Matins proved exactly as Aegon imagined—somewhat dull and sleepy; the few lodgers of the hospice were also not fully awake, while the Prince himself risked dislocating his jaw with endless yawns. For breakfast they were served a stale wheat bun and a clay mug of weak and barely warm herbal decoction, terrifyingly unlike tea. Not having eaten his fill, Aegon decided to get down to business and called out to the septa:
"Septa Edith?"
"Yes, my brother?" her voice was still stern, but in the light of the dim autumn sun, the woman did not seem quite such a hag.
"I heard that here the suffering can receive healing."
"By the Smith's mercy, miracles happen here."
"I am ill and... I was counting..." suddenly the Prince faltered and found no words. "On a miracle?"
"Everything sent to us in life is a test of our Faith," the septa answered, touching the star on her chest. "Miracles shown to us by the Smith through the Mother's intercession are a reward for enduring them worthily and humbly. But the Mother's heart is so great, and her mercy so boundless, that anyone, even a sinner, may ask her for mercy, and his plea will be heard and will not remain unanswered."
Septa Edith spoke in rehearsed phrases, but spoke with conviction, sincerely believing this was infallible truth.
"I am not a great righteous man," Aegon bowed his head penitently, involuntarily repeating the recent words of Kallio Karlaris. "I was brought to the sept after birth and anointed with oils. Perhaps I did not follow the prescriptions of The Seven-Pointed Star too strictly..."
"The Seven leave everyone the opportunity to repent of sins and receive atonement," Septa Edith managed to pronounce this simultaneously strictly and encouragingly. "I shall escort you to Septon Ronald; he will give you instruction."
Dennis rose from the bench with Aegon, but the servant of the Faith measured him with a strange look.
"My brother, may this poor hospice ask you for help?"
"Yes," the knight answered with confusion on his face. "Of course."
"We have run out of coal to kindle the hearth. Septa Elinore was gathering men to go to the quarry; she could use extra hands."
The sworn shield shifted a surprised gaze to his suzerain; Aegon, taking advantage of the fact that Septa Edith was not looking at him, grimaced and nodded nonetheless. Evidently, lodging in the hospice was paid for not with money, but with the services of its lodgers—that is why the septa, who became a hag in the Prince's eyes again, hinted the day before about helping one's neighbor and good deeds. Embarrassed and concerned, Dennis went to look for Septa Elinore, and Septa Edith led the Prince to the street.
By the light of day, the square by the fountain turned out cleaner than other streets of the town; evidently, the house lodgers helped here too. Following the septa, Aegon stared around; the closer they approached the sept, the more inhabited the district seemed. On the way, they even came across a tavern—at the entrance to the semi-basement room hung a sign with a crookedly painted mug standing on an anvil; the door was tightly closed. Houses also began to look a little more decent, but still remained terribly old: here they rose already two or three floors, and almost every one possessed an inner courtyard fenced with a stone wall; cracks snaked along the stone, in which tufts of grass browned by cold and small trees grew; some sections of houses were almost completely hidden under a red carpet of wild grapes and ivy.
There were more people on the street than the previous evening, but the feeling did not leave the Prince that the town was half-empty. Men and women outwardly differed in naught from the inhabitants of King's Landing: fair, black, red, occasionally blond Andal hair, Andal faces with coarse features and sorrowful-humble expressions. Their woolen clothes were rough in appearance, exclusively functional, and bore almost no ornaments; almost every passerby had a cord with a wooden or more rarely metal star sticking out from under shirt and jacket. Smells distinctly reminded Aegon of Flea Bottom, through which he and Daemon periodically rode on the way to Nerra's pillow house; the sight of a woman in a dirty dress pouring slops from the threshold into a ditch smacked of something vaguely familiar.
"So... what is the name of this town?" the Prince broke the silence.
"The Blessed Town of the Smith," answered Septa Edith, not even turning to her companion.
"And is it old?"
"Quite."
"Probably founded by King Hugor the Holy?"
"Of course."
"And do many people live here?"
"Fewer than before."
"And..."
