King's Landing from above was hardly a new sight to me. Whether at the side of Baelon or my parents, I had witnessed the capital city of the Seven Kingdoms from dragonback countless times. While not impressive by the standards of my previous life, seeing the city of half a million with my own eyes, unobstructed by the walls of a cabin, was always a stirring sight.
A colorful patchwork of canvas coverings marked the market squares, blues and red and yellows intermingled at random, with no thought spared to appearance. It contrasted rather vividly with the dull brown buildings of the rest of the city, made with bricks sculpted from local clay. Even the great walls of the city were drab, further drawing the eye towards the clustered riots of color that marked the merchants' stalls.
But the great red abomination that was my father's palace rather ruined what little aesthetic appeal the city had going for itself.
This, as I often reminded myself, was my home. Warts and all, it was my home, but I was going to do my damndest to bring up to my standards of a medieval city. Or better yet, a classical city.
I had some thoughts as to how, but I needed to review my assets before I put any plans in motion. This phase of my plan had been a success, taming a dragon and all, but I was still a bit short of capital to put my grander plans in motion. A matter of time, that's all it was.
Beneath me, the Cannibal roared as he circled the city. He was hesitant to fly anywhere near the Red Keep, as was to be expected, and even more hesitant to approach the dragon pit. The former housed Silverwing, near as large as the Cannibal, and the latter housed the last of the conquerors' dragons, Balerion and Vhagar, both of whom were larger than the Cannibal. Thankfully, Dreamfyre and Vermithor were still in Duskendale while I had left to 'tame' the Cannibal.
Really, we were circling one hill of three. It just so happened that hill had a very nice sept built at the top of it. A nice sept usually had large crowds of visitors, which made for a delightful propaganda opportunity.
"Bring us down!" I had to shout for the Cannibal to hear me over the winds billowing around us, not to mention the helmet that muffled my voice. Though it limited my vision, it was preferable to having my face torn to from my head by the winds. "Top of the hill!"
Roaring in acknowledgement, the massive black dragon swooped low, only opening his wings to slow his descent at the last minute. I slammed into the dragon's neck, driving the air from my lungs from the sudden deceleration, and again when he landed.
Sliding from the neck, I promised myself I was going to get that dragon fitted with a saddle, if only to take the strain off my legs. The beast's neck was just too thick to make clinging to it with my legs comfortable for any length of time. I did not envy whatever poor servant was forced to take that assignment. Their family would be fairly compensated, I would make sure of it.
"Your Grace?" An elderly septon interrupted my vows as he tottered out of the sept, flanked by an equally elderly septa. Judging by his fine robes and the large crystal hanging from his neck by a golden chain, he had to be the one in charge. "As always, it is an honor, but might we know the reason for this visit?"
The Cannibal whipped his head around to glare at the duo of the cloth, a low growl filling the air.
"Easy, Cannibal," I warned, and the growl slowly subsided, replaced with a pointed glare I could feel digging into my skull. "My apologies, your holiness, but I needed a place to land and to keep the Cannibal. He does not get along with other dragons, and your sept is the only place in the city large enough and devoid of other dragons."
Sure, I could have kept him outside the city, but I preferred my murder lizard to be within easy reach at all times.
"I can see how that might be an issue, Your Grace," the aging septon slowly said, for reason I suspected to be more than age. "Though keeping him here may cause… other problems."
"If it's a matter of coin, rest assured, arrangements will be made to have food delivered and waste-" I began, before the septon cut me off.
"You bring a black dragon to roost in a Sept, Your Grace," he interrupted me. That a man would have the temerity to interrupt a member of the royal family, one with a massive murder weapon at his back, painted an ugly picture of the relationship between temporal and spiritual power in Westeros. "I still recall what happened the last time a black dragon crossed paths with a sept. When I sleep, I still see the flames. When I wake…"
His voice trailed off, cracking with the weight of emotions. A frail arm pointed to the Dragon pit, wavering slightly. His eyes had taken on a red tinge, with more than a hint of moisture gathering at the corners.
He spoke of the burning of the Sept of Remembrance. That had been more than thirty years ago, at the start of Maegor's reign. For him to still be haunted by that day…
I may have miscalculated slightly.
"What his holiness is trying to say, Your Grace, is that a black dragon roosting in a sept would remind many of your royal father's uncle Maegor," the septa explained, putting a reassuring hand on her companion's arm. Odd, I had thought he was the one in charge, when it appeared to be more of a partnership. Curious. "The ensuing panic would prevent us from discharging our gods-given duties."
"And giving him free reign of the countryside would cause panic and instability beyond the walls of the city," I countered, glad for the more logical arguments. Those were easier to handle than the post-traumatic stress that had been allowed to fester for decades. "Out there, he might prey on people as much as cattle and mutton. Here, I can ensure he is fed safely."
Most likely with pork. It was similar enough to human flesh, or so I had heard, that it might be useful in weaning him off his more destructive diet.
"You would trade the panic of an unknown number beyond the walls for the panic of half a million on your threshold?" The septon asked.
