With a thunderous crash and the synchronized shouts of laborers, the statues of the Seven were pulled down from the Great Sept.
To keep them from shattering when they fell, Thoros had ordered thick piles of hay laid beneath them.
The Father with his golden beard.
The Maiden with her pearl-like eyes.
The Stranger, more beast than man.
One after another, the sacred statues were carried out of the sept.
Outside, a sea of commoners had already gathered.
When word spread that Robert intended to abolish the Faith of the Seven, grief swept through the city.
Robert and the assembled nobles stood nearby, silently watching.
Even the royal crowned stag banner had been altered, now bearing a blazing red heart.
Because of Viserys, Robert and Stannis shared something in common for the first time.
Stannis had never cared much for the Seven after his parents perished in Shipbreaker Bay.
Now the entire House Baratheon had embraced the Lord of Light.
The statues that had once received countless prayers had become sacrificial offerings.
Their colorful paint and gilded decorations still gleamed, yet they now resembled corpses.
The Father's magnificent golden beard had been hacked away by more than half, leaving him looking pitiful.
The Maiden's pearl eyes had already been pried from their sockets by the Red Priests.
Every one of the magnificent statues had suffered damage. As they were carried from the sept, quiet sobs spread through the crowd.
Robert paid them no attention.
He had expected the High Septon to be the most difficult obstacle.
Instead, the moment the High Septon learned that Robert intended to replace the Faith of the Seven with the worship of the Lord of Light, he had eagerly surrendered the sacred robes that symbolized the Seven.
He even claimed that doing so might persuade the Lord of Light to bestow an even sharper sword.
Robert glanced at the somewhat overweight High Septon.
It had been this very man who had crowned him king.
As the last of the statues emerged from the sept, the grief among the gathered smallfolk became impossible to suppress.
"Father Above... look upon this!"
"Mother Above! That's the Mother! How can they treat her like this?"
"May the Stranger take them all!"
Amid the weeping came angry curses.
Cersei looked upon the crowd with disdain.
"These filthy peasants can barely clothe themselves, yet they still have time to cry over a few statues."
Jon Arryn, however, was too experienced to ignore the sentiments of the common people.
He ordered the royal granaries opened and distributed free bread.
Once food was placed in their hands, much of the crowd's anger subsided.
As for the treasury...
That was no concern. He had already sent Littlefinger to the Iron Bank to negotiate another loan.
Now that House Baratheon and Braavos stood together, they should be able to secure greater funding and more supplies.
That would also allow Robert to repair his family's increasingly tattered reputation.
Of course, it pushed the already strained royal finances even closer to collapse.
But that was acceptable.
Once Littlefinger returned with the Iron Bank's gold, everything would improve.
Just then, a group of people dressed in rough gray homespun burst out from the crowd carrying pitchforks.
"Protect the Seven!"
"Protect the Seven!"
Shouting their battle cry, they charged the procession transporting the statues.
The determination and fanaticism on their faces startled even Cersei, who instinctively stepped backward.
Their sudden attack brought the procession to a halt.
Bread and copper coins could win over most people.
But for truly devout believers...They would gladly endure hunger if it meant defending their faith.
The Red Priests and fire mages hurried to shield the statues.
Meanwhile, the Gold Cloaks formed a solid defensive line. Their duty was the defense of King's Landing.
Clad in sturdy armor and wielding sharp steel, they were far beyond the ability of a hastily assembled mob to overcome.
In less than half an hour, the uprising of more than a hundred zealots had been crushed.
The Red Priests tossed their corpses to the roadside. The procession resumed its march toward the Dragonpit.
The brutal scene sickened many of the noble ladies.
Sansa's face turned deathly pale.
Catelyn swayed unsteadily, barely able to remain standing.
Though Cersei herself maintained her composure, her daughter Myrcella hid trembling behind her mother.
The nobles departed as quickly as possible, yet the smell of blood still drifted through the crowd.
The king had given them bread.
Now he had shown them blood. Anyone still dreaming of martyrdom would think twice.
For Robert, Ned, and the other veterans of war, the sight barely registered.
They climbed into their carriages and followed the convoy toward the Dragonpit.
The Dragonpit had once housed the dragons of House Targaryen.
It had been, in a sense, the Targaryens' own landing field.
During Queen Rhaenyra's reign, a great riot had erupted there, claiming the lives of four or five dragons.
After the dragons vanished, the ruins became a haven for prostitutes, thieves, and brigands.
To prevent any further disturbances, Robert ordered the Gold Cloaks to bar the commoners from following.
Immediately, voices of condemnation rose from the crowd.