But the septa's patience, evidently, was exhausted; she turned sharply and fixed an angry gaze on the Prince:
"In fasting, one is supposed to be humble; it is a time of silent reflection," she rapped out and only quickened her pace.
The dumbfounded Aegon did not immediately follow her. Septon Barth, instructing him in the Faith, encouraged the Prince's curiosity, but here, it seems, he was treated differently. Trying not to lag behind the septa, he suddenly thought about the depth of possible differences between followers of the Seven in Essos and Westeros. Believers in Pentos differed almost in naught from believers in King's Landing; Septons dressed in lush robes gifted by benefactors and donors; services differed only in the call to bless not the King of the Seven Kingdoms, but the Most Excellent Prince of Pentos.
Behind these reflections, Aegon nearly missed the moment when they came out onto the square before the Great Sept. By local standards, the space was filled with people; whether locals or pilgrims like Aegon himself, thirsting for healing, it was difficult to understand—all looked equally poor. At the ends of the square, Aegon noticed guards similar to those whom they paid duty on the road; their possession of a uniform—grey surcoats with a star—gave grounds to think that some power exists in the town, since it can ensure uniformity among its soldiers. Armed men occasionally came across in the crowd too; unlike the main mass of citizens, these were dressed in a semblance of leather doublets of brown or black color, and carried a sword on their belt; the Prince decided these must be knights; in the end, knighthood came to Westeros together with the Andals, it would be strange if they disappeared entirely in Andalos.
Raising his eyes, Aegon beheld a thirty-foot statue of the Smith; hewn from marble yellowed by time and weather, a man with a very schematically depicted face leaned on a hammer with a star carved on it. Immediately behind the statue rose the bulk of the Great Sept dedicated to this aspect of the Seven-Who-Are-One. The structure was only twice smaller than the Dragonpit, but this comparison only emphasized the size of the sept; to Aegon's eye, it was even larger than the Starry Sept in Oldtown.
However, positive traits ended there. If every house in the Town of the Smith could be called dilapidated, the Sept of his name was truly ancient. Whether it was truly built under Hugor the Holy or is a later structure, it was impossible to say by look, but the Sept had clearly seen a couple of millennia. The sacred building seemed fused with the hill on which the town stood; suddenly a gap appeared in the crowd through which they walked, and Aegon saw that the walls of the Sept literally grew out of the ground, and nearly froze on the spot, struck by the idea and skill of the builders—the Sept was literally hewn from the stone foundation of the hill. Dozens of questions tore from his tongue, but he did not want to run into the holy hag's irritation again, and the Prince had to bite his tongue.
They entered under the vaults of the Sept through high, massive cast doors decorated with some scenes Aegon did not recognize. From within, the building turned out just as severe, ancient, and unwelcoming as from outside; roughly hewn altars and statues of the Seven were illuminated by dozens and hundreds of candles smoking the ceiling; parishioners and pilgrims, standing and kneeling, prayed to themselves, barely moving lips, in a whisper or undertone, due to which the Sept was filled with the measured hum of a human swarm, occasionally interrupted by emotional sobs of some moved believer.
Septa Edith knelt at the entrance and brought the star hanging on her neck to her lips; Aegon, grimacing painfully, somehow lowered himself onto his right knee and bowed his head just in case. The servant of the Faith rose swiftly and easily, and resolutely walked to one of the alcoves in the wall. There, on a rough stone bench, perched an elderly man, almost bald and clean-shaven, dressed in a grey cassock. Respectfully bowing to him, Septa Edith signaled Aegon to wait. The Septon prayed with closed eyes; from time to time he frowned, causing wrinkles on his forehead, but they immediately smoothed out, and his face brightened, as if he beheld something beautiful. Finally, he deigned to notice them.
"Septon Ronald," Septa Edith respectfully kissed the extended hand.
"What brought you to me, my daughter?" the old man asked affectionately.
"The desire to help a sufferer," the woman stepped aside, pointing to Aegon fidgeting behind her. "He asks for healing."
"The Mother Above is merciful, and the Smith's art is boundless," remarked the Septon. "Go, my daughter, you must have many cares. I shall speak with him."
The Septa withdrew with a bow, not even glancing at the one she brought.
