A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros (ASoIaF/Captain America Quest, Story Only Thread)
- Thread starter TheWiseTomato
- Start date
I don't think socks are viable in a medieval economy, and neither is a football association likely in a feudal society so none of the reasons for soccer being called soccer apply.
- Location
- Australia
Peggy introduced the sport to Steve, she called it football, and now so does he.
- Location
- Denial
Steve learned a new language. Soccer would be a foreign word, and add some cool mystery to the game name. Socks have nothing to do with it.
See, this makes a lot more sense than that stuff about clothing. I just have doubts that this soccer/football division didn't exist in WWII, and that Captain America would take the side of the Brits in this.
Arimai
Curmudgeon
He'd take Peggy's side regardless of the semantics. The man's pursuing the lady full steam. Nothing in the world will deter a young soldier from winning the woman of his dreams. Except simping. Because Rogers is a macho man, a man's man and not a little panty waist hippy.
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- Location
- La Serena, Chile
So, I just found this story like 3 days ago...well, not completely true considering I knew about this like a few months ago.
But when I read the first chapter I didn't continue with it. I think it was that I didn't liked the idea of Cap alongside Iron Man and Thor being in Westeros. The last two are WAY beyond what this world could throw at them.
But when I decided to give a try to pass time...I fell for this story, thanks to the relationships Steve created with some of the canon characters pre-Rebellion, but specially with those he took under his wing.
There is a massive gap between their backgrounds and mindsets, but what he started with and thanks to Naerys it's almost magical.
Keladry, Robin, Toby, Lyanna. A group that would have belonged to a Tavern-joke that somehow created a beautiful family.
I'm in this story/quest thanks to them. But it's without a doubt that I became a fervent Steve X Naerys shipper.
With that in mind, I want to this share these two cents, even if this site is story-only locked.
I would prefer for not Tony or Thor to appear in the story.
Their massive pressences would overshadow Steve as a warrior and idealistic leader.
And I'm even open to the idea of Steve not returning home, and making a new one here.
Peggy is dead, so no returning to her.
Thanos is dead and the Snap was corrected, so his immediate duty as Avenger is done.
In canon he returned the Stones and went to live a normal life with Peggy. The job was done, the world no longer needed him. So it was a good time to be "selfish" and truly live.
I want this for him. Before and once the true War of this world happens, I want him to be in love with Naerys.
To be able to move on from Peggy and enjoy a new life with her. Peggy did so, why not him?
With the Infinity War over, this is Steve's chance to have a "normal" life. And most certainly he will do something to deal with the Slavery-issue, that doesn't need to be his whole life.
To love, to have chidren, to create something personal for him and those that he love/care.
But when I read the first chapter I didn't continue with it. I think it was that I didn't liked the idea of Cap alongside Iron Man and Thor being in Westeros. The last two are WAY beyond what this world could throw at them.
But when I decided to give a try to pass time...I fell for this story, thanks to the relationships Steve created with some of the canon characters pre-Rebellion, but specially with those he took under his wing.
There is a massive gap between their backgrounds and mindsets, but what he started with and thanks to Naerys it's almost magical.
Keladry, Robin, Toby, Lyanna. A group that would have belonged to a Tavern-joke that somehow created a beautiful family.
I'm in this story/quest thanks to them. But it's without a doubt that I became a fervent Steve X Naerys shipper.
With that in mind, I want to this share these two cents, even if this site is story-only locked.
I would prefer for not Tony or Thor to appear in the story.
Their massive pressences would overshadow Steve as a warrior and idealistic leader.
And I'm even open to the idea of Steve not returning home, and making a new one here.
Peggy is dead, so no returning to her.
Thanos is dead and the Snap was corrected, so his immediate duty as Avenger is done.
In canon he returned the Stones and went to live a normal life with Peggy. The job was done, the world no longer needed him. So it was a good time to be "selfish" and truly live.
I want this for him. Before and once the true War of this world happens, I want him to be in love with Naerys.
To be able to move on from Peggy and enjoy a new life with her. Peggy did so, why not him?
With the Infinity War over, this is Steve's chance to have a "normal" life. And most certainly he will do something to deal with the Slavery-issue, that doesn't need to be his whole life.
To love, to have chidren, to create something personal for him and those that he love/care.
What If? - Bad Influence 2
- Location
- Australia
"You have a unique opportunity here Steve," Tanya said, staring down at him. Her features were half cast in shadow from the candles of the room, and had she not been standing on a table, her cherubic features might have appeared halfway intimidating.
Steve regarded her evenly. Tanya had a way of getting overeager, and making suggestions about things without an adult's understanding of the consequences, like when she'd suggested cutting off food to King's Landing unless the inhabitants dragged Aerys before them. "Let's hear it," he said.
They were not the only two in the room, the antechamber to a suite in the Red Keep. Their companions were also present, some keeping their hands busy as they listened, others just listening with unabashed interest. Lyanna and Toby in particular had looks of intense focus that made Steve wary.
Tanya composed herself, as if preparing to give a business pitch to a room of investors. "In every battle, you led the charge that broke the enemy lines. You single-handedly retook the castles of disloyal lords. You held the bridge at Tumbler's Falls. You crushed the skull of -"
"Alright, alright," Steve said, raising a hand.
"I hear the full chivalry of the Reach ambushed Lord America once," Robin said, not looking up from the small animal figure he was carving. "After a bloody battle, the Reach was forced to retreat."
Steve ignored Robin, hoping once more that if he didn't acknowledge it, they'd stop. He never should have introduced that joke to Westeros. "I contributed to the war effort," he said to Tanya. "What of it?"
"You hold a great deal of influence, and a number of blue bloods on both sides of the conflict will be looking for ways to pay their debts to you," Tanya said. "Before King Robert's coronation, now is the time to call those debts in."
"I'm not sure I'd call them debts," Steve said.
"Please," Tanya said, making a dismissive sound. "One side owes you for killing their enemies, the other for not killing as many of them as you could have."
"Wait," Steve said. "Are you suggesting that I…what, retroactively extort them?"
Naerys snorted as she sifted through a few sheafs of parchment, but said nothing.
"Of course not," Tanya said. "There's nothing coercive about it."
"You could ask for many things, Steve," Keladry said. She put down her knife and whetstone, turning to face him fully. "After any war, there are men who are not ready to put down their swords. Those swords could be put to use, across the Narrow Sea."
"Yeeeess, they could," Tanya said. "But influence could be parlayed into greater influence, which could buy more than the dubious loyalty of whatever soldiers the lords want to part with."
"It's like you were saying about how merchants make their fortunes," Lyanna said. "You need money to make money, and influence for influence."
"You only need a sharp knife for either of those though," Toby said.
"Exactly," Tanya said, a satisfied smile on her face. It wasn't clear who she was responding to. She began to pace back and forth along the table. "Few are those who have contributed as much to the cause as you have, and they all have enemies who don't want to see them profit. The reward for work well done is more work, and there are several prestigious positions yet to be assigned in the new regime."
Steve watched his youngest ward as she paced. Sometimes, he worried about what kind of example she'd been set to act the way she did. Well, all he could do was be a good mentor to her, and try to give her the chance of a childhood she'd missed out on.
"You can't believe Steve would be made Hand of the King," Naerys said, skeptical.
"That's not the right kind of power," Tanya said.
"Tanya, if this is about me becoming King again," Steve began. Robert had laughed and laughed when that story got out, saying it was only right for a daughter to want the best for her father.
"No, no," Tanya said. "I'm talking about the most powerful position on the Small Council: the Master of Coin."
Keladry made to respond, but closed her mouth, frowning.
"Imagine it," Tanya said. "You could take Westeros from a backwater resource export economy to a manufacturing giant. Now, it's true that we cannot beat slave labour on price, but a free worker paid a living wage will always create a superior product to one chained to their bench without hope for reward."
"I'm not sure how I'd feel about investing the time needed for something like that when the Slaver Cities are right across the Sea," Steve said, trying to avoid putting down an idea she'd obviously put a lot of thought into.
"The position would not take up all your time," Tanya said, ceasing her pacing, and her tone grew sly. "I presume Westerosi production would be given quite the boost if a force of indeterminate origin was to raid a Slaver City and liberate a number of key personnel in certain high value industries."
Steve started to think about how he could let her down easily, but then he thought about it. Myr took great pride in their glassmaking abilities, and so did Tyrosh with their dyes. If the slaves that worked as master craftsmen and their families were to disappear, and a competing industry were to spring up in Westeros…
There was a gleam in Tanya's eyes now, as she watched him consider her words. "Just think, the Slaver Cities brought to their knees by the breaking of their monopolies and sensible taxation and tariff policies. They would surely raise their troops in response, but by the time they realised what was happening, it would already be too late. All that would be left to do would be to crush their sellswords with Westerosi forces, outfitted with Westerosi arms and armour made by Westerosi craftsmen, paid for by Westerosi goods."
For a moment, he considered it.
"If Steve were to be made Master of Coin, he'd have to swear oaths to the crown," Naerys said.
Steve blinked, and the darkness of the room seemed to recede, the candles casting light once more. Tanya seemed less like a devil tempting him to make a deal, and more like a young girl with a very healthy appetite for books and learning.
"That would be a bit of a drawback," he said, apologetic.
Tanya sagged. She hopped off the table, looking down. She made as if to raise a hand to her face, but forced herself not to.
Steve felt like a heel. "You had some good ideas though, especially around freeing the slaves to hurt the Cities economically," he assured her.
She looked up, biting her lip. "You could do all these things without swearing to anyone if you conquered one of the Slaver Cities? It would mean a smaller support base, but…"
Keladry looked interested at that one.
"Why don't we put a pin in that, and come back to it after we've dealt with the issues that have cropped up with taking King's Landing," Steve suggested. "That way you'll have some time to think of a proper plan." It didn't take much to show an interest in your dau- your ward's interests.
"Yes, a proper presentation is required…" Tanya muttered to herself. "If you don't want to become Master of Coin, you could still use several of Naerys' ideas about buying property in the city."
"Tanya!" Naerys hissed, holding her parchments to herself.
Tanya looked stricken. "I'm sorry, I thought your proposal was ready."
Naerys sighed, holding a hand to her brow. "No, it's - I was just scribbling ideas down."
"I thought they were very good," Tanya said earnestly. "Buying up damaged property and businesses is an excellent way to establish yourself for a reduced cost when you have influence in the local government."
"I was going to offer them a fair price!" Naerys said. She darted a look at Steve.
"Of course," Tanya said, confused. "It's not predatory to offer a fair price for a burnt warehouse or inn unless you were the one to burn it." She hopped up into a free chair, legs swinging.
Naerys groaned, and Steve stepped in. "Right, I think that's enough on that topic for now," he said. "Robin, how did your visit to your family go?"
"Well, they're all fine, like I said, but uh," Robin said, and here he looked apologetic, "Da was speaking about buying up the building next to his shop because the owner wants to go live with family in the Reach."
"Yes, good," Tanya said. Her chair was in front of one of the candlesticks, and she cast a shadow over the room. "Investing in local businesses is a surefire way to help the city and ourselves." She steepled her fingers.
Something made Steve glance at Lyanna and Toby, and he swore he could see them taking notes in their minds. Maybe he'd been worrying about the wrong kids being influenced. He was sure it'd be fine.
Tanya began speaking about the benefits of expansion to a reputable business, and of franchising opportunities, and he made a note to speak with whoever had been helping her access the Keep library. She was just being enthusiastic about something she had a talent for, he reassured himself. It would all be fine. He was sure of it.
Steve regarded her evenly. Tanya had a way of getting overeager, and making suggestions about things without an adult's understanding of the consequences, like when she'd suggested cutting off food to King's Landing unless the inhabitants dragged Aerys before them. "Let's hear it," he said.
They were not the only two in the room, the antechamber to a suite in the Red Keep. Their companions were also present, some keeping their hands busy as they listened, others just listening with unabashed interest. Lyanna and Toby in particular had looks of intense focus that made Steve wary.
Tanya composed herself, as if preparing to give a business pitch to a room of investors. "In every battle, you led the charge that broke the enemy lines. You single-handedly retook the castles of disloyal lords. You held the bridge at Tumbler's Falls. You crushed the skull of -"
"Alright, alright," Steve said, raising a hand.
"I hear the full chivalry of the Reach ambushed Lord America once," Robin said, not looking up from the small animal figure he was carving. "After a bloody battle, the Reach was forced to retreat."
Steve ignored Robin, hoping once more that if he didn't acknowledge it, they'd stop. He never should have introduced that joke to Westeros. "I contributed to the war effort," he said to Tanya. "What of it?"
"You hold a great deal of influence, and a number of blue bloods on both sides of the conflict will be looking for ways to pay their debts to you," Tanya said. "Before King Robert's coronation, now is the time to call those debts in."
"I'm not sure I'd call them debts," Steve said.
"Please," Tanya said, making a dismissive sound. "One side owes you for killing their enemies, the other for not killing as many of them as you could have."
"Wait," Steve said. "Are you suggesting that I…what, retroactively extort them?"
Naerys snorted as she sifted through a few sheafs of parchment, but said nothing.
"Of course not," Tanya said. "There's nothing coercive about it."
"You could ask for many things, Steve," Keladry said. She put down her knife and whetstone, turning to face him fully. "After any war, there are men who are not ready to put down their swords. Those swords could be put to use, across the Narrow Sea."
"Yeeeess, they could," Tanya said. "But influence could be parlayed into greater influence, which could buy more than the dubious loyalty of whatever soldiers the lords want to part with."
"It's like you were saying about how merchants make their fortunes," Lyanna said. "You need money to make money, and influence for influence."
"You only need a sharp knife for either of those though," Toby said.
"Exactly," Tanya said, a satisfied smile on her face. It wasn't clear who she was responding to. She began to pace back and forth along the table. "Few are those who have contributed as much to the cause as you have, and they all have enemies who don't want to see them profit. The reward for work well done is more work, and there are several prestigious positions yet to be assigned in the new regime."
Steve watched his youngest ward as she paced. Sometimes, he worried about what kind of example she'd been set to act the way she did. Well, all he could do was be a good mentor to her, and try to give her the chance of a childhood she'd missed out on.
"You can't believe Steve would be made Hand of the King," Naerys said, skeptical.
"That's not the right kind of power," Tanya said.
"Tanya, if this is about me becoming King again," Steve began. Robert had laughed and laughed when that story got out, saying it was only right for a daughter to want the best for her father.
"No, no," Tanya said. "I'm talking about the most powerful position on the Small Council: the Master of Coin."
Keladry made to respond, but closed her mouth, frowning.
"Imagine it," Tanya said. "You could take Westeros from a backwater resource export economy to a manufacturing giant. Now, it's true that we cannot beat slave labour on price, but a free worker paid a living wage will always create a superior product to one chained to their bench without hope for reward."
"I'm not sure how I'd feel about investing the time needed for something like that when the Slaver Cities are right across the Sea," Steve said, trying to avoid putting down an idea she'd obviously put a lot of thought into.
"The position would not take up all your time," Tanya said, ceasing her pacing, and her tone grew sly. "I presume Westerosi production would be given quite the boost if a force of indeterminate origin was to raid a Slaver City and liberate a number of key personnel in certain high value industries."
Steve started to think about how he could let her down easily, but then he thought about it. Myr took great pride in their glassmaking abilities, and so did Tyrosh with their dyes. If the slaves that worked as master craftsmen and their families were to disappear, and a competing industry were to spring up in Westeros…
There was a gleam in Tanya's eyes now, as she watched him consider her words. "Just think, the Slaver Cities brought to their knees by the breaking of their monopolies and sensible taxation and tariff policies. They would surely raise their troops in response, but by the time they realised what was happening, it would already be too late. All that would be left to do would be to crush their sellswords with Westerosi forces, outfitted with Westerosi arms and armour made by Westerosi craftsmen, paid for by Westerosi goods."
For a moment, he considered it.
"If Steve were to be made Master of Coin, he'd have to swear oaths to the crown," Naerys said.
Steve blinked, and the darkness of the room seemed to recede, the candles casting light once more. Tanya seemed less like a devil tempting him to make a deal, and more like a young girl with a very healthy appetite for books and learning.
"That would be a bit of a drawback," he said, apologetic.
Tanya sagged. She hopped off the table, looking down. She made as if to raise a hand to her face, but forced herself not to.
Steve felt like a heel. "You had some good ideas though, especially around freeing the slaves to hurt the Cities economically," he assured her.
She looked up, biting her lip. "You could do all these things without swearing to anyone if you conquered one of the Slaver Cities? It would mean a smaller support base, but…"
Keladry looked interested at that one.
"Why don't we put a pin in that, and come back to it after we've dealt with the issues that have cropped up with taking King's Landing," Steve suggested. "That way you'll have some time to think of a proper plan." It didn't take much to show an interest in your dau- your ward's interests.
"Yes, a proper presentation is required…" Tanya muttered to herself. "If you don't want to become Master of Coin, you could still use several of Naerys' ideas about buying property in the city."
"Tanya!" Naerys hissed, holding her parchments to herself.
Tanya looked stricken. "I'm sorry, I thought your proposal was ready."
Naerys sighed, holding a hand to her brow. "No, it's - I was just scribbling ideas down."
"I thought they were very good," Tanya said earnestly. "Buying up damaged property and businesses is an excellent way to establish yourself for a reduced cost when you have influence in the local government."
"I was going to offer them a fair price!" Naerys said. She darted a look at Steve.
"Of course," Tanya said, confused. "It's not predatory to offer a fair price for a burnt warehouse or inn unless you were the one to burn it." She hopped up into a free chair, legs swinging.
Naerys groaned, and Steve stepped in. "Right, I think that's enough on that topic for now," he said. "Robin, how did your visit to your family go?"
"Well, they're all fine, like I said, but uh," Robin said, and here he looked apologetic, "Da was speaking about buying up the building next to his shop because the owner wants to go live with family in the Reach."
"Yes, good," Tanya said. Her chair was in front of one of the candlesticks, and she cast a shadow over the room. "Investing in local businesses is a surefire way to help the city and ourselves." She steepled her fingers.
Something made Steve glance at Lyanna and Toby, and he swore he could see them taking notes in their minds. Maybe he'd been worrying about the wrong kids being influenced. He was sure it'd be fine.
Tanya began speaking about the benefits of expansion to a reputable business, and of franchising opportunities, and he made a note to speak with whoever had been helping her access the Keep library. She was just being enthusiastic about something she had a talent for, he reassured himself. It would all be fine. He was sure of it.
Not sure if this is sarcastic or not but this is Tanya from this series:
The Saga of Tanya the Evil - Wikipedia
Arimai
Curmudgeon
That explains a lot. When she acts out on her psychotic, sociopathic urges I hope Steve brings the hammer down and send her to justice. She is young enough that I hope she can be saved, but with how she's written in the source I doubt it.Not sure if this is sarcastic or not but this is Tanya from this series:
The Saga of Tanya the Evil - Wikipedia
en.wikipedia.org
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What The Heart Wants
- Location
- Australia
KingZephyr commissioned the wedding of Steve and Keladry, with Naerys watching on.
X
The wedding of Lord America to Lady Delnaimn was a popular affair, as much for the event itself as the salacious gossip it seemed to birth with every bit of news surrounding it.
'Did you hear, the Lord America made a bastard Crownlands girl his mistress, and then he put her in charge of his coin! He'll be penniless before the year is out, mark my words.'
'Did you hear, his sworn sword is a woman! The tales about her skill must have been false, after all.'
'Did you hear, Lord America's sworn sword is a noblewoman, and he stole her from her betrothed! I wonder if he's not a foreign noble after all, and just some Vale mountain savage.'
'Did you hear, Lord America was caught embracing his lady knight! Makes you wonder just what she got up to on campaign, surrounded by all those soldiers.'
'Did you hear, Lord America and Lady Delnaimn are to marry! Shame about his mistress; I suppose she'll be packed off back to wherever it is she came from.'
'Did you hear, did you hear, did you hear…'
On and on the tales went, each petty noble and nosy merchant entertained by a new piece of gossip before the last could fade. For Naerys Waters, bastard Crownlands girl in question, it was exhausting. She became well practised in feigned deafness and polite smiles as the day of the wedding drew closer and closer. It was hard, trying to aid in organising the wedding as Steve had asked, when it seemed that everyone she spoke with demanded some new morsel that they could carry to their friends. She felt like an animal on display in some Essosi zoo.
As the day drew closer, Naerys didn't know whether to dread it or welcome it. The happy couple were buried by well wishers and those wanting to be seen wishing them well, every hour of their day even more busy than her own. So busy were they that Keladry had barely had a moment to ask Naerys to watch out for Toby, the bride-to-be worried about her son in all but name. Fresh out of a negotiation where some woman had tried to subtly get Naerys to admit to how large Steve's sword was, she had fixed a smile on her face and agreed.
Toby had just glowered at her after being handed off, before disappearing to the stables as was his wont.
"You and me both, Toby," Naerys had said to his back. It seemed he was just as enthusiastic about the entire spectacle as she was.
Finally, the day arrived. Unfortunately, so did the guests.
"It must be difficult for you," a noble on the wrong side of thirty whose name she couldn't be bothered to remember said with false sympathy. They stood in one of the courtyards that had been set aside for the event, other guests mingling around them, servants carrying trays of wine and food around.
"It was a challenge," Naerys said. The man's eyes lit up at her apparent loose words. "I had never planned a wedding before, but I feel it went well."
Indeed it had, the festivities well attended by some of the most powerful nobles in the kingdoms. She had asked after the traditions of Steve's home and then blended them those of the Faith. The novelty had made the weddings something unique, keeping even the eldest of guests interested and entertained, and that was before the food, drink, and entertainment that Naerys had arranged for had taken centre stage.
"It has," the man said. "But of course, other more personal matters can't have been easy, in light of certain facts…"
"Oh, not at all," Naerys said. "Lord America may have arrived in Westeros without possessions, but he did very well for himself over the course of the rebellion. Unlike those who made poor choices in whom they gave their loyalties."
The noble, who had hitched his wagon to the royalist cause, reddened in embarrassed anger.
"On balance, the wedding hasn't cost him a copper," she added. "So please, enjoy the bounty of the losing side." With that, she swanned away, leaving him to bluster.
"My lords and ladies," a minstrel, one of several Naerys had hired, announced to the crowd, "we are pleased to announce, for the first time in Westeros, a song from Lord America's homeland."
An ethereal young woman stepped up and began to sing.
"Fly me to the moon,
Let me play among the stars…"
Naerys remembered the night at Harrenhal that Steve had taught her that song, and the feelings such a romantic song had stirred in her. She intercepted a passing servant on her way to a more secluded alcove, stealing a pair of wine flutes from his tray. The Arbor Gold was smooth as it slipped down her throat, and so was the second one.
"There are easier ways to ensure you don't remember the evening," a familiar woman's voice said.
Naerys inclined her head to the Princess, as Elia joined her in her alcove. "Perhaps, but this is my first chance to relax without responsibilities in weeks." They may not have met at Harrenhal, but in the weeks after the sack of King's Landing, Naerys was one of the few who could be trusted to watch Elia's back outside the more formal settings, and they had become friends.
Elia smiled at her, sympathetic. "If it's 'relaxation' you want, I could introduce you to my brother," she said.
Having met the terrible flirt that was Elia's brother, Naerys couldn't help but roll her eyes. "I feel like everyone I've spoken to for the last month has thought me to be a jilted lover."
"I'd like to think I know you both well enough to say that a day like this would not have come about with ill feeling between the three of you," Elia said. "It was lovely."
"Thank you," Naerys said. "But you know what the gossips are like. I was never more than Steve's seneschal, and the tales about us were only the product of overactive imaginations," she lied.
"Much like those about Ashara, her husband, and myself I'm sure," Elia said.
"My favourite one is where he claimed you as his prize for the support of the North in the Rebellion," Naerys said.
Elia laughed with good humour, sipping at a wine of her own. For several moments, they watched the people around them, taking in their good cheer.
"Steve and Keladry are very dear to me, but Steve has only ever been a good friend," Naerys said. "I have only the best wishes for them in their marriage."
Elia watched her for a long moment, and apparently found what she sought. "As you say. My offer of introduction stands."
"With how much we saw of him at that feast, I feel like I hardly need one," Naerys said, her tone wry.
"Ugh," Elia said, pulling a face. "There are some things a sister is not meant to see."
The Princess went on her way, drifting off to join Ashara and Ned, and Naerys was left to brood in her alcove like a particularly well dressed grumpkin. Passing servants kept her well stocked in Reach wine and Dornish delicacies, and she only had to pretend that she had no feelings whatsoever for the groom to five more nosy nobles. She began to wonder if she could get away with stabbing one with the steel olive picks she had accumulated, and something of her thoughts must have shown on her face, because they soon stopped bothering her.
She wished the end of the night would come sooner, but time plodded on as slowly as it always did. Eventually, some drunken lord began to shout for the bedding, a call that was quickly taken up by others. Lord America was too fast for them however, lifting Lady America up onto one broad shoulder and fleeing the courtyard, much to the disappointment of any number of ladies.
Naerys left the festivities behind, unwilling to linger. Her bedroom beckoned, and she quickly made her way through the halls to her goal, ignoring the closed door of the next room along, behind which Steve and Keladry were no doubt making use of their marriage bed. Perhaps they should have asked for alternate lodgings, but they had all been used to such an arrangement and had not thought to.
There was not a soul to be seen as she snuck into her room, and she collapsed into her own bed, not bothering to remove her dress. The room she had been given was connected to its neighbour, and she couldn't help but close her eyes, not sure if she wanted to hear anything or not.
The latch of the connecting door was loud as it unlocked.
Naerys' heart skipped a beat, and she quickly rose to her feet, smoothing down her dress. She had thought it would take longer - but no, they wouldn't. She approached the door and pushed at it, biting her lip as the room beyond was revealed to her.
She caught a glimpse of Keladry's muscular backside as she slipped back into bed with Steve, and she paused for a moment.
Steve beckoned to her with his free hand, the other busy under the covers. "You didn't think we'd start without you, did you?"
In her haste to join her lovers, Naerys almost forgot to lock the door behind her. The rumours were bad enough already, but she put them from her mind as she hurriedly stepped from her dress, flinging her smalls away as she fell into the bed with a laugh. She had more important things to tend to.
X
The wedding of Lord America to Lady Delnaimn was a popular affair, as much for the event itself as the salacious gossip it seemed to birth with every bit of news surrounding it.
'Did you hear, the Lord America made a bastard Crownlands girl his mistress, and then he put her in charge of his coin! He'll be penniless before the year is out, mark my words.'
'Did you hear, his sworn sword is a woman! The tales about her skill must have been false, after all.'
'Did you hear, Lord America's sworn sword is a noblewoman, and he stole her from her betrothed! I wonder if he's not a foreign noble after all, and just some Vale mountain savage.'
'Did you hear, Lord America was caught embracing his lady knight! Makes you wonder just what she got up to on campaign, surrounded by all those soldiers.'
'Did you hear, Lord America and Lady Delnaimn are to marry! Shame about his mistress; I suppose she'll be packed off back to wherever it is she came from.'
'Did you hear, did you hear, did you hear…'
On and on the tales went, each petty noble and nosy merchant entertained by a new piece of gossip before the last could fade. For Naerys Waters, bastard Crownlands girl in question, it was exhausting. She became well practised in feigned deafness and polite smiles as the day of the wedding drew closer and closer. It was hard, trying to aid in organising the wedding as Steve had asked, when it seemed that everyone she spoke with demanded some new morsel that they could carry to their friends. She felt like an animal on display in some Essosi zoo.
As the day drew closer, Naerys didn't know whether to dread it or welcome it. The happy couple were buried by well wishers and those wanting to be seen wishing them well, every hour of their day even more busy than her own. So busy were they that Keladry had barely had a moment to ask Naerys to watch out for Toby, the bride-to-be worried about her son in all but name. Fresh out of a negotiation where some woman had tried to subtly get Naerys to admit to how large Steve's sword was, she had fixed a smile on her face and agreed.
Toby had just glowered at her after being handed off, before disappearing to the stables as was his wont.
"You and me both, Toby," Naerys had said to his back. It seemed he was just as enthusiastic about the entire spectacle as she was.
Finally, the day arrived. Unfortunately, so did the guests.
"It must be difficult for you," a noble on the wrong side of thirty whose name she couldn't be bothered to remember said with false sympathy. They stood in one of the courtyards that had been set aside for the event, other guests mingling around them, servants carrying trays of wine and food around.
"It was a challenge," Naerys said. The man's eyes lit up at her apparent loose words. "I had never planned a wedding before, but I feel it went well."
Indeed it had, the festivities well attended by some of the most powerful nobles in the kingdoms. She had asked after the traditions of Steve's home and then blended them those of the Faith. The novelty had made the weddings something unique, keeping even the eldest of guests interested and entertained, and that was before the food, drink, and entertainment that Naerys had arranged for had taken centre stage.
"It has," the man said. "But of course, other more personal matters can't have been easy, in light of certain facts…"
"Oh, not at all," Naerys said. "Lord America may have arrived in Westeros without possessions, but he did very well for himself over the course of the rebellion. Unlike those who made poor choices in whom they gave their loyalties."
The noble, who had hitched his wagon to the royalist cause, reddened in embarrassed anger.
"On balance, the wedding hasn't cost him a copper," she added. "So please, enjoy the bounty of the losing side." With that, she swanned away, leaving him to bluster.
"My lords and ladies," a minstrel, one of several Naerys had hired, announced to the crowd, "we are pleased to announce, for the first time in Westeros, a song from Lord America's homeland."
An ethereal young woman stepped up and began to sing.
"Fly me to the moon,
Let me play among the stars…"
Naerys remembered the night at Harrenhal that Steve had taught her that song, and the feelings such a romantic song had stirred in her. She intercepted a passing servant on her way to a more secluded alcove, stealing a pair of wine flutes from his tray. The Arbor Gold was smooth as it slipped down her throat, and so was the second one.
"There are easier ways to ensure you don't remember the evening," a familiar woman's voice said.
Naerys inclined her head to the Princess, as Elia joined her in her alcove. "Perhaps, but this is my first chance to relax without responsibilities in weeks." They may not have met at Harrenhal, but in the weeks after the sack of King's Landing, Naerys was one of the few who could be trusted to watch Elia's back outside the more formal settings, and they had become friends.
Elia smiled at her, sympathetic. "If it's 'relaxation' you want, I could introduce you to my brother," she said.
Having met the terrible flirt that was Elia's brother, Naerys couldn't help but roll her eyes. "I feel like everyone I've spoken to for the last month has thought me to be a jilted lover."
"I'd like to think I know you both well enough to say that a day like this would not have come about with ill feeling between the three of you," Elia said. "It was lovely."
"Thank you," Naerys said. "But you know what the gossips are like. I was never more than Steve's seneschal, and the tales about us were only the product of overactive imaginations," she lied.
"Much like those about Ashara, her husband, and myself I'm sure," Elia said.
"My favourite one is where he claimed you as his prize for the support of the North in the Rebellion," Naerys said.
Elia laughed with good humour, sipping at a wine of her own. For several moments, they watched the people around them, taking in their good cheer.
"Steve and Keladry are very dear to me, but Steve has only ever been a good friend," Naerys said. "I have only the best wishes for them in their marriage."
Elia watched her for a long moment, and apparently found what she sought. "As you say. My offer of introduction stands."
"With how much we saw of him at that feast, I feel like I hardly need one," Naerys said, her tone wry.
"Ugh," Elia said, pulling a face. "There are some things a sister is not meant to see."
The Princess went on her way, drifting off to join Ashara and Ned, and Naerys was left to brood in her alcove like a particularly well dressed grumpkin. Passing servants kept her well stocked in Reach wine and Dornish delicacies, and she only had to pretend that she had no feelings whatsoever for the groom to five more nosy nobles. She began to wonder if she could get away with stabbing one with the steel olive picks she had accumulated, and something of her thoughts must have shown on her face, because they soon stopped bothering her.
She wished the end of the night would come sooner, but time plodded on as slowly as it always did. Eventually, some drunken lord began to shout for the bedding, a call that was quickly taken up by others. Lord America was too fast for them however, lifting Lady America up onto one broad shoulder and fleeing the courtyard, much to the disappointment of any number of ladies.
Naerys left the festivities behind, unwilling to linger. Her bedroom beckoned, and she quickly made her way through the halls to her goal, ignoring the closed door of the next room along, behind which Steve and Keladry were no doubt making use of their marriage bed. Perhaps they should have asked for alternate lodgings, but they had all been used to such an arrangement and had not thought to.
There was not a soul to be seen as she snuck into her room, and she collapsed into her own bed, not bothering to remove her dress. The room she had been given was connected to its neighbour, and she couldn't help but close her eyes, not sure if she wanted to hear anything or not.
The latch of the connecting door was loud as it unlocked.
Naerys' heart skipped a beat, and she quickly rose to her feet, smoothing down her dress. She had thought it would take longer - but no, they wouldn't. She approached the door and pushed at it, biting her lip as the room beyond was revealed to her.
