Eleventh Moon of 69 AC
Red Keep, King's Landing
Third Person Perspective
The throne room of the Red Keep was filled to bursting. Lords, ladies, and nobles from across the Seven Kingdoms had gathered, their faces tight with anticipation. For six days the capital had sat on the edge of turmoil. The trial of the High Septon, summoned by the King himself to answer for the crimes of his septons, had shaken Westerosi society to its foundations. Whispers of rebellion, treason, and heresy had spread like wildfire through the streets, and today, at last, the fate of the Faith of the Seven hung in the balance.
The shops of King's Landing had stood shuttered for days. Streets that were usually choked with merchants and smallfolk lay eerily quiet, as though the city itself were holding its breath. Traders had ceased their business, fearful that the Faith and its followers might yet take up arms against the Crown. Thousands had gathered outside the Red Keep regardless, straining for even a glimpse of the proceedings within. Rumors ran wild through the crowd—would the King truly dare challenge the Faith, the most powerful religious institution in all of Westeros? Would the High Septon, the voice of the Seven on earth, stand trial like any common criminal?
Inside the Red Keep, the tension was thick enough to choke on. Even the royal family had taken extreme precautions. Every meal, every cup of wine set before them, was tested for poison; every guard had been vetted twice over. The memory of Maegor's burning of the Sept of Remembrance still lingered in the minds of the old, and many feared that Jaehaerys Targaryen's reign—so far marked by peace and prosperity—might yet be consumed by the very chaos his forebear had left behind. Today's trial would decide it. The course of Westerosi history balanced on what was said within these walls.
As the murmurs in the throne room swelled, the great doors creaked open, and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard strode in.
"His Grace, Jaehaerys Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Protector of the Realm," he announced, his voice booming across the hall. "And Her Grace, Queen Alysanne Targaryen."
A hush fell over the room. Every eye turned toward the grand entrance as King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne stepped through it, resplendent in the black and red of House Targaryen. The King's presence alone seemed to fill the chamber—his long silver hair framing a face both regal and fearsome, his dark red cloak billowing behind him as he crossed the hall toward the Iron Throne. Beside him walked Queen Alysanne, radiant and composed, her sharp gaze sweeping the assembled crowd as though she were already reading every face in it.
The only notable absence was Prince Aemon, who had not been seen in public in six days. His absence lent yet another thread of unease to an already fraught morning.
Jaehaerys ascended the Iron Throne with the practiced grace of a man long accustomed to the weight of it. His expression gave nothing away as he settled into the great seat, his fingers tapping lightly against the armrests. Alysanne stood at his side, her face calm, though undeniably serious. The gathered lords and ladies bowed their heads in respect, though more than a few could not quite hide the nervous glances they exchanged.
Jaehaerys cleared his throat, and the room fell utterly silent.
"We are gathered here today, on the twenty-seventh day of the eleventh moon, in the sixty-ninth year after the Conquest," the King began, his voice steady and commanding, "to address grave accusations against the Faith of the Seven."
He let the words hang in the air a moment before continuing.
"For too long, certain members of the Faith have sought to undermine the Crown. Their treasonous words have incited rebellion, sown discord among the people, and dishonored this royal family. Today, we shall hear from the man who leads them—the High Septon."
At the King's nod, the great doors at the far end of the hall swung open once more. An old man entered, robed in flowing white trimmed with gold and silver, his face a careful mask of calm beneath an unmistakable air of arrogance. Heavy rings adorned his fingers, and he walked with the bearing of a man who believed himself beyond judgment. Behind him came a small retinue of guards from House Hightower, along with three other septons.
The High Septon crossed the hall toward the throne. Many in the crowd knelt as he passed, their devotion to the Seven plain upon their faces—for the High Septon was said to be the voice of the Seven upon the earth, chosen to speak in their name.
At the base of the Iron Throne, he offered a shallow bow, his movements measured and deliberate. "Your Grace," he said, his voice deep and smooth as poured wine. "It is an honor to stand before you."
Jaehaerys did not return the bow. He studied the man for a long moment, his gaze piercing, weighing. When at last he spoke, his voice was cold and direct.
