A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros (ASoIaF/Captain America Quest, Story Only Thread)
- Thread starter TheWiseTomato
- Start date
- Location
- La Serena, Chile
Everyone Is going tease the hell out of both of them the next day.
Not gonna help that Naerys Will be walking funny for a while, and there will be Lots of "wounds" everyone Is sure Cap didn't got in combat
Not gonna help that Naerys Will be walking funny for a while, and there will be Lots of "wounds" everyone Is sure Cap didn't got in combat
Last edited:
To the Fire 4
- Location
- Australia
Naerys' head lolled back, her eyelids fluttering, and she let out a ragged moan as Steve worked his magic. They were laid out in the bath, the bastard woman resting back on the super soldier's chest. The water still steamed lightly, and there was an empty jar of honey on its side.
"Mmm, just like that," Naerys said, luxuriating in the sensations. An absent hand trailed along his thigh that braced her in place.
Steve had seen less contentment on sunbathing cats. He brought his other hand into play, earning another happy sigh as he massaged her scalp, working in an oil that smelt of almond and rosemary. "I'll ask our hosts if they have any to spare," he said.
"Only you would take a castle and take small luxuries for your loot," Naerys said, voice almost drowsy.
"I'd pay them for it," Steve said. "This is a lot better than that wood ash mixture we've been using."
"Mmmm," Naerys said. With the hand not tracing circles on his thigh, she raised a palmful of water and let it splash and trickle back down.
Steve began to gather up handfuls of water to work through his lover's hair, drawing out the excess oil. It was late now, the feast surely well and truly over, and he could see stars twinkling through the shutters of the window above the bath. Naerys shifted, a small motion, but it was done with intent, and he paused. "If you keep that up, I won't be finishing with your hair."
She twitched her hips again, grinding herself into him, and he rose to the occasion, slipping between her cheeks. "Oh no," she said. She used his thighs to push herself up, only to slide torturously back down. "How awful."
He captured her chin and tilted her head, leaning in for a kiss. Both smiled into it, but Naerys' had a wicked tinge to it as she continued to rock her hips.
Steve abandoned her hair and went to tease at the crook of her thigh, tweaking a nipple on the way down. "We have laws against this kind of cruel and unusual punishment back home, you know," he said.
As close as they were, there was no way Steve could have missed the way minute pause in her motions and the slight tensing of her shoulders.
"Naerys?" Steve asked. He drew back, concerned. "What's wrong?"
She sighed, letting herself go slack against his chest. "Nothing is wrong," she said. "Tonight was…amazing. This is all beyond even the most outlandish dreams I allowed myself to have back at Sharp Point, it is just…"
"Just?" Steve prompted her, resting his hands on her stomach.
"Your home. You share so much about the people, but you don't like to speak of the places, or what it's all like," she said, worrying at her fingers. "What you've shared - I know it's different, further from how a Targaryen would live than they are from the poorest smallfolk." She took a breath. "I just worry what will happen when home finds you. I know I'm closer to a smallfolk than a Targaryen."
"Naerys," Steve murmured. One hand wrapped around her waist, and the other came up to wrap around her shoulders, cradling her. Cold was just a word when he held her close, and it had nothing to do with the heated bath. "My friends will find me, but my home will become a home for you as well, if you want it."
She made a noise of agreement, but the tension in her body remained.
"Hey," he said, "people are people, remember? My home is different, but you'll adjust, same as I did." He gave her a squeeze. "You taught me the language, how to ride a horse, which spoon to use. Least I could do is return the favour, even before what you mean to me."
The blonde twisted in his arms so she could face him, her spine curving as she propped herself up on his chest. She didn't speak, not at first, taking a long moment to look him over. "I don't doubt my place in your heart. Not after all you've done."
"I'm told performing a martial feat in a lady's name is something of a romantic gesture," Steve said, straight faced.
She thumped him on the chest. "Not just because of that, but because of all the days before that. You've taught me to fight, given me position and respect, given me what I need to stand on my own - even back in Sharp Point after you beat my oaf of a cousin, your first thought was about what your actions would mean for me. That is why I don't doubt. Not you. I just…worry."
"I know," he said. His hands settled at the small of her back, helping her stay in place. "I won't tell you not to worry, but the things you worry about won't happen. I won't let them."
"I know," she said, echoing him. She leaned in for a chaste kiss, and only pulled back when it threatened to become less than chaste. "You know that when knights speak of doing valorous deeds for a lady, they mean at tournaments, yes?"
"That might be fine for some," Steve said, his hands slipping lower to knead and tease, "but I figured a dame like you is worth a lot more than some tournament, and I wasn't going to wait until we got to Harrenhal."
Her breath hitched, and she shifted again. This time his length was trapped between her thighs, and she took advantage, rocking her hips slowly. "Perhaps I should show my appreciation, then," she said, almost purring. "Do you know the game 'come into my castle'?"
"I thought we'd already done that," he said, faux confusion unable to completely cover his cheek.
Naerys raised an imperious brow at him, even as she pinched his nipple.
"Ouch, hey, be gent-"
She tweaked the other one.
Steve retaliated, water splashed, and that was the last of any serious conversation for a while.
"Mmm, just like that," Naerys said, luxuriating in the sensations. An absent hand trailed along his thigh that braced her in place.
Steve had seen less contentment on sunbathing cats. He brought his other hand into play, earning another happy sigh as he massaged her scalp, working in an oil that smelt of almond and rosemary. "I'll ask our hosts if they have any to spare," he said.
"Only you would take a castle and take small luxuries for your loot," Naerys said, voice almost drowsy.
"I'd pay them for it," Steve said. "This is a lot better than that wood ash mixture we've been using."
"Mmmm," Naerys said. With the hand not tracing circles on his thigh, she raised a palmful of water and let it splash and trickle back down.
Steve began to gather up handfuls of water to work through his lover's hair, drawing out the excess oil. It was late now, the feast surely well and truly over, and he could see stars twinkling through the shutters of the window above the bath. Naerys shifted, a small motion, but it was done with intent, and he paused. "If you keep that up, I won't be finishing with your hair."
She twitched her hips again, grinding herself into him, and he rose to the occasion, slipping between her cheeks. "Oh no," she said. She used his thighs to push herself up, only to slide torturously back down. "How awful."
He captured her chin and tilted her head, leaning in for a kiss. Both smiled into it, but Naerys' had a wicked tinge to it as she continued to rock her hips.
Steve abandoned her hair and went to tease at the crook of her thigh, tweaking a nipple on the way down. "We have laws against this kind of cruel and unusual punishment back home, you know," he said.
As close as they were, there was no way Steve could have missed the way minute pause in her motions and the slight tensing of her shoulders.
"Naerys?" Steve asked. He drew back, concerned. "What's wrong?"
She sighed, letting herself go slack against his chest. "Nothing is wrong," she said. "Tonight was…amazing. This is all beyond even the most outlandish dreams I allowed myself to have back at Sharp Point, it is just…"
"Just?" Steve prompted her, resting his hands on her stomach.
"Your home. You share so much about the people, but you don't like to speak of the places, or what it's all like," she said, worrying at her fingers. "What you've shared - I know it's different, further from how a Targaryen would live than they are from the poorest smallfolk." She took a breath. "I just worry what will happen when home finds you. I know I'm closer to a smallfolk than a Targaryen."
"Naerys," Steve murmured. One hand wrapped around her waist, and the other came up to wrap around her shoulders, cradling her. Cold was just a word when he held her close, and it had nothing to do with the heated bath. "My friends will find me, but my home will become a home for you as well, if you want it."
She made a noise of agreement, but the tension in her body remained.
"Hey," he said, "people are people, remember? My home is different, but you'll adjust, same as I did." He gave her a squeeze. "You taught me the language, how to ride a horse, which spoon to use. Least I could do is return the favour, even before what you mean to me."
The blonde twisted in his arms so she could face him, her spine curving as she propped herself up on his chest. She didn't speak, not at first, taking a long moment to look him over. "I don't doubt my place in your heart. Not after all you've done."
"I'm told performing a martial feat in a lady's name is something of a romantic gesture," Steve said, straight faced.
She thumped him on the chest. "Not just because of that, but because of all the days before that. You've taught me to fight, given me position and respect, given me what I need to stand on my own - even back in Sharp Point after you beat my oaf of a cousin, your first thought was about what your actions would mean for me. That is why I don't doubt. Not you. I just…worry."
"I know," he said. His hands settled at the small of her back, helping her stay in place. "I won't tell you not to worry, but the things you worry about won't happen. I won't let them."
"I know," she said, echoing him. She leaned in for a chaste kiss, and only pulled back when it threatened to become less than chaste. "You know that when knights speak of doing valorous deeds for a lady, they mean at tournaments, yes?"
"That might be fine for some," Steve said, his hands slipping lower to knead and tease, "but I figured a dame like you is worth a lot more than some tournament, and I wasn't going to wait until we got to Harrenhal."
Her breath hitched, and she shifted again. This time his length was trapped between her thighs, and she took advantage, rocking her hips slowly. "Perhaps I should show my appreciation, then," she said, almost purring. "Do you know the game 'come into my castle'?"
"I thought we'd already done that," he said, faux confusion unable to completely cover his cheek.
Naerys raised an imperious brow at him, even as she pinched his nipple.
"Ouch, hey, be gent-"
She tweaked the other one.
Steve retaliated, water splashed, and that was the last of any serious conversation for a while.
Steve whistled as he waited, a cheerful thing that he'd heard in a song once. It was a beautiful morning to be riding out into the world. The drizzle was refreshing, the way the sun peeked through grey clouds overhead made him want to sketch, even the fading fog over the river was a sight to see. He watched as his soldiers rode out in their squads, the last of the rebel forces to depart the castle.
Robert and Ned and the other lords had been the first out, but they waited with their escort a short way away. They would be riding back to the army, but not with Steve - he would be taking his troops on a wide ride, scouting in force. It was Walt's suggestion, and Steve agreed. Scouting in friendly territory took different skills than what they had done in the Reach, and if there was one thing he was enthusiastic about, it was bettering his people.
The Goodbrooks stood on the walls of their castle, and they raised their arms in farewell as the last of the rebels passed under them. They had sworn oaths to remove themselves from the war, and meant to send word to their men to remove themselves from the royalist forces as best they could without conflict. The lords ahorse raised their arms in response, and the gates began to close, drawbridge rising.
Steve turned Brooklyn's nose north, giving a farewell to the other party, and his men followed suit. The rebel lords returned the gesture - but then something seemed to catch their eye. More than one was looking back to the castle and gesturing, and Steve did the same, but he didn't see anything wrong. Maybe they were just excited about the spears still stuck in the underside of the drawbridge, but he was pretty sure they'd all heard about that at the feast.
He led, and the company followed. Keladry had the middle, and Walt the rear. As they trotted down the road, he glanced at Naerys as she rode beside him, unable to help the small smile they shared. She sat sidesaddle that day, her usual habit of riding astride met with a wince and a quick adjustment.
The sun started to overcome the clouds as the morning passed, and the drizzle eased, bringing relief to those who didn't have some other reason to be cheerful. The war had yet to come to these lands, and they even passed the occasional smallfolk who had cause to be on the road. One such passing of a man and his son saw their entire cart of potatoes bought out, and Steve wasted no time in setting Lyanna to double checking their stock of spices and butter, overcome with a sudden hankering for baked potato.
As they rode, Steve made sure to adjust their order of march, giving each squad leader the chance to lead and checking in those he passed. Corivo spoke well of Ed's work, the man settling in well as his assistant, and reported full health across the company, all their wounds and ailments having recovered in their break since Mastford. Their style of harrying attack had seen them take no injuries worth the name during the Wolf Hunt as men were calling it, and morale was high. Every squad leader reported much the same; good news and an anticipation for the future.
"...long as it can be made airtight," Steve was saying. "I don't know anything about how different animals might affect that, or anything about working with leather though."
"Hrngh," Erik said, rubbing at his chin. "I'd have to ask me brother. I went to the Stepstones to get away from all that. Never heard of anything like that when I was still working with the family, but."
"I don't think we'll be back in the Vale until after the war," Steve said, considering. "Might have to ask the next tanner we see."
"You can work on the rest, at least?" Erik asked.
Steve nodded. He could, and after a few early mistakes, it had been going well. He was pretty happy with the way the mouthpiece and drones had turned out, but he was starting to come up against the limits of what he could do without an expert to advise him. "Yeah." Someone caught his eye. "Remember what I said about Nestor, and see what he thinks."
"Aye, Captain."
The soldier rode off, drawing near his target. She looked over her shoulder as he neared, and nudged her mount to the side to make room for him. "Already time to switch?" Keladry asked. She was leading the column, her glaive sitting ready in its stock by Qēlos' shoulder.
"No, not yet," Steve said. "Just checking in with everyone."
"All is well," Keladry reported. "Toby mentioned that some of the horses want to run, but that is all."
"I'm sure we'll find a reason to give them a gallop," Steve said. Their herd was well and truly large enough for their purposes at that stage, approaching five hundred horses between spares and baggage carriers. In truth it was too many for their numbers, especially with the heavy imbalance between servants and soldiers, but they had a Toby, and they managed. He gave Kel a look, making it clear that he had not come for a casual conversation. "Have you given any thought to our last talk?"
The faintest grimace touched on her face, there and gone. "I have," she said.
"And?" Steve pressed.
"No."
It was not irritation or exasperation that had Steve sigh at her answer, but it was moving in that direction. He gave Brooklyn a nudge, gaining some distance between them and those riding behind them. "You've more than earned a knighthood. Even putting aside the battles at Blueburn and Mastford, you've got the skills and the ideals required. Most knights get the nod with only a fraction of what you have."
"I can't accept such a thing while I'm hiding who I am," Keladry insisted. "And that is a reflection on them and the man who knights them, not me."
"You're still worthy," Steve said. "What's your real reason?" There was a long moment where the only sound was the clop of hooves on dirt and distant conversation behind them.
At length, she sighed. "I have met knights who were false, and knights who were true," Keladry said, "but even the true knights often earned their knighthood for slaying clansmen or serving for long enough. I want…more. Not just a feat of combat."
Steve observed her from the corner of his eye. So often, Kel was the controlled one, the reserved one. She made it easy to forget that she had dared to fake her death and flee a betrothal after fighting off evil men, taking up the life of a hedge knight when women in her station hardly had a choice in who they would marry, let alone what skills they could learn.
"What kind of 'more'?" he asked.
"An example," she said immediately. "An aspiration." There was no pause, no hesitation. "I want squires to hear of what I did and dream of being knighted for something just like it." She swallowed and took a breath, glancing over to look him in the eye. "I don't want people to hear my title and think me a killer. I want them to hear it and think me a protector."
Steve held her gaze for a long moment. Then, he smiled. "We're agreed, then. Next time you do something like that, you have to let me knight you."
Whatever Kel had been expecting, it wasn't that. "What?"
"You've already got a few of those deeds under your belt," Steve said, looking back to the road ahead. "I figure it's just a matter of time until the next."
She tried to argue. "I have hardly-"
"Defending Toby from false knights, faking your death to avoid shaming your family, a year spent as a hedge knight hiding your name and gender, Blueburn and Mastford," Steve said, ticking off each comment on his fingers.
Kel was gaping at him now. Well, her lips were barely parted, but given her usual composure it counted.
"Courage, spirit, endurance, skill," Steve said, nodding to himself. It didn't quite map to the oath that he'd seen Dayne lead Jaime through, or that Barristan had led him through, but the more he considered it the more he found himself liking it. "Yeah. I don't think you're going to have trouble finding another worthy deed." He didn't agree with the faking her death thing, but he knew the locals held face or honour to be more important than he did, and he knew what it had cost her.
"I don't think-"
"Not to mention all the little things that we do day by day," he continued, barrelling over her. Setting an example wasn't just about doing bit deeds. The small stuff was important, too. "Mentoring, training, teaching. It's all part of being a leader. A knight, rather."
Keladry was quiet for a moment, considering his words. Then she nodded once, firm. "I will live up to your expectations."
"You already do," Steve said. "I'm not offering to knight you just because of the battles."
The look she gave him reminded him so much of Bucky after he'd rescued him from being beaten up in an alley that he almost did a double take. "As you say, Captain."
Long experience had Steve guiding the conversation to less serious matters. They spoke of this and that, of Osric's progress with the personal lessons Kel was giving him, and of how she might soon suggest he obtain a glaive for himself. They spoke of Toby's progress in his lessons, and of how she had to stop him from having Khal bite a groomsman who was slack with his brushing duties. They spoke of the feast at Goodbrook Castle, and of how Ser Ryswell suspected her horse Redbloom to come from his family's herds. They spoke of inconsequential things, but their conversation came to an end as they both noticed smoke rising to the north.
"Keladry-"
"Aye ser," she said, already wheeling her horse about.
Steve watched with a grim eye as the smoke began to darken. It was no wildfire, static as it was, and he had a feeling that when they reached it they would find a village. He pulled his shield from its place on Brooklyn's shoulder, and stretched out his shoulders. Whatever it was was out of sight, hidden behind nearby hills, but they were not that far.
Word spread quickly through the column. Orders were shouted and confirmed, their order changing to make safe their noncombatants, and Steve spared himself a moment to make sure Naerys was safely with them. She met his eyes from back down the road for a brief instant, pressing two fingers to her lips before reaching out to him. He clasped his hand to his heart in turn, but then his attention was needed elsewhere.
Keladry returned ahorse Redbloom, and Fury was trotting freely beside her. Steve freed his feet from his stirrups and used his arms to hop himself from horse to horse, settling into his saddle.
"Off you go, girl," Steve said to Brooklyn, and she turned to head back to the rest of the spare mounts. Toby's influence was worth a king's ransom. "All is ready?" he asked of Keladry.
She nodded. "Another raid group?" Keladry asked, staring at the smoke.
"Not unless Ser Whent lied about his forces," Steve said. He put it from his mind; the hows didn't matter then, only what they would do in response. "Not that it matters. We're riding them down." He nudged Fury, setting him to a canter, and his soldiers followed. If they were lucky, the smoke would be the result of a spilled candle, but he knew they wouldn't be.
It did not take them long to reach their target, a village revealed to them as they came around a hill. A large building was burning, a granary, and armed men were moving around the village, though only a few. Most were gathered in a field on one side, being addressed by the man who must be their leader, clad in steel. Of the sixty odd men, less than a dozen were mounted. A faint scream rose up from within the village, and Steve's eyes grew dark.
"Keladry, take the company and make safe the village," Steve said. "I'll deal with the raiders."
"Aye ser," she said without doubt, no hesitance to his intent to attack sixty men alone. She readied her glaive, raising it high. "Company! On me, to the village!" Her glaive came down to point at the village, her voice was parade ground pitched, and Ren was soon at her side, white star banner unfurling as she arrived.
In a less serious situation, he would have spared a moment to rib Ren over the displeased twist to her mouth at not riding at his side, but it was not the time. Another scream rose from the village as he pulled his hammer free from its harness and leaned forward. Fury sensed his mood and tossed his head, giving a screaming whinny, and then he was charging.
The raiders saw their foes coming, their attention drawn by shouted orders and rumbling hooves. They were impossible to miss, over a hundred warriors streaming out from behind a hill, all clad in matching brigandine, spears raised high as they charged. What stumped them, however, was the way they were ignored, riding instead for the village they had just finished raiding. It took a moment for them to notice the lone knight, atop a pale horse and charging right at them. For a moment, they could not understand, and they hesitated. It did not change anything about what was to befall them.
Steve had his eyes fixed on the leader, but he had his mounted men on either side of him as he addressed his raiders, leaving half of them in his way. His hammer swept back. They would not slow him.
The closest riders had turned to face him, seeming to respect him as an individual foe no matter their private thoughts as to his sanity. Two were swept from their saddles in an instant, bones broken and minds addled as they flew. Another was kicked in the ribs as Steve took his hammer in his left hand, sending him wheezing from his horse, and the last was clotheslined from his saddle as he gaped at his fallen comrades. He was upon the leader then, and Steve seized him by the neck, hardly slowly, pulling from his horse as he galloped past the rest and away.
Confused and outraged shouts echoed in his wake as Fury's stride ate up the field. Steve hardly spared a glance for the man he was hauling along, his legs kicking and dragging as they went. He beat feebly at the arm holding him, but he could hardly budge it, let alone free himself.
A glance over his shoulder showed the remaining seven riders pursuing him, and a twitch of Fury's reins had him slow to let them catch up. When Steve judged they were close enough, he hurled his captive forward, giving him a brief few moments of flight before he landed with a clatter and a scream, tumbling over himself and kicking up clods of earth.
Steve broke the men pursuing him, taking them apart as they reached him. His hammer shattered shields, his shield broke limbs, and all would face a long road to recovery ahead of them. He did not kill them, not before he knew what had happened in the attack on the village, but it would be their deeds that determined if they would have the chance to take that road.
The riders defeated, the soldier rode back towards the infantry. They stared as he approached, stock still and unsure. When he reached them, he looked them over for a long moment, taking in faces, looking for signs of bruises, or scratches. He did not find any, but the anger in his gut did not subside.
"You will surrender."
There was no threat. He did not need one. The men surrendered.
The village had been secured, and he saw Humfrey's squad ride back out, set to overwatch on a nearby hill. The squad leader's axe was red with blood. Henry and his squad were set to gather the horses of those fallen afoul of Steve, supervising the surrendered men who had been set to gather those who had done the falling.
Angry voices and the sound of something being dragged through dirt drew Steve's attention away from the captives as they sat in ranks. From a village path, his own squad approached, and Artys was dragging someone, dead or unconscious. His face was drawn in a scowl, the scar over his eye lending it menace. Arland led them, and he stopped before Steve.
"Who is that?" Steve asked, eyeing the man from his saddle. Half his face was so much bloody meat, as if someone had taken a mace to it.
"Rapist," Arland said, voice flat.
"You're sure?"
"Caught in the act."
Steve turned his eye on the men he had broken - knights or men-at-arms he wasn't sure - and their lord in particular. None were in good shape, but they felt his gaze on them all the same.
"Robin," he said, voice calm. His squire was with his squad, wearing the same anger as the rest of them. "I'd like you to go to the others, let them know the fight is over. Tell Betty her help is needed."
"Aye ser," Robin said, already turning to jog away.
"And Robin?"
The squire paused, turning back.
"Fetch a rope."
X
Steve turned his back on the swinging corpse, face set in a deep frown as he watched Betty and another woman guide a pale teenage girl away. Smoke still hung in the air despite his men preventing the fire from spreading far, structures still smouldering after the worst of the fire had burnt itself out. The village residents, those that weren't helping some of his men in their efforts to salvage something from the granary, had gathered just outside their home to see justice done, but from their faces, it was a poor salve to their wounds. There had been several deaths during the attack, and no way to tell who was responsible amidst the chaos.
Hanging rapists might be better than letting them go free or mutilating them, but he wasn't about to start implementing collective punishment.
"Who's in charge of this place?" Steve called, looking over the crowd.
"We're sworn to Lord Goodbrook, if it pleases m'lord," a man called, still shivering as he held his wife and daughter close.
Steve nodded slowly as he absorbed that, glancing over at the lord who had led the attack. He wasn't young or old, and he had one arm in a sling, acne scarred face pinched with pain. "Do you have a village headman?"
"Not anymore, m'lord," the same man answered, and that seemed to be the limit of his ability or willingness to speak.
"Alright," Steve said. "You. What's your name?"
The man responsible for it all bared his teeth in a grimace as he tried to straighten his back. "I am Lord Deddings, of-"
"Lord Deddings, you owe these people blood money," Steve said. "You will pay to replace their granary. You will pay the cost of what you burnt. You will pay to fill it. You will pay them for their pain and suffering. You will pay the income of lost family members, and you will pay whatever is needed for that girl to live a good life. Do you understand?"
"You have no right to order that of me!" Deddings said, outrage worn plainly, as if he was the one being wronged.
"You had no right to attack these people!" Steve barked. "What did this achieve? Did you kill enemy soldiers? Did you reduce their ability to wage war? All the Goodbrook men are already with the royal host! Did you do anything but kill innocent people for no cause?!" He was shouting by the end of it, almost surprised by his own anger. He clenched a fist, and something popped.
Deddings quailed for a moment, but he rallied. "You speak as if you have never raided a village on the march, never razed a town!" the lord threw back at him.
Angry murmurs rose from Steve's men at that, more than one weapon held in tight grips.
"No villages attacked, no civilian deaths, not one woman raped by my men, and I raided the Reach from the Stormlands border to Grassfield Keep!" Steve cut his head to the side, breathing out harshly through his nose. With an effort, he strangled his anger.
Deddings blinked, confused. "But, what-"
"You'll face justice from your overlord," Steve decided. He wouldn't likely be able to make the blood money stick without great effort, anyway. "Walt. Bind him, put him with the others."
The lord's protests and demands were ignored by the old soldier, and his grin soon saw them subside, disappointing the man. The villagers filtered away to pick up pieces of their lives as the lord was hauled off, and Steve turned his attention to more important things.
"No deaths, one injury," Keladry reported as she approached, visor raised. "Corivo says it's just a strain, not a tear."
"Good," Steve said, voice clipped. He grimaced at himself, anger not quite as gone as he had hoped. "Is there any good news?"
"We found a cellar full of children," she said. "Their parents hid them before leading the raiders away."
"Good," Steve said, his anger finally easing. "Good." A thought occurred to him. "The parents-"
"They survived," Keladry said. "They sent older siblings to watch over the children while they help with the damage." She drummed her fingers along her glaive, disquieted. "Steve, if this village is sworn to Lord Goodbrook-"
"I know," Steve said. "We'll deal with that when we get back to the army." Even had he known beforehand, he wouldn't have done anything different. "Take me to the children."
Keladry did as asked, understanding his reasoning for doing so. She guided him to a house, far away from where the fire had been, and was first through the door. Inside were more than a dozen children, watched over by three young teens, but there was an adult present as well. Naerys was there, one of the smallest children seated in her lap.
Steve had a moment to meet Naerys' eyes and share a smile before the children reacted to their entry.
"It's Ser Keladry!" one of the children exclaimed.
