Miriel lay at the edge of the pool in the centre of the Church of Vows, his gentle gaze resting on the tranquil waters reflecting the early morning sun. The surface was completely calm, unmarred by even the slightest ripple, unknowingly mirroring the current state of the Tortoise's own heart.
It was an unusual feeling for him to simply be content, but he found the sensation quite pleasant. Countless years had been spent worrying - for the people of Liurnia, then for young Rennala and her children, and after that for the entire Lands Between ravaged by war.
But here, in this new land, among friends old and new, Miriel felt something he had not felt for a long time - peace.
His people had finally found rest. The Church of Vows, new and yet the same as the one before, was once again a place of tranquillity and unity, not the place of sorrow that it had become during the Shattering. Here, behind its stone walls, countless different faiths from both the Lands Between and Westeros could come together, each and every one of them welcomed into the shelter of its sacred halls.
One of these faiths, recently introduced to Miriel by his new friend, Septon Gerold, was the Faith of the Seven, the main religion of Westeros. It was quite different from anything Miriel had known in the Lands Between. Seven faces of one god—Father, Mother, Warrior, Maiden, Smith, Crone, and Stranger—a peculiar faith of many aspects, a pantheon that was not, yet it spoke of something familiar: unity within diversity.
Was it possible that these seven aspects were in a similar situation to that of Queen Marika and Lord Radagon, whose true nature had recently been revealed to him by Lord Hadwyn? He had no way of knowing either way, for the Seven were a secretive lot, content with guiding their faithful from afar.
So far they had ignored his attempts at communication during his typical morning prayers to every known god, with silence as their only response, but he was not discouraged.
If there was one thing he had in abundance, it was time.
"Good morning, Miriel." a gentle voice came from behind him, pulling Miriel out of his reverie.
"Ah, Gerold." Miriel turned his head slowly, smiling at his newest friend, his deep voice warm despite the weight of centuries it carried. The Westerosi Man had become a regular and welcome presence in the church, his beliefs and knowledge invaluable and quite appreciated. Miriel enjoyed their talks, even if they occasionally touched on delicate matters. "It is always a pleasure to have you grace this church with your presence."
"It's good to see you too, Miriel. I find my soul always lighter after our talks. I hope I am not intruding?" The man replied, a small smile playing upon his lips.
Gerold looked rather unassuming as far as the priests went, with greying hair and slowly wrinkling face, but his humble demeanour and the quiet strength of his faith still commanded attention. As always, he was dressed in the simple silver vestments of his order, with the seven-pointed star of the Seven hanging from his neck.
"Never an intrusion," Miriel replied easily. He had already declared Gerold welcome in his church several times and at this point it was just their little welcome ritual, one quite enjoyable for Miriel. "This church is open to all who seek understanding and solace."
Hearing this, Gerold slowly approached a wooden bench next to Miriel, the furniture in question having recently been placed there for this purpose alone, and took a seat beside the tortoise. For a moment both men sat in companionable silence, enjoying the gentle breeze and the light reflected in the pool. Then the Septon spoke, his tone contemplative with a hint of concern.
"Your Church of Vows is quite marvellous, Miriel, especially its purpose." Gerold said eventually, a strange, almost sad tone in his voice. "A place where all faiths may find a home and all men may find absolution. It is... remarkable."
"I'm glad to hear that, Gerold." Miriel replied, casting his friend a curious look. Had something happened to the man since their previous meeting? He seemed a little troubled, affected by something unknown to Miriel. "I want it to serve as a constant reminder that even in lands divided by wars and despair, there is always a path to unity. That through faith and understanding we can all find common ground."
"If it were all so simple…" Gerold smiled mirthlessly and gave the tortoise a sad look. "Please don't misunderstand me, friend. I wholeheartedly agree with your vision and find it truly compelling, but unfortunately most of the people in Westeros are not so understanding. We like to speak of tolerance, but the reality is often far less forgiving. We officially accept the worshippers of the Old Gods of the North and even those who follow the Drowned God of the Ironborn, but it is a precarious acceptance, often shrouded in suspicion and fear. Those people, who should have been converted with kind words and compassion, are often treated with the sword alone, and any prior goodwill unnecessarily trampled…"
The man then sighed and turned his full attention to Miriel, his expression conflicted.
