"By Your Grace's command, all Archmaesters involved in acts of treason, step forward."
"By Your Grace's command, all Archmaesters involved in acts of treason, step forward."
Golden banners flew overhead, and the soldiers' Longspears gleamed as if freshly forged.
Many yellow robes were stained with blood around the Quartered Arms, making the soldiers look even more murderous.
The three-headed Dragon had eaten its fill and curled up on one side of the square like a coiled giant serpent. Today, it had devoured no small amount of Kraken and Ironborn flesh.
In the square, the Longspears of the condemned were impaled with a mass of Ironborn heads, with Crow's Eye and Ryk at the front.
The smashed remains of the Sphinx and the stone beast had also been dragged into the square, along with the Bleeding Sea Kraken and the occasional isolated Deathling.
Bloodshed. Cruelty. The Maesters did not know how to live alongside violence.
High officials, lords, knights, soldiers, and even apprentices from the Citadel who had come to watch the spectacle formed a broad semicircle, held back at a distance by the soldiers.
There were very few nobles and dignitaries from Oldtown itself. The war had struck them too hard.
Crow's Eye had flooded Oldtown and unleashed his soldiers to plunder it. It had been vicious beyond measure.
"Your Grace." The many Archmaesters looked deathly pale. The stench of blood, lime, and the fire brought by the Dragon made them want to retch.
Maester Gormon Tyrell stood calmly to one side with the other Maesters, watching this group of disloyal Archmaesters.
At the critical moment, it had been Maester Gormon who led the loyal Maesters, apprentices, and servants from the Stormlands, The Reach, and elsewhere to seize control of the Citadel.
"The question I asked you earlier."
"About the Maester of the Hightower Bloodline who went to The North, we... we truly know very little." Archmaester Theobald was trembling from head to toe.
Just like Septons, those who earn a Maester's chain are stripped of their surnames and, from that point onward, are addressed only by their given names and titles.
In truth, some Maesters still retained their original bonds of allegiance, just as some Septons did.
"Do you really want me to expose every last secret you have?" Gendry laughed, raising Leyton's will in his hand. "Leyton Hightower explained it all quite clearly."
"Are all the Archmaesters here, Maester Gormon?"
Gormon's gaze swept across the Archmaesters. "Your Grace, they are all here... no, there is one Archmaester with dementia. Archmaester Walgrave. He is so old he has withered away. His ring, staff, and mask are made of black iron."
"Archmaester Walgrave..." Gendry tapped the letter in his hand.
The story of Oldtown was so fascinating that Gendry could not help but applaud it.
"Lord Leyton was talking about him. I never imagined that you Archmaesters, who advise lords, heal the sick, pass along messages, and diligently pursue knowledge, would dare to meddle in treason and throw the Seven Kingdoms into disorder."
Daenerys was also somewhat stunned. Many of the lords had vaguely sensed that the Citadel seemed connected to the chaos of King Aerys's final years.
Gendry tightened his grip on the Queen's hand. The truth was about to be laid bare.
"Your Grace, I..." Archmaester Theobald immediately dropped to his knees, shaking all over. The other Archmaesters seemed to understand as well and collapsed one after another like battered stalks of corn.
"Mercy, Your Grace. Mercy, Your Grace..."
This was a moment of death and slaughter. The king before them was not merely a king, but a demon from the battlefield.
In the Whispering Wood, on the Blackwater Rush, and in Oldtown, heads had rolled in heaps before him.
"Veris Fohua. The Maester's name was Veris. He served the previous Great Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell and was the bastard son of Archmaester Walgrave and Leyton's sister, Rhea Hightower.
That young man had barely forged his chain when his unspeakable father and his old friends sent him to Winterfell. Isn't that right?" Gendry's voice was like steel, striking the Archmaesters' hearts again and again.
The crowd erupted in uproar. No one had expected the story to unfold link by link like this.
The wolf, fish, stag, and eagle alliance that overthrew the Targaryens had fermented from Rickard's southward strategy. He had sent out three of his children, each with their own task.
"So... so that was it?" The Red Viper, Oberyn Martell, opened his eyes. He remembered the events of that year clearly.
