbed the old septon's attention and he grabbed my chin to look forcefully into my eyes. Garlan thankfully turned his incredulous 'what?!' into a coughing fit before the word finished forming. "You would see the trial by faith restored? Of those clergy that are alleged to have lost their way being tried by seven septons instead of a lord?"
"A form of it." I cautioned. As much as I was prepared to lengthen the Faith's leash in return for their full support, I had no intention of removing it entirely. "Rather than being tried by seven septons, as it was in the old days, I offer a trial by a group of fourteen, randomly chosen. Seven shall be members of the Faith, be they septons or septas, and the other seven landed knights. Or their wives if the accused is a septa. The local lord shall still preside and decided the sentence, but only this specially assembled council, which I have decided to name a jury for convenience, may determine the guilt or innocence of the accused. With ten being the minimum number needed to proclaim guilt."
"So the power of judgement over holy brothers and sisters still rests with lords in the end." Septon Humfrey countered as Garlan began to look less like he was about to suffer a heart attack.
"Only if they're declared guilty." I fenced back. "Are you saying that if the accused is innocent then at least three of the septons and septas of the Faith on the jury will be bribed or blinded by the temptations of the world to find guilt where there is none?"
"Still, to allow those of common birth to sit in judgement over their betters…" The old man pursed his lips, shaking his head slightly and causing his crystal coronet to cast rainbows around the room.
"Of course, if it were an Elder Brother, Mother, or a Most Devout accused, then the jury would be seven of the Most Devout, seven lords, and the Master of Laws themselves would preside and pass sentence." I clarified.
"A most enticing offer." The Most Devout allowed, drinking slowly. While the requirement of a secular judge and half the jury being highborn ensured the Iron Throne retained a significant say, it was far more control over their own than the Faith had had since Maegor.
"What do you want in return? The full list, let us not mince words when we have come so far." Septon Humfrey stated bluntly, studying me with calculating eyes as he pulled his shining cloth of silver robes tighter around his wiry frame.
"First that you sit on any accusations against myself and Loras just as thoroughly as The Fat One has been doing up till now."
"They're true?!" The wiry old man exclaimed, lip curling in disgust. Garlan cleared his throat and made a point of cleaning his fingernails with his dagger, causing Humfrey to back down.
Even though Garlan's reminder kept him from saying anything aloud, the Most Devout sneered at me, his eyes glittering with malice.
"Whether they're true or not you'll dismiss them. Provided you want me to give you the crystal crown rather than a poison blade in the night." I shot back.
Unlike most men, the casualness of my tone didn't make Septon Humfrey hesitate for a moment. "Perhaps King Joffrey is the true king after all. Perhaps it would be better if I left for King's Landing at once. It would be interesting to see how you explain being crowned by a mere castle septon."
Derision dripped from the Most Devout's voice as he headed for the door.
"Not as interesting in seeing how devastated I am that you tragically fell down the stairs after consuming too much of Mace's excellent wine." I smiled before affecting a look of sadness. "Oh gods it's all my fault! I was only trying to bring him around to my way of thinking…to preach the truth about Joffrey…I shouldn't have let us drink so much. Everything's ruined! Mace what will Margery say when she has to be married by a mere castle septon!?"
The look of horror on Septon Humfrey's face as I clutched his cloth of silver robes in supposed blind panic at the end of my performance made me break character and laugh. It was a welcome tonic, as deliberately drawing on my worst memories to make the easily donable mask of sadness transform into one of full devastation and panic usually took quite a while to reverse. Even when I wasn't already teetering on the edge of another full depression attack.
"Don't tell me you believed the stories about me being just a prissy courtier Humfrey? Easily placated by flattery and with any innate competence blunted by a refusal to take my duties seriously?" My voice strengthened as the voice in my mind saying that I was a useless incompetent cunt that fucked up everything I touched receded to its usual whispering constant instead of screaming loudly in my ears.
The wiry old man soured, pulling his robes out of my hands and then trying to open the door. But Garlan's muscled arm slammed into the oak, keeping it closed.
