Dusk settled, and the air grew colder. Time was like a beast tightening its jaws around every throat, bringing with it the slow feeling of suffocation.
A banner flew against a field of gold, its yellow bright as the blazing sun, embroidered with the king's Quartered Arms.
The crowned warhammer stag stood tall, leaping proudly. The red three-headed Dragon breathed fire beside a gray-white pack of running wolves and a blue-white slave breaking his shackles.
Ironborn heads were piled thick upon the Spears of the Guilty. Lord Leyton Hightower's head should have been among them, but everyone understood that the king had left Leyton a final measure of dignity.
House Hightower was vast and deeply rooted. Its ties spread far and wide, with relatives throughout The Reach.
But King Gendry's judgment would fall like a sharpened blade. Next came House Hightower and the Citadel.
House Hightower and the Citadel are finished. Every lord present had already settled on that thought. The king's mercy and cruelty depended entirely on who stood before him.
King Gendry was generous to his servants, but toward his enemies, he was cold and iron-blooded.
When Asha Greyjoy, the Daughter of the Sea, rose, she had already lost the supreme position of the Driftwood Crown and the Throne of Seastone. She was now nothing more than an ordinary leader of the Pyke Islands.
As for the doom of House Hightower, there seemed little need to guess.
The real issue was the secrets of the Citadel and Hightower. Like an onion, they were being peeled back layer by layer, and inside was blood upon blood, conspiracy upon conspiracy.
"Are there still secrets like this?" Daenerys thought dazedly. From the words of those around her, she had already learned what had happened all those years ago.
She had not expected that beyond the mystery of Rhaegar's "elopement," there would now be a Hightower conspiracy as well.
"Great Lord Rickard was certainly greedy, but without Maester Walys whispering in his ear, he likely would not have ended that way," Yohn Royce said quietly.
House Royce and House Stark had long been close. As descendants of the First Men, the two houses had intermarried many times. The line of succession after Robb and the others could even be tied back to House Royce.
Back then, Brandon's Company of friends had included an heir of the Vale, as well as men of House Royce.
The bald, gaunt Randyll Tarly nodded. "A false spring, and a false story."
In his heart, however, Randyll had little regard for House Stark's march south. Rickard had rushed south in a frenzy, and what had he gained in the end?
He had arranged marriages for his children, yes. That was indeed a great honor. But where was the substance?
Did the Old Wolf want that throne as well? With only the blood of the First Men and their faith to rely on, the southern lords would never have submitted.
Besides, from a military standpoint, the route from The North to the south was far too long. They could never have maintained themselves in the south for long.
All that could be said was that the Starks had been trapped. Great Lord Rickard had been coaxed into turning in circles, and any sensible Maester should have warned him to stay calm.
The Dornish and the Northerners, one in the far south and one in the far north, had always been the safest. Because of terrain and climate, even kings could do little to interfere with those two regions. Meddling in the mess at King's Landing rarely ended well.
"I truly can't say a word this time, much less plead for my uncle." Ser Garlan Tyrell wiped the sweat from his brow. House Hightower and the Citadel had stirred up public fury.
Everyone had sacrificed something in the War of the Usurper. The Targaryen dynasty had fallen, and House Stark, which had leapt so eagerly into the fray, had also suffered heavy losses.
That civil war had swept through the Stormlands, The North, the Vale, the Crownlands, Dorne, The Reach, the Riverlands, the Westerlands, and the lords of all those regions.
Lewyn Martell had led ten thousand Dornish spearmen, nearly all of whom were wiped out at The Trident. That was not even counting the royalist army and the rebel forces of the time.
Why should Hightower and the Citadel, the instigators and conspirators behind the scenes, have escaped unscathed?
Now old grudges and new debts were being settled together. Given the absurd actions of the Mad King Aerys and his son, the Targaryen dynasty could be overthrown.
But knights and lords should never have become tools for cowards, led around by the nose.
"Your Grace, all the books from the library cellars are here." Anguy the Archer hurried back to the square of the Great Star Sept with a group of cavalrymen.
Lothor Brune, deputy commander of the King's Landing guard, and Maester Theo of House Tyrell were overseeing the Citadel and searching the Cardinal's Chamber.
The knights had placed the precious sole-copy books and ancient Valyrian scrolls into wooden baskets and carried them here with great care.
"This is everything we found in the cellar. Nothing has been missed."
Gendry walked down the steps and looked at the unique books. Some were true sole copies, preserved in the Citadel's cellars all along.
Without question, these books and scrolls all concerned dragons, magic, and sorcery, matters beyond the reach of the Citadel's scientific "truth."