The clergyman looked at the Prince and, moving slightly to the side, patted the bench beside him. Aegon carefully perched on the very edge; though it turned out not too far from the hospice to the Sept, he had not yet recovered from yesterday's march, which thoroughly exhausted him.
"What is your name, young man?" inquired Ronald, examining the Prince with interest.
"Aegon Targaryen," he answered.
It so happened that from the moment of arrival in the town neither he nor Dennis revealed their names; on the one hand, it was for the best, one could preserve incognito; on the other hand, this would have required Aegon to lie in the Sept, and for some reason, he did not want to do this in a holy place.
"Of those very Targaryens?" the old man raised eyebrows.
"Yes, Septon. Of those very ones who rule the Andal kingdoms of Westeros."
"Ha," he exhaled; at first, the Prince took this for a laugh, but Ronald did not think to laugh—evidently, this was one of those interjections that burst from old people involuntarily and can mean anything at all. "Perhaps you are the first Valyrian who came here not with fire and sword."
"My family has honored the Seven for more than a century," Aegon felt ashamed himself at how helplessly and at the same time arrogantly his justifications sounded. "Some daughters of our house became Septas."
"This is known to me. We do not live in isolation, though one would not say so by us. Where did you leave your dragon?"
"Outside the town. A day's journey from here."
"This is reasonable and noble. Your appearance astride him... would have complicated everything significantly. So why did you come here?"
"For the same reason others come here. For healing," patiently explained the Prince and patted his knee. "I, you see, am lame."
"I see," nodded Ronald and, after a silence, asked: "Why did you decide you would receive what you seek here?"
Aegon was taken aback by such a question; the old Septon managed to ask straight away the question Aegon asked himself in the depths of his soul. Why did he drag himself on foot, without a dragon, so far, into a destitute Andal town forgotten even by its gods?
"I... hoped..." he began, choosing words with difficulty. "Hoped for... that..."
"That is enough," the Septon interrupted him with a soft smile and unexpectedly patted his shoulder. "Hope does not exist without faith. If you hope for something, it means you believe. Not a single request of the faithful passes the Seven by, not a single request remains unanswered. By the will of the Father, by the mercy of the Mother, by the art of the Smith everyone receives here what they ask for."
"So it means it is true? People receive healing here?"
"True," the old man nodded and pointed to a servant sweeping the floor. "Do you see this good man? His father brought him here in a wheelbarrow in which he carried haulm—the boy could not walk at all. A broken body is a broken thing. To whom do they come to fix it?"
"To the Smith?" answered the Prince not too confidently, not noticing the Septon's fatherly tone—the switch to "thou" happened naturally, of itself; Ronald saw not a Prince, but a suffering pilgrim.
"Precisely. The Smith is a great master in all crafts and arts, including the art of healing. The child was lowered into the font, and he walked out himself. Do you believe this?"
"With difficulty," admitted Aegon. "But I believe."
"Then you too will receive yours."
"What must be done for this? Sacrifice? Fast? Pray?"
"It would be good to endure a fast," the Septon thoughtfully rubbed his chin. "At least seven days. Pray, pray sincerely, as you can. Come to services, I shall be glad to see you."
At the mention of fasting, Aegon became despondent.
"Septa Edith said fasting is a time of silent reflection, and asking questions is inappropriate."
Ronald laughed quietly.
"Sometimes Septa Edith treats her duties too zealously and can be excessively strict, but, believe me, there is no soul in the world who would want to help you more than she. And as for questions... Perhaps she simply did not know the answer to them. What would you like to know?"
"Everything. Everything about this town. About those who rule it, about how they live here, why locals did not leave with other Andals to the west, across the sea..."
"Oho-ho," Ronald had to stop the torrent of questions bursting out with a gesture. "I see you are quite curious."
"Is that a sin?"
"No. This beautiful world was created by the Seven. Through curiosity, we admire their creation. If you wish, I can answer your questions, my son. Come here after the service."
"And come to the service too," Aegon heard the unspoken request-offer. He nodded and rose from the bench to leave, but could not restrain himself and asked:
"Matins is over. May I ask a question now?"
The Septon laughed good-naturedly again and wagged a finger:
"Clever! Well, ask."
