A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros (ASoIaF/Captain America Quest, Story Only Thread)

[TheWiseTomato]

"Who gave this to you?" Steve asked immediately. He took a seat at the table, setting in to work.
"It was already in the room when we arrived," Brandon ground out, halting his pacing to turn to Steve. He made a short gesture to a tray of refreshments on the table. "There was a note on that tray telling us where to find it."

"Whent?" Steve asked, pulling the bundle over to himself. It had already been rifled through, and put back together messily.

"No," Jon said, dozens of thoughts passing behind his eyes, only half present in the conversation as he thought. "And the servant claimed the note was already present on the tray when they collected it."

"How do you know it wasn't Whent?" Steve asked, flicking through the rolls and scraps of parchment. The first piece was a bill of sale of some kind, dated to the tenth month of 281 AC, for a number of basic supplies. "It's not to do with whatever message he passed you at the surrender, earlier?"

Ned reached into his surcoat and retrieved a crumpled letter - it was the same that Whent had given over earlier - and handed it over without speaking. There was an anger in the line of his shoulders, barely contained. Steve was quick to scan the letter.

'I have received word from my men amongst Lyanna's captors - they know they are in the Red Mountains, though not where. They have described it well, and I will soon divine their location.'

It was unsigned, but it was clear who it was meant to be from.

"So Whent passed you this message from Rhaegar, and then you receive all this," Steve said, flicking through more of the bundle. Here was a statement of another sale, horses this time, and there an order for the royal mint to release an amount of new coin to one Jon Connington, a broken dragon seal marking it.

"There's more on the other side," Robert said, dropping his crushed goblet to the table with a thunk.

Steve returned to the short letter, flipping it over.

'Previous messages have been intercepted or diverted. I feared this, and included harmless lies and misdirection in all. The one pure truth I have told is that Lyanna is safe.'

There was a final script telling of a hope that they would treat the writer's 'agent' well, and Steve set it down, returning to the other bundle. "It's plausible," he said. He found a small cotton pouch that held a near pristine gold dragon, and another bill of sale for clothes for a young woman, this time from the twelfth month of 281 AC. "But this is painting a picture, too."

"Not a pretty one," Hoster said grimly. "We've kept Rhaegar's outreach to us away from most, in fear of just this sort of thing."

A scowl twitched across Brandon's face, but he repressed it.

"Mmm," Steve said, thoughts elsewhere as he agreed. "When exactly was Lyanna abducted?"

"The eleventh month of last year, when the moon was in its first quarter," Ned said.

The tenth month was when the weddings had been hosted at Riverrun, and the twelfth was when he had had his little adventure in King's Landing. The timeline being suggested by the evidence - circumstantial and tertiary as it was - was almost more damning for its lack of a smoking gun. Steve went through the rest of the bundle, and they let him, but it was just more and more records of a group or party of armed men supplying themselves, but with the occasional purchase that stood out as needful for a noblewoman. The purchases and accounts on their own did not stand out overmuch, but the use of newly minted dragons and another document signed by Connington did much to link it to the prince without outright proclaiming it.

"There was no signature, or anything to give away the sender," Steve said, hoping that there might be something that a local would notice.

"None," Jon said.

Steve tapped a finger on the table, eyes distant as he brought his thoughts together. "Four options then," he said. "One, this is a lie from Aerys, and he's trying to have us turn on Rhaegar by making it seem like he was the one to abduct Lyanna."

"The most likely," Hoster said, though from the unspoken reactions from the others it was clear there was some disagreement. "The Prince has nothing to gain from such a foolish action, and much to lose, especially if it were to come to light in the midst of this Rebellion."

"Two," Steve continued, "this was Aerys, but it's the truth, and he's trying to prevent Rhaegar from being able to succeed in whatever plan he has, or it's to turn two of his enemies against each other as well."

"He might want Rhaegar dead for dragging him into this," Brandon said, dropping back into his chair, arms crossed and wearing a heavy scowl. "He has another son."

The idea was anathema to Steve, but Aerys hadn't exactly impressed him, even way back in their first meeting. "Three, this is another plot by whoever intercepted me in King's Landing, and tried to have the hostages killed during our escape," he said. "That still doesn't make much sense for how everything else played out - if Aerys wanted this rebellion, he would have been more prepared for it."

Jon blinked, and looked to Ned. "I had not considered that," he admitted. "You raise a good point."

"How would they know?" Brandon demanded. "There are very few who knew Rhaegar was reaching out to us like this, and to arrange for this evidence…"

"The missing messages could have provided this party what they needed to do so," Ned pointed out.

"If there was a missing letter at all," Brandon said savagely. "If Rhaegar is to blame for this, then it would serve him to seed such doubt to ward off future suspicions."

"And the last?" Robert asked.

"Fourth, this is the plot of someone completely unrelated, possibly even an external actor," Steve said.

"That seems far-fetched," Hoster said, attempting to be diplomatic.

Steve raised one shoulder in a half shrug, unwilling to dismiss the possibility. "I've seen some unlikely things, and been blindsided by worse."

"Something to consider should the other possibilities prove fruitless," Jon said, though it was clear that he too found it unlikely.

"I'm not familiar with most of the places mentioned in all this. Do they point to anywhere in particular?" Steve asked.

"Some few documents are from King's Landing, but most of the sales are from Dorne, or the southern Stormlands," Ned said, though he made a doubtful gesture with one hand. "If it can be believed, they point to a location in the Red Mountains, close to the Dornish Marches."

"Aye," Robert said, anger flavoured by anguish. "They do. I was so close."

It wasn't a part of the nation that Steve was all that familiar with, but he knew that the Red Mountains were a range that divided Dorne from the rest of the continent. The fact that the evidence pointed to the same region that Rhaegar had named was something, too.

"It is a lie, a trick by Aerys," Hoster argued. "The sheer stupidity, not just on Rhaegar, but by Aerys to claim to have her - no, it is a trick."

"Would you gamble if it were your daughter?" Robert demanded.

A vein pulsed in Hoster's temple. "I would not fall for-"

"It matters not if it is Lyanna or if it were Catelyn," Brandon broke in. "We will respond all the same."

"Hightower is positioned to punish us for it," Hoster said. "You know this."

"He is," Jon said, playing the peacemaker, "but as we discussed, sending an army is not our only option."

Steve felt the attention of the room turn to him, simmering disagreements put aside for the moment. Some of the discussion had felt like retreading old ground, but it seemed that they had come to something of a decision before summoning him in the first place. "You've got an idea," he said.

"We can't-," Robert cut himself off, raw and frustrated over being in a meeting, far from his betrothed. "If there's any truth to this, we don't - will you go south and rescue Lyanna?"

Steve sifted through the evidence again as he thought, searching for smaller details this time, taking in each piece and judging it against the others, examining handwriting and the condition of the parchment and ink it was written with, looking for folds and rolls and wear and tear that might tell a tale, anything at all that might speak to him.

"By your deeds, you are the only one we think might succeed," Ned said, filling the air. "Elsewise, we would have to defeat the armies between us and Dorne before a group could hope to make it."

"I'm not unwilling," Steve said, continuing to sift. He found no simple tells, nothing that betrayed the collection of evidence as manufactured. "But as much as this all could be Rhaegar's fault, it could just as easily be Aerys trying to send some of you off into a trap. I'd bet my last dollar that he'd expect Brandon and Robert to charge off without a second thought with some noble friends, where they could be caught and turned into hostages on getting news like this."

"You are correct," Jon said, ignoring the disgruntled looks on the two named faces. "Yet the information demands a response, and when Rickard hears of this he will not wait to march south. Given the information Lord Whent has given us, this would leave the Northern army exposed."

"We will go with him, of course, but that leaves Maidenpool at our backs, free to foul our supply lines and harry our lands. One army cannot properly guard such a swathe of lands," Hoster said, taking up the thread. "It is why I argue that Aerys is to blame for this. It reeks of his Spider, and that Essosi eunuch is not to be trusted."

"It could be Aerys and his Spider and still be true," Brandon argued, voice starting to rise. "If there is even a chance that Lyanna is here-" and he jabbed his finger at a map on the table "then I will not wait to take action."

"The truth of it does not change the reality of our position," Hoster argued back. "Maidenpool will take time to sack, time that we do not have if we respond with-"

"Hold on," Steve said, interrupting the Lord Paramount. "'Sack'?"

Hoster let out a harsh sigh, annoyed at again retreading old ground. "This is war. In war, battles are fought, men die, and towns are sacked. There is no avoiding this."

"Yes," Steve said bluntly, "there is." He looked over the lords, seeing little agreement. "You just don't want to."

"Lord America," two voices came, one sharp and one warning, Hoster and Jon.

Steve ignored them. "Look me in the eye and tell me you can live with what your soldiers will do to the people in that town if you sack it," he said, looking from man to man. There was no give in him. Not for this. He didn't care how self righteous they thought he was being.

"War is war," Hoster said. His brows were furrowed harshly. "A lord learns what orders will not be obeyed."

For a long moment, there was a pause, like a breath before a hurricane, as Steve held his tongue. There was an ultimatum on the tip of it, a warning of where he would stand if he witnessed their men being given free reign over civilians, but there was nothing productive down that road. Instead, he wet his lips and looked between the three younger men in the room. "There's a merchant's daughter in Maidenpool somewhere, worrying about the soldiers hanging around her father's shop, and fearing news of your soldiers coming to her home. Of what they might do to her, given the chance. I want you to picture her face." There was a moment of confusion at his apparent diversion, but then he leaned in. "Now imagine Lyanna in her place."

Robert slammed a fist into the table, helpless rage on his face, but it was not directed at Steve, and he was looking at the ground. Brandon's fists were white knuckled, and Ned was cold and blank.

Hoster was less restrained. "What would you have us do?! The tales of your homeland settling disputes with champions is fanciful, and not possible here. You do not understand-"

"Lord America," Jon cut in smoothly. "Do you offer another path? Lord Hoster is not wrong when he tells you that in war, some things are unavoidable, no matter how much we might seek to try. We must simply resign ourselves to their existence, lest even more blood be shed in the avoidance."

Steve had thoughts on such a stance, but voicing them would achieve nothing. "I will take Maidenpool for you," he said instead. "I'll take it in a day, and there won't be a single civilian casualty." His tone was mulish.

Hoster scoffed, disbelieving. "It cannot be done. Even in Gulltown there were deaths."

"If someone came to Riverrun and held a knife to your throat, what would your men do to save you?" Steve asked him.

The river lord hesitated. "You- no such threat could reach me, or any lord in his castle under siege and holding an army." He shared a glance with Jon, perhaps remembering an evening by the Kingsroad and an uninvited guest in a tent. "Not even you." His words were strong, but his tone was less so.

"What about Lyanna?" Robert demanded, his doubt coming from another path. "Maidenpool might only be a day, but the journey is still weeks that she is hostage, weeks longer than she has to be."

"The longest way round is the shortest way home," Steve said. "Doing things right is more important than doing them fast. If this is all a trap," he gestured at the bundle of parchment, "then by taking Maidenpool, most of the sting is taken out of it."

"Save for the trap itself," Jon said, expression pointed. "Losing a knight such as yourself to whatever waits in the Red Mountains, not to mention those that go with you, would be a blow."

"If it's a trap, at least we would get some information out of it," Steve said. "There's bound to be someone involved who knows something."

"Don't let it be said that Lord America lacks confidence," Brandon said, a hint of amusement showing through his frustration.

"Confidence is a strength, overconfidence a weakness," Hoster said, grumping, his lips pursed. "Jon is correct; once the Spider learns that Brandon and Robert remain with the army, it is an easy guess as to who else we would send, and even the Dragonknight would fall to a dozen men."

"The numbers they would need would make the trap obvious," Robert said, shaking his head. "No, I have fought beside Steve as none of you have. The men might think the tales to be tall, but they don't even tell the full truth."

There was still doubt in the faces of the older lords, but their manners kept them from pressing.

"What if we made this public?" Steve asked, trying to steer the conversation back on track. "If we frame it as Aerys turning on his heir, would that weaken his cause?" He considered what he had learnt of Westerosi politics and its posturing. "Rhaegar would have to respond, too."

"It could force him to take a stance beyond quiet words delivered by secret ravens," Ned said, nodding slowly.

