Euron smiled gently. His blue right eye was filled with tenderness, while the darkness in his left eye seemed like nothing more than an illusion that had never existed, shimmering instead with endless affection.
"My left eye isn't blind. It's just heterochromatic, which makes me look a bit unusual, that's all." He pulled down his eyepatch to cover his left eye and said with a smile.
Cersei's heart trembled with unease. She misattributed the feeling to the High Sparrow's resurrection, and so did not press her lover further about the storm in his eye. Instead, she complained bitterly:
"The Holy Mother is too partial. I prayed so devoutly, yet She never once answered me. And today She resurrects my greatest enemy instead.
We must leave at once. The trial by combat is already over. Even if the High Sparrow has come back to life, it cannot change the outcome."
"In fact, you could have Robert Strong continue the fight against the High Sparrow. He has only just been resurrected, his body is frail and weak. Strike him while he is down, and his life will be forfeit." Euron said with a wicked smile.
It was sound advice. Though the High Sparrow's wounds had closed, the blood he had lost could not be replenished so quickly.
Even if Robert Strong had only ninety percent of his strength left, the High Sparrow could be felled by him—or even by an ordinary soldier.
"Are you mad? This is the Great Sept. The Holy Mother Herself descended here. How could we still dare to fight him?"
But Cersei's heart was filled with fear. She dismissed his "foolish suggestion" and instead pulled her uncle and daughter-in-law up from their knees, hissing:
"Move! Do you expect mercy from the Holy Mother? The Holy Mother may indeed be merciful, but the High Sparrow is venomous."
Kevan flung his niece's hand away, his face twisted with disdain. "Go back. I will stay and repair relations with His High Holiness."
"I will stay as well. My trial is already over. I do not fear even if the Holy Mother Herself is present." Margaery's gaze was defiant, a mocking smile on her lips.
The Holy Mother will never favor a whore addicted to moon tea!
Cersei cast her daughter-in-law a cold glance, then left quickly with Euron.
The High Sparrow did not linger with Kevan. His mind was still muddled. Just moments ago, he had been bathing in the Sacred Pool—how had he suddenly been brought back to life? He was exhausted and had little strength to dwell on it.
Forcing himself to endure his fatigue, he led the gathered septons and believers in reciting a passage from The Seven-Pointed Star: Book of the Mother. He then declared the trial by combat over.
When Kevan asked him about the result, the High Sparrow fell silent for a long while before nodding in acknowledgment of Cersei's victory.
"I lost. The Faith will no longer pursue charges against the Queen Mother. But neither can I proclaim, in the name of the Seven, that her soul is pure."
"That is irregular," said Regent Kevan, frowning.
Indeed it was. The victor of a trial by combat was meant to be affirmed by the Seven as one whose soul was pure and without sin.
That was why trial by combat was so sacred.
"According to tradition, both combatants must be followers of the Seven. But is Robert Strong even human? I should never have allowed that abomination to enter the holy sept. It defiled the honor of the Seven." The High Sparrow spoke coldly.
"He is merely a little unsightly." Kevan's eyes flickered as he answered with little conviction.
The High Sparrow extended his rough, cracked hand toward Kevan. The Regent hesitated for a moment, then placed his right hand upon it.
"Boom!" Suddenly, a mass of milky-white flame burst from the High Sparrow's palm, enveloping Kevan's strong right hand.
"How dare you!" cried Ser Malin Trant, the White Knight guarding the Regent. Mistaking the light for the same holy fire used to burn Robert, he roared and reached for his sword.
"Stop!" Kevan bellowed, halting him at once. "Ser Malin, His Holiness is not harming me."
At that moment, the High Sparrow spoke.
"This is a new divine gift granted to me by the Holy Mother—the Sacred Healing."
The old man turned toward the statue of the Holy Mother, whose face seemed to wear a serene smile. With a sigh, he said, "Before, She granted me the Smith's strength, hoping I would wield it against the coming Long Night.
But I wielded it only for strife and bloodshed, betraying Her hopes.
Now I see the error of my ways.
So I prayed that the Holy Mother would reclaim the Smith's gift and instead grant me the Mother's Seal, that I might bring healing to the people.
From this day forth, I shall no longer raise sword or blade. These hands exist only to remove pain."
Kevan looked on with awe. "When you were resurrected, did you see the Holy Mother?"
"Not only I. You all saw Her. The Holy Mother is here, watching over every one of us."
The High Sparrow's gaunt old face seemed to shine faintly with sacred light.
Kevan's body jolted, and he asked in alarm, "Did the Holy Mother speak on the outcome of the trial?"
"She said nothing," the High Sparrow replied, shaking his head.
"How could She say nothing?" Kevan's thick brows furrowed.
The matter touched both the Queen Mother's honor and the sanctity of the Iron Throne's legitimacy. Could there be anything more important? Should not the Holy Mother Herself have given a final word?
"If everything required the Holy Mother's direct decree, then what purpose would I serve as High Septon?" the Sparrow said calmly.
Kevan's face twisted. "But you were a participant in the trial, and now you wish to serve as its final judge. I fear—"
"Did you not feel it just now?"
The High Sparrow's words seemed sudden and cryptic, but Kevan realized that the hand grasping his own had let go.
"The Sacred Healing is wondrous. It feels like being washed in pure water, so warm."
"Bring Robert Strong here, bound hand and foot. Before everyone, if he can endure the Sacred Healing, which is only beneficial and never harmful to mankind, then I will proclaim in the name of the Seven that the Queen Mother is pure.
Otherwise, I can only acquit her of guilt, but I cannot vouch for her past deeds."
Kevan lowered his voice. "This Sacred Healing—can it cast out demons?"
