The next day.
The weather was bright and sunny.
Despite it being December, the climate in the Reach remained warm and pleasant, with no trace of the chill typical of the North.
Oldtown, Starry Sept.
A rumbling roar, like distant thunder, echoed for miles. Two massive black dragon wings loomed over the grand Sept.
At the same time, an orange-golden dragon flew in slowly, shimmering like gold under the sunlight.
Not long after, Glutton and Syrax descended.
"Come, give me your hand."
Rhaegar dismounted from the dragon and extended his hand to Rhaenyra, who held a swaddled infant in her arms.
Rhaenyra shot him a glance filled with prideful disdain but still extended her hand.
At this moment, crowds gathered both inside and outside the Starry Sept—preachers, septas, and faithful mingling together.
Out of the corner of his eye, Rhaegar caught sight of a pale, frail young man standing at the front of the congregation, dressed in lavish attire and holding a copy of the Seven-Pointed Star.
Surrounding him were several red-robed high septons.
It took only a glance for Rhaegar to recognize the man's identity—the current High Septon, Qyburn Flowers.
Rumor had it that Qyburn was a noble family's bastard who had won his position as High Septon through theological debates.
"Roooar!"
"Roooar..."
Just as Rhaegar descended with Rhaenyra and the infant, two distinct dragon roars echoed from the distant sky.
Turning his head, he saw Sunfyre flapping its pale pink wings furiously, its entire golden form gleaming brilliantly.
Sheepstealer playfully chased after Sunfyre, its sunken eyes glinting mischievously as it flaunted its lean form at every chance, seemingly showing off its beauty.
Rhaegar couldn't help but chuckle.
Wild dragons always carried something unique—a secret that allowed them to survive independently.
The two dragons landed slowly on the Sept's plaza, their riders dismounting.
Aegon sauntered over with dark circles under his eyes, exuding an air of lazy indifference.
Aemond, though younger, appeared more mature and composed.
Until his single eye fell upon the infant in Rhaegar's arms.
Aemond's eye widened in disbelief. "Is this...?"
Rhaegar straightened his back, clearing his throat with a light cough. "Your little nephew."
"Two at once?" Aemond scanned back and forth, almost not knowing where to look with just one eye.
Rhaegar's lips curved into a grin. "That's right."
"Congratulations, brother."
After a moment of processing, Aemond spoke awkwardly. "Can I take a look?"
After being apart for just half a month, he suddenly had two nephews. Life was truly full of surprises.
Rhaegar thumped his chest boldly. "Go ahead. But if they start crying, hand them back."
"Hmph!" Rhaenyra snorted disdainfully, her gaze contemptuous.
Big talk coming from a guy who once fought a baby over food.
Still, despite her annoyance, she didn't make a scene.
Rhaenyra unwrapped the swaddle and naturally handed the infant to Aemond.
Rhaegar did the same.
Aemond stood frozen, holding a baby in each arm, his expression unusually complex.
"Oooh~"
Little Aemond widened his eyes, gnawing on his hand while curiously staring at his uncle.
As if having seen enough, he even tried to grab Aemond's eyepatch.
Instinctively, Aemond tilted his head back to dodge, then chuckled at his own silliness.
When he looked at the two infants again, the unfamiliarity in his gaze had faded, replaced by a sense of familial closeness.
Rhaenyra spoke from the side. "His name is Aemon—very similar to yours."
The Targaryen family often derived similar names from "Aegon."
Aemond glanced at his elder sister, his expression unchanged as he muttered to himself, "They're my nephews. I'll take care of them."
Aegon, yawning sleepily, leaned over to join the fun, his tone mischievous. "Two adorable little things—let's see what we're working with here."
With that, he reached out to open the swaddle.
"Aegon, stop messing around!"
Aemond dodged swiftly, hurriedly returning the babies to Rhaenyra, scolding, "They're our nephews—you'll scare them."
Taking responsibility for his brother's children came naturally to him.
Aegon, having missed his chance, muttered in disappointment, "Tch, it was just a joke."
