Pre-Chapter A/N:Another chapter on time? Guess my lock-in is going pretty well. If you haven't already, I recommend turning on notifications for my stuff so you can see when new stuff drops right as it drops. More chapters on my patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)— same username as here and link in bio. Since I just started a new story, there's a cheeky discount on said patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga) page for anyone interested.
"Being called wiser than a Prince of the Blood is a high compliment. Thank you, High Septon," I said as I walked deeper into the room. "Room" was a misnomer; the place was massive. It was probably more comparable to the throne room of the Iron Throne than any office I had ever seen. The trend of candles continued here. How much was spent in keeping this single old man living a life of luxury, I wondered.
"Indeed. Now, what brings a patron of the faith such as yourself here to me? A letter would have sufficed; there was no need to make the journey," he said.
"I ride a dragon. Journeys are not so difficult with such options open," I said.
"And personal presence will make it easier to deliver whatever threats you need to deliver if you do not get your way," he said. I coughed.
"I would do nothing of the sort, Your Holiness," I said, a bit taken aback. Why the hell was this man being so blunt?
"When you sent the first tithe we received from House Velaryon in your House's history, I was shocked. I assumed it a single payment for forgiveness for some great sin that you could not commit to paper when I asked, and so I prayed for forgiveness for you. When the Mother who is merciful granted it, I turned my attention to other things. Only for the next month, a similar contribution made its way to our coffers. And then month after month, the gold kept flowing. I knew you wanted something, and I knew it would be something I would be opposed to granting, so I watched and waited. Have you come to finally make the request?"
"I have been building a sept on Bloodstone for the past year and a few moons now. These are the designs," I said, pulling the parchment containing the drawings out of my satchel—the messenger bag I wore at my side when I flew on Igneel—and handed it over to him. He accepted them eagerly and began leafing through them.
"Few know that I forged a chain in building at the Citadel," he said.
"I pride myself on knowing things," I said in reply.
"This is most impressive. If you build this, it will put the Starry Sept to shame. I am sure Lord Hightower will be most keen on finding some other means to assert his dominance and show his wealth," he said dryly.
"No 'ifs.' That is being built right now. Every material I list there is being used in the amounts I say. Those are not lies to impress you. I also intend for you to hold the first ceremony in the sept," I said.
"Another bribe. This one even larger. At this point, if you keep me waiting any further, I might pass away from the sheer anticipation," he said. I stilled my breath and decided to finally say it. The room was empty but for us. Now or never.
"The first ceremony is to be my wedding to Laena Velaryon," I said.
He froze. It was like staring at an aged statue as he stopped moving entirely for a few seconds, other than a slow blink. The small gestures he made with his hands while he spoke—the way he brought them together and danced with them against each other, steepling his fingers and letting one poke above the rest every few seconds to serve as an outlet for the movement in his head—all of it was gone.
"I see," he said first of all.
"That's all you'll say?" I asked.
"Do I need to utter my refusal? You are no Daemon Targaryen, for all the similarities the two of you might share where appearances are concerned. You know the edicts of the Seven. Incest is accursed before the gods," he said.
"For all except the House of the Dragon. Those who stand closer to the gods than any others. Unbothered by most diseases that plague humans and blessed with the power to ride dragons," I said.
"You speak of Exceptionalism? To me? I remember the darkest days of that cursed debate. I see them whenever I close my eyes. When the Sept was almost cleaved in two so your great-grandsire could see his ambition brought to fruition and allow his queer marriages between his children and the one between him and his sister to stand," he said.
"Is that the official position of the Sept? Is that what the King should be informed about?" I asked with a smirk building.
"No, no, of course not. Exceptionalism is good law. Such a shame that it does not apply to you," he said, not even appearing to be lying through his teeth.
"We'll be expanding that. I ride dragons just as well as any Targaryen, and I am unaffected by just as many diseases as the rest of my family. The same is true for Laena. I need you to publish an edict saying that Exceptionalism covers all who ride dragons, despite their last names. I will announce my marriage to my sister two moons after. And then you will make the journey to the Stepstones on a luxurious ship I will send for your personal use, and on your way back, you will return with enough gold to build a sept of your own," I said.
"You presume too much, Velaryon," he said in what was his best attempt at a strict tone, but I was beginning to lose my patience.
