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The Grind (Book 2) Ch.32
🕑 Added 2025-08-26 00:36:00 +0000 UTC— Speaker Shan —
“Perfect. Just perfect~…” A grin grew across his face.
He couldn’t stop himself, not in the face of this new development. Joyous opportunity, just what their cause needed. These sunset fools would be distracted now. They’d be watching closely, but in all the wrong places. And he would ensure they kept looking that way until it was much too late. This… This was a chance; all they needed to strike hard and fast and leave Oldtown reeling.
Since Shan was young, he’d been raised under the wisdom of the stars above. The faith of the void, the truest of followings, the truest of wisdoms. He was born to mortal parents, in mortal lands, and with a mortal future. But instead of resigning himself to that terribly defined fate, Shan looked to the stars and listened.
By the time he was merely 10, it became clear that that nameless little port on the coast of Yi Ti, grandest and most storied empire of all, had birthed a boy true to the void. His star-touched seniors sought him out and spirited him away to Yin, where the Azure Emperor now ruled, when they found him.
While the current emperors of Yi Ti were pale imitations of their former, star-touched glory, many citizens still held true to the Gemstone Emperors, Bloodstone greatest of them all. These true followers were shunned and hated by the general population under the false emperors of color. But behind closed doors, the so-called ‘Cult’ of Starry Wisdom was still given the respect and sway it was due.
It was in that faith and veneration of the stars that Shan was truly raised. And as he’d grown, he quickly rose through their terribly earth-tethered ranks. For he could hear starborn whispers, even before. Whispers of writhing, wonderful things. Whispers that made even the most skeptical of his fellows stop and listen when he spoke. Whispers that their Bloodstone Emperor himself must have heard.
He was hailed a herald. A speaker for the stars above. His own star rose and rose, a brilliantly shining thing. Beneath the void and by the light of the stars, he spread the starborn whispers he heard. From commoners to landowners to the cream of the imperial examination system’s crop, Shan swayed his people with the truths their Color Emperors didn’t want them to know.
Then, mere years ago, the whispers from the stars changed… They roared with triumph, a foot in the earthly door. Then, they quieted. They bided their time with subtle grace. Soon enough, none could deny their wisdom. Not even the latest, the weakest, of the Azure Emperors, though he certainly tried.
In that time of surging victory… Shan listened for his purpose. He heard it in a minor shower of stars, falling westward over Yi Ti. Of course, Faithful Speaker Shan followed. He gathered a host, sailed west, and was almost sad when his time at sea, following only the stars, came to a close. Still, he disembarked at the edge of the world, these unenlightened sunset kingdoms.
What an awful existence, to have only trees and gods of men for their spiritual needs… Thus, Shan arrived with purpose. He would ensure the wisdom from beyond the stars was heard, undeniably so. And he quickly learned he was not the only missionary called westward…
Others came, some Shadows, some Children. Shan found some of them surprisingly agreeable. The Shadows, at least. They were sisters of the void, even if they didn’t look to the stars. Their holy and damned Asshai was somewhere he wished to visit at some point.
The Children of the Black Goat, however…? They were a difficult faith, spawned from the lowest of stardust. They had a common goal and perhaps a common background, that was about all Shan could say about them. And only that was what made Shan willing to tolerate working with them.
Still, the three faiths joined hands; speakers for the stars, sisters of shadow and void, and children of the Black Goat. Together, in Oldtown, they worked toward something great. They’d all been called to that oldest of Westerosi cities for a reason. A wonderful, writhing reason suppressed beneath a tower that reached for the very stars it once claimed. Starbeast, shadow, kin to the Black Goat, and they would set it free…
The barbarians with their gods of tree and man were nonethewiser to their grand work. Too caught up in their own issues to put up any resistance. Learned men warred, faithful men debated, and beneath the cover of glorious night, Shan led the allied efforts, all true followers to some degree or another.
That damned Hightower, with its connection to the Dawn, was their greatest threat. But even the burning old man at its pinnacle could only do so much when they were cloaked from his sight by star and shadow.
They gathered sacrifices and swords and so much more for their noble cause, shepherding the sheep of the city to the shape of their needs. Terror reigned in the night, and the day left no one to look for them. Shan was even glad when they were cut off from the rest of the world. Now, there was only one way forward, or awaiting death otherwise, for the sake of the stars.
Their time was almost at hand. So the new distraction was a welcome sight. On intriguing screens of magical light across the city, a show now played out. The leading learned men were killing each other off for all to see. Potentially worrying opponents, eliminating themselves, as they should. Shan cared little for their actual struggle, just the opportunity it granted his speakers and shadows and children.
The bulldog of a man ripped his archmaesterly peers apart as Shan watched, his grin still growing. Beside him, Ninia clung to his arm for their cover in the terrible light of day, looking so much like a foreign but harmless couple. Like all lies, there was some truth to it.
“Oh, dear, what has this storied city come to?” Ninia asked, feigning concern well.
