The bells of Oldtown tolled the morning hour, their solemn toll echoing from the high towers to the misty waters of Whispering Sound. Leyton Hightower stood at his solar's arched window in the Hightower, the ancient stone warm beneath his hands. The view stretched far: from the spires of the Starry Sept to the gleaming white domes of the Citadel, the massive walls of his great city and beyond, to the green heart of the Reach. But today, his eyes lingered on the Starry Sept alone.
'They will be coming soon.' Leyton thought with a sigh.
The Starry Sept was quiet now, its doors shut against the public while its Most Devout gathered in silent protest. Leyton's face was unreadable, a mask carved from years of courtly diplomacy and measured wisdom. He was Lord of Oldtown and the patron of the Starry Sept, and though the High Septon sat the crystal throne in the Seven's house, it was Leyton Hightower whose word held sway from Honeywine to the Arbour.
A soft knock on the carved wooden door interrupted his thoughts. Ser Bryn entered, his brown hair tied back, his armour unbelted, but his sword still at his hip.
"They've arrived, my lord."
"Let them in," Leyton said calmly, drawing away from the window.
Within moments, six septons were led in, each clad in flowing robes of cream and gold. At their head walked Septon Gallard, the eldest among them, his back hunched by age but his eyes sharp with purpose.
"Lord Hightower," he greeted with a bow that was more habit than courtesy. "We come with concern, and not lightly."
Leyton gestured toward the long table of polished weirwood that stretched beneath the painted ceiling.
"Then speak your concern, Septon Gallard. You shall not be interrupted." he said gracefully.
They sat with measured grace, their robes brushing the floor like whispered prayers. Gallard's voice was clear, echoing slightly off the vaulted ceiling.
"We were troubled to learn that your halls—your authority—were given to host a private wedding prayer ceremony for Harrion Stark and Arianne Martell. A union of a heretic to another, which is little better—one of the old gods, the other of Dornish customs—neither of whom bows before the light of the Seven as they should."
Leyton did not react to the strong words used to describe two powerful Great Houses with far more power than the men before him ever could claim. It was times like these that he understood why a madman like Maegor Targaryen gained much support in his early reign for the war against the Faith Militant. A couple of pretentious men like these were all that was needed for even those following the Faith to turn on their fellow brethren.
"It was not a wedding I hosted. That has already occurred in Dorne. What the newlywed couple seeks is a blessing from the Seven—a peaceful ceremony, held quietly in the Starry Sept within the Oldtown's walls. Lord Harrion made the request, and I promised to arrange it as a gesture of goodwill." Leyton said slowly and clearly so that the men before him understood.
"A mockery of the Faith," said another Septon, younger, voice brittle with conviction. "The Lady Arianne wears her Dornish liberties like a badge, and Harrion Stark, a known practitioner of hellish arts, follows trees with faces. To bless such a union under the eyes of the Seven is…"
"Politics of practicality," Leyton said, soft yet firm. "And diplomacy."
The Septons bristled. Gallard glared with distaste visible on his face.
"You speak of such matters as though the gods bend their will to men."
"No," Leyton replied. "But men bend to war when unity fails. Do you not remember the fires of war that plagued this great continent? Dorne's secessionist whispers? The North's ancient isolation, which has now resulted in secession? I see a chance to keep the North in the Seven Kingdoms through blood ties. This marriage is one bridge through which peace is restored."
He stood slowly, his robes of green and ivory flowing about him like river water.
"Peace at the price of piety?" asked Gallard.
"No," Leyton answered. "Peace at the price of pride."
He paced to the table's edge, resting one hand on the carved surface.
"The Seven are worshipped across much of Westeros. But not all. You know this." Leyton said.
"False gods." Septon Gallard spat with derision.
"The Old Gods have their place," Leyton said firmly. "The events that transpired in King's Landing have not gone unnoticed by those of us with eyes and ears, Septon Gallard."
"What you speak is heresy." Septon Gallard hissed with a firm grip on his armchair.
Leyton paid it no mind, for he knew he spoke the truth. He was many things, but not an idiot to ignore what was before him. Even learned men of the Citadel had reported the veracity of the unnatural happenings in King's Landing. The Old Gods were now active after centuries of inaction.
Several questions regarding the timing remained unanswered, but Leyton was certain the Old Gods or powers that be, who were diametrically opposed to the teachings of the Seven, were active now. He also knew these Old Gods were very much aligned with the First men of the North.
So, knowing all this, he was not in a rush to make powerful enemies by holding on to pride.
"And the Dornish… have always been unique in their devotions. To refuse their union a blessing would be a message: that the Reach chooses division. That Oldtown rejects the possibility of coexistence." Leyton added, reminding the septons that Dorne was also involved, and any insult to House Stark would become an insult to House Martell.
One of the younger Septons, Septon Oswyn, leaned forward.
"So, you would accommodate every false god under your roof if it pleased your allies? What next—blessings for fire priests or Valyrian bloodrites?"
Leyton's gaze turned steely.
