The events unfolded almost exactly as Rhaegar had expected.
As the Red Keep guards disguised as merchants stepped out from the castle and moved toward him, another seven ragged-robed men appeared on the southern road, slowly making their way forward.
Among the followers of the Faith of the Seven, the number seven was sacred. The ragged devotees would not begin their pilgrimage until they had gathered seven companions. From there they would slowly merge with other bands, swelling into a larger host marching toward Harrenhal.
Those arriving now were merely the believers who lived closest.
The Seven had never spoken a single word to anyone. Rhaegar knew well enough that someone stood behind all of this, stirring the flames.
"Was it the Seven who guided you here," he asked coldly, "to kill me and Tessarion?"
The older ragged man stared straight into Rhaegar's eyes.
"One dragon dies, another takes its place. What difference does it make?" he said. "Only when every last Targaryen is slain, or driven back into the sea, will Westeros finally be clean."
Those words were no accident.
"They're the same declaration the Moon Priest used when he roused the Faith Militant," Rhaegar replied sharply. "King Jaehaerys I signed an agreement with the Faith in 58 AC, dissolving their armies. By those very words alone, you could be condemned."
He drew his sword.
Royce immediately shifted into a fighting stance, and little Zoro behind them pulled a dagger, ready for blood.
The ragged man calmly removed his hood, revealing a bald scalp. Then he spread his arms wide and shouted toward the sky.
"Come then! Let the sinner pierce my body with his sinful weapon!"
A man who insulted the royal house deserved no mercy. But Rhaegar had not forgotten where the authority of justice lay.
"Royce," he said. "Do it."
Royce thrust his longsword forward, driving the blade toward the man's chest.
The older zealot did not move.
Steel pierced flesh. Blood welled from the wound.
Then Royce froze.
His face drained of color.
"Rhaegar… look!"
The ragged man seized the front of his robe with both hands and tore it open.
His chest was gaunt, ribs stark beneath thin skin. And at the center of it burned a hideous brand,
a seven-pointed star, carved deep into the flesh.
Blood flowed across the scarred symbol, making the mark even more grotesque. Royce stood stunned.
Seeing that no one struck him down, the zealot began shouting again.
"My blood will wash away my sins! My blood will bear witness to the crimes of the demon dragons!"
Encouraged by his cry, the other thirteen ragged followers behind him tore open their robes as well. Men and women alike exposed their chests.
Each one bore the same seven-pointed star brand.
"My blood will wash away my sins! My blood will bear witness to the crimes of the demon dragons!"
Those who carried such brands were not merely fanatics. They were the most devoted warriors of the Faith, people willing to offer everything to the Seven,
their gold, their children, even their lives.
The commotion began drawing attention. Merchants nearby drifted closer, eager to watch the spectacle.
Rhaegar had not expected that the first woman's chest he saw in this life would appear under such circumstances.
He grabbed Royce and stepped back several paces.
"Damn it," he muttered. "These bastards came here hoping we'd kill them. We almost walked straight into their trap."
Royce stared at the branded chests.
"If we strike them now, word will spread across the Seven Kingdoms before long. And what people will hear is that we butchered unarmed followers of the Seven, not that they insulted the king."
"They won't be lying," Rhaegar said quietly. "They'll simply leave out certain details."
"In the end, people will believe the words of the Seven's faithful… not a bastard like me, nor a man like you who follows the Old Gods."
Rhaegar scanned the surroundings as he spoke, judging whether it might still be possible to kill the fourteen in front of him, and the seven more approaching on the road, before dumping the bodies into the Gods Eye to feed the fish.
If news of their deaths leaked out, it would not just be zealots who came for him. Even nearby lords devoted to the Seven would march beneath banners of righteousness to destroy him.
Just then a tall merchant passed behind Rhaegar and whispered softly:
"More believers are coming down the road. We should withdraw to the castle."
Inside a small hall at Harrenhal, Rhaena, Rhaegar, Royce, and the tall merchant sat around a long wooden table. Tessarion lay nearby, curled up asleep.
Everyone had reached the same conclusion.
These zealots were going to be extremely troublesome.
Rhaegar broke the silence.