She caught a glimpse of Keladry's muscular backside as she slipped back into bed with Steve, and she paused for a moment.
Steve beckoned to her with his free hand, the other busy under the covers. "You didn't think we'd start without you, did you?"
In her haste to join her lovers, Naerys almost forgot to lock the door behind her. The rumours were bad enough already, but she put them from her mind as she hurriedly stepped from her dress, flinging her smalls away as she fell into the bed with a laugh. She had more important things to tend to.
Chloe Sullivan
Subdefective
- Location
- 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale CA
I am not sure why anyone would go with this set up, it doesn't seem advantageous as presented…
You had me in the first half, not gonna lie 
Arimai
Curmudgeon
Exactly. This reads more like a bored housewife's fantasy smut of a guilty pleasure than anything Roger's would do.
Chloe Sullivan
Subdefective
- Location
- 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale CA
Well it's apparently a commission, so it's possible that it's exactly that?
Arimai
Curmudgeon
Ahh. That explains the complete 180 of Roger's character into a philandering cad.
NB: Just noticed your avatar. Shame how Mack ended up. Bloody cults should be banned and it's leaders imprisoned or exiled.
Chloe Sullivan
Subdefective
- Location
- 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale CA
My avatar is actually Kristen Bell as Veronica Mars in the show of the same name.
I do think Steve would be more like to marry Naerys, if anyone in Westeros.
Still Waters Run Deep
- Location
- Australia
KingZephyr commissioned the start of Naerys' trade empire.
X
There were few smiles amongst the delegations that waited to make their cases to the new rulers of the city that day, but then they had little reason to smile. Not after Lord America had infiltrated their city, slain their sellswords, commandeered their Unsullied, and seized control of their government. The seizure of the property of the auction house owners and slave breakers was hardly worth mentioning in the face of the execution of the city leaders. The pride of the city was thoroughly shattered, at least for now. All that was left was to divide the spoils.
What had once been the opulent manor house of a leading citizen was now the centre of government for the new regime. Wide open spaces meant to do nothing save announce the wealth of a man who could afford the waste were in the process of being transformed into the offices of the new bureaucracy. Those who had once been slaves, responsible for the hundreds of inglorious but important tasks that kept the city running now found themselves with staff and paychecks, as those who had once bought and sold their very bodies made appointments and forced polite words through gritted teeth in hopes of their favour.
Many who came to the White House came to see the Lord America, and those who did either left in great joy or great despair. There had been some concern at first, on hearing what he had named the government building, that the new ruler was in league with the Faceless Men, but so far the only deaths after the conquest had been of those slave masters foolish enough to try to use their slaves at hostages. The swiftness of their deaths was one of the few consolations to their families.
Not all who came to the White House were there to see Lord America or his chosen deputies, however. One party was shown to what had once been a sitting room for more relaxed entertainments, but was now an office for a young woman who had once been a bastard girl from a backwater seat with scant silvers to her name. She was somewhat more now, and as a servant showed the group of the leading traders and merchants in to her domain, she hid the nerves and anticipation she felt behind a polite smile.
"Welcome," Naerys Waters said to the dozen and change men and women as they settled into the seats provided for them. They were arrayed before her desk, the heavy slab of ironwood commandeered from the personal office of the man who had once owned the building. A range of people they were, of different nationalities and origins, even if they all shared the same loyalty to coin, and she inspected them with a keen eye.
Few responded to her, most staring with ill concealed contempt. One Braavosi gentleman inclined his head.
"Tea?" she asked, ringing a small bell. Two servants entered, one bearing a tray laden with cups and a teapot.
Most declined, interested only in what they had been summoned for.
"Thank you, Zary, Iria," Naerys said to the women as she accepted a cup. She held it in her hands, savouring the warmth.
"We did not come for tea," one of the merchants said, a man with extensive shipping contacts who always seemed to know how to undercut his rivals. "Where is Lord America?"
"You won't be dealing with Lord America," Naerys said. "As the Minister of Trade, you fall under my purview."
Several glances were exchanged, but the men and women in the room were at least nominally competitors, and they had not come as a united group. Naerys had summoned them as she had for a reason.
"You wish to make a deal with us," a woman said, face heavily powdered.
"In a manner of speaking," Naerys said. "There have been a number of changes to the way things are run, and we are here to ensure the transition goes smoothly."
"You have some nerve," a man said in the high pitch of a eunuch. "You throw the market into chaos with your bumbling, you summon us like slaves, and now you wish to treat with us? To negotiate after you have cost us thousands?"
"This is a courtesy," Naerys said. "I -"
"You have a strange grasp of courtesy, you little chit," a man at the back said.
Naerys allowed her smile to fade, and placed her teacup on its saucer. "Then let us dispense with courtesy."
"Yes, let's," the eunuch said. "If you don't want the masses to starve and rise up against you, we will require conc–"
"The teamsters, the stevedores, the harbour pilots? Mine. The warehouses? Mine. The customs house? Mine. The docks? Mine."
There was silence as the merchants and traders stared in shock at her pronouncement. The eunuch seemed to be having trouble speaking, mouth working soundlessly.
"You cannot be serious," one fat man said, jowls trembling with rage or disbelief.
"I'm very serious," Naerys said.
"What makes you think we're going to sit back and allow this?" another asked. "The gall-"
"You don't have a choice in the matter," Naerys said. She took up her tea again and sipped at it.
The fat man's face darkened. "I think you'll find we do. We will see how long your little coup lasts when every ship in the Narrow Sea passes you by." He rose to his feet, intent on storming out of the room.
"Every man that leaves this room without signing this agreement will see his tariffs, and the tariffs of everyone remotely associated with him, tripled," she said.
"You Westerosi barbarian," the man said, scorn clear on his face. "You can't impose tariffs on ships that don't stop at your port." He looked around the room, and something occurred to him as he saw a man from Braavos. He laughed. "Please, let me know how your little scheme goes, trying to triple the tariffs on the Braavosi!"
Naerys smiled, a slow thing more suited to a shark. "What makes you think the Braavosi are on your side of the table?"
The fat man froze, beady eyes darting between Naerys and the few Braavosi merchants present. They had all sat together, and for the first time, the local merchants noticed just how unconcerned they were.
"The Sealord found it most refreshing to deal with Lord America and Lady Naerys," one of the soberly dressed men said. He took a sip of his own tea, delicately ensuring his white moustache wasn't dipped in it.
"You've ruined us," the fat man said, sinking back into his chair.
"No," the elderly Braavosi corrected, "We've ruined you." He smiled. "It's nothing personal. Just good business."
Naerys pushed the contract over to him, and he took up the quill and signed without looking at it. It was all dramatics, of course. The real contract between Naerys' fledgling enterprise and Braavos had been haggled over and agreed upon before they had even stepped foot in the city.
The Braavosi passed the quill on to the man beside him, who accepted it without really seeing it, gaze distant.
"I suppose you mean to bleed us for every copper you can," another man, a noble with a ridiculous beard, said bitterly.
"The Company does not intend to meaningfully change the fees and charges that apply to its recent acquisitions," Naerys said, watching as the man with the quill signed the contract reluctantly, again passing it on.
The man now holding the quill squinted at her suspiciously. "That sounds too good to be true."
"I can shear you again and again, but I can only skin you once," Naerys said.
Like he had a real sword to his neck and not a metaphorical one, the merchant signed, and passed the quill on. The man after him read the contract, but he too signed, as did the woman after him, and the man after her. The gates were opened, and now that some had given in, they would all have to. Naerys smiled.
"There's a sting in the tail, don't pretend there isn't," a woman in brilliant blue robes said.
"Of course there is," Naerys said freely. "You don't expect that we'll leave you with an abundance of coin just waiting to be spent on sellswords, do you?"
Her audience was thrown, and those who had signed looked to be regretting their actions already. The man with the quill paused mid signature, as if there was any other way this was going to end.
"What is it then?" he demanded. "If you're so certain you've won."
"I'm sure you've heard the rumours that Lord America will be announcing the outlawing of all forms of slavery," Naerys said. "You may have to adjust your business practices, now that your employees require payment."
Horror began to dawn across their faces, as those who had grown fat and happy on the misery of others put two and two together and realised that no longer could they crew a ship for the cost of a bit of gruel. Pure schadenfreude danced in the faces of the Braavosi as they watched one of the largest advantages of their competitors turn to smoke before their eyes.
Defeat heavy in the air, quill and contract were passed around the room, until all present had signed.
"Thank you for your cooperation," Naerys said, as she passed the contract to a servant behind her. "I look forward to a profitable relationship with you in the future. You may go now."
Slowly, the leaders of what had once been the premier trading houses of the city filed out of her office. The Braavosi inclined their heads to her as they left, their chipper moods a direct contrast, and then it was only Naerys and the Braavosi leader left.
"I've dreamed of a moment like this for some time," he said, letting out a pleased sigh. "I'll be telling the tale of this meeting for moons to come."
Naerys let out a breath. "I couldn't have done it without your assistance."
The man scoffed. "I'm sure you could have. There would have been some blood, and some minor seizing of property, but that lot lack the strength to oppose you." He leaned forward, fixing an eye on her. "The ones you need to watch out for are those who weren't quite powerful enough to be the city leaders before America arrived. They'll try to fly under the bow, and they've plenty of strength left outside the city itself."
"Steve has a plan for them," Naerys said. "I trust he has it well in hand."
"Well, if Lord America says it is handled, it must be so," the man said. He began to rise. "Give him my best wishes, won't you?"
"I shall," Naerys said, leaning back in her chair. "He asked me to tell you that we'll be able to attend your granddaughter's wedding after all, what with how smoothly our venture here went. If things continue to go well, I may have another proposal for you then."
"Excellent," he said. "I look forward to a profitable relationship with you." The words, a mirror to those she had said to the ex-slavers, brought sharp smiles to both their faces.
Naerys relaxed as she was left alone. The Still Waters Company was off to a smashing start.
X
There were few smiles amongst the delegations that waited to make their cases to the new rulers of the city that day, but then they had little reason to smile. Not after Lord America had infiltrated their city, slain their sellswords, commandeered their Unsullied, and seized control of their government. The seizure of the property of the auction house owners and slave breakers was hardly worth mentioning in the face of the execution of the city leaders. The pride of the city was thoroughly shattered, at least for now. All that was left was to divide the spoils.
What had once been the opulent manor house of a leading citizen was now the centre of government for the new regime. Wide open spaces meant to do nothing save announce the wealth of a man who could afford the waste were in the process of being transformed into the offices of the new bureaucracy. Those who had once been slaves, responsible for the hundreds of inglorious but important tasks that kept the city running now found themselves with staff and paychecks, as those who had once bought and sold their very bodies made appointments and forced polite words through gritted teeth in hopes of their favour.
Many who came to the White House came to see the Lord America, and those who did either left in great joy or great despair. There had been some concern at first, on hearing what he had named the government building, that the new ruler was in league with the Faceless Men, but so far the only deaths after the conquest had been of those slave masters foolish enough to try to use their slaves at hostages. The swiftness of their deaths was one of the few consolations to their families.
Not all who came to the White House were there to see Lord America or his chosen deputies, however. One party was shown to what had once been a sitting room for more relaxed entertainments, but was now an office for a young woman who had once been a bastard girl from a backwater seat with scant silvers to her name. She was somewhat more now, and as a servant showed the group of the leading traders and merchants in to her domain, she hid the nerves and anticipation she felt behind a polite smile.
"Welcome," Naerys Waters said to the dozen and change men and women as they settled into the seats provided for them. They were arrayed before her desk, the heavy slab of ironwood commandeered from the personal office of the man who had once owned the building. A range of people they were, of different nationalities and origins, even if they all shared the same loyalty to coin, and she inspected them with a keen eye.
Few responded to her, most staring with ill concealed contempt. One Braavosi gentleman inclined his head.
"Tea?" she asked, ringing a small bell. Two servants entered, one bearing a tray laden with cups and a teapot.
Most declined, interested only in what they had been summoned for.
"Thank you, Zary, Iria," Naerys said to the women as she accepted a cup. She held it in her hands, savouring the warmth.
"We did not come for tea," one of the merchants said, a man with extensive shipping contacts who always seemed to know how to undercut his rivals. "Where is Lord America?"
"You won't be dealing with Lord America," Naerys said. "As the Minister of Trade, you fall under my purview."
Several glances were exchanged, but the men and women in the room were at least nominally competitors, and they had not come as a united group. Naerys had summoned them as she had for a reason.
"You wish to make a deal with us," a woman said, face heavily powdered.
"In a manner of speaking," Naerys said. "There have been a number of changes to the way things are run, and we are here to ensure the transition goes smoothly."
"You have some nerve," a man said in the high pitch of a eunuch. "You throw the market into chaos with your bumbling, you summon us like slaves, and now you wish to treat with us? To negotiate after you have cost us thousands?"
"This is a courtesy," Naerys said. "I -"
"You have a strange grasp of courtesy, you little chit," a man at the back said.
Naerys allowed her smile to fade, and placed her teacup on its saucer. "Then let us dispense with courtesy."
"Yes, let's," the eunuch said. "If you don't want the masses to starve and rise up against you, we will require conc–"
"The teamsters, the stevedores, the harbour pilots? Mine. The warehouses? Mine. The customs house? Mine. The docks? Mine."
There was silence as the merchants and traders stared in shock at her pronouncement. The eunuch seemed to be having trouble speaking, mouth working soundlessly.
"You cannot be serious," one fat man said, jowls trembling with rage or disbelief.
"I'm very serious," Naerys said.
"What makes you think we're going to sit back and allow this?" another asked. "The gall-"
"You don't have a choice in the matter," Naerys said. She took up her tea again and sipped at it.
The fat man's face darkened. "I think you'll find we do. We will see how long your little coup lasts when every ship in the Narrow Sea passes you by." He rose to his feet, intent on storming out of the room.
"Every man that leaves this room without signing this agreement will see his tariffs, and the tariffs of everyone remotely associated with him, tripled," she said.
"You Westerosi barbarian," the man said, scorn clear on his face. "You can't impose tariffs on ships that don't stop at your port." He looked around the room, and something occurred to him as he saw a man from Braavos. He laughed. "Please, let me know how your little scheme goes, trying to triple the tariffs on the Braavosi!"
Naerys smiled, a slow thing more suited to a shark. "What makes you think the Braavosi are on your side of the table?"
The fat man froze, beady eyes darting between Naerys and the few Braavosi merchants present. They had all sat together, and for the first time, the local merchants noticed just how unconcerned they were.
"The Sealord found it most refreshing to deal with Lord America and Lady Naerys," one of the soberly dressed men said. He took a sip of his own tea, delicately ensuring his white moustache wasn't dipped in it.
"You've ruined us," the fat man said, sinking back into his chair.
"No," the elderly Braavosi corrected, "We've ruined you." He smiled. "It's nothing personal. Just good business."
Naerys pushed the contract over to him, and he took up the quill and signed without looking at it. It was all dramatics, of course. The real contract between Naerys' fledgling enterprise and Braavos had been haggled over and agreed upon before they had even stepped foot in the city.
The Braavosi passed the quill on to the man beside him, who accepted it without really seeing it, gaze distant.
"I suppose you mean to bleed us for every copper you can," another man, a noble with a ridiculous beard, said bitterly.
"The Company does not intend to meaningfully change the fees and charges that apply to its recent acquisitions," Naerys said, watching as the man with the quill signed the contract reluctantly, again passing it on.
The man now holding the quill squinted at her suspiciously. "That sounds too good to be true."
"I can shear you again and again, but I can only skin you once," Naerys said.
Like he had a real sword to his neck and not a metaphorical one, the merchant signed, and passed the quill on. The man after him read the contract, but he too signed, as did the woman after him, and the man after her. The gates were opened, and now that some had given in, they would all have to. Naerys smiled.
"There's a sting in the tail, don't pretend there isn't," a woman in brilliant blue robes said.
"Of course there is," Naerys said freely. "You don't expect that we'll leave you with an abundance of coin just waiting to be spent on sellswords, do you?"
Her audience was thrown, and those who had signed looked to be regretting their actions already. The man with the quill paused mid signature, as if there was any other way this was going to end.
"What is it then?" he demanded. "If you're so certain you've won."
"I'm sure you've heard the rumours that Lord America will be announcing the outlawing of all forms of slavery," Naerys said. "You may have to adjust your business practices, now that your employees require payment."
Horror began to dawn across their faces, as those who had grown fat and happy on the misery of others put two and two together and realised that no longer could they crew a ship for the cost of a bit of gruel. Pure schadenfreude danced in the faces of the Braavosi as they watched one of the largest advantages of their competitors turn to smoke before their eyes.
Defeat heavy in the air, quill and contract were passed around the room, until all present had signed.
"Thank you for your cooperation," Naerys said, as she passed the contract to a servant behind her. "I look forward to a profitable relationship with you in the future. You may go now."
Slowly, the leaders of what had once been the premier trading houses of the city filed out of her office. The Braavosi inclined their heads to her as they left, their chipper moods a direct contrast, and then it was only Naerys and the Braavosi leader left.
"I've dreamed of a moment like this for some time," he said, letting out a pleased sigh. "I'll be telling the tale of this meeting for moons to come."
Naerys let out a breath. "I couldn't have done it without your assistance."
The man scoffed. "I'm sure you could have. There would have been some blood, and some minor seizing of property, but that lot lack the strength to oppose you." He leaned forward, fixing an eye on her. "The ones you need to watch out for are those who weren't quite powerful enough to be the city leaders before America arrived. They'll try to fly under the bow, and they've plenty of strength left outside the city itself."
"Steve has a plan for them," Naerys said. "I trust he has it well in hand."
"Well, if Lord America says it is handled, it must be so," the man said. He began to rise. "Give him my best wishes, won't you?"
"I shall," Naerys said, leaning back in her chair. "He asked me to tell you that we'll be able to attend your granddaughter's wedding after all, what with how smoothly our venture here went. If things continue to go well, I may have another proposal for you then."
"Excellent," he said. "I look forward to a profitable relationship with you." The words, a mirror to those she had said to the ex-slavers, brought sharp smiles to both their faces.
Naerys relaxed as she was left alone. The Still Waters Company was off to a smashing start.
What If? - The Bay of America 2
- Location
- Australia
The fighting pits of Meereen prided themselves on their spectacle, and that meant doing more than simply bleeding untold numbers of slaves dry on the sands. A discerning audience demanded surprise and spontaneity, and that meant more than the classic circle of sand. Some of the most memorable fights, still spoken of years later, had involved elaborate constructions on the pit floor, such as a labyrinth for hunter and prey, or a castle in miniature. Once an arena had flooded its floor and held a naval battle, all in pursuit of ever greater spectacle to please the crowds that lusted for blood.
For Steve and his rebellious freemen, this meant that when they needed to bar the arena entrances, they were not short of material. A master stonemason, sentenced to the pits for a project whose slowness displeased his master, oversaw the barricading of three of the four main entrances, granite blocks placed with frenzied strength and desperate speed to form interlocking barriers that would break any ram used against them.
"How goes it, Mason?" Steve asked, as he arrived to check on their progress.
"This is the last," Mason the stonemason said. He was a pillar of calm as he directed workers around him, broad shoulders speaking of his strength. "That soft handed eunuch will rue the day he condemned me here."
"I knew you could do it," Steve said. There were some who had doubted their ability to secure the arena after taking it, but he had asked them to trust him, and they had. Now that trust was being proven true. The last block was slotted into place, completing a wall that was likely harder to get through than the walls of the arena. "All of you, well done."
Teeth were bared and spines straightened as free men and women heard his words.
"Are you sure you don't want the last entrance blocked?" Mason asked, voice low.
"We need it less formidable," Steve said. "If the slavers saw every entrance looking like this, they'd give up and try to starve us out."
"We trust in your plan, America," Mason said. Eyes that had held only despair when they had first met were fixed on the man who had given him hope. "We'll see it done."
A boy ran up panting and spoke to him, relaying a message. Steve clapped Mason on the shoulder and jogged quickly away, making for the main gate. As he passed the free men and women, many reached out to brush his arms and shoulders, as if reassuring themselves that he was real.
'America, America, America.' The word was muttered by those he passed, a prayer to some, a promise to others. Hundreds of freemen were busy within the arena structure, each doing their part for the plan to come.
When Steve reached the main entrance, a broad arch wide enough for four chariots to ride through, Arthor was waiting for him. The cut on his face had been seen to, and he wore a bandage around his head.
"You were right," the Northman said. "When they saw our hostage, they pulled back and waited."
Outside the arena, across an empty square, a growing crowd of guards gathered. There were even some nobles amongst them, most making increasingly shrill demands of them and pointing at the entrance.
Broad and deep as it was, the entrance did not lead directly to the heart of the arena. It led to an open indoor space that then split off into numerous halls that ran around the circular structure. If it were to be taken, there would be no holding out. They had to hold the entrance, or fall to whips and manacles once more.
"You've done well," Steve said. Unlike the other lesser entrances, this one looked to have been blocked in a hurry, heavy palanquins and service wagons having been dragged into place in an attempt to stymie the inevitable crackdown. Perhaps ten metres of the passage had been blocked so, making it impossible for any sort of formation to force their way in. Any half-keen eye would see that it was a flawed defence, however, with enough gaps and spaces that weight of numbers would surely win the day. The only thing stopping the building force across the square from attacking was the richly dressed effeminate man in the middle of the blocked passage with a noose around his neck, standing on a donkey. The gibbet the noose hung from made clear their threat.
"They won't wait forever," Arthor said.
"No, just long enough for one of his enemies to give the order to retake the arena," Steve said, "and that's all the time we need." He glanced up at the vaulted ceiling above, taking in the wagon wheel chandelier that hung from it. It was large enough to support a grown man, or two small women, and was shrouded in darkness.
Arthor made a sound of agreement, glancing around. Aside from the odd person scurrying across the entrance, and those staying out of sight further into the building, they were alone, but he hesitated.
"Speak your mind," Steve said.
"Madzi mo Loq," Arthor said. He jerked his head towards the man standing on the donkey. "I wasn't expecting that from you, with how much time your speeches spent on being better than them."
"Rising above is important," Steve said, "but sparing his like is only another injustice done to their victims. I'd rather a court with a judge and a trial, but we all know his guilt."
Arthor stared at him, blue eyes intent. "Every soul in this city is guilty in some way."
"In some way," Steve allowed. "Now isn't the time to sit down and draw that line though. Seeing the owner of the arena hanged should get our point across, and we've got proof of his guilt, rather than just assumptions based on their status."
"Be easier just to kill them all," Arthor said, looking back out to the square. Yet more armed men had gathered, and a party of riders thundered up to join them.
"Would it?" Steve asked. "What do we do after we've killed every slave owner in the city?"
Arthor sighed. "You asked this at every secret meeting for a month."
"Well, I was asking the crowd then, and you were always at my back, so I'm asking you now," Steve said, lips quirked in a faint smile.
"We starve, the other cities march on us, we fight, we die," the Northman said, as if reciting an oft repeated lesson.
"This isn't just another short lived slave rebellion," Steve said, serious once more. "This is the start of a new era for the entire Bay."
"Yes, the Harpy's Pit, once an exclusive venue for nobles, now a proud nation of freed slaves," Arthor said dryly.
"Today the pit, tomorrow the city," Steve said. He watched as the newly arrived riders outside the arena barked orders, slowly gaining control over the guards.
"This will be a good death," Arthor said. He sounded content.
Steve side eyed him. "You planning on laying down to die, Arthor?"
"No, I plan to kill every whoreson out there, seduce the daughter of a Great Master for a wife, and die an old greybeard on a warm beach," Arthor said. "But those whoresons get a say in that too."
The guards outside began to form up, a wall of shields and spears.
"Join the others, tell them it's time," Steve said.
Arthor slipped away into the shadows, leaving Steve alone in the entranceway, unarmed and unarmoured. He watched, unconcerned, as spears beat against shields in an attempt at intimidation, the shield wall advancing in lockstep across the square. They could see him over the makeshift barricades, and his calmness seemed to infuriate the nobles driving them forwards. Faster they came, their steps echoing, and he could feel the vibrations in the ground. In the upper level of one of the buildings along the square, he saw a girl peeking through curtains at it all.
It was a shame that a child would see this, but then it was a shame about many things that happened to children in this godforsaken city.
The first rank of guards reached the barricades, and their orderly lines immediately began to grow cramped, as those behind were slow to stop, pressing against those in front. Through the gaps they came, their shields unwieldy as they picked their way through. The once ordered formation was now a mob in the square, and isolated individuals in the entranceway.
Steve began to pick his way through the barricade from the other end, and he slapped the donkey on its hindquarters as he passed it, startling the animal. Madzi mo Loq, owner of the Harpy's Pit and architect of the sick amusements that took place there, began to choke and gurgle as he swung in place, noose tight and grasping. Steve ignored him, coming to a stop in a small area of open space in the middle of the blocked zone, only a few metres across. He waited, breathing evenly.
The first guard to reach him seemed less focused on the one man to block his way, as he emerged into the small space, than on whatever ambush or trap was surely waiting. He died unknowing, skull shattered under Steve's fist as he was pulled in by his spear. The second and third fared no better.
There was a brutish arrogance in the first to come, Steve noticed. They had come expecting to slaughter an unorganised slave uprising, with only the near hysterical accounts of those few who had escaped the arena to inform them. They died easily, sure that there was some trick, or blades waiting in the shadows. Those who came after, the ones who stepped over their corpses, were more wary of their singular foe. It did not save them.
Steve tore a spear from the hands of a foe, and used it to run through two men at once. The maze of the barricade allowed no more than four or five men to reach him at a time, and those after them were often close behind, to their detriment. The stone soon grew slick with blood, and each man to pick their way through to him soon learnt what the dead already knew. This was no beaten down slave pushed past their last rope, no bait for beasts raging against their fate. This was a killer, and they had come to him with bared steel.
The mob outside looked to be organising themselves again, so Steve threw his spear into them, killing three men and wounding two more. Those in the hall tried to take advantage, but they may as well have been moving through molasses next to him. He took one by the neck and snapped it with a squeeze as he headbutted another, and kicked a third back into the man behind him. As the corpses piled up, the paths that had been deliberately left in the barricade began to be blocked, and some guards looked to scale over instead of walk through. Steve took exception to their efforts, stealing another spear and piercing the heart of the first to clamber up. He killed the next two to try as well, and the guards decided that keeping to the ground was the best course of action, even as they were hindered and slowed by their shields and spears.
It only took another minute for the corpses to completely block the way, clogging the warren with dead flesh and the scent of gore. The mob still pressed onwards, but they were stuck in place by their fellows and the cramp of the barricades, no matter how fiercely the nobles outside exhorted them. They began to try to clamber over the barricades once more, now their only option to press on.
Wiping his hand free of blood, Steve brought his fingers to his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. Above, on the chandelier, there was movement. There was a lip to the hall ceiling, a facade that blocked the chandelier from view from outside, leaving the ceiling murky and smoke blackened from the candles that usually sat in the wheel. There were no candles today, but in the wake of Steve's whistle, a wick was lit.
So focused were the guards on the pale man blocking their way, they did not see the clay pot that was thrown from above. It soared towards the mob of men outside, almost clipping the edge of the facade, and broke over one man's head. As it did, it exploded.
Heat and shrapnel burst amongst the tightly packed men, cooking them in their armour and shredding those near it. Another pot was thrown, and Steve caught a whiff of the pitch and naphtha inside, before it too exploded, killing those lucky enough to be right next to it outright. Those unlucky enough to be further away were maimed for life, scorched to the bone or pierced by shrapnel. The quickest thinkers amongst them looked up just in time to see a third pot slung towards them.
Steve gave a second whistle, quicker and sharper. Knives emerged from the barricade, from the palanquins and wagons, slitting throats and rising up to stab deep into groins as the men and women who had been hidden revealed themselves. Some were hidden inside litters, others under or in wagons, but all were hungry for justice and revenge. Taken completely by surprise, those in the killing field of the barricade were dealt with swiftly, and the burnt and shellshocked mob outside broke and ran under the barrage from above.
As the freemen realised that victory was theirs, cheers rose as they screamed and hollered at the fleeing guards and their noble masters, watching aghast from outside. They were not the only spectators. The girl peeking through the curtain from before had been joined by an older woman with a metal collar around her neck, and many of the other buildings had people watching through their windows, a range of horror and blankness on display. The moment in time stretched out, and all could feel it was on a precipice.
Over the corpses and blood slicked stone, Steve walked, threading through the barricade to approach the square, until he stood on the scorched earth just outside. The slavers watched him, not the largest or the tallest they had ever seen, but a giant still as he surveyed all before him. Despite the ratty trousers and blood splatters across his body, he looked every inch a king.
At his back free men and women emerged, knives and swords and spears clenched in tight fists, all of them bloody. They met the stares of the surviving guards and impotently furious nobles without flinching. There was only silence. But then:
"LIBERTY!" Steve roared, raising his fist.
"DEATH!"
Every single freeman with him answered his call, and their voices shook the square.
Steve turned and showed the so-called great masters his back, returning to the arena. Those with him followed suit, many pausing only to spit towards the nobles. Those outside watched as the shadow of the entrance hall swallowed them, and in that moment they knew fear.
For Steve and his rebellious freemen, this meant that when they needed to bar the arena entrances, they were not short of material. A master stonemason, sentenced to the pits for a project whose slowness displeased his master, oversaw the barricading of three of the four main entrances, granite blocks placed with frenzied strength and desperate speed to form interlocking barriers that would break any ram used against them.
"How goes it, Mason?" Steve asked, as he arrived to check on their progress.
"This is the last," Mason the stonemason said. He was a pillar of calm as he directed workers around him, broad shoulders speaking of his strength. "That soft handed eunuch will rue the day he condemned me here."
"I knew you could do it," Steve said. There were some who had doubted their ability to secure the arena after taking it, but he had asked them to trust him, and they had. Now that trust was being proven true. The last block was slotted into place, completing a wall that was likely harder to get through than the walls of the arena. "All of you, well done."
Teeth were bared and spines straightened as free men and women heard his words.
"Are you sure you don't want the last entrance blocked?" Mason asked, voice low.
"We need it less formidable," Steve said. "If the slavers saw every entrance looking like this, they'd give up and try to starve us out."
"We trust in your plan, America," Mason said. Eyes that had held only despair when they had first met were fixed on the man who had given him hope. "We'll see it done."
A boy ran up panting and spoke to him, relaying a message. Steve clapped Mason on the shoulder and jogged quickly away, making for the main gate. As he passed the free men and women, many reached out to brush his arms and shoulders, as if reassuring themselves that he was real.
'America, America, America.' The word was muttered by those he passed, a prayer to some, a promise to others. Hundreds of freemen were busy within the arena structure, each doing their part for the plan to come.
When Steve reached the main entrance, a broad arch wide enough for four chariots to ride through, Arthor was waiting for him. The cut on his face had been seen to, and he wore a bandage around his head.
"You were right," the Northman said. "When they saw our hostage, they pulled back and waited."
Outside the arena, across an empty square, a growing crowd of guards gathered. There were even some nobles amongst them, most making increasingly shrill demands of them and pointing at the entrance.
Broad and deep as it was, the entrance did not lead directly to the heart of the arena. It led to an open indoor space that then split off into numerous halls that ran around the circular structure. If it were to be taken, there would be no holding out. They had to hold the entrance, or fall to whips and manacles once more.
"You've done well," Steve said. Unlike the other lesser entrances, this one looked to have been blocked in a hurry, heavy palanquins and service wagons having been dragged into place in an attempt to stymie the inevitable crackdown. Perhaps ten metres of the passage had been blocked so, making it impossible for any sort of formation to force their way in. Any half-keen eye would see that it was a flawed defence, however, with enough gaps and spaces that weight of numbers would surely win the day. The only thing stopping the building force across the square from attacking was the richly dressed effeminate man in the middle of the blocked passage with a noose around his neck, standing on a donkey. The gibbet the noose hung from made clear their threat.
"They won't wait forever," Arthor said.
"No, just long enough for one of his enemies to give the order to retake the arena," Steve said, "and that's all the time we need." He glanced up at the vaulted ceiling above, taking in the wagon wheel chandelier that hung from it. It was large enough to support a grown man, or two small women, and was shrouded in darkness.
Arthor made a sound of agreement, glancing around. Aside from the odd person scurrying across the entrance, and those staying out of sight further into the building, they were alone, but he hesitated.
"Speak your mind," Steve said.
"Madzi mo Loq," Arthor said. He jerked his head towards the man standing on the donkey. "I wasn't expecting that from you, with how much time your speeches spent on being better than them."
"Rising above is important," Steve said, "but sparing his like is only another injustice done to their victims. I'd rather a court with a judge and a trial, but we all know his guilt."
Arthor stared at him, blue eyes intent. "Every soul in this city is guilty in some way."
"In some way," Steve allowed. "Now isn't the time to sit down and draw that line though. Seeing the owner of the arena hanged should get our point across, and we've got proof of his guilt, rather than just assumptions based on their status."
