But Casterly Rock's true leading figure, Jaime Lannister, turned and entered the sept.
In Casterly Rock's small sept, the light of candles and incense filled the air.
There were no septons here, only the maimed Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer and Kinslayer who had laid down the Gilded Sword.
Jaime had deliberately changed into the Kingsguard's winter uniform, including bleached wool breeches and a tunic beneath a heavy white cloak, yet he kept feeling that he lacked dignity and presence.
The Kingsguard's emblem was a blank, pure white shield, setting aside one's own house, but few brothers could truly be as sincere and spotless as snow.
Casterly Rock's statues of the Seven were fashioned from jewels and gold, their golden surfaces glittering in the candlelight. The great Seven.
The Father wore a beard. The Mother's smile never faded, gentle and kind. The Warrior held a greatsword aloft. The Smith held a hammer.
The Maiden was young and beautiful. The Crone was gaunt and wise.
Only the Stranger, the Stranger whom the world revered and feared, the Stranger whom everyone shunned.
The Stranger's face could not be distinguished as male or female, seeming more like both in one. He was a wanderer from a distant land, an eternal exile on the horizon, human and yet not human, neither understood nor possible to understand.
The Stranger's eyes were dark dots of black crystal, like stars from the dawn of time, drawing in all vitality.
Now Jaime revered every god.
As a boy, he had loved only the Warrior, but now he understood the Stranger's power, understood that the Father and Mother were above him.
"Please forgive me," Jaime pleaded, the Bitter.
Three pale bodies lay in the sept, old and young, large and small, male and female.
The bodies of Cersei Lannister, Tommen,