"You forget yourself, Oswyn. I tolerate peace. I do not bless fire or blood. I have allowed a prayer in the Starry Sept in the interest of peace and good relations. One. A single moment where North and South stand together under a sept's roof and say words of hope and union, not of doctrine. You would burn such unity for the sake of age-old doctrine?"
Gallard interjected, more calm than Oswyn.
"We speak not from zeal, my lord, but fear. Already, there are whispers among the devout that the Faith is compromised in Oldtown and much of Westeros. That the High Septon's voice is but a song beside the ambitions of the Hightower."
Leyton turned to face the stained glass of the Seven above the chamber doors, light filtering through the Warrior's blade and the Mother's open arms.
"The Faith is not compromised," he said. "But neither is it supreme. Not in every corner of the realm. And not in every matter of statecraft."
He stepped forward, his voice carrying the measured cadence of a lord who had seen wars rise and empires fall.
"Do you know why Oldtown has never fallen, Septons? Why this city still stands though dragons burned Harrenhal, and Lannisters slaughtered kings, and Ironborn raiders blackened the coasts?"
The room was silent.
"Because we adapt," Leyton said. "Because we know when to keep faith—and when to show wisdom. I will not bow to storms of pious rage. Harrion Stark and Arianne Martell are the future of two strong kingdoms. Their children will have the blood of the First Men and Dornish fire in their veins, the future princes and princesses of Dorn will come from their union. And the Seven will bless such a union to foster peace and stability amongst the Seven Kingdoms."
The Septons sat back, some murmuring quietly among themselves. Septon Gallard regarded Leyton long and carefully.
"You are ever a man of foresight, Lord Hightower," he said finally. "Perhaps too much so."
"Perhaps," Leyton agreed with a faint smile. "But better foresight than hindsight soaked in blood."
Gallard sighed, old bones creaking as he rose.
"We will bring your words to the High Septon. But mark my words, the Faith remembers, and you ask much from us today, lord Hightower."
"Let it remember," Leyton said as he turned away. "And let it also remember who kept the city from war and bloodshed for thousands of years, and who rules this city. Oldtown stands because of centuries of Hightowers long past were wise enough not to pick fights with those stronger than us."
Leyton watched the septons and their cohorts leave his chambers. He couldn't help but shake his head at their sheer gall.
'This is why commoners with too high an opinion of themselves were a disaster in positions of influence.' Leyton mused as he relaxed in his seat.
Later that evening, Leyton walked with his heir, Baelor, along the lantern-lit gallery overlooking the harbour. Ships passed like silent shadows beneath the orange sky, and the scent of salt and lavender drifted from the gardens below.
"They didn't take it well," Baelor said, a small smile playing on his lips. "The septons were less than pleased by your firm stand."
"No," Leyton admitted. "But they rarely do. They are men of faith, not logic. Practicality is not a gift the Seven has bestowed on their most ardent servants."
"Shall I make arrangements to have the most troublesome ones moved out of the city before the Starks arrive?" Baelor asked.
"That'll be for the best." Leyton nodded.
"What did the High Septon say?"
"He seems rather happy the Starks are visiting. Apparently, the High Septon had the chance to visit the Sept of Snows in White Harbour during his spiritual journey. He spoke fondly of the Undying Star Harrion Stark, gifted to the sept." said Leyton.
"So, the High Septon has no concerns that a non-believer, a Stark of all people, with a long history of defying the Seven, is getting a special blessing ceremony in the Starry Sept?" Baelor asked a bit incredulously.
"On the contrary, High Septon Mellor seems most excited and fortunate to host such a ceremony. His holiness is of the belief that Harrion Stark seems to be favoured by the Seven and it's his duty to educate the Lord of Avalon on the matters of the gods."
Seeing the eyebrows of his son disappearing into the hairline, Leyton could only smile.
"I know. I myself have my doubts about the High Septon's claims, but there is a compelling argument to be made in support of his holiness' views."
"You think Harrion Stark, the one who wields magic as easily as breathing air, is favoured by the Seven?" Baelor couldn't help but ask in a way that he suspected his father had lost all wits.
"No. But there is an argument to be made that Harrion Stark, despite his proclivities towards magic, has chosen to marry a follower of the Seven." said Leyton.
"The Dornish princess could hardly be considered a follower of the Seven." Baelor objected.
"That may be, but I believe His Holiness sees this union in a different light. I myself am tempted to think this way, as we must remember the most peaceful conversion of the First Men into the light of the Seven came through marriages."
"You mean to say the High Septon hopes for House Stark to adopt the Seven?" Baelor asked in utter bewilderment.
"The possibility is there. The North has transformed from a cold, barren wasteland to a centre of all trade from both sides of the Narrow Sea. His Holiness believes the Northerners might be receptive to the sermons more as they come out of isolation." Leyton explained.
"Somehow, I don't share this opinion father." Baelor said sceptically.
"Any particular reason?" Leyton asked.
"Just intuition."
Leyton considered what his son said for a moment before nodding. He was of the same mind as well, but he hoped to be proven wrong. The North was the sole kingdom steeped in the First men culture, and its rise in economic and military strength was now concerning. Its expansionist tendencies have already been exposed by their brazen takeover of the Iron Islands when the southern kingdoms were facing a crisis of instability.