I stepped forward, done with standing like a supplicant, and took my seat in front of his, across the desk from him, and met his eyes.
"You have four sons in total. A good amount for most men, but as a Septon, that number ought to be zero. But it will soon be five. The former whore you impregnated now lives in Bloodstone," I said.
"I had wondered where she had gone," he said. I inclined my head.
"Is that it? Your attempt at blackmail? The fact that I have sons? What Septon has not sired a child or two? The Mother is infinite in her mercy and her light shines down upon us all," he continued.
"Laenor Velaryon, I am an old man. I care nothing for gold or silver, or for the threats of a boy playing at man. Do your worst. There is no wound you can inflict upon me that will matter. You can remove that blade at your waist and stab it through my neck and I would thank you for releasing me from this mortal coil," he said.
"Everyone cares about something. And someone like you, so close to death—what do you care about more than your legacy? Would you really risk everything I know coming to light? You would go down as one of the most scandalous High Septons in recent history," I posed.
He barked a laugh.
"Since Aegon's Conquest, maybe I would be the sixth or seventh worst. If we include the entire history of the Faith, then I would not even make it into the top twenty. But if I were to sanction such an expansion to the already blasphemous decree of Exceptionalism, then I would find myself spoken of in the same breath as ones like Alfyn and Barth. You see, when it comes to harm done to my legacy, they are incomparable conditions. So, use whatever information you think you have gathered as it pleases you and know that I will take whatever condemnation or reproach is to come my way with the happiness of knowing that it could be worse."
"What if I did something for your legacy to take it to the next level? As it stands, you will go down in history as just another High Septon. Nothing particularly good, nothing particularly bad. Middle of the road."
"There is a grace the gods give to the average," he said.
"And a greater grace to the exceptional," I said, feeling like it had to be done. This was going to be almost as expensive as the sept, I cursed to myself.
"Dedicating a sept, no matter how beautiful, is not going to make my legacy an exceptional one," he said.
"But leading the greatest renaissance in the Faith of the Seven since the Andals came to Westeros would," I said, and I took out my special copy of Barth's Unnatural History. I tossed it on the desk.
"Surely you are not offering me a chance to write a book about your queer beasts from the East," he said. I took a deep breath to stop myself from doing as he said earlier and putting Riptide through his neck. Oh, the things I would do to this man once I got the chance.
"Open it and tell me what you see," I said.
He made to say something else before seeming to think better of it and actually opening the book. He looked through it, going from page to page, and I watched as he began to realize just what he was holding—the first printed book Westeros had ever seen. The work of dozens of hours of my own effort in ideation and design, and hundreds of hours of work from a talented group of blacksmiths and carpenters in actual prototyping.
"How is this possible?" he asked.
"Through a new process that I have decided to name 'printing.' With this, a whole book can be copied dozens of times in a single day," I said.
"Dozens of times in one day? How many people would that take?" he asked.
"No more than three people who know what they are doing," I said, and it was clear just what I was offering here.
"And this process can be done for every book?" he asked.
"Even the Seven-Pointed Star," I confirmed.
"So this is your true offer."
"How many holy men and apprentices spend whole days copying the Star? How many do you produce in a moon? Ten? Twenty? How many of them do you have to toss because of errors or improper writing? This is dozens in a day with no mistakes, at a fraction of the cost. You could hand one to every smallfolk who comes to the sept for the same cost you spend on candles in a week," I said. I knew there was no need for me to do any additional selling. Because even though he had not said he was interested yet, the way he looked at the book told me all I needed to know. This was a man who realized that his legacy could be cemented in stone for generations if he was the High Septon who brought this about.
"Jaenelle Hightower is a beautiful young woman. The fairest lady in all the Reach. Tyrell, Tarly, Florent, Redwyne—all these houses have beautiful daughters with large dowries who will bear you many children in time. On your word, I could see you receive a betrothal with any single one of them," he said.
"There is only one woman I have any interest in, Your Holiness: Laena Velaryon. And you will be marrying her to me if you want this." I could see from his gaze that he was less than pleased, but then I could also see just how much he wanted the book—the books. A Seven-Pointed Star in every sept, at the very least, was work that would have taken a lifetime of concerted effort using their methods and never reached full completion. With my method, it would happen in a matter of moons.