"Be easier just to kill them all," Arthor said, looking back out to the square. Yet more armed men had gathered, and a party of riders thundered up to join them.
"Would it?" Steve asked. "What do we do after we've killed every slave owner in the city?"
Arthor sighed. "You asked this at every secret meeting for a month."
"Well, I was asking the crowd then, and you were always at my back, so I'm asking you now," Steve said, lips quirked in a faint smile.
"We starve, the other cities march on us, we fight, we die," the Northman said, as if reciting an oft repeated lesson.
"This isn't just another short lived slave rebellion," Steve said, serious once more. "This is the start of a new era for the entire Bay."
"Yes, the Harpy's Pit, once an exclusive venue for nobles, now a proud nation of freed slaves," Arthor said dryly.
"Today the pit, tomorrow the city," Steve said. He watched as the newly arrived riders outside the arena barked orders, slowly gaining control over the guards.
"This will be a good death," Arthor said. He sounded content.
Steve side eyed him. "You planning on laying down to die, Arthor?"
"No, I plan to kill every whoreson out there, seduce the daughter of a Great Master for a wife, and die an old greybeard on a warm beach," Arthor said. "But those whoresons get a say in that too."
The guards outside began to form up, a wall of shields and spears.
"Join the others, tell them it's time," Steve said.
Arthor slipped away into the shadows, leaving Steve alone in the entranceway, unarmed and unarmoured. He watched, unconcerned, as spears beat against shields in an attempt at intimidation, the shield wall advancing in lockstep across the square. They could see him over the makeshift barricades, and his calmness seemed to infuriate the nobles driving them forwards. Faster they came, their steps echoing, and he could feel the vibrations in the ground. In the upper level of one of the buildings along the square, he saw a girl peeking through curtains at it all.
It was a shame that a child would see this, but then it was a shame about many things that happened to children in this godforsaken city.
The first rank of guards reached the barricades, and their orderly lines immediately began to grow cramped, as those behind were slow to stop, pressing against those in front. Through the gaps they came, their shields unwieldy as they picked their way through. The once ordered formation was now a mob in the square, and isolated individuals in the entranceway.
Steve began to pick his way through the barricade from the other end, and he slapped the donkey on its hindquarters as he passed it, startling the animal. Madzi mo Loq, owner of the Harpy's Pit and architect of the sick amusements that took place there, began to choke and gurgle as he swung in place, noose tight and grasping. Steve ignored him, coming to a stop in a small area of open space in the middle of the blocked zone, only a few metres across. He waited, breathing evenly.
The first guard to reach him seemed less focused on the one man to block his way, as he emerged into the small space, than on whatever ambush or trap was surely waiting. He died unknowing, skull shattered under Steve's fist as he was pulled in by his spear. The second and third fared no better.
There was a brutish arrogance in the first to come, Steve noticed. They had come expecting to slaughter an unorganised slave uprising, with only the near hysterical accounts of those few who had escaped the arena to inform them. They died easily, sure that there was some trick, or blades waiting in the shadows. Those who came after, the ones who stepped over their corpses, were more wary of their singular foe. It did not save them.
Steve tore a spear from the hands of a foe, and used it to run through two men at once. The maze of the barricade allowed no more than four or five men to reach him at a time, and those after them were often close behind, to their detriment. The stone soon grew slick with blood, and each man to pick their way through to him soon learnt what the dead already knew. This was no beaten down slave pushed past their last rope, no bait for beasts raging against their fate. This was a killer, and they had come to him with bared steel.
The mob outside looked to be organising themselves again, so Steve threw his spear into them, killing three men and wounding two more. Those in the hall tried to take advantage, but they may as well have been moving through molasses next to him. He took one by the neck and snapped it with a squeeze as he headbutted another, and kicked a third back into the man behind him. As the corpses piled up, the paths that had been deliberately left in the barricade began to be blocked, and some guards looked to scale over instead of walk through. Steve took exception to their efforts, stealing another spear and piercing the heart of the first to clamber up. He killed the next two to try as well, and the guards decided that keeping to the ground was the best course of action, even as they were hindered and slowed by their shields and spears.
It only took another minute for the corpses to completely block the way, clogging the warren with dead flesh and the scent of gore. The mob still pressed onwards, but they were stuck in place by their fellows and the cramp of the barricades, no matter how fiercely the nobles outside exhorted them. They began to try to clamber over the barricades once more, now their only option to press on.
Wiping his hand free of blood, Steve brought his fingers to his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. Above, on the chandelier, there was movement. There was a lip to the hall ceiling, a facade that blocked the chandelier from view from outside, leaving the ceiling murky and smoke blackened from the candles that usually sat in the wheel. There were no candles today, but in the wake of Steve's whistle, a wick was lit.
So focused were the guards on the pale man blocking their way, they did not see the clay pot that was thrown from above. It soared towards the mob of men outside, almost clipping the edge of the facade, and broke over one man's head. As it did, it exploded.
Heat and shrapnel burst amongst the tightly packed men, cooking them in their armour and shredding those near it. Another pot was thrown, and Steve caught a whiff of the pitch and naphtha inside, before it too exploded, killing those lucky enough to be right next to it outright. Those unlucky enough to be further away were maimed for life, scorched to the bone or pierced by shrapnel. The quickest thinkers amongst them looked up just in time to see a third pot slung towards them.
Steve gave a second whistle, quicker and sharper. Knives emerged from the barricade, from the palanquins and wagons, slitting throats and rising up to stab deep into groins as the men and women who had been hidden revealed themselves. Some were hidden inside litters, others under or in wagons, but all were hungry for justice and revenge. Taken completely by surprise, those in the killing field of the barricade were dealt with swiftly, and the burnt and shellshocked mob outside broke and ran under the barrage from above.
As the freemen realised that victory was theirs, cheers rose as they screamed and hollered at the fleeing guards and their noble masters, watching aghast from outside. They were not the only spectators. The girl peeking through the curtain from before had been joined by an older woman with a metal collar around her neck, and many of the other buildings had people watching through their windows, a range of horror and blankness on display. The moment in time stretched out, and all could feel it was on a precipice.
Over the corpses and blood slicked stone, Steve walked, threading through the barricade to approach the square, until he stood on the scorched earth just outside. The slavers watched him, not the largest or the tallest they had ever seen, but a giant still as he surveyed all before him. Despite the ratty trousers and blood splatters across his body, he looked every inch a king.
At his back free men and women emerged, knives and swords and spears clenched in tight fists, all of them bloody. They met the stares of the surviving guards and impotently furious nobles without flinching. There was only silence. But then:
"LIBERTY!" Steve roared, raising his fist.
"DEATH!"
Every single freeman with him answered his call, and their voices shook the square.
Steve turned and showed the so-called great masters his back, returning to the arena. Those with him followed suit, many pausing only to spit towards the nobles. Those outside watched as the shadow of the entrance hall swallowed them, and in that moment they knew fear.
Homecomings
- Location
- Australia
It was overly generous to call it a road, but it led to the small village that was their goal. Mud slowed their wagon, clinging to its wheels, but the mules pulled stubbornly onwards. They arrived in the nameless village in the early afternoon, watched warily by the smallfolk who worked the fields outside, and the old men and women who sat at tasks within the village. Toby led the way, staring about every which way as he took in the sight of the place that his mother had been born in and stolen from. A grandmother pushed a toddler behind her dress as they passed, looking at their fine clothes and finer horses. They might only be wearing their travel gear, but compared to the ragged clothes the smallfolk wore, they might as well be wearing silk.
A pair of thin goats stared at them as they neared the muddy patch of open ground that passed for a town square. Distrustful eyes peered at them through dark doors.
"There's more people here than I would have thought," Steve said, looking over the dwellings. They weren't quite ramshackle, and were constructed with a certain amount of pride, but they would certainly be looked down on by any city dweller. He judged there to be enough to house perhaps five hundred people.
"It's in better condition than many villages I've seen in my travels," Keladry said. Since leaving Riverrun, she had opened up again, free from the thought that she or her name might be recognised. "Perhaps the tax farmers are less rapacious here."
"We're looking at rain, perhaps," Naerys said as she rode up on Swiftstride, peering up at the grey sky.
Robin and Lyanna sat in the wagon, looking about. Lyanna had a disquieted look on her face as she took in the conditions of the village. Dodger sat atop the wagon, ears pricked up.
"This is your show Toby," Steve said. "Whatever you want to get done here."
"I dunno," Toby muttered. He still looked about, as if searching for something. Whatever it was, he didn't seem to find it, and Khal, his black stallion, took him down a village lane without prodding.
In the distance, Steve could hear repeated shouts. There was nothing alarmed about it, but it had the sound of command to it. In the village 'square', one of the houses caught his eye, in better condition than any others. There was also the start of a gathering crowd, a few villagers starting to gather down the side streets and behind houses.
He dismounted, stroking Fury's neck. The white horse nosed his pocket, demanding the apple he had hidden there, and he fed it to him, the horse careful to avoid his fingers with his teeth.
"Hello the village," Steve called, raising an arm to their silent audience. "I am Steve Rogers. I mean you no harm."
The villagers seemed to rustle at his words, several murmuring amongst themselves, but there was no reply.
Steve exchanged a glance with Naerys, and she shrugged.
"Is there someone you trust to talk for you?" he spoke again.
Some of those closer glanced towards the nicer house, but others seemed to glance away, out of the village, in the direction of the commands. Commands which seemed to have stopped.
Some unseen signal seemed to pass around the slowly growing crowd of observers, and their uneasiness began to lessen. He heard numerous footsteps squelching through mud one lane over, but there was also activity within the house that likely belonged to the village headsman. As its front door creaked open, a dozen armed villagers made their entrance onto the square in a half decent marching column, a grizzled old man at their head. From the house also emerged a less grizzled old man who looked like he had probably bathed in the last couple of days.
Both the old men caught sight of each other at the same time, and visibly decided not to get into things in light of the strangers in their village. They stared Steve down, but said nothing, waiting.
"I am Ser Rogers, Lord America," Steve said, projecting for the crowd. "Who speaks for you?"
"Name's Walt," the fighter of the two leaders said. He looked like he wanted to spit, but settled for eyeing Steve like he might bite someone. His hair was almost entirely salt, with only a few small streaks of pepper left, and starting to retreat back from his forehead, but his beard was tidy, and cropped short. His face was lined with the records of a hard lived life.
"I'm Kincaid, milord," the headsman said. He had a similar look to Walt, but he looked younger, less worn. His hair had more colour in it, and he had fewer frown lines. He even wore clothes that were comparable to Steve's travel gear.
"Is there a reason you greet strangers with spears?" Steve asked, gesturing to the dozen villagers behind Walt. They had no armour to speak of, but their spears looked to be in good condition, if old.
Both men made to speak at once, speaking over one another, and they exchanged glares.
"You're not our lord," Walt said. "We don't owe you any explanation." There was a round scar on his left cheek, like an arrow had been shot through it. The old but well-maintained mail and gambeson he wore only added to his appearance as a fighter.
A vein on Kincaid's temple twitched. "We're armed because we need to be, milord. There's mountain clansmen about." He looked towards the mountains to the north. They were probably only a day's ride away, and they seemed to loom over the village, even in the distance.
"Have you been raided?" Steve asked. He remembered what Keladry had said about the habits of the mountain clansmen.
"Not yet," Walt said. "But they're a-comin'."
"And so are Lord Tillet's men," Kincaid said. "And when they see we're under arms, our obligations will increase. It's already going to be bad enough with all the newcomers."
"Tillet didn't defend the villages the newcomers fled, and he won't defend us," Walt said, and it had the sound of a long worn thin argument. "We can wait for spears that aren't comin' and watch as our womenfolk are dragged away, or we can take up our own and gut the fuckers who try it."
"Lord Tillet didn't get warning that the other villages were threatened," Kincaid said. "It were your scouting that gave us that warning in the first place. Can't you be ha-" he cut himself off, regret on his face.
"I'll be happy when the whoresons are in the ground," Walt said, face like stone. He turned back to Steve. "That enough of a reason for you, lord?"
"How many villages have been attacked?" Steve asked.
"Four in the last half year," Walt said.
"Their survivors all ended with us," Kincaid added.
Steve frowned. "And the lord here hasn't done anything?"
"Helped them resettle, patrolled the coastal lands, aye, but chase the raiders up into their mountains?" Kincaid asked, shaking his head. "It's a fool's errand."
"Any force worth their steel could pursue those goat fuckers into 'their' mountains," Walt growled back. "This new Lord Tillet would have left his bowels on the first beach in the Stepstones and his entrails on the second."
"You expect an attack soon then," Steve said, looking over the dozen spearmen. They held their weapons competently enough, but Steve could see that they were new to them.
"Aye," Walt said. He gave a whistle, and eight more armed villagers emerged from another side street, to the side and behind Steve and his companions.
"Stranger take you Walt," Kincaid groaned.
Walt looked unapologetic. "Can't trust strangers."
Toby came trotting back, eyeing the gathering. "Who're these old farts?" he asked.
"Mouthy little shit, aren't you?" Walt said.
"Tobias," Keladry said.
Toby ignored her, sticking out his tongue at Walt. Walt spat at the feet of his horse in response.
"Every now and then, I go and check the spots nearby that a raiding party might camp at if they wanted to hit the village," Walt said, ignoring the glob of spit Toby sent back at him. "I saw a group of thirty approaching one of them two days ago."
"When do you think they'll attack?" Steve asked.
"Tonight."
"Alright," Steve said. "This is what we're going to do."
Steve was a strange lord, newly arrived in the village and without any great entourage. He displayed no true finery, and his clothes were travel stained, but even so, he possessed an undeniable strength of presence. When he spoke, people listened, and the crowd leaned in to hear his words.
"Walt, you and your men will defend the village as you planned," he said. "Keladry and I will lay in wait outside the village and hit them from behind when they attack."
"You'll be becalmed before a pirate if they catch you out there," Walt said.
"It would be simpler if they did," Steve said. He considered the feasibility of playing bait, but dismissed it as unreliable. "Robin, I want you to pick a roof and get yourself up there. Make sure you've got a clear escape path. When the attack comes, your job is to send up a fire arrow in the direction it's coming from."
Robin nodded, face serious. This would be his first time knowingly going into a fight, but he looked ready.
"Toby, you've got the horses," Steve continued. "You'll stay on the move, and pass any messages. Let the horses do what they do best." He'd normally forbid the kid from going near the fight, but he knew better than to give an order he knew wouldn't be obeyed.
The horses stamped their feet, as if sensing their master's eagerness.
"Do you have a plan for your non-combatants?" Steve asked the two village leaders.
Kincaid answered, Walt looking to him. "We mean to shelter in the festival hall. It'll be tight with all our new neighbours, but it has a cellar."
"Naerys, Lyanna, you'll join them," Steve said. Naerys looked conflicted, a hint of disappointment in her eyes, but she nodded. "Naerys, you're the last line of defence in case anyone gets past us."
There was some stirring in the crowd at that, and some who looked to have something to say about a woman bearing arms in defence of them, but Steve pinned them with a stare and they stayed quiet.
"I'll have my boys set up barricades around the hall, block the streets," Walt said.
"Good thinking," Steve said. "Is there anything else I need to know?" There was some murmured discussion, but nothing was forthcoming. "Alright then. Let's get to work."
X
Night fell, and with it a sense of anxious anticipation upon the village. The last rays of the sun were disappearing over the horizon, and their preparations were near complete. Livestock had been locked away safely, streets barricaded with rough cut wood that had been intended for housing, and the villagers, those that weren't fighting, huddled in the festival hall. Robin stood watch atop a tall house, the clear skies and bright moon giving him a clear view of most approaches.
In Kincaid's home, lit by candles, Steve and Keladry made their final preparations. They checked each other's arming doublets and quilted breeches. Keladry insisted on armouring Steve first, and so he stood in the small home of the village leader as he donned his new armour for only the second time, and the first for battle. From the feet up, the thick plate was secured to him, each strap and buckle shaken and checked. It wasn't something he couldn't manage himself, but there was a solemnity to the process that he could appreciate. The cuirass settled onto his shoulders, star front and centre, protecting him from near anything any bandit could bring to bear. The suit Tony had made for him probably protected him better, but there was something about sixty pounds of steel plate that made a man feel invincible.
Keladry moved on to his arms, gauntlet, vambrace, and pauldron strapped and fixed in place on each side. He curled his arms and twisted in place, crouching and rising. His movement was smooth and almost unhindered, although he didn't think he'd be able to bring his foot over his head as he normally could. Finally, he was handed his helm. He looked at its face for a long moment, before placing it on his head.
"How do I look?" Steve asked.
"Like you could take on the Kingdoms alone," Keladry answered.
"Well, maybe one of them," Steve said. "Your turn."
The process was unfamiliar, but Steve was a quick learner, and Keladry was soon clad in her own plate armour, checking her balance and mobility. If Steve was a tank, she was a drone, little consideration for anything but lethality. The armet helm she donned only completed the picture, visor snapping into place, two narrow slits staring out at the world.
Clad in armour, she stood taller, every inch speaking of quiet confidence, like this was her natural state. Still, her helm tilted towards Steve, silently questioning.
"You look strong," Steve said. "Did you fight much, the year you and Toby were alone?"
Keladry flipped her visor up, revealing hazel eyes. "Bandits, here and there. Once a group of men at arms that had been sent to harass another lord's village. Not mountain clansmen though, not since the ambush."
"They won't know what hit them," Steve said. "You ready?"
She strode over to the wall, against which her glaive leaned. Two metres of wood, and another half metre of blade, ensured that she would outreach near anyone on the battlefield. "I'm ready."
Steve took up his shield, strapping it to his arm, and set his hammer into the harness on his back, the head down at his waist. He felt a stirring within him, a nostalgia that harkened back to the early days with the Avengers, almost as if he could look over his shoulder and see Tony and Clint arguing about arrows, or Thor idly swinging his hammer. It passed, and he clapped Keladry on the shoulder. "Let's go be heroes."
X x X
In the lee of a small hillock, Steve and Keladry waited. To the south, across several fallow fields, they could see the village, torches lit throughout in an attempt to make it seem like they were unaware of the coming raid. Steve waited with inhuman patience gained over many long watches and stakeouts, and Keladry took her cues from him as they kept their vigil. It had been some few hours already, and they did not know how many more were to come.
Then, a flaming arrow rose from the village. It shot to their left, briefly illuminating a number of figures creeping through the fields to the east. There was a scream of pain as one of them was hit in the side.
"Charge, quietly," Steve ordered. He broke into a jog, and Keladry followed.
The raiders were perhaps one hundred metres away, but the two warriors ate up the distance, their breathing steady. Perhaps some knights would think it inadvisable, but Steve could run for days, and Keladry had long since been introduced to the joys of the suicide run after watching his exercises. Metal clanked and rattled, but the raiders were too distracted to see them coming, trying as they were to avoid the arrows speeding out of the darkness towards them as they ducked low and charged the village. Already two more had shafts sticking from them, and as the warriors neared, one of them keeled over, dead.
They hit them side on, the raiders blind to the presence until it was too late, so focused were they on closing with the village. The field was watered with blood as Steve and Keladry crashed through the dozen or so men. Steve knocked two clean off their feet with a single sweep of his hammer, leaving them wheezing, while Keladry decapitated one and drove the iron shod base into the temple of another. They careened through to the other side, leaving their foes in disarray behind them.
Some turned, others tried to keep charging, but their momentum had been lost. Clad in furs and mismatched armour, many of them wore old burn marks proudly, and they snarled as they saw the two armoured warriors before them. They cursed them in a language that Steve didn't recognise, but Keladry cursed them right back, and they reared back in shock and offence. Whatever she had said, it was enough to turn them from the village, and they charged, howling.
Seven charged two, but it was not nearly enough. Axes and swords crashed against plate and were ignored as skulls were cracked and limbs carved from bodies. Keladry disembowelled the final two with a single sweep of her glaive, leaving them screaming in the dirt. She put them out of their misery with precise cuts to their throats, and then saw to the others that Steve had left wounded and broken.
"Don't see much use for prisoners?" Steve asked.
"Not of mountain clansmen," Keladry answered. She cleaned her blade on the fur of one of the fallen.
The sound of combat reached them, coming from the village. The fight was not yet done.
"Kel, head to the hall, make sure it's still safe," Steve said. "If you don't join me at the fight afterwards, I'll assume there was trouble and come to you."
"Aye," Keladry said.
They split, running for the village and their goals. Steve could still hear the occasional buzz of an arrow fired, and the pained shouts of wounded men. He followed it to the village square, and there he found a scrum of men, fighting and dying. Side on to them he was, and he could see the villagers valiantly warding off the clansmen who were laughing and roaring, drunk off bloodlust. The clansmen were outnumbered, only ten of them, but it was clear which of the groups were the better fighters, some spearmen crawling away from the fight, others still and bloody on the ground. The only thing keeping them from being overwhelmed was Walt, standing in the centre of the wavering line. He wore an old maille hauberk and a skullcap, and his bared teeth were outlined with blood, as if he had torn out a man's throat with them. The clansmen near him were wary, but they would not be deterred forever.
Steve made his entrance without ceremony, charging into the pack at a sprint. He did not bother with shield nor hammer, simply bulling his way through the enemy, and they were left scattered in his wake. Limbs cracked and bones were crushed as Captain America decided that he had a pressing need to be on the other side of them.
Walt was the first to take advantage, driving his spear into the gut of the leader and tearing it out, leaving the man shrieking with pain. The scent of blood and shit was heavy in the air, and the old soldier added to it as he gave another clansman a wound to match. The other spearmen soon followed his lead, and the raiders had no chance to recover from Steve's entrance before generational fury was vented upon them, each raider speared half a dozen times. Soon the only sound was the panting of the survivors as they regained their breath, and a brief, wet choking as one of the clansmen tried to breathe with a torn out throat.
"There's a dozen or so dead in the eastern field," Steve said to Walt. He quickly counted the bodies in the dirt again. "You said you saw about thirty?"
"At least," Walt said, leaning on his spear. He spat, trying to clear the blood from his mouth, and wiped his face with the back of his hand, but it only served to smear the blood further.
Keladry had yet to join them, but there was no sign of Toby either, and he misliked it.
"Toby went west with the horses, but he hasn't come back yet," Robin said. The boy was crouched on a nearby roof, and he seemed to have been hopping from house to house.
Steve hesitated, but only for a moment. He might have told Keladry he would join her if she did not come to the fight, but he knew her well enough to know she'd want him to see to Toby. "Robin, head to the hall and make sure all is well. Take some of the spearmen with you. Walt, you'll see to your wounded?" He received a nod from him, and the villagers in the best shape headed over to Robin as he slipped down from the rooftop. While at another time some might argue at being told to follow a teenager, after Steve's entrance to the fight, none would gainsay his orders. "I'm going to find Toby. Watch each other's backs; we're almost through this."
No time was wasted, the feeling of time slipping away while a companion might be in danger nagging at them. As Steve loped through the village, armour clattering as he went, he passed two more corpses with arrows in their necks. He soon left the settlement behind, and he slowed as he beheld the sight before him.
The good news was that Toby was fine. He was fine because the raiders who had attempted to attack from this direction had been reduced to a bloody, mangled mass in the dirt. Even as he watched, Toby led another pass as he sat atop Redbloom, the other horses following behind. Even one of the mules, Bill, the one that so often butted heads with Keladry's warhorse, had joined in the carnage, doing his best to keep up at the rear of the herd. A raiding party might be a threat to a peaceful village and the untrained smallfolk who lived within, but they had clearly come off second best in this encounter.
Toby saw Steve and trotted over to him, the other horses following. Blood and gore dripped form their hooves. "What'd you come 'ere for? I got it handled."
"Pass messages, I said," Steve said, voice dry.
"I sent a message," Toby said, shrugging. "'Ow'd the rest go?"
"Fine so far," Steve said, "but some might have slipped through to the hall; I sent Keladry to check and Robin to support her with some spearmen."
"Kel's fine," Toby said, sure of her skill. "But Steve, these're Burned Men."
"Burned Men?" Steve asked.
Toby spat to the side. "Bastards they are. No clan wants to fuck with them."
"You can tell me about them once we're sure they've been dealt with," Steve said, "and after Keladry hears about your language."
Toby gave him a betrayed look. Steve was unimpressed.
"Come on," Steve said. "I can't hear any fighting, but let's make sure everyone is ok."
X
The festival hall was only two lanes away from the square, but from the bodies that lay before it, it seemed that several raiders had managed to sneak past and try their luck at those protected within it, not that it seemed to have done them much good. Two bodies lay by the main door, throats cut messily, and Naerys sat near them, bloody short sword over her lap and Dodger beside her, jaw flecked with blood. She was pale but unharmed, and was talking quietly with Keladry. There were two more bodies further away, one missing its head, a move Keladry seemed fond of, but the other had been cut clean in two at the waist, entrails spilling out from the torso in a macabre display. There was one last clansman, but this one still lived, kneeling in the dirt as Walt stood behind him, spear pressed into his back. Some of the other spearmen were gathered, but most were still seeing to the rest of the village.
"All well?" Steve called as he neared.
"Aye," Keladry answered. "If there are any clansmen left, they've long fled."
"Just this last bit of mountain scum left," Walt said, jabbing the captive with his spear, "and we'll fix that soon enough."
"The sentence for banditry is hanging, right?" Steve asked. Walt clearly had a grievance with the mountain clans, but even so, he wouldn't sit by and watch a prisoner be abused, no matter their crimes.
"He'll hang, don't worry," Walt said, although he did ease off with his spear.
The captive had been grimly quiet, but he looked up as seven horses joined them. Recognition lit in his eyes, and a horrible grin spread across his face, revealing crooked and missing teeth. "Didn't think I'd ever see you alive again boy," he said, looking at Toby. His accent was harsh, but he spoke Westerosi easily enough.
"Chet," Toby said, voice flat. There was a coldness in his eyes.
"What'd you do, run off after the raid that killed your Da?" Chet said. "Pretend you're not some clan's get and lie your way into being a bed servant for some Andal?"
"Still talking through your arse then," Toby said, sneering. "See nothin's changed. Piss in anyone's porridge lately?"
Chet snarled at Toby, but kept his calm. "You know what has changed though boy? Now I get to fuck your Ma whenever I want, instead of just when I catch her out alone."
Toby's face went still.
"Toby," Keladry said, voice warning, but Toby ignored her, not looking away from the captive.
"I ever tell you that I might be your daddy?" Chet said. "You were born not long after the first time I had your Ma, but it wasn't the last."
Walt struck him in the back of the head with the butt of his spear, but the raider winced and ignored him.
"Yeah, you and that streak of piss you called Da not coming back from that raid was real good for me and the lads," Chet said. "Your Ma's cunt has been doing the work of ten-"
Redbloom whirled and kicked Chet in the head, caving it in with a sick crunch. The force of the blow pushed him back onto Walt's spear, and it pierced clean through his chest. Redbloom galloped away into the darkness, and Keladry jumped onto Malorie without pause, chasing after him.
"Guess he won't be hanged after all," Walt said, pulling his spear free with a squelch.
Steve looked down the lane his friends had disappeared down. It was easy sometimes, to forget that Toby was hardly ten. Come the morning, he would speak with them, and they would plan their next steps. For now though, they would need their space.
"See to the corpses," he commanded. "Any wounded, take them to the village healer, and I'll help aid them."
The raid had been repulsed, the battle won, but the execution of the last raider had left a sour taste in his mouth, and not because of its manner.
X
The morning came, and with it questions. Keladry and Toby had returned an hour after they had disappeared the previous night, both on Redbloom. Despite the hardness of her plate armour, the boy had been sleeping as he leant back into her. Kel had brooked no questions, carrying Toby into their tent and laying him down on his bedroll. As the sun rose, they all gathered in the main section, some more well rested than others. There was an air of expectation, and all were watching Steve as he stood at one end of the 'room', arms crossed.
"I don't think that there's any question of what we're going to do next," Steve said, watching Toby as he spoke. Gone was the chaotic but eager child who was happy so long as he was around horses, replaced by a kid with a helpless anger, mind bent on only one thing. "What we need to decide on is the how. Toby, these Burned Men, they're the clan you walked away from?"
"My clan weren't no Burned Men," Toby said. "They were Mountain Runners, but they must've been folded into the Burned."
"Burned Men are one of the larger clans," Keladry explained. "Like the others, they've plagued the Vale for centuries, constantly raiding and stealing women."
"Why are they called the Burned Men?" Lyanna asked. She sat on the floor, holding Dodger to herself as she scratched him behind the ears.
"Because when they come of age, they burn a part of their body off," Keladry said.
"No one wants to fuck with a clan full of people like that," Toby said.
"Do you know where this clan lives?" Steve asked.
Toby shook his head. "They move, so the knights don't come in and wipe 'em out," he said. "And my clan moved more than most, 's why we were called the Mountain Runners. I dunno where they'd be now, being taken in by the Burned."
"How deep into the mountains are they?" Steve asked.
"Deep," Keladry said. "They've been there for thousands of years, and they know their lands well."
"Their numbers?"
"No one knows."
Steve frowned, considering. They didn't need to conquer the mountains, a good thing since the might of the Vale had apparently failed at that for the last few thousand years. All they needed to do was find a specific person in a large swathe of hostile mountains, and get them out. Doable. The question was how.
"Do the Burned Men have enemies in other clans?" Steve asked.
"Plenty," Toby said.
"Would they work with us?"
"No chance. Not with lowlanders."
"What about a neutral ground for a challenge?" Steve said. "Could we win your mother back from them?"
"The only honour the mountain clans have is reserved for each other," Keladry said. "They've none to spare for lowlanders."
"'Lowlanders'," Steve said. "Is that all they think of people outside the clans?"
"At best," Keladry said.
"So force is our best option."
"The only option," Keladry said. There was a heat to her that she hadn't shown before, her disdain for the clans showing through the composed front she usually wore.
"We could approach the local lord," Naerys said, having been quiet until now. "Kincaid said that he had been contacted for aid. He would be obliged to help us, given our defence of his people."
Robin and Lyanna made similar noises of disgust, perhaps louder than they had intended given their guilty looks. "Sorry Naerys," Robin said.
"I know," Naerys said, pursing her lips. "But it is an avenue we could pursue."
"The alternative is heading into the mountains on our own," Steve said.
"Yeh could recruit a few lads from the village," a new voice said, speaking from outside the tent.
Steve looked sharply in its direction, watching as a shadow rose up from where it had lain flat next to the eastern tent wall. They must have approached when it was still dark to do so unseen or unheard. "Show yourself," he commanded.
Walt stuck his head in through the tent flap, and the rest of him soon followed. "Apologies for the intrusion, but if you're dealing with the mountain clans, I want in," he said.
"You eavesdrop on every visitor that passes through your village?" Steve asked, somewhat annoyed. Whether it was at himself for missing the man or the man for the intrusion, he couldn't say.
"Just the nobles," Walt said.
"How does that go for you?" Steve asked.
"Well, seeing as they never catch me," he said, shrugging. His clothes were dusty from where he had crawled and hidden out of sight, but he was unbothered.
"You want something," Steve said.
"I do," Walt said.
Steve waited, watching the man. He was an old soldier that still had a few fights in him, going by what he had seen last night, and it was best to be wary of those.
"I lost some boys last night, and others have little will to take up the spear again," Walt said, "but some got a taste for it. You bring me with you when you go to rescue this one's mother, and I'll bring 'em, and train them as part of the deal."
"You'll train them," Steve said, questioning.
"I fought against the Blackfyres in the Stepstones, and learned my craft well," Walt said. He looked older than Barristan, but that was the harsh life of a smallfolk telling, and he still held a wiry strength.
Steve considered the man. The offer wasn't without merit.
Recruit from the villagers and head into the mountains. The raiding party will have left some manner of trail to follow. x
Approach the local lord, Tillet. He should have some idea of where the mountain clan might be camped, but any trail the raiders left would be lost.
Walt held his stare, unbothered.
"Why do you want this?" Steve asked at length. He had a suspicion, but he wanted to hear it from the man.
"Clans took someone from me once," Walt admitted. "I mean to get her back, or make them pay."
"Then if you think your lads are up for it, we'll recruit them and follow the trail the raiders left," Steve said.
"Good," Walt said, cold satisfaction in his voice. "I'll tell them you agreed." Steve cocked an eyebrow at him, and he snorted a laugh. "I knew what I wanted before I came here. We'll be ready to leave tomorrow." He let himself out of the tent, a spring in his step.
"Bit rude, innee," Toby said, a hint of his old self coming through.
Keladry laid a hand on his head, tousling it lightly, but she was smiling.
"This is going to be dangerous," Steve said, looking to the others. "More dangerous than is right for me to exp-"
"Shut up, Steve," Naerys said.
"I'm probably safer with you in the middle of a mountain clan camp than I am here on my own," Lyanna said.
"If Toby is going, I'm going too," Robin said.
Dodger barked.
Steve sighed, unable to hold back a rueful smile. "I guess that's that then. We leave tomorrow."