"You stand accused of allowing treasonous words to be spoken by your septons," he said, leaving no room in his tone for argument. "What do you say in your defense?"
The High Septon straightened, his expression carefully composed. "Your Grace," he said, "the actions of one man cannot condemn an entire Faith. The septon you speak of acted alone. How could I have known of his words, when I have spent these past moons attending to the duties of the Faith in Oldtown? The ravings of one misguided septon do not reflect the will of the Seven."
His voice carried an easy confidence, almost mocking in its certainty. A few of the more devout lords nodded in quiet agreement, though most of the hall held its silence, waiting to see how the King would answer.
His dismissiveness drew murmurs of approval from some corners of the room, but Jaehaerys's eyes only darkened as he listened. "So you claim ignorance of treasonous acts committed in your own name?"
"Yes," the High Septon replied, feigning humility. "I cannot control every member of the Faith."
There was a faint, mocking edge beneath the words, as though he were humoring a child rather than answering a king—confident, it seemed, that his station alone would shield him from any true consequence. His tone all but urged the King to end this farce and be done with it, so pleased was he with his own rehearsed answers.
Jaehaerys said nothing for a long moment. The silence stretched, and with it, the fury simmering behind the King's eyes—plain enough now that the whole room felt it.
It was the Queen, silent until now, who spoke next. "So His Holiness had no communication whatsoever with this septon?"
"None, Your Grace," the High Septon answered smoothly. "The Good Queen speaks true. Though I try to know each member of our Faith, it is simply not possible—perhaps I am not so diligent in my duties as Her Grace. I would suggest the Crown hand the guilty over to me. I will see that they atone for their sins."
A ripple of unease moved through the hall as the underlying meaning of those words settled over the crowd. Neither king nor queen gave any visible reaction—until, after a long pause, Jaehaerys began to laugh. It was not a sound of mirth. It rolled through the throne room low and cold, and more than one lord felt a chill crawl up his spine at the fury buried beneath it.
"You must be joking," Jaehaerys said, his laughter fading into something sharper. "The septon you ask me to pardon called for the Crown to be cast down. He wished the Doom of Valyria upon this House. He named my sons sinners and heretics, and my sister-wife a harlot for bearing my children."
An audible gasp swept the hall. No one present had known the precise nature of the septon's slander until this moment, and the weight of it sent a visible shock through the crowd.
"You would have me believe," the King went on, "that the man who called this Crown heretics, who wished the Doom of Valyria upon us, who dared insult my sons and my sister-wife—acted entirely alone?"
The High Septon, undeterred, merely shrugged. "As I said, Your Grace. The words of one man do not reflect the will of the Faith."
Jaehaerys's mouth curved into something that was not quite a smile. "One man," he repeated softly. "And His Holiness never spoke with him. Never knew him at all?"
"Indeed, Your Grace," the High Septon said, with a slight incline of his head, his arrogance unshaken. "I did not know him."
The King's smile widened, though no warmth touched it. "Curious," he said, "that you should be so certain you never knew him—when we have not yet spoken his name."
For the first time, something flickered across the High Septon's face. Uncertainty. The room, alive with murmurs only moments before, fell into stunned silence as the weight of the King's words settled over it. How could a man claim ignorance of someone whose very identity had never been revealed?
"Or does His Holiness simply not know anyone at all in King's Landing?"
The question struck the hall like a blow. Lords and ladies who had come only to watch now found themselves witnesses to something far graver. Even the most devout among them felt the ground shift beneath their faith.
The High Septon had just lied. Everyone in the room knew it.
Jaehaerys pressed on, his voice growing sharper. "Would you have us believe you know nothing of what happens within your own Faith? That you are wholly ignorant of the actions of your septons here in this very city?"
"Or perhaps," the King continued, "you have simply made a habit of claiming you never knew the accused—to keep your own involvement well hidden."
The High Septon's composure finally began to crack. "I am no mind reader, Your Grace," he snapped, defensive now. "And you have no proof of my involvement. Your wordplay means nothing."
