Letting the Black Dread usurp the position of the Seven and become the faith of the Faith of the Seven was Daenerys's hope.
And that hope wasn't far-fetched.
The Seven were just seven wooden idols. Even if the Black Dread overstepped his bounds, there was no real divine power capable of punishing him.
Secondly, there was a Faith of the Seven presence in Slaver's Bay.
It had only been established recently, so both the quality and number of believers were far inferior to Westeros. There was virtually no accumulated power of faith.
If High Priestess Daenerys found a way for the Black Dread to replace the Seven, she could immediately elevate his status within the Slaver's Bay branch of the church.
Most importantly, the Black Dread wasn't fighting alone—he had a formidable mother.
If the Dragon Queen wished it, she could easily take control of the Faith of the Seven in Westeros.
This made it fundamentally different from the Red Temple. As powerful as the red-robed priestesses were, they still couldn't control the Red Temple.
Because R'hllor was a real, indisputable deity, and the true boss of the temple would always be R'hllor.
As for the High Sparrow—
When there were no conflicts of interest, he was a good religious ally to the Dragon Queen, someone who could help her deal with Cersei and her ilk.
But if a real conflict arose, the Dragon Queen would kill him in cold blood, without a hint of hesitation or remorse.
After all, Daenerys had never been a true friend to the High Sparrow. She wasn't even a follower of the Seven.
Her efforts to develop the Faith and take up the role of High Priestess were entirely for political reasons.
She needed the church to serve the Targaryen dynasty.
So, when it came to her core interest—the Black Dread's path to godhood—she could be utterly ruthless to the High Sparrow.
If Daenerys publicly declared that she didn't want the Iron Throne, only the seat at the Great Sept of Baelor—
Even the Lannisters would applaud her with genuine enthusiasm.
The followers of the Seven wouldn't object either. They might even come to love this "pious and merciful" Dragon Pope even more.
With full control of the Faith, and no real Seven above her, wouldn't she be free to do whatever she wanted?
The only issue was—she didn't know what to do.
What could she do to grant her beloved son, the Black Dread, the persona of the Seven? A divine role?
Should she simply proclaim: The Black Dread is the reincarnation of the Seven? Like Jesus to God, he is the Son of the Seven?
That was far too ridiculous. Even Daenerys herself wouldn't believe it—how could she expect her followers to accept it?
That day, White brought back two people from the West—Big Crab Illyse Celtigar and the fourth White Knight, Garth Hightower.
The Dragon Queen held an exceptionally grand banquet in their honor. Every person of status in Astapor was invited.
Even the fat eunuch Belwas from Kaybridge was dragged over by the Black Dread.
In front of everyone, Daenerys gifted Garth a Valyrian steel sword named Wavecutter.
Then the Old Bear draped a white cloak over him, and Belwas helped their new brother into a white enamel suit of armor.
The induction ceremony was officially complete.
The Big Crab didn't receive a Valyrian steel sword, but he was knighted by the Queen and appointed as the Commander of the First Fleet.
That was still a position of considerable power.
But as he looked at the three White Knights standing behind the Queen, a sudden urge welled up in his heart—he wanted to join them too. At the very least, he could remain close to the Queen.
Young Aegon walked over to the Big Crab with a glass of orange wine, brimming with pride. He introduced himself, "Ser Celtigar, I am Aegon. Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar."
Though Tyrion pestered him daily, the grey patches on Aegon's legs were visibly fading. Clearly, a mature cure for greyscale would soon be developed, and Aegon felt hopeful once again.
Tonight, his outfit was particularly lavish.
A grass-green velvet tunic, a wide belt at the waist inlaid with purple-crystal dragon-scale patterns, sleek fitted leather pants, soft deerskin high boots, and a golden three-headed dragon circlet on his forehead that shimmered against his silver hair.
He was arguably the most dazzling figure at the banquet.
"Your Highness," the Big Crab greeted politely, but his eyes scanned the young man skeptically.
He did indeed have the Targaryen's signature silver hair and violet eyes, and his bearing was decent.
But Aegon had long been rumored to have been smashed to death by Tywin—everyone knew it.
Could this kid really not be a fraud?
And wasn't he the one rumored to have the gall to want to marry his own aunt?
Even with Clinton, Ashara, and the Dragon Queen herself vouching for him, the Big Crab still had his doubts about young Aegon.
After all, "Never trust the Spider" had become something of a proverb among the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms.
Aegon gently swirled the pale yellow brandy in his glass and said meaningfully, "My aunt Daenerys promised to help me fight for the Iron Throne."
"I know. She also told me she'd leave the chance to slay the Night King to you."
The Big Crab remained courteous, but offered no special response.
It was not the reaction Aegon had been expecting.
He believed the meaning behind his words was obvious: Celtigar ought to pledge allegiance to the Targaryen heir to the Iron Throne—and he was that heir.
Shouldn't this heir to a noble house be swearing his loyalty right now?
Aegon couldn't help but furrow his brows.
"My aunt has five dragons, and she's promised to let me tame the Black Dread. Not to mention, she'll soon be able to forge thousands of Valyrian steel swords. With dragons and Valyrian steel, killing the Night King won't be hard."
He tugged at his collar, which was a bit tight, and emphasized, "I will be the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Ser, I need the loyalty of House Celtigar and the Crab Isles."
Tame the Black Dread?
The Big Crab gave him a rather peculiar look.
"My father, my brothers, and I have already sworn fealty to House Targaryen."
"I said, Celtigar should pledge loyalty to the Targaryen on the Iron Throne," Aegon said quietly.
"Are you asking us to escort you to the Wall with our fleet?"
"What would I go to the Wall for?" Aegon asked in confusion.
