In a dense forest bordering the Goldroad, several tents were scattered among towering broadleaf trees. On one thick trunk hung a crude target: a scarecrow stuffed with dried grass, dressed in a captured Lannister red cloak.
Aldric stood beneath the tree. In his left hand, he gripped a riding bow gifted to him by the Master-at-Arms of Purpleberry Village. In his right, he nocked an arrow.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
Three arrows flew in rapid succession, each one piercing the scarecrow's throat.
The Golden Dawn warriors watching from the sidelines erupted in cheers.
Aldric lowered the bow, satisfied. He handed the weapon to the nearest soldier and raised his voice.
"Brothers! You all saw that. The rules are simple: ten arrows each. Put three in the throat at this distance, and you get a Silver Stag. Two arrows gets you a Copper Star. Even one arrow earns you an extra fist-sized ration of meat for dinner. Line up! Jon is keeping score!"
The men scrambled to form a queue behind the firing line, eager to prove their marksmanship—or at least earn a better meal.
Aldric squeezed out of the crowd and turned to Kevin, who had been waiting patiently.
"What is it, Kevin?"
Kevin handed him a rolled parchment. "Message from Lennar. Just arrived."
Aldric unrolled the scroll. It was intelligence on a Westerlands supply train.
"Twenty-one heavy wagons. Grain and armaments. Escort detail: roughly one hundred men, including thirty cavalry and seventy infantry. Commanded by Ser Alyn of House Osgrey."
Aldric frowned. "Twenty-one wagons. Tywin Lannister is generous. But a hundred guards... that's a hard nut to crack."
"Should we ask the local Riverlords for help?" Kevin suggested.
Aldric shook his head, a sneer curling his lip. "Forget it. Most of the Riverlords hiding in these woods are cowards or opportunists. They'd sooner sell us to the Lannisters than risk their own necks for a few wagons of grain."
Since crossing the Red Fork, the Golden Dawn had moved deep into the territory between the God's Eye and the river. It was the heart of the Riverlands, a place of ancient forests and complex waterways that had mostly escaped the worst of the war's devastation.
Along the way, they had wiped out two Lannister foraging parties, repelled a rogue private army of some minor noble, and saved a village, a merchant caravan, and dozens of refugees.
They didn't just fight; they healed. They fed the hungry. And they left behind only a name: The Golden Dawn.
As a result, their numbers had swelled. Twenty new recruits—orphans of war, landless knights, bankrupt merchants—had joined the banner, united by a burning hatred for the lions of the West.
Now, after twenty days of marching, they were poised near the Goldroad, ready to strike.
To secure intelligence, Aldric had sent Lennar, the company's bard and spy, to a tavern in Parton Town on the Reach border. His new assistant, Mu, a fledgling Sunwalker initiate, acted as the courier.
Aldric looked at the intel again. A hundred men.
He couldn't stomach the risk. He called a war council.
Jon Snow, Kevin, Duncan Beck, Ser Tylan, and the newly recruited Ser Roger Hogs gathered around a stump.
Jon spoke first, his tone cautious. "Teacher, the numbers are against us. We have thirty-three fighting men. We have horses, but few true cavalry. Attacking a mixed force of a hundred is suicide."
Kevin offered a different angle. "What if we use the Sunwalkers? We have seven initiates now. Let them take the vanguard with shields to draw fire. They can take a beating better than anyone."
Duncan Beck shook his head vehemently. "No. Absolutely not. Sunwalkers are healers first. You don't throw your medics into the meat grinder. Besides, once the melee starts, you can't control who the enemy targets."
"So what?" Kevin shot back. "Do we run?"
"No," Duncan said. "We find allies."
"Allies?" Aldric raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
"The Brotherhood Without Banners," Duncan said. "Lord Beric Dondarrion. His men are swarming these woods. They hit Lannister trains all the time, and they have the numbers."
Beric Dondarrion.
Aldric stroked his beard. He had heard the stories. The Lightning Lord. The man who died and came back.
To the smallfolk, it was a miracle. To Aldric, a Sunwalker, it smelled of something else.
Resurrection.
If Beric was truly coming back from the dead, he was likely undead. A wight with a soul. And Sunwalkers were natural enemies of the undead.
"Fine," Aldric said. "I've wanted to meet this Lightning Lord. Let's see if he's a saint or a corpse." He scratched his head. "But where do we find them?"
Ser Roger Hogs stepped forward. "I know their haunts, Lightbringer. Before I joined you, I considered riding with Dondarrion. Give me two men, and I'll find them."
"Done," Aldric said. "Be quick. The convoy passes in a few days."
"Commander," Duncan added. "I hear Ser Marq Piper and Ser Karyl Vance are also raiding nearby. I can reach out to them. They are Riverlords; they might listen to a fellow knight."
"Piper?" Aldric recalled Duncan's backstory. "Are you kin?"
"Distant," Duncan said, puffing out his chest. "Leave it to me."
While his envoys rode out, Aldric didn't sit idle. He took Jon and Kevin on a scouting mission.
Disguised as hedge knights seeking favor in King's Landing, they rode south to the Blackwater Rush. They mapped every hill, every bend, every choke point along the Goldroad.
Nine days later, they returned to camp.
Aldric was surprised to find the clearing crowded. The population had tripled.
Duncan rushed to meet him. "Commander! They're here. The Pipers, the Vances, and the Brotherhood."
"Excellent," Aldric said, dismounting. "Take me to them."
Duncan led him to a clearing where a crowd had gathered. In the center, a duel was underway.
A young man with fiery red hair was trading blows with a bearded warrior.
"The redhead is Ser Marq Piper, heir to Pinkmaiden," Duncan whispered. "The man with the wine-stain birthmark watching him is Ser Karyl Vance. And the bearded man fighting him... that's Harwin. A Northman with the Brotherhood."
Harwin. The son of Winterfell's Master of Horse.
"Why are they fighting?" Aldric asked.
Duncan grimaced. "Command. Piper brought fifty men. Harwin brought thirty cavalry. Both think they should lead."
"And no one from our side stepped in?"
"Commander," Duncan sighed. "You, Kevin, and Jon were gone. I am a sworn sword of a minor branch. Who am I to order a Lord Heir?"
Aldric nodded. Fair point.
He watched the fight. Marq Piper was aggressive, flashy, and tired. Harwin was calm.
Harwin side-stepped a clumsy lunge, locked Piper's arm, and threw him into the dirt. The Brotherhood men cheered.
Marq scrambled up, face red, reaching for his sword.
"Enough!"
The voice cut through the noise like a whip crack.
Aldric stepped into the circle. He wore his Lightbringer armor, the gold shining even under the forest canopy.
Harwin paused, lowering his sword. Marq Piper glared at the newcomer.
"I am Aldric Lightbringer," he announced. "Commander of the Golden Dawn. Welcome to my camp."
Marq Piper sneered, dusting off his tunic.
"So," the young lord spat. "You're the sellsword who abandoned the Young Wolf?"
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