In the intervals between noble visitors, a plain carriage arrived at the castle.
A septon in simple robes stepped down, a seven-pointed star necklace hanging on his chest. He was the representative of the Faith of the Seven, sent from the headquarters in King's Landing.
His face was lean, but his eyes were unusually sharp.
Septon Patrick bowed slightly.
"My lord, may the love of the Seven be with you. I am Septon Patrick, sent by His High Holiness the High Septon to visit you. You may find it strange that the Faith cos after all the other nobles. It is because His High Holiness wished for us to first listen to what the people say, and then hear what you have to say."
He sat down in the hall, his tone calm.
"The people say you are a Celestial Dragon, possessing the most noble magical bloodline. They say that Lord Harroway's knights saw lights flashing across the lake surface before they fell dead or wounded. They say you summoned so power beyond nature and can conjure all kinds of magical items…"
He paused, folding his hands on his knees.
"His High Holiness has asked to pose one question to you: Do you believe in the Seven? Do you believe it was the protection of the Seven that granted you victory, or… was so other power helping you?"
"You need not answer in haste. His High Holiness also said that no matter what you believe, the Faith is willing to accept you. The Seven's rcy embraces all lost lambs. As long as you are willing to build a sept in your domain and allow us to send septons to spread the Faith of the Seven, the Faith will publicly declare that your victory was the will of the Seven."
His gaze t Luke's directly.
"Do you understand what this ans? It ans that from now on, no one will dare claim you used dark magic. You will beco a warrior blessed by the Seven. After all, rumors of black magic have already begun circulating in the streets, which may harm your lordship's reputation…"
He stood up and walked to the window.
"The God's Eye—legend says that during the Age of Heroes, this was one of the places where the Children of the Forest and the First n swore their pact. Ancient magic flows through this land. The Faith does not deny the existence of magic. We simply believe that true magic cos from the Seven."
He turned around.
"If you are willing to accept our terms, the Faith will help you explain those things that cannot be explained. You only need to tell us: are you willing?"
A wicked smile appeared on Luke's lips.
He did not answer. He simply stared straight into the septon's eyes.
In that instant, a faint, almost imperceptible electric arc flashed across his pupils.
Septon Patrick's entire body trembled. He fell into a daze, as if his acupoints had been struck, frozen in place.
It was a long while before he ca back to his senses, his eyes filled with confusion.
But he did not leave.
In the days that followed, this senior assistant to the High Septon of the Faith of the Seven remained on the south shore of the God's Eye. Luke allocated land to him so he could build a sept.
Since the Faith had co, the Citadel naturally could not be left out.
The representative from the Citadel was an old man in grey robes, with a maester's chain around his neck.
It was no ordinary tal chain, but one interwoven with black iron, bronze, gold, silver, and Valyrian steel—the chain of a full maester.
Maester Vaelin was over seventy, yet his steps were steady. He brought no attendants, only a box filled with scrolls and instrunts.
"My lord," Maester Vaelin spoke directly, "I am Maester Vaelin from the Citadel of Oldtown. I have studied history and astronomy for fifty years. Forgive my boldness, but I had to co."
He placed the box on the ground, eyes shining brightly.
"I heard of your victory by the God's Eye at the Citadel. At first I thought it was just another ordinary border conflict. But then I heard certain details… about magic… those details have kept awake at night."
He sat down, speaking faster.
"My lord, I am a scholar, not a politician. I do not care who rules the Riverlands, nor which family's daughter you marry. I care about only one thing: the truth. Can you tell —do you truly possess magic? Is it natural, or sothing else?"
This old man was much like Maester Qyburn; his eyes also burned with a thirst for knowledge.
"You know, before the Andal invasion, the God's Eye was one of the holy sites of the Children of the Forest. Citadel records state that the Children could walk on water and command the mists. If you have truly co into contact with these ancient powers, then the entire history of Westeros must be rewritten."
He paused, his tone turning earnest.
"I know you are very busy, with countless people waiting to see you. But I beg you, give a chance to stay in your castle and record everything you experience. I do not need you to reveal any secrets you wish to keep. I only ask to see your library, the ancient ruins in your domain, and the old stone circles by the lake."
"The Citadel will rember your na forever… not as a warrior, but as a protector of knowledge."
His eyes were frighteningly bright.