"The Seven are holy gods of justice. Whether the Smith's Sacred Flame or the Mother's Sacred Healing, both deal special harm to abominations.
I lost to Robert Strong because the Smith's fire provoked him into madness, disrupting the rhythm of battle."
Having been resurrected, the High Sparrow's faith in the Seven was stronger than ever. And so he no longer concealed the secrets the Holy Mother had revealed to him.
Daenerys had truly feared his ignorance—that he might once again risk his life foolishly. Thus she had told him the scope and limits of the divine arts, and had even given him a primer on the basics of higher knowledge.
She had not been afraid of the High Sparrow courting death before, but this time the cost was too great. She feared that before she could recover her losses, the High Sparrow would already be dead again.
Ser Kevan left with complicated feelings, and the High Sparrow himself did not last long. Before resting, he told the septons not to repair the floor of the sept that Robert had smashed. He wanted to wait until he had regained his strength, so that he could personally atone before the Mother.
News of the Mother's descent caused a storm in King's Landing.
"By the Seven, is this some myth or legend? A dead man has actually been resurrected by the Mother?"
"Ha! I said long ago that Robert Strong wasn't human, and sure enough, even the Mother herself has been stirred."
"Before this, some from the Riverlands claimed the Red God could bring the dead back to life. I didn't believe it. But now I saw with my own eyes the High Sparrow's head torn clean off and yet restored. I don't know about the Red God, but if anyone dares to call the Seven nothing but wood, I'll become a Son of War and fight for the glory of the Mother."
"By the Seven, when I stood in the square outside the sept, I felt a warm, gentle gaze upon me. So it was the Mother!"
It wasn't just one or two people, nor only the septons of the Faith spreading word of the Mother's arrival. Hundreds of nobles, dozens of common representatives, even royalty had witnessed the miracle.
It was said that even Queen Dowager Cersei, after winning her trial by combat and returning to the Red Keep, had a sculptor fashion a statue of the Mother in a chamber adjoining her bedchamber.
King's Landing was swept by a fervor of devotion to the Seven, and ripples spread as far as Slaver's Bay.
"Old Jorah the Wayfinder" returned half a month later, barely clinging to life.
Despite every care and caution, he had still fallen victim to plague.
When the wyvern circled over Astapor without landing, Daenerys felt her heart sink, already suspecting Jorah had met with misfortune.
Sure enough, when she mounted Drogon and took flight, she saw Jorah's face covered in green lumps the size of broad beans, like the skin of a toad.
"Your Grace, I've caught the plague. I must go to the greyscale quarantine zone," he gasped, struggling to shout.
Fifty kilometers west of the city, on a barren stretch of rocky ground, a compound had been built to confine and isolate those with greyscale.
Daenerys was not reckless enough to approach Jorah directly. Instead, she first drew a tube of his blood—yes, with a syringe.
She returned to the laboratory and examined it under a sorcerer's lens.
The sight was terrifying. It was another monster-class virus.
Daenerys did not know how to formulate an antidote.
There was one thing, however: just like with greyscale, she was completely immune to the virus she named "Toadface." In truth, it had been caused by a mosquito slipping through the breathing hole of a safety helm and biting the tip of his nose. The swollen skin made him look like he had a toad's hide.
Yet before she could summon "the foremost prodigy of the East" again, the lumps on Jorah's face began to fade on their own, and inexplicably he recovered.
When she tested his blood, she discovered a new antibody within it.
"This is no surprise. Survivors of greyscale are almost immune to every plague in the world," said Quaithe.
"Then why was Ser Jorah infected with Toadface at all?" Daenerys asked.
Quaithe replied, "Sothoryos is a peculiar land. The plagues adapted to that environment rarely survive elsewhere.
If you traveled to Asshai, you would understand.
The black waters of the Ash River can scarcely sustain life, yet some twisted, monstrous fish are born within it.
One would think such fish, with their incredible resilience, could thrive anywhere. But once taken from Asshai, these creatures, saturated with dark sorcery, die instantly.
The virus you call Toadface is the same. Once it leaves the jungles of Sothoryos, it decays rapidly. When it weakens enough, greyscale antibodies eliminate it."
Although both Quaithe's theory and Jorah's recovery proved that greyscale antibodies could resist plagues, Tyrion still felt relieved—and rather proud—of the day he had dragged others into filling that pit.
For more than a week, Jorah suffered. He vomited whatever he ate, able only to sip solar brandy—a mixture of dragon essence and brandy.
The once tall and sturdy knight had wasted away, reduced to a frail, sickly skeleton.
Had they not all seen how the Dragon Queen's face grew solemn whenever "Sothoryos" was mentioned, with a faint flicker of fear in her eyes?
"Ser, tell us of your journey," Tyrion said eagerly.
He feared Sothoryos only because he had not yet lived long enough, but his yearning for adventure and the unknown remained unchanged.
One day, if he had traveled the Jade Sea, the Shivering Sea, the Summer Sea, and the Sunset Sea—all relatively safe waters—he might, without the Queen's urging, venture to explore the mysteries of Sothoryos on his own.
Jorah's skin clung tightly to his skull, making him look like a living skeleton, but his eyes shone brighter than before.
He recalled, "The wyvern flew endlessly overhead. All I could see was green forest, blue grassland, shrubs blooming with multicolored flowers, wide silver ribbons of rivers, and shadowy ruins of cities hidden among the trees.
At first, it was manageable. I drank the wine I carried, ate dried rations from my pack, and slept on the dragon's back at night—without undressing, without fire. A week later, I actually found the dragon's lair, safe and sound."
(End of Chapter)
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