"The fool would be preferable to the abomination." The Most Devout spat bitterly. "One of your kind as lord is bad enough, to seat you upon the Iron Throne is unconscionable."
"Well fortunately for all of us you don't have a conscience Humfrey, only an abiding lust for power and acclaim." Contempt rolled off my tongue, and the Most Devout had the hypocritical gall to look offended. "Don't look at me like that. I may have declared we should speak plainly, but you're the one that chose to dispense with personal pleasantries. Fortunately we don't have to like each other to work together."
"You think I'll work with you?" The old man growled.
"I know you will. I'm your only chance at trading your coronet for the crystal crown. Not only because my brother will burn you alive and Tywin Lannister won't give you the time of day, but also because I have no intention of letting you live if we don't come to an agreement." My temper flared but rather than push it down until it either passed or overwhelmed me as it had with Robert and Ned, I embraced it with both hands. Using it to fuel my actions and make my words believable. "I would say that it's nothing personal Humfrey, that I simply can't afford the Faith turning on me. But after your little performance just now that would be a lie. I'll take great pleasure in it."
Part of me hated admitting that, but I resolutely ignored the guilt that threatened to form once my anger hand faded. Good men made decent kings in peacetime, but in times of crisis and civil war things rarely ended well for them, their loved ones, or their people. The tragedies of Viserys I and Robb Stark told that story clearly enough. I needed to use my anger to at least occasionally bury my empathy and kindness. To become the sort of ruthless vindictive cunt that could actually lead a civil war faction to victory if I didn't want the same tragedies that had befallen their households to happen to me and mine.
The fact that I was practically embodying the Baratheon house words by doing so was not lost on me.
"Now, let's continue our negotiation." I sipped my lemon water as I wrestled my tone back to neutral.
"You expect me to negotiate with the threat of death hanging over my head?" Septon Humfrey asked incredulously.
"Doesn't everyone?" I waved away his objections contemptuously. "Many vassals and lieges hate each other's guts and would happily kill each other if they thought they could get away with it. Those highborn negotiate with me, Joffrey, or Stannis on whether to bend the knee know that if they refuse, they're more likely than not to die in battle, at an assassin's blade, or on the executioner's block than they are to make it through the coming war unscathed. Are you so delicate you can no longer think when such matters are actually voiced aloud rather than implied?"
Humfrey certainly wasn't delicate if the strength in his fingers was any indication. They were gripping his glass so tightly I was worried it would shatter. "What do you want? In addition to permitting perversion."
As my fingertips traced over Fury's hilt regretfully. As much as I was growing to despise the corrupt homophobic bastard, I didn't have the luxury of introducing him to Valyrian steel. Having any Lannister appointed High Septon conveniently die after I took King's Landing would undermine their replacements legitimacy to such an extent that even the smallfolk would consider them a puppet. Unfortunately, while there were more comfortable candidates I could pick to work with, none of them had a snowballs chance in hell of winning a Holy Conclave held anywhere but the Great Sept of Baelor. Their support base was too wedded to the Great Sept and the motherhouses and septries of King's Landing and the Crownlands.
Though perhaps, if I was lucky, the fact that Humfrey despised me might actually increase his effectiveness in rallying support to my side. As many would find the idea of two men who blatantly hated each other working together to place each other on thrones absurd.
"Firstly, you'll back my reforms." I listed. "You will endorse the knighting of women of martial ability, and the creation of the Rainbow Guard. It's goal of being all women by the end of my future son's rein will also receive your full support."
"And how do you suggest I package the destruction of the gods' roles for us in life, Your Grace?" The Most Devout mocked.
I shrugged uncaringly. "Does not the Father bless every widow who must be both father and mother both to her children? Does not the Smith bless every seamstress, weaver, and cook in the realm? Does not the Mother guide the actions of Fathers who lose their wives in the birthing bed? Does not the Maiden protect the innocence of boys as well as girls? And does not the Crone impart valuable wisdom and experience to all of us? The Stranger certainly visits all of us in the end. Next to all this are you saying that you cannot figure out a way to sell the idea that the Warrior would chose to bless a mere handful of exceptional women that have not received the Mother's blessing instead?"
