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Cersei frowned as she looked out the carriage window at the sea of desperate, filthy faces pressing against the line of royal guards as they made their way to the Great Sept of Baelor.
Peasants, smallfolk, rabble.
They strained and shoved, necks craning for even a glimpse of her blessed prince, their voices rising in a chaotic chant that grated on her nerves.
She was not happy, even less than happy in fact.
Robert, that great oaf, had allowed himself to be swayed by Varys's honeyed words.
"Let the blessed prince ask the gods for their favor," the eunuch had suggested, all soft smiles and reasonable tones, despite her son giving them swords of unimaginable power to their undeserving hands.
And now here they were, forced to parade their son through the streets of King's Landing on the way to the Great Sept of Baelor, as if he were some common prize for all to see.
The words must have leaked almost immediately, either from servants, guards, or perhaps one of the council members themselves, for the crowds had already gathered thick along the route before their carriage even left the Red Keep.
She sat next to her son with her husband sitting across from them, the enclosed space between her and Robert feeling far too cramped for her liking.
Robert was just as unhappy as she was, crammed inside the carriage instead of riding proudly on horseback at the head of the column as he preferred.
He shifted restlessly, grumbling under his breath about "fucking cages on wheels" and "looking like a damned merchant," but even he knew better than to ride exposed while they were at war, while they were visiting the Great Sept.
One well-placed arrow from a Greyjoy sympathizer or assassin, and the realm would descend into chaos.
Cersei stopped paying attention to her husband's complaints. Her focus shifted entirely to her precious son.
This was his first time going outside of the Red Keep after all.
He sat beside her, staring out the opposite window at the dirty, shouting dirty peasants with a faint frown, his divine eyes hidden behind the crimson bandages.
He looked deep in thought, of what she did not know, his hands resting calmly in hers.
"Need to… What even is that… Clean the… City smells of… Kids look like they're… Should feed the…"
She heard him mumble, but most of it was lost to her due to the yelling and screams from the peasants outside.
Even at seven namedays, he carried himself with a quiet dignity that made her heart swell with fierce pride.
She reached over and gently messed with his hair, carefully arranging the black waves so they fell just so.
He needed to look perfect when they stepped out, flawless, radiant, every inch the miracle the gods had returned to her.
Her precious son allowed it without complaint, simply tilting his head slightly to make her task easier.
He never minded her fussing. Robert, however, let out an irritated grunt.
"Leave the boy be, woman," he grumbled, shifting his plump arse again in his seat. "He's not a doll for you to primp."
Cersei shot him a withering glare but chose to ignore the fool entirely. She turned back to her son, her voice softening into the warm, honeyed tone she reserved only for him.
"You look so handsome, my love," she murmured, brushing one last stray lock into place. "Truly perfect~ These peasants should consider themselves blessed beyond measure just to catch a glimpse of your visage. Let them remember who truly carries the favor of the gods."
Her son turned toward her and smiled; it was sincere and quite handsome. The sight made her chest tighten with possessive joy.
Before he could reply, and before Robert could grumble something else annoying, the carriage rolled to a smooth stop.
The roar of the crowd outside swelled instantly, a deafening wave of cheers and chants.
Robert looked as though he had enough of sitting down. He shoved the door open with a growl and stepped out first, his broad shoulders filling the frame as shouts and screams erupted from the gathered masses.
"It's the King!"
"King Robert!"
"The Demon of the Trident!"
"Seven hells," he muttered, already waving irritably at the guards to clear a path.
Her son shook his head with an amused smile at his father's predictable temper, then turned to her.
With perfect courtesy, he offered her his hand.
Cersei took it happily, her fingers closing around his gently. She watched as he stepped out first, the moment he appeared, causing the crowd to explode even louder than they had for even the king.
Screams of "Blessed Prince!" and "His eyes are covered!" and even "Show us the legendary swords!" Were ringing through the square like thunder.
She frowned sharply, glaring at the pathetic rats pushing against the line of guards to try to touch her son.
How dare they demand anything of the future king!? He was no performing mummer for their entertainment!
