The Stone That Moves

POVs: Young Septon & Old Septon

Location: Driftspire marketplace and keep

Year: Mid 285 AC

They arrived at dawn, when the gulls still cried unseen in the sea mist and the marketplaces of Driftspire began to wake with the scent of baking flatbread and boiled fish stew.

The old septon, known in a hundred villages as Septon Raynard, leaned upon his ashwood staff, silver beard tucked into the plain woollen belt of his robe. Beside him walked Septon Benethon, not yet sworn with full oils, hair tonsured but brown and thick, eyes earnest as a summer calf.

They paused at the centre of the paved market square, before the cement plinth where Driftspire's guards pinned notices of trade levies and dock tariffs.

Septon Raynard raised both hands and spoke in a voice that carried, low and clear:

🙏 Prayer of the Seven

-"I now make it my earnest prayer to the Seven,That the Father would keep you in His justice and wisdom,

-And that the Mother would shield you in Her mercy and compassion.

-That the Warrior would give courage to your hearts And strengthen the arms that guard your kin.

-That the Maiden would keep your joys pure, The Smith guide the works of your hands to honest ends, And the Crone grant you knowledge to see the right paths.

-And finally, that the Stranger would come only as gentle sleep, And not as terror in dark hours.

-May They incline the hearts of all here To cultivate obedience to just rule, To love one another as brothers and sisters of the realm, To cherish those who have toiled and bled for your safety.

-May They dispose us to do justice, to love mercy, To walk with charity, humility, and a peaceable mind; For without humble imitation of Their virtues, No realm can know true blessing or peace."

The square was silent for a breath. Then, softly, a fisher wife crossed herself in the Seven's pattern. A smith apprentice bowed his head, whispering "Mother's mercy." A knight passing on patrol nodded to the old man with muted respect.

But some only glanced briefly before returning to their ledger books and crates of salt cod. The marketplace of Driftspire was a place of relentless trade now, driven by Lord Alester Longlight's vision. Piety had its place but it did not feed ships or forge steel.

Septon Benethon exhaled, feeling both pride and unease. "They listened, septon."

Raynard smiled, lines of a hundred winters creasing. "Some heard. That is enough."

They climbed the road to the keep that crowned Driftspire's cliffs. Its cement walls were smooth grey, clean lined and alien in their modernity compared to old Vale castles. The gate guards let them through with wary courtesy. Inside, they were led by a steward to a high ceilinged solar lined with oak chests, maps, and ledgers stacked on cement shelves.

Lady Maevyn Longlight sat writing letters at a carved desk, robed in deep blue linen, her dark hair streaked with dignified silver, braided back with whale bone clasps. She looked up calmly.

"My son is not here. What is your purpose, septon?"

Raynard bowed. "My lady, I come humbly to ask Lord Alester's patronage to raise a small sept here, for the growing town. A place for prayer, weddings, blessings, burial rites."

Maevyn set down her quill, folding her hands. "The people have their homes for prayer. We build hospitals, storehouses, schools. Food is given to all at need. The Seven would be pleased with these works."

Raynard inclined his head. "Charity feeds the body, my lady. Faith feeds the soul."

She smiled faintly, eyes thoughtful. "Or binds it. My son says a man can find the Seven in his own heart as well as any septon's hall. Better to build a forge than an altar."

Benethon stiffened, unused to such frank speech. But Raynard only chuckled softly.

"A forge warms the hands. But when the forge grows cold, and your hands can no longer grip a hammer… what then? When shadow falls, it is not iron or cement that eases fear, my lady, but the promise of mercy. Of judgement. Of love."

She studied him in silence. Finally, she rose.

"You speak kindly, Septon Raynard. And Driftspire has always fed wanderers. You may stay and preach in the square as you wish. But the sept must wait. My son's vision has little room for spires."

Raynard bowed deeply. "As the gods will it."

Outside the keep, Benethon walked beside his elder in silence. At last he asked:

"Did you wish to rebuke her, septon? For such words?"

Raynard smiled, looking out over the vast harbor, the half finished trebuchet rising against dawn light.

"No, boy. For she is right in part. And I am right in part. The Seven see both clay and spirit. Stone and breath. We must build both, or the soul crumbles as swiftly as the untempered wall."

They paused at the marketplace again as laborers filed past with beams on their shoulders, sweat already darkening their tunics.

"Come," Raynard said softly. "Let us go among them. Where charity walks, the gods are never far behind."