Dany did not have much affection for that illegitimate son, but he was already three years old. If she did not bring him back soon to raise, he would start remembering things.
If in the future he were to say, "The grace of raising outweighs the grace of giving birth," wouldn't that cheap mother Dany be mortified?
So, whether in a few months or at most half a year, Dany would have to bring that unfortunate child back.
Now she happened to have a learned, loyal old retainer by her side, utterly devoted to House Targaryen. Leaving the child to his care would be both reassuring and effortless.
However, Dany did not intend to reveal Rhaego's true identity.
Yes—aside from Aemon, no one else would know that Rhaego was her son.
Therefore, she needed Aegon, the relative of the Dragon Queen known to all, to serve as a decoy for little Rhaego.
Just as sixteen years ago, Viserys and Daenerys had served as decoys for Aegon.
Fate turns like a wheel. Today it was Aegon's family's turn.
Since he was to be the decoy, whether his identity was true or false no longer mattered.
"In Aemon Blackfyre's line, before all the men died out, Blackfyre had always been under their control. After the War of the Ninepenny Kings, the Iron Throne never found the Blackfyre sword on the battlefield.
For decades afterward, your father and your grandfather both sent men across the Narrow Sea to search for it, but all returned empty-handed.
Why, then, has Blackfyre suddenly appeared in Illyrio's hands now?Why give it to Aegon?And consider the Golden Company's attitude toward Aegon, compared to their attitude toward you and Viserys.
The Golden Company's backbone is composed of descendants of the exiled nobles who once followed Daemon Blackfyre in rebellion.
It is natural that they rejected Viserys, for you are red dragons, and they are black.
If Aegon is also a black dragon, then everything makes sense."
"Because he is a black dragon, but too many generations removed from you, when his blood is compared with yours, only a small overlap shows. In fact, it's even less than mine."
Dany shrugged, showing no concern for the old man's grave tone. She said lightly, "It's all speculation. Perhaps Illyrio really did happen to purchase the Blackfyre sword by chance, just as he happened to buy three dragon eggs and just as coincidentally gave them to me."
Old Aemon frowned and thought for a while, then suggested, "Why don't you arrest Illyrio, bring him to Astapor, and hand him over to the Whip of Solitude for interrogation?"
"What if he's innocent?" Dany twitched at the corner of her lips.
She had never expected that this centenarian could still be so ruthless. Hadn't he always been the soft, kindly old man?
"Innocent or not, it doesn't matter. Confusing the Targaryen bloodline is a grave matter and must not be tolerated!" Aemon said sternly.
"Aegon's a good young man. If he learns that we tortured Illyrio, it will chill his heart. True or false, it will alienate him.
Anyway, it's already certain he has true dragon blood—even if faint. At most, we simply keep an eye on him in the future." Dany replied.
Aemon widened his eyes, staring at the Dragon Queen in disbelief. After a long silence, he sighed helplessly and said,"Dany, you are far too magnanimous. You have the bearing of one who can hold the moon in her arms. This is admirable, but still… You are already exhausted dealing with the alliance. Let me keep watch over Aegon for you."
The next morning, in the Great Sept of Holy Grace.
Sunlight streamed through the seven tall stained-glass windows, casting mottled shadows upon seven statues, each astride a black dragon.
The Dragon Queen, robed in pure white, stood solemn and holy.
"Before the witness of the Seven, I grant you the Seal of the Paladin."
She extended her slender finger, dipped it into the holy water from a golden chalice—the water infused with the Smith's divine power—and touched the brows of the knights kneeling before her: Clinton, Irys, Gars, Jorah Mormont, Lyra, Jon Bolton, and more than twenty others, leaving a damp mark on each.
Then she stepped aside, allowing the newly anointed paladins to swear their oaths to the Seven.
"I swear to protect the weak!"
"I swear…"
First came the familiar Oath of the Knight, once sworn to Dany herself.
Afterward, the knights chanted in unison The Song of the Seven and Children of the Seven Virtues.
The Song of the Seven was the church's sacred hymn, passed down for a thousand years, traditionally sung in every grand prayer ceremony.
But Children of the Seven Virtues was newly composed under the Dragon Queen's guidance.
Dany wrote the lyrics. Her people's cultural troupe arranged the music and revised certain verses to make it more melodic and memorable.
Its meaning was simple: the Seven embody seven virtues, and to uphold these virtues is the truest devotion. Those who embody the virtues are children of the Seven Virtues, and thus, children of the Seven themselves.
Children of the Seven Virtues subtly opposed blind faith, diminishing the "divine mystique" surrounding the Seven and making belief more rational.
This, paradoxically, made faith stronger and purer.
For at heart, Dany was a monarch. In a rational ruler's eyes, a proper church should only assist the state in guiding its people, not meddle in politics, seize power, or stir conflict between crown and faith.
"So this is a paladin? Nothing special," muttered the Imp from the side of the hall, smacking his lips.
"A knight's anointing always looks like this. What more were you expecting?" Aegon replied.
"No, this time is different."
Tyrion shook his head and explained, "A paladin is an advancement beyond a knight of honor. They can wield the power of holy light and have the right to choose a wyvern companion.
I don't know what the power of holy light is, but at the very least, it means paladins are qualified to become wyvern riders.
The problem is, to be a wyvern rider, one must use blood sorcery to brand a seal of contract between knight and beast.
