Brother Rolf was an orphan. After his parents died, he was taken in by the monks of the Great Sept in Stoney Sept. Being a boy who could calculate sums by nine—and being cursed with a face too homely to tempt the more lecherous elders into "private scripture lessons"—he was treated with a measure of distant kindness. He grew up within those stone walls, harboring a lingering affection for the only home he had ever known.
At twenty-three, recommended by Elder Merkel, he arrived at Oxhorn, a town northeast of Stoney Sept, to serve as an assistant steward in the local sept.
Oxhorn belonged to House Kartz, petty lords sworn to House Smallwood of Acorn Hall. The Kartz lands were modest—six or seven villages, a strength barely greater than a landed knight—but they were hereditary. So long as the bloodline didn't gutter out, the land remained theirs.
Rolf's life at Oxhorn was a cycle of rituals: weddings, funerals, foundation blessings for new hovels, and the occasional "exorcism" for peasants troubled by bad dreams or worse neighbors. The sept was, in truth, a private chapel for House Kartz. They had funded its stones and paid its tithes. In exchange, the monks were expected to place the needs of the Kartz family above all else. The High Septon was a far-off myth; the Lord Kartz was the god who actually spoke.
Walking the muddy tracks between villages, Rolf saw the grinding reality of the Riverlands. It was a fertile realm, fed by the Red Fork, the Green Fork, and the Blackwater. Its climate rivaled the Reach, yet it sat too close to King's Landing. Whenever the Seven Kingdoms bled, the Riverlands were the first to catch the blade. For thousands of years, ironborn, Reachmen, and Stormlanders had trampled these fields. Even the Tullys only held their seat by the grace of Aegon the Conqueror. Frequent internal wars meant the population never truly exploded, leaving the rich soil to be reclaimed by the forest.
Lord Kartz was considered a "fair" master by the standards of the day. He took only half the harvest as tax. After setting aside seed for the next year, a farmer might keep forty percent to feed his kin.
Yet, life remained a struggle. The mill belonged to Kartz, so grinding grain cost a fee. The forest belonged to Kartz, so cutting timber cost a fee. Solving a neighborly spat required the Lord's judgment, which cost a fee. If a wanderer murdered your kin, seeking justice cost silver. If your daughter was raped by a passing man-at-arms, you paid a fine to the Lord for "damaging the reputation of his house" by making the scandal public.
If you couldn't pay? You could choose between a rope at the village gate or the black wool of the Night's Watch.
Rolf was the only monk who truly walked among the smallfolk. He felt the suffocating weight of their lives. He began spending his days in the villages, hoping his presence as a man of the Cloth might make the tax-collectors and soldiers hesitate in their cruelties. It rarely worked, but it quieted his conscience.
In these travels, he met the man they called the Sparrow. Their shared disgust for the world forged a bond, leading to Rolf's invitation to the Great Vigil at St. Maur's Monastery. There, Rolf saw the man called the Lightbringer. He heard a voice explain the world—not as a mystery of the gods, but as a broken contract between the lords and the people.
To Rolf, it was like a peasant finding a lost silver in the mud. He stayed for The Awakening and, to his shock, felt the Solar Spark ignite within him.
Infected by Aldric's vision, he could no longer serve House Kartz in good faith. He decided to leave Oxhorn and return to Stoney Sept to spread the truth of the Solar Core.
Stoney Sept was the seat of House Wilum, its Greyrock Manor looming over a town protected by solid stone walls. Such infrastructure was rare, born from a history where the sept came first and the knights followed. In Stoney Sept, a monk carried more weight than a lordling—perfect soil for the Light to take root.
But first, Rolf had to go back to Oxhorn to reclaim his belongings.
Oxhorn sat northwest of St. Maur's. Rolf avoided the Kingsroad, sticking to the game trails to evade the roving packs of Mummers and Lions. It took him eight days to reach the town's timber palisade.
