Westeros was a land where feudalism was not merely a system, but an ancient, gnarled tree with roots deep in every handful of soil. For eight thousand years, the smallfolk had been bred to yearn for "good lords" and distrust those of humble birth. Bloodline was the only currency that didn't devalue in winter.
This was the paradox Catelyn Stark understood: the commoners bore the brunt of the Lords' failures, yet they feared the chaos of a world without them. The Lannisters, the Baratheons, the Tyrells—they stood atop the clouds, while the commoners were but sand beneath their boots.
But the wolves and the trout were gone. Edmure was a Frey captive; Robb was a memory. The noble system had failed her. This was why she looked at Aldric not as a rebel, but as a hammer. If the Golden Dawn grew strong enough, perhaps they could reclaim Winterfell, break Sansa's marriage to the Imp, and let her daughter live as a Duchess under the protection of the Light.
But first, she needed the truth about Arya.
Catelyn signaled Barron to find a warrior. "Where is the Hound?" Barron asked a passing soldier.
"Captain Clegane?" The man wiped sweat from his brow. "The Hound's squadron doesn't camp with the regulars. They're deep in the woods—the 'Shadow Squad.' It's twenty minutes into the brush, but the wolves are bold tonight. Best wait for dawn."
Catelyn offered a stiff nod. She would wait.
Aldric had arranged for her to stay in the monastery's west wing—the former House of the Stranger. It was a secluded room, once the residence of the Silent Sisters. Since the monastery had been repurposed, no bodies came for the Sisters to shroud, and the room had been empty for decades.
A young woman was directing servants when Catelyn arrived. She curtsied deeply. "Madam, forgive the delay. I am Lina Rost, of House Byvart. My husband, Ser Evan, is away at the Trident. The Lightbringer told me a sister of a Great House was arriving, and I wished to make this place feel like a home."
Catelyn watched the servants move fine oak furniture into the sparse stone cell. Aldric was treating her with the respect due to a Duchess. He still needs my name, she realized.
She pinched her throat, forcing a rasping sound. Barron translated: "Lina Rost... the Lady knows your husband's bravery at Riverrun. She asks why you are here, so far from your lands."
Lina's expression was humble. "Evan led our men to the Young Wolf and has not returned. I was alone when the Lightbringer found me. I was in labor, Madam. Without his magic, the Stranger would have taken both me and my babe. My gratitude to the Sun is eternal."
Lina left her to her rest. Catelyn sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the hay and linen beneath her. It had been a lifetime since she had known such comfort. She thought of Robb's voice, now lost to the wind. She thought of her face—the grey-green ruin reflected in the lake.
She wasn't living. She was a flicker of vengeance kept alive by a spark. To gain a foothold in the Gods Eye Alliance, she needed more than her history with the Brotherhood. She needed to be more than Jon Snow's foster mother. She needed to be the architect of the Freys' demise.
In the Great Hall, the air was thick with the scent of more than three hundred Sunwalkers. It was a rare occurrence—a full assembly.
"Brothers!" Aldric's voice boomed, silenced the room with a single strike of his hand upon the altar.
"The Alliance grows, but so does the darkness. We have thirteen hundred spears in the camp, but Saltpans has fallen to the Mummers. The smallfolk are being butchered while we wait for training to finish. I will not wait any longer. In one week, I lead six companies south to Saltpans. We bring the town into the Light!"
A roar of approval and apprehension went up. The Sunwalkers knew this was the true beginning of the Dawn's expansion.
"Three companies remain to guard the hearth," Aldric continued, his face hardening. "But there is a second matter. Brother Morgan is dead."
A handful of hands rose—those who remembered the quiet monk from the Great Assembly.
"He was murdered by Goodbrook soldiers for the 'crime' of preaching to their serfs. From this day forward, there is no such thing as a lone missionary. Every Friar who leaves these walls will be accompanied by a squad of steel. We do not beg the Lords for permission to speak. We protect the Word with the Sword. This is the Doctrine of Armed Mission."
Finally, Aldric pulled Kevin onto the stage.
"And here is the last of the news. My eldest student, Kevin Turner, has returned from the Brotherhood Without Banners. With him comes Lady Stoneheart, who has pledged the Brotherhood's spears to our cause."
Kevin, now sixteen and standing nearly as tall as his Master, stepped forward. He removed his helmet and closed his eyes. He channeled the Light, not into a blade, but into a Blessing of Collective Wisdom that washed over every brother in the hall like a warm summer breeze.
"May the Light of Anshe shine upon all beings!" Kevin shouted.
"May the Light of Anshe shine upon all beings!" the three hundred roared back, the sound vibrating through the ancient stone.