Steve gave Kel a look, already feeling his spirits lifted.
Kel gave the child a small smile, and did not correct him. "This is my captain, Lord America. He is the one who saved your village."
A chorus of impressed sounds rose up in answer.
"We all helped, but especially Keladry," Steve said. "I just wanted to meet the kids who I heard were so brave today." Before he'd had to go on the run, he had spent more than a handful of days in various paediatric wards.
"Lady Naerey said we was brave as knights," another little boy said, his chest puffing up.
"If Lady Naerey says so, I'm sure it's true," Steve said. He felt the last of his ill mood leaving him.
"Does that mean we get a story?" the boy pressed. "When I'm good, I get a story."
"I -" he hesitated, but only for a moment as all the children seemed to switch on as one in response to the 's' word, "- would love to tell you a story." He looked around; the house wasn't small, but there was little room left to sit on the ground, so he chose to lean against a table, looking over the gathering. He cleared his throat, casting his mind about. "Let's see…"
The words came to him, and he leaned forward. The children - and Naerys - mirrored him.
"In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit…"
Last edited:
- Location
- USA
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Wow, Steve is settling in for the long haul with that story! The Hobbit takes a minute more than your standard bedtime tale.
It made me sad to read Deddings say "you've done the same" with complete confidence. It's not that he's a bad man (although he is), it's that he grew up in a society where it is literally unthinkable that a noble might not do such things.
It made me sad to read Deddings say "you've done the same" with complete confidence. It's not that he's a bad man (although he is), it's that he grew up in a society where it is literally unthinkable that a noble might not do such things.
To the Fire 5
- Location
- Australia
"Deddings joined Hoster in rebellion," Brandon said. His arms were crossed, and he leaned back in his chair as he spoke, frowning. "He will argue that he was attacked while in service to my good-father."
The tent wasn't small, but it felt that way, packed as it was. When Steve had rejoined the army a day late with prisoners in tow and carrying word of what he had done, he had spurred a quiet rush. Every lord of actual influence was present, no matter their kingdom. Brandon headed them, but Ned and Robert sat at his sides. Samuel, Brynden, Beron, Umber, Bolton, Royce, Dustin, and a small handful of others who might call themselves their equal watched in sombre regard as well. There were no servants present.
Steve had expected something of a tribunal, to be standing before a table of lords, but instead they were all seated together. It felt more like a PR briefing.
"The village he raided had turned back to my brother," Brynden said, though it was reluctant. "That would undercut his claim to injury."
"...but only the very day before the raid, and with their men still serving the foe," Samuel said, finishing the thought.
"Even if he hadn't," Steve said, "it wouldn't have changed my actions."
Several winces answered his words.
"I would perhaps keep that to myself, were I in your boots," Kyle said. "Not that what you did was a poor thing," he hurried to add, "just that not all share your…vehemence in adhering to knightly conduct."
"It's not about knightly conduct," Steve said, starting to get a little hot under the collar.
"I think we all know Lord America's quality," Beron said quickly. He was perhaps not as highly born as some others in the tent, but his friendships and relation to the Starks had seen him invited, not to mention his experience with Steve. The stormlord looked around the table, gauging faces. "I would not say that any here find fault in the deed itself."
Greatjon snorted, but said nothing as he shook his head, clearly bored.
"Who is this Deddings, anyway?" Robert asked, looking between Brandon and Bryden. His knee was bouncing under the table.
"They're a lordly House. Wealthy," Brynden said. "They see most of the western traffic that doesn't follow the River Road."
"Their men are with Hoster," Brandon said. "Not sure why Deddings isn't."
Brynden closed his eyes, thinking. "I remember something of a worry for his borders with Goodbrook. Hoster gave him leave to remain to watch his lands."
"Looks to have been watching his neighbours, more like," Dustin said, clearly thinking little of the man.
Brandon unfolded his arms, leaning forward to set his hands on the table. "Brynden. Does House Tully find issue with Lord America's actions?"
"You'll want to ask Lord Tully about that," Brynden said, "but if I know my brother, he won't judge Deddings' contributions as greater than America's."
"He should judge by the facts, not my contributions."
Brynden didn't frown, though his lips did thin. "A Lord Paramount has more considerations to juggle than a company commander."
Steve bit his tongue. Telling these lords the true depth of lives and responsibilities he had ever held in his hands would gain him nothing.
"Does it matter?" Bolton asked. His pale gaze was fixed on Steve, considering. "Your conduct has given Lord Tully no insult, and no harm was done."
Piercing blue met ghost grey unflinchingly. "Seven people were killed," he said. "A girl was raped."
"The raper was hanged, and none of the dead were Deddings' sworn swords," Robert said, making a dismissive gesture. "If he were my lord, this would already be over."
Again, Steve was reminded of the disconnect between the morals of this land and his own. There had been a lot of talk about if he had done wrong, but not a mention of punishment for Deddings. A broken collarbone was not nearly enough punishment for his negligence.
"It would be improper to decide for Lord Tully," Ned said, speaking for the first time, "but Lord Tully is not here. Whether the matter is settled now or when we reach Darry will not change the outcome."
"What about reparations?" Steve asked. If the set of his jaw was growing mulish, none pointed it out. "That village lost their granary, some houses, and a number of able hands. My understanding of your culture is that the rape victim will have trouble finding a marriage. Will Deddings have to do right by them?"
Brandon and Ned shared a look, but it was Brynden that answered. "Given your service, Hoster will take any counsel you have on the matter seriously. So long as no Goodbrook men have joined in the raids, I expect he'll be compensated."
A muscle in Steve's jaw ticked. "Goodbrook will be-"
"Deddings will pay Goodbrook, and Goodbrook will make his people whole," Beron said, familiarity allowing him to interrupt. "When Lord Tully gives the order, the smallfolk will be made whole."
"Only lords of lowly character would keep the coin for themselves," Samuel added, "and for all his poor choice of sides, Lord Goodbrook seemed to be a man of good character."
Again, Steve bit his tongue, exhaling sharply.
"Smallfolk given coin lose it swiftly," Kyle said, after his fellows had said their piece without having their heads bitten off. "To greedy merchants or to banditry or to some other misfortune. It is our duty to use our standing to make arrangements for them."
Steve looked around the tent, and found nothing but agreement. He was clearly alone in his argument, and even those sympathetic to him were only trying to help him understand rather than arguing alongside him. There was no victory to be found in the tent that day. "Then I guess we'll pick this up again after we link up with Lord Tully."
Something eased in the tent, at least amongst those who knew Steve the best, and the meeting did not last much longer. The lords were content to let the matter lie, satisfied that it was as good as over. It was a truth passed from father to son in lessons since the Age of Heroes that black deeds happened in the fog of war. The worst of it had been punished, but even a hunter knew that to control a hound through beatings would only ensure that one day it would turn on its master, and a soldier was no mere hound and they were no mere hunters. The high lords would remind their leal men of their expectations, but already their attentions were returning to more important matters.
The high lords, however, were not the end of it. Word spread of the events at Goodbrook's village, and though the framing changed with those who told it, the events were the same, and in those events some saw opportunity. All those who had held their tongues in the face of enthusiastic acclaim for Lord America suddenly felt able to speak, and speak they did. Concerned words were spoken, and if they were hiding spite and envy, only the speaker could say. Common were the quick and quiet discussions of how Lord America had ambushed a rebel force that was attacking loyalists, of what it could possibly mean. Many were unsure, but there was no denial, no explanation from their overlords that excused the accusation, and even those that did not believe still repeated the words.
The common man had little patience for such things, but it was not the common man who held power, and the word continued to spread. Lords who had reason to resent Lord America were emboldened to speak, for was it not true that he had ambushed their fellow rebels? Was it not true that he had savagely beaten Lord Deddings without warning? Was it not true that he had defended the village of a royalist lord? The foreign 'lord' had sworn no oaths and inserted himself into matters that he had no business with, and beneath the notice of those who spoke of armies and campaigns and kings, the whispers grew.
Before long, they grew into something more.
X
Steve frowned as he watched Corivo work. He felt like he had been frowning a lot, lately. "How bad is it?"
"Not broken," Corivo said as he examined his patient carefully, tilting his head this way and that. "Though it will be sensitive for a time."
"Ib bine," Robin said. He took a sniff, and winced.
"Hold this to it," Corivo said, handing him a clean cloth, pulled from a box of such things in his working area. "Try to breathe through your mouth."
Robin pressed the cloth carefully to his nose. In addition to the bloodied nose, he had a split lip, bruised knuckles, and a small gash across his elbow courtesy of someone's tooth.
"So," Steve said, taking a nearby chair and reversing it, before taking a seat. Something about the move made his squire go pale, eyes distant. "You want to tell me what happened?"
The kid snapped back to the present, and lowered the cloth to talk. "Ib was de squies, dey-" he paused, taking shallow breaths as his face screwed up, one eye closing as the other brow raised. "Oh no." He sneezed, thankfully catching the spray of blood with his cloth.
"I saw it happen, Captain," the last occupant of Corivo's tent said.
Steve turned to Will, one of the first men he had recruited, before even venturing into the Mountains of the Moon. His scarlet beard couldn't entirely hide a swelling jaw, and his knuckles were missing bark just as Robin's were.
"Seems like you did more than see it, Will," Steve said, his tone light.
Will ducked his head. He had been a lithe man when he was recruited, and he still was, but the results of Steve's training were clear. "Five on one ain't fair."
"Five on one?" Steve said, looking back to his squire. "Why'd you go and pick a fight like that?"
"Dey bicked it," Robin said hotly, though the effect was somehow spoiled by the impediment of his swollen nose.
"They did, Captain," Will said. "They knew he was there an' all, made sure he heard them."
"What did they say?" Steve asked.
Will scowled. "Talkin' about that Lord Deddings, and that you did wrong by him. Called you a liar."
"That all?" Steve asked, giving him a look.
Robin and Will shared a glance. "There were a bit more," Will admitted. "Mostly bout how you were lying, and that what you did in the Reach was like as not made up."
"And Robin felt the need to fight five other squires over this?" Steve asked.
The two shared another glance, this time more reluctant. "Bell…no," Robin said. "I bight've…" He dabbed at his nose as if to absorb blood, but the shifting of his eyes told the truth of his play for time.
"Robin called them out, said if they wanted to repeat the lies of their knight masters they should just go lick a horse's ass, seeing as it would be the same result," Will said. He was unable to quite hide his glee.
Steve put a hand over his mouth and frowned, attempting to appear grave. "I see," he said. "And how did the fight go?"
"Dey ran," Robin said, proud even through the pain.
"We got them pretty bad, but they were still good for it until Ortys showed up," Will admitted.
"Well," Steve said, tapping his hand on the chairback before himself. "I'd be a hypocrite if I told you off for standing up for yourself." He looked to Will. "And you, Will - good job."
Both of them couldn't help but grin. "Thanks, Captain."
"Now get outta here, and stop taking up Corivo's time," he ordered.
The two of them were quick to be on their way, brimming with the good cheer that came from getting the better of some cad, and Steve saw Will muss Robin's hair before the tent flap fell back into place.
Corivo began to tidy up his work area. "Fights happen, but those squires did not do that alone," he said, not looking at Steve.
Steve pursed his lips. "No, they didn't."
"I've seen resentment within companies turn ugly before," the Myrman said.
A considering nod was his answer, and the doctor left it at that, content that his warning had been heard.
Resentment towards him was nothing new, even amongst the Stormland army that had had front row seats to his actions. His contributions to the war would only go so far, and he knew that being on good terms with Robert only meant he was on good terms with Robert, not that all those sworn to him would feel the same. He wasn't blind to the fact that he rubbed some of the local lords the wrong way. Fingers drummed a beat on his chair. The rumours about Keladry had started to die out, but if new rumours were rising in their place, he didn't want to be caught on the back foot.
He had a gut feeling someone had chosen a way to come at him that couldn't be taken care of with a quick duel, but that was fine. He was no meathead, and he knew what to do when someone came at him sideways.
X
It only took a few days for Lyanna to report back with the news she'd gathered, her penchant for making friends and ferreting out gossip proving its worth once again. As the army continued to arrive at their chosen camp that afternoon to make camp, the Riverlands girl spoke to a council of war.
"Cafferen is part of it," Lyanna told the tent, "and he hasn't been shy about talking with his knights where he can be overheard. He really doesn't like you telling him what he can't do, Steve."
"That sounds like a problem for him," Steve said. He and his most trusted were gathered in his tent, their duties seen to for the moment. "What's he been saying?"
"Mostly about how you're taking advantage of Lord Baratheon's good nature, and that even though you've done a lot, none of that was anything another couldn't," Lyanna said.
"That doesn't sound like the talk that had the squires starting trouble," Naerys said, frowning slightly. She had been reading a book as she waited for their discussion to start, but now it was closed on the table, her hands clasped atop it.
Beside her, Robin couldn't help but touch at his nose; it was still ginger.
"That's cause it isn't," Lyanna said, not quite bouncing in her seat. "I was helping one of the servants with Cafferen's linen, and guess who I saw going in to meet with him."
Keladry shifted in her chair. "Was it-" she cut herself off, eyes shifting to Walt and back.
Lyanna nodded. "It was Lord Burchard," she said, but then a moment later she followed Keladry's look. "He were, uh…"
"He knew you back when you wore dresses then?" Walt asked, blunt as a hammer.
Kel went still. Toby was less reserved.
"I'll bite your nose off old man," the boy threatened, the effect lessened by how his shoulders barely came up over the table. "Keladry don't wear dresses."
Steve reached over to muss the kid's hair. "Walt guessed," he said to Kel, apologetic. "I meant to tell you after Goodbrook, but the raid interrupted things."
"I see," Keladry said, face like stone.
"I figured it out in Pentos," Walt said. His words had Steve and Kel both blinking. "Then when the rumours started up, I put the rest together." The old soldier glanced about the tent. "I wouldn't 'a told me either, but you saved me grandson's life, little shit that he is. Doing it as a maiden only makes it more impressive."
"I see," Keladry said again. "...I thank you," she said, heartfelt.
Walt grunted, crossing his arms and trying to pretend he wasn't affected by it.
"About Burchard, Lyanna?" Steve asked.
Lyanna started at her name. "Right. I didn't try to get on the wine service, but Burchard weren't in there long, and he didn't leave happy."
"Cafferen didn't give him the answer he wanted," Naerys said, thinking it through. "Have you annoyed anyone else lately?" she asked Steve.
Steve had to think about it for a moment. "There's Deddings, but he's not really in a position to be spreading rumours." The noble had been given due courtesy as they marched north, but he was a Riverlander in an army of Stormlanders with the occasional Northman, and few were falling over themselves to socialise with him in any case.
"Then the simplest answer is that Burchard is behind these new rumours," Naerys said, nodding decisively. "Few listened last time, but he means to try again differently."
"Again, I cause trouble for you," Keladry said.
"Burchard is the punk causing trouble, not you," Steve said. "We dealt with this at Harrenhal, and we'll deal with it here too."
Kel's mouth twitched faintly, as if to smile.
"He lacks any of the connections you have with the high lords," Naerys said. "And he knows he cannot simply accuse you without it ending as it did at Harrenhal."
"Can I just go up and slap him?" Steve asked.
"Not on hearsay," Naerys said. "You'd have to hear it from him, before witnesses."
"What if 'is horse kicked him in the head?" Toby asked. He had been sulking since his threat to Walt had been ignored.
"No, Toby," Keladry said.
Walt leaned in. "What if I-"
"No, Walt," the adults said.
Robin snorted, but tried to hide from the narrowed gaze of his drill sergeant that followed.
There was a moment as all considered the challenge before them.
"What I'm seeing is that we need to catch him out, before witnesses," Steve said, less than happy with the idea.
"Unless he proves himself a fool, and does something that gives the high lords an excuse to act," Naerys said. "Even if you went to Lord Baratheon, he would be counselled to intervene with care, if at all."
Steve grumbled in his throat. Robert owed him, he knew, but he'd been giving enough PR briefings to know that bringing the hammer of authority to a whisper fight rarely ended well. He didn't like the idea of handing it off to someone else to solve, anyway.
"Can he even do anything to us?" Robin asked, hesitant. He shifted under everyone's sudden attention, but didn't stop. "He's just a small lord, right? And you're friends with Baratheons, Starks, you won battles for them…it just seems like he can't do much more than spread gossip."
For most in the tent, there was a moment as they considered his words, and were jarred by them. A year past, even the lowest of nobility could have caused any one of them great problems.
Steve was shaking his head. "Underestimating someone is giving them a chance to surprise you in a bad way," he said. "Burchard isn't spreading rumours for fun, and it's already seen you in a fight. I'd rather stay on top of this than let something worse happen. We won't ignore him."
Robin nodded slowly, taking his point.
"Lyanna," Steve said. "In my experience, men like Burchard don't treat their servants well. Do you think you could make friends with them, without getting yourself into trouble?"
The girl scoffed. "Course."
"Then do that. If things change, we'll respond, but for now I just want everyone to keep an eye out," Steve said. He didn't bother telling them not to go anywhere alone; those most at risk already avoided doing that as a matter of course. "On more important matters - Naerys tells me you plotted out the needs of the army all the way to Darry?"
Lyanna brightened. "I did! It's the same as doing it for the company, just bigger, and with more points of failure."
"How about you show me while the boys have their numbers lesson?" Steve asked. He pinned Toby in place with a stare, stopping his attempt to slide out of his chair and out of sight.
Weightier matters were left behind, and another day on the march came to an end. Whatever mischief Kel's betrothed had in mind for them, they would be ready.
X
The rumours continued as the host marched north, starting to round the top of the Gods Eye. Those who spread them might have been a minority, but they were a loud minority, and spite lent wind to their words. As more became aware of them, they began to change, no longer simply concerned with Lord America's reputation, but with that of those around him. None would admit to starting them, but many listened all the same, and they wondered. There was no smoke without fire, after all.
"I heard America trains his servants to fight."
"Didn't he recruit smallfolk into that company of his? All the same, innit?"
"No, I mean his servants, the quims."
Suddenly, there were those who found reason to be passing by as Steve led his company through their exercises of an afternoon, tutting disapprovingly when he guided Betty and her girls through their own. More than one comment was made on the appropriateness of training women to fight. He fought down the urge to challenge them on Naerys' behalf, but it burned at him all the same, that those small men would dare to look down on the efforts of those who just wanted to better themselves.
"Think of it this way, ladies," Steve commented loudly as he led Betty and her girls through an aikido move he had them learning. "If a man is threatened because you can defend yourself, well, that says a lot about him and the size of his 'courage', doesn't it?"
The women learning tittered and laughed, and they were joined by more than one person nearby, the camp cramped as it was. The most recent man to 'happen by' and comment flushed with anger, giving the women an ugly look, and stalked off with anger on his face. Steve watched with a flat gaze as the man departed. The laughter might have burned at him, but that look spoke of things much worse than simple laughter.
He would send Walt to have a talk with the man.
"He clearly has no shame, training washerwomen and whores as if they were men-at-arms."
"Maybe them other rumours were on the money."
"About his sworn sword? Weren't they settled already, at Harrenhal?"
"Well, I heard that he bribed the Whents to side with him, and with the very winnings they owed him! My cousin saw him carrying stacked chests through the camp, but no man could carry them if they were full of gold…"
"Huh. Mebbe you're right…what was her name, again?"
The rumours about Kel came surging back, and this time they were not so quickly dismissed. Suddenly, the events at Harrenhal were not enough, and the dismissal of Kyllan Stoneford's accusation was spoken of as some bit of scheming by the royalist Whents. Word inevitably began to creep up the feudal ladder, more and more lords growing aware of the gossip centred on Lord America and his retinue. The few Vale lords present found themselves sought after drinking companions, as even those who had no feud with the foreign lord grew interested in the truth of the matter.
Rumour and hearsay continued to spread like an odious gas, seeping into more and more conversations as the march north continued. Boredom was a killer, and there would always be those who found joy in a tantalising bit of gossip about an otherwise admired figure.
As all such things went, however, eventually someone crossed a line.
X
Steve was returning from a run when he heard it.
"-his bastard woman was probably lying about Swiftback, or sleeping around on the side-"
Steve stopped and turned on a dime, striding towards the one who had spoken. Mouths snapped shut as he passed and approached, no matter what they had been discussing, all struck by the same instinct that told them to be silent. He came to a stop before the man who had called Naerys a liar and worse, staring him down, unblinking.
The man swallowed, his two friends edging away from him.
"Did you have something you wanted to say to me?"
Another swallow, and a stiff shake of his head was the answer.
"You're sure?" Steve pressed. "You wouldn't be lying, would you?"
Another tiny shake of his head, panic in his eyes as he failed to understand how he had been overheard. The words had clearly been meant for those nearby him, a show of derision as Steve passed by out of earshot.
Steve stared him down, knowing him for a liar. His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, but he stood stock still. The man was a nobody, some hedge knight repeating what he had been told or overheard. Even if he pointed the finger at Burchard, he needed more. At length, he spoke.
"You may go now."
The three men were fleeing almost before he had finished speaking, and he watched them go. Slandering him with deeds he'd gladly own up to was one thing. Slandering those with him like that was something else entirely.
There was a lull after that day, as many seemed to remember how Lord America had reacted the last time his lady had been in danger. Unwise as many might have thought it to be to bring a paramour on the march, none could deny that striking at her had proven to be folly. It was almost like the whispers were holding their breath in fear.
The lull did not last.
Before, the rumours and whispers had seemed to keep to the middle classes of the army, finding frozen ground with the common folk and seeking to go unnoticed by the high, but that soon changed. Now it seemed that the rumours were being spread as high and wide as possible, as if those responsible wanted them to be noticed. They ballooned in scope, no longer limiting themselves to Steve's dedication to the cause or Keladry's true gender or even Naerys' reputation. The included truth, lies, and the absurd - but they were told and retold, believed and mocked, taking on a life of their own as the army as a whole became aware of them.
The day after they left the shore of the Gods Eye behind, Steve received three pieces of information. The first was that Cafferen had told his people to distance themselves from the gossip the day he heard about Steve's reaction. The second was that Samuel Errol wished to speak with him over dinner the next day. The third, though, was the one that put a smile on his face. He thanked Lyanna, and informed the others. Their patience was about to be rewarded.
The following morning, Lord America was seen departing the camp in full armour, a squad of his men following. In his absence, command fell to his sworn sword, Keladry Delnaimn, and he? she? set about making what arrangements were needed for the breaking of camp.
As Keladry was dealing with all the usual complications that came with such a task, drawn away from Lord America's camp, a group of knights happened to pass by. They walked without haste, as if they expected the bustle of the camp to part before them, and it did. They were led by a handsome blond, and his eyes lingered on his target as they walked.
"It is a shame, I think," Joren said. "Lord America seemed such a knight, though I suppose we should be grateful that his character was revealed."
"How do you mean, my lord?" one of his fellows asked.
Joren noted the stiffening of his target's spine, and he smiled. It would have set a maiden's heart to flutter, were it not for the sharp cruelty of it. "If he was lying about something so simple as the gender of his sworn sword, then what else was he lying about?"
"You mean to say that Ser Kemmet Swiftback was wrongly accused?" Around them, traffic began to slow as more and more started to listen, many not quite believing their ears.
"I could not say, not for sure," Joren said, falsely conscientious, "but if he conspired with the Whents to smear Lord Stoneford's name, then it is hardly beyond him." He paused, eyes glittering as he delivered a final shot. "We cannot know for sure what really happened that day at Mastford, of course. We have only the word of a bastard and camp whores for it."
"You repeat yourself, my lord," another knight said, as if in jest.
Joren laughed. "Who knows, perhaps the bastard sought to seduce another knight that day."
Laughter came from the group. Joren gave one last look at Keladry's utterly blank face, and knew that his barbs had hit home.
Then, a figure rose up from behind the crates she had been inspecting, expression like thunder, and all amusement died.
Steve stalked towards the group of knights who had thought themselves so clever, so cunning in their cruelty. There was a promise of violence in his shoulders as he approached, and all movement around them stopped. His pace was slow, measured, and something about it had many reevaluating their dismissal of certain tales they had been told.
Sudden steps broke the moment, and then another figure was striding forward, almost shouldering past the man whose danger had frozen the watchers. A strong arm wound back, and the crack of a ferocious slap shattered the silence.
"Joren Burchard!" Keladry boomed. "I challenge you!"
Joren had staggered with the force of the slap, completely unable to prepare for it even as he saw it coming, pinned as he was by Steve's gaze, but now he recovered. "Your challenge is a farce," he sneered, for all the effect was lessened by his rapidly reddening cheek, "but I accept. As challenged, I demand it take place immediately, before witnesses." His hand went to the sword at his hip, and he looked around, as if judging the suitability of the small storage area around them.
"I'll speak with Robert, and the Starks," Steve said. He took a step back, his menace easing. He was smiling. "You'll have your witnesses, and your duel."
For a split second, Joren faltered, feeling the noose draw tight around him, but for his arrogance he could not see it. "See to it, then," he said, dismissive. He turned to leave, his lackeys falling in with him, and they swanned away.
More than one spectator suddenly had urgent business calling them away, hurrying off to no doubt take word of what had happened to their lords or masters. Steve looked over to where Walt had been lurking inside a nearby tent, picking at his nails with his dagger, and gave him a nod. The grizzled soldier had seen everything, and knew what was to be done. He returned the nod, and ducked away to take care of it.
Keladry had stilled after delivering her challenge, but as Steve turned to leave she fell into place at his shoulder by rote of habit. As they marched back towards the company quarters, it seemed that word had spread ahead of them, as they received looks from all quarters, from message boys to lords. By design, Steve's tent had yet to be broken down, and it provided a brief refuge from the looks and the whispers.
"Did I make a mistake?" Keladry asked him the moment they were inside.
Steve could not help but laugh. "No. No, you did not."
"There was a plan, and I ignored it."
"I like this one better," Steve said.
"You always did want me to duel him," Kel said, huffing slightly with the faintest of smiles. It faded when he did not return it, only silently observing his friend.
"It's not about the duel."
Kel paused, inspecting him unsurely. "How…what do you mean?"