The wiry old man ground his teeth so hard I had to clamp down on the urge to ask if he had been taking lessons from Stannis. "Moving on. You will also support my extension of the new trial by jury to the domains of landed knights."
Both Garlan and Septon Humfrey stood stock still from shock.
Unlike petty lords or lords, landed knights were unable to dispense justice to anyone. Not even smallfolk. All matters of justice in their lands had to be passed up the feudal chain to a petty lord or a lord, depending on who they were sworn to. Even the very few landed knights that had managed to gain more lands and practical power than petty lords, like the Selmy's of Harvest Hall, were denied this right.
In practical terms this was an immense issue that denied the vast majority of the population access to justice at all, let alone swift or impartial justice. Only smallfolk with what, to them, would be significant financial means could ensure that their case was actually passed up the feudal chain, and travel from their homes to the relevant petty lord or lord's holdfast to present it for judgement.
"This is…Your Grace…the lords will not be happy at you removing their right to dispense justice." Garlan spoke up hesitantly.
"I'm removing nothing from them Garlan." I replied, giving my soon to be good brother a nervous smile. "Petty lords and lords will continue to dispense justice in their direct domains alone as they always have. I am simply allowing matters in the domains of their landed knight vassals to be handled far more effectively. Surely they will not complain when they are allowed to sit in judgment alone? Whereas landed knights would only be able to dispense justice after the proclamation of guilt or innocence from a jury? It is still a clear distinction and privilege for them to be above such requirements."
I was already pushing at the boundaries with the Rainbow Guard, but forged ahead with my trial by jury suggestion anyway as I was determined to bring this reform in.
The death rate of the smallfolk was intolerable and demanded immediate relief if I was going to live with myself. I refused to be Marie Antoinette, feasting and admiring my crown in the mirror while everyone else starved. I was going to push as hard as I could with the 'protection and stewardship' that the feudal contract promised the smallfolk from their lords as the justification to give them practical relief as soon as possible.
My reforms to knighthood and the implications for gender equality would, practically speaking, only effect the highborn until the changed social norm spread through the social hierarchy over decades. The smallfolk needed help now.
Focusing on the ruthless practicality of life, most smallfolk who didn't die of old age starved, died in childbirth, or died by violence. So the best way I could see to alleviate that suffering was to vastly improve their food security, midwifery care, and access to justice.
I was already working on the food security with the seed drill project I'd given to my nephew, and midwifery with the forceps and Mothers of Highgarden project I'd given to Margery. It was up to me to create the third prong of the trident. I just had to pray that I'd correctly judged where the line the lords would draw was and I didn't trigger a Westeros wide rebellion by accident.
"The juries would be the same as those of the Faith of course." Septon Humfrey cut into mine and Garlan's silent staring match, eager to enhance the Faith's power beyond what I had already offered.
"Alas, there're generally far too few clergy in the lands in question for that to be so." I grimaced as I put 'Fuck No!' in the politest possible terms. "As a purely practical matter most septries and motherhouses are located in lords' domains, which places them too far from where the juries would be convened. Instead the jury shall be composed of twelve randomly selected fellow smallfolk, one silent sister, and one begging brother. While septons may be thin on the ground in the most remote areas, silent sisters and begging brothers can be found everywhere. If a highborn, even a hedge knight, is accused, then the matter must of course be passed to a lord for judgement, as is proper."
Garlan let out a long, slow breath and looked at me in disquiet. I had no doubt that if I were to attempt to decree this on only my own authority as king, as I had done with knighting women and establishing the Rainbow Guard, I would have been politely but completely ignored at best. More likely I would have been swiftly killed.
The authority of the High Septon behind me was a game changer. If he personally endorsed the specific idea that landed knights could dispense justice if guilt was decided by a jury, then it would still meet with a lot of anger, and I'd likely have to smack a few dissenters around, but it would be accepted. However reluctantly.
"When will you announce that reform?" Garlan asked cautiously.
"When I'm seated on the Iron Throne with Joffrey and Stannis thoroughly defeated." I answered. "I'm not going to drive my supporters away by announcing unpopular intentions while those who will be angered by them still have a rival to flee to.
