Chapter Text
JAEHAERYS TARGARYEN, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, felt uneasy as he was led deeper into the dark bowels of the Grand Sept of Visenya. He had only ever been in the sept-proper on a few occasions and had been too young to be allowed to venture deeper into the labyrinthine complex.
The temple was dedicated to one of the greatest queens in the history of the Seven Kingdoms and was one of the largest centre of worship in the known world, acting as a sept, an orphanage, a school, a palace and a brothel.
His nervousness heightened as he was led past the world famous Corridor of Carnality which housed the church's brothels and where he could overhear the overzealous moans and lustful cries of the clergy servicing the carnal needs of the faithful. Past the Corridor was the Maidenvault where underaged novices of noble birth were taught on how to pleasure the flesh. He had caught a glimpse of his uncle and namesake, Septon Jaehaerys, but the man was preoccupied by a Dornish couple as they made love in public without a care in the world. He was ushered past the copulating trio and down into a dark, twisting tunnel made of black, oily stone that led deep beneath the city itself.
The black walls of the tunnel swallowed all light and only the path beneath his feet was illuminated by the torches of his escort, two mute knights of the Rainbow Guard, an order of seven hundred and seventy-seven knights sworn to the High Septa and not the Iron Throne. Despite the strong alliance between the Faith and the Crown since the days of Maegor the Great, his fears did not alleviate as he was the son of an Old Gods-worshipping mother and he himself felt he was more Stark than Targaryen, preferring being called Jon than Jaehaerys. And as he was led deeper into the dark abyss of the underground tunnel, Jon couldn't help but feel like he was willingly walking into a trap.
It had been years since a Targaryen prince was given over to the Faith and with his brother, Aegon, being the crown prince, Jon was worried that he would be forced into taking his vows to secure the succession. While being a septon would grant him knowledge of the higher mysteries, learn how to breathe fire like a dragon and have endless sex until he was old and grey, Jon had other aspirations in life. Unlike what the royal court murmurs in the shadow, Jon didn't want his father's crown nor did he even want to rule as lord.
He wanted to be free.
To be a legendary warrior like Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. He wanted to explore the world atop his dragon, Snow, and discover new lands beyond the Sunset Sea and meet new people. He wanted to climb the Wall and defend it from wildlings alongside his Stark cousins. He wanted to sail the Smoking Sea and fight the hellish monsters that inhabit Valyria. But most of all, he wanted to share the bed of a particular princess, with eyes of amethyst and a smile that could thaw a frozen heart.
And the High Septa could snuff out his dreams with a single stroke of a pen.
As Mother of the Faithful, she held a power equal if not surpassing that of the king himself, capable of stripping Jon from his royal titles and banishing him from the realm like so many had before him. Of his four paternal uncles, three were taken in by the Faith to be septons while his uncle Viserys had been exiled to the Summer Islands on the charge of blasphemy and sedition.
For centuries, the Faith has acted as a shadow government, oftimes supporting House Targaryen and sometimes, undermining the royal family. Going as far as choosing which bride the king could marry and even which of the king's sons could inherit the crown.
Its incredible political power was supplemented by its mystical and magical powers which had only grown stronger since the Dragons landed in Westeros. It was said that a truly pious septa could cure diseases that a maester couldn't, have no need of nourishment, control animals, manipulate the elements, raise the dead and so much more.
Most of them were exaggerations but nonetheless, those tales inspired fear into boys and grown men alike and Jon was determined to not to be frightened.
"A frightened man is a beaten man." His uncle Brandon once said.
Even Aegon the Conqueror, who had forged the Seven Kingdoms into one realm, had treaded lightly in regards to the Faith, honoring their rights and privileges as well as taking a bride from each of the Seven Kingdoms as tribute. When the Conqueror had died, the High Septa decreed that he should be succeeded by his second son, Maegor, a man she deemed blessed by the Seven.
Maegor the Great would live to be 112 years old, rule for 77 years, win 21 battles and father 98 children from 14 wives, all considered auspicious numbers in the Faith. Whether he truly was blessed by the Gods was debatable but it certainly helped that he had seduced the High Septa when he was just a boy and the Faith had been on his side ever since with the Faith Militant acting as his own private army in his many wars against the Free Cities.