Hoster's interest was likewise piqued. "That is…certainly something to consider. A schism amongst the loyalists would see the war won."

"It would greatly depend on the truth of the matter," Jon said. He shared a look with Hoster, and something passed between them. "Not a step to take lightly. We would have to discuss it in depth, and certainly not without Rickard." Unsaid was that 'we' would not involve Steve, and perhaps not even the younger lords present.

"Maidenpool, then," Steve said. "And after that, we make the best choice we can based on what we know then."

"Aye," Brandon said, decisive now that a path had been laid before them.

Not all were as satisfied.

"But you are going, yes?" Robert asked. "After Maidenpool, you'll ride south for the Red Mountains? For Lyanna?"

"I will," Steve said, committing to the path. The Red Mountains were a big place, but the evidence had given them a place to start once there, and there was always the chance that Rhaegar would narrow in on his own search, if he was telling the truth. He looked to Robert, and the Stark brothers. "I'll find her."

"We'll hold you to that," Brandon said. There was trust in his voice, but also a lurking warning.

Steve paid it no mind. He knew what he was capable of, and his mind was elsewhere. "If Rhaegar is to blame," he said, "then why? Hoster is right; what does he stand to gain?"

"A well watered heart tree," Brandon said, derisive.

"Nothing," Hoster said. He made a cutting gesture with his hand.

"The crown," Ned said quietly.

"What?"

More than one voice had responded, and now all looked to the young Stark.

"It is unlikely," Ned said, "and would leave the Targaryens weakened and at a disadvantage, but if we were to depose Aerys and he were to emerge, having rescued Lyanna, he would take the crown."

"He would have the crown anyway," Robert scoffed.

"Not if he had fallen out with his father."

"You think Aerys might have planned to disinherit him?" Jon asked. He drummed his fingers on the table. "If it were so, it may answer who is to blame for the ambush on escaping the Red Keep."

"Surely not," Hoster said. "If it ever came out, the dragons would be wiped out to the last."

"I don't know, Ned," Brandon said, frowning in thought.

"It is unlikely," Ned repeated, "and would require a dozen more unlikely plots to go with it. But it is not impossible."

"Very nearly," Hoster disagreed. He shook his head. "It matters not. We ought to focus on that which we can affect, not that which is out of our reach."

"Aye," Jon said, "I agree." He gave Hoster a nod, leaning forward to take in the map on the table.

Hoster likewise leaned in. "Maidenpool is one thing," the river lord said, and the look on his face spoke clearly as to his doubts as to Steve's chances of achieving what he claimed, "but what of after? Your company is too large to make it to the Red Mountains through kingdoms stirred to war, but you can hardly go alone."

Privately, Steve thought he could, but he had to admit that keeping Lyanna safe after retrieving her would be more complicated if he did.

"Robert and Brandon cannot afford to go," Jon said, giving Robert a look as only a long suffering father figure could, and the stormlord grumbled.

"I can't afford to lose Ned, either," Brandon said. "Not with the battles yet to come."

"But you would have your pick beyond that," Jon continued. "It would be best if you could choose men from all of our kingdoms, but that is a secondary concern."

Steve nodded slowly, understanding the reasoning behind it. He would need a small group, fighters all, who would understand the risks and fight as they needed, not as they wanted, and more importantly, would follow his orders. He tapped a finger on the table as he thought. "There are a few from my company I'll take. Three or four with useful skills," he began. Robin for one, and while he could take either Kel or Walt he was leaning towards Kel because he was going to give her the renown to earn a knighting and she would just have to accept it. He was also considering Osric given the young man's potential, and given his promise to Ren it would be good to take her too. "I can think of a Stormlander or two I'd be happy to have with me, as well as a Valeman, but I don't know as many Riverlanders or Northmen, if Ned and Brandon are out of the question."

"Which of my men did you have in mind?" Jon asked.

"Yohn Royce," Steve said.

Whatever the lords had been expecting, it was not that.

"Lord Royce?" Jon asked, blinking as he leant back. "He is seasoned, certainly, but…"

"He impressed me at Harrenhal," Steve said.

"Should he accept your invitation, he would have my leave," Jon said, thinking it over. "His son is present, and is ready for further responsibility."

"And mine?" Robert asked. "Beron or Thomas, aye?"

"Beron," Steve confirmed. "I think it would be good for Lyanna to see some family with us."

Brandon nodded, thankful. "Who else?"

"Elbert is a good sort," Steve said, but Jon was frowning.

"I would rather keep my heir close to hand," he said, "and the Vale is well represented through Yohn."

"That's fair," Steve said. He looked to the Starks, and Hoster. "Did you have anyone you'd like to put forward?

"My brother," Hoster said abruptly. "Brynden will serve you well, and there are few who can track men as well as he."

"You can spare him?" Steve asked.

"Now that we're moving into the Crownlands and not fending off dozens of small raids, yes," Hoster said. He nodded to himself, confirming his decision. "I still cannot reconcile your age with your appearance," he admitted, "though knowing that your peers are men like the Blackfish and Bronze Yohn helps."

The Stark brothers were considering their own options.

"Walder?" Brandon suggested.

Ned shook his head. "Howland."

"Aye," Brandon said after a moment. He looked to Steve. "Howland Reed."

"We've been introduced," Steve said, thinking of the slight man and the conversation they had had at Goodbrook Keep. "He seemed steady. Anyone else?" That was nine counting himself, though he hadn't fully settled on which of his own people he would take.

The lords all shared a look, and none seemed dissatisfied.

"A group of nine, then," Jon said, "to ride to the Red Mountains and retrieve Lady Lyanna, or to spring a trap."

"A fine fellowship," Steve said, unable to help himself.

Robert was already rising to his feet. "I mean to ride out early in the morning. The sooner we get to Maidenpool, the sooner Steve can ride south."

Agreement came quickly, each lord present feeling the strain of tiredness, though some more than others. The evidence that had been secreted to them was carefully collected and entrusted to Jon, and they left the room behind, each knowing that there was still more business to see to before they could retire.

Steve's thoughts ranged further still, considering Maidenpool and how he might hold to his promise. Some would call it a boast, but he knew what he was about, and he wasn't going to stand by while a city was sacked. He had several ideas, and one even featured the instrument from home that he was on the verge of completing. By the time they reached Maidenpool, it would probably be ready to use, and it would certainly make the foe sit up and pay attention if nothing else. Thinking about it brought a faint smile to him, although as he retired to his room, alone, it faded, and not only due to Naerys' absence.

Maidenpool was one thing, but he knew where the war was leading, and a sack of a city like King's Landing was something else entirely. A looming worry lingered over his thoughts as he drifted off.

 

[TheWiseTomato]

Also, I got art! A reader on akun, dudemcguy, did a great rendition of a book cover for the story.

Spoiler

 

[TheWiseTomato]

Maidenpool was a town that knew full well the trouble that was about to bear down upon it. Gone were the banners hanging from the walls, reduced only to those standing in the gatehouse towers. Gone were the carts and traffic of trade, replaced by those seeking shelter within the town. Gone were the smiles and casual cheer of the guards, removed by the spectre of the approaching rebels. Even its pink stone walls seemed sombre.

Steve and his companions were just another small group waiting to be granted entry. Their armour marked them as hedge knights, and the bloodied bandages some wore spoke of a skirmish that had gone ill for them. Their mounts were of respectable Reach stock, though hardly lordly, and the unusual weapons they bore - glaive, battleaxe, forge hammer - amongst the more expected - swords, war picks, maces - drew the occasional eye, though not for long. It was not a time or a place to be seen staring at armed and dangerous men.

The main gates of Maidenpool had one side closed, restricting entry, and there was a squad of crossbowmen atop the walls, supporting the baker's dozen Mooton men outside overseeing all who would approach. When the eleven armed and armoured figures that made up the group reached the front of the line, the guards had already formed two lines behind their leader. Grips were tight on their spear shafts and none looked happy to see them.

"Name," the lead man barked, hand straying near to the mace at his hip.

"Sherman," Steve said, squinting at the man with his one visible eye. Blood crusted at his temple, and the bandages around his head hid half of his face.

The officer wasn't satisfied, his unibrow deepening with his frown as he took the rest in. "And the rest of yeh?"

"Kedry." "Hugo." "Humfrey." "Arland." "Artys." "Ortys." "Harwin." "Yorick." "Henry." "Robin."

The man glowered at them, then took a moment to look over the mounts behind them. "Why're you here?"

"Rebels ambushed us. We killed some rebels. One of them that got away knew me, so if we've chosen a side I figure we might as well get paid for it," Steve said, shrugging, like it didn't much matter which side he fought on.

"Hrngh." The officer chewed at his cheek, thinking. "Wait here." He turned and marched off, pulling one of his men with him, and disappearing through the gate. The rest eased slightly, no longer standing ready as if they thought the hedge knights before them might charge, but still watching them closely.

There was little to do but wait. The sun wasn't as harsh as it could be, and there was a smattering of cloud cover, but standing before the town walls in their armour was still less than comfortable. Steve could hear Robin soothing his mount, and the grumbling of those in the line behind them as the minutes continued to slowly pass by. There was a pair of kids going up and down the line offering skewers of meat and refills from a large waterskin they carried for coin, and an ornery donkey was detached from its cart to explore a patch of weeds off the rough stone path that approached the gates. The crossbowmen above chatted about a local brothel, and the recent rise in prices. Flies buzzed, and the scent of horseshit drifted along with the breeze.

Eventually, the two guards returned. "You can enter," the leader said, though he sounded sour about it. But then he brightened. "Give us a silver moon, and we'll even tell you where you can find a bed."

"How many men did the Mootons call up?" Steve asked, as if affronted. "Can't be that bad."

"It is," the guard said, almost happily now.

"As bad as that tourney at Saltpans a few years past?" Arland asked.

The guard found himself looking down on Arland, but perhaps wisely chose to keep any comments on his height to himself. "Worse."

"Don't tell me there's an army of Crownlanders here," Harwin complained. "I fucken' hate Crownlanders."

A noise of disgusted agreement answered him. "Nah, mostly good Riverland sons," the guard said, "but there's one Crownland lord here, and gossip said some sellswords were coming on the afternoon tide, so if you don't want to be paying good coin to sleep in a stable…" he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.

Steve scoffed. "I am not giving you a moon for directions," he said, even as he reached for a pouch at his hip, half tucked under his armour. "I'll give you a stag, and this place better not have rats."

"A stag? What, that armour belong to yer grandaddy?" the guard said, though he was amused.

The coin was flicked over. "Just tell us," Steve groused.

"On the east side, three streets short of the water, there's an inn that gets missed by most," the guard said, catching the coin easily. He handed it off to his second after double checking it. "Them that were staying there shoulda left today. There's a stable near it, too."

"Good enough," Steve said. The town's keep was to the west side, but that wasn't a dealbreaker. "Come on, lads. I need a drink."

The guards waved them through, inching the line forward once more, but that wasn't their problem. They passed under the gate, aware of the murder holes above, and then they were in the town.

The main street was as busy as his last visit, though there were perhaps more armed men to be seen, either on duty or loitering. Many had the same look that Steve knew all too well, bored soldiers who knew that there was likely to be a fight sometime soon, if not when.

"Where to, cap- ser?" Henry asked. He was nervous, though he hid it well, save for the way he tapped his thumb on the head of the war pick at his hip.

"The tavern," Steve decided, dropping the manner he had affected with the guard. "We've earned a drink after the effort of earning these bandages, and we might hear some gossip."

Yorick huffed his amusement. After Steve, he was the most bandaged, his few successes in small tourneys running the slight risk that someone might recognise him. The time spent being fussed over by Betty and her girls under Corivo's direction as they were believably bandaged had hardly been onerous.

In a town like Maidenpool, it did not take them long to find a tavern. Even with the swelling of inhabitants, room was found at a section of the long tables set out within it, and mugs of ale, brought by a doughty maid all at once, were set before them. The establishment was no winesink, but nor was it the kind of place a noble son might visit, not unless they wished to slum it. Smoky lanterns hanging by the beams were unlit at that time of the late morning, and most of the other customers were normal soldiers rather than hedge knights, going by their clothing.

"Here's to us," Steve said, raising his mug to the others.