"You are doing the same, but weigh the outcomes differently," I responded. "Panic in the countryside will be guaranteed, while the panic here can be mitigated or even prevented. If the Cannibal were to be openly visible and not perceived as a threat by the Faith, would that not aid the realm? A sept not destroyed by a dragon, but protected by it?"
"Or it may well tell the realm that the faith is subservient to the whims of princes," he retorted. "I will not allow the house of the Seven to become a stable for a beast of queer eastern gods."
"So you will allow untold numbers of innocents to cower in fear of their lives and livelihoods? When the Crownlands ask why this dragon terrorizes the countryside, how will the people react then they learn it was all because of a single septon's decision?" I asked pointedly. The dragon at by back chose that moment to growl just a bit louder. "Tell me, which of the Seven would support such a course of action?"
"You would presume to lecture me on theology?" The septon hissed. No doubt he would have continued, but the septa put a restraining hand on his shoulder.
"Perhaps you could enlighten us why you believe the Seven who are One would want this… 'Cannibal' to reside on sacred ground," she said, the restraining grip softened just a touch, slowly becoming more reassuring. Oh, this was delightfully heartwarming. Or it would be, if it didn't interfere so blatantly with my plans.
"Which part?" I asked, fighting to keep the acid out of my voice. "The part where we protect the people of this land, as desired by the Maiden and the Mother? The wisdom acting to prevent suffering, as desired by the Crone? The just treatment that the people deserve, as desired by the Father? The urge to repair a damaged reputation, as desired by the Smith? Or the bravery to fight against our own weakness, as desired by the Warrior?"
The septon grew pale at the last point, but the septa was there to pick up the slack.
"And the Stranger?" She asked, testing my knowledge of the most poorly defined deity of our pantheon.
I racked my brain in search of an answer. The Book of the Stranger was less than twenty pages long. And that was with illuminations. Beyond being a guide for outcasts and a psychopomp, there really was not a lot of information about them in the official canon of the Faith.
"We ease their burden," I declared. "Less time spent guiding the dead is more time they can spend on the outcasts that need their attention."
For a heartbeat, they seemed to consider it. Watery eyes flickered to the massive, and still growling, dragon still lingering behind me, and steely ones stayed locked on me, before an answer came
"They did say you were a clever one," the septon allowed reaching for the votive crystal around his neck with shaking hands. A dizzying array of color was refracted onto his otherwise featureless white robe as he turned it in his fingers.
"And while I recognize that mayhaps I was hasty in my refusal, I cannot in good conscience allow a sept to become lodging for a dragon. I will allow him to stay for seven days, no more."
Turning to look at the Cannibal, I felt my heart drop as I saw the familiar drooping eyelids of boredom that had so horribly derailed the joust at the tourney. Naturally, I tried grabbing one of the horns that protruded from his jaw, intending to wrench the head towards me.
Something, anything, to force him to focus on me. Alas, the massive dragon's head was rather difficult to move when he wasn't reduced to a fear-riddled mass of scales and wings, and I did little more than attract his attention.
That was fine.
"Behave yourself. I will arrange for food to be brought to you, so try to relax." My own violet eyes met the dragon's green orbs. They narrowed, as was only natural, angry at my impudence no doubt, and his growl became a fully-fledged snarl. "Unless you wish to share a lair with Balerion, this is the best possible arrangement for both of us."
The snarl abated back to a growl, no doubt his way of complaining, but slunk off to roll up in a tight ball next to the large seven-sided building that crowned the top of Visenya's Hill. There, that wasn't too bad, now, was it?
If not, well, I was still a child; I was allowed to make mistakes.
"My apologies." I turned back to the septon and septa, the former of whom was looking like was only barely on his feet thanks to the support of the latter. "He is an irritable beast."
"Of course. May the Seven guide your way." The septa bid me farewell, while the septon remained awfully quiet.
"And yours," I said, bowing slightly as I took my leave.
Now, to get back to the Red Keep. Across the city. Up a hill. With sore legs.
Mayhaps I would visit the Sea Dragon first and grab my horse.
And some wine. For my sore legs.
And just the sore legs.
I swear.
Thusly motivated, I strode off, making good progress down the hill. Unsurprisingly, even the most glorious sept in King's Landing was hardly the greatest attraction in a city with an entire street dedicated to the finest… entertainment on one of the other three hills. A more devout man might have despaired at the slipping morality of the city's populace; I simply enjoyed going downhill on a mostly empty street.
Of course, once I made it to the large market square at the foot of the hill, the crowds came back in force. I was half surprised that the blanket of merchants and their colorful stalls did not spread onto the hill. The Seven-pointed Star lacked an equivalent of the cleansing of the temple, so it could not be that.
Perhaps it was cultural? I would need to ask Elysar about it, but the Grand Maester could be unpleasant at times. If he were any less competent- and that was a frightening thought, given how much of his library was taken up by smut- father would have found an excuse to have him sent back to Oldtown.
The thought that he was the primary caretaker of not only my pregnant mother but also my pregnant sister was enough to hasten my stride.
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