Chapter 49: The War of Ideas
The crusade moved south from Myr, a rolling tide of order and zeal. It was no longer just a Westerosi army; it was a nation on the march, a mobile city of the faithful. The liberated slaves of Pentos and Myr, now organized into legions of the "Freed," marched alongside the divinely-empowered Blessed and the grimly professional soldiers of the Seven Kingdoms. Their numbers swelled daily as word of their miracles and their mission spread. They were not just an army; they were an idea, and it was proving to be the most potent weapon of all.
Their next target was the heart of the old world: Volantis. The First Daughter of Valyria, a city of ancient pride, immense wealth, and a slave population that dwarfed all others. In the Westerosi war council, held in the command pavilion now erected in a Myrish meadow, the mood was one of grim determination.
"Volantis is not Pentos or Myr," Prince Jacaerys stated, his finger tracing the city's complex layout on a map. "The Black Walls have stood for a thousand years. The legions of the Tiger Cloaks are disciplined, loyal, and they know every alley and sewer of their city. This will be the hardest fight of the Great Work."
"But will they fight?" Lord Tyland Lannister asked, his voice now holding a note of genuine awe for the power he was witnessing. "After what happened in Lys? After their mages summoned a demon only to see our god put it in a bottle like a firefly? Surely they must see the futility."
Ellyn the Weaver, her presence now a cornerstone of every council meeting, shook her head. "Their pride is as ancient and as strong as their walls, my lord," she said, her voice soft but certain. "And their faith in their own gods, particularly the followers of the Red God, R'hllor, is powerful. They will not be cowed easily. But the slaves… the slaves within those Black Walls number half a million. Their hearts are a dry field, waiting for the spark of the Great Order's hope."
Jacaerys nodded, his strategy clear. "Then the plan remains the same. We march. We present the terms. We offer liberation. And we let the city's own internal disorder tear it apart from within. We will be the catalyst, not the conquerors."
In the ancient, humid city of Volantis, the Triarchs and the high priests knew they were facing their doom. Their council chamber was a place of deep, simmering panic.
"We cannot fight them," said a Triarch whose family was descended from the tigers, the warrior caste of the city. "Our legions are brave, but they are men. How do we fight an army whose vanguard does not bleed and whose god can imprison demons?"
"And we cannot bargain," added another Triarch, a descendant of the elephants, the merchant princes. "They refused the Myrish offer of compromise. They do not want our wealth. They want our utter capitulation. They want us to become… them."
It was then that a new voice spoke, one that had rarely held sway in the military and economic councils of the city. It was Benerro, the High Priest of the Temple of the Lord of Light, his red robes a stark slash of color in the dark room, his face alight with a fanatic's fire.
"If we cannot fight their army with swords, then we will fight their idea with a better idea," he declared, his voice ringing with charismatic power. "Their god offers order, yes, but it is the cold, silent order of the grave. Our Lord of Light offers a different path: a path of purification, of choice, of redeeming fire!"
The Triarchs stared at him, bewildered.
"We will not fight their crusade," Benerro explained, his eyes glowing. "We will co-opt it. We will steal their moral thunder. We will send our own priests out to meet them on the road. We will not meet them with spears, but with a sermon of our own. We will announce… the Great Reform of Volantis. We will declare that the Lord of Light has seen the suffering of the slaves and has commanded us to ease their burden. We will grant them rights! We will create a path to freedom, earned over years of faithful service. We will outlaw the worst of the cruelties."
"It's a lie!" the tiger Triarch scoffed.
"Of course it is a lie!" Benerro snapped. "But it is a beautiful lie! It is a lie that sounds like justice. It will confuse their soldiers. It will give the slaves a false hope that might make them hesitant to revolt. We will fight their absolute decree with a reasonable compromise. We will fight their tyrannical god of order with our benevolent god of light. It is a war of ideas, my lords. And in such a war, the most appealing promise often defeats the harshest truth."
The desperate Magisters saw the genius in it. It was their only path. They would not fight a war of swords. They would wage a war of public relations.
The Grand Army of the Great Work was a week's march from Volantis when they were met by a strange procession. It was not an army, but a column of hundreds of Red Priests, their scarlet robes brilliant against the dusty road, their hands empty save for the holy symbols of their fiery god. Benerro himself, the High Priest, led them.
Jacaerys, Viserys, and Ellyn rode out to meet them, flanked by a phalanx of the glowing, silent Blessed.
"Saint Ellyn! Prince Jacaerys!" Benerro called out, his voice booming with a feigned warmth. "We come in peace! We have heard the news of your god's Great Work, and we rejoice in it!"
Jacaerys regarded him with cold suspicion. "You rejoice in the fall of your allies and the coming of our army?"