X
It did not take them long to prepare, shifting what equipment they would need from the wagon to the saddlebags of their horses and the backs of their mules. They would have no comfortable tent for their journey into the mountains, and no wagon to carry their possessions, for what roads there were would not serve well enough, but they would have their mounts and their bedrolls. The rest of the day was spent relaxing, taking advantage of the calm before their march into the deeply hostile territory of a people who had been resisting the rulers of the land for thousands of years, to rescue a woman who had been written off as lost the moment she had been taken nearly a decade ago. For anyone else, it would have been a fool's errand. For Steve…he'd taken worse odds.
The villagers gave them a solemn send off, thankful for their aid but doubtful of their chances. Walt had eight young men with him, spears on their shoulders and packs hoisted on their backs, even if they seemed a bit empty. They had looted what armour the raiders had worn, and each of them had some basic protection. All of them had family saying their farewells, but none had sweethearts they were leaving behind, and by Steve's judgement this was by Walt's design. Grey clouds rolled in as they left the village behind, and it fit the mood.
Steve set a swift pace, and Walt took advantage to drill proper marching technique into the men. They were strong young men, all seasoned by the labour of a farm, but they weren't anything close to soldiers yet. Toby rode ahead, as was his habit, and Keladry led their small column, eyes alert for foes. The others followed behind so as not to stir up dust to be marched through. As midday approached, Steve slipped off Fury to march beside the old man.
"You seem to know where we're going," Steve said. Walt had been subtly nudging their path since their departure.
"We don't have a lot of things that a soldier might need, back in the village," Walt said. "I bet the clansmen camp will have a few things though."
"Acquire the supply of the enemy for the good of the army," Steve mused.
"That's it," Walt said. "You've served before then."
"I've done my time," Steve said.
"Hmm." Walt eyed him, taking his measure. "You've got a bit of babyface, but you fight like a veteran."
"Thanks," Steve said, straight faced. They marched in silence for a time, and Steve subtly extended their lead from the rest. "Why were you so eager to get these fellas along on this trip?"
"Because I like our chances with them better than if it was just an old man, two knights, a woman and some kids," Walt said.
"You saw how they fought," Steve said. "And you saw what I did. You've got another reason."
Walt chewed the inside of his cheek, the one with the scar tissue in it. "Because as soon as that fight was over, I saw that they'd got a taste for it. They wanted more, just like I did twenty years ago. I was lucky, and had Ninepenny Kings making trouble, but there's no war on the horizon for them."
"So you want to get it out of their system," Steve said.
"Show them it's not all fun and games, aye," Walt said. "That, and Kincaid was right about one thing. Tillet will increase what we owe if he sees we've men under arms. If we can avoid that, even get some boys sending coin home, we could really start to flourish as a village."
"No guarantee they all come home."
"That's true," Walt acknowledged. "But I chose who I chose for a reason, and I'll do my damndest to get them home safe. That's if they don't get a taste for the life."
"I had thoughts about starting a mercenary company," Steve said. "But this was in Essos, not Westeros."
"Why would a noble want to do a thing like that?" Walt asked. The land they walked now was starting to grow hillier, and less like the sort of land that a farmer might eye appraisingly.
"I saw things I wanted to change," Steve said.
"Things you wanted to change, in Essos," Walt said. "You're not talking about what I think you're talking about."
"Why not?"
Walt snorted. "Pick something easier first, like wiping out the clans."
"Everything is too hard until someone does it," Steve said. He wasn't going to go into the ethics of wiping out a group of people with a soldier in a feudal society. "Something to think about, if the lads get a taste for fighting."
"As you say," Walt said.
"What did you say their names were, anyway?" Steve asked.
"Don't tell them I told you, but they're Ed, Jon, Symon, Gerold, Tim, Humfrey, Will, and Hugo," Walt said. "I said you wouldn't acknowledge them until they could maintain a march and hold a spear line."
"That's a reward for them?" Steve said.
"They got a bit excited about the way you knocked over those raiders, don't let it go to your head, milord," Walt said.
Steve was starting to get the feeling that Walt wasn't too concerned with that whole lèse-majesté thing.
"By the time we reach the mountains, I'll have these lads good enough to not die to the first savage that runs screaming at them with an axe," he continued.
"They did alright in the raid," Steve said.
"They were one more death from breaking discipline," Walt said quietly, after glancing back at them, "and they still held longer than I thought they would."
"Having something to fight for will do that," Steve said.
Walt grumbled an agreement. "They're no household guard, but I suppose they did well enough."
The two of them spoke on less important matters as they continued on, setting a picture-perfect example of a march for the recruits to mimic, and by early afternoon, they were nearing the camp that the raiders had left behind. It was likely deserted, but still they approached cautiously, Steve and Keladry leading the way, the recruits following under Walt's strict eye.
It was indeed empty, but there was evidence of somewhat recent activity. Much of the camp looked to have been left in a messy state, as if the owners of the tents and bedrolls were expecting to return, but there was evidence of another that had been present. It seemed there was at least one survivor of the raid on the village.
"What does this mean for us?" Steve asked. "Will the Burned Men be on the lookout for retaliation?"
Walt shook his head and spat.
"They shouldn't," Keladry said. "Even the greatest of Houses rarely pursue when the raiders get deep enough into the mountains."
"Cowards," Walt grumbled.
"They know that men who go in rarely come out," Keladry finished.
"Let's get to looting then," Steve said. "We've still got plenty of daylight."
They did so, and by the end of it, each recruit had a bedroll and a tent to sleep in, even if some needed a beating and an airing first. There was little of value otherwise however, the most useful loot having been carried by the raiders and taken from their corpses. Before long, it was time to continue on, each man's pack a little fuller, and their backs a little straighter, feeling more like proper soldiers.
The mountains beckoned.
X x X
The Mountains of the Moon made even the largest of men feel small, and there was a curious sense of being disconnected from the outside world. Through valleys and along ridges they walked, Toby leading the way as he followed marks and signs only apparent to him. While the Arryns might lay claim to the entirety of the Vale, it was clear that there were large swathes of the mountains that knew no lords but the mountain clans. Fields that had never been tilled and mountains that had never been quarried as far as they could see, the barest remains of what might once have been a village the only sign of lowland presence they encountered.
By day they marched, breaking camp with the dawn and following the trails. Come the afternoon, they stopped while the sun still shone and trained. Their options were limited by their need to march again the next day, but Steve and Walt still had plenty of options to improve their raw recruits. The young men soon came to curse the very idea of the push up and the plank, to say nothing of the spear drills they were put through. The weapons may not have been designed for it, but Keladry had them following her glaive exercises as a group, drilling a basic pattern into their minds and muscles. Any cockiness at their growing skills was tamped down by a round of hand to hand in the ring with Steve as they were manhandled like errant children in the pursuit of teaching them basic self-defence. If there were any complaints to be had, the men kept quiet when they saw the kids learning the same moves they were, and a woman more advanced.
In the mountains, there was no lord to lay claim to the deer, or to enforce poaching laws, and so the party ate richly each night. Robin would venture out with Toby and a horse, and return with a hart slung over its back. They had what roots and tubers could be found, but they were few, and despite the eagerness the men showed to be eating so much meat, Steve would be glad for the variety of civilisation when they returned.
Gutting and dressing the hart was a task Steve had taken for himself, finding himself enjoying it, although Dodger constantly begged for scraps. He would watch as Keladry put the men through their drills, leading them with her glaive, while Toby and Walt squabbled over nothing nearby. Robin would produce the reed ring he had taken from the archery competition at Harrenhal, and spend the late afternoon shooting. He was starting to core the ring more often than not, and Lyanna would cheer him when he did. Naerys liked to sit and read, keeping an eye on them all.
After everyone had been thrown around in the dirt by Steve in the name of training, all were ready for a hot meal, the spices he had restocked before leaving Riverrun doing wonders for morale.
On the seventh night of their journey into the mountains, Steve watched the stars emerge as night fell, enjoying the warmth cast by the fire. They were all gathered around it, small conversations taking place as they digested their meal. The villagers had made to set up their own area the first night they made camp, but Steve had waved off the idea, and they had shared a fire each night since. He had apparently underestimated the social divide between the smallfolk and a lord however, as none of the recruits had struck up a conversation with him, and even Walt had shown a more respectful side. He ignored the thought that it had taken time to work on Robin and Lyanna to get them to drop the formality, arguably the only two of his companions who had joined his retinue in anything approaching normal circumstances.
"Excuse me, Ser Steve?"
Maybe tonight was the night, Steve thought. "Yes, Symon?"
Symon swallowed as he became the focus of attention of all around the campfire. He was a tall and slender man with dark hair, but the week on the march had already done him some good. "I was wondering, well me and the lads were wondering," and here there were some entirely silent recriminations from his fellows, "what part of the Kingdoms you come from?"
"I'm not from the Seven Kingdoms," Steve said.
"I come from the West."
"I'm from a great southern land."
Leave it at that. x
Glances were exchanged as Steve made no move to answer further.
"Why do you ask? You draw the short straw?" Steve said, mouth quirked.
"Ay-Nay, milord," Symon said. "We were just wondering where you learned to trample people like you did at the village."
"That's just something I picked up," Steve said. "It's mostly the armour, really. Nothing special."
"What would you count as something special then?" Another man asked. It was Hugo, the biggest of the men, one that Steve had heard the others teasing for sometimes taking over for the ox when it tired of the plough. "Er, milord."
"Ser Steve is fine," Steve said. He had almost told them to call him Steve, days ago, but the look in Naerys' eye had persuaded him otherwise. "I don't know what you'd call something special."
"Tell them about the Kingswood Brotherhood," Naerys said from her seat next to him.
"Or the melee final," Robin said from across the fire.
"The seabeast that almost drowned ya," Toby suggested.
Brotherhood
Leviathan
Melee x
"I guess the melee final at the Harrenhal tournament was something," Steve said.
"We heard about that," another man, Tim, said eagerly. He had large ears and spoke quickly, leaning forwards. "Trader came through last month who'd been there. That was really you who won it? Milord."
The men looked interested, and so Steve gave in without much reluctance. "Yeah, that was me. I had some people try to get in my way, but I made it to the finals without much trouble. I had some good fights against Robert Baratheon, Yohn Royce, and Barristan the Bold."
"Lord Royce!" Tim said, admiringly. "What was he like?"
"Well, he put up a good fight and he can move like nobody's business in that bronze armour of his…"
Steve spun the tale of his melee victory, speaking well of his opponents and their skill. The camp was enthralled, even those who had been there to see it themselves. When the admiration got to be a bit much, Steve shifted attention by throwing Robin and Toby under the bus, and mentioning their third and second places in the archery and horse racing. They retaliated with his antics in the axe throwing, and he was obliged to tell that story as well. The recruits relaxed as the tales were told, and they saw the common folk of his retinue exchange friendly mockings with him. They fed the fire twice over the course of the telling, and by the end, all were filled with the quiet cheer of full bellies and good company. The stars twinkled overhead as silence crept in.
"What do you spose will happen when we find the clanners?" Jon, the quietest of the men asked. His nose was long and hooked, and he preferred to listen than to speak.
A solemnity came over the fire. In their isolation, and the simple cheer of their routine, it was easy to forget that their small band was marching towards the most feared of all the mountain clans, intent on taking the fight to them.
"Without knowing their defences, I can't say," Steve said. "But whatever we do, we do it smart. That might mean extracting our target quietly, or it might mean me making a distraction while you go in and get them out."
The men accepted his words, reassured at least that Steve seemed to have the beginnings of a plan.
"One thing I will make clear though," Steve said, and here his tone hardened. "We're attacking their home, and that means non-combatants. If a child runs at you with a weapon, you disarm them, kick them away, but you do not strike them with steel. Am I understood?"
There was a pause as they took in his words, and no one answered.
"Aye, Lord America," Walt said. "They understand."
"They never spared our young uns," Gerold, a wiry man with a healing cut along his jaw, said. "Why show mercy to some who're just gonna raid us in a few seasons?" He stared into the fire, away from the glare Walt was giving him.
"We don't know each other well," Steve said quietly. "I know you've suffered from their raids, and I know you're here as much for revenge as you are in hopes of rescuing those they've stolen, but I believe that you're better than the clansmen who raided you." He looked around the fire. "If you march with me, then you act like men, not animals."
"We understand, Lord," Humfrey said. He had killed two clansmen in the raid, and the others looked up to him. His head was shaved, and a scar over his left eye pulled it half closed in a perpetual squint. "We won't shame you."
"It's not about shame," Steve said. "It's about being better, and being able to look the people you defended in the eye afterwards." His retinue, and some of the men, were watching him intently as they absorbed his words, but others seemed doubtful. "We're in these mountains to set right a wrong, not cause another."
"Yes, milord," came the answers, the villagers each murmuring their assent.
Steve sighed. "Speak with me tomorrow if you wish. I won't hold it against you, and it's getting late."
"Humfrey, you've got first watch with Symon," Walt said. "G-"
"I'll take the midnight shift," Steve said.
"As you say," Walt said. "Gerold, you have the third watch with Ed…"
The night came to an end, not on the happiest of notes, but giving those new to Steve's company plenty to think about.
X
It was midmorning the following day and they were well on their way. The sun was obscured by light grey clouds, and they were making their way along a trail at the edge of a valley, near the slope. It reminded Steve of some of a picturesque Swiss valley he and the Commandos had ambushed a convoy of Hydra agents in during the War. None of the men had approached Steve yet, and he had seen a few considering glances at Toby as he guided them, but from what he heard of their whispered conversations, he was optimistic. He was considering breaking for lunch when their journey was interrupted.
At the head of the column, Toby's head jerked up. "Off the trail, quick!" He and Quicksilver darted off the trail and up the slope, into the dense woods that carpeted the mountain side.
The rest of them followed his lead, not questioning their guide. Into the woods they went, man and beast, until they were shrouded by its gloom and could just see the trail they had come from.
Those mounted dismounted, and Steve approached Toby. "What did you see?"
"Quicksilver smelled sommat," Toby said. "Another horse."
"How far away?"
"Dunno," Toby said. He fidgeted in place.
"You made the right call," Steve said. "We wait," he said to Keladry, and she passed on his word. She had her glaive out, and like Steve wore the under layer of her armour, the quilted jacket and chausses offering some protection while they travelled.
They hunkered down, watching and waiting in silence. Birds took up their calls once more, after they had been disturbed by the party's intrusion into the forest. As was always the way, many of them were suddenly aware of a pressing need to answer the call of nature, but they persevered, waiting. Ten minutes and half an eternity later, they began to hear faint sounds of movement.
Through the trees, they watched, catching glimpses as a party made their way along the trail. There were perhaps two dozen mountain clansmen, some mounted, but most not. They were armed and armoured for a fight, and they spoke boisterously with one another in their own tongue. Steve thought he could make out burns on a few of them.
Ambush them. +
Let them pass.
"We'll hit them as they pass," Steve said. "We can't let them go if there's a chance they might raid another village."
Walt nodded. "I'll ready the lads." He scuttled over to them, whispering orders.
"Toby, can you get the horses to throw their riders?" Steve asked.
"Uh, maybe?" Toby said. "But I'd have to shout for them to hear me, and they might like their riders."
"It's not a mental thing?" He watched as the clansmen drew closer.
"Wot?" Toby asked. "How am I supposed to tell the horses what to do without talking to them?"
"Alright then. Can you send our horses down the slope after I engage, before the men do?" Steve asked.
"Yeah, I can do that," Toby said, nodding slowly.
"Naerys, you'll stay with Lyanna up here," Steve said. "Robin, follow the men down, and pick off any riders you can. We don't want them escaping and carrying word of our presence."
The three of them nodded, Robin and Naerys more at ease than Lyanna. He caught her glancing at Naerys' short sword; he might have to get her an easily hidden dagger or something.
Walt returned. "They're ready. You want to lead a charge, hit them as they pass?"
"No, Keladry will lead the charge," Steve said. "I'm going to slip around behind them and slit throats until they notice me."
Keladry accepted his words, only a faint clenching of her jaw giving away any nerves. Walt looked like he might have argued had the raiders not been so close.
"Walt will be at your back, you just focus on cutting through the highlanders and keeping yourself alive," Steve said. "You start charging when the front of their line reaches you, or when they see me, whichever comes first."
"I won't let you down, Ser," Keladry said.
"I know," Steve said. He gave them all a nod. "See you on the other side." He darted off, keeping low to the ground and angling to keep as many trees between him and the path as possible.
The talk of the mountainfolk grew louder, and Steve stopped behind a tree as he reached them. His shield was on his back, and he held a rondel dagger in his right hand. His heart beat steadily as he waited for them to pass. The horses led the way, and he could hear them snort and whicker.
Silently, Steve paced down the slope towards the trail, emerging onto it in the wake of the raiders. The man at the rear of the party bore a heavy pack, and was humming as he walked. In one motion, Steve covered his mouth and drove his dagger up through the base of his skull and into his brain. The man jerked for a moment, and then went limp, and Steve lowered him gently to the ground. He stepped silently after the next man in line and repeated the process.
As he reached for the third man, he happened to turn, as if to say something to those already dead. His eyes widened as he saw Steve standing there, bloody dagger in hand. The soldier took him by the neck and squeezed, blocking any noise from escaping his throat, and the raider beat at him helplessly, until Steve stabbed him through the eye.
The sounds of his fruitless attempts at defence did not go unheard, however, and the next two men in the column looked back. They saw the dagger piercing out the back of their friend's skull, and their hands went to their axes, shouting the alarm.
Steve kicked the corpse towards them, fouling their charge long enough to get his shield on his arm, and the fight was on.
The clansmen turned as one to face the mad Andal who had attacked them alone in their own territory, but then came the thunder of hooves. A small herd of horses and mules emerged from the woods and trampled all in their path, kicking and biting. In their wake came a line of spearmen, led by a tall figure with an enormous polearm, and they wasted no time in taking advantage of the chaos left by them, thrusting their spears out in a simple practised motion. An arrow buzzed from the woods to take the raid leader in the throat and he fell from his horse, choking on his own blood.
Steve killed the two closest to him with a blow to the head from his shield and a cut throat with his dagger, and he kicked the next man in the head, snapping his neck. One of the riders tried to bull past him, heading back the way they came, but he leapt and spun, kicking the man from his horse and sending him tumbling down the valley slope. Another arrow took the third rider in the gut, and the fourth and last was pulled from his mount by Redbloom, the roan warhorse biting his fur cloak and pulling with a toss of his head. Flying hooves and the sound of splattering spoke to his fate when he hit the ground.
In scant moments their ambush had reduced the party of over twenty to a bare half dozen, and Walt reduced that further as he speared a man through the chest. Steve grabbed the next man to run at him by the arm and headbutted him, sending him to the ground, senseless. He watched as Keladry led the others in killing the last of them. Silence fell on the valley once more in the wake of the violence.
Picking up the man he had headbutted, Steve tossed him to Hugo. "Bind this one," he said, before turning to the valley and the man he had kicked off his horse. He was just regaining his senses as Steve reached him, and he tried to lunge at him with a knife. Steve slapped it from his hand, and headbutted him for good measure, before dragging him back up to the others.
He found the other survivor bound hand and foot, sat down on the side of the trail, a torrent of insults flowing from him, not that he could understand them.
"What language is that?" Steve asked.
"Old Tongue," Keladry said. "Only spoken by the mountain clans and some in the North."
Toby said something back to their talkative captive, and the man laughed and spat at him. Toby spat back, wiping his arm on the man's furs to boot.
The second captive was dumped beside the first, and one of the men bound him quickly. It was Ed, a blond with a short beard who was good with knots.
"Do you speak Common?" Steve asked.
"Fuck you, lowlander," the rider Steve had kicked off his horse said, even as his companion continued to spew insults.
"So that's a yes," Steve said. "I've got a few questions."
"Take your questions and fuck your mother with them," the more polite of the two said. One ear looked to have been seared off, now a lump of scarred flesh.
"Why are you raiding? What was your target? Do you have enemies nearby?" Steve asked, as if he hadn't heard.
"And when you're done with her, go fuck your father too," the man continued. "Dry, just like my clan is going to do to you."
Toby had gotten tired of the other man's vitriol, and had started flicking him on the nose every time he spoke. The results were mixed.
"If you answer my questions, I'll give you a death on your feet with your weapon in hand," Steve said.
The insults stopped. "Lowlanders lie," the other man said. He glared at Toby as the boy paused in his flicking.
"You aren't a threat to me," Steve said simply.
The clansmen swallowed, remembering what they'd seen of him during the short fight.
"We won't tell you about our camp," the horseman said.
"I'm not here to wipe you out, just rescue those you've stolen," Steve said.
"You're here for a bunch of mewling quims?" the one eared man asked. He caught a glimpse of Naerys and Lyanna as they emerged from the woods to join them. "Kind of you to bring us more," he said, breaking into a grating laugh.
"They put up a better fight than you did," Steve said, shrugging. "Do we have a deal or not?"
The man glared, but relented. "We were headed for the lowlands. We needed supplies. This is Burned Men land, and none dare challenge us. Happy?"
The other man said something to Toby in the Old Tongue, but it didn't have the sound of an insult, and Toby answered, suspicious.
"We're near one of your camps then?" Steve asked. "Not your main stronghold?"
The one eared man seemed to realise what he had given away, and clamped his mouth shut, murder in his eyes.
Toby was speaking intently to his captive now, low and fast. Gerold and Symon were sharing an uncertain glance behind them.
"Nothing else to say?" Steve asked, distracting him from the discussion.
"Give me my weapon, lowlander," he growled out.
"Untie him," Steve said to Ed, "and give him his weapon." He turned his back on him, taking a few steps away.
When he turned back, the clansman was on his feet, rubbing his wrists as the others stepped away from him. Steve held his arms out in open invitation, and the raider charged. It was over in a heartbeat, Steve stabbing him in the heart and letting his momentum carry him past him into the dirt. He died with a curse on his lips.
With the other prisoner, Toby bounced to his feet, an uncontrollable smile on his face. "I knew he was lying, that dirty piece o' cud!"
"Who was lying? What did he say?" Keladry asked.
"Ma's ok," Toby said. "Chet was fulla shit like always." He rushed Keladry and threw his arms around her.
Keladry returned the hug, holding him close.
"What happened?" Naerys asked.
"He said the Princess took Ma in," Toby said. "Kept anyone from claimin' her as a wife."
"Princess?" Keladry asked.
"I dunno, she's one of the Burned Men women," Toby said.
"You're being real helpful for mountain scum," Walt said. "You got a reason for that?"
The prisoner sneered at Walt, but said something to Toby, not deigning to speak in Common.
"He said Ma helped him when he was wounded one time, stopped the sickness from gettin' in," Toby explained.
Walt considered them for a long moment, before almost forcing a question out. "What'd you say your Ma's name was, boy?"
"She's just Ma," Toby said, looking at him oddly.
"Free me, and give me my axe," the captive demanded.
"You're not going to ask for your freedom after that?" Steve asked.
"Old Gods drink from you," the man said. "I die with my band."
Steve gave Ed a nod, and the red bearded man untied the clansman. The man charged Steve immediately, and he obliged with a quick death. He turned his eye to more important matters, running his eye over the men and making sure none were wounded. There were a few scratches here and there, but nothing serious, although the straps of Jon's gorget were hanging on by a thread.
"Get these bodies off the trail," Steve ordered. "Loot them for any useful items. We'll bury them to keep any predators away." Will, a lithe man with a dense auburn beard, was the first to respond, but he was quickly joined by Humfrey and Hugo in dragging the bodies away.
Robin dropped from a tree at the edge of the woods, and went about collecting his arrows as the bodies were gathered.
"I'll get the shovel," Tim muttered, approaching the mule with it in its pack.
"Toby, we've got four new horses," Steve said. "Introduce them to the others?"
"Yep," Toby said, almost skipping as he let go of Keladry and approached the horses that had belonged to the clansmen. They were smaller than even Quicksilver, but too large to be called a pony, and had shaggier coats.
"Good news," Steve muttered to Keladry as she joined him in supervising.
"Aye," she said back. "But I don't know what he meant by a princess. Mountain clans don't have them, and no Targaryen ever went missing or was taken."
"I guess we'll find out," Steve said.
"We will," Keladry said, a grimly satisfied set to her mouth as she watched the bodies be taken away. "We're close."
Overhead, a falcon gave a cry as it wheeled away. They were closer than they knew.
X x X
Steve and Keladry began wearing their full plate the next day, and it was well that they did, because on the eighth day they found the Burned Men camp. At the base of a deep couloir in the mountain side, and even on the gradual back side, a number of huts had been built. They had the look of temporary dwellings, and if the region saw any amount of snow, they wouldn't last through the winter, built where they were, but the palisade wall stretching across its entrance made it a strong position.
The men wielding bows and spears behind the wall only made it stronger. The gates were shut and barred, and it looked like they were expecting trouble.
"They know we're coming," Steve said. From the cover of nearby woods, they watched the camp, planning their move.
"Don't know how, but aye," Walt said. He was staring at the camp wall like a starved dog, undeterred.
"There's a group leaving up the other side," Robin said. "Just past the huts, see?"
Steve looked where Robin indicated, and he saw what he saw. A small group was leaving the camp behind, and some looked to be herding or pulling others. "I see them. Too big to be children."
"They're getting the women away," Walt said. "Stopping us from rescuing them." His voice was threaded through with cold rage.
"There's women amongst them," Robin said, eyes hawklike. "They're all on foot."
"Why would they evacuate the women," Keladry said, frowning.
"Maybe they know we're coming, but not how many?" Naerys said.
Keladry shook her head, unconvinced. "That doesn't feel right."
"They're gettin' away," Toby said, and Khal, the great black horse he rode, mirrored his anxiety, stamping the earth.
"There won't be an easy way around," Steve said, "not if they've chosen this site and blocked it off like that. We need to go through them."
"I've seen stronger walls," Walt said. "A mounted charge could carry us through. Crush the clansmen, catch up to the women, get them on the horses, run." Even as he said it, it was clear he didn't fully believe in the plan. "It could work."
"Lots of risk someone falls behind," Steve said. He could count maybe fifty men and women under arms in the village, and not a child to be seen.
"They're gettin' away," Toby said again, and it was clear he wouldn't wait much longer.
Challenge the camp. You will give them no choice but to answer. x
Charge the camp. You will carve your way to the women no matter the cost.
Find a way around the camp, and hope to pick up the trail in time.
"Lyanna, get me my horn," Steve said. He checked his shield straps and that his hammer was resting snug on his back.
Lyanna darted off to the mule that held his possessions, digging through the pack.
"What are you planning?" Naerys asked, brows furrowed.
"They're putting on a big show to scare us off," Steve said. "I'm going to show them that we aren't."
"You mean to challenge them," Keladry said.
"Clans don't accept challenges from lowlanders, and even if they do they won't honour them," Walt argued.
"I'm not going to give them a choice," Steve said. He accepted the horn from Lyanna, and tied it off at his hip. "Naerys, Lyanna, you'll stay here. "Hugo, Gerold, you're with them. If you look to be attacked out here, you're to retreat rather than engage if possible."
The big man, Hugo, nodded easily, and so did Gerold, but he looked disappointed, the cut along his jaw pulling with his grimace.
"Toby, Walt, you two are at my back. Keladry and Robin, you're behind them. Humfrey, you and the rest of the lads are in pairs bringing up the rear. Look mean."
"Sure you don't want Hugo and Gerold for that then?" Humfrey asked.
"I want you to look mean, not scare them off entirely," Steve said. The men laughed, low and eager. "Toby, get a horse for Walt."
One of the shaggy mountain horses was selected, and they all got in formation. Steve took a deep breath. "If this doesn't work, you're to pull back as a group and make for last night's camp."
"And what do you mean to do?" Keladry asked, tone pointed.
"Discourage the enemy."
"We'll not leave you behind," Humfrey objected. "Not after what you've done for us."
"I said discourage the enemy, not sacrifice myself," Steve said. "That means I kill them until they don't want to follow." He put on his helm. "Let me do the talking here. Toby, you'll translate what I say, as I say it."
"Aye Steve," Toby said. His eyes were bright, and Khal was quivering with suppressed energy.
"Everyone ready?" Steve asked. The answers were positive, and he donned his helm. "Time to be heroes." He lifted his horn to his lips.
To the clansmen in the camp, the dirge-like sound that rang out across the mountains must have sounded like the hunting cry of a beast escaped from some foul pit. Many started in fright as they heard it, the sound triggering a piece of their hind brains that told them they were prey. Their attention was pulled to the woods it came from, and many in the camp rushed towards the gate, sure that some threat was about to descend upon them. When out came an Andal knight and their party, many laughed, secretly relieved. They knew how to deal with knights.
Slowly, the interlopers approached. The proud clansmen watched, glad for the distraction to take their mind off other troubles. The forest's edge was some few hundred metres away, and the pace of the knight was not hurried. When he reached the halfway point, he sounded his horn once more, and in their hearts they could not help but quail. They stood strong, pride not allowing them to show their unease. The knight was a fool, they told themselves, he knew not what he was walking towards.
Steve neared the palisade walls, guiding Fury in a confident walk. He looked upon the archers without fear, before finally coming to a stop just before the gates. "Burned Men!" he boomed. "My name is Steve Rogers, and I challenge your leader!" Toby repeated his words, the guttural language sapping the youth from his voice.
Laughter was their response, and one man put down his spear so he could piss over the wall in his direction.
"Well, I tried being polite," Steve said to himself, before clearing his throat. "GOAT FUCKERS! Cravens you are, hiding behind your walls at the first sign of a lowland knight!" He waited for Toby to repeat his words, smiling thinly as the laughter stopped. "Every member of your clan that I killed told me what warriors you are, how strong you are, but I see them for the liars they were. How quick you are to piss your breeches at the first sign of a real man!"
The mood of the clansmen turned sour, and one was quick to string and loose an arrow at him. Steve saw it coming, and batted it contemptuously away with the back of his hand.
"I know girls with bigger balls than the man who shot that arrow," Steve called. "Let me in to face your leader, or live with the knowledge of your cowardice!"
There was arguing behind the wall, and Steve waited. Slowly, the gates began to creak open. Without pause he nudged Fury onwards, and his comrades followed. They entered the mountain clan village, and got their first proper look at what waited for them.
There was an open area behind the wall, and in the centre a small group waited. It was more accurate to call it two groups, for all they tried to present themselves as one, for each of the dozen men were clearly standing at the back of two men in particular. One was a hard, lean looking man who wore no shirt despite the brisk mountain air, and his torso was covered in deliberate burns, designed to look like something with horns. He had an axe at one hip, and a fine looking sword at the other.
The other was much younger, still a boy in truth, no more than Robin's age, and a falcon perched on his shoulder. He was missing an eye, burn scars clear around its empty socket, and he wore a tattered cloak that might have once been green. A bright dagger was at his hip, and he bore no other weapon.
The older of the two spoke first. "Who are you to come to the lands of my father and call me craven?"
The boy shot him a dark glance, before turning back to Steve. "Why are you here?"
"I'm here to rescue the women you stole from their homes and raped." x
"I've come for justice for all you've raided."
"For a friend."
Answer the boy. x
Answer the man.
"I'm here to rescue the women you stole from their homes and raped," Steve said. He spoke to the boy, but his eyes passed over the others before him, and they felt a shiver run down their spines. "If you're smart, you won't get in my way."
"You have already failed," the man said, sneering. His Common was poor. "They go to my father's stronghold."
"I'm not talking to you," Steve said, eyes on the boy. His gut was telling him there was something else going on here.
"You have come into the depths of our mountains, all to save women stolen many years ago?" the boy asked.
"I have," Steve said.
The boy squinted at him with his sole eye, approaching warily. "Why?"
"Because it's the right thing to do." The words were easy, but they often were when they were sincere.
The boy backed away, stopping next to the other supposed leader, closer than he was before. The falcon on his shoulder spread its wings and flapped, taking flight. "You best speak with truth on your tongue, lowlander," he said, and then he turned and hamstrung the other man with a single slice of his dagger.
Chaos erupted, as the clansmen turned on each other, shouting with rage, but not surprise.
"Support the kid!" Steve shouted, and then he pulled his hammer from his back and joined the carnage.
There was no telling the feuding clansmen apart, so Steve and his people were forced on the defensive, attacking only those who attacked them, or the kid, as he continued carving up the man he had taken completely by surprise. Like a master butcher and a prize hog, the boy was reducing the once strong man slice by slice.
"I am Tagart, son of Timett!" the man bellowed, as he tried and failed to rise. "I will not-"
"Yer a dead man," the boy said, ripping his dagger across his throat with a messy cut.
Steve killed two men who attacked the boy from behind, trampling one into the dirt and flattening the other with a single hammer blow. "How do we tell your people apart from his?" he demanded.
"If they've got a burn under their eye, they be mine," the boy said.
"Keladry!" Steve said, barking her name. "Burn marks under their right eyes are friendlies!"
Keladry cut a man from shoulder to hip and spun to let her crack another between the eyes with the iron butt of her weapon, Redbloom guarding her back. She nodded, already wheeling to face her next foe.