The madness of King Aerys, Prince Rhaegar acting on his own, the Old Wolf's ambition, and the Wolf-Stag-Eagle Pact had all contributed to the fall of the Targaryens.
Oberyn had only felt that there was something strange about the Citadel. He had thought it was simply their aversion to magic, but he had not expected the Citadel to be involved in Hightower's conspiracy as well.
In the chaos of the Seven Kingdoms, Hightower had also played a part.
"Mercy, Your Grace. Mercy, Your Grace." The many Archmaesters knelt on the ground, almost unable to remain upright.
The Citadel and Hightower were like an onion, being peeled layer by layer.
Soldiers stepped forward and took control of the elderly men. The Archmaesters trembled helplessly.
"Does the Conclave dare admit what happened back then, Archmaester Theobald? You sent Maester Veris to cater to Great Lord Rickard's ambitions. Those sweet words drew Great Lord Rickard ever deeper, and in the end, millions died in war."
"What a fine Citadel. What a fine Conclave. You've been making fools of the lords all this time, haven't you?"
The truth left the lords and knights stunned. They had to admit that Hightower's move had been a clever one.
Rickard was an ambitious barbarian, and the sweet words of a bastard Maester only fanned that ambition higher.
Nobles often placed great trust in Maesters, but for Maesters to attach themselves to Hightower and weave conspiracies was a grave violation of their neutrality.
Everyone knew what happened afterward. Great Lord Rickard's southward strategy had been pursued with great fanfare. Intent on expanding his house's power in the south, he ultimately died a miserable death in King's Landing.
"So it was you gray-robed rats behind it all," Jack Crabb cursed.
Among the lords, Lyn Corbray glared furiously at the Archmaesters, those hidden hands that had fueled the flames.
"The Citadel failed to uphold strict neutrality and instead inserted itself into a struggle for power. That is a desecration of the gods," Lord Randyll said coldly, his gaze sweeping over the Archmaesters.
Knights despised such schemes. They preferred duels on the battlefield, not poison and intrigue.
Strictly speaking, Maesters, Septons, and Kingsguards were all supposed to avoid entangling themselves in power struggles, but now it seemed far too many of them were eager to do exactly that.
Archmaester Theobald could only keep begging for mercy.
Yohn Royce's face was livid. Too many people had died for Robert's Rebellion, and for the tangled political changes of those years. His brother, Kyle Royce, was one of them.
Back then, "Wild Wolf" Brandon and his companions, Ethan Glover, Keller Royce, Elbert Arryn, and Joffrey Mallister, had ridden straight to King's Landing, rushed into the Red Keep, and nearly all of them were killed.
Far too many of those present had lost family in that war.
Lyn Corbray's father, the Red Viper's sister, uncle, and child, the royalists of Crackclaw Point, and many more.
"Traitors!"
"Traitors!"
"Traitors!"
The lords and knights were furious. Many military nobles had little love for books, but that did not mean they were willing to be played for fools.
In that war, that bloody Robert's Rebellion, everyone had lost relatives or kin.
Who would have thought that House Hightower and the Citadel, two of the forces that had helped drive it forward, had managed to remain hidden until now?
Rickard's ambition had run high, and the Mad King had been twisted and deranged. Both had died miserably years ago because of their own desires.
Now, the Citadel's conspiracies should also be exposed and punished. This was the true nature of the Seven Kingdoms.
Conspirators would face divine retribution. The lords and knights could not feel at ease with such a group of malicious Maesters at their sides.
"Rickard's march south." Ser Garlan's head was buzzing. The Battle of Oldtown today, Robert's Rebellion years ago, and the earliest Dance of the Dragons.
Today, the forces connected to Hightower would be overturned completely.
Archmaester Norren answered in a trembling voice, "It is true. It is true. But the Citadel assigns Maesters according to the person they are meant to serve. Maesters must renounce their surnames."
"You smooth-tongued Cardinal, and your lies. Ser Lothor, Ser Anguy!"
The two commanders of the Royal Guard stepped forward.