"My brothers..." Gerold began hesitantly, seemingly unsure how to proceed, but then he gathered his courage and continued, his voice a little more steady. "The presence of your people disturbs them. They are more and more vocal in their accusations against me for daring to be friendly towards you. I can see the signs. Trouble is brewing in the Starry Sept." As he confessed, his face twisted into a pained grimace, the man finding it hard to admit the problem to his friend. "It pains me to admit it, but something terrible may soon happen if nothing is done. But what can even be done in a situation like this? Tell me, how did you manage it? How did the people of the Lands Between accept those who would kneel before 'gods' not their own? You told me yourself that your people worship countless different 'gods' and yet you live in harmony."
As he listened to his friend's words, Miriel's heart sank, for he had no good answer to these desperate pleas.
"I'm afraid you will find the question rather grim, my friend." Miriel sighed and bowed his head slightly. "Our lands between... Under Queen Marika, the realm became a place of rigid order. Her Golden Order sought to unite, yes, but it also sought to control. And in doing so, she condemned many faiths to dust and shadow, their names forgotten and their worshippers buried."
"Surely there were some faiths that were accepted?" Gerold inquired, his tone not yet desperate, but troubled nonetheless.
"Some faiths were allowed to exist under the Golden Order, but I'm afraid that they fared no better than the Old Gods and the Drowned God under the rule of the Seven, existing out of necessity rather than Queen Marika's honest desire." Miriel said quietly, his tone contemplative. "Dragon worship was allowed to spread among the military, but only as long as it didn't challenge Queen Marika's place as the one true god, a poisoned peace offer used to bind the ancient dragons into the Golden Order. The worshippers of the Moons were given more freedom, but they were confined to Liurnia, whose willing integration into Queen Marika's kingdom gave its rulers more autonomy, not unlike the situation of your Martells. Still, without the protection of Queen Rennala and Princess Ranni, I doubt the faith would have survived for long. There can only be one true god, after all."
Miriel had always found the irony of this doctrine quite amusing. After all, wasn't Queen Marika herself just a vassal, as much a servant as the other two gods working for the Greater Will?
Miriel didn't quite understand why, but after her ascension Queen Marika decided to portray herself as the sole God of the Lands Between, leaving the followers of the Golden Order ignorant of the Greater Will and its two vassals. Fortunately for Miriel, he lived long before the Golden Order was even founded, long before Enir-Ilim, that dreadful place, was built.
He walked and learned about the world when it was young, he talked to ancient dragons before their scales turned to stone, and he still remembered the touch of the Elder Ring that gave him and the other beasts sapience upon its arrival. He witnessed the rage of the spurned sibling, watched overbearing mother's affections, and rejected the scorpion's well-meaning gifts…
For Miriel, to see this young girl, tears still in her eyes and prayer on her lips, proclaim herself the one true God and promise eternal paradise... It was both adorable and sad at the same time.
"I see... So even your lands, so much greater than our own, are no better than Westeros when it comes to faith." Gerold replied, his voice filled with disappointment, but then his brow furrowed. "And yet all I see is harmony among your people. So what has changed? Surely it wasn't just Princess Ranni succeeding Queen Marika as your... 'god'?"
It was rather interesting, Miriel mused, that the people of Westeros had a habit of... idealising the Lands Between, considering them somehow better than the lands in which they lived. It was quite puzzling to the old tortoise, for in many ways Westeros was much better than the Lands Between ever was. More peaceful, at least.
"I suppose you could call Princess Ranni's new order much more tolerant than the previous one..." Miriel said, unsure how much to reveal to his new friend. It was true that the Moons were much more tolerant, even dismissive, of people's beliefs, but that wouldn't be the case when it came to the representative of the Moons and her consort... for, as much as it pained him, admittedly good reasons. "Princess Ranni and Lord Hadwyn generally offer religious freedom, respecting the beliefs of their people and allowing them to coexist. And yet..."
Gerold turned to him, his gaze curious. "And yet?"
"There are some faiths that are... difficult to integrate." Miriel admitted, his voice carrying a note of hesitation and grief. "Most faiths can coexist. The Golden Order, the Moons, Dragon Worship... they all bring their own colours to the tapestry of the world, their truth safe for those who wish to perceive it. But there are a few, just a few gods that bring... complications that make it difficult to accept their presence. The truths these gods offer are simply too dangerous for the unprepared, their colours too vivid for most. They are as much a part of the Truth as the rest, worthy of acknowledgement and worship, but... their ways are perilous and can consume the unprepared."