Robin was shooting from horseback, steering with his knees, a far cry from the first days out of King's Landing when he could hardly sit straight in a saddle. He shot one of two men trying to kill each other on the platform by the palisade wall, already looking for another target before he started to fall.
"They took the women out of the village before you arrived," the boy said. His falcon was back on its shoulder, and its beak and talons were bloody. "If we're not quick, they'll vanish."
Steve nodded. "We'll finish the foes here, and-"
"No time," the boy said, scowling. "My people will win, if yours help, but we need to leave now."
"Fine," Steve said. There was no time to waste time arguing. "Toby, Walt, with me! Keladry, you finish things here!" He hauled the boy up onto his horse to sit him at his back, and kicked Fury into a gallop through the village. The falcon took off once more, soaring ahead.
Toby and Walt followed, and Khal kicked a man in the head as they passed. They slowed only to thread through the stakes that had been raised to block the rear of the village, and then they were powering up the gradual slope of the mountainside.
"What's your name?" Steve asked the kid at his back.
"I am Artos, son of Kelda," the one-eyed boy said. "Leader of the Green Falcons."
"I thought you were Burned Men?" Steve asked.
"Not anymore."
The slope they followed became less gradual, and they were forced to slow. Soon it was too steep for the horses at all.
"We will go by foot," Artos said. "There are stairs cut into the mountain ahead."
Walt eyed Artos suspiciously, but dismounted as Steve and Toby did. Artos led the way to the path, an almost vertical staircase that they could have easily missed. Steve stowed his hammer on his back, and Walt abandoned his spear.
"They should not be far from the top," Artos said. "If they have time to get out of sight, we will not be able to track them over the rock." He sped up the stairs with the ease of practice.
Toby was close behind him, scampering with the agility and fearlessness of youth, and Walt hardly paused, anger and hope lending him vigour. Steve followed up the rear, ready to catch anyone who fell.
Their goal gave them speed, and they almost flew up the mountainside. There was some loose rock, and a patch of clear ice that almost saw Walt slip and fall, but they reached the top of the staircase without injury, not at the top of the mountain, but at the top of the couloir. The four of them scanned their surrounds with in frantic silence, and they looked to have been too late.
"There," Steve said, pointing towards the edge of some woods in the distance. A party of people were just disappearing into it.
"Fifteen warriors they have," Artos said.
"It won't be enough," Steve said.
Walt began to run across the rocky ground, eyes fixed on the trees that he could only hope would hold what he had sought in vain for years. The others followed him without delay. The hunt was on.
Across the shale they ran, loose rock proving treacherous footing. Walt pulled ahead, uncaring, intent on reaching the clansmen if it killed him. Toby and Artos sprang along as they tried to keep up, but their strides were shorter and the gap widened. They would have been left behind, if not for Steve. He gathered them up as he barrelled past, tucking one under each arm. Ignoring their flailing and cursing, he picked his way across the rock carefully, barely running faster than a grown man's sprint, until he drew even with Walt. The old soldier pushed himself harder, almost slipping, barely glancing at the absurd sight. Shale fragments cracked and clattered as they thundered onwards.
As they passed the halfway mark, the terrain started to shift from loose to solid rock. They could feel themselves gaining, even if their quarry was hidden from sight. Steve leapt over a crevasse, glancing back to see Walt hop over. He almost missed the buzz of the arrow as it shot out of the woods. He twisted, letting it hit his shield, and slowed enough that the kids could hit the ground running as he let them go.
"Stay behind me," Steve ordered. He ignored Artos' furious look; kids were kids no matter how many people they had killed or had in their tribe. Another arrow came whistling out at him, and he let it deflect off his chest. They had almost reached the tree line.
Four clansmen were waiting for them there, snarling at them with murder in their eyes, and Steve killed two of them as he crashed through, caving in the torso of one with his shield as he clotheslined another, breaking their neck. The distraction was enough for Walt to fall upon another, strangling him with one hand as he stabbed him in a blur of speed with the dagger in his other. Toby and Artos took the last man apart like a pair of wolves bringing down a bison, leaving him to choke in his own blood as they ran after the two men, already moving on.
There was no moving quietly in plate armour as he ran through the trees, and as Steve reached the rear of the party they pursued, two clansmen turned back at the rattle. It didn't help them, as he killed one with a punch to the throat and dented the skull of the other with the edge of his shield. An arrow soared over his shoulder from behind to sink into the side of another raider, and Steve glanced back to see that Walt had taken up the bow of the man he had killed. Toby and Artos joined him on either side, anger and fury on their faces, their knives dripping with blood. They had well and truly caught the attention of their prey.
"Last chance," Steve said. "Let the women go, and I'll let you walk away."
Toby didn't repeat his words this time, mostly because he was staring at one of the women. "Ma!"
"Tobias!" the blonde woman shouted, hope warring with terror on her face.
The clansmen gave him no answer, not verbally. Most of them charged forward, weapons raised as they howled, looking every inch the barbarians they were painted as. The man who already had an arrow in his side gurgled and fell as another pierced his throat, and Steve stepped forward to meet the rest. The first was kicked in the chest and sent flying, already dead, knocking another two off their feet. He pulled his hammer from his back and struck, bowling over the three who had tried to swarm him. The boys scurried forward to take advantage, stabbing the disorientated men as they were down.
Steve had almost been going through the motions, utterly unchallenged by his foes, but seeing the boys kill like that made him frown. He stepped quickly, granting quick deaths to the last of them with snapped necks and crushed skulls, before turning to the last two clansmen. There was blood on his shield and brain matter clinging to his hammer, and they quailed as they saw him.
There were five women with them, mostly dressed in the same style as the clansmen, save for one woman who wore an almost courtly dress, save for the way it was faded and fraying. One of the clansmen found some semblance of courage, and he grabbed the woman in the dress, holding a knife to her throat. He shouted something at them in his own tongue, shaking the woman as he did. His meaning was clear.
Artos growled something back, his falcon alighting on his shoulder, but the man denied him, jerking his head at Steve.
"He says you gotta drop the hammer and shield, or the princess gets it," Toby said. His gaze was pinned to his mother.
Slowly, Steve placed his hammer on the ground, kneeling as he did. He slipped his shield off his arm, and held his hands out to show he had no more weapons. The clansman seemed to gain confidence, dismissing him as a threat. He barked something at his last comrade, pointing his chin at the other women.
The moment the man's attention was elsewhere, Steve picked up a pebble by his boot. With a flick of his wrist, he threw it as hard as he could. His aim was true, and it pulped the eyeball on its way to the clansman's brain. He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, his hostage twisting to avoid the knife at her throat.
There was only one clansman left, and he began to back away as Steve rose to his feet, but Steve wasn't the danger here. As one, the other four women pulled out hidden knives and fell upon him, each stabbing with a frenzy. He had time to scream once before he was stabbed through the neck and he collapsed, but the women kept stabbing.
Artos rushed the woman who had been held hostage, and she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face into his hair. His falcon began to preen her from its perch on his shoulder.
The last clansman thoroughly dead, the women stepped away from his corpse, one staggering off to vomit in a nearby bush. Two of the other three held each other, but the last, Toby's mother, stared as Walt stumbled up to join them, sucking in heaving breaths.
"Father!" the blonde woman cried, staring at Walt.
"Father?!" Toby yelped.
"Eleni!" Walt roared, tears in his eyes. He began to reach for her.
Toby squawked, and Eleni seemed to remember he was there, because she lunged for him, gathering him up on her way to fall into her father's arms. Toby found himself the conflicted meat of a family reunion sandwich.
Steve tore a strip of fabric from a dead man's clothes, and approached the woman who had been throwing up, offering it out to her. He would leave the boys to their reunions with their mothers.
The woman tensed as she looked up to see him approach, but accepted the cloth, wiping her face with it. She had a fading bruise on her cheek. "Thank you," she said, voice hoarse.
"We'll head back to the camp, get you some water," Steve said. He glanced at the two women who had taken solace in each other; they had drifted closer when he had approached. "You're all safe now. No one will hurt you."
Wary stares were his answer, and he noted that he couldn't see where they'd stowed the knives they'd used to kill their foe. He turned away, giving them some privacy.
Artos was being quietly fretted over by his mother, something which he took stoically. Eleni was clutching her father and her son to herself, asking questions of both but giving neither time to answer.
"Princess, is it?"
"We need to get back to the camp."
"Toby. You look thrilled to meet your grandpa."
Steve approached Artos and his mother, Kelda. "Princess, is it?"
The woman laughed wetly. She had light brown hair, and there were tear tracks on her cheeks. "Only as the clans see it," she said. "Did my uncle send you?"
"I don't know who that is," Steve apologised. "We came here to rescue Toby's mother, and any other women we found."
"Eleni's boy?" Kelda asked. "So my rescue comes due to a small act of kindness. The gods must be laughing."
"I don't know about the gods ma'am, but we're here because a son loves his mother," Steve said. He glanced at Toby, and then Artos. "I'm glad we got here in time."
"My little wing," Kelda said, hugging her son tighter for a moment. Artos muttered something in his own tongue that had the tone of a complaint, but didn't try to move. "My name is Kelda Waynwood. Jon Arryn is my uncle."
"I met him not long ago," Steve said. "He seemed a decent sort."
"I remember he was fond of me, but that didn't save me from fifteen years amongst the Burned Men," Kelda said. "I've lived almost half my life with those savages. If it wasn't for my son-" she cut herself off.
"I understand," Steve said. "Your son kicked off a small civil war to save you. You must be proud of him."
Kelda gave her son a look. "I didn't think you had the numbers - oh." She glanced at Steve. "Your forces are at the camp? How many?"
"Ten or so," Steve said.
"You came into the mountains to attack the Burned Men with ten men?" Kelda asked, incredulous.
"I left two men with the non-combatants," Steve said.
"You saw what he did to Rogart and his ilk," Artos said.
"You're braver than I thought," Kelda said. "Thank you, from my heart, thank you. You've saved us from a fate worse than you know Ser…?"
"Steve Rogers," he said.
"Thank you, Ser Rogers," Kelda said. "You hail from the Stormlands House?"
"Er, no, not that Rogers," Steve said. He glanced at the others, seeing Walt holding Eleni holding Toby, and the other three women clustered together. "We should get back to the camp though, make sure everyone is alright."
"Of course," Kelda said. She gave a giddy laugh. "It's almost over," she said to herself, trailing off.
Steve took up his weapons again, cleaning them on the clothes of the dead, and gathered everyone up, setting off to return to the village. Though he worried for Keladry and the rest, his heart was light. They had done a good thing this day.
X
The trek back to the camp was somewhat slower than their earlier mad pursuit, and Steve got a front seat view to Eleni interrogating her son over what he'd been up to since his raid party disappeared. Walt was recovering his breath, half holding his daughter, half leaning on her, as he came to terms with having such a 'mouthy little shit' for a grandson, as he'd called Toby when they first met. They descended down the stairs of the couloir without trouble, finding their horses waiting patiently for them. They formed an honour guard of sorts as they walked the last of the distance to the huts, Toby giving Artos and his falcon a pugnacious look.
There was a welcoming party waiting for them as they neared the stakes at the back of the village camp, and Steve smiled as he saw Keladry and Robin amongst them. They seemed uninjured, though Keladry had a bloody streak across her temple, hair plastered to it. Dodger sat at her heels, panting happily.
Artos began speaking with his men, a boy giving orders to grown men, but they listened attentively and split off one by one.
"How are the men?" Steve asked Keladry.
"Uninjured or superficial wounds for the most part, but Jon took a bad knock to the head," Keladry said. "We've made him comfortable, but we won't know his chances until he makes it through the night."
Steve frowned. He had led these men here, and they were his responsibility. "I'll take a look at him," he said. "The enemy?"
"Dead to the last," Keladry said. "There's not a fighter here that doesn't have a burn beneath their eye."
"You know Artos did that to himself?" Robin said, piping up. "His eye, I mean."
"Burned Men rite of passage," Walt said. "They all do it. The burning, that is"
"Back in King's Landing you just had to make it to a brothel without your parents finding out," Robin said.
"We are Burned Men no more," Artos said, approaching them. He looked up at Steve, single eye piercing. "Steve, son of…?
"Sarah," Steve said.
"Steve, son of Sarah. We should talk," he said, seeming pleased by something, before walking off, heading for the largest of the huts.
"Keladry, you're with me," Steve said. "Robin, have the others set up a watch if there's not one already. Where are Naerys and the others?"
"I sent Will to grab them," Robin said. "The others are helping with the clean up, but I'll see about a watch. I think the clan is already doing that though."
"Keep them busy," Steve said. "I don't want any incidents between the men and the clan, with the bad blood between them."
"Right," Robin said. "I'll keep an eye on things."
"And Robin - good work today," Steve said. "You've come a long way."
Robin grinned, ducking his head. "Thanks, Steve."
Steve glanced at Toby, but found him still firmly ensconced under his mother's arm, and he decided to leave him to his fate. He and Keladry followed after Artos, ducking into what seemed to be a meeting place for the clan. It was a round hut, the remains of an old fire in the centre, and the roof had a circle cut out of it and raised, to allow smoke to escape and the early afternoon light to filter in. Logs circled the fire for seating, although it was only the four of them present at the moment, Kelda seated near the fire. Artos was kneeling by the firepit, feeding some kindling to it and blowing on it. After a moment, they began to catch, and he added more to it. Satisfied, he sat next to his mother.
"Sit by the fire," Artos said, "we must share words." It had the ring of ceremony.
Steve and Keladry joined them, armour clanking, and sat themselves down across the growing fire.
"You did not come to help me," Artos said, considering his words, "but you have, and I must repay you. I offer you a prize that is mine by the blood I spilled today." He glanced at his mother.
Kelda reached behind the log they sat on, and retrieved something wrapped in animal hide. She unwrapped it to reveal a slightly curved black object, about a metre long.
Keladry sucked in a breath. "That's dragonbone," she said.
Artos looked pleased. "It is. I offer it to you."
"I accept, although we didn't come here in hopes of reward," Steve said.
"My mother spoke to me of the honour of knights," Artos said, "though I believed her not."
Steve inclined his head. "I've met good knights and bad. Some don't deserve the title, some deserve it but don't have it."
Keladry shifted beside him.
"We have chieftains the same," Artos said.
"Like that Tagart you sliced up?" Steve asked.
Artos glowered at the name. "He was the son of Timett, chief of the Burned Men."
"It looked like you had a pretty personal disagreement with the man," Steve said.
"It was Timett's plan that saw my mother and her women taken away to the stronghold," Artos said.
"They were to be hostages against you," Keladry said. "Why?"
"He swallowed the Mountain Runners some moons back," Artos said. He scratched at the burned socket of his eye. "His eyes were bigger than his belly."
"The Mountain Runners were Toby's clan," Keladry said.
"The horse warg," Artos said, nodding.
"Eleni's boy is a warg?" Kelda said. She seemed pleased.
"The blonde woman is his mother?" Keladry asked Steve quietly, and he nodded. "Good," she said. "Good."
"I saw chance in Timett's mistake," Artos said, continuing his answer, "but whispers must have reached him. He sent his eldest son to take my mother."
"You took a chance turning on him like that," Steve said, non-judgemental.
"It was my mother," Artos said. He shrugged. "If she disappeared into their stronghold, she never would come out, and her companions would suffer."
"What now?" Steve asked. "You're splitting off into the Green Falcons, but what about the Burned Men?"
"We hide, and hunt the Burned Men who come for us," Artos said. "Many of my people are Mountain Runners, and some are like me who just hate Timett. I sent the others on doomed raids."
"That's likely what tipped Timett off," Kelda said. "We should have moved slower."
"Not when the warriors boast of taking you for wife," Artos said.
"I survived your father," Kelda said. "I would have survived them too."
Artos spat into the fire, lip curling. "Not in my clan."
"This stronghold," Steve said. "You're familiar with it? It's location, access points?"
"Vale knights have tested themselves against it before," Artos said. "They failed."
"Steve is not just any knight," Keladry said. "He defeated Bronze Yohn."
Kelda peered at Keladry, the lines at her brow creasing.
"The Royce is fearsome," Artos said, "but I cannot have lowlanders at my side for what I plan."
Steve assessed the kid. He was barely in his mid-teens, but he had grown men respecting him and following his orders, and he seemed more than ready to throw down with the Burned Men. "This isn't your only camp, is it."
"I have five more," Artos said. "I send word, and they will gut the Burned Men amongst them."
"The other clans won't respect you if you have 'lowlanders' fighting beside you," Steve said. "And you need them to respect you."
"Mother told me of the First Men of the North, how they are part of the kingdom," Artos said. Ambition burned in his eye. "I will make it so no woman needs be stolen and raped, and no child goes hungry in the long winters. We have warred and raided for thousands of years, and we live in huts and scrounge in the dirt. No more."
"That's a worthy cause," Steve said.
"Integrating the mountain clans with the Vale will be…difficult," Keladry said, diplomatic.
"Much blood will spill," Artos said. "But worth it, I think."
"We haven't been introduced," Kelda said, staring at Keladry.
"Oh, sorry," Steve said, kicking himself. "This is Keladry, my sworn sword."
"Keladry," Kelda said, considering. "Not Keladry Delnaimn, surely?"
Keladry froze for a moment. "Why would you ask that?"
"I had a Great Aunt I was very close to, Hellen," Kelda said.
"My grandmother is Hellen Arryn, of Gulltown," Keladry admitted.
"I had thought her Keladry was a granddaughter, not a grandson," Kelda said.
Keladry looked to Steve, face smooth as stone.
Steve raised one shoulder minutely. It was her choice, in the end.
For the briefest of moments, a look of frustration crossed Keladry's face, but then it was gone. "She is," Keladry admitted. "I am."
"When she wrote me of your birth, I joked that you were named for me," Kelda said. She stared into the fire, wistful. "But that was impossible; your parents had you while they were off on their trade voyage to Yi Ti." At Keladry's look, she explained. "My name is Kelda."
Keladry thought for a long moment, brow furrowed. "You are Kelda Waynwood? Grandmother spoke of you, I think. I was young."
"I was on my way to marry some Bracken when the Burned Men took me," Kelda said. "It was so long ago. I only had twenty years."
"That is how I met Toby," Keladry said. "I was on my way to wed a Burchard, when his clan attacked us."
"You were not carried off then," Kelda said. "The gods had better plans for you, I see." She stared into the distance, unseeing.
Artos coughed. "As I said, the fight will be bloody, so I ask of you a favour."
Kelda started, turning to narrow her eyes at her son. "You are not asking what I think you are."
"I would have you take my mother and her maidens to the Eyrie," Artos said, ignoring her.
"I will not go," Kelda said.
"There is no room for those not of the clan, mother," Artos said.
"After all my years here, you think I am not strong enough-"
"Are your maidens?" Artos asked, silencing her. "They are scarred, in their minds. To fight the Burned Men, we need to move as one." He turned back to Steve. "Will you do me this favour?"
"I will," Steve said, "if Kelda agrees to it."
"How do you think the lowlanders will treat your maidens without you there?" Artos said immediately to his mother.
Kelda pressed her lips together. "I taught you too well. Very well. I will go."
"We are not far from the Bloody Road," Artos said. "You can follow it to the Eyrie."
"You mean the High Road?" Keladry asked.
"It is the Bloody Road to us," Artos said. "We move on the morn," he said to Steve.
"So this is to be the last I see of my son for many moons," Kelda said.
Artos hesitated. "I…I have to keep you safe."
Kelda sagged into him. "I know, little wing. I know."
Steve looked to Keladry, feeling slightly awkward, but she was distracted, thoughts clearly elsewhere. He let the moment stretch out, before speaking. "I will take my people tomorrow. You can have today for goodbyes, at least."
Kelda looked to him, grateful.
"A feast we can afford, with the mouths we rid ourselves of today," Artos said. "A feast we will have." He rose, all five feet of him. "You have my thanks, Ser Rogers. For what you have done, and what you will do."
Steve rose. "You do what's right, not what is easy," he said, "but I don't think I need to tell you that, with your plans." He offered his hand.
Artos accepted it, clasping it in the local way. "I have much to do. We will speak later." He left, Kelda following after she gave them a grateful smile.
"To the Eyrie then," Keladry said, voice quiet. She was still staring off, distracted.
"That won't be a problem for you, will it?" Steve asked.
"I've never been, and those who would know me are too minor to have business there except on the rarest occasions," Keladry said, "but…"
"But?" Steve prompted.
"The High Road is near to where I met Toby," she said. "And Wyldon's grave. It is a detour on the way to the Eyrie, but perhaps, we could visit?"
"Yeah," Steve said. "We can do that. How far of a detour is it?"
"A few days," Keladry said. "My family's lands are to the northwest of the Eyrie, over the mountains, but with you and Toby, the journey will not be dangerous."
"I think it would be good for you," Steve said. "I know you're conflicted about how things went down there."
"I thought about what you said," Keladry said, looking up at him. "About writing a letter to Grandmother."
"Yeah?"
"I'm not sure. I know she has mourned me, but my actions would hurt my family if they were revealed."
"Sounds like something you need to really think on," Steve said. "But it also sounds like you already know what you want to do."
Keladry set her jaw, not replying.
"Come on," Steve said. "Let's go find something to distract ourselves with."
They left the hut behind, and almost knocked Toby over in the process.
"Kel," Toby said, tone urgent. "You need to meet my Ma."
Keladry was startled for a moment, before her usual stoic expression reasserted itself. "Are you not reacquainting yourself with her?"
"Yeah, but you really need to meet her," Toby insisted.
"You want a distraction, don't you," Steve said.
Toby hesitated. "Mebbe."
Keladry sighed, looking a moment from lecturing him.
"You don't understand," Toby said before she could start. "That old fart Walt is my granda, and she wants us to get along." He began to tug at her arm, pulling her away.
For a moment, Keladry looked shocked. "Very well," she said, a hint of a grin around her mouth. "I will save you from him." She allowed herself to be pulled along.
"Yea-wait," Toby said. "I don't need no savin', I just want…"
Steve shook his head at the pair as they departed, smiling to himself. Toby had a way of keeping things in perspective. As much as he'd like to see the boy suffer, he needed to check up on Naerys and Lyanna.
The camp wasn't near large enough to make finding them a chore, and he tracked them down near one of the huts, standing just outside. Lyanna looked a bit on edge, watching the clansmen that passed nearby, and Naerys had her hand on the sword at her hip.
"Naerys, Lyanna," Steve said. "All well?"
"Steve!" Lyanna said. "You're ok?"
"Not a scratch," Steve said. "You heard about how things went here?"
"Will told us," Naerys said. She was looking him over, as if doubting his claim, but was satisfied soon enough. "I can't believe the clan turned on itself like that."
"It's a bit more complicated than that," Steve said. "I'll tell you more about it tonight; we've come to an arrangement and we leave in the morning."
"We're staying here?" Lyanna asked.
"Just for tonight," Steve said. He considered her for a moment. "You're as safe here as you would be in the Red Keep."
"You've only seen Steve fight when he ambushed the raiding party, haven't you?" Naerys asked her. "No one can hurt you while you're under his protection."
Lyanna gave a shaky nod, somewhat reassured. "You hear a lot of stories, back in the Riverlands."
"They might be true," Steve said. "But Artos, the leader here, wants to change things. We were lucky to arrive when we did."
"You make a habit of that, don't you?" Naerys asked him.
"I'm just doing my best," Steve said.
"Mmhmm," Naerys said. Some of the levity fell from her face. "They're looking after Jon inside. Hugo and Gerold are with him."
Steve sighed. He hated this part. At least it wasn't writing a letter home. "I'll go speak with them," he said.
"Steve," Naerys said, stopping him. "Do you think I will ever join you in something like this?"
"In a skirmish, or a battle?" Steve asked.
Naerys nodded.
"If you wanted to, we could train you that way," Steve said.
"I enjoy the training you're giving me," Naerys said, "and duelling the bravos was…exhilarating."
"It's not a decision you need to make in a hurry," Steve said. "You don't quite have the build to wear plate, but that's not the only way to fight. Something to think on."
"Right," Naerys said.
"If you want to see Toby be mothered while scowling at his grandpa, he's over that way with Keladry," Steve said.
"His grandpa?" Naerys asked.
"Turns out his mother is Walt's daughter," Steve said.
"No," Lyanna said, grinning widely.
"Yes," Steve said. "He's very conflicted about things."
"Tell Hugo where we went," Naerys said, as Lyanna started to march away, before turning to follow her when he nodded, waving over her shoulder.
Steve ducked inside the hut through some hanging hides, his eyes adjusting after a moment. There was a pallet on the floor, and on it lay Jon, sweat soaked and with a coarse bandage wrapped around his head, stained red.
"How is he?" Steve asked.
Hugo and Gerold startled at his voice, not having heard him approach.
"Not good," Hugo said. He'd been wiping Jon's forehead with a cloth. "They say if he survives the night he should recover, but…."
"There was a clan woman with him, but we sent her to get some water," Gerold said. He was scowling. "I don't trust her."
Steve remembered his words from the night around the fire, only two days ago. "You don't think well of the mountain clans."
"They killed my sister when she wouldn't let herself be taken," the wiry man said.
"You've got reason then," Steve said. "But was it these people who killed your sister?"
Gerold looked down, saying nothing.
"Hate and grief is normal," Steve told him. "Just mind it doesn't burn at you, or that you take it out on the undeserving."
Hugo glanced at them out of the corner of his eye.
"She was going to get married last moon," Gerold said.
"It doesn't ever really go away," Steve said, "but it does get easier to bear. I know I'm just that poncy noble that decided to lead you into the mountains, but if you sign on with me after this, I hope I can show you that I mean what I say."
Hugo and Gerold exchanged a look. "Aye milord," they answered.
"Let me have a look at Jon," Steve said, moving on. He checked his temperature, and his pulse. Blood was seeping from the wound, but hardly flowing. "They judged it well," Steve said, mouth pulling in a grimace. "I can't do anything for him. If he doesn't make it, he'll slip away in his sleep." It was small comfort, but at times like this you'd accept anything you could.
Hugo wiped more sweat from Jon's face, as they looked on in silence. There was movement at the entrance, and a clan woman stepped inside carrying a pail.
"Water," she said, offering it up, looking between the three men warily.
Gerold accepted it, and put it down for Hugo to dunk his cloth in. "Thanks," he said, voice gruff.
The woman hesitated, but joined them by the recovery bed, offering Hugo a new cloth. He took it, handing over the old one.
Steve ghosted away, leaving them to it. He offered up a quick prayer for Jon. He didn't want to lose his first soldier here so soon.
An enormous bonfire was built that night, and the food stores broken open. The wounded were given pride of place, and families gathered together, all of them free with emotion. There was an outpouring of care on display that made Steve think it was something new for them, that it had been looked down on before Artos had openly assumed control. Whatever the cause, the night was filled with cheer.
Steve spent his night pretending obliviousness to the not-so-subtle invitations from many of the clan women, after word had spread of his prowess from those who witnessed it. When they became too blunt, Naerys came to protect him, fighting back laughter. What she did to dissuade them, he didn't know, but he was grateful for the respite nonetheless. He was less grateful when she repeated the last invitation, word for word, mischief clear in her eyes. His misstep back at Riverrun was coming back to haunt him, but as Naerys laughed at him, he found he didn't really mind.
All ate their fill, celebrating their victory and taking comfort in each other. The moon shone down above them, and for that night at least, life was sweet.
X x X
Keladry trembled with unbridled rage at the sight before her. They stood on a picturesque bluff, looking over a valley. Steve and Toby stood behind her, the others further back, as she clenched and unclenched her fists.
"They dare," she said. "They dare."
Before her was a disturbed cairn, roughly investigated and carelessly left. A torso had been revealed, once shining armour stained by the weather and its head made a feast for passing animals.
"No animal did this," Keladry said. "This was done by human hands."
Steve didn't question her on it. "Mountain clan?"
"Clans don't disturb no graves," Toby said. "Gods don't like it."
"Not thieves if they left the armour," Steve said. "Someone wanted to know who was buried here." He glanced at Keladry. "The Burchards would have known the route you were taking to them. Think they investigated when you didn't arrive?"
"It's not fresh, but it ain't a year old, either," Toby said.
Keladry scrubbed at her face, and her hand came away wet. "When I find these people-" she cut herself off. "I will have satisfaction."
"Stoneford couldn't have done this?" Steve asked.
"Not unless House Burchard gave him the knowledge," Keladry said. "That pissant son of a landed kni-" she cut herself off again, nails digging into her palms.
"Walt," Steve called over his shoulder. The old soldier had kept the others back when he'd seen Keladry's face upon sighting the grave, and now he jogged up to join them.
"Ser," Walt said.
"You said you've got experience with tracking," Steve said.
"Not in this land, but aye," Walt said.
"There's an old skirmish site nearby, Toby can guide you there," Steve said. "I want you to take a look at it and see what you can see."
"As you say," Walt said. "Come on, grandson." He said the word like it was almost an insult.
"Sure, granda," Toby answered in much the same tone. They hurried off, holding off from squabbling only in respect for Keladry. Dodger trotted along behind them.
"Take your time," Steve said quietly to his friend. "When you're ready, we'll fix this."
Keladry gave no answer.
Steve turned for the others to give her space. Their wagon and more bulky belongings were still back at Walt's nameless village, but Artos had given them a cart that had come into their possession, and Jon lay upon it. The hook nosed man had lived through that first night, but he was still weak and prone to tremors, though he was improving.
"How are you today Jon?" Steve asked.
"Better, milord," Jon said. "Only got the shakes once, but that might've been the road."
"That's the spirit," Steve said. He turned to the women they had rescued. They were mounted, most on the shaggy horses they had seized from the raiding party, except Eleni, who always chose to ride with Toby despite the option of a horse of her own. "Ladies," he said. "How do we fare?"
"Well, Ser Steve," Kelda said, speaking for them. She often spoke for her group, as they were still very reserved around others, save for Eleni. "Is Keladry well?"
"She will be," Steve said. "We'll be here for a short while, so you may as well get comfortable."
"Thank you, Ser," Kelda said.
"If you need anything, just ask," Steve said. He gave Naerys a look where she was watching over Robin and Lyanna nearby, and she shook her head. He moved on.
The men had spread out when they arrived at Walt's direction, taking up a loose watch, and he approached Humfrey. The man had continued to distinguish himself amongst his fellows, and had emerged as a clear leader.
"Ser," Humfrey said as he neared. "Are we expecting trouble?"
"No," Steve said. "But act as if you do. Best not to form bad habits."
"Yes Ser," Humfrey said. He ran a hand over the stubble starting to grow back on his head.
They spoke for a short time, before Steve moved on to the next man, keeping an eye on Keladry. He tried to make a point of speaking with them all a little each day, but in time, Keladry seemed to get herself under control again. He clapped Will on the shoulder, and returned to her.
"Kel?" Steve asked.
"No," Keladry said, answering the unspoken question. "But I will be, once the ones who did this answer for it."
Steve nodded. It was as much as could be expected. "Come on. Let's set Wyldon to rights."
Without speaking, they took the stones that had been disturbed and began to pile them up again. They covered his face first, Keladry's mask almost cracking as they looked upon him.
"Remember him as he was when he butchered the knight that threatened you and Toby," Steve said.
Keladry made a noise of agreement, squaring her shoulders. Partway through, Kelda and her ladies began to bring them more rocks, placing them nearby for them to use.
"Thank you Kelda," Keladry said. "Larra, Alannys, Darna, Eleni."
They shook their heads, but stayed quiet, respectful. They piled the rocks higher this time, more than an exhausted young woman and boy could manage on their own. Keladry placed the last, bowing her head over the grave of the man who had taught her how to fight, and they gave her space.
Walt and Toby returned as Keladry finished, and the older man shook his head. "Animals have been at the bodies," he said to Steve. "Not a hope of puzzling any details out, but-"
"That knight fucker is gone," Toby said. "The one her Wyldon gutted. Armour and all."
"House Burchard then," Steve said, a grim set to his mouth.
"More likely than not," Walt said. "We going to give it to them?"
"We continue to the Eyrie," Keladry said, rising from where she knelt. "We need to see Lady Kelda and her ladies to safety."
Steve gave her a long look, and she stared him down. "As Keladry said, then," he said. "To the Eyrie."
The party began to saddle up or prepare for marching once more, leaving the cairn behind. They might have returned the dead to rest, but someone had disturbed him to begin with, and Steve had a feeling they hadn't nearly heard the last of it.
X x X
In the end, they did not make it to the high seat of House Arryn, the Eyrie. Their journey came to an end at the stronghold that lay at the base of the tallest mountain of the Vale, as the afternoon sun shone down on them, though it would soon fall below the mountains.
"The Gates of the Moon," Kelda said, as they lay eyes upon it. "We're almost there," she said, unable to keep the giddiness from her tone.
The Gates were an almost squat castle, clearly built for strength over beauty, and far up above, on the peak of the mountain, a gleaming white castle could faintly be seen.
"Looks like someone has kicked over an ants nest," Steve said. There was a great deal of activity about the castle, and many tents had been erected outside.
"No more Blackfyres have emerged since I've been away, have they?" Kelda asked.
