Chapter XXXVII: To see the day illumined, and glimpse the Hidden Truth

Letter to Daeron from Baelor

"I have not given you a knight's spurs on two reasons: on account of your youthfulness and of my own belief that a squire does not have to prove himself in tourneys to earn his great desire, but by conforming to the oaths of a knight before he has even taken them.

I have been knighted as a formality, so that I might be crowned as a Ser, though I then knew almost nought of arms, or deeds of arms. It is a regret and shame that still follows me.

It is to this end that I have sent you on this endeavour. Prove yourself a brave man, prove yourself just in handling the discipline of your men and in handling your prisoners, defend the young and innocent of the depredations of the wildmen, protect the women from their vile lusts, show wisdom in the leading of your men, show skill in your fighting and face death with dignity.

Then, dear cousin, you will be a knight and I shall gladly dub you so in front of the court.

I remember the words of a poet that men forgot or maybe never knew: if you can keep your head, if you can trust yourself when men doubt you, if you can wait and not be tired by waiting, if you will not deal in lies. If you can dream and think, and treat triumph and disaster just the same. If you can fail, but force your heart and nerve to serve again, holding on to your will. If you can keep your virtue, if you do not take any man to counsel overmuch, you will be more than a knight, you will be a man, cousin. A greater man than your father ever was, and here I do not speak of his instruments, but of the character of a man.

Now, cousin, you must be fearless and protect your soul with an armour of faith stronger than the mail you wear upon your body. Go forth and repel these wild men, but know that you shall stand in the face of death. If others die by thine hand, it is for the glory of the Holy Name you do so, for they are wretched malefactors, unaccustomed to live goodly. They have dealt evil, and thus are evil's men. To strike them down is no evil work, for you shall be the killer of evil. You shall send them to their penance before their sins shall grow greater so that their punishment shall be a lesser one, and they ought to thank you for that, but they shall not, for they shall be dead.

But if you fear your own death, know then that to see a glimpse of the Stranger is to contemplate the promise of eternal rewards. One would be sorry to lose the world and its myriad pleasures, but the Seven Heavens are so great a reward that the most luxurious palace upon this wretched earth would count only as a hovel there.

Fight for your king and fight for the deliverance of the men of this realm from those ill-doers. Fight not for glory, for then you shall not fight wisely or with prudence. The vainglorious often ride to their own death, and overmuch pride is a great sin. You most certainly will not fight for your fortune, for you were fortunately born to it, and others' ill-fortune has led to your own star rising higher through no deeds of your own. Yet this I ask of you - prove yourself worthy of the great fortune that has been thrust upon you, by bringing to security this realm.

I leave you in the care of mortal men, on whom I am most assured that Ser Olyvar and your uncle shall provide the most wise counsel and shall protect your person at all time. I leave you in the care of the One, and may all his Seven Holy Names keep you. "

The Most Devout, the Archseptons, the Elder Brothers and Sisters of the many septries and motherhouses, and the High Septon, along with the King were all gathered in what used to be the great arena of the Dragonpit, now the main chamber of the partly built Great Sept of the Faithful.

It was the king that had been asked to beseech the Seven-Who-Are-One for their blessing upon this Synod, the king who clergy and laity alike called in whispers, or even out loud, "the Blessed", "the Crone-Touched" and various other such names. And the king spoke, with a great and thundering voice, yet humble were his words as he prayed to the One to send his wisdom and his grace over those assembled there, so that they might provide a just and wise cure to the ills of the Faith, and to reveal upon them His will.

The sun began to shine brightly through the coloured glass planes of the windows of the sept, the clouds slowly uncovering it. Chief amongst those icons portrayed on the glass was one of several people, the king Baelor leading them, chasing a white stag in the hills. The sunbeams hit the Seven Stones, one at a time.

First the statue of the Father was illuminated. Suddenly a great spirit came over them, tempering them, and they stood in ecstasy as if the whole world was made right, unmarred as before the coming of evil. The room was set into a blaze of light, and a whiff of air made one feel taller. The old felt in the flower of their youth, and the least among them felt as equal in a heavenly reward as the rest of them.

If one looked upon the king, he would have seen him more regal than any that ever walked the earth, power and pomp almost visible by the naked eye. The ears of those present there were filled with a music so great, that the bells and trumpets of mortal singers could never summon the seventy-seventh part of its magnificence.

