After mending Loras Tyrell, Kaden felt the well of his inner Light run dry, leaving him with less than a third of his strength.
Now that his identity as a Solar Knight had been bared to the sun, he cast aside all hesitation. He followed the pulse of his conscience through the dark halls of the fortress, seeking the broken. Because Loras had required such a massive outpouring of Solar Might, Kaden was forced to ration his remaining power, prioritizing only those whose souls were half-way through the Stranger's gate.
For the lightly wounded, he offered only a Solar Cleansing to burn away the rot of infection, promising a full mending once the Sun rose again. Even this meager mercy was a miracle to men who had been left to die in the shadows.
One soldier, watching his gangrenous leg return to its former lean, muscled strength under Kaden's prayers, collapsed in the dirt. He kissed the hem of Kaden's muddy Gold Cloak, his voice cracking with sobs. "A messenger of the gods! You must be the Father's own hand sent to pull us from the dark!"
Kaden felt a pang of conflict. He knew exactly who had granted him this fire, but explaining the Lightbringer and the Order to a mob of traumatized Reachmen was a task he wasn't ready for. To admit it might lead them astray; to deny it felt like a lie. In the end, he simply nodded, accepting their worship with a heavy heart.
As the moon reached its zenith, Kaden—his power entirely spent—returned to the main keep. A few able-bodied soldiers, now his self-appointed Praetorians, followed at his heels to ensure no desperate man tried to seize him for a private miracle. He found a room prepared for him, lined with soft wool blankets. He fell into them, a profound sense of satisfaction washing over him.
He realized then why Aldric had crossed the sea to save a world that wasn't his. To be loved, to be a beacon in the storm... it was an intoxicating vintage. If saving a few dozen men felt this divine, what did it feel like to save a kingdom?
The next morning, his strength half-restored, Kaden prepared to return to the infirmary. He opened his door to find a young man with a bandaged head huddled in the corridor.
"Lord Kaden," the youth stammered. "I... I watched the door all night. So no one would disturb your rest."
Kaden's brow arched. "You stayed awake for me?"
"I took the second watch. Heller took the first, but his arm pained him too much to stay."
Kaden sighed, moved by the simple devotion. He raised his hands, focusing a gentle spark. "Anshe, let the shadows flee." A soft glow bathed the boy. He tore off his bandages to find smooth, unscarred skin where a jagged gash had been.
"I am whole..." the boy whispered, touching his scalp in wonder.
"Go sleep," Kaden smiled. "I have more work to do."
As the boy ran off like a child with a new toy, Ser Cole appeared at the end of the hall. His posture was no longer arrogant; he bowed deep, using the honorific 'My Lord.'
"Ser Loras is awake. He asks for you."
Kaden found the Knight of Flowers sitting by the window in a white silk robe. Loras was staring out at the churning gray waters of the Blackwater, his silhouette a portrait of melancholy.
He didn't turn when the door opened. His mind seemed lost in the rhythm of the waves and the memory of the breach—the heat of the oil, the screams of his men, and the terrifying silence of the brink. He wondered what he had been fighting for. Family? Glory? Those things felt like ash when the skin was melting from your bones.
"Loras," Kaden said, breaking the silence. "You sent for me?"
Loras turned slowly. His face was perfect—the Light had left no trace of the fire—but his eyes were empty. "Kaden. It was you."
Kaden shrugged. "A small thing, between friends."
"I am grateful," Loras said, his voice carrying a trace of bitterness. "Though I wish you had moved sooner. The wait for death is... longer than the singers say."
"I have my own burdens, Loras," Kaden replied awkwardly.
Loras took a breath, his gaze drifting back to the sea. "I thought you were going to kill me. I woke up weak, but clean. Tell me... where does this power come from? Is it the Red Woman's god?"
"It is the Light of the Sun. The power of Anshe—which is the same as the Seven. They are but different names for the Source."
"I do not understand," Loras whispered.
"Perhaps in time," Kaden said. "But for now, we are friends."
"Then how do I repay a life?" Loras asked. "Name your price."
"Ten Gold Dragons," Kaden said firmly. "My Master set the price: a life for ten gold. Even for a King, the price remains the same."
Loras let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Ten gold? My life is worth a pittance of merchant's coin? You insult me, Kaden Storm."
"It is the Law of the Light," Kaden countered. "I will not break the rule for your pride."
Loras's expression shifted, a sudden, dark smirk crossing his lips. "Tell me... you were at the Throne Room during the Purple Wedding. Did you have this power then? Could you have saved Joffrey?"
"No!" Kaden barked, his voice rising in an instinctive, panicked denial.
Loras watched Kaden's stiff posture and wide eyes. He knew the truth. But Loras had no love for the late boy-king. He leaned back, his smile softening. "Do not worry, Kaden. I'll keep your secret from the Queen Mother. Joffrey was a monster; let the Stranger keep him."
Kaden sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. "It doesn't matter. If you guessed it, others will too. I cannot return to King's Landing. I'll be a fugitive by the moon's end."
"You won't have to run," Loras said. "I've seen how you care for these abandoned men. I will send a raven to Cersei. I'll tell her I am too wounded to command and that I have appointed you as the Acting Castellan of Dragonstone. You will stay here, hold this rock for the Crown, and lead the garrison you saved. I'll see that supplies are sent every month."
Kaden blinked. A stronghold in the Narrow Sea. A fortress for the Dawn, paid for by the Iron Throne. "And if Stannis returns?"
"If he returns, pray to your Sun," Loras said, turning back to the window. "Or yield. It is your choice now. I find I no longer care for the ownership of stones."
Loras remained on the island for thirteen days. He spent them in a haze of wine and silence, never once visiting the men who had bled for him. When he finally emerged to take his ship back to the capital, he had grown a beard and put on weight, his slender, feminine beauty replaced by a rugged, weary masculinity.
"I have no more taste for glory, Kaden," Loras admitted as they stood on the docks. "Victory tastes like burnt meat. I go back because my sister has enemies, and she needs a shield. Not a hero."
"Anshe didn't take your soul, Loras," Kaden said. "You're just tired. Ask any veteran."
Loras offered a sad smile and boarded his galley.
With the Redwyne fleet gone and the Reach lords departed, Kaden was left with ninety soldiers—men whose lives he had bought with the Light. He sat in the master's solar and pulled a piece of parchment.
He wrote to the High Sparrow, detailing his new position and the stockpile of Dragonglass he had discovered. He urged the High Septon to inform the Lightbringer at once: Stannis Baratheon is arming the Wall with the black stone. We must know why.
As the raven took flight toward the capital, Kaden stood on the battlements of the dragon-shaped castle. The Golden Dawn now held a gate to the east, and the Sun was finally beginning to rise over the sea.
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