Duncan Beck chewed on a piece of hardtack, his jaw working furiously as he ranted.
"The Northern commanders are fools," Duncan spat, crumbs flying. "Every last one of them. Do they not know they must secure the Riverlands first? What good is conquering the Westerlands if their rear is wide open? They march for glory while we bleed!"
Aldric, who had long since left the Northern army's chain of command, felt no need to defend his former employers. In fact, listening to the bitter knight, he felt a certain kinship. The strategic blindness of the high lords was something they could both agree on. He nodded along, offering a few sympathetic grunts.
Jon Snow, sitting nearby, shifted uncomfortably. He wanted to defend his brother Robb, but contradicting his teacher's guest felt improper. Muttering an excuse about needing to relieve himself, he slipped out of the village hall.
Duncan watched the boy go. "What's wrong with him?"
"Too much water," Aldric said with a smile. "Pay him no mind." He leaned forward, his expression turning serious. "Tell me about the road. You came from Riverrun. What did you see?"
Duncan tore another strip of bread with his teeth, his eyes darkening.
"What did I see? I saw hell." He swallowed hard. "From Riverrun to Pinkmaiden, there isn't a living soul. Ownerless dogs roam in packs, fattening themselves on corpses. In the village huts, in the river eddies, hanging from the roadside trees... dead men everywhere. Tywin Lannister's dogs have been thorough."
He let out a cold, hollow laugh. "The Westermen are efficient, I'll give them that. Anything worth a copper groat, they took. Anything they couldn't take, they smashed or burned. They left us nothing but ash and bone."
Aldric's mood sank. Scorched earth.
Without basic supplies, even those who survived the initial butchery would starve. They would become refugees, wandering the roads until hunger or winter took them.
"White bones in the wild, no rooster crows for a thousand miles," Aldric murmured to himself.
Staying here was pointless. This region was a graveyard. No food, no recruits, just ghosts.
Then a thought struck him.
"Wait," Aldric said, narrowing his eyes. "If it's that bad... how did you and your men survive the journey? What have you been eating?"
Duncan shrugged. "When we left Riverrun, Ser Edmure gave us some rations. That got us halfway. For the rest... the people are dead, but the fields remain. We dug up potatoes. We found some unharvested corn. We scavenged like rats."
"Why not raid the smallfolk?" Aldric asked, watching him closely.
Duncan looked offended. "Is this a jest? First, there are no smallfolk left to raid. Second, we are Rivermen, not Westerland beasts. I do not prey on my own people."
Aldric relaxed. Good.
This young knight was arrogant, loud, and prejudiced against Northmen, but he had a line he wouldn't cross.
Aldric slapped his knees and stood up. "Good. Since you haven't turned to banditry, I'll help you. I noticed your men are wounded. I know a bit of healing."
Duncan's eyes lit up. "You're a healer? Seven blessings! I was hoping to find a maester in the next town, but—wait, what are you doing?"
Aldric walked over to the nearest wounded soldier. The man's head was wrapped in filthy, blood-stiffened rags. Golden hair, matted with gore and lice, poked through the gaps. The smell was atrocious.
Aldric began to peel away the bandage. "Have you killed or robbed innocents?" he asked casually.
The soldier winced as the dried blood pulled at his skin. His knuckles turned white, but he didn't pull away.
"No, my lord," the man rasped. "Never. I was a farmer before the war. I only fight soldiers."
"Good."
Aldric tossed the stinking rags onto the floor. He held his hands over the swollen, infected wound.
"Repeat after me," Aldric commanded, his voice taking on a resonant, solemn tone. "O Sun, you are the symbol of light and warmth. Illuminate my path, warm my heart. Grant me strength and hope. I thank you for your shelter."
The soldier stammered the words.
As he spoke, a soft, golden light bloomed from Aldric's palms. It wasn't the harsh flare of fire, but the gentle, persistent warmth of a dawn sun. The light washed over the soldier's head. The angry red swelling receded. The flesh knit together. Within seconds, the wound was gone, leaving not even a scar.
"Done," Aldric said. "Move over. Next."
The soldier touched his head, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Fuck... The Seven... It's a miracle of the Seven!"
Aldric ignored him and moved to the next man.
Duncan Beck watched in silence. His expression shifted from shock to confusion, and finally to a kind of numb reverence.
Aldric moved down the line. For a high-level Sunwalker, curing minor infections and flesh wounds cost negligible mana. It was as easy as breathing.
