Wrapping up his work in Highgarden, Joffrey marched back to King's Landing. He remembered how he hated going out of King's Landing in the past; Hated riding on horseback. He could understand now why Robert was never happy with him.
Westeros was no place for weak men to live in. He'd been sheltered by Cersei for far too long. Unaware of how fragile the Crown was. How easy it was to kill him and replace him. Now, all that mattered was his own might.
"Clear the Great Sept of Baelor," Joffrey commanded as his retinue approached King's Landing. "I'll visit it the moment we arrive. The High Septon, the septas—remove them all."
Quickly, one of the five Kingsguards traveling with him took off with ten soldiers and galloped into King's Landing before Joffrey could reach it.
A few long moments later, he entered the city through the Gate of the Gods. Going through Cobbler's Square, the smallfolk emptied the streets for him while some bowed and others knelt in his presence. None of them shouted profanities, none of them attempted to throw dirt at him. Instead, a few hollered hails for his long age.
Continuing on the road, waving at the smallfolk, he eventually arrived near the Guildhall of the Alchemists. Taking a right from there, he soon arrived at the long flight of stairs leading up to the Great Sept of Baelor.
Already, a crowd of septas was gathered there. As he'd ordered, the Great Sept had been emptied.
"Stay here. I'll pray alone." Joffrey ordered, stopping Arya from following him in.
With his horse, he climbed the stairs slowly and finally arrived at the top. Once near the tall gates, he dismounted and walked into the Great Sept. Not a single soul was in sight, the flickering of so many candles audible.
After passing through the ornate halls, he arrived at the Sept's main chamber. There, tall, towering stone statues of the Seven, each on their own altar at the statues' feet.
Joffrey walked to the middle of the massive hall and halted. He glanced at each statue one after another, silently. Then, something he rarely ever did in his life, he knelt down on both knees. He clasped his hands together, and then closed his eyes, starting his prayer.
"The Father, The Mother, The Warrior, The Smith, The Maiden, The Crone, and The Stranger." He took their names and remembered that prophetic voice from his dreams. A memory from far back, even before he was even involved with R'hllor.
He remembered the exact words as they were spoken by that melodic voice.
Chaos shrouds the world when there exists blindness to kindness. When innocent blood is spilled, vile crimes are committed, and the sense of morality appears far from reality. Forgo your loyalty, forget your ties, and fight for peace from the side of neutrality. For a god, there are no sides, only the living and the dead that we guide.
O' receiver of the blessing from the Seven, the Old, and more—Stop doubting, and let your ambitions soar. Protected from the knife as long as you stand for life. Blessed by the fire of the fury. From mortal danger, you have the great blessing of the Stranger—Go, live! Learn! Love!
"I do not know why this second life was given to me. R'hllor calls me a thief of prophecy, that this life is not mine but stolen, borrowed for a time. And yet, I stand near my destiny, near the war against the Others. It is not the dead I fear—but death itself. I have changed. I have made the realm stronger and better. And I fear losing all of it because some fire god took offense.
"To the Seven, hear my appeal. I desire to live well beyond the end. The dead will be defeated—of that, I have no doubt. But I demand assurance. That I will live. That I will reign. For decades to come. Mine will be the longest rule Westeros has ever known." Joffrey frowned then, a little scared to say the words. "And in return, I offer you something worthy. I shall… bring the East to heel. I will see Essos kneel before the Seven, their temples torn down, their false gods cast aside. The Faith shall rule, as it should. As I shall."
Thud!
"Ugh!" Joffrey hit the marble with a crack, his chin striking hard as he dropped flat. He tried to open his eyes—nothing. Tried to move—crushed under some dreadful weight, as if dragged beneath deep waters. His breath came ragged. "I… I'll tear down every faith but the Seven. On my life, I swear it!"
"You?"
Came a muffled, godly voice, masculine and feminine combined.
At last, Joffrey could open his eyes. But instead of the Sept, he saw darkness all around him. In that darkness stood seven gigantic figures. With a closer look, they seemed to be the same statues of the Seven. But these had a godly presence and a voice.
"You would spread the faith? A fragile thing, swayed by hunger, lust, and desire?"
Joffrey had no idea which one of the Seven was speaking to him. Just hearing their voice shook him to the core. As if he was laid bare in front of a million eyes. As if every inch of his body was being scrutinized.
He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. Just look, like a little lamb tied down in front of its butcher. Their voice itself made his very being shiver in endless vibrations.
"I will!" Joffrey groaned. "I will conquer and spread the Faith. From King's Landing to Asshai—I will… I can."
"And you believe R'hllor will permit such defiance? You have taken his gifts, little king. You are his now—"
"I accepted nothing! And he is no god—some fire demon, perhaps. You are the true god, the higher power. R'hllor hides behind tricks and shadows, while you are worshiped in truth. Even he fears the Night King. But I have an offer. I will drive Rh'llor from this realm—force him to flee or be destroyed. All I ask is your blessing… that I may live—and rule. Protected from Rh'llor's retaliation."
Joffrey could only pray. He didn't know if the Seven could be negotiated with. The only assumption he had was that any god would love their faith to spread. Rh'llor surely did.
"What shall stay your hand from casting aside one god for another, once your desire is spent? You are no great man. It is not strength that sustains you, but fortune's fickle mercy. You walk upon a life that is not your own."
"Yet it is mine now. I have won it, earned it, and I'll not see it lost. I cannot betray this land. I was born into this realm. I was born into the Faith of the Seven." Joffrey hoped making an oath held some meaning. "I can make an oath."
It became painful. The pressure holding him down increased.
"Oaths are sacred." The voice said.
"Most aren't. But this… I'd be a fool to not take it seriously." Joffrey responded, on the verge of losing it. "Bless me and I will honor the oath till the day I die."
"Then take it, Joffrey Baratheon—speak the oath aloud and true; bind your tongue in the sacred vow, lest doom instead of grace find you."
Joffrey gulped and earnestly vowed. He was more willing to pick the Seven because they didn't meddle in the world directly. And by doing so, he'd be their sole champion. Unlike Rh'llor, who saw him as nothing but a nuisance.
"I, Joffrey Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms, swear this before the Seven. Until my dying day, I shall kneel to the Seven, and to no other. I shall take the lands of the East until none remain. I shall cast down false gods, leaving but one faith—the Seven. From this moment to my final breath, until my hair turns pale and my body fails, I will hold to my oath."
That was it.
He waited in desperation, barely breathing in the crushing pressure.
He prayed in his heart.
______________________
THIS STORY HAS ENDED.
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