While Tyrion was busy offering counsel to Nymeria and the others, far to the south in Oldtown, the Citadel was struggling with an entirely different problem—how to record Lynd's rise as ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and master of the Iron Throne.
The problem wasn't that the event was difficult to chronicle—it was that it was too easy. In fact, the entire account could be summed up in a single sentence: the Wardens of the Seven Kingdoms jointly elected him, and he ascended the throne. That was it.
There wasn't even a coronation ceremony worth documenting. Lynd never held any ceremony related to his rise to the Iron Throne. The day after becoming king, he ordered the throne dismantled and shipped to Dragonstone as a souvenir. The throne room itself had already been converted into a council chamber.
In contrast to the richly detailed and epic accounts of past dynastic transitions—stories meant to immerse the reader in the grandeur and turmoil of history—this one was almost laughably mundane. It read more like a footnote on a minor lord's succession than the birth of a new royal dynasty.
But that calm was shattered when Grand Maester Pycelle's replacement delivered a draft decree from King's Landing. The entire Citadel erupted into chaos.
The draft consisted of two documents: a letter of appointment and a letter of authorization. The appointment was simple enough—naming a Septon known as the High Sparrow as the new High Septon of the Great Sept of Baelor.
That, on its own, wasn't surprising. The Seven had seen stranger appointments before—Targaryen precedent included—and the Faith of the Seven's internal affairs rarely ruffled feathers in the Citadel.
What did cause an uproar was the second document. It granted seven major septs across Westeros—the Starry Sept in Oldtown, the High Sept in Highgarden, the Sept of the Seven in Lannisport, the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing, the Sept of Plenty in Riverrun, the Sept of the Source in Gulltown, and the Snow Sept in White Harbor—the authority to form their own Warrior's Sons and Knights of the Sword. In essence, it re-legitimized the military arm of the Faith.
Anyone familiar with Westerosi history would know just how significant this was. The Targaryen dynasty had fought a bloody seven-year war to disband the Faith Militant. That war ended with the brutal death of Maegor the Cruel and was finally settled by Jaehaerys I, who negotiated the Church's surrender of its armed forces and its judicial authority.
Historians often credit the Targaryens for that hard-won victory—but few knew how instrumental the Citadel had been behind the scenes. It was the Maesters who had quietly rallied lords to side with the crown, amplifying pressure on the Church. In fact, it was the Citadel that had subtly encouraged the Targaryens to move against the Church's militias in the first place.
Their motivation was clear: at the time, the Church had become overbearing, even infiltrating the Citadel itself. Every book in the library had to be vetted by the Faith, and septons would even storm the Citadel to arrest Maesters they deemed heretical, putting them on trial and burning them at the stake.
Outwardly, the Maesters bowed to the Church. But in secret, they used the Maesters they placed in noble courts to sway decisions, bolstering lords hostile to the Faith. When Maegor the Cruel, that infamous tyrant, emerged, they seized the opportunity and pushed for a final blow to the Church's power.
Now, over two hundred years later, all those efforts had been undone in a single stroke.
Before officially restoring the Church's armed forces, Lynd had already reinstated part of its judicial power—specifically, the right to try rogue magic users. The Citadel, which had never trusted practitioners of magic, didn't object to this partial restoration. It even seemed pragmatic at the time.
But looking back now, it was likely a test. Lynd had been gauging the Citadel's response. And because they said nothing, he went further—reinstating the Church's most powerful tool of authority: its military might.
By all accounts, no sane ruler would willingly restore an armed religious order—forces not directly under their command. Only a fool would do so.
But Lynd Tarran was no ordinary ruler. He was the Chosen of the Seven, the highest figure in the Faith of the Seven, second only to the gods themselves. Within the Church, his status was near-divine. Beneath the statues of the Seven stood a statue of him.
To others, the Faith Militant was a volatile, autonomous threat. To him, it was no different than his Chosen Sons—loyal, obedient, and fully under his control. Even the commanders of these holy orders could be replaced at his whim.
And perhaps most importantly: he didn't need to pay for any of it. Each of the seven septs authorized to restore their martial orders would pour their own resources into funding, training, and equipping the Faith Militant.
It was power—immense, divine, and free.
In fact, the day after the Citadel received the draft proclamation, the official version had already been delivered by raven to every corner of the Seven Kingdoms. Both the Starry Sept and the Hightower in Oldtown received it, and the Starry Sept wasted no time in reestablishing its Warrior's Sons and Holy Sword Knights. In less than three days, they had recruited nearly 7,000 men.
Without question, the rearming of the Faith posed a direct threat to the authority of the realm's lords. The Citadel immediately sent letters to the maesters serving as advisors to these lords, urging them to steer their lieges into voicing objections to the Iron Throne against the reformation of the Church's militant orders.
But more than ten days passed, and not a single protest came—not from elsewhere in the realm, not even from House Hightower in Oldtown, where the Citadel itself resided, nor from any nearby lord. It was as though the restoration of the Faith Militant was a trivial matter, unworthy of concern.
Believing the lords simply hadn't grasped the gravity of the situation, the Citadel dispatched envoys in person to persuade them—just as they had done centuries before—to unite against the growing threat.
The first of these envoys went to House Tyrell in Highgarden. There, the local sept had already begun assembling two Faith militias, each with 3,000 men—numbers that rivaled Highgarden's own standing garrison.
"Lord Mace," the envoy began, "His Grace Lynd's actions clearly show his intent to use the Faith's armed forces to meddle in the internal affairs of Highgarden. If we allow these forces to grow unchecked, the power of the lords will be gradually stripped away until we are nothing more than puppets to the Faith." The envoy spoke with conviction, citing historical precedent. In times past, when the Faith held great sway, even the selection of a noble house's heir had required church approval.
