"If there is something which makes your dreams impossible, find another dream."
Aemon was dead. Dead and burned, his funeral pyre had been lit by Dreamfyre and Meleys. By process of elimination, the task had fallen to my sisters' dragons. Father was unavailable, and I did not want to leave the task to Mother. The Cannibal could not be trusted to handle this with the grace and dignity required.
And I was not going to make Viserys an integral part of yet another funeral for the second time in one year.
No doubt I could have forced Rhaenys to claim Caraxes and made her do it. No doubt it would have sent a clear signal to the realm, but the girl needed time to grieve. I was little different. Before I dared officially assume the regency, there was one more thing I lacked: forgiveness.
This had nothing to do with politics. This was not about being a perfectly average and easily overshadowed ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. This was not for Vaegon the Prince-Regent. This was for me, for Vaegon, son, brother, husband, and father. I needed absolution.
Which was how the Cannibal and I came to be circling Oldtown.
Make no mistake, this was no punishment. It truly was a beautiful city. Large swathes of gleamed in the late morning sun, manses and larger homes having been built from pale stone. Thanks to ships from half the world away, the harbor was an ever-shifting riot of color. Market squares, with their unchanging stalls with colorful coverings, looked like patches of wildflowers jutting out between gaps in paving stones from above.
And who could forget the High Tower, that enormous lighthouse in the harbor? We could see its inhabitants scurrying about whenever our circuit brought us close. Knights, lords, ladies, and children, it made little difference. All who saw us stopped and waved a greeting if they were polite, or pointed if they were not.
We could have spent hours circling the city, and it would have been fairly tolerable.
Tragically, we very nearly did, but only because the city had not been designed to accommodate massive flying lizards dropping in. Literally, in this case. To get our point across, we had to draw ever smaller circuits around our destination: a sept as black as night right in the heart of the city.
The Starry Sept.
Eventually, the people recognized that we were not circling simply for the fun of it, and a sizeable space opened up in front of the sept. Well, it might have been more appropriate to say the crowds dispersed once they realized a dragon capable of biting an aurochs in half with no effort was getting closer and closer.
Regardless of what precisely motivated them to clear a space, it would suffice.
Our landings had never been gentle, and this was not breaking that particular trend. After loosening the chains and latches that kept me secured to my saddle, I slid to the ground on legs aching more than a little from disuse before turning to the Cannibal.
Massive green eyes looked at me with a half-lidded look of idle amusement.
"Let's see you fly after a week on the ground," I muttered, and the beast gave a familiar huff. Well, an abbreviated growl, but after the years the difference became quite easy to tell from his usual growl. "Go enjoy the skies. No way to tell how long this will take."
In a remarkable display of restraint, the Cannibal chose not to roar in my face. Instead, he spread his wings out and leaped into the air once more, rapidly gaining height and flying out to the harbor. To catch something to eat, no doubt. Something that wasn't human, ideally.
A sky devoid of dragons was a rare luxury for the beast. Who was I to deny him that pleasure?
I entered the Starry Sept and was quickly blown away by the sheer ostentatiousness of it all. Black marble made up the walls and domed ceiling of the sept, while gold ornamentation stood in vivid contrast. The arched windows that dominated each of the seven walls had been kept shuttered, shrouding the interior of the sept in darkness save for the weak light of candles at each of the seven altars.
Above me, a veritable rainbow of gems and semi-precious stones had been embedded in the black dome. The sept attached to Corlys' new palace was ornamented similarly, I recalled from the wedding earlier in the year. Compared to the Starry Sept, however, the other sept had been positively austere.
But what drew my eye was not who was present in the sept. That was a solitary figure kneeling in the middle of the cavernous chamber. No matter how fine their robes of spun gold or crystal crown, that was not the most intriguing part of the sept's occupants.
It was the absence of everyone else.
No septas. No Silent Sisters. No altar boys, no assistants, only this one figure, kneeling in hushed prayer.
His Holiness the High Septon.
Behind me, the doors swung shut, and I was alone with the avatar of the Seven on Earth.
I approached slowly, my steps ringing out through the empty room, punctuating the mumbled words of prayer. Once I reached the modest dais upon which the High Septon knelt, I came to a halt. Here, I waited until invited to approach.
After some time, the words of prayer trailed off, and the kneeling man of the Seven turned to face me.
"Your Grace," he greeted me, his voice warm and fatherly. Reassuring, in a way, and free of judgment. Despite this, he had yet to rise to his feet. "You have my condolences. The loss of a brother is a bitter thing indeed. His Grace your father knows this pain all too well, as do men across and beyond Westeros. Know you are not alone in this."
"My thanks, Your Holiness," I said, still not daring to approach him until invited to do so. "Your words are reassuring, though I did not come for that alone."
"Oh?" he asked. "Why else would Your Grace come to Oldtown? To hear from the highest authority that your grief is justified?"
"My friends and family have made that point abundantly clear, Your Holiness. If I needed to be told by the voice of the Seven on this earth before believing it, then my faith is too narrow." I had not come to be told that because I already knew I knew my grief was justified. Just as my sisters' grief was justified. Just as Jocelyn's anger was justified. "Your Holiness, I come asking for forgiveness."
He answered with a sharp exhale and paused for several moments before speaking.