They raised theirs in turn, and threw them back, though Kel only sipped at hers. Harwin choked halfway through his pull, sniggering at something.

"Don't drown now," Arland told his friend.

"No, it's just," Harwin said, shaking his head, "the captain asks for volunteers for a lark that might get interesting, and the first place he brings us is the tavern for a drink."

The others smiled in turn, though it looked slightly absurd on the twins' face, having given themselves foam moustaches. They settled in to enjoy their drinks, talking about training and what diversions could be found on the march and nothing in particular. Osric had gotten thrashed by Kel again, but this time he had lasted a full minute, and the pool for defeating Steve had risen to one hundred and eighty dragons, and did you hear about…?

They were not in any particular hurry. The rebel army that was coming was still a day or two away, and that was no deadline to them. In some ways it would be better to wait, though of course security would rise once the town was properly under siege, and then there was the news of sellswords supposedly coming by sea. The presence of a Crownland lord, presumably with his own forces, also added complications, though Mooton's men would undoubtedly outnumber them. Steve had briefed his men thoroughly on their goals and likely challenges. They were all volunteers, and none of them were fools. As they ordered a second round, they continued to talk, but also to listen.

There was one conversation going on further down the table that caught Steve's ear.

"What about Lady Eleanor though?" one man was asking, dreamlike, "There's a beauty."

"Like you've got a chance," someone scoffed.

"I might save the lord's life in the siege," the first man said, "or I could take a Tully for ransom." Jeers answered him. "It could happen!"

"Wouldn't mind Florianing her Jonquil, if you know what I mean," another said, snickering.

"Lord Mooton would have his gaoler florian your puckered butthole if he caught you looking at her wrong," a man warned him.

"I wouldn't!" the lusty man insisted. "Edd here, though," he said, nudging the first man. "I bet the guards already know to watch for your face."

"My rounds take me by the almshouse!" Edd insisted. "They do!"

"And the orphanage, and the sept," came more jeers. "But only every maidsday."

"Fuck off you lot," Edd said, though he was grinning. "But yes, and I'll be there tomorrow."

"The lady is a beauty, aye," another man acknowledged, once the ribbing had died down, "but have you seen the tits on the harbour master's wife?"

The conversation only grew coarser, and Steve turned his attention elsewhere, though he tucked the information away. Robin was nudging him, nodding his head towards the table behind them.

"...hear that Lord America is with the rebels?"

Steve's interest sharpened.

"Nah, he left after they took Gulltown. I reckon he only wanted a way out."

"No, I heard it from one of Lady Whent's guards. He came with an army, and saved the Starks from being routed."

"Came from where? Pull the other one. He ain't got no army."

Steve turned his attention back to his squire. "That Lord America," he said, shaking his head. "Gotta watch him."

"I've heard he's a right cad," Robin said, curls swaying as he nodded. He was due for another haircut, but Lyanna had been too caught up in practising with the deck of cards that Steve had made for her to do it before they had left. "Sneaking into all sorts of places."

"Keeps company with disreputable sorts too," Steve said. He shook his head. "You'll want to watch out for sorts like him. He'll lead you into mischief."

"Worth it, I'd say," Robin said, sincerity shining through the ribbing.

Steve raised his mug to him, and Robin raised his in turn. The kid had come a long way since daring to ask to enter his service, but neither regretted a thing about it. Even if Robin still sometimes cringed at the thought of the talk they'd had in Braavos.

They did not linger much longer - only another round - and then they were on their way. They would need to make for the inn soon, or risk being caught with little time to ensure accommodation, but there was still time to seek out more information.

The decision was made to pass by the town's keep. Even with the population of the town swollen, eleven armoured men walking the streets had a way of standing out, and so it was only Steve and Keladry that took a slow walk around the keep walls.

It had been a free standing structure on a hill once, but that was long ago, before the town had sprung up around it. It had a wide street around it, but the slopes of the hill had been built upon, and it was not quite as defensible as it had once been. The gates were guarded by knights, though they were kept open, and there was a steady stream of servants going in and out. It seemed that there was to be a feast at some stage.

"What do you think?" Steve asked of his companion.

"They think this is a safe posting," Kel said. "They kept a close eye on that drunk, but almost ignored us." She paused a moment. "You saw the tabards on that patrol that left?"

"Yeah," Steve said, clicking his tongue. The red salmon of the Mootons was expected, but less expected was the white lamb on a field of green. "Haven't seen that one since Harrenhal."

"He'll have fewer men than Mooton, but he'll be easier to get to," Kel said. "Could be made to open a gate."

"I never did get to give him a piece of my mind," Steve said. "That still leaves a fight against all the others once the army gets in, though."

Kel made a noise of agreement as she considered. "The inn, then, with the third level. You, at least, could go from there to the keep walls."

"I could," Steve said, as he considered the distance. Without his armour, he could make the jump easily. "There's always the front door, too."

"By force of arms?"

"Could do," Steve said as he thought about it. "Or we could talk ourselves in as wanting to pay respects to Lord Mooton."

"You wouldn't break guest right," Keladry said, sure of it.

"No, we'd pick a fight before that," Steve said. "But it would get us through the gates, and they wouldn't expect it, especially if there's a feast on."

They let their conversation falter as they passed a pair of guards, giving them a nod.

"It might be worth it to wait to catch Mooton somewhere else," Steve said.

"He would go to address Lord Tully when he arrives, surely," Kel said slowly. "Though they would be on edge. Ready for battle."

"Not for a mugging by the gates, though," Steve said. "But we'd have to fight to grab him, and then force him to open the gates."

"Room for mistakes, or high tempers."

"Mmm," Steve said, considering. "If we want to grab someone outside the keep, there's his daughter."

"I did overhear that," Kel said. Her tone gave no indication as to her stance on the matter. "He would not know that you would never harm an innocent."

"No, he wouldn't." Steve pulled a face. "It would have to be on her ride back to the keep. I'm not going to grab her in front of the kids at the orphanage."

"It would avoid the trouble of finding someone to make a decision, should we take the lord," Kel said. "And a lord might give an order to spare his daughter more easily than he would to spare himself."

Steve let out a sigh. She was right, though he still had an instinctive dislike for the idea of taking a young woman hostage like that. "If we take Mooton, I would bet that there'd be someone who would call our bluff. Whether the rest of his people let them…"

"Lord Stokeworth could go either way," Kel said.

"Depends what kind of impression I made on him, I guess," Steve said. "Maybe he doesn't remember me."

Kel gave him a look.

"Thinking on it, I don't like the idea of taking the lady on her trip at all," Steve continued. "If she's going on regular charity trips, the townspeople won't take kindly to it at all, and that could lead to a riot."

"So you take her in the keep," Kel said.

"And we're back to square one."

"Mmm."

A group of children swept by them, laughing, as they chased a ball of some kind. They were nearing the completion of their circuit of the keep.

"We'll target the lord," Steve decided. It might lead to some complications in ensuring his orders were followed, but he wasn't the biggest fan of targeting a nice young lady like this Eleanor seemed to be.

"We'll need to find his schedule," Kel said. They reached the keep gates again, and turned down the road that led to them, heading away. As they did, another wagon trundled past, small kegs stacked within. Her eyes tracked it, and she side-eyed her captain.

Steve raised his brows, suggestive.

"My lord," she said, reproving.

"He's hardly going to miss his own feast," Steve said.

"Nor will anyone else," Kel said. "It would be chaotic." They came to a stop at a corner, stepping out of the way of the other foot traffic.

"But if we're lucky, we could roll up all the leadership," Steve said.

"You think we'll be lucky?"

"No," Steve conceded, "but if we enter quietly and strike quickly, we can grab Mooton and maybe some others, and stop it from coming to a fight."

"And if we can't?" Kel asked.

"We end it, and hole up somewhere in the castle with our hostage," Steve said. "Even if Hoster is somehow delayed and the locals try to free him by force, I can repel them. The tricky part will be making sure that his orders are followed."

"Yes, that will be the tricky part," Kel said dryly.

Steve grinned at her. "What, you don't like a little excitement in your life Delnaimn?"

"There is excitement, and then there is what you talk us into," Kel said. She shook her head. "It hinges on the night of the feast. Where do we start?"

"I thought we might try asking," Steve said.

"Of course."

"Hey, I'm just a hedge knight wanting to get into the lord's good graces with a gift for the feast…"

They went on their way, making for their waiting companions. They had a party to gatecrash.

X

A day passed in preparation, and the following evening, all was ready. The town was determined to be lively that night as word came that Lord Tully drew near, less than a day away, but there were those with other concerns. Steve stepped lightly as he crossed the roof of the inn, wooden shingles creaking and shifting as he moved. It would have been worse had he been armed and armoured, but with only his shield it was acceptable, and unlikely to be heard by any of the revellers in the inn below. The sky was dark, but the moon was starting to peek out from behind a cloud, and would soon bring light. He meant to be within the keep before that could happen.

From the edge of the roof, Steve eyed the keep walls. It was not like the seaward wall of the Red Keep; at one point there had been no town or walls, and consideration had been given to the possibility of someone climbing it. The walls were smooth enough that climbing them would be a real pain, and that was before getting to the battlements that extended out to create an overhang. Not to mention getting the whole way without being seen by some passerby. But he didn't need to climb the wall, just get over it.

Despite the darkness, he spied a likely spot. Knees bending, Steve took in a breath as he readied himself, making a final check of the shield on his arm. Then he leapt, springing up and out over the lane below. The top of the walls were a good three metres above his starting position, and he wasn't going to make it - but he had never meant to. Worn down by time, a block only just on the underside of the battlements had started to protrude, and he was able to reach out and grasp it with his free hand, seizing it palm up, fingers stretched to their max. He swung underneath it for a long moment, concealed by the shadow of the blockwork as he waited for his momentum to bleed off. When it had, he began to pull himself upwards with a bicep curl. The crenellations above were still out of reach of his other hand, even if it hadn't been encumbered by his shield, but they weren't out of reach entirely. He took another breath, and began to rotate his body, exhaling slowly as he inverted himself, legs stretching up to seek an embrasure between the merlons.

There was noise above, and he froze in place. Footsteps scraping on stone, as a guard made their rounds, nothing hasty about their manner. With a silent sigh, Steve pulled his legs back, tucking his heels against his thighs as he hung in place, held steady by his fingers' stretched grasp on the handhold.

Finally, after entirely too long - Steve would be having a word with the guard captain about the enthusiasm of his men - the guard passed out of earshot, and he was able to move, again reaching out with his feet for a gap in the crenellation. He found it, and hooked his ankle around its edge to hold himself in place. Releasing his grip on his first handhold, he flexed his fingers, before engaging his core and bringing himself up, slipping over the battlements with nary a sound.

A quick glance around showed his entry to have gone unseen, the patrolling guard having disappeared inside a wooden structure that straddled the wall further along. Below there was the entry yard of the keep, the gates to the right and the doors to the main building to the left. Steve eyed it for a moment, not seeing any entry other than the main doors, currently closed.

There was no gain in hesitating. Stairs nearby, narrow and set into the wall, provided a path down to the yard and from there he was able to pad silently towards the gatehouse.

"...telling you, there's sommat off about them," came the voice of one of the men standing guard.

"You know what it's been like since the White Bull came through," another voice answered, this one less rough. "The taverns and brothels are probably all full."

Steve came to a stop just shy of the gates, back pressed up against the stone of the gatehouse wall as he listened. He could hear the faint cheer of a game of dice, coming from the wooden structure on the wall where he had just come from, but there was little other activity, save for the whicker of a horse in the stables just across the yard.

"This lot are different," the first voice argued. "They just been standing there talking, not drinking or anything."

"No law against that."

"If they're out to drink, why the armour? And the cloaks. That one there has his pick."

"...could be they didn't want to leave it at whatever flea-ridden room they have," the second man said, though he was sounding less convinced. "There's only four of them."

"Four that we can see, I reckon there's more down the alley they're at; I saw the big one look there and talk to someone."

"Maybe."

"The small one just looked this way again. I'm tellin' you-!"

"Yeah, alright," came the reply, reluctant but unwilling to be on the hook if his companion was right. "Head inside, pass the word to the master-at-arms. I'll keep an eye on them."