And now, it was Jon's turn to seduce the High Septa and make a name for himself or be forgotten in the annals of history. After minutes of walking, the tunnels came to a dead end and his silent escort stopped and took on station on either side of what seemed to be a large weirwood door, the bleach-white wood shining bright in the torchlight in contrast to the dark.
"Should I knock?" Jon looked at the Rainbow Guards for guidance but they remained mute and stoic, their face an emotionless mask. With no apparent handles or doorknob in sight, Jon raised his hand to knock but before his knuckles could meet the wood, the door slowly creaked wide open followed by a gust of cool ocean breeze. After spending minutes in the darkness of the underground tunnel, Jon was temporarily blinded by how brightly lit the room was as he stepped inside, shielding his eyes from the candles that shone with the power of the sun.
Several blinking moments later, Jon realized that the source of light was the sun itself, its golden rays filtering through the large open windows that gave a bird's eye view of the capital city below. The city below? Jon staggered towards the window and indeed he found himself high atop one of the seven colossal towers of the sept. How? He wondered. Every step he took in the tunnels had led him down not up. Yet, here he was. High above the sprawling city with the Red Keep in the distance, its crimson walls glowing like flames beneath the summer sun.
Jon turned towards the door from whence he entered, only to find that it had completely disappeared. Instead of a wooden door, Jon only found solid stone walls that encircled the seven-sided room. There was a large canopied bed beneath a large, weirwood carving of the seven-pointed star, an old bookshelf full of ancient books, a crystal crown upon the hearth, Myrish rugs, wide windows draped with golden curtains that swayed gently in the breeze and only one door, that led to the balcony.
"Rytsas, Dārilaros Jaehaerys."
Jon was almost startled by the greeting, the voice soft-spoken and melodious, every word sounded like it came from the lips of an angel from the heavens above. He noticed movement upon the balcony and a gust of wind blew aside the large golden drapes to reveal the woman who had summoned him.
And she was breathtaking.
For a moment Jon could only gauk at her. No wonder people believed that the High Septa was the avatar of the Mother Above, she possessed a beauty that was almost unnatural with silver-gold hair like the Valyrians of Old, heart-shaped face with high cheekbones and a body that even the Father would worship.
She was scantily dressed as was expected of a member of the Faith but what surprised the young prince was the colour of her attire. The few times he saw her, she was dressed in white or depending of the feast days of the Seven any colour of the rainbow. But the woman standing before him was dressed in black. Targaryen black. The colour of sin.
"Udrizi Valyrio ýdrā?" She asked, her eyes smiling. "Iā gõntan ao ojughagon aôha ēngos?"
Do you speak Valyrian? Or did you lose your tongue?
"Valyrio muño ēngos ñuhys issa." Jon lied, Valyrian was definitely not his mother tongue. He knew enough to hold a conversation but he was hopeless when it came to reading and writing the lost language. But it was the native tongue of the Targaryens and he did not want to appear less so in her eyes.
"Do not lie to me, boy." The High Septa frowned in disappointment. "Not only would I see through your falsehoods but it would sour my already low opinion of you."
"My apologies, Your Reverence." Jon winced at her admonishment and gave a short bow out of respect, the one he was taught to give to one of her station. Even as he bowed his head, he was unable to look away from her piercing gaze as she came closer.
She was inhumanely beautiful, was Jon's thought as the goddess half-walked, half-floated towards him, her movements lithe and graceful. She held an uncanny resemblance to his aunt, Daenerys, but where Dany had amethyst eyes, the High Septa had heterochromia, with one eye as dark and as blue as the sea and the other a bright green, shimmering like the emeralds of the silver necklace around her long, slender neck.
"Most men are drawn to my breasts. Some to my feet. I see you prefer my eyes." The High Septa stood taller than him, over six feet tall, and he had to crane his neck to look up at her. "You're small for your age. It's a shame that you favour your northern mother."
"My mother is the finest woman in the Seven Kingdoms. It's a blessing to resemble her." Jon spat, clenching his fists, forgetting his mission to impress the Mother of the Faithful.
"The finest woman..." the Septa looked amused. With a graceful flick of her hand, she unlaced the silk chemise that fell like water to her feet, leaving her bare with only her bra and panties. "Even compared to me?"
"Yes." Jon stated firmly, ignoring how dry his throat had suddenly become. "Beauty is more than appearance, Your Holiness, and I don't know you as well as her."
"You're loyal to your family... As expected of a Dragon." The High Septa smiled and Jon felt like he had passed some sort of test. "Follow me, child, and let's see if you truly are more wolf than dragon."