"We rejoice in the cause of liberation!" Benerro declared grandly. "For our Lord of Light, R'hllor, is also a god of freedom! He is a god who battles the great darkness of slavery and despair! We have come to tell you that your crusade is no longer necessary! Your god's message has been heard!"
Ellyn looked at the man, her calm gaze piercing his theatrical display. "Has it?" she asked quietly. "And what was the message you heard, priest of the Red God?"
"That the suffering of the enslaved must end!" Benerro proclaimed. "And the Triarchs of Volantis, guided by the wisdom of the Lord of Light, have agreed! They have decreed the Great Reform! Slavery will be phased out over a generation. Slaves will be granted legal rights, protection from unjust cruelty, and a clear path to earn their freedom through loyal service. There is no need for bloodshed! We have chosen the light! You may declare your victory and return to your homes!"
His words were a masterstroke of psychological warfare. The effect on the Westerosi army was immediate. A murmur of confusion rippled through the ranks of the common soldiers.
"A peaceful solution?" one Lannister knight said to another. "Why should we die to take a city that is offering to do what we came here to do?"
Even Viserys looked at Jace, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "Brother… if they are willing to end it themselves…"
"It is a trick, Viserys!" Jace hissed, his voice low. "A lie to halt our advance." He turned to Benerro, his voice ringing with cold authority. "A 'path to freedom' is not freedom. It is a more comfortable chain. A gradual end to suffering is not an end to suffering. The god's decree was not a negotiation. It was a statement of absolute principle."
Benerro's smile faltered slightly. "Your god is harsh. Our god is merciful. He understands the complexities of man. A sudden change would bring chaos, which helps no one."
"Chaos is the god's to command, not yours," a new voice said. It was Ellyn, stepping forward, her eyes fixed on the High Priest. Her voice was not loud, but it resonated with a power that made the Red Priest flinch. "You offer them a slower death in chains and call it mercy. Our god offers them immediate, absolute freedom. Your lord is a god of convenient compromises. Ours is a god of undeniable truths."
The theological debate was joined, right there on the dusty road to Volantis. For hours they argued, the Red Priests with their fiery, passionate rhetoric, and the Hands with their simple, unshakeable truths. The army was stalled, the purpose of the crusade suddenly muddied. The morale, once a monolithic force, was beginning to fracture.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the stalled army, Krosis-Krif intervened. He had listened to the debate. He had felt the confusion of his flock. He had seen the cleverness of his enemy's new strategy. And he decided the time for ideas was over.
His voice entered the mind of every single person on that road—Westerosi, Essosi, soldier, and priest.
"THEY OFFER REFORM. THEY OFFER A GENTLER CHAIN. THEY OFFER A SLOWER POISON. THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE."
Benerro and his priests gasped, stumbling back as the mental voice slammed into them.
"MY ORDER IS NOT A NEGOTIATION. IT IS A REPLACEMENT. THEIR SYSTEM, IN ANY FORM, IS DISORDER. IT MUST BE ERASED. THEIR GODS OF LIGHT AND SHADOW ARE SILENT, EMPTY WHISPERS. I AM THE STORM THAT BREAKS THE WORLD AND REMAKES IT ANEW."
To punctuate his statement, he performed a miracle for all to see. He focused his will on the sacred fires that the Red Priests kept burning in ornate braziers. With a thought, he did not extinguish them. He froze them.
A wave of absolute cold, a cold that felt like the void between stars, washed over the Red Priests. The roaring, sacred flames of R'hllor turned instantly to intricate, motionless sculptures of black ice. The heat vanished, replaced by a bone-deep chill. The priests stared in horror at their frozen, useless symbols. Their god of fire had just been snuffed out by a god of absolute order.
"THERE IS ONLY ONE LIGHT," the voice of Krosis-Krif concluded, a final, terrible judgment. "THE STARLIGHT OF MY ORDER. ALL OTHER LIGHTS ARE FALSE."
A pause, and then the final, simple command that cut through all debate and all complexity.
"MARCH."
The ideological war was over. Jacaerys turned to the now-trembling High Priest Benerro, whose face was ashen, his faith shattered.
"You were clever, priest," Jace said, his voice devoid of triumph, only a cold finality. "You almost succeeded in blunting our sword with your pretty words."
Benerro looked at the sculptures of frozen fire, then at the glowing eyes of the Blessed who were now moving forward, their purpose renewed and more fanatical than ever. "We… we thought…" he stammered. "We thought the Lord of Light would protect us…"
"Your lord is silent," Jace said, turning his back on him. "Mine is not."
The Grand Army of the Great Work resumed its march. Its purpose, once muddied by the complexities of mortal debate, had been brutally and terrifyingly clarified. They were not here to argue or to compromise. They were here to erase the old world and replace it with the perfect, unyielding order of the one true god. The last great domino of Essos was about to fall.