Shan could admit to finding this particular shadow intriguing…
No, not just intriguing. He was infatuated. Shadowsister Ninia was a glorious specimen of the void to rival his splendidly shining stars. Deathly pale skin to contrast with her shadows. A body of scandalous mortal sin and a spirit to match. When she did the work of void and stars, she wore a crown of silver and pearl over her eyes like a mask, and her robes with their flowing slits never failed to stir…
“These are interesting times we live in, none can deny,” Shan chuckled in reply. “A saying from my homeland, and our time in Oldtown has lived up to its truth rather well.”
Ninia made a show of sighing for any potential witnesses, leaning her head against his shoulder so they could whisper with some privacy, “How does this change things?”
“A chance,” Shan answered. “One I will not pass up. The ritual will go forward now. And it will work. Tonight’s darkness will come long before the sunset. Then, we shall act and put these wicked wardens to siege.”
They continued walking as if there was nothing wrong with the world. Ninia asked, “And what of Child Aris and his dreadful kin? They have been useful, but frustrating. They aren’t of the true east. Not like us. I cannot stomach trusting them with something so important as victory.”
“Starspawned fodder,” Shan made a show of waving and laughing like a lovestruck young man would. “Thinking themselves so valuable for little actual reason. Their Formless Mother can afford to lose more than a few of her many, many children. Rest assured, only starspeakers and shadowsisters of worthy effort and faith will remain to wake that awesome wisdom.”
Ninia nodded, “As the shadows have shown. You continue to prove yourself true to their visions, my lovely, lovely herald. The stars choose their speakers well, reflecting even the void.”
“It is all written there if one knows where and how to read,” Shan smirked. “The children beside us are too tied to the earth to see it. Yet another reason to cut them out, when their Mother has abandoned the very stars that birthed her.”
They walked on, both in silent agreement about the waning usefulness of the Black Goat and her children. The damned kids should be thankful for even lasting this long beside true believers, true followers of the firmament. Since the beginning, Shan was dismissive of the Black Goat’s mortal ‘children’. The Mother herself was worth something, as was anything born of the stars, but unfortunately, she didn’t pass that pedigree down to her faithful. They were merely adopted, not truly sprung from her starblessed loins.
Ensuring none followed, Shan led them through twisting cobbled streets to a dark haven in the back alleys. Even there, as he got to work spreading the orders, Ninia stayed by his side.
“It is time?” Shan heard that question again and again while distributing his word. It came in varying tones: excitement, anticipation, wariness, resignation… But all still carried out his will from the stars.
Soon… Their preparations marched closer and closer to readiness. To completion. To execution. Shan found himself barely able to wait. Soon… All of his effort would pay off. The quest that beckoned him to distant, barbarous lands would bear fruit. Soon… he would wake wisdom from the stars as the Bloodstone Emperor come again!
IIIII
— Atlas —
“Now to get the Faith onside…” I muttered to myself as the Citadel’s internal struggle rapidly approached its assured conclusion. “I already know that’s going to be much more tedious than… this…”
The Citadel Games were… Well, there were degrees to success. And this was certainly one of them.
Marwyn bashed Castos’s head against the ground with a slamming thud of overwhelming physical violence. With the other archmaester’s hatred and hypocrisy, I couldn’t bring myself to pity him much. He’d utterly broken the bloodline mages that fell under his fanatical sway. Otherwise promising young men that he’d twisted into nothing more than purging weapons of his hateful will. Then, of course, there was the fact that he gladly would’ve done the same to any of us if he had the chance.
Now, however, Sarella, the girls, and I had put his enforcers out of their misery. They’d been his sword, his shield, his shameful instruments of magical slaughter. But without them, Castos was nothing more than a hateful, violently jealous old man. Marwyn was making quick work of his peer with just his fists.
On the other side of the arena, the battle was more murky. For the other two warring archmaesters, some of their primary supporters and enforcers had been taken as ‘tribute’ alongside their masters. The self-absorbed arseholes didn’t try to plead their cases, however. They saw the Citadel Games as a way to win out and assert the control they sought over the rest of the Citadel. Which it was, in a very real way, but not for them.
With Hogwarts’ support, Tyrell and Hightower support, and even royal support through Prince Renly, Marwyn and his school’s victory was guaranteed. The rest of the Citadel had fucked things up too much for any other outcome to even be in the running. The other archmaesters’ attempts to change that were entirely futile.
The only reason Marwyn joined the actual games at all was to make a statement and release some justified frustration upon his peers. Really, he didn’t need to lift a finger. But even in their learned men, Westerosi respected strength and shows of power. His participation made his claim to the Citadel’s leadership unimpeachable. And, of course, it also helped things that Marwyn was, visibly and undeniably, the most dangerous man in that ring. That was a language the Westerosi spoke fluently…
On the other side of the arena from where Marwyn was obliterating Castos, the other two warring schools were desperately and pointlessly duking it out. It was a brutal thing. But we didn’t really have time for more reasonable solutions.
