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A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros (ASoIaF/Captain America Quest, Story Only Thread)
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A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros (ASoIaF/Captain America Quest, Story Only Thread)
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This is a story posting of a quest I run on another site. I have left the votes in, bolded, to provide context for readers as to why something happened, or what the other options were. It follows Steve as he makes his way across Planetos, starting in Westeros just before Robert's Rebellion. I intend to post regularly until it is caught up. I hope you enjoy.
- Statistics (18 threadmarks, 200k words)
- #1
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.
Steve 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 colour 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.
Do you:
Attempt to get out of bed X
Stay in bed
Attempt to continue feigning sleep
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.
She holds the bowl of stew towards Steve, spoonful of delicious food full and waiting. Do you:
Accept the bowl X
Decline the bowl
Allow her to feed you
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.
Hunger sated, do you:
Thank the woman for the meal and introduce yourself X
Attempt to leave the cottage and see what is outside
Look about for your arms and armour
"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.
Do you:
Attempt to learn the language. X
Locate your arms and armour.
Rest.
"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.
Several days later:
Steve ventures outside, escorted by Naerys X
Steve receives a visitor, a man in fine clothing
Steve receives a visitor, a merchant demanding coin
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.
Do you:
Help the old man. You have strength enough for this. X
Continue home. Just walking is an effort.
"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."
Do you:
Go see Captain Bar Emmon tomorrow. X
Go see Captain Bar Emmon now. He will likely be drunk.
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.
What does Steve wear to see Captain Bar Emmon?
The peasant clothing.
The suit. X
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.
How do you identify yourself?
Captain America
Captain Rogers
Steve Rogers X
"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.
Pretend to believe him, play along.
Call him on the lie. X
+You might not recognize it as a shield as you know it. It's a large circle with a white star on it. X
"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. You have my shield. X
I'm just a kid from Brooklyn, and when I arrived, I had my shield.
I'm just a kid from Brooklyn, and you have my shield.
I am Captain America, and when I arrived, I had my shield.
"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!"
Does Steve take the offered coin?
Yes
No X
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.
Which path did the shield take?
By ship, straight to Kings Landing by a simple voyage, although word of your actions may fly faster...
By cart, through the Kingswood, despite the presence of the notorious 'Kingswood Brotherhood'. Rumour has it the Kingsguard have been dispatched to deal with the brigands. X
"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...
Do you sneak out of the castle, or walk out the front door?
Sneak out
Strut out x
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.
You've put Naerys in something of a difficult situation. Do you wish to say anything to her?
Apologise
Offer to take her with you X
No
Write in
+Apologize, but say you won't leave her any more than she left you. X
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.
What do you take? Remember, your time is limited, and what you take is restricted to what might commonly be found in a poor castle's courtyard.
Horse and tack. X
Feedbag for the horse. If its oats, we can eat it too. X
A hammer likely used for building, or cracking rocks. X
A spear from a guard.
A rough map if any of the guards have one.
A sword from a guard.
Garret's crossbow.
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.
- #2
i don't suppose you've seen any large aquatic mammals, recently?
- #3
I've got no idea what you're talking about. What a strange thing to post.i don't suppose you've seen any large aquatic mammals, recently?
- #4
- #5
Mayhaps the Infinity gems sent him elsewhere?When exactly does Steve end up in the GOT/ASOIAF verse?
Perhaps at that Tourney before Lyanna Stark gets into trouble in that joust defending his friend from the Necklands?
Good to see this here from AOOO.
