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Chapter Text

A terrible smile graced Thanos' visage. "I am inevitable." His fingers snapped--and nothing happened. Confusion bloomed.


Tony Stark stared him down, heart heavy with duty. "And I...am...Iro--"


Heavy boots hit the scorched earth next to him, lightning crackling in the air. "No," Thor said. He laid a hand on the shoulder of the Man of Iron.


Steven Rogers joined them, bruised, bloodied, shield shattered and hammer heavy, but still standing tall. "We," he said, grasping Stark's other shoulder. The Stones pulsed, each to its own beat.


Thanos lunged for them, denial and wrath on his face.


"We are Avengers," they spoke, and Stark's fingers snapped.


And then things went sideways.


X x X


Steve came awake as he was dunked in freezing waters. He gasped and narrowly avoided inhaling a lungful of salt, automatically treading water. His broken shield was on his arm, and he reassured himself the straps would hold.


The sun was just peeking over the horizon, bathing the sky in pink and orange.


For a brief moment, there was a flash of otherwordly orange across the sun, but then it was gone.


He could see the barest hint of land far off in the distance, and he began a steady stroke.


Questions on how he came to be here could wait. For now, survival came first. Thank the Lord his shield was lighter than it had any right to be.


The sun was close to setting when he finally made landfall. He staggered drunkenly, exhaustion playing heavily on his mind as he escaped the surf. Even starting fresh, that swim would have taxed him, and to make it after fighting Thanos and his army…


He sank to his knees once he made it clear of the tide, taking deep gasping breaths. He needed one of Stark’s feasts, and then he would sleep for a week. The whinny of a horse caught his ear, and he raised his head laboriously to look towards it. A sizeable party of men clad in leathers were trotting towards him. Curiously, they bore spears and shields. In no time at all, they were circling around him, speaking in a language foreign to his ears.


Some seemed nervous, but then one pointed at him with his spear and laughed.


“I don’t suppose you fellas speak English?” he asked. His shield was heavy on his arm, but he refused to release it.


The leader spoke again, and this time Steve felt like he was closer to understanding it. He was reminded of the time Nat had shown him a video about Old English.


“Parlez vous anglais? Sprichst du Englisch?” he asked. His head was heavy, and he was beginning to grow dizzy. Last time he felt this awful was after he was fished out of the Potomac.


One of the men dismounted and approached, while the rest watched him warily. The man stopped just out of arm’s reach, spear gripped tightly. He spoke, and he had the air of a man asking questions. He repeated himself, gesturing with his spear.


“Steve Rogers. Captain America,” he said, dragging the words out like a beast from a tar pit. He began to tilt forward, overbalancing until his head was pressed to the sand. He clung to wakefulness, but the beach might just have been the most comfortable thing he had ever encountered, and he was lost to sleep.


X x X


He woke with the paranoia of a soldier, his breath even and his senses sharp. He could feel the warmth of the morning sun on his skin, and hear the quiet bustle of a village. He was viscerally reminded of a small French hamlet that he and the Commandos had hidden in during the War, and for a moment he could believe that they would be waiting for him if he would but open his eyes. A purple face appeared in his mind’s eye and the moment was ruined.


A heavenly scent drifted past him, and his nose twitched. He could have recovered his feigned sleep, but his stomach chose to roar with the fury of a hundred sober troopers on overnight leave. The footsteps of a woman or small man paced towards him, and he opened his eyes a crack to take in his surroundings.


He lay in a bed in a rustic cottage, in a single large room that served as bedroom, dining room and kitchen. A pot of stew over a fire was the source of the divine smell, and he began to salivate. His stomach rumbled once more. He made to rise from the bed, only to stiffen as the massive ache that was his body protested. Forget the day after he was dragged from the Potomac, he’d felt better after a few of his scraps back in Brooklyn.


Laboriously, Steve attempted to rise, only for his body to rebel. He had a flashback to Colonel Phillips scowling at him as he attempted a second pushup. Using the Gauntlet had done a number on him, and he could only imagine how Tony was feeling. Thor would probably be just as cheerful as always, the spritely so-and-so. With great effort, he managed to swing his legs out from under the rough blanket and over the edge of the small bed, slowly rising into a slump with his head in his hands. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he took a moment to breathe.


The footsteps he had heard came to a stop as their maker entered the cottage. They belonged to a young woman, a basket full of clothes on one hip. She said something, and it had the sound of a greeting.


“I’m sorry Miss,” Steve said. “Seems like I’m far from home.”


The woman muttered to herself, placing the basket down in the corner before taking up a bowl and spoon from the table and making for the pot on the fire. Filling it with stew, she approached and took a seat on the edge of the bed next to him.


Slowly, carefully, Steve accepted the bowl from the woman, bringing the spoonful of juicy meat and tender potato to his lips. Liquid ambrosia washed over his taste buds, and he did away with the spoon entirely, simply lifting the bowl up and pouring it down his gullet. In moments, it was empty, and his eyes zeroed in on the pot still gently simmering on the fire. The woman’s eyebrows rose slightly, but she took the bowl with a sigh and moved to refill it.


The pot would be near empty by the time his hunger was sated, and his arms trembling with the effort of raising the bowl to his mouth each time.


“Thank you,” Steve said, looking around for a sink, or laundry bucket, or something that indicated a washing station. None were to be seen, but the woman took the bowl from his hands and put it with several other used dishes on the small table. Good thing too; he didn’t like his chances of getting to his feet without falling off them. “My name is Steve Rogers,” he said, slowly and clearly. “Captain America. Where am I?”


The woman shrugged, and said something in the local language that he couldn’t understand, before spouting off what sounded like names and a title. Despite the few times he had heard it, he was beginning to get an ear for the way it rose and fell over a sentence, as well as what might be linking words and conjunctions.


“Steve Rogers,” he repeated, tapping himself on the chest. Then he pointed to her. “You?”


“Naerys Waters,” she said, pointing at herself. “Steve Rogar,” she said, pointing at him.


“Rogers,” Steve repeated.


“Rogers. Steve,” Naerys said, smiling. Her eyes had the faintest hint of purple to them, but otherwise were a clear blue, and her dark blonde hair spoke of a life spent in the elements with its coarseness. Her hands lacked the calluses of hard labour though, and she had no scars that weren’t potentially covered by a simple handmade dress.


“Blanket,” Steve said, holding up the blanket that had covered him. “Pillow,” he said, pointing at it.


Naerys eyes lit up, and she repeated what he had said, before using her own word for each, pointing in turn. Dutifully, Steve repeated them, fixing them in his mind. They went around the small cottage, Naerys bringing him all sort of common implements and naming them. When they ran out of simple items that could be named without confusion, they moved on to body parts.


“Hair,” Steve said.


“Hair,” Naerys said, before saying a new word.


“Head.”


“Head,” Naerys repeated.


“Eyes, nose, lips.”


“Eyes nose lips.” Again, the local words came.


Steve grinned. They were moving fast. At this rate, he’d be able to have a simple conversation within the week.


Naerys grinned back, joy at the chance of learning something new clear in her eyes. Going by what he could see, wherever he was didn’t have a lot of technology. Could be he was the most exciting thing to happen...wherever this was, for some time.


“Ch-” Steve’s eyes dipped as he placed a hand on his chest, and he realised Naerys’ dress had slipped, revealing more than she would perhaps be comfortable with. “Stomach,” he said, trying to look natural as his hand moved down to his gut.


“Stomach?” Naerys said, a questioning tilt to her words. Mischief was worn openly on her face, and Steve felt his gut sinking. She cupped her breasts through her dress, smirking as she said the word for them.


“Stomach,” Steve said firmly, tapping it, before reluctantly tapping his chest as well. “Chest.” The 21st century had inured him to certain behaviours, but bluntness like this was still guaranteed to get a reaction out of him. He coughed, before pointing vaguely to Naerys’ torso. “Breasts.”


She laughed, pointing at the faintest of blushes on his face. Alas, control of involuntary reactions wasn’t quite something the serum had given him control over. The laugh turned into a snort, and now it was Steve’s turn to smirk. Hand covering her mouth, she looked momentarily mortified, before turning a glare on him. Nat would have gotten a kick--


His good mood soured as he thought of Natasha. She had died only hours ago from his perspective. He didn’t even know if anyone else had fallen in the final clash with Thanos.


Next to him, Naerys picked up on his mood, and her smile faded. She tapped his leg, and said a word.


“Leg,” Steve said. Focus on the now. Grieve later.


It took three days for Steve to be able to stand on his own two feet, and another after that for him to do so without dark spots at the edges of his vision. Naerys watched over him with more concern than some nurses he’d met after his transformation, bringing him food every few hours. At the rate he was going he would eat her out of house and home; he would have to make it up to her. Not everyone could afford to put on a spread like Tony.


Steve breathed deeply as he completed another circuit of the small dwelling, savouring the smoothness of it. He could breathe easily without it catching in his chest, and his arms no longer trembled after a meal. He was ready.


“Naerys,” he said, gaining the woman’s attention. She looked up from the sock she was darning by the fireplace. “I go for a walk. Yes?” His grasp of the language was simple, but improving quickly.


The woman thought for a moment, before nodding. “I come with you,” she said, putting the sock down.


“It is fine,” Steve said, shaking his head. She had put too much effort into helping him already; if he could survive leaving the house without an escort in Brooklyn he could survive here. Wherever here was.


Naerys spouted off a quick mess of words with a smirk, deliberately using words Steve had yet to learn.


The super soldier sighed in defeat. It was hard to argue when you were reduced to charades, and waiting as Naerys laced up the simple sandals that she wore whenever she left the house. He led the way as they departed the cottage that had been his world for almost the last week, Naerys almost hovering at his side. A smile came to his face as he soaked in the sun and the breeze as they emerged, taking a moment to savour it. The breeze carried with it the fresh scent of the sea.


A village lay before him, muddy streets running hither and yon without any planning, all surrounding a squat castle that seemed to hug the ground. Gulls cawed in the air and the sound of waves crashing could be heard in the distance. His keen eyes could make out a man in armour slowly patrolling the ramparts, a spear resting on one shoulder. That...was not what he had expected, and he doubted he was stranded in a community of incredibly dedicated reenactment enthusiasts.


“To the water?” Steve asked. “Beach?” he said in English.


Naerys nodded. “Salt and water. Beach.”


They made their way steadily through the village, Steve’s height and frame garnering looks from those they passed. Compared to their thin, weathered forms, he was an Adonis come to earth, even in spite of the frayed, borrowed clothing he was wearing. As they went, Naerys continued to point at things and give him the words for them in her language, which Steve dutifully repeated. His diligence over the past days had been taken well, and her enthusiasm had helped him progress faster than he otherwise would have. The politeness with which he had treated her hadn’t hurt either. He got the feeling it was something she wasn’t used to.


Some people just didn’t know how to treat a dame.


Here and there Steve noticed a crumbling wall, or a roof with an obvious patch job. Wherever he was, they weren’t doing too well for themselves. Isolation was one thing, but that didn’t feel like the right answer. He knew there were places even today where one could go and feel like they had stepped back to a time of horse drawn carts, but this was something else. Even for a village out of time, it felt run down, like it was struggling to get by. He didn’t like what that might mean for what it had cost Naerys to keep him fed.


He threw off the dreary thoughts. They path they were on had reached the beach, opening up onto a sad stretch of sand that would have looked more at home in England than America. Still, it was a change of scenery from the cottage, and Steve luxuriated in the feeling of the sand between his toes. Naerys hovered at his side, as if he might keel over at any moment.


“This place, name?” Steve asked.


“Sharp Point,” Naerys said. Stepping forward, she knelt down and began to trace a shape in the damp sand. “Westeros,” she said, pointing at it.


“Westeros,” Steve repeated, squatting beside her. Was that the name of the country he found himself in? It was not the name of a place he knew, but it very well could just be the name the locals had for it.


Naerys was watching him carefully, as if searching for something. She pointed out to the ocean, to the east. “Essos?”


“Essos,” Steve repeated dutifully. The word for east, maybe? No, she would have listed the other directions at the same time.


Naerys frowned, as if considering something that made no sense. She began to divide up the first shape she had drawn, and then pointed at each section in turn. “The North. Riverlands. The Vale. Westerlands. Iron Islands. Crownlands. The Reach. Dorne.”


States then. Or maybe countries in their own right. “Sharp Point where?” he asked.


Naerys pointed to a spit of land on the east coast of Westeros, in the Crownlands.


“Who?” Steve asked, pointing at the castle.


“Captain Bar Emmon of Sharp Point,” Naerys said.


So there was a local garrison run by a captain. Were they in charge of the whole village, or did they report to a civilian council? Steve couldn’t help but feel there was something he was missing.


“Sharp Point, Bar Emmon,” Steve said. Then he pointed at the basic map. “Westeros, who?”


“Aerys Targaryen,” Naerys said, then a word Steve didn’t know. “--of Westeros.”


Steve repeated the word, questioning.


Naerys thought for a moment, then drew something else in the sand. After a moment, Steve saw that it was a crown.


“Aerys Targaryen man, woman?” Steve asked.


“Man,” she said.


“King Aerys Targaryen,” Steve confirmed. A King, then. Of the monarchies that were still around, he could think of only a few that actually ruled, and none of them were European. His gut told him he was more than just missing something.


“America?” he asked, pointing at the map outline.


Naerys shook her head. “I do not know.”


“Iron Man? Thor? Hulk? Falcon? Scarlet Witch?” he asked, voice level. “Thanos?”


Naerys just shook her head again. “I am sorry.”


Steve shook his head slowly. Kansas hadn’t just been left behind, it wasn’t even in his rear view mirror. And now all his work at catching up on references were for nothing. A laugh escaped his throat. Well. Wasn’t that something.



The Stones and the Gauntlet were responsible for this, that much he could assume. And he’d seen a flash of light when he was first dunked in the sea not even a week ago. It had been orange - dammit, which Stone had that been? Soul? Were Stark and Thor somewhere in this land with him? If they were, they’d be easy to find at least. All he’d have to do was follow the explosions.


There was always another struggle. He had overcome every challenge from Brooklyn to now, and he wasn’t about to falter. He could worry later. Right now, he had to regain his strength. He would decide what to do next after that.


As much as he would like to spend more time outside, he didn’t want to keep Naerys from her work any longer. Maybe he would sneak out later on his own. With a groan, he rose to his feet, and they began to make their way back towards the village.



There was cursing in the air as they strolled back to Naerys’ cottage. Whatever the language, a soldier knew cursing when they heard it, and an old man was swearing a blue streak further down the path they travelled. There was a cart stuck in the mud, and a mule struggling to pull it out. The greybeard was pushing at it without luck. As Steve and Naerys drew near, he noticed them but said nothing, continuing to push at his cart.
“Here sir, let me help you with that,” Steve said, slipping back into English unwittingly.


The old man stared at him. “Eh?”


Rather than stumble through an explanation, Steve put words into action and stepped up to the cart. He may be weak and recovering, but the day he didn’t offer help to those who needed it...with a groan, both from his body and the cart, the mud relinquished its grasp on the wheels with a sucking sound, and the mule stumbled forward with a suddenly lighter burden.


The old man let out a pleased laugh, slapping Steve on the back. He spat a quick stream of words from the side of his mouth, somehow managing to make them sound like a completely different language to what Naerys had been teaching him. Steve just looked to Naerys with a raised brow, asking for help.


Naerys smiled, and spoke to the greybeard. The man listened, a frown growing on his face, before realisation spread across it. He pointed at Steve and asked a question, and Naerys answered. He thought for a long moment, and then came to a decision.


Reaching into his cart, he pulled out a sack that stank of salt and vinegar and handed it to Naerys. She tried to decline, but the man insisted, speaking further.


“What he say?” Steve asked.


With a sigh, Naerys accepted the sack, and turned to Steve. “Corbin give food, I give coin. My coin...small. For meat, you work. Make…” she turned and pointed at the stone wall that lined the path. “Wall. Help make wall.”


“Yes,” Steve said without hesitation. “Thank you,” he told Corbin. “I help.”


Corbin nodded, clapped Steve on the back again, and moved over to his mule, taking it by the lead. Free from the mud, they departed quickly.


“Thank you, Steve Rogers,” Naerys said, almost saying his name as one word. “Coin...hard.”


“You help me,” Steve said. “I help you.”


Naerys gave him a small smile, and they continued on towards her home.



X x X


They had not been back for more than five minutes when there was a knock on the door, three quick raps. Naerys made it to the door before Steve could do more than rise from bed, opening it to reveal a young lady carrying a basket on one hip. The basket was quickly discarded as the two women exchanged a hug, a flurry of conversation passing between them. Steve watched as the newcomer glanced at him, her eyes sly as she said something to Naerys with a smirk. Naerys slapped her lightly on the shoulder and shook her head, before pointing at the basket and asking a question. The woman answered, and his host turned to face him.


“Steve Rogers, your clothes,” Naerys said, bringing the basket over and setting it before him.


His clothes. With a start, Steve realised he’d barely spared a thought for the armour he had arrived in. Eagerly, he opened the basket to reveal his outfit, white star proudly placed at the top. He ran a hand over it. It was clean, with little trace of the filth of battle or salt that would have encrusted it after his little day long swim. It even smelt faintly of lavender.


“Thank you,” he said, looking at the woman. He smiled at her. “Very good.”


The woman met his eyes and seemed to stutter for a moment, until Naerys poked her in the side. She swatted her back, and then gave a curtsey, before retreating from the cottage, closing the door on her way out.


Naerys snorted, coming over to inspect the basket with him. Her gaze was faintly awed. “Your clothes. Much coin?”


“Yes,” Steve said. “Much coin.”


“You are King?”


“No, just a Captain,” Steve said quickly. Him, a King. That would be the day. Although his Ma had always told him he could be President if he wanted to…


Lifting his costume from the basket, he checked it piece by piece, inspecting it for damage. Whoever had cleaned it had done what they could, but they clearly lacked the equipment, let alone the knowledge, to make any repairs. He could see slashes and breaks where Thanos had struck him, and as he looked up on them he could almost feel each blow again. Helm, chest piece, trousers, boots, gloves. All present, all in good enough working order, but…. no shield. His shield was not amongst his gear.


“Where is my shield,” Steve said. It was not a question.


Naerys’ back straightened at his tone. “This is not all?”


“No. I had a shield. Broken. This,” he tapped the star on his chest piece, “on shield. Where?”


“Do not know. You swim with shield?” Naerys asked.


“My shield. My weapon,” Steve said. His fists clenched. “I had it on beach.”


Naerys suddenly looked worried. “Captain Bar Emmon…” she trailed off.


Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Bar Emmon has it? Would he...take?”


“Maybe,” Naerys said, tilting a hand back and forth. “Little coin in Sharp Point. Your clothes, much coin. Your weapon…”


“I see Bar Emmon,” Steve said. “You take me?”


“Today, less good. He drinks,” Naerys said. “Tomorrow, more good.”


Steve let out a sigh. As much as he wanted to demand answers immediately, he could see the wisdom in waiting. “We go tomorrow.”


X x X


They rose with the sun the next morning, and broke their fast with bread and cheese, discussing their plan for approaching Bar Emmon. There was not much to plan, in truth - they would make themselves known at the gates of the castle, and request an audience.


“Will he meet us?” Steve asked as he made his bed.


“Meet, yes,” Naerys said. She was getting dressed behind a curtain of sheets that hung from the rafters. “Hear…” she trailed off, a shrug in her voice.


Steve frowned, but said nothing. Until he met the man, there was little he could plan for or assume. Maybe the Captain was trying to have the shield repaired, although he snorted at the idea of a simple blacksmith being able to work vibranium. Still, he would have to at least decide how to present himself to the Captain of the castle. On the bed lay two sets of clothes; the simple tunic and trousers Naerys had given him, and his suit.


The suit slipped on like an old friend, and Steve fell into a reverie as he buckled it on. The weight of it was comforting, and for a moment he felt like he could look over his shoulder and see his team waiting for orders. His headpiece he clipped to his belt.


Naerys emerged from behind the privacy curtain, mouth open to speak, and stopped cold. Her eyes traced him, a hint of colour in her cheeks. She seemed to have forgotten what she was going to say.


“Your dress looks nice,” Steve said, breaking her from her hesitation. The dress was well tailored to her, sea blue with white trim. From what Steve had seen of the villagers, it was probably the most expensive item of clothing in the village, save perhaps the castle.


“Thank you,” Naerys said. “It was a gift from my father.” She shook herself. “We go.”


“Lead the way,” Steve said.


Their path through the village drew stares, just as much at Naerys than at Steve. He could faintly pick up muttered conversations in their wake. This was almost as bad as Brooklyn back in the day, when he had stepped out with Liz O’Rourke on their one and only ‘date’.


They reached the castle in short order, standing before a closed portcullis. There was a sole guard atop the wall, a hoary man leaning on a spear looking down on them.


The guard shouted a command, a call to identify themselves to Steve’s ear.


“Naerys Waters,” Naerys called back.


Recognition crossed the man’s face. “And him?” he asked.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve said.


Naerys gave him an odd look, and the guard glanced dubiously at Steve’s suit, but he banged his spear on the stone of the wall.


“Open the gate,” he called, to someone out of sight.


After a moment, the portcullis began to rise with a grinding noise, and the two of them passed through to enter the castle when it rose high enough. To Steve’s eye, the castle courtyard was nothing special, just an open space with packed dirt for sparring in the middle and a few stalls for horses on one side. A covered wooden walkway ran about the interior of the walls, out of sight from outside.


“Naerys girl,” the aging guard greeted as he came stumping down the steps to the courtyard. “What brings you here?”


“We wish to see Captain Bar Emmon, Garret,” Naerys said.


“Oh aye,” Garret said. “But why would he want to see you?”


“I will ask him about my shield,” Steve said. He grimaced at his grasp of the language.


Garret looked up - and up - at Steve. “Steve Rogers,” he said slowly. “That is not a Westerosi name.” He spoke more, but all Steve could make out was the tone of a question.


“He wants to know where you are from,” Naerys explained to Steve.


“America,” Steve said, tapping the star borne proudly on his chest.


Garret spat to the side, scowling. He spoke to Naerys quickly, too fast for Steve to make out, something Steve suspected was intentional. His tone was one of warning.


Naerys spoke dismissively, brushing away the warning.


“On your head,” Garret said, shrugging. He gave a piercing whistle, the noise ringing around the courtyard, and waited.


Moments later, a boy came jogging out from a side door in the courtyard, dressed in the rough weave of a peasant. “Ser?” he asked of Garret.


“Where is the Captain?” Garret asked.


“Breaking his fast with the merchant,” the boy replied. He glanced at Naerys, almost too quick to see.


“Go and see if he will take guests,” Garret ordered. “Quick now.”


The boy shot off at a run, a trail of dust in his wake.


“Best know what you’re doing, girl,” Garret said to Naerys. He stumped off, returning to his post on the wall where he could still keep an eye on them.


“This sounds...more,” Steve said.


Naerys lips were pursed. “Captain Bar Emmon is my cousin. My father was Captain Bar Emmon, but my mother was not his wife. I am…” she said a word he didn’t know.


“Born out of wedlock?” Steve asked.


“Out of wedlock?” Naerys repeated the word.


“Parents not married,” Steve said. “It happens.”


Naerys gave him another strange look. “Yes. It does.”


The boy returned, huffing and puffing. “Captain Bar Emmon will see you. Follow me.”


Conversation was put on hold as they followed, the boy leading them into the castle proper and up a flight of stone stairs. Steve smelt their destination before they saw it, the scent of rich meats and sauces drifting out from under the door. Almost in unison, Steve and the boy’s stomachs rumbled, and Steve shot the boy a conspirative grin. The boy ducked his head, but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at his lips.


The boy knocked at the door, and waited.


“Yes, enter,” a voice called.


By habit, Steve led the way, taking in the room with a glance. The walls were mostly bare, save for windows, a banner of a blue swordfish on white and a few unlit torches. Two men sat at the head of a table, behind which was another door leading elsewhere. The table was loaded with food, far too much for them to eat alone. One of them had the build of a man who spent time exercising, and bore a resemblance to Naerys in his features. He wore clothes of fine make, but of ever so slightly fading colour. His gaze skipped over the servant boy entirely as he took in Steve and Naerys with a hint of distaste that would go unseen by the casual observer. Steve was not a casual observer.


His companion wore clothes just as finely made, but also clearly newer. Even so, they were ill fitting in their own way, their cut designed to flatter a man not quite so clearly gone to seed with paunch. He had eyes only for Naerys, raking up and down her body as he bit into a leg of chicken.


“Cousin,” Bar Emmon greeted Naerys. “How are you?”


“Well, my Captain,” Naerys said, curtseying slightly.


“Reynard was just asking after you,” Bar Emmon said, nodding at his companion. He spoke again, gesturing dismissively to Steve.


“Not at all,” Naerys said. She spoke to Reynard, smiling with all the sweetness of a viper as she mentioned Steve’s name.


A frown began to make its way across Steve’s face. He didn’t like what he was seeing here.



Stay silent. Naerys knows what is going on here. You'll likely make things worse. X


Interrupt. You may be the foreigner, but that doesn't mean you'll stand by as the woman who has nursed you back towards health is talked down to.


Still, he held his tongue. Causing problems would be a poor repayment for Naerys after what she had done for him.


“What brings you to my home this day?” Bar Emmon asked, spooning gravy over his plate.


Naerys glanced at Steve, and he answered. “My shield,” he said bluntly. “It is...special to me.”


Bar Emmon and Reynard shared a glance. “I am ---- we saw no shield when we pulled you from the sea,” he said. “Nor has one washed ------ while you have been in my cousin’s care.”


Steve stilled. That was a lie. His shield had been on his arm when he pulled himself to shore.


“You may not see it as a shield. It was a circle, but broken. Still strapped to my arm...like a shield,” Steve said, eyes narrowed.


“You say there was a shield. I say there was not. I am Captain Bar Emmon, ruler of Sharp Point. Who are you to argue with me, hmmm?” Bar Emmon said, leaning back in his seat.


“You can call me Captain America,” Steve said. “You have my shield.”


“You are very rude,” Bar Emmon said, “to speak to a Captain so in his own castle.” He gestured between Reynard and Naerys. “Here I was ------ the good news with my friend, and you--”


“You didn’t,” Naerys interrupted him, fighting to keep dismay and disgust from her face.


“Of course I did Naerys,” Bar Emmon said, wearing a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Reynard’s family is quite successful, and you cannot go on without a husband.”


Steve had heard enough. “Last chance,” he said.


Bar Emmon sneered. “Yes. Last chance.” He rapped sharply on the table, and the door behind them opened. A man at arms stepped through, and he was holding a crossbow, loaded and ready to fire. “I do not know how you do things in this ‘America’ of yours, but here, we give thanks to those who save our lives and return us to health.”


“I thanked Naerys, and will pay her,” Steve said. “Shield. Now.”


Bar Emmon gave a disgusted snort, spitting a rush of words, too fast for Steve to understand.


The crossbow came up, aimed squarely at his chest. Steve stepped forward with the suddenness of a super human, putting himself in front of Naerys and the servant boy. The man at arms flinched at the quick movement, finger squeezing the trigger against his will.


There was a twang and the bolt loosed. In the dark, by surprise, such an attack might have a chance of hitting its mark. In a well lit room, head on? Steve snatched the bolt from the air before it could hit him, and inspected it, before snapping the bolt in his clenched fist.


Slowly, he reached for his belt, unclipping his headpiece and tugging it on. The room held its breath as he did so, watching as he fastened the chinstrap.


He looked Bar Emmon in the eye, and spoke in English. “You should have just given me my shield.”


“Steve, he didn’t tell--”


Steve cut Naerys off by flipping the table, all two hundred odd pounds of it before counting the food. Meats, cheeses, gravies and breads went flying as the two men gave a shout of alarm before they were covered in food. Bullies were the same in every world, so it seemed. The only language they understood was violence.


Bar Emmon pushed the table back with a grunt of effort, but then Steve was on him, lifting him by the throat with one arm.


“Where is my shield.”


The man at arms dropped his crossbow and pulled a dagger, lunging at Steve, only to have his wrist seized and twisted. He dropped the blade with a pained cry and was thrown back, cradling his arm.


“Shield,” Steve repeated, tone calm and at odds with the state of the room. Frankly, he’d had bar brawls back in the War more exciting than this. Bar Emmon struggled with the grip at his throat.


Raynard oozed from his seat and scurried for the doom the man at arms had entered through, and Steve kicked Bar Emmon’s chair - more throne - to block it. It collided with a heavy thunk, and the merchant heaved on it without result.


Naerys stood frozen, hand over her mouth in slowly comprehending horror, while the servant boy was nowhere to be seen.


“I can pay you,” Raynard said quickly, words tumbling over each other. “There is no need for more -------.”


“Pay me with my shield,” Steve said.


“It’s gone,” Raynard said. “Already sent away.”


“Raynard!” Bar Emmon snarled, still fighting Steve’s grip.


Steve shook him like an unruly dog, and looked expectantly at the merchant.


“It was like nothing we’d seen, no steel would mark it,” Raynard babbled. “Not Valyrian steel, but something else. We sent it to the King as a gift yesterday!”


Steve felt a twist in his gut as the truth was revealed. He had only just gotten his shield back, and already it was taken from him, and getting farther away with every moment. He took a breath. The shield was only a shield, even if it was a one of a kind shield made of a unique metal that had been given to him by Howard and seen him through challenges beyond count and given to him again by Tony, and--he took a breath. Some folk just weren’t neighbourly these days.


Raynard took his silence poorly, fumbling at his belt. “I have coin, for my - our - safety, it is yours!”


Steve frowned at Raynard. He couldn’t say anyone had ever tried to bribe him like that for their safety before. Not since the War, at least. Ignoring the proffered coin purse, he continued his questioning.


“Which road did my shield go?” Steve asked. “Who did you send it with?”


Raynard looked to Bar Emmon; apparently the Captain was the one who had given the orders. The man met Steve’s gaze defiantly, raising his chin in challenge - as much as he could while held by the throat, at least. Without breaking eye contact, Steve began to squeeze. It was gentle, considering his strength, but Bar Emmon was soon wheezing with every breath.


Choking a man to death for a physical possession was not something he would do, but here in this new world, there were no preconceptions on what the noble Captain America would or wouldn’t do, and that meant he could be a bit more firm in his questions.


“Kingswood,” Bar Emmon said, choking the words out. “Through Kingswood to Kings Landing.”


Steve eased his grip immediately. “Thank you,” he said, before headbutting the man and letting him collapse in a heap. He looked around at the mess of a room and shook his head. “You should have just done the right thing son.”


The servant boy was gone, vanished in the excitement. That probably didn’t bode well for this little talk staying in the room. What to do...


It was time to leave. The front gate was only a short walk away, and he would be able to get himself and Naerys out without trouble, he was sure.


“Let’s go,” Steve said, leading the way out of the hall.


Naerys followed in a daze, the look of someone who has just sighted a sizeable boot hanging over their future plastered clear on her face.


They were out of the room and descending the staircase to the courtyard when Steve stopped.


“Naerys,” Steve said, breaking her out of her dark reverie. “I am sorry for going against your family like that, but…” he struggled with his words, trying and failing to describe his instinctive reaction to stand against bullies of all stripes and need to stand tall when tread upon.


A hollow laugh escaped Naerys. “He is not my family, not where it counts. He just tried to marry me off to that fat pig Reynard for some coin. Father made him promise before he --------- ---- -- ----- --- ----- -- --- -- ---- -”


As she devolved into angry muttering too fast for him to understand, Steve put a hand on her shoulder. “If you come with me, I will protect you.” The words were dramatic, more suited to some overwrought declaration of love in the theatre than the staircase they stood in, but he meant them. “You healed me. Taught me to speak. You did not leave me. I will not leave you behind.”


“Steve Rogers,” Naerys said, shaking her head, her manner making them seem like one name rather than two. “You are a rare man. Are there others like you in your America?”


Steve’s thoughts flashed to Bucky, to Tony and Thor, to a score of others who stood tall in the face of the Titan when the time came. “Many. One day I will see them again.” He pulled his thoughts back to the present. “But now, we must leave castle.”


Naerys nodded seriously, dread for her future banished for now. “There is a side gate we can sneak out We can go through the servant’s rooms, or through the soldiers rooms, the barracks. Both should be empty.”


Steve smirked, rolling his shoulders. “I was thinking we’d take the front door.”


There were five men in the courtyard waiting for them, loosely arranged around the exit. Three bore swords and shields, while two held spears. Garret, the older guard who had greeted them, was still atop the gate, and in his hands was a crossbow. Steve stepped out to meet them without fear or hesitation, and the men closest to him edged back. There was a pause as they took in the giant of a man and his strange garb, clearly armour but of a type they had never seen before.


“Surrender, Steve Rogers, and release Lady Waters,” Garret called out.


“I’m not his captive, Garret,” Naerys called.


Steve glanced at her. “He was giving you an out,” he said quietly.


“Not fair to you,” she said, shaking her head.


Garret spat off the wall, a grimace on his face. “It’s the dungeons for you Rogers, and if you come quietly you’ll avoid the rope.” His crossbow came up.


“Fellas, bigger things than you have tried,” Steve said. He stepped forwards, away from Naerys. He was unarmed, alone against six men, and utterly confident.


“Take him!” Garret shouted, taking his shot.


Steve caught the bolt and lunged forward, boot snapping up to catch the nearest guardsman in the shield. The man was flung back like a rag doll, knocking over one of the spearmen as he went. Steve was already turning to the next, catching a sword strike with his arm and elbowing him lightly in the jaw. The man collapsed, eyes rolling back in his head.


The first signs of fear were showing on the faces of the two still standing, and Garret was cursing them out as he cranked his crossbow for another shot. Steve took the shield off the fallen man before him and hefted it, before throwing it. It flew terribly, with none of the smooth precision of his own shield, but it caught Garret in the gut and knocked him on his arse, his crossbow dropped off the wall as he fell, wheezing.


The spearman who had been knocked down was back on his feet, and began to menace Steve with his fellow, both attempting to keep a distance between them and the man who was tossing them around like children. Steve feinted for one, then the other, before throwing the bolt he had caught at the last swordsman. The man flinched as it pierced his shield, and Steve was upon him, seizing him bodily and throwing him at the spearman he had already knocked down once.


He turned to the last man standing. The man’s eyes were wide like a spooked horse, and his spear was held in a white knuckled grip.


“Do you really want to do this?” Steve asked.


The man shook his head.


“Maybe you should help your friends,” Steve said, nodding to the groaning and senseless guards.


The man couldn’t drop the spear quick enough.


“You alive Garret?” he called up to the older man.


“Fuck you Rogers,” he groaned out. “Damn ----- of nature.”


Steve grinned at the answer. His blood wasn’t quite pumping, but the little scrap had been just what the doctor ordered after being abed for so long. “Do you want to check on him?” he asked Naerys.


Naerys was gaping at him openly, but closed her mouth with a click. “Yes. I will...do that.”


“Don’t be too long,” Steve said. “We need to leave.”


Naerys rushed off, heading for the stairs that would take her up atop the wall, and Steve took the opportunity to look around. They were in the courtyard of a man who had stolen something important to him, and by Steve’s counting, that demanded some creative requisition and recompense. Frankly, it reminded him of the War and his time with the Commandos.


There were a number of horse stalls, but only one occupied, although he thought he spied a saddle and tack. He could probably find a weapon of some sort too, and maybe something for Naerys. He would have to move quickly, she was already crouched over Garret and fussing.


The horse was a must; he might be able to jog through the wilderness for weeks but Naerys could not. Experience from the War came in handy, as he went through the half remembered motions of saddling it up, scratching it behind the ears as he did so. It was a mottled grey colour, and it looked strong and healthy enough to his untrained eye. He took a few bags of oats too, enough to keep the horse fed for a week or two if it were allowed to graze well.


As he finished saddling the horse, a hammer resting in the corner of the stall caught his eye. It looked to have been used for cracking rocks at one point, with a broad head and an oaken shaft. Steve picked it up and held it easily in one hand, inspecting it. It would do to deter those who might think unarmed travellers to be easy prey.


He considered taking a spear for a moment, for Naerys if nothing else, but dismissed the idea. The hafts were heavy, and unsuited to someone of her slight build.


Naerys returned, a sad smile on her face. “Garret said the men taking your shield were told to be safe over fast, so we might catch them before Kings Landing.”


Steve glanced up at Garret, to find the man had propped himself up against the parapet and was glaring down at him. He gave him a nod in thanks and received a rude gesture for his troubles.


“Is there anything else we need before we leave?” Steve asked.


“One thing. I just need to stop by my home,” Naerys said.


They walked the horse out of the main gates of the castle, the last guardsman standing watching the skittishly, and made their way through the village. They received looks and left mutters in their wake as before, but word did not seem to have spread from the castle as to his actions there.


A frown crossed Steve’s face as something occurred to him. “Damn.”


“What is it?” Naerys asked, concerned.


“I told Corbin I would build his wall,” Steve said.


“I can pay him, since we are leaving the village,” Naerys said.


Steve’s frown deepened. “I will pay you back.”


“I believe you,” she said. “I do not think you will be poor for long, Captain America.” They reached her cottage. “Wait here.”


Naerys disappeared inside her home for several minutes as Steve waited outside, greeting passersby and curious neighbours with a polite smile. When Naerys emerged, she was no longer clad in her fine blue dress but in one more practical, and carried a small lockbox with her, stowing it quickly amongst the oats in the horse’s saddlebags.


“I’ve never left Sharp Point before,” she said, her tone almost wondering. “I wonder what’s out there.”


“Many things,” Steve said, boosting her up onto the horse. She gave a small shriek of surprise as he lifted her and sat her side saddle on the horse, but quickly adjusted. “Let’s find out,” he said with a grin.


He might be in a strange new world, once again wrenched from all that was familiar without warning, separated from his comrades and without support, but he was feeling optimistic. It was time to see what Westeros held for him.


Naerys answered his grin with one of her own, and they set out, leaving behind them a furious Lord, brewing trouble, and the seeds of a legend.

Chapter Text

“So you did not become a Captain until you were already a man grown?” Naerys asked, eyes alight with curiosity.


They were traveling down an empty road, Naerys ahorse and Steve jogging easily beside her. Sharp Point lay a week and a half behind them, as did the last of Steve’s lingering weakness. Fishing as they followed the coast had kept them fed, as had the bounty of a wild pig unfortunate enough to cross their path.


“I was a sickly child, always ill with something or another,” Steve said. Their journey had seen his grasp of Westerosi increase in leaps and bounds. “I think I shocked my doctors every time I reached another birthday.”


“You are no sickly child now,” Naerys said, pointedly looking at him as he kept pace with the horse.


“No,” Steve said, memories of a lifetime ago crossing his mind’s eye. “There was a man I met, you would call him a maester, who saw something in me. He helped me become what I am today.”


“The Captain of America,” Naerys said. “Does this maester still serve you?”


Steve was quiet for several long strides. “He was killed for what he knew, shortly after helping me.”


“I am sorry,” Naerys said, hunching slightly.


“It is an old hurt, scabbed over a long time ago,” Steve said. “And I know I have become everything he hoped for and more.”


Naerys began to ask something, only to visibly change her mind. “What will you do when we catch the men with your shield?” she asked instead.


“Suppose I’ll ask them nicely for it,” Steve said.


“And if they don’t just surrender it?”


“I’ll ask a bit less nicely,” Steve said, joking.


Naerys laughed, and they continued along the road, time passing in easy silence. At length, she spoke again.


“What if we don’t catch them before they give it to the King?”


A slight frown crossed Steve’s face. “Suppose I’ll ask him for it nicely.”


Naerys remembered the way the man beside her had kicked an armoured man across a courtyard, and shivered despite the sun. They would just have to find his shield before it reached King’s Landing. She touched her heels to the horse’s flanks lightly and he began an easy trot, Steve keeping pace easily, just as he had every other day so far.


No, nothing good would come from a man like Steve Rogers meeting a man like Aerys Targaryen.


X x X


Two days later saw them making good time along the side of the Wendwater, discussing their path forward.


“We have two options,” Naerys told Steve. “We can take the main road, and go through Wendwater Keep to cross on Wendwater Bridge. It’s the better of the roads, and better protected, but there’s a chance my cousin has sent word to nearby Captains of what we did.”


“What I did,” Steve reminded her.


“I left with you and fled a marriage; I’m just as guilty in his eyes,” Naerys said. “The other option is to take a smaller bridge before the castle. We won’t run afoul of the Captain’s men, but I heard rumours of the Kingswood Brotherhood preying on nobles and merchants off the main road.


“Which is faster?” Steve asked.


“Little difference,” Naerys said. “The longer path over Wendwater Bridge is in better condition, so...”



“We’ll take the side road,” Steve said. “I don’t want to have to fight my way through people just doing their jobs.”


‘Yes,’ Naerys thought, ‘because that was the largest concern.’ Aloud, she said, “We’re not far from the bridge then. We should be able to cross it today.”


Steve nodded. “Which road do you think Bar Emmon’s men would have taken?”


“Hard to say,” Naerys said. “If it came out what they were carrying, Captain Wendwater might consider taking the shield and presenting it to the King himself. My cousin is not powerful, and is not on good terms with his neighbours. But if they don’t risk Wendwater, they risk the Brotherhood.”


“Who is this ‘Kingswood Brotherhood’?” Steve asked. “Are they soldiers from a rival kingdom?”


Naerys snorted. “Hardly. They’re outlaws and bandits. They don’t prey on the smallfolk though, only nobles and rich merchants, and they ransom them back if they can.”


“So they’re Robin Hood types then?” Steve said. At Naerys’s confused look, he explained. “Rob from the rich, give to the poor.”


“I don’t think so. I’ve heard no rumours of the like,” Naerys said. “Mostly they hate nobles. Their leader, Simon Toyne, used to be one, but his House feuded with the King one time too many.”


“I can’t say I think much of nobles ruling the land,” Steve said. “In my home, the leaders work for the people. ‘One nation under God, indivisible, with justice and liberty for all’.”


Naerys gave him a strange look, but her face cleared to understanding. “Your land sounds like a paradise at times.”


“It has its troubles,” Steve said. “But one of our leaders said it best: ‘My country right or wrong; if right to be kept right; and if wrong to be set right’.”


“You only make it sound more and more like paradise,” Naerys said with a laugh.


Steve’s gaze grew distant, red and black symbols, robots, a Chair, and a titanic purple figure crossing his mind’s eye. “We’ve come close to losing it all many times.”


“Will it be safe without you?” Naerys asked.


“...yeah, it will be,” Steve said, a small smile on his face. For all the horrors, there were those who stood against them. A man wearing red and grey wings, a woman in red, a cocky kid swinging around the city. “Come on,” he said, suddenly energised. “Let’s pick up the pace.” He began to jog, almost feeling the distance to his shield shrinking.


X x X


They crossed the Wendwater with no troubles, an unguarded wooden bridge that had seen better days providing passage. The trees of the Kingswood swallowed them up as they continued on, reminding Steve of a picturesque forest he had once visited in England, only rawer, and more untamed. The oats they had taken from Sharp Point were almost gone, even stretching them with ample grazing for the horse as they had done. By Naerys’ estimation, they were still around two weeks from King’s Landing.


The path they followed seemed mostly used for foot traffic and the occasional horse, and Steve wouldn’t fancy trying to take anything so unwieldy as a carriage along it. It was on their second day in the Kingswood that an obstacle appeared in their path.


Two men blocked their path, one a large man with a big belly sitting upon a stump that had been dragged onto the path, while the other stood next to him, slender and with the beginnings of a scratchy beard on his chin. Both were armed, the big man with a war hammer of sorts across his knees, while the other was resting lightly on a strung bow. As Steve and Naerys came to a stop some five paces before them, neither gave any indication of moving.


“Fellas,” Steve said. He was wearing the peasant garb Naerys had given him, not willing to travel in his armour for weeks given the trouble it was to clean, and the hammer he had taken from Sharp Point was in easy reach on the horse. He couldn’t hear anyone hiding in the forest nearby, nor was there any strange scents on the wind, but that was no guarantee of anything. “You waiting for someone?”


“Just enjoying the weather, friend,” the slender man said with a grin. His teeth were brown, but not rotten. “What brings you to these parts?”


“We’re following some people who have something that belongs to me,” Steve said. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen any riders come through here lately?”


“Oh, we’ve seen all sorts,” the man answered. “Smallfolk, nobles, merchants, soldiers, even Kingsguard, but never anyone quite like you.”


“I suppose we should be flattered,” Naerys said. Her hands were tight on the reigns.


“Mebbe you should, mebbe you shouldn’t,” the man said. “What do you think, Ben?”


The big man squinted at them. His face was round, and he clearly wasn’t lacking for food. “I dunno Ul. He looks more like a noble than she does.”


“If we were nobles,” Steve said. “Would we have a problem?”


Ben chewed on his lip. “Naw, no way a noble would be found dead in clothes like yours.”


“So you will stand aside and let us pass,” Naerys said, scowling.


“Well, course you can pass,” Ul said. “Only it’s been a while since we’ve had any friendly company.”


Steve’s stare went flat, and he took a step closer. “Friendly depends on you...friend.”


Ul held up a hand, still smiling. “Nothin’ like that. It just gets boring talking to the same people for moons on end. How about this; a quick competition, and if you win, you go on your way with a tale of a group of riders we saw, and if we win, you come back to our camp and share a bowl of stew.”


Steve glanced consideringly at Naerys. Was it worth humouring them?


“What sort of competition did you have in mind?” Steve asked.


Ul gestured expansively with his free arm. “You look a tough sort. You can arm wrestle Ben here, or we can see which of us is the better shot, or we can throw some dice. I’m a generous sort, so I’ll leave it up to you.”


Ben snorted, shaking his head.


“I’ll wrestle Ben,” Steve said without hesitation.


Ul blinked at him for a moment, clearly not expecting that response. He looked Steve over dubiously. “Ah...if you say so. Been a while since we’ve had some fresh tales around the campfire.”


Ben stood up, looking pleased. “No one ever chooses to wrestle.” He shifted the stump around, setting up their field of battle. He knelt, and placed an arm heavy with fat and muscle on it, ready to go.


Steve stepped up and knelt on the other side of the stump, rolling up his sleeve as he did so. The long sleeve of the peasant’s tunic that had covered his arms would only get in the way.


Ul frowned at the size of the arm that was no longer hidden. That wasn’t the arm of a hungry peasant; it wasn’t even the arm of a well fed knight. That was...well, Ben was still bigger.


“Best of three?” Steve asked.


“Why not?” Ben answered. “I’ll go easy on the first one even.”


“I won’t,” Steve said. “Ready?”


Ben laughed. “Ready,” he said, taking Steve’s hand.


There was a whump, as Ben’s hand crashed into the stump. He blinked, before scowling. “Ok, mebbe I wasn’t ready. That’s still only one. Go again.”


Ul’s frown deepened, while Naerys hid a smirk, visions of raking in coin playing tavern strong man games crossing her mind.


“Best of three,” Steve agreed, a friendly smile on his face.


They reset, and this time Ben squared his body to the stump, setting his shoulder. “Ready,” he said, and immediately began pushing.


Steve didn’t budge. “Sure, I’m ready,” he said, and then he began pushing.


Unlike the first round, Ben’s defeat was slow. Inexorably, his arm tilted back, forced down slowly but without mercy. Sweat beaded at his brow and his face turned red as Steve pushed against him, no sign of effort on his face. After several long, drawn out seconds, Ben’s hand gently hit the stump. He let go of Steve’s hand and grimaced, clutching at his bicep.


“You’re right,” Steve said, getting to his feet. “That was much harder when you were ready for it.” He dusted his knees off. “So, about that party of riders?”


Ul blinked, glancing at Ben with an incredulous look on his face. “Ah. Right. The riders we saw were camped about a day’s walk up the path,” he said, pointing with his thumb. “There’s a river that splits just off the path, and they’re camped against it. They looked like they’d be there for a day or two, so if you hurry, you might catch ‘em.”


“Appreciate it,” Steve said. “Fellas.” He gestured to Naerys, who nudged the horse into a walk.


Ben and Ul stepped aside to let them through, still thrown by the change in their script. Naerys did not deign to look at them as they passed, and soon they had left the two men behind.


“That was...interesting,” Naerys said.


“One word for it,” Steve said. “I’m not sure I like leaving knowing that they’ll pull that on the next travelers they see.”


“And how would you stop them?” Naerys asked.


Steve sighed in noisy agreement. “I know. Not like they’ve done anything wrong.”


“We have an idea of where your shield is now,” Naerys said in encouragement. “We could catch them tonight.”


“With luck,” Steve said, straightening. He frowned. “Strange how they decided to stop and camp though.”


“Something to ask them when we catch them and get your shield back,” Naerys said.


Steve nodded, and once more broke into a steady jog, the horse breaking into a steady canter. Their goal was in sight.




Back with the men who had so briefly waylaid them, Ul turned on Ben the moment they were out of sight. “Did you let him win?”


Ben scowled. “Nah. I didn’t.”


“Shite.” Ul ran a hand over his face. “Boss will want to know about this.”


A third voice came from the trees. “You’re the ones who’ll have to tell him,” an older man said, grey of hair. “Should have signalled for me to shoot him.”


“Not worth it Fletcher,” Ul said. “He weren’t a pampered noble or rich merchant.”


Fletcher shrugged. “Let’s go see Simon. He’ll want to know about that camp too.”


Without further discussion, the three men stepped off the path and vanished into the woods, birdsong the only sign of life to be seen.


X x X


Night had fallen by the time they found the camp. Steve could make out the smouldering embers of a few campfires through the trees the camp was mostly concealed within, although if there was any conversation around them it was drowned out by the bubbling of the river they were camped beside. He stood alone in the shadow of a broad tree, counting the sentries, more due to habit than anything. He did not plan on attacking the camp outright. No, he would walk up to them and politely ask they return what was his. What happened next was on them, but just in case, he had donned his armour and held the heavy hammer they had taken from Sharp Point easily in one hand. After some weeks in rough, poorly spun clothing, being back in his gear was a comfort.


Naerys was watching the horse a short ways back, far enough not to be heard should it grow irritable. They had both agreed that there was little point in her accompanying him. Steve shook out his shoulders and pulled the strap of his helm tight. He had placed all the sentries. It was time to say hello.


As he approached, the first sentry to spot him made no alarm of it, instead ducking back through the trees to carry a quiet warning to those in the camp. He likely would have gone unseed by a normal man, but Steve was not a normal man. He watched the sentry creep through the shadows, and if he focused, could hear the crunch of soft soled boots in the dirt as the man hurried ahead. It was not until he was only a stone’s throw from the camp that he was challenged in his approach.


“Halt! Who goes there?”


Steve paused in his approach as a man in gleaming plate armour stepped out to meet him, flanked by a pair of soldiers on each side. The four soldiers were armoured in duller steel that looked more standard issue, but all had a symbol of what looked like a three headed dragon on their chests.


“My name is Steve Rogers. I think you have something that belongs to me.”


The man who had challenged him frowned. The quality of his armour suggested he must be a knight, although he was missing his helm and gauntlets. His hair was pale, and his eyes a light purple. “We are no thieves, ser. We are Knights of the Kingsguard.”


Steve inspected his foes quickly. The knight looked to have been caught as he was removing his armour, although a sword as sheathed at his hip, and he could hear hurried movement in the camp. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it,” he said dryly.


The knight’s frown deepened, becoming almost offended. “Lay down your weapon and we can discuss this further.”


Steve took in the men he could see before him slowly fanning out, and listened to the two slowly creeping around behind him. “No, I don’t think I will.”


The knight glanced at a man on either side of him. “Take him for questioning,” he said.


Two men stepped forward, one drawing a wooden cudgel as they stepped forward to flank him. Whatever they were expecting from Steve, they didn’t get it. The star spangled man lunged for the soldier with the cudgel and lifted him by the neck with one hand to throw him into the other. They went down in a pile of limbs and curses as Steve sprang back, ready for the others to respond.


The knight’s hand was already on his sword, and Steve spun his unwieldy hammer like it was weightless. A slow rasp sounded as the knight began to draw a pale sword.


“Hold!” A newcomer strode forward from the camp, another knight in the same gleaming armour. This one was older, with a trimmed white beard and piercing blue eyes. His face was weathered, but still full of vitality. “What is it you seek in the Kingswood, and who are you to not recognise the Kingsguard?”


Steve hesitated, lowering his hammer slightly. The pale haired knight allowed his sword to fall back into its sheath with a shnk. “I am following my shield. It was stolen from me by Captain Bar Emmon, and it bears my symbol,” he said, tapping the white star on his chest. “I am not from these lands.”


The two knights exchanged a glance. “We are no thieves,” the elder knight said, repeating the words of his comrade. “Who do you serve?”


“I am Captain America,” Steve said. “I serve the people.”


The men Steve had toppled had gotten back to their feet and were looking belligerent, but hesitated at his words.


“If we invite you into our camp as our guest, do you give your word to behave as one?” the older knight asked.


The way the knight asked seemed to give the words weight, and Steve nodded slowly. “I will treat you as I am treated,” he said slowly.


The elder knight glanced at the younger, and received a nod in return. “Then be welcome in our camp,” he said, before turning his back and leading the short distance into the camp proper.


Steve followed, listening to the footsteps of the knight and soldiers as they followed in turn. None thought to take advantage of his turned back, and as they kept their distance a faint knot of tension in Steve’s gut eased. Maybe they were on the up and up.


The camp was in no way distinct from the hundreds that Steve himself had set up over the years. A few groups of tents clustered around a few campfires, even if some were larger and of better quality than others and bore symbols upon them. Add in Dugan swearing over a cooking pot or Morita fiddling with a damaged radio and he could be back in the War.