At least this way, the city got a sense of justice. The warring schools had all but torn Oldtown apart in many ways. They had little care for who got caught in the crossfire and were entirely too self-absorbed to limit themselves to just the Citadel. Now, with the magical screens we had up throughout busy areas of the city and Citadel itself, people watched those most responsible for the chaos meet their well-earned ends.
And we had front row seats, with the others successfully returning from their tasks outside the Citadel. Well, Hermione had gone off a (completely justified) tangent to organize the Citadel’s library and taken Sarella along to help her. Good thing, too. Sarella had looked torn between joining Marwyn in the ring and not wanting to boil everyone alive from the inside out in an instant before that. Her bloodline magic was potent, to be sure, but also rather brutal in its function.
Still, with Hermione so determined, I was sure they’d make short work of the library. I could certainly understand the determination, too. A library, without any form of organization? That was a nightmare in the making. I’d let her do that and call her back when we were ready to move on to the Faith.
“Albus? Any ideas for swaying the Faith?” I asked.
“Hmm. Will we even need to?” Dumbledore asked back. “They weren’t embroiled in such violence, last I checked. Perhaps we can just talk through the issue.”
“Yes, that’s what I’m worried about,” I sighed. “Talking is a reasonable solution, but a slow one. Will we find the time?”
“We’ll have to,” Willas said. “Doing… this… with the Faith won’t make us many friends.”
Margaery nodded in agreement with her brother, “The people are much more fondly inclined to the Faith, what with them defending some of the city from the maesters’ war. Trying to force the issue won’t go in our favor.”
“There’s still all the nasty business at night to worry about, though,” Dora reminded.
“Maybe we can use that to our advantage in the negotiations or whatever?” Ron suggested.
Dumbledore nodded approvingly, “A common enemy will go a long way, my boy.”
“Just gotta convince ‘em that common enemy is worth focusing on and putting their other issues aside for,” Heather said.
“It’s a start,” I shook my head. “Do we have any other levers to work with? Anything to pivot if the ‘common enemy’ angle doesn’t pan out?”
“Why, Magic, of course~!” Luna cheerfully chimed.
“That is the crux of their minor and not-so-minor schism, isn’t it?” Dumbledore considered.
“From what we know, at least,” I nodded. “There’s undoubtedly more to it beneath the surface. Pre-existing politics and whatnot. Grudges and rivalries and so on.”
Loras laughed, “Holy men like those of the Faith don’t give themselves over to such mortal, noble politicking!”
Almost everyone turned to look at him with raised brows. That statement was entirely too optimistic and naive for my liking. That might’ve been his view of things, but I knew it had to be far from the truth at play. Holy men were still human, and politics had always been involved in any organized religion I’d heard of.
“If only, my friend… If only…” Renly regretfully sighed.
“Brother…” Margaery said slowly. “What do you think the Most Devout does…?”
Loras blinked, “Read scripture? Preach? Organize charities and the like? It’s not as if they have land or marriages to feud over, isn’t it?”
Dora chuckled, “Oh, sweet summer child. That’s never stopped people from holding power and grasping for more.”
“The Most Devout do those things,” Willas allowed. “They should, at least. But reading scripture can lead to differing beliefs. Preaching can lead to individual influence. And benevolent works can lead to reputation and recognition. All qualities to covet or qualities that would birth a hierarchy to climb. And where there are differences in power, there will be some who want for more. How do you think the Most Devout become Most Devout?”
Loras cocked his head to one side, “By… being most devout…? They’re sworn Faithful, no? Their vows eschew all worldly ambitions.”
“Brother, Brother~…” Margaery gave him a comforting and slightly patronizing pat on the shoulder. “Grandmother would have many, many words for you. She might just keel over in disappointment. Or take you over her knee with a switch from the gardens.”
“I am a knight,” Loras scoffed. “I have no need of Grandmother’s petty maneuvering. It is for ruling lords and ladies, not noble sers.”
Willas stared for a moment in disbelief before he turned accusing eyes onto Renly, “What exactly have you been teaching my younger brother, Prince Renly?”
“Not enough, it seems,” Renly winced. “Perhaps he and I need to spend a good few months under your grandmother’s tutelage to rectify my failings.”
“That might be for the best, yes,” Willas deadpanned in reply.
I couldn’t help but be impressed by Renly. He was a political animal to his core, born and raised in the feudal game. Always on the lookout for his own benefit. Even when admitting fault for his former squire’s naivety, he arranged himself to learn from one of the best players in the game.
“I think we’ll just have to accept that there will be politics at play within the Faith,” I said. “Politics that we’ll be throwing ourselves into almost blindly. In which case, I’d like something solid on our side to shore up a lack of information.”
“You have the backing of House Tyrell, House Hightower, and the crown through Prince Renly,” Margaery pointed out.
Willas and Renly both nodded, “You do.”