Sensing her rising anger, her son gave her hand a comforting squeeze, warm and steady.
"Don't mind them, mother. They simply can't help themselves in the presence of royalty." He smiled while gently leading her away.
The simple gesture pulled her out of the dark thoughts instantly.
She smiled gratefully at him, the tension easing from her shoulders, and allowed him to help her down from the carriage with the grace expected of a queen.
The royal guards formed a tight, armored wall around them, spears and shields holding back the surging crowd as the chants grew frantic.
Cersei ignored the annoying rabble completely, focusing only on the feel of her son's hand in hers as they began the long ascent up the many marble steps of the Great Sept of Baelor.
The towering structure loomed ahead, its crystal domes gleaming in the sunlight, but Cersei's mind was elsewhere, already calculating, already planning.
The Seven had given her son back. They would not refuse him now, not when her perfect boy asked.
Cersei's lips pressed into a thin line as they passed through the towering doors of the Great Sept of Baelor.
The vast interior opened before them like a cathedral of crystal and marble, its seven-sided domes soaring overhead and catching the afternoon light in rainbow shards.
Normally, the Great Sept would be filled with the faithful of nobles, merchants, and smallfolk alike, but today it stood nearly empty, cleared on royal command.
Only a handful of septas and septons remained, their white robes whispering as they bowed deeply at the waist the moment her son stepped inside.
Cersei allowed herself a small, satisfied smile at the sight. They bowed not to the king, but to the blessed prince, their reverence plain in every trembling limb.
The High Septon eyed her son with a gleam in his eyes, and was about to greet the prince, but Robert waved a meaty hand impatiently.
"Enough of that. Leave us, all of you. The boy needs to speak with the gods in peace."
The holy men and women hesitated only a moment before retreating silently toward the side chapels, though Cersei noticed several casting longing glances back at her son as they went.
Her precious boy stood still for a moment, head tilted back as he took in the magnificent architecture, the towering statues of the Seven, the intricate mosaics, the crystal that scattered light like captured stars.
For a brief second, genuine awe softened his handsome features, and Cersei couldn't help but find it adorable.
But the moment was shattered when she overheard the low muttering behind her.
Robert and the small council members had gathered near the altar of the Father, speaking in hushed but urgent tones.
"…should we offer gifts first?" Jon Arryn was asking. "Gold? Incense? A sacrifice of some kind?"
Pycelle cleared his throat like the pathetic old man he is. "I read old texts that speak of blood offerings in times of great need, Your Grace. Perhaps the prince can—"
"Or perhaps the gods won't answer at all," Littlefinger cut in smoothly. "The prince is blessed, yes, but the Seven are not summoned like hounds. What if they remain silent? We would look like fools begging in front of half the city."
"Of course you would think of failure." Renly retorted while glaring at Little Finger, who glared back at him.
Varys was silent, his face entirely expressionless, but she knew the bald fuck was smiling on the inside as he quietly listened to the others discussing what to do if the prince failed.
Cersei's blood boiled. She turned sharply, ready to rip into them for daring to doubt her son, for speaking of him as if he were some uncertain gamble rather than the living proof of divine favor.
Before she could open her mouth to do so, however, her son moved.
He reached up with both hands and slowly unwrapped the crimson bandages from his eyes.
The cloth slipped free and fell to the marble floor with a soft whisper.
The moment he stepped into the exact center of the sept, directly beneath the great crystal dome where all seven faces of the gods could look down upon him, blinding holy light erupted around him.
It was not fire, nor mere sunlight. It was pure, pearlescent radiance, brighter than any torch or candle, yet soft and warm.
The air grew thick, heavy with an overwhelming sense of divine presence, as though the very gods had turned their full attention to the sept in a single heartbeat.
Cersei gasped; the sound drew every eye.
Robert and the council members spun around, their conversation dying instantly. Shock painted their faces as they stared at the boy bathed in holy light.
The septas and septons who had not yet fully retreated fell to their knees, voices rising in frantic, tearful prayers.
Even Little Finger and Varys dropped to their knees, heads bowed in awe. Robert himself hesitated only a moment before lowering his massive frame to kneel, his oversized fists clenched at his sides.