Noticing the look of confusion on Gerold's face, Miriel sighed. He guessed that his words would sound rather nonsensical to someone who had had no previous contact with the outer gods. It would probably be better if he could provide some examples, but unfortunately he couldn't. After all, Princess Ranni and Lord Hadwyn would be upset if he brought some... unwanted attention to Westeros. Even his own morning prayers were already dangerously close to crossing the line.
"I apologise if my words don't make much sense. I can't reveal too much, you see, so it's hard for me to explain. Suffice it to say that Princess Ranni's order is not tolerant towards all religions, but unfortunately that intolerance is sometimes justified. It's... a hard shell to crack."
Gerold groaned softly, as if physically hurt by the pun, hiding his face in his hands.
"...terrible puns aside..." The man finally said, his tone changing from chagrined to contemplative as he turned his eyes back to the pool, his gaze unreadable. "I think I owe you an apology, Miriel. It was unreasonable of me to expect some perfect solution to all my problems from you." Somehow Gerold looked a little more confident than before, as if the revelations about the problems in the Lands Between had given him more confidence in himself. "I have needlessly burdened you with my problems. You don't need to worry. I will find a way to deal with this problem on my own. After all, it's my responsibility as Most Devout."
For a moment there was silence between them again, filled only by the soft sounds of the world outside. Birds called from the trees and the wind whispered through the leaves. Miriel watched Gerold closely, admiring the newfound determination the man seemed to have found. The Septon was a good man, Miriel decided, driven by his faith as well as his desire to understand and unite people. There were too few people like him in the world.
"...Gerold," Miriel said softly, breaking the silence. He knew his offer would probably be rejected, but he wanted to try anyway. "If you wish, I could teach you some of our incantations. Not to replace your faith, of course, for I wouldn't dare come between you and the Seven, but as a tool to help you with your problems."
For a moment Gerold stared at him in silence, his expression conflicted, but then he smiled and shook his head firmly, his gaze filled with quiet determination.
"I appreciate your offer, Miriel, I really do, and I know you make it in good faith. However, I must decline." Gerold declared, his voice firm. "My faith is in the Seven alone, and so my strength should come only from them. To accept the power of your 'gods' would be an act of betrayal that I couldn't bear. I hope you understand."
There was a subtle shift in the air around Gerold as he spoke, a faint shimmer that Miriel's keen eyes caught. A brightness, a small flicker of something not entirely mundane. The tortoise smiled softly to himself as he felt the presence- apparently the Seven found Gerold's words to be quite pleasing.
"You are a man of deep conviction, Gerold, which I find most admirable. Perhaps soon I will see the deeds of your gods with my own eyes." Miriel replied, his voice filled with warmth. He was not speaking metaphorically. It wouldn't be long before someone as devout as Gerold received divine inspiration. Miriel would probably witness the incantations of these strange new gods very soon.
Gerold blinked, obviously surprised by the statement, but then he smiled, touched by the tortoise's kind words. "Thank you, Miriel. I am not sure what you mean, but I appreciate it all the same."
They continued their conversation for some time, but eventually Gerold rose from his seat and said goodbye to Miriel. The great wooden doors closed behind him with a soft creak, leaving the Church of Vows in its familiar, peaceful silence.
For a moment, Miriel allowed himself to bask in the silence. It was a silence filled not with emptiness but with contemplation - a chance to reflect on all that had been shared. His reverie was soon interrupted however by the soft, almost imperceptible shuffling of footsteps behind him.
Miriel slowly turned his head, his eyes catching sight of the familiar figure of Jolán, his new guardian, who had previously lingered in the shadows of the church's stone pillars, quietly listening to his conversation with Gerold.
Miriel stared at her in surprise. Did she need something from him?
"Your Excellency." Jolán began, her voice soft despite her intimidating, armoured form. "About these 'brothers' Gerold spoke of... should I deal with them before they cause any problems?"
Miriel blinked, tilting his large head slightly as he tried to process her words. What? Why would she even ask him that? Did he really look like someone who would want to do such a thing?
