[Phase 1.1] Her Faith: Rewarded, Found Wanting [Closed]

[RP from prayers thread result]

"Shieldmaiden. Come in." The voice of the gods is quite strong, even-toned and commanding. His head is bare, although few years come to weigh upon his brow, donning a silver circlet encrusted with seven prismatic gems, and a brass pan balance hangs from a thong on his neck.

She doesn't like him. She bows quickly to hide her sour look, and gather herself. "Your Holiness. You wanted to see me?"

"Septon Calren. My sender is far away in Oldtown, and can't make the journey. Let us speak privately. The door, please."

Wordlessly, Loreia closes the door.

With shallow candidness Calren goes on, "His High Holiness has taken an interest in you. Of course, so have the Most Devout, though not in a similar capacity, not that they care what he thinks in his venerated age."

Looking up at her now, he strokes his well-groomed beard, which falls down to his chest. The grey curtain contains dark streaks calling back to his younger years. "They weren't exaggerating about your height. It seems you were born to the role you seek."

"You mean the role I have."

"Indeed..." He raises an eyebrow, and tries to look down his nose at Loreia. "It's no secret you knelt in the godswood."

Here it comes. "What of it, septon?"

"You are devout in your faith," Calvin answers firmly. "I have witnessed this, but your contrite appearance before false gods taints you in the eyes of the Seven."

"I respect the beliefs of those who came before the god-fearing Andal men," she retorts coldly. "Go and tell him that if you like."

Grimly, he replies, "Of that you can be certain." He stops himself to breathe. "Some air."

Loreia follows Calren to the balcony, the dull sound of her boots on stone chiming with his padded steps. The afternoon sun shines through the archway, beating down on them directly.

"His High Holiness specified this exact room. Whenever he came to stay at the capital, he'd pick a room along the western side. He tells me it has the best view."

"It--it's lovely," she stutters, coming down from the barely contained spat they just had. I think I can smell the squalor below from here.

"What do you see?"

Another lecture. That's my real struggle, too many of these damn lectures. But she'll humor him for now. Wondering where he's going with this, she looks down first. The city streets wind below them, crowded with small folk, like ants from their current height. Above the ants is a large hill, and on top of that hill sits a dome structure crowned with jagged spires. To her left and south is another hill, similar in height but otherwise featureless.

"I see a jagged dome on top of a hill. What is it?"

Calren hums in assent. "That is the Dragonpit on Rhaenys' Hill, where the Targaryens house and raise their dragons and dragonlings. However, that was not always so. A lesson in history, if you'll indulge me."

She looks at him and nods.

"His High Holiness made me sit and listen at his bed as he told me over and over before I left. During the Faith Militant revolt, the king, Maegor the Cruel, accepted a duel with the leader of the Faith Militant. He and his champions fell, and though he survived, he did not wake. Thirty days later, without warning, he awoke, and assaulted the sept on Balerion. Hundreds had gathered there to pray, and none were left alive. He ordered a pit be built on its ashes, the Dragonpit you see before us."

"And? Did the uprising end?"

"No. It continued until his nephew the Conciliator succeeded him and and offered them amnesty in exchange for disbanding."

Calren looks at her now with the scrutiny he said she'd earned through her actions. "The Father and the Warrior are full of wrath for the wicked, but vengeance is not like a hammer to a nail. It tears down, but it has no purpose to rebuild."

A moment passes between them, and she realizes he is waiting on her. She nods with grim "understanding". Do I look like a stonemason?

"Some admonishment I feel you need of late," he sums up, an edge slipping through his words. "In any case..." he produces an envelope. "He has an invitation for you. This is a high honor, Shieldmaiden. Treat it as such. You may go."

Loreia bows lightly and takes her leave. Out in the hall, she reads the letter. Her eyes widen. The 'high honor' spoken of by Calren: a vigil with the High Septon performing the service, at a time of her choosing. Then she remembers the prayers. She nearly obeys the urge to slam her head against the opposite wall.

Damn fool girl.

[Note: Developed with and approved by narrator.]