After the formal greetings, Aldric and Beric retreated to the makeshift camp on the shore. Aldric dusted off a large stone and sat, gesturing for Beric to join him.
"I feared this island might be too large for us to stumble upon one another," Aldric said, cracking a small smile. "It seems my worry was for naught."
"My brothers and I have been near for days," Beric replied, his voice a dry rasp. "I knew you had garrisoned St. Maur's. We've had eyes on your trail since you left the monastery walls."
Aldric frowned. "Then why not come to the gates? Why lead me to this island of ghosts?"
"We agreed on a neutral ground," Beric said. "And my presence brings the kind of trouble that leaves good people swinging from trees. Too many have died because Gregor Clegane wanted to know where the Lightning Lord was hiding."
Aldric nodded, acknowledging the grim logic. He, too, needed to tread carefully. If he was to operate under the shadow of the Faith, he had to bury the "Silver Hand" and the "Northman" labels before a Lannister or a Riverlord decided he was a target.
"The Riverlands are a slaughterhouse," Aldric noted. "Between the Lions and the Wolves, the smallfolk are being ground into the mud."
Beric took the waterskin Aldric offered, took a sparse sip, and passed it to a man in a dusty pink robe beside him. "It isn't just the Westermen anymore. The Northmen have begun to pillage their own allies."
Jon Snow gasped, his hand white-knuckled on his sword hilt. "How? My brother—the King in the North—would never allow it. The Riverlords are his kin!"
The man in the pink robes, gaunt with messy gray hair, spoke up. "Child, your news is old. Roose Bolton took Harrenhal while Tywin Lannister marched west. Now Tywin's 'Bloody Mummers' serve a new master, but they keep their old habits. They 'forage' for the North now, but the peasants still bleed the same red."
"Tywin is marching west?" Aldric asked. "To defend Casterly Rock?"
"So it seems," the man replied. "But Ser Edmure Tully is contesting every crossing of the Red Fork. The banks are slick with blood as we speak."
Aldric realized why the roads near the Gods Eye had grown quiet. The predators were focused on the river crossings.
Beric watched Aldric closely. "Harwin told me how you took eight wagons from the Lannisters. Tell me, Captain: who do you fight for? The Wolf? The Fish?"
"Must it be a beast?" Aldric countered. "Can it not be for the people who live between them?"
Beric offered a cynical, tired smile. "Words like that usually come from men who want to be kings, or men who are about to die. You lead a mercenary company, Captain. Mercenaries fight for gold."
"I was a mercenary," Aldric said. "Now? I suppose we're just a band of outlaws who have a particular distaste for lords who butcher their own smallfolk."
Beric sighed. "There are good lords, Aldric. Few, but they exist. Some of them are in the Brotherhood." He paused, his one good eye fixing on Aldric. "Join us. Bring your Dawn-guard into the Brotherhood Without Banners."
"I cannot," Aldric said firmly. "I have made a pact with the brothers of St. Maur's. I have hundreds of souls under my protection now. I won't abandon them."
A large youth in green clothing behind Beric snorted. "The Seven? Those gods couldn't protect a flea from a comb. They let their own monks get slaughtered."
"The Seven have their own designs, Lem," the man in the pink robes interrupted, though he looked toward Aldric with curiosity. "You don't seem offended by his words, Captain?"
Aldric and Jon shared a look. "He isn't wrong," Aldric said simply.
Beric looked disappointed. "Harwin told me your men have the power to knit flesh. If we had that strength, the Peace would come sooner."
"I cannot give you my company," Aldric said. "But I can offer you my brothers. I will send a group of Sunwalkers—including Jon and Roger here—to join your ranks. They will follow your command. Furthermore, the monastery has a working forge now. If your blades are dull or your mail is broken, bring them to us. We will arm the Brotherhood."
Beric exchanged a long look with the man in pink. "We have no gold to pay for steel, Captain."
"Gold?" Aldric laughed, a bitter sound. "The Riverlands are burning. The crops rot in the fields because the farmers are dead. The gold in Casterly Rock cannot bring them back. I don't want your coin."
"Then what do you want?" Beric asked.
"The people," Aldric said. "Every soul you save from the mummers and the raiders—send them to St. Maur's. You can kill the wolves, Beric, but you cannot feed the sheep while you are hunted. I will give them a home, land to till, and the protection of the monastery. My brother John is the Overseer there. They will be safe."
Beric hesitated. "They belong to their lords, Aldric. They have duties."
"Their lords abandoned them to the butcher's knife," Aldric snapped. "Their duties died when the first torch hit their thatch. I will shelter them. If they wish to return when the fires go out, I won't stop them."
Beric finally nodded. "I will speak with the others. When will these 'Sunwalkers' arrive?"
"A week," Aldric said. "We have a Conclave at the monastery first. I am anointing new brothers. Once the rite is finished, I will send them to find you."
The man in the pink robes stepped forward. "I am Thoros of Myr," he said. "A priest of R'hllor, the Lord of Light. You speak of anointing... can anyone be a Sunwalker?"
"Anyone with a pure heart and the will to serve," Aldric replied.
Thoros looked at Beric's unhealed scars—the rope burn on his neck, the sunken skull. "I have brought Lord Beric back from the dark six times now. But R'hllor's kiss is a harsh one. He leaves marks."
Beric looked up at the sun. "It is midday, Aldric. The light is too bright here. Let us walk in the shade."
They moved to a grove by a small stream, away from the others. Only Aldric, Jon, Beric, and Thoros remained.
"Jon," Thoros said, his voice softer now. "You have the look of your father. I knew Eddard Stark once. And Robert. I was the one who usually brought the wine."
Jon looked away. "I am only Jon Snow, Thoros."
Thoros turned to Aldric. "Harwin says your men call you 'Lightbringer.' Do you know the prophecy of Azor Ahai?"
"I am a stranger to your lands," Aldric said. "I know nothing of your red god."
"The prophecy says that a savior will be reborn to wield a burning sword called Lightbringer," Thoros said, his eyes narrowing. "He will wake dragons from stone and end the Long Night. You call yourself by that name, yet you say you come from the far East. From Asshai?"
"Further," Aldric said. "From Seres. A land beyond your maps."
Thoros shrugged. "Perhaps. Tell me then... what is this Sun-God of yours?"
Aldric pointed to the orb hanging in the sky. "He is the Sun. The source of all heat, all light, all life. Without him, the world is a tomb of ice. He is the beginning and the end."
"Sounds like R'hllor by another name," Thoros grunted.
"Perhaps," Aldric smiled. "But my God does not ask for blood to kindle his fires."
Thoros snorted. He drew a dagger and, before Aldric could react, sliced his own palm. Blood pooled in the blade. With a flick of his wrist, the steel erupted into a brilliant, crackling flame. "R'hllor provides the spark," Thoros said.
Aldric reached out and placed his hand over the burning blade. The fire hissed, but Aldric didn't flinch. A pulse of blindingly white, solar energy erupted from his skin. The fire on the dagger went out instantly, and the wound on Thoros's palm knit together in a heartbeat, leaving the skin as smooth as a babe's.
"Anshe provides the life," Aldric said quietly. "We should not waste it."
Thoros stared at his healed hand, speechless.