"... Deal with them?" Miriel repeated as he looked at the girl with wide eyes, his tone a strange mixture of confusion and alarm. "As in...kill them? Why...why would you assume that is something I would want?"
"It's what Count Ymir would do." Jolán simply shrugged in response, seemingly unaware of how horrible her suggestion was.
Miriel sighed heavily, a deep and rumbling sound that echoed through the building. Somehow he found the comparison rather unpleasant. After all, everything he had heard about the Count painted him as a... very loathsome figure. "I am not Ymir, Jolán. I hope you understand that by now."
She nodded at his words, but her answer was not what he expected.
"Yes, I know. Ymir was a human. You're a tortoise." Jolán said, her voice completely neutral. It seemed as if the girl was proud of herself for discovering this universal truth, her yellow eyes shining brighter and her form a little straighter than before.
For a moment there was only silence.
Miriel stared at her, his ancient eyes blinking slowly as he tried to find an appropriate response. He opened his mouth as if to correct her, or perhaps to offer some clarification of his words, but no words came. Finally, noticing how proud the girl was of her 'observation', he closed his mouth and let out a sigh.
His new guardian was... really, really strange.
The Starry Sept loomed over the nearby buildings like a grim sentinel, its black marble walls towering above the streets of Oldtown, gleaming faintly under the pale light of dusk. Its seven-pointed spires pierced the sky like the fingers of a giant's hand reaching toward the heavens in a display of reverence, a magnificent monument to the Faith of the Seven.
Inside, the Sept was a realm of shadows and silence, the air thick with the mingled scents of incense and candle wax. Candles burned low along the aisles, their flickering flames casting long, trembling shadows across the cold stone floors, worn smooth by centuries of penitent footsteps. The dome ceiling was studded with precious stones, the stars scattered across the painted sky that seemed to twinkle with a life of their own, giving the interior a majestic, serene quality that filled the faithful with reverence.
From a nearby alcove, Brother Toman watched his superior, Septon Gerold, return from his latest journey to the so-called 'Church of Vows', his expression one of masked suspicion. A thin man with a hawkish nose and piercing eyes, Toman had long been known for his fierce and unwavering devotion to the Faith of the Seven, his attitude admirable or disturbing depending on the individual.
When Gerold drew close, Toman stepped out from his alcove, bowing his head slightly.
"Welcome back, Septon Gerold," he said with the carefully measured deference his position demanded, his tone neutral. "I see you have returned from the Church of Vows again. That is the third time this week, is it not?"
"Yes, Brother Toman." Gerold replied, stopping in front of the man and looking at him with a raised eyebrow and a hint of a smile. For a moment Toman thought he saw a glint in the Septon's eyes, a hint of some other emotion, but it disappeared before he could concentrate on this strange sight. "Pastor Miriel and I had a very enlightening discussion on matters of faith and tolerance. As we both know, the arrival of the newcomers from across the sea puts us in a rather delicate position, so we must take the necessary steps to ensure that there is no... unnecessary tension between us and the inbetweeners. I'm sure you can understand that, brother..."
The smile never left the Septon's face, and yet there was a certain weight to those words, like a challenge... or a threat. Toman's eyes narrowed for a moment, ready to retaliate, but then he stopped himself, wiping the emotion from his face and assuming the role of obedient subordinate once more.
"Of course, Septon Gerold." Toman replied dutifully, his face blank, his real thoughts less than charitable. "...but be that as it may, some of our... flock may wonder what a servant of the Seven could possibly gain from the teachings of these newcomers, with their strange gods and... sorceries."
Gerold's mouth tightened slightly at the unspoken accusation, but he remained composed. "I am sure our... flock will understand that I am not going there to learn sorcery, which is anathema to the teachings of the Seven, but to understand the ways of our new neighbours, my visits serving only to strengthen the Seven and their followers."
"I have no doubt that most of the flock will accept this reasoning, Septon..." Toman replied smoothly, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. "And yet some may question the wisdom of consorting with those who practice heretical magics, even for the noblest of reasons. Dangerous ideas can take root even in the most devout of gardens."
Gerold's smile faded as he heard this, turning his head to face Toman directly, his gaze calm but firm. "I assure you, brother, that my garden is well tended and bears only the fruit of the Seven. If you have something to say, please say it directly. There is no need to hide your doubts from me behind false concern."