"No," Keladry said. "Not unless they've appeared in the last month or so since we left Riverrun."
"One way to find out," Steve said. He was grateful that he and Kel had kept to wearing their plate armour as a precaution. "Keladry, you're with me up front. Walt, organise the men around the cart, watch the rear and sides. Robin, you're on the cart with your bow. Everyone else, keep to the centre."
They continued on, and as another road from the east joined with the one they followed, it was clear that a lot of traffic had marched this way recently. As they neared the tents around the castle, a party of knights rode out to meet them, armed and armoured. Steve and his company slowed to a stop, allowing them to come to them.
"Identify yourselves!" the lead knight shouted. He had a shield of green snakes on black.
Steve waved Kelda forward. This was her party.
"I am Lady Kelda Waynwood," Kelda called. "I seek an audience with my uncle, Lord Jon Arryn!"
The knight lifted his visor, revealing a frown as he stared at Kelda, before his brows rose in shock. "That is - quite the claim," he said. At his back, his fellows exchanged murmurs.
"I have quite the tale," Kelda said. "I am escorted by Lord America."
The knights looked wary now, taking in the shield on his arm and the star on his chest. "Lord America is known to us," the leader said. "I am Ser Lynderly. We will escort you to the Gates, where your persons can be verified."
"Thank you, Ser," Kelda said. "We appreciate your protection." She spoke her courtesies haltingly, shaking off the rust.
They rode onwards, passing through the ordered tents before the castle, and Steve looked around, taking everything in. Men-at-arms and knights were everywhere. This was an army, preparing for war. He shared a glance with Keladry, and she nodded grimly. She saw it too.
Across an open drawbridge they cantered, drawing curious eyes as they went. Below them was a moat, its waters still, but they saw it only briefly as they passed through the stout walls and entered the central courtyard. Word had apparently been passed, for servants and guards were gathering to meet them, and Lynderly gave a quick gesture. The guards fell back, allowing the servants to take the lead.
Toby looked ready to argue as one tried to take Quicksilver's reins, but Keladry caught his eyes and shook her head, and he held his tongue, mutinous look on his face. He dismounted with Eleni, leaning back into her.
A door was kicked open nearby, drawing many eyes, and a familiar man stormed through. He wore anger about him like an old companion, and he bared his teeth when he saw Steve in what was supposed to be a grin.
"Steve Rogers!" Brandon Stark called. "They say a true friend appears when your need is great, but I hadn't thought the saying to be truth." He strode over, offering his arm.
"Brandon," Steve said. He clasped the offered arm. "It looks like we've arrived at an exciting time. What happened?"
"That inbred Valyrian fuck took my sister, that's what happened. I mean to get her back."
"The Prince abducted Lyanna?" Steve asked.
"No," Brandon said, almost snarling. "Aerys."
Steve stared at him for a long moment. "You have my shield."
Brandon grinned savagely. "Bread and salt!" he shouted. "Bread and salt, for a boon ally of the Starks!"
Servants hurried to oblige the shouting Northman, and Steve met Naerys' gaze through the sudden chaos. It seemed things were about to get a lot more complicated.
A pair of thin goats stared at them as they neared the muddy patch of open ground that passed for a town square. Distrustful eyes peered at them through dark doors.
"There's more people here than I would have thought," Steve said, looking over the dwellings. They weren't quite ramshackle, and were constructed with a certain amount of pride, but they would certainly be looked down on by any city dweller. He judged there to be enough to house perhaps five hundred people.
"It's in better condition than many villages I've seen in my travels," Keladry said. Since leaving Riverrun, she had opened up again, free from the thought that she or her name might be recognised. "Perhaps the tax farmers are less rapacious here."
"We're looking at rain, perhaps," Naerys said as she rode up on Swiftstride, peering up at the grey sky.
Robin and Lyanna sat in the wagon, looking about. Lyanna had a disquieted look on her face as she took in the conditions of the village. Dodger sat atop the wagon, ears pricked up.
"This is your show Toby," Steve said. "Whatever you want to get done here."
"I dunno," Toby muttered. He still looked about, as if searching for something. Whatever it was, he didn't seem to find it, and Khal, his black stallion, took him down a village lane without prodding.
In the distance, Steve could hear repeated shouts. There was nothing alarmed about it, but it had the sound of command to it. In the village 'square', one of the houses caught his eye, in better condition than any others. There was also the start of a gathering crowd, a few villagers starting to gather down the side streets and behind houses.
He dismounted, stroking Fury's neck. The white horse nosed his pocket, demanding the apple he had hidden there, and he fed it to him, the horse careful to avoid his fingers with his teeth.
"Hello the village," Steve called, raising an arm to their silent audience. "I am Steve Rogers. I mean you no harm."
The villagers seemed to rustle at his words, several murmuring amongst themselves, but there was no reply.
Steve exchanged a glance with Naerys, and she shrugged.
"Is there someone you trust to talk for you?" he spoke again.
Some of those closer glanced towards the nicer house, but others seemed to glance away, out of the village, in the direction of the commands. Commands which seemed to have stopped.
Some unseen signal seemed to pass around the slowly growing crowd of observers, and their uneasiness began to lessen. He heard numerous footsteps squelching through mud one lane over, but there was also activity within the house that likely belonged to the village headsman. As its front door creaked open, a dozen armed villagers made their entrance onto the square in a half decent marching column, a grizzled old man at their head. From the house also emerged a less grizzled old man who looked like he had probably bathed in the last couple of days.
Both the old men caught sight of each other at the same time, and visibly decided not to get into things in light of the strangers in their village. They stared Steve down, but said nothing, waiting.
"I am Ser Rogers, Lord America," Steve said, projecting for the crowd. "Who speaks for you?"
"Name's Walt," the fighter of the two leaders said. He looked like he wanted to spit, but settled for eyeing Steve like he might bite someone. His hair was almost entirely salt, with only a few small streaks of pepper left, and starting to retreat back from his forehead, but his beard was tidy, and cropped short. His face was lined with the records of a hard lived life.
"I'm Kincaid, milord," the headsman said. He had a similar look to Walt, but he looked younger, less worn. His hair had more colour in it, and he had fewer frown lines. He even wore clothes that were comparable to Steve's travel gear.
"Is there a reason you greet strangers with spears?" Steve asked, gesturing to the dozen villagers behind Walt. They had no armour to speak of, but their spears looked to be in good condition, if old.
Both men made to speak at once, speaking over one another, and they exchanged glares.
"You're not our lord," Walt said. "We don't owe you any explanation." There was a round scar on his left cheek, like an arrow had been shot through it. The old but well-maintained mail and gambeson he wore only added to his appearance as a fighter.
A vein on Kincaid's temple twitched. "We're armed because we need to be, milord. There's mountain clansmen about." He looked towards the mountains to the north. They were probably only a day's ride away, and they seemed to loom over the village, even in the distance.
"Have you been raided?" Steve asked. He remembered what Keladry had said about the habits of the mountain clansmen.
"Not yet," Walt said. "But they're a-comin'."
"And so are Lord Tillet's men," Kincaid said. "And when they see we're under arms, our obligations will increase. It's already going to be bad enough with all the newcomers."
"Tillet didn't defend the villages the newcomers fled, and he won't defend us," Walt said, and it had the sound of a long worn thin argument. "We can wait for spears that aren't comin' and watch as our womenfolk are dragged away, or we can take up our own and gut the fuckers who try it."
"Lord Tillet didn't get warning that the other villages were threatened," Kincaid said. "It were your scouting that gave us that warning in the first place. Can't you be ha-" he cut himself off, regret on his face.
"I'll be happy when the whoresons are in the ground," Walt said, face like stone. He turned back to Steve. "That enough of a reason for you, lord?"
"How many villages have been attacked?" Steve asked.
"Four in the last half year," Walt said.
"Their survivors all ended with us," Kincaid added.
Steve frowned. "And the lord here hasn't done anything?"
"Helped them resettle, patrolled the coastal lands, aye, but chase the raiders up into their mountains?" Kincaid asked, shaking his head. "It's a fool's errand."
"Any force worth their steel could pursue those goat fuckers into 'their' mountains," Walt growled back. "This new Lord Tillet would have left his bowels on the first beach in the Stepstones and his entrails on the second."
"You expect an attack soon then," Steve said, looking over the dozen spearmen. They held their weapons competently enough, but Steve could see that they were new to them.
"Aye," Walt said. He gave a whistle, and eight more armed villagers emerged from another side street, to the side and behind Steve and his companions.
"Stranger take you Walt," Kincaid groaned.
Walt looked unapologetic. "Can't trust strangers."
Toby came trotting back, eyeing the gathering. "Who're these old farts?" he asked.
"Mouthy little shit, aren't you?" Walt said.
"Tobias," Keladry said.
Toby ignored her, sticking out his tongue at Walt. Walt spat at the feet of his horse in response.
"Every now and then, I go and check the spots nearby that a raiding party might camp at if they wanted to hit the village," Walt said, ignoring the glob of spit Toby sent back at him. "I saw a group of thirty approaching one of them two days ago."
"When do you think they'll attack?" Steve asked.
"Tonight."
"Alright," Steve said. "This is what we're going to do."
Steve was a strange lord, newly arrived in the village and without any great entourage. He displayed no true finery, and his clothes were travel stained, but even so, he possessed an undeniable strength of presence. When he spoke, people listened, and the crowd leaned in to hear his words.
"Walt, you and your men will defend the village as you planned," he said. "Keladry and I will lay in wait outside the village and hit them from behind when they attack."
"You'll be becalmed before a pirate if they catch you out there," Walt said.
"It would be simpler if they did," Steve said. He considered the feasibility of playing bait, but dismissed it as unreliable. "Robin, I want you to pick a roof and get yourself up there. Make sure you've got a clear escape path. When the attack comes, your job is to send up a fire arrow in the direction it's coming from."
Robin nodded, face serious. This would be his first time knowingly going into a fight, but he looked ready.
"Toby, you've got the horses," Steve continued. "You'll stay on the move, and pass any messages. Let the horses do what they do best." He'd normally forbid the kid from going near the fight, but he knew better than to give an order he knew wouldn't be obeyed.
The horses stamped their feet, as if sensing their master's eagerness.
"Do you have a plan for your non-combatants?" Steve asked the two village leaders.
Kincaid answered, Walt looking to him. "We mean to shelter in the festival hall. It'll be tight with all our new neighbours, but it has a cellar."
"Naerys, Lyanna, you'll join them," Steve said. Naerys looked conflicted, a hint of disappointment in her eyes, but she nodded. "Naerys, you're the last line of defence in case anyone gets past us."
There was some stirring in the crowd at that, and some who looked to have something to say about a woman bearing arms in defence of them, but Steve pinned them with a stare and they stayed quiet.
"I'll have my boys set up barricades around the hall, block the streets," Walt said.
"Good thinking," Steve said. "Is there anything else I need to know?" There was some murmured discussion, but nothing was forthcoming. "Alright then. Let's get to work."
X
Night fell, and with it a sense of anxious anticipation upon the village. The last rays of the sun were disappearing over the horizon, and their preparations were near complete. Livestock had been locked away safely, streets barricaded with rough cut wood that had been intended for housing, and the villagers, those that weren't fighting, huddled in the festival hall. Robin stood watch atop a tall house, the clear skies and bright moon giving him a clear view of most approaches.
In Kincaid's home, lit by candles, Steve and Keladry made their final preparations. They checked each other's arming doublets and quilted breeches. Keladry insisted on armouring Steve first, and so he stood in the small home of the village leader as he donned his new armour for only the second time, and the first for battle. From the feet up, the thick plate was secured to him, each strap and buckle shaken and checked. It wasn't something he couldn't manage himself, but there was a solemnity to the process that he could appreciate. The cuirass settled onto his shoulders, star front and centre, protecting him from near anything any bandit could bring to bear. The suit Tony had made for him probably protected him better, but there was something about sixty pounds of steel plate that made a man feel invincible.
Keladry moved on to his arms, gauntlet, vambrace, and pauldron strapped and fixed in place on each side. He curled his arms and twisted in place, crouching and rising. His movement was smooth and almost unhindered, although he didn't think he'd be able to bring his foot over his head as he normally could. Finally, he was handed his helm. He looked at its face for a long moment, before placing it on his head.
"How do I look?" Steve asked.
"Like you could take on the Kingdoms alone," Keladry answered.
"Well, maybe one of them," Steve said. "Your turn."
The process was unfamiliar, but Steve was a quick learner, and Keladry was soon clad in her own plate armour, checking her balance and mobility. If Steve was a tank, she was a drone, little consideration for anything but lethality. The armet helm she donned only completed the picture, visor snapping into place, two narrow slits staring out at the world.
Clad in armour, she stood taller, every inch speaking of quiet confidence, like this was her natural state. Still, her helm tilted towards Steve, silently questioning.
"You look strong," Steve said. "Did you fight much, the year you and Toby were alone?"
Keladry flipped her visor up, revealing hazel eyes. "Bandits, here and there. Once a group of men at arms that had been sent to harass another lord's village. Not mountain clansmen though, not since the ambush."
"They won't know what hit them," Steve said. "You ready?"
She strode over to the wall, against which her glaive leaned. Two metres of wood, and another half metre of blade, ensured that she would outreach near anyone on the battlefield. "I'm ready."
Steve took up his shield, strapping it to his arm, and set his hammer into the harness on his back, the head down at his waist. He felt a stirring within him, a nostalgia that harkened back to the early days with the Avengers, almost as if he could look over his shoulder and see Tony and Clint arguing about arrows, or Thor idly swinging his hammer. It passed, and he clapped Keladry on the shoulder. "Let's go be heroes."
X x X
In the lee of a small hillock, Steve and Keladry waited. To the south, across several fallow fields, they could see the village, torches lit throughout in an attempt to make it seem like they were unaware of the coming raid. Steve waited with inhuman patience gained over many long watches and stakeouts, and Keladry took her cues from him as they kept their vigil. It had been some few hours already, and they did not know how many more were to come.
Then, a flaming arrow rose from the village. It shot to their left, briefly illuminating a number of figures creeping through the fields to the east. There was a scream of pain as one of them was hit in the side.
"Charge, quietly," Steve ordered. He broke into a jog, and Keladry followed.
The raiders were perhaps one hundred metres away, but the two warriors ate up the distance, their breathing steady. Perhaps some knights would think it inadvisable, but Steve could run for days, and Keladry had long since been introduced to the joys of the suicide run after watching his exercises. Metal clanked and rattled, but the raiders were too distracted to see them coming, trying as they were to avoid the arrows speeding out of the darkness towards them as they ducked low and charged the village. Already two more had shafts sticking from them, and as the warriors neared, one of them keeled over, dead.
They hit them side on, the raiders blind to the presence until it was too late, so focused were they on closing with the village. The field was watered with blood as Steve and Keladry crashed through the dozen or so men. Steve knocked two clean off their feet with a single sweep of his hammer, leaving them wheezing, while Keladry decapitated one and drove the iron shod base into the temple of another. They careened through to the other side, leaving their foes in disarray behind them.
Some turned, others tried to keep charging, but their momentum had been lost. Clad in furs and mismatched armour, many of them wore old burn marks proudly, and they snarled as they saw the two armoured warriors before them. They cursed them in a language that Steve didn't recognise, but Keladry cursed them right back, and they reared back in shock and offence. Whatever she had said, it was enough to turn them from the village, and they charged, howling.
Seven charged two, but it was not nearly enough. Axes and swords crashed against plate and were ignored as skulls were cracked and limbs carved from bodies. Keladry disembowelled the final two with a single sweep of her glaive, leaving them screaming in the dirt. She put them out of their misery with precise cuts to their throats, and then saw to the others that Steve had left wounded and broken.
"Don't see much use for prisoners?" Steve asked.
"Not of mountain clansmen," Keladry answered. She cleaned her blade on the fur of one of the fallen.
The sound of combat reached them, coming from the village. The fight was not yet done.
"Kel, head to the hall, make sure it's still safe," Steve said. "If you don't join me at the fight afterwards, I'll assume there was trouble and come to you."
"Aye," Keladry said.
They split, running for the village and their goals. Steve could still hear the occasional buzz of an arrow fired, and the pained shouts of wounded men. He followed it to the village square, and there he found a scrum of men, fighting and dying. Side on to them he was, and he could see the villagers valiantly warding off the clansmen who were laughing and roaring, drunk off bloodlust. The clansmen were outnumbered, only ten of them, but it was clear which of the groups were the better fighters, some spearmen crawling away from the fight, others still and bloody on the ground. The only thing keeping them from being overwhelmed was Walt, standing in the centre of the wavering line. He wore an old maille hauberk and a skullcap, and his bared teeth were outlined with blood, as if he had torn out a man's throat with them. The clansmen near him were wary, but they would not be deterred forever.
Steve made his entrance without ceremony, charging into the pack at a sprint. He did not bother with shield nor hammer, simply bulling his way through the enemy, and they were left scattered in his wake. Limbs cracked and bones were crushed as Captain America decided that he had a pressing need to be on the other side of them.
Walt was the first to take advantage, driving his spear into the gut of the leader and tearing it out, leaving the man shrieking with pain. The scent of blood and shit was heavy in the air, and the old soldier added to it as he gave another clansman a wound to match. The other spearmen soon followed his lead, and the raiders had no chance to recover from Steve's entrance before generational fury was vented upon them, each raider speared half a dozen times. Soon the only sound was the panting of the survivors as they regained their breath, and a brief, wet choking as one of the clansmen tried to breathe with a torn out throat.
"There's a dozen or so dead in the eastern field," Steve said to Walt. He quickly counted the bodies in the dirt again. "You said you saw about thirty?"
"At least," Walt said, leaning on his spear. He spat, trying to clear the blood from his mouth, and wiped his face with the back of his hand, but it only served to smear the blood further.
Keladry had yet to join them, but there was no sign of Toby either, and he misliked it.
"Toby went west with the horses, but he hasn't come back yet," Robin said. The boy was crouched on a nearby roof, and he seemed to have been hopping from house to house.
Steve hesitated, but only for a moment. He might have told Keladry he would join her if she did not come to the fight, but he knew her well enough to know she'd want him to see to Toby. "Robin, head to the hall and make sure all is well. Take some of the spearmen with you. Walt, you'll see to your wounded?" He received a nod from him, and the villagers in the best shape headed over to Robin as he slipped down from the rooftop. While at another time some might argue at being told to follow a teenager, after Steve's entrance to the fight, none would gainsay his orders. "I'm going to find Toby. Watch each other's backs; we're almost through this."
No time was wasted, the feeling of time slipping away while a companion might be in danger nagging at them. As Steve loped through the village, armour clattering as he went, he passed two more corpses with arrows in their necks. He soon left the settlement behind, and he slowed as he beheld the sight before him.
The good news was that Toby was fine. He was fine because the raiders who had attempted to attack from this direction had been reduced to a bloody, mangled mass in the dirt. Even as he watched, Toby led another pass as he sat atop Redbloom, the other horses following behind. Even one of the mules, Bill, the one that so often butted heads with Keladry's warhorse, had joined in the carnage, doing his best to keep up at the rear of the herd. A raiding party might be a threat to a peaceful village and the untrained smallfolk who lived within, but they had clearly come off second best in this encounter.
Toby saw Steve and trotted over to him, the other horses following. Blood and gore dripped form their hooves. "What'd you come 'ere for? I got it handled."
"Pass messages, I said," Steve said, voice dry.
"I sent a message," Toby said, shrugging. "'Ow'd the rest go?"
"Fine so far," Steve said, "but some might have slipped through to the hall; I sent Keladry to check and Robin to support her with some spearmen."
"Kel's fine," Toby said, sure of her skill. "But Steve, these're Burned Men."
"Burned Men?" Steve asked.
Toby spat to the side. "Bastards they are. No clan wants to fuck with them."
"You can tell me about them once we're sure they've been dealt with," Steve said, "and after Keladry hears about your language."
Toby gave him a betrayed look. Steve was unimpressed.
"Come on," Steve said. "I can't hear any fighting, but let's make sure everyone is ok."
X
The festival hall was only two lanes away from the square, but from the bodies that lay before it, it seemed that several raiders had managed to sneak past and try their luck at those protected within it, not that it seemed to have done them much good. Two bodies lay by the main door, throats cut messily, and Naerys sat near them, bloody short sword over her lap and Dodger beside her, jaw flecked with blood. She was pale but unharmed, and was talking quietly with Keladry. There were two more bodies further away, one missing its head, a move Keladry seemed fond of, but the other had been cut clean in two at the waist, entrails spilling out from the torso in a macabre display. There was one last clansman, but this one still lived, kneeling in the dirt as Walt stood behind him, spear pressed into his back. Some of the other spearmen were gathered, but most were still seeing to the rest of the village.
"All well?" Steve called as he neared.
"Aye," Keladry answered. "If there are any clansmen left, they've long fled."
"Just this last bit of mountain scum left," Walt said, jabbing the captive with his spear, "and we'll fix that soon enough."
"The sentence for banditry is hanging, right?" Steve asked. Walt clearly had a grievance with the mountain clans, but even so, he wouldn't sit by and watch a prisoner be abused, no matter their crimes.
"He'll hang, don't worry," Walt said, although he did ease off with his spear.
The captive had been grimly quiet, but he looked up as seven horses joined them. Recognition lit in his eyes, and a horrible grin spread across his face, revealing crooked and missing teeth. "Didn't think I'd ever see you alive again boy," he said, looking at Toby. His accent was harsh, but he spoke Westerosi easily enough.
"Chet," Toby said, voice flat. There was a coldness in his eyes.
"What'd you do, run off after the raid that killed your Da?" Chet said. "Pretend you're not some clan's get and lie your way into being a bed servant for some Andal?"
"Still talking through your arse then," Toby said, sneering. "See nothin's changed. Piss in anyone's porridge lately?"
Chet snarled at Toby, but kept his calm. "You know what has changed though boy? Now I get to fuck your Ma whenever I want, instead of just when I catch her out alone."
Toby's face went still.
"Toby," Keladry said, voice warning, but Toby ignored her, not looking away from the captive.
"I ever tell you that I might be your daddy?" Chet said. "You were born not long after the first time I had your Ma, but it wasn't the last."
Walt struck him in the back of the head with the butt of his spear, but the raider winced and ignored him.
"Yeah, you and that streak of piss you called Da not coming back from that raid was real good for me and the lads," Chet said. "Your Ma's cunt has been doing the work of ten-"
Redbloom whirled and kicked Chet in the head, caving it in with a sick crunch. The force of the blow pushed him back onto Walt's spear, and it pierced clean through his chest. Redbloom galloped away into the darkness, and Keladry jumped onto Malorie without pause, chasing after him.
"Guess he won't be hanged after all," Walt said, pulling his spear free with a squelch.
Steve looked down the lane his friends had disappeared down. It was easy sometimes, to forget that Toby was hardly ten. Come the morning, he would speak with them, and they would plan their next steps. For now though, they would need their space.
"See to the corpses," he commanded. "Any wounded, take them to the village healer, and I'll help aid them."
The raid had been repulsed, the battle won, but the execution of the last raider had left a sour taste in his mouth, and not because of its manner.
X
The morning came, and with it questions. Keladry and Toby had returned an hour after they had disappeared the previous night, both on Redbloom. Despite the hardness of her plate armour, the boy had been sleeping as he leant back into her. Kel had brooked no questions, carrying Toby into their tent and laying him down on his bedroll. As the sun rose, they all gathered in the main section, some more well rested than others. There was an air of expectation, and all were watching Steve as he stood at one end of the 'room', arms crossed.
"I don't think that there's any question of what we're going to do next," Steve said, watching Toby as he spoke. Gone was the chaotic but eager child who was happy so long as he was around horses, replaced by a kid with a helpless anger, mind bent on only one thing. "What we need to decide on is the how. Toby, these Burned Men, they're the clan you walked away from?"
"My clan weren't no Burned Men," Toby said. "They were Mountain Runners, but they must've been folded into the Burned."
"Burned Men are one of the larger clans," Keladry explained. "Like the others, they've plagued the Vale for centuries, constantly raiding and stealing women."
"Why are they called the Burned Men?" Lyanna asked. She sat on the floor, holding Dodger to herself as she scratched him behind the ears.
"Because when they come of age, they burn a part of their body off," Keladry said.
"No one wants to fuck with a clan full of people like that," Toby said.
"Do you know where this clan lives?" Steve asked.
Toby shook his head. "They move, so the knights don't come in and wipe 'em out," he said. "And my clan moved more than most, 's why we were called the Mountain Runners. I dunno where they'd be now, being taken in by the Burned."
"How deep into the mountains are they?" Steve asked.
"Deep," Keladry said. "They've been there for thousands of years, and they know their lands well."
"Their numbers?"
"No one knows."
Steve frowned, considering. They didn't need to conquer the mountains, a good thing since the might of the Vale had apparently failed at that for the last few thousand years. All they needed to do was find a specific person in a large swathe of hostile mountains, and get them out. Doable. The question was how.
"Do the Burned Men have enemies in other clans?" Steve asked.
"Plenty," Toby said.
"Would they work with us?"
"No chance. Not with lowlanders."
"What about a neutral ground for a challenge?" Steve said. "Could we win your mother back from them?"
"The only honour the mountain clans have is reserved for each other," Keladry said. "They've none to spare for lowlanders."
"'Lowlanders'," Steve said. "Is that all they think of people outside the clans?"
"At best," Keladry said.
"So force is our best option."
"The only option," Keladry said. There was a heat to her that she hadn't shown before, her disdain for the clans showing through the composed front she usually wore.
"We could approach the local lord," Naerys said, having been quiet until now. "Kincaid said that he had been contacted for aid. He would be obliged to help us, given our defence of his people."
Robin and Lyanna made similar noises of disgust, perhaps louder than they had intended given their guilty looks. "Sorry Naerys," Robin said.
"I know," Naerys said, pursing her lips. "But it is an avenue we could pursue."
"The alternative is heading into the mountains on our own," Steve said.
"Yeh could recruit a few lads from the village," a new voice said, speaking from outside the tent.
Steve looked sharply in its direction, watching as a shadow rose up from where it had lain flat next to the eastern tent wall. They must have approached when it was still dark to do so unseen or unheard. "Show yourself," he commanded.
Walt stuck his head in through the tent flap, and the rest of him soon followed. "Apologies for the intrusion, but if you're dealing with the mountain clans, I want in," he said.
"You eavesdrop on every visitor that passes through your village?" Steve asked, somewhat annoyed. Whether it was at himself for missing the man or the man for the intrusion, he couldn't say.
"Just the nobles," Walt said.
"How does that go for you?" Steve asked.
"Well, seeing as they never catch me," he said, shrugging. His clothes were dusty from where he had crawled and hidden out of sight, but he was unbothered.
"You want something," Steve said.
"I do," Walt said.
Steve waited, watching the man. He was an old soldier that still had a few fights in him, going by what he had seen last night, and it was best to be wary of those.
"I lost some boys last night, and others have little will to take up the spear again," Walt said, "but some got a taste for it. You bring me with you when you go to rescue this one's mother, and I'll bring 'em, and train them as part of the deal."
"You'll train them," Steve said, questioning.
"I fought against the Blackfyres in the Stepstones, and learned my craft well," Walt said. He looked older than Barristan, but that was the harsh life of a smallfolk telling, and he still held a wiry strength.
Steve considered the man. The offer wasn't without merit.
Recruit from the villagers and head into the mountains. The raiding party will have left some manner of trail to follow. x
Approach the local lord, Tillet. He should have some idea of where the mountain clan might be camped, but any trail the raiders left would be lost.
Walt held his stare, unbothered.
"Why do you want this?" Steve asked at length. He had a suspicion, but he wanted to hear it from the man.
"Clans took someone from me once," Walt admitted. "I mean to get her back, or make them pay."
"Then if you think your lads are up for it, we'll recruit them and follow the trail the raiders left," Steve said.
"Good," Walt said, cold satisfaction in his voice. "I'll tell them you agreed." Steve cocked an eyebrow at him, and he snorted a laugh. "I knew what I wanted before I came here. We'll be ready to leave tomorrow." He let himself out of the tent, a spring in his step.
"Bit rude, innee," Toby said, a hint of his old self coming through.
Keladry laid a hand on his head, tousling it lightly, but she was smiling.
"This is going to be dangerous," Steve said, looking to the others. "More dangerous than is right for me to exp-"
"Shut up, Steve," Naerys said.
"I'm probably safer with you in the middle of a mountain clan camp than I am here on my own," Lyanna said.
"If Toby is going, I'm going too," Robin said.
Dodger barked.
Steve sighed, unable to hold back a rueful smile. "I guess that's that then. We leave tomorrow."
X
It did not take them long to prepare, shifting what equipment they would need from the wagon to the saddlebags of their horses and the backs of their mules. They would have no comfortable tent for their journey into the mountains, and no wagon to carry their possessions, for what roads there were would not serve well enough, but they would have their mounts and their bedrolls. The rest of the day was spent relaxing, taking advantage of the calm before their march into the deeply hostile territory of a people who had been resisting the rulers of the land for thousands of years, to rescue a woman who had been written off as lost the moment she had been taken nearly a decade ago. For anyone else, it would have been a fool's errand. For Steve…he'd taken worse odds.
The villagers gave them a solemn send off, thankful for their aid but doubtful of their chances. Walt had eight young men with him, spears on their shoulders and packs hoisted on their backs, even if they seemed a bit empty. They had looted what armour the raiders had worn, and each of them had some basic protection. All of them had family saying their farewells, but none had sweethearts they were leaving behind, and by Steve's judgement this was by Walt's design. Grey clouds rolled in as they left the village behind, and it fit the mood.
Steve set a swift pace, and Walt took advantage to drill proper marching technique into the men. They were strong young men, all seasoned by the labour of a farm, but they weren't anything close to soldiers yet. Toby rode ahead, as was his habit, and Keladry led their small column, eyes alert for foes. The others followed behind so as not to stir up dust to be marched through. As midday approached, Steve slipped off Fury to march beside the old man.
"You seem to know where we're going," Steve said. Walt had been subtly nudging their path since their departure.
"We don't have a lot of things that a soldier might need, back in the village," Walt said. "I bet the clansmen camp will have a few things though."
"Acquire the supply of the enemy for the good of the army," Steve mused.
"That's it," Walt said. "You've served before then."
"I've done my time," Steve said.
"Hmm." Walt eyed him, taking his measure. "You've got a bit of babyface, but you fight like a veteran."
"Thanks," Steve said, straight faced. They marched in silence for a time, and Steve subtly extended their lead from the rest. "Why were you so eager to get these fellas along on this trip?"
"Because I like our chances with them better than if it was just an old man, two knights, a woman and some kids," Walt said.
"You saw how they fought," Steve said. "And you saw what I did. You've got another reason."
Walt chewed the inside of his cheek, the one with the scar tissue in it. "Because as soon as that fight was over, I saw that they'd got a taste for it. They wanted more, just like I did twenty years ago. I was lucky, and had Ninepenny Kings making trouble, but there's no war on the horizon for them."
"So you want to get it out of their system," Steve said.
"Show them it's not all fun and games, aye," Walt said. "That, and Kincaid was right about one thing. Tillet will increase what we owe if he sees we've men under arms. If we can avoid that, even get some boys sending coin home, we could really start to flourish as a village."
"No guarantee they all come home."
"That's true," Walt acknowledged. "But I chose who I chose for a reason, and I'll do my damndest to get them home safe. That's if they don't get a taste for the life."
"I had thoughts about starting a mercenary company," Steve said. "But this was in Essos, not Westeros."
"Why would a noble want to do a thing like that?" Walt asked. The land they walked now was starting to grow hillier, and less like the sort of land that a farmer might eye appraisingly.
"I saw things I wanted to change," Steve said.
"Things you wanted to change, in Essos," Walt said. "You're not talking about what I think you're talking about."
"Why not?"
Walt snorted. "Pick something easier first, like wiping out the clans."
"Everything is too hard until someone does it," Steve said. He wasn't going to go into the ethics of wiping out a group of people with a soldier in a feudal society. "Something to think about, if the lads get a taste for fighting."
"As you say," Walt said.
"What did you say their names were, anyway?" Steve asked.
"Don't tell them I told you, but they're Ed, Jon, Symon, Gerold, Tim, Humfrey, Will, and Hugo," Walt said. "I said you wouldn't acknowledge them until they could maintain a march and hold a spear line."
"That's a reward for them?" Steve said.
"They got a bit excited about the way you knocked over those raiders, don't let it go to your head, milord," Walt said.
Steve was starting to get the feeling that Walt wasn't too concerned with that whole lèse-majesté thing.
"By the time we reach the mountains, I'll have these lads good enough to not die to the first savage that runs screaming at them with an axe," he continued.
"They did alright in the raid," Steve said.
"They were one more death from breaking discipline," Walt said quietly, after glancing back at them, "and they still held longer than I thought they would."
"Having something to fight for will do that," Steve said.
Walt grumbled an agreement. "They're no household guard, but I suppose they did well enough."
