Chapter 40

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The din of the crowd disappeared as the doors of the Great Sept closed behind me. The rest of my knights stayed back at the sept's entrance forming a cordon of plated men that disencouraged anyone to get in… or out. Only Ser Jaime and Ser Lyle walked the crystal halls with me.

Say what you will about the Targaryens and the Faith, but the sept in honor of Baelor the Blessed was a masterpiece. The floor and walls were white marble with golden veins running across the stone, and great windows lined the corridors with colored glass, forming a spectacle of lights as the sunshine broke through the panes.

We crossed the entrance hall in silence, only stopping when we spotted the two men standing guard in front of the double doors to enter the sept proper. I didn't know if they were septons or not, but they didn't look to be armed.

Ser Jaime stepped forward. "Stand aside for your king," he said from beneath his helm. Even without a hand, I wouldn't bet against the Kingslayer when swords came out.

The septons, or whatever they were, stood unmoved. "No one can enter the sept while the council is in section," the one on the right said. To his credit, his voice only wavered a bit.

Jaime's good hand moved to the hilt of his sword, and I heard Ser Lyle muttering, "Finally some fucking action."

As always in this world, I was the voice of reason. I raised a conciliatory hand, and my knights stopped in their tracks. I sent the septons a patient smile and approached the one who spoke, stopping well in his personal space. He was the older of the two men, but he couldn't be more than thirty. A drop of sweat was running down his cheek.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"I… uhm, it's Clay, Your Grace."

"Clay, uh." I nodded, slowly. "You will want to step aside, son," I said.

The man swallowed. "Your Grace, I—"

"Good man." Patting him on the shoulders, I gestured with my head to the doors. The septon was still trying to say no when Ser Lyle spread the doors open like a whore's legs and I stepped inside.

The meeting of the Most Devout happened beneath the great crystal dome of the sept—under the light and auspice of the seven gods. A table had been set in between the seven altars from where the statues of the gods rose, so they could judge the holy as they did the laymen, and punish the corrupt in their ranks.

They'd been doing a shit job so far.

There were seven of them sitting on the round table, three septas and four septons. They only noticed me when my steps started echoing on the marble. "Please, don't stop on my account," I told them, smiling. "I'm just here to cross the final t's and dot a few i's on some problems we've been having."

"What is this?" a man in rich robes said.

One crinkled old septa rose imperiously from her seat. "This meeting is off limits, even for kings," she screeched.

I kept my lazy smile on. Holy men and women liked to think they shone bright against the darkness of the world, and that the rest of us couldn't see a foot ahead of ourselves without their light.

I'd killed people like that my entire life.

"My apologies, then," I said easily. "I was kindly let in by one of your men, your holinesses. He said his name was Pate. You should consider a harsh penance for that. Now that I'm here, however, I believe we have some topics to discuss."

Before the noisiest devouts could start whining again, one of them raised a hand. "Brothers, sisters," he said. He had kindness written all over the lines of his wizened face, like a grandfather you could trust your life and secrets with. Naturally, I didn't. "I believe we can… accommodate His Grace for now, no?"

There were grumbles around the table, but deep down they must have known the hole they'd dug themselves into, and it quickly settled down.

"Thank you, good septon." By then, Ser Lyle had come back with a chair for me to sit, and I squeezed in beside the holiest of the Faith. "Now then, I'm sure we are all busy men and women here, so I'll be brief. First, the good. I understand the Crown has been borrowing from the Faith for years and has, sadly, been unable to make payments. I am here to correct that."

"The Crown will pay the seven hundred and fifty thousand gold it owes?" the lying grandfather asked.

"Of course, your holiness," I said, then leaned back against the padded chair. "As soon as the Faith pays for the damage it has been causing around the city, that is."

"What damage?" a septa asked, with the worst nasal tone to her voice I'd ever heard. If the gods were real, they wouldn't have made her with a voice like that. Or they just didn't love her.

"There has been no damage, Your Grace," another septa said.