"All done," Aldric said, wiping his hands on a rag. "Give them two days of rest and good food. They'll be fighting like rutting stags in no time."
Duncan stood up slowly. His voice trembled.
"When I was waiting for orders outside Riverrun... the refugees spoke of a saint. A man in the Northern army who healed the sick and wounded with magic, asking for no coin. Was that... was that you?"
Saint? Aldric suppressed a smile. That's a new title.
"If no one else fits the description, then yes," Aldric said. "My students, Jon and Kevin, were with me."
Duncan dropped to one knee.
"Forgive me," he said, his head bowed. "Great Lightbringer. I did not recognize you. Please forgive my disrespect."
"Get up," Aldric said, hauling the knight to his feet. "Lightbringer? Is that what they call me?"
"Yes," Duncan said fervently. "Those you healed say you summon the light of the Seven. That you are a servant of the gods."
The healed soldiers, hearing this, scrambled off the benches. They knelt on the floor, ignoring Aldric's orders to rest, looking at him with worshipful eyes.
Aldric sighed. The Seven again.
"If you must kneel," Aldric announced, his voice filling the room, "kneel to the Sun. I am but a hand of An'she, the Eternal Sun."
Duncan didn't care which god was responsible. "Yes. Glory to the Sun God... An..."
"An'she," Aldric corrected.
"Glory to An'she."
Aldric stayed in Stonebridge Village for another day.
Before they left, Elder Matt approached him, carrying a heavy cloth sack.
"Lord Aldric," the elder said, his face lined with gratitude. "The wheat is harvested and threshed. We owe you our lives. This is a small token from the village. Please, take it."
Aldric hefted the sack. Five or six pounds of grain. In these starving times, it was a fortune.
"Thank you, Elder," Aldric said. "If you face trouble again, look for us."
"I wish you could stay," Matt said sadly. "But I know other villages need you. May the Light guide your path. Lord Aldric... what should we call your company?"
Aldric thought of Duncan's words. Lightbringer.
"I am Aldric Lightbringer," he said. "My warband is the Golden Dawn. If you see a banner with a golden twelve-pointed sun on red, know that it fights for the living."
Aldric led his newly christened Golden Dawn out of the village. He didn't ask where the villagers had hidden their grain stores. Some secrets were best left alone.
As they marched, Ghost's howl cut through the air.
Aldric turned. Trailing behind them, keeping a respectful distance, was Duncan Beck. He carried his tattered banner—a naked maiden on pink, the sigil of House Piper's vassal.
"Jon, call Ghost back," Aldric ordered. "Kevin, go ask him what he wants."
Kevin trotted his horse back, spoke to Duncan, and returned.
"He says he can't decide for himself, Ser. He wants to speak to you."
Duncan approached and bowed. "Lord Aldric. Pinkmaiden is gone. My home is ash. My men and I... we have nowhere to go. We wish to follow you."
"Follow me?" Aldric looked at the four ragged soldiers behind him. "Just these few?"
"The others chose to stay in Stonebridge," Duncan said. "They've had enough of war."
"Fair enough," Aldric said. "And you? You're a knight. Following a mercenary is a step down."
"We are all broken men now," Duncan said with a bitter smile.
"Then come," Aldric said, pointing south. "We're going to the Goldroad. We're going to rob Tywin Lannister."
To get from the Riverlands to the Westerlands, there were two main routes. The River Road, past the Golden Tooth, which was currently a meat grinder. And the Goldroad, which ran south from King's Landing, cut west through the Reach borders, and into the deep Westerlands.
The Goldroad was Tywin's lifeline. With Robb Stark blocking the north and Edmure Tully holding Riverrun, Tywin's supplies had to come the long way.
Aldric intended to be the stone in their shoe.
But first, they had to cross the Red Fork.
Duncan had scuttled all the boats on the west bank when he fled. They had to march north, searching for a crossing not held by Lannister men.
For days, they walked through a wasteland. Silence hung heavy over the scorched fields.
Finally, they found a ferry crossing held by Riverrun troops.
The guards were suspicious until they heard the name "Aldric." The legend of the "Battlefield Saint" had spread. They immediately prepared a boat.
In return, Aldric healed their sick and blessed their garrison.
Under the midday sun, golden crowns of light appeared over the soldiers' heads as Aldric cast his buffs. The men knelt in the mud, chanting the names of the Seven.
Aldric didn't correct them this time. He accepted their gratitude, boarded the ferry, and crossed the river, leaving a legend in his wake.
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