In the Ravenry, Archmaester Vaermond drew a roll of parchment from his sleeve.
The texture of the paper was very distinctive—not the thick vellum commonly used in the Citadel, but special paper reserved for King's Landing and the Targaryen royal family. The edges were trimmed with dark golden flame patterns, the sigil of House Targaryen.
"A raven arrived from the Red Keep yesterday," Archmaester Vaermond said, pushing the letter to the center of the table.
Maester Garth took the parchment and unrolled it. His smile became somewhat restrained.
The letter was not long, but its wording was very sharp. King Aegon the Second—or at least, it was written in his name—demanded that the Citadel immediately and publicly condemn Grand Maester Orwyle, revoke his maester's chain for conspiring with Princess Rhaenyra to murder the late King Viserys by vile means, and thereby undermine the legitimacy of the Crown. At the end of the letter, another paragraph followed, which Garth read aloud:
"Since the Citadel claims neutrality, it must not harbor kingslayers and rebels. It is hoped that the Citadel will act justly and declare Princess Rhaenyra's crimes to be abominable."
Archmaester Vaermond spoke slowly.
"Orwyle has fulfilled his mission. I will keep my promise, High Septon. Where are yours?"
The High Septon nodded, understanding what he meant. Of Orwyle's three bastard sons, one would become a maester at the Citadel, another would join the Faith as a monk. The remaining one would be placed as a servant to a certain lord. That was Orwyle's reward.
"It seems the Greens are very eager," the High Septon's voice was calm. "We must maintain our position."
All four maesters looked at him.
The High Septon continued. "I support Aegon the Second."
Archmaester Vaermond's brow furrowed, and he fell silent. The other three maesters also remained silent, not stating their positions.
The High Septon said, without a trace of conscience, "It is good that the Greens are willing to recognize the authority of the Faith. Now I hope the Citadel will submit to the rule of Aegon the Second."
Archmaester Vaermond finally opened his eyes fully. Those clouded eyes seemed particularly sharp at this moment.
"Your Holiness," the old maester's voice was very soft, but it made everyone present feel a chill. "Are you saying that the Citadel should publicly condemn Orwyle?"
"No," the High Septon shook his head. "The Citadel should not condemn anyone. The Citadel should only expel Orwyle from its order and declare his maester's chain invalid. And then... delay."
"Delay?" Maester Garth considered.
"Delay until the war's end," said the High Septon. "The Blacks and the Greens. Rhaenyra and Aegon. Daemon and Aemond. Let them fight. Let them kill each other. When victory or defeat is decided, wait for the last one standing to sit the Iron Throne."
He smiled slightly. The smile was gentle as a spring breeze.
Silence lasted a long time. Outside the Ravenry, only the occasional sound of ravens' wings could be heard.
At last, Archmaester Vaermond broke the silence.
"Orwyle's matter," the old maester said, "may be handled as the High Septon wishes. The Citadel will not contest it."
He paused.
"But I need to know one thing."
The High Septon looked up.
"The Faith is greatly troubled by this war... How deeply do you intend to intervene?"
"Archmaester Vaermond," the High Septon's voice was soft, "did you see King Maegor?"
The old maester's eyelids twitched.
"That was long ago."
"I saw it," the High Septon said. "Not a portrait. A living man."
All looked at him.
The High Septon's face was expressionless as he spoke.
"At that time, I had just been raised to monk. I was copying scripture in the Starry Sept. King Maegor mounted his dragon. The Black Dread came with his army to Oldtown. Dragonfire melted the stone floor of the sept's square. The air was thick with sulfur. King Maegor sat on Balerion's back, looking down at us, trembling like a swarm of ants."
His voice was calm, but his speech had slowed considerably.
"Maegor demanded that we hand over the High Septon. Because the High Septon refused to recognize his throne or the legitimacy of his marriage."
No one in the Ravenry spoke; all listened quietly.
"The High Septon ultimately chose to poison himself for the Faith's sake. Then House Hightower surrendered the city. After that, three-quarters of all knights and warriors who had served the Faith were sent to the Wall in black. All the rest were killed. Tens of thousands of armed men—before Balerion the Black Dread, they were like ants."
He paused.
"From that day, the Faith declared itself disarmed. That night, the bells of the Starry Sept rang all night long. Not for prayer. To hide the weeping."
The High Septon raised his gaze, and those pale eyes looked directly at Archmaester Vaermond.
"You say King Maegor died seventy-nine years ago. But to me, it seems he never died. He only changed his name, his dragon, his crown. He continued to ride upon the heads of the people of the Seven Kingdoms. Prince Aemond of the Greens, and Prince Daemon of the Blacks... what difference is there between them and King Maegor? The same arrogance. The same cruelty. The same belief that Targaryens are born to rule Westeros."
Archmaester Vaermond was silent a long time.
"So what does the High Septon wish to do..." he said slowly. "Not merely to crown a king, but to make the Targaryens pay?"
The High Septon did not deny it.
"Dragons should not exist in this world. These creatures defy the design of the Seven. The Seven gave men wisdom and hands—to plow the earth, to forge with hammers, to write with quills. But dragons bring men only fear and destruction."
He rose from his seat and walked to the window. Beyond the window lay the night-time Honeywine, reflecting the lights of Oldtown, the stars scattered like pearls.
"Aegon the First conquered the Seven Kingdoms with dragons. His descendants have ruled the Seven Kingdoms with dragons. For a hundred years, some Targaryen kings have known that their power does not come from the love of the people, the loyalty of the lords, or even the Iron Throne itself. Only from the beasts beneath them. As long as the dragons remain, the Seven Kingdoms will always be a sheep farm for the Targaryens. Now these madmen fight over the pasture. The people of the Seven Kingdoms are the grass beneath their hooves."
The High Septon's voice remained calm, but each word was like forged iron.
"So I ask you: do you wish Westeros to remain a Targaryen sheep farm forever?"
Maester Garth wiped the smile from his face. Maester Norren closed his book. The maester who had been silent, called the White Raven, slowly raised his head and spoke.
"Your Holiness. Do you have a specific plan?"
The High Septon did not answer directly. He drew a large pair of parchment scrolls from the chest on the table and pushed them to the center of the table.
"This is something I have been preparing for a long time. I need your cooperation."
The four maesters looked down at the scrolls in unison.
╔══════════════════════╗
📘 Want more?
Join me on Patreon for bonus chapters
and early access!
🔗 https://www.patreon.com/cw/OverlordD
╚══════════════════════╝