There was the sound of a heel turning on stone, and then footsteps, as the suspicious guard started to move. Steve waited patiently, and the moment the man was out from under the gatehouse, he grabbed him, pulling him around the corner. The man barely had time to make a choked sound of surprise, and then Steve had his arm curled around his neck, squeezing.

"What? Randall?"

Randall struggled, but there was no escaping Steve's hold, and he began to go limp.

"Fuck's sake Randall," the other guard said, more muttering to himself than anything.

Randall's struggles faded into unconsciousness, and Steve set him down carefully so as to avoid the clatter of steel on stone, putting him in the recovery position. Then, he stepped around the corner and under the gatehouse, approaching the other man.

"You better not be play- oh," the other guard said, looking back over his shoulder. He noticed the shield, and the white star upon it. "Ah, fuck." He tensed, unsure if he wanted to fight, bolt, or shout.

Steve made the decision for him, laying him out with a punch and catching him before he could hit the ground. The street beyond wasn't nearly empty, but the only group that had reason to be watching the gates weren't about to sound the alarm. They began to approach as Steve dragged his latest victim out of sight, more slipping out from the alley they had lurked in. The armour they wore and weapons they carried were mostly hidden by the plain grey cloaks they wore, but as Randall had proven, that was only enough to dismiss casual scrutiny.

"Any troubles?" Arland asked, leading the way as they all passed through the gatehouse. Were the situation not so serious, the group might have looked comical as they made their best attempt at a sneak.

"Not yet," Steve answered. Robin had his bow out, an arrow put to string as he eyed the walls. If there was another guard making their rounds, they wouldn't be able to sound the alarm before being silenced.

"Fast, or thorough?" Kel asked, eyeing the main structure. It had the same base layout as most they had come across, a squarish base with turrets at each corner and defence the prime concern, but it also had three towers rising from atop it, one taller than the others.

"Thorough," Steve said, having already decided. They had lacked the intel to properly plan the entire operation, but they had sketched out possible paths. "No late arrivals after we parted ways?"

"None," Kel said.

"Right. Better safe than sorry," Steve said. "Hugo, Artys, Ortys, Yorick - follow Kel into the gatehouse and subdue whoever's in there. See if you can't find some rope while you're at it."

Those named gave a nod and made for the nearby door that led into the gatehouse interior, Hugo cracking his oversized knuckles as he went.

"Humfrey and…Harwin," Steve decided. "Help yourself to the guards' tabards. You'll be on gate duty, politely denying entry to any latecomers."

"Aye captain," Humfrey said, and Harwin nodded with him.

There was a startled cry, muffled by stone, and then the sound of wood breaking.

"Politely, Harwin," Steve reminded the knight.

A near wounded expression came over the man's face, but it was spoiled by the cheek tugging at the edges of his mouth. "Would I ever-?"

"Yes," Arland said, visage stern, though he too was fighting amusement.

The gatehouse door rattled violently, as if someone had sought to flee through it, only to be caught and body checked against it. All was quiet for a few long moments, and then Hugo stuck his head out the door.

"All sorted, captain," the big man reported.

The men grew serious, brief levity falling away, and they worked swiftly to put the area in order. The guards that Steve had knocked out, starting to stir, were taken inside the gatehouse and tied up with their fellows, bound and gagged, while Humfrey and Harwin took their positions at the gates. Whatever patrol was set on the castle walls had not come round again, but Steve made sure his people were aware, and then they were stepping quickly, making for the main building.

X

The keep painted the picture of a wealthy house, with rich carpets in the halls and tapestries hanging from the walls. Clean(ish) burning oil lanterns sat in sconces throughout the place, giving a pleasant light to those that would walk the halls on House Mooton's dime. On that night, it was nine figures dressed in their best for the feast being held deeper within. Steve had a feeling that they weren't quite meeting the dress code, but then, the host would have more immediate problems than the clash between steel and wool.

They didn't see anyone else as they made their way deeper into the keep; servants seemed to use smaller passages than the main routes they were following, and any guests must have long since arrived and joined the feast. None of the nine had ever visited before, although Yorick had done his best to recall some tales told by his older brother who had. They became turned around only once, ending up in a receiving hall, but in time, came to what was clearly a hall for feasting, sounds of merriment and enticing scents flowing through its main doors, ever so slightly ajar.

Steve peered through the gap in the doors, taking in the hall. It was longer than it was wide, and the tables were arranged in a horseshoe, with what looked like the most important people at the far side of the hall on the horizontal table. It was separated from the arms of the arrangement by gaps that the servants used to bring food and drink into the interior and then to the tables, entering the hall from a pair of small doors on either side - likely side paths to the kitchens. In the middle of the tables was an open space, fit for dancing.

"How many guards?" Kel asked quietly, just over his shoulder. The rest were lined up beyond her, all trying to listen in.

"Eight," Steve answered. They seemed to be as much part of the scenery as the various House banners on the walls - he didn't recognise any of them save the Mooton salmon - clad in gambesons of pink and white trimmed in gold, and holding halberds that had been polished to within an inch of their lives. Four stood along each wall, spaced evenly. They wouldn't be any obstacle to his squad. "Then the guests…seems to be a split between fighters and otherwise." There were more men than women present, and it was those who didn't have the look of warriors that had partners with them.

"How deep in their cups are they?" Kel asked.

"They don't look like they've found the bottom," Steve said, "but some are searching." Behind all the conversation and general cheer, there was a woman seated behind the main table, softly plucking away at some stringed instrument. More importantly, the main seat at the head table was occupied, a pale but ruddy cheeked man with strong shoulders speaking to a well dressed man to his right. "I see Mooton."

"Stokeworth?"

"No. He's got someone on his right, not a soldier, and a young woman to his left - I'd say his daughter. She's got a knight to her left, but he's the only other fighter at the main table. Doesn't look drunk."

"If that is the Lady Eleanor he has been seated next to, he would not want to be," Kel said. She shifted, the rush of the situation compelling her to take action. "How shall we do this?"

Steve watched for a few moments longer, but little seemed to be changing. It seemed that the feast was well underway, and ripe for gatecrashing. He nodded to himself. "Robin, you'll stay by the doors. Your job is to make people reluctant to intervene. Shoot if you need to, but try to avoid killing anyone. Arland, stick with him."

"Aye captain," came the quiet replies.

"Henry, there's two service doors at the end of the hall on the sides. Take Artys and secure the one on the left. Yorick, take Ortys and secure the one on the right. If any servants try to enter, let them in, but don't let them leave."

"Aye captain."

"Kel, Hugo, you're with me," he continued. "We're going straight down the middle. I don't expect any of these guards can match you, so don't break them too badly."

"Aye captain," they said. Kel readied her glaive, while Hugo spun the forge hammer he carried in his grip.

Steve checked his shield once last time, then gestured for his squad to get into position at his back. They did so, eager and ready. He let out a final breath, and then brought up his leg to kick the doors in as hard as he could.

An almighty crash shook the room as the doors were blown open with such force that a hinge broke. All conversation came to an immediate halt, the music stopping on a discordant note, as everyone within the hall looked to see what on earth had just happened.

Steve stepped through the portal, idly catching the surviving door on his shield as it bounced back on him. "Hello there," he said, sauntering forward.

 

[TheWiseTomato]

Lord Mooton rose from his seat at the other end of the hall. "What is the meaning of this?!" he demanded.

Rolling his shoulders, Steve just happened to show off his shield to the notables in the hall, and many an eye fixed upon the white star on it. "I am Lord America. Lord Mooton, I'm here to accept your surrender." Shocked murmurs began to rise from around the hall as his squad entered the hall behind him.

Disbelief and outrage grew upon Mooton's face. "Seize them!"

Steve strode across the dancefloor, making directly for the main table and drawing the attention of the guards. They rushed to apprehend him, though their way was hampered by the layout of the hall, forcing most to head towards the main table first. The two who didn't were met instead by Henry or Yorick and their respective twin. It did not go well for them.

Keladry stepped forward to meet the first to reach them, an unlucky man who thought to contest her polearm to polearm. Two movements later the guard was struck across the jaw by the iron shod butt of her glaive, dropping him, and the next who thought to take advantage of her distraction found Hugo stepping quickly to seize his weapon, using it to drag him close to headbutt him viciously. Blood spurted as a nose broke messily, and a nearby woman shrieked.

A guest rose from their seat as Yorick and Ortys passed behind them, a steak knife held to drive into Yorick's armpit. The knight shifted, letting it skitter off his pauldron, and Ortys grabbed the man's arm, forcing it to the table. Yorick didn't bother trying to take the knife from him, instead just slamming his gauntleted fist onto the man's hand, again and again. The man gave a shriek to match the woman from before, hand spasming and the knife going free. They released him, letting him collapse back into his chair with his hand cradled to his chest, and continued towards the service door.

Steve had not stopped his advance, and nor had he been forced to raise a hand as Keladry and Hugo continued to dismantle the guards that sought to subdue them. There was the snap of a bowstring and a cry of pain behind them, the sound of someone having their hand pinned to the table, but there was no time to look. They were already halfway down the hall.

"You chose the wrong side in this war, Lord Mooton," Steve called.

"I chose to hold to my oaths," Mooton snapped back. He was still standing, fists planted on his table as he leaned forward.

"Why is your oath to the king worth more than the oath to your Lord Paramount?" Steve asked. "Why hold to an oath to a man that cuts body parts from young girls?"

Mooton grimaced. "The punishment for treason must be harsh."

"Treason?" Steve asked, the hint of a scowl descending on his brow. "Lyanna Stark was abducted, her guards slaughtered."

"All of Riverrun witnessed the King's invitation," Mooton argued, though his words were stiff. Perhaps he knew the truth of the matter, or perhaps it was the way that Hugo had just picked up the last of his guards and dumped him onto the side table, sending a rich gravy splattering everywhere.

"Believe what you want," Steve said. He stepped over a wheezing guard, taking the lead, Kel and Hugo taking up positions at his shoulders. "Here and now, that doesn't matter." They were nearly at the main table.

The knight that had been sitting at the probable Lady Eleanor's side stood, hair dark and face determined, vaulting the table with a knife in each hand. He darted at Steve, respectably quick, one knife held out to stab, the other low to slice at whatever was used to ward him off.

Steve kicked him in the chest, sending him back over the table. The minstrel had to scramble from her chair by the wall to avoid him, protecting her lute. The soldier stopped his approach, inspecting those before him. With the dismissal of the now groaning knight, there were none who looked keen to throw hands at the main table, only those who seemed to be more skilled tradesmen or successful merchants. To the sides, the service doors were guarded by his men.

"Lady Eleanor?" Steve asked. She raised her chin proudly, answering with a nod, though her hands were out of sight beneath the table. "Pleased to meet you."

"In another situation, I might say the same, Lord America," the young noblewoman answered. She looked to be in her late teens, with pale blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair to match her father's.

Steve held back a twitch of his lips at her sass, turning back to her father. "About that surrender," he said.

"I have over a thousand good men," Mooton said, spine straightening, his expression unyielding. "You cannot hope to overcome them."

"We couldn't," Steve agreed, nodding amicably. Then his expression hardened. "But those men can't protect you from me here and now."

"I have sons to inherit after me," Mooton said. "Should you slay me, Mooton and Maidenpool will continue to fight."

"They might," Steve said, shrugging. The hall was dead quiet, those behind him straining to hear their words. "But there's still an army about to fall on your town. If you surrender now, you can avoid a sack."

"My walls can hold for many months," Mooton said, "and the rebels lack the ships to blockade me."

"That would matter more if I hadn't just invited myself to your feast and taken you hostage," Steve said.

"Perhaps," Mooton answered. "But I will not be hostage for long. You may have slipped inside my keep, but I have more men than just this handful, and soon they will come."

"Not afraid of what I might do to you?" Steve asked.

Mooton swallowed, but raised his chin in defiance. "I have sons," he repeated.

"You have a daughter, too."

Naked fear crossed Mooton's face, but only for a moment. He steadied himself. "No. Word is spreading about you, Lord America."

"Oh?" Steve asked.

"Your adventures in the Reach are becoming known, as well as how you conducted yourself," the lord said, growing more confident. "Moreso, you have given only the briefest of attentions to Eleanor. You are no black knight."

