"Who are you?" Aldric asked.
The leader gave a bitter laugh. "Just poor wretches with nowhere to go."
"Why attack my caravan?"
"Why else?" The man spread his hands. "The lions and the wolves burned our village, trampled our fields, took our last grain, and butchered our kin. I have nothing left. But I still want to live. I don't want to starve in my own home."
Aldric frowned. "So you rob us? Did it occur to you that others might be starving too?"
The young rider, still pinned to the ground, shouted angrily, "Starving? You? You have twenty wagons! Who but a Lannister supply train would dare travel the Riverlands with that much food? Don't use our misery to paint your ugly faces! It's disgusting!"
Aldric rubbed his chin. "You have a point. It was my mistake to look so well-fed. Alright. As a reward for pointing out my tactical error, I will heal your wounds and feed you."
The rider sneered. "Don't be a hypocrite. You hurt us, now you—"
Suddenly, a golden light flashed before his eyes. A sharp, intense pain flared in his wound, silencing him for two seconds. Then, just as suddenly as it came, the pain vanished.
"I said I would heal you," Aldric said coldly. "So I did."
The boy touched his back. The wound was gone. He stared at Aldric, sweat beading on his forehead, speechless.
Aldric felt a flicker of mischievous satisfaction.
"Alright," he announced to his men. "In the name of An'she, heal them!"
The Sunwalkers sighed in relief and set to work. Golden light bloomed across the battlefield. Wounds knit together. Broken bones mended.
The refugees wept. They saw their fathers, brothers, and neighbors restored to health by the very men they had tried to kill. Their hatred vanished, replaced by awe.
The leader, the one-legged man, hobbled over and knelt. "Lord... Wizard. I... I don't know how to thank you. We tried to rob you, and you save us..."
Aldric waved him off. "It doesn't matter. We're all alive. That's what counts. Besides, this food was stolen from the Lannisters anyway. Easy come, easy go."
"Stolen?" The leader blinked.
"Your friend was right," Aldric laughed. "Who else has this much food but the Westermen?" He clapped his hands. "Now, get up. Take me to your camp. I have grain and potatoes, but I can't cook for this many people here."
The refugee camp was hidden near a small lake, shielded by dense woods. Dozens of crude huts made of branches and mud were scattered along the shore.
Old men and women were foraging for roots with children. When they saw the men return with wagons, they cheered. But when they saw the armored cavalry behind them, they fell silent, trembling like quails.
"Go comfort them," Aldric told the leader. "I'll organize the food distribution."
That night, the camp was filled with the smell of wheat and potato porridge. Laughter returned to the hollow faces of the children.
Aldric sat by the fire with a bowl of porridge. "I still don't know your name."
"Harold," the leader said. "I was a guard at Harrenhal under Lady Whent. When she yielded the castle, I fled home. Then the war came."
"Eighty people," Harold sighed, looking at the camp. "Survivors from everywhere. We have a few old soldiers like me who keep order. But the food is gone. We were desperate. That's why we attacked you. Better to die by the sword than starve."
Aldric nodded. "You were lucky it was me. What now? You can't stay here. There's no harvest left."
"I don't know," Harold admitted. "We pray to the Seven every night, but they don't answer. Maybe we are too small for gods to notice."
"I'm going to the God's Eye," Aldric said. "The lake is vast. There are fish. And maybe land that hasn't been burned. If not... well, I can feed you for a while."
Harold stared at him. "Why? Why help us? We are nothing."
Aldric didn't want to admit he was just soft-hearted.
"An'she teaches us to love all living things," Aldric lied smoothly. "Consider it the will of the Sun."
"An'she," Harold murmured. "The Sun God. He must be a kind god."
"He burns himself to light the world," Aldric said. "The kindest."
The next morning, the refugees packed their meager belongings and joined the caravan.
They were afraid to leave their sanctuary, but Aldric's healing had won their trust. The Sunwalkers had spent the night treating every ailment in the camp, asking for nothing.
They moved out.
For days, they marched along the Harver Road. The land was dead. Villages were ruins. Corpses rotted in the ditches.
Then, they saw a manor.
It was a small, fortified estate with stone walls. Low, but sturdy.
On the walls, a man in brown armor watched them with hateful suspicion. Archers flanked him, bows drawn.
Aldric understood. In these times, a mob of a hundred strangers was a threat.
He ordered the column to steer clear of the walls, giving the manor a wide berth.
But fate is cruel.
A wagon hit a rock and jolted. A wooden ball—a toy belonging to a young boy—rolled off the cart. It bounced down the embankment and stopped near the manor wall.
The boy, about ten years old, jumped down to retrieve it.
No one stopped him. It was just a toy. He was just a child.
He ran to the ball. He bent down.
Thwip.
An arrow flew from the wall. It struck the boy in the gut, pinning him to the ground.
Silence fell over the road.
On the wall, the archer lowered his bow, his hands shaking. "I... I just meant to warn him. I didn't mean to hit him."
The man in brown armor cursed. "Idiot." But he didn't apologize. To him, they were just refugees. Vermin.
Martha and Miles, the two Sunwalkers nearest the boy, raised their shields and ran to him. They dragged him back to the wagons.
Ser Tylan rode to Aldric. "Commander! They shot a child!"
Aldric's face went cold. He halted the column and rode to the fourth wagon.
Martha had already cut the arrow shaft. She was gently pulling the boy's tunic aside.
"How bad?" Aldric asked.
"Kidney hit," Martha said grimly. "But I can fix it."
The boy looked at Aldric, his lips white. "Lord Lightbringer... will I die? I don't want to die. I want to be a Sunwalker too."
Aldric placed a hand on the boy's head.
"You won't die," Aldric said softly. "Not while I'm here."
He stood up. He turned to the manor. His eyes burned with a cold, terrible light.
"Golden Dawn!" Aldric roared. "Armor up! Weapons out!"
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