Rolf had never seen a birth. To him, it was a terrifying mystery. He only knew that heat was essential for treating wounds, and in his mind, a new life tearing itself from a body was the ultimate trauma.
As Alayne's cries echoed across the tall grass, the men crouched by the wagon, backs turned in a tense, anxious circle. After an hour of grueling labor, aided by the surprisingly steady hands of young Luna, a healthy cry broke the Riverlands' silence.
The men spun around, faces alight with joy, but Caden froze. He pointed a shaking finger at the baby's stomach. "What is that rope? Are her innards falling out?"
Alayne looked up, her face slick with sweat. She closed her eyes wearily. "The cord, Ser... it must be cut. Tied in a knot."
"Oh! Right!" Caden drew his dagger, his hand remarkably steady as he severed the umbilical cord and tied the knot with a soldier's precision.
Seeing blood seep from the cut, Rolf didn't hesitate. He summoned the Light, working a small Sun-Mend on the infant's navel to seal the vessels. Then, he turned his power to Alayne. Under the warm glow of the Grace, she fell into a deep, restorative sleep. Luna wrapped the girl in a soft blanket, her small face glowing with pride.
That night, around the campfire, the children huddled close to see the new arrival.
"She's ugly," Torren whispered, squinting. "All wrinkled like a dried apple."
"She is not!" Luna snapped. "My brother looked just like that. Mama said they grow into their beauty."
Little Rishi poked at the baby's tiny hand. "Baby... baby!"
Rolf and Caden watched the scene in silence, still reeling from the miracle.
"Rolf," Caden whispered. "Is that truly how we all began? It's... strange."
"It is," Rolf replied. He looked at the knight, his expression hard. "Caden, promise me. No matter what happens, these children must reach St. Maur's. There, they can grow into something better than us. Something whole."
Caden chuckled, though his eyes remained serious. "You talk like you're not planning to be there to see it. Don't worry, Septon. If you fall, I'll finish the miles. I want to see this 'Sanctuary' of yours for myself."
The arrival of the child gave the journey a holy weight. They moved faster now, no longer fearing the wagon's jolts would harm the mother. Alayne proved herself a natural, handling the constant demands of the infant with a resilience that humbled Caden.
With only two days left until the monastery, Rolf finally began to breathe. He was picturing the grey stones of St. Maur's when he saw them: five men standing in the center of the road, axes and swords held with the casual confidence of killers.
Rolf pulled the wagon to a halt. "Caden... who are they?"
Caden's smile vanished. "Stay with Jasmine and the pups. I'll talk. If it turns sour, do what you can."
As Caden approached, his heart sank. These weren't common mummers. They wore tattered black surcoats emblazoned with a white sunburst—Karstark men. Deserters from the North.
"Brothers!" Caden called out, keeping his hands visible. "I am Ser Caden Storm. Who do you serve, and why bar the King's road?"
The leader, a massive Northman with a scarred lip, spat. "A Stormlander bastard? I don't care for your name. Where are you coming from?"
"Oxhorn," Caden replied. "Bringing orphans to the monastery."
The leader sneered. "Never heard of it. Tell me—have you seen the Kingslayer? Jaime Lannister?"
"The Kingslayer?" Caden frowned. "I heard Lady Stark's bastard took him, then she let him go. Why?"
"There's a thousand dragons for his head," a lean mercenary beside the leader explained. "Sure you haven't seen a pretty lion lurking in the woods?"
"Lannisters are monsters," Caden said flatly. "If I'd seen them, I wouldn't be standing here."
"Useless," the leader barked. He waved a hand at the wagon. "Leave the cart, the food, and the coin. You can walk away, or I can add a few more Riverlands corpses to the ditch."
Caden glanced back at Rolf. They were outnumbered five to one. He returned to the wagon and whispered the terms.
"We give them the cart?" Rolf asked.
"Better the wood than our lives," Caden said. "But stay alert. They have the look of men who have forgotten how to be human."
They began to unload the children, moving them to the safety of the ditch. The Karstarks approached, eyeing the supplies with greedy intent. But as they reached the wagon, the leader stopped. His gaze fell on Alayne and the teenage Luna.
"Wait," the leader grunted. He pointed at Dane. "Boy, take that babe from the woman. The two girls stay. The rest of you—piss off before I change my mind."