“I’d even go so far as to say the crown is relying on Hogwarts’ expertise when it comes to Magic. On such a sensitive, important issue, any ruling I come to shall follow your lead,” Renly continued with an acknowledging nod.
“Technically, the Faith doesn’t answer to the crown, though,” Ginny said. “That’s what I’ve heard everyone saying, at least.”
“Technically is the key word there,” Renly smirked.
“Ah,” Ginny nodded. “An unspoken authority thing, then?”
“The Faith has little real power,” Renly stated confidently. “The High Septon and the rest will run where my brother points.”
“We won’t be dealing with the High Seption, though. The Starry Septon rules in Oldtown,” Willas cautioned.
Renly waved dismissively, “Regardless, my statement stands.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Dumbledore hummed. “Not least of all because of the changing landscape with Magic’s Return. Undoubtedly, they already held more power, more of a hold over society, than you’re giving them credit for. And with the magical miracles now at their disposal…?”
Renly’s brow furrowed, “… The Faith is still forbidden from men taking up arms.”
Dumbledore smirked slightly, “Ah, but they might not need to take up arms. Plenty of miracles work better with an empty hand, after all.”
“It’d be less ‘Warrior’s Sons’ and more ‘Father’s Faithful’ or something similar,” Margaery nodded cannily.
“But we can’t discount the good magical miracles can do, either,” I put in. “Siding entirely with the magic-abstaining faction of the Faith would be a disservice. Blasphemy to many, even.”
I was mostly dissuading the Prince from hastily picking that side on the issue. Hogwarts was naturally pro-magic in almost every situation but the very darkest. It was a part of the world that shouldn’t, couldn’t, be denied. Not that I thought Renly was particularly inclined that way in the first place, what with his own bloodline magic, but hypocrisy wasn’t a rare trait in royalty.
Banning miracles for the Faith, while still letting nobles practice their bloodline magics, sounded like just the thing that a feudal royal house would do. Feudalism and all… Securing noble power first and foremost and all… It would also be a dreadfully stupid ruling that would breed only dissent from both the Faith and the masses alike. Best to cut that seed of an idea off before it could sprout in his mind.
Thankfully, Renly gave a slow nod, “This… is a much more tense topic than I anticipated. I’ll have to bring it to Robert — or Ned Stark, more likely — for any proper royal closure. Until then, however, we just need the situation to stay stable.”
“Tell them to join hands and sing hymns together, got it,” Heather nodded with a touch of snark.
“Not so insulting to both sides of the debate, but essentially,” I agreed with an exasperated sigh. “Do we have any information on the Starry Septon to work off?”
“By all accounts I’ve heard, he’s a good, faithful man of charity and ‘stellar’ reputation,” Renly said, chuckling slightly. “Pardon the pun.”
“Grandmother calls him an indecisive, pandering people-pleaser with stained glass over his eyes that keeps him from reining in his Most Devout,” Margaery reported.
They said both of their pieces at almost the same time. Not quite contradicting each other, but closer than I would’ve liked for such important information. A good man, an indecisive one… A stellar reputation, a pandering one… Joy.
Dumbledore gave a good chortle, “It sounds like he made himself too likable to fail, and that unfortunately placed him in a position he’s unsuited for.”
“A good bloke, but not a leader,” Dora nodded. “Easy to see how this schism formed, then.”
I exhaled a weary breath, “It’s what we have to work with. We’ll manage somehow.”
“It could always be worse. Oh my, yes, much, much worse,” Dumbledore let out a good-natured, painfully unassuming laugh, and I just knew one of his uniquely unhinged anecdotes was about to follow…
“Why, he could be Fudge… Or that one elected leader who joined the ICW and turned out to be three house elves in a trenchcoat.
“Or the one that was a warlock passing herself off as a wizard with the backing of her very supportive, many-tentacled patron-house-husband.
“Or that one entirely pleasant and reasonable leader from a small slice of Hell who was unfortunately turned away from the ICW when I was overruled.
“Or the coalition of sentient wizard’s towers-…”
Through my morbid, likely ill-advised curiosity to hear more (it didn’t seem like Dumbledore was going to run out of anecdotes anytime soon), I cut him off, “… Thank you, Albus. Compared to your extensive experience with all manner of leaders, the Starry Septon doesn’t sound too bad at all.”
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled with amusement, “As I said~… it can always be worse.”
IIIII
“-And, and-! There were just loose scrolls! LOOSE! Stacked as high as they could manage! A fragile pyramid of precious, irreplaceable knowledge! The books that were bound had no semblance of order, none at all! One complete series had its volumes located on opposite sides of the library! There are ledgers, but, like, 15 of them! All overlapping and leaving out entries almost at random! It wasn’t just a nightmare, it was Hell!”
Hermione ranted through the entire trip to the Starry Sept. I empathized. I truly did. The Citadel’s library situation sounded traumatic as all get out. That the place functioned at all was a miracle the Faith would’ve been proud of.