Toman held Gerold's gaze for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he bowed his head in a gesture of respect, though there was a tension in it that betrayed its underlying resistance. "Of course, Septon Gerold. Please forgive me for overstepping. I was simply overzealous in trying to preserve the sanctity of the teachings of the Seven."
Gerold nodded, his expression softening. "I appreciate your concern, Brother. Truly. But fear not. The Seven will see us through these uncertain times. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must attend to my prayers." With that, he turned and made his way to his chambers, the soft echo of his sandals on the stone floor fading with each step, his robes flowing like a river of cloth behind him.
In his youth, Toman had served under Septon Raynard, a man whose piety was unwavering and whose sermons were laced with the fire of the Warrior and the wisdom of the Crone. Septon Gerold, on the other hand, had a softer touch. He preferred the mercy of the Mother and the justice of the Father. It was a little too... craven in Toman's opinion, Septon Gerold's refusal to put the fear of the Seven into the hearts of the faithful baffling to him, but there had never been any doubt about his faith of Septon Gerold, craven as the man was.
At least until now.
Once Gerold was out of sight, Toman's mild expression melted away, replaced by a hard set jaw and a cold glint in his eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line. Without hesitation, Toman turned sharply on his heel and made his way to a small chamber off to the side of the Sept - a private place where he and a select, worthy few could speak freely.
Inside, a handful of Septons and Brothers were already gathered, their faces shadowed in the dim light. They were all there to discuss recent events and how they should react to them. As Toman entered, they straightened, their eyes fixed on him expectantly.
"Well, Brother Toman?" asked one of the Septons present, a stocky, balding man named Ralf. He was a man worthy of respect, Septon of one of Oldtown's most prestigious septs, second only to the Starry Sept, and his passionate sermons about monsters and witches threatening the city won him many friends in the clergy. "What did Septon Gerold say? Has he finally opened his eyes to the truth?"
Toman's expression darkened as his news was grave. "No, he says the same things he always does. He claims his faith is pure and unshaken, but he spends far too much time with that creature in that heretical temple and refuses to stop. I fear the poison of their false gods and heresies has already begun to spread.
A murmur of alarmed whispers rippled through the group as they considered the implications of Septon Gerold's inevitable betrayal. Starry Sept's Septon was a rather charismatic figure, well-liked by the nobility and beloved by the smallfolk. If he was already converted...
One of the brothers, a young man called Ellery, a blond with a thin moustache, stepped forward, his face full of concern. "If he is learning from that thing - what's it called? A... turtle, of all things! - then we cannot afford to wait!" the man declared fiercely, his eyes blazing. "Septon Gerold leads the Starry Sept, the second most important place of worship in all of Westeros! If he decides to poison our flock... I can't even imagine the damage! The faith of the Seven must remain untainted!"
"It's all these newcomers' fault! They're an abomination, every one of them - witches and mages and their monstrous beasts! This is a test from the Seven, I say, a test of our faith and resolve! And we cannot stand idly by!" said another, shouts of agreement echoing around him.
"Septon Gerold speaks of tolerance, of understanding these outsiders, but where has tolerance ever got us? The Faith of the Seven has been tolerant of the followers of the Drowned God in the Iron Islands, and they remain savages! We've tolerated those who whisper to trees in the north, and they still cling to their pagan ways! Now these newcomers come with their sorcery, promising to 'conjoin' with our faith!" One of the brothers, Kyle, declared, clenching his fists. "This is blasphemy! An affront to the very essence of the Seven!"
Ralf nodded to the young man's words, his thick forehead furrowed with grim determination. "Aye, these newcomers are a threat to the true faith. Monsters, sorcery and dark gods - all an abomination! We must purge them before they poison Westeros completely!"
There were nods, murmured words of agreement, and the clenching of fists. Seeing this, a righteous fire ignited in Toman's chest, a beautiful sight of unity and love that moved his aching heart. He knew what he had to do. He had to fan those flames, bring that fire into the streets to cleanse the filth that had begun to infect Oldtown!
"The Seven are our light, our truth," Toman proclaimed, his voice rising with fervour, making the others quiet down and listen to his words. He may not have been the highest ranked person in the room, a humble brother he was, but everyone there knew that if Septon Gerold were to pass away, he would be the one to lead the Starry Sept and restore the order and sanctity these sacred halls deserved. "But these intruders bring only darkness and deceit! We must do what Gerold will not! We must act before their corruption spreads further! We have spent weeks watching them, studying them! We must use that knowledge to bring them down once and for all! Brother Benjen, you've been assigned to study these monsters! Tell us...!"