But Lord Mace Tyrell didn't appear particularly moved. He simply sighed and asked, "Maester Jace, I know everything you've just said. So tell me—how do you propose we solve this?"
Maester Jace replied earnestly, "We should unite and pressure the Iron Throne to rescind His Majesty's decree to rearm the Faith."
Lord Mace nodded slowly. "And if His Grace refuses?"
Maester Jace continued, "Then we form a coalition army—"
Mace cut him off. "So, in other words, you want to rebel."
Maester Jace shook his head quickly. "Not rebel—only demonstrate our strength and resolve."
"And if His Grace still refuses?" Mace asked again.
"Then we march on King's Landing…"
Mace raised an eyebrow. "And that's not a rebellion?"
Maester Jace was left speechless, unable to offer a satisfactory reply.
Lord Mace didn't wait for one. He leaned forward and said, "If His Grace Lynd chooses to respond with force, what defense does the Citadel have against his divine power? What protection against his dragons?"
Maester Jace fell silent. Though he wanted to suggest large crossbows or other siege weapons might bring down a dragon, he had seen the lava dragon Lynd rode—seen it with his own eyes when Lynd visited Oldtown. The beast had landed in front of the Citadel itself, and Jace had glimpsed it up close.
It looked like it had crawled out from the depths of the seventh hell.
There was no weapon in existence that could harm such a creature. And its dragonfire… could melt anything.
Lord Mace cast a cold gaze at the Citadel's envoy and said in a low voice, "You have no means of opposing His Majesty Lynd's power, so what makes you think we do? What you're suggesting is sending us to our deaths. Have you even considered how many followers of the Seven there are across the Seven Kingdoms? How many of them are devout? Fanatics? What do you think will happen when we so much as raise the banner of rebellion? Those same followers will rise up against us. They'll cut off our heads and offer them to His Majesty as gifts."
"Lord Mace, we…" Maester Jace looked flustered, trying to say more, but Mace raised a hand, cutting him off.
He then ordered that Maester Jace be escorted out of Highgarden and summoned Grand Septon Harwyn. Once the septon arrived, Mace recounted everything Jace had just said.
Grand Septon Harwyn smiled calmly. "Lord Mace, please rest assured. The Faith will not interfere in the internal affairs of Highgarden."
"I am reassured," Mace replied with a dismissive wave. "You're far better than that Tasi fellow before—much more proper." He then picked up a document that had been sent from King's Landing and handed it to Harwyn. "But I didn't summon you just to talk about the Citadel's little envoy. I also wanted to show you this official order from His Majesty Lynd, so that there's no confusion when I carry out the powers granted to me."
Harwyn frowned and took the document, reading it carefully. It was an authorization, granting Mace Tyrell oversight over all officer appointments within the Faith Militant under the Highgarden sept. Beyond qualifications of competence and piety, it required that every officer—down to the lowest-ranking captain—undergo a trial of faith at the Redemption Sept. No one who failed the trial could serve in any command position.
Seeing Harwyn's furrowed brow and his long silence, Mace gave him a thin smile.
"Most Devout, are you planning to oppose His Majesty's order?"
Harwyn immediately shook his head. "Of course not. I'll compile the list of officers and submit it to you for review as soon as possible, then send them to the Redemption Sept for their trials."
"Excellent," Mace said, smiling. "Let's work together in harmony and carry out the task His Majesty has entrusted to us."
...
In the following days, similar scenes played out in major cities across the realm. Without exception, every Warden in contact with the Citadel showed no interest in resisting the restoration of the Faith Militant. Even those lesser lords and minor nobles who had their doubts said nothing when their liege lords didn't speak out. And as for the more devout nobles? They weren't even given the chance to voice an opinion—they were simply turned away.
While the Citadel was plotting resistance, Lynd struck at its very foundation with a single, devastating blow.
Citing the risk of irreplaceable losses if anything were to happen to the rare books housed at the Citadel, he issued a royal decree: the Citadel must grant access to the Maesters of the Sphinx Academy to copy its rarest volumes. Three full sets were to be produced and stored at the Sphinx Academy, the new library under construction in King's Landing, and the Queen's Palace in Ny Sar.
The Citadel, seeing this for what it was—a direct threat to its control over knowledge—refused immediately. That very day, the Archmaesters shut the gates and cut off all contact with the outside world.
In response, the Starry Sept and House Hightower, acting on Lynd's orders, deployed their forces. Church militants and Oldtown's garrison surrounded the Citadel, cut off its water supply, demolished surrounding buildings, and erected walls, sealing it off entirely. No food. No water. No escape.
The Citadel sent out ravens pleading for help from lords across the Seven Kingdoms. None replied. The Citadel had been completely isolated.
Though the Citadel had some provisions, they were limited. Never before had it faced such a siege, and its reserves were meager.
Four days in, the Citadel asked to negotiate. Hightower and the Starry Sept ignored them.
By the seventh day, the last of the water was gone. On the ninth, the gates opened. The Citadel surrendered.
...
Under Lynd's orders, the Starry Sept's forces and the Hightower garrison formed a joint security force to replace the Citadel's own knightly guards and assume control of its defenses.
Shortly afterward, Sphinx Academy Maesters entered the Citadel and took control of the library. They began systematically organizing and copying the collection. Though the Citadel's Maesters were deeply resentful, there was nothing they could do. Even the Archmaesters of the various disciplines were reassigned by Lynd to King's Landing, where they were recruited to manage operations at the new royal library.
With that, the two powers Lynd had long considered the greatest potential threats to his rule—the Faith and the Citadel—were both firmly in his grasp. Only now could he turn his full attention to the rest of the realm.