The knight he was following took a seat on a log by the fire, and gestured for Steve to join him. He did so across the fire from him, and they were soon joined by the other knight who sat to Steve’s right and his comrade’s left, while the soldiers loosely surrounded them, several paces back from the fire. Around them, the camp was waking, soldiers who had bedded down for the night stirred by the commotion of Steve’s arrival. Heads were poked out of tents, some returning to their rest when they saw peaceable discussion, others lingering to watch.


A third knight emerged from one of the more elaborate tents, his stride hurried. At his heel was a blond youth pulling a gauntlet strap tight with his teeth. They both stopped suddenly as they saw Steve sitting at the fire, the tension that came from anticipating an impending fight leaking from their stances.


“I am Ser Barristan Selmy, Knight of the Kingsguard of His Grace King Aerys of House Targaryen, the Second of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Captain of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm,” he rattled off. “This is Captain Sumner Crakehall his squire, Jaime Lannister. You have already met Ser Arthur Dayne, my fellow Kingsguard, Sword of the Morning, and leader of this expedition.”


Crakehall took a seat to Steve’s left, across from Dayne, while the boy Jaime stood at his shoulder. Crakehall looked to be only slightly older than Selmy, but lacked the vitality that the other man possessed.


“I am Captain America, of the United … Kingdoms of America,” Steve said, stumbling when he realised he didn’t know the Westerosi word for ‘state’.


“Hail and well met, Captain America,” Dayne said. “Where are your United Kingdoms? I have never heard of such lands.”


“Over the sea and far away,” Steve answered. “Westeros does not appear on any of our maps, and America would not appear on any of yours.”


“What brings you to our shores?” Selmy asked.


“Chance,” Steve said. “There was...a battle, and I washed up near Sharp Point some weeks ago.” With each question and answer, the wariness of both parties was lessening, and hands were allowed to leave weapon hilts.


“And what brings you to our camp, armed and clad in strange armour?” Crakehall asked. Green eyes gazed upon him, suggesting that even if his strength was deserting him, his wit was not. “Even if you did not attempt to mask your approach.”


“When I washed ashore, I was very weak,” Steve said. “As I was nursed back to health, Bar Emmon decided that he was entitled to my shield. It is important to me. To America. He sent a party of men to deliver it to your King. I was told that you were those men.”


The three knights exchanged glances, and Crakehall failed to hide a grimace. “We saw a party of men under the swordfish banner this morn, before lunch, but did not make ourselves known to them.”


“Then they are less than a day ahead,” Steve said, eyes narrowed in consideration.


“Who told you that we were those who you sought?” Dayne asked.


“I met two men on the road,” Steve said. “A large man with a fighting hammer called Ben, and a thin man with a scratchy beard and a bow called Ul.”


“Big Belly Ben and Ulmer,” Selmy said, stroking his beard.


Crakehall spat into the fire at Ben’s name. “We’re closer than we thought then.”


“You know them?” Steve asked.


“They are two of the men we seek,” Dayne said. “They belong to a group known as the Kingswood Brotherhood who have been abducting nobles for ransom and robbing merchants. The King dispatched us here to bring them to justice.”


“Do they have reason to hate nobles?” Steve asked.


“Their leader, Simon Toyne, is of a disgraced House,” Crakehall said. “Regardless of the causes of their fall, Simon at least has proven unworthy of nobility, as it were.”


Pursed lips and furrowed brows were the only response from Selmy and Dayne, something holding their tongues.


“As for the rest, they make sport of the nobles they capture. My other squire was captured in a skirmish, and when I ransomed him, they had burned a brand into his arse,” Crakehall continued, a scowl on his face. “And that’s before you consider the acts of their ‘Smiling Knight’. Do not doubt, they’ve earned their sentence.”


“You have the bearing of a warrior, Captain America,” Dayne said, looking at him consideringly, “and these men tried to set you against us. Would you consider joining us as we hunt them?”


Steve raised an eyebrow. “My help with this Brotherhood in return for my shield?”


Dayne looked uncomfortable. “I cannot speak for the King, but I would not think to hold it over your head.”


“If your shield bears your sigil as you say, I will speak on your behalf,” Selmy added.


“You’re a Captain in a strange land,” Crakehall added. “It won’t hurt you to gain favour with the King.”


Steve rubbed his jaw, considering the offer. Joining them would ensure that his shield would reach the King before he could intercept it, leaving it out of reach of easy retrieval, but it would also increase his chances of simply having it returned to him, rather than having to take it by force. “I’ll join with you,” he said. He reached over to Dayne, offering him his hand.


Bemusedly, Dayne grasped the offered hand, and Steve shook it firmly.


“We were starting to run low on supplies anyway,” Steve said. He unclipped his chin strap and doffed him helm, freeing his hair to the night air. There was a brief pause as those watching took in his appearance.


“‘We’?” Crakehall asked.


“My friend,” Steve said. “You fellas mind if I call her in?”


“By all means,” Dayne said.


Steve pursed his lips and let out a whistle of birdsong, high and long.


“Rider approaching camp,” a sentry called from the trees.


Several long moments later, the slow trot of hoofbeats could be heard from the trees, and Naerys emerged from the darkness atop the horse. She approached cautiously, dismounting only when she saw Steve sitting by the fire.


“Naerys,” Steve said, gesturing for her to sit by him. A soldier took the reins of the horse as she did so. “This is Arthur Dayne, Barristan Selmy, Sumner Crakehall and his squire Jaime Lannister.”


Naerys, who had almost taken a seat on the log beside Steve, jolted back to her feet and attempted a curtsey in her trousers, before settling for a bow. “Honoured, Captains,” she stammered.


“This is Naerys Waters,” Steve continued. “She nursed me back to health after I arrived and taught me your language.”


The boy, Jaime, was grinning about something, while Crakehall looked like he had smelt something unpleasant. The two Kingsguard both inclined their heads in greeting.


“You must hold her in high regard,” Selmy said.


“I owe her a debt, and she can’t return to her home because of my actions,” Steve said.


“Her home...at Sharp Point?” Selmy asked.


“I may have been less than polite when I met Bar Emmon,” Steve admitted.


“There were no deaths, I hope,” Crakehall said with a frown.


“No,” Steve said. “Killing is not my first resort.”


“Captain Bar Emmon is my cousin,” Naerys said, interjecting quietly. “He stole what was rightfully Captain America’s and sought to marry me to a merchant against my will.”


“Then with your aid here, there should be nothing to forgive for any disagreements,” Dayne said. “Have you eaten this eve?”


“Just a light snack before approaching your camp,” Steve said.


“Tobin!” Dayne called, and a man without armour approached the fire. “A meal for our guests, and have a tent prepared for them.”


“Aye ser,” Tobin said, ducking away to do so.


“I will show him our bedrolls,” Naerys said, rising to follow him. With another curtsey bow, she left Steve alone.


“With all that sorted,” Crakehall said, “it’s time to get me back out of this armour and into bed. Come, squire.” The knight rose and headed for his tent, already tugging at a strap to his armour. Jaime followed in his wake.


“We plan to move at first light tomorrow,” Selmy said. “We believe we know where the Brotherhood’s camp is.”


Steve nodded. “I’m no stranger to early rises.”


“Most importantly,” Dayne said. “I need to know that you can follow orders. On the battlefield there is little time for rank.”


“I understand,” Steve said. “I’m a soldier. I can follow orders.” ‘Well,’ he thought, ‘when they’re worth following, anyway.’


“Good,” Dayne said. “Then I shall retire for the evening, if you are satisfied with our arrangement.”


“I’m happy, but I think I’ll sit by the fire a while,” Steve said, looking to the still smouldering embers.


A look passed between the two knights, and then Dayne was departing, heading for his tent.


“It must be something of a shock, I wager,” Selmy said. “Finding yourself in a land so far from home.”


“Far from home is one way to put it,” Steve said, eyeing the old knight. Something about the man reminded him of Colonel Phillips.


“It must be quite strange,” Selmy said. “It’s clear your home has very different ways of doing things.”


“How so?” Steve asked.


“You introduced four men of noble birth to a bastard born girl,” Selmy said without rancor, “rather than the reverse. There are some who would take great offence to such things.”


Steve let out a great breath. “I’ve never much been one for doing things ‘the right way’, even back home.”


“Strange to see in a Captain of a realm,” Selmy said.


“Just means not many can call me out on it,” Steve said with a grin.


Selmy chuckled. “The privilege of rank. But should you find yourself at court, you may be better served to err on the side of courtesy.”


“What is the King’s court like?” Steve asked. Naerys had told him the basics of the Kingdoms, but a man like Selmy would know more about the richer end of town.


“It is much like any court, I suppose,” Selmy said after a short pause. “The courtiers jockey with each other for position and influence, the nobles petition the King, and the servants carry out their tasks.”


“I can imagine,” he said, thinking to the few times he had seen Tony or Pepper at work, meeting with subordinates or competitors. “What about your King? What is he like?”


The knight hesitated longer this time. “The King is the King,” he said. “It is not my place to discuss or lay judgement upon him.”


“I see,” Steve said. He ran a hand through his hair. After weeks on the road, it was not as groomed as it once was, with only a knife to trim or shave. “What about the Kingdoms?” He bit his tongue before offering up word of Earth in exchange. Thanos wasn’t a topic easily broached when you were trying to coax information on the local political situation out of a stranger.


“The Kingdoms are the Kingdoms,” Selmy said, more easily this time. “The Dornish are prickly, the North standoffish, gold flows from the Westerlands...there have been betrothals announced, between names you will not recognise, gossips and feuds...we are in a time as unremarkable as any other, and if the Seven are willing, it will stay that way.”


“You sound happy to live in uninteresting times,” Steve said.


“Uninteresting is safe,” Selmy said. “Uninteresting means no one is kidnapping the king, and disputes over borders are kept to quill and parchment. Young knights hate it of course.” He shared a grin with Steve as the fire sparked and cracked. “But there is a grand tourney to be held at the castle of Harrenhal within the year, and it shall be a tourney for the ages. The prize purses are said to be magnificent.”


“Prize purses,” Steve said.


“Yes, I thought that might gain your interest,” Selmy said.


“Washing ashore with nothing but my arms and armour has a way of bringing money to mind,” Steve said dryly. “What would I need to compete?”


“So long as you are not an outlaw or otherwise feuding with the host, you would be welcome,” Selmy said. “You do not even need to be a knight. There may be an entry fee, and Captain Whent may choose to restrict the joust, but the meanest hedge knight to the greatest Kingsguard will seek to be there.”


“Sounds like quite the event,” Steve said.


“Victory in even a minor event would likely be enough to secure your way home,” Selmy suggested.


Steve sighed. “Maybe,” he said.


The manservant that Dayne had dispatched earlier returned. “Sers, a tent has been prepared for the Captain America, and the...Lady Waters had us arrange a dividing cloth for it.” He trailed off at the end, voice almost questioning.


“Thank you,” Steve said politely. An amused glint crossed Selmy’s eyes.


“Food has also been set aside for you, and the cook’s boy will wait on you,” Tobin said, before bowing and stepping away.


“I shall take my leave as well,” Selmy said, rising to his feet. “We have an early start, and I am not the young man I once was.”


“Good evening, Sir Selmy,” Steve said.


“Captain America,” the knight said, inclining his head. He made his way to his own tent, being met halfway by the boy Jaime.


Steve stared into the fire for several long minutes, considering his new situation. Letting his shield slip further from his reach didn’t sit right in his gut, but he didn’t like his chances of getting it back peaceably either. An introduction to this King Aerys from the man’s own personal guards would hopefully see the man well disposed to him, especially if Bar Emmon had sent word about their little disagreement.


As for the Brotherhood...from what Naerys had told him, they were just bullies with a grudge to grind, and he knew how to deal with bullies. He rose, heading for the tent that had been set up for them. Dinner and bed was sounding pretty good right now.


X x X


The next morning saw Steve and Naerys sharing a warm breakfast of porridge and ham as the camp bustled quietly around them, the first rays of dawn drifting through the trees. His armour he had already donned, save for his helm and gloves. He scratched at his beard; as soon as he came into some money he could have to see about a straight razor. A beard was just a nuisance with his chin strap.


He could see the knights finishing their own breakfasts, but they had yet to put on more than the padding for their armour, save the kid who had on some chainmail. He didn’t envy them; his armour was light as a feather and definitely stronger besides. He’d take something Tony cooked up in his workshop over anything some blacksmith could make any day.


He frowned at the thought of Tony. Ending up in this strange land was better than dying, which he had half expected when he and Thor stepped in to stop Tony from definitely killing himself by jumping on that grenade. He could only trust that if he had survived, so had they.


“You shouldn’t look so worried,” Naerys said, breaking his reverie. “I’ve seen what you can do, and I don’t think anyone can match you.”


“Hmm? No,” Steve said. “Just thinking about my friends.”


“My father always told me to stay in the moment,” Naerys said, gaze far away. “Worry about what you can change, accept what you cannot.”


“Sounds like a wise man,” Steve said. “You’ll be ok staying here?”


Apparently, the plan was to leave the servants and camp followers here with enough soldiers to protect them, while the knights and the rest of the soldiers brought battle to the Brotherhood in their camp, finally discovered after months of searching and winning over the people who lived in the forest.


“I’d be a sight out of place riding to battle with you,” Naerys said. “Are women not kept away from the fighting in your lands?”


“Some of the most dangerous people I’ve ever met were women,” Steve said, finishing the last of his porridge. He smirked a little, remembering the first time he had ever held his shield and Peggy had shot at him. “I know better than to underestimate them.”


Naerys stared into her porridge. “Would you teach me to fight?”


“Sure,” Steve said, making Naerys start. “We can make a start tonight. I’ll show you the basics.”


Naerys gaped at him for a moment, before closing her jaw.


“Have you ever been to King’s Landing?” Steve asked.


“This is my first time past Castle Wendwater,” Naerys said.


“Do you think you could speak with the servants, get an idea of the city? I’d rather not go in blind,” Steve said, getting to his feet and pulling on his gloves, helm tucked under one arm.


“I can do that,” Naerys said, nodding. “Be careful, Steve.”


“I’m always careful,” he said, and then he was leaving, heading for his horse.


Naerys shook her head. As if she hadn’t seen him manhandle a noble in his own castle, and then walk out like he ruled the place.

X


Within half an hour, the knights were mounted and leading the sortie out into the woods, some twenty men marching at their backs. The soldiers all bore the same dull curaisses Steve had seen on the sentries last night, under which they wore a red and black doublet. Arthur Dayne led them, with Captain Crakehall at his side and Jaime Lannister behind them. Unlike the Kingsguard in their simple gleaming steel and white cloaks, Crakehall wore fine embossed armour and a brown cloak bearing a brindled boar, but was overshadowed by his squire’s shining golden armour and cloak of crimson and gold. Steve found himself behind the kid who looked more like a prince than a squire, riding beside Barristan Selmy on the horse he had appropriated from Bar Emmon.


Selmy watched him with a keen eye as they set out at a steady pace, fast enough to eat up the miles but not so quick as to exhaust the men marching behind them. “You are not an experienced rider,” he said, starting a quiet conversation after they had left the camp behind them.


“No,” Steve said. “I never had need to learn how.”


“Truly?” Selmy asked, an eyebrow rising in surprise. “Your realm has no cavalry tradition?”


“Our fights are...different,” he decided upon. Explaining modern warfare to a society of swords and shields was tricky. “For a long time, we didn’t need to deploy anything like our entire army, and our battles were fought on foreign lands.” He wasn’t going to even attempt to explain the difference between a war and a ‘policing action’, let alone the ethics of some of the things America had gotten into while he had been in the ice. “Then it became an era of champions, with single fights deciding everything.”


“And you were the greatest of them, to be named Captain America,” Selmy said, with an air or realisation.


Steve barked a short laugh. “No, I might have led them, but I was not the greatest. We were all great in our own ways…” he trailed off, thinking of a hundred different moments in battle and in peace with the men and women how made up the Avengers.


Selmy watched him, regarding him like a puzzle. “I saw the way you seized that sentry last eve and threw him,” he said. “That is a rare strength.”


“Don’t worry, I’ve had my ass kicked plenty of times,” Steve said with a smirk.


“Tales to share as we toast to our victory tonight, perhaps,” Selmy said.


“I’ll share mine if you share yours,” Steve said.


“Ha!” Selmy said, causing Lannister to glance back over his shoulder at the unexpected noise. “No one has ever asked me for my defeats, only my triumphs.”


“I mean, if they’re too embarrassing to share…”


A startled snort escaped the older knight, and Steve relaxed as he fell into a familiar pattern of banter with a fellow soldier as they travelled. The kid in front of them did his best to listen in without being obvious about it, as they exchanged tales of daring rescues of kings and soldiers, and past campaigns.


It was less than an hour later that Dayne called a halt to allow the men to gather their strength before the final approach to the Brotherhood camp. Steve joined the knights in dismounting to stretch their legs out as the soldiers rested, while a few kept watch under the kid’s direction. Dayne began discussing something with a sergeant of the men.


“Do you expect they’ll attack the camp while we’re gone?” Steve asked Selmy. “It was two of them who pointed it out to me.”


“I don’t expect they will,” Selmy said, stroking his beard. “For all they are outlaws and brigands, Simon Toyne still holds to the trappings of nobility, and for all his derangement, the Smiling Knight has a twisted sense of chivalry, and the rest will not go against them. Should they attack, there are men enough to force them back, but I think they will give battle to us.”


“How does a noble end up leading an outlaw gang kidnapping nobles?” Steve asked.


Selmy considered his answer for a moment. “His ancestors were ill treated by a past King. They also broke their oaths and brough great dishonour upon themselves in their attempt to redress their ill treatment.”


“And this Smiling Knight? What’s his story?” Steve asked. If life in the 21st century had taught him anything, it was always to be wary when folk ended up with a Name.


“No one knows for sure,” Selmy said. “The man has introduced himself as a member of half a dozen different Houses, with a different tale for each one.”


Their conversation was interrupted as Dayne approached them, finished with his discussion. “Captain America,” he said, “Ser Barristan has told you of Toyne and the Smiling Knight, and you have met Ulmer and Big Belly Ben, but there are three other members that must be brought to justice - they are Fletcher Dick, an aged man of great skill with the bow, Oswyn Long Neck the Thrice-Hanged, and Wenda the White Fawn. All are dangerous, and all have earned the rope if they survive the battle. There are some one score and ten more, but they are less infamous.”


“What are their crimes?” Steve asked.


“Breaking the King’s Peace, murder, rape,” Dayne said, face grim. “They have branded every noble who has been ransomed from them.”


This wasn’t America, this wasn’t even Earth. They had their own way of doing things here. Still, it might be the way things were done here, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Everyone deserved their day in court, even if only to give their victims closure. Executing someone, peasant or noble, without a trial was not just.


“I see,” Steve said, keeping his thoughts to himself. Now was not the time to voice them.


“We shall approach and envelop their camp, with we knights leading the charge. I shall have the centre, Ser Selmy the right, and Ser Crakehall and his squire the left,” Dayne said. “I do not know how you fight, so I will ask you to join Barristan on the right. Is this acceptable?”


A simple plan for a simple goal. Steve considered it in an instant before nodding. He hefted the hammer he had carried since Sharp Point, the weight of its crude metal head an afterthought.


The remainder of the break was spent giving orders and checking armour, the black humour of soldiers the world over being exchanged between men. Then the time came, and they reformed to make the final push towards the camp of the Kingswood Brotherhood. The familiar anticipation of a fight set his pulse to beating, offset this time by a curious sense of carefree looseness. He had no need to worry about a sniper hidden too far away for him to hear, no risk of someone with strange abilities appearing on the field to offer a new threat. He pondered as they rode, thinking of the battle to come. No simple outlaw could offer a real threat to him, and he would bet dollars to doughnuts that none amongst them could approach Nat or Clint for skill. Could he raise his hand against them when they were basically kids playing at war when compared to him?


His horse whickered, as if sensing his unease. He wasn’t going to go easy against someone fixing to put a sword through his stomach, he decided, but he wouldn’t go out of his way to kill either. Meeting them blow for blow was about as fair as he could get.


Ahead, the trees came to an end before an open field of tall grass. Dayne raised a gauntlet, calling for a sudden stop, and the column halted. Instinct, honed across countless battlefields, warned Steve of danger.


“We can’t linger here,” Steve said, eyes scanning the field. The grass rolled like the ocean, serene and uncaring. He glanced at Selmy; the older man had one hand on his sword hilt and was also scanning the field.


“There are three other approaches we could have taken to their camp,” Selmy said quietly. Despite his words, he didn’t relax.


Steve nudged his horse forward, coming up beside Dayne and Crakehall. “The longer we wait, the more likely they spring their ambush,” he said. “They’ll have archers in the far treeline--”


There was a twang, almost too soft for Steve to hear it, and a blur too fast to be seen clearly. Steve’s hand snapped out and seized the arrow from the air, inches from his throat.


There was a pause, and Steve could feel the eyes of the knights on him. “Never though party tricks with Clint would come in so handy,” he said to himself. His eyes narrowed as he stared across the field. He could see a man in mottled greens and browns perched in a tree, and he was stringing another arrow to his bow.

Holding the arrow out to his side like a dart, Steve flicked it back towards the archer. Had the man been half as far away, it might have come close, but as it was, it just disappeared into the sea of grass.


“Well, it was worth a shot,” Steve said. He glanced at his hammer for a moment, consideringly. Nah.


“Shields!” Dayne bellowed, waving the soldiers forward. As they streamed forward to form a wall, he swung clear of his horse. “Dismount! That’s Fletcher in the treeline. Ulmer and Wenda won’t be far.”


As he spoke, another arrow buzzed out to take a soldier in the shoulder, finding the gap between their still forming shield wall. The man grunted in pain, and struggled to keep his shield in place.


Dayne surged forward to take the weight. “Back you get Adamm, take the horses back into the cover of the trees.” The man obeyed, stepping out with a grimace.


The shield wall came together, two lines of ten men. Those in front held their shields forward, while those behind held them above. Steve dismounted and handed his reins to Adamm, taking cover behind the wall. He heard a thunk as an arrow buried itself in a shield.


“They want us to charge to come to grips, pick us off as we go and then swarm us as we get there,” Dayne called. “When I give the command, we advance at speed and give the whoresons what for.” Another arrow found a gap in the shield wall, but missed the soldiers and almost gave the Lannister kid a haircut. Dayne watched as Adamm got to cover with the horses. “Forward!”


The shield wall began to advance at a jog, the four of them who weren’t a part of it right behind it. Selmy was calm and collected, sword still in its sheath, while Lannister had a reckless grin on his face, his eyes bright with battle hunger. Steve couldn’t see Crakehall at the opposite end of the wall. They were already a quarter way across the field.


Something caught Steve’s attention at the corner of his eye; movement in the grass that didn’t flow with the wind. He looked, but there was nothing.


“I saw movement to the side, I’m on it,” Steve told Selmy, and he turned, picking up his pace.


“America, hold -” Selmy began.


Steve was gone, shedding the slow pace of their advance to something approaching an actual jog. For him, anyway. Another arrow buzzed towards him, but he parried it casually with his free arm. Armour designed by Tony Stark to block bullets deflected an arrow without a scratch, and then he was at the point he had seen something.


A dirty bandit in dirtier leathers stared up at him from where he was hidden beneath the surface of the grass, blinking in surprise. Steve’s eyes narrowed.


“Krauts in the grass!” Steve shouted as he punched the man, already turning as the man went limp. “They’re hiding in the grass!”


Two arrows shot towards him this time, one heading directly for the unprotected portion of his face. That one he caught, ignoring the other that bounced off his shoulder. Those archers were starting to piss him off.


A horn blast echoed from the treeline they were charging towards, and a dozen odd men rose from the tall grass, all of them on the soft side of the shield wall. From the trees, another dozen or so emerged, advancing in a crescent line to envelop the shield wall. In their centre was the man Steve had arm wrestled, Big Belly Ben, and next to him was a man in well worn plate armour with a brown beard and a crooked ruddy nose. He would bet that man was Simon Toyne. There were at least two archers in the treeline, which meant there was one yet to be found, as well as Oswyn Longneck and the Smiling Knight.


“Hold!” Dayne shouted. “Arrow!”


The shield wall halted, and folded at the middle, forming a triangle with shields on the two sides facing the trees with the knights making up the other side.


The men who were hidden in the grass were the immediate threat If they managed to overwhelm the three knights and the squire guarding the rear of the shield wall, the formation would be broken and they’d be picked off by the archers. Steve broke into a run, heading directly for a man wearing a red scarf around his neck. A shouted warning from another bandit got the man to turn to meet him, but by that time Steve was already upon him.


What Steve did wasn’t a body check, or a collision. It was simpler to say that Steve had somewhere to be, and this man had the misfortune to be in the way. He was on the ground before he realised what had happened, all sense knocked from him. Steve bent down to grasp him by his arm and leg, and the man’s scarf came loose to reveal rope scars. This must be the Thrice-Hanged.


Hoisting the man as he spun, Steve hurled him into another outlaw, ignoring yet another arrow that bounced off the back of his helmet. There was a clash of metal on metal as the first of the bandits reached Selmy, Crakehall and Lannister, only to find themselves outmatched. Steve turned to the next closest man, with a mind to repeat the process. At this point, he wasn’t sure why he bothered carrying the hammer.


Three more men fell to similar tactics, those who could still stand staggering drunkenly as they attempted to fight on. Steve nudged one of them as they fell in his general direction.


“Do yourself a favour and stay down,” he said. He ignored the voice in his head that sounded like Bucky laughing derisively at him. The ones who had tried their luck against the knights had fared less well, their lifeblood wetting the earth where they fell.


The sound of a splintering shield drew his attention, and he saw one side of the shield wall begin to collapse in on itself. Big Belly Ben was hammering away with his war hammer, breaking the line for his fellows. A soldier screamed, short and sharp, as an arrow sprouted from his eye, before dropping.


“Down shields, draw swords! FOR THE KING AND THE KINGDOMS!” Dayne bellowed, before doing so himself. His sword gleamed white as he drew it, lunging forward to pierce Ben in the gut. He was intercepted by Toyne, and their swords rang as their duel began.


The formation was as good as gone as all dissolved into a melee, and Steve swayed to let yet another arrow bounce off his shoulder rather than hit him in the teeth.


Those archers were turning into a real gosh darned nuisance. He needed to do something about them.


“Dealing with the archers,” Steve called to Selmy as he jogged past. He kicked a man who tried to stop him in the chest and the man collapsed, wheezing weakly.


Selmy spared him a glance and a nod as he fended off three men with ease, he and Crakehall keeping the kid between them. For all they were protecting him, the red on his blade said he could look after himself.


Steve broke into a sprint towards the trees, rapidly leaving the fight behind. He sidestepped an arrow, then another, while parrying the arrow that had expected the dodge with his arm. Then he was at the trees, one last arrow hitting the star on his chest uselessly. He didn’t bother attacking the man directly, Fletcher Dick by the descriptions, but instead used his hammer for the first time to shatter the branch the man rested on. The man dropped, landing awkwardly with a curse and a yelp of pain. Now, to find the other one.


A bowstring twanged, and he covered his face instinctively, blocking another arrow. “Starting to get real tired of this nonsense,” he said, peering over his arm in search of the other archer.


“Who the hell are you,” a voice, a woman’s, came from the trees. She was attempting to throw her voice, but Steve had been tricked by better.


“I’m Captain America,” he said. “You can call me Steve.” At his feet, Fletcher groaned, trying to nock an arrow as he lay flat on the ground. Steve stepped on his bow, pinning it to him. “Son, just don’t.”


“‘Son’?” Fletcher said. “I could be your grandaddy boy.” He pulled a knife and tried to stab Steve in the back of the knee, only for it to skitter aside. “What in the Seven Hells is this armour,” he complained.


Steve ignored his attempted distraction and listened as the woman he suspected to be Wenda the White Fawn stepped lightly across the tree branches, angling for a better shot at him. “How about we make this easier on the both of us,” he said, “and you just surrender.”


“Sure, I’ll surrender,” Wenda said, a sneer in her voice. “Surrender so they can hang me or cut my head off for doing no worse than nobles do to others.” Her bowstring twanged and Steve was forced to block another arrow with his arm.


“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you started killing people,” Steve said.


“I’ve never killed no one who didn’t deserve it,” Wenda said, finally stepping into sight around a tree trunk. Her skin was fair, and her blonde hair was cropped short around her ears. “And them that got my brand earned it.”


“Have you ever considered talking through your differences?” Steve asked, hefting his hammer. Maybe he could throw it; he might be lucky enough to clip her.


“You’re not from round here, are you Steve?” Wenda asked, putting another arrow to her bow.


“What gave it away?” Steve said.


“You ain’t looking at me like you’re deciding how to fuck me once you bring me down,” she said, voice mocking.


A look of distaste crossed Steve’s face.


Wenda laughed at him. “Yeah, you’re not a normal noble. Probably woulda just let you go for the ransom.” She drew her bow once more, but this time she wasn’t aiming at Steve, she was aiming at the fight in the field. “I might not be able to hit you, but I can sure as hells hit one of that lot in the field. So here’s the deal. You let me and Fletcher go, and maybe I’m too busy dragging his ol’ carcass away to worry about how the fight is going.”


Steve hesitated, considering.


“Oh look, the Smiling Bastard has popped up too. Hope he doesn’t skewer too many of them,” Wenda said. Her voice was taunting, but Steve could see the fear in her eyes, and it wasn’t all reserved for him.


“I’ll step away from Fletcher, and you drop your bow and quiver,” Steve said. “Then, you get him on his feet and walk away.”


“So you can take me down easy?” Wenda said. “Not likely.”


“I give you my word that I will let you go,” Steve said, looking her dead in the eye.


Wenda grit her teeth, eyes darting between Fletcher and Steve. “Fuck. Fuck! Fine,” she said.” She tossed her bow towards him, and then her quiver, what arrows were left rattling in it. “Happy?”


“Yep,” Steve said. He took his foot off Fletcher, letting the man scramble back, bow left behind. “Don’t let me catch you doing this again.”


“Like my old fucking maester,” Wenda said, groaning. She dropped from her perch and darted forward to help Fletcher to his feet.


Steve gathered up the bows and quiver in one hand, watching the two outlaws as they limped away. Maybe he could’ve brought them both in, but something about it didn’t sit right with him. Maybe he was just too used to going after the bad guys he knew deserved it, and not the ones he was told were bad. He shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to get lost in his head. There was still a fight to win.


A pained shout drew his attention back to the battle. Whatever order had existed was gone, devolving into chaos. Soldiers and bandits struggled with each other in the dirt, a dozen small fights instead of one large one. Dayne was fighting Toyne and Ben at the same time, the slight edge he seemed to have over Toyne negated by the pressure of Ben’s warhammer, while Toyne stopped his ally from simply being skewered. Selmy and Lannister were fighting what could only be the Smiling Knight, a furious din of metal on metal ringing about them. The kid stood over his knight master, who lay in the dirt with an arrow sticking from his armpit. Two outlaws stood with the Knight, forcing his foes to stay near their fallen comrade. Off to the side, Ulmer stood, loosing arrows steadily to remove soldiers from the fight. If he was allowed to continue the Kingsguard knights would be buried by numbers.


Steve discarded his hammer and Wenda’s bow. He strung an arrow to Fletcher’s bow, testing the draw. It felt more like a child’s toy against his strength than a real weapon, but he could still feel the tension in it. He had used a bow all of once before, one afternoon in New York horsing around with Tony and Clint. Time to see what he remembered. He started advancing towards the fight.


His first shot missed Ulmer by about a foot, but it certainly alarmed the man. The bowman shifted his attention from Dayne and returned fire, hitting Steve right in the heart. The arrow was ignored as it bounced off his armour, little more than a punch in the chest. Steve’s next shot was much closer, carving a line across Ulmer’s cheek and tearing off his left earlobe. The bandit cursed and dove out of sight, under the cover provided by the grass. From the movement of it, he was scrambling to put the bulk of the fight between himself and Steve.


One final arrow was loosed into the grass, and then Steve would have to shoot through the fight if he wanted to continue harassing Ulmer. The knights were still stalemated against their foes, but it could not continue, and the soldiers and bandits were wearing each other down.


The fight was over, the men fighting just didn’t know it yet. The only question was how Steve chose to end it, and how many would fall before he did so.

There was something about the Smiling Knight that made Steve wary of him, made him pay attention to him even as he harried Ulmer. Something that said he was the most dangerous man on the field.


Aside from Steve himself, of course. He dropped the bow and the empty quiver and began to run, barehanded, at the man who bore a rictus of a grin upon his face as he duelled Selmy and Lannister at the same time. One of the bandits with him had collapsed after Selmy had scored a deep cut in his thigh, but the other still aided him. Steve closed the distance quickly, but the Knight saw him coming. Instead of continuing to rain blows upon his foes, he stepped back, putting his comrade between Steve and himself and leaving the man to face the two knights alone.


In the time it took to take a breath, the bandit’s throat and belly were cut open, and instead of barrelling into the Knight, Steve found his charge fouled by a corpse. He lashed out with a boot, sending the body flying into its treacherous leader. Whatever the Knight had expected or intended, it was not that, as he was almost bowled over by the force of the impact. Steve gave him no respite, following up with a flurry of kicks that had the Knight on the backfoot, almost falling backwards in his attempts to gain space.


“You’re not supposed to be here,” the Knight said. His voice was shockingly normal, coming from a face that once might have been handsome, but had become twisted and queer. “This isn’t your story.”


“Maybe, but I’m the one telling you how it’s going to go,” Steve said. “You can surrender, or I can kill you. Make your choice.”


The Knight spat, and bashed his sword into his shield with a clang. “You are no Ser. I will eat your heart.” He lunged, sword tip seeking the exposed skin of Steve’s throat.


Steve shifted slightly, pushing the blade off target with one arm. Rather than lodge in his neck, it sailed over his shoulder, and the Knight was off balance as Steve lashed out with his other arm, punching him in the throat.


The Smiling Knight made a horrific gurgling sound as he collapsed, trying to catch himself with his shield. His grin never left his face, and he seemed split between attempting to laugh and force out some final words.


Steve turned his back on the dying man. Whatever they were, he had no time for them.


Selmy and Lannister regarded him for a moment, Selmy with a raised eyebrow and Lannister a gaping jaw.


“Jaime, guard Sumner,” Selmy said. “America, with me.”


Steve nodded, and together they turned for the last leaders of the Brotherhood. The two on one fight had slowed somewhat, each man growing fatigued. Selmy advanced to support Dayne, Steve at his side, and the look in Toyne’s eye said he knew it was over.


“You think you’re on the side of the Seven, here?” the leader of the Brotherhood spat, sword flashing frantically.


Steve slapped aside a hammer blow aimed at Selmy’s shoulder, forcing Ben away from the fight and leaving Toyne to fight against one against two.


“You think you have any honour when you serve that swine--” Toyne’s words were cut off as Dayne’s sword found his neck and severed it from his body.


“No!” Ben roared, bringing his hammer high over his head for a crushing blow. The hunk of metal came down to squash Steve’s head like a grape.


Not quite casually, Steve caught the head of the hammer in the palm of his hand, stopping the blow cold. He lashed out, aiming for the jaw this time, and Big Belly Ben fell like a tumbling tree.


The fall of the last of their leaders was enough to break the spirit of the remaining bandits. They turned, one and all, and sought to flee. Some were cut down as they tried, and some managed to escape the immediate melee, but they likely wouldn’t get far.


The battle was over, and the Kingswood Brotherhood was done for.


Dayne let out a long, slow breath, bringing his breathing under control. “That could have gone better,” he said, looking to the soldiers, scattered amongst the fallen. Some were still as the grave, but others were clutching at wounds and groaning in pain.


“I have medical training,” Steve said. “We need to perform-” he cut himself off as he failed to find the word for ‘triage’ “-the worst wounded, find them and tell me, I will do what I can.”


Dayne didn’t hesitate. “Hubert! Captain America has healing experience, find who is the worst wounded.”


“Aye ser!” one of the soldiers said, before dropping his weapons and running for his nearest fallen comrade. Two of his fellows joined his search, seeing to different men.


“Uthor! Go and see to Adamm, bring the horses back. We shall ride down those who seek to flee,” Dayne continued.


Steve was tapped on the shoulder, and turned to find the kid doing his best not to look concerned. “Captain America, my knight master--”


“Call me Steve, kid,” Steve said. “Where is he?”


The kid faltered for a moment, but pressed on. “Over here. He took an arrow to his armpit midway through the battle, but I could not say how bad the wound is.”


“Let’s see him then,” Steve said, and was led to the fallen knight. The man lay on the ground, watched over by a soldier with a wound to his stomach that was bleeding sluggishly. The arrow was in his left armpit, having somehow found the gap in his plate armour as well as piercing the chainmail beneath. There was no blood dripping down his armour, but that wasn’t a surety. “Crakehall, can you feel any wetness inside your armour?”


“I’ve not pissed meself yet boy, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Crakehall said, grumping.


“Any warmth spreading down your side from the wound?” Steve asked. If he knew the man better, he might have given him some cheek about his age.


“No, nothing like that,” Crakehall said. “I’m just having a bit of bother catching my breath.”


“Might be a pierced lung,” Steve said, tone absent.


Lannister bowed his head, and Crakehall let out a sigh.


“Stranger take all cowardly bandit archers,” the man ground out. “Jaime, I’ll ask you to witness for me.”


“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, you’re not dead yet,” Steve said. “You can still talk and you’re not gasping for breath, so you might be fine. I’m not going to chance removing the arrow here though. Do you have a doctor at camp?”


“A what?” Crakehall asked.


“Someone who can heal and treat injuries,” Steve said.


“We’ve a sawbones and Torbin’s wife, who assisted a maester for a few years,” Lannister said.


“Better than nothing,” Steve said. “Do not move until we get a cart here to carry you, keep your breathing even and steady, and if we can get you out of your armour without aggravating the wound, that would be helpful.”


“I’m hardly going to go running off,” Crakehall said, scowling up at him, only to receive a smirk in return.


“Now for you, what’s your name son?” Steve asked the soldier with the stomach wound.


The soldier started at being addressed. “Jareth, Captain.”


“Did you eat any of that soup this morning?” Steve asked, eyeing the wound.


“Aye, Captain.”


“Call me Steve, easier than saying Captain all the time,” Steve said. He leaned in to sniff at the wound. “You’ll be fine. Staunch the bleeding with as clean a bit of cloth as you can find, and that will do until we get back to camp.”


“Thank you, Cap--Steve,” Jareth said, looking rather overwhelmed.


“Right, who’s next?” Steve asked, getting to his feet.


“This way Captain!” the call came from Hubert, waving him over.


“Aid him, Jaime,” Crakehall wheezed out. “A bit of healing knowledge will never hurt a knight to have.”


Lannister’s gaze, that had been considering Steve’s actions, shot to Crakehall’s face.


“Come on kid,” Steve said. “No rest for the wicked.” He was already striding to the next patient.


“If I am to call you Steve,” Lannister said, “you ought to call me Jaime.”


“Sure thing kid,” Steve said. He ignored the amusing flow of expressions that crossed Jaime’s face, crouching down beside Hubert to inspect the soldier. “Now this guy took a sword through his thigh, but he hasn’t died yet and the blood isn’t spurting out, so the artery is probably fine…”


Jaime nodded and did his best to absorb all he was told from the strangely garbed man who claimed to be a great champion from a foreign land. It would prove to be an educational afternoon.


X


Of the twenty men who had followed the knights into battle, the butcher’s bill came to be twelve wounded, three of who died of their injuries. Steve was strangely thankful that even had he had access to modern medical technology, they still would have died of their wounds. The soldiers who had pursued the fleeing bandits returned, swords bloody and spirits high. When they discovered how many of their friends had survived thanks to Steve’s aid, their spirits only increased. As he finished tying an empty sheath to a man’s broken leg, he stood and looked around. Jaime stood behind him, his golden armour more bloodied by the aftermath than the battle itself, while Selmy and Dayne were conferring quietly some distance away.


“Is that everyone?” Steve asked, raising his voice.


“Aye ser,” Hubert said. “We--”


“I could use some healin’!” a voice called.

Steve’s head swivelled towards the voice. It was familiar. “Stand and make yourself known!”


“Bit bloody hard with an arrow through me leg innit!”


Dayne gestured to two uninjured soldiers, and they advanced on the voice.


“Oi oi oi easy there you shits!”


Steve watched as Ulmer was lifted from where he had been hidden in the grass. An arrow could be seen, piercing the meat of his thigh, and he hopped along to keep his weight off it as he was dragged forward and dumped before Dayne.


“Ulmer,” Dayne said, drawing out the name. “I had wondered where you got to.”


“Did he say Ulmer?” Crakehall’s voice rose from where he lay. “Carry me to the pissant, I’m going to stab him.”


“Sorry about that, honestly,” Ulmer said, managing a grin despite the pain of his leg. “Smiler insisted on it. No hard feelings, aye?”


“Ulmer of the Kingswood Brotherhood,” Dayne said, talking over Crakehall’s infuriated shout. “You are charged with banditry, theft, abduction of the nobility for ransom, and of taking freedoms with the person of Princess Elia Martell. Do you have any last words?”


“Aye,” Ulmer said, straightening up as much as he could on one knee. “It was only a kiss, and I take the Black.”


Dayne frowned, and turned to speak to Selmy.


As they held a whispered conversation, Steve looked to Jaime. “What’s the ‘Black’ he wants to take?”


“Taking the Black is to renounce all other claims and responsibilities and join the Night’s Watch on the Wall, a structure that stretches across the North, from coast to coast,” Jaime said. “It was an honourable calling, once. Now it is filled with rapists and thieves too scared to die.”


“Can anyone escape punishment for their crimes like that?” Steve asked.


Jaime held back a snort. “From the tales one hears of the Wall, I would not say they escape punishment. Many men choose execution instead.”


“What about women?” Steve asked, thinking of Wenda.


An uncomfortable look crossed Jaime’s face. “Women...women are not permitted to join the Watch.”


Before Steve could ask further, Dayne turned back to Ulmer.


“Very well. You will join the Night’s Watch. Attempt to escape, and you will be killed.”


“Thankee great ser, thankee,” Ulmer said, giving a mocking bow as best he could. “Could someone help me with this arrow now?”



X x X


That night, tales are told and songs are sung, boasts are exchanged and ribbing is shared between friends. The men celebrate their victory and survival, as well as their share of the bounty found in the camp of the Kingswood Brotherhood. What had once been the ransom of nobles caught by the bandits would now go towards wine and women for the soldiers who had defeated them.


Beyond the coin and other valuables found in the camp, they were now host to a young woman and her chaperone, the Lady Jeyne Swann and what was as far as Steve could tell her personal nun. They were currently recovering from their ordeal, choosing not to be around a group of loud men despite being thankful for their rescue. From what Steve could gather, the worst they had suffered was rope burn from their bindings and perhaps fewer luxuries than they were accustomed to, and Naerys had chosen to eat with them.


A bonfire dominated the centre of the camp this eve, rather than a series of smaller ones, and most of the men surrounded it, feasting and drinking. Steve sat slightly further back, with Dayne, Selmy, and Jamie, talking quietly and discussing the events of the day.


“I must congratulate you on spotting the ambush within the ambush,” Dayne said to Steve. “Without that warning, we would have lost more men than we did.”


“I’ve been in a few ambushes in my time,” Steve said, “on both sides of the fight.”


“What makes you carry that hammer with you?” Jaime asked. He had a cup of wine in one hand, and his tongue was perhaps a bit freer than it would otherwise have been. “I don’t think I saw you use it once.”


“I needed a weapon, so I uh, borrowed it when we left Sharp Point,” Steve said.


“The Lannisters lost their weapon too you know,” Jaime said, speaking quicker than usual. “Did you lose your sword?”


“My shield is my weapon,” Steve said, catching the slight grins on the faces of the two knights as they watched Jaime. “Say, kid. Have you ever sold seashells by the sea shore?”


“Sheashells by shee sheashaw--” his face screwed up in disgust. “What?”


Steve grinned as Dayne allowed himself a chuckle.


“I did in fact see you use the hammer, America,” Selmy said, smiling at the joke. “That was a mighty blow you knocked that archer from the tree with. Who was it, and how did they escape you?”


“It was Fletcher Dick, and Wenda was there too,” Steve said. “I let them go, in the end.”


Smiles were fading now. “You let them go,” Dayne said. “Why is that?”


“I had Fletcher down, but Wenda had an arrow ready to loose at one of you. I didn’t like my chances of stopping her, so I prioritised keeping you all on the field over apprehending them. They promised to quit the battle if I let them go,” Steve said. He had made his choice, and he would not hide from it.


Glances were exchanged as brows furrowed. “It is true that had one of us fallen, the battle might not have gone so well,” Selmy allowed.


“There will be those who are not pleased that the White Fawn is still free,” Dayne said. “But the Brotherhood is destroyed nonetheless.”


Jaime was not so convinced. “But to retreat, she would have had to lose her shot. Why not take them then?”


"Ending the battle and saving lives was more important than capturing them,” Steve said. “I could have pursued them, but every moment I’m not helping end the fight, you and Selmy are fighting the Smiling Knight, and Dayne is going against Ben and Toyne, and Ulmer is picking off the men.” He nodded towards the celebration still going on as another song was picked up by the group. “When lives are in your charge, you protect them.”


“I see,” Jaime said, even as his tone disagreed with him.


Dayne glanced to Selmy, a questioning tilt to his head, and received a nod in return.


“You can ponder philosophy later,” Dayne said. “For now, come.” He got to his feet and stepped towards the fire.


Puzzled, Jaime rose and followed him, as the men quieted down as their leader stood before them.


“Men, we’ve done a great deed this day,” Dayne said, backlit by the flames. “Monsters have been slain, and noble and smallfolk alike have been made safe. But there is still yet one deed left to be done.”


Selmy took up Dayne’s pale sword from where he had left it, still sheathed, and tossed it towards him. Dayne caught it easily in one hand, and drew the blade free with a rasp.


“Kneel,” the knight said to the squire.


Jaime did not so much kneel as his legs fell out from under him in surprise.


“In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave,” Dayne began. His tone took on the cadence of well worn words, as he tapped his gleaming sword to Jaime’s right shoulder. “In the name of the Father I charge you to be just.” The camp was hushed, the only sound the crackling of the fire, as the sword was tapped to his other shoulder. “In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women.” Here Dayne paused, looking Jaime in the eye as if searching for something. After a long moment he nodded, and smiled. “Arise, Jaime Lannister of Casterly Rock, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”


Slowly, as if hardly daring to believe it real, Jaime rose to his feet. There was a moment more of silence, and then the men erupted with cheers.


From that point on, the celebration only grew. All those present knew they had been part of something that day, something that would be remembered in song for years to come. Dayne returned to Steve and Selmy to watch as Jaime embraced the cheers of the men, as well as the cups they pressed into his hands. The night wore on, and the enthusiasm the songs were sung with only increased, even if the quality suffered.


Steve watched with amused tolerance, remembering the ruckus his Howling Commandos had gotten up to in the war. Soon, they would reach the point where they insisted on drawing in what bystanders were not yet involved in their joy, and he meant to be in bed before then.


“Captain America! Steve!” Jaime shouted.


Oh no.


“We must have a song from you! From your homeland!” the kid shouted, well and truly drunk.


“He’d be delighted,” Selmy, the traitor, said, nudging him forward.


Steve was greeted with another cheer as he joined the ring around the fire, and a sea of expectant faces. He panicked, and began to sing the first song that sprang to his mind.


“Almost heaven, West Virginia

Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River

Life is old there, older than the trees

Younger than the mountains, growing like a breeze”


At least it wasn’t the song they’d written for his war bonds tour.


“Country roads, take me home

to the place I belong

West Virginia, Mountain Mama

Take me home, country roads...”


X x X


Steve may have let his shield slip further away, but he has participated in the destruction of the wicked Kingswood Brotherhood, and his actions have ensured the survival of those who might otherwise have perished. His defeat of the infamous 'Smiling Knight' will ensure his name goes down in song and is mentioned in the same breath as Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Barristan Selmy, and Ser Jaime Lannister for their contributions to the successful campaign. His actions have ensured a favourable introduction to His Grace King Aerys II, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, who must by now possess his shield. An otherwise chilly reception has been averted, as those who hear of his deeds with the Kingsguard will dismiss out of hand the words of Lord Bar Emmon as lies and calumny.


King's Landing lays over the horizon, and with it, the reclamation of his shield. It is yet to be seen if this reclamation will be as simple, or as peaceable, as might be hoped…

Chapter Text

Sunlight filtered through the trees of the Kingswood, the sound of men talking and joking with one another startling birds and deer alike as they marched. Apparently they neared the northern edge of the Kingswood, and from there it was but a few days to the capital.


As they rode for King’s Landing at an easy pace, Steve reflected on the last week. The contacts he had made would help him regain his shield without a fight, he hoped, and he could appreciate the friendship starting to build between himself and Barristan. The time spent aiding in the destruction of the Brotherhood wasn’t completely without gain either. Their camp had been raided, and their ill gotten gains seized. Much of it was coin gained through ransoming nobles, although there were also goods that had been stolen from merchants. Rather than wait for the goods to be sold, Dayne had offered him a lump sum from the coin, which Steve had happily accepted.


From the way Naerys’ eyes had bulged when she had seen it, he figured 100 gold dragons was a respectable amount. On top of the coin, the armour of the Smiling Knight was also declared to be his, as were the bows of Fletcher Dick and Wenda the White Fawn. He could decide whether to keep or sell them later, because the armour certainly didn’t fit him. He was considering having another crack at the bows though. With the shape his shield was in, he didn’t have an easy way of picking off enemies at a distance.


Naerys had also passed on what she had learned from the servants and men at arms, telling Steve of things like the Street of Steel, which parts of the city to avoid, whose brother’s wife’s father could give them a good deal on basic goods, and other such like. It wasn’t information that was hard to come by, but it was invaluable for someone approaching the city blind.


When given the chance, Steve found himself spending time talking with Barristan, who had told him to use his first name and taken to discussing the state of the Kingdoms with him, telling him of rivalries current and past, friendly and less so. His tales of slaying Maelys the Monstrous, and sneaking into a tournament at the tender age of ten were answered with Steve’s fight against the Red Skull, and of trying (and failing) to lie his way past army recruiters. They even roped Dayne into it once, who told of the time he had been caught trying to lift his famous sword Dawn before he had any right to it.


On the days they stopped and made camp before night fell, Steve took advantage of the afternoon light to practise with the bows he had claimed from the Brotherhood. Of the two, Fletcher Dick’s bow served him best, and over the course of the week, he had taught himself the basics of using it. He wouldn’t be taking an apple off anyone’s head, let alone any of the nonsense Clint had been able to pull, but if he had to take out a still target, he wouldn’t miss the first two shots again.


Of an evening, Steve had taken to showing Naerys the basics of how to defend herself. In most cases it was truly the basics - how to stand, how to breathe, how to fall - but found she had already been taught how to throw a punch.


“Garret showed me how,” Naerys told him as they took a break a few nights into the lessons. “One of the butcher’s boys got a bit handsy, and he gave me a few lessons.”


“Well, it’s a solid punch,” Steve said. “Straightforward. But you don’t want to get into a slugfest with a man in armour.”


“And how would she fight a man in armour, Steve?” Jaime Lannister interjected from where he watched nearby, lounging across the back of a cart. He had taken to using Steve’s given name at every opportunity, while insisting Steve do the same in return. Steve had a feeling someone was having a joke played on them, but he couldn’t quite figure out who.


“At range, with a crossbow,” Steve said dryly. “But if that isn’t an option, like this.” He gestured towards the soldier, brother to a man whose life Steve had likely saved after the battle, who was helping him demonstrate. “Attack me.”


The long suffering soldier ran at him, already swinging, but Steve seemed to brush him aside and tumble him over his hip with little effort. The man fell onto the hard packed dirt with a thump.


“You right there?” Steve asked.


“Aye, Captain Steve,” he groaned.


“Did you see what I did?” Steve asked Naerys.


“I think so?” she asked. “It was much too fast to see properly.”


“That’s why we’ll be running you through it at a slow pace,” Steve said. “It’s from a type of fighting that focuses on using your enemy’s movement and momentum against them. One of my comrades taught me how to do it.”


“This comrade, was he a bare handed fighter?” Jaime asked, looking slightly interested.


Steve grinned. “She could have killed every single person in the camp if she had to.”


“Really,” Jaime said, drawing it out.


“She was a champion, same as I was,” Steve said. His conversation with Barristan had done the rounds, and it was now well known that he was part of a team of champions responsible for defending his home against the champions of other kingdoms. “We could both do a lot that the other couldn’t, but if she was my enemy, I’d be worried.” He looked Jaime over, inspecting him. The boy watched his training sessions with Naerys more often than not.



“Do you want to join us?” Steve asked. The kid looked interested, and he already had martial training, but Steve figured he could teach him a few new tricks.


“What did you have in mind?” Jaime asked, somewhat guardedly.


“Some unarmed blocks, a hold, a way to break the arm of a man in armour if you’ve been disarmed,” Steve said. In the days after Siberia, he’d thought up all manner of ways he could stand against the Iron Man armour when he feared he might have to fight Tony again, but they should work well enough on a man in medieval armour too. “I know you’ve got your own training, and I don’t know much about swinging a sword, but I figure it can’t hurt you to learn.”


Slowly, Jaime Lannister nodded, swinging his legs off the cart and stepping forward to join Naerys before him. “I would appreciate that,” he said.


From his tone, you’d think Steve was offering something more than a few grappling lessons. He shook off the thought and started the lesson. “Now, this move will depend on if you’ve still got your shield or not, and…”



Riding ahorse was something of an experience too, and a welcome change from jogging alongside one as he had most of the way from Sharp Point. Barristan had given him advice and guidance when he saw just how unused Steve was to riding. While not the fastest way of getting around he’d encountered, Steve had to admit there was some enjoyment to be found in the novelty of it all, and even came to enjoy taking care of the borrowed horse of an evening.


