King's Landing crouched on the eastern coast of Westeros like a great beast, its massive body sprawled along the Blackwater Bay.
The high walls rose like the creature's spine, overlooking the glittering sea. The Red Keep's towering spires formed its proud, lifted head, and the Iron Throne—seat of ultimate power—lay hidden within, a silent monument to the authority of every ruler who had sat there.
According to Maester Brandon, before the city rose, the mouth of the Blackwater had been nothing but dense forest. Thick trees blocked the sun. Streams wound through the woods. A few scattered fishermen worked the river in simple boats, living off its bounty.
For centuries, the land had been contested between the Riverlands and the Stormlands, a tempting prize that drew every power's hunger.
Three hundred years ago, Aegon the Conqueror changed everything. He landed at the Blackwater's mouth with his fleet.
The site was a wilderness then, but Aegon saw what others did not. He chose the highest hill at the river's mouth and ordered a crude fort built there, of timber and earth. After he conquered the whole realm, he made that fort his capital.
King's Landing sat at the continent's heart, owing allegiance to no kingdom. The crown could keep its distance from the lords' power and hold the center firm.
Over the years, each Targaryen king added to the city.
Aegon I ordered the walls built—great blocks of stone that armored the city like a shell. Under Maegor the Cruel, the Red Keep was finished, its grand architecture a monument to royal might. The Great Sept began as an ordinary building, renamed the Great Sept of Baelor after Baelor the Blessed died. Its construction marked the Targaryens' turn from the old gods of Valyria to the Faith of the Seven.
Aegon I had also built a sept on Rhaenys's Hill, but Maegor tore it down after crushing the Faith Militant uprising. He replaced it with the Dragonpit, where Targaryen dragons once roared.
Outside the walls, the poorest of the poor huddled in shacks of rotting wood and thatch, clustered at the city's foot like a nest of ants.
The stench of rot drifted from the city. Garbage and sea salt mixed into a foul brew that turned the stomach. Even from a distance, the smell dug into the nose.
Aldric was seeing the legendary city up close for the first time. He felt no longing, no expectation.
His brow furrowed. His eyes held urgency. He had only one thought: get inside, see the High Septon, and learn what he planned.
As his men neared the walls, a force of over three thousand blocked him at the Gate of the Gods. They carried green banners with a bowman sigil. Their gear was clean and their weapons sharp. They looked well-trained.
Behind Aldric stood two thousand soldiers of the Order of the Golden Dawn, clad in black brigandine.
If he had been alone, he might have tried another gate. But his men would not retreat. They gripped their spears, eyes hard.
With no choice, Aldric ordered the column to halt and wait.
The afternoon sun beat down. The Golden Dawn's soldiers stood in neat ranks, motionless as cast-iron statues on the open ground outside the city. The red-and-gold seven-pointed sun-star banner rippled above them. Their spearpoints caught the light.
The soldiers blocking their way lounged in clusters. Some leaned on their weapons. Others squatted on the ground, chatting. Grins spread across their faces as they jeered at the Golden Dawn's stiff, mechanical formation.
A young man rode out from the enemy lines, carrying a white flag of truce. He sat straight in the saddle, pride in his eyes. When he was close enough, he shouted: "I am the heir to Lord Randyll Tarly—Dickon Tarly. Send your commander out to speak with me!"
A nobody wanted to speak with the Lightbringer? The Golden Dawn's officers bristled. Frowns crossed their faces.
Carlo Schmidt tugged the reins and rode to the front. His eyes were sharp. His voice was hard. "I am Lord Carlo Schmidt of House Schmidt in the Riverlands, the Lightbringer's deputy. Whatever Lord Tarly has to say, say it to me. I will carry it to our lord."
Dickon Tarly looked Carlo up and down. His contempt was plain.
He had never heard of Lord Carlo Schmidt of House Schmidt. He had no interest in wasting words on him.
His gaze slid past Carlo to the tall figure in gleaming gold armor standing at the front of the enemy formation. He tried to ride around Carlo to speak to that man directly.