xxxXXXxxx==SB
TOC - AOOO - ShrewdStrawberry
TheWiseTomato ..A Soldier Adrift_Captain Westeros GoT_ASOIAF_Marvel_XOver - THREADMARKS
TheWiseTomato .SB.CH01a - Arrival ;
TheWiseTomato .SB.CH02a - Venturing Out ;
TheWiseTomato .SB.CH03a - Just Rewards ; CaptSteve&KingAerys, Naerys, Elia&Tywin, Jaime, Rhaegar, TobhoMott, Robin
TheWiseTomato .SB.CH04a - Road to Harrenhal ; Adamm&Headman Kedry&Toby, BanditsAmbushed, RetinueJoined
TheWiseTomato .SB.CH05a - Naerys Interlude ; Naerys&Kedry, TalesKingswoodBrotherhood
TheWiseTomato .SB.CH06a - TourneyOfHarrenhal - TheFirstDay - Feasts&Foes ; JaimeWhiteCloak'd,
TheWiseTomato .SB.CH07a - ToH - TheSecondDay - DogsOfAllStripes ; Naerys&Steve, Dodger&Kedry, Barristan&Ashara
TheWiseTomato .SB.CH08a - ToH - TheThirdDay - TheMelee ; Steve&Naerys, AmbushAverted, Melee, Toby&Robin, Ned&Robert
TheWiseTomato .SB.CH09a - ToH - TheFourthDay - Jousts ; Toby, StokeworthTilts, Kedry&Flint, Steve&Arrows
TheWiseTomato .SB.CH10a - ToH - The Fifth Day - Horses, Lances, Secrets
TheWiseTomato .SB.CH11a - ToH - The Sixth Day - Axes and Mystery Knights
TheWiseTomato .SB.CH12a - ToH - The Seventh Day - Archery
TheWiseTomato .SB.CH13a - ToH - The Eigth Day - The Melee Final
TheWiseTomato .SB.CH14a - ToH - The Ninth and Tenth Days - Endings
TheWiseTomato .SB.CH14b - Jaime Interlude; Gerold, Rhaella&Jaime, Barristan
TheWiseTomato .SB.CH15a - Road to Braavos; Chitchat&LeviathanWhale
TheWiseTomato .SB.CH16a - Braavos; IronBank, TheTALK&Sightseeing, Dueling&FreeFleet
TheWiseTomato .SB.CH16b - Keladry Interlude; Dale&Keladry, Toby&Steve
xxXxx
- #6
- #7
- #8
- #9
Oh yes, their calls of joy shall be loud and clear!It's nice that SB is getting to read this too, I'm sure they'll have a whale of a time.
- #10
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..."
Which path across the Wendwater do you take?
The beaten path.
The road less traveled. X
"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.
What was the obstacle?
A village, eerily quiet.
Two rough looking men blocking the path. X
A party of riders on patrol.
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.
Arm wrestle Ben. X
Compete with Ul in archery.
Throw some dice.
You don't care for this. Be on your way, whether they let you or not.
"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.
When you reach the camp that Ul described, how do you plan to approach it?
Openly x
+Armed and armoured x
+And friendly x
Steathily
+In peasant guise
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."
What does Steve do?
Accept the offer to join in the fight against the Kingswood Brotherhood. X
Keep on the trail of his shield.
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."
What does Steve do?
Turn in for the evening
Talk with Barristan, about...? X
Question them further, about...? (write in)
+Barristan is obviously an honorable man, and he gives off the vibe of a soldier. Discuss his views on the Realm. X
"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.
Do you have any parting words for Naerys before you leave?
No, just say goodbye.
Ask her to speak with some of the servants and camp followers, get an idea for what things are like in King's Landing. X
Show her a basic stance to start practising.
"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.
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."
What are Steve's thoughts on this?
Grim acceptance. This is not America, or even the modern world. Things are done differently here. X
An ill feeling settles in his gut. No one should be executed out of hand without a trial.
Write In. +Justice has to be seen to be done. From the low to the high, people have a right to see their tormentors face justice in the light of court. X
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.
What does Steve do?
Write in
Throwing the arrow back at Clint was one of the party tricks you also practiced. X
Olympic-style hammer throw to take out the archer in the tree, then find someone to stab with your new arrow and take their weapon.
Stick with Barristan.
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.
What does Steve do?
+Tell your buddies what's up regardless X
You're already fallen behind, check out that grass. X
Keep with the group, but keep an eye on the grass.
Charge ahead of the shield wall, take out the archers.
"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.
Punch him. Once. X
Yeet a motherfucker.
+Shout a warning. X
Throw him in front of the shield wall.
"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.
What does Steve do?
Write in.
Put down the men who were hidden in the grass. X
+time to beat a motherfucker with another motherfucker. X
Now they're close enough for an arrow throw!