X


Finally, the day came when the great city of King’s Landing could be seen in the distance, a sprawling city on the edge of the water. Steve could spy great structures within it even at a distance, and while it didn’t hold a candle to New York, it was still something to behold. Then, the wind shifted, and the smell hit.


Steve snorted and shook his head like a horse, trying to get the stench from his nose. “Good God. That’s awful.”


“You can smell the city already?” Jaime asked at his side, eyebrow raised as he took in the distance still to go.


“Just a whiff on the wind,” Steve said. “I wasn’t expecting that at all.”


“It will only get worse,” Barristan called back over his shoulder. “But you do get used to it.”


Steve pulled a face. It wasn’t as bad as some battlefields he’d crossed, but then he hadn’t had to sleep amongst any of those either. “With luck I won’t have to for long.”


The distance to the city dwindled quickly as they passed peasants and merchants on their wagons as they headed to or from King’s Landing. A river ran between them and the city, a natural barrier to those approaching from the south. There were piers and docks on the river and a great gate in the wall, and a ferry provided passage to the other side.


Soon the city loomed over them as they came to a stop at the river and a ferry that was already half full was rapidly emptied for their use. The Kingsguard led their soldiers aboard, banners flying proudly in the breeze. Some of those going about their business stopped to gawk, pointing at one of the knights or at Steve in his foreign armour. Some pointed at Ulmer, clearly a captive as he was slung over the back of a horse like a bag of potatoes with his hands bound.


“What do you think, Naerys?” Steve asked his companion as she guided her horse alongside his own.


“I think it stinks,” Naerys said, looking up at the city walls. She sat sidesaddle and wore a dress, rather than the trousers she had worn through their travels. She pointed at the red coloured keep that sat atop a hill off to the east. “The Red Keep, seat of power of House Targaryen. I read about it, but the books don’t really do it justice.”


Steve eyed it critically. It was no Avengers Tower. “I suppose it’s something alright.”


The river was crossed quickly and they disembarked the ferry, soldiers forming up into an honour guard. Dayne and Barristan took the lead, Jaime and Crakehall behind them. The old man wouldn’t be galloping anywhere any time soon, but he could sit ahorse well enough for now. Steve and Naerys fell in behind them, much as he’d rather avoid the pageantry. He could already see urchins running ahead to spread word of the likely spectacle to come.


They were stopped briefly at the gate, not to be challenged, but for Dayne to inform whoever was in charge of their success and for word to be sent ahead of them. Then, they were through the gate, and the city swallowed them up.


King’s Landing had nothing in common with any city Steve had seen before, even the old European cities he and the Commandos had visited during the war. They crossed a market square of some sort, before heading down what seemed to be the main street, heading north. Their view of the Red Keep was quickly blocked by the building that rose up on either side. It seems that when all the space within the walls had been taken up, rather than expand the walls, people had simply built up. It wasn’t pretty, and it wasn’t safe, but he supposed people had to make do in a world like this.


As they rode - paraded, really - more and more people flocked to watch them pass. Dayne and Barristan were the focus of much adulation, and for a moment a strange feeling came over Steve, as if something was slightly askew. Then he realised it was because the crowds were almost ignoring him in favour of the more renowned knights, and he laughed to himself. Naerys gave him a questioning look, and he shook his head. The kinds of things you got used to...


As the crowds grew, so did their bravery. Two boys scampered almost alongside their horses, sticks serving as swords as they attempted to thrash one another, and a young girl darted out to present a flower to Dayne, smiling prettily. The knight accepted the flower and ruffled her hair, and it was only Steve’s sharp gaze that saw him press a coin into her hands with a wink.


Not all the attention was good, however. As the crowds caught sight of Ulmer, hands bound and trailing behind the horses, prodded on by a pair of soldiers with spears, their cheers turned ugly. The first bit of garbage thrown hit the captured bandit in the chest with a splat, leaving a filthy mark on the already filthy clothes, and jeers followed. Looking back over his shoulder, Steve frowned.


Deliberately, Steve slowed until his horse was closer to Ulmer, providing some scant protection from the more physical taunts of the onlookers. Several booed, but Steve met their eyes fearlessly, and they looked down and away, slinking back into the crowd. It would have been easy to leave the bandit to their mercies, and the man had surely earned more than to simply be the target of curses and filth, but he was also Steve’s responsibility. Leaving him to be attacked said more about Steve than it did about him.


Jaime cast a curious eye behind himself, eyebrow quirked at Steve’s actions, but the soldier just gave him a nod, and continued on close enough to deter any future throwers. Naerys slowed down to join him, an indecipherable emotion in her eyes, but said nothing.


As they left the market surrounds behind them, the buildings became less tall and twisting, and more planned, bearing fresher colours, some even having guards standing at their front. They must be moving towards the richer part of the city, Steve realised, and away from where those less fortunate lived. Here and there he could see black flags with a red, three headed dragon upon it standing proud, but many were faded by the sun, and some were even tattered from exposure.


“That’s the Great Sept of Baelor,” Naerys said, nodding towards the west, where a gleaming white edifice could be seen rising up above the city. “The greatest in all the Kingdoms.”


Steve cast an eye towards the structure. Even at a distance, he could tell it was something. Maybe even greater than St Peter’s, although he’d have to see it up close to be sure. He wondered if Westeros had had their own Michelangelo to add to it.


Soon they reached the end of the road they had followed since the River Gate, and they made a sharp right turn onto a broad boulevard. The Red Keep loomed at its end, beckoning them towards their final destination. The road was clearer, the buildings better constructed, and there were even trees lining their path. The people watching them were still commoners, but here and there was a merchant or tradesman, even what Steve guessed to be a minor noble with a guard.


The general miasma of the city somehow got worse as they passed the clamouring crowds. “I didn’t think it could get worse, but it did,” Steve said, doing his best to avoid screwing his face up in disgust. Sometimes enhanced senses were no boon.


“Flea Bottom,” Naerys explained with distaste. “It’s an enormous slum. My father once said that they cook their own dead in enormous bowls of brown just to feed themselves.”


Steve raised an eyebrow. That had to be an exaggeration, but it didn’t say good things about a city that had such a slum at all.


Despite the slum squatting off to the north like a troll beneath a bridge, they were very much in the richer part of the city now. Manses and fancy shops lined the boulevard, the crowd became more well-heeled, and some began to point and stare at Steve just as much as those ahead of him, eyes drawn by his strange armour and imposing frame. Even Naerys drew some looks, as one who could have been a Targaryen or a Velaryon save for the quality of her dress.


Then the Red Keep was upon them. It was a towering structure of red stone, weathered by the ages but standing with a palpable sense of strength and dominion. They passed through its gates, bronze portcullis raised above them, and the Keep swallowed them up. The noise of the spectators to their arrival fell away, replaced by the chatter of a courtyard as a number of knights called out to and saluted Dayne, Barristan, and Crakehall. The flags and banners of the Royal House were in much better condition here, with not a tattered corner to be seen


A servant in Targaryen colours approached, exchanging quick words with Dayne and Barristan before ducking away. Those ahorse dismounted, and gathered round Dayne when he gestured for them to join him.


“His Grace awaits us in the throne room,” Dayne said. “We are to be lauded before the court. Captain Rogers, I think it would be best if Lady Waters was to oversee your belongings to a room that is being prepared for you.”


Steve glanced to Naerys, frowning at the way she was almost being swept aside, but found her nodding with a look of slight relief.


“If you think that would be best, Ser,” Naerys said. She slipped away from the group, making for the baggage cart where the best part of Steve’s loot was being kept.


“The King is aware of your deeds, Captain, but has also had word from Captain Bar Emmon,” Dayne said to Steve. “I am confident your deeds will stand you in good stead, however.”


“I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of,” Steve said.


“Of course,” Dayne said. He exchanged a glance with Barristan, and then let out a slow breath, readying himself. “You and you,” he said to the men standing by Ulmer with spears. “You’ll be escorting the prisoner through the audience. Leave your spears and daggers with your comrades.” He gave a harsh look to the bandit archer. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your tongue inside your head unless you’re asked a direct question. Do you understand?”


“But of course Ser,” Ulmer said, affecting a mocking curtsey. His manner had earned him more than a few cuffs about the ear on their journey to the city, the man unable to keep from sharpening his tongue on his captors. “When am I not on my best behaviour?”


Despite his glibness however, Steve could see the man was pale, and keeping a tight grip on his fear. Barristan kept a weather eye on the man, but seemed satisfied, and Dayne’s attention had already moved on.


“Captain Crakehall, your wound?” the knight asked.


“Well enough for this,” Crakehall said, standing stiffly. Under his armour, his shoulder was a mass of bandages, and whatever weight could be shed had been. Appearances were apparently more important, however.


“Good. Let us not keep His Grace waiting then,” Dayne said, before turning and leading the way deeper into the Keep. Barristan and Crakehall fell in behind him, while Jaime and Steve followed behind them.


Servants cleared out of their path as they left the courtyard and made their way through the Keep, until they came to a heavy set of double doors with a guard on either side, again in black and red. A man in fine silks waited before them, taking in their party and their sigils. His gaze stopped when it came to Steve.


“And you are, Ser?” the man asked, pencil thin moustache twitching.


Steve paused for a moment, unsure of how to present himself. “Captain America, of the United Kingdoms of America,” he said to the man who must be the court herald. He still hadn’t found out the word for ‘state’.


The herald’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked to Barristan for confirmation.


“Captain Steven America,” Barristan said.


Settled, the herald turned to the guards and jerked his head at the door. On que, the two men shouldered the heavy doors apart for the herald to stride through and step to the side.


“For the pleasure of His Grace, King Aerys Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I present to His court Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning,” the herald boomed, voice out of place from the man it issued from. “Ser Barristan Selmy, the Bold, Captain Sumner Crakehall of House Crakehall, Ser Jaime Lannister of Casterly Rock, and Captain Steven America of the United Kingdoms of America.”


Arthur stepped into the throne room as his name was announced, each man waiting only so long for their own to follow to join him. When Steve’s name was called, the quiet words of the courtiers and nobles filling out the throne room became a brief murmur, before stilling. Along a red carpet trimmed with black they walked, approaching the far end of the hall. The hall was a grand thing, with light pouring through high windows that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a grand cathedral. Tony would have loved it, but Pepper would have thought it tragically ostentatious. At its end was a monstrosity of a monument, an enormous hulk of jagged metal and twisted blades hammered into the rough shape of a throne. Many looked to be half melted.


Perched within the monstrosity, looking almost an afterthought next to the grandeur of the room and the throne, was the man who could only be King Aerys, ruler of Westeros and the man who had Steve’s shield.


The hall, long as it was, gave Steve little enough time to take it all in. The finely dressed men and women watching them walk were a mess of contradictions, seeming to be both little more than set dressing to Steve’s gut instinct, but also jackals feuding amongst themselves for food. They stood in such a way as if to appear united under their King, but he could also see the cliques and factions amongst them.


Then they were at the steps leading up to the King, and Dayne dropped to his knee, Barristan and the others following suit. Even Ulmer dropped without prodding, his guards doing the same. Steve gave a bow, keeping his eye on the man atop the throne. A wry thought crossed his mind. Can’t have Captain America kneeling to a King, could we? And a bow was only polite.


Several courtiers stirred at his action, but none speak, and the King continues to look down upon them with a considering smile. Close as they were, Steve couldn’t help but pick out details on the man. His hair, long and untrimmed, his fingernails likewise. He was pale, and Steve could make out one leg tensing and untensing rapidly. If the man wasn’t on his throne before his court Steve was sure the leg would be bouncing.


“My loyal subjects,” Aerys greeted them. “You have returned victorious, having done me and my kingdom a great service. Rise!”


The men with him rose to their feet, and Steve released the bow he was holding.


“Thank you, Your Grace,” Dayne said, projecting his voice for the hall. “We are pleased to have carried out your orders.”


Aerys waved the knight’s words away. “Of course. And you must tell us the tale, so all the Realms might hear of it, but first, you must tell us of our guest. Unless my memory fails, I sent three knights to burn the scourge from my lands, not five.” He smiled, inviting his nobles to share in his joke, but his eyes lingered on the star that stood proud upon Steve’s chest.


“So you did, Your Grace,” Dayne said. “The Captain America may have the qualities of a knight, but his lands lack such an institution. He is a champion of his people, and leader of champions greater still by right of birth.”


Steve’s pleasant expression remained on his face, but inside was confusion and some small amount of suspicion. He had a feeling something had gone over his head somewhere. He was sure he had never mentioned anything about any birth right.


“Captain America of America, you say?” Aerys asked, eyes alight with something foreign. “Surely then you would be King, rather than merely Captain?”


Now wait just a damned second.


“My land decides its king by holding a vote on whose vision for the country is best,” Steve said slowly, attempting to explain the modern American political system to an absolute monarch who had yet to discover gunpowder. “I was merely elevated as the one to represen--”


“Ah, like the Volantenes,” Aerys interrupted him.


“I could not say, Your Majesty,” Steve said. “I have been learning your language for only a very short time. I would hope I am not giving you a false impression of my homeland. I do not hold my position due to any birth right.”


“‘Your Majesty’,” Aerys said, amused. “Is this how your leaders are referred to?”


There was some tittering from the audience.


Steve was struck by the image of the President with a crown and staff. “No, not at all. But there are other lands that still have Kings and Queens, and that is how they are referred to in my language.”


“‘Your Majesty’,” Aerys repeated to himself. “I shall have to remember that one…” he said, before seeming to snap back to himself. “But now we must hear of the end of the Kingswood Brotherhood at the swords of my valiant servants.”


“As you say, Your Grace,” Dayne said with a slight bow. “I am no storyteller, but…”


Ser Dayne launched into a retelling of their hunt for the Brotherhood, starting with their march to the Kingswood only to find that the smallfolk living there had been beguiled by the lies of the outlaws, and of how he and his men had moved to prove them false, and to show the villagers that their trust in their King had never been misplaced.


Steve listened with one ear, paying more attention to the court. He had never taken Dayne for a man to embellish, but now the man spoke in such a way that made him wary. Nat would have picked apart his motivations at a glance, but Steve had to work through things. The tale he presented was one painting the King in a very good light - was he doing so due to propaganda, to put on a show for the court? Did the King demand public reports in this way, or was he so mercurial as to need this type of careful handling? Until he was sure, Steve would have to tread carefully. His gut told him the court wasn’t a great place to be.


The final clash with the Brotherhood made more mention of great duels between noble names rather than of soldiers scrabbling in the dirt over a single dagger. Ser Jaime fighting next to Ser Barristan to defend the treacherously wounded Captain Crakehall as they held off the Smiling Knight and his men, Ser Dayne fighting Toyne and Big Belly Ben alone, even Steve’s keen eye in spotting the ambush and putting a stop to every cowardly scheme the Brotherhood pulled in an attempt to even the scales. Here and there were references to the King’s wisdom in sending them out to deal with the threat, and with every one Steve’s gut feeling only grew surer. When Dayne told of the Smiling Knight’s end, of how Captain America had slain him barehanded with a single punch, there was an audible gasp from the crowd, but then the tale moved on to the end, of how Barristan the Bold and Captain America turned an unfair fight into a proper duel, and of how Treacherous Toyne lost his head a heartbeat afterwards.


No mention was made of digging around in a man’s guts to make sure no arrow splinters were left in there, or of how a soldier died an entirely preventable death because Steve was the only one with anything approaching medical skills at the battle and had to make a decision on who to treat.


As the tale wound to a close, the King clasped his hands together, almost beaming at his knights. “I expected nothing less of my Kingsguard and those who fought beside them,” he proclaimed. Truly, on this day you have all done me a service.”


“It is only right, Your Grace,” Dayne said.


The King’s gaze moved on, fixed on the prisoner behind them with unnerving stillness. “And who is this?” he asked. His fingernails began to beat a rhythm on his throne.


“Ulmer of the Kingswood, Your Grace,” Dayne said.


“And what fate have the gods chosen for you, I wonder,” Aerys said, voice dropping ever lower. He seemed to have forgotten the crowd he had been playing for earlier.


Dayne glanced at Barristan.


“If it pleases Your Grace, he has volunteered to take the black,” Barristan said.


The image of a genial king dropped for a moment and was back up in a flash, but Steve saw it, and he saw several courtiers pointedly avoid seeing it.


“By the laws of the realm, that is his right,” Aerys said evenly. “To the Black Cells with him. I will not have him sully my court with his presence.” He watched as Ulmer was pulled to his feet and marched out of the throne room, face blank. As the doors closed behind him, however, his smile reappeared and his attention returned to his knights. “But I was speaking of the service you have done for me! Have you any requests of your King?”


For a moment, Steve considered waiting, letting Dayne and the others voice the polite demurrals or delays in choice that he could already see them deciding to make. But he had waited long enough. He stepped forward, breaking whatever protocol he was sure they had to make his request. The court stilled as he spoke.


“Your Grace,” Steve began. “I arrived on the shores of Westeros several weeks ago injured and unconscious. I had with me only my armour, which I wear now, and my weapon, a shield crafted from the rarest of metals bearing my colours and my symbol.” Here he paused a moment, as it seemed his words had stirred something amongst his audience. “I am foreign to these shores and its traditions, so I would ask for your assistance in regaining my shield.”


Aerys seemed to ponder his words for a long moment, weighing up points only he could know on a scale only he could see. “It so happens that I have recently come into possession of a shield much like the one you describe through a vassal of mine,” he said slowly. “On its heels came a warning to beware of a man who looks much like you.”


Steve set his jaw, but said nothing.


“Your actions in aiding my men against the Kingswood Brotherhood have shown you can be a man of virtue,” Aerys continued. “However...as King, I have a responsibility to those sworn to me. Tell me honestly, as Captain of America to King of Westeros, why I should return your shield to you?”


“Because it was taken from me as I lay wounded from battle. Taken as payment for aid that he did not even give himself,” Steve said. “Because I have seen today that you do not allow injustice to go unremarked in your kingdom. Because you seem to be a just man, and a just King,” he said, the lie flowing easily over his tongue. “Because it is the right thing to do.”


For a long moment, nobody spoke. Then the King nodded once, gravely. “I did not make myself King,” he said, speaking to his court now. “The Gods did. To be King is a great responsibility, a task that few men might rise to,” he continued, warming to his subject. “But there are days like this, where it is not only Right to do my duty, but Good.” He snapped his fingers, and a page approached him. He gave a few quiet orders, and the page hurried from the hall.


“Tell me, Captain America, does this shield of yours have a name?”


Steve shook his head. “It never needed one. It’s just...my shield.”


“A weapon made by the warrior then,” Aerys said. He leaned back in his throne. “And you, my knights? Have you thought of a boon you would have from your Just King?”


“We would have to think deeply on such a gift, Your Grace,” Dayne spoke for the group. They bowed their heads in respect, although Steve could see a gleam in Jaime’s eye that came when he had some bit of cheek to dispense. On this occasion, however, the kid kept silent.


“Of course, of course,” Aerys said. Then his eye caught on Jaime, and maybe he saw the same thing Steve did. “But what of you, Ser Lannister? No requests on behalf of certain family members?”


“I would not presume to speak for them, Your Grace,” Jaime said, head still bowed.


“Hmm.”


A door opened at the side of a hall, and through it the page returned, carrying an object covered by cloth. The boy presented it to the King, and then stepped quickly back to his post.


“I present to you, Captain America,” Aerys said, grasping the covering cloth. “Your shield.” And he swept it clear, revealing his shield, split and damaged, bearing the scars inflicted upon it by the Mad Titan Thanos.


Steve let out a breath. It was broken, true. It had faltered when he needed it most, yes.


But it had stayed with him when he got back up. Had shed the blood of his enemies, deadly even when fractured, and now it was here in this strange world with him, one point of familiarity in a sea of strangeness.


“Thank you,” Steve said. He stepped forward to approach the throne to take it, but the page quickly moved to carry it to him, taking it off the King’s hands.


He took it from the boy, finding the leather straps just as he remembered, and slipped it onto his arm, a comforting weight that said whatever challenge he faced, it would be overcome.


“This is an occasion worth of celebration,” Aerys said, clapping his hands and rising to his feet. “A feast! A feast for my valiant knights and our new friends! I hope you will join us, Captain America,” he said, leaving little room for anything but acceptance. He swept down from his throne, courtiers flocking to his side as he strode from the hall. A pair of knights, clad in the same armour as Dayne and Barristan and wearing white cloaks, emerged from the crowd to fall in behind him, and then Steve was alone with the knights.


“Now that that’s all over,” Crakehall grumbled. “Get me to the Maester, lad,” he said to Jaime, as he began to walk stiffly from the hall.


Barristan gave a disapproving look to the Captain, but let him leave without comment. “Your first exposure to the pageantry of court,” he said to Steve. “How did you find it?”


“It was certainly something,” Steve said. “But it could have gone worse.”


“Aye, we could still be being politely buried by praise,” Dayne said, smiling with faint relief. “Truly the worst case scenario. I will have a servant show you to your rooms, but for now, we’ve all earned some rest.”


“Thank you,” Steve said by force of habit, but his thoughts were elsewhere even as he followed Dayne from the throne room. It could have gone worse alright, but his worse certainly didn’t include putting up with the praise of a king. But he had his shield, and a room to get to. Pondering might’ve-beens wasn’t his style, no matter how much fisticuffs might’ve been involved.


X x X


The feast loomed threateningly, but the evening was still hours away, and so Steve had some respite. Respite to consider something somewhat important that had come to his attention during the audience with the King.


He stood in the room that a servant had led him to, and it was a generous one, for the situation he found himself in at least. There was a rich tapestry on each wall, a colourful rug on the polished stone floor, and a stained glass window that the midday light filtered through. There was no helpful AI to adjust the temperature to his desire, and no stereo steadily marching through decades of music, but maybe he had been spoiled by Tony and the 21st century.


There was a bed, too. Just the one, which would be unremarkable, save for the chest of Naerys’ possessions sitting off to one side. The rug would be comfortable enough.


Behind him, the door to the room swung open, and Naerys stepped through. “I spoke with the steward,” she said, closing the door. “He said it was the King’s command that we be given this room. I wasn’t able to get another elsewhere.”


“I’ll sleep on the rug,” Steve said, shaking his head. “It’ll still be better than on the road.”


A pinched expression came across Naery’s face. “That’s not--it will be fine,” she said. “I was able to arrange for lunch to be brought to the room. I know you haven’t been eating as much as you should these past weeks.”


“Thanks,” Steve said. “I was going to go looking for some.”


“I have to do my part somehow. We can’t all slay monsters with a single blow,” she said, smiling. “I wager Dayne’s retelling will become quite the tale once the bards get hold of it.”


“You heard it?” Steve asked.


“No, but the servants are already retelling it,” Naerys said. She hesitated for a moment. “They also say the King returned your family shield to you.”


“He did,” Steve said. “I wasn’t sure he would for a moment there.”


“Can I see it?” Naerys asked. She flushed. “It is just, you stormed Sharp Point for it and followed it across the Crownlands…”


Steve grinned. “Well, I can hardly be Captain America without my shield. There was a song about it, you know,” he said as he turned to retrieve it.


“A song?” Naerys asked, voice alight with curiosity.


“Oh, it was awful,” he said. “My friend Tony set it as my-” he paused, unwilling to go into cell phones and the like, “-he arranged to have it sung every time I entered a room for days.” He cleared his throat. “When Captain America throws his mighty shield, All those who chose to oppose his shield must yield.” He pulled the shield from where he had hidden it under the bed frame.


“That is awf--oh by the Seven what happened to your shield?!”


Steve held the shield with both hands by the side that was still whole, taking in the damage. Thanos hadn’t quite split it in two with whatever his enormous blade was made out of, but it was still missing a fair chunk of metal.


“There was...a battle,” he said slowly. “An enemy beyond any we’d faced before. We--I think we won, but it wasn’t quick, and it wasn’t easy.”


“Will you have it repaired?” Naerys asked after a long moment. “King’s Landing has some fine smiths on the Street of Steel.”


“It can’t be repaired,” Steve said. “The metal it is made of is almost unique. Vibranium, they call it. A man stole some once, and he was hunted to the ends of the earth for it.”


“What of Valyrian steel?” Naerys asked. At Steve’s questioning look, she explained. “A type of metal that only the dragon captains of Old Valyria could forge. They are treasured heirlooms lighter and sharper than any other blade.”


“Maybe,” he said, but he was doubtful. It took more than a light metal capable of holding a sharper edge to match the feats vibranium was capable of. He returned his shield to its place beneath the bed. “But it will still serve as my shield, even if I can’t bounce it off my enemies any more.”


“It’s still an heirloom worthy of a great captain,” Naerys said. She moved over to the chest holding her belongings, fiddling with the lock.


Steve stepped over to a nearby arrangement of table and chairs, richly appointed and likely worth a small fortune in this age. He took a seat and rested his chin on a fist, frowning in thought. “Actually, I had a question about that.”


“About what?”


“‘Captain’,” Steve said. “What does that word mean to you?”


Naerys blinked, pausing in the unpacking of her few belongings. “Well, a captain is someone who rules a group of people. They give orders to them and have them obeyed. When they pass on, the title goes to their heir.”


Slowly, Steve closed his eyes and covered his face with one hand.


“Did you think it meant something else?” Naerys ventured.


Steve groaned. “I thought it was a military rank,” he said. “A man who commands a hundred or so soldiers.”


“No, that would be captain,” Naerys said, using a new word Steve had yet to encounter.


“Have I been introducing myself as Lord America all this time?” Steve asked, face still sunk into his hand.


“Lord America of the United Kingdoms of America,” Naerys confirmed. “Is that not your title?”


“Tony and Sam can never learn of this,” he said, voice muffled. “No. I am definitely not Lord America. I am Captain America.”


“So you are not a noble?” Naerys asked. She seemed..not disappointed, but puzzled. Adjusting.


“No. We did away with institutions like that in my land centuries ago,” Steve said. “God, this is embarrassing. I need to clear this up.” He got to his feet, as if to find someone to admit everything to.


“But you are still a man of stature, yes?” Naerys said.


“Well...kinda,” Steve admitted. “But it isn’t something I was born to.”


“Were you a man of wealth?” she pressed.


Steve considered the slightly ridiculous amount of money in his account that he hardly touched that came from several decades of backpay. “Yeeeaah,” he admitted, drawing it out.


“If you walked up to your king and asked him to do something, would they throw you out?” Naerys pressed.


“Well, no,” Steve said, thinking of the circus that would come from his waltzing into the Oval Office.


“Then it seems to me that you are a noble, just by another name,” Naerys said, sounding pleased, as if she had returned something to the way it was supposed to be. “You should continue to introduce yourself as Lord America. It is what you would be known as here, and many lords would not understand the situation in your lands.”


“Would that be so bad?” Steve asked.


“They would dismiss you, and not know your worth,” Naerys said. “And it is no lie. People will already assume it upon seeing you with your arms and armour.”


Steve gave a great sigh, sinking back into the chair. “I imagine life will be easier if people see me as a noble, too.”


“There are many doors that will be open to you that otherwise aren’t,” Naerys said. “Tourneys, for one.”


“Great,” Steve said. “Guess I’m Lord America then.”


“Of the United Kingdoms of America,” Naerys added helpfully.


“Of the United Kingdoms of America,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Bucky would never let him hear the end of this.


The matter settled, Naerys returned her attention to her small chest, carefully sorting through what few possessions she had been able to bring with them on their flight from Sharp Point. Most of its contents were precious keepsakes, cushioned by some few changes of clothes.


“Oh, that reminds me,” Steve said. “Where did the lockbox end up?”


“There’s a nook behind that tapestry,” Naerys said, pointing to the wall furthest from the door. “It’s the obvious place, but you’re a guest of the King, so it will be safe. Why, did you want to make some purchases?”


“Later, before we leave,” Steve said. “I mean, if you want to keep traveling with me.”


“Of course,” Naerys answered quickly. “I can be of great help to you.”


“So long as you’re sure,” he said, finding the solid lockbox that held his share of coin from the victory over the Brotherhood. Opening the box to reveal the bounty of gold coin within, he quickly counted out ten and approached his companion. “Here. What I owe you for nursing me back to health,” he said, dropping the heavy coins into Naerys’ startled hands.


Naery’s jaw dropped. “Feeding you did not cost me ten gold dragons,” she protested, gaze fixed on the coins.


“Feeding me was the least of what you did. I’d still be wandering the coast trying to learn the language if it wasn’t for you,” Steve told her. “And this doesn’t wipe the debt clean. It just starts to make up for the money you spent on me, and for me forcing you to flee your home.”


“No, Lor--Steve, I cannot accept this,” Naerys said, tearing her eyes away from the money. “This is a decade of savings for me.”


“All the more reason for you to take it then,” Steve said. “It’s important to have your own money to rely on, and there’s still ninety more gold coins in here, plus whatever I get for selling that armour that Smiling Knight was wearing.”


“Your attitude towards money is that of a lord, if nothing else,” Naerys said, smiling, but she closed her hand around the coins, before tucking them away in her chest.


As Steve returned the lockbox to its hiding place there was a rap on the door, and the scent of food reached his nose. “Food’s here,” he said. “Let’s see what the kitchen of a king has to offer.” Any further serious talk could wait. With what he was expecting of the feast that evening, this might be his only calm meal of the day.


X x X


The halls of the Red Keep were alive with activity that evening, as nobles and courtiers gossiped and laughed. The fading sun bathed the red stone walls, almost making them look aflame. Lanterns and torches lit the castle, and red and black liveried men with firm grips on swords and spears watched it all.


Steve and Naerys joined the crowds making for the feast hall, just another pair of well dressed figures. Steve had shaved, and Naerys had seen to his hair, casting away his barbarian looks gained over weeks of rough travel. She had then arranged for some servants to pour a bath and banished him from the room, during which time he took the chance to obtain some better clothes. Showing up to a feast in armour that couldn’t be cleaned properly was something he was sure wouldn’t go down well, and if his instinct was right, Naerys showing up in what dresses she could afford as a commoner at Sharp Point would only lead to ridicule. They wore now what he had managed to arrange to buy from the steward, an outfit in red, white, and blue of clothing that Steve didn’t know the names for, while Naerys swept along in a pale lavender dress that matched her eyes. As they walked, Steve couldn’t help but notice a small but true smile on her lips, threatening to break out into a grin. Her eyes darted about, trying to take in as much as she could at once.


“Have you ever been to a feast like this?” Steve asked, keeping his voice below the murmur of the crowd.


“I hardly saw the inside of my father’s castle at all once he passed, let alone attended what passed for feasts there,” Naerys said. Her hand was in his arm as they traveled the Keep passages. “I never would have dreamed of being invited to a feast thrown by the King.”


“I guess an event like this is more than I figured,” Steve said.


“Did you not attend great feasts with..people of your rank?” Naerys asked.


“Sure, sometimes,” Steve said. “But those weren’t quite the same. More to catch up with friends than for any celebration or pageantry.”


“Your land had feasts simply to see friends?” Naerys asked. “Not to make connections or show your favour?”


“We did have those,” Steve admitted, “but they were more work than anything,” he said, thinking back to the few fundraiser or charity balls he’d attended.


Ahead, the feasting hall doors awaited, and in short order they passed through to a tall hall with four long tables running along its length. Many seats were occupied but not all, and the dull rumble of conversation drifted up to the rafters.


“My Lord?” a voice asked at Steve’s elbow.


“What can I do for you son?” Steve asked, turning to find a young page boy at his side.


“His Majesty the King has invited you to join him at the high table,” the lad said. “The two seats on the right are for you.”


Steve looked to the end of the hall, where a table sat upon a raised dais looking down the rest of the tables, perpendicular to them. The King sat in the centre in a chair with a higher back than the others and layered with gold. He could see Barristan and Jaime up there, as well as another girl with similar features, although curiously they weren’t seated next to each other. There were others he didn’t recognise as well.


“Swell,” he said. “Thanks for the heads up.” He glanced to Naerys. “Ready?”


Naerys let out a slow breath. “Of course. All eyes will be on us, the foreign lord and the bastard girl, neither of whom know much about courtly manners, but everything will be fine.”


“Don’t worry,” Steve said confidently as they began to make their way down the hall. “If things go south, I’ll just punch someone.”


“Oh, good,” Naerys said, tension fading. “Wait no-”


“Just smile and wave Naerys,” Steve said. “Just smile and wave.”


Thankfully, they managed to reach the high table without committing any unforgivable faux pas, although Naerys did manage to disguise a quick dig of her elbow into his ribs. They came to a halt before the table, Steve figuring it was best to pay their respects to the King before taking a seat.


“Your Grace,” Steve said, giving a slight bow, while Naerys gave one much deeper. “Good evening to you.”


“Brushing up on our customs, I see,” King Aerys said, looking at him over a goblet. “But I’ve given the instruction that ‘Your Majesty’ is to be adopted as suitable as well.”


“That’s...good to hear,” Steve said.


Aerys waved him off. “I always keep an eye out for innovation worthy of adopting,” he said. “But I must ask, is it custom in your land to arrive late to a feast?”


“Apologies,” Steve said in his ‘Buy War Bonds For America!’ voice. “I wouldn’t dream of subjecting you all to myself in the aftermath of weeks on the road. Making myself presentable took longer than expected.”


“Well, I will forgive you,” Aerys said, making a point of grace. “But just this once!” He turned to the man on his left, clad in the armour of the Kingsguard. “This is Ser Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander of my Kingsguard. Make my introductions, good ser. The Lord America is from a foreign land, and cannot be expected to know you all by sight.”


“Your Majesty,” Gerold said, bowing slightly in his seat. He was an older man, older than Barristan even, although his trimmed hair and beard still held more pepper than salt and he bore his armour well. “May I introduce Lord Steven America of America and Lady Naerys Waters, natural daughter to the previous Lord Bar Emmon, to the Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the throne, Rhaegar Targaryen, and his wife, Princess Elia Martell of House Targaryen.” He inclined his head down the table.


Steve looked past Barristan, who sat to the King’s right hand, to see a young man who looked like a younger Aerys, but without the long hair and rough nails. He had the face of a dreamer, and gave Steve and Naerys a slight nod. To his right was a young woman with dusky skin and kind eyes, and she favoured them with a smile.


“A pleasure, Lord America,” Elia said. “We hope to hear about your homeland at some time.”


“Lord Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King and Lord of Casterly Rock, also joins us,” Gerold continued, indicating a stern, broad man with a razor sharp jawline and golden hair who sat at the very end of the table, face masked with polite interest.


“My most able servant,” Aerys murmured to himself in such a way that all heard it, smirking behind his goblet. Steve noticed that he hadn’t put it down since he arrived.


A muscle twitched in Tywin’s jaw, but he said nothing.


“Lord Tywin’s daughter, Lady Cersei Lannister,” Gerold said, as if he hadn’t been interrupted. Cersei sat next to Elia, and favoured him with a courtly nod. She was young, but already possessed great beauty, and when she grew into it Steve wagered she’d be beating off men with a stick. “You already know Ser Barristan Selmy, as well as Ser Jaime Lannister,” he said. Curiously, Jaime was sitting next to the empty chair that either Steve or Naerys would take, rather than with his family. “And this is Lord Owen Merryweather, of House Merryweather.” A jolly looking man sat between Jaime and Gerold.


“An honour to meet such a warrior, Lord America,” Merryweather said, beaming. He was a portly man, richly dressed with thinning hair. “I pray to hear of more tales of your adventures in Westeros in times to come.”


“Pleasure to meet you all,” Steve said, keeping his thoughts off his face as Naerys gave a deep curtsey. The whole seating arrangement seemed off to him, like a joke that only one person was in on. That the man he figured to be the Prime Minister was at the very end of the table was the least of it. Cersei was rigid in her seat next to Elia, and Merryweather had almost turned his back on Jaime to speak to the rest of the table. “I appreciate you hosting us.”


“It is the least I could do,” Aerys said. “Please, join us.”


Steve and Naerys walked to their seats, and Naerys subtly nudged Steve to take the one next to Jaime. They sat, and servants quickly brought jugs to fill their goblets. Steve gave his a sniff; it was some kind of white wine, and took a polite sip. Wasn’t too bad. The conversations of the hall washed over him, and he turned to the young knight beside him.


“Jaime,” Steve said. “Glad to be out of the wilderness?”


“Steve,” Jaime said, toasting him with his goblet. “Yes, there is something to be said for the city. How have you found it so far? And you, Lady Naerys?”


“Haven’t had much chance to see the city yet,” Steve answered. “But I hope to tomorrow. Got a lot of things we’ll need to buy. We didn’t have much chance to take more than a horse from Sharp Point.”


“Emphasis on ‘take’, or so I hear,” Jaime said with a sly smile.


“That horse was the foal of one my father gifted to me,” Naerys said. “I think it was only fair.” A moment later, she looked like she was regretting her words.


But Jaime only laughed. “All is fair then. You should send a servant to make your purchases and come to the training yard. I’m sure there are many knights who would love to test themselves against you.”


“We’ll have to see,” Steve said with a shrug.


A light bell rang, and then a moment later a number of side doors opened, servants pouring through holding steaming plates of roasts and dishes of gravies and all sorts of side dishes. Entire pigs were carried to each table, while a smaller table was set up before the dais so that the food might have somewhere to sit without crowding them. Despite himself and his hearty lunch, Steve felt his stomach rumble.


“What catches your eyes, milord?” a serving man asked, one of several assigned to the high table.


“Are these all the pigs, or are there more on their way?” Steve asked. They looked delicious, crackling perfectly cripsed, meat soft enough to carve with a spoon, all sat on a bed of golden vegetables.


The servant considered. “I believe we have another twenty four ready to serve.”


“Great. I’ll have one,” Steve said.


“Excuse me, milord?” the man said, blinking. “They are..quite sizeable.”


“I know what I’m about son,” Steve said. “Bring it out to me in stages, I don’t want to deprive anyone else. I’ll have some of that tomato soup while I wait.”


The servant hesitated only for a moment before doing as he was asked, ladling up a bowl of red soup with a rich aroma.


“Thanks. I appreciate it,” Steve said. There was only one spoon at his setting, so he figured he couldn’t go wrong. The servant departed the hall as he began to dig in.


“An entire pig,” Jaime asked, dubious.


“I’ve got an appetite,” Steve said. “And it’s been a while.”


“We ate the same rations through the Kingswood,” Jaime pressed.


Steve shrugged. The scent of so much food in the hall was really something, and it was only fuelling his hunger.


“As he was healing, he ate a month’s worth of food in a week,” Naerys said. “I had to dig up my savings to stop him chewing the bowl.”


“Well, I’d been in a battle, and then I had to swim through the day to get to shore,” Steve said. “I worked up a fair hunger. If it hadn’t been for you I would’ve been eating bark,” he said to both of them.


Jaime opened his mouth to ask something, but then visibly changed his mind. “Best that you take advantage of His Grace’s generosity while you can,” he said. “I imagine you’ll spend a pretty coin on your food when you depart.”


“We won’t starve,” Steve said, enjoying his soup. “I’ve been hearing about this place Harrenhal. Winning an event or two there ought to set me up well.”


Jaime barked a laugh. “‘An event or two’ he says,” he said. “As if the greatest warriors from across the Kingdoms aren’t going to flock to the castle in search of glory.”


“I’ve been in a scrap or two,” Steve said. “I like my chances. What are the events again?”


“There is talk of some small events like axe throwing, and a horse race,” Jaime said, as he tucked into his own meal. “Perhaps even a tourney of singers.”


“That sounds like an event for you, Steve,” Naerys said, hiding her smile behind her goblet. “You’ve a fine voice, from what I recall.”


“That’s right,” Jaime said, eyes alight with mischief. “Will you be sharing a song from your homeland with us this night? Only, it was such a privilege last time.”


Steve raised an eyebrow. “Mocked by the few friends I’ve made in this strange land,” he said, voice flat. “I see how it is.”


“Is singing not an expected accomplishment from warriors of your homeland?” Jaime asked, voice full of false confusion.


“You’re talking a lot of shit for a kid who still takes fighting lessons with me Jaime,” Steve said, lips twitching.


Naerys snorted, and then coughed to try to cover it up. When that failed, she busied herself in her goblet, red on her cheeks, ignoring the chuckles of the other two.


The first plate of Steve’s bounty of pork arrived as he finished his soup, and he set about it with a will. “What about you Jaime? Do you plan on competing at Harrenhal?”


“Of course,” Jaime said, pride in his eyes. “The joust of course, which is where the true prestige is, but perhaps also the melee. There is also the archery, but that isn’t for me. What events draw your eye?”


“The melee, definitely,” Steve said. He’d seen some of those reenactments in Central Park a time or two and they looked like great fun. “Axe throwing won’t be a challenge.” Not after using his shield. “Archery I suppose I could try. I’ve been getting some practise in with Fletcher Dick’s bow.” He grinned. “Maybe a drinking contest or two.”


“A drinking contest?” Jaime asked. “I wouldn’t have thought you the type.”


“I’m a soldier,” Steve said, mind going back to his time with the Commandos. He felt an old stab of longing. “I clean up well, but I could tell you some stories.”


“Would you care to share some?” Owen Merryweather said, joining the conversation. Sitting as close as he was, he could hardly have avoided listening in. “I must admit to some curiosity as to your homeland.”


“Stories from home,” Steve mused. Well, he was a bit limited in what he could talk about without being burned as a witch, but he could make it work. “There was a war, when I was young. A terrible war. The death toll…” he shook his head. “The enemy was a man who did terrible things to his own people. A bully.” He took a sip of his drink, his audience rapt. Hightower was listening with half an ear too. “Well, I don’t like bullies. So I volunteered to fight. They turned me away. Not fit to fight they said, too sickly.”


“Your health obviously improved,” Merryweather said, raising an eyebrow at the shirt analogue he wore that was perhaps slightly too tight against his muscles.


“There was, you’d call him a maester, I think,” Steve said. Naerys had already heard this part of his story, but was listening all the same. “He helped me. Saw what I could become when no one else did.”


“So you volunteered again and fought,” Jaime said.


“Nah,” Steve said. “When I became Lord America, suddenly I was more useful raising morale at home,” he said, seamlessly adjusting his story for his audience. “I wasn’t too happy, but there wasn’t much I could do. But after a few months of that, I got news of Bucky.”


“Bucky?” Naerys asked.


“James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve said. “We weren’t related, but you’d call him my brother. He and a bunch of others had been captured by the enemy, and our forces couldn’t afford to mount a rescue mission. I was ordered to leave him.”


“So you committed your personal forces,” Merryweather guessed.


Steve shook his head. “I snuck out with two friends and found the prisoner camp. Infiltrated the camp, found Bucky and the soldiers they’d captured, armed them, and broke out. We destroyed the camp and everything they’d been working on there, and fled back to our army. We got back just as their commander was declaring me dead.”


“I imagine this commander was relieved not to have lost you on his watch,” Jaime said.


“He was pretty grumpy about it all,” Steve said. He finished clearing his plate, and a servant was already bringing him a new one. “Had this look on his face that said he wanted to tear me a new one but knew he couldn’t in front of the men.”


“I imagine you were hustled home after that,” Merryweather said. “Losing the heir would have been a blow.”


Steve shook his head, not correcting the assumption, but Hightower spoke up.


“You were given a command, weren’t you?” the old knight asked.


“My first,” Steve said. “I fought with them for the rest of the war.” That I was there for, he added silently.


“What manner of war was it?” Merryweather asked. “How large a fight?”


Steve looked at him.


“I ask only to find some common ground, so that I might better understand,” Merryweather said, excusing himself.


Steve paused in his meal, chewing slowly. He swallowed. “For every one hundred men, women, and children in our kingdoms and those of our enemies, three died. Sword, sickness, or the cruelty of the enemy, by the end, everyone knew someone who had died. Everyone. We have and will never war on that scale again.”


“Three in one hundred,” Merryweather murmured, frowning.


“What’s the population of this city?” Steve asked.


“Perhaps five hundred thousand people,” Hightower answered.


“Fifteen thousand of them dead,” Steve said. “And the same for every other city and hamlet across the kingdom. Spread across every kingdom involved. Some suffered more than others.”


“This is why you fight with champions now,” Jaime said with an air of realisation.


Steve nodded, and busied himself with his meal.


“Champions?” Merryweather asked.


“Lord America leads a team of champions in his homeland,” Jaime explained. “When kingdoms have disagreements, rather than go to war, they decide it by a duel of champions.”


“Like a Trial of Seven,” Merryweather said, approving.


“It was a dark time,” Steve said, “but we moved on. New times, new struggles.” New atrocities. The sound of a snap crossed his mind’s eye. “A feast is hardly such a place to discuss them though.”


“Of course,” Merryweather said, giving a short chuckle. “We shall have to hear more tales of your homeland another time. Something cheerful, perhaps. Have you given any thought as to your stay in King’s Landing?”


“Perhaps,” Steve agreed. “And yes, some. Mostly picking up equipment Naerys and I need. I wanted to see the city, too, but tomorrow...Barristan!” he raised his voice slightly, catching the attention of the man on the King’s far side. He noticed that there was a man standing behind the King’s chair, dutifully tasting a piece of every morsel that found its way onto his plate before Aerys would so much as touch it. Nor would the King put down his goblet, as if fearful that doing so would allow someone to slip something into it.


“Aye, Lord America?” Barristan answered, leaning forwards.


“I seem to remember someone talking a good game about ‘putting me through my paces’ in the practise yard,” Steve said. “You wouldn’t remember which ageing knight that was, would you?”


Barristan’s eyes gleamed at the challenge. “I just might, America. Although I would hope that you will prove more than a mere pig to slaughter, as it were.”


Steve glanced down at his plate, the fourth of the night, that he was almost finished clearing. “Maybe I’ll do you a favour, and leave my shield at home.”


“Already planning your excuses, I see,” Barristan said, smiling.


“Keep telling yourself that, old man,” Steve said.


Jaime’s head was switching back and forth between the two men like a spectator at a tennis match, while Naerys was hiding a horrified smile with one hand. Merryweather was smiling awkwardly, caught in the middle, while Aerys was distracted, seemingly staring down the table at Tywin.


Good cheer returned to the table, or at least their end, as banter and conversation continued to flow. It took him most of the feast, but Steve did finish off the pig, stomach full and content for the first time in a while, having consumed more than any three others at the table.


The last bit of excitement for the feast came midway through dessert, a rich cherry pie with a side of cream, as Naerys was regaling Steve with a tale of her childhood.


“-father took me out on the ship for the day, and he showed me how to catc-”


There was a scrape of wood on stone as Aerys rose abruptly, biting at a thumbnail. The hall attempted to rise in a panic to show their respect but the King was already striding out of the hall via a side door, Barristan and Gerold on their feet and following. Those who had risen fell back to their seats, but the sudden startling had broken the mood, and seemed to indicate to all that the feast was done.


Steve gave Jaime a questioning look, but the kid shrugged and shook his head. Already, Tywin was rising from his seat, his daughter with him, sending a look down to his son.


“I shall see you on the morrow, Steve,” Jaime said. “Perhaps after Ser Barristan is through with you, I might take the chance to give you some lessons for a change.” He gave a cocky grin.


“We’ll see, kid,” Steve said. Jaime departed with his family, and Steve turned to Naerys. “Ready to go, or did you want to stay?”


“I think now is a good time to take our leave,” Naerys said, a frown creasing her brow. Many of those in attendance were leaving, but some were staying, gathering into a group by one table and steadily getting louder.


They rose, Steve offering Naerys his arm, and began to make their way down the hall to the main entrance. They were still new enough to the Keep that retracing their steps was necessary. It was halfway down that a servant stepped past Steve and he felt something be slipped into his free hand. He didn’t react, slipping it unobtrusively into his pocket and keeping it there until they got back to their room.


As they arrived and bolted the door behind them, Naerys saw something in his expression. “What is it?”


Unrolling the small thing that had been given to him, Steve took in the note and the message upon it.


Come to the Godswood tonight, alone.

-A friend


“Trouble,” Steve said.


X x X


In the end, the choice was easy. After making sure Naerys still had her dagger, Steve retrieved his shield and stepped back out into the corridors of the Red Keep. He was not the most inconspicuous of figures, carrying a broken shield emblazoned with his heraldry upon it, but he wasn’t about to go to this mysterious rendezvous unarmed.


The Keep had yet to quiet down for the night, courtiers and servants still coming and going. Several gave him odd looks, him still in his feast attire but carrying his weapon, but his steady pace saw him pass without comment. A pair of guards eyed him suspiciously, but a smile and an easy nod satisfied them.


As he walked, however, the most pressing issue facing him was the fact that he simply didn’t know where the godswood was.


Thankfully, he caught sight of a young serving boy making his way down the hall towards him, some manner of message in his hand.


“Excuse me,” Steve called, and the boy startled for a moment, before quickly stepping up to him. “Could you tell me where the godswood is?”


Whatever the boy had expected, it wasn’t that. “Follow this hall past two other turns, then take the iron banded door on the left m’lord,” the boy said.


“Thanks,” Steve said, digging out a silver coin from his pocket for the kid. “Don’t let me keep you.”


The boy scurried off with a bow, and Steve continued on, directions in his mind. After a short journey, he found the door indicated, and stepped through.


The godswood was an oasis within the Keep, isolated and calm, especially at night. Naerys had told him about the gods that the northerners worshipped, the Olds Gods, but for all that this green sanctuary was well cared for, he couldn’t say it felt particularly holy.


The place appeared to be empty, but in the quietness of the night, Steve’s keen ears could pick out the slight movements of one or two people. His shield was a reassuring weight on his arm as he approached.


Those he was to meet waited at what he thought to be the heartree, a great oak with a face carved into it. For a moment, it looked like the eyes followed him as he approached, but it was just a trick of the light. As he neared, the two men waiting turned to face him, moonlight illuminating their features, and Steve relaxed slightly. No suspicious footpads were these, but men he knew. Arthur Dayne, and the Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.


“Lord America,” the Crown Prince greeted him. “I must apologise for the subterfuge, but it was an unfortunate necessity.”


“Prince Rhaegar, Dayne,” Steve said, giving them a nod in greeting. “I won’t say the note wasn’t a little ominous.”


“I would have much preferred to speak more casually, but being seen to speak with me might force your hand, one way or another,” Rhaegar said.


Steve raised an eyebrow and waited. He’d learnt from the best how to get answers from someone without speaking a word.


“My father and I are...not on the best of terms,” Rhaegar said. “Suffering through that feast would only be the beginning if you were drawn into it.”


“I thought the feast was alright,” Steve said.


“You weren’t at my end of the table,” Rhaegar said dryly. “The politics and old grievances down there were lengthy enough to write several books on.”


He thought back to some of what he’d seen at the feast. Nat could have gleaned every last secret, but he didn’t have the talent she did. Had. Still, he had seen enough. “I think I saw what you mean.”


“You will already have to play the game to some degree, but you see why I don’t wish to drag you in further,” the prince said.


“Politics aren’t my favourite pastime, no,” Steve said by way of agreement. He loosened his grip on his shield. Seems like his caution wasn’t needed.


“I regret the lack of opportunity to talk earlier; I always enjoy meeting people from foreign lands. How long do you expect to visit our land for?” Rhaegar asked. “Do you hope to depart soon?”


“If I could click my heels and return home now, I would,” Steve said slowly. “But it won’t be that easy. I might be relying on my friends to come and get me.”


“You may be a guest in our realm for some time then,” Rhaegar said.


“Have you thought about gaining lands of your own here?” Dayne said, speaking up for the first time. He had been more of a lookout than a proper part of the conversation until now. “You showed great skill at arms against the Brotherhood.”


“No, I’m not looking to put down roots,” Steve said, shaking his head. “I imagine I’d have to swear fealty for one, and that wouldn’t work for me.”


Rhaegar seemed to relax every so slightly. “Yes, your obligations to your homeland may make that somewhat difficult,” he said.


That, Steve thought, and the fact that he wasn’t going to just swear obedience and loyalty to someone because he happened to be wearing a crown, but that probably wasn’t the tactful way to answer.


“How has your time in Westeros treated you so far?” Rhaegar continued. “You are a guest at the Red Keep now, but I’m informed your arrival was less than ideal.”


“There are things here that remind me of times my home has left behind, and for the better,” Steve said honestly, thinking of the hints and attitudes he had picked up on, particularly those towards women and bastards. “But there have certainly been new and exciting times here too.”


“Left behind?” Rhaegar asked. “What, and how so?”


“Women,” Steve said bluntly. “The way Naerys was passed over for inheritance because she was a woman was an attitude we left behind.”


“That’s very Dornish of you,” Rhaegar said. “Perhaps you should visit if you have the opportunity.”


Steve shrugged. “Maybe. It’s not just inheritance, but I’m not going to expect this new country to have the same values of my own. I can only go on with my own values, while you go on with yours.” Left unsaid was that if there came a time when those values collided head on, it wasn’t going to be him that stepped aside.


Rhaegar made a noise of agreement. “I must admit I had an ulterior motive to meeting you here.”


“Oh?”


“I am a student of history, and I have a fondness for myths and heroic figures. Could you share one from your homeland?” Rhaegar asked.


His tone was light, but Steve could feel that there was more to this question than what was clear on the surface.


“Well, there’s the tale of Thor, the God of Thunder,” Steve said slowly. “A warrior of great skill with a powerful band of friends.” This might not have been the kind of ‘myth’ Rhaegar was expecting, but he wasn’t going to get into Beowulf here. “He was a prince, until one day his arrogance outstripped his good sense and he was exiled and stripped of his power to learn what it meant to be strong.”


Rhaegar listened intently, but a slight frown marred Dayne’s face.