"And is that everything?" Garlan phrased it as a question, but the look on his face and the warning in his voice blatantly said it had better be everything lest I end up like Orys I. A Storm King, who, as Tywin had reminded Tommen, had introduced reforms that were fair and just to great acclaim from nobles and commoners alike. Then promptly ended up murdered in less than a year. A handy reminder of what awaited those who pushed too far, too fast.
"There is one more, to be announced on my coronation day." I replied turning to a stony-faced Humfrey while Garlan sighed and massaged his forehead, clearly searching for a more diplomatic comment than 'do you want to get yourself killed?'.
I hurried on before the gallant knight managed to find the words he was searching for. "Once I'm crowned and married, I intend to announce that the succession laws of the Iron Throne will return to the days of Viserys I. When they matched the rest of Westeros. That is; that a daughter of a first wife comes before son of a second wife in the line of succession. And that all a king's children come before one of his brothers."
Garlan dropped his hand, and instead of searching for a way to talk me out of another reform he looked at me in horrified realisation.
"Under the current law, should Margaery die bringing a daughter into the world or I should die before fathering a son my heir is still legally Stannis." I clarified for Humfrey; he was almost certainly fully aware, but it was better to be safe than sorry. "If Stannis is ruled out, either due to him already being dead or due to the lords of Westeros actually having some survival instincts, a case could still be made for Edric Storm to come before mine and Margaery's daughter. He already would if he was legitimate, and when faced with an infant girl as the other option many lords might be willing to accept a legitimised bastard boy instead of her if I fall in battle or to an assassin's blade."
"House Tyrell will fully support you in that announcement." Garlan spoke formally. Daring Humfrey to disagree.
There were a lot of 'ifs' in that chain of events I'd outlined. But given the danger of childbirth in Westeros, my own lack of skill with a blade, the fact I was heading into battle, the number of powerful lords opposed to me, and the existence of the faceless men, it was a real possibility. The Tyrells would not accept their blood being usurped if Margery had only daughters and it was best to declare that I fully supported them in that from the very beginning just in case another part of my faction tried to challenge them should the worst happen.
"As will the Faith." Septon Humfrey muttered, folding under Garlan's gaze.
"Good. Because you'll do one more thing when you're elected High Septon. Don't worry it isn't another reform." I continued quickly as Garlan looked ready to actually punch me at the mere suggestion.
"Then what else do you want from me?" The Most Devout asked harshly.
"Almost every smallfolk attend a sept at the very least once a week, usually once every day." I began, receiving a nod of acknowledgement that I spoke the truth. "As soon as you're elected High Septon, you will send out orders for the septons to preach the story of the lady that thought she was a princess, the story of how Cersei Lannister was so convinced of her own superiority that she believed she was equal to any Targaryen of old, and so took her own brother to bed to prove it. Or whatever the best way to communicate that Joffrey and his siblings are bastards born of incest is, I leave the precise details to you. But you will ensure that it is preached in every sept, every day, until the smallfolk can recite the story in their sleep."
Garlan's jaw dropped as the second half of my public relations plan finally lumbered into view.
Originally proclamations of the truth had done just as little among the smallfolk as they had among the highborn. Tommen and Joffrey had received so much support because the vast majority of both still truly believed them to be Robert's sons.
I had to destroy that belief. Fortunately my political campaigning experience taught me how to do so; receive endorsements from those people and institutions your target voters trust most. My grassroots letter writing campaign had brought the highborn onside. Now the story of Cersei's incest being repeated day in, day out, by those the smallfolk trusted most in the world, their local priests, very voices of the gods themselves, would do the same for them. Everywhere the Lannisters didn't immediately shut down the preaching would become far more difficult for them to control, and if they did shut it down they would only be adding fuel to the secret whispers that would spread the story anyway.
"For the Faith to take sides so blatantly is a very large concession." Humfrey frowned. Likely hating the idea of strengthening a 'pervert's' claim to the Iron Throne himself. Especially as the Faith tying itself so closely to me on his command would make it a lot more difficult for him to move against me later.
