In the long river of history, House Vance of Wayfarer's Rest held a seat of singular pride in the Riverlands. Their ancestor, Armistead Vance, was among the mightiest of the Andal conquerors who had shattered the reign of Tristifer IV Mudd, the Hammer of Justice.
Back then, Armistead had granted the fertile lands between the Red Fork and the Tumblestone to Axell Tully as a reward for his service. House Vance had once been the masters who raised up the Tullys; thus, their lands were broader, their banners more numerous, and their pride deeper than their formal overlords.
Inside the command tent, the air was suffocating. Lord Norbert Vance, elderly and half-blind, listened to Karyl Vance's capitulation with a sneer of disgust. Lost a battle and turned your cloak already, he thought. And you wrap your cowardice in pretty words.
Norbert raised his chin, his voice trembling but stubborn. "Lightbringer. House Vance of Atranta has guarded the Faith since the First Men bled. You ask for Free Trade? Fine. My gates were never barred to coin. You ask for Free Movement? My lands are half-empty; if a peasant wishes to starve elsewhere, let him. But Free Mission? I will not have my septries filled with your 'Solar' heresy."
Aldric, seated at the head of the oak table, shook his head slowly. He saw the old man's probe for what it was—a negotiation for a bottom line. He leaned forward, his gaze locking onto Norbert's clouded eyes.
"Lord Norbert, the Seven are but reflections of Anshe—the Source. The High Septon himself has recognized this truth. You are an Andal, yet you have forgotten the soul of your own stars. I am here to wake that faith, not destroy it. If I did not speak with the Father's voice, how could I call upon the Light to mend your broken bones? I will say it once more: Accept the Three Freedoms, or remain an enemy. My patience for enemies is shorter than a winter's day."
Sweat beaded on Norbert's wrinkled brow. His lips quivered. "I... I must consider this."
Aldric turned to Lord Smallwood. "And you, My Lord? Your liege has already spoken. Will you stand alone?"
Smallwood shot a look of pure betrayal at Karyl Vance. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I accept. Spare my family, and the Dawn may walk Acorn Hall."
Finally, Aldric's gaze fell on Lord Lymond Goodbrook.
Lymond had fought the hardest when Ser Carlo's riders intercepted his retreat. But as Duncan Baker had noted, it was difficult to die when a Solar Knight was nearby. Lymond had been run through the gut by a lance, only to be pulled back from the Stranger's gate by a pulse of gold.
"Lightbringer," Lymond rasped, stepping forward. "I have no choice. The Tullys are ghosts, Littlefinger is a mountain away, and my walls are made of soft stone before your engines. I will yield. But I ask one thing—mercy for my wife."
"Speak," Aldric said.
"Gwyneth... she is a lady of the Reach. She acted out of fear while I was away. If she offended your monks, the sin is mine. Let the punishment fall on me." Lymond dropped to one knee, offering his sword hilt-first.
Aldric stood, his face a mask of iron. "Brothers Gal and Flores are men of prayer; they will forgive the lash. But Karina, the wife of Old Carlyle, is dead because of your bailiffs. Her husband sold a cart of beets to feed his people, and for that, she was flayed. I cannot explain her grave to my followers without justice."
Lymond looked up, horrified. "She was a peasant!"
"Under the Sun," Aldric barked, "all blood is red."
Lymond bowed his head. "I am told... you demand Gwyneth walk naked through the square for a moon, eating only bread and water. Her body cannot survive such shame."
Aldric blinked, confused. "Naked? I ordered a Walk of Penance, barefoot to the Septry to confess her failure to protect the weak. I said nothing of her clothes. Who told you this?"
"Henry... my Master-at-Arms."
"Then Henry is a liar who sought to stoke your rage," Aldric said. "The terms remain: a month of silence and prayer. And you shall join her."
The next morning, the gates of Blue-Wave Keep groaned open. Lymond and Gwyneth, barefoot and dressed in simple gray wool, stood in the mud to receive the conqueror.
Aldric rode in on his black stallion, "Old Thing," flanked by his armored Praetorians and the red-robed Bishops. The host of the Dawn marched behind him, thousands of voices rising in the Hymn of Light.
Lord Lymond handed over the heavy iron keys with trembling hands. As the couple began their slow, shamed walk toward the Septry, they passed Brother Gal. The monk had been healed enough to stand, and a terrifying, radiant calm now emanated from him. He had found his power in his scars.
Aldric didn't waste time. Blue-Wave Keep was now the first true conquest of the Dawn. Unlike the original Alliance, which was a voluntary union, Goodbrook land was taken by steel.
"Tear down the outer walls," Aldric commanded his engineers. "Use the stone to build a Great Septry and a Public Hall. If the Goodbrook soldiers wish to join us, they take the vow. If they wish to farm, they take the land. If they wish to leave, give them three silver moons and send them toward the sunset."
He wasn't afraid of them spreading word of his strength. The "Golden Guard" had proven they could break a veteran Riverlands host with a third of their number.
On the second day of the occupation, Bishop Clare entered the castle study. He found Aldric pouring over the meager library of House Goodbrook, while Maester Casimir hovered nearby like a nervous ghost.
"I hear you are returning the keep to Lymond," Clare noted.
"I promised him a home, not a fortress," Aldric replied. "The walls are gone. If he feels unsafe, he can move to a suite at St. Maur's with the other 'guests'."
Clare smiled. "St. Maur's is growing crowded. Have you considered a larger seat? Harrenhal, perhaps? It is the heart of the Trident."
Aldric shook his head. "Harrenhal is a tomb of high stone. It isolates a ruler from his people. I prefer the farmhouses. My power comes from the mud, not the towers."
Clare watched him for a long moment, then slowly unfastened his red silk robes, letting them fall to the floor to reveal a simple gray tunic. "Lightbringer... I wish to serve. Truly. Give me a task."
Aldric gripped the Bishop's hand. "Then take your brothers. Walk the Riverlands. Explain the Path to the priests who still hide in the dark. I will give you a company of spears for each of you. When you return with the hearts of the people, you shall receive the Seed of Light."
As Clare left to organize his mission, Aldric looked out the window at the roaring industry of the reconstruction.
His mind drifted north. He remembered Jeor Mormont, the Old Bear. The Commander had once mentioned that there were ancient ways for common men to fight the Others—secrets hidden in the dust of the Night's Watch archives.
What is the mortal weapon against the cold? Aldric wondered. He needed that answer before the first true snow fell.
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