AN :
In the Game of Stones, you either win or you wait. The more Power Stones you offer, the faster the chapters come.
...
( Septon Callrik POV )
There was thus no question that Callum Lannister had done a wonderful thing, a great work that all good men smiled upon, doubly so from a boy so young.
The question was whether he had truly been blessed by the Smith, whether he had been given the knowledge, mission, and vision to pursue it by the hand of the divine, or whether it had simply occurred to him through mortal means.
...
That was what Callrik would attempt to determine today. Tricky as it might be. He clasped his hands together and prayed for truth. 'Father, help my judgment.' he prayed as he passed the statue of the solemn patriarch, rod in hand. 'Crone, guide me to the truth of your will.' he nodded as he passed the bringer of prophecy, her lantern low.
As he approached the front of the Sept, Callrik saw the child surrounded by a gaggle of Septons and Septas, who were asking him questions in a hubbub. Talking, yelling, shouting over each other as they surrounded the child, who was standing next to a knight in armor, his bodyguard no doubt, and trying to answer their questions, but hardly getting a word in. Callrik saw this happening but chose to observe the Lannister son for a moment, to take his measure.
Watching the boy he couldn't help but be taken back a bit by how pretty he was, small and fair, the boy's skin was pale save for the red freckles on his face, and he could easily have been mistaken for a girl, especially from the clarity of his emerald eyes as he looked from Septon to Septon and tried to get his answers out fast enough.
He looked perhaps a tad flustered, but not so much that he was willing to shout back at the Septons. Slender and short, he clutched a copy of the Seven-Pointed Star to his chest with his left hand, it looked like one of the ones that came off of his presses. A personal copy perhaps. Callrik's eyes were drawn from it to the boy's clothes.
Callum Lannister had arrived at the Starry Sept dressed in a plain red jerkin with no embellishments, a pair of simple leggings, and small boots. The clothes were humble, very humble indeed for a Lannister, Callrik knew that the boy likely had far finer things in his wardrobe, or even his traveling trunk.
He was stopped from pondering whether that was an intentional choice as the knight beside the boy looked about ready to punch one of the aggressively probing Septons.
Callrik raised his hands, stepping forward as the silver cloth about his neck glimmered in the firelight. With the practice of a lifetime preacher, he breathed in deep and projected from his belly.
"ENOUGH." The sound of his voice and the recognition of it stilled his subordinate's tongues, their eyes turning back to him, and nearly all suddenly bore sheepish expressions. They had gotten away from themselves, curious to see if this boy truly was as blessed as was claimed.
"Step back from the boy, can't you see you are pressing him too far?" Callrik's voice was chiding, a deep baritone that spoke with command. Sometimes, he wondered if it was the only reason he'd been elevated to head the Starry Sept.
At once the multitude of faithful men and women drew back, leaving the boy and the knight the only ones remaining. The child looked frazzled, his cheeks red as he glanced back and forth, seeing the clergy drawback, his emerald eyes gazing back and forth through the hazy air. Then, as silence reigned at Callrik's command, the boy turned to him and met his gaze.
Those green eyes blazed against Callrik's blue, reflecting the dim light of the candles behind him, and Callrik could swear that he heard the ringing of bells in the distance, the sounds of thunder, and a strange smell in his nostrils. Then, as if on some hidden cue, the moment was over, and the boy bowed, deeply at the waist, his golden hair falling down over his face to hang from his head like a veil.
Callrik felt his heart quiver, but he shook it off in a moment, his voice lower now, not shouting, though it still echoed through the great space under the Sept's artificial night. "Come to me child, let me see your face." The queerness of the moment, set Callrik's hand to trembling, were the seven truly working before him? Or was it a trick of his mind, he couldn't be sure. He needed to meet those eyes once again. He needed to be sure.
The boy rose, looking nervous, his hand rubbed against his arm. "As you say, holiness." Callrik saw that he was frightened, and felt pity rise in his heart, he was still so small, just a child, but that did not change Callrik's purpose. As part of the Most Devout, as a follower of the Seven, he could not stop until he was sure.
The child walked to him and stood before him, looking forward, his back straight as an arrow. Callrik reached down and took the boy's chin in his hand, and as he raised the boy's head, the Lannister child gasping in surprise, he saw those eyes once again, and the fire reflected in them.
Callrik breathed deep of the sweet smoky air, and he held that gaze, not with his eyes, but with his soul, praying to the seven for clarity of vision.
And all at once, his prayer was answered, the sound of bells, a rhythmic drumbeat, not bells at all, but hammers shaping steal, the thunder came from the metal spitting fire, the smell acrid white smoke. He saw the green of the boy's eyes and the orange of the fire waver, and in it, he saw an ocean of fire, a wheel cracking, and breaking, only to be bound in iron and reforged, a seven-pointed star of steel raised on a banner above a city of gold, a crown of light and a sound of glass shattering.
"Erm… are you alright, holiness?" the boy's lips spoke, but Callrik barely heard the words, stepping back, his hand recoiled from the boy's face as if burned, and he could not bear to look into those eyes a moment longer. Instead, his eyes rose, his mind turning to the statue of the Crone resting beyond the pillars, on a plinth above the boy's head. The world seemed to turn around him, and he could swear the stone moved, that the Crone raised her lantern, but the next moment it was gone, back to being held at her hip.
Callrik felt his heart thunder in his chest. The Lannister boy stared up at him in concern. He pulled himself back to his composure and wiped his forehead with his sleeve.
"I'm… well, I'm well my boy." his deep voice nearly cracked, but slowly the Most Devout regained himself, his mind still reeling, but more in control.
"Yes, quite well." the boy seemed to know nothing of what had happened, of the vision that had filled Callrik's mind. Callrick did not know if the boy was blessed in the way the Gold Sept claimed. Visions could be fickle things, but he could say for certain that there was something more than natural behind the eyes of the child in front of him, innocent and frail as he might seem.
"I apologize if I discomforted you, I merely… felt a strange presence in your eyes." Yes, best to buy himself time, take an evening or two to think about the vision, and consider its meaning. "Come, follow me, I shall be your guide to this holy place child."
"Will there be questions?" the boy asked, glancing back and forth nervously. "I… don't know how many I'll be able to answer, I haven't studied theology as much as I'd like to."
Callrik felt his heart ease a little bit. That was an altogether more natural response, not some vision of great import, though said vision still rang in his ears. Callrik nonetheless knew well how to comfort a scared child. "I'll avoid theology then." Callrik smiled, "Come, and do not worry." Callrik gave the boy a gentle smile. "In this place of comfort, there is no need for fear."
Somehow it seemed like the boy didn't believe him.
Perhaps because Callrik's heart was still roiling with fear himself.
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