"Ever since we met," Steve began slowly, "you've been forced to hide away, any time there was some risk of anyone recognising you. You did it even when the chance was so low it was never going to happen."
"It was a risk to you," Kel said. She was back to her usual blankness, unsure where Steve was taking it. "You, who has done so much for me. If people knew who I was, what I was-"
"Why should you have to hide away? Why should you be forced to conceal who you are? Because of your gender? Because you dare to pick up a weapon and fight?" Steve asked. He snorted. "No."
"It is the way of the world," Kel said. "It is how things are, how they have always been, how they will always be."
"Nope," Steve said. "I don't agree."
"Not even you can-"
Steve cut her off again. "Why?"
"Because it just is!" Kel shouted. Her mask was cracking, and her fists were clenched tight. "Boys learn to fight, girls learn to sew, because that is what happens!"
"Doesn't matter," Steve said. He met her gaze, and something magnetic in it prevented her from looking away. "Doesn't matter what the gossips say. Doesn't matter what the nobles or the mobs say. Doesn't matter if everyone your whole life has told you that it's wrong for you to be you, that you shouldn't dare to reach for what makes you happy. When the whole world tells you to move, to live your life the way they want you to, your job is to plant yourself like a tree beside the river of truth and tell them 'No.'." He leaned in, voice lowering. "'You move.'."
Kel swallowed, scarcely breathing, pulse racing. She nodded, once, and Steve leaned back.
"I'm going to speak to Robert and Ned," he said. "I'll send Toby to squire for you."
Her eyes followed him as he left, and he paused by the tent flap, but only for a moment. He gave her a final searching look, and then, satisfied with what he'd seen, left her there to prepare. The noise of the camp intruded briefly, but then faded again.
For long minutes, Kel stood there, absorbing what she had been told, turning it over in her mind from every angle. At length, she let out a breath.
She looked to her glaive.
X
The field outside the shrinking army camp was packed with more nobility than some royal courts. A section of grass had been stamped flat, and on each side of it a banner was planted. One bore a grey mountain peak, and the other a five pointed star, and beneath them gathered those who stood with each duellist. Joren waited before his own banner, backed by two of the knights who had colluded with him to deliver his barbs. Across from them, Steve stood with Robin, waiting for Keladry to arrive.
Spread out around them, nobles waited with bated breath. Every lord who could escape their duties was present, names and titles jockeying for the best view. Steve had seen several that he had come to know standing in the front rank, but he did not look to them. His gaze was fixed on the man who had plotted against his friend, who had done her injury in all but the physical. The man was pointedly avoiding his gaze.
"Does she mean to keep us waiting?" Joren called. "She has clearly made a habit of such things; she is over a year late in arriving for our marriage." He had a mace on his hip, rather than the sword he wore earlier.
Steve did not so much as blink, and Joren's words did not stir the reaction he was perhaps looking for, only sending a brief wave of glances towards the foreign lord.
Another minute passed, filled only by the quiet mutterings of the crowd. Then, in the distance, something changed.
It started with a whisper on the wind, a distant thing that pricked at the ear. It grew slowly, a rising wave as something approached. It became a flurry of disbelief, spread from person to person. Finally it arrived with an unspoken challenge, heralded by the glaive that rose above the crowd. Shocked exclamations filled the field, and Steve did not try to hold back his savage grin as the lords began to clamour.
Kel had arrived, and she was done hiding. Gone were the form hiding clothes, gone was masculine hairstyle, gone was any worry about hiding who she was. Now she wore a dress of blue and grey, and her hair had been braided into a crown. Though the dress was modest, she had clearly grown beyond its fitting, and there was no doubting she was a woman, even as strong and solid as she was. The daughter of House Delnaimn had arrived, and she planted herself before the banner of her lord proudly, glaive in hand.
Joren laughed, high and disbelieving. He was torn between bewilderment and joy as he took Keladry in, seeing the glaive and the dress and finding himself unable to reconcile them. The near furor of the crowd fell in anticipation as the events of the day began to unfold.
"You cannot expect me to duel a woman,"Joren said. He laughed again. "It is - no."
"Are you scared?" Keladry asked.
Joren sneered. He had a face made for it, it seemed. "You are my betrothed. You will be my wife. I will not require force to discip-"
"Bitch."
There was a moment where the only sound was a flurry of intaken breaths, and then someone sniggered. Joren's face went white with anger. Apparently robbed of his speech, he pulled his mace free from his hip, but he did not advance into the field. Instead he turned to his second, holding out his mace.
The mace was taken and replaced with a sword, and an ugly mutter swept through the crowd. Robert snarled, about to take a step forward, but then Ned put a hand on his shoulder, nodding towards Steve. His grin still hadn't faded, if anything the swap of weapons had only made it wider. The stormlord subsided, deciding to trust in his friends, but still he glowered.
There would be no more talk. Joren stalked across the field, sword and teeth bared, armour clanking with every step. Keladry remained still, glaive planted on the ground beside her. There was a beat, and then the duel began.
Joren lunged, aiming to take Kel in the shoulder. A moment later there was the ring of steel, followed almost immediately by a harsh crack, and Joren was stumbling back, hand held to his jaw. It was the same side that was still reddened by her slap. A murmur ran around the crowd.
When the blond man looked up, Kel had returned to her stance, still standing ready. The sight of it seemed to infuriate him even further.
"If you insist on continuing this farce," Joren spat, "I will not restrain myself to wounding."
Keladry reacted a jot, save to raise her chin in challenge. It was Brandon Stark who snorted, and Joren flushed. A moment later, the duel resumed.
Steel swiped across Kel's belly, but it was met by steel in turn, and the iron butt of her glaive met his knee with a loud clang. A gasp was torn from the man, and he hopped back, sword held ready.
"All you had to do," he ground out, "was accept your fate, and none of this would have been necessary!" He attacked again, but again he was turned away, glaive spinning faster than he could respond. Steel screeched three times as he was touched groin, shoulder, and wrist.
"I reject that fate," Keladry told him. Her voice soared above the noise of their duel, and he stumbled back again to reset.
"Shield!" he demanded of his second, and the man hurried to hold out the shield that he had presumed not to need.
Keladry let him, blankly polite.
"You don't even know what trouble you have caused, the plans you delayed," Joren ranted at her. "I should have had an heir from you by now!"
"I know exactly what trouble I caused, what plans I delayed," Kel told him. "And so does my grandmother."
Joren led with his shield, seeking to bash the glaive out of the way as he slashed at her leg, but it was not to be, the shield swept aside in turn to foul his own strike by unexpected strength. Joren tried to recover, putting his shoulder into a push to force her back, but she caught it upon the middle of her weapon, boots bracing in the dirt of the field.
"You know nothing!" Joren said, snarling over his shield at her, even as he tried to spare one knee his weight. "If your miserly family had sent better than one old fool to lead your escort-!"
Keladry exploded into movement, rising up to put her body into forcing her betrothed back and away. He backpedalled as he fought to keep his feet, but Kel was advancing for the first time, leaving Steve's banner behind as she chased her foe across their arena.
"That old fool was worth a dozen of you!" she shouted. "That old fool taught me to fight! That old fool cut down your knight like a green boy after he threatened me with rape!" Every shout was accompanied by another strike, another vital point touched and marked. "That old fool deserved better than to have his grave disturbed and left for carrion!"
Joren's swipes grew wilder and wilder as he was chased around the field, whatever self-control he had possessed fleeing him as he was unmanned before the crowd of worthies. He didn't seem to realise that it was not his armour saving him, as he continued to try to break through Kel's defence, only to be denied every time.
"You will submit-!" he shrieked, unhinged.
Kel tired of him. The butt of her glaive came down heavily on his wrist, and it spasmed, sword falling from his grip unwillingly. A moment later he was struck about the head by the flat of her blade, dazing him, and then she struck his other knee. He collapsed with a gasp, his body betraying him. He looked up and froze, the tip of her glaive an inch from his face.
"I am not your bride," she said, snarling out bride like one might whore. "I am not your prize. I am not the mother of your children." Her eyes were blazing, rage and exhilaration and defiance worn clearly on her face in a show of emotion Steve had never seen from her. "I am a warrior, and I deny you."
There was only the ragged panting of Joren to fill the silence, and Kel looked up at the crowd, daring anyone to challenge her. It was only Steve's long familiarity with her that let him see the wild fear, throttled and buried down deep with an iron grip. She let out a breath, looking back down the length of her glaive at the man whose presence had haunted her for years now.
"Do you yield?" she demanded.
Hate filled eyes stared up at her, and he said nothing. The glaive tip drew closer.
"I yield," Joren ground out, voice black with rage.
For a moment, it seemed she hadn't heard it. Then she blinked, and her glaive lowered. She withdrew it and turned, looking around the crowd as if just seeing them for the first time. The hush that had fallen over them as the duel began lay heavy on them still She found Steve and Robin, and began to walk towards them.
Joren was staring at her back, as if her bare shoulders were mocking him. His eyes shrank to pinpricks, bulging, and he reached for his fallen sword.
Kel was already turning. Her movement was clean, practised, muscles shifting and moving smoothly under her dress. Joren had his blade in hand, rising up as he lunged, and he was followed by outraged shouts from the crowd. Kel swung, cutting through flesh and noise both.
Blood flicked from the glaive as Kel brought it to a stop. Joren fell to his knees, and a beat later, his head fell from his neck, landing on the ground with a thump. His corpse followed.
The warrior looked to the grey mountain peak banner, striking fear into the Burchard second. The man recoiled, taking a step back.
Steve stepped forward, his movement drawing the eye. "Does anyone," he began, growing louder as he spoke, "have anything that they want to say about my sworn sword?" His gaze swept the crowd, taking in faces of all sorts. Some were in deep thought, many were furious, if for different reasons, but at least one was gleeful, and Bryn was standing beside his knight master looking at Kel like he had seen God. None spoke. "I didn't think so."
A look to Robin had him taking up the banner, and then they were turning to leave. Toby darted from the crowd to slam into Kel's waist, looking up at her with awe and adoration, and her free hand came to rest on his shoulder.
Steve led the way, and the crowd parted before them. Muttering sprang up in their wake, growing and growing as lords argued and debated what they had seen, and there would doubtlessly be a reckoning to be had later, but that was for later. For now there was only victory.
Victory, and the small smile on Keladry's face as she walked the world for the first time in two years without having to hide.
The tent wasn't small, but it felt that way, packed as it was. When Steve had rejoined the army a day late with prisoners in tow and carrying word of what he had done, he had spurred a quiet rush. Every lord of actual influence was present, no matter their kingdom. Brandon headed them, but Ned and Robert sat at his sides. Samuel, Brynden, Beron, Umber, Bolton, Royce, Dustin, and a small handful of others who might call themselves their equal watched in sombre regard as well. There were no servants present.
Steve had expected something of a tribunal, to be standing before a table of lords, but instead they were all seated together. It felt more like a PR briefing.
"The village he raided had turned back to my brother," Brynden said, though it was reluctant. "That would undercut his claim to injury."
"...but only the very day before the raid, and with their men still serving the foe," Samuel said, finishing the thought.
"Even if he hadn't," Steve said, "it wouldn't have changed my actions."
Several winces answered his words.
"I would perhaps keep that to myself, were I in your boots," Kyle said. "Not that what you did was a poor thing," he hurried to add, "just that not all share your…vehemence in adhering to knightly conduct."
"It's not about knightly conduct," Steve said, starting to get a little hot under the collar.
"I think we all know Lord America's quality," Beron said quickly. He was perhaps not as highly born as some others in the tent, but his friendships and relation to the Starks had seen him invited, not to mention his experience with Steve. The stormlord looked around the table, gauging faces. "I would not say that any here find fault in the deed itself."
Greatjon snorted, but said nothing as he shook his head, clearly bored.
"Who is this Deddings, anyway?" Robert asked, looking between Brandon and Bryden. His knee was bouncing under the table.
"They're a lordly House. Wealthy," Brynden said. "They see most of the western traffic that doesn't follow the River Road."
"Their men are with Hoster," Brandon said. "Not sure why Deddings isn't."
Brynden closed his eyes, thinking. "I remember something of a worry for his borders with Goodbrook. Hoster gave him leave to remain to watch his lands."
"Looks to have been watching his neighbours, more like," Dustin said, clearly thinking little of the man.
Brandon unfolded his arms, leaning forward to set his hands on the table. "Brynden. Does House Tully find issue with Lord America's actions?"
"You'll want to ask Lord Tully about that," Brynden said, "but if I know my brother, he won't judge Deddings' contributions as greater than America's."
"He should judge by the facts, not my contributions."
Brynden didn't frown, though his lips did thin. "A Lord Paramount has more considerations to juggle than a company commander."
Steve bit his tongue. Telling these lords the true depth of lives and responsibilities he had ever held in his hands would gain him nothing.
"Does it matter?" Bolton asked. His pale gaze was fixed on Steve, considering. "Your conduct has given Lord Tully no insult, and no harm was done."
Piercing blue met ghost grey unflinchingly. "Seven people were killed," he said. "A girl was raped."
"The raper was hanged, and none of the dead were Deddings' sworn swords," Robert said, making a dismissive gesture. "If he were my lord, this would already be over."
Again, Steve was reminded of the disconnect between the morals of this land and his own. There had been a lot of talk about if he had done wrong, but not a mention of punishment for Deddings. A broken collarbone was not nearly enough punishment for his negligence.
"It would be improper to decide for Lord Tully," Ned said, speaking for the first time, "but Lord Tully is not here. Whether the matter is settled now or when we reach Darry will not change the outcome."
"What about reparations?" Steve asked. If the set of his jaw was growing mulish, none pointed it out. "That village lost their granary, some houses, and a number of able hands. My understanding of your culture is that the rape victim will have trouble finding a marriage. Will Deddings have to do right by them?"
Brandon and Ned shared a look, but it was Brynden that answered. "Given your service, Hoster will take any counsel you have on the matter seriously. So long as no Goodbrook men have joined in the raids, I expect he'll be compensated."
A muscle in Steve's jaw ticked. "Goodbrook will be-"
"Deddings will pay Goodbrook, and Goodbrook will make his people whole," Beron said, familiarity allowing him to interrupt. "When Lord Tully gives the order, the smallfolk will be made whole."
"Only lords of lowly character would keep the coin for themselves," Samuel added, "and for all his poor choice of sides, Lord Goodbrook seemed to be a man of good character."
Again, Steve bit his tongue, exhaling sharply.
"Smallfolk given coin lose it swiftly," Kyle said, after his fellows had said their piece without having their heads bitten off. "To greedy merchants or to banditry or to some other misfortune. It is our duty to use our standing to make arrangements for them."
Steve looked around the tent, and found nothing but agreement. He was clearly alone in his argument, and even those sympathetic to him were only trying to help him understand rather than arguing alongside him. There was no victory to be found in the tent that day. "Then I guess we'll pick this up again after we link up with Lord Tully."
Something eased in the tent, at least amongst those who knew Steve the best, and the meeting did not last much longer. The lords were content to let the matter lie, satisfied that it was as good as over. It was a truth passed from father to son in lessons since the Age of Heroes that black deeds happened in the fog of war. The worst of it had been punished, but even a hunter knew that to control a hound through beatings would only ensure that one day it would turn on its master, and a soldier was no mere hound and they were no mere hunters. The high lords would remind their leal men of their expectations, but already their attentions were returning to more important matters.
The high lords, however, were not the end of it. Word spread of the events at Goodbrook's village, and though the framing changed with those who told it, the events were the same, and in those events some saw opportunity. All those who had held their tongues in the face of enthusiastic acclaim for Lord America suddenly felt able to speak, and speak they did. Concerned words were spoken, and if they were hiding spite and envy, only the speaker could say. Common were the quick and quiet discussions of how Lord America had ambushed a rebel force that was attacking loyalists, of what it could possibly mean. Many were unsure, but there was no denial, no explanation from their overlords that excused the accusation, and even those that did not believe still repeated the words.
The common man had little patience for such things, but it was not the common man who held power, and the word continued to spread. Lords who had reason to resent Lord America were emboldened to speak, for was it not true that he had ambushed their fellow rebels? Was it not true that he had savagely beaten Lord Deddings without warning? Was it not true that he had defended the village of a royalist lord? The foreign 'lord' had sworn no oaths and inserted himself into matters that he had no business with, and beneath the notice of those who spoke of armies and campaigns and kings, the whispers grew.
Before long, they grew into something more.
X
Steve frowned as he watched Corivo work. He felt like he had been frowning a lot, lately. "How bad is it?"
"Not broken," Corivo said as he examined his patient carefully, tilting his head this way and that. "Though it will be sensitive for a time."
"Ib bine," Robin said. He took a sniff, and winced.
"Hold this to it," Corivo said, handing him a clean cloth, pulled from a box of such things in his working area. "Try to breathe through your mouth."
Robin pressed the cloth carefully to his nose. In addition to the bloodied nose, he had a split lip, bruised knuckles, and a small gash across his elbow courtesy of someone's tooth.
"So," Steve said, taking a nearby chair and reversing it, before taking a seat. Something about the move made his squire go pale, eyes distant. "You want to tell me what happened?"
The kid snapped back to the present, and lowered the cloth to talk. "Ib was de squies, dey-" he paused, taking shallow breaths as his face screwed up, one eye closing as the other brow raised. "Oh no." He sneezed, thankfully catching the spray of blood with his cloth.
"I saw it happen, Captain," the last occupant of Corivo's tent said.
Steve turned to Will, one of the first men he had recruited, before even venturing into the Mountains of the Moon. His scarlet beard couldn't entirely hide a swelling jaw, and his knuckles were missing bark just as Robin's were.
"Seems like you did more than see it, Will," Steve said, his tone light.
Will ducked his head. He had been a lithe man when he was recruited, and he still was, but the results of Steve's training were clear. "Five on one ain't fair."
"Five on one?" Steve said, looking back to his squire. "Why'd you go and pick a fight like that?"
"Dey bicked it," Robin said hotly, though the effect was somehow spoiled by the impediment of his swollen nose.
"They did, Captain," Will said. "They knew he was there an' all, made sure he heard them."
"What did they say?" Steve asked.
Will scowled. "Talkin' about that Lord Deddings, and that you did wrong by him. Called you a liar."
"That all?" Steve asked, giving him a look.
Robin and Will shared a glance. "There were a bit more," Will admitted. "Mostly bout how you were lying, and that what you did in the Reach was like as not made up."
"And Robin felt the need to fight five other squires over this?" Steve asked.
The two shared another glance, this time more reluctant. "Bell…no," Robin said. "I bight've…" He dabbed at his nose as if to absorb blood, but the shifting of his eyes told the truth of his play for time.
"Robin called them out, said if they wanted to repeat the lies of their knight masters they should just go lick a horse's ass, seeing as it would be the same result," Will said. He was unable to quite hide his glee.
Steve put a hand over his mouth and frowned, attempting to appear grave. "I see," he said. "And how did the fight go?"
"Dey ran," Robin said, proud even through the pain.
"We got them pretty bad, but they were still good for it until Ortys showed up," Will admitted.
"Well," Steve said, tapping his hand on the chairback before himself. "I'd be a hypocrite if I told you off for standing up for yourself." He looked to Will. "And you, Will - good job."
Both of them couldn't help but grin. "Thanks, Captain."
"Now get outta here, and stop taking up Corivo's time," he ordered.
The two of them were quick to be on their way, brimming with the good cheer that came from getting the better of some cad, and Steve saw Will muss Robin's hair before the tent flap fell back into place.
Corivo began to tidy up his work area. "Fights happen, but those squires did not do that alone," he said, not looking at Steve.
Steve pursed his lips. "No, they didn't."
"I've seen resentment within companies turn ugly before," the Myrman said.
A considering nod was his answer, and the doctor left it at that, content that his warning had been heard.
Resentment towards him was nothing new, even amongst the Stormland army that had had front row seats to his actions. His contributions to the war would only go so far, and he knew that being on good terms with Robert only meant he was on good terms with Robert, not that all those sworn to him would feel the same. He wasn't blind to the fact that he rubbed some of the local lords the wrong way. Fingers drummed a beat on his chair. The rumours about Keladry had started to die out, but if new rumours were rising in their place, he didn't want to be caught on the back foot.
He had a gut feeling someone had chosen a way to come at him that couldn't be taken care of with a quick duel, but that was fine. He was no meathead, and he knew what to do when someone came at him sideways.
X
It only took a few days for Lyanna to report back with the news she'd gathered, her penchant for making friends and ferreting out gossip proving its worth once again. As the army continued to arrive at their chosen camp that afternoon to make camp, the Riverlands girl spoke to a council of war.
"Cafferen is part of it," Lyanna told the tent, "and he hasn't been shy about talking with his knights where he can be overheard. He really doesn't like you telling him what he can't do, Steve."
"That sounds like a problem for him," Steve said. He and his most trusted were gathered in his tent, their duties seen to for the moment. "What's he been saying?"
"Mostly about how you're taking advantage of Lord Baratheon's good nature, and that even though you've done a lot, none of that was anything another couldn't," Lyanna said.
"That doesn't sound like the talk that had the squires starting trouble," Naerys said, frowning slightly. She had been reading a book as she waited for their discussion to start, but now it was closed on the table, her hands clasped atop it.
Beside her, Robin couldn't help but touch at his nose; it was still ginger.
"That's cause it isn't," Lyanna said, not quite bouncing in her seat. "I was helping one of the servants with Cafferen's linen, and guess who I saw going in to meet with him."
Keladry shifted in her chair. "Was it-" she cut herself off, eyes shifting to Walt and back.
Lyanna nodded. "It was Lord Burchard," she said, but then a moment later she followed Keladry's look. "He were, uh…"
"He knew you back when you wore dresses then?" Walt asked, blunt as a hammer.
Kel went still. Toby was less reserved.
"I'll bite your nose off old man," the boy threatened, the effect lessened by how his shoulders barely came up over the table. "Keladry don't wear dresses."
Steve reached over to muss the kid's hair. "Walt guessed," he said to Kel, apologetic. "I meant to tell you after Goodbrook, but the raid interrupted things."
"I see," Keladry said, face like stone.
"I figured it out in Pentos," Walt said. His words had Steve and Kel both blinking. "Then when the rumours started up, I put the rest together." The old soldier glanced about the tent. "I wouldn't 'a told me either, but you saved me grandson's life, little shit that he is. Doing it as a maiden only makes it more impressive."
"I see," Keladry said again. "...I thank you," she said, heartfelt.
Walt grunted, crossing his arms and trying to pretend he wasn't affected by it.
"About Burchard, Lyanna?" Steve asked.
Lyanna started at her name. "Right. I didn't try to get on the wine service, but Burchard weren't in there long, and he didn't leave happy."
"Cafferen didn't give him the answer he wanted," Naerys said, thinking it through. "Have you annoyed anyone else lately?" she asked Steve.
Steve had to think about it for a moment. "There's Deddings, but he's not really in a position to be spreading rumours." The noble had been given due courtesy as they marched north, but he was a Riverlander in an army of Stormlanders with the occasional Northman, and few were falling over themselves to socialise with him in any case.
"Then the simplest answer is that Burchard is behind these new rumours," Naerys said, nodding decisively. "Few listened last time, but he means to try again differently."
"Again, I cause trouble for you," Keladry said.
"Burchard is the punk causing trouble, not you," Steve said. "We dealt with this at Harrenhal, and we'll deal with it here too."
Kel's mouth twitched faintly, as if to smile.
"He lacks any of the connections you have with the high lords," Naerys said. "And he knows he cannot simply accuse you without it ending as it did at Harrenhal."
"Can I just go up and slap him?" Steve asked.
"Not on hearsay," Naerys said. "You'd have to hear it from him, before witnesses."
"What if 'is horse kicked him in the head?" Toby asked. He had been sulking since his threat to Walt had been ignored.
"No, Toby," Keladry said.
Walt leaned in. "What if I-"
"No, Walt," the adults said.
Robin snorted, but tried to hide from the narrowed gaze of his drill sergeant that followed.
There was a moment as all considered the challenge before them.
"What I'm seeing is that we need to catch him out, before witnesses," Steve said, less than happy with the idea.
"Unless he proves himself a fool, and does something that gives the high lords an excuse to act," Naerys said. "Even if you went to Lord Baratheon, he would be counselled to intervene with care, if at all."
Steve grumbled in his throat. Robert owed him, he knew, but he'd been giving enough PR briefings to know that bringing the hammer of authority to a whisper fight rarely ended well. He didn't like the idea of handing it off to someone else to solve, anyway.
"Can he even do anything to us?" Robin asked, hesitant. He shifted under everyone's sudden attention, but didn't stop. "He's just a small lord, right? And you're friends with Baratheons, Starks, you won battles for them…it just seems like he can't do much more than spread gossip."
For most in the tent, there was a moment as they considered his words, and were jarred by them. A year past, even the lowest of nobility could have caused any one of them great problems.
Steve was shaking his head. "Underestimating someone is giving them a chance to surprise you in a bad way," he said. "Burchard isn't spreading rumours for fun, and it's already seen you in a fight. I'd rather stay on top of this than let something worse happen. We won't ignore him."
Robin nodded slowly, taking his point.
"Lyanna," Steve said. "In my experience, men like Burchard don't treat their servants well. Do you think you could make friends with them, without getting yourself into trouble?"
The girl scoffed. "Course."
"Then do that. If things change, we'll respond, but for now I just want everyone to keep an eye out," Steve said. He didn't bother telling them not to go anywhere alone; those most at risk already avoided doing that as a matter of course. "On more important matters - Naerys tells me you plotted out the needs of the army all the way to Darry?"
Lyanna brightened. "I did! It's the same as doing it for the company, just bigger, and with more points of failure."
"How about you show me while the boys have their numbers lesson?" Steve asked. He pinned Toby in place with a stare, stopping his attempt to slide out of his chair and out of sight.
Weightier matters were left behind, and another day on the march came to an end. Whatever mischief Kel's betrothed had in mind for them, they would be ready.