Soon, every soul in the chamber was on their knees before the holy light, heads bowed low, pressed almost to the stone, as if even a single glance might invite the wrath of the gods themselves.
Cersei alone remained standing along with her son.
She refused to bow even to the gods themselves.
She was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and her son was the blessed prince, the future King of the Seven Kingdoms.
They would stand as equals before the divine, not as supplicants.
The light pulsed gently around her boy, illuminating every line of his regal form.
His blue eyes, those impossible, blessed eyes, shone even brighter within the glow, as though the Seven were gazing back through them.
Deafening silence filled the Great Sept.
No one dared speak, not even Cersei.
The prince stood motionless in the heart of the radiance, head slightly raised, as if listening to voices only he could hear. His lips moved silently, forming words too soft for anyone else to make sense of.
Cersei's heart hammered as the divine light pulsed gently around her son, bathing the Great Sept in an otherworldly glow.
Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity of perfect, ringing silence. No one dared breathe too loudly.
The septas and septons remained prostrate on the marble, whispering frantic prayers, while the small council and even Robert stayed on their knees, heads bowed in awe.
Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the blinding holy light vanished.
The air lightened instantly, the heavy divine pressure lifting like a storm cloud passing. The sept felt ordinary again, beautiful, but empty of that crushing presence.
Cersei rushed forward without hesitation, reaching her son's side in a swirl of silk.
He stood motionless in the center of the sept, eyes still open and luminous, staring into some distant point only he could see.
Deep thought etched his young features as he stared at the empty air.
Robert and the small council members scrambled to their feet and hurried over as well, surrounding the boy in a tight, eager circle.
"What did they say?" Jon Arryn asked urgently, voice rough with awe.
"Did the gods grant us their favor?" Pycelle wheezed, leaning heavily on his cane.
"Tell us, my prince!" Littlefinger pressed, eyes sharp but shaking. "Did they promise victory? Did they mention the kraken?"
Renly shoved Littlefinger to the side and looked at his nephew as if he were seeing him for the first time.
Cersei and Robert scowled at the lot of them, fury rising hot in their chest.
How dare they bombard their son like a common informant the moment the light faded? Before she or Robert could snarl at them to back off, their son simply raised one hand.
The effect was immediate; every voice died. The men tensed or looked away nervously as those divine blue eyes slowly swept across them, luminous and piercing, carrying an authority that belonged to a king.
Silence fell once more, and only then did the prince speak, his voice calm and clear.
"I have spoken with the Gods," he said, his words loud and clear for all to hear. "They told me they will give us their divine favor..."
A ripple of excitement passed through the group.
But the prince was not finished.
"…Only if I take part in the war," he continued evenly. "If I do not, they will not give us their favor."
The words landed like a stone in still water.
The Small council members looked at each other; most seemed to truly not be against it, while only some were hesitant before nodding.
Cersei's heart stopped in her chest as ice flooded her veins, freezing her blood solid.
Her perfect, irreplaceable son, sent to war? To face Ironborn bastards and a monstrous kraken?
To die?!
The very idea made her want to scream, to claw, to burn the entire Sept where it stood, along with the Small Council!
Fury sharpened her tongue as she glared at the fools.
"You will n—!"
Robert's bellowing laughter cut her off like a warhorn.
"HA!" The king threw his head back, the sound booming through the sept and echoing off the crystal domes.
Before Cersei could protest further, he lunged forward and swept their son into a crushing hug, lifting the boy clean off the ground as if he weighed nothing.
"That's my boy! The gods themselves demand you fight at my side! This calls for a feast tonight! And come the morning, we march to war! We've already won now that you'll be there slaughtering those iron cunts with me!"
Cersei stood frozen, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, watching in helpless rage as Robert spun their son around once before setting him down, still laughing heartily.
It would be impossible to change the king's mind once he made his choice, and the king hated her just as much as she hated him. Her words would only solidify his decision.
The small council exchanged glances, clearly debating the implications among themselves, but none dared contradict the king in his current mood.
Her son simply smiled, though Cersei caught the brief flicker of something else, calculation, perhaps resignation, in his beautiful eyes.
