"You're back at last," John exhaled, stepping forward at the crossroads two miles from St. Maur's. He pulled Aldric into a fierce embrace.
When they parted, Jon Snow stepped forward, pressing a hand to his chest in a crisp salute. "Master. Welcome home."
Aldric surveyed his student with a small, satisfied smile. "Spirit intact, limbs attached. Well done, Jon."
Jon offered a wry, slightly embarrassed grin. "Master, your standards for me are getting worryingly low."
Aldric turned back to John, his expression softening into an apology. "John, forgive me. I intended to take the men out to forage and save the monastery some grain, but I've returned with three hundred more mouths to feed. I've brought you nothing but trouble."
John glanced at the ragged column stretching down the road. "Refugees? How many?"
"Roughly three hundred," Aldric said. "I pulled them from the scorched thorps the Lannisters left behind. I tried to escort the first few to their lords' keeps for sanctuary, but the high-born wouldn't open their gates. I couldn't leave them to the crows, so I kept walking. The column just... grew. It seems men like Edmure Tully are rarer than I hoped. Can our stores handle this?"
John did the math in his head, his brow furrowed. "It will be a struggle. I've filled the fallow fields with potatoes and pumpkins, but we're ninety days from a full harvest. To feed this many, we either buy from the Reach or find a neighbor willing to 'lend' us their granaries."
Aldric sighed, looking at the exhausted families. "We take them in. Whatever the cost, the people are the cause. We cannot turn them out to die in the mud."
"Agreed," John said. "But the monastery is bursting. We'll have to settle them in the neighboring villages."
"Are they habitable?"
"The Bloody Mummers saw to that," John replied grimly. "They slaughtered the original tenants so thoroughly that half the cottages are empty shells. We'll patch the roofs; they'll have a floor to sleep on."
Once the new arrivals were assigned to the outlying hamlets—distanced just enough to allow for farming but close enough for defense—Aldric convened a meeting.
He knew that a leaderless mob would eventually devolve into the law of the pit, where the strong prey on the weak. To prevent this, he gathered the Sunwalkers and the core members of the Golden Dawn. This was more than a council; it was the first practice of theocratic governance.
Aldric appointed six Sunwalkers as Prefects for the new villages, maintaining a ratio of one leader to fifty smallfolk. Remembering the tragedy of Brother Rolf, he ordered that no Sunwalker perform their duties alone; each was assigned a four-man guard from Jon's trained militia to ensure their safety and authority.
The mood in the room shifted when Aldric called for Caden Storm. The hedge knight entered the council chamber with visible hesitation. Facing a dozen Sunwalkers, their eyes glowing with the quiet hum of the Light, was far more unnerving than facing a dozen bandits. He took a sip of watered wine to steady his nerves before recounting the fall of Brother Rolf.
As Caden spoke of the mud, the orphans, the Karstark deserters, and the final, shimmering blue image of the fallen monk, the room fell into a heavy silence.
"Brother Rolf was known to many of you," Aldric said, his voice resonant. "He was a pure soul who lived the Solar Core until his last breath. He did not merely preach the Light; he became it. Jon, take this down."
"Yes, Master." Jon sat with a charcoal pencil and a sheet of rough parchment.
"First, a Sunwalker who sacrifices themselves for the faith must never be forgotten. To ensure their light continues to guide us, we will erect a Great Stone in the monastery plaza. It will be the Cairn of Souls. Every brother or sister who falls for the cause will have their name carved into the granite. Rolf of Stoney Sept shall be the first."
The council members looked at one another, a sense of solemn pride filling the room. In a world where the poor were forgotten the moment they stopped breathing, the promise of an eternal name was a powerful thing. The resolution passed without a single dissent.
"Second," Aldric continued, "the children Rolf saved are orphans. There are countless more among the refugees, and as the war grinds on, their numbers will only swell. Children are the seeds of the future. I will not have them starve or turn to the gutter under the watch of Anshe. We will establish the House of Rolf—an orphanage where every child under thirteen will be raised and fed by the order until they are ready to take up a trade."
Again, the council agreed. But the question of who would lead such a delicate task remained. Aldric looked at Martha and Beth. "Will you two take charge of the children?"
Martha jumped as if stung. "No! We're spears, Aldric! I've spent my life looking after people. I want the vanguard, not nursery duty!"
Aldric began to argue, but a weathered voice interrupted. "Lightbringer... let an old man try."
It was Morton Zack, a former monk and friend of the High Sparrow. "I can't swing a mace anymore, and my legs are too slow for the march. Let me mind the pups. It's better than eating the monastery's bread for free."
Aldric nodded, relieved. "The House of Rolf is yours, Brother Morton. Tell John what you need."
Morton bowed, then paused. "One more thing, Lightbringer. These children... many have no names. The small ones are just 'boy' or 'girl.' The older ones have no houses, no surnames. If they are to be raised by the Sun, can we give them a name that belongs to Anshe?"
Aldric tilted his head. "Like the bastards? Snow, Rivers, or Stone?"
"Better than those," Morton said. "A name that marks them as children of the Light. Can we call them... Light?"
Aldric considered the local customs. In the North, you were Snow; in the Riverlands, Rivers; in the West, Hill. It meant you belong to the land because you have no father. To name them Light meant they were claimed by the ideology.
"I have no objection," John added from his seat. "It marks them as ours."
"Very well," Aldric decreed. "They shall be named Light. But do not force it on those who still remember their fathers' names."
Suddenly, Morse—a Northman Freefolk Aldric had healed months ago—raised his hand. "Captain! I have a problem!"
Aldric blinked. Morse was usually the most loyal of his veterans. "Speak, Morse."
"If the orphans get to be called Light, can I have it too?"
The room went still. The other Sunwalkers—men and women born of nothing, who had lived their lives as Tom of the Mill or Sarah the Cook—suddenly leaned forward, their eyes burning with interest.
"You aren't an orphan, Morse," Aldric said, confused.
"I am!" Morse countered. "My parents died when I was ten. I've been an orphan for twenty years! Martha, Beth, Eolia—we're all orphans of the tribes! If the kids get a name of dignity, why shouldn't the Sunwalkers who bleed for you have one too?"
Aldric looked around the room. He realized he had underestimated the power of a name to a people who had never been allowed to own anything—not even a family history.
"I... see," Aldric muttered. He looked at the eager faces of his first disciples. He had intended to build an army; he realized he was building a House.
70+ chapters are available now and daily updates! @patreon.com/zefyrus