Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 470: All Rights of Interpretation Belong to the Iron Throne!

Chapter 470: All Rights of Interpretation Belong to the Iron Throne!

The next day, the weather was sunny and warm. Despite being December, The Reach remained pleasant and mild, a stark contrast to the cold of The North.

In Oldtown, at the Starry Sept, the roar of thunder echoed for miles. A pair of black dragon wings enveloped the majestic cathedral. Simultaneously, an yellow dragon, gleaming like gold in the sunlight, slowly flew in. Soon after, Cannibal and Syrax arrived.

"Come, give me your hand," Rhaegar said, stepping off the dragon's back to take Rhaenyra in his arms, holding a baby swaddle. She gave him a proud look and held out her hand.

The Starry Sept was filled with people—holy brothers, holy sisters, and believers all mixed together. Rhaegar glanced at the crowd and saw a pale, thin young man in the front, dressed in flashy attire and holding a Seven Star Bible. Several priests surrounded him.

Rhaegar recognized the man at once: the current High Septon, Corben Flowers, rumored to be the illegitimate son of a noble family who had ascended to his position through his eloquence in debating scripture.

"Roar!" "Roar..."

Rhaegar had just dismounted with Rhaenyra when two distinct dragon roars echoed in the distance. He glanced back. Sunfyre, with its pale pink wings and golden hue, flapped energetically. The Sheepstealer chased after Sunfyre playfully, its vertical pupils flashing with mockery, flaunting its own slender figure as if showing off to Sunfyre.

Rhaegar couldn’t help but smile. Wild dragons were special, embodying the truth that they could survive independently. The two dragons landed slowly in the temple square, and their riders dismounted.

Aegon walked over, dark circles under his eyes, looking disheveled and exuding a decadent, lazy air. Aemond, on the other hand, was young but mature. Noticing the swaddled baby in Rhaegar and Rhaenyra's arms, Aemond's eye widened in disbelief. "This... this is?"

Rhaegar straightened and clenched his fist, clearing his throat. "Your little nephew."

"Two at once?" Aemond looked back and forth, as if one eye wasn't enough.

Rhaegar's mouth curled into a smile. "That's right."

"Congratulations, brother," Aemond said, momentarily stunned, then added shyly, "Can I see them?"

After half a month apart, he was surprised to find two new nephews. Life was full of surprises.

Rhaegar patted his chest and said generously, "Feel free to look around. If they cry, give them back to me."

"Hmph!" Rhaenyra snorted in contempt. What a big talker! He even wants to take on the children’s tasks.

Despite her irritation, she didn’t relent. Rhaenyra handed the swaddled babies to Aemond naturally. Rhaegar did the same.

Aemond froze in place, holding the two babies, one on each side, his eyes full of mixed emotions.

Aemon stared at his uncle with wide eyes, chewing on his hand as he watched him intently. He was so engrossed in the sight that he reached out, trying to pull off Aemond's blindfold.

Aemond instinctively looked up and dodged, then laughed at himself for his reaction. When he looked at the two babies again, the strangeness in his eyes disappeared, replaced by a sense of kinship.

Rhaenyra said from the side, "His name is Aemon, which is similar to yours."

Similar names in House Targaryen often evolved from "Aegon."

Aemond looked at his eldest sister, his expression unchanged, and thought to himself, "They are my nephews. I will take care of them in the future."

Aegon approached, yawning sleepily and reeking of bad humor. "Two cute little things. Let's see how good they are," he said, trying to open the swaddling clothes.

"Aegon, don't be a nuisance!" Aemond scolded, quickly returning the children to Rhaenyra. "Those are our nephews. You'll scare them."

Rhaenyra walked over slowly and said softly, "Give me the children. You two talk." She took the swaddled babies and, led by a holy sister, retired to the inner hall.

Aemond, reluctant to part, turned his head away in silence. Aegon, looking dejected, watched the holy sisters leave with a bitter expression.

Ormund saw everything, noting the absence of his two grandnephews, and introduced the person behind him. "Prince, this is Archmaester Fischer, the head of the Citadel Conclave, who has come to pay his respects."

Ormund pointed nervously to a fat, bald old man. The old man, with dead fish eyes, pale sagging skin, and a hunched back, bowed. "Prince, I represent..."

"How many people are there in the Conclave?" Rhaegar interrupted, staring at him.

Ormund hesitated, cold sweat trickling down his face. The bald old man frowned slightly, displeased at the interruption, and said with forced patience, "Usually, seven Archmaesters preside over it. The Citadel has expanded in recent years, and there are now ten Archmaesters involved. I am honored to be one of them."

He made it clear he was hinting at the prosperity of the Citadel, hoping for leniency from Rhaegar.

Rhaegar was unimpressed and asked, "Ten Archmaesters, but only one is sent to see me. Can you represent the other nine?"

The bald old man was momentarily speechless and then said hesitantly, "I am the representative. If you have any requests, I will convey them to the Conclave."

Ching!

Truefyre flashed from his waist, a swift black blur. A red line appeared on the bald old man's neck, and blood splattered immediately.

Rhaegar shook his head and said indifferently, "You send just one errand boy to see me? Are the public servants of the Citadel so arrogant?"

As he finished speaking, the corpse fell to the ground with a thud, limbs twitching unconsciously. In an instant, the temperature in the hall dropped, as if a cold wind from the North was blowing.

Aegon's eyes widened in surprise, and he took a step back, arms folded. Aemond's one eye widened, his gaze flickering between his brother and the corpse. Shock registered first, then calmness returned, a faint smile curling his lips. He admired his brother's decisiveness.

"Prince, he's a Archmaester from the Citadel," Ormund stammered, nearly collapsing in shock.

Rhaegar glanced at him, curious. "So what?" What’s so great about the Citadel? Do they really think knowledge is power? The old debts are still unsettled.

Aemond stood straighter, blood pumping in his veins. Ormund was speechless, his right hand trembling slightly holding Vigilance.

High Septon Corben emerged from the corner and ordered a few Silent Sisters to drag the corpse away. He closed his eyes in silent prayer for the dead. After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and handed a parchment contract to Rhaegar.

Rhaegar leaned back, propping himself up on his hands, and gave Aemond a wink. Aemond understood immediately, quickly getting up to grab the parchment and place it before his brother.

Rhaegar glanced at Corben and Ormund, then read the contract carefully.

"In the name of the High Septon, I hereby recognize the Protestant branch of the Faith of the Seven, grant the Targaryen royal family the right to appoint and dismiss the High Septon at will, and issue a new edition of the Seven-Pointed Star Bible..."

The contract stripped the Faith of the Seven of its power.

"The new religion is established, and the Targaryen royal family shall bear the responsibility of protecting it. The religion may be amended, and the Starry Sept shall not refute. All rights of interpretation belong to the Iron Throne."

With each provision, Corben's emaciated body seemed to age thirty years, standing only with support from others. The contract terms cemented a tyrannical alliance between the Iron Throne and the Faith of the Seven, crushing the Faith's prestige.

Rhaegar’s eyes were as sharp as a hawk's. He said calmly, "High Septon, when I find a second wife, I hope you will personally perform the ceremony for us." He pointed up and down with his index finger, delivering a verbal blow: "The location will be the Starry Sept, in front of all the believers."