The King's smile vanished, replaced by something colder. "No proof," he echoed. "So you no longer even defend yourself. You merely hide behind its absence."
Something like clarity swept the room in that instant. It no longer mattered whether the King truly held proof, or whether the High Septon himself had ordered any of it—the man had walked, step by careless step, into a trap of his own answers, and the Crown would see the Faith held responsible regardless. The three septons standing behind him seemed to feel it too; whatever favor had colored the morning had curdled into something bleak.
The crowd shifted, uneasy, sensing the trap closing. Panic flickered across the old man's face before he masked it, quickly, with indignation.
"You—" The High Septon's voice rose, sputtering. "Your accusations are baseless!"
The hall fell silent as the King's voice dropped to an icy calm. "Who says I have no proof?"
Jaehaerys rose from the throne, and his presence alone seemed to press the air from the room. "We did not act in haste when the first whispers of rebellion reached our ears. We watched. We listened. And we found thirteen septons preaching treason across this city."
He turned to the Lord Commander, standing at attention beside the throne. "Ser. Bring in the prisoners."
The great doors swung open once more, and a line of broken men was dragged into the hall. Their robes hung torn from their bodies, their skin bruised and bloodied from days of torment. Chains dragged and clinked against the stone floor as they stumbled forward, faces pale and hollow. Several of the lords and ladies present looked away; a few appeared genuinely ill at the sight.
The High Septon's face twisted with fury. "Your Grace, this treatment of the Faith is unconscionable! These are septons—servants of the Seven!"
"This treatment of holy men is barbaric!" a voice called from somewhere in the crowd.
Jaehaerys's gaze did not waver. "Unacceptable," he repeated, his voice low, almost gentle—and far more dangerous for it. "These men are traitors. They have confessed their crimes, and they will face judgment for them. But first, this court will hear from their own mouths who gave the order."
One prisoner, barely able to hold himself upright, lifted his head. "I will confess," he rasped. "Please. I'll confess. Only end it."
"Then tell the realm," Jaehaerys said. "Who commanded you to preach against the Crown?"
"The High Septon," the man whispered through cracked lips. "We received ravens... eight moons past..."
"Who incited the rebellion?"
"The High Septon." The words fell through the hall like a bell tolling for the dead.
Color drained from the High Septon's face. His followers stood frozen, disbelief written plainly across them, as the truth they had trusted unraveled before their eyes. The revered leader of the Faith stood exposed—a liar, and a traitor besides.
Still, he scoffed, arrogance rising once more to cover the crack beneath it. "Tortured men will say whatever they believe their captors wish to hear, Your Grace. Their words mean nothing."
Jaehaerys paid him no mind, turning instead to the kneeling prisoners. "Who ordered you to spread treasonous lies against this Crown?" he asked again, his voice even and unrelenting.
The broken septons answered as one, desperate to be believed. "The High Septon! It was the High Septon who commanded us!"
Gasps rippled through the throne room. Lords and ladies traded stunned glances, and the High Septon's face went the color of ash, his arrogance crumbling before all their eyes.
"You lie!" the High Septon spat, rounding on the kneeling men, his voice shaking with rage. "These are liars, tortured into false confession! Their words mean nothing!"
One of the septons crawled forward and seized the hem of the High Septon's robe, clutching at it with both hands. "Your Holiness—it's me. Rosar. Rosar! You remember me, surely—I served under you at the Starry Sept. How can you not know my face? I did everything you asked of me. You told us to slander the princes, and the Queen, and I did it. I did all of it. Please. Save us from this, Your Grace." His voice broke on the last words, and the sound of it made more than one hardened man in that hall flinch.
"I don't know you," the High Septon snarled, revulsion twisting his features as he kicked the man's hands away. "How dare you slander me with your lies?"
The cruelty of it did not go unnoticed. Even the common folk in attendance—true believers, every one of them—understood, in that moment, exactly what they were watching. Word of this would spread beyond these walls before the sun set, and when it did, the Faith of a thousand years would begin to crack in the hearts of the very people who had upheld it.
"Did the High Septon just lie to that man's face?"
