(EM Vol. 2: A Wandering Melody) Chapter 83: Seven Faces

Chapter 83: Seven Faces

123 AC, Oldtown

The young prince was disoriented by it, but he noticed that Harry had stopped as well, and for some reason, he had a smug smile on his face. “There you are,” Harry said softly. “I thought you’d show yourselves eventually, the Seven Who Are One.”

The Seven Who Are One were a constant in Daeron’s life before he had even been sent to Oldtown. In his younger years, he remembered his mother telling him of the Gods, relishing in their kindness and fearing their righteous retribution. If he had to guess, the Queen wished to compensate for her children’s apparent disinterest in the Seven, with Aegon being too callous and revelling in sin, Aemond being more concerned with dragons, and Helaena preoccupied with her bugs.

A cynical part of him, one who had witnessed Lord Ormund's political manoeuvring, made him think that his mother was positioning him to be the High Septon one day. It was a position of great honour and power, one that would easily cement the crown’s power over the populace. It was either this or being a Maester and doing the same within the Citadel.

There were worse fates for a third son to have, even if Daeron wasn’t particularly enthused by the prospect.

But that didn’t matter, not really, because Daeron had heard the voice of the Seven, likely the first one since Hugor of the Hill. He could make out each of the seven voices perfectly: that of a severe but just man, a loving and concerned mother, a fearful and innocent maiden, a gruff smith, a bloodthirsty warrior, an old and wise crone, and the faint whispers of a stranger far in the distance.

In this desolate, nightmarish world, before the severed head of a slain god, the Seven made themselves known, but not for Daeron, but for a sorcerer, a man who was the very antithesis of their faith.

After Harry’s proclamation, silence reigned completely, and the sorcerer’s grin widened, yelling out into the empty room, “Oh, go on. Don’t tell me you’ve gotten shy now, not after pushing the kid to try to kill me. I have to say that your first attempt was pretty subtle. I didn’t really notice it, not with all of this Black Stone distracting me. But that last one was very obvious, in my opinion.”

The young prince’s thoughts froze at that proclamation, and looking back, he could remember Harry having realised it as well. It made sense. Daeron’s righteous anger at Harry, the attempt to kill him twice, despite knowing that it was unlikely that it would succeed or that he would survive Daphne’s retaliation. After all, that woman was likely also some kind of witch as well.

He remembered the certainty he felt at his ability to kill Harry, the knowledge that his previous trick wouldn’t work, not this time, and yet he failed all the more. Had the gods truly decided to act through him? A part of him felt proud of this fact, but another, a small thought, terrified him. He was uneasy with the idea of having foreign feelings and thoughts in his head.

Still, despite his proclamation, they received no response, “Oh, come on. I can feel you listening. But I suppose if you’re not willing to have a proper conversation, then I should finish what I started, don’t you think?”

As the sorcerer turned towards the godly head, Daeron felt a sudden anger course through his veins, pushing him to attack Harry once more, and yet his body still would not move. Harry must have felt it; he raised an unimpressed eyebrow before looking back to the divine corpse before him.

Suddenly, a bright light illuminated the room, and a kindly woman made of sunlight appeared, with her voice completely mesmerising, “Enough!”

This time, the woman’s voice was far less terrifying. It sounded more human with the cacophony of voices behind it. And looking at the woman, the first thing that came into Daeron’s mind was the shock, as she oddly seemed to resemble his mother. He hadn’t seen her for years, and yet, he recognised her features all the same. He could almost smell her familiar perfume and the warmth of the last embrace they shared before he left for Oldtown.

Harry’s smile widened, “Well, hello there. I’m Harry, and this is my wife, Daphne. I assume that you’re familiar with Daeron, given that you tried to make him kill me or anything.”

“You do not belong here,” the Mother Above, if Daeron deduced correctly, said, “Leave this place and never return.”