Jon obediently followed the Matriarch to the other side of the room, where the tower faced the calm azure waters of Blackwater Bay. Perched in a pot on top a marble pillar by the window, is what appeared to be a small tree, carefully tended to so it was perfectly symmetrical.
"Do you know what I am? What my Order does besides praying and whoring?"
An Order of Sorceresses. Concubines. And worst of all, Politicians. Jon thought to say but he refrained himself. "The more I learn about your Order, the less I understand."
"Yes, as it should be... But in truth, we are not priestesses nor are we whores. We are gardeners." The High Septa said as she picked up a small pair od scissors and began to trim the tree carefully. "We tend to the Tree of Life. We water it, place it in the sun, care for it. And if a branch cannot support it's own weight, or a flower fails to bloom... We cut it out."
SNAP!
Jon almost flinched at the sharp sound that echoed throughout the room before cursing himself for his cravenness. The High Septa took the culled branch which had but one yellow leaf upon it and cast it into a nearby burning brazier which fizzled as it burned. "Tell me, child, have you ever heard of the Dance of Dragons? Or the Blackfyre Rebellions?"
"Rebellions?" Jon frowned, remembering his fond childhood memories at Summerhall, the seat of the cadet branch of House Targaryen. "The Blackfyres are our closest ally!"
"Daoruni gīmī, Ionos Sõnaro." The High Septa quipped and Jon was taken aback, startled by her words. He had heard those words before in his dreams, not in High Valyrian but in the Common Tongue, muttered by a scraggly redhead in a warm cave.
You know nothing, Jon Snow.
"This is your branch." The High Septa turned the pot around revealing a protruding branch at the side of the tree. It looked healthy but was growing at an angle that made it unseemly compared to the other evenly distributed branches. "It is an imperfection that ruins the symmetry... But flaws can sometimes be beautiful, can it not?"
Indeed, Jon nodded as he gazed into her 'imperfect' eyes. Blue vs Green. Somehow more beautiful than if her eyes were completely blue or entirely green.
"Like you, this branch was never supposed to exist. You see, a prophecy foretold that your father would have three children; a son and two daughters, the Conquerors Reborn. You were supposed to be the Visenya to your brother, Aegon." The High Septa revealed, her hands idling with the scissors at the base of the divergent branch and for the first time in his life, Jon was worried about a plant. "Your mother ruined centuries worth of selective breeding when she gave birth to you, instead of a daughter as she was instructed."
"And I'm guessing that you want me to defend myself? To give you a reason to not trim me off the tree?" Jon asked, already knowing the answer. No matter what he say or do, he had a feeling that nothing would be good enough for the High Septa.
The High Septa moved towards the burning brazier and placed her hand on the undoubtedly scorching hot metal rim without flinching. "This is a test that every would-be king must take... Your brother passed his with flying colours, let's see if you can as well."
"Aegon was born to be king. I don't want to usurp his crown." Jon stated, remembering Aegon's boast a little over a year ago, claiming he had seduced the High Septa and how she, in the throes of passion, had anointed him Prince of Dragonstone. Aegon had came back with a bandaged hand, didn't he? Jon's eyes were drawn to the burning hot embers and then to her nearby hand. How can she not feel the heat?
"Ur don't wUn it?" The High Septa mocked in a northern accent, goading him. "Is this how you obey your mother? Place your right hand above the flames. NOW!"
Jon found himself obeying her command before he could even think of protesting. No matter how much he tried to stop his hand, it moved with a will of it's own and into the burning brazier, directly above the dancing red flames.
"I... I can't move my hand!" He pleaded, his fear rising.
"A septa can use The Voice to compel the uninitiated into doing their bidding." The sorceress revealed, a feral look upon her face. "Now lower your hand."
Jon looked into her blue-green eyes and felt her compulsion taking root in his mind, slowly, unwilling and unable to resist, he lowered his hand into the fire. As the flames licked his palms, he felt first a sense of coldness and then numbness as if his hand were asleep. Then came a tingling which gave way to an irritating itch.
The mad woman moved closer to him, so she could have a better look at the sick game she was inflicting upon the prince with a twisted smile upon her face. Then the moment he had been dreading arrived all too soon, as the itch gave way to an ominously warm sensation.
"Why are you doing this?" He demanded, as he felt the heat rising.