Sorcery is sorcery—it isn't just about singing songs and—gah—"
Mid-sentence, Tyrion suddenly choked, as if struck, eyes widening as he stared at Clinton, mouth agape, frozen.
On the knight's wrinkled brow, a beam of light had appeared, white as milk, radiant as the sky after rain.
Holy as the light of heaven, sacred as the gaze of a god, beautiful as the light of a maiden's hope. That single beam, no matter how many praises spoken, could never be fully described.
It descended from the void, no thicker than a goblet's rim, imprinting itself precisely where the Dragon Queen's finger had touched.
In this bright and spacious hall, so vivid and real, it could not be an illusion, nor was it a trick of sunlight through a crack in the dome.
"By the Seven, what is that?" Aemon whispered in shock.
"The Light of the Seven—that's the Light of the Seven!" Tyrion answered instinctively.
And indeed, he had pierced to the essence in a single phrase.
This was the Light of the Seven, the divine magic granted to the faithful by the Smith.
In a fantasy world, it is perfectly normal for priests and clerics to wield divine magic. However, this world is unusually unfriendly toward supernatural powers.
The most typical example is the Red God's priests.
They know how to use R'hllor's divine magic, but often they do not know whether they can actually cast it.
Take Thoros of Myr, for instance. Because King Aerys was obsessed with fire, the High Priest of Myr sent him to King's Landing to preach.
Naturally, he was a qualified priest, well-versed in most of R'hllor's divine arts.
Yet after living in King's Landing for more than a decade, he had never once successfully cast a spell.
Even the flaming sword he used at the tourney was nothing more than wildfire purchased from an alchemist, smeared on the blade and set alight. It was a disgrace to the Red God's priests. No wonder he achieved nothing in all those years and failed to establish a single temple to the Red God in King's Landing.
When he first resurrected Lord Beric Dondarrion, Thoros had no idea he would succeed. He was merely performing the ritual out of habit—by then, the divine art had been reduced to nothing more than a burial rite.
Yet R'hllor answered him and brought Dondarrion back to life.
At that moment, Thoros was utterly dumbfounded.
Even the powerful Red God's faith had no system of divine arts that worked with certainty. As for the Seven, they had never shown a single miracle—no trace of divine presence.
Now, Tyrion and the others had witnessed the "descent of the Seven (the Smith)," a miracle without the slightest hint of falsehood. The Great Black bestowed the seal of covenant upon the holy knights in the form of divine magic.
The knights knelt on one knee, gazed up at the statue of the Smith, and gradually entered a strange state of serenity and peace: they could no longer hear the sounds of the outside world or see anything around them, only felt themselves enveloped in a halo of holy white light, with angels singing hymns in their ears. Soon, they joined in the chant.
This was precisely the state the High Sparrow and Saint Baelor had so fervently pursued—communion with the Seven.
As the hymn rose toward its climax, their faith grew ever more devout.
"Hum… hum… hum… hum…"
Inside the sept, the void quivered softly, and beams of milky-white holy light descended onto the foreheads of the knights.
Some beams were thick, some thin. Some were as solid as substance, others as ethereal as smoke. This was determined by each knight's level of devotion to the Seven.
So-called heavenly holy light was nothing more than the materialization of the threads of faith connecting them to the Great Black.
"A miracle! The Seven have revealed themselves." Old Aemon trembled all over with excitement.
The first beam of holy light left Tyrion shaken, but as more poured down like a forest of radiance, his reason returned.
"Could this be nothing more than Her Majesty playing tricks?" he muttered under his breath.
The holy light did not last long. When the hymn The Son of the Seven Virtues came to an end, the light instantly sank into the brows of the holy knights, who then awoke at once from their mystical state.
"I feel like something new has appeared in my mind," said Clinton.
"Earlier, I think I saw the Seven. I felt a profound sense of fulfillment and peace of soul," added Garth.
Leaving the solemn sept and walking back toward the Great Pyramid, the knights began speaking freely.
"What were those pillars of light just now?" Tyrion asked Daenerys directly.
"The Seven answered the prayers of the holy knights, sending holy light to grant them divine arts," said Daenerys.
"Uh… are you certain it was the Seven?" Tyrion asked, twitching at the corners of his mouth.
"Believe it or not."
Believe you? Not a chance!
Suppressing his sarcasm, the dwarf continued, "What kinds of divine arts?"
Daenerys glanced at the group of eavesdroppers who had crept closer, then raised her voice slightly. "At present, there is only one divine art—Dragon-Taming. It allows one to tame any wyvern.
The more devout a holy knight is toward the Seven, the higher the success rate."
"Any? Did you say any?" Tyrion's pupils shrank in disbelief.
"Not the wyvern of a knight who already has a bonded partner."
If not for the dragon queen's blood magic, the holy knights could tame wyverns on their own. Such an ability was far too terrifying. How could it be real?
"You must be joking. Surely you can't mean one could steal Matarys's dragon?" Tyrion forced a laugh.
"As long as your devotion to the Seven is strong enough, yes," Daenerys replied earnestly.
Tyrion could hardly disbelieve, for that very night, among the holy knights, Garth Hightower—the most devout of them all—successfully tamed a shadow dragon.
Sorry, today's a bit late. I ended up eating dinner later than usual.
(End of chapter)
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