Charge the treeline, take out the archers.
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.
What does Steve do?
The archers are the biggest threat, and no one can reach them as quickly as you - or at all. Plus, they're really starting to piss you off. X
+get that perfect silhouette of America's ass against the morning sun. Unintentionally, of course.
The Smiling Knight still hasn't made an appearance. Search for him.
Weed out the chaff.
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.
What does Steve do?
Turn for the fight. Your gut says she wants an out. You trust your gut. X
+Get her bow and arrows first. X
+Throw the hammer.
+Warn her that if we hear about her robbing and branding, we'll track her down personally.
She's part of all this. Maybe you can bring her down before she gets a shot off.
"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.
shoot your own newly acquired arrows at Ulmer while advancing. X
Hammertoss your hammer at him.
You have an entire quiver of arrows now! That's a lot of party tricks.
Relieve Jaime and Barristan
Superman punch Ben
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.
What does Steve do?
Deal with the Smiling Knight. X
The soldiers are better fighters, but outnumbered. Ensure that no more fall today.
Step in to Dayne's fight, make it a two on two.
+tell jaime to help barristan and support the others
See to Crakehall's defence, so that Jaime and Barristan can cut loose.
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.
The day is won, but the work is not over. What does Steve do in the cleanup?
There are a number of wounded, and you're the closest there is to a medic. X
Join the soldiers in running down those outlaws who fled when their leaders fell.
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. As the men celebrate, the knights have a quiet discussion with Steve about the battle. Does he reveal that he let Fletcher and Wenda go?
+I decided to prioritize saving knights over apprehending Fletcher and Wenda. x
No, say they got away, and how (+ write in)
Yes, and tell them why. x
+some of the archers were smart enough to cut and run when I showed up
As the night wears on, Steve is prompted to join in with a song. Does he sing, and if so, what song?
"Take Me Home, Country Roads" x
Battle Hymn of the Republic/Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory
Fortunate Son
Big Iron
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?"
What does Steve say?
"Ending the battle and saving lives was more important than capturing them." X
"I gave them my word."
"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…
- #11
- #12
- #14
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.
Does Steve offer to include Jaime in his lessons?
Yes x
No
"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.
Does Steve intervene? If so, how?
No. The man is an outlaw. He gave up any protection offered by law.
Yes. Drop back to ride beside him. Steve has a responsibility to his captive. x
Write In.
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 -
What does Steve do?
Bow. He isn't a subject of this King, but the polite thing is to show respect. X
Nod's his head, it's only polite.
Drops to one knee. When in Rome…
Do nothing. This man isn't his King, and no man ever will be.
- 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.
How does Steve explain his position?
My land decides his king by holding a vote on whose plans for the future are better, I was merely elevated as the one to represent them on martial constests, when needed. X
+I express my deepest apologies if my unfamiliarity with your language has given any false impressessions, Your Majesty. X
"We do things differently in my homeland." Keep it vague. You've got a terrible suspicion this is all down to mistranslation.
"America has no kings. America needs no kings." Definitive statement. Might be inflamatory.
"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?"
What does Steve request?
"Your Grace, as I came to your lands injured and unconscious, I was divested of the very symbol of my office: a unique shield I wield in battle, made in the colors of my Land. If it'd pleases, I would only ask for Your Majesty's assistance in recovering it, as I'm foreign to this land and its ways." X
"Your majesty, I woke up on your shore, injured and unconscious. During this time, the Captain unjustly stole my shield from me and sent it to you. This shield is a symbol of my office, and painted in the colors of my land. I would like it back."
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 stolen from me by that captain while I was injured and unconscious. From your actions here today, I know that you are a just man. I appeal to that sense of justice today. X
Because it's the right thing to do.
It's what I would expect from a just and gracious King, as a traveler who has seen many odd lands.
It is the shield of my office sacred to my people, because it is mine right, because I have proven myself to be a good man, and because it would be just.
"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 Thanos. x
His shield, shining and strong, as it was the day he first carried it into battle.
- 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."
Does Steve agree to being known as 'Lord America'?
