The small council chamber of the Red Keep echoed with the low murmur of discussion, yet King Robert Baratheon, as was often the case, was absent from the meeting. The matters at hand were delicate, complex, and far from the revelry and hunting the king preferred. Sitting at the head of the table was Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, his hands folded neatly in front of him. Despite his advanced age, Jon looked decades younger, a product of the Edenite pills he had started taking. The magical pills were rumored to reverse aging, a luxury only the wealthiest could afford. For Jon, they had been a necessity, as the burdens of ruling had taken their toll.
Today, however, his youthful appearance did little to hide his weariness. The meeting was not about trade or alliances but something far more unsettling—a creeping religious movement that had begun to take root in Westeros.
"The High Septon grows more insistent," Grand Maester Pycelle began, his voice as slow and ponderous as ever. He adjusted his robes before continuing, "He demands action against the spread of this 'Catholicism.' He calls it heresy and warns of the danger it poses to the Faith of the Seven."
Jon Arryn sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "The Nailed God," he muttered, using the derogatory term the septons had given the deity of this foreign religion. "It's spreading like wildfire among the smallfolk, faster than anything we've seen before."
"The smallfolk always turn to new gods when the old ones don't provide what they need," Renly Baratheon said from his seat, his tone light and dismissive. "They get bored, restless. This is no different from the cults we've seen before."
"This is different, Renly," Jon replied, his voice firm. "This is no mere passing fad. The people aren't just worshipping a new god—they're embracing a whole new way of thinking. This 'Catholicism' preaches against the nobility, against the very order we rely on to keep the realm stable."
Varys, the Master of Whisperers, leaned forward, his fingers steepled as he spoke. "It is a radical faith, my lord. From what I've gathered, it teaches that all men are equal before their god, that the nobility is unnecessary, even sinful. It offers the smallfolk salvation not through the Seven, but through a god that Eden has heavily altered and censored. The masses, disillusioned by the existing structures, are finding its message... appealing."
Jon nodded gravely. "That is exactly the danger. If the smallfolk start to believe that the nobility has no place in this world, then we are on the precipice of something much worse than mere discontent. We are facing potential revolt."
"Revolt?" Renly chuckled. "The smallfolk don't have the means to revolt."
Varys smiled, his eyes narrowing. "Perhaps not now, Lord Renly, but history shows us that when the common people rally around a cause, it is only a matter of time before they find the means."
"The Faith of the Seven is losing ground," Pycelle continued, his voice tinged with frustration. "Every day, more of the smallfolk turn to this 'Nailed God.' The septons are pressing us to act before it's too late."
"They want us to ban it," Jon said, leaning back in his chair. "But doing so risks Eden's ire. Eden has brought us prosperity, luxuries, medicines—things we never thought possible. If we move against their religion, they could see it as an affront. And I do not need to remind you all of Eden's power."
The room fell silent for a moment. Eden was not just a distant empire—it was a force of nature. Its technological and magical advancements had reshaped entire kingdoms, and the idea of provoking such a power was unthinkable.
Renly, however, was still unconvinced. "Are we really going to let Eden dictate our religion? Westeros is not some vassal state."
"No, we are not their vassals," Jon replied sharply, "but we are their allies, and we cannot afford to jeopardize that alliance. Eden has invested heavily in Westeros, and we in them. This is not a simple matter of faith—it's about maintaining the balance of power."
Littlefinger, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke up. "So, what do we do, then? Ban the religion and risk Eden's wrath, or allow it to spread and risk losing control of the smallfolk? Either choice seems equally dangerous."
"We must be delicate," Jon said after a pause. "We cannot move too aggressively against this religion, not without provoking Eden. But we also cannot ignore the growing unrest. The smallfolk are listening to these Catholic priests, and their sermons are undermining our authority."
"The High Septon has called for the return of the Faith Militant," Pycelle said, his face paling at the thought. "He believes that only a force of arms can contain this heresy."
"The Faith Militant was disbanded for a reason," Renly said, his voice hard. "Religious wars are the last thing we need right now."
"Indeed," Varys added, his voice a silken thread. "We tread dangerous waters, my lords. On one side, we risk angering Eden, a power far beyond our understanding. On the other, we risk allowing this new faith to undermine the very foundations of Westeros."
Jon drummed his fingers on the table, deep in thought. "We need to appeal to Mark Lantrun, the Supreme Leader of Eden. If anyone can rein in this religion, it is him. Perhaps he can be made to see reason, to understand the danger this faith poses to the stability of Westeros."
Pycelle frowned, his wrinkled face contorting in thought. "Would Mark Lantrun listen? He seems... distant, unreachable."
Jon nodded. "He is a sensible man, or so I have heard. Eden values order above all else. If we present this as a threat to stability, I believe he will intervene. He may even rein in the spread of Catholicism himself."
"And if he does not?" Renly asked, skepticism clear in his voice.
"Then we will have to prepare for other options," Jon replied, his voice grim. "But first, diplomacy. If we can resolve this without conflict, we must."
Jon turned to Pycelle. "Write a letter to Mark Lantrun, requesting an audience. We will present our concerns about the spread of Catholicism and the potential for unrest. Stress the importance of maintaining order in the realm."
Pycelle nodded, his quill already scratching across the parchment as he began drafting the message.
Varys, ever the watcher of shadows, spoke again, his tone soft and cautious. "And what of the High Septon? He will not be pleased with mere diplomacy. He seeks immediate action."
"We will have to keep the septons at bay for now," Jon said, his voice tired but determined. "We cannot afford to antagonize Eden just to placate the High Septon. The Faith Militant will remain disbanded, for now. If we are patient, we can navigate this without provoking a war."
Renly, ever the restless one, leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the table. "And what if the smallfolk rise up regardless? What if Catholicism keeps spreading, despite your letters and talks? The last thing we need is another rebellion."
Jon sighed. "We must be prepared for that, yes. If the faith continues to spread and the smallfolk begin to stir, we may have no choice but to act. But for now, we try diplomacy. We will ask Mark Lantrun to intervene."
The tension in the room was palpable. Everyone in the council knew that they were standing on the edge of something dangerous. If they handled this poorly, it could spiral into chaos.
Littlefinger, with his usual sly grin, broke the silence. "And if Mark doesn't agree? What then?"
Jon Arryn met his gaze, the weight of leadership heavy on his shoulders. "Then we will face that challenge when it comes. But for now, we act with caution."
The meeting ended with a sense of unease hanging over the small council. As the members filed out, Jon stayed behind, staring at the letter Pycelle had drafted. The fate of Westeros was in delicate balance, and much depended on the whims of a distant ruler who held the power of gods.