"If we don't kill the Night King, how are we supposed to claim the Iron Throne?" the Crab retorted.
"I—" Aegon choked on his words, then said irritably, "That vow, 'He who ends the Long Night shall be king,' was made by my aunt. It has nothing to do with me."
"You want the Queen to break her own oath? I'm afraid that's impossible, isn't it?"
Suddenly, the doubt in the Crab's eyes turned into open contempt.
Aegon glanced around in frustration. Indeed, many people were watching, but all kept a polite distance, leaving space for the two of them to talk.
"Ser, I'll be direct. My aunt controls Slaver's Bay, but I'm not foolish. She's young and will eventually have heirs. Slaver's Bay will never be mine.
Because of her vow, she can't offer me much more help.
So I need power. I must fight for the Iron Throne myself.
And my claim precedes Daenerys's. Even she acknowledges that. If the Seven Kingdoms belong to House Targaryen, then why shouldn't they swear fealty to me? Help me restore the realm?"
"Your Highness, I'm sorry. I can't help you with that," the Crab replied crisply.
"Why not?"
"I'm currently the Commander of the First Fleet of Slaver's Bay. I've sworn my loyalty to the Queen."
Aegon glared at the Crab, then left begrudgingly.
Once the ceremony to appoint the White Knight was over, Aegon pulled the visibly excited "Grey Iron" Garth aside.
"Your Highness, what can I do for you?"
Ser Garth Hightower was still lost in the immense honor of being knighted by the Queen herself.
He felt as though he were walking the same glorious path as his great-uncle, "the White Bull" Ser Gerold Hightower. He was brimming with joy.
"Ser Garth, one day I'll return to Westeros. Will House Hightower be able to offer me some support?" Aegon asked directly.
"No." The excitement faded from Garth's face, and he responded just as plainly, "Your Highness, you should understand that even among Targaryens, there are factions.
Clearly, House Hightower now stands with the Queen.
Instead of asking me—a White Knight who's no longer part of House Hightower—you'd be better off consulting Her Majesty. Her will is the direction House Hightower will follow.
If she commands us to aid you, even if you don't come to me, we'll give everything we have, down to our last drop of blood."
"You—" Aegon's face flushed red with anger.
Garth hadn't meant to be so blunt, but his identity had changed. He was no longer a second son of House Hightower—he was now a White Knight sworn solely to the Queen.
To a royal, he had to be honest and loyal. He could neither lie nor offer vague platitudes like the Crab.
Once Garth took his leave, Tyrion hobbled over to where Aegon was sulking alone and said in a low voice, "What are you thinking? You're eating your aunt's food, drinking her wine, wearing her fine clothes—yet here you are, secretly digging at her foundation?"
Tyrion's cheeks were sunken, his sallow skin clinging to his skull, making his eye sockets look like deep hollows lit by faint candle flames inside a skull.
His body was severely emaciated. Just days ago, the yellow tunic had fit him perfectly, but now it looked like a burlap sack draped over a post.
Tyrion hadn't wanted to attend the party. He was still recovering from illness and just wanted to lie in bed and rest.
But the Dragon Queen had requested he make a public appearance as proof that a cure for greyscale had been found—so the people of the city could be completely reassured.
Thus, Tyrion wore the yellow tunic on his upper body, and only shorts below. With one tug, he could raise the waistband to show the fading grey blotches on his thigh.
Yes, he had already displayed his reed-like legs to many guests like some kind of exhibit.
"This isn't exactly undermining her. She promised to support my claim to the Iron Throne. Sooner or later, House Hightower and House Celtigar will swear loyalty to me.
Besides, I know my aunt well. She's kind and generous, and though she's strict with me, she's never harsh.
If she were a paranoid monarch like my grandfather, I promise—I'd be more docile than a quail," Aegon said.
"Perhaps," Tyrion shrugged, "but she also said that no matter who sits the Iron Throne, Dragonstone is her domain."
Aegon nodded. "Of course. The Stormlands, Riverlands, and the North have no current rulers. The Tyrells in the Reach and the Lannisters in the Westerlands may yet fall—one or even both.
Soon, vast territories in the Seven Kingdoms will be leaderless. As long as her descendants swear eternal fealty to me, giving her Dragonstone—maybe even one or two more domains—is no big deal."
"How generous of you!" Tyrion rolled his skeletal eyes sarcastically.
Aegon lifted his chin and looked down at the dwarf proudly. "Imp, if you prove yourself capable enough, maybe I'll be generous enough to grant you Casterly Rock."
"Sorry, I serve the Dragon Queen now—though I'm not too fond of the title 'Wildfire General,'" Tyrion said with a shake of his head.
Seeing Aegon about to flare up, he quickly added, "Young Prince, you misunderstand. A vassal's vassal is not a king's vassal. Even if Her Majesty's heir swears fealty to you, we remain loyal to them."
"I know! But there's nothing I can do! I need my own power base. I can't just keep freeloading off my aunt forever," Aegon growled through gritted teeth.
"Your aunt is far too dominant. She could be your ally at most—but never your subordinate. Her vassals, naturally, won't be yours either.
But you have another relative—powerful, yet not overbearing. Especially under the shadow of your awe-inspiring aunt.
Use power to harness power. Leverage her prestige to subdue and win him over," Tyrion said with a shrug, casually.
"Who?" Aegon asked urgently.
Just then, an Unsullied entered the garden in a hurry, knelt before Daenerys, and said, "Your Grace, a seafaring vessel has broken past warnings and entered the harbor. The one leading it claims to be Ser Quentyn Martell."
"Uh... speak of the devil." Tyrion was dumbfounded.
(End of Chapter)
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