"Hnn," Steve said, tapping a beat on his thigh as he thought. The man wasn't wrong, and he wasn't about to do anything that would change his mind. But then, he didn't need to do anything drastic, just enough to make Mooton doubt. "Keladry, take Lady Eleanor back to her rooms. Keep an eye on her there."

There were gasps, and Mooton gaped, before trying to mask the fear that he had read things wrong with outrage. "You wouldn't- !"

Steve blinked. "What? Oh." He looked to Kel. "Do you mind…?" As much as not correcting Mooton might aid his goal, he wasn't that kind of guy.

She inclined her head. "Lord Mooton, I am Lady Keladry Delnaimn of the Vale, late of Owlwatch." She seemed larger as she spoke the words.

Now it was Mooton's turn to blink. "You are…I see." He blinked again. "No, what-"

He was not the only one befuddled, but Steve ignored him and the murmurs of the guests at his back. "Lady Eleanor," he said, turning to her as he cut her father off. "Do I have your word that you will cooperate?"

Eleanor's hands were clasped tightly in her lap, but her gaze remained steady on Steve. "You would not hold your hostages as proof against my conduct?"

"I don't need to," Steve said, tone frank. "If you come across any of your father's men and ask them to free you, Keladry will kill them."

The noblewoman did not stammer or gasp, but her gaze did flick to the glaive that Kel held easily. "I will cooperate," she said, voice even.

Steve gave her a nod, and gestured for Kel. There was no need for words, only a glance, as both knew what he wanted of her and the standards they both held to.

Eleanor rose from her seat, making her way out from behind the main table to join those who had invaded her home, and stopped in front of Kel. All watched as she stared down the woman who would act as a warrior for a long moment, gaze searching. It seemed that whatever she looked for, she found, and she offered her hand. Like a knight escorting a lady, Kel offered her arm in turn, and the two departed the feast hall, even footsteps taking them down the room and out through the broken main doors.

"Maybe I'm not one to threaten or risk harm to innocents," Steve said, picking up the previous thread of conversation with Mooton and commanding the attention of the feasters once again, "but what about you?"

Mooton frowned at him. "Explain."

"Tomorrow, Lord Tully will arrive with his army. I figure that's the reason behind all…" he made an encompassing gesture with a twist of his wrist, "...but you have to know what comes after."

The lord narrowed his eyes, stepping back from the table he had been leaning on. His arms crossed. "We fight. We hold."

"For how long?" Steve challenged.

"Long enough for the loyal kingdoms to rally to the cause. The rebels may have stolen a march with their muster before rising up against the King, but that advantage will soon be gone."

Steve held back from pulling a face at another reminder of the propaganda that was apparently still going around. Before he could reply, he was interrupted as the knight he had kicked back over the table got to his feet, letting out a pained gasp, but holding a knife in hand all the same. He had kept his grasp on only one knife, his other hand now clutching at his solar plexus. The minstrel, once hovering over him in concern, scrambled out of the way once she saw Steve looking towards them.

The soldier took up a pewter tankard sitting on the table, half full of some kind of mead. He drained it with a single pull as the knight started to stagger towards him, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and then pegged it at the knight.

A ringing gong filled the hall as the tankard hit the knight base first, squarely on the forehead, and snapped his head back. The knight collapsed to one knee, and then slowly fell to his side, eyes unfocused and unseeing. He still held tight to his knife, but there was already a visible lump forming.

Steve looked back to the minstrel. "Would you mind…?" he gestured at the fallen man.

The minstrel, a woman with dirty blonde hair and pale blue eyes, looked from Steve, to the fallen knight, to Mooton, and then back. The hall seemed to hold its breath.

Jerkily, Mooton nodded, and the woman was quick to kneel, easing the man from his awkward position and rubbing small circles on his temple. There was a choked snigger, but when Steve glanced over to Yorick, the man's face was blank, for all his lips were pressed tightly together.

"What were we- right," Steve said, regathering his thoughts. "You hope to hold out long enough for the Reach or Dorne or the Westerlands to get involved. Now, I don't know if you're putting on a brave face as a leader should, or if you haven't had news about what's going on, but you need to know that your walls will not hold."

"We may number short of two thousand, but my walls are strong, and my men are stalwart," Mooton said, undaunted, or at least putting on a good showing of it.

Steve could appreciate it, even if he was usually on the other side of things. "It's not about the men you have, or the strength of your walls," he told him. "What will your sons say when I tell them they can choose between your life and their loyalty to Aerys?"

Mooton swallowed, still remained stubborn. "My sons are honourable men."

A sigh was his answer. "You-"

"Captain!" Robin called. There was a twang of a bow, and a pained scream. "Guards coming down the hall!"

Steve looked over his shoulder, back to the entry of the hall. Robin had loosed his arrow down along the hallway, and was now taking cover against the remaining upright door. Arland was doing similar, but against the stone of the wall on the other side. "Robin, pull back, Arland, at the ready!" There was the beat of feet on stone, and someone beyond the hall gave a war cry.

By the sound of it, there couldn't be more than a dozen, but they were coming quickly. Likely the men he had heard playing dice in the structure on the wall, having realised something was wrong. Robin had leapt sprightly onto the tables, stepping easily between bowls of bread and gravy jugs, another arrow already nocked, while Arland had his mace ready to do violence to the first poor soul to burst through the entryway. He would need help with the rest, but that was what Steve was there for.

Steve leaned over the table and then some, supporting himself with one hand as his feet left the ground briefly, all so he could grasp the chair that Eleanor had left behind. By the time he was back on the ground and turning, the first guard was rushing through the door.

He was met by a mace to the chest - it would have been the face, but for his unusual height - and it sent him tumbling forward to the ground, chainmail doing little to soften the blow. The next man through was ready, aware now of the foe lurking to the side of the door. That awareness soon became moot, however, as he was hit in the face with the chair that had just been thrown the length of the hall. The guests, starting to rise, had been on the verge of giving in to their fight or flight, but suddenly they found themselves falling back into their chairs.

Arland had broken a man's arm with a heavy blow, stepping out from concealment to blow the entry, and he blocked a heavy strike from a halberd with his shield, but more men were coming. One of them was met with an arrow through the meat of their thigh, but there were still more.

A gesture from Steve had Hugo remaining at the main table to keep an eye on things, and then the soldier was striding back towards the doors, taking up tankards and dishes as he went to throw at the guards in a barrage of cutlery and fine dining. It was almost comical, if not for the real damage he was inflicting. A tankard domed one man as he tried to gang up on Arland, and a metal plate spun through the air to hit another's helm right on the nasal guard, leaving it dented and the wearer's nose broken, streaming blood and in too much pain to continue on.

By the time Steve had made it back to the fight, Arland had been forced back, in line with the ends of the tables, but there were only three guards still on their feet, and in moments there were none. There were only pained moans, gritted teeth, and silent guests.

Steve looked back to the main table where Mooton had sunken back into his seat. It would have been easy to tell him to order his men to stand down, but that wasn't the point. He clapped Arland on the shoulder, the man breathing heavily but uninjured, and started walking back towards Mooton.

"I didn't come here for glory, or to boast," Steve said, filling the hall with the words. "I didn't come here for the rebel cause at all." He drew nearer, footsteps over the dancefloor almost thudding with the measured weight of his steps. Every ear in the hall strained to listen to his words. "I came here to save your people, the ones who look to you for protection, from the pain of a sack."

Mooton opened his mouth, to argue, to deny, but the words didn't come, and then Steve was before him once more.

"If you don't give the command for your men to stand down and surrender tomorrow, then I'm going to sneak across town to your gatehouse, fight my way inside, and open the gates to the rebel army," Steve told him. He could see the doubt, the disbelief that would have been right if only the words had come from any other man. He saw the chance to twist the knife, driving his words home. "Just like I did at Gulltown."

The hall was full of those who had cause to envy and look up to Lord Mooton, but in that moment, not a one would have swapped places with him for any amount of title or treasure. They watched, waiting, on the edge of their seats, for an end to what would surely become a tale they told their grandchildren.

"What's it going to be, son?"

Lord Mooton looked down at his plate, but only for a moment. He looked back up, meeting stern blue eyes, and made his decision.

X

The mood was tense above the gatehouse, the only sound the flapping of banners in the morning wind. The clear skies above did little to ease things, and all along the town walls, men stood with spears gripped tight, watching the army that had assembled before them. In opposition to the banners bearing the Mooton salmon, there flew the banners of almost the Riverlands entire, from the twining red and white snakes of knightly House Paege, to the twin blue towers of House Frey and the silver eagle of House Mallister. Nor was the Riverlands alone - there were the bronze runes of House Royce from the Vale, and the silver fist of House Glover from the North. Over them all in pride of place flew the leaping trout of House Tully, and it was that banner that was carried by the party that was steadily approaching the town gates, their mounts draped in colourful barding.

Geoffrey Mooton grumbled under his breath as he watched them draw near. His plate shone under the sun, though he had forgone a helm. Neither his squire at his back nor his heir at his right made comment.

They were not the only ones with him atop the gatehouse, however.

"It'll be done with soon," Steve told the man, standing to his left. He had his shield, and his unassuming armour, but he wouldn't need either.

"This all might be," Geoffrey said. His shoulder shifted as if he wished to make a gesture, but he kept himself still and straight. "My House will be dealing with the aftermath for years. Tully would be a fool not to try and claw some treasure from us."

"Probably," Steve said, familiar enough with ransoms and the like at that point. Unlike his 'host', he felt more than free enough to shrug. "But it's a lot easier to make your money back than it is to resurrect the dead and undo the trauma of a sack."

Geoffrey grumbled again, but didn't gainsay him. When he had sent word to his sons and his commanders that they would be surrendering, there had been many reactions, from confusion to rage. Stokeworth in particular had taken the news poorly, and as the man in charge of the next largest force had threatened to rally the defence in Mooton's place, but Steve had paid him a visit and the man was now a guest in Mooton's nicest dungeon. The visit had seen word of what was happening spread through the whole town by morning, and the only response from the average person had been one of relief.

Lord Tully and his party came to a stop before the walls, close enough to speak with raised voices, but not so close as to make it a pain to look up at those atop the gatehouse. The party was half high lords, half their squires or sworn swords, and Hoster's gaze met Steve's before fixing on his bannerman. For a long moment, there was silence, each party waiting for the other to speak.

"Geoffrey."

"Hoster."

A frown threatened to brew on Hoster's face, but his brow stilled, and he looked back to Steve. "Lord America," he called. "You seem to have met with success."

"Lord Mooton is a reasonable man, Lord Tully," Steve called back, his voice carrying along the walls and across the field. "He placed the safety of his people above his own pride."

"I see," Hoster said. A horse whickered loudly. "I had expected nothing less from a man such as he."

At Geoffrey's side, his son, William, seemed to swell with pride for his father.

"I have sworn many oaths, Lord Tully, all of them worthy," Geoffrey said, and close as he was, Steve could make out the slight gritting of teeth that came with his words.

Again, Hoster took a moment before answering. "Some more than others." His tone was pointed.

This time, the gritting of teeth was audible without superhuman hearing.

"But we can discuss oaths and the cost of holding to them once you have surrendered the town to me, Lord Mooton," Hoster continued, formal now.

"Aye," Mooton said, before his eyes darted to Steve and away, lightning quick. He let out a breath, steadying himself. "Lord Tully, in light of the deeds of Lord America, and according to the terms he has conveyed to me, I offer the surrender of my home of Maidenpool. In return for an end of hostilities between us pending the renewal of my oaths to the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, I swear to disperse my forces and take no further part in the conflict between House Targaryen and those sworn to them, and those who stand against them."

Hoster had been following along, a satisfied set to his shoulders, but as Geoffrey had spoken further, he had stilled. A flash of anger coloured his face when he got to the terms, but it was quickly smoothed away. "With the Seven as my witness, so shall it be," he cried, and then the gates were opening.

Tension evaporated from along the wall as men heard and passed it along to those that hadn't, and word spread that none of them would have to die that day. A kid who had been perched on a nearby roof, listening in, shouted to someone below him, and word began to spread through the town, too.

"Smart move," Steve said, giving Mooton some heavy side eye.