But Carlo moved his horse to block him, eyes like a hawk. "Boy. Say what you came to say. You are not fit to speak to our lord directly."
Dickon stared at Carlo, anger flickering in his eyes. He held himself back, took a step away, and said in a cold voice: "Lord Randyll sent me to ask: who are you, and under whose authority do you come to King's Landing? Do you mean the city harm?"
Carlo looked back at Aldric. Aldric nodded slightly.
Carlo turned to Dickon. "We are the Order of the Golden Dawn, chartered by the Faith. The High Septon summoned us to defend the Church. Tell your father to clear the road and let us pass. Otherwise, you stand against the gods."
Dickon laughed, his lips curling. "I have never heard of a third holy order of the Faith. I have only heard of a pack of heretics squatting on the Gods Eye—"
"Enough, boy." Carlo waved a hand, impatient. "Send a grown man to speak for you. I have no time for a boy who has not yet grown his beard." He turned his horse and rode back to Aldric.
Dickon's fists clenched. Hatred burned in his eyes, but he had no choice. He wheeled his horse and rode back.
"Carlo, you did not spare the boy's pride at all," Aldric said, a smile pulling at his lips as he watched the young knight's retreating back.
"Lightbringer, you do not understand. These noble lords only respect you when you are rude and arrogant. The humble courtesy you wear only makes them misjudge your strength. If you meant to kill them all in battle, a little weakness would be fine. But if you want peace, it is better to stand hard." Carlo's expression shifted, suddenly uneasy. "You are not actually planning to destroy them all, are you?"
Aldric shook his head slightly. "Not yet. And you have already made the choice for me. What am I supposed to say now?"
Carlo swallowed. He thought to himself that the Lightbringer had grown too bold lately. Randyll Tarly was no easy enemy.
A few minutes later, a group of armored knights walked out from the enemy lines. Their steps were matched. Their armor gleamed in the sun. At their head rode a bald knight in his forties, with deep-set eyes and a stern face. He carried himself with an authority that did not need to be announced.
This time, another messenger with a white flag rode to Aldric's side. "Lord Tarly invites the Lightbringer to speak face to face."
Carlo accepted for him. Aldric took Carlo and a few close attendants, matching the other side's numbers, and rode to the open ground between the two armies.
"Lord Randyll Tarly?" Aldric met the man's eyes.
"I am. And you are Aldric, the Lightbringer?" The bald knight—Randyll Tarly—looked him over.
"I am surprised the famous Lord of Horn Hill knows my name," Aldric said, smiling.
"I know it well enough. I heard plenty from merchants and wandering septon who travel the Trident when I was at Maidenpool. They say you built a paradise for the gods on the western shore of the Gods Eye. Where everyone has food and work. Where justice and fairness rule." Randyll's voice carried a weight of meaning.
"Spreading the gods' teachings and bringing peace and happiness to their followers is our mission," Aldric said solemnly.
"Is it? I also hear you preach that all men are equal. That the Church should replace the nobility and rule the Seven Kingdoms. Ridiculous nonsense." Randyll's brow furrowed. His voice was full of doubt.
"Yes," Aldric said.
Randyll's eyes widened. But what came next only confused him more.
"Not only that. People also say that my men and I are all immortal. That we can conjure gold coins with a flick of our fingers. That we all carry Valyrian steel gifted by the gods." Aldric shrugged. "But I believe rumor stops at the wise. A man of sense can tell how much of that is true and how much is a lie."
"One thing I do believe," Randyll said, his gaze sliding past Aldric to the motionless black-clad soldiers standing like trees behind him. "You do have a strong army, as the rumors say."
Aldric smiled. "This is not my army. It is the gods' army. We are only gathered together by the same purpose."
"Truly?" Randyll's laugh was cold. "I do not believe it."
"Ask them yourself." Aldric snapped his fingers. One of his attendants understood at once and rode back toward the formation.