"I'm talking of the sparrows, of course. They've been beating people on the streets, destroying alehouses and taverns, breaking up congregations like armed thugs. Truly, a horrible thing the Faith has been doing." I shook my head and sighed. "This brings me no joy. But you have heard the people outside, no? They cry over this injustice, my friends. And I am their king. I will see it corrected." I glanced at my kingsguard knights, men of violence and death, then turned back. "Whatever the cost."

The message was as clear as it gets.

Silence fell over the septons like a shroud. Once, they could've wrapped themselves in a cloak of holiness and good-doing and say that any who dare strike them would be punished by the gods, even the king. That idea goes out the window really quick when the king is a known demonslayer. How could he have done that if not with the blessing of the gods? In a religion that denounced magic, they couldn't say the shadow-demon was blood magic, nor that I had a magic sword.

It was the grandfather who broke the quiet first. "Your Grace… I assure you, that was no doing of ours. The Faith has absolutely no affiliation with those brutes."

"I believe you, your holiness. From the bottom of my heart. But you'll be hard-pressed to convince the people of that, especially after the High Septon was dragged out of a brothel like the lowest scoundrel in the Kingdoms. The Faith reeks of corruption, and as the Defender of the Faith, if falls unto me to see it… healed."

That had been the last straw. I was going to ask Bronn to do as the Sparrows did in the show and take the High Septon from Littlefinger's brothel so the masses could see him as the faithless sinner that he was; but with how hated the Faith became within the city given the fake sparrow's attacks, the people went and did it for me.

"How… how do you propose we go about… healing the Faith, Your Grace?" the septon to my right asked. He was pudgy and sweaty as a pig.

"The Faith will elect another High Septon, one who isn't as predisposed to cavort with whores as the last one, and he will publicly name me the champion of the gods. I will, in turn, denounce the Sparrows as the faithless scum they are, assuring the people of King's Landing the Faith has no connection with them."

"Preposterous," the nasal-voiced septa said.

"Even for Baelor the Blessed the Faith didn't go as far as to name him champion of the gods," another said.

"I wasn't done, septons." I cleared my throat. "For the damage done to the citizens of King's Landing—my subjects, the debt the Crown owes will be halved, and with the three hundred and seventy five thousand gold dragons paid, you will build—in my name—ten new orphanages and five new establishments where food will be distributed to the poor." Giving jobs for builders, food to the people, and a whole bunch of credit to my name.

"Oh, and one other thing," I said. "You will add another topic to your sermons from now on. And I want it heard across every sept in the Seven Kingdoms. From White Harbor to Dorne; from the burned down husks of the Riverlands to this very sept we sit."

There was anger all around the table, but it was an impotent thing. The grandfather septon sighed. "What would that be, Your Grace?"

I smiled at him. The helplessness on their faces was as fine to my senses as summer wine. "Nothing but the truth, I assure you. You will tell the people what is happening in the east; how the mad girl Daenerys Targaryen pillages cities to the ground, how she nails people to crosses and leaves them to feed the crows, how she burns those who offend her in her dark palace, just like her insane father did. Like all Targaryens are wont to do. Not one of them is loved by the Gods." I stood from the chair and turned to leave. "I expect the High Septon to be elected within the week, your holinesses. I am soon to be married, and I'd hate to have to officiate my own wedding."

Inside, I was dying to pull the rug out from under these fools, put a crystal crown on my head, and declare myself the new leader of this wannabe church, bringing Crown and Faith under my thumb. But if there was one cause that men—many men—were willing to fight and die for, is their faith and their gods, and I didn't need another war against rebelling houses to add on to my list of responsibilities.

Perhaps after I was done with the pretenders and the white walkers.

Before I took the last step out of the raised dais the table was on, I remembered something of my childhood in that other world. The first man I'd killed, and why I did it.

Stopping, I swivelled on the balls of my feet to face the Most Devout. "Oh, and I want septas taking care of the children in those orphanages. Septas only, your holinesses." I turned back around and kept walking away. "I will be checking."