"I will not apologise," Mooton said, though paradoxically his tone was apologetic. "Honour, much like life, is much harder than coin to regain if lost."

Steve shrugged. "I'm not going to take it personally."

"I thank you," Mooton said, breathing easier.

"Hoster might though," Steve added.

Mooton pulled a face. "Perhaps," he said. "We will see how he feels once he reaches my keep."

Steve's gut wasn't warning him to any mischief, but there was no more time to talk. Hoster was leading his party through the gates, first man through and apparently uncaring of the murder holes or armed men above who had only recently been his enemy. Mooton led the way down from the gatehouse, and then they were mounting their own horses, joining the party that had just passed into the town and were not quite milling in the street.

Bread and salt was brought forth quickly, given first to Hoster, and guest right was established, settling the more suspicious minds at ease. There was a hold up, however, as for some reason there was not enough for all, and Lord Mooton was insistent on showing to all that there would be no perfidy under the aegis of his House.

The longer they waited, Mooton and Tully making political small talk, the more Steve noticed the people of the town starting to peer out their windows, heads rising like gophers emerging from their burrows after a predator had passed. Mooton was delaying their ride to the keep deliberately, and he thought he knew why.

Finally, more bread and salt was brought, and shared by all. Steve apparently wasn't the only one to twig to what Mooton had done, as he saw Hoster visibly calculating how the journey through the town would unfold. In short order, the riverlord was at the tip of the procession, with Steve at his right, and Mooton at his left. When they started to move, they did so not at a trot, but a walk.

Already there were people watching the procession, but as word continued to spread and more people gained the courage to emerge, confident that there would be no sack that day, more and more came to watch the lords who ruled over them. Soon it was not just those watching from windows or through barely open doors, but residents spilling into the streets. Before long, the cheering began.

Hoster inclined his head as they started to see crowds lining the way, a lordly smile upon his face as he received the adulation of his subjects, but so did Geoffrey. It was hard to say if the people cheered for either lord over the other, and Steve personally thought they were just happy to have avoided the suffering and hardship that came with a sack, but cheer they did.

Hoster leaned over towards Steve, though he kept his eyes on the street and growing crowds before them. "How did your men fare, Lord Steve?"

"No casualties, Lord Hoster," Steve reported. "I had them stay in the castle to keep an eye on Mooton's kids."

That got him a sharp look. "You were concerned he might not hold to his word?"

"Nah, but I figured if I had his son and daughter in my custody he won't get as much flak for surrendering."

Hoster gave a nod but little else, concealing whatever he thought of Steve's concerns. "His people are certainly joyous. Would that we had received this reception in every taken keep, we would be in King's Landing by now."

"Worth the effort to avoid the sack, isn't it."

A sharp look was sent his way in response, but Steve's attention was elsewhere. There was a boy up ahead, sitting on his father's shoulders and waving wildly. He had the lid of a small keg on one arm, fastened roughly with a rope, and on it was a blobby star done in white chalk. The boy saw him looking, and his wild waving only intensified.

Steve slipped his shield onto his arm, and raised it in the kid's direction, grinning. The kid stopped, mouth dropping, before he raised his own shield in turn, gripping his father's hair to keep himself steady as he started bouncing in his seat. The father winced, but he too was smiling, one hand going up to keep his boy steady.

Yeah, Steve thought. It was always worth it.

 

[TheWiseTomato]

The Riverlands army would be gone from Maidenpool within the week, staying only long enough to stock up on supplies and ensure that everything was in hand, but there were those who would be leaving much sooner. Steve's band of nine meant to depart early on the very next day, and for that, there were matters of great import to take care of first.

For some, that meant acquiring supplies, or ensuring that they had what they needed to pass through enemy territory without drawing attention. For others, it meant availing themselves of the kind of luxuries and services that only a town had. For Toby, it meant having one last conversation with an ornery warhorse as he checked over hooves and horseshoes and made sure the horses all knew what to do.

For Steve and Naerys, it meant saying their goodbyes, if only for then, and an escape from the town to the privacy of the nearby countryside. There was a picturesque hilltop an hour's ride away, often used for day trips by the local nobility, but which they had entirely to themselves that day. It had a view looking back along the shore towards the town. The afternoon sun that filtered through flowering trees was warm and pleasant on bare, sweat wicked skin as the two lovers took a moment to breathe after the first round of their enthusiastic goodbyes.

"Whoever decided to wait," Naerys said, pulling her head from the crook of Steve's neck as she rolled off him, "was a lackwit and a fool." She joined him in staring up at the blue sky above.

Steve blinked the dots from his eyes. "I think it was us." He shifted on the blanket they lay upon, feeling the divot they had worn into the mat of grass under it, as he tried to make his arm more comfortable for her head.

"Fools," Naerys said again. Her breathing was steadily returning to normal, chest still rolling under Steve's watchful eye. "I should have had my way with you the moment you woke in my home."

He made a noise of agreement. His own breathing was steady, but the world still felt a bit like it was spinning. "I appreciate your concern for my virtue."

"Ha!" she said, slapping him lightly on the hip. "No man who can do that thing with your tongue can lay claim to virtue."

Steve snickered, remembering the wails he had pried from her, even as he could not help but blush as he remembered Nat and Tony very seriously telling him how to do it. He might have appreciated it more, had it not been over team comms on the way to a mission target.

"Where's the waterskin?" she asked.

Steve cast his eye about, and saw that the picnic basket was off to his other side, just out of easy reach. He jiggled his arm, and Naerys shifted obligingly, allowing him to roll onto his side and reach out for it. He groped blindly within the basket, finding the skin right as Naerys decided to do some groping of her own. A pinch to his backside had him jolt, and he glanced back to see Naerys grinning at him, propped up on one elbow.

A stern look was her answer, but she was unrepentant, and Steve popped the cork from the skin, taking a sip before handing it over. Naerys drank greedily from it, and he watched as a heavy droplet escaped her lips, falling down her chin and neck to trail over one teardrop breast. He fought the urge to lick it up.

"I noticed a bookstore in town," Steve said to her, as he settled back down.

"Oooh," Naerys said, putting aside the empty waterskin. "What did they have?" She reclaimed her spot on his arm.

"I'm not sure, I was a bit busy when I noticed it," Steve said. "The one in Braavos was nicer, but I figure they'll have more than the average peddler. It was on the main street."

"I'll have to see," she said. "My lessons with Betty and the others have been going well, so I want to get them a reward." She grinned again. "I'm going to get a copy of A Caution for Ursa."

"Poor Henry."

"He ought to be thankful," Naerys said, scoffing. "You are, are you not?"

"Very." He had been surprised, the first time he had discovered just what kind of smut his gal was reading - not because she was reading it, but because it was something available at all. 'A Caution for Young Girls' was anything but.

"I thought so," Naerys said, and the satisfied set of her shoulders was something easily felt.

"How're those two going, anyway?" Steve asked. "I've seen them stepping out more."

"I think they're serious," Naerys said. "Ursa was worried about the difference in status, but Yorick made sure she knew Henry was only the son of a hedge knight, and…"

For a time, they spoke of their companions and caught each other up on the happenings of the company - Kel had found herself wrangled along to the famous Jonquil's Pool, a bathouse meant only for women, by Eleanor and her companions, while Walt had run into another old comrade, dragging Erik and Brynden off to drink and reminisce with them. He had a feeling it wouldn't be a quiet night for them, but thankfully he also knew it wasn't his problem.

Eventually, the sun started to show hints of setting, and their bellies started to remind them that they'd skipped lunch for other pursuits. There was a stream at the base of the hill, and they made use of it to clean themselves, dirty themselves on the bank, and then clean themselves again, before returning to their blanket to dress themselves and feast on the sandwiches and tarts that they had been given by Mooton's cooks. By the time they had finished eating, the sun was beginning to turn orange.

When they had finished working off their meal, it was mostly orange, and starting to dip low over the town, just visible in the distance. The warmth was fading alongside it, and Steve pulled the corner of their blanket up and over them as Naerys cuddled into his side, smiling as she traced patterns on his bare chest, his own hand trailing lazily over her hip. The first hints of stars were just starting to become visible overhead.

"I want you to promise me something," she said, breaking the comfortable silence

He stroked her hair, listening.

"Whatever trouble you run into down there, don't treat - just take them seriously. Fight them seriously. They won't be like the men just following their lords, or defending their homes. Kill them, and come back to me." She tilted her head up so she could look him in the eyes. "Please."

Steve swallowed. "I broke a promise, once. To come back. I…fell, and it took me a long time to return." He closed his eyes, knowing that he could do nothing but accept the abrupt turn it meant for his life. "I can't say that nothing will stop me from returning," he admitted, opening his eyes, losing himself in the blue of his lover's as she absorbed his words. "But I promise that I won't hold back. If we find enemies, it's either a trap by Aerys, or Rhaegar's men holding Lyanna. It will take a damn sight more than a mortal man to keep me from returning to you."

Snake quick, she struck, planting a kiss on the corner of his lips. "Good," she said. "But if the Warrior himself blocks your path, I want you to take his head."

"Yes ma'am," he said, before retaliating, and for a few moments, it seemed that they wouldn't need the blanket to stay warm. They subsided though, thoroughly satiated by their earlier efforts, content to simply hold each other. "It's been a while since I've shared a song, hasn't it," he asked.

"It has," Naerys agreed, eager and anticipatory.

Steve cleared his throat, thinking back to the days of the War, when things were simpler, before he had lost and been lost.

"We'll meet again,

Don't know when,

Don't know where,

But I know we'll meet again some sunny day…"

X

Dawn broke, spilling over a quiet town. After the revelry of the day prior, few were awake save the guards and the bakers. Of those few, nine were making their way out of the town via one of the smaller side gates. To look at them, they would mostly seem to be an ordinary group, dressed in the armour of hedge knights, even if each figure boasted two spare horses, and they ran the gamut from seasoned older men to enthusiastic young squires. Preparations had been made, farewells had been said, and now they rode south, the Red Mountains calling…but there were still decisions to be made.

"...the Stormlands may be more dangerous, aye, but the path is swifter, and most of the evidence of those we seek came from villages in or near the Boneway," Brynden was saying. He spoke back over his shoulder, having volunteered to lead the party as they made their way. The early light made his still auburn hair appear more grey than it truly was.

Personally, Steve thought he was just tired of questions and raised brows over the black eye he bore, courtesy of his night out with Walt and other old comrades.

"We could skirt west of the Kingswood, and along the border," Beron said. Like the others, he wore only his gambeson for armour, his plate and maille packed away across his spare mounts. "Much of the strength of the Reach will be investing the strongholds of the kingdom, or camped closer to the coast."

"Most and much is not all," Bronze Yohn said, answering the two riding ahead of him. "The Prince's Pass, and the approach to it through the Reach, would see us avoid patrols and war parties. I would count the greater body of evidence in the Boneway as a reason to start our search elsewhere, besides - if our foe is truly attempting to remain unfound, would they not seek to gather supplies further afield?"

"Depends on the leader," Brynden said. "You remember some of the fools in the Stepstones."

Yohn gave a grunt of contempt, acknowledging the point. "Ser Steve, your thoughts?"

"You know the lay of the land better than I do," Steve said, pitching his voice to be heard by those riding in front. "I'm more familiar with the Riverlands and the east of the Reach." A dragonfly buzzed past Brooklyn's nose, and she snorted at it.

The others with them - Kel, Robin, Howland, Osric, and Ren - kept their own counsel, either by habit, or because they felt out of place amongst the lords' discussion.

"There are two major routes into Dorne," Yohn explained. "The Prince's Pass, and the Boneway, west and east. The first has the fortress of Kingsgrave, the latter, Blackhaven. Of them, the Boneway is more treacherous; it is steep and prone to rockfalls."

"That means fewer soldiers in it," Beron said. "The Pass is easier to linger in, so we would have more Dornishmen to avoid."

"Only if Dorne still holds there," Brynden said. "We do not know if we can trust the one who claimed to keep them there."

There was grumbling at that. Yohn had been read in to the situation by Jon after Harrenhal, between his status and his presence on the journey, and he had not been well pleased to learn of the schemes unfolding in the background of the rebellion. Robert had done the same for Beron. For the expanding circle of those informed, the reputation of the royal house was starting to blacken.