Yes X
No
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
After lunch, you have some time before the feast. Do you want to do anything beforehand? Top two will be done.
Seek out someone you know (+option for who)
Tidy yourself up. Shave that beard you barbarian. X
Find some nicer clothing for yourself and Naerys for the feast. X
Head to the practise yards.
Write In.
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?"
How does Steve respond?
My apologies, I felt it would be unseemly and a disrespect to come while looking as if coming right from the streets. X
"In my lands, we refer to it as being 'fashionably late.'"
There's a window right there, Steve. One good jump and you'd be able to avoid hours of snobby assholes and unstable egomaniacs.
"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 Paramount 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.
During the feast, Steve has the chance to speak with others at the high table. Who does he reach out to speak with, and what topics does he raise? Keep in mind the seating arrangement and what that means for conversation.
"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."
Does Steve share any stories of home? If so, of what?
+Make sure to make it westeros freindly in the retelling (no phones, cars, tech, etc). X
Of rescuing Bucky, his first mission as Captain America X
Dropping the flagpole instead of climbing to the top
Fighting someone with your own face.
Talk about some of the weird villains hes faced.
"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.
What does Steve tell him about WWII?
For every one hundred people, men, women, and children alive, three were slain in this war. Whether it was by sword, by sickness, or by the cruelties of the enemy, one in every hundred met their end. X
+We've never warred on that scale again. The cost was too great. X
+The crimes committed over its course were so terrible that a new court across all kingdoms of the land has been formed after it was over
+Entire family lines were wiped out in a single battle at times
So many men were committed to the war many vital tasks were left to the women to fill. Including making arms and armor.
+Tell him the toll of D-day as one of the most notable engagements.
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.
Does Steve do as the note asks?
Yes x
+Bring shield…x
No
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.
Who does Steve ask for directions?
A young serving boy x
A guardsman
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."
How does Steve respond?
No, I'm not looking to put down roots. x
Yes, I had thought about it.
Write in.
"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."
How does Steve respond?
There are things here that remind me of times my home has left behind for the better, but there has...certainly been new and exciting for me. X
It has been..interesting.
There are things that remind me of times my home has long left behind, and for the better.
It's been fantastic.
"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.
What, if any, tale or legend does Steve share?
Thor the God of Thunder x
+If Thor, share with him the tale of Thor losing his powers but earning them back again by proving himself worthy x
The Scottish Mad Lad with the Sword, Kilt and Bagpipes.
A tale of a man who learned to fly with an iron suit who faced down a God of Thunder, a tale personally witnessed.
"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?
Does Steve spar with Jaime shield to sword, or press him into another hand to hand combat lesson?
Shield to sword. x
Hand to hand.
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 to 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. x
I could do this all day.
"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."
Does Steve name his horse? If so, what?
Fury x
Bucky
Shadowfax
Roach
Bucephalus
Tony
"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?"
A small store. It doesn't look like it's been there for long, but the quality catches your eye. x
Penny pinching is an ancient newyorker art: stroll, compare and argue for the best price
A mid tier store. Less people to help you, but more likely you'll talk with the master.
The largest store. There are plenty of apprentices available to help.
"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?"
Does Steve look to buy anything? If so, what?
Warhammer (we have wielded Mjolnir before at least, and have watched Thor enough to at least know how to wield it) x
+A good helm x
A light short-sword for Naerys x
Ask if he can make a longbow or if we need to find a dedicated Bowyer? x
Describe a tetsubo to him
A good and sharp spear, as it would go well with being used alongside our shield
Cod piece with star symbol
A halberd with a hammer on the reverse and a spike on the top (best of axe hammer spear)
Ask to be fitted for new armor.
"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."
Does Steve buy it all, or leave the bow out?
All x
Forget the bow
"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?"
Explore the city x
+Look for art supplies (Steve is an expert sketch artist, and who knows, we might attract more waifus this way) x
+Look for merchants that sell odd goods. Never know what one might find.
Keep an eye out for a house, we might not want to stay at court forever.
Return to the Keep
Go to the maester, try to learn about Westeros
"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.
Does Steve look to hire helpers for their travels after King's Landing?
