Brother John snatched the waterskin from Aldric's hands, his fingers trembling. He mimicked Aldric's grip, squeezing the leather bag with frantic desperation, but only a thin, pathetic stream of water dribbled out.
Frustrated, the monk took a swig of water, puffed up his cheeks, and sprayed it into the air with a forceful spit.
Sunlight caught the mist. A fleeting, shimmering rainbow arced before his eyes.
John fell to his knees in the damp moss, staring at the optical phenomenon as if it were the face of the Father himself. "The Sun is the Seven?" he murmured, his voice cracking. "Why... why did no one ever tell me?"
Aldric felt a twinge of guilt. It was a cheap trick, a parlor game of physics. But looking at the monk's shattered worldview reforming into something stronger, he pushed the guilt aside. If a lie makes him a better healer, is it a sin?
"John," Aldric started, reaching out a hand.
"Commander Aldric!"
A stark guard, unfamiliar to Aldric, stepped into the clearing. "Lord Robb requires your presence immediately."
"Alone?" Aldric asked.
"He mentioned no one else."
Aldric turned to Kevin. "Take John back to his tent. He needs rest."
"Yes, Teacher."
The main command tent was guarded by the sons of the North's highest nobility. Usually, these scions of houses like Karstark and Hornwood looked through a mercenary like Aldric as if he were glass.
Today, as he approached, they straightened. Chins dipped. Hands touched hilts in salute.
Aldric kept his face impassive, but he knew why. In the chaos of the Whispering Wood, Torrhen Karstark, Daryn Hornwood, and Eddard Karstark had thrown themselves at the Kingslayer to buy Robb time. Two had died. One had lived—pulled from the brink by Aldric's light.
He entered the tent.
Robb stood over a map table, looking tired but electric. Beside him stood a giant of a man with a beard like a thicket of iron wire.
"Lord Robb," Aldric bowed.
"Commander." Robb nodded.
Before another word could be spoken, the giant strode forward. He seized Aldric in a bear hug that cracked his spine and smelled of old blood and furs.
"You saved him!" Rickard Karstark roared, his voice thick with emotion. He pounded Aldric's back with a hand the size of a ham. "My son! You pulled him back from the Stranger's gate! You have the friendship of Karhold, now and forever!"
"I am honored, Lord Rickard," Aldric wheezed, extricating himself. "I only wish I could have saved them all."
Karstark's face darkened with grief for his other son, but he nodded. "Eddard was unlucky. But one... one is better than none."
As Karstark stepped back, Robb leaned forward. "Ser Aldric. The... magic you used last night. Can you do it again?"
"I can," Aldric lied smoothly. "I can fully restore five men. Then I need to rest."
In truth, since the vision, his mana pool felt like a deep lake compared to the puddle it had been. He could feel the Holy Light humming in his veins, eager to be unleashed. But admitting to infinite power was a good way to become a weapon, not a man.
"Five?" Robb frowned. "Last night, you healed dozens at once."
"That was... an accident," Aldric said. "The power surged. I lost control. That's why I passed out."
"A pity." Robb sighed. "Tonight, we break the siege of Riverrun. I want you beside me. When the fighting is done, I'll set up a tent for you. Heal who you can. But I imagine if you don't aim for a full cure, you can save more lives? Just keep them from dying?"
"Yes," Aldric agreed. "Stabilizing them takes less energy."
"Good. Prepare your men."
Aldric turned to leave, but stopped. In the corner, Grey Wind lay on a pile of furs. The direwolf was licking its foreleg, which was swollen and matted with dried blood.
"Your wolf is hurt," Aldric observed.
"A Lannister sword," Robb said, his voice tight. "He's staying behind tonight."
"Animals don't follow orders like soldiers," Aldric said, walking toward the beast. "Let me look."
"Careful," Robb warned. "He's been snapping at everyone."
Aldric knelt. Grey Wind growled, a low rumble like grinding stones, baring teeth that could snap a man's arm.
"Hey there, puppy," Aldric cooed. He raised his hand.