A sense of grim determination settled over the group as they listened, Toman's words fanning a flame in their hearts, one of unwavering devotion and conviction. But just as the tension was building, ready to burst, Toman noticed that one of the brothers was missing, his absence stopping his speech in its tracks.
"...Where is Brother Benjen?" Toman asked, his eyes searching the room in vain for the man. "He should be here with us to reveal the terrible secrets of these monsters and their hidden weaknesses!"
The rest of the clergy exchanged confused glances, all as surprised by Benjen's absence as he was, but then Ellery stepped forward to provide the answer. "I believe he was too busy investigating that heretical group of 'deathbed companions' to come, brother."
"Again? He's been doing that for weeks now." Toman frowned, surprised by his brother's continued fascination with that particular group of heretics. The Necromancer cult was indeed worthy of a detailed investigation, but they also needed to learn more about other groups, such as those blasphemous mages from the island or the deceitful merchants from the Perfumed Quarter!
"That's what I told him, but he was quite adamant that we should let him deal with these heretics." Ellery shrugged, his face puzzled. "Apparently he is on the verge of a major breakthrough and just needs a little more time with them. He says he doesn't want them to harm any innocent followers of the Seven so he will do anything to stop these heretics from harming them, even sacrifice himself if necessary."
A wave of admiration swept through the assembled priests as they heard a true reason for the man's absence. They all knew Benjen to be a zealous and devout man, he wouldn't be part of their group otherwise, but his intense desire to protect the faithful was apparently stronger than any of them could have suspected. They were truly fortunate to have him in their ranks.
Toman frowned, tapping his finger thoughtfully against his lips as he considered what to do about their brave brother.
"There are other groups he was supposed to investigate..." He murmured after a while, his voice hesitant. "But his dedication is truly commendable and should be honoured. I suppose someone else could investigate other groups while he continues his worthy task."
The others nodded, murmuring agreement as Toman put the matter aside for now. They had more pressing concerns than Benjen's zealous investigation.
"But enough about that." Toman declared, his voice regaining its former edge. "The Seven demand our devotion and our purity of purpose! We must be vigilant and take steps to reclaim Oldtown, to rid this city of all who would defile it with their presence! The newcomers, their monstrous creatures, their profane magics - none of it can be allowed to take root here!"
"But how are we going to do that?" Ellery asked quietly even as the rest of the group murmured in agreement, their resolve steeled. The young man's eyes were still full of conviction, but a sense of pragmatism lurked within them. "I am prepared to fight these monsters alone if necessary, for they are a blight upon the Seven's order, but there are too few of us to overcome them. We need allies if we are to rid Oldtown of their filth."
"And allies we will have!" Tomas replied, his voice full of passion, graciously accepting his brother's words as ones of wisdom and not cowardice. "Do you think we stand alone, Brother Ellery? Our flock will rise with us to defeat this evil, but they need a sign! Now they think they can do nothing, cowed by that blasphemer Lyeton Hightower and the dark magic of the invaders, but the moment they are free, they will join us in the cleansing! As I'm sure you all know, Hightower and the leaders of these heretics will soon be travelling to Highgarden! And when they are gone..."
"...the invaders will be weakened. With their strongest warriors, witches and monsters gone, there will be too few of them to defend themselves. A perfect time to strike." Ralf concluded, his bald head nodding in agreement. The others also saw the wisdom of Toman's words, shouts of excitement filling the chamber.
"Then it is settled!" Toman said finally, his voice cold as steel. "We will not stand by and allow our faith to be tainted by these outsiders. We will spread the word, gather our strength. And when the time comes, we will cleanse this land of their filth!"
And so the plotting continued under the starry dome of the Sept, their voices a low murmur beneath the vast expanse of painted stars. Toman felt the righteous fire in his heart burn brighter, his purpose clear. Whatever it took, they would protect the Faith of the Seven from the abominations that had landed on their shores.
No matter the cost.