Something I was counting on far more than I thought I would be when the conversation began.
"You're receiving a very large concession. Larger than many would deem wise." Garlan growled.
"Still, it is a large and sudden break with precedent." The Most Devout pushed. "If you could perhaps see your way to restoring some of the tax exemptions"
"No." I cut him off cleanly.
His moustache twitched as he sneered. "I think, Your Grace, that your position requires a little."
"No. Not now, not ever!" I hissed, cutting the old man off again.
I took a moment to control my breathing before continuing. "I am not unsympathetic with your desire to leave a personal mark though. I could see my way to supporting the seat of the High Septon and the Faith returning to the Stary Sept and Oldtown. As it was in the old days."
"And you think such a thing would interest me?" The Most Devout sniffed in dismissal.
"I know it would. Humfrey Hightower." I fenced back. Like maesters, septons, especially Most Devout, gave up any family names they had upon joining. That didn't mean you couldn't find them out and exploit them. "Doesn't it grate on you that your family's great project, the timeless sept they built as the seat of the gods' representative in this world, has been cast aside for the ghastly new construction of an inbred zealot?"
He stared at me for a moment, the calculations running in his head.
As well as my appeal to the notorious pride of his house, I was also counting on the fact that it would be far easier for him to rule from his own support base in the Stary Sept, in the city his family had founded and controlled since men first came to Westeros, than it would be in that stronghold of his opponents, the Great Sept of Baelor.
"Agreed." Septon Humfrey finally announced. Before disrespectfully turning on me and leaving without another word.
I grimaced, inclining my head after the departed septon. "He needs watching until we can be sure he has truly accepted the deal."
"Willas already arranged it." Garlan spoke mildly. "Though I don't think he was prepared for how…poorly…things went while still succeeding. And we may yet come to regret that success Your Grace."
"We may indeed," I allowed. "But that is a problem for the future. For now we have what we need, and he will provide a decent shield for a while."
I continued at Garlan's questioning look. "If anyone strikes at me with faith as a motivation then Humfrey knows he will be suspected as the mastermind. For the safety of his own neck he must defend me, whatever his feelings on the matter."
"A point." Garlan allowed graciously. "And it is useful to know of one who certainly despises you, you can watch who they meet with most closely and find more opponents far easier that way than otherwise. But still…it seems unlike you to allow the Faith such leeway when they have a history of being such a powerful problem. Even more so if their leadership is to be so far from your direct supervision in the capital. And all of that for the loyalty of smallfolk and knights."
"Statecraft is about your dynasty surviving the next century, Garlan." I groaned. "Politics is about surviving until Friday afternoon. And thanks to my complete lack of legitimacy my reign is like to contain far more politics than I would like."
"Stannis has…"
"I wasn't referring to Stannis." Garlan had only just begun to argue, but I still cut him off. "I was referring to the end of the Targaryen's. The golden thread of legitimacy that was forged with Aegon the Conqueror died with the Mad King. Now every lord thinks to see their house upon the Iron Throne. My brother took it with force of arms, and now I am to do the same. Why not them? The Baratheon Dynasty has no legitimacy on the Iron Throne, and we won't start to gather any untill we can pass the crown from one king of our House to the next without ripping the realm appart in the process!"
"Why then do you risk angering the lords further?" the galant knight questioned ingenuine confusion.
"If the top of the pyramid is against you, then you'd better have the support of the middle and base." I answered, focusing on the practical benefit to the Crown rather than the benefits my proposed reforms would give to the smallfolk. "I need those ambitious lords to look at the landed knights that make up their strength when they call the banners and question how many will actually answer their call if they rise against me. I need the petty lords to look at their smallfolk and wonder if they call them to arms if their levies will form, or if they will find themselves besieged in their own castles by an angry mob chanting my name instead. And I need many servants, captains, and merchants who feel more loyalty to me than to their employers for my Master of Whispers to gather secrets from. A difficult task but…"
"You don't actually have to succeed, just succeed enough to make enough lords wary of calling their banners to stop any rebellion reaching a tipping point." Garlan finished.
