Chapter 712

"Exactly. When everyone else is basking in the joy of their newfound autonomy, only to discover that one of their supposed allies refuses to cooperate and instead seeks to undermine their hard-won victory, they will cast that person out. They’ll exile him from their ranks, strip him of his standing. And once he’s isolated, taking him down won’t just be uncontroversial—it might even earn them allies."

Aegor raised an arm, spread his fingers, then clenched his fist as if crushing something fragile.

"And the second reason is simple: I am an open follower of R’hllor. Even if my status as the Chosen of the Lord of Light remains a secret, to ninety-nine percent of Westerosi, I am a heretic. My imprisonment of House Hightower? That is seen as the Queen taking measures against a noble house she is displeased with—no one fears being caught in the crossfire. But if I were to strike at the High Septon outright? That would spark a full-fledged religious war. And that is a battlefield where one misstep means drowning in an endless sea of enemies."

Afraid of him stirring up trouble?

"The High Septon looked most displeased when he left," Myrcella noted. The second half of the Oldtown autonomy plan had broadened her horizons, but it had also left her itching for more. She wasn’t ready for the conversation to end. "Aren’t you afraid he’ll use the Faith’s influence to cause trouble in secret?"

Her fingers worked deftly, the royal massage as practiced as ever. Aegor let out a pleased hum, a sign of his approval.

"Oh, and my lord—you once said you planned to use the Lord of Light’s faith to consume the Faith of the Seven. Is this conflict with the Oldtown sept the first step in that plan?"

House Hightower had prepared their finest guest chamber, expecting to receive a noble visitor. Instead, they had unwittingly welcomed a hungry wolf.

Unlike the autonomy he had granted the commoners, Aegor had offered the Faith of the Seven next to nothing. He had merely promised to uphold religious freedom, and as a token gesture, granted the sept a single seat on Oldtown’s new council. But when the High Septon had demanded that he and Daenerys convert, that they allow him to anoint the Queen with holy oil and crown her in the name of the Seven?

Aegor had simply said no.
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Sofas didn’t require advanced industry—Westerosi artisans had long since devised similar furnishings—but the one before him caught him off guard. The softness of the fabric, the precise craftsmanship, the near-perfect cushioning—it wasn’t latex, but the material within felt remarkably similar.

By Westerosi standards, this was an exquisite luxury. Even among nobles, it was the kind of item one could flaunt.

House Hightower’s wealth and power… might have been greater than he had anticipated.
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Lost in thought, Myrcella suddenly made an unexpected connection between two seemingly unrelated matters.

Of course, she had no idea that Aegor was already calculating how much wealth he could squeeze from the Hightower vaults. Instead, she quietly shut the door, turned back, and upon seeing his slight fatigue, nimbly moved behind the sofa. With practiced ease, her delicate hands reached over the backrest, her fingers expertly kneading his shoulders.

Not even Highgarden had such luxuries. Let alone the North or the Wall.

Myrcella recalled the High Septon’s face when his offer to crown Daenerys had been rejected. That pudgy, sanctimonious mask of piety had barely concealed his simmering rage.

She giggled.

Had the man possessed any political foresight, he never would have let himself be driven from King’s Landing by Stannis Baratheon in the first place.
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Unlike the commoners, whose interests naturally clashed with feudal lords, the Faith was the second biggest beneficiary of the old order, second only to the nobility. When Stannis, as a follower of R’hllor, expelled the High Septon from King’s Landing, the Faith and House Hightower had solidified their alliance. They were now inseparable—lord and clergy, fish and water.

"Hmm." Aegor didn’t even open his eyes as he responded. "You think I should imprison him, like I did the Hightowers?"

"Hah, have you been writing down everything I say?" Aegor opened his eyes, amused. "Words can be twisted and reused in different contexts, but not blindly applied to every situation. The way I handle the Faith of the Seven must be different, for two reasons."

"Mm… I see."
----


In truth, the preparations had begun before the meeting even ended—before even Baelor Hightower and his kin had excused themselves. By the time Aegor left the chamber, Oldtown’s power structure was already shifting. The garrison had been replaced, and House Hightower’s movements were under control.

With relations between host and guest nearing the breaking point, his continued stay in their home necessitated heightened security. His guards had deliberately chosen a different guest chamber—one slightly smaller but still of high status—rather than the grand suite House Hightower had originally prepared. If any hidden passage existed, or if any assassination attempt was made, no one would know exactly where to strike.

Aegor smirked to himself.
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Myrcella nodded in understanding. "But even if you wait for him to strike first, won’t that still be seen as a war between R’hllor and the Seven? I don’t believe the Faith’s followers are so rational that they’d side with an outsider simply because their own leadership acted first."
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Does he look like an idiot?

His refusal to grant the Faith any real power was not only because he had the Lord of Light’s followers as an alternative—no, even without them, he would never have indulged the Seven.

For centuries, Maegor and Jaehaerys had labored to weaken the Faith’s stranglehold on the realm. Aegor was not about to undo their work.
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But then—who would be the one to deal with the High Septon? And what method would they use to ensure that the Faith did not unite against them?

He shifted slightly, adjusting his position on the sofa.

Soft. Supple. Even had a bit of bounce.

It looked like a sofa. It felt like a sofa. It even sat like a sofa.

It was a sofa.

Damn Hightowers. They really did know how to live.
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"Indeed. So… let’s just say that the right person, at the right time, in the right place, with the right justification, will handle the High Septon for me." Aegor’s smile turned cryptic. "My only concern is that the old man might be just clever enough to see through my plan—and simply go along with the reforms, leaving me no moral high ground to act against him."

Myrcella's eyes widened. "So this time, you’re waiting for him to strike first?"
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In Aegor’s grand design for the Crownlands Expansion, striking down the Reach lords’ feudal dominion and weakening the Faith were two essential pillars—one overt, one covert.

Both had to proceed in tandem.

"One—I need to rally Oldtown’s elites against their lord. And in doing so, I must make them realize that the High Septon is not their ally. On the surface, he and the guild leaders appear to be on the same side, as subordinates of House Hightower. But they are not. The Faith is aligned with the nobility, while the merchants and tradesmen are aligned with the city. They must be the ones to recognize this truth. If I act first, I risk uniting them against me."

He settled into his seat, closing his eyes.

"You see—striking first is always advantageous. But only when the gain outweighs the cost. Against a man backed by the entire Faith, the answer is clear—it does not." Aegor exhaled. "Of course… if preparing for an attack counts as ‘striking first’—then we have already done so."

The Oldtown autonomy plan was an open scheme. It could be discussed.

The religious revolution, however, was a conspiracy.

And Myrcella, clever little thing that she was, had begun to piece it together.