X
The rumours continued as the host marched north, starting to round the top of the Gods Eye. Those who spread them might have been a minority, but they were a loud minority, and spite lent wind to their words. As more became aware of them, they began to change, no longer simply concerned with Lord America's reputation, but with that of those around him. None would admit to starting them, but many listened all the same, and they wondered. There was no smoke without fire, after all.
"I heard America trains his servants to fight."
"Didn't he recruit smallfolk into that company of his? All the same, innit?"
"No, I mean his servants, the quims."
Suddenly, there were those who found reason to be passing by as Steve led his company through their exercises of an afternoon, tutting disapprovingly when he guided Betty and her girls through their own. More than one comment was made on the appropriateness of training women to fight. He fought down the urge to challenge them on Naerys' behalf, but it burned at him all the same, that those small men would dare to look down on the efforts of those who just wanted to better themselves.
"Think of it this way, ladies," Steve commented loudly as he led Betty and her girls through an aikido move he had them learning. "If a man is threatened because you can defend yourself, well, that says a lot about him and the size of his 'courage', doesn't it?"
The women learning tittered and laughed, and they were joined by more than one person nearby, the camp cramped as it was. The most recent man to 'happen by' and comment flushed with anger, giving the women an ugly look, and stalked off with anger on his face. Steve watched with a flat gaze as the man departed. The laughter might have burned at him, but that look spoke of things much worse than simple laughter.
He would send Walt to have a talk with the man.
"He clearly has no shame, training washerwomen and whores as if they were men-at-arms."
"Maybe them other rumours were on the money."
"About his sworn sword? Weren't they settled already, at Harrenhal?"
"Well, I heard that he bribed the Whents to side with him, and with the very winnings they owed him! My cousin saw him carrying stacked chests through the camp, but no man could carry them if they were full of gold…"
"Huh. Mebbe you're right…what was her name, again?"
The rumours about Kel came surging back, and this time they were not so quickly dismissed. Suddenly, the events at Harrenhal were not enough, and the dismissal of Kyllan Stoneford's accusation was spoken of as some bit of scheming by the royalist Whents. Word inevitably began to creep up the feudal ladder, more and more lords growing aware of the gossip centred on Lord America and his retinue. The few Vale lords present found themselves sought after drinking companions, as even those who had no feud with the foreign lord grew interested in the truth of the matter.
Rumour and hearsay continued to spread like an odious gas, seeping into more and more conversations as the march north continued. Boredom was a killer, and there would always be those who found joy in a tantalising bit of gossip about an otherwise admired figure.
As all such things went, however, eventually someone crossed a line.
X
Steve was returning from a run when he heard it.
"-his bastard woman was probably lying about Swiftback, or sleeping around on the side-"
Steve stopped and turned on a dime, striding towards the one who had spoken. Mouths snapped shut as he passed and approached, no matter what they had been discussing, all struck by the same instinct that told them to be silent. He came to a stop before the man who had called Naerys a liar and worse, staring him down, unblinking.
The man swallowed, his two friends edging away from him.
"Did you have something you wanted to say to me?"
Another swallow, and a stiff shake of his head was the answer.
"You're sure?" Steve pressed. "You wouldn't be lying, would you?"
Another tiny shake of his head, panic in his eyes as he failed to understand how he had been overheard. The words had clearly been meant for those nearby him, a show of derision as Steve passed by out of earshot.
Steve stared him down, knowing him for a liar. His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, but he stood stock still. The man was a nobody, some hedge knight repeating what he had been told or overheard. Even if he pointed the finger at Burchard, he needed more. At length, he spoke.
"You may go now."
The three men were fleeing almost before he had finished speaking, and he watched them go. Slandering him with deeds he'd gladly own up to was one thing. Slandering those with him like that was something else entirely.
There was a lull after that day, as many seemed to remember how Lord America had reacted the last time his lady had been in danger. Unwise as many might have thought it to be to bring a paramour on the march, none could deny that striking at her had proven to be folly. It was almost like the whispers were holding their breath in fear.
The lull did not last.
Before, the rumours and whispers had seemed to keep to the middle classes of the army, finding frozen ground with the common folk and seeking to go unnoticed by the high, but that soon changed. Now it seemed that the rumours were being spread as high and wide as possible, as if those responsible wanted them to be noticed. They ballooned in scope, no longer limiting themselves to Steve's dedication to the cause or Keladry's true gender or even Naerys' reputation. The included truth, lies, and the absurd - but they were told and retold, believed and mocked, taking on a life of their own as the army as a whole became aware of them.
The day after they left the shore of the Gods Eye behind, Steve received three pieces of information. The first was that Cafferen had told his people to distance themselves from the gossip the day he heard about Steve's reaction. The second was that Samuel Errol wished to speak with him over dinner the next day. The third, though, was the one that put a smile on his face. He thanked Lyanna, and informed the others. Their patience was about to be rewarded.
The following morning, Lord America was seen departing the camp in full armour, a squad of his men following. In his absence, command fell to his sworn sword, Keladry Delnaimn, and he? she? set about making what arrangements were needed for the breaking of camp.
As Keladry was dealing with all the usual complications that came with such a task, drawn away from Lord America's camp, a group of knights happened to pass by. They walked without haste, as if they expected the bustle of the camp to part before them, and it did. They were led by a handsome blond, and his eyes lingered on his target as they walked.
"It is a shame, I think," Joren said. "Lord America seemed such a knight, though I suppose we should be grateful that his character was revealed."
"How do you mean, my lord?" one of his fellows asked.
Joren noted the stiffening of his target's spine, and he smiled. It would have set a maiden's heart to flutter, were it not for the sharp cruelty of it. "If he was lying about something so simple as the gender of his sworn sword, then what else was he lying about?"
"You mean to say that Ser Kemmet Swiftback was wrongly accused?" Around them, traffic began to slow as more and more started to listen, many not quite believing their ears.
"I could not say, not for sure," Joren said, falsely conscientious, "but if he conspired with the Whents to smear Lord Stoneford's name, then it is hardly beyond him." He paused, eyes glittering as he delivered a final shot. "We cannot know for sure what really happened that day at Mastford, of course. We have only the word of a bastard and camp whores for it."
"You repeat yourself, my lord," another knight said, as if in jest.
Joren laughed. "Who knows, perhaps the bastard sought to seduce another knight that day."
Laughter came from the group. Joren gave one last look at Keladry's utterly blank face, and knew that his barbs had hit home.
Then, a figure rose up from behind the crates she had been inspecting, expression like thunder, and all amusement died.
Steve stalked towards the group of knights who had thought themselves so clever, so cunning in their cruelty. There was a promise of violence in his shoulders as he approached, and all movement around them stopped. His pace was slow, measured, and something about it had many reevaluating their dismissal of certain tales they had been told.
Sudden steps broke the moment, and then another figure was striding forward, almost shouldering past the man whose danger had frozen the watchers. A strong arm wound back, and the crack of a ferocious slap shattered the silence.
"Joren Burchard!" Keladry boomed. "I challenge you!"
Joren had staggered with the force of the slap, completely unable to prepare for it even as he saw it coming, pinned as he was by Steve's gaze, but now he recovered. "Your challenge is a farce," he sneered, for all the effect was lessened by his rapidly reddening cheek, "but I accept. As challenged, I demand it take place immediately, before witnesses." His hand went to the sword at his hip, and he looked around, as if judging the suitability of the small storage area around them.
"I'll speak with Robert, and the Starks," Steve said. He took a step back, his menace easing. He was smiling. "You'll have your witnesses, and your duel."
For a split second, Joren faltered, feeling the noose draw tight around him, but for his arrogance he could not see it. "See to it, then," he said, dismissive. He turned to leave, his lackeys falling in with him, and they swanned away.
More than one spectator suddenly had urgent business calling them away, hurrying off to no doubt take word of what had happened to their lords or masters. Steve looked over to where Walt had been lurking inside a nearby tent, picking at his nails with his dagger, and gave him a nod. The grizzled soldier had seen everything, and knew what was to be done. He returned the nod, and ducked away to take care of it.
Keladry had stilled after delivering her challenge, but as Steve turned to leave she fell into place at his shoulder by rote of habit. As they marched back towards the company quarters, it seemed that word had spread ahead of them, as they received looks from all quarters, from message boys to lords. By design, Steve's tent had yet to be broken down, and it provided a brief refuge from the looks and the whispers.
"Did I make a mistake?" Keladry asked him the moment they were inside.
Steve could not help but laugh. "No. No, you did not."
"There was a plan, and I ignored it."
"I like this one better," Steve said.
"You always did want me to duel him," Kel said, huffing slightly with the faintest of smiles. It faded when he did not return it, only silently observing his friend.
"It's not about the duel."
Kel paused, inspecting him unsurely. "How…what do you mean?"
"Ever since we met," Steve began slowly, "you've been forced to hide away, any time there was some risk of anyone recognising you. You did it even when the chance was so low it was never going to happen."
"It was a risk to you," Kel said. She was back to her usual blankness, unsure where Steve was taking it. "You, who has done so much for me. If people knew who I was, what I was-"
"Why should you have to hide away? Why should you be forced to conceal who you are? Because of your gender? Because you dare to pick up a weapon and fight?" Steve asked. He snorted. "No."
"It is the way of the world," Kel said. "It is how things are, how they have always been, how they will always be."
"Nope," Steve said. "I don't agree."
"Not even you can-"
Steve cut her off again. "Why?"
"Because it just is!" Kel shouted. Her mask was cracking, and her fists were clenched tight. "Boys learn to fight, girls learn to sew, because that is what happens!"
"Doesn't matter," Steve said. He met her gaze, and something magnetic in it prevented her from looking away. "Doesn't matter what the gossips say. Doesn't matter what the nobles or the mobs say. Doesn't matter if everyone your whole life has told you that it's wrong for you to be you, that you shouldn't dare to reach for what makes you happy. When the whole world tells you to move, to live your life the way they want you to, your job is to plant yourself like a tree beside the river of truth and tell them 'No.'." He leaned in, voice lowering. "'You move.'."
Kel swallowed, scarcely breathing, pulse racing. She nodded, once, and Steve leaned back.
"I'm going to speak to Robert and Ned," he said. "I'll send Toby to squire for you."
Her eyes followed him as he left, and he paused by the tent flap, but only for a moment. He gave her a final searching look, and then, satisfied with what he'd seen, left her there to prepare. The noise of the camp intruded briefly, but then faded again.
For long minutes, Kel stood there, absorbing what she had been told, turning it over in her mind from every angle. At length, she let out a breath.
She looked to her glaive.
X
The field outside the shrinking army camp was packed with more nobility than some royal courts. A section of grass had been stamped flat, and on each side of it a banner was planted. One bore a grey mountain peak, and the other a five pointed star, and beneath them gathered those who stood with each duellist. Joren waited before his own banner, backed by two of the knights who had colluded with him to deliver his barbs. Across from them, Steve stood with Robin, waiting for Keladry to arrive.
Spread out around them, nobles waited with bated breath. Every lord who could escape their duties was present, names and titles jockeying for the best view. Steve had seen several that he had come to know standing in the front rank, but he did not look to them. His gaze was fixed on the man who had plotted against his friend, who had done her injury in all but the physical. The man was pointedly avoiding his gaze.
"Does she mean to keep us waiting?" Joren called. "She has clearly made a habit of such things; she is over a year late in arriving for our marriage." He had a mace on his hip, rather than the sword he wore earlier.
Steve did not so much as blink, and Joren's words did not stir the reaction he was perhaps looking for, only sending a brief wave of glances towards the foreign lord.
Another minute passed, filled only by the quiet mutterings of the crowd. Then, in the distance, something changed.
It started with a whisper on the wind, a distant thing that pricked at the ear. It grew slowly, a rising wave as something approached. It became a flurry of disbelief, spread from person to person. Finally it arrived with an unspoken challenge, heralded by the glaive that rose above the crowd. Shocked exclamations filled the field, and Steve did not try to hold back his savage grin as the lords began to clamour.
Kel had arrived, and she was done hiding. Gone were the form hiding clothes, gone was masculine hairstyle, gone was any worry about hiding who she was. Now she wore a dress of blue and grey, and her hair had been braided into a crown. Though the dress was modest, she had clearly grown beyond its fitting, and there was no doubting she was a woman, even as strong and solid as she was. The daughter of House Delnaimn had arrived, and she planted herself before the banner of her lord proudly, glaive in hand.
Joren laughed, high and disbelieving. He was torn between bewilderment and joy as he took Keladry in, seeing the glaive and the dress and finding himself unable to reconcile them. The near furor of the crowd fell in anticipation as the events of the day began to unfold.
"You cannot expect me to duel a woman,"Joren said. He laughed again. "It is - no."
"Are you scared?" Keladry asked.
Joren sneered. He had a face made for it, it seemed. "You are my betrothed. You will be my wife. I will not require force to discip-"
"Bitch."
There was a moment where the only sound was a flurry of intaken breaths, and then someone sniggered. Joren's face went white with anger. Apparently robbed of his speech, he pulled his mace free from his hip, but he did not advance into the field. Instead he turned to his second, holding out his mace.
The mace was taken and replaced with a sword, and an ugly mutter swept through the crowd. Robert snarled, about to take a step forward, but then Ned put a hand on his shoulder, nodding towards Steve. His grin still hadn't faded, if anything the swap of weapons had only made it wider. The stormlord subsided, deciding to trust in his friends, but still he glowered.
There would be no more talk. Joren stalked across the field, sword and teeth bared, armour clanking with every step. Keladry remained still, glaive planted on the ground beside her. There was a beat, and then the duel began.
Joren lunged, aiming to take Kel in the shoulder. A moment later there was the ring of steel, followed almost immediately by a harsh crack, and Joren was stumbling back, hand held to his jaw. It was the same side that was still reddened by her slap. A murmur ran around the crowd.
When the blond man looked up, Kel had returned to her stance, still standing ready. The sight of it seemed to infuriate him even further.
"If you insist on continuing this farce," Joren spat, "I will not restrain myself to wounding."
Keladry reacted a jot, save to raise her chin in challenge. It was Brandon Stark who snorted, and Joren flushed. A moment later, the duel resumed.
Steel swiped across Kel's belly, but it was met by steel in turn, and the iron butt of her glaive met his knee with a loud clang. A gasp was torn from the man, and he hopped back, sword held ready.
"All you had to do," he ground out, "was accept your fate, and none of this would have been necessary!" He attacked again, but again he was turned away, glaive spinning faster than he could respond. Steel screeched three times as he was touched groin, shoulder, and wrist.
"I reject that fate," Keladry told him. Her voice soared above the noise of their duel, and he stumbled back again to reset.
"Shield!" he demanded of his second, and the man hurried to hold out the shield that he had presumed not to need.
Keladry let him, blankly polite.
"You don't even know what trouble you have caused, the plans you delayed," Joren ranted at her. "I should have had an heir from you by now!"
"I know exactly what trouble I caused, what plans I delayed," Kel told him. "And so does my grandmother."
Joren led with his shield, seeking to bash the glaive out of the way as he slashed at her leg, but it was not to be, the shield swept aside in turn to foul his own strike by unexpected strength. Joren tried to recover, putting his shoulder into a push to force her back, but she caught it upon the middle of her weapon, boots bracing in the dirt of the field.
"You know nothing!" Joren said, snarling over his shield at her, even as he tried to spare one knee his weight. "If your miserly family had sent better than one old fool to lead your escort-!"
Keladry exploded into movement, rising up to put her body into forcing her betrothed back and away. He backpedalled as he fought to keep his feet, but Kel was advancing for the first time, leaving Steve's banner behind as she chased her foe across their arena.
"That old fool was worth a dozen of you!" she shouted. "That old fool taught me to fight! That old fool cut down your knight like a green boy after he threatened me with rape!" Every shout was accompanied by another strike, another vital point touched and marked. "That old fool deserved better than to have his grave disturbed and left for carrion!"
Joren's swipes grew wilder and wilder as he was chased around the field, whatever self-control he had possessed fleeing him as he was unmanned before the crowd of worthies. He didn't seem to realise that it was not his armour saving him, as he continued to try to break through Kel's defence, only to be denied every time.
"You will submit-!" he shrieked, unhinged.
Kel tired of him. The butt of her glaive came down heavily on his wrist, and it spasmed, sword falling from his grip unwillingly. A moment later he was struck about the head by the flat of her blade, dazing him, and then she struck his other knee. He collapsed with a gasp, his body betraying him. He looked up and froze, the tip of her glaive an inch from his face.
"I am not your bride," she said, snarling out bride like one might whore. "I am not your prize. I am not the mother of your children." Her eyes were blazing, rage and exhilaration and defiance worn clearly on her face in a show of emotion Steve had never seen from her. "I am a warrior, and I deny you."
There was only the ragged panting of Joren to fill the silence, and Kel looked up at the crowd, daring anyone to challenge her. It was only Steve's long familiarity with her that let him see the wild fear, throttled and buried down deep with an iron grip. She let out a breath, looking back down the length of her glaive at the man whose presence had haunted her for years now.
"Do you yield?" she demanded.
Hate filled eyes stared up at her, and he said nothing. The glaive tip drew closer.
"I yield," Joren ground out, voice black with rage.
For a moment, it seemed she hadn't heard it. Then she blinked, and her glaive lowered. She withdrew it and turned, looking around the crowd as if just seeing them for the first time. The hush that had fallen over them as the duel began lay heavy on them still She found Steve and Robin, and began to walk towards them.
Joren was staring at her back, as if her bare shoulders were mocking him. His eyes shrank to pinpricks, bulging, and he reached for his fallen sword.
Kel was already turning. Her movement was clean, practised, muscles shifting and moving smoothly under her dress. Joren had his blade in hand, rising up as he lunged, and he was followed by outraged shouts from the crowd. Kel swung, cutting through flesh and noise both.
Blood flicked from the glaive as Kel brought it to a stop. Joren fell to his knees, and a beat later, his head fell from his neck, landing on the ground with a thump. His corpse followed.
The warrior looked to the grey mountain peak banner, striking fear into the Burchard second. The man recoiled, taking a step back.
Steve stepped forward, his movement drawing the eye. "Does anyone," he began, growing louder as he spoke, "have anything that they want to say about my sworn sword?" His gaze swept the crowd, taking in faces of all sorts. Some were in deep thought, many were furious, if for different reasons, but at least one was gleeful, and Bryn was standing beside his knight master looking at Kel like he had seen God. None spoke. "I didn't think so."
A look to Robin had him taking up the banner, and then they were turning to leave. Toby darted from the crowd to slam into Kel's waist, looking up at her with awe and adoration, and her free hand came to rest on his shoulder.
Steve led the way, and the crowd parted before them. Muttering sprang up in their wake, growing and growing as lords argued and debated what they had seen, and there would doubtlessly be a reckoning to be had later, but that was for later. For now there was only victory.
Victory, and the small smile on Keladry's face as she walked the world for the first time in two years without having to hide.
I'm not sure why anyone thought this was a good idea in the first place.
Yeah they hated Steve's guts and are too bigoted to take Keladry seriously, but they've also been around when both of them have been stacking bodies like cordwood.
Why would you start shit somewhere they can lay hands on you?
This tactic does have some effectiveness, but you'd think you'd want to try it from somewhere you can't be easily accessed.
Edit:
Autocorrect error
Yeah they hated Steve's guts and are too bigoted to take Keladry seriously, but they've also been around when both of them have been stacking bodies like cordwood.
Why would you start shit somewhere they can lay hands on you?
This tactic does have some effectiveness, but you'd think you'd want to try it from somewhere you can't be easily accessed.
Edit:
Autocorrect error
Last edited:
- Location
- USA
- Pronouns
- He/Him
By definition, bigots cannot accept reality. They need to believe themselves superior no matter what the evidence says, and this batch thinks themselves superior to any woman, even when with their own eyes they see her, as you put it, stacking bodies like cordwood.
@TheWiseTomato that was a delightful chapter. Basically one giant "stand up and cheer" moment, for which I thank you. :>
Torgamous
Aspiring Gynoid
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Only the Stormlands part of the army saw them doing that. The rest of the army had to hear about that secondhand, which makes it much easier to believe to be exaggeration and for Keladry's accomplishments to get drowned out by Steve's.
Also notable that Burchard avoided a body-stacking competition until directly and publicly challenged by Keladry.
GiovanniBlasini
Transhumanist Nutcase from Niops IX
- Location
- San Diego, CA, USA, Sol III
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I have been waiting for MCU Steve Rogers to drop that line since the first movie.
Hidden Figures Interlude
- Location
- Australia
Brienne watched silently as her lord slumped into his seat like a man told there would be no training tomorrow. All around the tent, lords and knights shifted and jockeyed into place, the table already filled and men lining the tent walls two deep. The only reason she had a view of the room was due to her place at Lord Robert's right shoulder.
"Right," Lord Robert said, slapping one hand down on the table. There was a frantic but silent rush for the room to settle itself. "We all know what happened this morning, and I've been hearing about it one way or another all day. We're going to have it out now, and that'll be the end of it."
She could feel the sigh that Lord Samuel held in, sitting next to her lord, and made a mental promise to have his preferred wine ready for the next discussion he had with her lord.
"Come on then," Lord Robert said, impatient.
No one seemed to want to be the one to speak first, and she saw the Stark brothers share a look across the table. The elder was amused, the younger resigned.
"Putting aside the who and the how," Lord Buckler began, before coughing to clear his throat. "That aside, a lady going to war as a man does is…inappropriate, is it not?"
A broad sound of agreement went around the tent, many nodding, but it was no more than Brienne had expected.
"If it were my sister, she would be marched straight for home, aye," Lord Horpe said, rubbing at his dark stubble. "But then, my sister's weapon of choice is a book, and not that monster of a polearm."
"I've known your sister's bookish fury, and I wouldn't be so quick to belittle it," Lord Swann quipped.
"You were the one to bring wine into our library," Lord Horpe said, smirking, and for a moment it seemed that the banter might break the lingering mood.
"Books aside," Ser Connington said, speaking from the crowd, "the point remains. Ladies ought to be with their fathers or husbands, not on the battlefield."
"Steve has told stories of his homeland, and more than a few included women who he claimed could best him," Lord Robert said. "His homeland doesn't seem to have a problem with ladies under arms, so neither does he."
"But we are not in his homeland," a knight, one that Brienne did not know, said.
"She still put Tarly to flight," Ser Thomas pointed out. "She still held the bridge at Mastford. I do not think the land matters."
Brienne resolved to do something nice for her lord's cousin.
"It is unbecoming," Ser Silveraxe said, cheeks quivering with indignation. "She may know how to fight, but she is still a woman."
"Unbecoming was her betrothed's actions," Lord Dustin said, tapping his knuckles on the table. "If her father has allowed her to learn to fight, who is anyone here to protest?"
There was a brief rumble of growls and groans at the reminder of Lady Keladry's betrothed.
"Do we know that he allowed it?" Ser Silveraxe asked. He looked around. "Does anyone know the man?"
"The Delnaimns are sworn to the Belmores, but I've never met their lord," Lord Royce said. "Have you, Ned?"
"No."
"Then we cannot even say she has his blessing," Ser Silveraxe said, hands going up as he leant back in his chair.
"You think Lord America would-"
"He has a woman as his sworn sword, he clearly cares litt-"
"-sure you wish to speak-"
"A woman cannot-"
Words spilled out like the rising tide into rockpools, every man who had hesitated suddenly confident enough to have their say as the tent fell into a ruckus of talk.
"Fuck sakes," Lord Robert said under his breath, before letting out a sigh. He slapped a strong hand down on the table. "Enough, my lords-" he scowled as his command went unheard, "I said ENOUGH!"
Silence returned to the tent as the lords remembered themselves.
"I would remind my fellow lords that we are not here to pass judgement on Lady Delnaimn's presence, but only to learn about the truth of it," Lord Samuel said to the room. "Robert, perhaps you could speak to Lord Am-"
"No Samuel, I won't," Lord Robert said, crossing his arms. "I don't know why you're all bringing this up with me when Steve gave you the chance to speak after the duel," he complained.
It was a struggle, but Brienne managed to keep herself in the moment in case she was called upon, rather than drift off into a daydream of the duel. Perhaps one day she would be the one to- she shook herself, refocusing on the awkward silence that was beginning to stretch out. None wished to speak, but many pointed looks were exchanged. At length, someone broke the silence.
"We know you hold Lord America in high esteem," Lord Cafferen said, slowly, as if reluctant, "and we would not wish to publicly put you in a position-"
"Oh a pox on that, Lester," Lord Robert snapped. "Just say what you mean." Beside him, Samuel looked skywards, as if beseeching the gods.
"Lord America's value is known," Lord Cafferen said, smoothing his tunic. His fair brown hair was neatly arranged as always, and Brienne felt a spike of dislike that he was so handsome. "But I am concerned that in ensuring we keep such a mighty warrior on hand, we follow a path unseeing."
"Say it straight, Cafferen," Robert said.
Lord Cafferen pursed his lips. "First, he seeks to discipline men in place of their lords, but it was in service of knightly oaths, so it was allowed. Next, he takes a woman into his service-"
An enormous groan interrupted. "Who cares," Lord Umber said, head resting on one meaty fist. "If he oversteps, you deal with it. You southerners talk like he's a hedge knight angling for a royal marriage."
Cafferen scowled at the Northman. "A true northern answer, but short sighted. As I was saying-"
Lord Umber glowered at him, head coming up off his fist to show just how much he had been slouching.
"-next he takes a woman into his service under arms, but she has no father or husband on hand to gainsay him, so it is allowed. Now I hear rumours that he has taken it upon himself to exercise the right of the gallows. If each time it is allowed, where does the path end?"
"At this rate, in King's Landing," Ser Thomas cracked, and more than one man found amusement in it.
"Perhaps such things are less concerning for an unlanded knight such as yourself," Cafferen said stiffly. "But for lords, to have another presume to intervene in our affairs undermines our authority if it is permitted unchallenged."
Ser Thomas joined Lord Umber in glowering.
"Perhaps Lord Steve would be less inclined to intervene if he felt that it was unnecessary," Lord Rogers said sharply.
"His feelings on the matter are irrelevant," Cafferen said. "Our rights and responsibilities are our rights and responsibilities, not his."
Lord Robert was massaging his temple.