“He found himself in a strange land, and was taken in by its people, and he learned a number of important lessons,” Steve continued on, paraphrasing horrifically. “Until a threat came from the heavens he hailed from. He gave his life to protect those who had taken him in, and in doing so, proved himself worthy of the power of Thor. He rose up to defeat the threat, wielding thunder and lightning. There’s more, but that’s the beginning.”


“A curious tale,” Rhaegar said. There was the slightest trace of disappointment in his voice. “Does it have any basis in truth?”


Steve coughed. “Some, yes.”


“If you should have the chance, perhaps you should ask the maester for tales of the Last Hero,” Rhaegar suggested. “It is a Northern tale, and I was reading over it not so long ago. I would be interested to hear if your home had a similar one. The maester would still know where the scrolls are.”


“I’ll keep that in mind,” Steve said. He had been meaning to see the maester anyway. He could at least glance over it so he could say he’d asked.


“This must be our conversation for now, I am afraid,” Rhaegar said. “If I am gone for too much longer, I will be missed.”


“I’ll not keep you from your wife then,” Steve said.


Rhaegar hesitated, then smiled. “Yes, of course. It was pleasant speaking with you, Lord America.”


“And you, Prince Rhaegar,” Steve said. “Dayne.” He gave the knight a nod, which he returned.


The prince began to leave, only to turn back. “I must warn you, however, America. There are those who will use you for their own ends in this Keep, if you let them. The bait may take many guises, even an honour, but it is bait all the same. Be cautious.” With that he continued on his way, Arthur at his back.


The two men disappeared in short order, leaving Steve to ponder the conversation alone. Whatever that was all about, he had a suspicion it was something entirely different to what he suspected. He shook his head. He could think on it later. For now, it was time for bed.


X x X


The training yard was crowded that morning, knights, men at arms, and squires all finding some excuse for their business to bring them there. Some sparred, others maintained their gear, but most had come to watch the Bold spar with the strange foreign warrior. Some were more blatant about their interest than others, crowding respectfully around the outside of the main sparring ring as the two warriors within sized each other up.


“I’ve been looking forward to this, young man,” Barristan said. He held a dull sword loosely in his main hand, and he was clad in a dull cuirass and simple arming doublet, fit only for the training yard. Still, no warrior worth their salt would dismiss him as a threat.


“I hope you weren’t kept up with nerves,” Steve said, smirking. It had been a long time since he’d been able to spar for the sake of fun, and the audience here was bringing out the worst in him. He was wearing the peasant clothes he had worn on the road from Sharp Point, and had borrowed a cuirass that fit him ill. “I’m told it’s perfectly normal.” God, Buck would think this was a hoot. Some jeering and calls came from the spectators, hands slapping on the wood railing at the banter, but his focus was on his foe.


Barristan’s sword flicked out, almost casually, and Steve swayed back to avoid it’s tip. He stepped forward, seeking to get inside the knight’s guard, but the blade was already waiting. He caught it on his shield, using the jagged edge to try and twist it from Barristan’s hands even as he struck out with his free fist. Selmy slipped his sword free, taking it out of play for the moment, even as his quick footwork to the left took him away from Steve’s strike and further to his shield side. They broke away, taking each other’s measure once more. The whole exchange had taken little more than a second.


“That shield certainly is something,” Barristan said. “I can see well why you would chase it across the realm.”


“It’s one of a kind,” Steve said, as they began to circle each other. They had come to an unspoken agreement, with Barristan not going all out on the attack with his sword and Steve only using his shield for defence. Another quick exchange of blows followed, as Barristan feinted an attack that had his blade seeming to be in two places at once, and Steve was forced to outright slap it off course as he skipped aside. There was an excited murmur from the spectators.


“You’ve never used a sword before, have you,” Barristan asked. This time he was the one on the defence, as Steve probed his guard with a flurry of blows, seeking to take his sword out of play with his shield.


“Can’t say they’re all that common in my homeland,” Steve said. He almost jumped up into a double kick by instinct, aborting them at the last moment as unsuitable for their spar, but Barristan read the moves and responded to them. Taking the opportunity, Steve lashed out and tapped the knight on his shoulder with his hand.


“Point to you,” Barristan said with a rueful grin, before they stepped apart and reset.


There were some confused comments from the peanut gallery, but Barristan had seen what Steve had done to the Smiling Knight. A blow like that could have broken his collarbone.


“But you say swords are not a common weapon?” the knight continued. “Truly?”


“Just the way it goes, I guess,” Steve said, as they began testing each other once more. “One of my comrades fought with a hammer, and then an axe. Did more with them than any sword I can imagine.”


“He must have been a mighty warrior to stand as one of your champions,” Barristan said. He stepped forward suddenly, grasping the blade of his sword with one hand in a move Steve wasn’t expecting and turning it about to strike him in the face with the hilt.


“Thor was a uh, thunderous warrior all right,” Steve said, barely catching the surprising blow, and almost tripping as Barristan’s footwork fouled his own. There was a ‘tink’ of metal on metal and he looked down to see the tip of Barristan’s sword by his gut. “Point to you.”


“This old dog still has some tricks,” Barristan said, saluting with his sword.


“Let’s see if you can teach me some then,” Steve said, grinning.


Conversation was put on hold, as they focused on the matter at hand. For the next hour, the two men fought their way around the ring at a steady pace, neither bringing their all to bear, but instead using what tricks and sly moves they had picked up over a hundred battlefields to score a point on the other. Their bout, such as it was, was inconclusive in the end, as all involved had been too caught up in the display of skill to keep track of the points.


“Much as I wish otherwise, I must call an end to this bout,” Barristan said. He was breathing deeply and evenly, sweat gleaming on his brow. “I have duties I must attend to, and if this were to go on, the only position I might guard would be my bed,” he joked.


Steve wiped his own brow clear of sweat, breathing lightly. “Good workout,” he said. “We’ll have to do this again.”


“Yes, but not too often,” Barristan said, as he handed his sword off to a squire that rushed up. “I need to keep some tricks up my sleeve should we face each other at Harrenhal.”


“You’ll be attending then?” Steve asked.


“Of course,” Barristan said with a grin. “Can’t let you young upstarts through without a challenge.”


“So you say, grandfather,” Steve said.


Barristan scoffed. “Speaking of young upstarts...Ser Jaime!” he called, looking out into the watching crowd. It had only grown over the course of their match. “Keep the good Lord America occupied, would you?


Jaime Lannister grinned as he ducked through the barrier to the ring. “I would be happy to, Ser,” he said, sword already in hand.


Steve watched the kid approach, full of vim and vigour and eager to spar. To burst his bubble, or not?


Ah, hell. He’d give the kid the spar he wanted.


“I hope you’re not too tired, Steve,” Jaime said. He was fairly bouncing on his feet, an eager gleam in his eyes. “It would be a shame--” and he lunged forward, sword seeking Steve’s thigh, “--if you were to be slowing down!”


Steve jumped and spun in midair, his boot coming within an inch of Jaime’s nose as the kid darted back. “You’ll have to get up earlier in the morning if you want to catch me off guard with moves like that, kid,” he said as he landed easily.


Jaime’s brows were raised, and their audience was murmuring too. “I can see how you slew the Smiling Knight with a single punch,” he said, almost speaking to the crowd more than Steve.


“Less chatting, more fighting,” Steve said, beckoning him forward. “Or I’ll put you some more hand to hand drills.”


“How ominous,” Jaime said, sharp green eyes belying his casual attitude. Then he stepped forward, and the fight was on.


Jaime didn’t have the endurance of Barristan, and he was quicker to fight harder, so their bout did not last as long, but it was a good fight, and their audience seemed to appreciate it. Steve ‘won’ the spar more conclusively, but the young knight had still managed to score a number of blows of his own. Steve shook Jaime’s hand as they called an end to their spar.


“A fine bout!” a knight called from outside the ring. “Will you continue, Lord America?”


“I think I’ll let someone else take the stage,” Steve said, taking a deep breath. Looking around, there were almost forty men having gathered to watch the spars, and even a few ladies looking down from balconies above the yard. “I’ve been knocked around by enough knights today I think.”


His words earned a small appreciative cheer, and he stepped out of the ring, clearing the way for the next combatants. A squire rushed up to help him with his cuirass, elbowing a number of his fellows out of the way in the scrum to be there first.


“Thanks,” Steve told the boy helping with the armour. “Do you run messages, or is that someone else’s job?”


“I can take a message for you ser,” the squire said. He had red hair and freckles that made Steve think he lived on the coast.


“Can you find Naerys Waters and ask her if she’d like to come to the Street of Steel with me now? Ask her about the Smiling Knight’s armour we were going to sell too,” Steve said.


“Right away ser,” the boy said. He took the cuirass off to a rack of dirty armour, and then ran from the courtyard at a quick jog.


Steve wandered over towards the stables, content to wait for Naerys, or word from her. He could make the sale himself, but Naerys would know how to get a better deal, and he wasn’t the only one who needed to buy something. Some travelling clothes, for one. As it was, all he had was his armour, the clothes he wore to the feast last night, and the clothes he wore during their journey from Sharp Point, and they were still ripe with the scent of travel after a wash.


Surreptitiously, Steve sniffed at himself. The near two hours of exercise and sparring might have something to do with their smell too. He eyed a large barrel of water nearby, and made a decision.


X x X


When Naerys arrived some fifteen minutes, she was wearing a modest dress she had brought from her home, and followed by a pair of burly servants carrying what looked to be their loot from the Kingswood Brotherhood.


“I sent a runner for the stable master to ready our horses,” Naerys said. “They should be ready soon.”


Steve nodded. “How was your morning?” he asked. “I tried to avoid waking you when I left.”


“Oh, that’s--good,” Naerys said, playing with a lock of her hair. “I was able to watch the end of your match with Ser Selmy. It was very impressive.”


“Thanks,” Steve said. “You keep up your training and you could get just as good.”


Almost instinctively, Naerys made to deny it. “I don’t expect - do you think so?” She seemed to have something weighty on her mind.


“No reason why not,” Steve said, shrugging. “They might not be eager for women to fight here from what I’ve seen, but that’s no reason not to learn.”


“I have been enjoying our lessons,” Naerys said. “In that case yes, I would appreciate continuing. Those gossips can go - mind their own business.”


He wasn’t a mind reader, but Steve thought she might have been about to say something else. “Wide mouths, small minds,” he said.


“What?” Naerys asked, with a laugh.


“Something my ma used to say,” he said. “Here come the horses,” he gestured as they were led towards them by a pair of stable hands. The horse they had acquired from Sharp Point weeks ago went to Naerys, while the larger one he had seized from the Brotherhood went to Steve. It was a fine white animal, even to Steve’s inexperienced eye, and Barristan had said it probably belonged to someone who had run afoul of the outlaws. He mounted up easily, stroking its neck.


“I should probably name you,” he mused to himself.


“Sorry?” Naerys asked, having settled herself side saddle on her own horse.


“Just realised I haven’t named my horse,” Steve said.


“You should,” she said. “Swiftstride and I got along much better once I named him.”


“Fury,” Steve said, almost immediately. “This horse shall be named ‘Fury’.”


Naerys pursed her lips at him, hiding a smile. “Someone is having a jape played on them, aren’t they.”


“Maybe,” Steve said. He tapped his heels to Fury’s flanks, settling in to ride him. “Giddyup Fury. No dawdling now. I won’t tolerate any slacking.”


They departed the Red Keep at an easy walk, making for the city with the two servants behind them. The broad avenue leading to the castle was clearer that day, without the crowds that had gathered to watch the Kingsguard return victoriously, and that suited Steve just fine.


As they rode, he tried to get a feel for the city. The people here weren’t living luxurious lives, for the most part, but it was what they knew, and they seemed content under the rule of the Targaryens. This wasn’t exactly the bad side of town though, and he suspected that if he were to take a ride through the area called Flea Bottom he’d end up with a very different opinion of the city.


In time, they turned off the main road from the Keep, and into what Steve thought to be a more commercial district. With some help from the servants following them, they found the much lauded ‘Street of Steel’, a long road filled with the sounds of metal on metal, roaring flames, and the shouts of buyers, sellers, and those just passing through.


“Well,” Steve said, taking in the sights. It was certainly something he’d never come across before. He got the feeling Tony would be like a kid in a candy store, at least until he got bored and yeared for his high tech workshop. “We won’t be spoiled for choice.”


“We could get decent value at any store here,” Naerys said, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the clamour and life of the street. “Which one do you want to visit?”


“That one over there,” Steve said, gesturing towards a smaller shop at the end of the street, away from the largest storefronts. He could only see a single man working at the forge within, but the steel at its front caught his eye, standing apart from others even to his inexpert gaze.


“Let’s go then,” Naerys said briskly, leading the way over. Those on foot stepped out of the way as they went about their business, and Steve had a sudden flashback to New York, and a tide of people nonchalantly stepping around Tony in his red and gold suit as he ordered a hotdog.


They dismounted in front of the store, handing the reins to the servants, and Steve took the bagged armour in return. They stepped into the store proper, and were met by a wall of heat.


“Just a moment please,” the smith said, focused on the work before him. He was leaning over an intricately detailed helm of a hawk or an eagle, the beak forming the faceplate of the piece. He made a last tiny mark with his hammer and tiny chisel, before setting the helm aside. “What can I do for you, my lady-” he glanced at Steve, taking in his poor clothing but healthy features, “-and my lord?”


“We’re looking to sell some armour,” Steve said, “and possibly buy some other equipment.”


“Of course,” the man said. He wasn’t thick or well built, but he was wiry with muscle, and his eyes were sharp. He wore his hair shorn short. “My name is Tobho Mott, at your service. What kind of armour were you selling?”


Steve raised the bags he held, heavy and jumbled with armour, and Tobho gestured for a nearby table. Steve set them down, and the blacksmith began to inspect them.


“This is decent work,” Tobho said, running his hands over the gauntlets and the helm. “Not as good as mine, but still, decent. Do you know who made it?”


“Afraid not,” Steve said. “I didn’t get the chance to ask.”


“Pity,” Tobho said. “Where’d you get it?”


“The Smiling Knight,” Steve said.


Tobho paused, before looking at Steve with new eyes. “Well then. I’d heard that story, but it seemed a bit exaggerated to be honest my lord.”


“What part?” Naerys asked. She had turned to inspect some of the arms and armour hanging from the walls.


“The part where Lord America put his fist through the Smiling Knight’s chest piece,” Tobho said, inspecting the piece in question. “But stories do grow in the telling, as we can see.”


“I punched him in the throat, actually,” Steve said. “He was only wearing a gorget.”


Tobho blinked, surprised. “Well then,” he repeated himself. “How much were you wanting for the set then?”


Steve looked over to Naerys, giving her the go ahead.


“Lord America couldn’t accept less than twenty gold pieces,” she said firmly.


Steve almost raised an eyebrow at the high price, but he was Brooklyn born and bred, and in the 20s and 30s at that. Pinch every penny and haggle to your last breath.


“Come now,” Tobho said, shaking his head. “Let us be reasonable. This set is well used, and poorly maintained. It is worth ten gold at the most.”


“The Smiling Knight was a fearsome warrior, and he knew better than to let his armour go to rust,” Naerys argued. “Whatever wear the armour may hold is worth no more than a single gold piece.”


“A fearsome warrior, yes, but a madman all the same,” Tobho said. He was getting into it now, turning to face Naerys fully. “I wouldn’t vouch for his sense in armour maintenance. Twelve gold.”


“Let’s not pretend that you’ll be reselling this armour based strictly on its quality,” Naerys said. “This is the armour of the Smiling Knight. He’ll be remembered in story and song for years.”


“Story and song never put bread on my table,” Tobho said. “Who’s to say the people won’t forget him in a week's time, and there’s me standing there holding a so so set of armour that I’d be better off reforging?”


“Would you have haggled like this over the armour of Maelys the Monstrous?” Naerys asked, disbelief heavy in her tone. “You must know what a deal this is. Any merchant in this town would leap at this chance.”


“Any merchant yes, but I’m a blacksmith, my lady,” Tobho said, putting his hand over his heart. “I couldn’t possibly go over fifteen gold dragons.”


“A blacksmith of talent, at that,” Naerys said, like a wolf scenting its prey. “Fourteen gold pieces, and two gold pieces worth of equipment.”


Tobho stilled for a long moment, before nodding. “Deal.”


Naerys grinned. “Pleasure doing business with you, Master Mott.”


“And you,” Tobho said, somewhat ruefully. “Lady…?”


“Waters,” Naerys said, head held high. “Late of Sharp Point.”


“Lady Waters,” Tobho said, seemingly unbothered by whatever stigma the name held. “I’m late of Qohor myself.”


Steve gave Naerys an impressed nod when she looked over to him. He didn’t think he could have haggled that hard, out of practice as he was.


“So, would you like to browse my wares now, or take the gold and credit for the armour and come back later?”


“I have some ideas,” Steve said, glancing at the shield on his arm.


“From what I’ve heard about your shield, repairing it would be a masterwork,” Tobho said, apologetic. “I couldn’t promise anything.”


“No, I don’t expect it can be fixed,” Steve said, letting out a sigh. “But I need a new weapon, now that my shield is damaged. I was thinking a warhammer.”


“You’ll be doing away with the shield then?” Tobho asked, sizing him up.


“No, I’ll be using the hammer one handed,” Steve said.


“A hammer light enough to use one handed would lose much of its power,” the smith said.


“No, I--here, let me show you,” Steve said, spying a spare anvil at the back of the shop.


It wasn’t as large as the one in the centre of the shop, but it was large enough; about the size of his chest. Unstrapping his shield, Steve set it on the table, and approached the anvil. He tested it briefly, before picking it up with one arm. He did several curls with it, holding it easily in his hand, before putting it back where he found it.


“Weight won’t be an issue, and if I’m fighting for so long that it is, I’ll have larger problems,” Steve said.


Tobho’s jaw was slightly slack, and Naerys’ gaze was fixed on his arm.


“Right,” Tobho said. “A warhammer. Any particular heraldry?”


Steve considered it. “A star, like the one on my shield, set into the side of the head.”


“Any particular head?”


“...spike on one side, flat head on the other.”


“If I had your strength, I’d want to hit people with a lump of metal too,” Tobho muttered to himself as he took down some notes.


“Maybe I should just be asking for that then,” Steve said, his tone joking.


“Aye, and it’ll be all well and good until you come across some bastard you really need to spike through their plate,” Tobho said with a laugh. “Anything else?”


“A short sword,” Steve said. “Something suitable for Naerys.”


Naerys glanced at him, surprised.


“A dagger is a start, but you can do more with a short sword,” Steve said. “Doesn’t need to be fancy, just reliable.”


“I suppose it could be interesting,” Naerys said, thinking it over.


“Of course,” Tobho said, writing it down. “I’ll take her measurements while you’re here.”


“And I’ll need a helm, too,” Steve said. “My cap doesn’t offer the most cover.”


“I have a number of helms in stock, if you want to look around,” Tobho said.


“I was thinking a bow, as well,” Steve said as he began to look about the small store, heading for the corner with helms covering the wall.


“I’m afraid I don’t have the skills of a bowyer,” Tobho said. “But I can recommend one.”


“What about a bow made from metal?” Steve asked. His eyes settled on a particular helm, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “This one.”


Tobho was frowning, rubbing his chin. “I’ve seen it done once before. I could do it. It would work. I can’t give you a guarantee on its range and reliability though,” he warned. “It will be expensive too.”


“Let me think about it,” Steve said. “I’ll take this helm, though.”


“Good choice,” Tobho said, glancing at it. “That was a commission that some noble heir reneged on. The ornaments mean something to you?”


“Reminds me of my first set of armour,” Steve admitted. “I think that’s it.”


“Very good my lord,” Tobho said. “Let me just work this…” he trailed off, muttering to himself. After a long minute, he cleared his throat. “Right. The helm you’ve got, just need to make some padding adjustments by the look of it. The short sword will be simple, I’m sure to have one suitable for Lady Waters on hand, and if not, it’s quick work. The warhammer will be harder, I have a haft ready to go but it will still take a few days to finish. The bow...that will be tricky, and I’ll need to bring a bowyer in on it. It will be the most expensive item. Six gold pieces for the warhammer, four for the helm, one for the sword, and twelve for the bow.” Tobho met Steve’s gaze squarely. “That is my price, my lord, and I know the quality of my work.”


“I’ll take the lot,” Steve said. “Twenty three gold coins, armour was sixteen, so that makes it seven left. I don’t have it on me, but I can go and get it now if you’d like?”


Tobho blinked. “Sixteen gold will more than suffice for a down payment, my lord. The rest will be fine on delivery.”


Steve nodded, accepting it. “How long will it all take?”


“Hmmm,” Tobho said, rubbing his chin. “Give me a week. Where are you staying?”


“The Red Keep.”


“I’ll send a runner to you when it’s all ready,” the blacksmith said. “You won’t regret your purchase, and you’ve given me an interesting challenge to boot.” He turned to Naerys. “If I might take your arm length and grip size?”


“Of course,” Naerys said, holding out her right arm. Tobho pulled out a roll of tape and a few wood dowels, handing them to Naerys in turn. “Not quite a dress fitting,” she quipped.


“I’ve met plenty of ladies who treated it like one,” Steve offered.


Tobho finished taking the measurements and added them to his page of notes. “All done.”


“Pleasure doing business with you,” Steve said, offering his hand. Tobho clasped it and seemed surprised when Steve shook it, but went with it.


“And you, Lord America, Lady Waters,” he said. “Thank you for your patronage.”


With their business done, they left the store behind, returning to their horses. Naerys called one of the servants over to take possession of the helm Steve had chosen, admiring it briefly.


“Take this back to the Keep; that will be all we need from you today I should think,” she said, with a questioning glance at Steve. At his nod, the servant took the helm and departed with his fellow, leaving the two of them alone. “What did you have in mind now, Steve?”


“How about we have a look around the city?” Steve offered. “Visit a store or two.”


A smile bloomed over Naerys’ face. “I’d like that, Steve,” she said.


“I’ll have to ask you for a loan if we find something though,” he said, brow creasing.


“I have it on good authority that you’re good for the coin,” Naerys said, teasing.


They mounted up as before, and set off into the streets of King’s Landing with no particular destination in mind. For a time, they simply took in the sights, sounds, and smells of the city. People were in a hurry to carry out their business, rushing this way and that, all sorts of folk passing them. They saw beggars in the shadows, young kids carrying messages, tradesmen and merchants, even a Lady being carried in a litter. The city pulsed around them, gathering them up in itself.


“My father visited here once,” Naerys said some time after they had left the Street of Steel behind. “He told me all about it when he returned. It isn’t as grand as he made it out to be, but it’s...more alive, I think.”


“What kind of man was he?” Steve asked, nudging his horse closer so as not to block the street off.


Naerys pondered the question for a long moment. “He was kind,” she said. “He did a lot more for more than any bastard daughter could hope to expect. His wife died young, as did my mother, and he never wanted to remarry after that.”


“My ma was the same,” Steve said. “Strong as heck, but kind. She had to be, to put up with me and Buck,” he joked.


“You pull off mannerly quite well, but I think I know you enough now to see past that,” Naerys said. “That poor woman must have had nerves of steel.”


“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Steve said. “We were little hellions.”


A gang of urchins ran past, and Naerys clutched at her belt purse.


“Good eye,” Steve said. “They’d have had the purse and been gone before you could blink.”


“I’m sure the dashing Lord America would have retrieved it for me,” Naerys said.


“The dashing Lord America might have,” Steve agreed. “Pity I’ve never met him before. Sounds like a swell guy.”


Naerys rolled her eyes at him, and they continued riding. Shortly afterwards, a shop sign caught Steve’s eye.


“Hey, is that--I think it is,” Steve said.


“What is it?” Naerys asked.


“Art supplies,” Steve said. “Come on, let’s take a look.”


There was a rail for horses to be tied to at the front, and they left Swiftstride and Fury there as they went inside. The interior was lit though a row of open shutters, light filtering in through them from up high. There were easels, finely made brushes, and sticks of charcoal set into handles. There was even a leather bound book on display, filled with parchment.


“Good afternoon, my lord, my lady,” came the voice of the storekeeper, a middle aged man with paint on his nose. His eyes took in their appearance and flicked to the horses they had left outside, and his smile became more genuine. “How may I aid you this day?”


“I was just admiring your selection,” Steve said, running a thumb over the bristles of a brush. He couldn’t remember the last time he sat down just to draw. It had to be back before the Snap.


“Does my lord paint?” the shopkeeper asked, stepping out from behind the counter.


“I draw, and I sketch,” Steve said. “More of a dabbler than anything.”


“Well, you won’t find a finer selection of tools for your dabbling than in my establishment,” the man said. “Is there anything in particular I can interest you in?”


Steve took up the leather bound book, flipping it open to reveal crisp blank pages.


“That piece is twenty silver moons,” the man said, voice apologetic but firm.


Steve considered it. Most of a poor man’s yearly wage, but money was relative, and he hadn’t taken the time for it in decades, it felt like. “How much for the book and some charcoal?”


The man didn’t hesitate. “For drawing charcoal, of differing and appropriate grains with grips to avoid mess and smearing? For you my lord, one gold dragon.”


Steve turned to ask Naerys for a loan, but she was already reaching into her coin purse. “I’ll cover you when we get back to the Keep,” he said, and he swore the shopkeeper’s ears pricked up like a hunting hound at that.


“I shall package that for you, my lord, my lady,” he said. “Can I interest you in any of our paints and brushes?”


“That will do for today, thank you,” Steve said.


In short order the book was wrapped in cloth, as were the charcoal sticks separately, before being packaged together in one bundle. A coin was exchanged, and the shopkeeper bowed them on their way.


“Thank you for your patronage!” he said, well pleased.


“This kind of money,” Naerys said, shaking her head. “It will take some getting used to.”


“As someone who has gone hungry before, it’s only money,” Steve said. “What’s important is what it does for you.”


Naerys made a noise of agreement, still feeling the heft of her coin purse, but Steve’s attention had been drawn to a cluster of three men who were eyeing their horses. They sized him up as they took up the reins once more. Steve met their gaze without blinking and slowly shook his head.


The moment stretched out, and then the leader of the three blinked, muttering to his fellows and turning away.


“Time to return to the Keep, perhaps,” Naerys said, an amused look in her eye. “Lunch is calling.”


“Sure,” Steve said, holding the package to his side. He nudged his horse to follow Naerys. It had been a productive day.


A good day.


X x X


The week spent waiting for the blacksmith to work was calmer than his time in this world so far. Somehow, word had filtered back to the Red Keep that they would be staying in the city for at least another week, and their return had seen them met by a servant that reassured Steve that he would be a welcome guest for as long as he wished. He figured an indefinite invitation was just a politeness, but at the least they had a week before moving on. He meant to take that time to relax as much as he could, and get his feet back under him. Thanos, arriving in Westeros, pursuing his shield, the Kingswood Brotherhood and the ride to King’s Landing...some time to consider everything that had occurred would do him some good.


Given the lack of music and movies from his childhood that he enjoyed putting on when he just needed to unwind, Steve turned to his other option: drawing. That, and recreational violence.


He made a habit of visiting the training yard of a morning, doing what was necessary to stay in shape and getting used to what the soldiers of this world could throw at him. For their part, the knights seemed eager to test themselves against the foreign warrior who fought with only a shield, but could stand up against a member of the Kingsguard. By the end of the week, Steve could have sworn that he’d sparred against every knight in the city with permission to enter the Red Keep, and some of them twice. He couldn’t say how he would fare in open battle, and if he was lucky he’d never find out, but there were few amongst them who might hope to threaten him. Barristan was a notable exception, the man’s skill with a sword doing a lot to negate the difference in strength and speed between them. Even Jaime at times forced him to move quickly, and Steve’s admittedly amateur eye for swordsmanship could see the seeds of something great in him.


Beyond earning a reputation for impressive stamina, Steve kept his achievements in the training yard within the realms of human ability. He didn’t want to get himself burnt at the stake or anything; not that he thought they did that kind of thing here.


He kept up his training of Naerys, too. It was still early days, but she was showing some real promise and motivation to improve. Jaime had even piped up with some tips when he had handed her a practise shortsword to get used to, looking oddly nostalgic. Steve wouldn’t send her into battle, but he was liking her chances of defending herself more and more. There were those who looked at him askance for training a woman to fight, but most chalked it up to his strange foreign ways, and those who looked to have something to say about it were dissuaded by a raised eyebrow.


After working up a light sweat in the morning, Steve would retreat to a shadowed part of the castle or the walls and set about filling his new sketchbook. Servants going about their days, sparring knights, the city itself, all slowly filled the rough pages in what became almost meditative sessions. He sketched Barristan honing his sword in the training yard, Rhaegar practising his harp in the godswood, even Naerys glaring at him in exhaustion after he told her she had to carry the barrel of water around the courtyard one more time.


If some of his pages were filled by friends and comrades from back home, talking and sparring with his new acquaintances, well he figured he was allowed a little homesickness.


If nothing else, drawing helped to fill the hours in a place that seemed to consider getting drunk of an evening the height of entertainment. He’d asked about theatre, but only received a blank look and an answer about something called ‘mummers’. Seems like they hadn’t gotten their Shakespeare here yet.


When he needed to stretch his legs, another trip into the city had beckoned. He and Naerys had followed up on a connection from one of the soldiers that he had saved in the Kingswood, a relative that ran a shop selling travel supplies. Maybe his time in the ‘future’ had spoiled him, because Steve saw no problem with dropping months worth of a common man’s earnings on everything they’d need to be comfortable on the road to Harrenhal, and wherever their path led them after that.


Their haul was impressive: a large tent, one that came with hooks that you could hang cloth walls from. It was a little overkill for just the two of them, but at least they wouldn’t have to upgrade immediately if they found more travelling companions. Pots, pans, cooking utensils in general - they wouldn’t be carrying around half a cooked boar for several days like they had after their immediate departure from Sharp Point. Various sundries, like soap and a straight razor, spare clothes that were hardy enough for life on the road, comfortable bedrolls...in the end, they had needed to buy a cart just to carry all the purchases, and a pair of mules to pull it. Naerys had suggested, and Steve was seriously considering, hiring someone just to help them with it all. Spending this much back in his world would have made him feel like he was going overboard, but here it was needed just to travel comfortably. Sure, he could make do with less, but why when he didn’t need to?


Yeah, his time in the 21st century had definitely spoiled him.


After giving the matter deeper through, Steve thought a helper or two might be necessary. Where he’d find them, what kind of helper he wanted, and how much he’d pay them was something he’d have to consider though.


He did find the time to say hello to the local maester, but that...hadn’t gone so well.


X


Steve knocked on the door of the tower he had been told housed the apartments of the Grand Maester. As much as Naerys had been able to tell him of Westeros, she’d never had a formal education, and he hoped for the chance to learn more about this strange new land.


A long minute later, the door opened, revealing what Steve took to be a young serving woman, barefoot and clad in a grey dress. “Yes m’lord?” she asked.


“I was hoping to see the Grand Maester,” Steve said. “Does he have a moment?”


The girl hesitated, then nodded. “I will check, m’lord.” She closed the door in his face.


After counting another out another five minutes of waiting at the door, he heard shuffling at the other side, and it was pulled open by an older man, with a long beard that was more white than brown, and what remained of a head of hair that was thinning in an unfortunate way. “Can I help you, Lord America?” he asked in a thin voice. He was dressed in a fine velvet robe of red, and wore a number of heavy chains of many different metals around his neck, festooned with gems or all kinds. Curiously, he wasn’t wearing any shoes either.


“I wanted to learn about the history of Westeros, your laws and politics,” Steve said. “Would you be able to...”


But the maester was already shaking his head. “I am afraid I lack the time for such things, Lord America. My duties to the Royal Family demand my full attention. You are of course welcome within the library, under supervision of course.”


“I haven’t learnt to read your language yet,” Steve said with a considering frown.


A patronising look came over the man’s face. “In that case, I fear that even if I had the time, you would gain little from my instruction.”


“Ah,” Steve said, a small tendril of irritation rising within him. “I had hoped to share some knowledge from my homeland.”


The patronising look only grew. “The Citadel is the single greatest centre of learning in the known world. What learning a warrior might have is already known to us.”


The irritation turned to full on annoyance. Several sharp retorts crossed his mind, but he did his best to stay civil.


"When you've stopped accepting new experiences, you've given up all hope of learning,” Steve said, biting his tongue.


“Of course,” the maester said with a false smile. “Thank you for your visit, and should you ever gain literacy, know that any guest of the King is welcome in the library.” And he shut the door.


Steve narrowed his eyes. He was technically 105 years old. He could get away with beating a fellow old man, surely.


He let out a great sigh. An old man, close minded and hiding in his tower, was not worth getting worked up over. He turned and left the place behind, looking for something more productive to do, like feeding pigeons.


X


The maester’s attitude hadn’t done much for his good mood, but Steve figured he wouldn’t have been able to learn much from a guy like that anyway. Maybe he’d just been spoiled by the 21st century.


An hour or so kicking around a ball of some kind with some of the pages and squires had restored his spirits, the kids overjoyed at having someone like him join in on their game. There were no rules to it, just a bunch of teams trying to keep the ball from everyone else, but it did give him some ideas to spread a few games from his world around when he got the chance.


That brought him to now, the end of the week, and saddling Fury up once more for a ride into the city. Word had come by messenger that morning during his time in the training yard that his order was ready, and he found himself eager to see what Tobho Mott had created. He’d only used a shield for so long that picking up a new weapon felt like a special event. Taking up Mjolnir the first time was something else entirely, and hardly counted.


Speaking of Mjolnir...he glanced around the courtyard, busy with knights, squires, and other servants. It might not be the best place to try it, but he had to check. He couldn’t believe it’d taken him this long to try; he could always stop calling it if it responded.


Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and held out his hand, palm up over Fury’s saddlehorn. He reached out, grasping with that sense that had linked Mjolnir to him when he had taken it up against Thanos.


Slowly, raggedly, the connection came to him. He tried to tug on it gently, like he remembered - but there was something preventing it from answering. He could feel it, but it was off, as if distorted like a picture through water. Thor’s hammer would not scream through the sky towards him, coming to his aid.


He opened his eyes and frowned, vaguely troubled.


“Thinking heavy thoughts?” Naerys asked, approaching side saddle on her own mount.


“Just something that might be a problem down the line,” Steve said. “It can wait. Ready to go?”


“Yes,” Naerys said, almost bouncing in the saddle. “Master Mott is supposed to be something of a rising star in the Street of Steel. I’m eager to see what he has created.”


The ride to the Street of Steel seemed faster that day, and soon they had arrived at Mott’s smithy. Tobho was waiting for them, but he was not alone. Another stood at his side, a man with thick arms and sharp eyes.


“My Lord America, Lady Waters, welcome,” Tobho said with a slight bow. “I trust the day finds you well?”


“Great, and you?” Steve asked, dismounting from his horse. He offered Naerys his arm as she slipped off her own mount.


Tobho hesitated only briefly before answering. “Excellent, thank you my lord. This is Master Longstride, the bowyer I worked with on the bow you commissioned.”


“M’lord, m’lady,” Longstride said, giving a bow of his own. “The bow was a challenge, but we think it has turned out well.”


“Please, come in,” Tobho said, gesturing for them to follow him into his shop. A teenaged kid with a look similar to Longstride took the reins of their horses and led them to a trough that had been set up for them.


The work table in the centre of the shop had been cleared, and on it sat two jugs and a number of cups. Of greater interest to Steve, a plain cloth lay over a few objects.


“Refreshments?” Tobho asked.


“Water, please,” Naerys said.


“Same,” Steve said. He was itching to get at the hidden weapons, but he could be patient for the tradesmen to reveal their work.


The kid who took their horses hurried in to pour four goblets of water, before handing them over to Steve, Naerys, Mott, and Longstride. With the value of the order placed, it seemed like they were going all out to make a good impression. Steve and Naerys murmured their thanks, but their eyes were on the covered weapons.


“First, the short sword,” Tobho said, pulling back a portion of the cloth to reveal the blade.


Even to Steve’s eye it seemed a fine weapon, and Naerys didn’t even try to hide her grin as she accepted it from the smith. She hefted it, testing the weight, and made the stab and slash Jaime had shown her the other day.


“It’s perfect,” Naerys said.


“It will do until you’re strong enough for something larger,” Steve said with a shrug. “If that’s the path you want to take, anyway.”


“I presumed the Lady would want a weapon to defend herself with that is practical for her size and not too burdensome,” Tobho said. “I chose the blade and made adjustments as appropriate.”


“Thank you,” Naerys said, still admiring her blade. “Both of you,” she added, with a glance between Steve and Tobho.


Tobho inclined his head. “And of course, a sheath is included.” He took a belt and sheath from the table, and held it out for her to take.


“Th--oh. Thank you, Master Mott,” Naerys said, a very faint blush on her cheeks.


Curious, Steve looked the sheath over to see what had provoked the reaction. All he could see that stood out on the black leather of the sheath was the outline of a white star stitched onto its side.


“I was inspired by your symbol, Lord America,” Tobho said. “If it’s not to your liking, it can be removed with little effort.”


“Looks good, so long as Naerys doesn’t mind,” Steve said, glancing at her.


Now Naerys looked exasperated. “It is fine work. I will be happy to bear it, regardless of what others might think,” she said.


“If they don’t like women learning to fight their opinions aren’t worth listening to,” Steve said.


Naerys looked at him for a long moment, before sighing and turning back to Tobho with a smile. “The next weapon, please,” she said, handing the sword back.


“Of course,” Tobho said, sheathing the blade expertly and placing it back on the table. He pulled the cloth back further, revealing a menacing looking warhammer. “I am particularly happy with this piece.” He took it up with both hands, and held it out to Steve.


Steve took it up easily, admiring the piece. The head was a solid chunk of steel, flanged on the face of the hammer one side and a curved spike on the other, while a straight spike rose up from the haft through the head. On each side of the head a bevelled star was engraved, and they gleamed a pale white in contrast to the colour of the steel. The haft itself was plain, but the leather grip had accents of red, white, and blue.


“I could see myself getting used to this,” Steve admitted. He stepped back from anything breakable and swung it one handed, slow and smooth. The weight was there, but he felt like he could swing it for hours, such was its balance. “The balance is something else.”


Tobho nodded. “You mentioned using it one handed, so I made some changes to what I would usually do. Master Longstride helped with the grip and its colouring; I can add a tint to metal without the use of paint, but leather is outside my expertise.”


Steve swung the hammer as hard as he could without losing control, picturing a purple head. The air hummed with its passage, and he grinned. “I like it. I like it a lot.”


“We have a harness, made to be worn over the shoulder,” Longstride said. “It should be suitable over any type of armour, with adjustments.”


Steve handed the hammer back, and Tobho took it with both hands, placing it back on the table.


“Now, this piece, I’ll admit I wasn’t sure about,” Tobho said. “But with how it has turned out, we think it won’t be the last one we make.” He pulled the cloth back one last time, revealing the bow.


It fairly gleamed under the glow of the nearby forge. Plain steel in colouring, it wasn’t quite a recurve bow, but its shape was familiar to one. Rippling patterns could be seen in the curves of the metal, and it was strung with a dark string.


“This bow,” Tobho said, “would be useless to most people. Given the way you just swung that hammer about, I think you’ll be one of the few who can use it.”


“The draw weight is a step above any wooden bow of a comparable size,” Longstride said. “And stringing it was a stone col--” he glanced at Naerys and coughed. “Well, it was a two man job.”


“I’d love to see you loose an arrow, but when we called a strong man over to test it earlier, he struggled to draw it fully and the arrow still almost went through the wooden wall behind the target,” Tobho said.


Steve inspected the bow. Tony likely could have made something better, and Clint would have been more interested in fancy arrows, but for the time and place he found himself in, it wasn’t too bad at all. Facing forward, just below the arrow rest, was another white star engraved in the metal.


In one movement, he drew the string back. It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t holding a helicopter down mid-takeoff either. Slowly, he eased it back to its resting position.


“Gossip says you mean to participate at Harrenhal?” Tobho asked.


“That’s right,” Steve said.


“When people ask after the bow, make sure to mention it was made by Mott and Longstride,” Longstride said. “And when they see what it can do, they will be asking.”


“I thought most people wouldn’t be able to draw it?” Naerys asked.


“They won’t,” Tobho said, sharing a conspiratorial grin. “But most nobles won’t let that stop them, and pride won’t let them demand their coin back.”


Naerys smirked, and Steve gave a snort.


“I’ll remember to mention you both,” Steve said.


“I’ve supplied arrows suitable for the bow, and a quiver to hold them,” Longstride said.


“I appreciate that,” Steve said, handing the bow back.


“And with that, we arrive at the matter of cost,” Tobho said. “Your down payment covered most, but there remains seven gold dragons in balance.”


“Take eight, with my thanks,” Steve said with good cheer. “And I’ll be sure to spread the good word of your craftsmanship when I win the melee at Harrenhal.” He might be counting his chickens before they’d hatched, but he was one for polite modesty, not false humility.


Smiles broke out across the craftsmens’ faces as the sale was confirmed. Steve counted out eight gold dragons, nearly a decade of savings to a farmer, and handed them over. From the speed with which they disappeared, he would say it was no small amount to a skilled tradesman either.


“Most appreciated, my lord,” Tobho said.


“Aye,” Longstride added.


Tobho immediately began to place the weapons into a solid chest, separated by padding.


“My boy can help you take them back to the Red Keep, if you’d like,” Longstride said.


“Sure,” Steve said. “Uh, the chest would be a little heavy…”


“Not to worry m’lord, we’ve a mule to bear the weight,” Longstride said. “Robin, fetch the beast, and get him settled to bear the chest.”


The kid, who had been watching silently ever since pouring the drinks, stepped out to ready the mule. Steve could see the animal had bullied its way towards the trough that Fury and Swiftstride were drinking from. With some coaxing and a carrot, it was readied to carry the chest, a plank of wood tied across its back. With a grunt of effort, Robin heaved the chest up onto the plank, holding it in place as he strapped it down with his free hand. The mule bore this with ill temper, but only attempted to kick out at the kid once.


“Ready when you are, m’lord,” Robin said. His voice was cracked halfway through.


“I’ll check in on you next time I’m in King’s Landing,” Steve said to the two masters as he untied Fury. “Take care of yourselves now.” He stepped up into the saddle.


“Seven guide you,” Tobho said by way of farewell.


Naerys boosted herself up with the stirrup, twisting to sit side saddle. She hadn’t bothered with that while they were on the road, but Steve figured it was a social expectations thing. Moments later, they were off, Robin following behind.


Their journey was quiet as they left the Street of Steel, Steve beginning to plot out their next step. They’d need a map, or someone to guide them to Harrenhal, unless they wanted to wait for a noble to leave for the tournament, but that didn’t appeal to him.


“Excuse me, m’lord?”


Steve glanced to the side. Wrapped up in his thoughts, he hadn’t paid attention to Robin drawing up alongside him. “Hmm, yes?”


“You told my father that you meant to compete at Harrenhal,” Robin Longstride said. He had his father’s sharp blue eyes, and broad shoulders that came from exercise, but he was still growing into his frame otherwise. Brown hair cut short, likely with a knife, topped his head.


“That’s right,” Steve said.


“Would you be looking for a servant, ser?” Robin asked quickly. “I’m more than a fair shot with a bow, I can hunt, and my ma even taught me my letters,” he said.


Steve turned a considering gaze on the kid. He couldn’t be more than fifteen, but Jaime was what, sixteen himself?


Steve felt his spine straighten as he fell into the mode of trying to set a good example for children. “Did you ask your father about this?” he asked.


From the corner of his eye, he saw Naerys’ head swivel towards him, and remembered that the last time he’d made the mistake of using that voice had been the ill advised PSA videos he’d been roped into doing for schools.


“Not yet,” Robin said. “I didn’t want to distract him from his work, and…”


“And you thought he might say no,” Steve finished.


Robin shrugged. “It’s a good opportunity for me,” he argued. “I wouldn’t have asked before you bought the bow in case--” he cut himself off, looking guilty.


Steve only grinned. “In case I tried to use the job offer to get a discount, or it put me off buying it,” he guessed.


Robin kicked at the ground as he guided the mule along. “Something like that.”


“I can’t say I wasn’t considering hiring an extra pair of hands,” Steve said. “But you’d need your father’s permission.”


“He’ll say yes,” Robin said, nodding rapidly. “I’m only a third son, and working for a noble can be a good job.”


“You know I don’t have lands here in Westeros?” Steve warned. “I’m from a far away land.”


“I know,” Robin said. “Anyone in the city with an ear for tales knows. But you killed the Smiling Knight with a single blow, and fought alongside the Kingsguard. Even if you don’t take the prize at Harrenhal, I can make money betting on you,” he said, sounding eager.


“Have you ever been beyond King’s Landing, son?” Steve asked. “Travelled the land?”


“Yeah, ‘course,” Robin scoffed, but then he hesitated. “I mean, I’ve been outside the walls. Once. On a hunt. As a game fetcher for a noble…”


Steve shook his head, grin tugging at his lips. “Well, I’m inclined to say yes, but like I said--”


“I’ll need my Da’s permission, yeah,” Robin said. He almost vibrated in excitement. “Er, m’lord.”


“Don’t stress about that,” Steve said.


“So long as we’re not around other nobles,” Naerys cut in. She looked at Steve apologetically. “If nobles see your servants ‘disrespecting’ you, they won’t respect you either.”


“Just call me Steve when we’re not around nobles,” Steve said.


“Uh..sure, m’l--Steve,” Robin said. It was clear the name sat awkwardly on his tongue.


“Sir will do until you’re comfortable with it,” Steve said, sighing.


“Yes ser,” Robin said.


“Taking Robin into your retinue means more than just paying him, Steve,” Naerys said. “You’ll be expected to feed, clothe, and shelter him too. If your servants appear poorly, that will reflect on you too.”


Steve considered this for a moment. “What kind of pay were you expecting then?” he asked Robin.


“A fair pay?” Robin said hesitantly. It was clear he hadn’t really given it great thought.


Steve’s gaze swung to Naerys, and she tilted her head in question.


“Maybe you should deal with this,” Steve said, tapping a finger on his chin.


“I’m sorry?” Naerys said.


Steve nodded. “You know more about this, and I trust you to deal with it, so you’ll be in charge of it. I’ll need to pay you a wage, so you’ll have to tell me what’s fair.”


“You want me to tell you how much you should pay me,” Naerys said, voice flat.


“Sounds reasonable,” Steve said.


Naerys stared out into the distance as they walked, muttering calculations under her breath. “Pay him three silver moons a month, at least to start,” she said at length. “That’s over a gold dragon for the year, on top of food, shelter, and protection. As he grows in age and skill, we’ll revisit the rate.” She worried at her lip with her thumb. “Pay me five silver moons now, and increase that if we pick up more people, but never pay me more than 10 silver moons a month unless our situation changes drastically.”


Steve thought about it, putting the idea that he might have to think about life here for a year or more to the side. He still had 80 gold dragons and change. It sounded reasonable.


“Sounds good,” Steve said. “What’s the prize for winning the melee at Harrenhal anyway?”


“Fifteen thousand gold dragons,” Robin said. He blinked at the looks Steve and Naerys gave him. “What? Everyone is talking about it. It’s the richest tourney ever held. The joust is sixty thousand for the winner, and twenty thousand for the runner up.”


Steve let out a whistle. “That’s something. Still, fifteen thousand will be hard to spend.”


Robin gave Steve a dubious look. “You’ll be up against the greatest knights in the Seven Kingdoms,” he said. “Er, ser.”


“You’ll see, Robin,” Naerys said. “You’ll see.”


The Red Keep loomed ahead of them, but there were still a ways off.


“What about the axe throwing, the archery, and the horse race?” Steve asked. “Are there prizes for those too?”


“Five thousand for the axe throwing, same for the horse race,” Robin said. “And ten thousand for the archery,” he said, a look of yearning crossing his face.


“You want to enter the archery contest?” Steve asked the kid.


“I wish,” Robin said. “I could never afford the cost of entry.”


“Well, do well on the trip there and I’m sure we can get you in there,” Steve said easily.


Robin goggled at him. “Truly?”


“Sure. Be all that you can be,” Steve said. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”


The kid looked to Naerys, and Steve couldn’t see what gesture she made, but suddenly his face was filled with determination. “I’m going to win that prize,” he declared. He was fairly skipping as he led the mule along, even pulling ahead of his companions ahorse.


“There’s another contest at Harrenhal too,” Naerys said, guiding Swiftstride closer to Steve. “One thousand gold dragons as a prize.”


“What is it?” Steve asked.


“A tourney of singers,” Naerys said, eyes teasing.


Steve groaned, and Naerys laughed. She spurred her horse on, pulling away.


He spared a prayer in hopes that none of his other friends ever got the details of his little adventure here, and nudged Fury to catch up. He’d never hear the end of it.


X x X


They had reached the outer courtyard of the Red Keep and dismounted when Steve made his decision.


“Speak to your father quickly, and if he agrees, say your goodbyes,” Steve said to Robin. “We’ll be leaving bright and early tomorrow morning.”


Robin startled, paused, and then almost fell over himself trying to offload the chest to the servants who had emerged to take possession of it. “Yes ser. I’ll be here before the sun rises,” he swore.


“Maybe not that bright and early,” Steve said. “And I mean it about saying your goodbyes. If I find out you didn’t speak to your parents, I’ll turn around and drop you off to your ma’s mercies,” he warned.


Robin shuddered at the thought. “I wouldn’t risk her wrath,” he said, already turning his mule around. “You won’t regret this!”


“It will be good to move on,” Steve said to Naerys, as they watched Robin practically run back into the city.


“Eager to see Harrenhal?” Naerys asked.


“That, and escape this stench,” Steve said, pulling a face. “If I ever come back here, it won’t be for a vacation.”


Naerys smiled. “Perhaps you should take to wearing perfume under your nose, like some of the ladies do.”


“I should have thought of that,” Steve muttered. “What do we need to do to get on our way? I think we’ve made all the purchases we need.”


“I will gather our belongings and make the final preparations we need to travel, including what you need to provide for Robin,” Naerys said. “You are going to pay your respects to the King and other notables, so that no one is left deeply insulted in our wake.”


“This is going to be a whole thing, isn’t it,” Steve said.


“Welcome to the games nobles play,” Naerys said. She turned to the two servants holding the chest between them. “Please have that taken to the stables to be placed with Lord America’s other supplies.”


“Leaving was easier when I could just StarKonnect people,” Steve muttered to himself, handing his reins over to a stableboy.


“I know not of what you speak, but I know grumbling when I hear it,” Naerys said. “You remind me more of the village grandfathers than a young lord sometimes.”


Steve very carefully held back a comment that started with ‘Back in my day…’. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ll see you back at the room later?”


“Of course,” Naerys said, rolling her eyes. “I will see you then.” She departed, heading deeper into the Keep.


It wasn’t hard to find the first of those who Steve wanted to say his farewells to. Jaime was still holding court in the training yard, where Steve had left him earlier before visiting the Street of Steel. The initial flood of knights brought on by Steve and Barristan’s morning spars had died down some, but the habit had been established amongst the more dedicated, especially with the chance to spar against like minded knights.


Even Jaime, young as he was, was a favoured opponent, what with the growing tales of his fight against the Smiling Knight alongside Barristan the Bold. As Steve approached the ring, he watched as the Lannister kid used a piece of footwork he had shown him to foul the legs of his foe, before sweeping him off his feet and putting his blade to his neck. In a battle, that would likely spell death for the prone knight, even in full armour. In the sparring ring, it meant some cheers and jeers, and Jaime helping the other man up, a courtesy Steve had drilled into the kid’s head during their journey to King’s Landing.


“Lord Steve!” Jaime called upon sighting him. “Back for another round? And here I thought you had gone for your nap.”


“I think I’ve given you enough bruises for one day, Jaime,” Steve said. “I plan to leave for Harrenhal tomorrow, so I wanted to say my goodbyes.”


“Ah,” Jaime said. “I suppose I’ve done my workout for the day, regardless.” He made for the edge of the ring, ducking out and allowing another knight to take his place. “When do you mean to leave?”


“Tomorrow, early,” Steve said. “I don’t want to have to rush, and if anything slows us down we won’t miss the tournament.”


Jaime accepted a waterskin a servant handed him, taking a long drink. He stood tall, but his legs were trembling near imperceptibly. He was strong, but Steve’s exercises had him using new muscle groups. Swilling the water about in his mouth, he spat it out and took another drink. “I’m due to leave tomorrow too, actually. Casterly Rock beckons, and my business here is finally complete.”


“Is your family going with you?” Steve asked, as they stepped away from the busy edge of the sparring ring. “You said you hadn’t seen them for a while.”


“Father is Hand of the King, his duties keep him here,” Jaime said, shaking his head. “And my sister will stay with him.”


“Well, at least you got to spend some time with them,” Steve offered.


A half smile came over Jaime’s face. “Yes, it had been too long. And I’m sure I’ll see them again soon.”


“They’ll be coming to Harrenhal too?” Steve asked.


“Yes, Harrenhal,” Jaime said. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but changed his mind. “Hundreds of lords and knights will be in attendance. I must admit, I’m looking forward to seeing you face them.”


“You might be out of luck if you’re hoping they pay me back for some of the bruises I gave you,” Steve said.


“No, I’ll be making more money off of betting on you than Lann the Clever did stealing Casterly Rock,” Jaime said. “That is how you’ll be paying me back for the bruises.”


“Your family not giving you enough pocket money?” Steve asked. “I thought they were the richest in the land.”


“Of course we are,” Jaime said. “But coin won is sweeter than coin earned, especially when someone else is doing both the winning and the earning.”


Steve rolled his eyes. In his own way, Jaime came off as cheekier than the Parker kid Tony had told him about. “Well, here’s to hoping I don’t fall off my horse and break my neck.” He held out his arm for the local variant of a handshake. “I’ll see you at Harrenhal, Jaime. You’ve been a good student.”