"You will immediately assist Maester Gormon in entering the Citadel. Search the Great Library, the Chapter House, and the cellars."
"As you command, Your Grace!" Lothor and Anguy bowed in reply, then led a squad of soldiers away to escort Maester Gormon.
"Your Grace's treatment of the Conclave and the Citadel breaks the rules." The Archmaesters were anxious, but powerless. "The affairs of the Conclave have always been kept secret."
"Political rules? This is my right as king: to purge the kingdom of its vermin. As for the Archmaesters of the Conclave, what exactly are you hiding beneath those cellars? You have done no small amount of work toward the destruction of the dragons and the fall of the Targaryen dynasty."
Before Longspears, greatswords, and Dragons, the Citadel was as frail as a child.
The Citadel, the Great Sept of Stars, and House Hightower were bound tightly together.
Originally, House Hightower relied on a triple advantage of wealth, scholarship, and the Church, but now those layers were being stripped away one by one.
House Hightower could barely protect itself now, so how could it possibly shelter the Citadel?
With Rickard's conspiracy from years ago and the current War of Oldtown added on top, these Archmaesters, who shifted with the wind while concealing their political ambitions, were nothing but detestable.
"We... we will speak. The Citadel does indeed have such a tradition: rejecting magic. Some among us also pursue truth and refuse to allow magic to flourish." Archmaester Norren spoke. "It is because of House Hightower's prophecy. Oldtown will be destroyed by magic, and the world will be destroyed by magic. The blasphemer, the Bloodstone Emperor, killed his sister and brought about the world's Long Night."
"Your Grace, magic is not the path. Science is the proper path," Archmaester Ebrose said. "No magic, no prophecy, no witchcraft."
"Gray sheep," Marwyn said disdainfully to Qyburn, as the shadow rose to the surface.
"And the Society of Truth? That is your little group opposing magic and the Dragonlord."
"The Society of Truth is an internal organization of the Citadel. We ensure that only trusted people can become Archmaesters and enter the Conclave, and that the tide of magic does not appear in the Citadel or Westeros."
"Has the Society of Truth had a Hightower in every generation?"
"Yes, Your Grace. Funding and protection come from House Hightower. They are the protectors of the Citadel."
"So there are to be no Dragons, and you do not like having a Dragonlord either, is that it?" Gendry questioned the Citadel's Archmaesters. "So all along, you have been trying to subtly undermine Targaryen rule and wipe out every trace of magic. You researched the secrets of dragons, the weaknesses of dragons..."
Archmaester Ebrose looked at the king. "The world will be destroyed by magic, Your Grace. Only a world of science is a world of truth, a world without those terrible things."
"Sorcery brings destruction, Your Grace. Prophecy, dreams, the pursuit of desire. How many people have died because of magic? Only a world that has lost magic can be normal."
Gendry listened to the Archmaesters speak. It seemed they had truly lost their minds.
"Then let me ask you. Without Dragons, how would you deal with Crow's Eye's magic? Without Dragons, how would you deal with the Long Night, the Others, and the wights?"
The Archmaesters' actions were no different from covering their ears while stealing a bell. They cared only about whether their own logic held together.
"That..." The Archmaesters seemed to choke, unable to answer.
They had only thought of reducing the magic of the Green lands and ensuring that science flourished, but they had no way to fight those terrifying enemies.
"Let me answer for you. Without Dragons, you would still be kneeling to Crow's Eye. Without Dragons, you might all die in the Long Night." Gendry's words struck like a heavy hammer, leaving the Archmaesters dizzy and reeling. "You even developed the Sphinx and the stone beast. Was that an attack on the king?"
"Traitors!"
"Traitors!"
"Traitors!"
Standing among the crowd, Alleras looked at the king in his full glory. The king's body rivaled the gods.
A king who gathered the identities of Dragonlord, Storm, Warrior Descended from the Heavens, and Pyromancer all in one. Was he not truly beyond the reach of mortal men?
"Swineherd" Pate watched Gendry from afar and began to weigh him carefully. "Dangerous. An extremely dangerous target, with almost no flaws. Crow's Eye may be dead, but the Storm is even more dangerous."