Chapter 486: Undercurrents
The setting sun, blood-red as if stained by war, cast golden rays across the horizon, shrouding the land in a faint crimson glow.
Knock, knock, knock—
The urgent pounding on the door broke the silence, resembling a drumbeat heralding doom.
The High Septon jolted out of his deep contemplation. Hastily smoothing his disheveled robes and suppressing the fear on his face, he stood and opened the door.
"Your Grace, something terrible has happened! The Warrior Son's and the Poor Fellows have clashed with the City Watch!"
"I know," the High Septon said calmly. "Summon the Most Devout. We must discuss this."
"Yes, Your Grace. Should we send someone to the Red Keep to meet with the King and avoid further misunderstanding?"
"That won't be necessary. I will explain everything to His Majesty."
"Understood." The Priest bowed and left.
What he didn't know was that the High Septon's apparent composure did not stem from confidence but from foresight. He had anticipated this clash.
The Warrior Son's and Poor Fellows had been formed too hastily, swelling with recruits of questionable loyalty and uncertain motives.
How many among them truly served the King? And how many were fanatics loyal only to their faith?
The High Septon dared not guess.
Was this conflict merely a spontaneous outburst of religious zeal, or was it deliberately provoked by unseen hands? He could not be sure.
The matter was urgent, and the seven Most Devout arrived swiftly. Within the Faith, their positions were second only to the High Septon himself.
"We must stop those crazed zealots immediately!" one Devout exclaimed the moment he entered. "We cannot stand against Caesar. He has 200,000 troops outside the city. He could crush our forces like ants."
"You underestimate the Faith's power!" another argued. "Yes, the Warrior Son's have only a little over a hundred members, and the Order of the Star barely numbers two or three thousand. But remember: the Seven have millions of devout followers across Westeros! They will not stand idle if Caesar desecrates the Faith."
"What desecration? What proof do we have that the King had anything to do with the previous High Septon's death?"
"If not him, then who? Are you suggesting the High Septon spontaneously combusted?"
"Witchcraft! Foul fire magic! That must be it!"
"If so, why did the Seven not strike Caesar down with divine wrath for such a sacrilege committed within the Great Sept itself?"
"The Seven demand justice through our hands! The Holy Sword Knights and the Order of the Star are their chosen instruments!"
"Ha! And these 'divine instruments' are so few in number? Tell me, how exactly do they plan to defeat Caesar's army?"
"There are devout knights in Caesar's army too. Every knight has sworn oaths before the statues of the Seven. Caesar appears powerful, but his strength is an illusion."
"And let us not forget the northern lords—they may not truly be loyal to him."
…
As the Most Devouts argued fervently, the High Septon himself remained silent, observing the room with a detached calm.
He noted with unease that the more militant voices overwhelmingly outnumbered those advocating caution. Only two Devout opposed the idea of confrontation with the Red Keep.
The rest spoke passionately of avenging the previous High Septon, some so fervently that even the High Septon himself momentarily wondered if their faith truly had the power to challenge Caesar.
But then he recalled those golden eyes, radiant and terrifying, and regained his composure.
"Do you all wish to end up as ashes like the last High Septon?" a voice cut through the room, chilling the air.
The room fell silent, the fiery arguments extinguished like a doused flame.
"We don't have to fight Caesar to the death," one Devout offered cautiously. "We only need to pressure him into concessions. If we do nothing in response to the previous High Septon's death, the Faith's reputation will be destroyed, and the believers will lose faith in us."
This suggestion gained traction.
"Exactly. Caesar is preoccupied with the northern threat. He won't want to escalate tensions with the Faith. If we exercise restraint, he will likely make concessions."
"Do not forget the potential of the Faith Militant. Though small now, their numbers could grow exponentially. Caesar needs their strength; he'll be willing to compromise."
"Yes, we should ensure Caesar hears the anger of the Seven's people."
"Let him feel the righteous fury of the devout!"
"Indeed!"
…
"What do you think, Your Grace?" The Most Devouts turned to the High Septon, awaiting his decision.
The High Septon steadied himself, scanning each of their faces and absorbing their expressions. Finally, he spoke:
"The dignity of the Seven cannot be challenged."
The room fell silent. Some Devouts looked elated, while others appeared deeply uneasy.
But all understood: the High Septon had decided to oppose the King.
A storm was brewing, and bloodshed seemed inevitable.
The High Septon spoke again:
"Summon the faithful. I will deliver the Seven's divine will."
Divine will?
The Most Devout exchanged uneasy glances. The High Septon's words hinted at a course far more intense than they had anticipated.
But as the Seven's earthly voice had spoken, they had no choice but to suppress their doubts.
"As you command."
Once the Most Devouts departed, the High Septon turned and glanced at the wardrobe in the corner of the room.
He knew that behind the thin wooden panel, an ear listened and eyes observed, recording everything that had transpired.
He silently mourned for the fools who could not see the inevitable.
Since witnessing the previous High Septon's fiery death under the Seven's supposed gaze, the High Septon had known Caesar was not someone they could oppose.
---
The sun finally sank below the horizon, and darkness blanketed the land.
But this night in King's Landing was far from peaceful.
Although the conflict between the religious forces and the capital's garrison has stopped, anyone with a discerning eye can see that this is only a temporary calm. Not only has the conflict between the two sides not eased, but it has continued to accumulate, waiting for the next outbreak.
More and more enraged devotees flooded Visenya's Hill, determined to wait through the night to hear the High Septon's proclamation of the Seven's will.
The square before the Great Sept of Baelor glowed with countless candles as the faithful mourned the recently deceased High Septon.
Even in death, the former High Septon, the "High Sparrow," remained a symbol of hope for the downtrodden. His humble origins and tireless efforts for the poor had left an indelible mark on the people's hearts.
Meanwhile, messengers flitted across the city like shadows, exchanging whispers and weaving plots.
Through it all, the Red Keep maintained an eerie silence.
The King sent no envoys to address the earlier clash, nor did the massive army outside the city make any moves.
There is actually a turbulent undercurrent hidden beneath this eerie calm. Smart people are well aware of it and choose to stay out of it, but there are also many fools who are colluding and calculating, hoping to fish in troubled waters.
The night is dark and the moonlight is cold, quietly hiding all ambitions and worries, waiting for the answer to be revealed only after dawn.
By dawn, the storm would break.
(End of Chapter)