"In Westeros a King rules, lords swear fealty to him, other lords and knights to them, who rule commoners. Does this land have a lord? Who rules the town?"
"I," simply answered Septon Ronald.
. . . . .
Ronald had not lied—he indeed ruled the Blessed Town of the Smith, for it was he who had been the First Septon of the Great Sept of the same name for the past five years. The authority of the clergy could be disputed by no one: that part of the lords who had not fled west two thousand years ago had either died out or become diminished and impoverished. The knights, however, remained; it was they whom Aegon had seen on the square; they, along with the militia maintained by the Septons, formed the army guarding the town.
Four more such theocratic towns were scattered across Andalos: one stood beneath the walls of the Great Septs of the Warrior, the Crone, the Maiden, and the Mother; the Sept of the Stranger had been burned by dragonlords eleven centuries ago, and since then only the dead prayed in his sanctuary. Around the Great Sept of the Father lay the small kingdom of Hugor the Holy's heir; it had been restored only five hundred years ago, and Ronald himself frankly doubted the origin of its rulers:
"Judge for yourself, my son," he explained to Aegon. "If he were truly a descendant of the Holy King, the gods would undoubtedly have shown us a sign, they would have granted him victory, and the whole land would have risen under his banners as one. But there was no sign. Instead, there was only a Dothraki khalasar and the army of the Prince of Pentos with a dragon. However, the Seven are merciful to the faithful and did not destroy the Town of the Father..."
The Andals of Essos, from a great people who had settled from the shores of the Flatlands south of Pentos to the Axe peninsula by the Shivering Sea, had turned into beggars dragging out a miserable existence on the ruins of a once-great past. Few Westerosi believers remembered the land where the Seven themselves once walked, and even fewer dared to make a pilgrimage; believers in Essos feared crossing the Velvet Hills, hearing of the frequent visits of Dothraki khals.
As it turned out, west of the Rhoyne, from the Disputed Lands to the Hills of Norvos, roamed special Dothraki who had left the Great Grass Sea soon after the Doom. The main thing distinguishing them from their eastern brethren was the preference they gave to extortion over war; Trans-Rhoynish khalasars approached cities—Pentos, Myr, or Andal Great Septs—demanded ransom from them, and only in case of refusal engaged in battle. Ronald said eastern Dothraki conduct no negotiations at all, proceeding immediately to war.
Nomads did not bypass the Town of the Smith either: twenty-four years ago Khal Zokko led a khalasar of thirty thousand to the walls of the Sept and demanded tribute, but the Septons did not have the required sum. Deciding the Andals were hiding their treasures, Zokko took the town after six days of battles and skirmishes; on the morning of the seventh day, he and his bloodriders wanted to ride into the Sept on horseback, but the Smith brought his hammer down on the pagan—the Khal was crushed by a heavy metal door. Surviving warriors immediately unleashed a struggle for his inheritance, and the defenders, recovering and encouraged by divine intervention, managed to expel the invaders.
Since then, the Septons tried to save up coin not only for potential ransom but also for armed resistance. Money flowed into the treasury in two ways: through duties and donations of rare pilgrims or through trade with Braavos. Three times a year a caravan of merchants came from the Free City, buying building stone and coal mined in local hills, and grain grown in local fields.
"Why do you not trade with Pentos or Norvos?" Aegon once asked. "You could ask for help from the Prince—Kallio Karlaris believes in the Seven, he would not refuse."
"And has Kallio Karlaris visited us even once?" Ronald answered question with question. "Has Kallio Karlaris himself repelled an enemy even once? No. The Prince of Pentos pays off Dothraki with gold, jewels, and weapons. He will not pay ransom for us too. Besides, all Princes of Pentos are libertines and adulterers—daily feasts, annual copulation with sacrificial maids are an abomination in the eyes of the gods. And as for Norvos, trading with pagan priests is a sin."