Holy Light.
A soft, golden halo appeared around his fingertips.
The growl died in the wolf's throat. The beast blinked, confused by the warmth radiating from the man's hand.
Aldric reached out, grabbed the massive wolf under the armpits, and hoisted him up like a toddler.
"Let Uncle Aldric see where it hurts," he murmured.
Light flowed into the leg. The wound knit together. The itch of rapid healing made Grey Wind squirm, and with a yelp, the wolf wriggled free, scurrying behind Robb's legs. He peeked out, barking a confused, high-pitched woof that sounded more like a puppy than a monster.
Aldric laughed. "Cute dog."
Robb stared, torn between shock and amusement. "Commander... thank you. But you should save your strength for the men."
"It was a scratch," Aldric waved it off. "My student has a white dog, and I have a bear. If they fight for us, they get treated like us."
He knew Robb would think of Jon Snow's Ghost. A favor for a favor.
Night fell over the Riverlands.
The plan was a classic raid. The Lannister army was split into three camps by the rivers—North, South, and West. Robb's cavalry would hit the West camp while the North camp was distracted.
Aldric sat atop Blitz. He had relegated his foot soldiers to guard the medics. Tonight, only the mounted scouts rode with him.
The West camp was a sea of torches in the distance.
"Charge!" Robb screamed, his sword flashing in the moonlight. "Winterfell!"
The ground shook as six thousand horses thundered forward.
Aldric fell behind. Blitz was old. He was losing ground to the younger destriers.
Not tonight.
Aldric raised a hand. A spectral golden crown appeared over Robb's head—Blessing of Kings. The Young Wolf seemed to grow in the saddle, his posture radiating command.
Then, a spectral fist appeared over Aldric's own head. Blessing of Might.
He slapped Blitz's neck, channeling the power into the beast.
The old horse screamed, a sound of rejuvenated fury. Muscles bulged. Blitz surged forward, tearing up the turf, overtaking the rearguard, then the vanguard, until he was galloping neck-and-neck with the leaders.
"Lannister! Face me!" Aldric roared.
He crashed into the camp like a cannonball. His lance tore through a tent, revealing a half-naked knight scrambling for his sword. Eddie, riding in Aldric's wake, took the man's face off with a backhand swing.
Aldric was a golden blur. Blessing of Might turned his spear thrusts into pile-driver blows. He shattered shields, punched through breastplates, and sent men flying like ragdolls.
Whenever Blitz took a cut, a flash of Holy Light stitched the horse back together mid-stride.
"Die, you filth!" Aldric shouted, drawing all eyes to himself. "Come and face your doom!"
His roar drew the Lannister spearmen like moths to a flame, disrupting their shield wall.
And then, the drawbridge of Riverrun lowered.
With a roar, the besieged garrison poured out—Tytos Blackwood leading the charge. Caught between the hammer of Riverrun and the anvil of the North, the West camp shattered. Men threw down their spears and dove into the Red Fork, choosing drowning over the golden demon and the wolves.
Aldric reigned in Blitz, his chest heaving. He was covered in blood, glowing faintly in the firelight.
"Commander," Eddie approached, looking at Aldric with a mix of fear and awe. "Lord Robb signals. We regroup. The South camp."
Aldric wiped his face. "Let's go."
The South camp was different. They had seen the fires. They were formed up—a wall of Tyroshi pikes bristling in the dark.
Robb hesitated. A cavalry charge against set spears was suicide.
But inside the Lannister lines, chaos erupted. Marq Piper and the riverlords within the camp had started their own riot.
"Now!" Robb yelled.
The Northern host slammed into the confused flank of the South camp. It wasn't a battle; it was a rout.
"Victory!" Robb cried, raising his sword as dawn broke over the burning tents.
"King in the North!" someone shouted, though it was early for that.
Aldric sat on his horse, listening to the cheers. He felt no elation. The fighting was done.
But looking at the field of groaning, broken men, he knew his real war was just beginning.
Time to clock in, the Healer thought.