"I have kept abreast of current events, Your Grace," he said at last. "It was a trial by combat. The Seven-Who-Are-One intervened to decide who was right and who was wrong. They bestowed victory upon you, and the Stranger returned His Grace your brother to their loving embrace. Your Grace has done nothing wrong, has committed no sin."
What?
"You Holiness, I killed my brother," I said. "I have brought ruin upon my family, have caused my sister to despise me, have broken the trust my own mother placed upon me. All due to my slaying of my brother. How could I be free of sin?"
At this point, the High Septon rose to his feet. The smile on his face became decidedly more indulgent as turned to look up at me. The cloth-of-gold vestments and crystal crown obscured much of him, but it was impossible to miss the air of patience about him. Had I looked the same when I lectured my siblings on the Seven-pointed Star?
"The Seven-Who-Are-One have made it known that no man is as accursed as the kinslayer, that is true," he answered. "But nothing in this world is ever one-sided. Driving a knife in your brother's back or poisoning his wine is murder most foul. A trial by combat, however, is an act of justice orchestrated by the Seven-Who-Are-One."
"And yet, the guilt lingers," I said with a sigh. "The same as it did after Dorne. Months ago, when I returned from the war, I was assured that I was free of sin by Septons, that my actions had been justified, but doubt remained."
"Grief works differently for many men," the High Septon allowed, nodding sagely. "Some grieve only for those closest to them, some do not grieve at all, and some grieve liberally. The last is an admirable quality, if one does not allow it too much control. But Your Grace has not allowed the grief from Dorne to do so, and it will not do so now. Then as now, Your Grace needs only wait."
"True," I said. "Though time alone is not the only factor the last time."
Really, it had been Maegelle who had helped me through it. Not through platitudes, not through empty words about how the Dornish had deserved it, not by telling me the guilt was for not going far enough, no. Through empathy and understanding, she had brought me peace, not through rationalization or justification.
And I loved her all the more for it.
"As I said, grief works differently for many men," the High Septon said. "Just because we know we have not sinned does not mean we are living virtuously. The absence of sin does not make virtue, no more than the absence of virtue makes a sin. Even the wisest of men can struggle with this."
His message was more than clear. Just because I had not sinned, had not condemned my soul to an eternity of torment, did not mean I had acted virtuously. Simply because one had not violated a law did not make those actions right or wrong. Legality against morality, in a sense.
"And forgiveness is not yours to give," I said, vocalizing my conclusion. "Because I did not sin against the Seven."
"It is up to Your Grace to find it," the High Septon finished the thought. "Through works and sacrifice, until the pain Your Grace feels matches the pain Your Grace believes is due."
"So I must live with the pain for a while yet," I said. That was… less reassuring than I had hoped. "Until I can find worthy penance."
"Your Grace need not wait long," he said. His tone made it clear that that had been the conclusion I should have drawn. "If Your Grace wishes, I can offer some guidance."
"Of course," I said, not hesitating.
"It need not be an extravagant affair, Your Grace." The High Septon punctuated his reassurance by placing a wrinkled hand on my arm. "Allowing your children to be fostered by the faith might assuage some concerns over harmful influences. Building a new sept dedicated to His Grace Prince Aemon would also be appropriate. Mayhaps even a crown-funded expedition to spread the word of the Seven-Who-Are-One to lands beyond Westeros. All three, and none would question the legitimacy of your rule."
My children… sacrifice indeed. Forgiveness could come, and all it would cost is coin, effort, time, and my own children. The first three were cheap, and things I had aplenty. But my children?
He wanted me to give up my children?
"And you believe this will lessen the pain?" I asked. This plan… it would hurt. It might even break me. They were my children. My younger siblings had not been raised by their own parents, and I would not allow that kind of upbringing to repeat in the next generation.
Well, not more than it already had.
"It will help Your Grace heal," the High Septon said. "As I said, it will help equalize the imbalance in the pain Your Grace feels. And when the time comes to assume the throne, even the most recalcitrant lords and ladies will be able to see Your Grace has atoned."
"What?"
"When Your Grace assumes the throne," he repeated patiently. "It is only natural. His Grace Prince Aemon had no issue save for a daughter. His Grace Prince Baelon's children are too young. But you, Your Grace, are a man grown, unquestionably devout, proven in war and stewardship both. It is only natural to take the throne upon His Grace the king's passing."
"What?" I could not believe what I was hearing. Despite my kinslaying, the voice of the Seven in this mortal world was taking my eventual kingship as an inevitability! "A daughter comes before a brother, Your Holiness," I managed to say. "I could hardly usurp my niece's birthright…"
"These circumstances are hardly unprecedented, Your Grace," the High Septon said. "Many a time have sons come before grandsons, brothers ahead of sons, in the kingdoms of both Andals and First Men. The realm needs you, Your Grace. Who better to wear the crown?"
Who better indeed?
If he spoke the truth, the realm needed me. By all means, I was the ideal candidate with the knowledge and experience that no other claimant could match. My rule would be required for the continued welfare of the Seven Kingdoms.
But it would not be what was right.
"My thanks, Your Holiness," I said. "You have given me much to consider, but I must take some time to think."
"Of course," he allowed, returning to his prayers in a silent dismissal.
If even kinslaying did not make me less of a threat to my niece's birthright… then I had to remove myself from the equation.
Simple as that.
...
If you want to read ahead of the public release, or just want to support me.
you can join my p atreon :
[email protected]/Nolma