Then the sun shone upon the Mother. A sweet, fragrant smell came upon them, a feeling of utmost comfort as if they were babes yet in their mothers' arms. The air was warm and sweet, a summer breeze was blowing with the scent of a myriad flowers. And their bodies tingled and shivered and trembled, but not in fear but in the presence of the greatest of mothers, who smiled upon them in her infinite mercy, soothing wrath and taming fury.

The sun shone upon the stonily image of the Warrior. And the king stood tall, as if in battle, hand upon his word. And all men stood tall, as if they were of the Faith Militant of old, carrying swords with star-shaped crystals in their pommels, clad in silver armour and rainbow cloaks. For a moment the sept grew dark, and only the sword that the Warrior bore shone, in a rainbow of colours.

They stood ready to hunt and slay, as if a host of demons was ready to fall upon them. They heard the cheers, the howling, sword and shields clinging and clashing, the trumpets' sound and warcries, but they did not charge forth, but stood motionless, as if waiting the sound of a string, to dance in the melodies which were appointed to men before their time.

The Smith basked in the light of the Sun, and they saw each ray of light fall upon his statue, hitting the grains of carven stone. They looked up and saw the dome, and that which gave it strength and stability. They looked upon the stained glass and saw each piece, equal in beauty, but yet together making a greater and more beautiful work.

They saw each stone put in its place by the deeds of men, each strand in their clothes. They saw the rocks, the trees, the earth, the stars and men, all made by godly hand. The sea and its waves, the wind, the grass, thunder and lightning made by the same Will. Had they looked even more deeply, and had they known to seek uttermostly, they would have seen the smallest units of that which had made the word turn, and had they looked up and willed to see past the sky and the light of the day the would have glimpsed past the aether, past the Wanderers, and the Sun, and the Moon, past that jewelled tent of the world, the fixed firmament of ever-glittering stars of living silver that at the beginning of all things burst into sudden flame and glimpsed the Divine Eye, the Unmoved Mover, the Maker of All and the Watcher of All, by whose Will all is mended and marred. They would have seen and wondered.

If by the Crone and her guiding lantern, man glimpsed the will of those High, it was by the Smith that one saw the nature of Man, for as the Maker had made the world, by the hands of a smith mankind made their own creations, pale imitations of the works of the One that they were. Refracted light of the light of the One, a pale candle glimpsing in the dark, as a firefly before the Crone's Lantern that illuminated all mystery, and yet revealing in its small creation a small part of that which man did not once knew.

As the sunbeam fell upon the Maiden's visage, they looked upon her and saw her beauty and they were enchanted. Yet as enchanting her pale face was, it was half-maddening, for they felt restless, remembering the wildness of their youth. The room grew misty and foggy, and they did not look upon one another, but at the wild beauty of the Maiden, timeless and innocent.

But they felt that the air that they once breathed was thick and miasmic, a vapour pestilent. But it had now grown light and pure, and they did not breathe air so that they might live, but gulped, their mouth opens, in joy, basking in its freshness as if they stood upon the tallest mountain. They sighed in joy, in love given and received, they felt they could dance and dance, but the air was so light that if they moved they would surely take flight for all they knew not of it.

The Crone was illuminated next. And the men and women spoke loudly, though they did not remember what it was said afterwards. For some, who were inclined to some work of creation, that of which they spoke then came again in half-forgotten dreams, or guided their hand when they put word to parchment, or sought to paint some wondrous sight, or found new words or melodies to please the Seven.

But the foolish whimsies of men were for that moment forgotten, and they embraced fully only that which was holy, and the sacred mysteries were revealed. They drew wisdom from the only Wise.

The Stranger's face did not shine when their turn came, even in the face of the sun, though all faces were drawn to his darkness. They felt suddenly cold and all remembered what was lost and forgotten, the memories that were long past, dwindling in the recesses of their minds like fading stars. They felt Time unroll from dark beginnings to uncertain ends. Their feet felt leaden as they stood moored into place and contemplated the end of all things, when all things marred will end and nothing will need mending.

They felt old, but not the weariness of age of a man, when bones and flesh are tired, but as old as the world, creaking in its every crevice, as if they were witness to every happening since the dawn of man. And they looked upon it in sorrow, but sorrow was not alone, for as their flesh was of this mortal world, so their souls were of a different make, and in those souls a craving, a hope arose, as they contemplated eternal reward, the Blessed Lands.

NOTES:
This chapter can be considered an homage to Bernard of Clairvaux'sLiber ad milities templi de laude novae militiae, C.S. Lewis' That Hideous Strength and Tolkien's Mythopoeia.