"Exactly." I rubbed my eyes tiredly. "If I make it to a year on the Iron Throne hopefully statecraft will guide my decisions more than politics. But until then..."
"Survive till Friday afternoon." Garlan grinned, slapping my arm as energy returned to him. "Well come on, we've got hours till your little meeting this evening, and politics isn't the only thing you need to survive. Lets hit the yard."
Bryce Caron
As he sat in a relatively respectable tavern near the docks the Lord of Nightsong reflected the maester's texts had gotten one thing right. Tolos had once been a city rich and glorious.
Of course, they didn't mention how much that glory had faded with the doom of Valyria. The daughters of Valyria now known as the Free Cities had all been too far from the peninsula for the Freehold to govern directly. They'd been left to rule themselves for the most part as long as they swore allegiance to the Freehold and so had not been drastically affected by its fall. By contrast Tolos was one of the dozen or so cities on or close to the peninsula to have been ruled by Valyria directly, and one of only three to survive the doom in any meaningful fashion.
Survive was the right word. Lord Caron reflected as he looked out the window to the city beyond. At night the faded glory, tarnished marble, and broken tiles weren't nearly as visible. But even so the city didn't thrive as it clearly had when it was a port city for the entire northern Freehold. Now, on the western side of Slaver's Bay, only Mantarys was left to require Tolos' service as a port. Elyria the only other surviving city, was safe on her island, and had her own port. While traders from Westeros and the Free Cities tended to head directly to their destination ports of Astapor, Yunkai, or Mereen on the eastern side of Slavers Bay. Or simply never enter the bay at all and resupply at New Ghis if they were heading further west to Qarth, or beyond, through the Jade Gates or Cinnamon Straits and into the Jade Sea.
Bryce jumped as a man slumped into the seat next to him, nearly spilling his beer.
"Well they're all aboard the ship, a dozen of the finest slingers in Tolos hired for a couple of years. Though what Lord Renly wants with them I cannot fathom." Guyard Morrigen complained, slamming his own beer down on the table. "Those soft lead balls they sling will just splatter on good solid plate."
"Maybe so." Bryce allowed. "But have you seen the damaged they do to unarmoured flesh?"
"Now that I'll grant you." Guyard grinned in a manner that made Bryce want to retch. "That punishment walk for the slaves was something else, I didn't know you could punch such large holes in a man with just a soft bit of lead."
"Yes. Well. Let us hope Lord Renly has a different use for them in mind." Bryce muttered, taking a gulp of beer to settle his stomach."
"If he has it's not like it's any worse than what the Mad King got up to is it?" Ser Guyard sniffed dismissively. "Long as he doesn't do it to any highborn no one will care. How was your task anyway? Managed to buy those Unsullied?"
"I bought four." Lord Caron whispered, the guilt and shame worming in his gut. "May the gods forgive me for spitting on their commands, but they seem not to understand that they're free servants now. I can't think what Lord Renly wants with slaves."
"Not our place to question." The youngest of the three Morrigen brothers breathed uncaringly. "Just take them back as we were asked and let him deal with the Faith and all those others that'll have their noses out of joint. I thought you were supposed to buy half a dozen anyway?"
"The price was too high." Bryce muttered, feeling guilty for even thinking about speaking of men as he would horseflesh, let alone actually saying the words aloud. This mission of Lord Renly's had seemed like such a grand adventure when they'd set sail from Oldtown near six moons ago. But the more of Essos he saw the harder the Lord of Nightsong found it to hold onto his good cheer in the face of such constant cruelty. "Doubtless we could have got a better deal at Astapor herself, but our time is not infinite. Neither is the gold Lord Renly gave us."
"Mores the pity." Ser Guyard sighed wistfully at one of the serving girls. "Did you find an expert on the Dothraki? 'Cause I completely missed my shot on that one."
"I did." Bryce nodded, glad to be on a safer topic. "He went to gather his things and make arrangements. He'll meet us in the public square at the end of the Black Cliffs at dawn tomorrow."
"Are you sure he isn't faking? The two men I thought might suit were." Ser Guyard reflected bitterly.
