Chapter 256: The Logistics Hub
"Yes, Littlefinger. Lord Petyr Baelish—"
Archbishop Clare reached for the clay cup on the table and took a light sip of ale.
Ser Bonifer stopped what he was doing, his fingers resting gently on the bread. His gaze was calm but carried a veiled alertness.
"How is he—in the Vale?"
The north wind howled past the window, carrying a few dry leaves through a crack in the frame. They landed on the unrolled sheepskin map, covering the Riverlands' markings.
Archbishop Clare set down the cup and adjusted his sleeve, revealing a string of plain wooden prayer beads around his wrist. Only then did he speak, unhurried. "Well enough. There is a faction calling themselves the Brotherhood of Justice working against him in secret, but he has won many allies as well."
He narrowed his eyes slightly, as if recalling the scene. "A few days past, he presided over Lord Lyonel Corbray's wedding. Many lords who once opposed him attended."
"And did he say when he might return to Harrenhal?"
Bonifer's tone remained flat, but the fine lines at the corners of his eyes tightened, betraying his concern.
Archbishop Clare picked up a piece of bread and carefully cut it into even squares with his knife. Each piece was the same size. He put one in his mouth and chewed slowly.
"He did. At the time, I did not know you were governing Harrenhal, so I told him the Riverlands eagerly awaited their true lord's return to restore order." He swallowed the bread, took another sip from the cup. "But he said the Vale kept him busy. The young lord was too young. He could not abandon his stepson and return alone."
Ser Bonifer let out a soft breath. His grey-blue eyes shifted.
But just as he relaxed, Archbishop Clare's next words made his hand tighten around the bread, his knuckles whitening. "That said, if conditions in the Vale grow too hostile, he may return to Harrenhal early. After all, though he has coin, he commands neither a large army nor seasoned commanders." The Archbishop picked up a piece of dried venison and sliced it thin. "If the Brotherhood of Justice under Bronze Yohn truly marches against him, he would struggle to defend himself. He would have no choice but to withdraw with the young lord."
Ser Bonifer slowly raised his head, his gaze deep and unreadable.
"I do not believe you truly wish him to return."
Archbishop Clare was unmoved. He continued cutting the venison at his own pace, arranging the slices neatly along the edge of the silver plate. Only then did he look up, meeting Bonifer's eyes with a calm expression.
"Ha. It hardly matters. The Gods Eye Alliance has many lord-castellans. They traded their keeps and lands for a chance at their families' future prosperity." He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "Petyr may have little power, but trading one Harrenhal for a seat on the Gods Eye Grand Council—that is not a difficult matter."
"Harrenhal—but he is a Valeman," Bonifer said quietly, frowning slightly.
"And you are a Reachman." Archbishop Clare folded his hands on the table. The prayer beads on his wrist clicked softly together.
Bonifer spoke unconvincingly. "Lord Petyr is willing to raise his dead wife's stepson. A great man. I sincerely hope he solidifies his authority in the Vale."
"Hope alone will not accomplish it." Archbishop Clare shook his head. "Petyr has already signed a trade pact with the Order of the Golden Dawn. Vale grain for our pottery, books, and other goods. You know the Riverlands' greatest need is food for winter."
"To keep that trade route open, the Lightbringer is willing to send soldiers to support Lord Petyr."
"Then he will stay there?" Bonifer looked up, a hint of inquiry in his eyes.
"He indicated to me that he would very much like to come to the Gods Eye and discuss matters with the Lightbringer in person. In that case, I imagine he would reclaim Harrenhal's governance. Otherwise, he would have no lodging befitting his station."
Archbishop Clare set the cup down. The base met the tabletop with scarcely a sound.
"Reclaiming Harrenhal is his lawful right," Bonifer muttered, deflated.
"And the Lightbringer would then lease it from him. Make it a base for shipping goods east, west, and north." Archbishop Clare smoothed the folds of his robe.
"How can that be? The Crown ordered me to serve as Acting Castellan of Harrenhal!" Bonifer's voice rose without his meaning it to, but he quickly regained his composure. His fingers tapped twice on the table, belying his calm expression.
"Note: Acting Castellan." The Archbishop's gaze struck like an icicle.
Silence stretched between them. Only the north wind slapping against the arrowslits, and the faint sound of the Archbishop occasionally dabbing his mouth with a napkin.
After a long moment, Bonifer broke the quiet. "So what do you intend? Drive me back to King's Landing?"
His tone was calm, as if asking about a trivial matter.
Archbishop Clare shook his head and touched his prayer beads, the motion slow and rhythmic.
"That would not be necessary. A fortress like Harrenhal will always have a lord. The Lightbringer has no desire to claim it, but neither does he wish for some unwanted rabble to seize it and make it a stronghold against the Gods Eye Alliance."
"As I am doing now?" Bonifer asked quietly, a faint self-mockery on his face.