Throughout the week, Aegon met every plate the Septas set before him with incredible anguish, but uncomplainingly ate the meager food and did not complain. Throughout the week, he attended if not all seven services in the Great Sept, then at least four; once a day Dennis kept him company, laboring by the sweat of his brow now in the quarry, now in the fields, helping harvest the late crops. After mass and vespers, the Prince remained on the stone bench in the alcove and waited for Ronald to find time for him; they conversed about history and theology, the Septon explained various dogmas of the Faith to him, analyzed Aegon's actions step by step, seeking the good and sinful in them—the first was to be comprehended and taken as a rule of conduct, the second repented of and avoided henceforth.
For all these seven days, the Prince remained in anxious, enthusiastic anticipation; perhaps for the first time in his life he prayed so often and so sincerely—not under the lash, because the Septon of the Red Keep demanded it of him, but because he wanted to himself. The simplest trifle could evoke reverent awe in him: a solemn exclamation at the service, dust motes dancing in a beam of light falling silently on the altar, the Septon's heartfelt sermon—everything seemed to him evidence of divine presence, everything confirmed the holiness of the land he walked.
Even the services served in Andalos differed from those established by the High Septon from Oldtown. If across the Narrow Sea Septons dressed in rich clothes and performed lush and complex rites filled with allusions, allegories, and symbolism accompanied by the polyphony of a choir, here everything boiled down to reading The Seven-Pointed Star by the Septon and a sermon, and the choir consisted of only seven people whose chants sounded in strict, drawn-out recitative; all this was so unlike the hymns and chorales Aegon composed for Viserys's coronation that he even felt ashamed for interfering in the sacred order of service.
Finally, the appointed day arrived when Septon Ronald was to admit the pilgrims to the holy waters; together with Aegon, three others gathered to ask help of the gods: a husband and wife who in several years of marriage had not conceived children, and a middle-aged man blinded in a storm, with eyes bandaged by a greasy strip of cloth. None of them had put a crumb in their mouth since evening; at dawn, they heard matins, and then mass, after which the First Septon proceeded in an unusually solemn procession to the Smith's chapel; there, behind the statue of the artisan god, behind an opening decorated with a carved portal, hid a corridor leading the praying, singing hymns in chorus, into a rather neglected inner courtyard. Aegon thought abstractly that if no one came here, nature would finally take its toll—so closely degenerated rose bushes with withered buds pressed against the paved path.
The procession stopped near a heptagonal bath lined with brown stone slabs blackened by time and moisture, similar to that from which the Great Sept itself was hewn. Seven steps went down from each side of the bath, descending to the dark water; right in the center of the reservoir, the water bubbled barely noticeably—evidently, the spring beat from here; under one of the steps, the Prince saw a drain where water flowed away with a quiet murmur.
Septon Ronald read a prayer of sanctification of the waters and signaled the sick to step forward; each stood at his facet of the heptagon: the spouses held hands, the blind man muttered something nervously under his nose, kissing his wooden seven-pointed star now and then, Aegon did not tear his gaze from the holy spring barely marked on the water surface. Was he afraid? Perhaps not, he was not; foolish to fear, he told himself in the morning, if you came to ask help of the gods, they will not refuse a faithful follower purified in soul. Maester education, despised, persecuted, and oppressed in recent days, before retreating somewhere to the very bottom of the brain again, vilely reminded that gods, generally speaking, can refuse. However, Aegon only waved away such an inappropriate comment.
At the Septon's command, the suffering rid themselves of clothes, remaining only in rough homespun rags; such clothes did not save from the damp autumn wind, and Aegon, scarce giving clothes and cane to Dennis, instantly chilled to the bone. Ronald blessed all four in turn and in a well-placed voice found only in priests of all cults where praying aloud was customary, began to read a prayer:
"By the will of the Father may your souls be cleansed of all evil," and the sick stepped onto the first step; the stone was even colder than the dust-covered tile of the path.
"By the will of the Mother may your hearts soften in the name of neighbors," on the second step Aegon felt cold coming from the water.
"By the will of the Crone may your souls behold the light of truth," icy water already ran onto the third step, and cramps seized both Aegon's legs.
"By the will of the Warrior may your faith strike any heresy," the Prince suddenly thought there was benefit from cold water too—because of it pain in the crippled ankle dulled. But did not disappear completely. Aegon hastened to comfort himself that he needed to plunge headlong.
