The Ravenry, The Citadel.
Inside the Ravenry, the elder Archmaester Vaemond drew a roll of paper from his sleeve.
The texture of the paper was unique; it was not the thick vellum commonly used in the Citadel, but the specialized stationery used only by the Targaryen royalty in King's Landing.
The edges were embossed with dark gold flame patterns, the sigil of House Targaryen.
"A raven arrived from the Red Keep yesterday." Archmaester Vaemond pushed the letter to the center of the table.
Maester Garth took the parchment and unfurled it.
His habitual smile faded slightly. The letter's content was brief, but its phrasing was harsh.
King Aegon II, or at least, the person writing in his name,demanded that the Citadel immediately and publicly condemn Grand Maester Orwyle and declare his Maester status null and void.
The charges were conspiracy with Princess Rhaenyra to commit the cowardly murder of the late King Viserys and the subversion of the Throne's legitimacy.
At the end of the letter, there was a final paragraph which Garth read aloud:
"As the Citadel prides itself on neutrality, it should not harbor regicidal traitors. It is expected that the Citadel act with justice and declare Princess Rhaenyra's crimes most heinous."
Archmaester Vaemond spoke slowly.
"Orwyle has already fulfilled his mission. I will fulfill my promise. And you, High Septon?"
The High Septon nodded, understanding the implication.
Those three bastards of Orwyle's: one would become a Maester at the Citadel, another would enter the Faith as a Septon, and the last would be arranged as a squire to a certain Earl.
This was the reward for what Orwyle had done.
"It seems the Greens are desperate," the High Septon's voice was calm.
"They need our stance."
The four Maesters all looked toward him.
The High Septon continued: "I support Aegon II."
Archmaester Vaemond's brow twitched as he fell into a contemplative silence.
The other three Maesters remained silent as well, offering no gesture of agreement.
The High Septon spoke without any attempt at concealment.
"The Greens are willing to recognize the authority of the Faith. This is a good thing. Now, I hope the Citadel will tacitly accept Aegon II's rule."
Archmaester Vaemond finally opened his eyes fully. Those clouded pupils now appeared exceptionally sharp.
"Your Holiness," the old Maester's voice was light, yet it sent a chill through everyone present.
"Are you suggesting that the Citadel should publicly condemn Orwyle?"
"No." The High Septon shook his head.
"The Citadel needs to condemn no one. The Citadel only needs to expel Orwyle from its ranks and declare his Maester status invalid. And then... stall."
Maester Garth looked thoughtful.
"Stall?"
"Stall until the war is over," the High Septon said.
"The Blacks and the Greens; Rhaenyra and Aegon; Daemon and Aemond. Let them fight amongst themselves; let them slaughter one another. When a victor is decided, and the last survivor sits upon the Iron Throne..."
He smiled faintly. The smile was as gentle as a spring breeze, but its underlying meaning was chilling.
The silence that followed lasted a long time. In the Ravenry, the only sound was the occasional rustle of a raven's wings from the woods outside.
Finally, Archmaester Vaemond broke the quiet.
"Regarding Orwyle," the old Archmaester said, "we can proceed according to Your Holiness's wishes. The Citadel will raise no objection."
He paused. "But I need to know one thing."
The High Septon looked up.
"How deep... does the Faith actually intend to intervene in this war?"
"Archmaester Vaemond," the High Septon's voice dropped very low, "did you ever see King Maegor?"
The old Maester's eyelids flickered.
"That was a long time ago."
"I saw him," the High Septon said.
"Not a portrait, the living man."
Everyone turned to look at him. The High Septon's face was expressionless as he spoke.
"Back then, I had just been elevated to Septon and was copying scriptures in the Starry Sept. King Maegor arrived at Oldtown with his dragon, Balerion the Black Dread, and his army. Dragonfire scorched the stone courtyard of the Sept; the air was thick with the scent of sulfur. King Maegor sat upon Balerion's back, looking down at us trembling below as if we were a swarm of ants."
His voice remained calm, but his pace slowed significantly.
"Maegor demanded we hand over the High Septon because the High Septon refused to recognize his throne or the legality of his marriage. Eventually, for the sake of the Faith, the High Septon chose to take poison and die."
"Following that, House Hightower surrendered the city. Immediately after, of all the knights and Warrior's Sons serving the Faith, three-quarters were sent to the Wall in black, and the rest were put to the sword. An armed force of tens of thousands was like ants before Balerion. Since that day, the Faith declared it would have no armed forces."
He paused. "That night, the bells of the Starry Sept rang for the entire night. Not for prayer, but to drown out the sound of weeping."
The High Septon raised his head, his pale eyes staring directly at Archmaester Vaemond.
"You say King Maegor has been dead for seventy-nine years. But in my eyes, he has never died. He simply changed his name, changed his dragon, and changed his crown, continuing to ride upon the heads of the people of the Seven Kingdoms."
"Prince Aemond, the kinslayer of the Greens, and Prince Daemon of the Blacks... what difference is there between them and King Maegor? The same arrogance, the same cruelty, the same belief that Targaryens were born to rule Westeros."
Archmaester Vaemond was silent for a long while.
"So what Your Holiness wishes to do..." he said slowly, "is not just crown a King, but... make the Targaryens pay the price?"
The High Septon did not deny it.
"Dragons should not exist in this world. Such creatures are contrary to the tenets of the Seven. The Seven gave men wisdom and hands to till the earth with plows, to forge with hammers, and to record with pens. But the dragon gives men nothing but terror and destruction."
He rose from his seat and paced to the window. Outside was the night of the Honeywine River; the water reflected the lights of Oldtown like scattered pearls.
"Aegon I used dragons to conquer the Seven Kingdoms. His descendants used dragons to rule them. For a hundred years, some Targaryen Kings have known that their power does not come from the love of the people, nor the fealty of the Lords, nor even the Iron Throne itself. It comes only from the dragons beneath them."
He turned around. "As long as dragons remain, the Seven Kingdoms will forever be the Targaryens' sheepfold. Now, these madmen fight for control of the pasture, and the smallfolk of the Realm are but the grass they trample."
The High Septon's voice remained calm, but every word felt like iron tempered in fire.
"So I ask you all: are you willing to let Westeros be the Targaryens' pasture forever?"
Maester Garth stopped smiling. Steward Noren closed his ledgers.
The Maester who had remained silent, the one nicknamed "White Raven," slowly raised his head.
"Your Holiness, do you have a specific plan?"
The High Septon did not answer directly.
He pulled a massive piece of parchment from the bronze chest on the table and pushed it to the center.
"This is something I have prepared for a long time. I require your cooperation."
The four Maesters lowered their heads simultaneously to look.
-----
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