"Pig-herder" Pate watched from afar as those ancient sole copies and scrolls, dug out from the depths of the cellars, were brought forward. "King Gendry, the Storm Dragonlord, still got his hands on them."
Pate did not believe he had read every sole copy. He had only read a few relevant ones, about true dragons, the Others, stags, and the Drowned God.
Gendry's soldiers had searched the cellars thoroughly, leaving not an inch untouched. Perhaps these really were all the books.
"Do I need to put on another face and read every book?"
"No." Pate quickly rejected the thought. It was too dangerous. The right choice was to return to Braavos as quickly as possible.
Gendry was more dangerous than Crow's Eye. The king's Dragons did not even fear the Dragonhorn, and the king's abilities were even more terrifying than Crow's Eye's.
"So these are the books you Maesters, who call yourselves seekers of truth, hid in the cellars for your own study?" Gendry lifted a book from one of the wooden baskets, and the Archmaesters shook uncontrollably with fear.
Fire and Blood, also known as The Death of the Dragon, written by an unknown author. This was the only copy. Written in prose, the book recorded the Dance of the Dragons, a history soaked in blood.
Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History was likely also the only surviving copy. Written by Barth, Hand of King Jaehaerys, it recorded knowledge of dragons in great detail.
After "the Blessed" Baelor ascended the Iron Throne, he ordered all of Barth's works burned. Perhaps only a few fragments survived that catastrophe of book-burning.
The world believed that even if a sole copy still existed, it would likely have been lost long ago during its journey across the seas. No one expected that the Citadel had preserved a copy after all.
A Refutation of the Unnatural History was compiled by Maester Vanyon.
The book contained several conjectures about dragons and offered evidence that dragons had once existed in Westeros, even before the rise of Valyria. At the same time, it argued that the claim that Valyrian Bloodmages had tried to create dragons with magic was strained and absurd.
The Lost Books was written by Archmaester Marwyn. Marwyn had not expected these Maesters to have collected his book as well. That could only be considered praise from an enemy.
Signs and Portents recorded the many visions personally written down by Daenys Targaryen, the maiden daughter of Aenar Targaryen, before the Doom of Valyria. Even the Citadel's own records preserved only fragments.
The Fire of the Valyrian Freehold was a famous work on the history of the Valyrian Freehold, written by Galendro.
The Songs of the Drowned recounted the legends of the Ironborn and the doctrines of the Drowned Men.
The Crown of the Stag, the King of Storms: The Genealogy and Legends of House Durrandon of Storm's End told the tale of the marvelous House Durrandon.
The King of the North: The Genealogy and Legends of House Stark of Winterfell, a book written by Maester Childe about House Stark of Winterfell, who once ruled as Kings of the North.
Hardhome: A Record of Three Years Spent Beyond the Wall Among Savages, Raiders, and Forest Witches was written by Maester Wyllis and recorded his time living in the wildling settlement of Hardhome.
Tales of the North recounted the strange and wondrous legends of the North.
"Because the magic of the Green Lands gradually faded, and because the Andals and the First Men merged, most books on magic are still concentrated in those distant lands.
The Targaryens brought Dragons. The Old Gods favor House Stark, and the Drowned God favors House Greyjoy. As for House Durrandon, they carry the blood of the Storm and are also enemies of the Storm God." Gendry looked over the names of these books.
Knowledge was priceless. These foolish heads could be cut off, but these books and Valyrian scrolls had to be preserved.
"If you love and believe in truth so much, why keep these books? To slaughter Dragons, or to destroy kings?"
"We..." The Archmaesters of the Citadel stammered, unable to argue.
Because the logic the Archmaesters used to justify themselves had one fatal flaw.
The power of science, the power of ordinary men, could hardly deal with Dragons and magic. Only magic could fight magic.
So for the sake of truth, they had no choice but to study magic.
"This copy of Septon Barth's Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History. The Citadel must know it inside and out, doesn't it? Otherwise, how could you have remembered the weaknesses of Dragons so clearly, and used that knowledge so skillfully during the uprising in King's Landing?" Gendry picked up Septon Barth's sole surviving copy.
Daenerys the Breaker also descended the steps and stared at the book with an odd expression. "Slaying Dragons. You planned to slay Dragons, didn't you?"
"We!" Steward Theobald froze where he stood. "We did not plan it, and we did not do it."
"No. More precisely, you did not fully plan it, and you certainly did not have the courage to do it yourselves. You simply mastered this knowledge, then passed it on to those fanatical church believers and rioters, muddying the waters during the uprising." Gendry drew his sword. The blue glow of Just Maid's blade was beautiful and strange, but also deeply dangerous.