“Damn that place! Damn it all! Look what it did to my beautiful bookworm!” Heather exclaimed teasingly. “It gave her neuroses!”
Hermione snorted a laugh, “I had those before, Heather.”
“At least you put that dump to rights,” Ginny laughed as well. “Don’t forget to send the Citadel the bill.”
“My work would bankrupt them,” Hermione deadpanned.
“It was very good work,” Sarella nodded. “Very impressive, especially with what little time we had to work with. Archmaester Marwyn? Could we invite her back for a more thorough organizing job?”
“It’s on my list, girl,” Marwyn grunted. “My long, long list…”
He’d come out of the Citadel Games without so much as a scratch on him. But none could dispute his new dominance over the Citadel and its order of maesters… Mostly because there was no one left to do so. His peers who remained were apparently content to leave the mess to Marwyn and focus on their own fields of study. Considering one was exploring magical healing and the other was exploring the magicks in astronomy, they’d likely be important disciplines going forward.
All of the other archmaesters were now… quite dead. From a leading Conclave of 21… to three. The majority were killed in the initial struggles when Castos, Nymos, and Ocley first made their ambitions known or soon after. Then, of course, those three all met their ends at Marwyn’s hamhands. Only him, Archmaester Ebrose, and Archmaester Vaellyn remained.
Without any other options, the rest of the Citadel was going to fall in line. Normality tended to reassert itself when there were no alternatives, and the largest school now stood as the proverbial kings of the hill. While we ventured to the Starry Sept to treat with the Faith, Marwyn’s people were securing the Citadel for good and meeting little opposition.
The worst offenders were now removed from the equation, but I expected there to be plenty of internal justice still to follow. Hopefully in the form of trials instead of organized dueling deathmatches… But Marwyn had set a bit of a precedent…
Regardless, the Citadel situation was as resolved as it was going to be for now. We turned our attention to the Faith. It wasn’t too long a trip from the Citadel to the Starry Sept. In fact, from the former, the latter could be seen clearly.
Externally, its architecture was fascinating and beautiful. A celebration of Gothic grandeur and detail, washed white like something from ancient Greece or Rome. The masonry on display was excellent. So many individual masterpieces in its carving and decor that a hundred master masons had to have made each their life’s work. It must’ve been the work of generations.
In silhouette, it was an ‘L’ set on its longest side. The lowest walls of the long initial vault still towered over its surroundings. Outstanding pillars framed the vault. Flying buttresses rose from the long, sloped, two-tiered, rectangular roof. Pointed arch windows of brilliant stained glass lined the vault as well. And at the end, a truly massive dome rose above it all.
Upon arrival, we entered into a busy scene. Men and women of the Faith bustled to and fro, all with tasks to see to. And there was a tension in the air. Not the violent kind like in the Citadel. More… quiet looks of disagreement between friends, polite professional discourse between colleagues, and no clear ruling from above. But they were all still brothers and sisters in faith. They were all still united by their Seven.
Our party was noticed quickly but only stopped after we entered the Starry Sept. The interior was even more impressive than the exterior, with the main vault’s high, high ceilings and intricate pillars and the sunlight filtering through so many colors of glass. A kind-looking young man approached us in that monument of design, skill, and effort.
“My lords,” He bowed. “I am Septon Maldan, greeter for the Seven in their most holy mortal demise. How may I help?”
Taking the lead, I spoke for our group, “House Tyrell, House Baratheon, and Hogwarts have need and reason to speak to the Starry Septon and the Most Devout.”
The young man’s kind smile grew strained, likely put in a situation he already didn’t like the look of, but not willing to back down from his duties, “Ah… Apologies, my lords. I’m afraid the Faith is currently in communion with itself. None may enter main chambers of the Starry Sept unless they’ve taken their vows. I simply cannot permit it.”
“Of course, I understand,” I replied with an accepting nod… Then, I forged ahead anyway.
I just… walked on past him, deeper into the sept. It wasn’t like he was going to stop visibly armed lords by himself. And he must’ve realized the same with how his mouth powerlessly opened and closed on a loop.
Dumbledore followed me immediately, a chuckle on his lips and a patronizing pat on the young septon’s shoulder that said, “You did your best, my boy”.
The others weren’t far behind us. No one else stood in the way of our progress, but they certainly stopped and stared. And they kept on staring as I politely barged into their starry sanctum with a flick of my wrist and wandless magic to clear the way.
Massive doors slammed open. The noise was accompanied by a series of gasps without and startled shouts within. Septons and septas and Most Devout were standing around in what was likely a heated debate. Quite effectively, we interrupted the Faith’s communion with itself and made ourselves the focus of the Starry Sept.
“Greetings!” I called out. “I’m Atlas Black, of the White Coven. These are my companions from Hogwarts. This is Willas Tyrell, Heir to Highgarden. And this is Renly Baratheon, Prince of the realm. We’ve come to join the conversation.”