"Then either way, it's a gamble," Steve said. "Through the Stormlands and this Boneway, or through the Reach and the Prince's Pass." He considered what they knew, the evidence they'd been sent, and what each possibility might imply about what they would find. If they picked the wrong approach, they might not make it back to the north before the battles were settled, but if they took their time and scouted both, they definitely wouldn't. "We've got evidence of this group supposedly resupplying in the west as well as the east, right?"

"More often the east, but aye," Brynden said. He shifted in his saddle, relieving a sore back.

"I don't figure they'd go all the way out of one pass just to buy supplies from the other," Steve said, brow furrowed in thought. "Even if they're trying to disguise where their hideout is. They must be able to access either pass from it."

"You think they're based in the mountains proper," Brynden noted. "It's no easy land. Harsh, little cover and less water, and full of people who don't like outsiders."

Beron made a sound of realisation. "The Vulture Kings," he said, before noticing Steve's lack of familiarity. "Outlaw kings who raided the Seven Kingdoms, before Dorne was joined with us."

"The last was a century ago," Yohn said, unconvinced. "It is history."

"But not all of their lairs were said to have been destroyed," Beron said, a hint of excitement in his voice. "My father would tell tales- well, there were long rumours of old hideouts, filled with loot," he said, before hurrying on. "For children, of course, but the lairs were real, and if one had been rediscovered…"

"It would be a shelter for them to hole up, unseen, even with enough men to hold a hostage, with paths to slip into the Marches," Yohn said, not quite reluctant.

"Or enough to stage an ambush," Brynden added pointedly. "And we still need to choose our path."

"Would it be worth trying somewhere else?" Steve asked. "Rather than either of the two main passes."

Beron, the closest they had to someone resembling a local guide, gave a hum. "The mountains are said to be riddled with goat trails, and any hideout would surely make use of them, but to stumble over the right one…" he shook his head.

"We'll need to find some trace of our quarry, and that means asking around near where they were seen resupplying," Brynden said in agreement. "Once we find a trace, then we can narrow in on any mountain path that might lead us to them."

"I imagine a party of armed men would stand out in any village," Steve said.

"The smallfolk see more than some would expect," Yohn said. "They will have answers, should we approach them without relying on fear."

Steve chewed at his lip. "Best guess, who would you expect to be waiting for us? Is there anyone that would stand out if this was Aerys or Rhaegar?"

"If we spy a Kingsguard, then this was Aerys," Yohn said immediately.

"You assume that they hold to honour as you do," Brynden said. "If Rhaegar has moved against his father, he will not have ignored the Kingsguard."

Yohn gave a tsk. "I would not besmirch the conduct of another without cause," he said, "but…Ser Lewyn is a loving uncle, and Ser Dayne is a boon companion to the Prince."

"Arthur was pulled to guard the king, after I defeated Barristan," Steve said.

"How did you learn that?" Brynden asked, looking back with a frown.

"The first time, I mean," Steve said.

"Ah," Brynden said. "And I would name Aerys as too paranoid to let the Sword of the Morning vanish into the mountains to guard a hostage."

"He is said to care little for his good daughter, so he would perhaps think nothing of sending Ser Lewyn away," Yohn said. "The state of the Queen's court has long shown his disdain for such things."

"Too hard to say, then," Steve said.

Both of the older knights agreed without speaking.

Not that it truly mattered, he supposed. Whoever they faced, he would deal with.

"We'll go through the Reach, and begin our search on approach to the Prince's Pass," Steve decided. "We'll save time by not getting bogged down in fights, and it'll be easier to pass as hedge knights travelling to join the fighting if we're further removed from it."

Had the three lords been in agreement, only for his words to override them, perhaps they would have argued against his authority, but it was not so. Brynden and Beron did not disagree with his reasoning, even if they had favoured the Stormlands and the Boneway. Between them, their path was soon confirmed. They would slip through the disputed lands between the rebel and loyalist forces, and then turn west to make use of the Kingsroad, skirting around King's Landing before riding further west into the Reach.

When they were decided, Brynden picked up the pace once more, and soon they were cantering along the dirt path, their line stretching out as the sun rose in truth. They would likely miss the battles yet to be fought, but every warrior with them knew that what they rode towards could well decide the outcome of the war all the same.

X

On that first night, they camped by a bend in a river, riding long through the afternoon and making good progress. With their ability to rotate between mounts and the quality of their training, there was little but their own stamina holding them back. It was almost dusk by the time they finished making camp, and a meal of salted pork and fine bread from Lord Mooton's kitchens was shared about to warm their bellies.

"I have missed this," Yohn admitted, sitting on one of the logs they had found and dragged into place around their fire. "The demands of logistics leave no time for oneself when marching with an army."

"And the lords," Brynden said. "If I had to listen to one more Frey kiss my brother's lordly arse…"

Beron snorted. "Did you hear, some of them were debating approaching my lord about a betrothal, should Lady Lyanna come to an ill end?"

Brynden made a sound of disgust, but it was overshadowed by Howland's reaction. "Freys," the small crannogman said, a quiet loathing in his voice.

"Oh, you've met?" Brynden asked, amusement in the tilt of his head.

"They presume lordship of what is not theirs," Howland said. He did not expand, focusing on oiling the half of his pronged spear, though it was clear that Brynden commiserated with the young lord.

It was only the five of them around the fire. Keladry had taken Robin, Osric, and Ren off to put them through their paces with the spear, though they would surely be returning soon as the light faded.

"Steve, I must ask," Yohn began, stepping in before the mood could dip, "you claimed Orphan-Maker, but you do not use it." He had been happy to acquiesce to Steve's request to call him by name, if only the soldier would return the favour.

Steve pulled a face as he was reminded of the name of the Valyrian Steel sword he had confiscated from Peake. "I'm not a swordsman. I'm still figuring out all the tricks to using a hammer. I don't need to start learning another weapon entirely in the middle of a war."

Beron coughed, and then again, markedly fake.

"There are those who claim to have seen your hammer send half a dozen men into the air with but a single sweep," Yohn said, voice dry.

"Three, at most," Beron said, his tone saying he was joking, but his expression putting a lie to it.

"What do you plan to do with it?" Yohn asked. "There are many who would go to great lengths to acquire such a blade for their House."

Steve glanced around the campsite. The sounds of sparring had stopped, but Kel and the others still weren't back. He leaned in. "There's a smith in King's Landing who I'm told can reforge it. I'm going to have it made into a glaive."

Yohn's brows shot up. "For the lady…?"

"She's a strong warrior," Steve said. "I know the idea of women fighting is looked down on here, but I think you'd be surprised what would happen if you didn't."

"Perhaps," Yohn said. "But we do as we do for a reason, and women are not suited to fight as men do." He glanced over in the direction of the sparring, where the returning figures of their other companions could be seen. "In most cases."

Steve only shrugged. If he was discussing the matter with someone less polite, he would point out the danger in assuming that strength in combat only came down to strength of arm, and if he was dealing with someone who was outright a cad he would offer to give a practical demonstration, but Yohn was neither.

"I have sparred with Lady Keladry," Beron said to the Valeman. "Her skill with the glaive is formidable."

Despite himself, Yohn was intrigued. "The tale about her duel with her betrothed, how true is it?"

"Not the one the men tell," Brynden said. "If you heard it from a Northman, it likely is."

"Hang on, what?" Steve asked, straightening.

Brynden didn't quite grimace, but it was close. "Bored soldiers with enough sense to keep it quiet, but not enough sense not to tell it at all," he said. "I've dealt with it where I find it."

Steve found himself staring at the fire, narrow eyed. He thought the message had been sent, but it seemed he might still have to teach a few punks a lesson.

"Truly, Steve," Brynden said. "It is dealt with."

A dissatisfied hum answered him, but Steve nodded, agreeing to drop it. There was little he could do from there, and the others had returned to hearing distance besides.

"...Osric and Ren, clean yourselves up downstream, and then decide between the two of you who will take the first watch," Kel was telling them. She saw the lords glancing over at her approach, heading three tired students, and inclined her head towards them.

"If I hear it again, I'll send them to her for training," Brynden said. "Those three may fall asleep in the saddle tomorrow."

A laugh from Steve answered him. "I've put them through worse."

"Have you any music?" Yohn asked. "I fought with a Crayne in the Stepstones, and his lute made many a tough day easier."

"Nothing you'd appreciate," Steve said. He regretted not having a chance to debut the instrument he had recreated before Maidenpool, and he had brought it along on the ride south, but it was not the sort of thing to be appreciated in the quiet of the night by the fireside. "Only something for battle, or diversion."

The description interested the lords, and they tried to guess what it could be. The conversation continued on as the moon started to rise, but try as they might, they could do little more than pry from Steve that it was an instrument from his home, lacking in strings, yet not a drum. Eventually, after all had eaten and sentry duty had been established, they retired. They still had a long journey ahead of them.

X

Another night saw another campfire, this time amidst a copse of trees that protected them against curious eyes and the cold night wind. They had crossed into the Crownlands days ago, making good time, and had done well to avoid any loyalist patrols.

Most had already retired to their bedrolls, with only Steve, Yohn, and Brynden sitting around the fire, talking quietly. They spoke of small things, the day's travel, the old signs of passing soldiery, the enormously fat pig they had seen in a farmer's field. They spoke of larger things, too.

"The Free Cities would never stand for it," Brynden said, shaking his head. The firelight played across his face, a healthy stubble on it. "Each time a foreign power tries, they put aside their differences and war against them."

"A foreign power, yeah, but what about someone independent?" Steve asked. His own beard had left stubble behind days ago. "They're held by pirates all the time."

"Pirates feud and squabble, and aren't likely to think to impose tariffs and taxes," Brynden said. "Any organised group to seek to take the Stepstones would always be suspected of working with this or that kingdom."

"What about a group that had the backing of Westeros and Braavos?" Steve asked.

"Such a group could never afford the aid of the Braavosi," Yohn said, before giving up the pretence that they were speaking in hypotheticals. "You are giving service that cannot be paid off with harbour rights and warehouses, and aye, this adventure will have," he hesitated a moment, "those with power owing you even more, should we succeed, but Braavos? No."

"Braavos has many temples, but the most powerful is the Iron Bank, and coin is their god," Brynden said. He shook his head.

"This seems like something cultural I don't have the context for," Steve said.

"The Rogue Prince sought to rule the Stepstones once," Yohn said. "He had a dragon, and powerful allies to help. He still ultimately failed, and lost enormous amounts of blood and treasure in the effort."

"So did his enemies," Brynden added. "The dragons may be gone, but any sign of a new King of the Narrow Sea would see the Three Daughters move quickly against it."

Steve considered their words. He was frustratingly blind on the matter and the history of it all that might impact the reaction to the venture he was considering. "What if it wasn't a proper kingdom," he asked. "What if it was just another group to take an island and hold it amongst all the pirates?"

The two lords were quiet for a moment, not quite taken aback, but still considering his words. A branch in the fire cracked and fell into the coals, and an owl hooted in the darkness.

"That wouldn't spur a response - not from the Free Cities as a group, no," Brynden said slowly.

"But what would such a thing gain you?" Yohn asked him. "The gold, the men needed to take and hold an island would be prohibitive."

"A place for Liberty," Steve said. He was staring at the fire, watching the coals as they smouldered. "I mean to free slaves, and some will want to join the fight."

From another man it would have seemed to be some self-aggrandising boast, but from Steve, men listened.

"It will cost me blood and gold," the soldier acknowledged, "but the price of freedom has always been high, and it's one I'm willing to pay."

"That is a battle one could fight forever," Yohn said.

Steve looked up from the fire to the men he shared it with. "It is. But I'd bet I'm not the only one who would."

Silence fell, as the foreigner's words faded and the two lords considered them. They shared a glance. They were not young men, not anymore, but that did not deafen them to the call to adventure - they were there now, were they not? - and they both knew that if a man like Lord America put out the call, many would answer.

They did not put voice to it, for they could not help but think that they would be amongst them, if only they could.

X

The Reach was much as Steve remembered it; flowering fields and warm sunlight, picturesque and untouched by the war proper. They had passed into it only a day ago, happy to be past King's Landing and the increased traffic that had busied the roads around it. The tenth month of the year was fading, and Steve stood with Robin a short way from their camp for the afternoon, set up early after one of their horses had picked up a troublesome rock in their shoe.

