Rickard sat in his modest study, the soft flicker of candlelight casting long shadows against the stone walls. He was no longer the poor farmer from the Reach who spent years toiling under the sun and praying fruitlessly to the Seven. No longer the man who had watched his wife die under a nobleman's horse while the Faith offered nothing but hollow words. His son, once crippled and destined for a life of suffering, now walked tall, fully healed by the power of this new God. His life had changed irrevocably since the day Catholicism spread its roots through Westeros.
The Faith of the Seven, with its pomp and ritual, had never promised anything more than vague hope and distant justice. But this new religion? It had real, tangible miracles. Father Mateo had healed his son right in front of his eyes. It wasn't just hope they were offering—it was change, immediate and profound.
Rickard glanced at the stack of letters on his desk, requests from different corners of Westeros. Converts from the Westerlands, the Riverlands, even some in the Vale, were calling for more priests, for more grain, for support in their growing congregations. The people were hungry for this new faith. They were tired of being told that they were born to suffer, to live and die in servitude to lords and ladies who didn't even know their names.
He read over the letter from the Westerlands again. It was a simple request for grain to support the influx of converts who had been driven from their homes by the disapproving nobility. The nobles were panicking, realizing that their smallfolk, their labor force, their very lifeblood, was slipping away into the arms of this new faith. Rickard approved the request with a quick stroke of his quill, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The nobles couldn't stop the tide that was coming.
He stood and stretched, walking over to the window that overlooked the small courtyard of the new church he had built in the Reach. The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden light over the fields that stretched out toward the horizon. It was a far cry from the lavish temples of the Faith of the Seven. This was a humble place, built by the hands of the people who now worshipped here, a place where they could gather as equals.
It had been hard to believe at first, even for him. After all, the Seven had been the only gods he'd ever known. But after witnessing the miracles with his own eyes—his son's healing, the prosperity brought to his village, the sense of community and hope that had taken root—he couldn't deny it. This new God was different. This God cared.
As Rickard was lost in thought, the door to his study burst open with a loud bang, jolting him from his reverie. His son, now a tall and healthy young man, ran into the room, his face flushed with panic.
"Father!" his son gasped, trying to catch his breath. "We have to go! Now!"
Rickard's heart lurched in his chest. "What's wrong?" he asked, though a part of him already knew. The Faith of the Seven had been growing more aggressive in recent weeks, sending thugs to intimidate new converts, to silence those who spoke out against their gods. But they wouldn't dare come here. Not to the cardinal of the Reach. Would they?
"Thugs from the Faith of the Seven," his son explained, eyes wide with fear. "They're coming to kill you. The nobles know about the conversions, and they've sent people to silence you."
Rickard felt his blood run cold. He had known this day might come, but not so soon. He had always imagined there would be more time—time to strengthen the church, to protect his family, to spread the word even further. But the Faith wasn't going to allow that. They were desperate. Losing power. Losing their grip on the smallfolk. And desperate people did desperate things.
"We need to destroy the documents," Rickard said quickly, his mind racing. "They can't find out how far we've come. How many have converted."
His son nodded and rushed to the small stash of oil in the corner of the room. Together, they worked quickly, dousing the parchments and shelves in oil, setting small fires across the room. The flames licked at the edges of the documents, curling the edges of letters, turning them to ash. The scent of burning parchment filled the air, and Rickard couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. These documents were the history of the church in the Reach, the record of every small victory they had won. But they couldn't let it fall into the hands of the Faith of the Seven. Better for it to burn.
As the fire spread through the study, Rickard could hear the distant sound of horses galloping, the shouts of men approaching. There wasn't much time. He turned to his son, who was already pulling at a loose stone in the far wall.
"Come on, Father," his son urged. "We have to go. Now!"
The stone slid away, revealing a narrow passage hidden behind the wall. Rickard had prepared it months ago, just in case. He had always known that the Faith of the Seven wouldn't let them rise without a fight. He followed his son into the tunnel, pulling the stone back into place behind them. The heat from the fire grew, the flames consuming everything in the study above.
They crawled through the dark, narrow tunnel in silence, the sound of their breathing loud in the confined space. Rickard's mind raced. What would happen next? The Faith of the Seven was growing more violent, more desperate, and the new church wasn't yet strong enough to fight back directly. Not yet. But soon.
They emerged in a dark alley behind the church, far from the front entrance. The thugs from the Faith would be breaking into the building any moment now, but they would find nothing. Nothing but ash and charred ruins.
Rickard leaned against the stone wall of the alley, breathing heavily. His son stood beside him, eyes scanning the dark street, searching for any sign of danger.
"They'll be looking for us," his son said quietly. "We can't stay here."
Rickard nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. He looked around the darkened alley, considering their options. The Reach was no longer safe for them. The Faith of the Seven controlled too many of the lords and held too much sway over the nobility. They would have to leave, go somewhere where the new faith was still growing, where the old gods didn't hold so much power.
"The Riverlands," Rickard said finally. "We'll go to the Riverlands. The faith is spreading there, quietly. It's still small, but it's growing. We can rebuild."
His son nodded, though there was fear in his eyes. "Will we be safe there?"
Rickard placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "The Faith of the Seven is losing power. They can't stop what's coming. This new God is with us. As long as we have faith, we'll be safe."
They slipped into the shadows of the alley, the distant glow of the fire behind them lighting up the night sky. Rickard knew they were embarking on a dangerous journey, but he also knew that the future belonged to those who believed in this new God—a God of justice, of miracles, and of hope.