It was nice to be back in a sept. Many boys my age might not have shared that opinion, but I found it pleasant. Perhaps not terribly exciting in and of itself, but the stories that made up the sermons were a good exercise in finding alternate meanings and deeper themes.
Perhaps more importantly for any future politician, however, was the practice of learning how to listen rather than to hear.
The way the septon's gaze might roll across his listeners as he recited a particular section, how his eyes might linger on one particular member of the congregation, or how he might avoid one area altogether were all hints about the kind of man who stood at the pulpit.
While I was by no means an expert, I still enjoyed the exercise. At least when the old septon stopped reading. I gave my full attention to the stories.
"At night, when Met and Kel were fast asleep, The Mother descended from the heavens." The septon only rarely glanced at the great tome on the lectern in front of him, the story no doubt having been drilled into his head by decades of experience.
"She approached their hearth, where the fire burned all night, and placed their son in the fire. The action was not hers alone, however.
She is of the Seven and the Seven is of her. When the Mother acts, the Father, the Warrior, the Maiden, the Crone, the Smith, and the Stranger act also. Protected from the flame by the craft of the Smith, the fire did not hurt the baby. Instead, the fire worked a great wonder in the child, and he grew beyond his age, and his face looked like the face of one of the gods. And his parents named him Hugor."
His eyes flickered to his book before they sought out a few members of the congregation, seated somewhere behind me. Not me, however, not any that were seated near the front. Was it spite, I wondered, or was it fear? The Septon was too far away, and I was too inexperienced, to be able to tell, but I had my theories. I had yet to move the Cannibal, after all.
"Less godly men would have interceded when they saw their son being lowered into the fire," the septon intoned, deviating from the story. I knew this part was most certainly not directly from the text. "Met and Kel, however, were true children of the Seven, godly in their conduct, and pious in their hearts. They knew the work of the Seven when they saw it and did not wish to interfere with it. Thus, they raised little Hugor into a man worthy of his gifts, into a man who would go on to unite the Andals."
He closed tome gently and swept his eyes around the sept once more. Those watery orbs tracked across the rows smoothly, never stopping.
"The Seven have a plan for all of us, for all of our children," he said, and his eyes settled on the front row. Where I sat with Maegelle. "Live piously, and do not doubt the Seven above, and our children will live to create a better world than the one we have now. May the Seven guide you all."
He picked up his great tome and stepped away from the lectern, heralding an end to the sermon. Once he had retired to the rear of the sept, leaving the congregation on their own in the cavernous hall, that the listeners began to rise. But not leave. The rows closest to the front left first, as status demanded.
In exchange for this convenience, Maegelle and I dispensed a few copper stars to each row we passed. Even the most valuable copper coin was a pittance to us, but each was the difference between stale bread and fresh meat for many in King's Landing.
That was a fact of life I could not change. I could not revolutionize agriculture to lower food prices any more than I could remember the chemical formula for gunpowder. Father could, perhaps, have institutionalized charity for the masses, but he never would.
No more than I would. I was preparing to give the best and brightest of the smallfolk the chance to rise above their erstwhile peers, but that did not mean I was going to uplift them all.
Besides, the symbolism of a charitable prince was far more sustainable than fixing the problem. Every generation could repeatedly wield that image to their advantage. And the common folk would appreciate the exceptions so long as the norm was not brutally oppressive.
Maegelle and I left the sept at the head of the congregation, little bothered by the brightness of the midday sun. The large windows of the sept had allowed it in to illuminate the otherwise sparsely decorated building.
The common folk gave us enough space to move to the palanquin that had borne us to the sept, where we waited for them to finish departing down the hill. Their voices filled the air with chaotic chatter which melded together until it was impossible to distinguish even a single voice.
Unfortunately, they were walking quite slowly, and the road down was quite long and narrow, leaving us stranded atop the hill for what was likely to be several long minutes. Fortunately, I had something that needed doing.
And a sister who needed to be informed.
"The sermon was certainly interesting," I mentioned to Maegelle as I guided her around the sept, searching for the place the Cannibal had chosen as a basking spot. "Though I doubt we should use it as material for our lessons any time soon."
"Most certainly not," Maegelle agreed. "The sermon was all too focused on blind obedience. Although there are some who may wish to take note."
"I am the very image of obedience," I said easily, not even having to lie. "Did I not follow our parents' instructions for leaving the keep?"
"Did you not lie to our beloved brother to leave the keep less than a week ago?" Maegelle asked in turn.
"And disobeyed nobody in the process!" I proclaimed proudly. "I even won a joust thanks to your favor."
And the machinations of the Cannibal, but she knew that. Not that it stopped a pleased smile from growing on her face.
"And you scared away a tamed dragon," Maegelle reminded me. "How brave."