“Don’t be like that. That’s very rude, you know? Why do gods have to be so rude? Nice trick with the body, by the way, taking the shape of what brings one the most comfort. It’s a shame that it wouldn’t work on someone who could actually see what you are. Now that we’ve all been introduced, I have to admit that I have a few questions, starting with: What’s your connection to the dead god over there?”

The Mother’s features shifted for a fraction of a second, which made Daeron dizzy, before it settled back to normal: “The affairs of gods are not for mortals to comprehend.”

“Fine, be that way. I’ll just figure it out by myself,” Harry answered while humming and staring out of the room. “You’re using the giant pillars of Black Stone as your main connection to the material to the living realm. Every single one is different, in a way. You had to have chosen these pillars and not anything else. There’s an entire maze of this stuff in this place, which you could have chosen. After all, this place predates the building of the Hightower, which already predates the coming of the Andals by quite some time. So, you chose these pillars, all connected to the corpse of a god, one that came before you, but why? Power, maybe? No, that doesn’t feel right. You have more energy than you could use to influence the material realm, your main bottleneck being Faith
 Oh, I get it
 That’s not very nice of you, is it?”

Daeron found himself utterly confused as the Mother Above, whom he had prayed to many times, suddenly shifted away. The world seemed to hold its breath in the meantime, and for a fraction of a second, Daeron thought that he had seen something utterly, some kind of amalgamation of impossibilities, that his mind could not grasp. A migraine, unlike any other, assaulted his mind, and he instinctively closed his eyes.

When he opened them back up, the impossibility was gone, and so had the form of the Mother Above, and in its stead was that of a larger but older man, his pose proud and confident, where that of the Mother Above was kindly and warm.

The Father Above, Daeron didn’t know what else it could be, spoke up, “We have guided our people to prosperity for thousands of years. You are but a foreigner to these lands, our lands, and you threaten to burn them all away in your displeasure.”

“But it wasn’t always your land, was it? Your faith started in Andalos, an entire continent away, a place that was later controlled by the Valyrian Freehold. You literally ran away to this place and invaded this land for your own benefit.”

“It was by Fate’s own hands that we came to these lands. Destiny led our people here, and we followed. And we have repaid them manyfold, blessing their smiths and builders with inspiration, granting healers strength, and warriors courage. Their faith in us shaped the realm itself. You would undo all of that for the sake of curiosity.”

For the first time, Harry’s smile seemingly faded away, “Curiosity? You know, I generally don’t like gods. Oh, a few of them are nice, but most are quite unpleasant. But the fact that what you’re doing endangers every single living soul on the continent, and think that I want to stop it for the sake of curiosity, has to take the cake.”

Daeron gasped before his eyes widened at the realisation that he could move once more. He wished he could have stopped himself from speaking, but he couldn’t help but wish for more answers: “What are they doing?”

He felt some pressure in his mind, but it quickly faded away. Daeron shook his head and focused on Harry’s answer, “You see, gods are powerful, but they’re limited. They have power, an immense amount, either gathering it through faith or some kind of deserted realm that they’re tied to, but it’s very far away. Gods need worshippers, and to get them, they need to show certain displays of power, which is a lot harder from so far away. There are shortcuts, certain blessings, the occasional miracle, but they’re very hard and expensive to do, and don’t always work. But what if there was already some kind of godly energy near their followers, one that doesn’t have any will left? Well, then, it would be easy to remain nearby, to use that god’s power to spread its influence instead of their own, while also empowering themselves from the Faith that they spread.”

Harry turned back to the Father Above, who had remained all but motionless during the man’s answer, “I was curious as to how your faith is so widespread compared to that of other gods. Half of a continent prays to you, fought wars over you, despite the misery and poverty they live in, all through the power of a dead god, one whose name they don’t even know, whose name you also probably don’t know.”