As he approached, two archers on the gatehouse leveled their bows. Rolf pulled back his hood. "Larry! It's me, Brother Rolf. I've returned."
The guard, a man Rolf knew well, squinted down. "Rolf? May the Seven watch over you. Stay where you are. Lady Jeyne has ordered the gates barred. No one in, no one out. The woods are full of wolves and internal spies."
Rolf frowned. "I am a monk of your own sept, Larry. I only need my things. I'll be gone before the sun sets. Send a man with me if you're afraid I'll steal the altar."
Larry snorted. "I don't have the men for nursery-maid duties. Find a haystack in a village, Rolf. Come back when the war is done."
Rolf went quiet. He knew Larry was being difficult on purpose. Larry was a man who "foraged" extra grain for himself during tax season, and Rolf had stopped him twice.
"Larry," Rolf said, keeping his voice level. "As fellow servants of House Kartz, do me a kindness. In my cell, I have a blanket and two books I spent years transcribing—the Book of Prayer and the Rites of Purity. They are on the bedside chest. If you can't read the spines, ask Brother Sven to find them."
Larry leaned on his bow. "It's a long walk to the sept. If the Lady finds me off the wall, she'll fine me a silver stag."
"Be careful then," Rolf countered. "If you bring them to me, I'll give you the silver myself."
Larry grinned, showing yellow teeth. "Stay there. I'll see what I can find."
"You're going to lose that silver," a voice said beside Rolf.
Rolf turned. A strong warrior stood nearby, leading a scrawny black garron. He wore a half-suit of mail and a boiled leather breastplate, a longsword swinging at his hip. Behind him sat a boy on a donkey. The warrior looked young, but his eyes were old.
"May the Seven watch over you," Rolf said. "Have we met?"
"Perhaps," the warrior replied. "Life is a leaf in the wind. We might have brushed past each other in a crowd."
Rolf found the man's words overly profound for a muddy road. "Fate is a strange weaver. What did you mean about my silver?"
"Wait and see," the warrior said simply. He walked over to talk to the remaining sentry on the wall, then retreated into the shade of a nearby oak.
"Are you a hedge knight?" Rolf asked, following him.
"Caden Storm," the man said. "I'm looking for a master who knows the value of a sharp blade. This is my squire, Jasmine."
The boy on the donkey slid down, looking miserable. "Greetings, Septon."
The Riverlands' interior was spared the worst of the Lannister fire, but the lack of law was its own plague. Lords had taken their best men to the fronts, leaving the towns to be guarded by the dregs. The empty garrisons made for good business for hedge knights like Caden Storm, who could sell their steel to nervous ladies.
"Lady Jeyne isn't letting anyone in," Rolf warned him. "If she won't let her own monk through the gate, she won't let a Stormlander knight in."
"A good sword is a different matter," Caden said confidently. "Even a lady knows when she needs a wolf at the door."
"Then why are you sitting here?"
Caden hesitated. "The man on the wall said to wait for Larry. Only he can bring word to the Lady."
Rolf chuckled. "Then we wait together."
An hour passed. Finally, Larry reappeared on the battlement, clutching a bundled blanket.
"I have your things, Rolf!" Larry shouted.
Rolf gave Caden a triumphant look. "Throw them down, Larry! May the Seven bless you!"
But Larry didn't throw them. "There's a problem, Septon. When I went to the sept, the Lady was there praying for her husband and sons. She saw me away from my post. She fined me two silver stags. I've suffered a heavy loss for your sake!"
Caden Storm let out a sharp, barking laugh.
Rolf ignored the knight, his face reddening. "Two stags? We agreed on one!"
Larry shrugged. "The Lady is in a foul mood. Take it or leave it, monk."
Rolf looked at the blanket. He thought of the two years he'd spent hunching over parchment to copy those books. They were his only legacy. He reached into his inner tunic and pulled out two silvers, his heart aching at the loss. "How do I get them to you?"
Larry lowered a basket on a rope. "Put the coin in, and I'll drop the books."
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