Rolf's blood turned to ice. Luna was a child; Alayne was a mother. To leave them was a death sentence.
Caden didn't hesitate. He forced a greasy grin, stepping toward the leader. "A fine eye you have, Ser! Alayne was the pride of Oxhorn before the babe came. Try her once, and you'll never want another. I'll show you how she likes it—"
Mid-sentence, Caden spun. His sword cleared the scabbard in a blur of steel, whistling toward the leader's neck. The Northman ducked, the blade shearing through the air where his head had been.
Caden didn't waste the momentum. He reversed the strike, plunging his blade into the chest of a young crossbowman before the man could level his weapon. The bandit fell with a gargling cry.
A heavy axe slammed into Caden's back. He stumbled, his mail gritted against the blow, but he stayed upright. He turned, catching an axe-man in the thigh, the steel biting deep into the bone.
The fight devolved into a chaotic swirl. Caden took a morningstar to the face, the spikes opening a furrow that exposed his cheekbone. He fell back, shield raised, blood blinding him.
Suddenly, a flare of golden Light erupted from the wagon.
The Karstark leader froze, his eyes wide with terror as Caden's facial wound closed in a heartbeat. "Witchcraft! He's one of Aldric's!"
The Northman looked past Caden and saw Rolf, hands raised, eyes glowing with the fervor of the Solar Core. "Kill the monk!" the leader screamed.
A bandit broke from the fray, swinging a flail at Rolf. The monk, untrained in war, turned and fled toward the woods. "Run, children! Scatter!"
The bandit realized he couldn't catch the man and turned his flail toward little Rishi, the slowest of the group. He intended to take a hostage.
Rolf saw it. He didn't think. He stopped, grabbed a heavy wooden branch, and charged back. "Leave him!"
The bandit laughed. He caught Rolf's blow on his flail-handle, kicked the monk's knees out, and brought the spiked ball down on Rolf's skull.
Caden let out a roar of grief as Rolf fell. Distracted by the slaughter of his friend, he didn't see the leader's sword until it pierced his stomach.
"Die, fool!" the Karstark hissed.
Caden coughed blood, his vision blurring. But as the leader turned to gloat over Rolf's body, a scream came from the ditch. "Behind you!"
The leader spun, but his back erupted in a gout of blood. He collapsed, clutching a gaping hole in his spine.
Caden stared. His stomach wound was knitting. The Light was still working. He looked toward the wagon.
Young Jasmine stood there, a bloody dagger in each hand, trembling with fury. He had crawled through the grass and hamstrung the leader while the man was distracted.
The remaining Karstark—the lean mercenary—saw his leader fall and Caden rise like a revenant. He turned to flee, but Caden caught him, ending the man with a jagged cut across the throat.
The silence returned, broken only by the sobs of the children.
Caden crawled to Rolf's body. The monk's head was shattered. There was no breath. Caden gripped his friend's cold hand. "I'm sorry, brother. I should have been faster."
As he wept, Caden saw it. A faint, blue-tinted shimmer rose from Rolf's chest. It was a translucent image of the monk, looking exactly as he had in life. The spirit looked at Caden, offering a slow nod. It pointed a shimmering hand toward the East—toward the Sun—and then vanished.
Caden sat in the mud, breathless. "The Light... it never leaves."
Three days later, a weary Caden Storm guided the rickety wagon to a crossroads. He was met by a column of three hundred refugees, guarded by warriors in golden plate. At their head rode a tall man on a palomino, a banner of a twelve-pointed sun snapping in the wind.
The golden warrior reined in his horse. "Who are these people, traveler?"
Caden managed a tired, honorable smile. "Orphans and widows of the Riverlands. I am delivering them to St. Maur's on behalf of a friend."
"A friend?" the warrior asked.
"Brother Rolf of Stoney Sept," Caden said, his voice thick with emotion. "He gave his life to bring them to the Light."
The warrior went silent, then dipped his head in respect. "Rolf swore to the cause. He kept his word. I am Aldric, the Lightbringer. Join us, Ser Caden. I will see you to the sanctuary. And when you are rested, I want to hear the story of the man who died for the Dawn."
Caden Storm looked at the Golden Dawn, then at the children in the wagon. He finally felt the warmth of the sun on his face. "I think I've found my master at last."
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