The two of them spoke on less important matters as they continued on, setting a picture-perfect example of a march for the recruits to mimic, and by early afternoon, they were nearing the camp that the raiders had left behind. It was likely deserted, but still they approached cautiously, Steve and Keladry leading the way, the recruits following under Walt's strict eye.
It was indeed empty, but there was evidence of somewhat recent activity. Much of the camp looked to have been left in a messy state, as if the owners of the tents and bedrolls were expecting to return, but there was evidence of another that had been present. It seemed there was at least one survivor of the raid on the village.
"What does this mean for us?" Steve asked. "Will the Burned Men be on the lookout for retaliation?"
Walt shook his head and spat.
"They shouldn't," Keladry said. "Even the greatest of Houses rarely pursue when the raiders get deep enough into the mountains."
"Cowards," Walt grumbled.
"They know that men who go in rarely come out," Keladry finished.
"Let's get to looting then," Steve said. "We've still got plenty of daylight."
They did so, and by the end of it, each recruit had a bedroll and a tent to sleep in, even if some needed a beating and an airing first. There was little of value otherwise however, the most useful loot having been carried by the raiders and taken from their corpses. Before long, it was time to continue on, each man's pack a little fuller, and their backs a little straighter, feeling more like proper soldiers.
The mountains beckoned.
X x X
The Mountains of the Moon made even the largest of men feel small, and there was a curious sense of being disconnected from the outside world. Through valleys and along ridges they walked, Toby leading the way as he followed marks and signs only apparent to him. While the Arryns might lay claim to the entirety of the Vale, it was clear that there were large swathes of the mountains that knew no lords but the mountain clans. Fields that had never been tilled and mountains that had never been quarried as far as they could see, the barest remains of what might once have been a village the only sign of lowland presence they encountered.
By day they marched, breaking camp with the dawn and following the trails. Come the afternoon, they stopped while the sun still shone and trained. Their options were limited by their need to march again the next day, but Steve and Walt still had plenty of options to improve their raw recruits. The young men soon came to curse the very idea of the push up and the plank, to say nothing of the spear drills they were put through. The weapons may not have been designed for it, but Keladry had them following her glaive exercises as a group, drilling a basic pattern into their minds and muscles. Any cockiness at their growing skills was tamped down by a round of hand to hand in the ring with Steve as they were manhandled like errant children in the pursuit of teaching them basic self-defence. If there were any complaints to be had, the men kept quiet when they saw the kids learning the same moves they were, and a woman more advanced.
In the mountains, there was no lord to lay claim to the deer, or to enforce poaching laws, and so the party ate richly each night. Robin would venture out with Toby and a horse, and return with a hart slung over its back. They had what roots and tubers could be found, but they were few, and despite the eagerness the men showed to be eating so much meat, Steve would be glad for the variety of civilisation when they returned.
Gutting and dressing the hart was a task Steve had taken for himself, finding himself enjoying it, although Dodger constantly begged for scraps. He would watch as Keladry put the men through their drills, leading them with her glaive, while Toby and Walt squabbled over nothing nearby. Robin would produce the reed ring he had taken from the archery competition at Harrenhal, and spend the late afternoon shooting. He was starting to core the ring more often than not, and Lyanna would cheer him when he did. Naerys liked to sit and read, keeping an eye on them all.
After everyone had been thrown around in the dirt by Steve in the name of training, all were ready for a hot meal, the spices he had restocked before leaving Riverrun doing wonders for morale.
On the seventh night of their journey into the mountains, Steve watched the stars emerge as night fell, enjoying the warmth cast by the fire. They were all gathered around it, small conversations taking place as they digested their meal. The villagers had made to set up their own area the first night they made camp, but Steve had waved off the idea, and they had shared a fire each night since. He had apparently underestimated the social divide between the smallfolk and a lord however, as none of the recruits had struck up a conversation with him, and even Walt had shown a more respectful side. He ignored the thought that it had taken time to work on Robin and Lyanna to get them to drop the formality, arguably the only two of his companions who had joined his retinue in anything approaching normal circumstances.
"Excuse me, Ser Steve?"
Maybe tonight was the night, Steve thought. "Yes, Symon?"
Symon swallowed as he became the focus of attention of all around the campfire. He was a tall and slender man with dark hair, but the week on the march had already done him some good. "I was wondering, well me and the lads were wondering," and here there were some entirely silent recriminations from his fellows, "what part of the Kingdoms you come from?"
"I'm not from the Seven Kingdoms," Steve said.
"I come from the West."
"I'm from a great southern land."
Leave it at that. x
Glances were exchanged as Steve made no move to answer further.
"Why do you ask? You draw the short straw?" Steve said, mouth quirked.
"Ay-Nay, milord," Symon said. "We were just wondering where you learned to trample people like you did at the village."
"That's just something I picked up," Steve said. "It's mostly the armour, really. Nothing special."
"What would you count as something special then?" Another man asked. It was Hugo, the biggest of the men, one that Steve had heard the others teasing for sometimes taking over for the ox when it tired of the plough. "Er, milord."
"Ser Steve is fine," Steve said. He had almost told them to call him Steve, days ago, but the look in Naerys' eye had persuaded him otherwise. "I don't know what you'd call something special."
"Tell them about the Kingswood Brotherhood," Naerys said from her seat next to him.
"Or the melee final," Robin said from across the fire.
"The seabeast that almost drowned ya," Toby suggested.
Brotherhood
Leviathan
Melee x
"I guess the melee final at the Harrenhal tournament was something," Steve said.
"We heard about that," another man, Tim, said eagerly. He had large ears and spoke quickly, leaning forwards. "Trader came through last month who'd been there. That was really you who won it? Milord."
The men looked interested, and so Steve gave in without much reluctance. "Yeah, that was me. I had some people try to get in my way, but I made it to the finals without much trouble. I had some good fights against Robert Baratheon, Yohn Royce, and Barristan the Bold."
"Lord Royce!" Tim said, admiringly. "What was he like?"
"Well, he put up a good fight and he can move like nobody's business in that bronze armour of his…"
Steve spun the tale of his melee victory, speaking well of his opponents and their skill. The camp was enthralled, even those who had been there to see it themselves. When the admiration got to be a bit much, Steve shifted attention by throwing Robin and Toby under the bus, and mentioning their third and second places in the archery and horse racing. They retaliated with his antics in the axe throwing, and he was obliged to tell that story as well. The recruits relaxed as the tales were told, and they saw the common folk of his retinue exchange friendly mockings with him. They fed the fire twice over the course of the telling, and by the end, all were filled with the quiet cheer of full bellies and good company. The stars twinkled overhead as silence crept in.
"What do you spose will happen when we find the clanners?" Jon, the quietest of the men asked. His nose was long and hooked, and he preferred to listen than to speak.
A solemnity came over the fire. In their isolation, and the simple cheer of their routine, it was easy to forget that their small band was marching towards the most feared of all the mountain clans, intent on taking the fight to them.
"Without knowing their defences, I can't say," Steve said. "But whatever we do, we do it smart. That might mean extracting our target quietly, or it might mean me making a distraction while you go in and get them out."
The men accepted his words, reassured at least that Steve seemed to have the beginnings of a plan.
"One thing I will make clear though," Steve said, and here his tone hardened. "We're attacking their home, and that means non-combatants. If a child runs at you with a weapon, you disarm them, kick them away, but you do not strike them with steel. Am I understood?"
There was a pause as they took in his words, and no one answered.
"Aye, Lord America," Walt said. "They understand."
"They never spared our young uns," Gerold, a wiry man with a healing cut along his jaw, said. "Why show mercy to some who're just gonna raid us in a few seasons?" He stared into the fire, away from the glare Walt was giving him.
"We don't know each other well," Steve said quietly. "I know you've suffered from their raids, and I know you're here as much for revenge as you are in hopes of rescuing those they've stolen, but I believe that you're better than the clansmen who raided you." He looked around the fire. "If you march with me, then you act like men, not animals."
"We understand, Lord," Humfrey said. He had killed two clansmen in the raid, and the others looked up to him. His head was shaved, and a scar over his left eye pulled it half closed in a perpetual squint. "We won't shame you."
"It's not about shame," Steve said. "It's about being better, and being able to look the people you defended in the eye afterwards." His retinue, and some of the men, were watching him intently as they absorbed his words, but others seemed doubtful. "We're in these mountains to set right a wrong, not cause another."
"Yes, milord," came the answers, the villagers each murmuring their assent.
Steve sighed. "Speak with me tomorrow if you wish. I won't hold it against you, and it's getting late."
"Humfrey, you've got first watch with Symon," Walt said. "G-"
"I'll take the midnight shift," Steve said.
"As you say," Walt said. "Gerold, you have the third watch with Ed…"
The night came to an end, not on the happiest of notes, but giving those new to Steve's company plenty to think about.
X
It was midmorning the following day and they were well on their way. The sun was obscured by light grey clouds, and they were making their way along a trail at the edge of a valley, near the slope. It reminded Steve of some of a picturesque Swiss valley he and the Commandos had ambushed a convoy of Hydra agents in during the War. None of the men had approached Steve yet, and he had seen a few considering glances at Toby as he guided them, but from what he heard of their whispered conversations, he was optimistic. He was considering breaking for lunch when their journey was interrupted.
At the head of the column, Toby's head jerked up. "Off the trail, quick!" He and Quicksilver darted off the trail and up the slope, into the dense woods that carpeted the mountain side.
The rest of them followed his lead, not questioning their guide. Into the woods they went, man and beast, until they were shrouded by its gloom and could just see the trail they had come from.
Those mounted dismounted, and Steve approached Toby. "What did you see?"
"Quicksilver smelled sommat," Toby said. "Another horse."
"How far away?"
"Dunno," Toby said. He fidgeted in place.
"You made the right call," Steve said. "We wait," he said to Keladry, and she passed on his word. She had her glaive out, and like Steve wore the under layer of her armour, the quilted jacket and chausses offering some protection while they travelled.
They hunkered down, watching and waiting in silence. Birds took up their calls once more, after they had been disturbed by the party's intrusion into the forest. As was always the way, many of them were suddenly aware of a pressing need to answer the call of nature, but they persevered, waiting. Ten minutes and half an eternity later, they began to hear faint sounds of movement.
Through the trees, they watched, catching glimpses as a party made their way along the trail. There were perhaps two dozen mountain clansmen, some mounted, but most not. They were armed and armoured for a fight, and they spoke boisterously with one another in their own tongue. Steve thought he could make out burns on a few of them.
Ambush them. +
Let them pass.
"We'll hit them as they pass," Steve said. "We can't let them go if there's a chance they might raid another village."
Walt nodded. "I'll ready the lads." He scuttled over to them, whispering orders.
"Toby, can you get the horses to throw their riders?" Steve asked.
"Uh, maybe?" Toby said. "But I'd have to shout for them to hear me, and they might like their riders."
"It's not a mental thing?" He watched as the clansmen drew closer.
"Wot?" Toby asked. "How am I supposed to tell the horses what to do without talking to them?"
"Alright then. Can you send our horses down the slope after I engage, before the men do?" Steve asked.
"Yeah, I can do that," Toby said, nodding slowly.
"Naerys, you'll stay with Lyanna up here," Steve said. "Robin, follow the men down, and pick off any riders you can. We don't want them escaping and carrying word of our presence."
The three of them nodded, Robin and Naerys more at ease than Lyanna. He caught her glancing at Naerys' short sword; he might have to get her an easily hidden dagger or something.
Walt returned. "They're ready. You want to lead a charge, hit them as they pass?"
"No, Keladry will lead the charge," Steve said. "I'm going to slip around behind them and slit throats until they notice me."
Keladry accepted his words, only a faint clenching of her jaw giving away any nerves. Walt looked like he might have argued had the raiders not been so close.
"Walt will be at your back, you just focus on cutting through the highlanders and keeping yourself alive," Steve said. "You start charging when the front of their line reaches you, or when they see me, whichever comes first."
"I won't let you down, Ser," Keladry said.
"I know," Steve said. He gave them all a nod. "See you on the other side." He darted off, keeping low to the ground and angling to keep as many trees between him and the path as possible.
The talk of the mountainfolk grew louder, and Steve stopped behind a tree as he reached them. His shield was on his back, and he held a rondel dagger in his right hand. His heart beat steadily as he waited for them to pass. The horses led the way, and he could hear them snort and whicker.
Silently, Steve paced down the slope towards the trail, emerging onto it in the wake of the raiders. The man at the rear of the party bore a heavy pack, and was humming as he walked. In one motion, Steve covered his mouth and drove his dagger up through the base of his skull and into his brain. The man jerked for a moment, and then went limp, and Steve lowered him gently to the ground. He stepped silently after the next man in line and repeated the process.
As he reached for the third man, he happened to turn, as if to say something to those already dead. His eyes widened as he saw Steve standing there, bloody dagger in hand. The soldier took him by the neck and squeezed, blocking any noise from escaping his throat, and the raider beat at him helplessly, until Steve stabbed him through the eye.
The sounds of his fruitless attempts at defence did not go unheard, however, and the next two men in the column looked back. They saw the dagger piercing out the back of their friend's skull, and their hands went to their axes, shouting the alarm.
Steve kicked the corpse towards them, fouling their charge long enough to get his shield on his arm, and the fight was on.
The clansmen turned as one to face the mad Andal who had attacked them alone in their own territory, but then came the thunder of hooves. A small herd of horses and mules emerged from the woods and trampled all in their path, kicking and biting. In their wake came a line of spearmen, led by a tall figure with an enormous polearm, and they wasted no time in taking advantage of the chaos left by them, thrusting their spears out in a simple practised motion. An arrow buzzed from the woods to take the raid leader in the throat and he fell from his horse, choking on his own blood.
Steve killed the two closest to him with a blow to the head from his shield and a cut throat with his dagger, and he kicked the next man in the head, snapping his neck. One of the riders tried to bull past him, heading back the way they came, but he leapt and spun, kicking the man from his horse and sending him tumbling down the valley slope. Another arrow took the third rider in the gut, and the fourth and last was pulled from his mount by Redbloom, the roan warhorse biting his fur cloak and pulling with a toss of his head. Flying hooves and the sound of splattering spoke to his fate when he hit the ground.
In scant moments their ambush had reduced the party of over twenty to a bare half dozen, and Walt reduced that further as he speared a man through the chest. Steve grabbed the next man to run at him by the arm and headbutted him, sending him to the ground, senseless. He watched as Keladry led the others in killing the last of them. Silence fell on the valley once more in the wake of the violence.
Picking up the man he had headbutted, Steve tossed him to Hugo. "Bind this one," he said, before turning to the valley and the man he had kicked off his horse. He was just regaining his senses as Steve reached him, and he tried to lunge at him with a knife. Steve slapped it from his hand, and headbutted him for good measure, before dragging him back up to the others.
He found the other survivor bound hand and foot, sat down on the side of the trail, a torrent of insults flowing from him, not that he could understand them.
"What language is that?" Steve asked.
"Old Tongue," Keladry said. "Only spoken by the mountain clans and some in the North."
Toby said something back to their talkative captive, and the man laughed and spat at him. Toby spat back, wiping his arm on the man's furs to boot.
The second captive was dumped beside the first, and one of the men bound him quickly. It was Ed, a blond with a short beard who was good with knots.
"Do you speak Common?" Steve asked.
"Fuck you, lowlander," the rider Steve had kicked off his horse said, even as his companion continued to spew insults.
"So that's a yes," Steve said. "I've got a few questions."
"Take your questions and fuck your mother with them," the more polite of the two said. One ear looked to have been seared off, now a lump of scarred flesh.
"Why are you raiding? What was your target? Do you have enemies nearby?" Steve asked, as if he hadn't heard.
"And when you're done with her, go fuck your father too," the man continued. "Dry, just like my clan is going to do to you."
Toby had gotten tired of the other man's vitriol, and had started flicking him on the nose every time he spoke. The results were mixed.
"If you answer my questions, I'll give you a death on your feet with your weapon in hand," Steve said.
The insults stopped. "Lowlanders lie," the other man said. He glared at Toby as the boy paused in his flicking.
"You aren't a threat to me," Steve said simply.
The clansmen swallowed, remembering what they'd seen of him during the short fight.
"We won't tell you about our camp," the horseman said.
"I'm not here to wipe you out, just rescue those you've stolen," Steve said.
"You're here for a bunch of mewling quims?" the one eared man asked. He caught a glimpse of Naerys and Lyanna as they emerged from the woods to join them. "Kind of you to bring us more," he said, breaking into a grating laugh.
"They put up a better fight than you did," Steve said, shrugging. "Do we have a deal or not?"
The man glared, but relented. "We were headed for the lowlands. We needed supplies. This is Burned Men land, and none dare challenge us. Happy?"
The other man said something to Toby in the Old Tongue, but it didn't have the sound of an insult, and Toby answered, suspicious.
"We're near one of your camps then?" Steve asked. "Not your main stronghold?"
The one eared man seemed to realise what he had given away, and clamped his mouth shut, murder in his eyes.
Toby was speaking intently to his captive now, low and fast. Gerold and Symon were sharing an uncertain glance behind them.
"Nothing else to say?" Steve asked, distracting him from the discussion.
"Give me my weapon, lowlander," he growled out.
"Untie him," Steve said to Ed, "and give him his weapon." He turned his back on him, taking a few steps away.
When he turned back, the clansman was on his feet, rubbing his wrists as the others stepped away from him. Steve held his arms out in open invitation, and the raider charged. It was over in a heartbeat, Steve stabbing him in the heart and letting his momentum carry him past him into the dirt. He died with a curse on his lips.
With the other prisoner, Toby bounced to his feet, an uncontrollable smile on his face. "I knew he was lying, that dirty piece o' cud!"
"Who was lying? What did he say?" Keladry asked.
"Ma's ok," Toby said. "Chet was fulla shit like always." He rushed Keladry and threw his arms around her.
Keladry returned the hug, holding him close.
"What happened?" Naerys asked.
"He said the Princess took Ma in," Toby said. "Kept anyone from claimin' her as a wife."
"Princess?" Keladry asked.
"I dunno, she's one of the Burned Men women," Toby said.
"You're being real helpful for mountain scum," Walt said. "You got a reason for that?"
The prisoner sneered at Walt, but said something to Toby, not deigning to speak in Common.
"He said Ma helped him when he was wounded one time, stopped the sickness from gettin' in," Toby explained.
Walt considered them for a long moment, before almost forcing a question out. "What'd you say your Ma's name was, boy?"
"She's just Ma," Toby said, looking at him oddly.
"Free me, and give me my axe," the captive demanded.
"You're not going to ask for your freedom after that?" Steve asked.
"Old Gods drink from you," the man said. "I die with my band."
Steve gave Ed a nod, and the red bearded man untied the clansman. The man charged Steve immediately, and he obliged with a quick death. He turned his eye to more important matters, running his eye over the men and making sure none were wounded. There were a few scratches here and there, but nothing serious, although the straps of Jon's gorget were hanging on by a thread.
"Get these bodies off the trail," Steve ordered. "Loot them for any useful items. We'll bury them to keep any predators away." Will, a lithe man with a dense auburn beard, was the first to respond, but he was quickly joined by Humfrey and Hugo in dragging the bodies away.
Robin dropped from a tree at the edge of the woods, and went about collecting his arrows as the bodies were gathered.
"I'll get the shovel," Tim muttered, approaching the mule with it in its pack.
"Toby, we've got four new horses," Steve said. "Introduce them to the others?"
"Yep," Toby said, almost skipping as he let go of Keladry and approached the horses that had belonged to the clansmen. They were smaller than even Quicksilver, but too large to be called a pony, and had shaggier coats.
"Good news," Steve muttered to Keladry as she joined him in supervising.
"Aye," she said back. "But I don't know what he meant by a princess. Mountain clans don't have them, and no Targaryen ever went missing or was taken."
"I guess we'll find out," Steve said.
"We will," Keladry said, a grimly satisfied set to her mouth as she watched the bodies be taken away. "We're close."
Overhead, a falcon gave a cry as it wheeled away. They were closer than they knew.
X x X
Steve and Keladry began wearing their full plate the next day, and it was well that they did, because on the eighth day they found the Burned Men camp. At the base of a deep couloir in the mountain side, and even on the gradual back side, a number of huts had been built. They had the look of temporary dwellings, and if the region saw any amount of snow, they wouldn't last through the winter, built where they were, but the palisade wall stretching across its entrance made it a strong position.
The men wielding bows and spears behind the wall only made it stronger. The gates were shut and barred, and it looked like they were expecting trouble.
"They know we're coming," Steve said. From the cover of nearby woods, they watched the camp, planning their move.
"Don't know how, but aye," Walt said. He was staring at the camp wall like a starved dog, undeterred.
"There's a group leaving up the other side," Robin said. "Just past the huts, see?"
Steve looked where Robin indicated, and he saw what he saw. A small group was leaving the camp behind, and some looked to be herding or pulling others. "I see them. Too big to be children."
"They're getting the women away," Walt said. "Stopping us from rescuing them." His voice was threaded through with cold rage.
"There's women amongst them," Robin said, eyes hawklike. "They're all on foot."
"Why would they evacuate the women," Keladry said, frowning.
"Maybe they know we're coming, but not how many?" Naerys said.
Keladry shook her head, unconvinced. "That doesn't feel right."
"They're gettin' away," Toby said, and Khal, the great black horse he rode, mirrored his anxiety, stamping the earth.
"There won't be an easy way around," Steve said, "not if they've chosen this site and blocked it off like that. We need to go through them."
"I've seen stronger walls," Walt said. "A mounted charge could carry us through. Crush the clansmen, catch up to the women, get them on the horses, run." Even as he said it, it was clear he didn't fully believe in the plan. "It could work."
"Lots of risk someone falls behind," Steve said. He could count maybe fifty men and women under arms in the village, and not a child to be seen.
"They're gettin' away," Toby said again, and it was clear he wouldn't wait much longer.
Challenge the camp. You will give them no choice but to answer. x
Charge the camp. You will carve your way to the women no matter the cost.
Find a way around the camp, and hope to pick up the trail in time.
"Lyanna, get me my horn," Steve said. He checked his shield straps and that his hammer was resting snug on his back.
Lyanna darted off to the mule that held his possessions, digging through the pack.
"What are you planning?" Naerys asked, brows furrowed.
"They're putting on a big show to scare us off," Steve said. "I'm going to show them that we aren't."
"You mean to challenge them," Keladry said.
"Clans don't accept challenges from lowlanders, and even if they do they won't honour them," Walt argued.
"I'm not going to give them a choice," Steve said. He accepted the horn from Lyanna, and tied it off at his hip. "Naerys, Lyanna, you'll stay here. "Hugo, Gerold, you're with them. If you look to be attacked out here, you're to retreat rather than engage if possible."
The big man, Hugo, nodded easily, and so did Gerold, but he looked disappointed, the cut along his jaw pulling with his grimace.
"Toby, Walt, you two are at my back. Keladry and Robin, you're behind them. Humfrey, you and the rest of the lads are in pairs bringing up the rear. Look mean."
"Sure you don't want Hugo and Gerold for that then?" Humfrey asked.
"I want you to look mean, not scare them off entirely," Steve said. The men laughed, low and eager. "Toby, get a horse for Walt."
One of the shaggy mountain horses was selected, and they all got in formation. Steve took a deep breath. "If this doesn't work, you're to pull back as a group and make for last night's camp."
"And what do you mean to do?" Keladry asked, tone pointed.
"Discourage the enemy."
"We'll not leave you behind," Humfrey objected. "Not after what you've done for us."
"I said discourage the enemy, not sacrifice myself," Steve said. "That means I kill them until they don't want to follow." He put on his helm. "Let me do the talking here. Toby, you'll translate what I say, as I say it."
"Aye Steve," Toby said. His eyes were bright, and Khal was quivering with suppressed energy.
"Everyone ready?" Steve asked. The answers were positive, and he donned his helm. "Time to be heroes." He lifted his horn to his lips.
To the clansmen in the camp, the dirge-like sound that rang out across the mountains must have sounded like the hunting cry of a beast escaped from some foul pit. Many started in fright as they heard it, the sound triggering a piece of their hind brains that told them they were prey. Their attention was pulled to the woods it came from, and many in the camp rushed towards the gate, sure that some threat was about to descend upon them. When out came an Andal knight and their party, many laughed, secretly relieved. They knew how to deal with knights.
Slowly, the interlopers approached. The proud clansmen watched, glad for the distraction to take their mind off other troubles. The forest's edge was some few hundred metres away, and the pace of the knight was not hurried. When he reached the halfway point, he sounded his horn once more, and in their hearts they could not help but quail. They stood strong, pride not allowing them to show their unease. The knight was a fool, they told themselves, he knew not what he was walking towards.
Steve neared the palisade walls, guiding Fury in a confident walk. He looked upon the archers without fear, before finally coming to a stop just before the gates. "Burned Men!" he boomed. "My name is Steve Rogers, and I challenge your leader!" Toby repeated his words, the guttural language sapping the youth from his voice.
Laughter was their response, and one man put down his spear so he could piss over the wall in his direction.
"Well, I tried being polite," Steve said to himself, before clearing his throat. "GOAT FUCKERS! Cravens you are, hiding behind your walls at the first sign of a lowland knight!" He waited for Toby to repeat his words, smiling thinly as the laughter stopped. "Every member of your clan that I killed told me what warriors you are, how strong you are, but I see them for the liars they were. How quick you are to piss your breeches at the first sign of a real man!"
The mood of the clansmen turned sour, and one was quick to string and loose an arrow at him. Steve saw it coming, and batted it contemptuously away with the back of his hand.
"I know girls with bigger balls than the man who shot that arrow," Steve called. "Let me in to face your leader, or live with the knowledge of your cowardice!"
There was arguing behind the wall, and Steve waited. Slowly, the gates began to creak open. Without pause he nudged Fury onwards, and his comrades followed. They entered the mountain clan village, and got their first proper look at what waited for them.
There was an open area behind the wall, and in the centre a small group waited. It was more accurate to call it two groups, for all they tried to present themselves as one, for each of the dozen men were clearly standing at the back of two men in particular. One was a hard, lean looking man who wore no shirt despite the brisk mountain air, and his torso was covered in deliberate burns, designed to look like something with horns. He had an axe at one hip, and a fine looking sword at the other.
The other was much younger, still a boy in truth, no more than Robin's age, and a falcon perched on his shoulder. He was missing an eye, burn scars clear around its empty socket, and he wore a tattered cloak that might have once been green. A bright dagger was at his hip, and he bore no other weapon.
The older of the two spoke first. "Who are you to come to the lands of my father and call me craven?"
The boy shot him a dark glance, before turning back to Steve. "Why are you here?"
"I'm here to rescue the women you stole from their homes and raped." x
"I've come for justice for all you've raided."
"For a friend."
Answer the boy. x
Answer the man.
"I'm here to rescue the women you stole from their homes and raped," Steve said. He spoke to the boy, but his eyes passed over the others before him, and they felt a shiver run down their spines. "If you're smart, you won't get in my way."
"You have already failed," the man said, sneering. His Common was poor. "They go to my father's stronghold."
"I'm not talking to you," Steve said, eyes on the boy. His gut was telling him there was something else going on here.
"You have come into the depths of our mountains, all to save women stolen many years ago?" the boy asked.
"I have," Steve said.
The boy squinted at him with his sole eye, approaching warily. "Why?"
"Because it's the right thing to do." The words were easy, but they often were when they were sincere.
The boy backed away, stopping next to the other supposed leader, closer than he was before. The falcon on his shoulder spread its wings and flapped, taking flight. "You best speak with truth on your tongue, lowlander," he said, and then he turned and hamstrung the other man with a single slice of his dagger.
Chaos erupted, as the clansmen turned on each other, shouting with rage, but not surprise.
"Support the kid!" Steve shouted, and then he pulled his hammer from his back and joined the carnage.
There was no telling the feuding clansmen apart, so Steve and his people were forced on the defensive, attacking only those who attacked them, or the kid, as he continued carving up the man he had taken completely by surprise. Like a master butcher and a prize hog, the boy was reducing the once strong man slice by slice.
"I am Tagart, son of Timett!" the man bellowed, as he tried and failed to rise. "I will not-"
"Yer a dead man," the boy said, ripping his dagger across his throat with a messy cut.
Steve killed two men who attacked the boy from behind, trampling one into the dirt and flattening the other with a single hammer blow. "How do we tell your people apart from his?" he demanded.
"If they've got a burn under their eye, they be mine," the boy said.
"Keladry!" Steve said, barking her name. "Burn marks under their right eyes are friendlies!"
Keladry cut a man from shoulder to hip and spun to let her crack another between the eyes with the iron butt of her weapon, Redbloom guarding her back. She nodded, already wheeling to face her next foe.
Robin was shooting from horseback, steering with his knees, a far cry from the first days out of King's Landing when he could hardly sit straight in a saddle. He shot one of two men trying to kill each other on the platform by the palisade wall, already looking for another target before he started to fall.
"They took the women out of the village before you arrived," the boy said. His falcon was back on its shoulder, and its beak and talons were bloody. "If we're not quick, they'll vanish."
Steve nodded. "We'll finish the foes here, and-"
"No time," the boy said, scowling. "My people will win, if yours help, but we need to leave now."
"Fine," Steve said. There was no time to waste time arguing. "Toby, Walt, with me! Keladry, you finish things here!" He hauled the boy up onto his horse to sit him at his back, and kicked Fury into a gallop through the village. The falcon took off once more, soaring ahead.
Toby and Walt followed, and Khal kicked a man in the head as they passed. They slowed only to thread through the stakes that had been raised to block the rear of the village, and then they were powering up the gradual slope of the mountainside.
"What's your name?" Steve asked the kid at his back.
"I am Artos, son of Kelda," the one-eyed boy said. "Leader of the Green Falcons."
"I thought you were Burned Men?" Steve asked.
"Not anymore."
The slope they followed became less gradual, and they were forced to slow. Soon it was too steep for the horses at all.
"We will go by foot," Artos said. "There are stairs cut into the mountain ahead."
Walt eyed Artos suspiciously, but dismounted as Steve and Toby did. Artos led the way to the path, an almost vertical staircase that they could have easily missed. Steve stowed his hammer on his back, and Walt abandoned his spear.
"They should not be far from the top," Artos said. "If they have time to get out of sight, we will not be able to track them over the rock." He sped up the stairs with the ease of practice.
Toby was close behind him, scampering with the agility and fearlessness of youth, and Walt hardly paused, anger and hope lending him vigour. Steve followed up the rear, ready to catch anyone who fell.
Their goal gave them speed, and they almost flew up the mountainside. There was some loose rock, and a patch of clear ice that almost saw Walt slip and fall, but they reached the top of the staircase without injury, not at the top of the mountain, but at the top of the couloir. The four of them scanned their surrounds with in frantic silence, and they looked to have been too late.
"There," Steve said, pointing towards the edge of some woods in the distance. A party of people were just disappearing into it.
"Fifteen warriors they have," Artos said.
"It won't be enough," Steve said.
Walt began to run across the rocky ground, eyes fixed on the trees that he could only hope would hold what he had sought in vain for years. The others followed him without delay. The hunt was on.
Across the shale they ran, loose rock proving treacherous footing. Walt pulled ahead, uncaring, intent on reaching the clansmen if it killed him. Toby and Artos sprang along as they tried to keep up, but their strides were shorter and the gap widened. They would have been left behind, if not for Steve. He gathered them up as he barrelled past, tucking one under each arm. Ignoring their flailing and cursing, he picked his way across the rock carefully, barely running faster than a grown man's sprint, until he drew even with Walt. The old soldier pushed himself harder, almost slipping, barely glancing at the absurd sight. Shale fragments cracked and clattered as they thundered onwards.
As they passed the halfway mark, the terrain started to shift from loose to solid rock. They could feel themselves gaining, even if their quarry was hidden from sight. Steve leapt over a crevasse, glancing back to see Walt hop over. He almost missed the buzz of the arrow as it shot out of the woods. He twisted, letting it hit his shield, and slowed enough that the kids could hit the ground running as he let them go.
"Stay behind me," Steve ordered. He ignored Artos' furious look; kids were kids no matter how many people they had killed or had in their tribe. Another arrow came whistling out at him, and he let it deflect off his chest. They had almost reached the tree line.
Four clansmen were waiting for them there, snarling at them with murder in their eyes, and Steve killed two of them as he crashed through, caving in the torso of one with his shield as he clotheslined another, breaking their neck. The distraction was enough for Walt to fall upon another, strangling him with one hand as he stabbed him in a blur of speed with the dagger in his other. Toby and Artos took the last man apart like a pair of wolves bringing down a bison, leaving him to choke in his own blood as they ran after the two men, already moving on.
There was no moving quietly in plate armour as he ran through the trees, and as Steve reached the rear of the party they pursued, two clansmen turned back at the rattle. It didn't help them, as he killed one with a punch to the throat and dented the skull of the other with the edge of his shield. An arrow soared over his shoulder from behind to sink into the side of another raider, and Steve glanced back to see that Walt had taken up the bow of the man he had killed. Toby and Artos joined him on either side, anger and fury on their faces, their knives dripping with blood. They had well and truly caught the attention of their prey.
