Morning mist clung to the valleys like a silken veil, slowly surrendering to the rising sun.
Kevin stood in the courtyard of the Fisher estate, his heavy plate reflecting the pale dawn light. This should have been a peaceful morning, but the image of Brother Gal's shredded back kept his hands clenched until his knuckles turned white.
Aldric's plan had been a cold necessity. Initially, the task of provoking House Goodbrook had fallen to Kevin and the Brotherhood. They were to ambush grain shipments and harass patrols, drawing the Lions into a trap where the Alliance's superior numbers would crush them. It was a strategy of "Just Retaliation."
But Aldric knew the world. He knew that heroes who set ambushes are eventually called brigands. When the news of the High Sparrow's ascension reached the Gods Eye, he changed the play. He sent three humble monks—men who looked like they couldn't swat a fly—to demand an audience. He sent them to be beaten. He sent them to become martyrs.
Aldric had spent hours in a dim, candlelit room explaining the weight of this sacrifice to Gal, Flores, and Brooke. They had nodded with a terrifying, quiet resolve.
When Kevin saw them stumble across the border, his first instinct was to mend them with the Light. But Gal had stopped him with a bloody hand. Kevin had settled for a simple Purification Rite to keep the rot from their wounds, then personally led Gal's horse back to the Fisher Septry.
The news of the flogging spread through the Riverlands like wildfire. Smallfolk who had shared bread with these monks saw the scars and remembered their own lives under the Lord's lash. Anger was brewing in the fields, a heat that the High Septon's new "Faith Militant" status only served to fan into a flame.
Far to the south, at St. Maur's Monastery, Aldric walked through what used to be the abbey's vineyards. Beside him walked Bishop Clare, his red silk robes a stark contrast to the simple, sun-bleached tunics of the brothers.
The vines were gone, replaced by sprawling patches of green leaves and ripening pumpkins.
"Your first time at St. Maur's, Bishop?" Aldric asked.
"My first time on these stones," Clare replied, touching the seven-pointed star at his neck. "Though I drank enough of the abbey's vintage in my youth to feel I know the soil. I was a cellar-warden in the capital once. Friar Nord used to slip me a cask now and then. I haven't tasted anything like it since."
Aldric sighed, gesturing to the pumpkin patches. "A pity. The brothers who knew the secret of the grape were butchered by the Mummers before I arrived. John and the others are fine men, but they know more of stone than wine. We had to dig up the vines to grow what would keep us alive."
Clare knelt, lifting a heavy pumpkin. "I have never seen a harvest so uniform. Is there... Light in the soil?"
"The Sun-Knights pray over the seeds, aye," Aldric said. "But the real miracle is 'Seed-Selection.' The old farmers knew which plants were strongest, but the Lords never cared to organize it. I formed a guild of brothers to track the lineage of the crops. Order breeds bounty, Bishop."
Clare stood, clasping his hands behind his back. "A great achievement. Tell me, Lightbringer... do you truly believe this world can be ruled by monks and faith alone, without the Great Houses?"
"I believe force must be bound by belief," Aldric said. "In my travels, I have seen kingdoms where the sword was the only law, and they all burned. Only when we choose leaders by their wisdom and their service to the Light can we find a peace that outlasts a single King's life."
"The Lords will not yield their birthrights easily," Clare warned.
"I don't expect them to," Aldric smiled, a predatory glint in his eye. "But whether by purchase or by the sword, I will give them terms they cannot refuse. You'll see the first trade soon enough."
A guard interrupted them, bowing low. "Commander. Captain Clegane has returned. He brings word from the road."
Aldric excused himself and headed for the barracks. Inside the solar, Sandor Clegane sat unarmored, his plain, mended face illuminated by the hearth. He was drinking tea with a group of strangers.
"Sandor," Aldric greeted.
Clegane waved a hand. "Lightbringer. I've cleared the rats from Saltpans. But these folk trailed me back." He jerked a thumb at the strangers. "Friends of Catelyn Stark. Which makes them your problem, not mine."
Aldric turned his gaze to the tallest of the group. He blinked. It was a woman—as tall as a man-at-arms, with broad shoulders and a face that was plain but determined.
"I am Brienne of Tarth," she said, her voice resonant. "Beside me are Ser Hyle Hunt and Podrick Payne. I have sworn an oath to find the daughters of Lady Catelyn. Captain Clegane tells me you are the only man in the Seven Kingdoms who knows where they hide."
"I am no Lord, Lady Brienne," Aldric said, inviting her to sit. "Tarth? That is a long way from the Trident."
Brienne recounted her journey—the Rainbow Guard, her service to Lady Catelyn, and the sword Oathkeeper she carried for Jaime Lannister.
"Arya is beyond the sea," Aldric said simply. "One of my students has followed her to Braavos. As for Sansa... she remains a ghost."
Brienne's shoulders slumped. Disappointment clouded her blue eyes. But Aldric wasn't finished.
"However... I know where Catelyn Stark is. To find the girls is a task for giants, Brienne. To keep them safe is even harder. Perhaps it is time your Lady released you from your vow."
Brienne stared at him, her breath stopping. "Catelyn... died at the Twins. I saw the blood in the river."
"She fell at the Twins," Aldric corrected. "But the Light finds a way for those who have work left to do. If you wish, I can take you to her."
"I... I must see her. Please."
Aldric called for a page. "Bade! Take the Lady Brienne to see Lady Stoneheart."
As Brienne was led away, Ser Hyle Hunt and Podrick tried to follow, but Aldric raised a hand.
"Ser Hyle. The Lady needs her privacy. Stay and talk with me."
Hyle Hunt sat back down, holding Podrick's shoulder. "Commander. What can a landless knight do for the master of the Gods Eye?"
Aldric poured a cup of tea. "You don't serve the Lady Brienne, I notice. You follow her."
"I'm a suitor," Hyle said with his characteristic smirk, though his eyes remained sharp. "The only heir to evenfall Hall is a prize worth chasing, wouldn't you say? I was in Lord Tarly's service, but he found my interest in the 'Maid of Tarth' a distraction. I am a free lance now."
"Randyll Tarly," Aldric mused. "He holds Maidenpool. A man of iron discipline and Riverlands blood. I know the Lannisters, Ser Hyle, but I have yet to test my steel against the Reach."
Aldric looked at the knight. Hyle was a cynic, but he was a survivor.
"Ser Hyle, since you are currently without a master... perhaps you would like to stay here for a time? I have a need for men who know how the Lords of the South think."
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