“P-Preposterous!” A member of the Most Devout exclaimed. They were easy enough to identify by their cloth-of-silver vestments and crystalline laurel crowns. “You can’t just barge into the Starry Sanctum! You haven’t been invited, my lords! The Faith is currently in seclusion, and this is entirely against protocol and tradition! I’m afraid I must — simply must! — Ask you to leave, my lords!”
With a lazy, casually cracking roll of my neck, I shot him down completely, “No. This conversation you’re having in seclusion? We’re going to be a part of it from here on. House Tyrell and the Prince aren’t particularly happy with the division plaguing the Faith. And Hogwarts is here to advise.”
“Indeed,” Renly added. “We’re putting Oldtown to rights. This schism in the Faith is included in the issue at hand. A resolution must be reached here, my good men and good women.”
“Think of us as mediators and unbiased observers who can break your current stalemate,” Willas suggested in a way that invited no real disagreement.
A man with a crystal crown that weighed too heavily on his head stepped forward, chuckling awkwardly as he did, “That is agreeable, of course, my lords. I would not think to throw you out of our holy sanctum. But perhaps a moment of adjustment is needed? Please, let us be amiable and pleasant with each other. I am Theomore, Septon of the Starry Sept. You are welcome within these hallowed walls.”
If the Faithful were on edge before, Theomore’s interjection and introduction went a long way to soothing ruffled feathers. He was clearly a well-liked man. No one was willing to outright gainsay the Starry Septon. But I did note that the council of Most Devout seemed less happy with the mediation than the ‘lesser’ septons and septas present.
“Well met, Theomore,” Dumbledore smiled with charm and good nature. “Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts. Now, further introductions are most ideally done over beverages, don’t you think? Would you like some tea?”
Theomore blinked, “Tea…? Yes, I suppose I am rather parched… We’ve been at this debate all morning so far.”
“Wonderful!” Dumbledore clapped and summoned a whole tea table with the gesture. “Come, let us sit and sip, no?”
The tea table was illogically large, with enough space to seat everyone in the Starry Sanctum. And enough refreshments to serve everyone, too. The casually blatant show of magical power had the Most Devout bristling and the other Faithful murmuring with both excitement and wariness. Theomore was surprised, but that surprise quickly shifted to delight.
“Oh my! Isn’t that something?” He exclaimed. “Come, my brothers and sisters! Come partake with me!”
“How strange, to see the guests playing host,” An unassuming ‘mere’ septon said. He wore mundane clothes with no glitter or gold in sight. A preacher of the people…?
“There’s nothing wrong with sharing your gifts with new friends, is there~?” Dumbledore asked with a twinkle.
“With good company and good manners? No, none at all,” The septon shook his head.
Seats were taken at the massive table. There were enough for all of us and all of our ‘hosts’. With a wave of Dumbledore’s hand that did nothing to betray the effort it must’ve taken, the tea at the table began to pour itself.
Not wanting to be shown up so thoroughly, I stamped my Weirwood stave against the floor. Small biscuits and cakes appeared along the table. Nothing with any nutritional value, as was always the case with conjured food, but it was certainly good enough to enjoy the taste. At the same time, the Starry Sanctum brightened as I twisted and enhanced the light that filtered in from above.
The murmurs spread and grew. Excited and awed, suspicious and skeptical, but still, no one refused the seats. Theomore was brave and trusting enough to sample the refreshments on offer almost immediately, despite aborted warnings from his Most Devout. And when he hummed in satisfaction, the rest of the Faithful were joining him soon enough.
I took a moment to look up as everyone was seated. The Starry Sept’s massive dome seemed even bigger from the inside. Its arched ceiling was black marble, with lighter veins through the stone and thousands of sparkling, small-cut gems throughout. It was like looking up into the night’s sky firmament, even in the middle of the afternoon.
The ground level of the sanctum was populated with masterful statues of the Seven in all their aspects. I suspected there would usually be pews and other seating for services here, but they were currently removed from the space for the Faith’s conclave. Still, the large, horseshoe-shaped, black marble altar at the back of the sanctum, in front of the statue of the Father, couldn’t be so easily removed.
Our group took up one side of Dumbledore’s tea table, with me, Dumbledore, Willas, and Renly concentrated in the center. The Starry Septon, the Most Devout who’d first spoken, and the preacher of the people sat directly across from us. The internal factions at play quickly became clear — Most Devout sitting by Most Devout, and the rest of the septons and septas sitting by the preacher of the people.
Right before sitting, the preacher of the people stopped to share his name, “I am the Sparrow. I’ve met others who claimed fealty to Hogwarts. Your Saint Poppy, to name her. I was impressed and greatly heartened to work beside her in the Riverlands. It was the strife we witnessed together there that drove me to come to Oldtown and plead my case in the heart of the Faith.”
I paused, “… Huh. Yeah, I think Madam Pomfrey mentioned you. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, then. She had good things to say about your professionalism and commitment to helping and healing.”