"Last chance," Steve said. "Let the women go, and I'll let you walk away."
Toby didn't repeat his words this time, mostly because he was staring at one of the women. "Ma!"
"Tobias!" the blonde woman shouted, hope warring with terror on her face.
The clansmen gave him no answer, not verbally. Most of them charged forward, weapons raised as they howled, looking every inch the barbarians they were painted as. The man who already had an arrow in his side gurgled and fell as another pierced his throat, and Steve stepped forward to meet the rest. The first was kicked in the chest and sent flying, already dead, knocking another two off their feet. He pulled his hammer from his back and struck, bowling over the three who had tried to swarm him. The boys scurried forward to take advantage, stabbing the disorientated men as they were down.
Steve had almost been going through the motions, utterly unchallenged by his foes, but seeing the boys kill like that made him frown. He stepped quickly, granting quick deaths to the last of them with snapped necks and crushed skulls, before turning to the last two clansmen. There was blood on his shield and brain matter clinging to his hammer, and they quailed as they saw him.
There were five women with them, mostly dressed in the same style as the clansmen, save for one woman who wore an almost courtly dress, save for the way it was faded and fraying. One of the clansmen found some semblance of courage, and he grabbed the woman in the dress, holding a knife to her throat. He shouted something at them in his own tongue, shaking the woman as he did. His meaning was clear.
Artos growled something back, his falcon alighting on his shoulder, but the man denied him, jerking his head at Steve.
"He says you gotta drop the hammer and shield, or the princess gets it," Toby said. His gaze was pinned to his mother.
Slowly, Steve placed his hammer on the ground, kneeling as he did. He slipped his shield off his arm, and held his hands out to show he had no more weapons. The clansman seemed to gain confidence, dismissing him as a threat. He barked something at his last comrade, pointing his chin at the other women.
The moment the man's attention was elsewhere, Steve picked up a pebble by his boot. With a flick of his wrist, he threw it as hard as he could. His aim was true, and it pulped the eyeball on its way to the clansman's brain. He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, his hostage twisting to avoid the knife at her throat.
There was only one clansman left, and he began to back away as Steve rose to his feet, but Steve wasn't the danger here. As one, the other four women pulled out hidden knives and fell upon him, each stabbing with a frenzy. He had time to scream once before he was stabbed through the neck and he collapsed, but the women kept stabbing.
Artos rushed the woman who had been held hostage, and she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face into his hair. His falcon began to preen her from its perch on his shoulder.
The last clansman thoroughly dead, the women stepped away from his corpse, one staggering off to vomit in a nearby bush. Two of the other three held each other, but the last, Toby's mother, stared as Walt stumbled up to join them, sucking in heaving breaths.
"Father!" the blonde woman cried, staring at Walt.
"Father?!" Toby yelped.
"Eleni!" Walt roared, tears in his eyes. He began to reach for her.
Toby squawked, and Eleni seemed to remember he was there, because she lunged for him, gathering him up on her way to fall into her father's arms. Toby found himself the conflicted meat of a family reunion sandwich.
Steve tore a strip of fabric from a dead man's clothes, and approached the woman who had been throwing up, offering it out to her. He would leave the boys to their reunions with their mothers.
The woman tensed as she looked up to see him approach, but accepted the cloth, wiping her face with it. She had a fading bruise on her cheek. "Thank you," she said, voice hoarse.
"We'll head back to the camp, get you some water," Steve said. He glanced at the two women who had taken solace in each other; they had drifted closer when he had approached. "You're all safe now. No one will hurt you."
Wary stares were his answer, and he noted that he couldn't see where they'd stowed the knives they'd used to kill their foe. He turned away, giving them some privacy.
Artos was being quietly fretted over by his mother, something which he took stoically. Eleni was clutching her father and her son to herself, asking questions of both but giving neither time to answer.
"Princess, is it?"
"We need to get back to the camp."
"Toby. You look thrilled to meet your grandpa."
Steve approached Artos and his mother, Kelda. "Princess, is it?"
The woman laughed wetly. She had light brown hair, and there were tear tracks on her cheeks. "Only as the clans see it," she said. "Did my uncle send you?"
"I don't know who that is," Steve apologised. "We came here to rescue Toby's mother, and any other women we found."
"Eleni's boy?" Kelda asked. "So my rescue comes due to a small act of kindness. The gods must be laughing."
"I don't know about the gods ma'am, but we're here because a son loves his mother," Steve said. He glanced at Toby, and then Artos. "I'm glad we got here in time."
"My little wing," Kelda said, hugging her son tighter for a moment. Artos muttered something in his own tongue that had the tone of a complaint, but didn't try to move. "My name is Kelda Waynwood. Jon Arryn is my uncle."
"I met him not long ago," Steve said. "He seemed a decent sort."
"I remember he was fond of me, but that didn't save me from fifteen years amongst the Burned Men," Kelda said. "I've lived almost half my life with those savages. If it wasn't for my son-" she cut herself off.
"I understand," Steve said. "Your son kicked off a small civil war to save you. You must be proud of him."
Kelda gave her son a look. "I didn't think you had the numbers - oh." She glanced at Steve. "Your forces are at the camp? How many?"
"Ten or so," Steve said.
"You came into the mountains to attack the Burned Men with ten men?" Kelda asked, incredulous.
"I left two men with the non-combatants," Steve said.
"You saw what he did to Rogart and his ilk," Artos said.
"You're braver than I thought," Kelda said. "Thank you, from my heart, thank you. You've saved us from a fate worse than you know Ser…?"
"Steve Rogers," he said.
"Thank you, Ser Rogers," Kelda said. "You hail from the Stormlands House?"
"Er, no, not that Rogers," Steve said. He glanced at the others, seeing Walt holding Eleni holding Toby, and the other three women clustered together. "We should get back to the camp though, make sure everyone is alright."
"Of course," Kelda said. She gave a giddy laugh. "It's almost over," she said to herself, trailing off.
Steve took up his weapons again, cleaning them on the clothes of the dead, and gathered everyone up, setting off to return to the village. Though he worried for Keladry and the rest, his heart was light. They had done a good thing this day.
X
The trek back to the camp was somewhat slower than their earlier mad pursuit, and Steve got a front seat view to Eleni interrogating her son over what he'd been up to since his raid party disappeared. Walt was recovering his breath, half holding his daughter, half leaning on her, as he came to terms with having such a 'mouthy little shit' for a grandson, as he'd called Toby when they first met. They descended down the stairs of the couloir without trouble, finding their horses waiting patiently for them. They formed an honour guard of sorts as they walked the last of the distance to the huts, Toby giving Artos and his falcon a pugnacious look.
There was a welcoming party waiting for them as they neared the stakes at the back of the village camp, and Steve smiled as he saw Keladry and Robin amongst them. They seemed uninjured, though Keladry had a bloody streak across her temple, hair plastered to it. Dodger sat at her heels, panting happily.
Artos began speaking with his men, a boy giving orders to grown men, but they listened attentively and split off one by one.
"How are the men?" Steve asked Keladry.
"Uninjured or superficial wounds for the most part, but Jon took a bad knock to the head," Keladry said. "We've made him comfortable, but we won't know his chances until he makes it through the night."
Steve frowned. He had led these men here, and they were his responsibility. "I'll take a look at him," he said. "The enemy?"
"Dead to the last," Keladry said. "There's not a fighter here that doesn't have a burn beneath their eye."
"You know Artos did that to himself?" Robin said, piping up. "His eye, I mean."
"Burned Men rite of passage," Walt said. "They all do it. The burning, that is"
"Back in King's Landing you just had to make it to a brothel without your parents finding out," Robin said.
"We are Burned Men no more," Artos said, approaching them. He looked up at Steve, single eye piercing. "Steve, son of…?
"Sarah," Steve said.
"Steve, son of Sarah. We should talk," he said, seeming pleased by something, before walking off, heading for the largest of the huts.
"Keladry, you're with me," Steve said. "Robin, have the others set up a watch if there's not one already. Where are Naerys and the others?"
"I sent Will to grab them," Robin said. "The others are helping with the clean up, but I'll see about a watch. I think the clan is already doing that though."
"Keep them busy," Steve said. "I don't want any incidents between the men and the clan, with the bad blood between them."
"Right," Robin said. "I'll keep an eye on things."
"And Robin - good work today," Steve said. "You've come a long way."
Robin grinned, ducking his head. "Thanks, Steve."
Steve glanced at Toby, but found him still firmly ensconced under his mother's arm, and he decided to leave him to his fate. He and Keladry followed after Artos, ducking into what seemed to be a meeting place for the clan. It was a round hut, the remains of an old fire in the centre, and the roof had a circle cut out of it and raised, to allow smoke to escape and the early afternoon light to filter in. Logs circled the fire for seating, although it was only the four of them present at the moment, Kelda seated near the fire. Artos was kneeling by the firepit, feeding some kindling to it and blowing on it. After a moment, they began to catch, and he added more to it. Satisfied, he sat next to his mother.
"Sit by the fire," Artos said, "we must share words." It had the ring of ceremony.
Steve and Keladry joined them, armour clanking, and sat themselves down across the growing fire.
"You did not come to help me," Artos said, considering his words, "but you have, and I must repay you. I offer you a prize that is mine by the blood I spilled today." He glanced at his mother.
Kelda reached behind the log they sat on, and retrieved something wrapped in animal hide. She unwrapped it to reveal a slightly curved black object, about a metre long.
Keladry sucked in a breath. "That's dragonbone," she said.
Artos looked pleased. "It is. I offer it to you."
"I accept, although we didn't come here in hopes of reward," Steve said.
"My mother spoke to me of the honour of knights," Artos said, "though I believed her not."
Steve inclined his head. "I've met good knights and bad. Some don't deserve the title, some deserve it but don't have it."
Keladry shifted beside him.
"We have chieftains the same," Artos said.
"Like that Tagart you sliced up?" Steve asked.
Artos glowered at the name. "He was the son of Timett, chief of the Burned Men."
"It looked like you had a pretty personal disagreement with the man," Steve said.
"It was Timett's plan that saw my mother and her women taken away to the stronghold," Artos said.
"They were to be hostages against you," Keladry said. "Why?"
"He swallowed the Mountain Runners some moons back," Artos said. He scratched at the burned socket of his eye. "His eyes were bigger than his belly."
"The Mountain Runners were Toby's clan," Keladry said.
"The horse warg," Artos said, nodding.
"Eleni's boy is a warg?" Kelda said. She seemed pleased.
"The blonde woman is his mother?" Keladry asked Steve quietly, and he nodded. "Good," she said. "Good."
"I saw chance in Timett's mistake," Artos said, continuing his answer, "but whispers must have reached him. He sent his eldest son to take my mother."
"You took a chance turning on him like that," Steve said, non-judgemental.
"It was my mother," Artos said. He shrugged. "If she disappeared into their stronghold, she never would come out, and her companions would suffer."
"What now?" Steve asked. "You're splitting off into the Green Falcons, but what about the Burned Men?"
"We hide, and hunt the Burned Men who come for us," Artos said. "Many of my people are Mountain Runners, and some are like me who just hate Timett. I sent the others on doomed raids."
"That's likely what tipped Timett off," Kelda said. "We should have moved slower."
"Not when the warriors boast of taking you for wife," Artos said.
"I survived your father," Kelda said. "I would have survived them too."
Artos spat into the fire, lip curling. "Not in my clan."
"This stronghold," Steve said. "You're familiar with it? It's location, access points?"
"Vale knights have tested themselves against it before," Artos said. "They failed."
"Steve is not just any knight," Keladry said. "He defeated Bronze Yohn."
Kelda peered at Keladry, the lines at her brow creasing.
"The Royce is fearsome," Artos said, "but I cannot have lowlanders at my side for what I plan."
Steve assessed the kid. He was barely in his mid-teens, but he had grown men respecting him and following his orders, and he seemed more than ready to throw down with the Burned Men. "This isn't your only camp, is it."
"I have five more," Artos said. "I send word, and they will gut the Burned Men amongst them."
"The other clans won't respect you if you have 'lowlanders' fighting beside you," Steve said. "And you need them to respect you."
"Mother told me of the First Men of the North, how they are part of the kingdom," Artos said. Ambition burned in his eye. "I will make it so no woman needs be stolen and raped, and no child goes hungry in the long winters. We have warred and raided for thousands of years, and we live in huts and scrounge in the dirt. No more."
"That's a worthy cause," Steve said.
"Integrating the mountain clans with the Vale will be…difficult," Keladry said, diplomatic.
"Much blood will spill," Artos said. "But worth it, I think."
"We haven't been introduced," Kelda said, staring at Keladry.
"Oh, sorry," Steve said, kicking himself. "This is Keladry, my sworn sword."
"Keladry," Kelda said, considering. "Not Keladry Delnaimn, surely?"
Keladry froze for a moment. "Why would you ask that?"
"I had a Great Aunt I was very close to, Hellen," Kelda said.
"My grandmother is Hellen Arryn, of Gulltown," Keladry admitted.
"I had thought her Keladry was a granddaughter, not a grandson," Kelda said.
Keladry looked to Steve, face smooth as stone.
Steve raised one shoulder minutely. It was her choice, in the end.
For the briefest of moments, a look of frustration crossed Keladry's face, but then it was gone. "She is," Keladry admitted. "I am."
"When she wrote me of your birth, I joked that you were named for me," Kelda said. She stared into the fire, wistful. "But that was impossible; your parents had you while they were off on their trade voyage to Yi Ti." At Keladry's look, she explained. "My name is Kelda."
Keladry thought for a long moment, brow furrowed. "You are Kelda Waynwood? Grandmother spoke of you, I think. I was young."
"I was on my way to marry some Bracken when the Burned Men took me," Kelda said. "It was so long ago. I only had twenty years."
"That is how I met Toby," Keladry said. "I was on my way to wed a Burchard, when his clan attacked us."
"You were not carried off then," Kelda said. "The gods had better plans for you, I see." She stared into the distance, unseeing.
Artos coughed. "As I said, the fight will be bloody, so I ask of you a favour."
Kelda started, turning to narrow her eyes at her son. "You are not asking what I think you are."
"I would have you take my mother and her maidens to the Eyrie," Artos said, ignoring her.
"I will not go," Kelda said.
"There is no room for those not of the clan, mother," Artos said.
"After all my years here, you think I am not strong enough-"
"Are your maidens?" Artos asked, silencing her. "They are scarred, in their minds. To fight the Burned Men, we need to move as one." He turned back to Steve. "Will you do me this favour?"
"I will," Steve said, "if Kelda agrees to it."
"How do you think the lowlanders will treat your maidens without you there?" Artos said immediately to his mother.
Kelda pressed her lips together. "I taught you too well. Very well. I will go."
"We are not far from the Bloody Road," Artos said. "You can follow it to the Eyrie."
"You mean the High Road?" Keladry asked.
"It is the Bloody Road to us," Artos said. "We move on the morn," he said to Steve.
"So this is to be the last I see of my son for many moons," Kelda said.
Artos hesitated. "I…I have to keep you safe."
Kelda sagged into him. "I know, little wing. I know."
Steve looked to Keladry, feeling slightly awkward, but she was distracted, thoughts clearly elsewhere. He let the moment stretch out, before speaking. "I will take my people tomorrow. You can have today for goodbyes, at least."
Kelda looked to him, grateful.
"A feast we can afford, with the mouths we rid ourselves of today," Artos said. "A feast we will have." He rose, all five feet of him. "You have my thanks, Ser Rogers. For what you have done, and what you will do."
Steve rose. "You do what's right, not what is easy," he said, "but I don't think I need to tell you that, with your plans." He offered his hand.
Artos accepted it, clasping it in the local way. "I have much to do. We will speak later." He left, Kelda following after she gave them a grateful smile.
"To the Eyrie then," Keladry said, voice quiet. She was still staring off, distracted.
"That won't be a problem for you, will it?" Steve asked.
"I've never been, and those who would know me are too minor to have business there except on the rarest occasions," Keladry said, "but…"
"But?" Steve prompted.
"The High Road is near to where I met Toby," she said. "And Wyldon's grave. It is a detour on the way to the Eyrie, but perhaps, we could visit?"
"Yeah," Steve said. "We can do that. How far of a detour is it?"
"A few days," Keladry said. "My family's lands are to the northwest of the Eyrie, over the mountains, but with you and Toby, the journey will not be dangerous."
"I think it would be good for you," Steve said. "I know you're conflicted about how things went down there."
"I thought about what you said," Keladry said, looking up at him. "About writing a letter to Grandmother."
"Yeah?"
"I'm not sure. I know she has mourned me, but my actions would hurt my family if they were revealed."
"Sounds like something you need to really think on," Steve said. "But it also sounds like you already know what you want to do."
Keladry set her jaw, not replying.
"Come on," Steve said. "Let's go find something to distract ourselves with."
They left the hut behind, and almost knocked Toby over in the process.
"Kel," Toby said, tone urgent. "You need to meet my Ma."
Keladry was startled for a moment, before her usual stoic expression reasserted itself. "Are you not reacquainting yourself with her?"
"Yeah, but you really need to meet her," Toby insisted.
"You want a distraction, don't you," Steve said.
Toby hesitated. "Mebbe."
Keladry sighed, looking a moment from lecturing him.
"You don't understand," Toby said before she could start. "That old fart Walt is my granda, and she wants us to get along." He began to tug at her arm, pulling her away.
For a moment, Keladry looked shocked. "Very well," she said, a hint of a grin around her mouth. "I will save you from him." She allowed herself to be pulled along.
"Yea-wait," Toby said. "I don't need no savin', I just want…"
Steve shook his head at the pair as they departed, smiling to himself. Toby had a way of keeping things in perspective. As much as he'd like to see the boy suffer, he needed to check up on Naerys and Lyanna.
The camp wasn't near large enough to make finding them a chore, and he tracked them down near one of the huts, standing just outside. Lyanna looked a bit on edge, watching the clansmen that passed nearby, and Naerys had her hand on the sword at her hip.
"Naerys, Lyanna," Steve said. "All well?"
"Steve!" Lyanna said. "You're ok?"
"Not a scratch," Steve said. "You heard about how things went here?"
"Will told us," Naerys said. She was looking him over, as if doubting his claim, but was satisfied soon enough. "I can't believe the clan turned on itself like that."
"It's a bit more complicated than that," Steve said. "I'll tell you more about it tonight; we've come to an arrangement and we leave in the morning."
"We're staying here?" Lyanna asked.
"Just for tonight," Steve said. He considered her for a moment. "You're as safe here as you would be in the Red Keep."
"You've only seen Steve fight when he ambushed the raiding party, haven't you?" Naerys asked her. "No one can hurt you while you're under his protection."
Lyanna gave a shaky nod, somewhat reassured. "You hear a lot of stories, back in the Riverlands."
"They might be true," Steve said. "But Artos, the leader here, wants to change things. We were lucky to arrive when we did."
"You make a habit of that, don't you?" Naerys asked him.
"I'm just doing my best," Steve said.
"Mmhmm," Naerys said. Some of the levity fell from her face. "They're looking after Jon inside. Hugo and Gerold are with him."
Steve sighed. He hated this part. At least it wasn't writing a letter home. "I'll go speak with them," he said.
"Steve," Naerys said, stopping him. "Do you think I will ever join you in something like this?"
"In a skirmish, or a battle?" Steve asked.
Naerys nodded.
"If you wanted to, we could train you that way," Steve said.
"I enjoy the training you're giving me," Naerys said, "and duelling the bravos was…exhilarating."
"It's not a decision you need to make in a hurry," Steve said. "You don't quite have the build to wear plate, but that's not the only way to fight. Something to think on."
"Right," Naerys said.
"If you want to see Toby be mothered while scowling at his grandpa, he's over that way with Keladry," Steve said.
"His grandpa?" Naerys asked.
"Turns out his mother is Walt's daughter," Steve said.
"No," Lyanna said, grinning widely.
"Yes," Steve said. "He's very conflicted about things."
"Tell Hugo where we went," Naerys said, as Lyanna started to march away, before turning to follow her when he nodded, waving over her shoulder.
Steve ducked inside the hut through some hanging hides, his eyes adjusting after a moment. There was a pallet on the floor, and on it lay Jon, sweat soaked and with a coarse bandage wrapped around his head, stained red.
"How is he?" Steve asked.
Hugo and Gerold startled at his voice, not having heard him approach.
"Not good," Hugo said. He'd been wiping Jon's forehead with a cloth. "They say if he survives the night he should recover, but…."
"There was a clan woman with him, but we sent her to get some water," Gerold said. He was scowling. "I don't trust her."
Steve remembered his words from the night around the fire, only two days ago. "You don't think well of the mountain clans."
"They killed my sister when she wouldn't let herself be taken," the wiry man said.
"You've got reason then," Steve said. "But was it these people who killed your sister?"
Gerold looked down, saying nothing.
"Hate and grief is normal," Steve told him. "Just mind it doesn't burn at you, or that you take it out on the undeserving."
Hugo glanced at them out of the corner of his eye.
"She was going to get married last moon," Gerold said.
"It doesn't ever really go away," Steve said, "but it does get easier to bear. I know I'm just that poncy noble that decided to lead you into the mountains, but if you sign on with me after this, I hope I can show you that I mean what I say."
Hugo and Gerold exchanged a look. "Aye milord," they answered.
"Let me have a look at Jon," Steve said, moving on. He checked his temperature, and his pulse. Blood was seeping from the wound, but hardly flowing. "They judged it well," Steve said, mouth pulling in a grimace. "I can't do anything for him. If he doesn't make it, he'll slip away in his sleep." It was small comfort, but at times like this you'd accept anything you could.
Hugo wiped more sweat from Jon's face, as they looked on in silence. There was movement at the entrance, and a clan woman stepped inside carrying a pail.
"Water," she said, offering it up, looking between the three men warily.
Gerold accepted it, and put it down for Hugo to dunk his cloth in. "Thanks," he said, voice gruff.
The woman hesitated, but joined them by the recovery bed, offering Hugo a new cloth. He took it, handing over the old one.
Steve ghosted away, leaving them to it. He offered up a quick prayer for Jon. He didn't want to lose his first soldier here so soon.
An enormous bonfire was built that night, and the food stores broken open. The wounded were given pride of place, and families gathered together, all of them free with emotion. There was an outpouring of care on display that made Steve think it was something new for them, that it had been looked down on before Artos had openly assumed control. Whatever the cause, the night was filled with cheer.
Steve spent his night pretending obliviousness to the not-so-subtle invitations from many of the clan women, after word had spread of his prowess from those who witnessed it. When they became too blunt, Naerys came to protect him, fighting back laughter. What she did to dissuade them, he didn't know, but he was grateful for the respite nonetheless. He was less grateful when she repeated the last invitation, word for word, mischief clear in her eyes. His misstep back at Riverrun was coming back to haunt him, but as Naerys laughed at him, he found he didn't really mind.
All ate their fill, celebrating their victory and taking comfort in each other. The moon shone down above them, and for that night at least, life was sweet.
X x X
Keladry trembled with unbridled rage at the sight before her. They stood on a picturesque bluff, looking over a valley. Steve and Toby stood behind her, the others further back, as she clenched and unclenched her fists.
"They dare," she said. "They dare."
Before her was a disturbed cairn, roughly investigated and carelessly left. A torso had been revealed, once shining armour stained by the weather and its head made a feast for passing animals.
"No animal did this," Keladry said. "This was done by human hands."
Steve didn't question her on it. "Mountain clan?"
"Clans don't disturb no graves," Toby said. "Gods don't like it."
"Not thieves if they left the armour," Steve said. "Someone wanted to know who was buried here." He glanced at Keladry. "The Burchards would have known the route you were taking to them. Think they investigated when you didn't arrive?"
"It's not fresh, but it ain't a year old, either," Toby said.
Keladry scrubbed at her face, and her hand came away wet. "When I find these people-" she cut herself off. "I will have satisfaction."
"Stoneford couldn't have done this?" Steve asked.
"Not unless House Burchard gave him the knowledge," Keladry said. "That pissant son of a landed kni-" she cut herself off again, nails digging into her palms.
"Walt," Steve called over his shoulder. The old soldier had kept the others back when he'd seen Keladry's face upon sighting the grave, and now he jogged up to join them.
"Ser," Walt said.
"You said you've got experience with tracking," Steve said.
"Not in this land, but aye," Walt said.
"There's an old skirmish site nearby, Toby can guide you there," Steve said. "I want you to take a look at it and see what you can see."
"As you say," Walt said. "Come on, grandson." He said the word like it was almost an insult.
"Sure, granda," Toby answered in much the same tone. They hurried off, holding off from squabbling only in respect for Keladry. Dodger trotted along behind them.
"Take your time," Steve said quietly to his friend. "When you're ready, we'll fix this."
Keladry gave no answer.
Steve turned for the others to give her space. Their wagon and more bulky belongings were still back at Walt's nameless village, but Artos had given them a cart that had come into their possession, and Jon lay upon it. The hook nosed man had lived through that first night, but he was still weak and prone to tremors, though he was improving.
"How are you today Jon?" Steve asked.
"Better, milord," Jon said. "Only got the shakes once, but that might've been the road."
"That's the spirit," Steve said. He turned to the women they had rescued. They were mounted, most on the shaggy horses they had seized from the raiding party, except Eleni, who always chose to ride with Toby despite the option of a horse of her own. "Ladies," he said. "How do we fare?"
"Well, Ser Steve," Kelda said, speaking for them. She often spoke for her group, as they were still very reserved around others, save for Eleni. "Is Keladry well?"
"She will be," Steve said. "We'll be here for a short while, so you may as well get comfortable."
"Thank you, Ser," Kelda said.
"If you need anything, just ask," Steve said. He gave Naerys a look where she was watching over Robin and Lyanna nearby, and she shook her head. He moved on.
The men had spread out when they arrived at Walt's direction, taking up a loose watch, and he approached Humfrey. The man had continued to distinguish himself amongst his fellows, and had emerged as a clear leader.
"Ser," Humfrey said as he neared. "Are we expecting trouble?"
"No," Steve said. "But act as if you do. Best not to form bad habits."
"Yes Ser," Humfrey said. He ran a hand over the stubble starting to grow back on his head.
They spoke for a short time, before Steve moved on to the next man, keeping an eye on Keladry. He tried to make a point of speaking with them all a little each day, but in time, Keladry seemed to get herself under control again. He clapped Will on the shoulder, and returned to her.
"Kel?" Steve asked.
"No," Keladry said, answering the unspoken question. "But I will be, once the ones who did this answer for it."
Steve nodded. It was as much as could be expected. "Come on. Let's set Wyldon to rights."
Without speaking, they took the stones that had been disturbed and began to pile them up again. They covered his face first, Keladry's mask almost cracking as they looked upon him.
"Remember him as he was when he butchered the knight that threatened you and Toby," Steve said.
Keladry made a noise of agreement, squaring her shoulders. Partway through, Kelda and her ladies began to bring them more rocks, placing them nearby for them to use.
"Thank you Kelda," Keladry said. "Larra, Alannys, Darna, Eleni."
They shook their heads, but stayed quiet, respectful. They piled the rocks higher this time, more than an exhausted young woman and boy could manage on their own. Keladry placed the last, bowing her head over the grave of the man who had taught her how to fight, and they gave her space.
Walt and Toby returned as Keladry finished, and the older man shook his head. "Animals have been at the bodies," he said to Steve. "Not a hope of puzzling any details out, but-"
"That knight fucker is gone," Toby said. "The one her Wyldon gutted. Armour and all."
"House Burchard then," Steve said, a grim set to his mouth.
"More likely than not," Walt said. "We going to give it to them?"
"We continue to the Eyrie," Keladry said, rising from where she knelt. "We need to see Lady Kelda and her ladies to safety."
Steve gave her a long look, and she stared him down. "As Keladry said, then," he said. "To the Eyrie."
The party began to saddle up or prepare for marching once more, leaving the cairn behind. They might have returned the dead to rest, but someone had disturbed him to begin with, and Steve had a feeling they hadn't nearly heard the last of it.
X x X
In the end, they did not make it to the high seat of House Arryn, the Eyrie. Their journey came to an end at the stronghold that lay at the base of the tallest mountain of the Vale, as the afternoon sun shone down on them, though it would soon fall below the mountains.
"The Gates of the Moon," Kelda said, as they lay eyes upon it. "We're almost there," she said, unable to keep the giddiness from her tone.
The Gates were an almost squat castle, clearly built for strength over beauty, and far up above, on the peak of the mountain, a gleaming white castle could faintly be seen.
"Looks like someone has kicked over an ants nest," Steve said. There was a great deal of activity about the castle, and many tents had been erected outside.
"No more Blackfyres have emerged since I've been away, have they?" Kelda asked.
"No," Keladry said. "Not unless they've appeared in the last month or so since we left Riverrun."
"One way to find out," Steve said. He was grateful that he and Kel had kept to wearing their plate armour as a precaution. "Keladry, you're with me up front. Walt, organise the men around the cart, watch the rear and sides. Robin, you're on the cart with your bow. Everyone else, keep to the centre."
They continued on, and as another road from the east joined with the one they followed, it was clear that a lot of traffic had marched this way recently. As they neared the tents around the castle, a party of knights rode out to meet them, armed and armoured. Steve and his company slowed to a stop, allowing them to come to them.
"Identify yourselves!" the lead knight shouted. He had a shield of green snakes on black.
Steve waved Kelda forward. This was her party.
"I am Lady Kelda Waynwood," Kelda called. "I seek an audience with my uncle, Lord Jon Arryn!"
The knight lifted his visor, revealing a frown as he stared at Kelda, before his brows rose in shock. "That is - quite the claim," he said. At his back, his fellows exchanged murmurs.
"I have quite the tale," Kelda said. "I am escorted by Lord America."
The knights looked wary now, taking in the shield on his arm and the star on his chest. "Lord America is known to us," the leader said. "I am Ser Lynderly. We will escort you to the Gates, where your persons can be verified."
"Thank you, Ser," Kelda said. "We appreciate your protection." She spoke her courtesies haltingly, shaking off the rust.
They rode onwards, passing through the ordered tents before the castle, and Steve looked around, taking everything in. Men-at-arms and knights were everywhere. This was an army, preparing for war. He shared a glance with Keladry, and she nodded grimly. She saw it too.
Across an open drawbridge they cantered, drawing curious eyes as they went. Below them was a moat, its waters still, but they saw it only briefly as they passed through the stout walls and entered the central courtyard. Word had apparently been passed, for servants and guards were gathering to meet them, and Lynderly gave a quick gesture. The guards fell back, allowing the servants to take the lead.
Toby looked ready to argue as one tried to take Quicksilver's reins, but Keladry caught his eyes and shook her head, and he held his tongue, mutinous look on his face. He dismounted with Eleni, leaning back into her.
A door was kicked open nearby, drawing many eyes, and a familiar man stormed through. He wore anger about him like an old companion, and he bared his teeth when he saw Steve in what was supposed to be a grin.
"Steve Rogers!" Brandon Stark called. "They say a true friend appears when your need is great, but I hadn't thought the saying to be truth." He strode over, offering his arm.
"Brandon," Steve said. He clasped the offered arm. "It looks like we've arrived at an exciting time. What happened?"
"That inbred Valyrian fuck took my sister, that's what happened. I mean to get her back."
"The Prince abducted Lyanna?" Steve asked.
"No," Brandon said, almost snarling. "Aerys."
Steve stared at him for a long moment. "You have my shield."
Brandon grinned savagely. "Bread and salt!" he shouted. "Bread and salt, for a boon ally of the Starks!"
Servants hurried to oblige the shouting Northman, and Steve met Naerys' gaze through the sudden chaos. It seemed things were about to get a lot more complicated.
Death_Sheep
Cat Owned
- Location
- Wisconsin
- Pronouns
- He/Him
The fact that one of the leaders of the Mountain Clans is a potential heir of Jon Arryn is something that will put the cat among the pigeons.
- Location
- La Serena, Chile
...okay what happened between Steve's group jolly ride to Braavos and return to do more good deads?!
Like, it's clear the Rebellion (or whatever will be called) will still happen. But I wonder how Steve's actions and his group have changed the events to come.
In particular, King Aerys being the one kidnapping Lyanna is WAY different to what happened just before the war started in canon.
I certainly hope this time was something against Lyanna's will and not whatever amorous adventure with Rhaegar originally it was...
Like, it's clear the Rebellion (or whatever will be called) will still happen. But I wonder how Steve's actions and his group have changed the events to come.
In particular, King Aerys being the one kidnapping Lyanna is WAY different to what happened just before the war started in canon.
I certainly hope this time was something against Lyanna's will and not whatever amorous adventure with Rhaegar originally it was...
Death_Sheep
Cat Owned
- Location
- Wisconsin
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Remember the scene at the wedding feast at Riverrun when Prince Rhaegar turned up to convey Aerys'
Dollars to donuts, Lyanna either tried to decline the invitation or to leave King's Landing and Aerys lost his shit.