"To determine if you're a dragon. Be silent."
Jon clenched his free hand into a fist as the warmth increased in his other hand. It mounted slowly: heat upon heat upon heat.... upon burning heat. He wanted to scream, the fingernails of his free hand biting the palm, as he tried to desperately move his burning hand away from the flames but couldn't.
"It burns!" He whispered, pleading for mercy. But none was given.
"Silence!" She snapped, her face inches from his. "Remember, child, fire cannot kill a dragon."
The pain travelled up his arm. Sweat covered his entire body in a desperate and futile effort to cool the burning hand. He closed his eyes and tried to slow down his breathing, remembering an ancient Valyrian litany that Grandmaester Aemon once taught him when he was younger:
Se ribazma iksis se ossēnagon hen zūgagon.
I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer. I will face my fear. When the fear has gone, there shall be nothing. Only I will remain.
The entire world disappeared except for the hand immersed in pain. The burning pain! With his eyes closed he could feel his skin blistering, the smell of burning flesh that was somehow both terrible and mouthwatering until all that remained of his hand was a charred black stump....
It stopped!
Jon's eyes quickly snapped open and stared at his hand in astonishment. The pain was gone and his hand was... fine. It was surprisingly unaffected by the still burning flames. Not a mark. No sign of agony but in his left hand, where four bloody marks remained from where his fingernails had buried into his palms. Experimentally, he brought his left hand into the burning brazier alongside the other and as the flames danced in between his palms, the crescent-shaped cuts slowly healed until not even a scar was left.
"Fire made flesh." The High Septa's voice broke Jon away from his bewilderment.
"Is all Targaryens immune to fire?" He wondered, is this why Aegon had been so pompous lately?
"Ever shift sand through a screen, dārilaros?" The woman asked, the tone of her voice vastly different, almost respectful. "We shift Targaryens through the trial of fire to see which are men and which are dragons."
"So my father and brother? They've been through this? You tortured them?"
"Pain is weakness leaving the body and fire cleanses the soul." The woman's face softened and she looked upon Jon with reverence. "Your father and brother proved themselves worthy of the Throne by being able to endure a pain that would cripple lesser men. But no man has been able to not only overcome his pain but be unburnt by the flames. Until you, Dārilaros Jaehaerys."
"So I can do magic?" Jon was both excited and terrified by the ramifications. Would the price of magic be a lifetime of serving a God he didn't believe in?
"You can do so much more, my Prince." The woman sat down on a gilded chair and crossed her long legs. "You can learn how to fly without wings. How to see the past and dictate the future. You can learn all of this if, you sit down, here at my feet.”
The offer to seat next to her was tempting and the invite was in a friendly voice but Jon felt the need to refuse it.
“I prefer to stand.”
“Your father sat at my feet once.” the Septa's eyes narrowed. "As did his father and his father before."
“I’m not my father.”
“You hate me a little, eh?”
He didn’t answer. She smiled at his futile resistance and stood up, towering over him.
“You are a young man, dārilaros. Almost an adult. And now tell me, have you ever been with a woman before?" She brought her hands to his neck and held him close. She slowly leaned down and as their faces inched closer together, Jon half-feared and half-hoped that she would kiss him but instead she leaned her forehead against his and simply closed her eyes.
Jon blinked once, then twice, taken aback by the unexpected gesture. She was so close to him that they were sharing each other's expired breaths, and he could almost taste the sweet Lysene oil that perfumed her silky silver-gold hair on his tongue. Suddenly, he felt a warmth emanating from his core and spreading throughout his body like his blood had been set on fire. His mouth went dry and he could feel his cock hardening in his pants.
She was using magic to seduce him!
"Get out of my head." He muttered, his dry lips almost touching hers, resisting the urge to close the distance and kiss her. He closed his eyes to fight off her influence but all it did was heightened his senses. Her scent was as intoxicating as it was addictive and it clouded his mind until he was lightheaded and the only thing that he desired was to stay in her embrace for all eternity.
"But it's so much fun being inside your head, baby. I didn't know you had such lecherous thoughts about me." Said a familiar voice.
Jon snapped his eyes opened and almost jumped back in shock. Before him wasn't the tall, blonde seductress but a familiar brunette who possessed the same shade of grey eyes as him and who was gloriously nude like she had been plucked from the deepest reaches of his secret fantasy.