The Father’s expression flickered again, just for a moment, or perhaps something else, before his form shifted once more. This time, Daeron closed his eyes through pure instinct, and when he opened them, an old woman made of grey light, the Crone, appeared before him instead of the Father Above. The woman released a scoff that sounded wrong, “Better us than a malicious god, who would spread nought but blood and chaos to our people.”

“Maybe, but the maze builders created something amazing, a safe way to hold the power of a god. The tree is its source, but it has roots with every single piece of Blackstone that make up this maze, weaponising a God’s realm against itself. I don’t know if your presence disrupted the delicate balance, or if it was already starting to end; a lot can happen over thousands of years, but it’s no longer self-sustaining. The living shadows being born here is proof enough.”

“The pests are confined to this maze. We hold the Dark One’s power at bay, and we will continue to do so,” the Crone said with finality.

“For now, but what if you fade away? It’s inevitable and maybe even likely to happen before you empty an entire realm's worth of energy into the material realm without it fracturing from the pressure. Eventually, the unchecked power will spill into the world. An entire realm of darkness, shadows, and madness floods into these lands, your lands. At the very least, every mortal in Westeros would die, your people. There could even be more severe ramifications, the start of further realms colliding, wiping out the material realm. I can break the connection and fix the rift. By doing so, I’ll be giving you a chance to save them all, your followers, your land, even in the event of your death.”

Daeron shivered at the sorcerer’s description of what might happen if the contents of the maze somehow escaped and the knowledge that Westeros could be entirely destroyed by a whim of the Seven, that it might even affect the Known World completely.

A part of him felt vindicated by the fact that the Seven Who Are One had held back the destruction of the entire continent on their own. It was proof of their benediction, of their love for their followers, despite how dark the world could get. They would accept Harry’s offer, and Westeros would be saved.

And yet, the Crone did not answer. She did not utter a single word, just staring at Harry, while the sorcerer’s eyes widened completely, “I knew it! You’re deliberating amongst each aspect of yourself. The influx of Faith is allowing you to separate yourselves. I was wondering why you would need so many worshippers, why you urged an entire continent to kill in your name, to spread your influence. Seven completely different aspects of you, so different that each thinks differently. No wonder you wanted to split them away, to create seven different Gods of a pantheon, instead of one, and for that, you needed power, far more than you had before. You’re not quite there yet, but over time, you could achieve it.”

The crone’s face snapped, and her light seemed to start growing redder, and Daeron felt himself being completely unable to breathe. He fell down from the sheer pressure, finally realising that the being of light before him was truly a god.

Harry, on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected and just raised his hands lazily in the air, “Hey, I don’t care about that. I guess it’s a bit of a pressure point, huh? You’re perfectly free to tear yourself up all you like. But you don’t need this corpse to achieve this. You’ve already conquered more than enough to do it, and your faith is almost omnipresent in every corner south of the Neck. There’s very little you could achieve here, even with more power, not without starting some kind of divine war. You already have the followers. You just need time, not power from a corpse.”

The crone’s figure shifted away, and Daeron blinked on instinct once more, as the Father Above took her place, “It is necessary.”

“It isn’t necessary. You’re barely performing any miracles, nor any grand displays of power. You have half a continent that is entirely dedicated to you. They had faith in you in spite of the plagues, in spite of the wars, the blood, the slaughters, and the famine. They prayed to you, they built septs for you, they fought wars in your name, and that’s fine. I don’t particularly like it, but I can understand how fundamental faith could be. And now, you wouldn’t even wait a bit longer just to make sure they’re safe. You would all but ensure their immediate demise to keep sponging off the corpse of a dead god.”

“Watch yourself, mortal,” the Father Above answered.

“No, I won’t. These people have dedicated their lives to you, despite your distance, despite the fact that you barely ever help them. You might have been subtle in your guidance, if you even did that, but these people barely understand that, and yet they kept faith. It’s a miracle that
 that they still pray to you
 Unless it wasn’t a miracle.”

The young prince turned towards Harry, whose eyes had completely and utterly hardened, staring at the god, his casual expression being completely absent.