"In return, I am willing to offer you all the insights I have gained in fifty years of research. The Valyrian steel-forging process, the ancient language of the Children of the Forest, the runes of the First n… anything you wish to know, as long as I know it, I will teach you."
Luke's eyes lit up.
"You know how to forge Valyrian steel?"
Maester Vaelin's face flushed slightly, like a child caught in a lie.
"That… those are only fragnted records. I have not yet succeeded in experints. Without dragonfla, it's…"
Luke nodded.
"Write down everything you know."
Then he handed the old man over to Maester Qyburn.
Let the two "obsessed" scholars tornt each other.
Two days later, a modestly sized but impressive party approached along the lakeshore.
The golden lion banners of the Lannisters snapped in the wind.
The Westerlands had finally sent soone.
In the center of the party, a short but dignified figure rode a white horse.
It was a specially designed saddle that allowed the dwarf to ride comfortably despite his short legs.
Tyrion dismounted, brushed the dust from his clothes, and looked up at Luke's castle.
"Luke," Tyrion's opening was as sharp as ever. "Allow to speak frankly—your castle is more modest than I imagined. Though after winning a battle against overwhelming odds, 'modest' can also be called 'resolute and practical.'"
He stepped forward and began his eloquent speech.
"As you know, my father Lord Tywin heard that you and I are close, so he sent to see what kind of man could make over a dozen Riverlands noble houses lose face so thoroughly, and incidentally to see if a marriage alliance or sothing similar might be possible."
Luke was in a great mood.
"Tyrion, it's been a while. I thought Lord Tywin would send soone else. I didn't expect it to be you."
Tyrion gave a self-mocking smile. "Truthfully, this is the first proper task my father has given . But it's far more pleasant than I expected. Lord Harroway? I t him once in King's Landing—an arrogant fool. You did Westeros a favor."
Luke imdiately ordered a feast prepared to properly entertain this "old friend."
During the banquet, the Red Viper joined uninvited. He still hadn't left and had been staying as a guest in Luke's domain.
Luke wanted to introduce the Imp and the Red Viper, but it turned out the two already knew each other.
Tyrion had traveled widely in his youth and had crossed paths with Oberyn long ago.
Although Dorne and Casterly Rock were enemies, the Red Viper and the Imp actually got along rather well—not the kind of relationship where they saw each other with blood-red eyes.
Still, both being sharp-tongued, they couldn't resist exchanging barbs.
Tyrion took a sip of "Celestial Dragon Spring" and showed an expression of pure bliss.
"I am one of those accompanying the King on his journey north. However, the royal party moves too slowly, so I set out early. I ca to visit you first and will rejoin the King's party after staying for a few days."
The three of them discussed the purpose of the King's journey north.
Both the Imp and the Red Viper were sharp-minded n. Anyone with half a brain could see the reason: Robert Baratheon was heading north to ask his old friend Ned Stark to beco the new Hand of the King.
After the initial greetings, Tyrion turned serious.
"My father is a pragmatic man. He asked to bring three things: first, congratulations—the Lannisters have always respected capable warriors; second, a proposal… would you be willing to share the secret of magic with the Westerlands?"
He waved his hand. "Of course, I know you won't agree, so consider that unsaid."
"But House Lannister has gold and connections. The Westerlands is willing to deepen cooperation with House Jaqenion. If you are willing to marry a Lannister woman, Casterly Rock will send you a beautiful lioness. She may not be Cersei… but she will be equally dignified, beautiful, and co with a rich dowry."
He winked and added, "Of course, if you don't wish to marry at the mont, business is also fine. My father simply wants you to know… whatever House Tully cannot give you, House Lannister can. What do you want? Gold? Artisans? Or…"
He glanced at the Red Viper, who was quietly drinking.
"If soone causes you trouble, the Lannister army can provide protection!"
Luke raised his wine cup, hiding the smile at the corner of his mouth.
Marriage alliance again?
Yet another one.
He looked out the window at the shimring God's Eye, suddenly finding the whole situation rather amusing.
All these people had co—one after another—so wanting to recruit him, so wanting to marry him, so wanting to use him, so wanting to study him.
Not a single one truly understood…
He, Luke Jaqenion, was not so vassal who could be subdued, not so piece that could be married off, not so chess piece that could be used.
He was a Celestial Dragon—and he did not eat beef!
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