"Are we not knights?" Lord Rogers asked, looking about the tent, expression pointed. "I would not have thought any man in this room would find upset in the tenets of the oath being upheld, but given certain complaints I have heard whispered…"
"It is not about the oath," Cafferen said, testy now. "It is that a foreigner thinks to dictate to us on how to manage our responsibilities!"
"A foreigner knighted by Barristan Selmy," someone muttered from within the crowd.
The reminder sat ill with some of the lords. "Then he should cleave closer-"
"My lords!" Lord Samuel said, before the tent could erupt once more. "Need I remind you again of our purpose here today?"
"We cannot discuss one without the other," Lord Grandison said, greying beard twitching with his frown. "Lord America does do right by his oath of knighthood, but he also takes liberties that he ought not to." He looked to Lord Robert. "I do not presume to speak for others, but for myself I must wonder at the price of his aid, and if such things are part of it."
"They're not," Lord Robert said, waving it away. "He's not asked for anything."
Lord Samuel pinched his brow.
"Is he not playing on your good nature then?" Cafferen said, leaning in. "His contributions cannot be denied, but it could be that he seeks to hold it over you-"
The Starks were frowning at Cafferen now. Brienne didn't think he'd noticed.
"Steve isn't -" Robert started, before grimacing. "Lord Steve and I have an understanding. I know what he wants, and it's not…" he gestured at nothing in particular, "lordly favour or advantage or privilege or what have you."
"Then he has asked for something?" Lord Kellington asked, quick eyes missing little. "Might we know when this understanding was brought about?"
"He has uh, let's call them interests across the Narrow Sea," Lord Robert said.
"Essos? What could he want with them?" someone asked, perplexed.
"You've seen the stances he has taken here," Lord Rogers said mildly, "what do you think his opinion on those barbarians might be?"
This time, Brienne fell headfirst into the daydream. She pictured a mighty host, marching on the combined might of the Three Daughters, and she was right beside Ser Keladry. They would come upon the foe from behind, having hidden daringly in a hidden crevice while they passed, and carve a path through them to get at their leaders. She would take the head of a slaver king, and then- she blinked, dragging her attention back to the present.
"-still worthy of discussion," Cafferen was insisting.
"Cafferen, I've heard your words and I'll give them the consideration they're due," Lord Robert said, visibly losing his patience. "Did anyone actually want to talk about Delnaimn, or are we all just sour that the greatest warrior in the army isn't a proper Stormlander?"
Lord Umber grumbled something under his breath that had Lord Brandon hold back a laugh.
"Lady Delnaimn is Lord America's sworn sword," Ser Thomas said, before looking at Cafferen. "Perhaps we shouldn't dictate to someone what they can and can't do with their own responsibilities," he said.
Cafferen fumed.
"Ser Storm has the right of it," Lord Swann said swiftly. "Permission or not, if aught befalls Lady Delnaimn, the responsibility lies with Lord America."
"Some might accuse Lord Baratheon for allowing it," Ser Connington pointed out. "A lady's place is not on the march."
"Ladies, or this lady?" Lord Buckler asked, smoothing his dark beard to hide his awkwardness. "It cannot be said that she has shamed herself in battle, inappropriate as her presence is."
Heads turned towards Lord Robert, all seeking judgement. He shifted, as if wanting to look towards someone before answering, but held his head high. "I am not inclined to send her away out of hand."
"But as Lord Cafferen said, if this is allowed, what comes next? A knighthood??" Ser Silveraxe asked.
"He hasn't knighted her yet, I suppose," Lord Grandison said. "I know there was some wonderment why; perhaps we can take this to be a sign that he has at least some understanding of a woman's place?"
"But he did help her hide what she was," a lord to one side said. "Lied about it at Harrenhal, even."
"Lord America never said Lady Keladry wasn't a woman," Lord Brandon said, amusement worn plainly.
The lord blinked at him. "What? No, we all heard - most of us were at Harrenhal!"
"Do you remember him ever denying the claim that Lady Keladry was a woman?" Brandon asked.
"Yes, I - no, I'm sure I did…" the man said, though the way he trailed off made his doubt plain.
"I pressed him about 'Keladry' being a woman's name, after Lord Whent's judgement," Brandon said, "and he said it was unisex."
Robert snorted. "Then he's never actually lied about it? That pissant at Harrenhal, what was that about? Blackmail over his winnings?"
"He was of the Vale," Lord Ned said. "Likely he knew Lady Keladry's identity, and sought to pressure Lord Steve over it."
"And he put paid to that," Lord Robert said. He huffed a laugh. "Well then. That's that, then."
By the looks going around the tent, it was not as settled as Lord Robert might have wanted, though none seemed to want to speak up. Brienne marked as many in her mind as she could.
Cafferen found his voice. "My lord Baratheon, are we to truly ignore Lo-"
"This had better be about Delnaimn," Robert warned him.
With a swallow and a redirect, Cafferen ploughed onwards. "Even if you do not send her on her way, there will be upset if men are expected to serve alongside her."
Before Lord Robert could do more than pull a face, another spoke up.
"I certainly have no issue," Lord Rogers said, and his smile reminded her of the one Galladon wore when he dobbed her in for something, "and my retinue would be eager to fight alongside Lord America once again."
Cafferen glanced at Ser Silveraxe, then to Lord Grandison, but neither seemed inclined to speak. Grudgingly, he bowed his head to her lord. "Then let us hope that no more ill comes to Lord America as a result of his decisions," he said.
The words seemed to perk Lord Robert up, and he looked around the tent. "That reminds me. When you go back to your retinues, tell them I heard some of what was going around from that shitheel Burchard, and I'm not happy," he said, thunking a fist onto the table. "I don't care if it all started from one cur, I don't want to hear about men sworn to them carrying tales like gossipy whores!" He waited for the chorus of acknowledgements, then waved his hand. "Away with you all! I know there's still work to do."
Some were eager to be gone, some lingered to talk to their fellows, but as Brienne waited at her knight-master's shoulder, she could hear the undercurrent of departing conversations, and there were only two topics: the foreign lord, and the woman.
Lord Ned was the last to leave, and then it was only Brienne and Lord Robert left in the tent.
"I don't think they're happy, ser," Brienne said.
Lord Robert tensed and almost jerked as she spoke. "Bryn," he said. "Didn't realise you were still there."
Brienne only blinked. Where else would she be?
"What do you think of it all?" Ser Robert asked. He pulled out his chair, shifting it around so he could face her better.
"Lord America is very skilled," Brienne reported, though of course that was nothing new. "The other day he was showing Robin and me how best to break someone's knee when you're locked up against them, in a duel or a press."
"Is his - Lady Keladry around for these lessons?" Ser Robert asked.
"Sometimes," Brienne said. "If she isn't, he has Lady Naerys or one of his serjeants help out, usually to show how to fight someone bigger and stronger than us, but he says I will be bigger and stronger one day so I should know what to watch for anyway."
"How good is his lady?" Ser Robert asked. One fist was cradled in the palm of his other hand now, and he frowned in thought.
"I think she is better than some of my father's knights," Brienne admitted. "...is it true she killed the brigand knights who tried to take advantage of her?"
"Her and some camp followers, so Steve says," Robert said. "Have you seen them training?"
"Sometimes," Brienne said. "Lord Steve focuses on Robin, Toby, and myself when he trains us, but I saw him lead them through some strange footwork once."
"Hrngh," Ser Robert said. His gaze grew distant.
"Are you really going to let her stay?" Brienne ventured to ask.
"I don't know, squire of mine," Ser Robert said, grinning at her as he refocused. "Do you think I should?"
Brienne nodded rapidly.
Ser Robert's grin faded as he looked away, considering once more. "I can get them to accept a woman fighting, but if Steve means to knight her…a woman…"
"Wouldn't that be a good thing for you?" Brienne asked, not quite hesitant. When her knight-master's gaze shifted to fix on her, she swallowed, but ploughed on. "If another knight has already knighted a woman, it would make it easier for you when you knight me, wouldn't it?" She had not come to be his squire in the normal way, she knew, and some would say that she had more crept into the position than accepted its offer, but she was his squire all the same and he had spoken of a far off future when she would have a squire of her own, so surely-
Robert made a noise of amusement, breaking her line of worrying. "You're right. I did decide that, didn't I."
It wasn't exactly an answer that fit her question, but it made her feel like it was the answer she had hoped for all the same.
"I should ask you for advice more often," Robert said. "How should we take Harrenhal? Go through the gates, or under the walls?"
"Ser," Brienne said, reproving.
He laughed, rising from his chair. "Come on. It's time to better your footwork." He clapped her on the shoulder as he began to lead the way out of the tent.
Brienne followed eagerly, a thought occurring to her. "Do you think I could start to learn a polearm?"
Another laugh was her answer. "I don't see why not. I'll have to see if I can find someone who knows a thing or two about it…" The tent flap fell closed behind them as they left, silence returning to the room. It had seen much talking, for all that little had been resolved, and many were those still stewing on the matter.
They would have stewed all the more if only they could have known what the future held.
X
Ren watched as her captain stepped up to face the company, clad in his typical tunic and trousers, no finer than any she had. Most of them were hunkered down, still recovering from the afternoon exercise, but some stood behind them. It was mostly the squad leaders, but Betty was there too, flanked by the Reach sisters Rowan and Florys. The noise of the army camp was lessened by distance, and in the field they had stopped in there was an expectant silence as they waited for the Captain to speak.
"Well," Steve said, "I figure you've all heard about the bit of fuss this morning." He rested one foot on the small boulder he had dropped when they had first come to a stop.
A flutter of laughter passed through the company. They had done little but discuss the revelation all day, coming to terms with the fact that the second in command of the whole company was a woman.
"I also figure you've got plenty of questions," Steve continued. "You'll have a chance to ask them, but first let's see how many I can head off at the pass: yes, Keladry is a woman. Has been for a while now. No, I don't think this changes anything about her position in the company. Yes, the man she fought a duel against this morning was her supposed betrothed. No, we didn't plan for it to end like it did, even if yes, he was the one spreading the rumours about me." He paused for a moment, looking up and to the side as he considered. "Did I miss anything, Kel?"
All eyes went to the woman who was standing off to the Captain's right. For once, she wasn't wearing her ever present gambeson, and she had changed the way she wore her hair, making it less masculine. Ren shifted, feeling her breast bindings starting to twist on itself, but there was no way to fix it, not in her armour.
"I don't believe so," Keladry said. She looked as calm and unbothered as always, as if having over one hundred men - who she was expected to command in battle, with them knowing she was a woman - staring at her was of no effect at all.
"Great," the Captain said. "Any questions?"
A forest of hands went up.
"Wow. Ok then," Steve said, taking them in. "Yorick, you first."
The Vale knight didn't address the Captain, however, instead turning to Keladry. "Are you Anders Delnaimn's sister? The youngest?"
Keladry blinked at him. "I am."
"My elder brother fought with him against the clans," Yorick said. "He spoke well of him."
"Is your brother Ser Hamish of Rockpike?" Keladry asked. She received a nod. "I used to badger Anders for the tale of that fight."
"I met him once, at a tourney," Yorick continued, "and he told a tale about his sister saving a village from bandits, as a child."
For all Keladry's expression didn't change, she still flushed. "I was exploring where I shouldn't have been, and I blew a horn. That is all."
A cheeky grin began to form on Yorick's face, but before it could do more than that he was cut off.
"Any other questions?" Steve said, before pulling a face as he saw one hand in particular. "Why- yes, Toby?"
"Joren's dead an' all, but what about the rest of his clan? When we gonna go sort 'em out?" the child asked. He looked eager.
There were some who thought Toby to be the Captain's bastard son, but Ren couldn't see it. He would have been politer about bringing ruin to his enemies.
"We won't be 'sorting them out'," Steve said, dashing the boy's hopes. "If they want to pull anything, we'll answer, but until that happens we let it lie."
Toby slumped, sullen.
"That said, I'm not speaking for the Delnaimns," Steve added, glancing at Keladry.
Toby perked up, almost smiling.
"What did the lords say about it, Captain?" someone called out. It was Qwartyn, one of Yorick's squad. Ren couldn't help but glance at the remainder of his right ear, the roughly cut skin long since scarred over.
"Well, I put it to them, and they didn't seem to have any strong opinions on the matter," Steve said.
From amongst the sitting and crouching crowd, someone sniggered. Ren glanced over and saw Robin, ducking his head at the sudden attention. "Sorry," the squire said, "it's just that no one was going to say anything with the challenge you laid out."
Challenging a crowd of nobles was what she expected of the Captain, and answered the question of why no one had approached any of the company leaders that day, at least.
Steve shook his head. "Robert is speaking with his lords right now, and even if they didn't want to speak up this morning for some reason, I'm sure they'll feel comfortable raising any concerns they have with him."
"What do you want us to do if one comes around asking questions?" Qwartyn asked.
"Same as always," Steve said. "Bonus for whoever can get the biggest bribe."
"And if they make trouble?" Qwartyn pressed. "You know what they're like."
Ren sympathised. He had once had a promising position as a journeyman tailor, but that had been left behind with half an ear and everything else when he was forced to flee Gulltown. She at least had managed to gather a few keepsakes.
"Get yourself out of the situation, however you need to. I'll back you," Steve told him. His gaze swept over the company. "You've all done well so far, ignoring the gossip, but I won't deny that some folk in this army might get fussy over Keladry's gender. If they come looking for trouble, they'll find it."
Approval rumbled through the company. It had been difficult, keeping their heads down as rumours were spread about their captain over the past weeks, even if seeing what Walt had done to that hedge knight had helped. But that was over now, and if it wasn't there was no more need to hold back.
Qwartyn nodded, satisfied. "Thank you, Captain."
"How did you get so strong?" Tim asked, his mouth running ahead of his mind as it always did. "Even back in the mountains, when you threw that clanner into the other one. Never seen no woman do anything like that."
"I've been training with Ser Steve since before my nine and tenth name day," Keladry said. "That was a year past now." She sounded surprised.
A sound of realisation rose from them.
"I don't go easy on her like I do with you all, either," Steve said.
Laughter came then, but not from Ren. She took in Keladry's muscled shoulders, her thick arms and strong legs, standing easily by the rock - smaller than the Captain's at least - that she had carried through their exercises. She was no longer the slight girl she had been seven months past when she and cousin Osric and the others had been recruited, but she was nowhere near Keladry either. Envy coloured her features.
"Do you still mean to knight her?" Harwin asked. The tall knight was intent on the answer, but didn't seem to be for or against it. "Now that the truth is out."
"Once she feels she has earned it, yes," Steve said. "She's already knocked me back three times."
"They won't like that," Symon said.
"If they didn't want me knighting people who deserve it, they shouldn't have given me the ability to knight people," the Captain said, and a round of smirks answered him.
"Ser, what about…"
The questions continued, but Ren had no mind for them. She and Osric and all their friends had had to flee their homes because her bastard of an uncle had thought to marry her off to a brute, but that was something that happened to a shepherdess, not a flag bearer, not as easily…and certainly not to a knight.
The next question was akin to ice water going down her spine, and pulled her roughly from ambitious daydreams.
"Is Keladry the only one? Er, doing what she did?"
Steve smiled. It was a rueful thing. "Come on, fellas. You think I'd pull the same trick twice?"
The company accepted the answer easily, though Ren couldn't help but glance at Willem, sitting nearby. The redhead met her gaze for a long moment, then pulled his own away before he could react in a way that drew suspicion.
"I think that's covered the important bits, and we've still got the second half of our run to get through," Steve said. He crouched down to take up his boulder once more, keeping his back straight, and rose easily with a burden that Ren knew would leave her staggering and heaving just to lift. "If anyone has any questions they don't feel comfortable asking in front of everyone, you know that my door is always open to you."
For a split second, the Captain's eyes met her own, and she swallowed, giving the barest nod she could, and then they were sweeping elsewhere.
"Come on now! If I beat more than half of you back, I'm letting Walt have free reign on training tomorrow!"
A suddenly motivated company rose quickly, falling in to begin their run back to camp. With an extra dollop of effort and judicious use of elbows, Ren found her way to the front of the pack, and that was where she stayed until she collapsed back at camp. She staggered the last steps until the mess tables, another tired soul amongst a hundred trudging towards the hot dinner awaiting them.
She had a goal now, and she wasn't about to let it slip through her fingers.
X
Her effort to lead the pack had left her capable of little but bathing and falling into her bedroll, but the next morning Ren ignored her aching muscles and dragged herself towards the Captain's tent before Walt sounded the call to break camp. Most of the company were busy with duties or breaking their fast, and she worked to convince herself that her plan would go smoothly.
She stopped outside the tent that was always at the middle of their camp. It was nowhere near as fancy as some of the noble tents she had seen, but she was not alone in appreciating that, not when it seemed the Captain put the difference in cost into the rations.
The tent flap was pulled open, jolting her, and she took a step back. "Lady Naerys," she said, ducking her head. "Good morning to you."
Naerys smiled, a distracted thing, but responded all the same. "Good morning to you, Ren. Was there a problem?"
"No, milady," Ren said. The Lady Naerys was a figure of great respect to the company, and that respect had only grown after Mastford. All agreed that she likely had more Targaryen blood than most noble houses, even if she had been born on the wrong side of the sheets.
"Here to see Steve, then?" Naerys asked, tilting her head.
"Aye," Ren said. She eyed the lady's blonde hair, braided to hang over one shoulder, and fought the urge to rub at her scalp. She missed her hair at times, but her friends had all agreed it was a good idea to help her blend in.
"He's available now," Naerys said, "but I believe he means to go speak with Lord Baratheon soon."
Ren bobbed her head again. "I'll be quick, milady. Good day to you." She realised that she was still standing before the tent opening, and quickly stepped aside.
An odd expression passed over Naerys' face, but only for a moment. "And you."
Naerys went on her way, and Ren stepped through the tent flap before she could second guess herself again. There was a table within, and Steve was sitting at it, slowly eating an apple while he read a piece of parchment, but he looked up at her entry. He was not alone.
"Ren. Do you need something?" Steve asked, a welcoming smile on his face.
"I wanted to take you up on your offer," Ren said. She pressed her hands to her legs to hide her nerves. "To talk."
The other occupant began to rise from her seat, taking a hunk of bread and bacon with her. "I will oversee the men," Keladry said, already turning away.
"No, I - if you could stay, Ser Keladry?" Ren asked.
Keladry stopped, turning back to face them. "I am not a ser," she reminded her.
"Not yet," Ren said. The company always slipped up, by accident or on purpose, and every time she reminded them.
The Captain tried to hide his smile behind one hand, scratching at his cheek. "What can we do for you, Ren?"
Ren found her throat was suddenly dried, and swallowed as Keladry took her seat once more. "Captain, did you…?" she asked, glancing towards Keladry.
"I did not."
A quick breath to steady herself, and then Ren forced the words out in a rush. "My name is Rennifer. Please. Pleasure. I mean. To meet you."
Keladry blinked at her. Then, slowly, her head rotated so she could stare at Steve. "My lord," she said, accusing.
"Ah, shucks," the Captain said. He put his parchment down and scratched the back of his head.
"Is there anyone else?" Keladry asked, visibly coming to terms with it.
Steve raised his brows at her. "If there was, would I tell you?"
Both women paused at that, rethinking assumptions. Faces ran through Ren's mind, and Roland was awfully pretty - but no, she had seen him swimming once, and he had a cock the size of her- she broke the line of thought, fighting a flush.
"I did not even consider the possibility," Keladry said, shaking her head.
Ren felt her heart starting to slow, returning to a normal pace, and she took a slow breath. Steve noticed.
"It was a brave thing, doing this," he told her. "You and your friends have impressed me, doing what you have."
"You weren't the only one to know?" Keladry asked.
"Rennifer's friends - the slingers I recruited as a group - have helped her keep the secret," Steve explained.
"Osric's group," Keladry said. "Eustace, Harry, and the others."
Ren nodded. "We all came west together, when we heard about the muster. We had to leave, anyway, after our uncle - mine and Osric's - tried to marry me off to a brute."
Steve was frowning.
"All of you?" Keladry asked.
"We all worked for him," Ren said. Secrets that she had held close for so long were tumbling out now that she felt free to speak. "He keeps cattle, and turned me out after I refused to marry so the knight would let him use his land for grazing. He was a brute," she said again, compelled to explain.
"You don't need to explain yourself," Steve said, raising a hand. "If someone doesn't want to marry, forcing them to do so is wrong."
Keladry leant back in her chair, arms crossed and brow furrowed in thought.
"I, yes, Captain," Ren said. She wet her lips. "Osric put me up as I looked for work, but then uncle found out and turned him out, too."
"And then the others, when they helped?" Steve guessed.
Ren nodded. "We decided it was better to leave, and Osric...ended up breaking his jaw when he tried to stop us."
Steve snorted a laugh. "You've got some rare friends," he said.
"I know," Rennifer said. Her mouth twitched into a smile as she thought of them. "When we see home again, no one will recognise us." They would have such stories, after the war.
"Lord America's flag bearer would be better protected against an unwanted marriage," Keladry said. She was watching Ren closely. "But not immune."
Ren swallowed again. "No. I wouldn't be." She knew that if she returned home, her uncle would like as not try again, and that was besides the embarrassment they had caused him.
Steve was looking between them, and he opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it, leaning back to watch.
"What do you want?" Keladry asked.
"I want the same training that made you so strong," Rennifer said, determined. "I'm not as strong as any of the men, but I want to be."
"You won't be," Keladry said, blunt as the Captain's hammer. "You don't have the build to gain the same strength that I have."
Ren's heart stilled in her chest, a strange kind of pain rising that had nothing to do with the physical.
"But if you want training," Keladry continued, "if you want more, I will show you what you need so that you need not fear your uncle ever again."
"Yes," Rennifer said, heart starting once more, suddenly ready to jump out of her chest. "I want that." She wanted that very badly.
"That's not all you want though, is it?" Keladry asked. She leant forward, hazel eyes pinning her, dissecting her. "You don't just want the training to be strong."
"No, I…I want to be a knight," Rennifer said, daring to speak the words aloud. Even half a year ago she never would have dared, and still wouldn't to anyone else, but she knew the Captain. Her gaze went to him. "Women aren't knights, I know, but you said you would knight Keladry when she accepted it, and if you would knight one woman then surely-" she was starting to babble.
"Rennifer," the Captain said, cutting her off. "If this is something you want, we can work towards it. I can make you dangerous." Gone was any amusement or concern. "But it won't be easy, and when you do achieve it, you'll be inviting a whole new world of trouble. You understand that?"
Rennifer nodded, clenching her jaw. She knew. But she would be strong. She would be dangerous.
The Captain nodded, satisfied. "Good. We'll start today. Do you know how to read and write?"
Ren blinked. "No?"
"You will," Steve said, and a feeling of foreboding came over her. "Kel, we'll sit down this afternoon and come up with an exercise plan for Rennifer. She's the best slinger we've got, and with the right training I think she could be very quick, and…"
Ren listened as her future was planned out, and she realised she was right to dread. It was a good dread though, if there was such a thing, and a small joy was kindled in her heart. She was not dreaming. It was happening.
One day, she would be a knight.
"Right," Lord Robert said, slapping one hand down on the table. There was a frantic but silent rush for the room to settle itself. "We all know what happened this morning, and I've been hearing about it one way or another all day. We're going to have it out now, and that'll be the end of it."
She could feel the sigh that Lord Samuel held in, sitting next to her lord, and made a mental promise to have his preferred wine ready for the next discussion he had with her lord.
"Come on then," Lord Robert said, impatient.
No one seemed to want to be the one to speak first, and she saw the Stark brothers share a look across the table. The elder was amused, the younger resigned.
"Putting aside the who and the how," Lord Buckler began, before coughing to clear his throat. "That aside, a lady going to war as a man does is…inappropriate, is it not?"
A broad sound of agreement went around the tent, many nodding, but it was no more than Brienne had expected.
"If it were my sister, she would be marched straight for home, aye," Lord Horpe said, rubbing at his dark stubble. "But then, my sister's weapon of choice is a book, and not that monster of a polearm."
"I've known your sister's bookish fury, and I wouldn't be so quick to belittle it," Lord Swann quipped.
"You were the one to bring wine into our library," Lord Horpe said, smirking, and for a moment it seemed that the banter might break the lingering mood.
"Books aside," Ser Connington said, speaking from the crowd, "the point remains. Ladies ought to be with their fathers or husbands, not on the battlefield."
"Steve has told stories of his homeland, and more than a few included women who he claimed could best him," Lord Robert said. "His homeland doesn't seem to have a problem with ladies under arms, so neither does he."
"But we are not in his homeland," a knight, one that Brienne did not know, said.
"She still put Tarly to flight," Ser Thomas pointed out. "She still held the bridge at Mastford. I do not think the land matters."
Brienne resolved to do something nice for her lord's cousin.
"It is unbecoming," Ser Silveraxe said, cheeks quivering with indignation. "She may know how to fight, but she is still a woman."
"Unbecoming was her betrothed's actions," Lord Dustin said, tapping his knuckles on the table. "If her father has allowed her to learn to fight, who is anyone here to protest?"
There was a brief rumble of growls and groans at the reminder of Lady Keladry's betrothed.
"Do we know that he allowed it?" Ser Silveraxe asked. He looked around. "Does anyone know the man?"
"The Delnaimns are sworn to the Belmores, but I've never met their lord," Lord Royce said. "Have you, Ned?"
"No."
"Then we cannot even say she has his blessing," Ser Silveraxe said, hands going up as he leant back in his chair.
"You think Lord America would-"
"He has a woman as his sworn sword, he clearly cares litt-"
"-sure you wish to speak-"
"A woman cannot-"
Words spilled out like the rising tide into rockpools, every man who had hesitated suddenly confident enough to have their say as the tent fell into a ruckus of talk.
"Fuck sakes," Lord Robert said under his breath, before letting out a sigh. He slapped a strong hand down on the table. "Enough, my lords-" he scowled as his command went unheard, "I said ENOUGH!"
Silence returned to the tent as the lords remembered themselves.