"He answered the questions Lord Renly provided from his books correctly. If he is faking the depth of his understanding of those savages he still knows more than our liege lord does."
"So nothing that can come back on us if it turns out he's faking. Good." The young knight grunted. "Find any fire mages?"
"I missed my shot on that, as anyone with sense would have known. Charlatans with powders one and all." Bryce smirked. "I've no idea what Lord Renly was thinking asking that we hire some of them. Perhaps not all of his flighty nature has left him if he actually believes in magic."
"Probably thought if there were any anywhere it'd be here didn't he?" Ser Guyard shrugged. "The Volantis-Mereen road isn't called 'The Demon Road' for nothing and Mantarys sits right astride it. If you can't find a fire mage in the city closest to Old Valyria to survive the doom that's also known to be filled of men turned twisted and monstrous by magic…well, you're not going to find one anywhere are you?"
"We haven't actually been to Mantarys." Bryce pointed out nervously.
"Well we weren't asked to and I'm not volunteering, you understand me?" The Morrigen knight stated, suddenly serious.
"I understand." The Lord of Nightsong replied, holding up his hands calmingly. "I can't say I was particularly keen on the idea anyway. But even if we wanted to, we'd never get there and back in time to still make port in Qarth before the year changes."
"And that's the most important part of our task right enough." Ser Guyard grinned, downing the rest of his ale and happy to have put any talk of travel to the city of horrors to bed. "Back to the ship?"
"Back to the ship." Bryce confirmed. Downing the last of his own beer and following his fellow Stormlands highborn out into the night. For some reason they seemed darker here in Slavers Bay than they ever had at home.
Arya Stark
Arya bitterly reflected that even the nights in the south were too hot. At home in Winterfell she wouldn't have felt like a roast pig on a spit if she wore her riding leathers to bed, but here she had only been abed with them on for a few minutes and she was already far too warm.
She refused to give up though.
Lady Margaery herself had told her that if a Lady wanted to know what was going on she had to find out herself because no one was going to tell her.
She'd said it, winking, as she went to take tea with Lady Oakheart and Lady Rowan, both newly arrived in Highgarden with their husbands and the first of their banners.
Arya wasn't a Lady. She couldn't make sweet words over cake, or tea, or embroidery, and suddenly ferret out all the news she needed. Not like Lady Margaery could. Not like her Lady Mother could.
But she was still going to find out what was going on.
As soon as she learned that Ser Loras wasn't going to be guarding her door this time she'd hatched a plan, now all she had to do was wait.
Her door opened and she closed her eyes and feigned sleep as best she could.
"Sleep well Arya." Her half-brother whispered as he ran his fingers through her still short hair.
As much as Arya wanted to hug him, she didn't let herself move. Nor did she alter her deep, slow breathing.
As soon as the door closed behind Jon, Arya threw off the covers and padded silently to the door on her bare feet, not making a sound.
She waited for a long time, so long she'd almost lost hope. But then the handle turned and the door was pushed silently ajar. She pulled it open just enough to slip through and did so. Quietly emerging into the hall to the sound of someone using a chamber pot.
Arya made a face as she glanced down the hall to see her favourite brother a few feet away. His back was to her and the door both as he pissed into the chamber pot provided for guards.
Turning away quickly she pulled the door closed behind her and looked into the eyes of Edric Dayne. Her young betrothed smiled shyly at her, his violet eyes shining with mischief and pride as he tossed his head towards the other end of the hall. Silently telling her to get moving.
Though she had but moments, Arya still lent in to give the Dornish boy a hug and a silent kiss on his cheek. He blushed bright red from his neck to the roots of his ash blonde hair and Arya felt a wolf's grin form on her face as her tummy twisted slightly at the sight. Maybe being married wouldn't be so bad if it was to Ned. Someone who'd not just let her be her, but who'd join in too.
Jon's stream began to weaken, so she turned and fled down the empty hall, her bare feet making nary a sound on the wooden floor. When she made it around the corner without her brother's voice calling after her in outrage Arya jumped, danced, and span with joy.
It was time to find out what secrets were being kept from her.