Jaime’s spine straightened, and he clasped Steve’s arm. “Harrenhal,” he agreed. “And Steve...thank you for your teachings. I know you didn’t offer it in hopes of a reward, but a Lannister always pays their debts.”


“Just use it for a good cause,” Steve said, shaking his head. “You’re a good man, and that’ll be payment enough.”


“If you say so, Lord America,” Jaime said. “Farewell, for now.”


They parted ways, and Steve continued on to his next farewell. The White Sword Tower waited.


X x X


The tower that the Kingsguard called their home was built into the wall of the Red Keep, and overlooked Blackwater Bay. Steve approached unchallenged, those few servants and men-at-arms who saw him well aware of his developing easy friendship with Ser Barristan, and his casual acquaintance with Arthur Dayne. He knocked on the main door, and waited. Several moments later, the doors opened inward, revealing Barristan with a slight frown on his face.


The frown eased when he saw Steve. “Ah, Steve. I should have known. Come in, please.”


“How come?” Steve asked, following the knight in. The room he entered was very white, white walls with white hangings, a hearth to one side with a white shield and swords mounted above it. At the centre of the round room was a table shaped like a shield, and Barristan returned to a seat with a half finished meal before it. Steve took a seat just down from him.


“You knocked,” Barristan said. “My brothers have no need to knock, the servants know they are permitted entry, those with authority can enter at will, and those without would have made an appointment.”


“Fair enough,” Steve said, looking around. For the headquarters and home of the knights who guarded the king and his family, the room was quite sparse.


“What brings you here?” Barristan asked, continuing with his meal.


“I’m moving on tomorrow,” Steve said, “heading to Harrenhal. I wanted to say goodbye before I left.”


“Ah,” Barristan said. “I shall see you there, certainly.” He put his plate and cutlery aside, reaching over to clasp Steve’s arm. “It has been a pleasure to meet you, Lord America.”


“And you, Ser Selmy,” Steve said. “It’s certainly been an experience.”


"Perhaps we’ll see each other on the field of battle,” Barristan said, returning to his meal.


“So long as it’s a friendly battle,” Steve said.


Barristan chuckled. “Of course. I prefer the joust, but I may have to participate in the melee. There are few knights who can test me beyond my brothers these days.” His eyes gleamed at the thought.


“And here I thought Jaime was the one who hadn’t finished collecting bruises from me,” Steve said jokingly.


The knight harrumphed, but was hiding a grin. “Is Lady Naerys to accompany you?”


“She hasn’t gotten tired of me yet, so yeah,” Steve said. “Might have picked up a kid who wants to see the world too.”


“Oh?” Barristan asked.


“Bowyer’s son, asked me if I would take him on. He seemed eager, so I told him so long as he got his parent’s permission…” Steve said, shrugging.


“I suspect he will have it,” Barristan said, shaking his head. “Service with a noble is not to be passed on without good reason.”


“We needed someone to drive the cart anyway,” Steve said. “And he says he’s a good shot with the bow.”


Barristan nodded. “Giving skill the chance to stand out despite low birth is always a good deed. Are you aware of the expectations that Westeros lays upon a noble in regards to their servants?”


“Naerys filled me in, and I figured that sounds like a job she’s suited for,” Steve said. “So I asked her how much I should be paying her, and that’s that.”


“If I suspected you would care about it, I would tell you just how unusual the arrangement between the two of you is by Westerosi standards,” Barristan said.


“I still can’t believe you don’t let women fight,” Steve said. “I mean, I can, but still.”


“It is the way the world turns,” Barristan said, seeming to neither agree or disagree.


“Not forever,” Steve said. “Give it time, and things will change for the better. Equal rights, equal opportunities...but that’s a whole other barrel of fish.”


“Quite,” Barristan said.


“I was hoping to give my thanks to the King for his hospitality,” Steve said. “How would I..?”


But Barristan was shaking his head. “I am afraid the King is indisposed. He will not be accepting visitors for the immediate future.”


“Should I talk to the Prince, then?” Steve asked, carefully avoiding implying he’d previously talked with the man.


“He rode out this morning with Ser Arthur, and is not expected back for some days,” Barristan said.


“Well, I can hardly just wait for them to be taking visitors,” Steve said, frowning.


Barristan coughed, covering a laugh. “Were you a sworn lord, you would be expected to do just that, Steve,” he said. “I will pass on your respects, in this case.”


“Appreciate it,” Steve said. Another reason to avoid swearing any sort of oath here.


“Did you have a reason for leaving so early?” Barristan asked. “The tourney is still more than a moon’s turn away.”


“Part of it is just to be getting away from King’s Landing,” Steve admitted. “But I also want to see more of your country, train Naerys and this new kid some, and get used to the weapon I picked up here.”


“You’ve taken up a new weapon?” Barristan asked. “It wouldn’t be another shield, would it?” His tone was wry.


Steve snorted. “You’ll just have to wait to find out at Harrenhal.”


“A mace,” Barristan guessed. “Or a sword. You’ve finally seen the light after all our spars.”


“Maybe,” Steve said. “Could be a battle axe.”


“Strong as you are, that’s a two handed weapon,” Barristan said. “Hmm. A flail?”


“Maybe,” Steve said again, grinning now. He got to his feet, pushing in his chair behind him. “You’ll find out soon enough.”


“A spear,” Barristan said. “A weapon from your homeland?”


“See you at the tournament!” Steve called over his shoulder.


“Oh you’ll see me Steve,” Barristan said. “Right before I unhorse you!”


Steve shook his head with a smile as he closed the doors behind him. For a guy that was usually pretty proper, Barristan could be a bit of a joker.


X x X


With Aerys and Rhaegar not available to say his farewells to, Steve found himself following his feet in a fit of whimsy. He hadn’t spoken with the man he was on his way to see since entering the city, but he figured it was good to put a cap on things he’d been involved with like this. The guards barred his way at first, but after he explained his presence, let him pass with a bemused stare.


The jail cells of the Red Keep were several levels deep, but the man Steve was here to see was only on the first. Coarse stone walls and thick iron bars set the tone for decoration, and the scent of human stink did the rest. The cells were mostly empty, save for a couple of pickpockets in one cell, and the man that Steve was here to see in another. He didn’t move as Steve came to a stop before his cell.


“Ulmer,” Steve said by way of greeting. “Fancy seeing you here.”


Ulmer looked up from his sprawl in the corner and barked a rough laugh when he saw who his visitor was. “Lord America,” he said. “What brings you to my humble abode?”


“I’m leaving the city tomorrow, thought I’d say my farewells,” Steve said.


“Don’t be--wait, you’re serious,” Ulmer said, blinking. “By the Crone’s saggy tit, why.”


“The King isn’t accepting visitors,” Steve said.


Ulmer regarded him for a long moment. “Your homeland must be something else.”


“It has its moments,” Steve said. He looked around the hall he found himself in, cells on either side. Packed full, even one level could hold quite a few prisoners. “Speaking of the King, you were awful polite when we arrived. I didn’t think anything would have you holding your tongue.”


“I’ll mouth off to Lords and Sers no worries,” Ulmer said. “But I can tell when lip will get me killed.”


“You think he would have executed you for cheek?” Steve asked.


Ulmer shuddered. “I saw that look in his eyes. He was disappointed when he heard I was for the Wall.”


Steve thought back to the day in the throne room. He couldn’t deny there had been something off about the man.


“Sommat wrong with that one,” Ulmer muttered to himself. “Mark my words.”


Rather than bad mouth the King when the gaolers could be right around the corner, Steve moved on. “I don’t know if anyway told you, but Wenda and Fletcher escaped the fight,” he said.


Ulmer brightened, even in his cell of straw and filth. “Those sneaky buggers, how’d they manage that?”


“I let them trade their freedom in return for quitting the field,” Steve said. “Wenda had an arrow drawn on whoever the Smiling Knight was fighting; Barristan and Jaime I think.”


“That’s good to hear,” Ulmer said, smiling faintly. “They’re good sorts.”


“Here I thought they were outlaws,” Steve said.


“Outlaws and good sorts,” Ulmer said. “I hate to break it to you Lord America, but most of the nobles here are cunts.”


“You wouldn’t have wanted their company at the Wall?” Steve asked. “Could’ve been a new page for the three of you.”


Ulmer shuddered again, but this time it was more visceral. “Seven Above, no. Not Wenda. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”


“What do you mean?” Steve asked.


“You not heard of Brave Danny Flint yet?” Ulmer asked. “Ask a singer if you want the tale. Some folk ask for it when they want a sad song; the tale of Danny Flint, the girl who disguised herself as a man to defend the realm and got raped to death for it.” He gave a hollow laugh. “She died so bad that it’s remembered thousands of years on.”


Steve frowned, a slight thing that any number of dead men would have recognised. Every now and then he forgot that he was in a world much different to the one he knew, and that it was one that was even less kind to the weak and the powerless than his own. He could feel it, deep in his bones, that he was going to come across something in this land that wasn’t to be borne, and then there’d be trouble.


Well, trouble was why he had a shield. And a warhammer now, he figured.



“I’m surprised you’re still here,” Steve said, moving on from his thoughts and changing the subject.


“Black brothers don’t come by every week,” Ulmer said. “I’ll be freezing my balls off sooner or later though, don’t you worry.”


“That’s reassuring,” Steve said. “Cause I was definitely worrying about them.”


Ulmer let out a wheezing laugh. “You’re not too bad for a noble, America.”


“Your opinion means a lot to me,” Steve said. Gosh, he missed Bucky and Sam more than he thought if he was bantering like this with a guy he hardly knew.


“You’re not even here to ask about the hidden treasure of the Kingswood Brotherhood, are you?” Ulmer asked. “Had a few sneak in here and ask, you know.”


“There’s a hidden treasure?” Steve asked. “My share of the loot at your camp came to about a hundred gold as it is.”


“Course not, but that hasn’t stopped me from sending fools and dandies on wild chases,” Ulmer said.


Steve chuckled at the idea, and was quiet for a moment. “What made you do it, Ulmer?”


“What the goose chases?”


“The Brotherhood,” Steve said. “Kidnapping, ransoming, branding, killing. All of it.”


Ulmer was silent for a long moment, and Steve thought he might refuse to answer. “We all had a different reason,” he said at length. “Simon wanted revenge for his family. Wenda was angry and wanted some kind of justice. Ben cracked the wrong skulls. Fletcher killed a greedy tax collector. Fuck knows what that mad cunt Smiler wanted. Me...I was tired of being walked over. Nobles, they look at you the same as we look at the goats.” He spat. “I didn’t want to live in a world where some rich fuck could ride past me wearing more than I’d make in my lifetime toiling for him in a field.”


“You’re not lumping me in with them,” Steve said.


Ulmer gave him a look. “I still dunno what you are, but you’re no noble. Not like them that we know.”


Steve considered him for a moment. “I hate to break it to you, but there’s always going to be some rich dandy who spends more in a day than you’ll make in a lifetime. What matters more is making sure everyone else has enough to be happy.”


“Pretty words,” Ulmer said, “but I don’t think nobles have much care for the happiness of smallfolk.”


“Maybe not,” Steve said. “But then you don’t have to worry about everyone, just your family. Do you have anyone?”


“Nah,” Ulmer said, snorting. “Hardly would have joined the Brotherhood if I thought it might mean a wife being tossed to them sent to hunt me.”


“I don’t think Ser Selmy or the others are the type to do that,” Steve said, raising an eyebrow.


“Not them,” Ulmer said. “We were lucky to get them. You think nobles don’t have dogs they like to let loose on us?”


“Any noble who harms the innocent isn’t worth the name,” Steve said simply.


Ulmer gave a laughing wheeze. “Oh, I wish I could see you when you realise.”


Steve shrugged in response. He knew that what should be and what was were often different, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from calling things how he saw them.


“You’ll learn, one day,” Ulmer said. “You’ll learn.” He sounded tired.


“We’ll see,” Steve said. “Maybe if I’m ever up North I’ll drop by the Wall and say hello.”


“That’d be just grand, ‘cause you know I’ll be missing you,” Ulmer said.


On that note, Steve turned and left the bandit behind. Maybe they’d cross paths again, maybe they wouldn’t, but this chapter of his life was over.


X x X


True to his word, Robin met Steve and Naerys at the gates of the Red Keep just after dawn the next day. He had a sack slung over one shoulder, and an unstrung bow in his hand. He brightened when he was directed to take charge of the cart holding their more bulky possessions, hopping up to take the reins and revealing poorly fitting shoes that didn’t look like they’d last long on the road. Steve and Naerys led the way astride Fury and Swiftstride as they made their way through the first stirrings of the city. It did not take them long, and then they were passing through the city gates and out onto the Kingsroad, heading north to Harrenhal and further adventures.


As they left King’s Landing behind, Steve glanced back over his shoulder. The city hadn’t exactly grown on him, but his week there had been a welcome respite, and a chance to catch his breath in this new world. Maybe he’d return someday, after establishing himself with the winnings of the tournament and he had room to breathe. Still, it wasn’t going anywhere. He had time.




Steve has recovered his shield, and departed King’s Landing without starting a war or being declared outlaw. He has established himself as a man to watch amongst the knights and certain nobles of the Red Keep, and so far avoided the attentions of too many players of the Game, save a Spider who watches all. Harrenhal awaits, as does the glory of victory if only he can seize it, but there is more of consequence waiting at the tournament than simple martial contests. Harrenhal awaits...but first he has to get there.

Chapter Text

Life on the road agreed with Steve, now that he wasn’t pursuing his shield across an unfamiliar land.  The easy pace and the casual discovery of this new land was doing wonders for him, easing a tension that had become the norm over five years of trying to hold a shattered world together. 

He wasn’t the only one enjoying the new sense of freedom either.  Naerys breathed easier than ever now that the burden of social expectation was lifted from her shoulders, no lordly cousin eyeing her like an asset to be used or a court judging her for the company she kept and how she kept it.  She wore trousers more often than dresses, and had thrown herself into the training Steve offered with a will.  She had been learning less than a month, but STeve already would have been happy to sign her up for basic SHIELD training. 

Likewise, Robin was taking to his new life with something approaching glee.  Apparently signing on with a noble was a bigger deal than Steve thought, because it had taken almost a week to get the kid to stop with the bows and the m’lords.  When he did though, he fell right into the easy dynamic Steve and Naerys shared.  He hadn’t been kidding about being handy with a bow either - in another world, Steve would have said he’d make a decent apprentice for Clint.  The kid was also benefiting from the training Steve was giving them, although he liked to complain that if he couldn’t just shoot his enemy from afar something had clearly gone wrong. 

The help and training wasn’t all one way, either.  After they had washed and cooled down after a spar in the brisk spring evening, Naerys began to teach him his Westerosi letters, continuing the language lessons they’d had after leaving Sharp Point.  The disdain of that maester had really stuck in his craw, and he wasn’t sure he was above repurposing some great work from his world just to stick it to the guy. 

Their travel fell into an easy routine, one of shared chores, living off the land and their supplies, and martial training as Steve taught his companions to defend themselves and he got the hang of his new weapons, as well as his damaged shield.  King’s Landing was two weeks behind them and the village of Brindlewood a few days ahead when their easy days were interrupted. 

“Whoa Fury,” Steve said, pulling gently on the reins of his horse.  A cart was ahead, stuck in a mire of black mud.  For a road that was named after the King, it wasn’t exactly living up to its name.  They came to a stop beside the other cart, a man and his young son looking up from where they were inspecting its wheel.  “Are you alright there?”  he asked.

“No,” the man said shortly, rubbing at a mud smeared cheek.  “Wheel came off the axle as we were trying to get clear of this bog.”

Robin guided their cart around the bog, keeping to ground that had yet to be churned up by other travellers, and came to a stop just ahead.  His eyes flicked around, sharp gaze piercing the shade of the woods that lined the road.  He seemed perplexed when he failed to find anything.

“You need a hand?” Steve asked, leaning off his horse to inspect the damage. 

The boy looked hopefully at the man who had to be his father, while the man eyed Steve and his companions.

“Suppose it couldn’t hurt,” he said, somewhat mistrustfully.  “We need to lift the cart and get the wheel on.  Between the three of us, me boy should manage.”

“Naerys, you have the horses?” Steve asked, dismounting easily.  “Come on, Robin.”

Naerys whistled for Fury, and the white horse approached docilely, before she accepted the reins to cart from Robin as the kid hopped off it. 

“If we get it from the back and side, we should manage,” the man said.  He eyed Steve, the peasant garb he wore doing little to hide his muscle mass.  “Maybe you take the corner.”

“I’ve got it,” Steve said, shaking his arms and shoulders out.  “You two get the wheel ready,” he said to the man and Robin. 

“She’s well stuck in there--” the man protested, salt and pepper brows furrowing as Steve stepped up.  They shot straight back up as Steve crouched, set his back, and lifted the cart right out of the mud with a squelch. 

“Bloody hell then,” the man muttered to himself.  “Here, the wheel, quick--”

With a quick shuffle, the boy got out of the way for his father and Robin to manhandle the heavy wheel back into position on the cart.  After some struggling, it was on, and the man hammered it further into place with a wooden mallet retrieved from his cart. 

“All set?” Steve asked.

“Aye, that’ll do it,” the man said.

Steve set the cart down, and it immediately began to sink back into the mud.  “Come on, let’s get it clear.”  He moved to the back, taking up some of the weight of the cart again, Robin quickly joining him.

“San, take up the reins,” the man told his son, and joined Steve at the cart.

San took up the reins of the two donkeys hitched to the cart, and began guiding them forward.  They hesitated at first, but when the weight they were expecting wasn’t there, trotted forward much more eagerly.  It was the work of moments to get the cart clear of the bog, black mud coating Steve’s legs up to his shins and sticking between his toes, but then they were through, and back on solid ground. 

“Whew,” the man said, wiping his brow.  “You wouldn’t know how long we struggled with that.  San does his best, but he’s still a bit young to do much there.”

“No trouble,” Steve said, offering his hand to shake.  “We were happy to help.”

The man took his hand uncertainly, but did so nonetheless.  “Adamm, at your service.  I carry goods for Lords in these parts.”  He seemed happy to get his hand back after the shake.  “But as you can see I’ve got nothing on me at the moment,” he added hastily, gesturing to his mostly empty cart.  “Who might you be?”

“Steve Rogers,” he said.  “I’m a soldier, on my way to Harrenhal.  This is Naerys Waters, and Robin Longstride, my companions.”

“Pleasure,” Adamm said politely.  “I may be heading to the great tournament myself, gods willing.”

“You could join us if you’re headed that way,” Steve offered.  “I haven’t seen any trouble on the road, but safety in numbers and all that.”

“Ah, thank you but no, I won’t be heading straight to Harrenhal,” Adamm said.  “I have to see to my cart, make sure the wheel won’t come loose again.”

“Suit yourself,” Steve said.  He got the feeling the man was trying to hurry him along without being rude about it.  “Take care of yourself now.”  He gave San a nod as the boy stared at him, mouth slightly agape. 

“Good deed done?” Naerys asked, handing Fury’s reins back to him. 

Robin was already back in the cart, ready to go.  He had obtained a stick and was scraping mud from his legs, nose screwed up in distaste. 

“For today, anyway,” Steve said.  He tapped his heels to Fury’s flanks, nudging him into a trot.  In short order, they had left the father and son behind.

“I hate mud,” Robin said as he got the worst of it off.  “Why would you ever leave a city.”

“I thought you wanted to see the world?” Naerys said teasingly.

“The world, not all the mud in it,” Robin shot back.  “I see why nobles ride around in carriages all the time.  This is just awful.  Eughk.”

Steve laughed, remembering some of the messes he’d gotten into over the years.  “Talk to me again when you’ve got mud up to your eyebrows for five hours because you’re waiting to ambush a patrol.” 

Robin shuddered.  “I’d rather not.  I see now why my father moved to King’s Landing.  It was to avoid ever having to deal with black mud again.”

“There’s no mud in the city?” Steve asked. 

“Not like this,” Robin said.  “As soon as I win the ten thousand dragons at Harrenhal I’m buying a manse and staying there.”

“Mmhmm,” Naerys said.  “Keep telling yourself that.”

“You were a little on edge when we first pulled up,” Steve said to Robin, cutting off further banter.  “Were you expecting an ambush?”

Robin scratched at his ear.  “Yes, honestly.  I’ve seen it enough back home.  Scream for help in an alley, some fool goes to help, and they get cracked over the head and their pockets rifled through.”

“Huh,” Steve said, considering.  “Well, good luck to anyone trying to ambush us.”

Robin gave him a strange look, but Naerys just smiled. 

“You still need to let me arrange for a wrestling contest at the next tavern we come to,” Naerys said.  “There is coin to be made.”

Robin’s eyes lit up.  “Hey, yeah.  The way you lifted that cart, and swung that hammer…”

“You know, I’ve really been enjoying sleeping outdoors lately,” Steve said.

They continued on their way, keeping each other entertained with friendly teasing and ideas to get rich.  Harrenhal grew closer. 

X x X

It was early afternoon a couple of days later when their travels were interrupted again.  The sight of a village ahead as they crested a rolling hill caused Steve to consider their plans, and call back to his companions. 

“How’s the food situation, Robin?” Steve asked.  He knew, and he knew Naerys knew, but he wanted to test the kid.

Robin glanced at Naerys, before turning to double check the cart he was driving..  “Uh...good, I think?  We’ll make it to Harrenhal without starving if we keep living off the land, but if we want to eat as well as we have been we’ll need more.”

“We’ll stop in at the village then,” Steve said.  It wouldn’t take them long, and he wasn’t going to ration when he didn’t have to.

“You’ll have to be careful which nobles you accept an invitation from,” Naerys said.  “You’ll eat them out of hearth and home.”

“I just have a healthy appetite is all,” Steve said. 

“Healthy enough that the mules were getting nervous that day we couldn’t find any game,” Robin said.  “I saw the way you eyed them.”

“And I remember when you were too shy to cheek me,” Steve said.  Despite his words, he was grinning.  “It was a simpler time.  A better time.”

Robin rolled his eyes, now well used to Steve’s strange sense of humour.  “Yes m’lord, sorry m’lord, won’t happen again m’lord.”

“Careful Robin,” Naerys said.  “You never know with these noble types; he might have you whipped.”

Their banter continued as they approached Brindlewood.  The village was a small one, set just off the Kingsroad.  It could almost be called quaint, but for the traffic that it saw pass by on what passed for a highway in Westeros.  That, and the poor materials the houses were made from, the muddy streets, and the smell of shit.  Steve didn’t remember the big cities back home being so bad, with all their pollution.  Maybe he had just gotten used to it. 

As they passed through the village, they got a few looks from the locals, but none approached them.  They came to a stop in what passed for the village square. 

“Naerys, take Robin and find what we need,” Steve said.  “I’ll keep an eye on our stuff.”  He tossed his coin pouch to her.  “We’re about halfway to Harrenhal if we keep at our pace.”

Seeing the pouch Steve had thrown, Robin double checked his knife at the small of his back. 

They left in short order, making for what looked like a merchant’s shop across the way, and Steve settled in to wait, watching the village.  It was a slow place, quiet, but not without activity.  Children ran through the streets, women carried laundry and herded livestock, and the few men to be seen seemed to have somewhere to be.  It was the kind of place that Bruce would have liked to stop and wait in for a while, and would have driven Tony mad - stark mad, even - with boredom. 

The serenity was not to last.  A raised voice drew his attention, and he saw a figure in basic armour standing before what looked like a village headman.  The armed and armoured figure wasn’t the one yelling though.  They kept their calm in the face of the headman’s almost shouting, responding too quietly for Steve to hear.  He glanced about.  No one had paid undue attention to the cart of the horses.  He could busybody a little.  He dismounted, tieing Fury to the cart beside Swiftstride, and drifted closer to the argument.

“...did the job,” the armoured figure said. Their voice was even, but not harsh.  “So now you pay me for it.”

“You’ve got no proof,” the headman said, scowling through an untidy grey fringe.  “How do I know you didn’t just go camp out in tha woods a few nights?”

“Would you like me to show you where I buried them?” the soldier? hedge knight? Asked.

“Might not be all of them,” the old man argued.  “You coulda missed some.”

“You said there were four.  I killed five.  You owe me fifty silver stags.”

Steve decided to wait and see.  The soldier was keeping their cool, and the headman looked like he’d break a bone if he took a swing. 

“I don’t owe you anything,” the headman said.  “I bet yer not even a real knight!”

The soldier took a deep breath.  “What I am is unimportant.  I told you when I took this job that my time was limited.  You said nothing about requiring proof.  Is my word not enough?”

The headman must have scented blood, because he grinned, showing off all five of his crooked teeth.  “Yer no noble.  Just a boy who came across some armour on a corpse and prettied it up all nice like.”

He must have been close, because Steve could see the hedge knight’s shoulders go tense under his chainmail.  “Fine,” he said, tone unchanged.

The headman crowed.  “Gotta get up earlier in the day to get past me sonny!”

“I will fetch the corpses, and deliver them to your front step, so that you may see the proof for yourself,” he said.  “What you do with them after that is up to you.”  They turned to stride away, and found themselves almost face to face with Steve. 

The headman was protesting behind them, but they were ignored in favour of Steve.  “Can I be of assistance?” the knight asked.  Brown hair hung messily about their ears, pressed upon by a now absent helmet, and green eyes watched him sternly. 

“Actually, maybe,” Steve said, an idea occurring to him.  “I overheard your conversation, and thought maybe we could help each other out.”

The man blinked, expression not changing.  “How so?”

“I’ve a horse and a cart,” Steve said, “but I don’t know my way around this country.  I could help you with your corpses, and in return you help me and my friends make it to Harrenhal, if you’re headed that way.”

A glimmer of interest appeared in their eyes.  “I am making for Harrenhal,” he said.  There was a refined note to his voice that Steve was coming to recognise as belonging to the nobility here that belied the poor quality of his armour.  “But I am not alone.  I have...a squire, you might call him.”

“You’re a hedge knight then?” Steve asked.

“No,” he said, shaking his head sharply.  “But one day I hope to be.”

“I don’t see a problem,” Steve said.  “What’s going on with that guy anyway?” he nodded towards the old headman who had retreated, grumbling to himself. 

“He promised me silver for clearing out bandits that were preying on travellers,” he said.  “I did so, and now he refuses to pay.”

“Low of him,” Steve said. 

The man grunted, a frustrated sound that almost seemed to escape them against their will.   He coughed.  “Yes.  Toby and I needed the coin just to make it to Harrenhal, let alone participate.”

“What did you have your eye on?” Steve asked.  He turned to make his way back to the horses and cart, silently inviting the man to join him.

“The joust,” he admitted.  “I am passable with the sword and decent with the glaive, but the lance is where the money is to be made.”

“I’m for the melee myself,” Steve said.  “Never jousted before in my life, so I’ll have to settle for the fifteen thousand.”

The man smiled at what they took to be a joke.  “Might I have the pleasure of your name?”

The question was practised, adding a point in Steve’s mind to the ‘might be a noble’ column.  He was still unsure about announcing his ‘nobility’ to all and sundry, but this warrior might end up travelling with them for a few weeks, and maybe beyond. 

“Steve Rogers, from the land of America,” Steve said.  At the man’s puzzled look, he added, “its shores are far from here.”

“Ah.  I am Kedry, a sellsword,” he said, the word almost seeming to pain him.  “I hope to change that at Harrenhal.”

“Will you be able to join the lists?” Steve asked.  “I heard something about them being limited.”

“I do not know, but if I do not go I never will,” Kedry said.  “And like you said, I can always just join the melee and win the fifteen thousan there.”

Steve smiled.  “That’s the spirit,” he said.  “Where did you bury these bodies?”

“Bodies?  Did you kill someone while we were gone?”

Robin and Naerys had returned, and the kid was looking between Steve and Kedry, waiting for an answer. 

“Not yet,” Steve said.  “It’s been a slow day.  Kedry, this is Naerys Waters and Robin Longstride, my companions.  Guys, this is Kedry, a sellsword who might be able to guide us to Harrenhal.”

Kedry gave a stiff half bow, Naerys mimed a curtsey in her trousers and Robin waved. 

“I buried the bandits perhaps two hours ride north, just off the path,” Kedry said. 

“Why do we need bandit corpses,” Robin asked, brow furrowed. 

“Kedry took a job, but--” Steve was interrupted by a flurry of hoofbeats beating down the street towards them.  He turned in time to see three horses come to a stop before him, nearly in synch. 

Two of the horses were riderless, and on the third was a young boy, clad in rough spun wool.  “Well?” the boy demanded.  “Did the fucker stiff you or what?”

“Toby,” Kedry said, voice stern.  “What have I told you about swearing.”  It was not a question.

The boy, Toby, answered anyway.  “Not to,” he said, unbothered.  His almost violently blond hair looked like it had been cut with a knife, and he had blue eyes.  “So?  Did he?”

Kedry sighed.  “He is trying to.”

“I told you,” Toby said.  “Shoulda just did like I said to and shanked him with your pigstick--”

“Tobias!” Kedry’s voice demanded obedience and the boy immediately fell silent.  “Toby.  We can’t stab everyone who we think might seek to cheat us,” he explained, softer now.  He had a very gentle voice, Steve noticed.  “Even if they often do try,” he ended wryly. 

Toby grumbled, but accepted his words.  “Who’re this lot then?”

“This is Toby, my ward,” Kedry said, in a tone that spoke of long suffering.  “Toby, this is Steve Rogers, Naerys Waters, and Robin Longstride,” he said.  “Steve offered his cart in helping us bring the bandit corpses back as proof.”

“But that’ll take most o’ the day,” Toby complained.  He pointed at Steve.  “He looks like a noble.  Why can’t he just tell the fu-prick to pay you?”

“Not a shy boy, is he,” Naerys said.  She sounded amused. 

“I rescued him from the mountain clans in the Vale,” Kedry said.  “That was the easy part.”

“We don’t have all that many days to spare,” Robin said.  “Getting the bodies and bringing them back will take the rest of the day, especially if we need the cart for them.”

Steve folded his arms, considering. 

“We don’t have many to spare,” Steve said, “but we do have them.”

“Thank you,” Kedry said.  “Of late, our funds have been...thin.”

“Steve is a generous sort,” Naerys said.  She was eyeing Kedry with a complicated expression.  “Sometimes overly so.”

“Yeah,” Robin said from where he was stroking the neck of one of Kedry’s horses.  “He’s been putting up with Naerys for months now.”

Naerys narrowed her eyes at the kid, but he just replied with a cheeky grin.  “And whose turn was it to cook tonight?” she asked, faux demurely. 

Robin’s grin faltered, but he pressed on.  “The best cook’s?”

“Hmm.”

Kedry seemed content to watch the back and forth, the same calm expression on his face, but Steve brought things back on track with an eye to the afternoon sun.

“How do we want to do this?” he asked.  “Kedry has to go, and we need a way to bring the bodies back.”

“We could load them all into the cart, but that’d mean emptying it out first,” Robin said.

“Or we could throw them over the back of the horses,” Naerys suggested.  They had five horses between them, but Kedry at least would need to ride one to show the way, even if Steve didn’t need one to keep up. 

“Kedry and I will go, and we’ll take the horses,” Steve decided.  He looked to the sellsword.  “If you don’t have a problem with that?”

“Five bodies between three horses might be pushing it,” Kedry said, “but it’s better than five between two, and I’ll be happy for the help.”

“I’m comin’ too,” Toby said stubbornly, although he seemed to know it was a futile gesture.  “I can ride behind you.”

“You’ll stay here with - Naerys and Robin,” Kedry said, faltering slightly as if he’d been about to say something else.  “On your best behaviour,” he added sternly. 

Toby grumbled, but it seemed mostly for show. 

Quickly, Steve and Kedry gathered what gear they needed, and rearranged the loads on the horses as necessary.  Robin made to help Kedry as he shifted his saddle bags off one of the horses, but was persuaded against it when the horse snapped with its teeth, almost catching his ear. 

“Alright alright, calm down now,” Robin said to the horse. 

“Redbloom isn’t the friendliest of horses,” Kedry said.  The horse whickered in bad tempered agreement.  “He only lets me and Toby close.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Robin said, accepting the saddle bag from him and taking it over to the cart.  Toby watched him suspiciously, even as he whispered something to the horses. 

Steve considered donning his suit, but decided against it.  He was hardly going into battle, and if they did get into trouble, that was what his shield was for.  He retrieved it from the cart, strapping it on securely, and he was ready.  He turned, in time to see Kedry pull what he had thought was a spear from its holster on one of the better natured horses, but it was different.  The blade was curved, and considerably larger than the typical spear head. 

“Is that a glaive?” Steve asked.  “I haven’t seen one before.”

“Yes,” Kedry answered.  “Good steel, and good swords, are expensive.  Also....my parents taught me to use this.”

“Your parents?” Steve asked, interested.  “Your mother and your father?”  His interest was roused.  Women warriors were unseen to him so far in Westeros. 

“They spent time in Yi-Ti before I was born,” Kedry gave a non-answer.  He took the glaive in one hand, holding it outstretched without a hint of a waver.  “Women are expected to defend themselves there.”

Steve nodded approvingly.  At least one country here seemed to have its head on straight.  “Well, we ready to go?”

Kedry mounted Redbloom in one smooth motion, born from years of practice.  “Ready when you are.”

Steve swung up onto Fury, giving a nod to Naerys and Robin.  “Try to keep the kid occupied,” he said.  “I don’t want to come back to find the headman had an accident.”

Toby growled, but whether it was directed at Steve or the headman no one could tell.

“See you in a few hours,” Naerys said.  “Are we going to stay the night in the village, or make what progress we can after you return?”

“If we return in time, we’ll set out before dark,” Steve said.  “No point wasting daylight if we have it.”

“We’ll prepare for your return then,” Naerys said. 

Dallying no further, Steve touched his heels to Fury’s sides and they were off, Kedry and Redbloom right behind them.  The headman scowled at them as they rode from the village. 

They made good time as they galloped north, and Steve appreciated the speed; he hadn’t had the chance to really set Fury loose since getting him, and the destrier was eager to show off.  Whoever had owned him before losing him to the Kingswood Brotherhood had had a good eye for horses.

Redbloom wasn’t having any trouble keeping up, despite his greater size.  He was a solid beast, seemingly built for war, and his bad temper reminded Steve of Colonel Phillips.  Swiftstride and Kedry’s two other horses were following obediently in their wake, something that seemed slightly off to Steve, but then he really didn’t know much about horses, and he shrugged it off. 

Time seemed to stretch as they settled into an easy pace that ate up the miles beneath them, much as it always did when journeying to an unknown destination.  Kedry’s whistle took Steve off guard an hour and a half later as they rounded a bend in the path.  They had arrived.

It was a good spot for an ambush.  The bend and some nearby trees provided cover for any who might wish to lie in wait for unwary travelers, and a rise in the ground on the other side made it difficult for them to flee that way. 

Steve swung off Fury and stroked his neck as he looked around.  “This is where you buried them?” he asked.  Fought them too, by the looks of it.  He could see earth churned by hoofprints and a splash of blood here and there, as well as what might have been the shattered remains of a lance.

“Just within the treeline,” Kedry said.  He dismounted, and checked over his mount, before leading all four horses towards the trees.

Steve followed.  “How’d you find them?”  As they walked, a mass of scarring on Redbloom’s flanks caught his eye, near where a rider would touch to spur a horse on.  The wounds were old, and he noticed that Kedry wore no spurs. 

“I took the job yesterday, and made sure it was known around the village that I would be heading this way.  They were waiting for me,” Kedry said. 

“Clever,” Steve said.  He slipped his shield off his arm and slipped it into one of Fury’s saddlebags. 

“It was a risk that paid off,” Kedry said, shrugging.  “Here we are.”

The graves weren’t terribly deep, and earth had been piled on top of them.  Five of them, all in a row.  The two living stood next to one another and took them in for a long moment.  Five mounds of dirt was all that remained of these people who had been born, been loved, grown up, and made the wrong decisions. 

“Five on one isn’t something to sneeze at,” Steve said, glancing at Kedry.  “Especially in armour like that.”

“You work with what you have,” the man said.  His tone was almost melancholy. 

Steve thought back to his early days, relying on a body that seemed to betray him at every turn.  “I know what you mean.”

Kedry’s gaze flicked over to him.  “You are not a noble, then?  You’re certainly not one of the smallfolk.”

“I was born common, but gained status through my achievements,” Steve said.

“Like a landed knight, given title for great deeds or service,” Kedry said.

“I think so,” Steve said.  “The way things were back home are very different to here.”

“Interesting,” Kedry said, but he made no further comment. 

“Well,” Steve said, taking up the shovel they’d brought.  “Let’s get this done.”

Steve began digging carefully, and Kedry prepared some rope they’d brought.  It wasn’t pleasant work, but it was what they’d come to do.  As each corpse was uncovered, they set the body aside and Steve would move on to the next while Kedry prepped it to be loaded onto a horse, tieing limbs together so as to avoid flailing and shifting as they rode.  The third body they unearthed made Steve pause.

“That’s some wound,” he said, eyeing the gaping hole in the man’s chest.

“Lance,” Kedry said, glancing at it.  “He was the first I killed here.”

“I thought lances were expensive,” Steve said.

“Not if you don’t need a metal tip, and know how to carve them yourself,” Kedry replied. 

“Is that normal for a hedge - sorry, a sellsword to do?” Steve asked. 

Kedry’s mouth quirked in something that could almost be called the start of a smile.  “No.  My - one of my trainers insisted I learn.”

Steve gave a hum in answer.  He was starting to get the feeling that Kedry was being careful with his choice of words. 

He decided to leave him be.  They’d only met bare hours ago, after all. 

Eventually, the bodies were exhumed and ready to be put across the horses.  They set about it, eager to be gone.

“Is there a reason you didn’t want to just take their heads?” Steve asked.  “A taboo?”

“I do not wish to desecrate the bodies of the dead, regardless of what they were in life,” Kedry said.  They looked uncomfortable,  but their tone was resolute, as if they were expecting an argument.

But Steve was nodding.  “I can appreciate that.  Don’t think many here would; life seems real cheap here.”

“It may be to some, but not to me,” Kedry said, pensive. 

The last body was all that remained, one tied to each free horse and one behind the saddle on Redbloom.  Fury was still free, but might be slowed by bearing both Steve and a corpse.  The obvious answer was to put the body on one of the horses already carrying a corpse, but there was another option.

Steve took a deep breath, shaking out his limbs.  Fury had had his chance to run, and now it was his turn.  He hoisted the last corpse over the saddle and began to tie it in place.

Kedry was watching him with a questioning gaze.  He stayed quiet, but his query was clear. 

“Think I’ll jog back to the village,” Steve said, “clear my lungs.”

“We do plan to get back before nightfall,” Kedry said.

“What, you don’t think you can keep up?” Steve asked.

A single eyebrow raised in response, but Kedry made no verbal response.  Instead he just murmured something to Redbloom, and the destrier broke out into a trot that swiftly became an easy run.  The other horses followed without an apparent command, and Steve began to pace them.

The first twenty minutes saw Steve keep pace easily, and at the end Kedry began to look to him as if waiting for a break to be called.  The next twenty minutes saw him disabused of this notion, and the twenty after that saw him begin to look at him with something close to disbelief.  Through it all, Steve’s breath remained steady and deep.  At the start of the second hour of travel, he grew tired of catching droplets of mud from the horses’ hooves, and moved to overtake them.

“On your left,” he said, smiling at the private joke.  Cutting loose on the run was good, but it wasn’t enough.  Harrenhal couldn’t come fast enough.

X x X

Their return to the village, corpses in tow, did not go unremarked.  Steve’s keen eyes caught sight of a flash of blond darting back into the village as it came into his sight, no doubt Toby gone to alert the others.  In no time at all, they were back in what passed for the centre of the village, the headman responsible for the entire errand watching them from his home, chewing on a nail. 

Naerys and Robin were waiting on the cart to the side of the village centre, the kid perched atop it, watching the scene unfold.  Toby emerged from a side street and went straight to the horses, talking to them as he checked them over.  He even spared some time for Fury and Swiftstride, which the horses seemed to appreciate. 

“Five bandits, just as I told you,” Kedry called to the headman.  A small crowd was gathering, coming out to see the strangers who were bringing bodies into their village.  “Now you owe me fifty silver stags, as we agreed.”

“That’s not - they could be anyone,” the headman said, still stubborn. 

“They were bandits,” Kedry said.  His voice was stone, and so was his face. 

“If you made an agreement,” Steve said, “then you should honour it.”

The headman’s eyes flicked over Steve, and then his horse, before coming to a rest on his shield.  He sagged.  “Fine.  You’ll get yer silver.”  He disappeared back within his house.

Steve glanced at the villagers in small clusters around them, watching from afar.  They seemed more interested than anything, not upset or riled up.  “Do you know why he’s so against paying?” he asked Kedry quietly.

Kedry gave a slight shrug.  “Doesn’t want to part with the money, I’d guess.  He doesn’t seem like he doesn’t have it at all.”

Steve gave a hmm in response, but continued to eye the village around them. More villagers were coming to observe in ones and twos, and his gut was telling him there was more to this.  “Let’s get the bodies down.”

“Aye,” Kedry said.  “I expect you to bury these men with respect,” he called out to the gathered villagers.  His voice was projecting almost as well as some sergeants Steve had come across.  “I didn’t bury them in the first place for my own sake.”

There were some muttered comments from the watchers, but no disagreement.  Steve and Kedry began to take the bodies from the horses, laying them in the village centre.  They did their best to lay them in a place that was less muddy than the rest.  As they were laying the last body down, the headman reemerged, a pouch in hand.  He began to toss it to Kedry, only to freeze as he saw the bodies.

Steve followed his gaze, and saw it fixed on one in particular.  “You knew him, didn’t you,” Steve said quietly.

The headman’s gaze jerked to him.  His mouth moved soundlessly, and he threw the pouch at Kedry.  “Take yer silver, and get outta my village,” he said.

“It wasn’t that you didn’t want to pay,” Kedry said slowly.  “It was because you realised who they were.”

Steve narrowed his eyes at the headman.  “Where do you recognise them from?” he demanded, and his words carried. 

“No, I didn’t,” the old man said quickly, raggedly.  “They’re not one of us - we never -”

“Did you think there were four of them from survivors, or because you were in on it?” Kedry demanded, his tone suspicious, nearly paranoid. 

Steve looked from the headman to the bodies lined before him, searching for any family resemblance, but found none.  “Are they part of a larger group?”

The watching villagers had drawn closer now, close enough to see and hear and be involved.

“None of our village would attack a noble,” the headman said, almost pleading.  “They’re not from round ‘ere, please m’lor -”

“That’s the old miller’s son,” a voice declared, pointing at a corpse and sounding outraged. 

“They kill the miller’s boy?”

“They said they was hunting bandits.”

“Always knew he was a rotten sort.”

“They killin’ us and callin’ us bandits!”

The cries came from all around, mixed and confused.  Steve was suddenly aware of how surrounded they were, and the potential for this to turn ugly.  His shield was within arm’s reach, but this didn’t have to end in violence. 

“Do you make a habit of ambushing passing travelers?” Steve boomed, instantly silencing the building furor.  “Who here claims to know these men?  Step forward and be held accountable.”

Many were cowed, and the headman flinched back.

“That’s - that’s the miller’s son, m’lord,” one man stepped forward and said.  “He died early in the winter, the miller that is.  But we don’t know the rest.”

“And he was cut down after he ambushed a traveler on the road,” Steve said, voice loud and clear.  “Are we to believe this village was unaware?”

“No!” the headman shouted, finding his voice once more.  “No one knew.  He’s been living apart for months.  We weren’t involved, none of us.”

“Yet you knew something, and refused to pay what we agreed,” Kedry said.  “You knew.”  It was a condemnation.

“Only last eve, I swear m’lord,” the headman said desperately.  “When he snuck out of town, and - the miller was my cousin’s boy, I couldn’t pay for that, I just couldn’t.”

The miller’s boy was working with the bandits, Steve realised, helping them pick their targets.  He was the one who carried word to them that Kedry was on his way to collect the bounty on them, and how they knew to be waiting in ambush for him.  Four bandits and their lookout, but was that all?  Steve looked around at the crowd, no longer at risk of turning into a mob.  Their words had the ring of fearful truth, but could he take them at it?  They likely wouldn’t even be privy to details on the bandits if the miller’s son was the only local member. 

It would have to do regardless, Steve realised.  Even if there were more collaborators standing before him, this wasn’t his home where he had the authority, real and recognised, to dispense justice and uphold the law.  He would have to trust in his gut, take them at their word, and move on.

He took in the faces of those around him.  Their heads were bowed, and none would meet his eyes.  They weren’t angry that one of their own might have been killed, or shamed that he was a bandit - they feared that they’d be blamed for his actions.  They feared that he would take it out on the village because he was a noble.  He glanced at the headman.  The elder was watching him like a drowning man might someone about to throw a lifeline. 

“I can’t speak for Kedry,” Steve started, moderating his voice, “but there’s no shame in feeling an attachment to family, even if they...go astray.”

Kedry shot him an indecipherable stare, but only for a moment.  “His choices were his own,” he said.  “I will not hold them against the village.”

A sigh of relief seemed to pass through the buildings like a breeze, as if a descending blade had been lifted. 

“We should be going,” Steve said quietly to Kedry. 

The man nodded, tucking away the coin purse he’d been given and guiding his horse over to the cart, Toby almost in his shadow.  Naerys and Robin were waiting tensely, and Steve noticed that their weapons were close to hand.  Quickly, they rearranged their possessions in the cart and prepared the horses.  While the crowd was still distracted by the five corpses and discussing what had happened, they made good their departure, leaving the village behind under the afternoon sun.  For such a small place, it sure had its share of happenings. 

X x X

They made camp a few hours’ ride north of Brindlewood that night, although not so far as the point Steve and Kedry had retrieved the bodies from.  As dusk fell, they chose an open field to settle down in for the eve, some distance from the road and with no cover for anyone to sneak up on them. They would be exposed in turn, but the gathering grey clouds promised poor visibility for anyone seeking them. 

As Steve and Naerys began to pull their somewhat luxurious tent from the cart, he noticed that the tent that Kedry was retrieving was somewhat smaller.  It looked more suitable for two children or one man than a man and a boy.  Robin and Toby had gone to hunt some game to add to their dinner, and Steve approached Kedry.

“We’ve got some room in our tent,” Steve offered.  “It’s meant to be divided into separate rooms, so you wouldn’t be intruding.”

Kedry paused for a moment.  “Thank you, but our tent will suffice,” he said.  “It is not as bad as it looks, truly, and there is room enough for both our bedrolls.”

Steve eyed the tent.  “If you say so.”  Was he judging a man by the bells and whistles of his home?  Had Tony rubbed off on him?

“The size of it is good for warmth, if nothing else,” Kedry said.

Steve returned his focus to his own tent, although by the size of it, it could almost be called a pavilion.  He glanced back at KEdry; the armour he wore was basic even to his eye, old and in need of replacement.  Despite this, it was meticulously maintained, as were his weapons.  Taken with his refined accent, Steve would bet that there was more to the man than met the eye.  But that was a thought for another time, after they’d wrestled this tent into shape.  Kedry finished his quickly, and then joined them in their efforts.  By the time Robin and Toby returned with a brace of rabbits between them, they were done.

Dinner was a quiet but companionable affair, the excitement of the day leaving the newly expanded group more comfortable with each other than they otherwise might have been.  Sharing their food with Kedry and Toby made for a good impression too, the two of them admitting to stretching their funds out however they could over the last months. 

The fire burned merrily as they talked and got to know each other, and all that was missing was perhaps a drink to nurse with it.

“You’ve got your horses trained very well,” Steve said, some time after they’d finished eating and dealt with their plates.

“Toby has a gift,” Kedry said smoothly.

“Mountain clan, ya know,” Toby said. 

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Steve said.  “I’m not quite from around here.”

Kedry and Toby traded looks.

“Er...that’s just how mountain clansmen are.  Good with animals,” Toby said. 

If Steve had a mug to drink from, he’d be giving them a look over it.  As it was, he settled for side eyeing them.  That exchange had the ring of practice about it. 

Still, they’d only met today, and he’d already decided not to interrogate or question them.  If the two of them decided to stick with them past Harrenhal, then they could think about sharing secrets.  It couldn’t be anything too dramatic.  Maybe they’d stolen or won a prize horse.

Perhaps sensing the slight awkwardness, Naerys chimed in with a teasing lilt to her voice.  “It has been a while since we’ve shared a campfire like this, Steve,” she said.  “Perhaps it’s time for you to grace us once more.”

Robin, as the third of an unknown number of children, appeared to have a keen ear for friendly mockery.  “What’s this?” he asked. 

Steve realised where she was going, and held back a groan.

“Steve has a wonderful singing voice,” Naerys said.  Her face and tone were innocent, but her eyes were full of mischief. 

“That sounds like a great idea,” Robin said, immediately catching on.  “I haven’t had the joy yet, and neither have our new friends.”  He was grinning. 

“You sing, Lord Steve?” Kedry said, sounding interested.  “My grandmother saw that I had lessons when I was young, but it - was not a talent.”  Next to him, Toby was smirking, having twigged to the reality of the suggestion immediately. 

“How about you sing this time Naerys, given I went last time,” Steve said.  “Or you Robin.  We could take turns,” he said, not quite desperate. 

“You don’t want me to sing,” Robin said seriously. 

“I only know sad songs,” Naerys claimed. 

“No,” Toby said, before Steve had even finished turning to him. 

Kedry simply watched him, green eyes holding nothing but polite anticipation. 

Steve let out a great sigh.  “Remember, you asked for this.”  He cleared his throat. 

“Amazing grace, How sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me.

I once was lost, but now I am found,

Was blind, but now I see…”

He hoped his on the spot translation was doing it justice.  Maybe next time he’d choose a song with a little less history behind it.  Still, his audience didn't seem to be complaining.  

X x X

It was the horses that warned them, a screaming whinny jolting Steve from his sleep.  The horse screamed again, not in pain, but almost in warning, and he was rolling out of his bedroll before he thought about it.  He strode from the sectioned off tent, slowing only to pick up his shield, and then he was outside.  Behind him, Robin and Naerys were stirring in their own ‘rooms’.  Cold air raised goosebumps on his bare chest.

It was still dark outside, the moon obscured by the clouds, and he couldn’t see what was disturbing the animals.  From the smaller tent next to them, he could see Toby sticking his head out.

“Ke- Kedry’s on watch still,” the boy said.  He scampered out of the tent in an overlong tunic,  heading for the horses.

Robin emerged behind Steve, blinking bleary eyes and wearing only trousers like Steve, his bow in his hands.  “What is it?”

Kedry loomed out of the darkness, blood on his glaive.  “Trouble,” he said.  “Those bandits had friends.”

The horses calmed, but the quietness was one of anticipation.  Steve closed his eyes, straining to hear.  The breathing of those near him, the shuffling of the horses and Toby reassuring and thanking them, Naerys taking up her short sword and joining them outside; whatever he might have heard was buried by it all.

“There,” Robin said, pointing towards the road some distance off.

Torches could be seen, and more were being lit.  Six, eight, eleven, twelve.  They clustered for a moment, and then began to approach as a group.  The flare of the flames were too much to make out details.

“They must have heard me deal with their scout,” Kedry said.

Steve frowned, even as Robin plucked at his bowstring and Naerys kept readjusting her grip on her sword.  Was this a feint, a distraction, or just a rabble trusting in their numbers?  It was time to make a decision, and give orders.

“Watch for an ambush,” Steve commanded.  “Kedry, Naerys, watch our rear.  Robin, shoot anyone who tries to come at us from the side.”  He almost ordered Toby to be ready to flee with the horses for his own safety, but he was keeping them calm, and they were clustered around him protectively, hiding him from view.  “I’ll take this group on.”

The others voiced their assent, Robin jumping up onto the cart for what elevation he could get.  Steve hefted his shield, the weight of it still feeling slightly off even after the weeks he’d had to get used to it.  He waited for the torch bearers to grow closer, and then he broke out into a jog towards them. 

Maybe they had agreed to charge once they crossed half the field, or maybe they caught sight of him, but the bandits let out a feral yell and broke into a run.  Steve’s vision narrowed, and all he could hear was his breath in his ears.  These men had come to kill him and his, and for that, they would die. 

He crashed into them, leading with his shield, and two men died inside two heartbeats, throats cut by the jagged edge of his weapon.  But something was wrong.  He wasn’t facing twelve men each bearing a torch, he was facing six, each holding two.  One of them lashed out - flailed, really - with their torches, but Steve had already crashed through them and past their reach.  The bandits turned, now between him and the camp.  Past the glare of the flame, he could see a figure with a pole arm setting about three foes, while what must be Naerys fought three more.  One of those fell without a sound, their head jerking back suddenly.  A horse charged towards what must be Kedry. 

Steve took it all in within a moment, lashing out with his boot at a bandit that turned for him and got a little too close.  He felt ribs crack under his blow, and the man collapsed with a cry.  Three left. 

They could handle themselves.  He would deal with the three left here, and then join them.

One bandit dropped a torch, and lunged with a long knife, seeking Steve’s unprotected chest, only to find his arm seized in an unyielding grip.  Steve spun, bringing the man with him by the arm and hurling him at another bandit.  He felt the arm crack and dislocate with the force, and his target went down with him in a pile of limbs.  The final bandit gave a bellow and made a desperate charge, only for Steve to slam the blunt edge of his shield into the bridge of his nose.  He collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.  

A scream came from the camp - a woman’s voice.  Steve broke into a sprint, covering the distance to the other fight in seconds.  Kedry was holding two foes off with his glaive, before Redbloom charged out of the darkness and killed one with a single kick to the head. 

Naerys was being driven back by her remaining foe, a gash across her sword arm, and the man was being careful to keep her between him and Robin.  Her shortsword was dark with blood. 