"I would remind my fellow lords that we are not here to pass judgement on Lady Delnaimn's presence, but only to learn about the truth of it," Lord Samuel said to the room. "Robert, perhaps you could speak to Lord Am-"
"No Samuel, I won't," Lord Robert said, crossing his arms. "I don't know why you're all bringing this up with me when Steve gave you the chance to speak after the duel," he complained.
It was a struggle, but Brienne managed to keep herself in the moment in case she was called upon, rather than drift off into a daydream of the duel. Perhaps one day she would be the one to- she shook herself, refocusing on the awkward silence that was beginning to stretch out. None wished to speak, but many pointed looks were exchanged. At length, someone broke the silence.
"We know you hold Lord America in high esteem," Lord Cafferen said, slowly, as if reluctant, "and we would not wish to publicly put you in a position-"
"Oh a pox on that, Lester," Lord Robert snapped. "Just say what you mean." Beside him, Samuel looked skywards, as if beseeching the gods.
"Lord America's value is known," Lord Cafferen said, smoothing his tunic. His fair brown hair was neatly arranged as always, and Brienne felt a spike of dislike that he was so handsome. "But I am concerned that in ensuring we keep such a mighty warrior on hand, we follow a path unseeing."
"Say it straight, Cafferen," Robert said.
Lord Cafferen pursed his lips. "First, he seeks to discipline men in place of their lords, but it was in service of knightly oaths, so it was allowed. Next, he takes a woman into his service-"
An enormous groan interrupted. "Who cares," Lord Umber said, head resting on one meaty fist. "If he oversteps, you deal with it. You southerners talk like he's a hedge knight angling for a royal marriage."
Cafferen scowled at the Northman. "A true northern answer, but short sighted. As I was saying-"
Lord Umber glowered at him, head coming up off his fist to show just how much he had been slouching.
"-next he takes a woman into his service under arms, but she has no father or husband on hand to gainsay him, so it is allowed. Now I hear rumours that he has taken it upon himself to exercise the right of the gallows. If each time it is allowed, where does the path end?"
"At this rate, in King's Landing," Ser Thomas cracked, and more than one man found amusement in it.
"Perhaps such things are less concerning for an unlanded knight such as yourself," Cafferen said stiffly. "But for lords, to have another presume to intervene in our affairs undermines our authority if it is permitted unchallenged."
Ser Thomas joined Lord Umber in glowering.
"Perhaps Lord Steve would be less inclined to intervene if he felt that it was unnecessary," Lord Rogers said sharply.
"His feelings on the matter are irrelevant," Cafferen said. "Our rights and responsibilities are our rights and responsibilities, not his."
Lord Robert was massaging his temple.
"Are we not knights?" Lord Rogers asked, looking about the tent, expression pointed. "I would not have thought any man in this room would find upset in the tenets of the oath being upheld, but given certain complaints I have heard whispered…"
"It is not about the oath," Cafferen said, testy now. "It is that a foreigner thinks to dictate to us on how to manage our responsibilities!"
"A foreigner knighted by Barristan Selmy," someone muttered from within the crowd.
The reminder sat ill with some of the lords. "Then he should cleave closer-"
"My lords!" Lord Samuel said, before the tent could erupt once more. "Need I remind you again of our purpose here today?"
"We cannot discuss one without the other," Lord Grandison said, greying beard twitching with his frown. "Lord America does do right by his oath of knighthood, but he also takes liberties that he ought not to." He looked to Lord Robert. "I do not presume to speak for others, but for myself I must wonder at the price of his aid, and if such things are part of it."
"They're not," Lord Robert said, waving it away. "He's not asked for anything."
Lord Samuel pinched his brow.
"Is he not playing on your good nature then?" Cafferen said, leaning in. "His contributions cannot be denied, but it could be that he seeks to hold it over you-"
The Starks were frowning at Cafferen now. Brienne didn't think he'd noticed.
"Steve isn't -" Robert started, before grimacing. "Lord Steve and I have an understanding. I know what he wants, and it's not…" he gestured at nothing in particular, "lordly favour or advantage or privilege or what have you."
"Then he has asked for something?" Lord Kellington asked, quick eyes missing little. "Might we know when this understanding was brought about?"
"He has uh, let's call them interests across the Narrow Sea," Lord Robert said.
"Essos? What could he want with them?" someone asked, perplexed.
"You've seen the stances he has taken here," Lord Rogers said mildly, "what do you think his opinion on those barbarians might be?"
This time, Brienne fell headfirst into the daydream. She pictured a mighty host, marching on the combined might of the Three Daughters, and she was right beside Ser Keladry. They would come upon the foe from behind, having hidden daringly in a hidden crevice while they passed, and carve a path through them to get at their leaders. She would take the head of a slaver king, and then- she blinked, dragging her attention back to the present.
"-still worthy of discussion," Cafferen was insisting.
"Cafferen, I've heard your words and I'll give them the consideration they're due," Lord Robert said, visibly losing his patience. "Did anyone actually want to talk about Delnaimn, or are we all just sour that the greatest warrior in the army isn't a proper Stormlander?"
Lord Umber grumbled something under his breath that had Lord Brandon hold back a laugh.
"Lady Delnaimn is Lord America's sworn sword," Ser Thomas said, before looking at Cafferen. "Perhaps we shouldn't dictate to someone what they can and can't do with their own responsibilities," he said.
Cafferen fumed.
"Ser Storm has the right of it," Lord Swann said swiftly. "Permission or not, if aught befalls Lady Delnaimn, the responsibility lies with Lord America."
"Some might accuse Lord Baratheon for allowing it," Ser Connington pointed out. "A lady's place is not on the march."
"Ladies, or this lady?" Lord Buckler asked, smoothing his dark beard to hide his awkwardness. "It cannot be said that she has shamed herself in battle, inappropriate as her presence is."
Heads turned towards Lord Robert, all seeking judgement. He shifted, as if wanting to look towards someone before answering, but held his head high. "I am not inclined to send her away out of hand."
"But as Lord Cafferen said, if this is allowed, what comes next? A knighthood??" Ser Silveraxe asked.
"He hasn't knighted her yet, I suppose," Lord Grandison said. "I know there was some wonderment why; perhaps we can take this to be a sign that he has at least some understanding of a woman's place?"
"But he did help her hide what she was," a lord to one side said. "Lied about it at Harrenhal, even."
"Lord America never said Lady Keladry wasn't a woman," Lord Brandon said, amusement worn plainly.
The lord blinked at him. "What? No, we all heard - most of us were at Harrenhal!"
"Do you remember him ever denying the claim that Lady Keladry was a woman?" Brandon asked.
"Yes, I - no, I'm sure I did…" the man said, though the way he trailed off made his doubt plain.
"I pressed him about 'Keladry' being a woman's name, after Lord Whent's judgement," Brandon said, "and he said it was unisex."
Robert snorted. "Then he's never actually lied about it? That pissant at Harrenhal, what was that about? Blackmail over his winnings?"
"He was of the Vale," Lord Ned said. "Likely he knew Lady Keladry's identity, and sought to pressure Lord Steve over it."
"And he put paid to that," Lord Robert said. He huffed a laugh. "Well then. That's that, then."
By the looks going around the tent, it was not as settled as Lord Robert might have wanted, though none seemed to want to speak up. Brienne marked as many in her mind as she could.
Cafferen found his voice. "My lord Baratheon, are we to truly ignore Lo-"
"This had better be about Delnaimn," Robert warned him.
With a swallow and a redirect, Cafferen ploughed onwards. "Even if you do not send her on her way, there will be upset if men are expected to serve alongside her."
Before Lord Robert could do more than pull a face, another spoke up.
"I certainly have no issue," Lord Rogers said, and his smile reminded her of the one Galladon wore when he dobbed her in for something, "and my retinue would be eager to fight alongside Lord America once again."
Cafferen glanced at Ser Silveraxe, then to Lord Grandison, but neither seemed inclined to speak. Grudgingly, he bowed his head to her lord. "Then let us hope that no more ill comes to Lord America as a result of his decisions," he said.
The words seemed to perk Lord Robert up, and he looked around the tent. "That reminds me. When you go back to your retinues, tell them I heard some of what was going around from that shitheel Burchard, and I'm not happy," he said, thunking a fist onto the table. "I don't care if it all started from one cur, I don't want to hear about men sworn to them carrying tales like gossipy whores!" He waited for the chorus of acknowledgements, then waved his hand. "Away with you all! I know there's still work to do."
Some were eager to be gone, some lingered to talk to their fellows, but as Brienne waited at her knight-master's shoulder, she could hear the undercurrent of departing conversations, and there were only two topics: the foreign lord, and the woman.
Lord Ned was the last to leave, and then it was only Brienne and Lord Robert left in the tent.
"I don't think they're happy, ser," Brienne said.
Lord Robert tensed and almost jerked as she spoke. "Bryn," he said. "Didn't realise you were still there."
Brienne only blinked. Where else would she be?
"What do you think of it all?" Ser Robert asked. He pulled out his chair, shifting it around so he could face her better.
"Lord America is very skilled," Brienne reported, though of course that was nothing new. "The other day he was showing Robin and me how best to break someone's knee when you're locked up against them, in a duel or a press."
"Is his - Lady Keladry around for these lessons?" Ser Robert asked.
"Sometimes," Brienne said. "If she isn't, he has Lady Naerys or one of his serjeants help out, usually to show how to fight someone bigger and stronger than us, but he says I will be bigger and stronger one day so I should know what to watch for anyway."
"How good is his lady?" Ser Robert asked. One fist was cradled in the palm of his other hand now, and he frowned in thought.
"I think she is better than some of my father's knights," Brienne admitted. "...is it true she killed the brigand knights who tried to take advantage of her?"
"Her and some camp followers, so Steve says," Robert said. "Have you seen them training?"
"Sometimes," Brienne said. "Lord Steve focuses on Robin, Toby, and myself when he trains us, but I saw him lead them through some strange footwork once."
"Hrngh," Ser Robert said. His gaze grew distant.
"Are you really going to let her stay?" Brienne ventured to ask.
"I don't know, squire of mine," Ser Robert said, grinning at her as he refocused. "Do you think I should?"
Brienne nodded rapidly.
Ser Robert's grin faded as he looked away, considering once more. "I can get them to accept a woman fighting, but if Steve means to knight her…a woman…"
"Wouldn't that be a good thing for you?" Brienne asked, not quite hesitant. When her knight-master's gaze shifted to fix on her, she swallowed, but ploughed on. "If another knight has already knighted a woman, it would make it easier for you when you knight me, wouldn't it?" She had not come to be his squire in the normal way, she knew, and some would say that she had more crept into the position than accepted its offer, but she was his squire all the same and he had spoken of a far off future when she would have a squire of her own, so surely-
Robert made a noise of amusement, breaking her line of worrying. "You're right. I did decide that, didn't I."
It wasn't exactly an answer that fit her question, but it made her feel like it was the answer she had hoped for all the same.
"I should ask you for advice more often," Robert said. "How should we take Harrenhal? Go through the gates, or under the walls?"
"Ser," Brienne said, reproving.
He laughed, rising from his chair. "Come on. It's time to better your footwork." He clapped her on the shoulder as he began to lead the way out of the tent.
Brienne followed eagerly, a thought occurring to her. "Do you think I could start to learn a polearm?"
Another laugh was her answer. "I don't see why not. I'll have to see if I can find someone who knows a thing or two about it…" The tent flap fell closed behind them as they left, silence returning to the room. It had seen much talking, for all that little had been resolved, and many were those still stewing on the matter.
They would have stewed all the more if only they could have known what the future held.
X
Ren watched as her captain stepped up to face the company, clad in his typical tunic and trousers, no finer than any she had. Most of them were hunkered down, still recovering from the afternoon exercise, but some stood behind them. It was mostly the squad leaders, but Betty was there too, flanked by the Reach sisters Rowan and Florys. The noise of the army camp was lessened by distance, and in the field they had stopped in there was an expectant silence as they waited for the Captain to speak.
"Well," Steve said, "I figure you've all heard about the bit of fuss this morning." He rested one foot on the small boulder he had dropped when they had first come to a stop.
A flutter of laughter passed through the company. They had done little but discuss the revelation all day, coming to terms with the fact that the second in command of the whole company was a woman.
"I also figure you've got plenty of questions," Steve continued. "You'll have a chance to ask them, but first let's see how many I can head off at the pass: yes, Keladry is a woman. Has been for a while now. No, I don't think this changes anything about her position in the company. Yes, the man she fought a duel against this morning was her supposed betrothed. No, we didn't plan for it to end like it did, even if yes, he was the one spreading the rumours about me." He paused for a moment, looking up and to the side as he considered. "Did I miss anything, Kel?"
All eyes went to the woman who was standing off to the Captain's right. For once, she wasn't wearing her ever present gambeson, and she had changed the way she wore her hair, making it less masculine. Ren shifted, feeling her breast bindings starting to twist on itself, but there was no way to fix it, not in her armour.
"I don't believe so," Keladry said. She looked as calm and unbothered as always, as if having over one hundred men - who she was expected to command in battle, with them knowing she was a woman - staring at her was of no effect at all.
"Great," the Captain said. "Any questions?"
A forest of hands went up.
"Wow. Ok then," Steve said, taking them in. "Yorick, you first."
The Vale knight didn't address the Captain, however, instead turning to Keladry. "Are you Anders Delnaimn's sister? The youngest?"
Keladry blinked at him. "I am."
"My elder brother fought with him against the clans," Yorick said. "He spoke well of him."
"Is your brother Ser Hamish of Rockpike?" Keladry asked. She received a nod. "I used to badger Anders for the tale of that fight."
"I met him once, at a tourney," Yorick continued, "and he told a tale about his sister saving a village from bandits, as a child."
For all Keladry's expression didn't change, she still flushed. "I was exploring where I shouldn't have been, and I blew a horn. That is all."
A cheeky grin began to form on Yorick's face, but before it could do more than that he was cut off.
"Any other questions?" Steve said, before pulling a face as he saw one hand in particular. "Why- yes, Toby?"
"Joren's dead an' all, but what about the rest of his clan? When we gonna go sort 'em out?" the child asked. He looked eager.
There were some who thought Toby to be the Captain's bastard son, but Ren couldn't see it. He would have been politer about bringing ruin to his enemies.
"We won't be 'sorting them out'," Steve said, dashing the boy's hopes. "If they want to pull anything, we'll answer, but until that happens we let it lie."
Toby slumped, sullen.
"That said, I'm not speaking for the Delnaimns," Steve added, glancing at Keladry.
Toby perked up, almost smiling.
"What did the lords say about it, Captain?" someone called out. It was Qwartyn, one of Yorick's squad. Ren couldn't help but glance at the remainder of his right ear, the roughly cut skin long since scarred over.
"Well, I put it to them, and they didn't seem to have any strong opinions on the matter," Steve said.
From amongst the sitting and crouching crowd, someone sniggered. Ren glanced over and saw Robin, ducking his head at the sudden attention. "Sorry," the squire said, "it's just that no one was going to say anything with the challenge you laid out."
Challenging a crowd of nobles was what she expected of the Captain, and answered the question of why no one had approached any of the company leaders that day, at least.
Steve shook his head. "Robert is speaking with his lords right now, and even if they didn't want to speak up this morning for some reason, I'm sure they'll feel comfortable raising any concerns they have with him."
"What do you want us to do if one comes around asking questions?" Qwartyn asked.
"Same as always," Steve said. "Bonus for whoever can get the biggest bribe."
"And if they make trouble?" Qwartyn pressed. "You know what they're like."
Ren sympathised. He had once had a promising position as a journeyman tailor, but that had been left behind with half an ear and everything else when he was forced to flee Gulltown. She at least had managed to gather a few keepsakes.
"Get yourself out of the situation, however you need to. I'll back you," Steve told him. His gaze swept over the company. "You've all done well so far, ignoring the gossip, but I won't deny that some folk in this army might get fussy over Keladry's gender. If they come looking for trouble, they'll find it."
Approval rumbled through the company. It had been difficult, keeping their heads down as rumours were spread about their captain over the past weeks, even if seeing what Walt had done to that hedge knight had helped. But that was over now, and if it wasn't there was no more need to hold back.
Qwartyn nodded, satisfied. "Thank you, Captain."
"How did you get so strong?" Tim asked, his mouth running ahead of his mind as it always did. "Even back in the mountains, when you threw that clanner into the other one. Never seen no woman do anything like that."
"I've been training with Ser Steve since before my nine and tenth name day," Keladry said. "That was a year past now." She sounded surprised.
A sound of realisation rose from them.
"I don't go easy on her like I do with you all, either," Steve said.
Laughter came then, but not from Ren. She took in Keladry's muscled shoulders, her thick arms and strong legs, standing easily by the rock - smaller than the Captain's at least - that she had carried through their exercises. She was no longer the slight girl she had been seven months past when she and cousin Osric and the others had been recruited, but she was nowhere near Keladry either. Envy coloured her features.
"Do you still mean to knight her?" Harwin asked. The tall knight was intent on the answer, but didn't seem to be for or against it. "Now that the truth is out."
"Once she feels she has earned it, yes," Steve said. "She's already knocked me back three times."
"They won't like that," Symon said.
"If they didn't want me knighting people who deserve it, they shouldn't have given me the ability to knight people," the Captain said, and a round of smirks answered him.
"Ser, what about…"
The questions continued, but Ren had no mind for them. She and Osric and all their friends had had to flee their homes because her bastard of an uncle had thought to marry her off to a brute, but that was something that happened to a shepherdess, not a flag bearer, not as easily…and certainly not to a knight.
The next question was akin to ice water going down her spine, and pulled her roughly from ambitious daydreams.
"Is Keladry the only one? Er, doing what she did?"
Steve smiled. It was a rueful thing. "Come on, fellas. You think I'd pull the same trick twice?"
The company accepted the answer easily, though Ren couldn't help but glance at Willem, sitting nearby. The redhead met her gaze for a long moment, then pulled his own away before he could react in a way that drew suspicion.
"I think that's covered the important bits, and we've still got the second half of our run to get through," Steve said. He crouched down to take up his boulder once more, keeping his back straight, and rose easily with a burden that Ren knew would leave her staggering and heaving just to lift. "If anyone has any questions they don't feel comfortable asking in front of everyone, you know that my door is always open to you."
For a split second, the Captain's eyes met her own, and she swallowed, giving the barest nod she could, and then they were sweeping elsewhere.
"Come on now! If I beat more than half of you back, I'm letting Walt have free reign on training tomorrow!"
A suddenly motivated company rose quickly, falling in to begin their run back to camp. With an extra dollop of effort and judicious use of elbows, Ren found her way to the front of the pack, and that was where she stayed until she collapsed back at camp. She staggered the last steps until the mess tables, another tired soul amongst a hundred trudging towards the hot dinner awaiting them.
She had a goal now, and she wasn't about to let it slip through her fingers.
X
Her effort to lead the pack had left her capable of little but bathing and falling into her bedroll, but the next morning Ren ignored her aching muscles and dragged herself towards the Captain's tent before Walt sounded the call to break camp. Most of the company were busy with duties or breaking their fast, and she worked to convince herself that her plan would go smoothly.
She stopped outside the tent that was always at the middle of their camp. It was nowhere near as fancy as some of the noble tents she had seen, but she was not alone in appreciating that, not when it seemed the Captain put the difference in cost into the rations.
The tent flap was pulled open, jolting her, and she took a step back. "Lady Naerys," she said, ducking her head. "Good morning to you."
Naerys smiled, a distracted thing, but responded all the same. "Good morning to you, Ren. Was there a problem?"
"No, milady," Ren said. The Lady Naerys was a figure of great respect to the company, and that respect had only grown after Mastford. All agreed that she likely had more Targaryen blood than most noble houses, even if she had been born on the wrong side of the sheets.
"Here to see Steve, then?" Naerys asked, tilting her head.
"Aye," Ren said. She eyed the lady's blonde hair, braided to hang over one shoulder, and fought the urge to rub at her scalp. She missed her hair at times, but her friends had all agreed it was a good idea to help her blend in.
"He's available now," Naerys said, "but I believe he means to go speak with Lord Baratheon soon."
Ren bobbed her head again. "I'll be quick, milady. Good day to you." She realised that she was still standing before the tent opening, and quickly stepped aside.
An odd expression passed over Naerys' face, but only for a moment. "And you."
Naerys went on her way, and Ren stepped through the tent flap before she could second guess herself again. There was a table within, and Steve was sitting at it, slowly eating an apple while he read a piece of parchment, but he looked up at her entry. He was not alone.
"Ren. Do you need something?" Steve asked, a welcoming smile on his face.
"I wanted to take you up on your offer," Ren said. She pressed her hands to her legs to hide her nerves. "To talk."
The other occupant began to rise from her seat, taking a hunk of bread and bacon with her. "I will oversee the men," Keladry said, already turning away.
"No, I - if you could stay, Ser Keladry?" Ren asked.
Keladry stopped, turning back to face them. "I am not a ser," she reminded her.
"Not yet," Ren said. The company always slipped up, by accident or on purpose, and every time she reminded them.
The Captain tried to hide his smile behind one hand, scratching at his cheek. "What can we do for you, Ren?"
Ren found her throat was suddenly dried, and swallowed as Keladry took her seat once more. "Captain, did you…?" she asked, glancing towards Keladry.
"I did not."
A quick breath to steady herself, and then Ren forced the words out in a rush. "My name is Rennifer. Please. Pleasure. I mean. To meet you."
Keladry blinked at her. Then, slowly, her head rotated so she could stare at Steve. "My lord," she said, accusing.
"Ah, shucks," the Captain said. He put his parchment down and scratched the back of his head.
"Is there anyone else?" Keladry asked, visibly coming to terms with it.
Steve raised his brows at her. "If there was, would I tell you?"
Both women paused at that, rethinking assumptions. Faces ran through Ren's mind, and Roland was awfully pretty - but no, she had seen him swimming once, and he had a cock the size of her- she broke the line of thought, fighting a flush.
"I did not even consider the possibility," Keladry said, shaking her head.
Ren felt her heart starting to slow, returning to a normal pace, and she took a slow breath. Steve noticed.
"It was a brave thing, doing this," he told her. "You and your friends have impressed me, doing what you have."
"You weren't the only one to know?" Keladry asked.
"Rennifer's friends - the slingers I recruited as a group - have helped her keep the secret," Steve explained.
"Osric's group," Keladry said. "Eustace, Harry, and the others."
Ren nodded. "We all came west together, when we heard about the muster. We had to leave, anyway, after our uncle - mine and Osric's - tried to marry me off to a brute."
Steve was frowning.
"All of you?" Keladry asked.
"We all worked for him," Ren said. Secrets that she had held close for so long were tumbling out now that she felt free to speak. "He keeps cattle, and turned me out after I refused to marry so the knight would let him use his land for grazing. He was a brute," she said again, compelled to explain.
"You don't need to explain yourself," Steve said, raising a hand. "If someone doesn't want to marry, forcing them to do so is wrong."
Keladry leant back in her chair, arms crossed and brow furrowed in thought.
"I, yes, Captain," Ren said. She wet her lips. "Osric put me up as I looked for work, but then uncle found out and turned him out, too."
"And then the others, when they helped?" Steve guessed.
Ren nodded. "We decided it was better to leave, and Osric...ended up breaking his jaw when he tried to stop us."
Steve snorted a laugh. "You've got some rare friends," he said.
"I know," Rennifer said. Her mouth twitched into a smile as she thought of them. "When we see home again, no one will recognise us." They would have such stories, after the war.
"Lord America's flag bearer would be better protected against an unwanted marriage," Keladry said. She was watching Ren closely. "But not immune."
Ren swallowed again. "No. I wouldn't be." She knew that if she returned home, her uncle would like as not try again, and that was besides the embarrassment they had caused him.
Steve was looking between them, and he opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it, leaning back to watch.
"What do you want?" Keladry asked.
"I want the same training that made you so strong," Rennifer said, determined. "I'm not as strong as any of the men, but I want to be."
"You won't be," Keladry said, blunt as the Captain's hammer. "You don't have the build to gain the same strength that I have."
Ren's heart stilled in her chest, a strange kind of pain rising that had nothing to do with the physical.
"But if you want training," Keladry continued, "if you want more, I will show you what you need so that you need not fear your uncle ever again."
"Yes," Rennifer said, heart starting once more, suddenly ready to jump out of her chest. "I want that." She wanted that very badly.
"That's not all you want though, is it?" Keladry asked. She leant forward, hazel eyes pinning her, dissecting her. "You don't just want the training to be strong."
"No, I…I want to be a knight," Rennifer said, daring to speak the words aloud. Even half a year ago she never would have dared, and still wouldn't to anyone else, but she knew the Captain. Her gaze went to him. "Women aren't knights, I know, but you said you would knight Keladry when she accepted it, and if you would knight one woman then surely-" she was starting to babble.
"Rennifer," the Captain said, cutting her off. "If this is something you want, we can work towards it. I can make you dangerous." Gone was any amusement or concern. "But it won't be easy, and when you do achieve it, you'll be inviting a whole new world of trouble. You understand that?"
Rennifer nodded, clenching her jaw. She knew. But she would be strong. She would be dangerous.
The Captain nodded, satisfied. "Good. We'll start today. Do you know how to read and write?"
Ren blinked. "No?"
"You will," Steve said, and a feeling of foreboding came over her. "Kel, we'll sit down this afternoon and come up with an exercise plan for Rennifer. She's the best slinger we've got, and with the right training I think she could be very quick, and…"
Ren listened as her future was planned out, and she realised she was right to dread. It was a good dread though, if there was such a thing, and a small joy was kindled in her heart. She was not dreaming. It was happening.
One day, she would be a knight.
I know that's not how it worked in canon but the number of people hiding their gender so they can fight is so high here it's stuck this image in my head of Keladry celebrating becoming the first woman to be knighted only to learn that she's in line behind half of the knights in this campaign alone.
Just a wave of people going "well if we're just going to admit it then" before taking off fake beards, loosening confining clothes, and removing the odd strategic codpiece.
Just a wave of people going "well if we're just going to admit it then" before taking off fake beards, loosening confining clothes, and removing the odd strategic codpiece.