"Hello, darling." The High Septa said in his mother's voice.
"You're... You're not my mother!" He whimpered as he took a step back, his voice heavy with want.
"I can be whoever you want, baby." She purred and pulled him into a wantonly wet kiss. His first. After several moments of having the older woman plunder his mouth with her tongue while he stood in shock, Jon's animal instincts kicked and he began to kiss her back.
He was clumsy, inexperienced and undoubtedly made a fool of himself in the process but his mother The High Septa was a patient teacher, slowing him down when he was too eager and encouraging him to be more bold when he grew too complacent until their tongues were twisted into a sordid and well-choreocrafted dance as if they lifelong lovers.
She eventually broke away, leaving Jon panting and wanting more despite knowing that he was being manipulated. She could be a demon from the Seven Hells and he'd gladly follow her every command.
"You think giving yourself to the Faith means giving up your freedom. But you're wrong." She slowly fell to her knees before him and begin to unlace his pants while Jon could do nothing but stare into her eyes and listen. "You are the one we've been waiting for, my prince. Your every desire will be met. If you wish to fight savages beyond the Wall, then the Faith Militant will fight by your side. If you desire to journey west of Westeros, the Seven Fleet will sail with you. And if you desire your mother or your aunt or any maiden, then they shall be yours."
She pulled down his pants and his cock sprang out, nearly hitting her in the face. Jon smiled proudly at the surprise etched on her face. He knew he was well-endowed but if the woman who had bedded kings and princes and warriors for a hundred years was impressed by his size, then it was surely a badge of honour.
"Look at me." She instructed, as she held his cock in her hand. "Look into your mother's eyes."
Jon complied with her demands and stared into her eyes which were now a shade darker, clouded with lust and desire. Keeping her eyes trained on his, she opened her mouth and lowered her head onto his throbbing cock never stopping until his shaft had disappeared in her mouth and her lush lips were around his base. There was no way anyone could take all of his cock down their throat in one go but the High Septa had a century worth of experience.
"Oh Gods," he cursed aloud, feeling his cock down her throat and her long tongue licking against the sensitive underside of his shaft.
She slowly pulled away, her tongue doing it's magic as his cock left her mouth, glistening with her saliva and smiled up at him happily. "We'll make a believer out of you."
The thought of spending his life in service to the Faith no longer bothered him, Jon thought as the Mother of the Faithful continued to pleasure him, worship him as she would her Gods.
Despite the impressive size of his cock, he was still a virgin and his 'mother' took his shaft into her mouth once more, he felt himself in the verge of spilling his load prematurely. The High Septa began to pick up the pace, bobbing her head on his thick cock, burying the shaft into the back of her throat everytime until he was fucking her mouth as he would her cunt. The wet sounds of her sucking grew louder as saliva spilled from her lips while her own moans and groans became music to Jon's ears.
Miraculously, he was able to survive the oral assault for a few minutes until he felt his balls churn with the telltale signs of desire and his cock somehow grew bigger in her mouth. He tried to hold on but he made the terrible mistake of looking down at her. He met her gaze and whatever he saw in those lust-crazed eyes, finally pushed him over the edge.
"Cum for me!" She half-commanded and half-begged for his seed as she pulled away from his cock, her hand a blur on his shaft while her tongue lick the slit. "Cum on mama!"
His cock twitched in her hand and then erupted like what he imagined the Fourteen Flames must have done so during the Doom, unleashing all of his pent up pressure and desire into a massive climax. He screamed in euphoria for all the city to hear as he shot seven thick ropes of seed upon the face of his mother, some managing to find its target on her outstretched tongue while the rest bathe her face and hair before dripping heavily down into the valley of her breasts.
Jon's knees went weak at the intensity of his orgasm as his cock kept jerking until he was sure that he was drained dry of his seed. Probably another magic trick, he thought eventhough he clearly enjoyed it. Looking down, it wasn't his mother beaming up at him but the High Septa, with her face glazed with his seed. With a wave of her hand, all of the semen followed her fingers and into her waiting mouth, leaving her face dry as she swallowed all of his cum.
"Do you want to fuck me now?"
"Yes." Jon answered despite being drained to the point of exhaustion.
"Not today." The High Septa replied with a smile, those two words cutting through him like a sword would. "Tomorrow's your fourteenth nameday, a special day for a man... Sleep well, for tomorrow, your mother will be joining us."