"The Woodcutter Hobb, the Burning Knight. They received knowledge from the Citadel, as well as support from some of the Citadel's mind-altering potions." Daenerys looked at the book. This was perhaps the closest thing to the true story.
And it was precisely these things that had allowed those mobs to kill those Dragons back then. The large Dragons, the small Dragons, the Dragons in the Dragonpit.
"You caused the deaths of Dreamfyre, Shrykos, Morghul, and Tyraxes."
"Larys Strong the Clubfoot was a sewer rat just like Varys. Spreading rumors and inciting rebellion was child's play to him. If those zealots and rioters obtained the secrets of slaying Dragons, then naturally they could slay Dragons as well. What a brilliant method. You slew Dragons without spending a single soldier, then hid yourselves behind the curtain." King Gendry's voice rang across the square like steel, leaving the Archmaesters, novice Maesters, and apprentices dizzy and shaken.
The events of the day rose and fell like waves, one after another.
The noble knights watched with open excitement. This was far more like the game of thrones.
A vast conspiracy had surfaced. Not only was the High Tower about to fall, but it seemed the Citadel could not escape either.
The tree wished for stillness, but the wind would not cease.
The Archmaesters' malice toward magic had never disappeared. They were not targeting the king, but the Dragonlord.
It made no difference whether that Dragonlord was named Targaryen or Baratheon.
"You kept these books because you still want to go on slaying Dragons, don't you?"
"No, no, no, no... Your Grace, we..." Archmaester Theobald's legs trembled as the king's blue blade hovered above his head.
No blade in the world was faster than the Storm, least of all against these Maesters who could barely bind a chicken.
"High Septon." Gendry called over the High Septon of the Starry Sept. "Did you know about these matters? Treason and Dragon-slaying."
The High Septon hurriedly knelt on the ground, never having expected the fire to reach him as well.
"I knew nothing of those earlier matters, Your Grace. But House Hightower has often interfered with the elections of the Starry Sept through gold, threats, and inducements. Even I have had to bow my head to them." The High Septon instantly separated himself from the affair.
"I believe you are my loyal servant..."
"Your Grace, I am loyal. I am willing to hand over those lists, the lists of House Hightower's people within the Great Star Sept. For years, House Hightower has sent their bastard sons, cousins, and second sons into the Church and the Citadel. I have suffered greatly from it as well."
"Rise."
The High Septon stood off to the side, grateful to have escaped disaster.
"Ser Harold." Gendry waved his hand, and Harold led men over to protect the High Septon, as well as the lists the High Septon had mentioned.
"The treason of House Hightower and the Citadel has been laid bare. I ask Your Grace to punish them with justice and fairness!"
"We ask Your Grace to judge!"
A great noble house like Hightower was virtually a sovereign power in its own region.
Though they were theoretically vassals of the Tyrells, in reality, House Tyrell had no ability to break them apart and could only appeal to the king.
"We have failed." The Archmaesters stood there in dejection.
"You have disappointed me greatly," Gendry said. Just Maid's blue blade pointed at the Archmaesters, and they stepped back one by one despite themselves.
"You silver-tongued Maesters who claim to serve light and truth willingly believed in House Hightower's heretical so-called 'truth,' while in private you were no better than rats in a sewer. The Dance of the Dragons, my father's rebellion. How many more affairs did you take part in?"
Theobald stood frozen in place. "Your Grace, we..."
"You are beyond saving. The Citadel, this rotten and shadowed institution, makes me feel as if I am looking at a flock of sheep, a swarm of rats. You claim to be independent, but in truth you have always served the High Tower and its so-called 'Order of Truth'!"
"I would rather live for truth than die yielding to violence!" Archmaester Vaellyn suddenly roared.
"You are a tyrant, King Gendry. You bastard, blacksmith, butcher. A whoremonger king. A bastard mongrel found in the gutter by that drunkard King Robert Baratheon, and now you sit the throne beside the Mad King's orphaned daughter, is that it?
You want to destroy Hightower and the Citadel? Then do it. A thousand years from now, your name will stink as badly as Maegor the Cruel's. People will call you Tyrant Gendry!"
"Go on." Gendry burst into laughter, as if he had heard something absurd.
Gendry clapped for Archmaester Vaellyn. Under Hightower, there really were loyal men like this.
Vaellyn had cast his line well. Who knew how many fish would bite?
All the lords and Archmaesters froze where they stood. Not one dared say another word, and the scene turned so awkward it seemed to fall still.