I know that's not how it worked in canon but the number of people hiding their gender so they can fight is so high here it's stuck this image in my head of Keladry celebrating becoming the first woman to be knighted only to learn that she's in line behind half of the knights in this campaign alone.
Just a wave of people going "well if we're just going to admit it then" before taking off fake beards, loosening confining clothes, and removing the odd strategic codpiece.
I'm reminded very strongly of a scene in the Discworld book 'Monstrous Regiment' that is basically this but taken to 11.
- Location
- alphen aan den rijn
Tradition what's that.
Well that is at least 2 maybe more lady knights. I am sure that will not be an issue.
Well that is at least 2 maybe more lady knights. I am sure that will not be an issue.
- Location
- USA
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Brilliant.
Hopefully Robert will tell Steve about the meeting and make note of who the dinosaurs are. I was glad to see so many people going "who gives a damn, she can fight" and hopefully that attitude continues.
Keladry is definitely going to have trouble though. Hopefully they don't catch her alone with numbers too high to handle.
It occurs to me that Steve never said "Keladry is a man", but he did consistently use he/him pronouns. Steve did help cover it up, and someone could make a point of that. Not sure it would matter since Steve has the support of the local high authority and he can beat anyone here in a duel.
Hopefully Robert will tell Steve about the meeting and make note of who the dinosaurs are. I was glad to see so many people going "who gives a damn, she can fight" and hopefully that attitude continues.
Keladry is definitely going to have trouble though. Hopefully they don't catch her alone with numbers too high to handle.
It occurs to me that Steve never said "Keladry is a man", but he did consistently use he/him pronouns. Steve did help cover it up, and someone could make a point of that. Not sure it would matter since Steve has the support of the local high authority and he can beat anyone here in a duel.
Sertorius
Rebellious Legate
- Location
- Roma Invicta
That's the whole point of being a woman in the army in the old days.
You never know, when they will gang up on you and given, that the military usually employed scoundrels from all parts of the country, such people are quite numerous. Even Keladry won't take on a whole squad, especially when they take her by surprise.
If the enemy catches her, same story.
Staying in disguise what much safer for this reason.
This whole chapter gives Terry Pratchett vibes. Those who read Monstrous Regiment will know.
Monstrous Regiment is about a girl joining the army to rescue her brother and then it turns out her whole squad is women (of various species) and the only one who doesn't realise that is ther Lieutenant. Including his horse. And in the very end of the Book the squad is persecuted for it, (SPOILER^2!!!) and it turns out a good 20ish percent of the armies leadership are woman hiding their genders from each other.
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Fog of War 1
- Location
- Australia
Darry was a small castle as such things went, but it still outdid the holdfasts and keeps that Steve had seen in his time romping across Westeros. Seated atop a small hill around which a stream curled, it might once have been called picturesque, but that was before Lord Tully had seized the castle and installed his army around it. Now it flew a trout banner, and around it was a hive of tents and bored soldiers, threaded by lanes turned to mud slop as winter's touch on the land continued to fade.
Steve and Walt had taken one look at the muster and ordered the company to make camp upstream. It may have been orderly enough, as such things went, but Lord America's company had higher standards. That it would also remove them from the thick of things as Robert's men joined the Rivermen before gossip could spread was just a bonus, though by the gawking that had been directed at Steve as they arrived that might have been too late.
That had been two days past, however, and on the third day after their arrival, a summons came, inviting Steve for a discussion in Castle Darry. That the invitation came the morning after the arrival of small parties from the nearby Vale and North armies was no coincidence.
There were squires and groomsmen waiting to take their horses when Steve and Keladry rode into the castle courtyard. It was not a day for arms and armour, but nor could they attend an invitation from the leaders of the rebellion in their casual wear. Steve's courtly wear had been dug out from the bottom of his packs, and Naerys had somehow obtained a dress and trouser combination for Keladry that flattered her strength and left no doubt that she was a woman. It was hard to tell which of the two received more stares from around the courtyard as they entrusted their mounts to the staff. Brooklyn and Malorie were being wooed with sugar cubes and apple slices when a familiar young figure approached.
"Lord America," the boy said, giving a bow. "Lady Delnaimn. Welcome to Darry."
"Edmure," Steve said, taking in the Tully kid, dressed up in his House colours. He had gotten taller since he had last seen him, back during the wedding celebrations at Riverrun. It felt like years ago. "You've come to war too?" His tone was carefully non-judgemental.
Blue eyes beamed up at him, coloured by no little hero worship. "I have! Father won't let me near the fighting, but I've been serving as a page." He seemed to remember something, and offered up the bowl he held. "My lord father offers his hospitality."
"Thanks," Steve said, taking one of the small hunks of bread and the salt it sat in. Silently, Keladry followed suit.
"Is it true you slew two hundred men holding Mastford Bridge?!" Edmured burst out, apparently no longer able to contain himself. "Alone?!?"
Steve finished chewing and swallowed, before clearing his throat. "I wasn't alone, and it was two hundred casualties. I only killed about one hundred."
"Woah," Edmure said, hero worship intensifying. He shook himself. "My father sends his regrets that he couldn't be here to meet you as he is in talks with Lord Stark, Lord Arryn, and Lord Baratheon, but he asks that you join them," he said, clearly reciting a practised phrase.
"Lead the way," Steve said. He was sure there was something to be read into the way he and Kel had been met by Edmure alone, a young page, only to be invited to a meeting between the leaders of the rebellion, but he was less than eager to do so. The knights and other notables who had found reason to loiter in the courtyard after seeing him arrive were sure to do it for him anyway.
He was already starting to miss his time in the Reach.
Kel fell into step at his shoulder as Edmure led them from the yard into the castle interior, confidently following carpeted stone halls. Glass windows, some stained with pretty scenes, let the sunlight in, though at the moment it also served to highlight the absence of paintings and tapestries that would have been lit. Whatever had been taken down Steve couldn't say, but they were notable in their absence.
The three of them turned down another hall and passed a pair of serving women, and though they tried to keep their heads down, they could not help but glance at the two guests. By the shifting of their eyes, they were having a hard time deciding which they were more awed by. Once they were around a corner and out of earshot of most, giggles and whispers erupted between them.
"How's your sister been?" Steve asked as they continued on.
"Father says married life is treating her well," Edmure reported.
"That's good to hear," Steve said, though he had been thinking of Lysa and how she had dealt with the whole hostage situation. "And Lysa?" There was a door ahead, and a grizzled guard standing to one side of it, halberd in hand and sword at his hip. He eyed them as they neared, but made no comment after confirming that Edmure led them.
Edmure came to a stop before the door, and looked over his shoulder, pulling a face. "She keeps asking about Stannis." He put his ear to the door, trying to listen for a lull in the conversation that was going on behind it.
Steve caught a murmur about approaches to Harrenhal, and then there was a pause. Edmure took the opportunity to knock, three quick raps and then two staggered.
"Enter," came the call, and the guard pushed the door open for them.
Within was a round room, and at its centre a round table. It seemed to be in one of the castle's corner towers, and three tall, narrow windows on the outside wall let in the light. At the table were a handful of men, sitting in like groups and inspecting reams of parchment strewn across the table. They had all looked up to see the new arrivals, taking them in as Steve and Keladry inspected them in turn.
Hoster Tully sat with his back to the windows, in what would have been a position of command had those sharing the table with him been anyone else. His brother Brynden was at his left, and to his left was Jon Arryn. His heir, Elbert, was at his side, turning back to look at the newcomers, and Steve shared a nod with him. Robert was next beside him, likewise looking back. Rounding out the gathering across from Jon was Rickard Stark and his sons, Brandon to his left next along from Hoster, and Ned on his right next to Robert.
Somehow, Steve didn't think a casual 'Fellas' would be the right way to start this meeting off. "Lords. How are you all?"
Murmured greetings came from the younger men in the room, though the elders held their tongues.
Hoster gave a slight cough, clearing his throat. "Lord America." He glanced at Edmure as the kid walked around to stand at his back. "I trust my son passed on my welcome?"
"He was very polite," Steve said, giving them a nod. "Went through all the expected courtesies."
There was a long moment as the riverlord inspected him, but just before it could become awkward, he smiled. "He's coming along well," he said, and at his back Edmure beamed. "Please, join us." He waved a hand at the gap between Rickard and Elbert. There was only a single chair there.
Steve was about to point out what was surely an honest mistake, when he saw Kel shift her chin to one side in a small, deliberate movement. She would not thank him for making a ruckus over things, so he pulled out the chair and sat.
Brynden, Robert, Brandon, and Ned he had just spent the better part of a month with on the march, but he hadn't seen Elbert or the three high lords since Gulltown. Jon was looking as sharp as he ever had, if more worn physically, but Rickard was another matter. The northerner was pale, appearance made worse by sunken eyes that hardly seemed to blink and a beard that had been let to grow long. He had lost weight, and there was a cane resting against the table where he sat.
"You know why you've been summoned, I'm sure," Hoster said, continuing to guide the conversation.
"I figure we've got a few things to talk about," Steve said, which seemed to throw the man, but only for a moment.
"Yes…primarily, your run in with my bannerman, Lord Deddings," Hoster said. His tone was serious, and his head had tilted forward so that he was watching Steve from under downturned brows.
"Well," Steve said, and if Bucky or Tony or Fury or anyone else who had had to deal with Steve from a position of authority had been present, something in his tone would have had them looking over warily. "As I understand it, Deddings was concerned about his border with Goodbrook. Something about worrying over attacks on his villages, while Goodbrook's men were all off with the loyalists." He paused a moment, to let his unspoken point sink in. "But I guess there was no way he could have known that Goodbrook had just forsworn his oath to the Targaryens in time to call off his raid on your people. Sorry, the villagers are still your people, right? Even though they're sworn to Goodbrook first?"
"I, yes, they are," Hoster said. He gave a sideways glance to his brother.
"I've been told it wasn't my place to discipline him," Steve added, "and I heard something about the right of the gallows, but it can be gosh darned hard to keep all these laws and lordly privileges in mind when I'm dealing with soldiers raping civilians, you know?" There was a rueful bent to his words, but the look on his face was anything but.
There was a pause as the table digested his words.
"I must admit," Hoster said, "I am likewise less than pleased with how Lord Deddings took advantage of my generosity. I am inclined to rule in your favour simply due to your relative contributions to our cause."
"Hang on," Steve said, frowning now. "The law should apply equally to all, without consideration for how each party has benefited something."
Behind him, Kel gave a barely noticeable sigh, while Brandon squinted at him. They were not the only ones exasperated with his sudden shift.
"You would have me hold you to account for overstepping your authority?" Hoster asked, blinking at him now. His hand twitched upwards, as if to scratch at his greying auburn hair.
"I'd have you do the right thing for the right reasons, hard as reality can make that," Steve told him, blunt as a hammer.
Jon cut in before anyone else could respond. "I believe the concern here is less what was done, and more that it was done outside the expected roles and boundaries of our laws," the elder lord said. "Had Lord Brynden been present to oversee the disciplining of Lord Deddings, this conversation would likely not be necessary." He looked around the table, receiving nods from most, though Rickard seemed largely uninterested.
"My brother speaks with my authority in matters of that scale," Hoster confirmed, before taking a moment to consider his words. "Lord America clearly acted from a position of knightly virtue, and Lord Goodbrook was no longer an enemy of the Riverlands at the time Lord Deddings raided his lands, an act for which he did not have permission. If Lord America can acknowledge that such incidents shall be handled by those with the appropriate authority in the future, then we can lay this matter to rest." He looked expectantly to Steve.
"If there's an 'appropriate authority' to hand them off to, sure," Steve said, before his voice turned flat. "If not, I'm not going to let murder and rape slide."
There was a flicker of frustration over Hoster's face, and Jon looked very much like he wanted to pinch his aquiline nose.
"Just send a man with him," Robert said, very much on the verge of complaining. "Ned or Elbert or Lord Brynden could handle any of this. Not that it's needed. Gods know I had to put up with enough complaining on our march that turned out to be a waste of my time."
"My brother is needed with the Northern army," Brandon said, glancing briefly at his father.
"And my brother with mine," Hoster added.
"Elbert is required by my side," Jon said, tapping one finger on the table. "Nor can I risk my heir on commands as daring as Lord America's."
There was a moment of frustrated silence, as the lords sought for the words that would settle the issue politely, and to their favour.
"Is Steve's answer not what was desired?" Ned asked. "He is not the kind of man to hang a lord out of hand, and he is no longer ranging far from any ally." He looked around the table, long face serious. "Nor is he the kind of man to flee from the consequences of his actions, should this happen again."
There was a frustrated purse to Hoster's lips, though Brynden seemed faintly amused.
"You understand our concern, Lord Steve," Jon said to him. "As much as we seek to uphold the virtues of knighthood, we must also take the realities of leadership into account as we ensure they are followed."
"I understand exactly how it is," Steve said. "I also know that you could probably find some benefit in there being a man around who doesn't much care for that sort of thing."
Jon's focus sharpened on him, inspecting him with hawk-like intensity, before giving a faint nod. "Such a thing may become useful," he said diplomatically, before turning to Hoster. "Hoster, if you are satisfied…?"
Hoster didn't quite roll his eyes or throw his hands up, but it seemed that he wanted to. "Aye. I can take Lord America's 'agreement' and use it to put the matter to rest."
Rickard stirred. "Are we ready to discuss something that matters?" His voice was as quiet as ever, but there was a rasp to it now, the threat of who he was less hidden.
Jon's satisfied air was soured by a grimace. "Not quite, Rickard." He looked back to Steve. "We must discuss your actions once again, I am afraid Lord Steve."
"Oh?" Steve said. He had half an idea what this was about, and it was confirmed by the way Jon glanced briefly at Kel.
"I have received many a message since your return, and though they hold different concerns, they all surround one person," Jon said. It was clear where he was going, and most in the room joined him in taking in Keladry's appearance. "Your sworn…companion, Lady Keladry."
Steve cocked a brow, as if confused. "My sworn sword and second in command of my forces, yeah. What about her?"
Jon began to raise fingers on one hand. "Her gender, the new light it casts on Stoneford's scandal at Harrenhal, the disgraceful conduct of Lord Burchard, and the presence of a noble lady bearing arms." He gave a slight cough. "There are many who have an opinion, or who wish their voices heard on this matter."
"Their opinions don't matter," Steve said flatly. He crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. "Keladry's gender is her business, Stoneford tried to blackmail us with it and got what he had coming, Burchard walked a path and found out where it led, and when I recruited my company, I was told I could take who I wished." He looked between Jon and Hoster, the two who seemed most invested in the conversation. "I've been told a few times that I shouldn't stick my nose in the business of how other lords handle their affairs, but those same lords seem to keep complaining to their superiors about how I do things. If I wanted to be rude, I'd call them out for not having the balls to talk to me about it themselves."
"Wouldn't want to be rude," Brynden muttered, and Elbert coughed, fist over his mouth to hide his twitching lips.
Hoster gave his brother an annoyed glance. "We did agree that you would have the right to approach any of our men, yes," he said. "However, Lady Keladry's presence requires greater consideration than simple permission from her lord father." He threaded his fingers together, resting them on the table. "You do have his permission, yes?"
"Of course I don't," Steve said. "I've never met the man." He leaned forward, blue eyes intent. "More importantly, I don't see why his opinion on the matter would mean a goddamn thing."
"Lord Steve, please," Jon said, raising a hand in a calming gesture. "There are expectations and traditions that must be accounted for. Lady Keladry seems to be an able warrior, by all accounts," and here he glanced at Robert, "but her presence will have effects beyond adding an able warrior to your company. There is a reason women do not go to war."
"I know you come to us from foreign shores, Lord America," Hoster said, "but in Westeros, we do things according to our own traditions." He was sympathetic, as if trying to help Steve understand. "My lords, and many others, are uneasy at the thought of a lady being exposed to the troubles of war."
"If they have a problem, I'll make them the same offer I made to Robert's army," Steve said. "If they have a problem with who I've chosen as my sworn sword, they're perfectly welcome to meet me in the ring. We'll do it in batches of twenty, to save time."
Jon grimaced again. The expression did not look to be one he made regularly, but Steve had that effect on people. "Robert, you have spent the most time with Lord Steve out of any of us here. Might you explain the impact that Lady Keladry's actions will have?"
Robert had looked to his foster father when he spoke, but he was not quick to answer. He looked to be turning something over in his mind, and he leaned forward, his broad shoulders making his chair seem small. "A woman ought to have the right to choose," he said slowly, "so long as she has the ability of a man." He seemed unsure of the words he was speaking, but as he continued he firmed. "Lady Kel has the ability of a man, so if she wants to serve as a man, let her." He looked around, taking in the expressions that resulted from his words. "What?"
Jon was blinking at Robert, but then his gaze turned to Ned. He received a slight shake in answer, and his lips pursed. "Lord Delnaimn will have the right to take issue with you, should he wish," he warned Steve. "I cannot intervene in such matters."
"My father will not trouble you as others have, my lord," Keladry said, speaking for the first time.
"You are so sure?" Jon asked her.
"I have written to my grandmother," Keladry said, as if that would explain things.
"Your grand- ah," Jon said, his frown easing with realisation. "Well."
Elbert gave his uncle a look of curiosity, but held his tongue.
"We cannot dismiss the concerns of our lords without due consideration," Hoster said, rapping a fist on the table. "If the filial concerns are not an issue," and his tone made his doubt clear, "there is also the concern of morale if we force men to fight alongside those they refuse to. A lord ought not give an order that will not be obeyed."
"If they don't want to fight alongside a woman, I don't want to fight alongside them," Steve said. He was beginning to grow frustrated himself. It seemed that every time he thought he had put paid to some worry over tradition and expectation, another one was raised. "I get that you can't just dismiss your lords when they come to you, but this is a them problem, not a you problem."
"Lord America, as you grow older and gain wisdom, you will learn that things are done as they are for a reason," Hoster said, sighing.
Steve held back his initial reaction, taking in the room. "...how old do you think I am?"
"Your looks may paint you as a fresh knight, but I know you are likely closer to thirty," Hoster said. "Even so-"
"I'm forty years old."
Hoster spluttered. "What?"
The others weren't much more composed.
"Fuck off," Robert said, almost by reflex. "You are not forty years old."
Jon was watching him with new eyes, as were Elbert and Brynden.
"You're not surprised," Brandon accused his brother, and eyes went to Ned.
Ned gave a slight shrug. "I knew Steve was my senior." A smile ghosted over his father's face, but it was gone just as swiftly.
The reveal seemed to have stymied any further arguments from Hoster, and Jon leaned forward once more.
"It is true that those concerning themselves over who Lord Steve chooses to fight with have little right to intrude on such things, but there is still the conflict between the Houses Delnaimn and Burchard themselves," Jon said, attempting to move on. "If you would have her service and her father is not opposed, that is your right, but I cannot have my bannermen escalating a feud while we are in open rebellion. I will have an answer as to why this is occurring."
Steve looked back to Kel, happy to let her speak for herself. She inclined her head and stepped forward, but she did not speak. Instead, she reached into a slit in her dress and into a trouser pocket, retrieving a creased and wrinkled envelope. She set it on the table, and slid it across to the man that her family owed their fealty to.
Jon wore a curious look as he took it in, and did not hesitate to open it. He frowned slightly as he began to read. Soon he was frowning deeper, holding the letter closer and sitting forward in his chair, scanning quickly. Once he was done, he went back to read it again, slower this time. He set it down, and looked up to Kel. "Where did you get this?"
"Harrenhal," Keladry said. "Directly from Stoneford's possession."
"Did you know when you fled?" Jon asked.
"No," Kel said. "I fled because his knight, Ser Vinson Stone, threatened me with rape, and Ser Wyldon killed him for it. Even had I gone on, Joren would have had Tobias killed."
"Tobias…that's Kelda's handmaiden's boy. The clan raised."
Keladry nodded, unflinching. "If I was thought dead, or taken by the clans, my House could not be faulted for it, not with my escort having men from Delnaimn and Burchard both."
A muscle in Jon's jaw ticked. "Were you aware that when House Delnaimn marched to answer my call, they were almost ambushed as royalists? Denys could not find where that claim arose, but his wife suspected the Burchards."
"...I was not."
"Before his death, I had complaints from Lord Burchard that you had fled from your betrothal, and that you had taken your dowry with you," Jon said, like he was working through a list of grievances.
"If I had, perhaps I wouldn't have risked starvation as often in the year I spent as a sell sword," Keladry said.
"Were you aware of this?" Jon asked, shifting his attention to Steve. The angle of the light coming in through the windows left his face half lit, half shadowed. "Is this why you offered your protection?"
"Some," Steve said. "For me, it was enough that Keladry didn't want the marriage she was being forced into. That Joren and his men were terrible people was less important."
"I see," Jon said, before falling silent. His gaze was distant as he thought, eyes shifting as he considered this or that. When he eventually spoke, it was not to anyone in particular, and his voice was low. "All this," he said, "over a fucking bridge?"
"A bridge?" Robert asked, uncowed - or perhaps just accustomed - by the anger on display.
Jon threw down the letter and flicked it towards the stormlord.
"Stoneford wrote this - was this before or after he tried to blackmail you?" Robert asked.
Steve was still trying to remember where the letter had come from, and he glanced at Kel.
"Before," Keladry answered. "We found it when we sought to discover if a search of his rooms would reveal evidence to shame him, shortly after the blackmail attempt."
More than one gaze fell on Steve as others remember just how the confrontation with Stoneford had gone down, reviewing the events in a new light and finding fresh cause for wariness of the foreign warrior's ability.
"The letter you asked to see while we checked - it's that one?" Steve asked, remembering now, and she nodded. "Huh." He had been focused on other things, the fact that she hadn't given the letter back had completely slipped by him.
"An explanation, if you don't mind," Hoster pressed, looking from Keladry to the letter that Robert was passing over to Ned.
"Burchard envies Delnaimn. My marriage was supposed to address some of the cause," Keladry said. "When I disappeared, Joren tried to use that to claim ownership of a bridge that gives access to some of our lands; without it we would have to risk clan territory. They wished to bar our use of it and see the fields fall into disrepair, so they might petition for ownership due to negligence."
"A fucking bridge," Brandon said, echoing Jon's words. "Harrenhal, the rumours, the duel - all that for a bridge and a few fields."
"Enough." Rickard's voice was not loud, but it commanded the attention of all in the room all the same. "This matters little. Jon?"
"I agree," Jon said. He smoothed his expression, hiding the anger he felt. "I will deal with the Burchards when I have less pressing matters to attend to."
"Then we will discuss the other matter," Rickard said.
"Rickard," Hoster said, corner of his mouth creasing as Rickard's gaze fell on him. "We must discuss those matters, but they will no doubt be the last…should we not conclude this, first?" He inclined his head towards Steve.
Rickard's lips pressed together in a thin line, but he gave a single nod.
"Right, this one is on me," Robert said, dragging his attention away from Rickard and Hoster - whatever it was they were talking around, he wasn't privy to it. "Steve, we owe you. My lords are asking about it, and some are nervous that you're holding out for this or that privilege or what have you."
"We've spoken about this, yeah," Steve acknowledged.
"But they can't just take a damned answer so-" Robert pulled a face, and dragged himself back on track. "I might've hinted that you've got plans in the east," he said, apologetic now, "but that only kept the quiet for a few days, and now that gossip is really spreading, everything else you've done is going to come out so it'll be just as bad for the rest." He gestured broadly at the other high lords.
"So, what," Steve said, "you need to give me something?"
"We need you to ask for a boon, and be seen asking," Jon told him. "Frankly, you are owed several, and it embarrasses us that we have not shown our thanks for what you have done. Freeing the hostages from Aerys, retrieving Kelda from the clans, what you did for young Lord Stannis, your raid across the Reach, your part in destroying the chevauchée south of the Gods Eye…" he shook his head. "Before we can begin to consider how to reward you, you are off to do another deed worthy of it."
"The war hasn't helped," Brynden said. "I spoke with my brother about what you did for Lysa when he first brought her home, and what we could do for you in turn, but you were already out of reach."
Steve glanced at Rickard. The man was watching him, perhaps remembering a conversation they had once had, but he held his tongue. He made a show of thinking about what they told him. He knew what would help him and his, but he didn't know what was asking for too much or too little, and he also knew there was a reason or two they had brought this up after the matters of Deddings and Kel had been settled.
"If I didn't think your lady would take her sword to me for the offer," Robert said, "I'd offer you the hand of a fine Stormlands lass. I've an Estermont cousin who would like you well."
"Naerys and I might have some opinions on that, yeah," Steve told him, but he only laughed.
"Once this war is through, there are several keeps that will lack lords," Hoster said, gesturing broadly to nothing in particular. "For saving my daughter, lordship over one would be a worthy reward."
"Lordship of a fief would be quite the responsibility, and commitment," Steve said, leaning back and allowing his gaze to rise up the stone of the room walls, as if coming to terms with the sheer generosity of the offer.
Hoster gave a gracious incline of his head, not the least offended.
"Do not be afraid to ask for something concrete," Jon added. "Rights or privileges in Gulltown for a duration would see you in good stead for your life with your lady."
"Steve. My offer stands," Rickard said. There were bags under his eyes, but the eyes themselves were pits that seemed to judge and discard whatever they fell upon. "I can't give you an army, but get my daughter back and you'll have a kingdom's aid."
"We'll get Lyanna back," Steve told him, letting his put on appreciation fall away. "If that means you and your armies taking King's Landing, or me slipping in to get her out, or finding out if Aerys has her held somewhere else, we'll get her back safe." His surety was iron, like there was no question to it.
Rickard gave him a single nod, and then seemed to resign himself to continuing to endure another conversation he had little interest in.
"Aye, we'll get her back," Robert said, rumbling his own surety. "They don't have the stones or the men to keep us from her." He set a heavy fist on the table, and it shook. "You just give us an idea of what you want to ask for, Steve, so we can get this done and be back to planning the march on Harrenhal."
Steve leaned back, considering. He knew the value of what was being offered here, but there were many things he could ask for. He could greatly ease the cost of equipping his forces, or secure state aid in approaching Braavos, or even gain access to a large pool of blooded soldiers for recruitment.