"Brave indeed. The Cannibal is many things, but tame is not one of them," I said, refusing to let my annoyance with the great beast show in my voice. Honestly, calling him tame was like calling him a lizard: incorrect in almost every possible way. "And I need to move him out of the city."
"Why not the Dragonpit?" She asked as we rounded the halfway point around the sept. Still no dragon. I was starting to regret not going around the other way. "Surely there are chains strong enough to keep him from attacking the other dragons?"
I did not respond for several seconds.
"Can you keep a secret?" I asked. The Cannibal's cowardice was a crippling flaw for a dragon to have. Were it to be publicly known, it would cause no end of trouble. If the great beasts are susceptible to such base flaws, after all, how can their riders be expected to be any better?
"I thought you were going to share those with me regardless," Maegelle answered, a sly smile on her face. "How unexpected."
"I know, it's quite the turn of events," I sighed as the great black dragon came into view, curled up next to the sept. The ground looked dangerously charred in more than a few places, no doubt the result of a few successful feedings. Thankfully, much of the hill's peak was left undeveloped out of respect for the temple to the Seven, allowing the Cannibal to roll up next to it without being in danger of disturbing anyone. "CANNIBAL!"
The dragon in question raised his head to gaze at me, his pale green eyes filled with annoyance and anger at having his nap interrupted. Tiny pupils that looked like they belonged on a human instead of a lizard whose head alone was taller than I was bored into my skull for half a second until he noticed Maegelle standing next to me.
Instead of a roar of anger, which I was starting to believe was his default greeting, the craven gave a pitiful hiss.
"Easy… easy…" I said slowly, reaching out to grab the dragon's horn on his snout. Almost immediately, those venomous green eyes flitted over to me before changing his mind and gazing at Maegelle. And then promptly back to me as the beast struggled to prioritize his targets. "This is my sister Maegelle. She is the rider of Dreamfyre."
A deep growl filled the air, reverberating deep within my chest.
"She means you no harm," I said even more slowly. Unfortunately, the Cannibal chose that moment to whip his head to the side, nearly wrenching my shoulder as I lost my grip on his horn.
The dragon drew himself up to his full height, stretching his neck to look down at us with the sun at his back. At last, the Cannibal let out a deafening roar and shot a pillar of green fire into the sky.
His point made, he lowered his massive head back down to eye level.
"Good news, Cannibal," I said amiably while the dragon's eyes resumed their indecisive dance. "Construction has started on a shelter for you beyond the walls. Look for a stone circle."
I would have given slightly more precise instructions, but the dragon chose that moment to take to the skies with yet another roar. There was little doubt in my mind that he would be able to find the location. For all his many faults, the Cannibal was still a clever creature.
"So… the secret?" Maegelle asked as the dragon's silhouette shrank in the sky.
"He is a coward. A craven of the highest order, where other dragons are concerned," I said softly. There was no pity in my words; It was a character defect, like Daella's shyness or Saera's need for attention, just more severe. And like with my sisters, there was only so much I could do to help him overcome it. "And their riders."
"A touch more severe of a problem," she conceded. "Is that why you refused to put him in the Dragonpit? For his well-being?"
"I could not put him in it if I tried," I said, turning around to return to the palanquin that had brought us to the sept. But not to return to the keep, no. I had a bit more business in the city. "He outright refuses to approach it. He refused to even land anywhere close to Duskendale when he so much as heard Vermithor and Dreamfyre."
"His state seems worse and worse the more you tell me," she said, her eyes still following the rapidly shrinking dragon in the sky. "Are you certain claiming him was a good idea?"
"It was not," I admitted, coming to a stop still a significant distance from even coming into view of the litter. And our escort. Really, it was quite surprising they were willing to let us out of their sight. "But I can hardly complain about the hand I was dealt when I chose to play."
"Really? A metaphor about playing cards?" She chuckled softly as she shook her head. "Ser Velaryon really is turning you into a rogue."
"Corlys is a valued friend who made that adventure possible," I said in mock offense, hand clutching at my heart as though I had been grievously wounded.
"You told Ser Velaryon before you told me?" Now it was her turn to act affronted. "I don't have to worry about you fleeing for Driftmark, do I?"
"And leave behind my family when they need me most?" I asked in turn, acting as though I were seriously considering it. "Tempting as it is, my sisters have need of me."
"And you of us. Though I suspect Alyssa may be the exception," She said, and I suppressed a grimace. Alyssa was the last person to need help. If it ever got back to her I even implied such a thing, I could look forward to meeting her in the training yard. And she was the only one in my family who liked to fight as aggressively as I did.
"Except for Alyssa," I rapidly agreed. "Ready for the next of my little ventures?"
There were musicians to put to work, after all.
"Certainly," Maegelle said, the smile growing on her face. "Is it the one where you ask for my help in fixing the Cannibal?"
Oh.
I knew I had forgotten something.
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