What's the big deal? He'd peeked at Aemond's bits when they were kids.
Why the fuss?
Aemond's face turned red as he recalled those humiliating childhood memories, angrily turning away from Aegon.
Having had his fill of the spectacle, Rhaegar changed the subject. "Alright, where's Lord Ormond? Has the Dornish raider problem been dealt with?"
Aegon shook his head lazily. "Ormond will be here soon. The old man keeps pestering me about when you're coming back."
Aemond refused to be outdone, reporting, "I burned two groups of Dornishmen with Sheepstealer. The remaining stragglers are in hiding. It'll take time to root them out."
"Understood."
Rhaegar nodded and began ascending the Starry Sept's steps.
Everything had been said.
It was time to resolve lingering issues.
As he reached halfway up the stairs, High Septon Qyburn, ignoring the protests of other high septons, walked straight toward him.
After just a few steps, beads of sweat formed on Qyburn's forehead, and he was already gasping for breath.
Rhaegar stopped, looking at him with amusement.
After avoiding him for seven days and nights, what tricks did he still have up his sleeve?
Qyburn's young face looked pale and weak as he hunched over respectfully. "Prince Rhaegar, I've been awaiting you for some time."
"Oh, waiting for me?"
Rhaegar chuckled in disbelief.
Did he not feel guilty saying something so insincere?
Qyburn stepped aside, clearing a path, and said wearily, "I sought guidance from the Seven, but unlike past High Septons, I did not receive any divine revelation. Still, I choose to believe in you, who claim to be the Messenger of the Gods."
"Are you sure that High Septon told the truth?"
Rhaegar smirked playfully, continuing up the stone steps.
If you mentioned the Old Gods or R'hllor, the Lord of Light, that might be somewhat believable.
Rhaegar had encountered it to some extent.
The Faith of the Seven had spread for thousands of years, yet no divine miracles had ever manifested. There were no walking representatives of the gods like the Children of the Forest or red-robed priestesses.
The so-called guidance of the Seven was difficult to believe.
Hearing this, Cobern's already pale face grew even more ashen. His posture hunched, making him look like an old man.
Faced with life and death, the Seven had given him no response.
This starkly contrasted with the experiences of previous High Septons throughout history.
Rhaegar had no interest in paying him any heed. As he walked past, the crowd instinctively stepped aside, making way for him as he entered the Great Sept.
Having visited Oldtown once before, he no longer regarded the Faith of the Seven or the Citadel with much significance.
They had no army. They had no power.
A single blast of dragonfire from the Devourer would silence all voices of defiance.
His true purpose in coming to Oldtown was the Hightower family.
More precisely, the two brothers—Mund and Otto.
---
As noon approached,
Mund, with his family sword strapped to his waist and an entourage of men, hurried to the Starry Sept.
As they drew near, four massive dragons lay crouched on the ground, their breathing exhaling waves of heat intense enough to cook raw meat.
Gulp.
Mund swallowed hard but forced himself to remain composed as he stepped inside the sept.
He couldn't afford to be afraid.
This was Oldtown—the Hightower family's domain.
Inside the grand hall of the sept,
Rhaegar and Aemond sat cross-legged on the floor, each cradling a swaddled infant in their arms.
Rhaenyra stood by the window, her back to the room, letting the wind blow through her hair.
Aegon, ever the troublemaker, had managed to slip into the group of septas, singling out a long-legged one to flirt with.
As soon as Mund entered, he was met with this scene.
His arrival also drew the attention of others in the hall.
Rhaegar lifted his gaze slightly, his expression indifferent as he sized him up.
Under Rhaegar's scrutiny, Mund felt a chill in his heart. Forcing himself to step forward, he bowed and said, "Prince, congratulations on the birth of your children."
Rhaegar gave a small nod in acknowledgment.
Rhaenyra approached quietly and said, "Give me the children. You can talk."
She took the two infants and, under the guidance of a septa, retreated into the inner chamber.
Aemond hesitated, clearly reluctant to part with the baby, but he said nothing and turned away in silence.