Volantis was a city of ancient grandeur, a place where the great and terrible forces of the world often converged, the last vestige of the Valyrian Freehold of old. Its Black Walls, built of fused black dragonstone harder than steel or diamond, stretched high along the banks of the mighty Rhoyne, protecting a vast labyrinth of palaces, courtyards, towers, temples, cloisters and bridges behind them. The city was a blend of opulence and decay, where the wealth of the Old Blood mingled with the sweat and toil of countless slaves.
Above it all, in the midst of the sprawling chaos, one edifice stood supreme - the Temple of the Lord of Light, the great red temple of R'hllor rising like a great flame above the city, its blackened masonry glowing with the fires that burned day and night, its crimson spires reaching hungrily for the heavens.
The Red Temple was the heart of the worship of the Lord of Light, its walls painted with scenes of fire and the air thick with incense and heat. Massive braziers lined the steps leading up to the great iron doors, bathing the entire structure in a fiery glow that could be seen for miles around. Inside, the temple was a place of heat, light and shadow - the walls were adorned with red tapestries depicting the eternal struggle between light and dark, fire and ice, while the great chamber, lit by towering braziers that lined the hall, was filled with the rhythmic chanting of red priests and priestesses, their deep voices rising in unison as they circled a massive pit of roaring flame at the centre.
A great ritual was to be held tonight, the largest in centuries. The great fire pit at the centre of the temple was filled with stacked logs and oil, a towering mass that would feed the flames they needed to glimpse the truth of what lay beyond. Around it, the Red Priests and Priestesses from across the realm formed a circle, their hands raised high as they chanted in unison, invoking the power of R'hllor, the Lord of Light, the Heart of Fire. At their feet, a line of slaves - young, old, male, female, it did not matter - stood with their heads bowed, their eyes empty and resigned. To the priests, these slaves were nothing more than sheep, sacrificial fuel for the divine fire.
The reason for the ritual was simple.
In recent weeks, the faithful of R'holl have felt a... disturbance in the flames. The fires of the temple had roared higher than ever, their colours twisting with strange hues. Visions had been seen in those fires - glimmers of something powerful stirring in the west, in lands at the edge of the known world. The priests had felt R'hllor's presence growing stronger, the god's fiery hand reaching out to them, demanding action.
And now, here in the Heart of Flame, they gathered to perform a great ritual - one that would draw the eyes of the Lord of Light and ask for his guidance.
High Priest Benerro, a tall, thin man with a skin as white as milk, stood at the head of the circle, his bald head gleaming in the firelight, his crimson robes trailing behind him like liquid fire. His eyes, bright and feverish, reflected the flames as he raised his hands.
"The Lord of Light demands a sacrifice!" Benerro intoned melodiously, his voice echoing through the vast chamber like a clap of thunder. "For only through fire and blood can we see the truth!"
With a grand gesture, the slaves were pushed forward into the towering pyre, their screams swallowed by the roar of the flames as the great fire came to life. The Red Priests chanted louder, their voices rising to a fevered pitch as the fire grew higher and hotter, filling the temple with an intense heat that caused sweat to bead on their foreheads.
Benerro lowered his arms and the chanting stopped. The room fell into a deep silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire. The flames twisted and turned, taking on strange shapes - dragons, beasts, men. The smoke and fire curled and shifted, and then - at the heart of the fire - it appeared.
Two figures emerged, hazy at first, but becoming clearer as the ritual continued.
One was a man wreathed in flame, his horned form wild and untamed, a great wyrm unfurling its wings against a burning sky. There was a sense of immense power within him, raw and furious, a blazing heart beating like the drums of war. His being was heat and flame, a force that could scorch the earth or illuminate the darkest night. His eyes blazed with fury and intensity, and his hair flowed like molten lava. His presence was like a wave of scorching heat washing over them, a blinding brilliance that could be both salvation and destruction.
The Red Priests gasped in wonder, their hearts quickening. Some dropped to their knees, awe and reverence etched on their faces. They saw Azor Ahai- a warrior of light, reborn to lead them through the darkness in their battle against the Great Other.
But then, as the priests were about to celebrate the return of their hero, another shape began to form beside the fiery figure- a woman draped in a veil of the starry night, a cold that pierced deeper than the harshest breath of winter. Her being was a deep blue twilight that filled the soul with a chill, a stillness that seemed to draw in all warmth and light. Where the man burned with life and fury, she was the calm and distant void, an ethereal silence that spoke of the vast unknown.
