Chapter 73 — The Origin of the Scepter
"Ever since the Seven revealed themselves upon the Hills of Andalos, the Scepter of Authority has stood as the symbol of the High Septon's power within the Faith."
"With it, successive High Septons were able to commune with the great gods themselves, to spread the Seven's radiance among the faithful. With divine guidance, they cultivated the staunchest warriors, the wisest septas, and the most devout sworn knights."
…
Inside Charles's chamber atop the Hand's Tower, the wooden scepter held the complete attention of both young and old alike. Off to the side, Davos Seaworth felt slightly out of place and tactfully asked,
"Perhaps I should excuse myself?"
"No, Ser Davos," the old priest replied calmly. "Your faith in the Seven is sincere—I have no doubt of it. There is no need for you to avoid this conversation."
He smiled faintly, then turned back to Charles and continued.
"It was only after the Faith came into open conflict with House Targaryen over the royal practice of incest—after the Faith Militant rose and was crushed beneath King Maegor's rule—that the scepter was hidden by one of our forebears. It vanished from history… until now."
Charles frowned slightly. "Then why didn't you recognize it earlier?"
"The scepter has been lost for centuries, child," the priest sighed. "Were it not for the ancient texts, I would never have identified it. It appears utterly ordinary—no more than a walking stick. In truth, we should be grateful for that. Its plainness spared it from destruction."
"Destruction?"
"With the aid of the Citadel," the priest said bitterly, "House Targaryen burned every trace of the Faith's former power and purged the records that described it. The maesters, once the Faith's strongest allies, chose instead to serve the Conqueror's bloodline."
Davos frowned. "Forgive me, but the maesters' duty is to serve the lords of the realm."
"Duty, perhaps." The priest smiled faintly and chose not to pursue the argument further.
"After that calamity, most of the Faith bent the knee beneath dragonfire. The Warrior's Sons were disbanded. The Poor Fellows were dissolved. Those relics and blessings touched by the gods were systematically eradicated. Countless people died."
"We were the ones who refused to submit. After our defeat, our forebears hid themselves among the smallfolk—melding into the masses, vanishing into the shadows of this vast yet fragile city, preserving the last embers of belief. In truth, we were merely surviving."
"No longer did we serve the nobility. Instead, we devoted ourselves wholly to the poor. Yet burdened by history, we dared not act openly. We lived quietly, cautiously, knowing not when this concealment would end. But doctrine cannot change—incest is never permitted. All mortals are equal before the gods. Dragon blood grants no exception."
He paused, taking a small sip of water before continuing in a low voice.
"Only after the fall of House Targaryen did we dare to lift our heads again. When King Robert ascended the throne, we believed salvation had finally arrived. But the current High Septon differs little from the corrupt nobles—using the Faith as a tool for profit and power. He is no true voice of the Seven."
His tone remained restrained, but the disappointment beneath it was unmistakable.
Charles had no deep understanding of these matters and did not comment. Davos merely coughed softly, visibly uncomfortable—yet he did not disagree.
After a brief silence, Charles lowered his gaze to the scepter in his hand.
"So… this thing is truly a divine artifact?"
"I don't know," the priest admitted quietly. "That history is thousands of years old. Had the Faith not suffered that great purge, records might still exist."
"But that is not the point, child," he said, meeting Charles's eyes with sudden intensity. "You found the scepter. It accepted you. That alone marks you as the most suitable High Septon the Faith has had in generations. Come with me. Do what you were meant to do."
"I'm sorry."
Under the priest's crestfallen gaze, Charles shook his head.
"My answer is the same as before."
The old man's expression dimmed—only for it to brighten again at Charles's next words.
"But I am interested in what this scepter can actually do."
As he spoke, the young man glanced down at his left palm.
…
A full day of rain washed away the city's restless tension. Beneath the misty dawn, the vast encampments surrounding King's Landing began to stir.
With so many men to feed, the supply corps worked in shifts. Campfires burned without pause, smoke rising steadily as meals were prepared around the clock for soldiers and southern lords alike.
On muddy paths, night-watch soldiers passed those rising for morning duty, each returning to their quarters in turn. Knights and nobles emerged from their tents clad in armor, servants fastening straps and polished plates. Surcoats bearing proud sigils fluttered as they strode through the camp, regal and unyielding.
Gazing toward the city at the edge of sight, a handsome brown-haired young man standing at the entrance of the camp tent sighed with emotion.
"What a sight."
"Stinks to high heaven. What beauty is there to speak of?" came the reply from another youth inside the tent, dark-haired and of the same age. As he spoke, he glanced toward the woman bent over, carefully fastening his armor.
"Brienne, don't you agree?"
"S-sorry, Your Grace… I've never been to King's Landing," Brienne answered softly, a hint of nervousness in her voice.
She was exceptionally tall—broader and stronger than most men—with striking blue eyes that, taken alone, might have belonged to a great beauty.
Yet her buck teeth, receding hairline, freckled face, and straw-colored cropped hair stripped away any such illusion. Paired with her flat chest, no one would have taken her for a woman at first glance.
"I was speaking of the rainbow, Your Grace," the young man at the entrance said, smoothly taking over the conversation. He drew in a breath of the fresh morning air and recited in a lilting tone,
"Behold—the seven-colored light across the heavens, A blessing cast down by the Seven, Unknown to mortal minds…"
After the rain had passed, a rainbow truly did arch above King's Landing—brilliant and radiant, gazing down upon the squat city below like a mighty ruler regarding the futile struggles of the weak.
Was it not a perfect match for their title—the Rainbow Guard?
"When do we take the city, Your Grace?" he asked at last, unable to suppress his curiosity.
"What? Is my Knight of Flowers growing impatient?" the dark-haired youth inside the tent chuckled.
"Of course," said the young man named Loras, his gaze fixed intently on the black-haired king. "I wish to win glory for you as soon as possible."
"Even if your brother Stannis hides behind his walls and refuses to come out, I'm certain we'll win a swift victory. The rainbow itself bears witness!"
"I believe that as well," the king nodded. "But if there's an easier way, why force an assault?"
"An easier way?"
"Trust me, Ser Loras. I have many friends within King's Landing," the king said with a smile. "They've already promised to deliver the city to me—without me losing a single soldier."
"Forgive my bluntness, Your Grace," Loras replied, "but I find that hard to believe."
"So do I," the king said lightly. "But we've waited this long. What harm is there in waiting a little longer?"
…
While he spoke, Brienne smoothed the last gold-trimmed sleeve into place. She stole a lingering glance at the reflection of the young, handsome king in the mirror—then, afraid of being noticed, quickly lowered her head.
"It's done, Your Grace."
"Thank you, Brienne," the black-haired king said, dipping his head courteously. Then his gaze returned to Loras, slowly sweeping over him as he spoke with quiet significance.
"But even if they are lying, I trust that my Lady Brienne—and the valiant Knight of Flowers—will win that iron chair for me all the same."
The words struck something deep within the young knight. Loras stepped closer, his eyes shining.
"I believe that too, Your Grace."
The two young men held each other's gaze for a long moment—before breaking into matching smiles.
-