Newton stood there for a breath longer than necessary, as if the ground beneath him might shift and save him from what was coming. "Kneel," Aemon commanded.
The word did not come out loud. It pressed. It settled. It was demanding.
Newton turned slowly, his boots scraping faintly against the stone floor. The hall felt colder than it had a moment ago. Dozens of eyes followed him. Not friendly. Not neutral. Heavy eyes. Measuring eyes.
He stepped forward. "Your Holiness," he said under his breath, close enough that only Aemon could hear. "I do not want it. I do not want to be the grand master of this monastery."
For a brief second, something flickered across Aemon's face. Then it hardened. "Are you rejecting the gods?" The words came sharp. Not shouted, but edged. Dangerous.
Newton shook his head quickly. "No, no. But I am too young. I am not up to eighteen yet."
"Age is not a criteria," Aemon replied. His voice steadied, almost calm again. "You will grow." Newton swallowed. His hands tightened slightly at his sides.
"I do not know how to be anything," he said. "I am not ready."
That part slipped out more honestly than he intended..Aemon studied him. He really studied him this time. Not as a knight. Not as a boy. Something deeper. Something weighing.
Then he smiled. Slow. Knowing.."No one has ever been ready.".The hall remained silent. Too silent. Even the breathing of the knights seemed careful now."You still have time to learn," Aemon added.
Newton opened his mouth again. He should stop. He knew that. But something in him resisted. Something restless.
Aemon's voice snapped."Shut up. And kneel.".The command struck harder this time. It did not wait for agreement..Newton's body reacted before his thoughts caught up. His knees hit the stone with a dull, final sound. The cold traveled up through his bones.
Aemon reached for the holy oil..The scent drifted faintly in the air. Thick. Sacred. "In the name of Freya," Aemon began, his voice now carrying through the hall, "and in the name of Odin."
Newton kept his eyes forward. He did not look at the knights. He did not look at Tywin. "I anoint you as the next grand master of the Monastery."
The oil touched his forehead. Warm. Too warm. For a moment, Newton felt something strange. Not pain. Not comfortable either. Something that lingered under his skin, like a quiet fire that refused to be named.
No one clapped. No one spoke. The silence that followed was not peaceful. It was tight. Controlled. As if everyone present was holding something back. But the ritual was done. And that made it real.
That week passed slower than the ones before it. Newton moved through the monastery differently now. Not because he wanted to, but because the space around him shifted. Conversations lowered when he approached. Some bowed. Some delayed it just enough to be noticed.
Tywin did not bow at all. Newton did not call him out. He did not call anyone out. He trained. He listened. He watched. And when the weekend came, he left.
The gates of Snowland opened as they always did. Familiar, yet not. Newton stepped into the throne room, the blue badge resting clearly on his armor.
Edmond saw it immediately. He stood up. Not slowly. Not carefully. He stood like a man who had just been struck by something unseen.."Why are you now wearing the blue badge?"
Newton smiled faintly. It came easier than explaining. "Because I am now the master of administration," he said, then paused just enough, "and the next grand master of the monastery."
For a moment, Edmond said nothing..Then he laughed. Not mockery. Not disbelief exactly. Something in between. He stepped forward and embraced him.
"I am pretty sure something strange is happening at that monastery," Edmond said quietly. "You have a few months to complete eighteen, yet you have climbed almost to the top."
Newton did not answer. They both knew there was more to it. They both chose not to touch it.
In his old room, the air felt smaller..Edmond prepared the blade. Newton sat. The first scrape echoed lightly as the blade passed over his scalp. There was barely any hair left, yet Edmond worked with care. Precision. Habit.
"Never allow anyone see your hair," Edmond repeated..He always said it the same way. Newton nodded. He always responded the same way. But this time, the words stayed longer.
By nightfall, Newton returned. The monastery stood quiet under the dark sky..But someone waited.
Aemon.
At the gate. "Why did you leave alone?" Aemon asked. The question came immediately. No greeting. No pause.
Newton stopped. He had no answer ready. Aemon's jaw tightened. "You are not permitted to leave the monastery without a minimum of a hundred knights accompanying you."
There it was again. That pressure. That quiet force behind the words. Newton bowed his head slightly. "Alright, your Holiness." Aemon held his gaze for a moment longer. Then turned away.
The message remained clear.
From that day, things changed again. Newton did not push himself above others. If anything, he moved closer to them. He trained with the younger knights. Spoke to them without distance. Listened more than he spoke.
They noticed. Of course they noticed. Respect came easier from them. Not forced. Not calculated. But the older ones. That was different. They watched. They waited.
The first time Newton left with a hundred knights, it felt excessive. Too many footsteps behind him. Too many eyes around him. But he said nothing. By the time they reached Snowland, the mood had shifted.
Edmond welcomed them. Food was brought out. Drinks followed. Laughter filled the air. The soldiers relaxed. The knights did too. For a while, the tension disappeared.
Then it happened again the next weekend. And the next. Each time, more knights joined. Not because they had to. Because they wanted to.
The feast became something they looked forward to. Something that broke the rigid silence of the monastery.
Newton noticed. He said nothing. But he understood the men followed him for the feast. Yet it felt relieved.