"Aye. He's never cared for those beneath him. Not truly."
Murmurs spread through the crowd like fire through dry grass, and the High Septon had no answer for any of it—only a helpless, gnawing thought turning over and over in his mind. I don't know this man. What is happening here? We sent nine septons to King's Landing these past moons. How is it there are thirteen?
Jaehaerys's eyes narrowed, and he gave the High Septon no chance to speak further. "I anticipated such an excuse," he said, lifting one hand—the final nail, driven home. From the edge of the hall, a guard stepped forward bearing a letter sealed with the High Septon's own sigil.
At the King's signal, a maester came forward and presented it for all to see. The seal was unmistakable.
"This letter was found in the residence of one of your septons," Jaehaerys said, his voice cold and exact. "It bears your seal, and it carries your orders to spread treasonous words against this Crown."
The High Septon's face turned the color of old parchment. His mouth opened, but no sound came from it. The silence that followed was absolute, the weight of the evidence settling over him like a shroud. The man who had stood at the pinnacle of the Faith now stood exposed before the entire realm, his lies stripped away one by one.
"Does His Holiness have anything further to say in his defense?" the King asked, lingering, deliberate, on the title.
"I... I don't..." the High Septon stammered, grasping at the last threads of his composure. "I am the Chosen of the Faith! You cannot punish me! I answer to the Seven, and to them alone!"
The sight of him—the man who had stood at the summit of their faith, now reduced to sputtering denials—struck the gathered lords and ladies harder than any confession could have.
A wave of dread moved through every believer in that hall, and beneath it, something sharper: anger, at a man whose foolishness and pride had brought a faith a thousand years old to the edge of ruin in the space of a single morning.
Unmoved by the man's delusion, Jaehaerys turned from him to address the hall. "It seems the High Septon has lost his senses. But the crimes of the Faith are plain enough. It has overstepped its bounds and challenged the authority of this Crown. Every man, woman, faith, lord, and lady in this realm serves the Crown first. It is past time that lesson was learned. This family has shown patience enough."
His voice rose, filling every corner of the throne room. "From this day forward, the Faith of the Seven shall no longer stand as the dominant religion of this realm. The Seven Kingdoms will be a secular land, where all may worship as they choose. The royal family will return to the gods and customs of old Valyria, as is our right and our custom—for too long has the Faith wielded power unchecked by the Crown that allows it to exist. From this day, the royal family answers to it no longer."
A stunned silence swallowed the room whole as the full weight of the King's words settled. The Faith, which had held such command over the hearts of Westeros for centuries, was being set aside by the stroke of a single royal decree. The implications alone were staggering enough to steal the breath from the hall.
But the King was not finished. "For crimes against this realm and this Crown, His Holiness and the Faith of the Seven stand guilty as charged. These thirteen men will be put to dragonfire, and reparation for their crimes shall be claimed from the Faith of the Seven. Let this serve as warning to any who would defy the Crown hereafter."
"No—no! I demand trial by combat!" one of the chained septons cried out, desperate now for nothing more than a quicker, quieter death. "You cannot burn us alive!"
"There will be no trial by combat," Jaehaerys said. "I ask those gathered here today to carry word that this trial was fair and just. And you would do well to remember—the Crown no longer answers to the customs of the Seven. This applies equally to matters of law. Justice will be dispensed from the King's Court, and the districts shall be governed by the law of the realm, not the custom of any faith. Any who defy this will be answered with Fire and Blood."
And with those words, the long reign of the Faith of the Seven began, at last, to crumble.
The pronouncement struck the crowd like a hammer blow. Gasps of disbelief rose from every corner of the hall. The High Septon's face twisted with shock and fury, but he found no chance to speak before the King descended the steps of the throne, the lords and ladies falling in behind him. No one so much as glanced back at the old man left standing alone at the base of the Iron Throne. He could not believe the disrespect shown him this day.
I will make them pay, he thought, hatred pooling cold and clear behind his eyes. All of them. This King most of all. Wait until he hears the news of his son. I will make him beg beneath my foot for his child's life—and then I will kill the boy in front of him.
To be continued...