A moment later, a loud, rhythmic shout rose from the Golden Dawn's ranks.
"For the Light! Save the Church!"
"For the Light! Save the Church!"
The cry rolled like a tide, wave after wave, washing over the land from the Blackwater's shore to the walls of King's Landing. Randyll's men fell silent. Stark faces stared at the chanting soldiers.
"Impressive. Do you intend to take the city?" Randyll's eyes fixed on Aldric.
"No. I only mean to ensure the Church is not coerced by armed men of unknown loyalty." Aldric's voice was firm.
"No one is coercing the Church. On the contrary, the little queen Margaery of House Tyrell is the one being coerced by the Church. The High Septon arrested her unlawfully, based on accusations from lowborn men." Randyll's brow furrowed.
"I heard of it. But I also heard that Queen Margaery's trial by the Faith was approved by Queen Regent Cersei. I do not know the full story, but if the regent allowed it, can it really be called unlawful?" Aldric said.
"Cersei." Randyll's eyes held nothing but resignation. "She always has strange ideas. I think if Lord Tywin were still alive, he would never have let her commit such stupidity."
"That is not my concern." Aldric shook his head. "Lord Randyll, you were stationed at Maidenpool to restore order in the crownlands. Now you have brought your whole force back to the capital. Is it not to pressure the Church into a ruling favorable to House Tyrell? To be honest, I have no interest in the petty squabbles of noble houses. Rest assured, Lord Randyll. As long as you do not attack the Church, my men and I will do nothing more. That is enough to guarantee your safety and your men's."
This bold claim made the old, famous knight laugh in spite of himself.
Randyll Tarly had built his reputation on victory after victory. He was counted among the finest commanders in Westeros. On the battlefield, he wielded Heartsbane, his family's ancestral Valyrian steel greatsword. Its edge had drunk more blood than he could count.
He had a short, stiff grey beard. He was known for speaking his mind, never mincing words. He was rigid, iron-willed, and sharp-minded. Some hated him. Some feared him. Many wanted him dead. But no one had ever dared to say they would guarantee his safety.
"Lightbringer. I hope you know what you are saying." Randyll's voice turned cold.
"I know exactly what I am saying. But do you know what you are saying?" Aldric met his eyes.
Randyll gritted his teeth and drew Heartsbane in a single, sharp motion. The sound of the blade leaving the scabbard cut through the silence. "Perhaps I should teach you to respect your elders."
Aldric drew Crush of the Sea Serpent, his own blade, which had not seen use in a long time. "Before that, I should teach you to respect the Church."
As the two commanders bristled, the soldiers on both sides tensed. They gripped their weapons. Their bodies leaned forward. Their eyes filled with wariness and killing intent. In another moment, they would charge.
Just as the conflict was about to explode, the great iron-bound gate of the Gate of the Gods swung open with a dull groan. A column of knights in simple mail rode out of the tunnel. They moved in perfect order, holding high the seven-pointed star banner. The flag snapped in the wind. The knights rode straight between the two leaders and drove their banner into the ground.
One of the knights, the one carrying the star banner, rode forward. His face was solemn. His eyes were steady. "I am Theodore Wells, called the True. I speak for the High Septon and the Small Council. I am to announce that no foreign army may enter King's Landing. However, as noble lords and commanders of the Church's holy orders, each of you may bring one hundred attendants through the gate. Once inside, you must keep your men restrained. No act against the King's law will be tolerated. This includes, but is not limited to, rape, robbery, and theft—crimes forbidden by gods and king."
Theodore finished his announcement and then looked at each of them in turn. "Lightbringer. Lord Randyll. Do you have any objection?"
Randyll squinted, looking at Aldric, then at the gate. He nodded slowly. "If this is the King's command, I accept."
Aldric echoed him. "I do as well. My only purpose is to defend the Church. I have no personal interest in the King's family affairs."
Theodore nodded. "Good. I will wait here. Please see to your men, choose your attendants, and follow me to the High Septon."
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