“High praise, when she was so readily able to do so much more than I,” The Sparrow gave a shallow, nodding bow of acknowledgement.
Then, the focus shifted onto the member of the Most Devout on the Starry Septon’s other side, expecting a similar introduction. He huffed, but complied in turn, “Aldin of the Most Devout. Loyal advisor to His Eminence Theomore and true Faithful. In Oldtown, you will find few if any who look to the High Septon in King’s Landing — the Fat One… — over good Theomore. That disgrace may wallow in that city’s muck, but the heart of the Faith shall always remain in the Starry Sept.”
“On that, we can agree,” The Sparrow nodded. “There are many reasons I flocked to Oldtown over King’s Landing.”
Theomore gave a strained smile, “The High Septon… Well, I’m sure he does his best, even with the temptations of the capital that must surround him… He is expected to lead the whole Faith, after all. I simply have to tend to my most holy house here.”
“Well met, Faithful fellows,” Willas nodded at all of them. “Now, I don’t think we should dally. The Faith is experiencing discord, is it not? How can we help put it to rest?”
“Oh, it’s nothing so dire as the current business with the Citadel-…” Theomore demurred.
“Not anymore,” Marwyn scoffed. “The Citadel is as good as settled and whole once more.”
“Archmaester Marwyn?” Theomore blinked and then smiled. “Oh, I almost didn’t notice you there! How fortuitous, how fortuitous! That is certainly good to hear!”
“We’re looking to bring the same stability back to the Faith,” I said, holding up a hand when Aldin moved to interrupt me. “Even if you and yours haven’t been in such dire straits.”
Aldin still grumbled, “It’s hardly the business of lords new and old to intrude on matters of faith…”
“I disagree,” The Sparrow said. “The Seven watch over the nobility just as readily as they watch over the rest of the realm. To effectively serve everyone we can, the Faith cannot be a monolith of itself. Outside perspectives are necessary for informed and reasonable rulings on this matter, even if it is ultimately internal.”
“Right, I’ll just come out and say it bluntly so there can’t be any confusion,” I cut in. “The topic of debate is magic, yes? Both in and outside the Faith itself?”
“The Seven bless us in many ways,” The Sparrow nodded agreeably.
“They also test us. We must remain vigilant,” Aldin retorted.
“Oh, it’s all just so new, such untred ground,” Theomore fretted. “I can see the good that magic and miracles can do. I can also see the ill.
“The recent strife in the Riverlands that our Sparrow himself witnessed originated with old feuds enhanced by magic. But then, much good was done in its wake by that same magic. Our fellow Faithful speak of miracles, of the Seven acting through them. I cannot deny them that. Yet curses can just as easily rise instead of miracles, can’t they?”
“Precisely,” Aldin nodded firmly. “It is too early for the heart of the Faith to rule either way on the subject. We have traditions and lessons learned that must be upheld. In such rapidly changing times, they cannot be simply thrown away!”
“Nowhere in the Seven-Pointed Star is magic itself explicitly damned,” The Sparrow argued. “By their word, the Seven damn sin and evil and hatred and waste, but not magic itself. Do we presume to speak for the Seven when their omission is just as clear as all they explicitly state?”
“It is NOT just as clear!” Aldin shouted back. “Omission is not permission! To pretend otherwise is a fallacy!”
The Sparrow didn’t quite glare at his peer, but it was a near thing, “I. Disagree. If the Seven damn slavery as an abomination, they could’ve damned magic just the same. But they didn’t. That much is not in dispute. Neither your people nor mine have uncovered verifiable proof of magic’s damnation.”
“The Book of Seven Sins is quite clear-!” Aldin began.
The Sparrow outright scoffed, “The Book of Seven Sins was written by a Lannister King of old, not a Faithful man, and certainly not a true herald of the Seven’s word. Such a blasphemous, mortally biased attempt at scripture has never been accepted into the annals of the Faith.”
I watched the two leading arguments go back and forth like a Quidditch match. This must’ve been what led to such a lasting stalemate. The Sparrow and his more well-traveled followers advocated for Magic’s acceptance and exploration. Aldin and the Most Devout advocated for hesitation and tradition when it came to Magic, maybe even official damnation in their most extreme members. And against each other, the debate raged without any progress being made.
All the while, poor personable Theomore was caught in the middle, unwilling to make a decisive but controversial ruling either way. Even now, he was shifting awkwardly in his seat, leaning toward one faction or the other when they made a good point, only to swing back the other way with the rebuttal.
Our interruption, it seemed, didn’t quell the debate for long at all. We didn’t really have a place to interject, either. If we sided with the Sparrow, as we were most likely to do, we’d just be dragged into the thick of it. I didn’t think it would make Aldin and his Most Devout back down, though. Not with their status quo on the line.