Steve entered the fight with sudden and crushing violence, seizing Naerys’ foe by the neck and shaking him until it snapped, before taking his blade and hurling it at Kedry’s last foe, sinking it deep into his back.  The bandit gave out a keening cry and stumbled, and Kedry took his head off with a single blow. 

The silence was sudden, broken only by Naerys’ stifled sounds of pain as she clutched her arm. 

“Headcount, sound off,” Steve demanded. 

There was a brief moment of hesitation, before they understood his order. 

“Good,” Kedry said, holding his side.  There was no blood, so Steve put it aside for now.

“Good,” Robin said from the cart.  His voice was strained, but he seemed uninjured.

“I’m alive!” Toby’s voice came from where he was still surrounded by the horses, save for Redbloom, who was stamping on the downed bandits.  It wasn’t pretty. 

“Naerys, can you move your fingers?” Steve asked, striding over to her.  Slowly, he guided her down into a sitting position.

“Yes, it’s not deep, I think,” she said, wincing as she cradled her arm.  “I got him, right in the throat, but then I was too open, and the other one -” she was starting to ramble. 

“Hey, this was your first real fight, and you did good,” Steve said.  “You’re alive.  You won.”  He looked around, taking in their camp.  It was trampled from the fight, but their tents were fine and nothing looked to be missing, but Robin and Naerys had likely just made their first kills and Naerys was wounded.  “Kedry, can you check the bandits?”

He nodded, and almost tore off a pauldron that had been damaged in the fight.  It looked to have prevented any wounds, but had given its last gasp to do so.  He disappeared into the darkness, off to where the torches carried by Steve’s foes were guttering in the dirt.  Redbloom had confirmed the kills on those who had snuck up on the camp. 

“Robin, in our supplies, there is some jam, that sweet fruit preserve,” Steve said.  “Can you get it and bring it here, along with a knife, a spoon, some bandages from the medical supplies, and a waterskin.”

“Right,” Robin said, tearing his gaze away from the bandit lying on the ground with an arrow sticking from his eye. 

“Toby, I need you to stoke the fire, and then get a clean pot and put it on the coals,” Steve called, falling into the steady calmness of post battle triage.  He took the shortsword from Naerys, setting it on the ground, and inspected her arm.  It wasn’t a cosmetic wound, but it definitely could have been worse.  “So how does it feel to have your first battle scar,” Steve asked, putting on a grin. 

“My first?” Naerys asked, slightly strangled.  “You mean this will happen again?”

“Well, maybe if you keep going into battle in your evening clothes,” Steve said.  “I’d suggest armour, but what do I know.”

“Because you in your trousers is such an improvement,” Naerys said, and forced out a laugh.  “Buy me a set after you win fifteen thousand gold dragons,” she said. 

“Sure, my shout for everyone,” Steve said. 

Robin returned, looking more settled after having something to occupy his focus.  “Here,” he said, holding out a jar of jam, the bandages, and the waterskin.

Steve took the jar and the bandages.  “Take the water, and bring it to a boil on the fire,” he instructed, before inspecting him closely.  “First, have some of the jam.”  He handed the kid the spoon.

Mechanically, Robin took a spoonful of jam and swallowed it down.  The sweet taste seemed to help, and Steve cleaned the spoon off on his pants before offering it to Naerys. 

“Eat some,” he said.  “It’ll make you feel better.” 

Naerys ate, and colour returned to her cheeks.  “How bad is it?”

“I’ve had worse shaving,” Steve said.  “We’ll clean it, bandage it, and you’ll be right to start training again by Harrenhal.” 

“Right, of course,” Naerys said, as if convincing herself. 

“You said you wanted adventure, and you’ve defeated your first bandits,” Steve said.  “How does it feel?”

“Oh, just great,” she said.  “Wake them up and we’ll do it again.”

Steve continued to distract Naerys as he inspected the wound and waited for the water to boil.  Toby and Robin were focused on their task, keeping their mind off things as they prepared the boiling water, and Kedry could handle himself.  In short order, the preparations were complete, and Steve began to clean the wound.  Naerys hissed in pain, but bore it better than some soldiers he had met, and he began to bandage her arm. 

Kedry returned.  “Five bodies,” he reported. 

Shit, Steve thought, but kept it to himself.  “I fought six,” he said aloud.  “I only knocked one down, he must have fled.”

“We won’t find him in this,” Kedry said, gesturing to the predawn light. 

“He doesn’t matter,” Steve said.  “Are you wounded?”

“Bruised,” Kedry said, shaking his head.  “My armour is on its last legs though.”  He sounded frustrated. 

Steve considered the sellsword.  It was true that the bandits had probably only attacked their camp because they’d joined up with Kedry, but they could have just as easily been ambushed by them if they’d ignored him, and if they’d been attacked in the night like this without the sellsword or his ward, it could have gone badly for Naerys and Robin.  After tonight, he was considering making an offer for something more than just a guide to Harrenhal. 

“Hey, Kedry,” Steve said.  “Do you want a place in my retinue?”  Still seated before him, Naerys groaned, and it wasn’t from the pain of her wound. 

Kedry tilted his head to the side.  “Excuse me?”

“That’s what they call it, right? My retinue?” Steve asked.  “I pay you a wage, and you join me on my adventures?”

“I...we have only just met, Lord Steve,” Kedry said.  “I do not think -”

“He says yes!” Toby shouted from over by the fire.  “What are you going to pay us?”

“Toby!” Kedry said, voice like frost. 

“Four silver moons a month for Kedry and three for you Toby?” Steve half said, half asked.  Toby choked.  “What do you think, Naerys?  You’re the one in charge of this.”

Naerys muttered something to herself.  It didn’t sound complimentary.  “First of all, you’ll be paying me six moons a month now, and after tonight Robin has proven himself worth four moons a month.  Toby is young, but I saw how he controlled the horses tonight and he’s worth three moons a month easily.  Kedry you’ll be paying five moons a month,” she said, the task seeming to calm her. 

“Sounds reasonable,” Steve agreed easily.

Kedry’s eyes popped a little, and Toby’s jaw hung loose before he closed it with a click. 

“And you’ll be outfitting them with all new arms, armour, and clothing at Harrenhal,” Naerys added. 

“How much will that cost?” Steve asked. 

“No more than twenty gold dragons,” Naerys said.

Steve nodded, and looked to their two potential new comrades.  “I understand if you need some time to think about it,” he said.

“He’ll do it,” Toby said.  He came over to poke Kedry.  “Tell them.”

“I humbly accept your gracious offer,” Kedry said, as if by rote. 

Naerys smiled.  “Excellent,” she said, before dropping the smile.  “Now if you don’t mind, I’m hungry and in pain.”  She made to get up, as if to fetch some food.

“You’ll go back to your bed, and rest while we prepare a meal,” Steve said, sweeping her up in a princess carry. 

Two spots of colour appeared on her cheeks, and she looked up to and down her nose at him at the same time.  She tried to play it off as disgruntled anger, but Steve knew.  As he took her back to her bed, the sun began to peak up over the horizon. 

It was a new day, and they grew ever closer to Harrenhal and the riches that awaited. 

X x X

For now though, he had more pressing concerns.  He emerged from the tent and took in the situation.  Kedry was policing the bandit corpses, Robin helping him uneasily.  His eyes were fixed on the body with the arrow sticking out of its neck, and the blood that coated its front.  Toby was more concerned with the horses, focusing on the bloodied hooves of Redbloom than the bodies. 

“Robin,” Steve said.  “I need you to get a meal started.  Get the good stuff out.  Toby, once you’ve seen to the horses, help him please.  Kedry and I will clean up the camp.”  Fitting words to actions, he took the legs of the corpse Robin was helping to carry, and the kid relinquished his burden.  “Wash your hands first,” Steve added as Robin stepped away quickly. 

The two warriors quickly removed the corpses from the camp proper, taking them out to join the rest in the field.  On the last trip, Kedry brought a shovel and used it to keep the mostly crushed head, courtesy of Redbloom, in one piece while Steve carried the bandit.  They placed the corpse alongside its fellows, and Steve took them in for a long moment.  Twelve corpses, and one survivor fled into the night, and for what?  Greed?  Revenge? 

“...Father forgive you, and Stranger take you into his keeping,” Kedry said, voice quiet. 

“Praying for your enemies?” Steve asked.

“Someone must,” Kedry said.  “Even if they had reason.”

“Think they were with the bandits you dealt with yesterday?”

“It is the only answer,” Kedry said.  “I have no quarrel with smallfolk.”

And they were definitely peasants, Steve noted.  Poor clothing, weapons that were marked by either poor quality or age, no armour to be seen.  “Well, at least you didn’t run into them all at once,” he said.

A pained frown crossed Kedry’s face.  “I must apologise for bringing them down upon us,” he said.

“Don’t mention it,” Steve said.  “Really, don’t.  Better they attack us than someone who can’t defend themselves.”

Kedry sighed, but said nothing.  He broke the soft earth with the shovel, and began to dig.  After a time, he swapped out with Steve, and soon they had a grave large enough to lay the corpses in side by side. 

“Has Toby dealt with combat before?” Steve asked, as they began to gently place the bandits into the grave.

“Yes,” Kedry said.  “The mountain clansmen do not put much stock in childhood, and he has killed men before.”

“He can’t be more than twelve,” Steve said, anger in his chest. 

Kedry grimaced.  “Westeros is not kind.  I have kept him from fighting when I can, but…”

“At least he didn’t have to take up a weapon last night,” Steve said. 

“...yes, at least there’s that,” Kedry said.  “His life was not kind before I rescued him, but he’s a good lad.”

They lowered another body in, ignoring the brain matter leaking from its crushed skull.

“So I’ve seen,” Steve said.  “He worries over you like a mother hen.”

Kedry groaned.  “He means well, but sometimes…” he shook his head. 

“I know the type,” Steve said, thinking back to Bucky nagging him after another fight in a side alley that a generous man would have said he had lost. 

Kedry paused, before speaking.  “If you could avoid naming him as a mountain clan child, seeing as we are to travel together…”

“It won’t be obvious?” Steve asked.  Toby had some fairly distinctive looks.

“No,” Kedry said, shaking his head.  “Toby has nothing of the looks of the clansmen.  I suspect his mother was stolen.”

“Stolen?” Steve asked. 

“Vale clansmen like to steal women back to their mountains to bear them children,” Kedry said, lips pressed together in a thin line. 

Steve frowned.  “And no one tries to rescue them?”

“The mountains are treacherous, and the clans know them well,” Kedry said.  The last body was consigned, and he began to shovel dirt over them.  “And women who are taken are often considered spoiled.”

Steve flexed a fist, keeping a grip on his temper.  “In my homeland -” he cut himself off.  Westeros was a different land, and it wasn’t in him to talk down to the people who lived here like he was some higher figure.  “That’s not right.”

“It’s the way things are,” Kedry said.  “Until someone changes it.”

Steve held his tongue, even as he realised more and more what it meant to live in a medieval society.  Justice wasn’t for all, and might made right more often than not.  “Maybe someone should,” he said instead.

Kedry grunted, but continued to shovel grave dirt.  Steve left him to his thoughts, even as he considered what it might mean for him to be stuck in this land for the long term.  He might only be one man, but when that one man was Captain America...

The sun had fully risen over the horizon by the time they had covered the graves, and they returned to the camp, where Steve could see Robin focused on the hotplate he had set over the fire.  The scent of bacon was on the air.

Breakfast was a quick affair, the group ignoring the bloodstains left around their camp and eager to move on.  Naerys got over the shock of the fight and emerged from the tent to eat, stubbornly eating with her one good arm, her demeanor making it clear that anyone who offered to cut her bacon for her would risk being eaten in turn.  After they finished eating, they began to break down their camp without need for further discussion, and in short order the cart was loaded and they were ready to depart. 

Steve watched as Naerys awkwardly attempted to mount her horse without using her injured arm.  “Maybe you’d be better off driving the cart, at least for the next few days,” he said.

“I won’t be able to control the mules,” Naerys said shortly. 

Steve cast his eye over the party, considering.  “Toby,” he said.  “Can you drive a cart?”

“I can do anything horse-like,” Toby said without a hint of a boast.

Off to the side, Kedry cleared his throat without looking over as he saw to Redbloom.

“Er, I mean yes m’lord, I can drive the cart,” Toby said. 

“Call me Steve, or,” and here Steve sighed, “Lord America if we’re dealing with other nobles.”

“Knew it,” Toby muttered to himself. 

“Do you mind if Robin rides Swiftstride?” Steve asked, voice low. 

“That’s fine,” Naerys said.  “So long as he treats him right.”

“I’m sure he will,” Steve said.  “Robin!  You’re on Swiftstride today.”

“I’ve never ridden a horse before,” Robin said, stepping away from the cart. 

“Gotta start somewhere,” Steve said.  “Here; hold the saddle like this, put your foot in the stirrup here, and…”

Robin didn’t make it up on his first attempt, but he did on his second, and he sat in the saddle like a politician on a pew, shifting with every movement of the horse. 

“Everyone set?” Steve asked.  He received replies of varying confidence.  “Let’s go then.”  He set out, leading the way back towards the road, Robin at his side.  The two unridden horses followed obediently behind the cart and Kedry brought up the rear, his glaive close to hand in a holster designed for it. 

As they rode, the sun ascended into the sky proper, creeping closer to midmorning.  Steve nudged Fury ahead and away from the cart some, Swiftstride following, and giving himself and Robin some semblance of privacy.

“You ever been in a fight before?” he asked the kid.

“I knocked out a few teeth out of the butcher’s son’s mouth once,” Robin said.  “He gave me two black eyes.”

“But you’ve never loosed an arrow in anger before,” Steve said. 

Robin shook his head.  “Not...not like that.”

“First time you’ve killed a man,” Steve said. 

“He was a bandit,” Robin said, seized by the urge to justify himself.  “Not someone who didn’t deserve it.”  Despite his words, his face told a story that weighed upon him.

“Nothing wrong with regretting taking a man’s life,” Steve said. 

“I don’t regret it,” Robin said.  “But…”

“I was older than you, for mine,” Steve said.  He thought back to the factory he had rescued Bucky and all the others from.  He had been mostly used to his new strength, but the fight had really driven home just how fragile everyone else was to him.  “After the fight, once everything was over, I threw up.”

“Really?” Robin asked, turning his gaze to him.  “You?”

“It’s not a light thing, taking a life,” Steve said.  “But you did it for the right reasons, and that’s what matters.”

“It still feels...I don’t know,” Robin said.  “Like I could have shot him in the leg, or something.”

“Could’ve, would’ve,” Steve said.  “You took action, and didn’t hesitate.  Stopping to think in battle will only get you killed.”

Robin nodded slowly. 

“You did good today Robin,” Steve said.  “I know things are done differently here than in my homeland, but you defended you and yours, and that’s about all you can ask of yourself.”

“One of my friends, he was attacked with his father on a journey once, and he killed one of them,” Robin said.  “His Da and uncles all got him drunk and took him to a brothel after.  Said he was a man.”

“There’s nothing wrong with regretting taking a man’s life,” Steve said again.  “You can celebrate your survival, and that your friends made it.  What you shouldn’t do is be glad that you’ve killed.”

“Shouldn’t we celebrate the death of evil men?” Robin asked.  “The Septons say that--”

“There’s a difference between being glad that evil can’t harm another, and being glad that you’ve killed,” Steve cut him off.  Thor’s face after he decapitated Thanos crossed his mind’s eye.  He thought of the men he killed in the war, and the agents of Hydra after it.  “You probably saved Naerys’ life, you know.  Be proud of that.”

“Yeah.”  Robin straightened up, buoyed by the thought.

“Think about it, but don’t let it consume you,” Steve said.  “If you want, we can talk more later.”

“Yeah...thanks, Steve,” Robin said. 

“Anytime,” Steve said.  “If you want, we can get you a drink at Harrenhal, but if you want to find a brothel, I’m afraid you’re on your own.”

The tips of Robin’s ears burned red.  “That’s - I would never --”  He caught sight of Steve’s smirk and hung his head. 

Steve laughed, and nudged Fury into a trot.  The kid would be alright. 

The Kingsroad is not without its perils, but Steve and his company have overcome them.  New companions have been met, and new bonds forged.  They are thin, and yet to be tested, but beginnings are modest and may yet lead to great things.  Harrenhal awaits...and Lord America will not be found wanting.

Chapter Text

On a horse fit for a noble, wearing men’s clothes and on her way to the greatest tournament the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen, Naerys reflected on how her life had changed.  Scarcely two months ago, she had been drifting through a life that seemed to have already left its best years behind, wary of her noble cousin’s intentions and with no prospects worth speaking of.  Now, she was seneschal to a noble worth the title, earning over two gold dragons a year.  The noble was from a land that seemed a paradise, and he was even teaching her to fight!  There were no unsubtle hints that she should join him in his bed, no talk of repayment.  Naerys Waters reflected on Steve Rogers, and thought him to be one of the few good men she had come to know. 

They rode through the Riverlands now, their party of five, and Naerys turned her eyes on the object of her thoughts.  He hadn’t ‘invited’ her to his bed, and besides his good nature, she thought she knew why.  Spied in a quiet moment, she had seen him gazing into a small locket, in which hid a portrait of a woman with a small smile and flowing curls.  Whether by distance or death, it was obvious they were separated, and that this mysterious woman still held his heart.  She had resolved then to help Steve avoid the wiles of young noble ladies and the schemes of their matchmaking mothers, because he surely wouldn’t recognise them for what they were.  And if she were also quietly smothering the buds of her own affection, well, that was her business. 

Swiftstride ambled along beneath her as they continued north along the Kingsroad.  Ahead, Steve was taking a turn driving the cart, while Robin and Toby rode ahorse on either side, hanging on his every word.  She felt her lips quirk at the sight.  A bowyer’s son and a mountain clan child, each riding a horse fit for a Lord, while the actual Lord held the reins of a pair of mules. 

Robin sat astride Fury like a sack of carrots, while Toby rode like he had been born in the saddle.  The boy’s horse was comparable to Fury, and not for the first time, Naerys wondered just how a travelling sellsword came to own three horses worthy of a noble’s stable. 

The boys laughed as Steve finished his tale, something about a green skinned strongman and the silver-tongued con man that ran afoul of him, and Naerys heard steady hoofbeats behind her.  A moment later, Kedry drew alongside her on the huge roan destrier he called Redbloom.

“Your ward is getting along well with Steve and Robin,” Naerys said. 

Kedry nodded.  Between the helm he wore and his stone-like expression, it was impossible to tell what he was feeling.  “It is good for him to -” he paused a moment.  “It is good for him.”

Naerys gave a polite smile in reply and turned her eyes back to the front.  After a week travelling with Kedry and Toby, Naerys had realised two things.  One, they both had something to hide, and two, Kedry was a terrible liar.  Steve seemed well aware of the first and was content for them to share in their own time, and Naerys would of course follow his lead, but it was the second that set her to twitching.  Kedry was aware of his shortcomings, but rather than seek to cover them with polite demurrals, he had apparently decided that cutting himself off mid sentence and then blatantly changing the subject was the solution.

“Are you looking forward to the tourney?” Kedry asked. 

Naerys held back a sigh.  At least it was an improvement on avoiding conversation entirely.  “Very much so,” she said.  “Even as tournaments go, this one promises to be special.”

“Have you attended one before?” Kedry asked. 

“No, never,” Naerys said with a snort.  “I’m a bastard-born girl from a poor House.”  She admitted it easily, now that she was a woman of means, when back at Sharp Point it had been something shameful, widely known but rarely mentioned. 

“A bastard?” Kedry asked.  “But where are your horns?”

It took her a long moment, a moment that began with a familiar twist in her stomach as she prepared herself for rejection, but then she saw the faintest upward twist at the edge of Kedry’s mouth.  She spluttered.  “My horns I keep hidden in polite company,” she said, “so I can’t say I know why I’ve put them away here.”

A laugh broke free from Kedry’s throat, high and clear.  The three boys ahead turned back at it, broen from their conversation, and Kedry quited himself to chuckles.  The boys turned back, but not before Naerys saw a small smile on Toby’s face.

“I was always told bastards were ugly, spiteful, scheming things,” Kedry said.  “Given who told me, I should have known it for a lie.”

“Who told you such things?” Naerys asked.

“A knight that my father - knew,” Kedry said.

“Ah,” Naerys said.  Kedry was much better at telling misleading truths than lies, she’d noticed.  “For a long time, the only Ser I ever met was my cousin, who was not the best of men.  But I’ve met many more with Steve, some great, some ordinary.”  She shrugged.  “They’re just men.”

“They are called to be the best of us,” Kedry said, scowling. 

Naerys made no mention of the refined Vale accent that had shone through briefly, only making a vague sound of agreement.

“How is your arm?” Kedry asked.

“Healing,” Naerys said, tensing the limb in question gingerly.  The first day had been the worst, every aborted movement sending a flash of pain along the wound, but now she could hold Swiftstride’s reins with hardly a twinge.  “Steve said I should be able to start doing some light exercises again once we reach Harrenhal.”

“It is good of him to train you,” Kedry said.  “Not many would think it a woman’s place.”

“It is kind of him,” Naerys said, glancing at Kedry out the side of narrowed eyes.

“I could assist once you are recovered,” Kedry said stiffly.  “I know Steve does not use a sword, and you wielded yours well against the bandits.”

“Oh,” Naerys said.  “Yes, I would appreciate that.”  She watched a subtle tension leave the sellsword’s broad shoulders.  Oh, she thought, and looked at him anew.  He had long lashes and a dreamer’s eyes, and next to anyone but Steve he would have looked well muscled.  Nothing but a sword lesson had been offered, but her intuition said there was another layer left unsaid.

“Steve has done much for me, and for Toby,” Kedry said.  “I would like to repay his generosity.”

“He will appreciate that,” Naerys said.  “But I don’t think he asked you to join his retinue because he wanted service.”

Kedry glanced ahead, they were out of earshot of the cart, and the boys were still pestering Steve for stories.  “He is paying me two gold dragons a year,” he said.

“He told you that he led a group of champions in his homeland,” Naerys said, and Kedry nodded.  “I think he just wants to build a group of companions.  The pay is just his allowance to the way things are done here.”

“That would be something,” Kedry said.  “Perhaps we could adventure around the Kingdoms, righting wrongs and dispensing justice.”

“That would be a fine thing,” Naerys said with a laugh.  “You should suggest it to him after the tournament.”

“I couldn’t presume,” Kedry said.

“Steve offered to pay for Robin’s entry to the archery contest within ten minutes of meeting him,” Naerys said.  “He doesn’t much care for what is ‘proper.”

“I’m beginning to notice that,” Kedry said.  “I’ve not met another noble who can fight like he did and then turn around to provide aid.  It was...admirable.”

It was a fine thing, Naerys agreed, but more impressive was how Steve had changed the way their two newest companions had viewed him, Toby especially.  He had been wary and mistrustful, unashamed of accepting Steve’s help because he had coin and they needed it, and now he was almost hanging off his every word.  More than Steve killing five men in a few heartbeats, it was his actions and care after the fight that had planted the seeds of loyalty.  Naerys recognised it happening to another, but she couldn’t say when it had happened for her.  Was it after he assaulted her cousin, only to realise what it meant for her and apologise?  Was it when he trusted her with his small fortune as his seneschal?  Or was it a more gradual thing, building as they travelled halfway across Westeros together?  She couldn’t say.

“I’m sure he would teach you what he knows if you asked,” she said, keeping her thoughts to herself.

Kedry looked intrigued for a moment, before seeming to remember something.  A small sigh escaped him.  “Perhaps,” he said.  “Perhaps.”

“We’ve nowhere to be after Harrenhal, so you’ve time to decide,” Naerys said.  Decide if you want to share this secret of yours that makes you reluctant to accept help, she thought.  Aloud, she said, “nowhere save a safe place to keep Steve’s melee winnings.”

“I had thought he was jesting when he spoke so surely of victory,” Kedry said.

“I think I will be making some wagers,” Naerys said, “both on the tourney, and in the tavern, if I can persuade him.”

“You don’t think his...physique will scare people off?” Kedry asked.  “Or that he might lose?”

“There’s a fool in every tavern,” Naerys said, “and I watched him beat Big Belly Ben in an arm wrestle.”

“Of the Kingswood Brotherhood?” Kedry asked, nudging his horse closer.

“You haven’t heard?” Naerys asked.  “I would have thought the news would have spread all the way to the Neck by now.”

“I haven’t been to a tavern for a month,” Kedry said.

“Let me tell you about how the Kingswood Brotherhood met their end…” Naerys said, leaning in. 

The road continued on and so did they, sharing tales and watching the country go by.  They might not fully trust each other just yet, but in time they would, and for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Harrenhal was a monument.  Its walls were one hundred feet high if they were ten, and stretched out far enough that Steve could compare it favourably to some of the ancient wonders from his own world.  He could just see the tops of five enormous towers rising from within, the heights of which were bent and melted as if subjected to some great heat.  It overlooked the great lake called ‘Gods Eye’, and had apparently been built by some tyrant before the Targaryens had conquered the continent.  Whatever else it was, Steve figured it was grand enough to host what was being called the greatest tournament in the history of Westeros.

He could definitely see it being called the busiest.  It was still three days before the official start and the closer they had gotten to the castle, the busier the roads had become.  Lone knights, hopeful peasants, tradesmen coming to ply their wares, even minor nobles and their retinues, all had fairly clogged the roads to Harrenhal.  Right of way and passage had become a hotly contested topic between parties, and Naerys, Robin, and Toby had found themselves in shouting matches with too-slow merchants and nobles demanding they get out of the way.  One memorable occasion had seen Steve unload on a particularly infuriating noble with full Brooklyn fury, the colourful language earning hoots from those close enough to hear and possibly the lifelong enmity from the noble in question.  But they had made it, and with time to spare.  They stood in line at the main gates of the castle, waiting for those ahead to be checked and permitted entry.  Steve couldn’t see his group being turned away, but it would be awkward if they had to wait outside until he could get Barristan to give a good word for them.

Finally, it was their turn, and they approached the guards manning the gate, Steve leading the way, Naerys, Kedry and Toby ahorse behind him, while Robin drove the cart at the rear.  Even from outside, he could see the murder holes in the tunnel leading through the wall.  He wouldn’t want to be the one tasked with taking this castle.  Unless he had artillery, that is.  

The guards took them in at a glance; five fine horses, a cart of possessions, and led by a man in armour the likes they’d never seen before.  

“M’lord, welcome to Harrenhal on behalf of Lord Whent,” the apparent spokesman said.  “If we could have your name and business here.”

“Lord America, here to enter the tournament,” Steve said.  By all that was holy, Tony and Buck could never know.  

“And this is the extent of your retinue, m’lord?” the man asked, looking them over.  There was a hint of recognition in his eyes.

“This is all of us,” Steve said.  He noticed a young man in robes taking notes behind the guards, a short chain hanging around his neck.  

“Then be welcome in these lands for so long as you conduct yourself as a guest,” the guard said.  He waved them through.  

Steve nudged Fury forward, passing into the shadow of the great curtain wall.  They had made it to Harrenhal.  

X x X

Even after passing through the castle walls and emerging into the grounds proper, he still felt like he was outside the structure, the interior was that big.  The grounds were expansive, to say the least, and the towers rose to dizzying heights.  Hell, they might even be as tall as Avengers Tower.  And the towers were just the start of it.  To the right, what smelt like a huge stable stretched out along the wall they had just passed through, while to the left were a cluster of buildings that rang with the clash of metal on metal; a smithy and an armoury at the least.  

“This place is bleedin’ huge,” Toby said, piping up from behind Steve.  

“You could likely hold the entire tourney within its walls,” Kedry said.  He wore his helm, obscuring his features.  

“Three days before the tourney, and already there’s a small town grown,” Naerys said, nodding towards the outer ward of the castle.  Between the stables and the towers was what was once open ground, but was now filled with tents and temporary structures of varying size and quality.  

“Looks like that’s where we’re pitching camp,” Steve said, and he began to lead the way over, following a path worn into the dirt from gate to tent town.  

Without speaking, Toby trotted past on his horse, scouting ahead.

“Better than some of the towers,” Kedry said.  He frowned at his ward, but did not call him back.

“Why’s that?” Steve asked.  

“They say they’re haunted by the victims of the castle’s curse,” Kedry said.  “Ever since Harren Hoare built it, this has been a place of ill omen.”

“You seem familiar with its history,” Naerys said. 

“Just what everyone knows,” Kedry said.  

Steve guided Fury around a pair of men lugging a heavy crate, taking in the small town.  It seemed that this was the place for the less powerful and affluent to set up for the tournament, and that was fine by him.  Despite not being the first to arrive, there were still plenty of choice spots to set up their tent.

“You sure you don’t want to set up a room in the tent, Kedry?” Steve asked.  “There’s more than enough room.”

Kedry looked over the mass of tents.  There were main paths separating the rows of dwellings, but that was about as organised as it got.  Hedge knights were camped next to merchants next to tradesmen.  “I think I will take you up on that offer,” he said.  “Privacy seems like it might be hard to come by otherwise.”

Toby came trotting back.  “Found a good spot on the other end of the camp, by this ol’ ruined building.  Think it’s a sept or sommat, but no one wants to camp near it.”

“Any objections?” Steve asked.  None were forthcoming, so they followed Toby as he wheeled around to lead the way.  As they went, Steve ran his eye over the other occupants of the camp.  Many bore the signs of hard living, and those hedge knights he saw wore armour little better than what Kedry had borne before it had finally given up.  

Of the five great towers, only two of them seemed to see any use.  He supposed the royals and greater nobles would be housed there when they arrived.  The rest seemed to be ashen and decayed, the shadows cast by them somehow darker.  

“Here we go,” Toby said.

They had arrived at a patch of still green grass, away from the well trod paths that wound around the rest of the camp.  Their nearest neighbour was some thirty feet away, others almost seeming to shy away from the ruined sept - or perhaps the spectre of the ruined tower behind it.  A cold wind swept through them.

“Isn’t this place supposed to be haunted?” Robin said from the cart.

Steve snorted.  “Come on, let’s get settled in.  Then we can have a look around.”

The cart was pulled into place, and the horses tied to it with access to feed.  Setting up the pavilion tent was done quickly with the ease of practice, and in short order they had their own rooms portioned off within it, along with a sort of receiving room at the entrance that Naerys insisted on.  

“First time I’ve had a room to meself,” Toby said, as he darted into the ‘room’ he had claimed.  

Steve grinned at the kid’s excitement.  Now that they were set up, he could see about exploring the place.  

“We’ve got three days until the tournament starts,” Steve said, gathering his companions to him in the receiving room.  “In that time I want to get Kedry and Toby outfitted, gather information about the tournament, and explore the castle grounds.”  Toby opened his mouth to say something.  “Oh, and I’ll get you to take care of the horses Toby, find a stable for them.”  Toby closed his mouth.  

“We should restock our supplies before this place is overrun with nobles,” Naerys said.  “If it comes down to it, the merchants might give them preference.”

“We can do that,” Steve said.  “Kedry, Robin, any suggestions?”

Kedry shook his head, and Robin shrugged.  “The tavern?” the kid suggested.  “You said you’d get me a drink.”

Steve rolled his eyes.  “Naerys, you might as well take Toby with you to get him outfitted.  Kedry and I will find a blacksmith, and Robin can watch our tent.”

“I really don’t need new clothes,” Toby said.  

Steve eyed the boy’s worn and thinning clothes dubiously.  Far as he could tell, the kid had been cycling the same pair of clothes ever since Brindlewood, whether he found a stream to wash them in or not.  “Let’s agree to disagree and say you do,” he said, and Toby looked mutinous.

“He’ll accept your generosity if he knows what’s good for him,” Kedry said, staring at his ward.  

Toby muttered to himself, sulking, but to Steve’s eye he seemed pleased under his put-upon air.  

“Alright,” Steve said.  “We’ll meet back here in an hour, and go from there.”

They made to depart, leaving Robin behind.  The kid already looked bored, sinking down to the tent floor.  

“How about a kitten?” he called after them.  “Or a w--”

The tend flap closed, dulling his voice, and they went their separate ways, Steve and Kedry to the smithy he had spied back over by the main southern gate, while Naerys with Toby took the horses towards the large stables.  

When they arrived, they found not just a smithy, but a series of them, all aflame and busy with work in a building that ran along the wall behind it.  Apprentices were turning out horseshoes, while masters hammered out swords and armour, while assistants scurried about taking the products of their work to a nearby building that ran perpendicular to the smithy.  To Steve’s eye, there was nothing here that matched the work he had seen at Tobho Mott’s shop in King’s Landing, but the work seemed quality enough.  

“Have you thought about what armour you wanted?” Steve asked.  “I’ve never used your kind before.”  He tapped the blue chestpiece of his suit.  

Kedry surveyed the armour on display before the forges.  “I’m for the joust, so a certain standard is needed, but…”

“Don’t worry about the price,” Steve said.  “I’ve got just under 80 gold dragons, and I’ll soon have much more.”

“How about some of that half plate?” Steve said.  “That and a shield, plus that helm you’re wearing will do you for the tournament, and I don’t imagine you’d want to get a full plate set that wasn’t made specifically for you.”

Kedry nodded slowly.  “You raise a good point.  What winnings I earn will cover a fine set of armour.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Steve said.  “I’ll cover it.”

“My lord is generous.”

“It’s only money,” Steve said.  “C’mon, let’s see that smith.”

They approached a man who was just quenching a sword, and he looked up as they neared.  “Armour?” he asked.

“Half plate,” Kedry said.  

“Replacement?” the smith asked.  “Already?”

“Bandits on the road,” Kedry said.  

“Anything else?”

“A shield.”

“Won’t be no heraldry,” the smith warned, glancing at the star on Steve’s chest. 

Kedry hesitated, but Steve spoke up.  “That’s fine,” he said.  “So long as it keeps him alive through the joust.”

“Aye, it’ll do that,” the smith said.  “It’d be our heads if we made shoddy steel for this tourney.”  He whistled, and an apprentice came running.  “Finish this off boy, and show me your work before you send it off to the Armoury.”  The boy took it and left, and the smith looked Kedry over assessingly.  “Let’s get you fitted up.”

The armour fitting ended up taking the better part of an hour, and Steve left them to it, instead choosing to watch and listen as new arrivals trickled steadily through the gate and guests went every which way.  He picked up a few things, such as that the Lord Paramounts and the royals weren’t expected until the day before the tournament started, rumours of the field being limited to knights and nobles, and that the King himself was expected to make an appearance, his first in months outside the Red Keep.  He even saw a few hedge knights casting surreptitious glances at him, as well as the star symbol on his chest.  

“Did you want to get anything for Toby?” Steve asked, as he thought the fitting might be coming to an end.

“A spear, perhaps,” Kedry said.  “I had thought to begin teaching him the glaive.”

“That’d be good for him,” Steve said.  “Might use up some of his energy.”

Kedry gave a mirthless laugh.  “No more reason is needed, truely.”

“We’re done here ser, m’lord,” the smith said.  “Do you require a servant to carry the armour?”

“Nah, I’ve got it,” Steve said.  “Just box it up for me.”

The smith hesitated, but only for a moment.  “As you say, m’lord.”  He left to find a crate.  

Steve noticed Kedry staring at him.  “Something on my face?”

Kedry gave a short exhale, and shook his head.  “Nothing, Steve.”

The smith returned, and began crating the armour up.  

“How much was that?” Steve asked.

“Five gold dragons, m’lord.”

Steve unclipped one of the pouches at his belt, and produced the gold.  “Thanks.”

The gold disappeared into the smith’s own belt.  “Of course, m’lord.  Seven favour you in the tourney.”  He disappeared back into the smithy proper.

“To the tent?” Kedry asked.  

“To the tent,” Steve confirmed.  They’d gotten all they came for.  

X x X

The rest of the day saw the group take care of their errands, settling into their camp for the next two weeks and familiarising themselves with their surroundings.  Steve went for a walk around the castle grounds that took him most of the day, but he took his artbook with him, and when he came back, he had filled a page with his observations.  Some might have called it suspicious behaviour, but he just didn’t want to get lost on the sprawling grounds.  

The remaining time until the start of the tournament passed quickly, but not so quickly that they couldn't take the time to enjoy themselves at the Hunter’s Hall, a building near the gates that had been repurposed into a tavern.  It was there that Naerys made good on her promise to make money off of Steve, by luring the unwary into contests of strength with him.  Several drinks in, Kedry and Robin got in on the action, each winning a modest amount of gold of those who thought themselves tough enough.  There was more gold to be won, but there was no need to make enemies, and everyone had fun in the end, even those who regretted testing themselves against the man who was whispered to have slain the Smiling Knight with a single punch.

Through the evening, Steve spoke with many hopeful hedge knights, and managed to discover the schedule for the tournament.  The ten days to come were laid out thus: 

First Day, Welcoming Feast

Festivities  

Melee

Joust

Joust and Horse Race

Joust and Axe Throwing

Joust and Archery

Melee Final

Joust Finals, Victor Celebration Feast

Festivities, Departure Feast

The night ended almost as Steve expected, with Naerys coercing him into a song once again, and himself somehow leading a pub full of drunk knights and men at arms in a rousing rendition of ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’ to raucous cheers.  The next day passed quickly, and so did the one after, and then it was time.  The Tournament had come. 

X x X

The first day of the Tournament at Harrenhal broke bright and clear, without a cloud in the sky.  The air seemed to hum with the anticipation of the hundreds who had come to try their luck, all dreaming of the victory that would see their lives changed forever.  

Breakfast was quiet, shared as it was around the small campfire they had established by the entrance to their tent.  The tent town had grown over the past days, but they still had a comfortable amount of room to themselves, few wishing to camp too close to the ruined sept.  

“I heard a rumour that they’re restricting the joust,” Robin said.  

Kedry’s mouth set itself in a thin line, but he said nothing.  

“How so?” Steve asked.

“Sers and nobles only,” Robin said.  “Only got it from a hedge knight though.”

Steve frowned.  He wasn’t much one for keeping others out arbitrarily, and Kedry was a fine enough warrior.  He’d see what he could do.  “We’ll work it out,” he said.  “Still want to try your luck at the archery, Robin?”

“No luck needed,” Robin said.  “That purse is mine, I’m sure of it.”  His grin was quick to accompany his words.  

“How about you, Naerys?  Up for the melee?” Steve asked. 

Naerys rolled her eyes, a habit she’d picked up from him.  “I’ll put you down for the tourney of singers,” she warned him.  

Steve winced, remembering the night at the tavern.  “I think I’ve done enough singing for now.”

“I want to try the horse race,” Toby said suddenly.  

“You’re sure?” Kedry asked, fixing him with a stare.  

Steve held his tongue, sensing there was more to this than was obvious.

Toby nodded.  “Yeah,” he said.  “It’ll be a tough race, but I can do it.”

“If you’re sure,” Kedry said, apparently satisfied.  

“I’ll ride Qēlos,” he said, naming one of Kedry’s other horses.  “She’s a good ‘un.”

They finished breakfast, and it was as they were cleaning up that a ripple seemed to pass through the tent town, heads turning and whispers rising.  There seemed to be some manner of clamour at the gates.  Voices were excited, but not worried.  

“Check it out?” Steve asked the others.  

“I’ll stay here to watch the tent,” Robin said with a sigh.

“No, I’ll do it,” Kedry said.  

Steve gave Kedry a nod in thanks.  The four of them set off, joining the people streaming towards the gate in search of spectacle.  On their arrival, there was already quite a crowd, but not so great that Steve couldn’t see what was happening.  

The King had arrived.  

He did not look well, and by the murmurs of the crowd around him, Steve could tell they agreed.  

“He’s gone downhill in the last month,” Steve said.

“Seven Above,” Naerys breathed.  “He must have pulled himself together for the feast at the Keep.  That’s…who’s that before him?”

Steve squinted.  “I think that’s Jaime.”

“What’s going on?” Toby asked.  “Can’t see nothing.”

“Here,” Steve said, taking Toby under his arms and hoisting him up onto one shoulder.  “Steady?”

Toby squirmed for a moment.  “Yeah.  Thanks.”

“Is he-” Robin asked.

“He is!” Naerys answered.

Steve almost questioned them, but then he saw Jaime kneel before the King, and then Ser Gerold Hightower was stepping forward, sword in hand.  

“The Kingsguard!  Isn’t he younger than me?” Robin said. 

The crowd was quiet and still as Jaime knelt, but the moment he began to rise, cheers erupted.  Steve couldn’t see the kid’s face from where he was, but he saw Aerys raise his arms up in response to the crowd’s cheers.  Somehow, Steve didn’t think they were for him.  He saw the King speak with Jaime briefly, before he began to move deeper into the castle grounds and towards the towers.  The crowd parted before the monarch and his retinue, but Jaime was left behind.  

Steve returned Toby to the ground and turned to the others.  “I’m going to congratulate Jaime.”

“We’ll return to the tent,” Naerys said.  “The event registrations are due to open soon, so we’ll prepare for that.”

“I’ll see you back there,” Steve said, and then he was threading his way through the crowd, keeping sight of Jaime by his golden armour and the new white cloak that adorned it.  The kid was walking slowly, like he’d just been hit, and so Steve was able to catch up with him just as he reached what must be his tent.  “Jaime!” he called.

Jaime turned at the voice, and blinked when he saw who it was.  “Lord America.”

“Thought you called me Steve,” Steve said.

“Yes, of course,” Jaime said, but he was obviously preoccupied.  

“I wanted to congratulate you on your promotion,” Steve said.  “Your appointment to the Kingsguard, I mean.”

A sardonic smile twisted his mouth.  “Yes, a great honour.”

Steve frowned.  “You’re not happy.”

“I have been ordered to return to King’s Landing,” Jaime said.

“...after the tournament?”

“‘With utmost haste’,” Jaime said.  “The Queen and Prince need protecting.”

Steve glanced about.  The lane of the tent town wasn’t empty, but nor was it busy.  “Maybe we should speak inside.”

“Be welcome in my tent, short lived as it was,” Jaime said, leading the way inside.

Within was a level of opulence Steve wasn’t expecting.  Rich crimson tapestries hung on the canvas walls, and the receiving area of the tent was appointed with the kind of furniture Steve had seen in his room at the Red Keep.  

“He’s depriving you of the chance to compete,” Steve said.

“So he is.”

“You can’t talk him round?” Steve asked.

Jaime gave him a disbelieving look.  “The King?  I was only appointed because -” he cut himself off.  

“You know, I was wondering,” Steve said.  “I thought Kingsguard couldn’t inherit.”

“They can’t,” Jaime said, throwing himself into a cushioned chair.

“Aren’t you your father’s heir?”

“I was, yes,” Jaime said.  “But then that suits Aerys just fine.”

“Your father is the Prime--the Hand of the King, right?” Steve asked.  

“He quit when the King told him he was going to appoint me,” Jaime said.  “I didn’t understand why.”  He inspected the white cloak that Hightower had given to him.  “I didn’t earn this.  He did it to slight my father, and rob him of his heir.”

“That seems...spiteful, and shortsighted,” Steve said.  “And those are two poor qualities for a ruler to have.”

Jaime glanced at Steve sharply, but said nothing.

“But I don't think it matters why you were given that cloak.  It’s yours now,” Steve continued, “and it’s what you do with it that will define who you are, not whose heir you were.”

“There are those who would disagree with you,” Jaime said.

“You might guard him, but you do not have to be him,” Steve said.  “Being a Kingsguard doesn’t have to mean changing who you are.”

“And who am I?” Jaime asked, challenged, him.  There was something dark behind his eyes.

“You’re a good kid,” Steve said.  “And you’re a knight of Westeros.”

Jaime blinked.  

“Think on it,” Steve said.  

“I’ll have time,” Jaime said.  “It’s a long ride to King’s Landing.”

“Maybe I’ll drop in on you there sometime,” Steve said.  

“I’ll hold you to it,” Jaime said.  He stood up.  “Steve...I appreciate your words.”

“Don’t stress it,” Steve said.  “I’ll catch you around, Jaime.” He turned and left the tent, leaving the young knight to consider his words.

Jaime Lannister stared at the tent flap for a long time.

X x X

Steve returned to his own tent to find his companions waiting to depart.  Robin was fiddling with his bow, while Robin and Naerys watched the people go by.  Kedry was clad in his new half plate, helm concealing his face.  The plate was nothing fancy, but it was serviceable, and looked to be decently made.  

“Ready to make our mark?” Steve said.

“More than,” Robin said, jumping to his feet.  “How are we doing this?”

“Seems like registering will take a lot of waiting in line, so how about we split up, sign up for the events we want, and then meet up outside the Hall?” Steve said.  The Hunter’s Hall, the tavern from the previous nights, had been repurposed as the place for scribes to take down the names of all those who wished to participate.  

“Aye,” Kedry said, hesitating only briefly.  “I’ll go with Toby to sign up for the horse race, though.”

“Sure,” Steve said.  “Everyone got their buy in?” 

Kedry, Robin, and Toby nodded.  Their gambling had roughly doubled what pay they had received from Steve, and they had all insisted on paying their own entry.  

“They’ll explain the rules to us, right?” Steve checked.  

“It’s tradition to, before the event,” Kedry said.  

“Great,” Steve said.  “Let’s go.”

Hunter’s Hall, by the main gate of the castle, was besieged by warriors.  They carried no ladders, most were unarmoured, and they stood in orderly lines, but besieged it they did.  There were five lines snaking around the yard before the tavern, but all passed through the wide double doors that were the main entrance.  

“Which do you suppose is which?” Steve asked.

“That will be the joust,” Kedry said, pointing at a line mostly full of men-at-arms wearing the tabards of their Lords, some holding a roll of parchment in hand.  Here and there through the line were knights, but for the most part it spoke of an event whose participants were too important to enrol themselves.  “The others I couldn’t say.”

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Steve said.  “See you after.”

Kedry and Toby took their place at the back of the jousting line, while Steve and Robin headed for the tavern.  As they walked, some already in line sent them looks, but made no comment.  They ducked through the wide doors, and took in the room. 

The tables and chairs that had filled the floor on their previous visits were gone, and a single long table sat before the bar on the opposite wall.  At the table sat scribes, and behind them were standards bearing the symbols of the events - lance, sword, axe, bow, and horse - in the colours of the hosts; black and yellow.  A pair of men-at-arms stood at either end of the table.

“That’s you,” Steve said, nodding towards the archery line.  “You good?”

“Yep.  Real good,” Robin said quickly, almost bouncing on his feet.  

Nerves, excitement, or a bit of both?  Steve clapped him on the shoulder, and they made for the ends of their respective lines.  

As Steve joined the line, he got more looks, but these were of confusion.  He shrugged them off.  He might not be wearing his suit or carrying his shield, but he was still pretty clearly a ‘noble’.  Maybe they weren’t used to seeing one wait in line.  

The line passed slowly, steadily.  Steve listened to the talk of the men around him, but did not join in.  Apparently, two men named Lord Robert and Lord Yohn were even favourites to win the melee, but every man seemed to think they could unhorse them, if only they could catch them at the right moment.  There was gossip about which Kingsguard was most likely to win the joust, and of the rumoured beauty of a woman called Lady Dayne.  In quieter, more furtive tones, they also spoke about the appearance of the King, but they did not linger on the topic, and if they did they were quickly shushed by their fellows.  

Steve was nearly at the doors, near an hour later, when he heard disgruntled muttering behind him.  He glanced back to see a man in a fine doublet strutting past those in line, a servant at his heels, his destination clearly the tavern.  Steve eyed him as he drew nearer.

“...waiting in line is for those without proper breeding,” the noble said.  “I could have had you wait for hours, so don’t say I command too much of you!”

Steve let him pass, staring at him out the side of his eye like most of the other men around him.  A bit of friendly advice on manners wouldn’t have gone wrong, but for all that he was a ‘noble’ here, he wasn’t Captain America, and it just wasn’t worth the hassle.  He did take note of the man’s colours and symbol, though.  

The line dragged along, until eventually, Steve found himself at the front.  The scribe, a balding older man, looked up at him, bored and impatient at the same time.  

“Name?” the man asked.

“Lord America,” Steve said.  

“For the melee, yes?” the scribe asked.  

“That’s right.”

“Which side will you be joining?” 

Steve frowned.  “I’m sorry, ‘side’?”

The scribed sighed.  “The melee is a seven sided event in the ancient style.  You must nominate a side to join for the beginning.  You are expected to act with due chivalry with regards to your chosen side.”

“What are my options?” Steve asked.

“Crownlands, Stormlands, Reach, Westerlands, Riverlands, Vale, Dorne,” the scribe said.  He held up a hand.  “Don’t complain to me that you can’t nominate the North or the Iron Islands, I don’t make the rules.”

“I’ll go with the Crownlands,” Steve said.  He didn’t have any particular preference, so going with the state of the royal house seemed like a good bet to avoid getting involved in any grudges or feuds. 

“Very well,” the scribe said, writing his choice down next to his name.  “Do you wish to hear the rules?”

“Yes thank you,” Steve said.

The scribe held in another sigh.  “Cost of entry is one gold dragon.  The initial melee is to take place over a full day, two days hence, in a designated section of woods and fields outside the castle.  Each side will start in their own corner.  If you are unhorsed, you are not required to yield, but neither is your opponent required to dismount.  On your honour, you must abide by all ransoms.  This is not a fight to the death,” he said sternly.  “When sufficient participants have been eliminated, a halt shall be called by three horn blasts, and the finals shall be held on the eighth day of the tournament within the castle grounds.  Do you understand?”

“I do,” Steve said.  

“Please make your mark here,” the scribe said, offering him both a quill and an inkpot.  

From what Steve could see, many before him had simply inked their thumbs and then pressed them to the parchment, but there were also seals of red ink and the occasional name scrawled untidily.  Steve took up the quill, unused to the implement, and carefully wrote his name in English, before retrieving a gold coin from his pouch and handing it over.  

The scribe glanced at it for a moment, before nodding.  “Thank you.”  He was already gesturing for the next man in line to come forward before Steve had started moving away.  

Steve eyed the line for the axe throwing.  Well, watching it wouldn’t make it move any faster.

X x X

The better part of an hour later, Steve emerged from the tavern, having signed up for the events he needed to.  If anything, the axe throwing line had been longer than the melee despite having a lesser prize.  Maybe it was the lower skill and cost requirement.  Five thousand gold coin in winnings was still nothing to sneeze at.  

As he looked around, he noticed Kedry and Toby nearby, heading back to the tent town.  Toby was scowling ferociously, and Kedry didn’t look well pleased either, as they discussed something in low tones.  Stepping quickly, Steve caught up to them.

“...it’s done, and that’s all there is to it,” Kedry said.  

“There’s gotta be other ways,” Toby said.  “Y’ can’t just -” he clammed up, seeing Steve approach.  “M’lord.”

Steve felt a flash of concern.  Maybe he should have stuck with them.  “How did you go?” he asked.  “They didn’t knock you back, did they?  We can go back and talk to them.”

“Thank you for your concern, but no, I was able to register,” Kedry said.  He met Steve’s eyes squarely.

“So it was a false alarm on the field being limited?” Steve asked.

“It was not a problem,” Kedry said.  

“It were robbery, is what it was,” Toby interrupted.  “Gold dragon just to enter?”  He spat to the side.  

“The melee was the same,” Steve said.  “Three moons for the axe throwing.”

“And the horse race,” Kedry added.  “But I suppose that won’t be an issue, once you’ve won the melee,” he said, a ghost of a smile on his face.

“We won’t be going hungry, that’s for sure,” Steve said.  “Come on, let’s head back to the tent.  Robin should be back there already.”

They made for their home for the time being, the first small hurdle of the tournament overcome.  Seems like he’d been worrying over nothing.

X x X

“Well, we’ve got the rest of the day until the welcoming feast,” Steve said.  “Does anyone have anything they want to do?”

They had reconvened in the receiving room of the tent.  Naerys had purchased some cheap chairs and a low table while she was buying what they needed for Kedry and Toby, so the entry area was no longer a barren room.  

“‘M gonna see the horses,” Toby said.  “Don’t trust th’ grooms t’ do th’ job.”

“I think I’ll take Redbloom for a ride,” Kedry said.  “He gets ornery if stabled for too long.”

“I can watch the tent if you want to go out, Naerys,” Robin said.

“That’s fine, but thank you,” Naerys said.  “But...if you could bring me some ink and parchment, I’d be grateful.”

“I’ve got some in my pack you can use,” Steve said.  He held up a hand to forestall her protests.  “Might as well use it.  When I need more you can buy me some.”

“I might get some practise in at the butts then,” Robin said.  “That prize isn’t going to win itself.”

“The archery butts are at the training yard, right?” Steve asked.

“Think so,” Robin said.

“I’ll go with you, see if I can’t scope out some of the competition.  Want to have a go at that steel bow?” Steve asked.

“I tried to draw it before Da sold it and nearly threw my shoulder out,” Robin said, wincing.  “I’ll give it a miss.”

“Fair,” Steve said.  “See everyone back here say, two hours before sunset?”

They all gave their agreement, and gathered what they needed before going their separate ways.  Kedry and Toby for the stables, Steve and Robin for the training yards that sat amidst the towers.  

The castle grounds were busier that day, filled with last minute arrivals and contestants eager to register for their events.  The tent town was growing, but still few were quick to set up as close to the ruined sept as their party.  

“Do you think people see it as a bad omen?” Steve asked, nodding towards the ruin.

“I suppose so,” Robin said.  He carried his bow over one shoulder, a quiver of arrows with it.  He lowered his voice.  “My family never had much time for septs and septons.”

“Why’s that?” Steve asked.  From what he had seen, atheism wasn’t all that common - or accepted - in this place.

“Da always says there’s not much faith to be found in the Faith,” Robin said.  “That they’re just another lot out for themselves and their pockets.”

