Caden raised his hands, palms open to show he held no malice. "Stand up, lad. Don't be afraid."
The boy stood on trembling legs, his small frame shivering with a terror he couldn't suppress. He kept his head bowed, eyes fixed on Caden's muddy boots, not daring to speak.
Rolf emerged from the stable, still clutching a heavy stone he'd grabbed for defense. He frowned at the sight. "Caden? What's this?"
Caden shrugged. "Found him lurking in the tall grass. Just a pup, lost in the weeds."
Rolf dropped the stone and knelt before the boy. He took the child's small, cold hand in his own. "Peace, child. I am Brother Rolf, a servant of the Seven—and the Sun. Why are you here alone? Where is your kin?"
The boy remained silent. In the persistent drizzle, he stood barefoot on the slick mud. His ankles and shins were a roadmap of fine scratches from pushing through briars and sharp grass. He looked exactly as Rolf had felt the day he was first taken in by the Great Sept—lost, hollow, and waiting for the blow to fall.
"Come inside, boy," Rolf said gently. "The rain is cold, and the fire is warm. We have a pot of porridge on the flame. It'll put the life back into you."
At the mention of porridge, the boy's stomach let out a growl so loud it echoed in the quiet stable.
Rolf let out a soft laugh and led him to the fire. He ladled a wooden bowl full of thick corn mash and handed it over. The boy didn't wait for it to cool; he gulped it down with a desperate, rhythmic intensity, his eyes darting around like a cornered animal.
"Slowly, child," Rolf urged. "We have plenty."
The boy's eyes brightened. He licked the bowl clean, reaching for every stray grain, before finally finding his voice. "Septon... can my friends have some too?"
"Friends?" Caden asked from the shadows.
"Aye." The boy flinched at the knight's voice but stood his ground. "Torren, Luna, little Mara, Rishi... and Auntie Alayne. We're from the same village. The lords' men came a few days ago. We're the only ones who made it to the woods."
"Attacked? By who?" Caden pressed.
"Later, Caden," Rolf interrupted. He turned back to the boy. "What is your name, son?"
"Dane, Septon."
Rolf pulled two roasted potatoes from the embers and pressed them into Dane's hands. "Go, Dane. Bring them here. There's room for everyone under this roof."
Dane nodded vigorously, clutching the warm potatoes to his chest like treasure, and sprinted back out into the rain.
"Should we follow?" Caden asked.
"No," Rolf said. "We'd only scare them off. Let the boy be the bridge. We have the fire and the food; they'll come."
"And if they don't?"
"Then they don't," Rolf sighed. "Fear is a hard master."
A few minutes later, Dane returned with his "friends." They were a ragged procession: a girl of ten, a boy younger than Dane, and a five-year-old girl clutching the hand of a toddler. Behind them came a young woman, perhaps seventeen, her belly swollen with a pregnancy that looked ready to break. They stood at the edge of the firelight, shivering and drenched, looking like ghosts of the Riverlands.
Rolf felt a heavy weight settle in his chest. He had expected an "Auntie"—a sturdy village matron—not a girl barely out of childhood herself, carrying a life into a world of ash.
Feeding them came first. Rolf added more potatoes and salt beef to the pot, stirring the mash until it bubbled. Jasmine, being the closest to them in age, took charge of the bowls. As the children ate, the hollow look in their eyes began to fade, replaced by the chatter of the young.
Caden set Jasmine to watch the children while he and Rolf spoke with Alayne, the only adult among them.
"Alayne," Rolf said. "Tell us what happened. Why are you out here in the dark?"
The young woman held her empty bowl with trembling fingers. "Tywin's lions," she whispered. "They burned Willow Wood."
Alayne's village had been under the protection of House Ryger, sworn to Willow Wood. For months, the war had stayed to the west. But ten days ago, riders in red surcoats with golden lions arrived. They demanded an oath of fealty to King Joffrey and "foraged" every scrap of grain. To save their lives, the villagers gave them everything—even their meager silver. The soldiers declared them "loyal subjects" and left.
But the villagers knew the peace was a lie. Those who had kin elsewhere fled that night. Those who stayed—the ones with nowhere to go—made a desperate plan. They hid the children and the pregnant Alayne in a limestone cave two miles away, while the adults stayed to try and harvest what remained of the wheat before the next army arrived.
For days, an old woman named Meg brought them food. Then, one noon, she didn't come.
Dane and Luna crept back to the village under cover of night. They found only ash. The houses were gone; the people were silence. They took what they could from the fields and fled into the wilds.
"We couldn't stay in the cave," Alayne said, her hand resting on her stomach. "The babe is coming. I can't look after them all alone in the dark. I had to find people... even if they're cruel, it's better than dying in a hole."
"Why did the Lannisters hit you again?" Caden asked. "If you already paid the tithe?"
Alayne shook her head, her eyes lost. "I'm just a woman. I don't know what lords think."
"I might," Rolf said quietly. He took a charred stick and drew a curve in the dust. "At the Conclave, I heard the news. Tywin Lannister is trying to force the crossings of the Red Fork. If he can't break through to the east, he has to swing south to the Goldroad. This entire region is now the corridor for his retreat."
An army on the move is a locust swarm. Nothing survives its passing.
"Then Stoney Sept is in the path too," Caden noted, his voice grim. "If Tywin needs to resupply, he'll crack that town open like a nut."
Caden looked at Rolf. He didn't want to leave the monk—not after seeing the Sun-Mend in action. He knew Rolf was his ticket to a future better than a gutter death.
"What do we do?" Caden asked.
Rolf looked toward the east, his gaze fixed on a horizon only he could see. "I cannot leave these orphans to wander the ash. There is a sanctuary by the Gods Eye. A place shielded by the Lightbringer, where the weak are given a name and the poor are given dignity. I am taking them to St. Maur's Monastery. Only there can they live as humans again. Will you come, Caden?"
Caden's mouth twitched into a reluctant, tired grin. "I've been wanting to see this 'Sanctuary' of yours, Rolf. I just didn't have the heart to ask for an invite."
"Then we move at dawn," Rolf said. "To the Light."
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