Chapter 69 — Prayer
"Merciful Mother…
Your humble servant begs for Your blessing.
Please watch over the children of this city—
children crushed by the greed of the powerful,
children forced to suffer beneath the weight of war…
O gentle Mother, please…"
…
With the staff in his hand, a long prayer echoed faintly in Charles's ears.
The voice sounded like that of an elderly man—
yet no matter how he turned his head, there was no one in sight.
The sound seemed to exist out of nowhere, like a hallucination.
And yet, Charles knew it wasn't.
Because the moment he loosened his grip on the staff, the voice vanished.
And when he grasped it again, the sound returned—
flowing in from every direction…
Exactly like the divine voice he had heard earlier.
Only this time—
It was not the voice of a god.
It was the voice of mortals praying.
…
"May the Warrior grant the children courage.
May they face harm and hardship without fear.
May they endure…
May they survive…"
…
Leaving the Dragonpit behind, Charles walked swiftly through the streets.
The voices of prayer swirled around him, layer upon layer.
And deep within his heart, a strange pull was forming.
He should have been unfamiliar with this city—
And yet…
It felt as though he had lived here for years.
Guided by something unseen, he passed through Flour Street, crossed rows of shops and homes, slipped past crowds of strangers, and soon wandered into Flea Bottom.
Twisting alleys.
Dirty doorways.
Crowded poverty.
At last, his pace slowed.
…
"O Maiden, protect the fragile blossoms of this city.
Shield them from defilement…
Preserve their purity…
Spare them from the cruelty of fate…
May they grow to carry tomorrow within them…"
…
The streets beneath his feet were soaked in filth.
The air stank worse than anywhere else in King's Landing.
In one corner, a pigpen stood beside a shop selling brown stew.
This was no mere slum.
It was chaos made architecture.
A maze of poorly built yellow-clay dwellings, some one story high, others two—none rising beyond three.
Alleys twisted and bent at impossible angles, forming a labyrinth for the desperate to survive in.
…
"O Crone, lend Your wisdom to those who stumble in darkness.
Please guide us to the path of light…"
…
Nothing here followed reason or design.
Even Ser Plummer—who had spent years in King's Landing—was now hopelessly lost.
He kept glancing nervously at a guard born in Flea Bottom, asking for direction.
But Charles—
Who didn't belong here—
Walked with uncanny certainty.
Drawn forward by something only he could hear.
…
"O Smith, bless those of good heart.
Grant them strength, and the will to endure…"
…
"My lord… where exactly are we going?" Ser Plummer finally asked, noticing how quickly Charles's steps were becoming.
No answer.
Charles walked on, deaf to the world.
Or rather—
his mind fully consumed elsewhere.
Ser Plummer frowned.
Did he not hear me?
Just as he prepared to ask again—
Charles stopped dead.
So abruptly that the knight almost ran straight into him.
Barely regaining balance, Plummer wiped sweat from his brow.
Then he examined their surroundings.
Nothing stood out.
Narrow alleys.
Filthy air.
Mud-soaked ground.
Only…
this small patch of earth looked oddly dry—
As though someone had deliberately cleaned and maintained it.
"The owner at least knows how to keep things tidy…"
Plummer muttered.
But just the same—
He had no idea why Charles had stopped here.
Nor what he was about to face.
To everyone else, this place held nothing unusual.
But to Charles…it was entirely different.
Because the whispering prayers that had once sounded like hallucinations in his ears were now unmistakably real here.
…
"May the Stranger guide the faithful away from death…
May He bless the homeless and the lost…"
The aged voice drifting through the door was muffled and distant, nothing like the clear sound in his mind—
And yet the devotion within it was unmistakably genuine.
Charles listened quietly for a moment, then raised his hand and knocked.
The wooden door creaked open at once.
He paused in surprise, then stepped inside.
And instantly—
The muffled voice in his ears became clear and distinct.
Before him was a small, spotless courtyard.
Compared to the sewage-filled alley outside, this place was unbelievably clean and dry.
In the courtyard stood a group of people in gray robes, barefoot, faces bare.
They surrounded an elderly man dressed the same way—thin, bowed, kneeling on the ground in prayer.
Some mouthed the words silently.
Others clasped their hands reverently.
All were focused, all sincere.
The moment Charles entered—
Every motion stopped.
All eyes turned toward him.
Confusion came first.
Then caution.
And when they noticed the guards and his fine clothes—
Rejection flickered in their gazes.
Yet their discipline was evident.
Though wary, none acted rashly.
One middle-aged man in gray stepped forward carefully.
"My lords… is there something we can help you with?"
Charles gestured for Ser Plummer to handle him, while he himself approached the kneeling elder.
The group tensed.
Some edged closer.
Others held their breath, fearing this young stranger meant harm.
Yet no one spoke—
Unwilling to interrupt the old man's prayer.
…
"May the Father deliver righteous judgment…
May justice descend upon this city…
May He punish the murderers, the incestuous, and those who defy sacred law…"
The old man did not look up.
Whether he noticed the intrusion or not, he gave no sign.
Still kneeling, still praying, he behaved as if the world around him did not exist.
Charles waited quietly.
The staff in his hand—which had guided him here—
Had gone completely silent.
The strange pull in his chest was gone as well.
It had led him here.
And then left him behind.
So what, exactly, was special about this place?
Or…this man?
Why had the staff brought him here?
Why him?
And what, in the end, was this staff?
Charles suspected the old man might have an answer—
But he wasn't sure.
At last, the prayer ended.
The old man slowly lifted his head.
"Hello, young man… how may I help you?"
Gray hair.
Gray eyes.
A face mapped by wrinkles.
Eyes sharper than they appeared.
And yet…
Nothing else.
However carefully Charles studied him, he could find nothing extraordinary.
Even the Eye of True Sight confirmed it:
[A devout elderly priest, approximately 65–75 years old.]
[He is confused by your arrival.]
[He holds high status among the gray-robed followers.]
…
"Nothing."
After scanning the man one final time, Charles lowered his eyes to the staff in his hand.
"So this thing just leads people randomly?"
"That makes no sense…"
He frowned.
But before he could think further—
The old priest's eyes suddenly widened.
"You… I sense the Father's presence upon you," the old man said softly.
"Child… who are you?"
The Father?
Charles froze for a split second.
An odd sense of déjà vu washed over him.
And just like that—
The image of the red-robed woman flashed through his mind.
Another holy fanatic?
And he doesn't even know why I was brought here?
Annoyance flickered across Charles's expression.
And with that—
He turned and walked away.
Decisively.
If there was nothing supernatural here—
Then it was pointless.
For Charles, only power was worth his attention.
Everything else…
Was just trouble.
So he left.
Without hesitation.
The gray-robed elder broke his composure at once.
Rushing forward, he reached for Charles—
But was blocked instantly by the guards.
Some of the younger followers stepped in nervously, intending to help—
But the old man stopped them.
Then, clenching his fist, he shouted desperately after Charles:
"Child! Please—look around you!
Look at this decaying world!
Look at the suffering people outside!
They need you!"
It was a plea.
A cry for help.
But Charles did not even slow.
Instead, he walked faster—
And soon vanished from sight.
The old man stared after him, disappointment flashing briefly across his face.
Then—
He turned toward a man who had followed from the Dragonpit.
"That boy… who is he?"
The man swallowed.
"He's… the mage… no—
He's that wizard. The one from the legends."
The old priest gazed up at the dark clouds overhead.
"A wizard…" he murmured.
Then, shaking his head, he whispered—
"Nonsense.
"He could never be a wizard."