She was going to make Robert pay for this one day, and when that day comes, she would be smiling at his suffering.
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That…
…
…
…
Went better than expected!
The prince kept his expression carefully neutral as Robert set him down, the king's booming laughter still echoing off the crystal domes of the Great Sept.
His father clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to stagger a lesser boy, grinning like a man who had just been handed the keys to victory itself.
Inside, the prince felt a wave of pure relief wash over him while he wrapped his blindfold back on.
It worked; no one suspected a thing.
Not his mother, whose green eyes were currently burning with barely contained murderous rage directed at Robert. Not the Small Council, who were exchanging uneasy but ultimately accepting glances. Not even the septas and septons were still murmuring prayers on their knees, tears streaming down their faces from the display they had just witnessed.
He had pulled it off perfectly.
The holy light trick had been simpler than he anticipated once he understood what he was working with.
While everyone else was busy talking among themselves, he had quietly caught the special flakes that filled the sept, thicker and far more abundant here than anywhere else in the Red Keep.
When he caught one earlier, a rush of pure, radiant holiness had flooded through him, warm and sanctifying, like stepping into sunlight after years in darkness and letting it heal him of all injury.
It felt exactly like the divine presence the septons always droned on about.
That was when the realization hit him: these particular flakes weren't ordinary element-filled ones.
They were saturated with belief! With prayers and centuries of fervent worship concentrated in this one sacred place.
The sheer volume of faith poured into the Great Sept of Baelor over hundreds of years had literally crystallized into these shimmering motes of holy power.
And that gave him the perfect idea.
He had gathered a measly three flakes without drawing attention, then stepped into the center of the sept and released them all at once while focusing his will.
The flakes had flared outward in a controlled burst, igniting into that blinding, pearlescent light that filled the entire chamber. He had even shaped it slightly, making it pulse gently, making it feel alive and watchful, so it would feel exactly like the gods themselves had descended to listen.
No one had questioned it for a second. They had all seen exactly what they wanted to see: proof that the Blessed Prince truly spoke with the Seven.
Now the path was clear without him needing to beg his mother and father.
He could go to war and complete the ridiculous quest, kill the required Ironborn, destroy the ships, and slay that fucking kraken with his blade!
And in return, the gacha would finally cough up a Platinum ticket!
A Platinum ticket could change everything.
New powers, new knowledge, maybe even something that would let him drag this medieval nightmare into something resembling modernity.
It was worth the risk! Worth pretending the gods had given him conditions! Worth going to war for!
The prince allowed a small, sincere-looking smile to touch his lips as Robert ruffled his hair again, still laughing about the upcoming feast and the "glorious slaughter" to come.
His mother's glare could have melted steel, but he gave her hand another gentle squeeze when she looked at him, silently promising that he would be fine.
He could clearly see she hated this, hated every second of it, but she wouldn't openly defy Robert nor the god's words.
He really did feel bad for putting his mom through this, but he couldn't let the chance of getting a platinum ticket go.
And who knows when he was going to get another ticket, never mind that high grade of a ticket!
His stupid Chaos Gatcha was stingy as fuck!
As the group began to move toward the exit, the prince walked calmly between his parents, mind already racing ahead.
The quest window still hovered mockingly in the corner of his vision, demanding a thousand kills and a sea monster kaiju slain.
He exhaled slowly, the faint white glow of the flakes still lingering faintly around his fingertips, where no one else could see them.
This was going to be dangerous, but if the holy flakes did what he hoped they did, then his life would get a whole lot easier.
And for the first time since the system had dropped that absurd quest on him, he didn't feel trapped.
He felt ready.
One Platinum ticket.
That was all he needed.
And he was going to get it, no matter how many Ironborn or how big the kraken turned out to be!
The Blessed Prince walked out of the Great Sept with his head high, the cheers of the smallfolk washing over him.
…And then the overwhelming smell…
Fucking hell, man! This was the kingdom that he was supposed to rule over!? As soon as he gets back, he is going to clean this shit hole up!
No way in hell was he going to allow his people to live like this!