Steve pulled back his bow, breathing steady, and loosed an arrow at the stump that was their target. It hit, but not well, and the shaft broke with the impact.

"I see what you mean," Robin said. "You really do lose a lot by using normal arrows."

"Yeah," Steve said. "I've still got one arrow left from the lot your father made for me, but I've been making do for a while now just for practice."

Robin frowned. "That could teach you bad habits."

"Aye ser," Steve said.

The squire ducked his head, blushing. "I'll keep an eye out for some good wood for arrows," he said. "I think I can do something about the breaking, too. A bendier wood might do some good."

"Thanks," Steve said. He watched as his squire put an arrow to his own string, loosing it at the stump with barely a pause to aim. It split the arrow Steve had just fired. "How did you go with Kel, earlier?"

He pulled a face. "I'm never going to win any duels with a sword."

"But did you learn anything?" Steve pressed.

"Yeah," Robin said, dragging out the admittance like it had been pried from him by force. "I got the spear disarm that Kel was trying to teach me working against Ren."

"Good," Steve said, resting the lower tip of his bow on one foot as he watched Robin string another arrow.

"Ren is as bad with a sword as I am though," Robin said, not quite complaining.

"So she's at a good level for you to practise with," Steve said.

Travelling in a smaller party as they were, Ren's secret hadn't lasted. It had come out just before they had headed west from the Kingsroad to cross the Blackwater Rush, the river that flowed into the bay at King's Landing. Despite the cover of bathing and bunking with her cousin, it was noticed when she couldn't grow even a hint of stubble. Ren had admitted to it when awkward questions were asked of Steve, but after a few days of stilted conversation, things had returned mostly to normal.

Robin grumbled, but only half-heartedly.

"You're not married to the spear, either," Steve reminded him. "If you want to look for something else, we can."

"No, it's fine," Robin said quickly. "But uh, could I learn what you're teaching Ren, too? With the long dagger?"

"Yeah, we can do that," Steve said, and his squire grinned. "Now come on. I want to see if you can shoot that dead branch off before we head back to give Kel her birthday present. I'll show you the move I used yesterday against Brynden if you can."

"You're on!"

X

Dorne was a dry place, Steve was finding, the landscape forbidding, and they had not yet entered the kingdom. He remembered the two Dornish he had befriended at Harrenhal, the Vaiths, and how they had spoken of their home, near to the deep sands in the centre of the kingdom, and was glad they needn't go so far. The copper red rocks of the Prince's Pass had a way of reflecting the sun and setting the air to shimmering with a heat haze; he could imagine how much worse it would be in the middle of the desert. They had been quick to decide to investigate every location named in the evidence they had been sent before venturing into the Pass proper, to give themselves time to acclimatise if nothing else, but it seemed that the time would soon come to don their armour and brave the heat.

"Three days ago?" Steve asked, questioning the old man intently.

"Three days," the old man confirmed, perched on a bucket before his home. He had the look of a Dornishman, for all that he lived in the Marches north of the Red Mountains. "They made comments about my daughter, and stole my goat." He wet his lips, and took another sip from the waterskin that Steve had offered him.

"Were they armoured?" Steve asked. Nearby, Brynden and Kel listened silently, while Yohn and Howland supervised the horses at the edge of the village they had found themselves in. Beron and the others were speaking with others in the village, seeking other stories. "Did you recognise their sigils?"

A three toothed grin was his answer. "They don't like the heat, those boys. No plate, no gambeson, no colours. But they're not from round 'ere."

"You think they were knights?" Steve asked.

"Pshaw," the old man said. "They're killers. Don't know about knights."

Steve shared a glance with his friends. They had found a few who would speak about strangers under arms in other villages, and some who were willing to lie about it in hopes of coin, but this was the best lead so far. "Did they come from within the Pass?"

"Yep. Less than a day in."

"How do you figure that?" Steve asked.

The old man grinned again. "Goat came back a day later, didn't it. No rope will hold that rascal."

Steve huffed a laugh, and slipped the old man a silver coin, hiding the motion in the retrieval of his waterskin. "You look after yourself, old timer."

The weathered old man hummed, tucking the coin a way. "Thankee, m'lord, from my old bones too. You'll want the east, when you go lookin'."

"Thanks," Steve said, giving him a nod. He turned away, and with the others, started to make for their horses. "What do you think?"

"If this isn't them, I don't know what it could be," Brynden said.

"He would have known if they were Dornish troops," Kel said. She shared a look with the experienced lord. The spars they had shared over their journey had seen each knocked down at times, and a mutual respect had grown from it.

"I agree," Steve said. They reached their horses, finding the others all waiting for them.

"Promising news," Beron told them, grey-blue eyes eager.

"Us too," Steve said. "The Pass?"

"And an old woman who remembers her grandmother telling a story about a secret refuge."

"It all lines up," Steve said, and none disagreed. He gave a final nod. "Then let's get to tracking."

"If they're as close as the man said, I'll have their trail today," the riverlord said. "How do you want to make the final approach?"

"If we find what we expect, I'll challenge them openly," Steve said. "Draw out as many as I can to make our job easier once we get inside." He'd never fought in what some other vets called the sandbox, but he had listened to the tales they'd told of going into the mountains, and of the difficulties they'd faced in cave fighting. They may not be facing claymores and tripwires, but a cunning enemy could still make life hell.

"Gonna call them goatfuckers again, ser?" Robin asked, failing to hide a smirk at the memory.

"Something like that," Steve said, ignoring the looks that Yohn and Brynden were giving him. "They won't be able to ignore me."

They did not linger in the village. After weeks of travel, the scent of their quarry was finally before them, and they were eager to hunt.

X

For all that the Prince's Pass was a major route of travel, there was little cause for any who used it to stray from it, and Brynden was quick to find the tracks left by those that did, just where the old man had directed them. They had followed the tracks, perhaps a dozen strong, past an old round tower long abandoned, and then along a narrow trail through the foothills and into the mountains proper. The trail grew ever steeper and narrower as they went, forcing them to travel single file, and Steve made another note to do something nice for Toby as their mounts plodded on without complaint or misstep.

It was late afternoon when they found it. Tucked away where two small spurs split and shadowed by a larger ridge, there was a cave entrance, a tall, narrow thing that perhaps two men abreast could fit through. Before it was a flat space that seemed man made, if long ago, that was less uneven than the approach. To get to it, one would have to approach along a long gully that dipped in and out of full view of the cave entrance. There were no sentries at the entry, however, only a collection of crates and a makeshift stable, not a strong structure but more a circular fence with a shade cloth over half of it, sheltering over a dozen mounts. None of them seemed to be local horses, or suited for the climate.

It had not taken long for their plan to be hammered out, as they spied on the entrance from a distance, hidden behind an outcrop in the shifting landscape. They retreated to prepare, donning their arms and armour, and then all that was left for Steve to do was wait as the others got into position. He shifted, checking over his armour, his hammer in its harness, shield on his arm, and his instrument tucked under the other. All was ready.

A bird call came, echoing down the gully and bouncing off the walls. It was time.

The soldier began to advance, not bothering to try and conceal his approach. Soon, he would near the hideout entrance. Soon, he would know if they were mounting a rescue, or walking into an ambush. Soon, it would be time to fight and kill.

But first, he had to debut the instrument he had been working on for the last four months.

It wasn't quite right - there had been a miscommunication between him and the weaver, and so instead of the Irish tartan of his mother's childhood that she had once told him about, the bag was instead covered in stripes of red, white, and blue. If he had been seen with it back in America, he would have been on the front page and mocked mercilessly for days, he was sure. But he wasn't back in America, he was in Westeros, and he had psychological warfare to wage.

He came to a stop just shy of the makeshift stables, still without any sentry to watch them, and brought the blowpipe to his mouth. Then, he began to play.

First came the drone, and hot on its heels was the skirl, as the sound of bagpipes rang out over the Red Mountains, announcing Steve's presence and his challenge to all nearby. He didn't know many songs, but he had picked up a couple during a NATO training exercise, and for now that was enough as he played a quick march song to hurry his foes along.

He had almost finished the song as the first of them came stumbling out, two men scowling and angry at the racket he was making, clutching at their ears. Their gambesons were black, and their helms sitting loose. One was still fastening his sword belt, but the other saw Steve immediately, and his face purpled.

"Who the fuck are-"

Steve made a rude gesture, and launched into the end of the song with verve, and that was the end of their patience. They rushed him, steel bared, and Steve killed the first with a kick to the head. The second took an arrow through the neck, courtesy of Robin from his position above the gully. The wail of his pipes faded away, and silence returned to the mountains. For a long moment, there was nothing, no further foes emerging, and Steve looked up to where his companions were laying in wait. Beron shrugged, and Steve shrugged back. He gave one last blast from his instrument, a discordant note that pained even his ears, and then started to set it down on the corpse of the man he had killed, careful to keep it out of the dust. He would give them two minutes before he went in.

A minute later, his patience was rewarded. A pack of men filed out from the cave entrance, alert but joking and rough housing. None of them wore helms. Their attitude changed when they saw the corpses of their fellows, Steve standing before them in open challenge. The dozen of them quickly spread out, one dropping a wineskin, swords ringing clear from sheaths as they warily began to approach the man who wore the white star.

Steve pulled his hammer free, unconcerned as they approached, and gave it a swing. It set the air to thrumming with its speed, making the men approaching him hesitate, but more importantly masking the sound of Howland slipping down the spur walls behind them, pronged spear held low. Yohn and Beron were close behind, swords ready, and Steve judged it time.

His hammer spiked the first man down into the ground, and he used its momentum to turn and spin into a broader swing, sending two more flying. Another man thought he saw an opening in the move, only to be cracked in the head by a smooth stone and collapse, while another took an arrow to the temple, joining the dead. Yohn decapitated his man from behind while Howland speared his through the neck, Beron driving his war pick, hook first, deep into the skull of his chosen foe with a single strike. The rest were dead almost before they could realise they were outnumbered as well as outmatched.

Kel and Brynden emerged from where they had lurked in cover behind Steve, ready to join the fight if necessary. A whistle called Osric up from where he had been guarding the horses, and by the time he had joined them, Robin and Ren had slipped down into the gully with them.

"We go in before they have time to prepare," Steve commanded. "There's no telling what traps they have waiting, or if they've got another exit somewhere. No one goes anywhere alone. Understood?"

"Aye Captain," came the practised answers from Osric, Ren, Kel, and Robin.

The others nodded their acceptance, and then Steve was leading the way into the dark.

X

The hideout was no simple cave, but a full network of tunnels. The darkness was deep, and cast back only by the supply of oil soaked torches that their foes kept. It was impossible for their band of nine to clear the tunnels properly, but luck was with them, as it seemed that whatever group they fought against had only used parts of the network. They followed the tracks left in century old dust, ignoring undisturbed paths as they progressed.

The ambushes were many, and twice their stolen torches were close to guttering before they could find more. Blood painted the stone walls in between long stretches of nothing, and it was hard to tell how much ground they had covered. At one point they came across a large chamber, gaps in the ceiling above showing sections of open dusk sky, and an ancient petrified tree dominating its middle. Another time they might have lingered to rest, but not after they found a lady's embroidery and a mug of tea abandoned by gnarled white roots, still warm.

They spent caution for haste, and those fighting beside Steve were given a clear view of what happened when a super soldier was set loose in tunnel fighting. There was little room to swing a hammer, but one would be hard pressed to pick which foes fell to that, and which to his fists.

After what felt like hours, they found them.

A solid wooden door barred their way, and it even held up to the first blow from Steve. The second cleared the way with a great crash, and he led the way through, Kel close on his heels, the others spilling into the chamber that had been revealed shortly after.

They were outdoors again, standing in what had once been an antechamber, but had long since been worn down by the elements, leaving only the ruined remains of walls that had once been built up against the rock of the mountain. The moon cast its light down on them, and somewhere nearby, Steve could hear water flowing.

In the middle of the area, three figures stood with horses, caught in the act of saddling them. One of them was another man in a black gambeson, and upon their entrance he had put himself between them and the two women he was with.

One of them was a stranger, but the other was Lyanna Stark.