They walked in silence as Steve pondered his words.  His faith had always been a personal thing, often tumultuous and nothing like what the myth of himself would have people believe.  Some of the groups asking him for a statement of support after New York had been given a shock, that was for sure.  Turns out, growing up without a father, losing his Ma, and then witnessing the extent of what he had naively called Germany’s ‘bullying’ made it easy to question his religion . 

“I know my god is different to yours,” Steve said, “but something that helped me was remembering that God and the church are two differing things.  Septons can be bad people just as easily as anyone else.”

“But the High Septon is the avatar of The Seven,” Robin said.

“Says who?” Steve said.

“Well...the Faith of The Seven,” Robin said.  

“If they’re only out to line their pockets, why believe them?” Steve asked.  “Your faith is between you and your God.  If a septon comes along and tells you the gods command you to kill a man, would you?”

“Well, no.”

“There you go.  If you want to believe, that’s between you and your God.  All too often, priests have their own agenda.”

Robin frowned, deep in though.  “I suppose.”

Steve watched him as they continued on their way, passing under the shadow of the Tower of Ghosts.  It wasn’t the first time he’d talked with someone about their faith, but Robin’s issue seems a little different than most, and more to do with his family.  Maybe they’d had a run in with a septon.  Something to keep in mind; now wasn’t the time to pry further.  

“Nothing wrong with not believing either,” Steve added, in case he’d read things wrong  “One of my best friends only ever stepped foot inside a church to check out the art.”

“He a noble toff, or one of your champions?” Robin asked.  “Er.  I mean a noble noble, not a noble like you.  Da says nobles spend their gold on all sorts of stuff cause they got so much of it.”

“Both,” Steve said, grinning at the thought of Tony hearing himself called a ‘noble toff’.  “Tony was richer than god.”

“Richer than the Lannisters?” Robin asked.

Steve spent a moment weighing up the opulence of Jaime’s tent against Tony’s liquor cabinet.  “Easily.”

A dreamy look came across Robin’s face.  “When I win the archery, I’ll be rich too.  I’ll be able to afford all kinds of things.”

“Ten thousand gold coins is a lot of money,” Steve said.  “What are you gonna buy?”

“A mansion for Ma and Da,” Robin said immediately. “In the rich district.  And a goldenheart bow for me.  And -” he paused, his enthusiasm dampening.  “Food.  For Flea Bottom.  It ain’t right, people starving while the nobles grow fat.”

“You can do a lot of good with gold and the will to use it for others,” Steve said.  

“I mean, might as well right?” Robin said.  “Just think of the toff’s faces when they realise I’ve taken their gold and given it to the poor.”

“The trick is to get those toffs to give you more money to help others for fear of looking bad, or to ease their consciences,” Steve said.  

“No way would any noble give up their gold like that,” Robin said.  The clamour of the training yard began to drift through the air ahead as they drew nearer to their goal.  

“You’d be surprised,” Steve said, thinking of the times he had seen Tony goad and prick at the egos of other high society types to get them to donate to whatever cause he was championing at the time.  As he spoke, the clamour grew in volume, and the training yard was revealed to them as they emerged from the shadow of the Towers, and into the Flowstone Yard proper.  

The yard wasn’t confined to a courtyard as in the Red Keep, but instead seemed to sprawl across the grounds that lay in the interior of Harrenhal’s great towers.  The ground itself was strange, and Steve could see why they called it ‘Flowstone’; much of it was uneven or lumpy, and even akin to small waves in parts.  In ordinary times, Steve would judge it to be impossible to fill with just the residents of the castle, but with the army of guests present for the tournament it was much busier, with several rings seeing active use between two or more combatants.  What looked to be the flattest portion of the yard, along the north-eastern wall, had been set aside for mounted men to take runs at a number of quintains.  Between the Kingspyre Tower and the Tower of Dread, against the wall of the great feast hall, a broad set of archery butts had been set up.  There was even a small section of axe throwing.  

“You want a hand at the butts?” Steve asked.  

“No, I can manage,” Robin said.  He hefted his bow, quiver slung over his shoulder.  

“Alright.  I’ll be by the rings if you need me,” Steve said, nodding in their direction.

They parted ways, Robin skirting the yard while Steve headed deeper in.  The super soldier ran an eye over the rings; there were seven of them, squares of hard packed earth with a waist high wooden fence running around them.  There was a great range of men present, some in clothes not much better than Steve’s own but wielding fine weapons and attended to by servants, while others were clad in suits of armour that were close enough to works of art that Steve would almost hesitate to strike them if the owner was fool enough to wear them to a proper fight.  

One of the rings had a larger gathering of spectators than the others, and Steve drifted towards it.  By the sound of metal on metal, a spar had just finished.  A bellow and the small crowd’s roar confirmed it as he joined them.  

In the ring, a man stood over his fallen opponent, warhammer raised in victory.  He basked in the adulation of the crowd for only a moment, before striding to his vanquished foe and offering the man a hand up.  The man took it with what sounded to be a friendly grumble and was hauled to his feet, before retrieving his sword that lay in the dirt nearby.  

“Is there no one else?” the man called, a wide grin on his face.  He seemed possessed by the spirit of the yard, the enthusiasm of all present feeding into him.  

“Aye, I’ll knock some sense into you, Baratheon!” a man with a mace and shield said, ducking under the railing to the cheers of the watchers.

“How do you think he lost it all in the first place?” another young man called, and the cheers turned to good natured jeers.  There was a wolf head stitched onto his gambeson.

Steve settled in to watch as the combatants sized each other up.  If nothing else, he could at least learn a thing or two about wielding a hammer in a fight.  The crowd quietened in anticipation of the first blow.  

The big man, Bartheon, moved first, hammer swinging with almost surgical precision.  His foe backstepped, apparently expecting it, and swung with his mace, only to be surprised by the sudden reversal of the hammer.  It crashed into a hastily raised shield, staggering him.  Those watching erupted with shouts of encouragement and advice, backing their chosen fighter.  

As the spar continued, Steve watched with a calculating eye.  The hammer Baratheon was using had more in common with his new weapon than Mjolnir did, and he was learning just by watching him, even if he intended to wield his own weapon one handed.  The spectacle felt like a boxing match or a sporting event more than anything.  

There was a quick flurry of blows from both men, and the mace wielder attempted a hook and pull with his shield only for Baratheon to power through and trip the man into the dirt with some tricky footwork.  His hammer thudded into the ground next to his head a moment later.

“Nearly!” Baratheon said, as he extended a hand up to his fallen foe.  

“I’ll have you next time,” the man said, grumbling but in good spirits as he accepted the help up.

“Maybe next time can be a barrel of ale at the feast tonight,” Baratheon said.  

“Ha!  You’ve no chance, storm lord,” the man said.  “You’re on.”

The scene devolved into further backslapping and banter as another pair of men stepped up to spar.  Steve considered staying to watch, but as the fighters began to batter at each other with swords, decided his time would be better spent elsewhere.  Across the yard, Robin had set up at the archery butts, and Steve made his way clear of the small crowd to approach him.  

Robin was returning from his chosen target as Steve arrived, quiver full of arrows as he inspected the fletching on another in his hands.  The archery butts were set up in lanes, with archers firing towards targets that were set up against the stone wall of the main eating hall of Harrenhal.  Retrieving arrows seemed to be done at the archer’s own peril, each man hoping that his neighbours were at least capable of keeping their shots in their own lane.  

Steve figured there wasn’t anything like OSHA standards here.  “Feeling confident?” he asked.

“There are a lot of good archers here,” Robin said.  His usual braggadocio was absent, and he stabbed a few arrows into the ground, setting up for another go at the target.  

“I’m told there’s a bit of gold to be won here,” Steve said.  

Robin cracked a hint of a smile.  “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen an archer better than I am,” he admitted.  

“Westeros is a lot bigger than King’s Landing,” Steve said.  “There’s always a bigger fish.”

“I know I’m not the greatest archer in the Kingdoms,” Robin said, his tone frustrated now.  “But the better archers are supposed to be people like Ulmer and Fletcher Dick, not the man in the next lane over.”

Steve glanced at the man in the next lane over.  He stood out, mostly because he didn’t have a single bit of hair on his entire head, and also because his target was full of arrows in the pattern of a wolfshead.  The hairless man met his eyes briefly, but quickly looked away.

“He’s been making his way through the sigils of the great houses,” Robin said in only mostly feigned despair.  

“Well...you’ve got a few days to practise, right?” Steve said.  

Robin gave him a dead eyed stare.  

“What happens if you don’t win the event?” Steve asked, more seriously.  

“I...miss out on thousands and thousands of gold dragons?” Robin asked.  

“Do you have a debt I don’t know about?” Steve asked.  “Is someone going to die if you don’t win?”

“No, but--”

“Are you going to lose what I’m told is a decent wage and good position with that stuffy noble you work for?” Steve said.  

“You know, you could let me wallow in my nerves for a bit longer,” Robin said.  

“I could,” Steve said, “but then Naerys would be upset with me.”  He fixed him with a steady look.  “Enjoy yourself.  Do your best.  If you win, you win.  If you don’t, you don’t.”  

“Yes ser,” Robin said, sighing.  He strung an arrow, but hesitated as he glanced at the target beside his own and saw his neighbour halfway through what looked like a squid.

Steve thumped the kid on the shoulder.  “This won’t be your last tournament, and you can only improve.  Don’t fear that you won’t win, just get out there and compete.  Fear is the mind killer.”

“Right,” Robin said, straightening his spine and drawing his bow.  He breathed out, and loosed.  Bullseye.  

Steve watched as Robin sent another full quiver downrange in a steady march from the centre to the edge of the target, and then around the edge.  They weren’t all perfect shots, and he’d seen Clint do better to show off at a party, but the kid wasn’t a world class assassin with years of experience under his belt either.  

“Good work,” Steve said when he was done.  “Now get your arrows and do it again.”

Robin rolled his eyes at him, but went to collect his arrows as Steve watched.

“Mighty kind of ye,” the bald man in the next lane piped up.  His voice sounded like a man talking through his nose with a bad cold.

“Hmm?” Steve asked.

“Encouragin’ the lad,” the man said.  “You sponsoring him for part of the prize?”  He put another arrow into his target, almost negligently.  

“Any prize he wins belongs to him,” Steve said.  He frowned.  “Have we met?”

 “I don’t think we spend time in the same social circles,” he said with a slight cackle.  “M’ name’s Richard.  Who would you be?”

“Steve Rogers,” Steve said.  He held out a hand to shake, which the man took bemusedly.  

“Not Lord America Steve Rogers?  The one them bards are singing about killing that Smilin’ Knight?” Richard asked.  

“Can’t say I’ve heard any of their songs, but yes,” Steve said.  

The man hawked and spat out a glob of phlegm.  “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

Steve made a noise of agreement, as a thought occurred to him.  “You’re a pretty good archer,” he said, as he watched the man put the final arrow in his design of some squid-like creature.  “Think you’d be up for giving Robin a few lessons?  I can pay.”

“Not on your life, m’lord,” Richard said, cackling again.  “I mean to win this prize, and I’m not ‘bout to give a helping hand to me foes.”

“Worth a shot,” Steve said, shrugging.  “You take care now.”

“An’ you, m’lord, an’ you,” Richard said, more to himself as he wandered off to retrieve his arrows.  

Robin returned, ready to continue.

“Now, I’m not an archer, but let me share some things I was taught about breathing…” Steve began, thinking back to a conversation he’d had with Clint.  The kid might not win, but it wouldn’t be because Steve didn’t give him what help he could.  

X x X

“The Hall of One Hundred Hearths?” Steve asked.  “And they say it can seat an army?”

The day was deep into the afternoon, and the walls of Harrenhal were already casting a long shadow over the grounds and the tent town.  

“So the tales say,” Naerys said.  She was seated on one of the chairs they had bought for the tent, putting the final touches on a simple but appealing braid.  

“Sounds like a hell of a thing to keep tidy,” Steve said, as he checked his outfit.  He was in the same blue get up with red and white trim he had worn to the feast at the Red Keep.  He still didn’t know what it was called, but it would have fit right in at some of the reenactments he’d seen back home.  

“Lord Whent has cause to boast,” Kedry said.  “Few are the Houses who can maintain such a castle.”  He was sharpening his glaive, still in his day wear.  

Toby burst into the tent’s receiving room from the outside.  “C’mon, are we ready yet?  There’s a feast t’ get to.”

“You’ve got dirt on your nose,” Naerys said, eyes narrowed. 

“‘M not gettin’ in a tub agin,” Toby said, straightening his back and standing tall.

Naerys pointed at the ground before her, and Toby slumped, obeying the unspoken command.  He trailed over to her in new, clean clothes of navy and white.  With his hair combed neatly for once, he looked like a different child.  

Licking her thumb, Naerys swiped a smudge of dirt from his nose.  “Remember, your behaviour reflects on Steve.”

Toby squirmed.  “Do I hafta wear the shoes?  They rub.”

“You can’t wear wraps to a feast in a Lord’s castle,” Kedry said.  Toby grumbled, but stopped squirming.

“That’s what this tournament is then?” Steve asked Kedry, returning to his earlier comment.  “A boast?”

“He is not spending over one hundred thousand gold dragons on the prizes alone because he wishes for company,” Kedry said.  “This is easily a decade of savings, even for a House such as the Whents.”

“He couldn’t just borrow the gold?” Steve asked.

“No noble would lend the money silently, and none would suffer the blow to their reputation to ask,” Kedry said. 

“Expensive boast,” Steve said.  He wasn’t one to tell others what they should do with their money, but the poverty he had seen in King’s Landing and beyond didn’t go down well with him when nobles could just give away so much gold for a spectacle.  

Robin emerged from his room, picking at his outfit.  “How is it?” he asked, aiming for nonchalant but landing squarely in nervous.

Steve eyed it.  A simple but fine navy tunic with white trim, and blue trousers.  It sat well on the kid’s frame.  “Looks good,” he said.  He cocked an eyebrow at Naerys, taking in Toby’s outfit in a new light.  “You know you could have gotten any colour you wanted.”

They’re part of your retinue, they’ll wear your colours,” Naerys said.

“Shouldn’t you be in my colours too then?” Steve asked, more teasing than serious.  Robin smothered a laugh.

Naerys blushed, smoothing over her lavender dress as she rose to her feet.  “Not when I have a perfectly serviceable dress already,” she said.  “Shall we go?”

“Sure.  You sure you’re right to watch the tent?” Steve asked Kedry. 

“I am not much one for feasts,” Kedry said, “but thank you.  Enjoy yourselves, and behave.”  The last was to Toby, who offered an angelic smile in return.

“I will keep an eye on him,” Naerys said, lingering by the tent flap.

“My thanks,” Kedry said, with a smile and a half bow from where he was seated.

“Come on Steve,” Naerys said.  “You must lead the way.  You can’t be seen trailing behind your retinue.”

“You know, for my seneschal, you order me around a lot,” Steve said, leaving the tent, Naerys, Robin, and Toby in his wake.  

“Only because you need it, my Lord,” Naerys said.

Outside, the sun had well and truly disappeared behind the walls, and torches around the grounds were being lit by a small army of servants, some lining a path towards the great feast hall of Harrenhal.  A slow tide of people were making their ways towards it, and Steve and his companions joined them.  

The broad double doors of the Hall were held open by a pair of servants in black and yellow livery as guests flowed in.  As they entered, Steve could see why people said it could house an army.  The Hall of A Hundred Hearths was cavernous, oversized just like the rest of the castle.  The far end of the Hall was a bit of a walk away, but Steve could make out a high table that ran along the back wall, the seats behind it empty.  Along the Hall itself, two rows of broad tables stretched out, already half full at the nearest, but emptier as they went along.  

The Hearths for which the Hall was named were set into the walls, blazing with warmth, but to Steve’s eye there weren't quite one hundred of them.  Must be a turn of phrase, he figured.  

“The more noble your blood, and the greater your prestige, the closer you sit to the high table,” Naerys said, as they continued into the Hall.  “But here, all are expected to seat themselves.”

Steve eyed the near packed tables by the door; hedge knights already enjoying the bounty of ale put on by their host.  A bit further down the tables reminded him less of a shady tavern, but the scarceness of women and children made him think twice.  Beyond them was what he picked to be the sweet spot; lords in rich clothing, many with wives and children present, but not quite at the stage where the tables were dominated by groups in shared colours, the ones who Steve guessed must be the Lord Paramounts and their retinues.  

“Down there,” Steve said, nodding to an empty spot between two groups.  

Naerys almost opened her mouth to say something, but reconsidered, falling in to follow Steve with Robin and Toby, the two boys taking in as much of the Hall as they could with wide eyes.  Robin was trying to hide his interest, keeping his head straight as his eyes darted around, but Toby had no such compunctions, head on a swivel as he tried to gawk at everything at once.

Steve led them to the spot he had picked out.  The dull roar of conversation of so many guests filled the Hall, even as large as it was.  He could feel looks cast upon them, and was reminded of the social jockeying of the schoolyard.  Many frowned, as if attempting to place them.  As they reached the place Steve had picked out, those on either side gave them a look before turning away, noses turned up and exchanging significant looks.  Valiantly, Steve held back from rolling his eyes.

“Here looks good,” Steve said.

Toby and Robin settled onto the bench seat without comment, but Naerys raised one eyebrow at him, glancing at the nobles who were wordlessly snubbing them.  Steve offered her a guileless smile in return.  If they wanted to kick up a fuss, he’d just have to ask his good friend Barristan the Bold for advice on how to handle it.  He might not enjoy it, but he knew how to play the game.  

Steve took his seat, bracketing his group on one end.  Naerys was to his left, Toby beside her, and Robin on the other end.  On the table were half empty baskets of rich white loaves of bread, as well as small bowls of salt.  

“This is that ‘guest right’, like at the Red Keep, Naerys?” Steve asked.  

“‘Guests shall do no harm, and be safe from harm while within these walls,” Narys confirmed.  “Although this is more of a formality confirming the implicit agreement when you accepted the invitation to the castle grounds.”

“No one ever breaks it?” Steve asked.  He wondered if there’d been a similar thing back in the Middle Ages of his home.

“To do so is to be attainted, cursed by the Gods,” Naerys said, as she tore a piece of bread from the loaf and dipped it in salt.

Steve followed her lead, noting the lack of denial.  “What do you reckon, fellas?” he asked Robin and Toby.  “This is your first feast, right?”

“It’s something,” Robin said.  “More lords than I’ve seen in my life.”

“When does the food come out?” Toby asked.  “Not much of a feast without food.”

Steve snorted, ignoring the disdainful glances of their neighbours.  “Good to see you keeping your mind on what’s important.”

Toby nodded, completely serious. 

“Soon,” Naerys said.  “Not before His Grace joins us, certainly.”

But ‘His Grace’ never did so.  Instead, it was Rhaegar who took the seat of honour up at the high table, escorting his wife Elia, as all rose in respect.  They were seated, and the Lord Whent their host beside them, before the hall at large returned to their seats.

Steve examined the high table from afar.  Aside from the two royals, it mostly seemed to be occupied by Whents, four sons and a daughter on either side of their parents, although he also spied Barristan up there, sitting next to his fellow Kingsguard.

Rhaegar stood, a cup in hand as he spoke to the hall at large, but in reality only those closest to him.  He raised a toast, and many of the high lords joined him in it.  

“What’s he saying?” Toby asked.  “Can’t hardly hear him back here.”

Steve strained his ears, but the hall, even one that was respectfully attentive when their Prince was speaking, was still one filled with hundreds of groups of people.  “Prosperity of the realm, something about the tournament, thanking Lord Whent,” he answered.  “He mentioned a harp too.”

“He say anything about the food?” Toby said.

The small group to their side, towards the head of the hall, evidently overheard him, and one of them snorted indelicately.  

Steve ignored them, turning back to Toby.  “I think his last words were, ‘eat, drink, and be merry’,” he said, reaching behind Naerys to ruffle the kid’s hair.  

Toby bore the great indignity with a put upon expression, but made no move to avoid it.  He inspected the cutlery upon the table before them; simple metal implements but higher quality than what was laid upon the tables closer to the entrance.  “I know how to use these at least; Kedry showed me how one time.”

“Just remember that food goes in your mouth and not on your shirt,” Robin said, grinning, earning a poke in his ribs from the boy.

“I’m no idjit, I’m not gonna waste good food,” Toby said.

More tittering from the group beside them, and once again Steve ignored them.  “Here comes the feast now.”

Servants emerged from a door at the head of the hall, behind and to the side of the high table.  Huge trays of roast meats and vegetables were the focus of many an eye, but a flood of smaller plates of other delicacies wafted enticingly as well.  Small kegs were carried by pairs of them, and with efficiency that a modern quartermaster would envy, soon there was food and drink in reach of every guest in the enormous hall.  

Toby was almost salivating as he took a sample from every plate within reach, and Robin wasn’t far behind him.  Naerys and Steve shared a quick smile at their enthusiasm, before reaching to fill plates of their own.

“Look at the little savages go,” a voice said from nearby, pitched to carry.

Steve felt his smile fade, and he turned to the group to his right.

Steve levelled a hard stare at the group beside them.  It was only three men really, for all they were attended by their wives and two of them their sons.  They were focused on their meals and their own conversations, pointedly pretending not to notice the reaction to their own comment.

Deliberately, Steve turned away, showing them his back.  The only thing you won from playing stupid games was a stupid prize.  Even if he would prefer to take them down an alley to give them a stern talking to.  

Naerys had heard, but kept her smile fixed in place, even if her posture had become tense.  Toby also, but Steve had heard the pep talk Kedry had given the kid and while it had convinced him to be on his best behaviour, it had also left him unsure of how to respond to a taunt like that, especially given his first choice would be some manner of foul language or threat.  Robin had likewise picked up on the tension, even if he hadn’t heard what had been said.

“How’s the food, Toby?” Steve asked.  “Everything you hoped for?”

Toby chewed slowly, before visibly deciding to follow Steve’s lead.  “‘S good,” he said.  He took a sip of his goblet and pulled a face.  “Dunno about the wine though.”

Steve quickly rescued the goblet from the kid’s clutches.  “That’s because we don’t drink alcohol until we’re of - at least eighteen,” he said.  

“Sour anyway,” Toby said, tucking back into the mountain of food on his plate.  

Another comment came, something about the wine, and again Steve ignored it.

“Kedry will clip you over the ear if you give yourself a stomach ache eating all that,” Naerys said.  

“Some of it’s for ‘em anyway,” Toby said.  “‘lways made sure I never went hungry.”

Again, a snide comment came, this time more of a direct barb about starving smallfolk and too many children, and again Steve allowed it to bounce off his back.  He did know their faces though, and he was mighty close to deciding to look for them on the field.

“Kedry is lucky to have you to look after him,” Naerys said, as if their neighbours had never spoken.  

Toby ducked his head.  “‘s nothing.”

Naerys smiled, genuinely now, and turned to Robin.  “How did you go at the archery butts today?”

The rude group apparently gave up, at least for then, because they were able to talk and enjoy the feast, taking in the wonders of the Whents table and observing other, more noteworthy guests as time passed by and dinner became dessert and all manner of elaborate caramelised constructions were wheeled out to the delight of all.  

For Steve, it was an opportunity to take in not just the food, but the people.  It had been a long time since he had been able to attend such a gathering without being one of the centres of attention, and he was able to indulge in an old pastime of his: people watching.  It was the tables just below the high table that drew his eye the most, full of rich food being eaten by people in richer clothing.  He could easily see the invisible lines delineating the different groups, even as they sat and ate together.  There was an old lord with a falcon pinned to his chest, surrounded by a sober retinue.  Another group with gold roses worked into every stitch of clothing, arrayed around an older lady who seemed to take great joy in directing their conversation. There was a small gathering of dusky skinned people with a look similar to the Princess, sitting near an equally small gathering of younger people - barely more than children, by Steve’s eyes - with grey wolves stitched into their cloaks.  Steve recognised one from earlier in the day, cheering on the man named as Robert Baratheon in the training yard.  Speaking of the Baratheon, Steve could see him engaged in some manner of drinking contest across the hall, surrounded by a rowdy group in disparate clothing and sigils.  

At an unseen signal, plates of food began to be cleared away by the army of servants, and a band of minstrels began to set up below the high table. The tone of the hall started to grow more festive, as all anticipated the next stage of the evening.  Steve was just watching as what appeared to be a dance floor was made clear, when the servants clearing the tables reached them.

Toby scowled at one, clutching at the plate the woman was waiting to take.

“We have a companion back at our tent, would it be possible to have some food taken to them?” Steve asked, before anything could come of it.

“Of course, m’lord,” the woman said.  “I can do that right away.”

“Thank you,” Naerys said, and Steve caught the glint of a silver coin that she placed on the plate before it was collected.  He kicked himself for forgetting the small courtesies that made this new world go round as Naerys gave the woman directions to their tent.  

“So how was the feast?” Steve asked Toby.  “Everything you were hoping?” 

The boy nodded fervently, even as he clutched at his slightly rounded stomach.  “After you win the melee, you can put on a spread like that all the time, yeah?”

“You’ll be able to put it on yourself, after you win the horse race,” Steve said.

“Hey yeah,” Toby said, eyes going distant as he began to imagine endless feasts.  

“Maybe I’ll just invite you to my feasts, after I win the archery,” Robin said.

Naerys turned to Steve as the two kids got into a competition over what they would buy with their winnings.  “Tournaments are more than just feasts and contests,” she said.  “They’re also excellent places to strengthen relationships and make new ones.  Did you plan to introduce yourself to anyone?”

“I could always go and make some new friends,” Steve said.  He had a brief flashback to his showdays.  “I can be charming when I want to be.”

“I’m sure,” Naerys said.  “I’ll keep an eye on the boys.”

“Good luck,” he said, rising from the table and heading up along the hall.  Others were already starting to gather there, talking in small groups even as others began to fill the dance floor between the two rows of tables that ran the hall. 

The minstrels had finished setting up, and a tune began to fill the room, much to the joy of those who would dance.  The dance wasn’t one that Steve recognised, but something about the tune sounded vaguely familiar.  

In the midst of the crowd of standing guests now, Steve moved through them easily, with a lightness of foot few would expect from a man his size.  He began to eye the area for opportunities, or at least an interesting conversation.  A nearby discussion about the price of grain in the Reach wasn’t exactly making his blood pump.  In the end, Steve felt himself drawn towards a young man, with dark hair and grey eyes, loitering near the dance floor and casting surreptitious looks across it.  Steve followed his glances, and found his eye drawn to a young woman of startling beauty.  Dark locks fell artfully around her shoulders, and purple eyes watched from beneath demure lashes.  She was on the edge of the Dornish party, speaking with another young lady.  While she was turned partly away from the direction of the young man with the wolf sigil, the woman she was talking to was not, and Steve caught her glancing in that direction before she relayed something to her.  

The memory of a missed dance, long ago, struck him suddenly, and Steve was walking before he had made a conscious decision.  He stopped before the young man, only for him to almost jerk with surprise, so preoccupied he had been.  

“Steve Rogers,” Steve introduced himself, extending a hand.

“Eddard Stark,” the young man answered, gaze already drifting back towards the lady, before pausing.  “Not Lord America?”

“The same,” Steve said, wincing internally.  “Now, I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been watching the young lady across the dance floor.”

Eddard squared his shoulders.  “Apologies, I was not aware you were acquainted with Lady Dayne?”

“I’m not,” Steve said.

A small frown.  “Then by what-”

“I also couldn’t help but notice that you haven’t asked her to dance yet,” Steve said.  

“I, that is, I am not much one for dancing,” Eddard said.

“Maybe,” Steve said, “but I’m sure she is, and if you don’t ask her soon, you might just miss your chance.”  He could feel a locket burning a hole in his pocket, and he dismissed the urge to open it to look at the picture within.  “I’m sure if you look, you’ll see a few fellas already building themselves up to it.”

Almost against his will, Eddard looked around, and he could indeed see a number of men looking in the lady’s direction.  Whether they were just admiring from afar, or if they too wished to dance with her, he could not say, but suddenly it seemed like too much of a risk.  

“Can you dance?” Steve asked.

“Of course,” Eddard said.

“Then you go and you ask her to dance,” Steve said.

“I do not think-” Eddard attempted.

“Now,” Steve ordered.

Eddard was moving before he registered agreeing to the commanding tone, cutting almost right across the dancefloor.  He sent a panicked look Steve’s way, but his movement had already been noticed, and to turn back now would be the greater embarrassment.  Like a man walking to the noose, he approached the woman he had been admiring from afar.  

Steve watched as Eddard slowly but surely ground his way through his introduction and a request to dance.  Dayne - and Steve realised that she must be the sister Arthur had spoken of on occasion, Ashara - inspected him for a moment that Steve was sure felt like an eternity to the Stark, before smiling and offering him her hand.  They took to the dancefloor, Eddard the envy of half the men there but blind to it, focused on the woman before him.  Steve nodded to himself at a job well done.  He’d have to check in on him later, and see if he had managed to score himself a date, or whatever it was they aimed for here.  

But there was still more he could do.

The Dornish group that had been enjoying an argument earlier had apparently settled it, because now they were eyeing him speculatively.  Two of them shared looks with the Princess, although one was likely a brother while the other was an uncle, who Steve had met while at the Red Keep.

Steve drifted around the edge of the dancing, orbiting but not joining any of the groups doing likewise.  He came to a stop near to the Dornish, but not so close that they wouldn’t have to approach him should they wish to converse.  

They took the unspoken invitation, or at least the youngest of the apparent leaders did, and Lewyn followed him.  

“Rare is the man who would encourage another to pursue such a beauty as Ashara Dayne,” the man drawled as he approached.  

“Well, it’s the duty of elders to mentor the young,” Steve said, shrugging.

“Because you have such an aged appearance, grandfather,” the man said.  

“I was born almost a century ago, you know,” Steve said.

“Of course,” the man said.  “Oberyn Martell, and this is my uncle, Lewyn Martell of the esteemed Kingsguard.”

“Steve Rogers.  We’ve met,” Steve said, nodding to Lewyn, who returned the gesture.  They had crossed paths once or twice during his time in King’s Landing, but only briefly, as the man was usually guarding his niece.

“Lord America,” Lewyn said.  He wasn’t what anyone would describe as old, but nor was he a young man anymore.  Still, Steve had seen what the man could do in the training yard.

“Lord Martell,” Steve said.  “And a pleasure, Lord Martell.  Have you been enjoying the feast?”

“It has certainly been a feast,” Oberyn said.  “I asked to see the kitchens earlier, but no one would let me in.”  He smiled, as if sharing a joke. 

“I don’t believe our foreign guest is aware of your stellar reputation, nephew,” Lewyn said.  “There are some who accuse Oberyn of being a poisoner, and that was before he attended the Citadel to expand his education.”

“The Citadel is like a university, right?” Steve asked.  “What was it like learning there?”

Oberyn hesitated, taken off guard, but only for a moment.  “Truthfully, while I enjoyed the learning, there was all too much time spent on internal politics.  I left after forging several links.”

“That would have been something,” Steve said.  There had been a time when Tony had offered to make whatever arrangements were necessary for Steve to attend whatever college or university he wanted, but the crises had kept piling up, and there had never been enough time.    

“Tell me, how is it that you are a Rogers but also America?” Lewyn asked.  “Is that the norm in your homeland?”

“Lord America is something I became based on my ability,” Steve explained.  He would name himself Lord, but damned if he would ever say he was born to it.  “Rogers is the name of my father.”

“So all titles in your homeland are granted based on ability?”  Oberyn asked.

“Not quite,” Steve said.  “It’s complicated, but I’ve commanded and fought with princes and kings, and taken orders from men with no titles.”

“How bizarre,” Lewyn said.  “But I suppose our ways must seem the same to you at times,” he offered.

“You could say that,” Steve said with a faint grin.  

“You seem a decent fellow, Rogers,” Oberyn said.  “I may have to look for you in the field come the tourney.”

“You seem a decent fellow, Martell,” Steve said.  “I may have to let you find me.”

Oberyn’s eyes sparked at the challenge.  “Do you joust in your homeland?”

“Not for many years,” Steve said.  “It’s the melee for me.”

“There is still time to sign up for the melee,” Oberyn mused.  

“Pick a field and stick to it nephew,” Lewyn said.  

“We’ll see,” Oberyn said, before turning back to Steve.  “How have you found our fair realms since arriving?” he asked, genuinely inquisitive.  “Have you any unanswered questions?”

“Strange, but aren’t all new lands strange to strangers?” Steve asked, getting a laugh in response.  “As to questions...I suppose that once I win the melee, I’ll have some coin to spare.  Where do you suggest I visit first?”

“Straight to Braavos and the Iron Bank,” Lewyn said.  “Unless you’ve a safe place to put it, like a castle vault.”

“Stop in at Lys on the way to spend some of that coin, perhaps,” Oberyn said, “but yes, Braavos and the Iron Bank.  I don’t envy the man known to be travelling with thousands of gold dragons in his cart.”

“That sounds like the smart move,” Steve said.  “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“It is - or will be - your gold,” Oberyn said.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see a young lady making eyes at me, and I must go.”  He gave a short bow, and left.

“I also have responsibilities to see to,” Lewyn said.  “Pleasure to see you again, America.”  He held out his arm, and Steve took it.  “Also, if you’ll look to the dancefloor, young Ashara and the Stark boy are still dancing.”  He winked, and then he was gone too.  

Steve turned to check.  Lewyn was right; Eddard and Ashara were still dancing in each other's arms, deep in conversation.  “How about that.”

He should check in on his companions soon, but he still had time for one more conversation at least.

Steve had almost made up his mind to approach the scrum of drunk and drinking nobles where Robert Baratheon was holding court, when he saw Barristan leave the dancefloor.  The knight saw him at the same time, and they approached one another.  

“A quarterstaff,” Barristan said, and it took Steve a moment to remember their last conversation.  “Defensive, like your shield, but still a weapon.”

“You’ll just have to wait like everyone else, Barristan,” Steve said.  

“You had no troubles signing up for the melee then?” Barristan asked, as they stepped clear of the busyness closest to the dancing.  

“No, should I have?” Steve asked.  

“It was possible; there will always be those turned away for one reason or another, even at smaller tourneys,” Barristan said.  “But it is good that you did not; I will see you on the field.”

“Don’t let anyone knock you out before I get to you,” Steve said.  “How have you been since leaving King’s Landing?” 

“As well as can be hoped,” Barristan said, “despite the business with...well.”

“I think I know something about what you’re worried over,” Steve said.  “The kid will do his best.”

“That is only part of what concerns me,” Barristan admitted.  “But that isn’t a topic for here and now.”

“All you can do is your best,” Steve said.  “More importantly, who should I put my money on for the joust?  I’ll have a few thousand to bet with for the final.”

“Myself, of course,” Barristan said, without hesitation.  “Although I had thought your share of the Kingswood loot to be only a scant hundred.”

“Have you already forgotten that I’m going to win the melee?” Steve asked.  “I hear the memory is the first thing to go.”

Barristan smothered a snort.  “Whatever happens, I’m sure I’ll see you in the final.  How have you been enjoying your time at Harrenhal?”

“It’s quite a place,” Steve said.  “Spoke to the Martells earlier; Oberyn was interesting.”

“The Red Viper of Dorne has something of a reputation in some circles,” Barristan said.  

“He seems fun,” Steve said.  “He mentioned an ‘Iro-” his gaze snapped away and he cut himself off as he heard a familiar voice cry out, briefly piercing the din of the hall, and then a faint crack.  “Excuse me, Barristan.”

Steve strode back towards his companions, stepping quickly around anyone in his way.  As he neared his goal, an unpleasant scene awaited him.  

Naerys stood facing the group that had been so ill mannered earlier, two high spots of colour on her cheeks and her arm held in the firm grip of one of the men as she struggled.  They were likewise standing, one looming over Toby who was scowling up at him, while the other had a finger digging into Robin’s chest as he spoke down to the kid.  

Steve swallowed a snarl.  Some folk just insisted on attempting to ice skate uphill.  

Stepping forward, Steve grabbed the arm of the man holding Naerys, and began to squeeze.  A hand that could twist metal exerted a small measure of its strength, and the man let go of Naerys as he gasped and attempted to twist free of Steve’s grip.  It was not to be.  He was most of a head taller than their tallest, and near twice as thick besides.  

“What seems be the problem here, friends?” Steve asked, staring down at the irritant.  There was an outline of a hand on the man’s handsome face, quickly reddening.  

“Who do you think you are?” the man blustered after failing to free himself.  

“Steve Rogers, Lord America,” Steve said.  “Now, I asked you a question.”

“I will not be manhandled by an upjumped foreigner!” he tried again.  Sweat was beginning to bead from the brown hair at his temples.

“Evidence says otherwise,” Steve said.  He turned to Naerys.  “Who are these people?”

“He’s a Hayford, of House Hayford,” Naerys said.  Her tone was rushed, and she was breathing quickly.  “He’s a Longwaters, and he’s a Stokeworth,” she added, nodding first to the man who had been standing over Toby, and then to the one who had his finger in Robin’s chest.  “The rest are their family and retinue.”

Steve eyed the near dozen strong group who were all arrayed around them.  Hayford had stopped attempting to get free, and was trying to make it look like Steve’s grip wasn’t bothering him.  Few others were looking their way yet, but the initial commotion and his own entrance had drawn some eyes.  “Alright.  Now what happened here?”

Naerys opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t form the words.  The spots of her colour spread into a ruddy glow of embarrassed anger.  

“He laid hands on her,” Robin said.  There was a cold hate in his eyes as he glared at the man holding Naerys’ arm, ignoring the man pushing him.

“I did no such thing, and to insinuate otherwise is a most grievous offence,” Hayford retorted.  “This harlot struck me-”

“Yer cock is more shrivelled than a wiltin’ pile of cowshit,” Toby announced, “and yer tongue ought ta be cut off for the lies yer spillin’.”

One of the men’s wives gasped in the background.  

“Naerys?” Steve asked.  His tone had gone quiet and hard.  

Naerys gave a jerky nod, crossing her arms over her chest only to immediately lower them.  

“You will apologise,” Steve said.  

“I will not apologise for something I did no-argh!”

At his pained yelp, Hayford’s compatriots stepped towards him, but seemed hesitant to take any action themselves.  Steve held back a look of contempt.  Bullies were the same wherever they reared their heads.  

“Apologise.”

“I, ah, apologise for any inadvertent offence I may have unintentionally caused,” Hayford ground out.  “Now unhand me.”

Steve considered him for a long moment.  That ‘apology’ was likely the best he would get.  He released him, and he quickly stepped back, rubbing his arm.  

“I suppose it was too much to expect a foreign peasant to conduct themselves with any dignity,” another man, Stokeworth, said.  His hair was blond, and his cheeks were ruddy with wine.  “You ought to take your meals in the kennels where you belong.”

“Pal, based on your behaviour tonight I’d sooner trust a dog to be a good dinner guest than you,” Steve said.  

Angry mutterings filtered around the rest of their group, the two teenage sons only kept from intervening by the restraining hands of their mothers.  

“Were there any worth to your blood, I’d have you answer for your insults before the gods,” Hayford spat, drawing himself up.  

“If you’re lucky, you can meet me in the melee and we’ll discuss our differences,” Steve said.  

“You are in the melee?” the third man, the one who had been standing over Toby, spoke up.  “And here I thought the heralds would know a charlatan when they saw one.”

“Longwaters, right?” Steve asked.

“Lord Longwaters to you, wretch,” Longwaters sneered, silver blond hair shining in the torchlight.  “Descended from Velaryon and Targaryen both-”

“I don’t actually care,” Steve said.  “Face me in the melee or don’t, I’ve run out of patience for you and your yammering.”  He turned to Naerys.  “Are you ready to leave?”

“I believe I am,” Naerys said, looking down on the group before them despite being shorter.  Steve couldn’t help but notice her features and bearing were considerably more aristocratic than that of Longwaters.  “It seems the so-called nobility of the Crownlands is anything but.”

Stokeworth began to say something, but Steve was done with him.  He began to lead his friends away from the confrontation, and what little attention they had gathered from nearby guests faded with their departure, leaving the Crownlanders alone in their bubble.  

Once they were clear, Steve spoke as they walked.  “You guys alright?”

“Gits aren’t worth the pot they piss in,” Toby said.  “Shoulda smacked em harder.”

“It’s what you have to expect from nobles,” Robin said.  He was still scowling, jaw clenched.  

“...Naerys?” Steve asked.  

“I’m fine,” Naerys said, voice short.  “I should have been paying closer attention; I could have avoided all that.”

“Balls to that,” Steve said, in what passed for foul language for him.  “That was on them, not you.”

Naerys gave a small hmm.

“Besides,” Steve said, “he’ll be feeling that slap tomorrow.”

“He will, won’t he,” Naerys said, a faint grin upon her face.  “Do you think it will bruise?”

“It should, the training I’ve been putting you through,” Steve said.  “Now come on, we’ve got a whole tournament ahead of us, and tomorrow is the last day before we start competing.  Let’s try to enjoy it, yeah?”

A chorus of agreement answered him, and then they were free of the hall and into the night air.  The moon was thin, but the stars were bright and the air was fresh.  Their time at Harrenhal had barely begun.  

Chapter Text

The second day of the tournament dawned bright and clear, Steve and his company rising for a simple but tasty breakfast of the last of their travel rations.  The day was to be the last before at least one of them had some manner of even to compete in, with Steve fighting in the melee the day after, and then Kedry jousting the day after that.  They had a full day ahead of them, and at this point, not a great deal to fill it with.  

To pass the time, Steve retrieved the artbook and charcoal he had purchased in King’s Landing and set himself up on a chair in front of the tent.  He was joined by Naerys, who seemed content to people watch, and Kedry, who set about inspecting and maintaining his glaive and new set of half plate.  Robin ventured off towards the training yard with his bow to practice, while Toby disappeared in the direction of the stables after Kedry had secured a promise to behave himself.  

At first, Steve sketched the lane of tents they had found sprouting around their site, taking in the rough pennants and the basic sigils they sometimes bore.  After that, he moved onto a long suffering horse being tended to by a boy around Toby’s age.  He gave it a very put upon expression, and added a speech bubble with it complaining about the quality of the apples the boy was sneaking it.  It was edging into midmorning by the time he finished, and he was ready to put his charcoal down, when his attention was caught by Naerys.

The sun caught in her hair, causing it to glow, but he knew he couldn’t capture that with only the tools he had at hand.  What caught his eye was the expression of pure contentment on her face as she watched the other tourney goers pass them by.  The trouble of the night before had clearly been pushed aside - slapped aside, even - and now, for whatever reason, she was happy.  

He set to work to capture the moment, hands moving deftly and eyes flicking between subject and parchment.  Slowly, his work began to take shape.

His focus did not go unnoticed, however.  Naerys lifted an inquisitive chin towards him, silently questioning.

“Give me a moment,” Steve said, filling in the details of her smile.  Naerys waited, and soon he was done.  “Here,” he said, offering the book to her.

“Oh,” Naerys said, taking in his work.  

“I’m no da Vinci,” Steve said, “but I like to think I’m a fair hand.”

“No, this is - this is wonderful, Steve,” Naerys said.  She gazed down at the page, drinking it in.  “You could make good coin doing this.”

“It’s just a hobby,” Steve said.  “Something I could do back when I was frail and sickly, or didn’t want to risk getting sicker.”

“It is hard to imagine you as frail or sickly,” Naerys said, still staring at the sketch.

“You can keep it if you want,” Steve said.

“I’m sorry?” Naerys asked.

“Cut the page from the book,” Steve said.  “It’ll just sit in there otherwise.”

Naerys retrieved a knife from her skirts, and carefully removed the page of parchment from the book without ruining the bindings.  “Thank you, Steve,” she said, holding it like it was something precious.  

“Don’t mention it,” he said.  He put his art tools aside, looking up at the sky.  It was close to, but not quite lunch.  

“How about we take a look around the castle grounds?” Steve asked.  “Sure to be something worth seeing.”

“I think I’d like that,” Naerys said.  She quickly rose from her chair to stow the portrait safely inside the tent, and Steve used the chance to do the same with his sketchbook.  

Once they were ready, Steve offered Naerys his arm on a whim.  “Shall we?” he asked.

“We shall,” Naerys said, smiling at his antics.  

They set out, following the well trodden lanes and paths that had formed in the tent village of those attending the tournament.  All around, there were those preparing for the events, enjoying the festival-like atmosphere, or doing as they were and taking in the sights.  Some were lords on their way to somewhere else, others were knights in weathered gear, and yet more were smallfolk come to try their hand at a fortune that would change their lives and that of their descendants for generations to come.  Merchants hawked their wares, traders haggled, men boasted, and humanity stank.  It was a riot of noise and smell, and Steve was enjoying himself immensely, as was Naerys.  A few short months ago she could hardly picture attending an event such as this, resigning herself to hearing of such things only third or fourth hand, and now here she was living her dream, and beside a man who she had no doubt would win one of the events with ease.  

It was as they were nearing the unofficial kitchens for the tent village that a commotion caught Steve’s ears.  Men shouted and animals shrieked as whatever the root cause was erupted from a stumbling scrum of cooks and customers.  

A dog, patched and scarred, raced under tables and between legs as it fled a burly cook, a link of sausages clutched in its jaws trailing behind it.  The cook put on a burst of speed to bring a heavy cleaver down on the dog, and Steve couldn’t help but cry out.  At the last moment, the black and white animal juked aside, and the cleaver came down with a thunk into a table.  

Perhaps hearing Steve, the dog sped towards him, using him as a shield against his pursuer.  The cook took one look at his clothes and began to circle around him, trying to get at his prey, while the dog took the chance to begin scarfing down his bounty of sausage.  

“Excuse me, m’lud,” the cook said, “if you’ll just move-” he lunged, only for the dog to dart aside again, downing the last of the sausages.  The cook cursed.  

“Unless you plan on turning the dog into more sausages,” Steve said, “I don’t think you’re getting that meat back.”

“Mebbe, but I’ll stop the little varmint from stealing more,” the cook said.  

The dog growled, single ear pricked forward and beady black eyes fixed on the cleaver.  His fur was patchwork, and Steve could count his ribs, even swollen by its recent theft.

“Steve,” Naerys said.  Her tone was insistent, but her eyes were pleading.  As if sensing his chance, the dog moved up to lean into her leg, while remaining alert.

Steve sighed.  “How much did the sausages cost.”

“A silver stag,” the cook said immediately.

“Pull the other one,” Naerys said.  “Three copper stars at most.”

“T’were five, and that’s the Seven’s honest truth,” the cook retorted.

“Fine,” Steve said, patting at his pockets.  He had left his coin purse at the tent, but Naerys had him covered, retrieving the coin from her own pockets and handing them over.  

The cook pocketed them in a flash, already moving away.  “Best of luck to ye with the little beast,” he said.  

Naerys cooed and knelt to scratch the dog behind its ear.  A ratty tail drummed a beat in the dirt as he panted happily.  

“What are we going to call you?” Steve asked.  The dog licked his ankle.  

“You’re a Dodger,” Steve decided.  Thump thump thump went Dodger’s tail.  “Just don’t even think of moving to LA,” he warned.

Dodger whuffed and licked his chops.  

“You just ate,” Steve said.  “If I get you any more you’ll just throw it up.”

“He needs a bath,” Naerys said, eyeing him critically.  “And to be looked over for ticks and fleas.”

Dodger swallowed and let out a low whine.  

“You’re not getting out of this,” Steve said, eyeing him.  Dodger had more than just a few patches of thinning fur, but also partially healed scabs and a cut on his haunch slowly weeping pus.  All in all, he was a weak, ugly, undernourished thing - but then, people had once said the same about Steve himself.  All in all, Dodger looked somewhat similar to what people back home would call a bull terrier, although one that had been through the wars.

“The castle has some large kennels on the east wall,” Naerys said.  “We could get what we need from there.”

“Sounds good,” Steve said.  Before they could turn word into deed, however, they were approached by a man in the black and yellow livery of the Whents.

“Lord America?” the man asked.

“That’s me,” Steve said.  By the look of the man, he didn’t think he was going to like what he was about to hear.

“I bear you poor tidings; doubt has been raised as to your nobility and therefore eligibility to compete in the melee of this great tournament,” the servant told him.  “Unless you can offer proof of your lordship, you will be disqualified from all noble events before the day is out.”

“Doubt raised?” Steve demanded.  “By whom?”

The servant hesitated, losing some of his official bearing.  “I could not say, ah, my lord.  The field is nigh full, so the heralds were instructed to ensure that all who had entered were worthy.  You would have to speak to them to find out more.”

“And where can I find these heralds?” Steve asked.

“They are established in the lower levels of the Kingspyre Tower,” the servant said.  “Excuse me ser, I’ve more tasks to complete.”  He hurried off, disappearing into the crowds. 

“This is the work of those sacks of pox from the feast,” Naerys said.  Her eyes held anger, even as she stroked Dodger’s ears and kept her tone even.  “They didn’t like someone beneath them standing up to them.”

“No chance it’s just business as usual?” Steve asked.  “I am, after all, not a noble...of Westeros.”

Naerys shook her head.  “No herald is going to go through a list looking for someone to eject unless they’ve been told to look for a name in particular.  Someone told them your name.  We have to overcome whatever influence they have here.”

Steve nodded, considering their options.  He had made contacts, connections, since his arrival in Westeros, some closer than others, others more useful than some.  He didn’t think this was a problem insurmountable, but it would still take some doing.  He observed Naerys as he thought.  His first little clash with nobility had been her cousin, and she had been worried and fretted over the consequences of going up against him.  Now here she was planning how to cut through the intrigues of another three nobles, at the least.

“I’d ask if you could come with me to see the heralds, but…” Steve said, gesturing to Dodger, who seemed quite content to lean up against Naerys’s legs.

“I’ll take care of Dodger,” Naerys said, “but I’ll tell Kedry to meet you at the Kingspyre Tower.  Even if he’s not a ser, he’s had experience with this sort of thing.  He managed to get into the joust after all.”  Her brow furrowed, ever so slightly.

“Good thing he wasn’t with us at the feast then,” Steve said, “or they might have gone after him too.”

“Hmm.”  Naerys inspected him, taking in his simple clothing.  “Your blue armour might be best, but if they look at you and don’t see a noble already, it won’t help.”

“Should I get my shield?” Steve asked.  

“...no,” Naerys said, after considering a moment.  “Even a Valyrian sword isn’t taken as proof of nobility, and the smallfolk holding it wouldn’t have it long after it catches the eye of a noble.”

“I’d like to see them try to take my shield,” Steve said, snorting.

“Well yes, but then we’d have to flee Harrenhal, and you’d have beaten all these knights for no prize,” Naerys said, quite sensibly. 

“Hey, I’ve been looking forward to this melee,” Steve said, smiling.  “Maybe I want the fight more than the gold.”

Naerys rolled her eyes, gathering Dodger up in her arms and turning to leave.  “I’ll have Kedry meet you at the main doors to the tower.  Don’t take too long getting there.”  She left, heading back to their tent.

As large as Harrenhal was, it took him twenty minutes to make his way across the grounds to the Kingspyre Tower, passing around the edge of the training yard on his way.  The entrance to the tower was easy enough to find, as a steady stream of servants and officials made their way in and out.  Steve took up a spot against the wall, and waited for Kedry.  

Kedry arrived just short of ten minutes later, making his way across the Flowstone Yard with a somber expression on his face.  He had taken the time to dress in some of his more presentable new clothing, and he greeted Steve with a bow of his head.  “Steve,” he said.

“Kedry, thanks for coming,” Steve said.  “Naerys fill you in?”

“She did,” Kedry said.  “I am sorry for the troubles caused.”

“Hardly your fault,” Steve said, waving it away.  “You weren’t even there when the trouble went down.”

“Even so, I-”

“They might have tried to get me disqualified, but it’s not going to save the bullies from a beating,” Steve said.  

A blank look came over Kedry’s face for a short moment.  “I may have misunderstood what Naerys told me,” he said.

“We had some trouble at the feast last night; Toby filled you in?” Steve asked, receiving a nod in return.  “We think they’ve gone to the heralds and persuaded them to disqualify me on account of not being a noble of Westeros.”

“I see,” Kedry said.  

“You’ve gone to tournaments before, right?” Steve said.

“...I have attended some few, yes,” Kedry said.

“So we can speak to the heralds, find out what they’ve been told, and see what we need to overcome,” Steve said.  “I was hoping you could help with that, given I’ve never competed before.”

“Of course,” Kedry said.  “For the aid you have given me, how could I not?”

“Let’s sort this out then,” Steve said.  “I don’t want to waste the rest of my day on it.”  He led the way into the tower, Kedry following him.  

It seemed that he had been directed to the administrative centre of the tournament, with serving boys and girls running every which way with rolls of parchment, running notes and messages to check and double check plans and protocols for everything from the layout of the tent village to seating arrangements for the joust to payment orders for the blacksmiths keeping everyone in armour.  The entrance lead to a decently sized antechamber, with a number of halls leading off from it.  The symbols of the Whents were everywhere, hanging from banners on the ceiling, sewn into livery, even tiled into the floor.  

Steve tapped the shoulder of a young boy loitering by the main entrance who was wearing the expression of someone trying to look too busy to be asked for help.  “I’m looking for the heralds in charge of the melee.  Where can I find them?” 

“Three halls down, take a right, then it’s the fifth door m’lord,” the boy said.

“Thanks,” Steve said, before pausing.  “If you want to look busy, keep moving.  If you wait by the door the whole time, someone will notice.”

The boy froze, eyes darting to Steve’s, before giving a jerky nod.  As Steve and Kedry moved on, they saw him begin to make a circuit of the hall.

“He’s likely to catch a hiding if he’s caught slacking off,” Kedry said, although there was no reprovement in his voice.