"By the will of the Maiden may your souls open to every good deed," Aegon's soul was already open enough to fly from the mortal body tormented by icy water.
"By the will of the Stranger in the hour of death may your souls not leave the body without repentance," nothing, the Prince told himself, he confessed in the morning.
"By the will of the Smith may your souls and bodies be healed," water closed over shoulders and he, barely inhaling, went underwater.
Scarce having plunged, Aegon immediately lost all sense of time; it seemed to him he swam in water scalding with its cold for years, centuries, millennia, and still could not find the bottom from which one could push off and surface. When lungs already began to burn from lack of air, the Prince barely felt the edge of a step and surfaced, inhaling noisily and greedily.
Only a couple of fractions of a moment passed—Septon Ronald was still lowering the hand that made the blessing gesture; other sufferers also stood wet, covered with gooseflesh; the barren woman shivered slightly. Despite this, Ronald signaled them to continue—one had to plunge into the waters six more times. Again, again and again Aegon plunged headlong into icy waters (and how did they not freeze?), surfaced, snorted and dived again.
Finally, everything was done as the rite prescribed. Barely moving his legs, Aegon stumbled and climbed out of the font almost on all fours; spitting on all proprieties accepted in Andalos, Dennis threw a piece of cloth called a towel by locals over his shoulders and began to rub the chilled suzerain, when suddenly a triumphant wail cut through the silence of the garden. The blind man clutched his bandage in trembling hands, and tears flowed down his face, mixing with water from the spring.
"Oh gods! I see! I see! Merciful Smith! Merciful Mother! I see!"
The man even began to dance in place from joy, and then rushed to kiss the hands of the First Septon.
"Septon Ronald!.. Most pious!.. Most honest!.. Zhivon..."
"Enough, my son," the old man interrupted him gently. "The waters of the spring are sacred, but the autumn wind is cold—wipe yourself and dress, and then offer praise to the Seven, and above all to the Smith, who healed your ailment."
"I will, I will surely offer, Septon!" he nodded fervently, trying to get into pant legs with both feet at once.
The married couple, wiping each other, exchanged glances with a smile—since the blind man gained sight, it means they too will have children. Since the blind man gained sight... It means Aegon too can walk as before? Pushing away the stupidly fussing Dennis, the Prince swallowed nervously and took a timid step forward with his right leg.
From heel to crown, echoing in the right half of the back of his head, familiar pain pierced Aegon, perhaps slightly dulled due to ablution in cold water. Not expecting its return, the Prince hissed through his teeth and hurriedly picked up the hem of his rag. Nothing changed: the right leg is still shorter than the left, scars from Elysar's scalpels are in place. To ensure it was not a mistake, Aegon took another couple of habitually painful steps. With a disbelieving gaze, he stared at Ronald.
"Why?.."
"Not every healing is given at once," the Septon remarked calmly. "Perhaps you should pray more zealously. Fast more often. Say, endure a fast not of seven days, but of seventy-seven."
"But he gained sight," the Prince poked a finger at the former blind man.
"Likely, the matter is in your ancestors. The incestuous sin, an abomination in the eyes of the gods, in which your ancestors persisted so, is not so easy to wash away."
"I came here hoping for healing, not to pray away sins!" Aegon shook, and he could not understand from what: from cold or from resentment.
"Without repentance, healing is impossible," Ronald was already gathering to leave. "One should have started with this. Try anew, my son, as I said now..."
"Did I choose my parents?!"
The last exclamation flew to the Septon's back, but he did not think to turn or answer. Parishioners watching the ablution fearfully backed away from the Prince and his knight, and bypassing them like lepers in a wide arc, stretched to the exit, but their whisper wandered through the overgrown garden for a long time.
Wind blew again, dry branches of rose bushes swayed, and Aegon felt his cheek twitch. Slapping it with a palm, he looked heavily at the backs of those who left, and then glanced under his feet.
"Do not stand so, my Prince," Dennis remarked quietly, starting to rub the suzerain again. "You will catch cold, and what? Climb into the water again?"
"To the Seven Hells with the water."
"So I think. Dress, my Lord. And when we reach the kitchen, I shall cook you stew. You could use something hot now..."
