Chapter 141– The Three-Headed God and the Dragonlord
"All of you, leave! I wish to remain alone; the Fountain of the Wine God abhors the blood and fire you would leave behind." The High Priest flicked his robe, sending the two bands scurrying off.
The Archon of Tyrosh and Governor Dario led their men away, glaring with hatred and fury. They carried their slain sellswords with them, and the sky of Tyrosh seemed tinged with blood. Each wished to drown the city in it, yet neither could bypass the authority of the High Priest of the Three-Headed God. Should he call the faithful to lay down arms and tools, both would be powerless; faith can outweigh gold and power.
"Spoken or not, every one of us still loves the mother that is our homeland." The High Priest drew a cloth from his robe and gently wiped blood from the ground.
The street of the Fountain of the Wine God emptied at once. None dared disturb the High Priest; only the reek of blood and the sea wind remained.
Devoutly he scrubbed the stones, ladling water from the fountain to rinse them. "One of the three heads is death—none can escape it."
Over the splash of water he said, "You've watched long enough—show yourself!" He finished wiping the stones and spoke toward a shadowed corner.
A piper stepped from that corner into view. "You saw me," Rhaegar said.
"Young man, fear not. I wield no magic, no blade—only the vigilance the Three-Headed God grants for daily devotion."
The piper studied him: no scent of danger, his life-flame thin as a candle, yet his eyes held wisdom and clarity.
Three-Headed God—Rhaegar thought of the Three-Headed Eagle God; only its blessing bestows such vigilance.
"Young man, you are no piper; you are of the blood of House Targaryen."
Rhaegar stayed silent; the old priest was sharp. The world keeps fragments of magic, and some folk still grasp them.
To Rhaegar, the Faceless Men held the deepest art of concealment: changing faces, perfect poisons, flawless murders disguised as accidents.
The High Priest kept scrubbing until every stain was gone, patient and devout.
Rhaegar admired such single-minded faith.
When night lay black as ink, Rhaegar and the High Priest walked to a small, crumbling Temple of the Three-Headed God. Outside stood tiny statues of the deity.
Why so ruined? Rhaegar wondered. He saw the bleak shrine and nearby a squad of slack-eyed, hard-muscled guards in purple cloaks pacing with spears and torches.
"Faith dwells in the heart, not in stone," the High Priest said.
"They have given voice and life to the god; deaf or mute, they obey and will speak no secrets." He gestured to the soldiers.
Slave-soldiers of faith, Rhaegar mused. Every religion keeps them—Norvos's axe-men, the old Warrior's Sons and Poor Fellows. He had Maegor the Cruel and Jaehaerys the Conciliator to thank for their disbanding; else they would still threaten the crown.
Inside, in a hidden alcove, he found a wall crowded with small statues of the Three-Headed God, layer upon layer. Their shapes shifted until they settled into the form now worshipped in Tyrosh.
"My vigilance comes from the Eagle God; I sensed the same in you, Prince. The Three-Headed Eagle is the origin of all Three-Headed Gods." He pointed to the topmost figure: a worn, green-bronze triple-headed eagle.
From that relic Rhaegar felt ancient, unbroken devotion—the first god.
"In those days, the faith of the Three-Headed God began in a small tribe of Essos. At first the people worshipped the Three-Headed Eagle God; the eagle god protected them in all things, and they cast a golden eagle statue that grew ever larger. In the end it stirred the greed of the mighty Valyrian Dragonlords. The Dragonlords of House Belaerys destroyed the tribe and seized every golden three-headed eagle. The clansfolk could not resist the Dragonlords, and most of their priests perished in battle. During their desperate flight, their rites and memory of the eagle god blurred, and they dared not worship openly. Only later did the belief merge into the shape of today's Three-Headed God," the High Priest recalled.
The High Priest gently raised the bronze sculpture of the Three-Headed Eagle God and sang, "Great Eagle God, origin of all things."
"Do the gods truly exist?" Rhaegar asked, though he wondered—if the Eagle God were so mighty, how had the Valyrian Dragonlords destroyed it?
"Gods, like magic, live in the hearts of men: believe and they are real; doubt and they vanish. If gods were all-powerful, there would be no blasphemers. You should know that better than I, Prince Rhaegar—your own forebears were blasphemous Dragonlords," the High Priest said.
"You mean divine magic waxes and wanes with the devotion and number of believers—the more devout the faithful, the more likely miracles appear?" Rhaegar asked.
"That is my belief, though truth may differ. In Westeros, the Faith of the Seven has the most followers, yet the Seven seldom show miracles. In distant lands, wonders still occur. The blood of the First Men carries ancient power, drawn from legendary heroes or gods. House Stark bears that blood and produces skinchangers. The Iron Islands speak of the Drowned God and Storm God, and some among them share similar gifts—the gods favor them more easily."
"Faith… blood…" Rhaegar weighed the two words; magic hinged upon them. Certain bloodlines more readily bore magic—such as skinchangers. Likewise, priests with deep devotion could awaken supernatural power.
"Yet it was the Dragonlords who destroyed the Eagle God's people. Do you not hate them?" Rhaegar asked, curious at the priest's calm.
"All is the will of heaven. Had the Eagle God's tribe not fallen, the faith of the Three-Headed God would not have flourished here. Every path is chosen by the gods," the High Priest said piously.
"After so long, the flame of the primordial Three-Headed Eagle may yet rekindle—this is fate. Perhaps you are the one favored by the god, its champion upon the earth," the High Priest declared, eyes shining.
Rhaegar waved his hand quickly, dismissing it. "Spare me such titles." He rejected all superstition. If such a god truly existed, it would never have allowed its own statue to be destroyed.
"Perhaps," Rhaegar said flatly. "May I see the Eagle God statue?"
"You may. Among all the images, only the primordial eagle retains its power."
Rhaegar traced the bronze Eagle God—birth, death, and present. Only the present mattered.
The primordial Eagle God was imperfect, yet it was the root of all three-headed forms and the purest expression of the faith.
[Explorer: You have discovered the primordial statue of the Three-Headed Eagle God. Its blessing has strengthened your perception.]
Rhaegar felt his senses sharpen; danger within a certain range could now be detected.
"Prince, you too have gained the blessing of the Three-Headed God. It took me thirty years to achieve this; you have done so in a single night."
Of course, Rhaegar thought, but said nothing.
"You may choose to trust in the Three-Headed God, Prince. You are chosen, the god's protector on earth," the High Priest continued.
Rhaegar cut him off. "Enough."
"You could send a younger son or bastard to be raised in our temple. Though I do not interfere in politics, most Tyroshi are my followers. With a word, I could summon countless believers," the High Priest suggested.
"Thank you, but Dragonlords follow no gods," Rhaegar replied.
"So you truly are of that blasphemous lineage," the High Priest laughed.
"Believe me, I am not the first priest to approach you, nor will I be the last. Out of respect for the primordial eagle, I will not force you. Others—like the followers of the Lord of Light—are far more zealous."
Rhaegar understood—he meant R'hllor.
"I will not press you. For now, we are simply friends."
"That is enough. But let us speak plainly—Tyrosh needs my help, and you do not wish to see it drown in blood," Rhaegar said, his voice firm as steel.
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