“With luck he won’t be caught then,” Steve said.  “Anyway, someone who has to threaten a thrashing to get people to work deserves to be run around on.”  He stepped aside to avoid a girl carrying a stack of parchment higher than her head.

“You can see why some people might doubt your noble status,” Kedry said wryly, as they headed down the halls.

“Damn.  I knew I was missing something,” Steve said.  “What can I expect here?” he asked, more seriously.

“The heralds will demand proof of your status, such as a patent of nobility,” Kedry said.  “I don’t suppose you have such a thing?”

“I washed ashore with my armour and my shield, and I lost the shield for a while,” Steve said.  

“Then unless you can find a scribe mad enough to forge a patent, that avenue is closed,” Kedry said.  “But none would ever dare such.”

“What other options do we have?”

“Become a noble before the end of the day,” Kedry suggested.  “I’m sure there are maidens aplenty willing to marry someone such as...you.”

Steve rolled his eyes.  “I’m not the kind of guy to move on a gal so quickly.”

“You could persuade those who started this to abandon their claim,” Kedry said.  

“Could I challenge them, to a duel or something?” Steve asked.

“From what Toby told me, I doubt they would accept,” Kedry said.  “They would likely hide behind their status and declare you unworthy of fighting.”

“I think I’m starting to look forward to seeing them in the melee,” Steve grumbled.  

“Your best hope is to have someone of greater status than they intervene,” Kedry said.  “But they would need a reason to do so.”

Steve grunted in acknowledgement.  As they continued on their way, the bustle grew less, and the scent of parchment grew near to overpowering.  It reminded him of the old records room at the SSR.  With that memory came others, of hours upon hours spent being poked and prodded because some department head wanted another look or some major confirmation of something else.  He had eventually realised he was caught in the middle of some kind of pissing match between two groups, who were using him as a proxy to make their point.  When he had discovered that, he had accidentally walked through the door on his way out, rather than opening it first.  He was reminded of that petty level of bullcrap now, and it tired him.  

They reached the door the kid had directed them to, and Steve rapped on it.  It was quickly opened, a girl in her early teens peering out.  

“Who is it girl?” a voice demanded from within the room.  

“Nobles maester,” the girl answered, after looking them up and down.

“Send them in then,” the voice said, suddenly more accommodating.  

The girl stepped aside, and they entered into a room dominated by a heavy wooden table.  Upon it, and hanging from the walls as well, were great lists of names, each with heraldry beside it and a small note.  There was only one man present, the maester, stooped and rubbing at his eyes, but there was evidence of the presence of many more, with empty pots of ink and abandoned quills.  

“How may I aid you, my lords?” the maester asked.  His back was stooped, but his eyes were clear, and his forehead was a mass of frown lines.

“I am Lord America, and you can put me back on the lists for the melee.”  A desire to be upfront and cut through the nonsense saw him state his purpose plainly.

“And you have proof of this?” the maester answered, quickly, smoothly, as if he had been expecting it.  He gave the girl a look, and she went to stand outside, closing the door behind her.

“Proof,” Steve said flatly.  So that was the way it was going to be.

“Proof of nobility, of identity,” the maester said.  “You understand that we cannot let just anyone join such esteemed company in this tournament, or we would have all sorts of undesirables attempting to worm their way in.”  He smiled, and Steve recognised it as a slimy thing.

“Your King greeted me as Lord America before his court,” Steve said.  “You’d think a loyal subject would take his cue from that.”  He didn’t like playing these games, but he knew how to play them.

“I could not possibly speak as to the mind of His Grace when he provided you the dignity of addressing you by your claimed title in court,” the maester said.  “I presume that the King provided you a writ recognising you as such?”.  

“His word isn’t enough?” Steve pressed.  

“His word, certainly.  Your word, claiming his?  Not as such.”

“There were many witnesses,” Kedry said.  “The story has spread far in the weeks since.”

“And for a silver stag, I’m sure you could find any number who would claim to have stood in the Red Keep that day, to tell of the lord who was from a land across the sea that appears on no maps and that no one has ever heard of who was spoken to so briefly by the King,” the maester said.  

Steve was already tired of this.  The maester was starting to annoy him more than the one at the Red Keep.  “You sure you want to do this?  Really sure, I mean.  Lot of risk to go to for whoever put you up to this.”

The maester gave him a scornful look.  “Peasants try to reach beyond their station at every opportunity.  It is usually my duty to safeguard the institutions of nobility and knighthood, but in this instance, it is very much my pleasure.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose.  This man was set on disbelieving him, and to be fair, he wasn’t actually a noble by the standards of his home.  Mostly because they’d mostly moved on from such an outdated institution, but still.  “And what was your name, maester?”

“I am Maester Edgar,” the maester said, looking down his nose at him.  “Do be sure to pass that on to His Grace when you undoubtedly see him next.”

“If that’s the way it has to be,” Steve said.  He turned, leaving the room behind, Kedry on his heels.  They made their way down the hall a ways, stepping past the girl waiting outside the door, before stopping to speak.  

“He was well and waiting for us,” Kedry said.  

“He’d heard the story I told of where I was from,” Steve said.  “I don’t understand why he’s so happy to pick a fight over this.”

“For some men, their privilege is everything,” Kedry said.  “And they are jealous of their privilege.”

“Jealous enough to go against the King?” Steve asked, skeptical.

“He may genuinely believe your tale to be false,” Kedry said.

“I thought he would be warier of how mercurial the King’s moods seem to be.”

“Bothering the King over such a small matter might be seen by some as foolhardy,” Kedry said, somewhat delicately.  

“You think it’d be a bad idea?” Steve asked.

“I think it would be an unsure idea,” Kedry answered.  “And even if it resulted in your favour, what would he want in return?”

Steve let out a low hmm, rubbing at his chin.  He’d need to shave again soon; he could already feel stubble.  

“‘Scuse me, milords,” a voice came from behind them.  “I heard what you lot were talkin’ ‘bout in there, and I reckon I could help yez with those troubles of yorn.”

Steve turned to see the girl who had first greeted him standing almost behind him.  His brows shot up.  “I didn’t even hear you approach us.”

“‘M sneaky like that,” the girl said.  Her dark hair was tied back at her neck, and she wore a simple dress that was a few washes past thinning.

“You said you could help us?” Kedry asked.  

“Iffn you make it worth my while,” the girl said.  "I hear all sorts of things waiting by that door."

“I appreciate your offer,” Steve said, patting at his belt for a coin.  “But I’ve got half an idea of how to sort this mess out.”  He found a silver coin, too much to hand over for the sausages earlier, but the girl had tried to help him.  

The girl squinted at the silver coin, and then back up at him.  “Are ya daft?”

“Kid, you’re not the first to ask me that,” Steve said.

The coin disappeared up her sleeve, leaving her staring dubiously at him.  “‘M not taking yer coin to tell yer nothin’.  It was a toff called Longwaters that told the grey rat you weren’t no noble, said you was plottin’ to get into the fight so you could make some bets.  Even said you was telling a tale about visiting King’s Landing.”

“Thank you,” Kedry said, before leaning forward.  “The maester doesn’t give you any trouble, does he?”

The girl scoffed.  “The old miser likes his whores well flowered.  ‘M just tryin’ to make some coin where I can.”

For a moment, Steve considered offering the girl a job.  She had managed to sneak up on him, even if he wasn’t actively watching out for it.  Then he thought about the size of his retinue already.  The road of a medieval country was bad enough to take one child on, let alone two.  “What’s your name?”

“Ma called me Lyanna afore she croaked,” the girl said.

“Well, take care of yourself Lyanna,” Steve said.  “Make sure you don’t get caught listening at doors.”

“I never get caught,” Lyanna scoffed.  With that she ducked away, returning to the irritating maester’s side.  

“And that’s why you don’t thrash your servants,” Steve said.  “Come on.  We know enough to see a friend about a fight.”

X 

Kedry had begged off, labeling his presence unnecessary and returning to their tent.  Unlike Jaime, Barristan wasn’t staying in his own lavish tent, but sharing with the other members of the Kingsguard in the quarters of the castle set aside for the King.  After prevailing upon a servant to take a message to Barristan confirming the welcome of his presence, Steve was escorted through the rich halls to the door to a comparatively modest room.  It was modest in that there was slightly less gold and filigree on the walls and tapestries.  The man he was here to see answered the door with a whetstone in hand, dismissing the servant with a gesture.

“Steve!” Barristan greeted him.  “You left the feast before we could finish our conversation.”

“Sorry for ducking out on you like that,” Steve said.  “There was a bit of trouble with my friends.”

“I hope it was nothing serious,” Barristan said, returning to the table within the room.  Laid out upon it was a variety of small blades, in various stages of maintenance. “Please, be seated.”

“Well, we dealt with the immediate issue well enough,” Steve said.  “But that just encouraged them.”  He took a seat across from Barristan.  

“Oh?” Barristan asked.

“The maester working on the melee lists wants to disqualify me on account of not being a noble,” Steve said.  

Barristan set his whetstone down.  “Ah.”

“I went to speak with him, and there’s more to it,” Steve said.  “A servant mentioned hearing one of the nobles I had a problem with at the feast speaking to the maester about me.”

“And of course you have no acceptable proof of your nobility here with you, not after washing up in the Crownlands,” Barristan said.  He sat back in his chair, pondering the issue.

“King Aerys acknowledging my lordship had been opening a few doors for me so far,” Steve said.  

“It would at that,” Barristan said, “but lords are a fractious lot, and royal authority does not always carry the weight it ought to in some corners of the realm, or when lords find it inconvenient.”

“You can guess why I’ve come to see you now,” Steve said.  

“Yes yes, of course,” Barristan said.  “I can’t speak for the King, but I can confirm his words.  To be true, my word as to your stature ought to be sufficient.”

“I appreciate that, Barristan,” Steve said.  

“Think nothing of it,” the knight said.  “These men you quarrelled with, what were their names?”

“I didn’t get their names, but their Houses are Stokeworth, Hayford, and Longwaters,” Steve said.  “Can’t say I was impressed by them.”

“Crownland houses,” Barristan muttered to himself.  “But they ought not be dismissive of the King’s words…”

“I might have made them look bad in front of their wives and kids, and a few others,” Steve admitted.  “They pushed a few of my buttons.”

“Pride,” Barristan said, shaking his head.  “Bane of even the greatest men.  What was this maester’s name, the one you spoke with?”

“Maester Edgar,” Steve said.  “No last name given.”

Barristan drummed his fingers on the table.  “The Hayfords had a third son by that name who went to the Citadel.”

“Think it could be him?”

“Possible, but difficult to confirm if wished to be concealed, and ultimately irrelevant,” Barristan said.  “I will deal with the issue.”  His words were final, but then he grinned.  “You won’t be escaping your beating that easily,” he said.

“I hadn’t heard there was anyone who could give me one competing,” Steve said.

“Here, you know how to hone a blade?” Barristan asked, offering a whetstone. 

“I’ve handled one or two in my time,” Steve said, accepting the stone.  

“You can tell me about your journey from King’s Landing to here,” Barristan said.  “I couldn’t help but notice your retinue had increased from just the Lady Naerys.”

“You want to hear about the bandits or the gravedigging first?” Steve asked.  

“The bandits, of course.”

“Well, Naerys got one of them.  Her first real fight, and she kept her head, defended herself well…” Steve began to tell Barristan the tale of their journey, satisfied that whatever brief trouble had been put in his way had been resolved.  At least for the moment.

X x X

Steve spent a companionable hour speaking with Barristan, before the man’s duties called him.  With the most pressing issue promising to be solved, all that was left was to while away the hours before getting a good rest for the melee the next day.  To that end, Steve returned to his tent, intent on getting some light practise in before finding dinner.  The training yard was close to bursting with those who had had the same thought, so Steve made instead for the open area between the back of their tent and the old ruined sept.  Most avoided, or at least steered around the sept, and so the ground there had yet to be trampled to mud like much of the lanes and paths around the tent village.  

In the peasant garb he wore on the road and with his shield in hand, Steve moved through a series of old exercises at quarter speed, picturing a knight wielding a sword in his mind’s eye.  Many of his instincts would be at best a distraction on the battlefields of this land, and at worst a weakness.  He would have to adapt and overcome.  His spars at the Red Keep had given him some idea of what to expect, so he wouldn’t be walking onto the field tomorrow blind, but the melee was likely to be a different beast to a simple spar.  

Keeping his breaths deep and even, Steve practiced a sweep and twist of his shield that had almost disarmed Barristan, using the jagged edge of the shield to grip the blade.  Despite its failure in the spar, he thought the move had potential.  But then, what if his foe didn’t wield a sword?  He pictured a hammer, or a flail, or a spear, and the ways they might be used against him.  Slowly, he lost himself in his thoughts as he put himself through his paces, thinking how his new hammer would affect his combat style.  Imagined musings might not be any substitute for true training or experience, but the imagined musings of a super soldier with hard won martial skill counted for more than most.  

Some time later, a cleared throat drew him out of his focus.  Steve lowered his shield and turned to see an unfamiliar servant waiting at attention to the side of his practice area.  While the man’s face was unfamiliar, his colours weren’t; purple stitching and a sigil of a sword over a falling star.  

“Did Arthur want a word?” Steve asked, loosening the straps on his shield.  

The servant blinked, but answered without pause.  “Ah, no my lord, it is my lady Ashara Dayne who wishes to speak with you this afternoon at your convenience.”

Steve glanced at the sky.  The sun was still visible above the enormous castle walls, but only just, and midday had well and truly been left behind.  He may not have ever spoken with Ashara himself, but he was on good enough terms with her brother.  Maybe he could find out how her dance with Eddard had gone.   “I can make some time,” he said.  “Should I change, or..?”

“I think it would be best,” the servant said delicately.  

“Right,” Steve said.  “Give me a moment.”

Steve ducked into the tent, leaving the servant waiting outside, and made for his room.  He wouldn’t have time to traipse to the limited facilities on offer for the more common guests of the castle, but he could wipe himself down and don some of his nicer clothes. 

As he changed, he heard the main tent flap being pulled back, and the muffled voices of Naerys and Kedry.  He stepped out to greet them, still pulling his shirt on.  

“How’d things go with Dodger at the kennels?” Steve asked Naerys by way of greeting.

Naerys opened and closed her mouth, apparently distracted by his sudden question.  She and Kedry were kneeling on the canvas mat they’d put out in the tent, showering Dodger with affection.  “Good,” she said.  “No problems that some food and care won’t fix, although his tail will never be straight again.”

“Adds character anyway,” Steve said, giving Dodger a once over.  He had been cleaned, lice and ticks picked free and scabs pasted over with some concoction that smelt faintly of mint.  He had a bone in his jaws that he was working over, and from the crunching sounds coming from it Steve didn’t think it would last long.  A leather collar had been found for him, and he seemed to be tolerating the rope that ran from it to Naerys’ hand.

“The kennel master thinks one parent might have been some lord’s fighting dog, if not Dodger himself,” Naerys said.  

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Steve said.  He didn’t think much of animal blood sports, but at least Dodger would be able to defend himself if the need arose.  

“You’re dressed for an occasion,” Kedry said.  “Is there another feast?  I can watch Dodger, if need be.”

“Lost my taste for feasts, for now at least,” Steve said.  “I’ve been asked to see Ashara Dayne, and I don’t want to be rude.”

“Ashara Dayne asked you to her quarters?” Naerys asked, frowning slightly.

“I’m not sure where, exactly,” Steve said.  “The servant just said she wanted to talk.”  He shrugged.  “Probably something to do with pointing the Stark kid in her direction at the feast.”  It was still strange hearing Tony’s name on some great noble family, although he probably would have said it was only natural.

“Do you know how their conversation went?” Kedry asked.

“I couldn’t say; we left not long after,” Steve said.  “Why?”

“If Lady Dayne wishes to speak with you about it, then it likely went very well or quite badly,” Kedry said.  

“Well, here’s hoping,” Steve said.  “Do you know where Robin and Toby got to?”

Naerys shook her head, but Kedry nodded.  

“I saw them in the company of the young serving girl who offered us aid earlier,” Kedry said.  “I made sure nothing untoward was occurring, and they assured me all was fine.”  He frowned.  “In hindsight, I may have been too trusting.”

“I doubt they’ll have any issue getting themselves into and out of trouble,” Steve said.  He adjusted his fancy clothes, turning this way and that.  “How do I look?”

Kedry and Naerys shared a glance.  

“Acceptable,” the blonde woman said.

“Swell.  I’ll see you later tonight then.”  With that farewell, Steve left the tent, and began to follow the Dayne servant towards the towers.  Time to see what this was all about.

X

The Daynes apparently warranted a suite of rooms only a few floors below Barristan, and therefore the King.  There was a level of opulence to it that felt out of place after the time spent on the road, and like Steve was coming to expect, the symbol or colour of the House it belonged to could be found all over.  The door in the hallway led not to the suite proper but to a kind of antechamber, through which Steve was led before the servant knocked on one of the doors along its back wall.  An affirmative call answered the knock, and the way was opened for him.

“The Lord America,” the servant announced him to the room, before standing aside so Steve could enter.

It reminded him of a salon he’d been invited to in London during the War, but only superficially.  Three ladies looked up at his entrance, arrayed in an open circle with needles and fabric in hand.   Ashara he recognised, but the other two he didn’t.  They could have been nobles themselves, or just favoured servants, but they both had the look that he was coming to recognise as ‘Dornish’ to them.  

“Lord America, thank you for coming to see me,” Ashara said.  “These are my companions, Lady Leia, and Lady Myria.”  

“Pleasure to meet you,” Steve said, tipping his head to the women.  In person, in a well lit room, he could see why so many people would be eager to make time with Ashara.  She was certainly something of a beauty.  Purely to his artist’s eye, that is.  Leia on the other hand looked somewhat familiar - maybe she was related to someone he’d met? - while Myria was comparatively more plain, mostly in her dress than anything.

“I realise this invitation must have seemed unheralded,” Ashara explained.  “My brother, Arthur, spoke of you to me, and after I realised who it was that persuaded Ned to ask me to dance, I had to satisfy my curiosity.”

“Arthur mentioned you a few times on the road too,” Steve said.  

“Please, sit with us,” Ashara said, gesturing to a free chair in the circle.  “Nothing too scandalous, I hope?”

Steve eyed the delicate chaise and took a seat, sitting straight backed.  “Nothing worse than a distracted chef and upset stomachs from too much blood orange tart,” he said.

Ashara’s eyes narrowed as her friends hid smiles.  “Ooh, that lout.  He said he’d stop telling that story.”

“Brothers will be brothers,” Steve said, relaxing slightly.  Maybe he wouldn’t have to stand on what little ceremony he knew here.  

“You speak from experience?” Myria asked.  Her voice was quite musical.  

“I guess you could say that,” Steve said.  “Mine was more pulling me out of trouble than embarrassing tales though.”

“Would you care for some afternoon tea?” Ashara asked.  “We were about to partake.”

Steve’s stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since lunch with Barristan.  “Sure, I’d appreciate that.”

Ashara rang a small bell, and several moments later a servant entered from another door carrying a tray of pastries.  

They were quite small, and when the tray was placed on a small table between them all Steve took one and chewed it experimentally.  They were cheese and spinach if his taste was right, and he made a pleased sound before taking another.  “These are good,” Steve said, popping it into his mouth.  

“I’m glad you find them to your liking; they’re a recipe from home,” Ashara explained, taking a dainty bite of her own.  

Steve noticed the other two women eating similarly, taking small bites while being wary of crumbs, and swallowed his second.  He coughed, deciding to wait before taking more.  

“What was it that made you prompt Eddard to approach Ashara?” Leia asked.  “We’ve been gossiping about it all day, between other topics.”

Ashara’s arm twitched, like she’d almost reached over to poke Leia, but she kept a kindly smile on her face.  

“I missed a dance once, and I guess I didn’t want him to have that same regret.”  Steve’s gaze drifted to a painting on one of the walls, seeing it without taking in any details, his mind far away.  His hand brushed a pocket, and the locket that was kept safely inside.  

“You have a lady waiting for you in your homeland,” Ashara said, eyes keen.  

Steve made a snap decision, retrieving the locket and carefully opening it.  “This is Margaret - Peggy, she preferred.  If I’m lucky, one day I’ll see her again.”  He ignored the dull pain of her passing and the years long since lost, carefully shepherding the embers of hope that had sparked within him the moment Tony had come to them with his plan to reverse the Snap.  

“She must be a singular woman,” Leia said, peering at the picture..

Steve thought back to the time she had shot at him, more than once, and snorted a laugh.  “She is.”

“So you did not wish to see Ned miss his chance,” Ashara said.  

“Carpe diem,” Steve said.  “Seize the day.”

“I see,” Ashara said, considering his answer.  Her gaze went to the half finished embroidery in her lap.

“‘Carpe diem’.  Is that Valyrian?” Myria asked.

“It’s a dead language from my homeland,” Steve said.  “Mostly used by scholars these days.”

“Is there a great learning tradition in your homeland?” Myria asked.  

“You could say that,” Steve said.  “As much as we have a carpentry tradition, or soldiery.”

“Have you thought to visit the Citadel at Oldtown?” Myria said.  “It is a great repository of knowledge; you might find a way home there.”

Steve pulled a face.  “I can’t say I’m too impressed with the maesters I’ve met so far.”

“Oh?” Leia asked, almost sharklike.  “Do tell.”

“Well, to start with, I tried to speak with the maester at the Red Keep about finding a few things only to be palmed off because he was more interested in his uh,” Steve said, only to hesitate as he remembered his audience, “his companion of the night.”

Leia let out a derisive laugh.  “Pycelle’s whores will be the end of him one day,” she said.  She seemed to be waiting for his reaction.  

“It certainly says a lot about the man who will put aside his duty to his calling or his country for his own stubborn pleasures,” Steve said.  

“Hmm,” Leia said, leaning back in her chair.  

“One bad experience was not enough to sour you on the Maesters as a whole though, surely?” Myria asked. 

“I’d hate to paint one group with the same brush,” Steve said, “but just today I had another maester try to disqualify me from the melee on account of some unpleasant nobles.”

“How unusual,” Ashara said, rejoining the conversation.  “And quite a risk to his position, at that.”  Her tone invited him to share more.  

“He might be related to some nobles whose bad side I put myself on at the feast last night,” Steve said.  “Not that I’d want to be on their good side, from what I saw.”

“Surely you don’t mean to leave us in suspense,” Myria said, urging him on.  

Steve paused, considering for a moment if he wanted to take things further and put the social screws to the punks.  Then he remembered the look on Naerys’ face as Hayford held her arm.  “Hayford, Longwaters, and Stokeworth,” he said, remembering their House names.  “Hayford laid hands on one of my companions, and when she defended herself he threatened her with violence.  I took him in hand and told him why his actions weren’t acceptable.”

“Was this Naerys Waters?” Leia asked.  “Late of Sharp Point?”

“Yeah,” Steve said.  “She nursed me back to health when I washed ashore, and is a good friend besides.  They seemed fine with threatening her and the two kids, but were less eager to pick a fight with me, so their next step was to try to have me disqualified.”

“But they were unsuccessful, yes?” Leia pressed him.  “You will be competing on the morrow?”

“I spoke with Barristan, and he said he’d clear it all up,” Steve said, and Leia nodded, satisfied.

“Such unchivalrous behaviour,” Myria said.  “It would truly be a shame if word of their conduct were to spread.”

“I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it,” Steve said.  “If word of a man’s deeds were to hurt him, then he probably deserves it.”

The ladies exchanged glances, all seemingly of one mind.  “A shame indeed,” Leia murmured.  

“I’m sure you didn’t ask me here to hear me gripe though,” Steve said, half apologetic.  

“Complaining is a time honoured tradition among stitching circles,” Ashara said.

A memory came to Steve’s mind, one from long ago.  “My Ma called it the stitch ‘n bitch,” he said candidly.

Leia snorted violently, almost choking on the pastry she had been taking a bite of.  “Excuse me, a thousand apologies,” she said, trying to regain some dignity as her friends laughed at her.  “Some friends you are,” she grumbled, but she was smiling.

“How was the dance, if you don’t mind me asking?” Steve said, turning to Ashara and returning to the original topic.  

“It was most enjoyable,” Ashara said, ignoring the tittering coming from her companions with her head held high, “as was the conversation I had with Ned.  I really must thank you for giving him the encouragement he needed.”

“Don’t mention it,” Steve said.  “It’s good to see two kids getting along like you are.”

Ashara gave him a slightly odd look, but nodded.  “Know that I am grateful, and if I can introduce you to someone in turn, I will endeavor to do so.” She leaned forward, as if to confide.  “I am on somewhat decent terms with the Princess Elia, you see.”

Steve felt like a joke was flying over his head, but smiled nonetheless.  “I appreciate that, Lady Ashara.”

“On less weighty matters, you must try more of these pastries,” Leia said.  “Here, this type is my favourite…”

It seemed whatever measure the ladies had meant to take of him had been done, and they were pleased with what they had found, for the rest of the meeting passed pleasantly, and Steve left the suite with a pop in his step and a calm mind, ready for the challenge of the next day. 

Chapter Text

The day of the melee, Steve woke with anticipation in his gut and an eagerness to do some recreational violence to someone.  He rose smoothly, and began a routine of stretches to limber himself up.  

For so long, fighting had been about stopping the world from falling apart, and then once it did, holding its remains together.  He couldn’t remember the last time he had entered some kind of martial competition purely for the fun of it, if he had ever done so at all.  The gold prize at the end certainly didn’t hurt matters.  

When he emerged from his room, his companions were waiting for him, dressed to impress, as was a plate piled high with bacon, eggs, sausages, and a hunk of toasted bread, drizzled with melted cheese.  A tall tankard of milk sat on the table beside it.  Dodger sat nearby, black eyes fixed unerringly on the plate despite the grease he was licking from his chops.  

“Good morning, Steve,” Naerys said with a smile, pulling the chair before the plate out for him.  “How are you feeling?”

“Spoiled, to be honest,” Steve said, taking the seat.  “You guys sure you have enough?” Their own plates were somewhat more modest than his.

“We don’t all eat enough to put a lord out of his castle,” Robin said.

“Maybe if you did you’d have the arms to draw that bow your dad helped make for me,” Steve said, tucking in to his breakfast with a will.  

“I don’t think anyone besides you could draw that monster,” Robin grumbled.  

“Are ya gonna give them toffs a beating?” Toby asked.  “I bet ye could get away wit’ all kinds o’ vi-o-lence.”

“Well, it’s mounted combat, and I’ll keep that in mind, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have fun,” Steve said.  “It’s a competition in a tournament, after all.”

“Vi-o-lence it is then,” Toby said with a satisfied nod.  

“I’m sure Steve is going to treat his opponents with the respect they deserve,” Kedry said to Toby.

“Oh yeah,” Steve said, thinking of a few likely opponents in particular.  “Exactly as they deserve.”

“We weren’t sure what arms and armour you had decided on, so we readied them all,” Naerys said, finishing her breakfast and putting the cutlery aside.  “I saw to the armour from your homeland, while Kedry saw to your hammer and helm.”

“I had a word wit’ Fury,” Toby said, excitement getting the better of him.  “Y’know, as much as ye can wit’ horses.”

“I even prepped your bow, in case you wanted to carry it,” Robin said.  “Dunno how much cause you’d have to use it in the melee though.”

Steve gave in to Dodger’s begging eyes and slipped him a rasher of bacon, considering his options for the day.

“I’ll take the hammer, the shield, and my suit, but I’ll wear the helm we picked up in King’s Landing,” Steve said.  “Think I’ll leave the bow; I wouldn’t want it to get knocked around if I’m not going to use it.”

“Fair,” Robin said.  “I think you’d be more likely to knock around whatever you hit with it, though.”

Steve finished up his breakfast, mopping up the fat and sauce with the bread and licking his fingers clean.  “So are you guys coming to watch, or do you have other things to do?”

Naerys rolled her eyes at him.  “We will watch as best we can, although the melee is to take place over an expansive part of the land beyond the castle walls.”

“I heard talk of a watching party on the walls themselves,” Kedry offered.  “We may be able to spectate from there.”

“I suppose my armour will stick out from the crowd,” Steve said.  

“Many knights wear favours given to them by a lady,” Naerys said, “so they might be distinguished more easily.  “You should be wary of accepting any offered,” she warned.  “It’s considered a tacit acceptance of invitation to court.”

“Thanks Naerys,” Steve said.  “I’d have put my foot in it who knows how many times if not for you.”

“Truly, you are in my debt,” Naerys said wryly, looking around the tent and then to the fine dress she wore.  

Rising from the table, Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “I guess it’s time.”

“We’ll wait for you outside,” Kedry said.  “Your equipment is in the spare room.”

His companions departed, giving him space, and Steve made for his arms and armour.  In the room they kept their equipment in, he found them, laid out neatly on the floor mat.  His suit had been cleaned, each nook and cranny picked free of grime earned on the road, until it was good enough to pass parade inspection.  His hammer gleamed, his shield shone, and he could see his reflection in the crown of his helm.  The wings upon it were white to the helm’s grey, and were close to matching his own symbol.  He ran a hand over the star on the suit’s chest, remembering, but only for a moment.  He shucked his clothes, and began to suit up.

A few minutes later, Steve emerged from the tent, ready and willing.  His shield was strapped to his arm, and his hammer rested easily upon his shoulder.  The helm completed the picture, sitting proudly on his head.

Naerys sighed.  “I should have put more coin on him.”  

“Toby and Robin have gone to ready Fury for you,” Kedry said.  “We will meet them at the southern gate with the rest of the competitors.

Steve nodded, and led the way through the tent village, Naerys and Kedry falling in behind him.  Heads turned and eyes fixed upon them as they passed, Steve’s stature and garb speaking a thousand words.  Naerys’ beauty and the quiet danger with which Kedry moved, knife visible at his back, only added to the scene.  

They passed by other knights emerging from their tents, but all hesitated and waited for them to pass, such was their bearing.  The crowded lanes seemed to open before them, and soon they were at the southern gate, near to the stables.  A large crowd of several hundred armoured knights and their horses milled about, some more eye catching than others.  Steve saw gem studded armour, painted breastplates, even a set of antlers on a helm.  A high whistle drew Steve’s attention, where he saw Toby standing upon Fury’s saddle, waving to him.  They approached, Toby hopping down as they reached them.  

“This is where we have to split,” Robin said, handing the reins over.  “Competitors and officials only through the gate.”

Steve took the reins, stroking Fury’s neck.  The horse snorted and stamped a hoof, perhaps having picked up on the mood.  He looked eager.  “Thanks for all your help,” Steve said.  “I’ll take it from here.”

“I have no doubt,” Kedry said.  “Seven be with you.”

“Trees an’ Stone protect ye,” Toby said.  

“Good luck,” Robin said.  

Naerys said nothing, just giving him a quick but crushing hug before stepping away.  

Steve watched as his companions departed, heading for one of the stairwells that led to the top of the huge walls.  Then he turned and focused, heading for the red and black banner with the three headed dragon on it.  The melee awaited.  

X

Out of the mass of fighters, seven groups emerged as each man made for the banner of the kingdom he had signed up for.  For Steve that was the Crownlands, the kingdom of the ruling house, and incidentally, the Houses who had stepped on his toes in trying to have him disqualified.  He was content to ignore them, and after a few ugly looks, they appeared content to do the same.  

Slowly, the swarm of knights filtered through the huge gates that led out of the castle grounds, each knight conversing shortly with a maester that checked a list and gestured them through.  The scent of horse, sweat, and horse sweat was already rising, and Steve wasn’t looking forward to spending much more time in line.  Finally, it was his turn to head through the gate.

“Name?” the maester asked. It wasn’t the man he had spoken to the previous day, the likely Hayford, but Steve wasn’t sure what that might mean.  He had a somewhat wispy beard, and age spots on his cheeks, but his frame lacked any frailty.  

“Steve Rogers, Lord America,” he said.

The maester quickly scanned the top of the parchment he carried, before making a mark.  “Very good, through you go.”

As the knights before him had, Steve mounted his horse and trotted through, following the stretched out line of knights heading out into the fields.  There the groups separated, each one heading for a different section of the marked out field.  The castle walls seemed to mark one edge, while flagpoles ran off into the distance marking the others.  One crossed a river and disappeared over a hill, while the closer edge vanished into a copse of trees.  

As Fury walked, Steve found himself grinning, eager to be started.  He didn’t think he was the only one, as the knights behind him began to hurry their steeds onwards, turning the stretched out line into a small crowd, and soon, they were at their starting area, mustered in a group of nearly a hundred men at the base of the castle wall.  Stretching his neck, Steve could just make out spectators leaning over the parapets to get a better look at them.  

Several long minutes passed, and the anticipation built as they waited for the other groups to reach their starting zones.  He could overhear conversations between friends, discussing tactics and where they ought to ride first.

A long horn sounded, a warning, and Steve could feel the nervous tension building around him.  The mass of knights began to spread out, angling for space to avoid being caught in the opening crush.  Strangely, the small crowd of those closest to him remained right where they were.  Few were speaking to their fellows, and many already had their hands on their weapons, unlike the mob at large.  Steve felt his grin slipping into a frown as he began to get a familiar feeling.

“Before we get started,” Steve said, voice breaking the tense silence, “does anyone want to go stand somewhere else?”

A shorter, sharper horn sounded over the walls, and there was a pause.  Then there was a rasp of a sword sliding from its sheath, and the man to Steve’s right swung for his head.  

Steve lashed out with his shield, denting the man’s chest plate before the swing could connect.  In the same motion, his hammer swung free from his shoulder, colliding with the shoulder of a man swinging a mace at him from behind.  The once orderly crowd descended into a scrum, as a group of knights all sought to get at one man.

That one man was having none of it.  Shield and hammer swung and crushed, knocking aside blows meant to maim and returning them with threefold force.  Steve found himself with a moment of breathing room, as each man closest to him suddenly had to deal with a shattered shoulder, broken ribs, or crippled limbs.  The other knights in on the plot strove to get past them or let them pass, and Steve swung widely with the full reach of his hammer to help them on their way, slowing only to ensure he missed their horses.  

Steve lunged forward in his saddle to poke a man with his hammer who had thought himself out of reach, knocking the knight clear from his horse.  Already the greater crowd of knights were leaving the scrum behind, keeping out of the mess that they hadn’t seen start and didn’t fancy getting involved in, leaving Steve in the middle of a group of twenty or so who were all facing inwards towards him.  The press began to tell, threatening to swallow him and pin him in place.

Heels tapped Fury’s flanks, and the huge white horse surged forward, sixteen hands and nearly seven hundred kilos of trained warbeast powering through the scrum.  His eyes rolled wildly and he snapped at the hand of a knight who tried to seize his bridle, breaking fingers with a toss of his head and letting out a screaming whinny. 

Even as he cleared it, Steve found himself using his shield more than his hammer amidst the scrum, the hunk of metal proving too awkward to swing easily in the tight quarters.  The blunt edge of his shield found itself catching blow after blow and returning them with interest; one big man who must have fancied himself Steve’s equal sought to catch it upon his own shield, only for it to shatter under the strike, opening him up for a precise follow up that shattered the bridge of his nose and knocked him off his horse.  Releasing his hammer for a split second, Steve backhanded a man who tried to take advantage of the opening, catching the haft just below the head before it could finish falling.  

He was almost free, and only two knights were positioned to block his way, guiding their mounts to cut him off.  With an ease that belied its weight, Steve drove his hammer into the gut of one with a straight thrust, and popped the other out of his saddle with a bash of his shield.  The first man was left to gasp without air, and the second had his foot caught in his stirrup, shrieking as his horse charged away, dragging him through the dirt.

With a last burst of speed, Fury carried Steve free of the melee, putting some distance between them.  Nudging his mount with one knee, Steve turned to face his attackers, watching as they reset themselves and fanned out to approach.  Several looked almost shell shocked, while others were spooked by the pained cries of the half dozen or so men on the ground.  Finally having room to move, Steve gave his hammer a few experimental swings, feeling and hearing it thrum through the air.  He spread his arms, daring his foes to attack him.  

One knight forced his way to the front, lifting the front of his helm to reveal a familiar face.  It was Hayford, and he sneered, pointing his sword towards him and saying something to his fellows.

Around them, the other members of the Crownlands contingent had gained some distance, still unwilling to interfere but engaged by the spectacle.  Rather than ride forth to seek out competitors from the other kingdoms, they settled in to watch.

“I’d say no hard feelings,” Steve called out, “but my Ma taught me never to tell a lie.”

“A shame the whore never taught you your place before she died of the pox,” Hayford shouted back.

Steve’s face went flat, and he nudged Fury’s flanks.  Hayford smirked, like he’d baited him into something foolish, and rode forward to meet him, the others falling in behind him.  As they drew near, Captain America rose in his saddle, drawing his hammer back for a telegraphed blow.  

There was a beat, and Hayford twisted in his saddle to dodge the attack, sword angled to take Steve in the gut.  Another beat, and before the man could comprehend what had happened, he was being lifted from his saddle by the force of the hammerblow, air driven from his lungs as he felt his plate crumple and his ribs break.  He hadn’t even seen the hammer move, and now he was watching the sky as he sailed off his horse to land in the dirt.  The horse of the man behind him trampled his shoulder, and he tried to scream in agony, but he could barely get enough air to breathe.  

The ranks of the men who had charged towards him were only two deep, and Steve was through them in an instant, another three men besides Hayford knocked from their horses.  One had aimed to skewer Fury, and Steve had repaid him with a shattered elbow, while the other two he had merely unhorsed, one with his hammer, the other with his boot.  He turned Fury to face the nine men who were left.  They didn’t look too confident.

“This is the part where you run away,” Steve called out.  

One man spat to the side and turned his horse, ignoring the bitter words from the others as he rode away.  After a brief argument, two more joined him, leaving six knights to face Steve.  They shouted after their perhaps wiser fellows, but the sting was taken out of it by the pained shriek that Hayford had managed to let out, laying on the ground between them and Steve.  They gave up on the few who had left, and after a moment, broke into a haphazard charge.  

“Well, I warned them,” Steve said to himself.  He met their charge, hammer feeling more at home in his hand.  Holding it by the very end of its haft, he had nearly six feet of reach, and he abused his greater range mercilessly, knocking two knights from their saddle in a single sweeping blow.  One was caught in the chest by the hammer head, and the other clotheslined across the neck by its handle.  Both were sent flying, landing in a pained jumble of steel.  Again, thinking him distracted, a knight attempted to strike his shield side, only to be bashed from the saddle absently.  

The last three knights were almost an afterthought of inhumanly quick blows, the final attempting to wheel his horse around and flee, only for Steve to hook him about the shoulder with his hammer and pull him off his mount.  He landed with a clatter, and Steve sat his hammer on the man’s chest.

“Do you yield?” Steve said.

The man held arms up weakly.  It was Longwaters.  “I yield.”

Steve stared sternly down at him.  “Next time, think twice about your actions.  When a dame says no, she means no.”

A clatter of hooves drew Steve’s attention before Longwaters could answer, and he looked back towards the walls to see a trio of unarmoured men in Whent colours approaching.  One of them was the maester that had waved Steve through the castle gate.  

“Lord America,” the maester said, disapproval in his voice.  “Can you explain to me what happened here?”

“They ambushed me,” Steve said.  He glanced at the groaning and broken bodies.  “I defeated them.”

“You acted in self defence?” the maester asked.

“They took a swing at me as soon as that second horn went off,” Steve said.  He noticed many of the other Crownlands knights leaving now that the immediate fight was done, seeking their own victories.  “Do I need to stick around and answer questions, or can I get started with the proper melee?”

The maester’s lips twitched.  “After that performance, I believe I would face protests if I were to have you ejected.”  More seriously, he continued, “do you know what spurred this assault?”

“I have beef with Hayford, Stokeworth, and Longwaters,” Steve said.  “Not sure where Stokeworth got to, but this is Longwaters, and Hayford is the one moaning over there,” he said, indicating the two downed men.  “I guess they felt they needed some backup.”

The two other men broke off, heading for the downed knights who seemed most wounded, or were at least the loudest, and began administering aid.  

“You may face some contention in the aftermath, but the Gods ever favour the victors,” the maester said.  “I will question the knights who participated in this unchivalrous deed to determine the truth of the matter.”

“So I’m free to go?” Steve asked.  

“You are free to continue,” the man said, smoothing his beard.  “Might I suggest engaging with participants from the other kingdoms, for the remainder of the event?”

“I’ll do my best,” Steve said.  “Good luck with...all that,” he said, gesturing to the fallen.  He turned Fury, and began to ride deeper into the melee grounds, leaving the rising moans of pain behind him.

X

High up on the castle walls, a group of four looked down on the figure in blue, and the small crowd of broken figures he left behind.

“Remind me, what was the wager you made, Naerys?” Kedry asked.

“That Steve would personally down twenty men,” she said, gloomy.  

“Why’re ye so upset then?” Toby asked.  “He’s already done wit’ that, yeah?”

Naerys let out a great sigh.

Robin answered for her.  “She only put one gold piece down.”

Awkwardly, Kedry patted Naerys on the shoulder.  “Well, there’s always next time, yes?”

“Not at three to one odds there isn’t.”

X

Through the woods Steve rode, eyes peeled for the sign of a foe to fight.  In the distance, he could hear the faint clamour of steel on steel, but around him, all was quiet.  He followed the path he was on, eyeing the hoofprints in the dirt as he went.  In time, the path diverged, splitting in two, and Steve paused, eyeing his options.  He took the road less traveled, hoping to keep away from the busier sections of the field and find some more ‘civilised’ duels.  

His choice was rewarded not ten minutes later, as he rounded a bend that took him out of the woods, the path cutting across an open grassy field.  On the other side, amidst the flowers, rode two knights, each holding a lance pointed to the sky.  A pennant fluttered on each tip, but Steve couldn’t make out their details.  

The knights stopped as they saw Steve emerge from the shadowed woods atop his white horse, hammer on his shoulder.  They conferred for a moment, before one moved forward and saluted him with his lance.  

Steve raised his hammer in turn, before nudging Fury into a trot.  His opponent mirrored him, lowering their lance, and Steve set himself in his saddle as best he could.  The trot became a canter, then a charge, and his world narrowed down to the tip of the lance that was aimed unerringly at the star on his shield.  

When the impact came, Steve hardly felt it, even as the lance shattered into fragments.  He swung his hammer around and the knight leaned out of its path, but it was only a feint, and the man was unprepared for the shield bash that popped him out of his saddle.  The knight shed his shield and dropped the remains of his lance as he soared, tucking into a roll as he hit the ground with a great clatter.  

Circling his horse, Steve trotted towards the fallen man, leaning down to speak with him.  “How’s your head there son?”

The knight let out a groan.  “I’ve had harder knocks, but not many,” he said.  “I wasn’t expecting the shield.”

“Nobody expects the shield,” Steve said, mouth twitching as he remembered a movie night with friends, long ago.  

“My brother will, if you’ll deign to face him,” the knight said, sitting up slowly.  “I am Owen Fossoway, and he is Raymun.”

Steve looked across the field to the other knight.  His horse was stamping in place, apparently eager to charge, but he made no move to attack.  

“Ah, what the hell,” Steve said.  He raised his hammer in salute, and received one in turn.  “You good to clear the way?”

“I believe so,” Owen said, rising slowly.  He accepted the hand Steve offered to steady him, and whistled for his horse.  Hauling himself back into his saddle, he twitched his reins, and trotted clear of the path.

Retreating back towards the woods a short way, Steve prepared himself to receive another lance charge.  Seeing him ready, Raymun Fossoway nudged his horse into action, the eager beast breaking into a canter.

Matching his pace, Steve set himself once more, and once more found a lance tip aimed right for the star on his broken shield.  He brought his hammer out wide and readied his shield to see if the same trick would work twice.

It didn’t.  Wise to his ploy, Raymun released his lance the instant it broke and leaned almost completely out of his saddle, keeping himself mounted by the crook of his leg.  His sword rang clear from its sheath, and his horse turned swiftly to pursue Steve who was still attempting to stop fully.  Steve was forced to bend over backwards to catch the first strike, rather than let it strike his shoulder.  Fury turned, allowing him to sit up and lash out with his hammer, but Raymun’s own horse skipped to the side to carry his rider clear of the blow.  

Raymun approached for another blow, sword held high.  He swayed in his saddle, seeming more centaur than man as his horse moved with him, making it difficult to tell where the blow would come from.  

Difficult for a normal man, but not for Steve.  He caught the blow upon his shield, and used its broken edge to trap the blade and twist it free from its owner’s hand.  Stabbing out with his hammer, Steve drove it into Raymun’s gut, popping him from his saddle.  Like his brother, he shed his weapon and shield as he fell, landing on the flat of his arms with a gasp.  

“Seven above,” Raymun swore as he heaved for breath.  “What the hell is that hammer?”

“It was made by a guy called Mott in King’s Landing,” Steve said, reaching down to offer a hand.  “You alright?”

“I’ll live,” Raymun said, accepting the arm up.  He pulled himself to his feet, then leaned on his knees.  “Maybe.”

Owen rode over, having recovered somewhat.  “Not as good a showing as I had hoped, but such is life.”

“Five foes apiece is plenty respectable,” Raymun argued.  He whistled for his horse, and the horse came, nosing him.  “What was your name, ser?”

“Steve Rogers, Lord America,” Steve said.  “Although I can’t claim the title ser.”

“Father won’t let us hear the end of this,” Owen said.  “How many men have you unhorsed?”

“Just over twenty now,” Steve said.  “Twenty three maybe?”

Both brothers gaped at him.  

“We’ve hardly started,” Raymun said.

“I got lucky,” Steve said.  “Bunch of fellas on my own team jumped me at the start.”

“Yes, lucky,” Owen said.  “You’re used to fighting on foot, aren’t you?”

“You could say that,” Steve said.  

“You’re right, it’s clear to see,” Raymun agreed.  “I suppose that’s why you’re here for the melee, not the joust?”

Steve nodded.  He hadn’t been so arrogant as to think he could take on the best in a discipline he had never practiced before.  “Something like that.  Thanks for the bouts.”

“Best of luck to you,” Owen said, even as his brother mounted up.  

“We’ll see you to discuss the ransom of our arms and armour after the event,” Raymun added.  “If you qualify, we’ll put coin on you in the final!”

Steve watched as the brothers left down the path he had come from, headed towards the castle, but only for a moment.  The melee was still ongoing.

X

The Fossoway brothers weren’t the only small group Steve happened upon, but they were probably the most chivalrous about it.  One group of three simply charged the moment they saw him only to be quickly dispatched, while another duo saluted him and waited for his response, but then also attacked as a pair.  He met the odd solo knight, all eager to test themselves against him, save one.  Those who faced him fell, and the one who declined to challenge him did so after taking one glance at the star on his chest.

Now and then, Steve caught a glimpse of a maester or other official seeing to a wounded knight or taking note of some fight or another, speaking to the defeated before moving on.  

After skirting around a particularly spirited cluster of a dozen knights going at it, he came to a river, one that flowed into the Gods Eye lake.  It looked calm enough, but Steve’s experienced eye could see the treachery of its bed.  He pulled lightly on Fury’s reigns, intending to find a better point to cross, when the sound of cursing reached his ears.

A short way up the river, a knight stood, inspecting his horse.  The grey animal was soaked almost to its withers, and it was holding a foreleg off the ground gingerly.  It shook its head in distress as its rider gently probed at it.

“Hello there,” Steve called, announcing his presence, still a short distance away.

The man’s head shot up, hand going to his sword hilt.  “Ho there,” he replied, relaxing minutely once he saw Steve sitting comfortably on his horse.  

“You alright there?” Steve asked, nudging Fury closer in a slow walk.

“I have had better days,” the knight said.  “The river was more treacherous than I had assumed.”

“That’s a crying shame,” Steve said.  He was close enough to speak normally now.  “How’d you go before now?”

“Seven knights felled,” he said with some pride.  “And your, ser?”

Steve thought for a moment.  “Twenty nine.”

The knight gaped openly for a moment.  “You are...most accomplished.”

“I’ve had some luck today,” Steve said.

“And my day is over,” the man said, disgust in his tone.  He paused, considering.  “I am Ser Markus of Strongsong.  My horse may be injured, but will you do me the honour of fighting me on foot?”

“I’m Steve Rogers, Lord America,” Steve said, dismounting.  He was starting to get tired of that phrase.  It sounded like something Loki would have said while imitating him.  

“I thank you,” Markus said, stepping away from his horse.  He flipped the visor of his helm up, revealing blue eyes and a weathered face, and gave him a nod before flicking the visor back down.  

Steve set his hammer on the ground and gave a more traditional - for him - salute, wishing that he’d thought to wear the harness that Tobho Mott had provided with the weapon.  “First blood, knock down?”

“To the yield, I think,” Markus said, hefting his shield and drawing his sword.

“Alright,” Steve said, and then they began to circle each other.  

The riverside was quiet for a moment, save for the clank of metal from Markus’ armour and the slide of Steve’s boots across the dirt, each man looking for an opening.  The tip of Markus’ blade lowered, as if he was conserving his strength at the cost of a slight opening, but Steve recognised the move from his spars with Barristan and refused to take the bait.  He drew his hammer back, making clear where the blow could fall, and Markus was forced to abandon his gambit.  

“I’ve heard of you, Lord America,” Markus said, rue in his voice.  “They said you’re possessed of great skill, but are new to our ways.”

“I’m a quick learner,” Steve said, “and Barristan pulled that move on me in a spar.”  He returned his hammer to its rest on his shoulder.

“Barristan the Bold?” Markus said.  He lunged forward, down to one knee as he drove his blade point towards Steve’s hip.

Steve spun in place to avoid it, using the momentum of his turn to sweep out with his hammer, but Markus was already rolling to the side in a display of agility for a man in full plate.  

“I think there’s only the one,” Steve said.  He took a step forward, leading with his shield, and Markus backstepped.  Another step forward, another backstep.  He swung his hammer, aiming for his foe’s shield, but rather than try to weather the blow Markus ducked under it, before darting forward in a crouch to slash at Steve’s side.  

He found only Steve’s shield with a screech of metal, darting away before Steve could follow up.  “I’ve sparred with Lord Baratheon several times,” he said, as they began circling again.  “He’s a monster with his hammer just as you are, but in a different way.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked.  “How so?”  He punched towards Markus with his shield, and the knight was forced to take the blow on his own, unexpected as it was.

“He’s been trained in its use, for one,” Markus said, attempting a shield bash of his own.  “But he doesn’t quite have your speed.”

Steve took the shield bash without budging, and pushed back with a flex, sending Markus stumbling.  “You Westerosi knights seem to be able to tell a lot about a fellow from the way he fights.”

“It is our way,” Markus said, a bit short of breath, as he tried to gain some distance.  “Not sure if he has your strength, either, which before today I would have doubted.”

Steve swung his hammer lazily, keeping just close enough to Markus to be threatening.  “I think I’ll take that as a compliment, on balance,” he said.  He stabbed his hammer forward like a spear, the move unexpected for its absurdity.  The spike on its head sailed over Markus’ shoulder as the man moved to avoid it, but it had never been meant to land.  Twisting the hammer so that the curved spike on its back pointed down, Steve hooked his foe in the shoulder and yanked him forward, meeting him with his shield.  Such was the force of the blow that Markus was bodily spun, his legs continuing on as his torso was stopped in place.  

Markus hit the ground with a clatter and a gasp, weapon still in hand but making no move to defend himself.  

“Do you yield?” Steve asked, standing over him.  

“Seven fuckin’ hells,” Markus forced out.  “Yes, yield.”

The whinny of a horse drew Steve’s attention before he could check Markus for injuries or offer him a hand up, and he saw five knights round a bend in the river downstream.  Upon seeing them in turn, they kicked their horses into a gallop, heading towards them with weapons drawn.  

“Think they just want a quick chat?” Steve asked the still recovering Markus.

Markus grumbled wordlessly, holding his gut and seemingly happy to stay where he lay on the ground.

“Yeah, I don’t like the look of them either,” Steve said as he jumped back into Fury’s saddle.  “Give the neighbourhood a bad reputation.”  He tapped his heels to Fury’s flanks, his mount tossing his head eagerly.  

The knights were halfway to him when Steve accepted their charge, and their bearing changed, the flat line folding back into an arrow, a single man at its point.  Steve frowned as he realised their game - had he waited and done nothing, they likely would have challenged him one at a time, but having ridden out to meet them, they could claim he was the one to challenge them - and what knight would patiently await for five men to approach at a gallop with weapons drawn?

“Punks are on my lawn,” Steve grumbled, joking to himself.  If nothing else, at least this melee was giving him plenty of practice at fighting groups of mounted men.

The man at the head of the arrow aimed right for him, while those behind him prepared to catch him as he tried to avoid their charge - so he didn’t.  Fearlessly, Fury met their charge with his own, powerful muscles surging into their formation almost head on, crashing into the gap between the leader and the man to the right.  

Steve shield bashed the leader from his horse, a move he was becoming more and more fond of, and clotheslined the two knights on the right from their saddles with his arm and hammer, held just below its head.  Horses screamed as they were shouldered aside by Fury’s greater strength and bulk.

Two knights remained, and their charge petered out as they attempted to recover, but Steve didn’t give them the chance.  One man was dragged off his horse with the hook on the back of his hammer, while the other was hauled off by his shield.  They joined their compatriots in the dirt with a clatter.  The helmet of one came off, chin strap torn, revealing a young and pimpled face.

“Kids these days,” Steve said, shaking his head.  “No care for their gear.”  

As he gave the downed men time to recover, Markus approached, helm back where he fell, holding his side carefully but apparently without serious injury.  “There’s always some in the melee for the glory and money rather than the honour of it,” he said, frowning.  His gaze turned to the horses milling about without riders.  “I had heard you slew the Smiling Knight with a single punch to the throat, but I admit I had doubted.  I see now that I was wrong to do so.”