"You will provide me with the device you used in making this, the plans to make more copies on our own, authorization to do so, and the expertise to begin work here," he said.
"Deal. You will spread your opinion that the Doctrine of Exceptionalism applies to dragonlords of all names and sorts," I said. He nodded, looking sullen but resigned. Good; that was how I liked them.
"When the notice is spread, you will receive your first printing press along with the necessary expertise and information for making others. Thousands of copies of the Seven-Pointed Star will be made under your reign, High Septon Aldric. I think that is worth letting a man marry the woman he wants," I said, rising from the seat.
"I expect your donations to the Faith will continue," he said as I made to leave.
"No. I don't think they will. The books will be all the donation you have from me. That and my silence. Let's ensure your legacy is only partially stained, shall we? I'll be waiting for you to make the preaching and then for you to inform the other septons. A moon after you do, you will receive your invitation to the largest wedding the realm has ever seen," I said, and I turned to leave, not giving him another look.
All the while I cursed myself mentally. It was worth it, yes, but why did I feel like I had overpaid? The printing press was supposed to be a trump card. Just like with glass, my initial goal had been to sell the printed books, not the printers themselves. But now that I was giving the information to the Faith, I had no illusions that the Citadel would not find itself privy to the same information as well.
"Please do not forget your book, young Lord." The old man seemed to find his voice as I made my way to the door. I was about halfway there, but considering the size of the chamber, that was still a fair bit of walking.
"Keep it. I can have another made in hours," I said, not wanting to make the walk back. It would ruin the whole dramatic exit thing I had going on here. Besides, I was right. We'd made dozens of copies of that one book as proof of concept; it might as well have been worth only the paper it was printed on at this point. I made it out of the chamber and found the man who had escorted me waiting there with his eyes closed. They snapped open at the sound of the door slamming shut behind me.
"My—my Lord," he stuttered.
"Let's be on our way, good fellow," I said, allowing him to lead me out of the sept.
Predictably, a crowd had formed. Not around Igneel like I had feared, but on both ends of the street. People in their dozens had come out to see the dragon, but none had actually dared to get close enough to him to be a nuisance. That was probably some good wisdom on their part. I looked back at the sept and came to a choice as I reached my oldest and best friend.
"We'll get out of this city soon. We just need to make one more stop," I said.
The scale of things in this world never ceased to amaze me. Looking at Oldtown should have been one of the first things I did when I set the intention in my mind to build a city of my own, because I had clearly been dreaming too small in my plans. King's Landing was a larger, more populous city for sure, and Spicetown was more beautiful, in my humble opinion, but Oldtown had a presence that none of them could compare to.
It wasn't just its unique geography—the Honeywine ran through the city, spanning both its banks and connected by bridges. It was some element of je ne sais quoi that gave the city this feeling that just being in it meant you should feel some sense of awe for the pleasure and experience.
Bloodtown would need to expand for it to compare with something like Oldtown in terms of scale, and I knew such expansions were unlikely to happen in my lifetime. It would just be my job to lay the seeds for the growth that would come when I was long dead and gone. My legacy.
And our mission now was to secure one facet of that. Igneel and I flew up the Honeywine and then landed at the gates of the Citadel, one of the city's main attractions. The sphinx statues seemed to gaze down on us from their raised platforms on either side of the massive gates that lay open, promising a world of knowledge within. It only took a few minutes for someone to come running down to speak with us. The stragglers that milled around the gates gave us a wide berth, but they kept watchful eyes. Every person with an information network worth anything was going to know about my visit to the city for sure.
"My Lord," he said with a bow. I noted the acolyte's robes he wore. Clean, but not well looked after. The threads were coming loose in places. Either he took terrible care of his property or he didn't have the money to replace worn clothing. The latter was more likely, considering he didn't seem the careless sort. Not in the way he bowed slowly to ensure he got it perfectly at the right depth and angle, or the way he spoke, or even just the general cleanliness of him. A sloppy man would bother with none of those.
"Take me to the Archmaester in charge of learning. I mean to speak with him," I said, sliding down from Igneel's back.
A/N: One more chapter in Oldtown and then we get back to moving, moving, and moving. Next five chapters up on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga) (same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early. Started a new story, so there's a discount for the rest of the month on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga): feel free to check that out as well.