"And what about Septa Edith?" Aegon chuckled crookedly and immediately frowned, imagining the holy hag's reaction to their appearance. "She seems to be watching the pots today."
"To the Seven Hells with Septa Edith," the sworn shield waved her off, helping the Prince dress.
"No, she has nothing to do in the Seven Hells. To a brothel with her..."
"Aha. To Nerra."
And the men laughed, at first quietly, and then, when no one shushed them for it, at the top of their voices.
"No," squeezing water from loose hair, remarked Aegon. "Nerra will not take her—this hag will scare away all her clients!"
"I would definitely not go," Dennis chimed in.
Thus, joking, laughing, and causing sidelong glances of all good citizens, they returned to the hospice, where on the sly, in a burnt pot Dennis cooked stew from the remains of corned beef, tastier than which the Prince had eaten nothing in his entire life.
In the evening, lying on a lumpy straw mattress serving as a bed for hospice guests, Aegon peered into ceiling beams barely distinguishable in the darkness and thought. How did it happen that someone received healing, and someone did not? Does it mean someone is more righteous? But Ronald said the whole matter is in the unatoned incestuous sin to which Targaryens gave themselves with such persistence from generation to generation. But even if so, does this sin hang on him, and not on his parents and ancestors? After all, the Doctrine of Exceptionalism forgives Targaryens close-kin marriages.
What doctrine, what Targaryens, Aegon pulled himself up. In Andalos they do not listen to the High Septon sitting at the other end of the neighboring continent, and Targaryens for them are descendants of dragonlords who burned more than one Andal kingdom—pagans, murderers, warlocks, and if one recalls that their family "allegedly" worships the Seven, then heretics too. So why should Andalos gods show him such mercy and honor?
To show mercy about which Septas and Septons harp on? Do gods care to whom this mercy is shown: a destitute Andalos peasant or a Prince of a Valyrian house? Septons say that in the eyes of the Seven rich man and poor man are equal, and all peoples can read The Seven-Pointed Star. So why did the blind man gain sight, and the lame man not walk?
Suddenly Aegon caught on to one detail; in the Great Sept he did not pay due attention to it due to excitement, but now it seemed to him more and more strange. Why does a blind man need a bandage on his eyes? Why protect eyes that see nothing? In Flea Bottom he and Daemon saw various ragamuffins deprived of sight in one eye or both at once—none of them wore any bandages. Everyone could see empty sockets, whitish eyes, wall-eyes—so compassionate citizens lucky enough to have a little more money than these unfortunates could notice their wretchedness and throw a couple of copper groats. And those poor who begged in Pentos did not hide their eyes. Why would this blind man act so? Unless...
Of course. He was no blind man! Aegon chuckled bitterly and bit his cheek not to laugh out loud; very timely—Dennis sleeping on the neighboring mattress only snored and turned to the other side. That was not a miracle, but play-acting—of course, after bathing the man could see, he took off his rag; and how he poured out gratitude to gods and Septons... It means other "miracles" for which the Smith's spring is famous are the same lie as this "sighted blind man." And gods too, for that matter.
But Aegon himself is a fine one: to believe in such nonsense, to fall for some pitiful promises! Only wasted time in this Andalos, endured inconveniences for nothing, and made a fool of himself in the end. Disgraced the whole family. After all, both Elysar and Archmaester Edgart in unison insisted he is a cripple for life, and the most the art of healing can do for him is ease pain. But no, that was not enough for Aegon, he needed to become normal, become like everyone else! Stupid, naive boy! To live to twenty years and still believe in miracles and stupid tales!
The Prince yawned, wrapping himself in the warm Pentoshi cloak. On the other hand, he thought at the very border of sleep, light from a Valyrian candle is also a miracle.
The next morning the Prince and his knight left the Blessed Town of the Smith, and a day later its inhabitants were terrified by the appearance of a fire-breathing winged beast in the skies. The dragon, flashing bronze scales in the sunbeams breaking through heavy autumn clouds, described a couple of circles over the Great Sept, with a thunderous roar spewed a stream of golden flame into the heavens and flew north.
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