A wave of unease swept through the Red Priests as they recoiled in shock, their excited chanting faltering. How could they not recoil at the sight of the servant of the Great Other, attempting to deceive Azor Ahai as the Corpse Queen had once deceived the Night's King?
Then, before their eyes, the man of flame and the woman of frost began to move together, weaving in slow, deliberate movements - a song of ice and fire, a dance of life and death.
The void around them shimmered as heat and cold intertwined, spiralling and twisting in a waltz both beautiful and terrifying. It was a delicate balance, an exhilarating and terrifying interplay of elements that seemed to defy the natural order. Fire blazed and ice flowed, a cosmic dance that held the priests spellbound, both drawn to its mesmerising rhythm and repelled by its impossible harmony. The flames flickered with dangerous brilliance and the frost shone with a cold, unyielding light, each step in their dance a challenge, a promise, a threat.
The Red Priests could barely breathe, caught between awe at the fiery power they believed to be their salvation and fear at the icy void that seemed to challenge it. This was no mere vision - it was a glimpse into the very nature of fire and ice, life and death, and the eternal struggle between light and dark.
But before they could learn more, glimpse the secrets of the divine, the unexpected happened. The figures in the flames looked back at them.
At first, their gaze was one of pure curiosity, as if the figures were surprised to be watched. But then, as time passed and nothing happened, the Red Priests both unable and unwilling to do anything, the man's fiery eyes narrowed, while the woman's serene face twisted into a frown of irritation. It was as if they were displeased with the Red Priests' prying, offended by their silent observation. Murmurs of confusion spread around the circle, the priests unable to comprehend the sight. Such clarity of vision was rare, and the vision itself had never been seen by those within the flames.
Then the Man of Flame had had enough.
His eyes blazed brighter and he raised a hand. The vision shuddered and the great fire began to twist violently, the vision shattering. The priests felt a wave of intense heat roll off the flames, hotter than any they had felt before. Then, suddenly, the fire took the form of a massive dragon's head - a dreadful, black wyrm with great horns curling from its skull, its maw wide and roaring with fury. The roar shook the temple, and a blast of searing heat shot outwards, blinding everyone nearby.
The Red Priests staggered back, shielding their eyes from the blast. When they dared to look again, the fire was gone, leaving only smoke and charred embers. Silence fell over the chamber, the echoes of the roaring flame still ringing in their ears. For a long time, the priests stood motionless in the circle, stunned, unsure of what they had seen.
After what felt like an eternity, Benerro spoke first, as befitting his position as High Priest.
"It is him! It must be Azor Ahai, the Warrior of Light!" The man's voice was hoarse and trembling with a mixture of fear and fervour as he shared his insight, eyes burning brightly. "But he is deceived... deceived by the Woman of the Cold Night, just as the Night's King was deceived by the Corpse Queen!"
A wave of muffled agreement swept through the gathered priests, their eyes wide with realisation and dread.
"We must free him!" cried one of the red priestesses in the circle, her sweaty skin and red hair glistening in the light of the flames. "The Lord of Light has shown us this vision for a reason! We must free him from her grasp or all may be lost!"
"Yes." Benerro replied, nodding, his eyes shining with the light of devotion. "But we must be careful! The presence of Azor Ahai means that the Long Night is coming! The Soul of Ice has already sent the Corpse Queen to deceive our champion, and is no doubt gathering forces in the far north! We must prepare for the Great Battle!" As he declared this, the man looked around at the gathered priests, a burning gaze carrying a promise. "But even if we prepare our forces, it will be in vain without our promised leader! Who among us will go to warn Azor Ahai of the threat? Who will be the one to free him from the cold grasp of the Corpse Queen as we prepare for the great battle?!"
A tense silence followed as the priests glanced around at one another, each man and woman seeing the same fire of ambition reflected in their neighbour's eyes. In that moment, they all knew that much blood would be spilled over the next few days, for there could be no greater honour than being chosen to rescue Azor Ahai and prove their worth to R'hllor.
Benerro watched the situation unfold with a satisfied smile. The flames had spoken. The Lord of Light had chosen his champion. Now it was up to the faithful to decide who among them was worthy to answer the call.
Soon the fires would burn again and the red priests would carry the light of the Lord of Light westward to face the darkness beyond the known world.