And with just spirited debate going on, we didn’t have much of a leg to stand on for coming down as hard as we did with the Citadel. Extreme actions like that would just turn both sides of the Faith against us for so bluntly intruding where Hogwarts, House Tyrell, and the crown had no place. We were useful mediators, potentially, with plenty of magical experience, knowledge, and perspective to share, but the final resolution to this schism needed to come from within the Faith for it to hold any weight at all.
I certainly didn’t want to get dragged into that mire of a debate. It was a frustrating stalemate, backed by strong personalities on each side and stronger beliefs. A ‘To upheave or not to upheave’ situation, because both sides would undoubtedly bring widespread change and consequences to the Faith of the Seven.
We needed something, though. Preferably, a decision that was pro-Magic, too, but I’d honestly take a simple recess from both sides if it would free us up to deal with the real problem in Oldtown. For some reason, I felt like our time was drawing short on that front…
As soon as that thought hit me, I stiffened in my seat. As did the others. Everyone who was sensitive to magic did, really. Dumbledore’s brow even furrowed slightly in a worrying reaction as the magic in the air shifted and something descended over the whole city.
In the aether, something tightened like a knot, something shrieked and screamed, something roused and reignited like embers from the heart of a star… The phenomenon easily pierced through a thinning veil and leaked into the physical world. And above, the light of day through the windows in the dome was cut off completely. Darkness took its place as night fell early upon Oldtown…
The panic amongst the Faithful was instantaneous, but thankfully, our group remained mostly composed. Bluebell flames were summoned throughout the Starry Sanctum. Their light went a long way toward preventing the quickly erupting chaos.
“What the FUCK just happened?!” Heather hissed.
“Nothing good, I can assure you of that,” Dumbledore said solemnly.
“A mass ritual of some kind?” Hermione theorized.
Luna shuddered, “… A feast. The first course.”
Canny little Bran’s reaction didn’t help the mood, either, viscerally shaking as he asked, “Is… it better or worse that the thing didn’t bother to chew…? Just SWALLOW…”
“Worse,” Willas audibly gulped. “Definitely worse. Everything about this situation is ‘worse’.”
“If there’s a ritual being done, there’s gotta be someone enacting it,” I pointed out.
“Heretical cults and wretched foreign faiths have infested Oldtown. It is known,” Aldin snarled. “A curse! A damnable curse upon the whole city!”
“We were hardly the ones to usher it in,” The Sparrow said. “But it is here nonetheless. Now, all we can do is fight fire with fire.”
Surprisingly, Aldin nodded at that, “I concur. We must push hard and fast to purge this holy city of those accursed cults!”
“Gather all septons and septas willing to fight, to purge, to crusade,” The Sparrow declared. “Tell them to fortify their magicks and sharpen their swords. The Faith shall rid its heart of this menace.”
Aldin and the Sparrow stood strong and took charge of the Faith. Poor personable Theomore just wasn’t cut out for leadership, especially not with so much at stake. To his credit, he realized that, though, and stood aside for his more competent subordinates to take the lead.
Theomore bowed to both of them, “Thank you, my friends, my fellows. I shall organize what aid I can manage from all who remain. The good people of Oldtown will not be left to rot under unnatural darkness.”
Of course, all of that was well and good, the Faith firmly uniting again in the face of a common enemy, but we didn’t have an actual direction to point them in. The idea of just setting them loose in the city to ‘fight, purge, and crusade’ to their heart’s content after being riled up by their leaders didn’t fill me with confidence. Thankfully, that outcome was prevented by the kind-looking (now frantic) young septon, who first greeted me in the Starry Sept, running into the sanctum with news on his lips.
“The Hightower! The beacon! It wanes and gutters in the dark, as if assaulted by the night itself! The ever-watchful flame threatens to go out completely!”
It was certainly something to focus our efforts on. I would’ve much preferred it to be in the complete opposite direction, though, away from the Remnant suppressed and likely stirring beneath that lonely beacon. That, I knew, was asking entirely too much of the situation…
The Hightower was now being put to siege by unknown cults and unnatural darkness. If we didn’t break the siege quickly… well, I didn’t particularly want to imagine what would happen. I anticipated quite a bit more of Bran’s ‘SWALLOWING’ would be a play, and that… didn’t sound like a good time for anyone. Not at all.
I don’t know who struck up the initial chant, but I was relieved to see it spread quickly and reinforce the determination in the air. The Faith certainly wouldn’t take this attack lying down. Hopefully, the rest of Oldtown was of a similar mind.
“To the Hightower! To the beacon! To Oldtown’s eternal flame!”
IIIII
Bonus Pics (sauce below)
Comments
QuantumServer
Thanks for the chapter!
CkLance
Well, it usually takes a disaster to cut through the bureaucracy. 😔
bleachballed
Sauce Shan: AI-gen Ninia 1: ykshelter 2: idk Bonus 1: ceoofgothicc 2: venomous_dolly 3: leighbunbun 4: _aozora_x 5: strawbxrryy1 6: Yaela Vonk 7: juneeberri 8: vip.nerdyb
