On the table lay a large sheet of paper. There were no words on it—only a drawing, dense lines outlining the entirety of King's Landing.
Visenya's Hill, Rhaenys's Hill, Blackwater Bay, the Dragonpit, the Red Keep…
Every structure was marked with symbols.
Maester Norren was the first to recognize what those symbols meant.
His expression changed.
"This is… a population density map?"
The High Septon nodded.
"Within five hundred meters of the Dragonpit lies the poorest slum in King's Landing—Flea Bottom."
"Roughly over a hundred thousand people."
He pointed to another mark on the map.
"The fish market docks. Every morning, thousands of fishing boats come ashore. It has the highest flow of people."
"It's only about 1 kilometer from the Dragonpit."
Then he pointed toward the Red Keep.
"Aegon's High Hill overlooks the entire city."
"If a beacon fire is lit there, the whole city will see it."
Maester Garth's smile vanished completely.
"Your High Holiness," he said, his voice dry, "what you're proposing is…"
"I will slay the dragons," the High Septon said.
"Not one. All of them."
The Ravenry fell so silent that heartbeats could be heard.
Norren's quill slipped from his fingers and struck the floor with a crisp sound.
"Do you understand what you are saying?" Archmaester Vymond said.
"Dragons are no ordinary beasts."
"Even during the Conquest, the Dornish once ambushed at Hellholt and, by sheer luck, struck the dragon Meraxes in the eye with a scorpion bolt."
"Even so, when that dying dragon fell, it destroyed half the castle."
"Queen Rhaenys Targaryen died on the spot."
He paused.
"After that, Aegon I Targaryen and his sister Visenya Targaryen unleashed relentless vengeance."
"History calls it the Dragon's Wrath."
"For ten years, Dorne was scorched barren."
"The dragons Balerion and Vhagar burned more than a dozen towns in that war. The Dornish dead are estimated at over two hundred thousand…"
"In the end, Dorne paid a heavy price to preserve its independence, nominally acknowledging Aegon I as King of the Seven Kingdoms."
The old maester's cloudy eyes were now clear as water as he asked: "Do you intend to use commoners to kill dragons?"
"Your High Holiness—have you considered how many will die?"
The High Septon met his gaze.
"I have."
His voice did not waver in the slightest.
"If ten thousand are not enough, then thirty thousand!"
"If thirty thousand are not enough, then fifty thousand!!"
"If fifty thousand are not enough, then one hundred thousand!!!"
He showed no regret, no fear, as he looked at them.
"Even if King's Landing must become a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood—"
"I will still wipe these demon dragons from this world!"
Vymond did not look away.
"One hundred thousand," the old maester repeated. "Do you understand what that means?"
"The population of Oldtown is only four hundred thousand. King's Landing has fewer than five hundred thousand."
"Do you mean to kill one-fifth of the capital's population?"
"Not I," the High Septon said. "The Targaryens."
His tone remained calm, yet each word was like a blade tempered in fire.
"Their dragons. Their arrogance. Their rule that treats commoners as grass beneath their feet—those are what brought this disaster."
"I merely… give the Seven Kingdoms a chance to end it."
Then he lowered his head slightly, as if in prayer.
"The Seven bear witness."
"All I do is not for personal gain, nor for power, but so that Westeros need no longer crawl beneath dragon wings."
A long silence followed.
Outside, ravens let out low, rumbling calls, like a sigh.
At last, a maester broke the stillness.
"The High Septon's plan," he said, "what does the Citadel need to provide?"
The High Septon turned to him.
"Ravens."
"We need the Citadel's ravens to spread news of the uprising in King's Landing across the Seven Kingdoms at the crucial moment."
He paused.
"And we need one more thing."
"The position of Grand Maester… is now vacant."
...
When the discussion turned to Aemond, the atmosphere in the Ravenry shifted subtly.
Maester Garth spoke first.
"Come to think of it," he said, a smile returning faintly to his lips, "we sit here discussing how to deal with the Targaryens, yet we've never asked—"
"Has anyone here actually seen Prince Aemond in person?"
No one answered.
Garth turned to Norren.
Norren shook his head. He had never left the Citadel, rarely even Oldtown.
Garth then looked to Vymond.
The old maester was silent for a moment before saying, "I saw him once from afar when he came to Oldtown."
"He was still a withdrawn child then, following behind his mother, Queen Alicent Hightower."
"But I have seen him."
All eyes turned to Maester Garth.
He did not avoid their gaze.
"Four years ago, I was sent by the Citadel to King's Landing, to the Red Keep, to deliver books on dragons to Grand Maester Mellos."
"At the time, Prince Aemond was under house arrest by the king."
"He was alone. I personally handed him the books. He was looking up at the window."
"I was curious, so I asked him what it felt like to tame Vhagar at the age of twelve."
"What he said next was—"
"'Maester, do you think I tamed Vhagar?'"
"'No.'"
"'Vhagar chose me.'"
"'Because she knew I am the same kind as her.'"
No one spoke.
The younger maester continued: "Then I asked him what he was looking at."
"He did not answer immediately."
"After a long while, he said—"
"'Maester, have you ever wondered why dragons allow themselves to be ridden?'"
"I said, because of the blood of Valyrian dragonlords—because that bloodline tamed them."
"He shook his head and said, 'Wrong.'"
"'Blood is only the key.'"
"'What truly makes a dragon submit is that the rider must prove themselves stronger than the dragon—more ruthless, more unyielding.'"
"'Dragons have no morals. They do not respect kindness or mercy.'"
"'Dragons only respect strength.'"
"'So, Maester—'"
"'If I do not fight, do not seize, do not prove that I am stronger than all others—'"
"'then no one in this world will give me anything.'"
Garth fell silent. His smile was completely gone.
"He is a madman," he said.
"No," Vymond replied quietly.
"A madman would not possess such clarity about himself."
The old maester slowly rose and sighed.
"He knows what he is."
"He knows how the world sees him. He is fully aware."
He turned away.
"That makes him more terrifying than Maegor I Targaryen."
"Because Maegor's madness came from his nature."
"But this one… is madness within cold reason."
The High Septon spoke after a long silence.
"Why?"
Vymond shook his head.
"Because Maegor did not know what he was doing."
"Maegor slaughtered, burned cities, and married his niece."
"From beginning to end, he never believed those acts to be evil—he believed them the duty of a king."
He paused.
"But Prince Aemond always knows what he is doing."
"He has his own creed."
"He knows that kin-slaying is a sin."
"He knows his actions will make countless people hate him to the bone."
"He knows… and still chooses to do it."
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