"Yes. As you are doing now. So if you insist on remaining our enemy, the Lightbringer will have no choice but to take this castle by force. Then ask Petyr Baelish to appoint a different trust-worthy knight as Acting Castellan." The Archbishop's voice was still calm, but carried an undeniable weight.
"Hah. Taking Harrenhal is no child's game. Robb Stark had ten thousand men at his back and dared not assault it."
Bonifer's tone was flat but firm.
"That was because Tywin Lannister held it with another ten thousand. You have barely a hundred men. And—" Archbishop Clare suddenly unbuttoned the top of his robe. He drew his dining knife across his own arm. Blood seeped slowly from the wound, dripping onto the white linen napkin in stark red dots.
"What is this?" Bonifer rose, reaching for bandages to wrap the wound.
Then he saw something he had never imagined.
Archbishop Clare passed his other palm lightly over the gash. Golden light flared in the dim study, like rare winter sunlight.
Before Bonifer's eyes, the wound knit itself together at a visible pace. All that remained was a smear of dried blood.
The Archbishop produced a handkerchief embroidered with gold-thread patterns from his sleeve, carefully wiped his arm, then tucked it away and refastened his robe.
Bonifer's eyes widened slightly. Surprise flickered across his face, but it passed quickly into calm.
He crossed his arms and was silent for a moment before saying, "That—is a marvel."
Archbishop Clare rose and walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back, gazing at the drifting dead leaves outside.
"The Lightbringer commands thousands of disciplined soldiers. They are more devout than your hundred holy brothers. And Solar Knights like me, blessed by the gods and awakened with Solar Grace, number in the hundreds. That number grows as the faith spreads. Weigh this carefully. Do you truly wish to make an enemy of such a rising power?"
Ser Bonifer stood, bracing his hands on the table. His lips pressed into a thin line. He studied Archbishop Clare with a grave expression. "Speak. What do you want of me?"
Archbishop Clare turned slowly. "The Order of the Golden Dawn does not require you to resign as Acting Castellan. It only asks that you remain neutral. Do not oppose us. Then you may continue to serve as Castellan in peace. If Littlefinger—no, if Lord Petyr finds comfort in the Vale, perhaps he will never return. Perhaps the word 'Acting' can be removed from your title."
Bonifer let out a laugh. "Removed. I have lived most of my life. I no longer believe in empty promises. I want a guarantee. As long as I hold Harrenhal, you will not attack this castle. And you will supply my men."
"For free? Even if I agreed, would you dare accept? The Lightbringer also labors." Archbishop Clare raised an eyebrow, a meaningful smile tugging at his lips.
"Give us work."
Archbishop Clare nodded slowly. "Of course. The Lightbringer says: labor is the truest honor."
---
The next morning, leaden clouds hung low, threatening autumn rain.
Archbishop Clare, wrapped in a coarse grey wool cloak, stood before the castle's drawbridge. Behind him, Harrenhal's towers emerged and vanished in the mist.
He folded his hands over his chest, prayed silently for a moment, then carefully climbed into a basket woven from hemp rope and wooden planks.
The winch turned. He descended slowly down the wall, the hem of his cloak swaying in the breeze. Below, fallen leaves lay damp with rain, giving off a smell of decay.
Soon, he was back in the Order of the Golden Dawn's camp, reporting Ser Bonifer Hasty's terms to Aldric.
"...As a gesture of good faith, he released all the brothers being held in the dungeons. They have returned safely to the camp. I checked them. Thin from hunger, but otherwise unharmed." Archbishop Clare sat before Aldric, slowly drinking a cup of warm fresh milk.
Aldric paced the tent, the straw underfoot crackling. He stopped, considered, and said, "He wants to be Acting Castellan. Give it to him. He wants work. Give him work. Did you not say we should turn Harrenhal into a shipping hub?"
"Oh, that was only an excuse I invented to negotiate more effectively."
"No. It is a fine idea. Right now, goods from the production base at St. Maur's Monastery are too difficult to transport overland to Saltpans, or east into the Westerlands and the rest of the Riverlands." Aldric walked to the map, his finger tracing the God's Eye. "I plan to build a dock in the workshop district. Move finished goods by boat across the God's Eye to Harrenhal, then distribute from there. If Ser Bonifer is willing, I can hire his men as warehouse keepers for this great storehouse."
The more Aldric thought about it, the more sense it made. He paced the tent, excited.
"Brother Clare, I never expected you to secure two allies for me in one stroke. I am truly glad the Light sent you to my side. Solar Grace—you have awakened it. I think it is time to put more weight on your shoulders. I have a position I wish to offer you. Are you interested?"
Archbishop Clare straightened his back, hope shining in his eyes.
"Tell me."
Aldric walked up to him, his gaze firm. "I intend to establish a Foreign Affairs Office within the Order of the Golden Dawn. It would handle dealings with lords outside our borders. I had planned to give this work to Ser Charles and Ser Ward, but although they have lived here long, their titles are too low and their connections too narrow. They have accomplished little. From now on, I ask you to take this burden. It is for the Light's cause. For the people's happiness. Please do not refuse."