Yes x
No
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.
How does Steve respond?
"When you've stopped accepting new experiences, you've given up all hope of learning." x
"Stop learning, start dying."
"Have a good day then, jackass." (in English)
"I won't keep you then." Turn and leave.
"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."
How does Steve respond to the symbol?
"Looks good, so long as Naerys doesn't mind." x
"I think it would be best if Naerys had her own symbol."
"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."
+"I will be certain to spread the good word of your fine craftsmanship during my travels." x
"Take eight, with my thanks." x
"Seven gold dragons, as agreed."
+We need an archery glove and arm guard. With this thing's draw weight it will tear up both our fingers and our inner arm when we fire.
"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?
"Did you ask your father about this?" Engage Captain America PSA Video Voice x
+"I'd be happy to take you on, I was looking for someone to give me a hand in my travels, but you would need your father's permission first." x
+ Why do you want to leave a steady job with an artisan to follow a stranger around? x
+You ever been away from King's Landing, son? Where?
Question him further (write in on what)
Sure, pack your bags.
Better not.
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.
Actually Naerys, you know more about this than I do, and if you're going to be dealing with this, I should pay you a wage too. x
Three silver moons a month.
Five silver moons per month.
3.5 silver moons per month
Two silver moons a month.
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.
Agree to Naerys' proposal x
How about marriage instead? :V
Change it
"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
It appears that Steve's time in King's Landing is coming to an end. Is there anything that he yet wishes to do here, or is he ready to depart for Harrenhal, and the tournament that is to be held there?
Depart the city, taking only enough time to gather what supplies he yet needs. (+Supplies: write in) x
Linger a few days more. He still wants to… (+Linger: write in)
+Supplies: Visit Ulmer in the dungeons. You want to put a pin in this story. x
+Linger: Say his goodbyes before he departs.
+Linger: Find more people for his retinue.
Say farewell to Jaime, Barristan, Rhaegar, and the King.
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."
How does Steve respond?
I hate to break it to you, but there's always going to be some rich ponce who spends more in a day than you'll see in a lifetime. What matters more is making sure everyone else has a big enough cut of the wealth to be happy. x
+I notice you're not putting me with the 'Nobles.' x
I can't blame you for that.
You don't think there was a better way?
"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.
- #15
Thank you.
- #16
Why a quest rather than a story you control entirely?
Really enjoyed this, very well written and I look forward to more.
- #17
Whoa, so this was super fun. How often does the quest update? Do you save sections and dump it all at once?Why a quest rather than a story you control entirely?
Really enjoyed this, very well written and I look forward to more.
I've been running the quest for quite a while, but in the last two months or so I've been going live once a week and I've written about 56 000 words in that time. I'm posting chapters each day until it's current with what I have on ffnet, which itself is a little behind the actual quest. Once everything is current, I'll likely update things once a chapter is complete.
I chose to do this as a quest because a story has to adhere to certain conventions that a quest doesn't necessarily. Also, I wanted to try my hand at it and do something new. I think it's gone pretty well so far.
Glad to hear you've enjoyed it.
- #18
- #19
I checked SufficientVelocity, and this doesn't feel like something that would be on QuestionableQuesting.
- #20
It actually is on QQ. I checked.I checked SufficientVelocity, and this doesn't feel like something that would be on QuestionableQuesting.
- #21
It actually is on QQ. I checked.
Yeah, but that's not the quest itself, just a non-voting mirror.
- #22
Yeah, but that's not the quest itself, just a non-voting mirror.
Actually, the quest itself is in Fiction.live.
- #23
Fiction.live. An adult site so just a heads up there...Where is the quest hosted?I checked SufficientVelocity, and this doesn't feel like something that would be on QuestionableQuesting.
- #24
Where is the quest hosted?I checked SufficientVelocity, and this doesn't feel like something that would be on QuestionableQuesting.
I'm not sure on the rules of linking to sites like QQ, but as has been mentioned it's on a site called fiction.live. If you google 'captain westeros' it should be the first result. The culture is somewhat different to what I've observed on SB; it's probably best not to stir up the local wildlife.
- #25
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