A ragged septon raised a copy of The Seven-Pointed Star high above his head and shouted,
"The Baratheons are traitors! Usurpers!"
"They betrayed House Targaryen before—and not just once, but twice!"
"Now they've betrayed the Seven as well!"
"Robert Baratheon will come to no good end!"
It was obvious the man treasured his holy book.
His robes, face, and arms were grimy with dirt. Only his hands had been carefully washed clean.
He flipped the book open to the chapter titled "The Baratheons Are Traitors" and held it high for everyone to see.
Many of the crowd could not read.
But that hardly mattered. The page contained an illustration.
A kind farmer fed several young deer.
Behind him, a great stag lowered its antlers, preparing to gore the unsuspecting man.
The book had been printed in Gohor.
It was one of the revised editions produced by Viserys's scholars.
His campaign of cultural influence over Westeros had now entered its second stage.
Nearly every knightly household and above owned a deluxe edition of The Seven-Pointed Star.
Several years earlier, Gohor had begun flooding the market with inexpensive paperback editions.
They cost far less than the deluxe copies.
Their contents were also considerably more explicit.
They openly condemned House Baratheon and House Lannister while praising House Targaryen.
Perhaps because distant rulers are remembered more fondly than familiar ones...
Most commoners accepted the book's message with surprising ease.
"Seven Above! Return the Targaryen king to us!"
Someone suddenly cried out.
His shout spread like wildfire.
"Seven Above! We need a Targaryen king!"
"Bring back King Aerys!"
"Bring him back!"
At last, Gohor's unique cultural dominance revealed its true power.
The people of King's Landing had once mocked the Targaryens endlessly.
They called Maegor the Cruel by his infamous title.
They compared Rhaenyra to "Maegor with teats."
They repeated the saying that whenever a Targaryen was born, the gods flipped a coin—greatness or madness.
Yet now...
They found themselves longing for Targaryen rule once again.
But no amount of weeping could change what was happening.
All they could do was watch as their new king offered their gods as sacrifices to a foreign deity.
The Dragonpit was normally a lawless ruin.
However, once Thoros chose it as the site of the ritual, the Gold Cloaks thoroughly cleared the entire area.
The only disappointment was that no dragon eggs had been uncovered during the cleanup.
The Red Priests placed the seven statues atop a massive pyre prepared in advance.
Arranged in a circle, they resembled a great funeral platform.
Then they began pouring green wildfire over each of the statues.
The luminous liquid flowed across their surfaces.
Watching it, Ser Barristan suddenly found himself reminded of King Aerys's executions.
Thoros presented Robert with a bow and a brazier.
Robert drew an arrow, lit its tip from the fire, and released it.
The burning arrow carved a brilliant arc through the air.
It struck one of the statues.
Green flames erupted instantly.
Even among the nobility, some could not bear the sight.
Though they lacked the courage of the commoners who had resisted earlier...
They hid beneath their cloaks instead, as though covering their heads might earn forgiveness from the Seven.
The flames roared skyward.
Standing beside the inferno, Thoros began chanting.
"We mortals are born alone and die alone...
Lost and directionless...
The Long Night stretches endlessly...
The road is cold and bitter...
Where shall salvation be found?
Only in the Red God..."
He recited the prayer in High Valyrian, the tongue of Asshai, and finally the Common Tongue.
When he finished, the other Red Priests repeated the chant.
After them, Robert and the assembled nobles joined in.
As their voices merged together, the flames grew ever higher.
Within the inferno, the statues gradually blackened. The colorful paint vanished beneath layers of char.
Once entirely blackened, the statues began to shrink.
Shrinking still further...
They eventually glowed like burning charcoal before igniting completely from within.
The flames slowly subsided.
Thoros approached Robert and pointed into the glowing embers.
"Your Majesty. Behold."
"The Lord of Light has granted you Lightbringer."
Following his finger, Robert immediately spotted the sword.
Under the gaze of every noble present, he walked into the ashes of the consumed statues and grasped the weapon.
He drew forth a blade unlike any sword they had ever seen.
Its steel radiated flowing bands of crimson and molten orange light.
The living glow illuminated Robert's face.
Staring at the blazing sword in his hand, Robert became more convinced than ever that the Lord of Light truly existed.
With it came renewed hope.
Hope that he could still defeat Viserys.
He was utterly certain the weapon had not been hidden there beforehand.
After enduring such impossible heat, even Valyrian steel should have melted. Yet the blade bore not the slightest trace of damage.
Robert gazed at the glowing sword with almost reverent eyes.
After a long silence, he raised it high and shouted, "Glory to the Lord of Light!"
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