Archbishop Clare folded his hands over his chest and bowed slightly. "Of course. I am willing. To contribute even a little to the Light's work—I could ask for nothing more."
Aldric nodded happily. "Then it is settled. When we return to the monastery, begin assembling your staff."
---
Another day passed. A fine rain fell.
Archbishop Clare carried Aldric's terms back to Harrenhal. Ser Bonifer Hasty listened in the castle's council chamber. After a long silence, he agreed to the arrangement.
But by his request, he and his hundred holy warriors would only be responsible for the safety of the goods within Harrenhal and the security of the surrounding trade roads. Building warehouses, moving cargo—that was out of the question.
They were warriors. Not laborers.
Aldric accepted this gladly. Over a hundred guards to patrol such a long trade route was no small matter.
Each man to his trade. As long as they did not turn thief, keeping these hundred trained soldiers was a very good bargain.
---
Finally, on a rainy, mist-shrouded day, Aldric swore in the name of the Light, pointing to the cold gleam of the Trident's waters, that he would not launch a surprise attack once Ser Bonifer opened the gates.
Then, Aldric and a dozen of his personal guards rode forward. Hooves splashed water on the wet stone road. Under the watchful eyes of Ser Bonifer and his hundred men, they rode slowly through Harrenhal's gates.
The great doors groaned open, the sound mingling with the rain. For the first time, Aldric walked into the legendary castle. His eyes roamed across the moss-covered walls and dripping towers.
Puddles stood in the courtyard stones, reflecting the grey sky. Sere trees swayed in the wind, raindrops pattering from their bare branches.
Inside the yard, Aldric met Ser Bonifer—unarmored, wearing a simple brown wool tunic.
Bonifer stood under the colonnade, arms crossed, his gaze calm and wary as he watched Aldric and his party. Rain slipped from the eaves, pooling at his feet.
When Aldric dismounted and reached out to clasp his hand, Ser Bonifer said in a steady voice, "I never imagined the all-powerful Lightbringer the people speak of would be so young a man."
"The gods gave me a sacred duty. I dared not refuse out of youth and ignorance. I can only do my best. I hope Ser Bonifer will deal honestly with the Order of the Golden Dawn's soldiers and work together to build a better Riverlands." Aldric smiled, rain dripping from the rim of his helm.
"Of course—that is also the Seven's purpose for me. But, Lightbringer, your courage is greater than I imagined. Are you not afraid this is a trap?" Bonifer asked curiously.
Aldric threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing through the yard, mixing with the rain.
"Ser Bonifer. I and the dozen brothers behind me are all Solar Knights blessed by the Seven. If you believe your hundred men can put us to death, by all means try. But—" Aldric's smile faded. His eyes turned cold and sharp. "You only have one chance. Make it count."
Ser Bonifer narrowed his eyes, his gaze lingering on Aldric for a moment. Then he nodded slightly and respectfully invited Aldric into the Wailing Tower, the castle's guest hall.
---
The Wailing Tower smelled of damp and mold, colder inside than out.
The torches on the walls flickered in the drafts, casting everyone's shadows against the stone like a pack of clawing beasts.
After personally discussing the details of their future cooperation with Ser Bonifer, Aldric left a dozen military engineers to oversee Harrenhal's reconstruction and a squad of soldiers as guards. Then he led the rest of his men back to St. Maur's Monastery.
He had just lain down in his camp room when Kevin, who had stayed behind, burst in, his face tight with urgency. He handed Aldric two reports.
First: Kaden Storm had become Acting Castellan of Dragonstone. He was now stationed on the island with nearly a hundred wounded Reachmen. Moreover, Stannis, who had already marched for the Wall, had sent men back to demand a stone called dragonglass.
Kevin suspected this material was a resource for fighting the enemy beyond the Wall.
Second: Ser Osney Kettleblack had voluntarily confessed to the High Septon that he was the queen's lover. This led to Margaery and her cousins being arrested.
But the High Septon found it deeply suspicious. A man announcing his own guilt with such eagerness was too great a flaw to ignore.
So he ordered Osney tortured—"to judge the truth of his words." Under torment, Osney changed his story. He revealed Queen Cersei's involvement in the former High Septon's death. He also confessed to his affair with her.
The High Septon arrested Cersei on charges similar to those used against Margaery. Now all of King's Landing was on edge. The small council had ground to a halt with the queen's arrest.
Aldric sat on the edge of his bed, reading the reports by the dim candlelight. His brow furrowed deeper with each line.
Outside, the rain began again. Heavier now. Drops hammered the roof in a steady drumbeat. In the distance, a wolf howled, low and mournful.
100+ chapters are available now and daily updates! @patreon.com/zefyrus