No one had ever dared to curse the king like this. If the king was angered, he could make Oldtown run with blood.
"Come kill me, wild stag, bastard. Isn't that the Baratheon tradition? The great men of House Durrandon were bastards and studs, and the Baratheons were bastard brothers of the Targaryens. You are Robert's bastard too. If you kill us, your name will rot. Good men and faithful women across the world will spit on it, and the tale will spread to every corner of the Seven Kingdoms and the Known World."
"Have you finished your book? From the look of it, you are an Archmaester of astronomy."
"So what if I have? Only a world where truth exists is a perfect world," Archmaester Vaellyn said.
"Good. My lords, what is the crime for insulting the king?" Gendry asked.
"It is treason," Lord Yohn Royce answered through clenched teeth.
Steward Theobald immediately knelt on the ground and blurted in panic, "Your Grace, I am willing to serve the royal house. I am willing for you to dissolve the Citadel, but I beg you to spare Archmaester Vaellyn."
"Get up." Vaellyn lifted his neck proudly. "I would rather die for truth than live for a tyrant."
Vaellyn turned to look at the Maesters, then at the Archmaesters. "Is there anyone else willing to die with me for truth? The world Lord Hightower described is the right one. A world without magic and Dragons. A world of science. A correct world."
"Lord Hightower has protected us for so long. Is there truly not one or two among you willing to die for truth, and to resist a tyrant?" Archmaester Vaellyn said helplessly.
"Stop this, Vaellyn," Archmaester Perestan said. "This is the tide of history. His Grace Gendry is the tide of history."
"No. I want only truth!" Archmaester Vaellyn shouted.
Among the crowd, a few scattered Archmaesters and several Maesters truly stepped over to stand with him.
"I can understand you insulting me. That much I can tolerate. But you included my father, my wife, and my ancestors as well. Vaellyn, you will die today." Gendry stood with his sword in hand.
"Your Grace, I ask to cut this man down for you," Kingsguard Guyard said. "For the dignity of the royal house."
"I will preserve a bronze statue for you, praising your so-called truth and your loyalty to Hightower. As for you yourself, you are a traitor. And for traitors..."
Two knights stepped forward and forced Vaellyn to the ground.
"Your Grace, Vaellyn is our Tyrell vassal. Since this man dares to scorn his sovereign and insult the king, allow me to wash away this shame," Garlan requested.
"Granted!"
Garlan took Gendry's other sword, Orphan-Maker. After a flash of black light, hot blood burst forth.
"Is there anyone else willing to die for truth?" Gendry took back Orphan-Maker. "If not, then you will kneel."
The smell of blood spread across the square. No one dared speak out in defiance again.
"As for you!" Gendry pointed his sword at the Maesters and Archmaesters who had just been willing to defend Hightower's "truth." "Do you still believe in truth?"
"I was wrong, Your Grace. I am your servant." The stubborn ones saw Vaellyn's death and immediately collapsed in a disorderly heap.
Only a handful remained, standing alone in the square.
"Since you still cling so firmly to truth, then go north. I will not kill you. You are only fit to be exiled to the Wall, to see the real world." As Gendry spoke, the guards dragged those truth-seekers away for exile to the Wall.
"Where were you when the Lannisters slaughtered the Riverlands? Where were you when the Ironborn ran rampant? Where were you when the slave masters oppressed their slaves? Have I not solved the hard things of this world one by one? It was my blade, my blood, my sacrifice." Gendry's voice rang with force as his gaze swept over the Maesters and Archmaesters. Not one of them dared meet his eyes.
"Is this world not held together by the strength of knights? Warriors are simple people. The very knights you call crude."
"All you do is hide inside the Citadel, watching success and failure from afar, too afraid to show your faces, aren't you? My teacher is dead, Fletcher Dick. My loyal servant is dying too, Lord Jason. They died, yet you people are still alive, sheltered under Hightower's wings, refusing to come out and solve anything. The so-called useless things are you. You people. What have you ever done?"
"Winter is coming, Archmaesters. Without me, none of you would have survived Crow's Eye's invasion of Oldtown. Without me, who knows how many crowns there would be in Westeros and the Known World by now?" Gendry sheathed Just Maid and walked away with Daenerys from Vaellyn's headless corpse.
Gendry strode forward, leaving the crowd with only the sight of his towering back.
"Long live the Storm!" The Archmaesters knelt on the ground, no longer daring to look directly at that tall figure.
"Now that is a man of this world." Alleras (Sarella) watched the blazing scene before her. This was a storm even fiercer than her father Oberyn.
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