Morin was somehow involved.

You steal a glance up to Morin and he smiles back. Your heart skips a beat. He knew. You didn't know how but somehow Morin knew that the Order's darkest secret lied somewhere inside those sacred tomes. If such texts happened to fall in the hands of Morin, the Order would be finished.

Grandmaester Law interrupts your epiphany with a loud cough.

"The Northland Barbarians haven't sailed this far South in centuries! Why, ever since Saint Agustine died at the flaming stakes-"

Morin waves away the beginning of Grandmaester's long winded spiel and leans forward.

"Regardless, I believe Sir Merek should sail to the holy island to escort any possible survivors. If that one made it out alive, I'm sure there are still others left hiding among the ruin. It wouldn't do for us to leave them behind in such dire circumstance."

After taking another sip from his chalice, Henry Morin taps the edge of the long table and addresses one of his personal guards.

"How many more supplicants?"

"Thirty-four and counting, your Grace."

"Take five and send the rest home. I'm weary of this meeting."

Finally turning towards you he casts a stern look.

"I leave this Lindisfarne business with you Sir Merek. I have faith you'll handle it justly. Now, send in the next supplicant on your way out."

You are dismissed.