The following morning, the Northmen readied their gear to depart. Aldric, citing the treacherous mud that would bog down his heavy supply wagons, declined Walton's invitation to travel together.
Once the Bolton column had assembled on the narrow trail, Walton shared a brief, firm embrace with Aldric. "Captain Aldric, I hope we meet again when the world is less grey."
Aldric clapped him on the shoulder. "Squeeze as many dragons as you can out of Lord Tywin, Walton. My dagger is still for sale whenever your purse feels too heavy."
Turning to Jaime Lannister, Aldric added, "Safe travels, Ser Henry. Do try to keep the other hand attached."
Jaime let out a sharp laugh. "Anyone who reaches for my left will find their head used for a game of kick-ball."
With that, the elite Bolton detachment disappeared into the thick canopy of the forest, heading south toward King's Landing.
As the last of their banners faded, the smile vanished from Aldric's face. His expression turned somber. "Order the men to stand down," he commanded his orderly, Bud. "Strike the tents. We move in an hour."
Moments later, Karlo Schmidt and Dean Blount rode up to him.
"I still can't believe it," Karlo muttered, shaking his head. "Jaime Lannister, the great lion of the Kingsguard, reduced to a cripple who can't hold a spoon, let alone a sword. If you hadn't pulled me aside, I never would have known him."
Aldric exhaled a long breath. "I didn't expect to see him either. It's a good thing our scouts were sharp. If they had stumbled into the center of our camp and seen the full extent of the Alliance's strength, we'd have been in deep trouble."
"Do you think they saw through the mummers' show?" Dean asked.
"Doubtful," Aldric replied. "The rain was a thick curtain all night, and I kept the men in their tents. To them, we're just a well-drilled mercenary company guarding some Riverland manors."
"We must remain cautious," Karlo warned. "Roose Bolton sending his own captain to escort the Kingslayer with two hundred veterans means the Leech Lord has officially traded the Wolf for the Lion. Robb Stark's time is measured in heartbeats now. And Tywin Lannister is at King's Landing, solidifying Joffrey's rule. He is too close for comfort. If he hears of a 'Covenant' forming in the shadow of Harrenhal, he won't be pleased."
Aldric's eyes narrowed. "Tywin Lannister offers three paths to those in his way: a seat at his table, a head on a spike, or a collar for his dog. We aren't strong enough to be invited to dinner, and I have no desire to be his dog. We must rely on the favor of the heavens to keep us invisible for now."
Dean sighed. "Who would have thought we'd run into the Lannister heir in a burnt-out hovel?"
"Tywin is generous to those who bleed for him," Karlo noted, "but he is a monster to those who don't."
"We stay away from the Lions," Aldric said firmly. "Jaime is all muscle and no wit; Tyrion is brilliant but loathed by his father; Cersei has the crown but is a creature of impulse. The Lannister power rests entirely on Lord Tywin's shoulders. If he discovers that the Way of Light intends to build a world without high-born lords, he will crush us to clear the path for his grandchildren. In my home, we say: Build the walls high, store the grain wide, and let the crown wait. Our task is to integrate these lands and train our men, not to dance for the Great Houses."
The camp was struck with surgical precision. To avoid being tracked by Walton's outriders, Aldric led the Alliance warriors through a series of hidden hunting paths, circling away from the main road.
Five days later, the victorious host returned to St. Maur's Monastery. The expedition had been a total success: Fisher Manor, Longwave Castle, Duckling Hall, and the Harding lands were now under the Alliance's control. The ladies of House Polk and House Rost were safely settled into quarters within the monastery suited to their station.
Aldric immediately convened a high council. The room was packed. Along with the original Sunwalkers—John, Clié, and Ioria—the seven lords of the Alliance took their seats. Gendry, as Aldric's sole remaining resident disciple, stood behind his teacher's chair.
"John," Aldric began, "report on the replanting."
"The potatoes, pumpkins, and beets we sowed are maturing," John replied. "We've begun the first harvest for the silos. As you ordered, the plots treated with night-soil and manure are yielding twice the volume of the untreated fields. The farmers have stopped complaining and started competing for the waste."
Aldric nodded. "Good. We formalize the process today. Every village—every household—must have a designated latrine. Indiscriminate waste is now forbidden by Holy Decree. We need every ounce of fertility for the soil."
Malin Sharp looked skeptical. "Lightbringer, using... such filth... does it not taint the food?"
"All life is a cycle under Anshe," Aldric explained. "Humans eat the grain; the grain eats the remains of the human. We cannot use corpses as fertilizer, but we can use what the body discards. This has been the way in my home for millennia. The results speak for themselves."
"We used to just burn the stubble and bury the ash," Malin muttered.
"A waste of energy," Aldric countered. "The ash is good, but the fresh stalk is better. We will shred the leftover stalks and bury them deep during the tilling. It returns the spirit to the earth. Maester Brand can explain the theory to those who need it."
"And what of the security?" Charles Costa asked, shifting the topic. "My men heard from the Northmen that Roose Bolton left Harrenhal ten days ago for the Twins. That leaves only the Bloody Mummers and a hundred or so outlaws inside those massive walls. Should we not strike now while the castle is hollow?"
Aldric looked at the other lords. Tucker Ward shook his head. "Harrenhal was built by Black Harren using the blood and sweat of the entire Trident. Even in its ruined state, it is a mountain of stone. Four hundred men cannot take it by storm."
"There is another danger," Varen Polk added. "Tywin Lannister will not let Harrenhal sit in the hands of sellswords for long, especially after Vargo Hoat took Jaime's hand. The moment the Kingslayer reaches the capital, Tywin will send an army to reclaim it for his own appointed lord. If we take it now, we're the ones fighting Tywin's vanguard, not the Mummers. Better to let them bleed each other while we watch from the tall grass."
"Petyr Baelish has already been named Lord of Harrenhal," Karlo Schmidt reminded them. "Once the war stops, he will come to claim his seat. Our Alliance was formed to counter his influence, not Tywin's."
Aldric leaned back, the name Tywin Lannister weighing heavy on his mind. The Warden of the West was a boulder sitting on the chest of the Seven Kingdoms. With Robert and Eddard gone, there was no one left to check his cold, calculated brutality. Even the Tyrells had to bow to his lead.
"We follow the path of the hidden sun," Aldric decided. "We build our walls, we store our grain, and we drill our men. But we must be ready for Vargo Hoat. He isn't a fool; he knows he's been abandoned by the North. He may decide to make one last raid for gold and captives before he flees to Essos. We are his best target."
"The Mummers are all horse," Charles Costa noted with a grimace. "They're fast and they're vicious. They'll use the smallfolk as shields."
"Then we won't chase them," Aldric said. "We will combine static defense with mobile strikes. We keep a company at each of the four key manors—Harden, Longwave, Duckling Hall, and Fisher. These will be our anchors. The Lords will maintain their own castle garrisons as the second line.
"If the Mummers strike, the manors must hold for three days while the ravens fly. Maester Brand has trained eleven birds for this purpose. I will lead the mobile strike force from St. Maur's to break any siege. But this only works if the villages feel part of the Order. They must be our eyes and ears."
The lords nodded. It was a solid plan, trading the glory of a castle siege for the stability of a secure border. In the shadow of the Great Houses, the Golden Dawn was quietly weaving its own web.
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