Leyton rightly feared the North might turn their eyes further south with the weakening of the Westerlands. If that was the case, it was better for Oldtown to have a cordial relationship with House Stark, and hopefully, the High Septon's instincts that the branch of House Stark would convert to the Faith would also come to pass. It'd facilitate future marriage alliances to be forged between House Hightower and Stark.
When the day finally came for the newlywed couple to visit Oldtown, Leyton woke up early in the morning with the rest of his family and prepared accordingly to receive their guests.
"There is no sign of the Starks. I have checked with the ships in our harbours and ports. No riders have been sighted as well." Baelor said upon inquiry.
"Lord Harrion said they'll arrive this morning." Leyton said.
"Well, they're nowhere to be seen." Baelor said with a shrug.
Suddenly, a huge shadow fell upon them, and the guard towers along the walls of the city started tolling their bells.
Leyton and Baelor slowly looked up, and their eyes widened as they saw one of the infamous airships of the North among the clouds of their fine city.
******
Harry stood in the atrium of the Starry Sept, the first rays of sunlight breaking through the ancient stained glass above him. Beside him stood Arianne, her dark eyes calm, her veil embroidered with sunbursts. Her hand rested in his as they stood before the giant statues of the Seven.
The sept was cool and dim within, its towering arches echoing the breath of centuries. Sunlight trickled through the high windows, illuminating each of the Seven. The Smith's hammer glinted faintly in gold. The Warrior stood proud, sword in hand, with its tip touching the ground. The Mother was carved as if she were cradling a child in her arms. Each aspect of the god watched them now, carved in stone, shaped in glass. The Father and the Mother had a separate altar of their own, their statue made of white marble and decorated with shiny gemstones, gold and silver. The Maiden stood beside the Warrior with several candles and silk offerings before the altar. The Crone stood to the side with a lantern in her hand. The Stranger stood in the shade with few candles burning before the altar, unlike the other aspects of the Seven.
As the septons went on with their sermons, Harry was keeping his senses alert. He was unleashing his power and binding it in multiple objects within the sept. But the Seven were completely silent. There was not a single reaction from them throughout the whole process. He even activated a couple of runestones and bound wards upon the Starry Sept so that he could remotely destroy it.
Harry assumed such a threat would induce a reaction from the Seven. But the Seven continued to ignore his provocations.
The High Septon approached, robed in heavy cream and gold, flanked by acolytes bearing candles. He regarded Harry and Arianne with a smile and gentle eyes, but his voice, when it rose, was clear and strong.
"We gather before the light of the Seven," he intoned, "to bless the union of Harrion Stark and Arianne Martell in matrimony."
The chorus of septas began to chant in the background, their voices rising like incense.
"Before the Warrior, who gives us strength in our times of struggle," the High Septon continued, "do you, Harrion Stark, promise to protect your wife, and to be her shield against all storms?"
"I do," Harry said. His voice did not waver.
"And before the Mother, who nurtures the world, do you, Arianne Martell, promise to cherish your husband and bring joy to your hearth?"
Arianne smiled.
"I do."
"And before the Father, who judges justly, do you swear to speak the truth to one another always, and act with honour in your hearts?"
Together, they said, "We do."
The septon turned to the altar, lifting a crystal phial filled with water drawn from the Honeywine, blessed with oils and fragments of dried myrrh. He anointed their foreheads, a star on each brow. When he stepped back, they turned together to kneel before the Seven.
Harry could see his mother and sisters were praying, though Arya was sneaking glances around the sept rather than saying any prayers. Sansa, on the other hand, was mindful enough to follow whatever their mother was doing.
Still, Harry felt no presence, but he started to feel a wave of serenity wash over everyone. When he immediately locked down his mind behind the curtain of Occlumency shields, he could feel the feeling recede.
"Interesting." Harry muttered.
He discreetly summoned his wand into his hand and imposed his magic to create a notice-me-not ward around himself.
"You have tipped your hand in this spirit. Come out and stop this tiresome play." Harry shouted, binding his magical power into his words.
Everyone within the sept stood still, and an eerie silence came about. But his words had no effect. It was as if no one heard his words, not even the occupants of the sept. There was some power in play, but Harry was finding it extremely difficult to sense it. It was as if the Seven were adept at working beyond his senses, which was not a good feeling.
Seeing that the Seven were content to play this cat and mouse game, Harry returned to his previous position and lifted the notice-me-not. Harry seamlessly slipped into the prayer ceremony as if nothing had happened. Everyone around him was none the wiser to the strange events that took place.
'Perhaps Jon could've sensed the shift in magic if he were here.' Harry mused as he played his part in the ceremony by plastering on a deeply spiritual façade.
Since the Seven were not reacting as he hoped, Harry was forced to take the long route.
'It's a good thing Robb, Jon and father are in the company of Lord Hightower. It gives me time to push for more.' Harry mused as the prayers continued.
AN:
To read ahead of the update schedule; pat(r) eon. C (O) M/Dragonspectre.
For artwork related to the fic:
https://discord.gg/Nw2JH25fJf