Aegon, on the other hand, looked utterly dejected, as if he'd suffered a great loss.
The septas were all gone.
Mund observed everything carefully, his hopes resting on his two grandnephews. He then turned slightly and introduced the man accompanying him.
"Prince, this is Dr. Fisher of the Citadel's Conclave. He has come specifically to pay his respects to you."
Mund spoke with great caution, gesturing toward a bald, overweight old man.
The balding old man had dull, lifeless eyes, his pale, sagging skin making him look almost sickly. Bowing, he said, "Prince, I represent—"
"How many members are there in the Conclave?"
Rhaegar interrupted, his gaze locking onto the man.
Mund hesitated for a moment, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.
The old man frowned slightly, displeased at being cut off, but suppressed his irritation and answered, "Traditionally, the Conclave is led by seven archmaesters. However, due to the rapid growth of the Citadel in recent years, there are now ten. I am honored to be one of them."
His response was deliberate, subtly implying the Citadel's prosperity in hopes that the prince would show leniency.
But Rhaegar wasn't buying it. His voice carried a note of disdain. "Ten archmaesters, yet they only sent one to meet me. Can you truly speak for the other nine?"
The old man was momentarily speechless before hesitantly replying, "I am their representative. If you have any requests, I will convey them on your behalf."
Clang!
The sound of a sword being unsheathed rang through the hall.
A dark flash streaked across the air.
A thin red line appeared on the old man's neck—followed by a sudden gush of blood.
Rhaegar shook his head slightly, his voice calm. "Sending just one messenger to meet me—do all public servants of the Citadel carry such arrogance?"
As he spoke, the old man's corpse collapsed with a thud, limbs twitching involuntarily.
The hall instantly fell into a frigid silence, as if an icy wind from the North had blown through.
Aegon raised an eyebrow in surprise and took a step back, arms crossed.
Aemond's single eye widened as he alternated glances between his brother and the fallen body.
Shock flickered across his face before slowly fading, replaced by the faintest hint of a smirk.
He admired his brother's decisiveness.
"Prince… he was an archmaester of the Citadel."
Mund was so stunned he nearly dropped his sword.
Rhaegar gave him a sidelong glance and asked, "So?"
Did the Citadel truly believe knowledge alone was power?
Their past offenses had yet to be accounted for.
Aemond's blood ran hot at the words, and he straightened his spine proudly.
Mund was at a loss for words, his right hand, which gripped his sword, trembling slightly.
From the shadows, High Septon Cobern stepped forward, silently instructing several Silent Sisters to remove the corpse. Closing his eyes in sorrow, he murmured a prayer for the deceased.
After a few minutes, he opened them again, holding out a parchment contract with both hands.
Rhaegar leaned back, hands resting on the floor, and gave Aemond a look.
Aemond immediately understood. He got up swiftly, took the parchment, and placed it in front of his brother.
Rhaegar's gaze flickered between Cobern and Mund as he carefully read through the contract.
"In the name of the High Septon, I hereby recognize the establishment of the New Faith as a branch of the Faith of the Seven. The Targaryen royal family shall have the authority to freely appoint and dismiss the High Septon. A revised version of the 'Seven-Pointed Star' shall be issued…"
Each clause stripped away power.
"The Targaryen royal family will serve as the protector of the New Faith and shall have the right to modify its doctrine. The Starry Sept shall not oppose these changes, and all interpretations of faith shall belong solely to the Iron Throne."
With every sentence, Cobern's frail body seemed to shrink further.
By the time he finished, he looked as though he had aged thirty years. If not for the support of those beside him, he might have collapsed.
The contract was nothing short of a declaration of dominion over the Faith of the Seven.
With a single clause, the Iron Throne had shattered the Faith's authority.
Rhaegar's gaze was as sharp as an eagle's as he said coolly, "Your Holiness, when the time comes for me to take a second wife, I trust you will personally officiate the ceremony."
Lifting his finger, he gestured toward the ceiling, his voice chilling.
"The ceremony will be held right here, in the Starry Sept, before the eyes of all your faithful."
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