The Great Sept of Baelor, the center of the Faith of the Seven and the seat of the High Septon, stands in King's Landing, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms. Named after the monk-king who oversaw its construction, "Blessed" Baelor, it replaced the Starry Sept of Oldtown as the focal point of the Faith in Westeros.
Tyrion rode toward the sept, followed by fifty Gold Cloaks.
Baelor was gaunt from frequent fasting and abstinence, sporting a silver-gold beard and long hair. His crown was fashioned from flowers and vines.
Some viewed Baelor as a holy and noble figure, experiencing religious visions through deep prayer and fasting, and respected his contributions to the church, including the construction of the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing. Tyrion, however, saw Baelor as a weak, grinning fool, deluded by religious fervor into making disastrous decisions.
This world had gods and magic. But neither worked through piety alone, and Thoros, in his view, was far from pious.
The Great Sept stood atop Visenya's hill, surrounded by a white marble plaza. The climb up the slope was grueling for Tyrion. At the summit, a colossal statue of Baelor I towered over the plaza's center. It stood serenely upon its pedestal, its face etched with profound compassion. Beyond the plaza lay a garden large enough to accommodate hundreds of Septons, though far fewer now resided there.
The Sept itself was a magnificent marble-domed edifice, with seven crystal towers rising from its center.
The bells atop these towers only rang simultaneously on major occasions—such as when a king died or enemies breached the city walls.
Tyrion looked up at them. Did these things ring during the Battle of the Blackwater Rush?
Within the Sept, multiple doors served different orders: Septons entered through the Father's Door, Septas through the Mother's Door, and the Silent Sisters through the Stranger's Door. Outside stood a marble pulpit, designed to draw larger crowds during sermons.
Tyrion dismounted. A servant at the door took his reins and fastened them to a hitching post.
"Lord, the new High Septon has decreed no weapons may be carried within the Sept," the servant said, gesturing toward the Ice on Tyrion's back.
"This is not a weapon," Tyrion replied. "It is my scepter."
The servant dared not argue and stepped aside.
Tyrion ordered the Gold Cloaks to wait outside the Sept, taking only two personal guards with him.
Entering the Sept through the main doors required traversing a long corridor known as the Hall of Lights. The ceiling hung with numerous stained-glass spheres. Passing through two doors led to the Septons' prayer area, where the great altar of the Seven stood beneath a dome of glass, gold, and crystal.
The floor of the Sept was laid with marble, and the walls held great windows set with stained lead glass. Before the altar, worshippers lit candles in devotion. Different rites were performed at different altars; at weddings, for instance, the bride and groom exchanged vows between the towering gilded statues of the Father and the Mother. Tyrion had once imagined his own wedding to Sansa taking place here.
"My lord," a Septa approached him. "Are you Lord Tyrion?"
"I doubt anyone in King's Landing would mistake me," he replied. The Septa was strikingly beautiful—her blue eyes reminded him of his wife, while her golden hair suggested a Lannister. "What is your name?"
"I have no name, my lord. I serve the gods," the Septa said. "The High Septon awaits you."
...
Winding corridors led past Sept crypts housing the king's tombs and penitent's cells. Cellars stored costly vestments, rings, crystal crowns, and other church treasures. Their destination was a humble chamber with a splintered wooden door and dust-covered oil lamps.
The guards halted nearby as the door creaked open. Inside lay a plain heptagonal chamber, its stone walls roughly carved with the faces of the Seven Gods, gazing outward. The new High Septon sat upon a bed of straw.
"Straw," Tyrion nodded. "I slept on straw beds in Darry. I miss them." He sat down on another bed of straw.
He was tall and gaunt, with a cold gaze and gray hair, his face marked by deep wrinkles. Unlike his predecessors, he wore no ornate robes, exquisite crystal crown, or gold-threaded garments—only a plain, monotonous woolen tunic reaching to his knees.
One could see his faith was profound, his will as unyielding as steel.
Tyrion had done his homework. Little was known of this new High Septon's past. He called himself a Septon who had walked the length and breadth of the realm, visiting villages too small to have their own priests to perform traditional Septon duties: naming newborns, forgiving sins, conducting weddings.
"Lord Tyrion Lannister," the High Septon nodded. "Hand of the King, heir to Casterly Rock, Protector of the Riverlands."
"And what is your name?"
"The High Sparrow."
"A fitting name," Tyrion remarked. "Peasants always blame sparrows for stealing grain."
"But it is lions that prey upon the people," the High Sparrow spoke slowly. "I am glad to hear peace has returned to the Riverlands, my lord. I owe you my thanks."
"Thanks, but I didn't come here to exchange pleasantries."
"Some say the late king was not Robert's son, but a bastard born of adultery." The High Sparrow suddenly dropped a bombshell.
"Nothing but lies." Tyrion was taken aback. Why bring this up now? "Stannis wants the Iron Throne, nothing more. An accusation without proof is no accusation. Unless he swears it before the Seven Gods—but ah..."
"Quite right. Lord Stannis has turned from the Seven Gods to worship the Red Devil. His false faith holds no standing in the Seven Kingdoms."
Right, so now I owe him a favor? Is that his goal? Tyrion thought. Perhaps coming here to see him was a mistake. He'd intended to summon the Great Sparrow to attack, but Uncle Kevan had advised against it—too... arrogant, especially with the new High Septon.
"The royal family owes the church a great many debts," the Great Sparrow continued. "Thick stacks of promissory notes and ledgers fill the study."
"I shall endeavor to settle these debts," Tyrion replied. "First the Iron Bank, now the Faith. But not now."
"Then I shall collect the corresponding interest," the High Sparrow declared, producing paper and pen to record the terms. "I am grateful, Lord Hand, for your willingness to resolve this so readily. You are far more reasonable than the Queen, your sister."
Because I have no choice. What else could I do? Allow the reconstruction of the Faith Militant's armed forces in exchange for debt forgiveness? Only a fool would do that.
"Your High Holiness," Tyrion said, "my cousin is imprisoned by you. I wish to speak with him."
The High Sparrow looked up, his eyes flickering. "Of course."