For the first time since the Seven Who Are One spoke, Daphne’s voice echoed in the room, “What was it?”

“The Septs.”

The golden-haired woman looked thoughtful for a couple of seconds before releasing a sigh, “Oh! That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not,” her husband commented.

Daeron felt frustrated at being excluded, but Harry continued, still staring at the god, who had started to turn redder, much like he had before, “Looking back, I should have realised it sooner. I felt your presence in the Starry Sept, and I thought that was normal as the centre of your Faith. But I also felt small fragments of it inside every statue, every piece of worship. I thought it was a small spark of magic warped by pure faith, but it wasn’t their doing, was it? It was you. It was always you. Every time someone prayed to you, every time they stepped through a Sept, they let a spark of you inside them, a spell enhanced by this place, a fragment of your will.”

Daeron watched the god closely, waiting for a denial. There was none.

Harry’s tone grew quieter, but no less firm, “You didn’t need to be in control, not really. A small push was all that was needed. A hint of comfort when they pray. A soft warmth when they light a candle. Just enough to make them come back. Just enough for their Faith to grow. You turned them to sheep, using them to grow your faith as quickly as possible, using it to convert as many people as possible as quickly as possible. And you had to leave no room for doubt, and so, you put seeds of hatred towards the people who could detect your influence, like those with magic in their veins. You can’t risk closing the rift because you know that this would end the spell, and with it your faith. And so, you would doom them, the people whose love in you grants you your strength.”

Daeron’s eyes widened in horror at the implications of what he had just heard. For a moment, he didn’t believe it. He couldn’t. His entire life had been built upon that faith, his prayers, his hopes, the comfort he had drawn in dark times. Were all of them carefully calculated moments of manipulation?

He staggered slightly, his breath quickening. Was it all a lie? Everything faded away, the sorcerer’s words, and even the Seven’s response, all because of this single realisation, which created a void inside him that he simply couldn’t fill.

Daeron barely noticed the invisible pressure pulling him down to the ground. He barely even registered the seven voices who spoke in unison, inhuman and jagged, nor did the odd light that illuminated the room.

However, it was when he felt something other than the despair inside him that he felt his mind awake once more. It was an urge, a familiar one, a righteous rage towards Harry, the man he needed to stop at all costs.

Suddenly, it was as if clarity had returned to the world, and Daeron opened his eyes, his mind, no longer hazy. He stared at Harry and Daphne, who had created dozens of circles of light that created a fractal veil of sharp angles and shifting patterns around them, seemingly stopping some kind of piercing light that came from the pillars above them, which created constant impacts that shook the room.

Daeron stood frozen, his body trembling. His hand twitched toward the dagger at his side. He could still feel it, the rage inside him.

And so, he took one step forward, towards Harry’s back, who was seemingly too tired to stop him.

He stared at him and raised his dagger. Only to let go of it.

The sound it made as it fell to the ground froze the battlefield completely, and Daeron peered towards the Seven Who Are One. It didn’t look like the Father Above anymore, just a constantly shifting creature that looked vaguely humanoid, fighting through the migraine he felt as he kept staring at it.

He walked forward, ignoring the faint smirk on Harry and Daphne’s faces and looked the God he had worshipped in the eyes, if one would call them that, “No more. My name is Daeron Targaryen, son of Viserys Targaryen, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, and I denounce you, Seven Who Are One.”

The chamber stilled, and the god looked almost taken aback by his proclamation, before seven inhuman voices spoke at once, “SO BE IT!”

AN: That chapter was harder to write than I expected. I didn’t really get the time to review it properly, so I hope it came out like I wanted it to. The idea was to explore a different idea of how God would get empowered by Faith that I thought was interesting, as well as Daeron’s faith slowly crumbling. I think it’s a bit on the lore-heavy side, but I hope it came out like I wanted it to. If not, then I don’t mind rewriting this chapter depending on your feedback. So, as usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.