The road to integration within the "happy family" of the St. Maur's Alliance was often paved with broken pride. Though the process had been winding, Ser Varen Polk had finally bowed his head.
Unlike the founding shareholders—Houses Schmidt and Bennett—House Polk occupied a delicate position. To ensure they understood the Order's political theology and to remove any "lingering concerns," Ser Tucker Ward suggested a protective measure: a company of Alliance soldiers would escort the Polk women and personal servants back to St. Maur's to live alongside the ladies of House Ward.
Simultaneously, to protect Longwave Castle from external threats, a permanent garrison of one company was established. The castle's surplus stores were requisitioned as supply for the marching host. Although these measures reduced the vanguard by over a hundred men, the integration of the Polk levies—broken up and reassigned to existing units—quickly restored the army to its full strength.
These new recruits, however, lacked the steel of the Dawn's discipline. During the four-day march toward the Rost lands, Aldric ordered his squad leaders to drill the men nightly in the Hymns of the Dawn. These songs weren't merely for morale; they were auditory manuals of conduct and faith.
Lennar, now a Sunwalker himself, patrolled the campfires. He no longer viewed himself merely as Aldric's friend, but as a pillar of a shared cause. He had seen the Light's work in the Kingswood and the order Aldric brought to the chaos of the Gods Eye. When he found a squad struggling with the verses, he would step in, his voice ringing with a power that was now both musical and supernatural.
Initially, Lennar had expressed doubt about the target. "Aldric, the men of House Rost are at Riverrun defending the Trident. Attacking their home while they bleed for the Young Wolf... it feels hollow."
Aldric had frowned. "Protecting them, Lennar. Not attacking. House Rost is currently a child wandering the docks of White Harbor with a bag of gold; it is only a matter of time before someone less scrupulous than us 'finds' them. If we take them now, the line continues. If Tywin's men find them, Aven Rost will return to a field of bones."
"And the recruits?" Lennar asked. "They think we are being heavy-handed."
Aldric paced the command tent. "Remind them: Aven Rost follows his lord into a war of kings. Admirable, but futile. That war is a game of high-born pride where the smallfolk are the fuel. We bring the people of Duckling Hall into the Light's Order. We protect the family. The morality of the Dawn is not the morality of the Throne."
By the time the Alliance reached Duckling Hall, the levies had at least learned where to stand in the Swan Wing formation. But as they drew their blades, they found the battlements nearly empty.
Ser Tucker Ward rode to the gates. "Guards! Tell your Lady that Tucker Ward is at the gate!"
A young guard, his voice cracking with terror at the sight of five hundred armored men, shouted back, "The Lady has no time for you!"
"Then find someone who does!" Tucker bellowed.
A moment later, a man in a white robe with a shaved head—Friar Conier—stepped onto the wall. "Lord Tucker, Lady Linna is in labor. If you have any reverence for the Mother's mercy, you will wait two days in peace!"
The Alliance lords looked at Tucker with accusing eyes. "You didn't know?" Karlo hissed. "Storming a birthing chamber isn't the glory we signed for."
"I didn't know!" Tucker insisted. "My messenger never mentioned a swelling belly!"
Ser Charles Costa leaned toward Aldric, his voice a low viper's hiss. "Lightbringer, they have no defense. One charge and the hall is yours. We can settle the 'mercy' later."
Aldric glanced at Charles. I can always count on you for the dirty work, he thought. But aloud, he said, "We seek allies, not infamy. If we storm a birthing hall and the Lady dies, our name is ash."
He looked up at the Friar. "Friar Conier, I am Aldric, Lightbringer and Commander of the Alliance. We are here to bring order, not grief. We will wait one day. Tomorrow, at this hour, send a steward to talk."
Conier let out a breath of pure relief. "Thank you, Lightbringer. I will tell her."
Aldric spent the night in a fever of worry. Preparation for a siege took time regardless, so the delay wasn't a waste of resources. But at dawn, when Conier returned to the wall, his face was the color of curdled milk.
"My Lord," the Friar begged, "give us more time. Please."
"Conier," Aldric called out, "my men are restless. What is the delay?"
"Lady Linna... the birth has turned. It has been a full day, and the child will not come. The manor is in mourning already. No one can think of alliances while she screams."
Breech birth. Obstructed labor, Aldric thought. He remembered the stories of Tyrion's mother—a beauty who died in agony, leaving a scar on House Lannister that never healed. In this age, a difficult labor was a death sentence.
"Friar! I have two women among my officers—Martha and Beth—who are trained in the Light's mending. Let them in. They can save her."
Conier shook his head. "I am a servant of the Seven, and I cannot make such a choice for a house that is not mine. The Lady is in the Mother's hands now—whichever mercy she chooses."
He vanished from the wall.
Aldric felt a cold knot in his stomach. If Lady Linna died while he surrounded her home, the "stain on his soul" would be permanent. He would be the monster who hounded a woman into the grave.
"Greme!" Aldric shouted to the Staff. "Ladders to the wall! Now!"
He turned to Malin Sharp and Charles Costa. "You're with me in the first wave. Martha! Beth! Stay on my heels!"
"To the walls!"
The defense was non-existent. Most of the garrison were gathered outside the Lady's chambers, weeping or praying. Aldric was the first over the stone, his hammer clearing the path. He didn't stop to issue orders for the gate; he grabbed a terrified servant by the collar.
"Where is the Lady's chamber?!"
The boy spat at Aldric's face. Aldric wiped the phlegm, his eyes flashing, and broke the boy's nose with a single, blunt punch. As the boy howled, Aldric pressed a glowing palm to his face. The bone snapped back into place instantly.
"I can break you, and I can mend you," Aldric hissed. "I am here to save your mistress! Lead me!"
The miracle of the instant heal broke the boy's will. "This way! Follow me!"
They raced through the chaotic halls. Servants were fleeing with stolen silverware, scattering like rats before the Dawn's black brigandine. They reached the master suite to find an old steward guarding the door, clutching two small children.
Aldric kicked the door open. The room smelled of sweat, copper, and despair. Lady Linna lay on a soaked mattress, her face gray, her breath a rattling gasp. Friar Conier and a midwife stood by, paralyzed.
"Out!" Aldric roared as Conier tried to block him. "If the Mother were helping, she'd be done by now! Aldebaran, hold the door! Martha, Beth—hold her down! Don't let her move!"
Aldric stripped off his gauntlets and his breastplate. He drew The Shadow-Stripe, his wickedly sharp dagger, and rinsed it in a basin of hot water. Ignoring the midwife's screams of "Butcher!", he performed the only procedure that could save a life in such a state.
He made the incision—swift, precise, and brutal. He reached into the womb and pulled out two wrinkled, blue-tinted infants.
"Martha! Holy Lay! Now!"
A sun-bright eruption of golden Light filled the room. The jagged wound in Linna's abdomen knitted together; the grey mask of her face flushed with sudden, vibrant blood.
Aldric held the two infants upside down, giving each a sharp smack on their bottoms. Two thin, piercing wails shattered the silence of the room.
Aldric collapsed onto the floor, his back against the bed-post, his lungs burning with the sudden release of adrenaline. He looked at the midwife, who was staring at him as if he were a ghost.
"Well?" Aldric wheezed. "Find some blankets for the children. They're cold."
Conier the Friar dropped to his knees, his eyes fixed on the perfectly healed skin of the Lady's stomach. "A miracle... a true miracle of the Light."
Aldric just closed his eyes. He had taken the castle, and in exchange, he had given it life.
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