"What if Rhaena mounted Dreamfyre, burned their camp to ashes, and then burned the entire forest? How would they spread the news then?"
Rhaena glanced at him but said nothing.
The tall merchant removed his hat and wig, revealing a bald head beneath.
It was none other than Ser Joffrey Doggett of the Kingsguard.
"They were able to gather again," Doggett said, "which means someone is organizing them from behind the scenes. By the time they reached Harrenhal, they must already be part of a much larger network."
"They will know everything, how many arrived, who reached Harrenhal, who patrols the roads, who returned, who disappeared. Every detail."
The older knight paced the room as he spoke, but the walk soon left him tired. Sitting down on a wooden stool, he poured himself a cup of water and drank deeply.
"My magnificent beard was cut off for this disguise," he muttered. "A pity."
In a world without fast communication or surveillance, Rhaegar still refused to believe that eliminating witnesses was impossible.
"Ser Doggett," he asked, "how many people do you think will come?"
Doggett shook his head.
"Maegor I slaughtered more than ten thousand of them, and they still endured. These people travel in small groups on foot. Who can say how many will gather?"
"A thousand. Perhaps two thousand. Or perhaps, before long, the crowd will swell to ten thousand or more."
Doggett understood exactly what Rhaegar was thinking.
"Forget about killing them all to silence the matter," he continued. "They aren't an army that camps together. They'll scatter everywhere-"
"A hunter hiding in a tree, a traveler on the road, a merchant… even a nobleman. Anyone who believes in the Seven will carry the news."
Hearing that so many fanatics might descend upon Harrenhal, Rhaena finally spoke.
"Ser Doggett, you once commanded the Faith Militant. The king specifically sent you here. What exactly does he intend?"
Doggett dipped a finger into his cup and traced two names on the tabletop with water as he spoke.
"Back then the Faith had two military orders. The Warrior's Sons, made up of noble knights, also known as the Swords of the Faith. I once served as their commander."
"The other was the Poor Fellows, formed from commoners. Their commander was a bastard from the Westerlands, Harris Hishan. But he died early."
"Later I joined the Kingsguard. When the king and the High Septon signed the agreement dissolving the Faith Militant, the Warrior's Sons disbanded."
"But two remnants of the Poor Fellows still remain active."
Doggett finished writing the names.
"One leader calls himself 'Ragged' Sylas. His band hides in the forests of the Reach, robbing merchants who pass through. Every force sent to destroy them has vanished."
"The other is 'Lame' Dennis, active in the Crownlands. Many smallfolk secretly help him hide."
Rhaena's heart quickened.
"So the king intends to use Rhaegar as bait… to lure them out?"
Doggett nodded.
"Those two have followed our movements for years. They know how to stir the smallfolk. Once they're dead, the rest will collapse into a disorganized rabble."
A unified ideology.Deep support among the people. Fanatical courage that ignored death.
No wonder even powerful lords preferred to host and feed these zealots rather than confront them.
Rhaegar folded his arms, silently thankful he had not acted rashly earlier.
"I have to admit," he said, "I'm starting to admire Maegor the Cruel. The man truly dared to strike the Faith Militant."
Rhaena immediately smacked him on the head.
"And that's exactly why he's remembered as a tyrant," she snapped. "Everyone despised and opposed him."
Rhaegar rubbed his head and wisely said nothing more. The name Maegor was a taboo for Rhaena.
Doggett spoke again.
"We'll strengthen the castle's defenses. The master of whisperers has also dispatched spies to gather intelligence on those two leaders."
"For now, we avoid open conflict."
The discussion turned toward strengthening Harrenhal's defenses.
Rhaegar, however, leaned forward on the table, chin resting on his hand, deep in thought.
As Rhaena and Doggett had said, Maegor was a king who cared only for results.
Jaehaerys, on the other hand, wanted both results and a spotless reputation.
If Rhaegar wished to become the sword instead of the shield, he would need to find a solution that achieved both.
As the conversation quieted, Rhaegar spoke softly.
"If these unarmed followers of the Faith were to pick up weapons themselves…"
"Would they still be innocent believers, "
"or would they become rioters?"
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