These were mostly things he could achieve on his own, however. If he was to ask for a boon that would benefit him and could not be easily gained except through connections… "Harbour rights," Steve said, looking between the high lords. "If my ships need a berth, you'll find one for them, along with all that comes with one."
It was not what they had been expecting, but as they considered it, they found themselves liking it.
"An easy thing to command done," Hoster mused.
"You have many ships, Lord Steve?" Jon asked, mentally marking down sums.
"Two, for now," Steve said. "There will be more." He didn't want to blindside them, after all.
"He picked up two on his journey from Gulltown to Storm's End," Robert said. "Pirates, slavers, both. Boarded and claimed them."
"A cheap purchase," Elbert cracked.
"There will be more," Steve said again.
"White Harbor will provide," Rickard said.
His words seemed to push the others into agreement.
"Gulltown, likewise, has many berths," Jon said. "We could also arrange for warehousing, as needed."
"Maidenpool and Saltpans may not be cities, but they will have berths for you," Hoster added. "Once we take Maidenpool, I will have some Mooton port properties deeded to you. Merchants are forever seeking such things, and it will serve you well."
"Your ships are at Tarth now, but I can offer you Weeping Town in the future," Robert said. "It's a busy little place, sees a lot of trade."
He hadn't asked for the harbour rights for trade, but he'd find a use for warehousing and other waterfront properties, he was sure. "I appreciate your generosity. I'll be sure to ask for it where I can be overheard."
"That will ease a number of concerns and jealousies," Jon said, and Hoster nodded with a grimace as he noted something down on a piece of parchment before him.
"Until the next battle, at least," Brandon said, lip curling up as he invited his friends to share the joke. Robert and Elbert huffed at him, but Ned and Brynden shook their heads, knowing truth when they heard it.
"We'd be about done then, wouldn't we?" Robert asked. One knee had been bouncing under the table for a few minutes now, and it was clear he was eager to get outside into the sun.
"No," Rickard said.
Robert frowned. "Did I forget - ah, you had that thing you wanted to talk about, right?"
"Edmure," Hoster said over his shoulder, "why don't you go fetch us a jug of applewater, there's a good lad. Don't forget cups."
"Yes father," Edmure said, quickly stepping away from the wall he had been trying to blend in with for much of the meeting.
When the door closed behind him, a more serious mood seemed to fall over the room. Steve was no longer the focus, and he noticed that the others were all looking to Robert. No one seemed to want to speak first.
"Ned," Rickard said, not looking towards him. "You asked for the right."
"I did," Ned said. His expression was still, and he turned to face his foster brother more fully. "Robert, there's something we've been keeping from you."
"What is it?" Robert asked, full of sudden caution and dread. "She's not dead. I'd know. You wouldn't be - I'd know."
"Three months ago," Ned said slowly, "we were sent a severed foot by Aerys that he claimed belonged to Lyanna."
Robert went still. "He. What."
Steve eased his chair out a touch. Maybe he had been invited to this meeting for reasons beyond casual conversation.
Steve and Walt had taken one look at the muster and ordered the company to make camp upstream. It may have been orderly enough, as such things went, but Lord America's company had higher standards. That it would also remove them from the thick of things as Robert's men joined the Rivermen before gossip could spread was just a bonus, though by the gawking that had been directed at Steve as they arrived that might have been too late.
That had been two days past, however, and on the third day after their arrival, a summons came, inviting Steve for a discussion in Castle Darry. That the invitation came the morning after the arrival of small parties from the nearby Vale and North armies was no coincidence.
There were squires and groomsmen waiting to take their horses when Steve and Keladry rode into the castle courtyard. It was not a day for arms and armour, but nor could they attend an invitation from the leaders of the rebellion in their casual wear. Steve's courtly wear had been dug out from the bottom of his packs, and Naerys had somehow obtained a dress and trouser combination for Keladry that flattered her strength and left no doubt that she was a woman. It was hard to tell which of the two received more stares from around the courtyard as they entrusted their mounts to the staff. Brooklyn and Malorie were being wooed with sugar cubes and apple slices when a familiar young figure approached.
"Lord America," the boy said, giving a bow. "Lady Delnaimn. Welcome to Darry."
"Edmure," Steve said, taking in the Tully kid, dressed up in his House colours. He had gotten taller since he had last seen him, back during the wedding celebrations at Riverrun. It felt like years ago. "You've come to war too?" His tone was carefully non-judgemental.
Blue eyes beamed up at him, coloured by no little hero worship. "I have! Father won't let me near the fighting, but I've been serving as a page." He seemed to remember something, and offered up the bowl he held. "My lord father offers his hospitality."
"Thanks," Steve said, taking one of the small hunks of bread and the salt it sat in. Silently, Keladry followed suit.
"Is it true you slew two hundred men holding Mastford Bridge?!" Edmured burst out, apparently no longer able to contain himself. "Alone?!?"
Steve finished chewing and swallowed, before clearing his throat. "I wasn't alone, and it was two hundred casualties. I only killed about one hundred."
"Woah," Edmure said, hero worship intensifying. He shook himself. "My father sends his regrets that he couldn't be here to meet you as he is in talks with Lord Stark, Lord Arryn, and Lord Baratheon, but he asks that you join them," he said, clearly reciting a practised phrase.
"Lead the way," Steve said. He was sure there was something to be read into the way he and Kel had been met by Edmure alone, a young page, only to be invited to a meeting between the leaders of the rebellion, but he was less than eager to do so. The knights and other notables who had found reason to loiter in the courtyard after seeing him arrive were sure to do it for him anyway.
He was already starting to miss his time in the Reach.
Kel fell into step at his shoulder as Edmure led them from the yard into the castle interior, confidently following carpeted stone halls. Glass windows, some stained with pretty scenes, let the sunlight in, though at the moment it also served to highlight the absence of paintings and tapestries that would have been lit. Whatever had been taken down Steve couldn't say, but they were notable in their absence.
The three of them turned down another hall and passed a pair of serving women, and though they tried to keep their heads down, they could not help but glance at the two guests. By the shifting of their eyes, they were having a hard time deciding which they were more awed by. Once they were around a corner and out of earshot of most, giggles and whispers erupted between them.
"How's your sister been?" Steve asked as they continued on.
"Father says married life is treating her well," Edmure reported.
"That's good to hear," Steve said, though he had been thinking of Lysa and how she had dealt with the whole hostage situation. "And Lysa?" There was a door ahead, and a grizzled guard standing to one side of it, halberd in hand and sword at his hip. He eyed them as they neared, but made no comment after confirming that Edmure led them.
Edmure came to a stop before the door, and looked over his shoulder, pulling a face. "She keeps asking about Stannis." He put his ear to the door, trying to listen for a lull in the conversation that was going on behind it.
Steve caught a murmur about approaches to Harrenhal, and then there was a pause. Edmure took the opportunity to knock, three quick raps and then two staggered.
"Enter," came the call, and the guard pushed the door open for them.
Within was a round room, and at its centre a round table. It seemed to be in one of the castle's corner towers, and three tall, narrow windows on the outside wall let in the light. At the table were a handful of men, sitting in like groups and inspecting reams of parchment strewn across the table. They had all looked up to see the new arrivals, taking them in as Steve and Keladry inspected them in turn.
Hoster Tully sat with his back to the windows, in what would have been a position of command had those sharing the table with him been anyone else. His brother Brynden was at his left, and to his left was Jon Arryn. His heir, Elbert, was at his side, turning back to look at the newcomers, and Steve shared a nod with him. Robert was next beside him, likewise looking back. Rounding out the gathering across from Jon was Rickard Stark and his sons, Brandon to his left next along from Hoster, and Ned on his right next to Robert.
Somehow, Steve didn't think a casual 'Fellas' would be the right way to start this meeting off. "Lords. How are you all?"
Murmured greetings came from the younger men in the room, though the elders held their tongues.
Hoster gave a slight cough, clearing his throat. "Lord America." He glanced at Edmure as the kid walked around to stand at his back. "I trust my son passed on my welcome?"
"He was very polite," Steve said, giving them a nod. "Went through all the expected courtesies."
There was a long moment as the riverlord inspected him, but just before it could become awkward, he smiled. "He's coming along well," he said, and at his back Edmure beamed. "Please, join us." He waved a hand at the gap between Rickard and Elbert. There was only a single chair there.
Steve was about to point out what was surely an honest mistake, when he saw Kel shift her chin to one side in a small, deliberate movement. She would not thank him for making a ruckus over things, so he pulled out the chair and sat.
Brynden, Robert, Brandon, and Ned he had just spent the better part of a month with on the march, but he hadn't seen Elbert or the three high lords since Gulltown. Jon was looking as sharp as he ever had, if more worn physically, but Rickard was another matter. The northerner was pale, appearance made worse by sunken eyes that hardly seemed to blink and a beard that had been let to grow long. He had lost weight, and there was a cane resting against the table where he sat.
"You know why you've been summoned, I'm sure," Hoster said, continuing to guide the conversation.
"I figure we've got a few things to talk about," Steve said, which seemed to throw the man, but only for a moment.
"Yes…primarily, your run in with my bannerman, Lord Deddings," Hoster said. His tone was serious, and his head had tilted forward so that he was watching Steve from under downturned brows.
"Well," Steve said, and if Bucky or Tony or Fury or anyone else who had had to deal with Steve from a position of authority had been present, something in his tone would have had them looking over warily. "As I understand it, Deddings was concerned about his border with Goodbrook. Something about worrying over attacks on his villages, while Goodbrook's men were all off with the loyalists." He paused a moment, to let his unspoken point sink in. "But I guess there was no way he could have known that Goodbrook had just forsworn his oath to the Targaryens in time to call off his raid on your people. Sorry, the villagers are still your people, right? Even though they're sworn to Goodbrook first?"
"I, yes, they are," Hoster said. He gave a sideways glance to his brother.
"I've been told it wasn't my place to discipline him," Steve added, "and I heard something about the right of the gallows, but it can be gosh darned hard to keep all these laws and lordly privileges in mind when I'm dealing with soldiers raping civilians, you know?" There was a rueful bent to his words, but the look on his face was anything but.
There was a pause as the table digested his words.
"I must admit," Hoster said, "I am likewise less than pleased with how Lord Deddings took advantage of my generosity. I am inclined to rule in your favour simply due to your relative contributions to our cause."
"Hang on," Steve said, frowning now. "The law should apply equally to all, without consideration for how each party has benefited something."
Behind him, Kel gave a barely noticeable sigh, while Brandon squinted at him. They were not the only ones exasperated with his sudden shift.
"You would have me hold you to account for overstepping your authority?" Hoster asked, blinking at him now. His hand twitched upwards, as if to scratch at his greying auburn hair.
"I'd have you do the right thing for the right reasons, hard as reality can make that," Steve told him, blunt as a hammer.
Jon cut in before anyone else could respond. "I believe the concern here is less what was done, and more that it was done outside the expected roles and boundaries of our laws," the elder lord said. "Had Lord Brynden been present to oversee the disciplining of Lord Deddings, this conversation would likely not be necessary." He looked around the table, receiving nods from most, though Rickard seemed largely uninterested.
"My brother speaks with my authority in matters of that scale," Hoster confirmed, before taking a moment to consider his words. "Lord America clearly acted from a position of knightly virtue, and Lord Goodbrook was no longer an enemy of the Riverlands at the time Lord Deddings raided his lands, an act for which he did not have permission. If Lord America can acknowledge that such incidents shall be handled by those with the appropriate authority in the future, then we can lay this matter to rest." He looked expectantly to Steve.
"If there's an 'appropriate authority' to hand them off to, sure," Steve said, before his voice turned flat. "If not, I'm not going to let murder and rape slide."
There was a flicker of frustration over Hoster's face, and Jon looked very much like he wanted to pinch his aquiline nose.
"Just send a man with him," Robert said, very much on the verge of complaining. "Ned or Elbert or Lord Brynden could handle any of this. Not that it's needed. Gods know I had to put up with enough complaining on our march that turned out to be a waste of my time."
"My brother is needed with the Northern army," Brandon said, glancing briefly at his father.
"And my brother with mine," Hoster added.
"Elbert is required by my side," Jon said, tapping one finger on the table. "Nor can I risk my heir on commands as daring as Lord America's."
There was a moment of frustrated silence, as the lords sought for the words that would settle the issue politely, and to their favour.
"Is Steve's answer not what was desired?" Ned asked. "He is not the kind of man to hang a lord out of hand, and he is no longer ranging far from any ally." He looked around the table, long face serious. "Nor is he the kind of man to flee from the consequences of his actions, should this happen again."
There was a frustrated purse to Hoster's lips, though Brynden seemed faintly amused.
"You understand our concern, Lord Steve," Jon said to him. "As much as we seek to uphold the virtues of knighthood, we must also take the realities of leadership into account as we ensure they are followed."
"I understand exactly how it is," Steve said. "I also know that you could probably find some benefit in there being a man around who doesn't much care for that sort of thing."
Jon's focus sharpened on him, inspecting him with hawk-like intensity, before giving a faint nod. "Such a thing may become useful," he said diplomatically, before turning to Hoster. "Hoster, if you are satisfied…?"
Hoster didn't quite roll his eyes or throw his hands up, but it seemed that he wanted to. "Aye. I can take Lord America's 'agreement' and use it to put the matter to rest."
Rickard stirred. "Are we ready to discuss something that matters?" His voice was as quiet as ever, but there was a rasp to it now, the threat of who he was less hidden.
Jon's satisfied air was soured by a grimace. "Not quite, Rickard." He looked back to Steve. "We must discuss your actions once again, I am afraid Lord Steve."
"Oh?" Steve said. He had half an idea what this was about, and it was confirmed by the way Jon glanced briefly at Kel.
"I have received many a message since your return, and though they hold different concerns, they all surround one person," Jon said. It was clear where he was going, and most in the room joined him in taking in Keladry's appearance. "Your sworn…companion, Lady Keladry."
Steve cocked a brow, as if confused. "My sworn sword and second in command of my forces, yeah. What about her?"
Jon began to raise fingers on one hand. "Her gender, the new light it casts on Stoneford's scandal at Harrenhal, the disgraceful conduct of Lord Burchard, and the presence of a noble lady bearing arms." He gave a slight cough. "There are many who have an opinion, or who wish their voices heard on this matter."
"Their opinions don't matter," Steve said flatly. He crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. "Keladry's gender is her business, Stoneford tried to blackmail us with it and got what he had coming, Burchard walked a path and found out where it led, and when I recruited my company, I was told I could take who I wished." He looked between Jon and Hoster, the two who seemed most invested in the conversation. "I've been told a few times that I shouldn't stick my nose in the business of how other lords handle their affairs, but those same lords seem to keep complaining to their superiors about how I do things. If I wanted to be rude, I'd call them out for not having the balls to talk to me about it themselves."
"Wouldn't want to be rude," Brynden muttered, and Elbert coughed, fist over his mouth to hide his twitching lips.
Hoster gave his brother an annoyed glance. "We did agree that you would have the right to approach any of our men, yes," he said. "However, Lady Keladry's presence requires greater consideration than simple permission from her lord father." He threaded his fingers together, resting them on the table. "You do have his permission, yes?"
"Of course I don't," Steve said. "I've never met the man." He leaned forward, blue eyes intent. "More importantly, I don't see why his opinion on the matter would mean a goddamn thing."
"Lord Steve, please," Jon said, raising a hand in a calming gesture. "There are expectations and traditions that must be accounted for. Lady Keladry seems to be an able warrior, by all accounts," and here he glanced at Robert, "but her presence will have effects beyond adding an able warrior to your company. There is a reason women do not go to war."
"I know you come to us from foreign shores, Lord America," Hoster said, "but in Westeros, we do things according to our own traditions." He was sympathetic, as if trying to help Steve understand. "My lords, and many others, are uneasy at the thought of a lady being exposed to the troubles of war."
"If they have a problem, I'll make them the same offer I made to Robert's army," Steve said. "If they have a problem with who I've chosen as my sworn sword, they're perfectly welcome to meet me in the ring. We'll do it in batches of twenty, to save time."
Jon grimaced again. The expression did not look to be one he made regularly, but Steve had that effect on people. "Robert, you have spent the most time with Lord Steve out of any of us here. Might you explain the impact that Lady Keladry's actions will have?"
Robert had looked to his foster father when he spoke, but he was not quick to answer. He looked to be turning something over in his mind, and he leaned forward, his broad shoulders making his chair seem small. "A woman ought to have the right to choose," he said slowly, "so long as she has the ability of a man." He seemed unsure of the words he was speaking, but as he continued he firmed. "Lady Kel has the ability of a man, so if she wants to serve as a man, let her." He looked around, taking in the expressions that resulted from his words. "What?"
Jon was blinking at Robert, but then his gaze turned to Ned. He received a slight shake in answer, and his lips pursed. "Lord Delnaimn will have the right to take issue with you, should he wish," he warned Steve. "I cannot intervene in such matters."
"My father will not trouble you as others have, my lord," Keladry said, speaking for the first time.
"You are so sure?" Jon asked her.
"I have written to my grandmother," Keladry said, as if that would explain things.
"Your grand- ah," Jon said, his frown easing with realisation. "Well."
Elbert gave his uncle a look of curiosity, but held his tongue.
"We cannot dismiss the concerns of our lords without due consideration," Hoster said, rapping a fist on the table. "If the filial concerns are not an issue," and his tone made his doubt clear, "there is also the concern of morale if we force men to fight alongside those they refuse to. A lord ought not give an order that will not be obeyed."
"If they don't want to fight alongside a woman, I don't want to fight alongside them," Steve said. He was beginning to grow frustrated himself. It seemed that every time he thought he had put paid to some worry over tradition and expectation, another one was raised. "I get that you can't just dismiss your lords when they come to you, but this is a them problem, not a you problem."
"Lord America, as you grow older and gain wisdom, you will learn that things are done as they are for a reason," Hoster said, sighing.
Steve held back his initial reaction, taking in the room. "...how old do you think I am?"
"Your looks may paint you as a fresh knight, but I know you are likely closer to thirty," Hoster said. "Even so-"
"I'm forty years old."
Hoster spluttered. "What?"
The others weren't much more composed.
"Fuck off," Robert said, almost by reflex. "You are not forty years old."
Jon was watching him with new eyes, as were Elbert and Brynden.
"You're not surprised," Brandon accused his brother, and eyes went to Ned.
Ned gave a slight shrug. "I knew Steve was my senior." A smile ghosted over his father's face, but it was gone just as swiftly.
The reveal seemed to have stymied any further arguments from Hoster, and Jon leaned forward once more.
"It is true that those concerning themselves over who Lord Steve chooses to fight with have little right to intrude on such things, but there is still the conflict between the Houses Delnaimn and Burchard themselves," Jon said, attempting to move on. "If you would have her service and her father is not opposed, that is your right, but I cannot have my bannermen escalating a feud while we are in open rebellion. I will have an answer as to why this is occurring."
Steve looked back to Kel, happy to let her speak for herself. She inclined her head and stepped forward, but she did not speak. Instead, she reached into a slit in her dress and into a trouser pocket, retrieving a creased and wrinkled envelope. She set it on the table, and slid it across to the man that her family owed their fealty to.
Jon wore a curious look as he took it in, and did not hesitate to open it. He frowned slightly as he began to read. Soon he was frowning deeper, holding the letter closer and sitting forward in his chair, scanning quickly. Once he was done, he went back to read it again, slower this time. He set it down, and looked up to Kel. "Where did you get this?"
"Harrenhal," Keladry said. "Directly from Stoneford's possession."
"Did you know when you fled?" Jon asked.
"No," Kel said. "I fled because his knight, Ser Vinson Stone, threatened me with rape, and Ser Wyldon killed him for it. Even had I gone on, Joren would have had Tobias killed."
"Tobias…that's Kelda's handmaiden's boy. The clan raised."
Keladry nodded, unflinching. "If I was thought dead, or taken by the clans, my House could not be faulted for it, not with my escort having men from Delnaimn and Burchard both."
A muscle in Jon's jaw ticked. "Were you aware that when House Delnaimn marched to answer my call, they were almost ambushed as royalists? Denys could not find where that claim arose, but his wife suspected the Burchards."
"...I was not."
"Before his death, I had complaints from Lord Burchard that you had fled from your betrothal, and that you had taken your dowry with you," Jon said, like he was working through a list of grievances.
"If I had, perhaps I wouldn't have risked starvation as often in the year I spent as a sell sword," Keladry said.
"Were you aware of this?" Jon asked, shifting his attention to Steve. The angle of the light coming in through the windows left his face half lit, half shadowed. "Is this why you offered your protection?"
"Some," Steve said. "For me, it was enough that Keladry didn't want the marriage she was being forced into. That Joren and his men were terrible people was less important."
"I see," Jon said, before falling silent. His gaze was distant as he thought, eyes shifting as he considered this or that. When he eventually spoke, it was not to anyone in particular, and his voice was low. "All this," he said, "over a fucking bridge?"
"A bridge?" Robert asked, uncowed - or perhaps just accustomed - by the anger on display.
Jon threw down the letter and flicked it towards the stormlord.
"Stoneford wrote this - was this before or after he tried to blackmail you?" Robert asked.
Steve was still trying to remember where the letter had come from, and he glanced at Kel.
"Before," Keladry answered. "We found it when we sought to discover if a search of his rooms would reveal evidence to shame him, shortly after the blackmail attempt."
More than one gaze fell on Steve as others remember just how the confrontation with Stoneford had gone down, reviewing the events in a new light and finding fresh cause for wariness of the foreign warrior's ability.
"The letter you asked to see while we checked - it's that one?" Steve asked, remembering now, and she nodded. "Huh." He had been focused on other things, the fact that she hadn't given the letter back had completely slipped by him.
"An explanation, if you don't mind," Hoster pressed, looking from Keladry to the letter that Robert was passing over to Ned.
"Burchard envies Delnaimn. My marriage was supposed to address some of the cause," Keladry said. "When I disappeared, Joren tried to use that to claim ownership of a bridge that gives access to some of our lands; without it we would have to risk clan territory. They wished to bar our use of it and see the fields fall into disrepair, so they might petition for ownership due to negligence."
"A fucking bridge," Brandon said, echoing Jon's words. "Harrenhal, the rumours, the duel - all that for a bridge and a few fields."
"Enough." Rickard's voice was not loud, but it commanded the attention of all in the room all the same. "This matters little. Jon?"
"I agree," Jon said. He smoothed his expression, hiding the anger he felt. "I will deal with the Burchards when I have less pressing matters to attend to."
"Then we will discuss the other matter," Rickard said.
"Rickard," Hoster said, corner of his mouth creasing as Rickard's gaze fell on him. "We must discuss those matters, but they will no doubt be the last…should we not conclude this, first?" He inclined his head towards Steve.
Rickard's lips pressed together in a thin line, but he gave a single nod.
"Right, this one is on me," Robert said, dragging his attention away from Rickard and Hoster - whatever it was they were talking around, he wasn't privy to it. "Steve, we owe you. My lords are asking about it, and some are nervous that you're holding out for this or that privilege or what have you."
"We've spoken about this, yeah," Steve acknowledged.
"But they can't just take a damned answer so-" Robert pulled a face, and dragged himself back on track. "I might've hinted that you've got plans in the east," he said, apologetic now, "but that only kept the quiet for a few days, and now that gossip is really spreading, everything else you've done is going to come out so it'll be just as bad for the rest." He gestured broadly at the other high lords.
"So, what," Steve said, "you need to give me something?"
"We need you to ask for a boon, and be seen asking," Jon told him. "Frankly, you are owed several, and it embarrasses us that we have not shown our thanks for what you have done. Freeing the hostages from Aerys, retrieving Kelda from the clans, what you did for young Lord Stannis, your raid across the Reach, your part in destroying the chevauchée south of the Gods Eye…" he shook his head. "Before we can begin to consider how to reward you, you are off to do another deed worthy of it."
"The war hasn't helped," Brynden said. "I spoke with my brother about what you did for Lysa when he first brought her home, and what we could do for you in turn, but you were already out of reach."
Steve glanced at Rickard. The man was watching him, perhaps remembering a conversation they had once had, but he held his tongue. He made a show of thinking about what they told him. He knew what would help him and his, but he didn't know what was asking for too much or too little, and he also knew there was a reason or two they had brought this up after the matters of Deddings and Kel had been settled.
"If I didn't think your lady would take her sword to me for the offer," Robert said, "I'd offer you the hand of a fine Stormlands lass. I've an Estermont cousin who would like you well."
"Naerys and I might have some opinions on that, yeah," Steve told him, but he only laughed.
"Once this war is through, there are several keeps that will lack lords," Hoster said, gesturing broadly to nothing in particular. "For saving my daughter, lordship over one would be a worthy reward."
"Lordship of a fief would be quite the responsibility, and commitment," Steve said, leaning back and allowing his gaze to rise up the stone of the room walls, as if coming to terms with the sheer generosity of the offer.
Hoster gave a gracious incline of his head, not the least offended.
"Do not be afraid to ask for something concrete," Jon added. "Rights or privileges in Gulltown for a duration would see you in good stead for your life with your lady."
"Steve. My offer stands," Rickard said. There were bags under his eyes, but the eyes themselves were pits that seemed to judge and discard whatever they fell upon. "I can't give you an army, but get my daughter back and you'll have a kingdom's aid."
"We'll get Lyanna back," Steve told him, letting his put on appreciation fall away. "If that means you and your armies taking King's Landing, or me slipping in to get her out, or finding out if Aerys has her held somewhere else, we'll get her back safe." His surety was iron, like there was no question to it.
Rickard gave him a single nod, and then seemed to resign himself to continuing to endure another conversation he had little interest in.
"Aye, we'll get her back," Robert said, rumbling his own surety. "They don't have the stones or the men to keep us from her." He set a heavy fist on the table, and it shook. "You just give us an idea of what you want to ask for, Steve, so we can get this done and be back to planning the march on Harrenhal."
Steve leaned back, considering. He knew the value of what was being offered here, but there were many things he could ask for. He could greatly ease the cost of equipping his forces, or secure state aid in approaching Braavos, or even gain access to a large pool of blooded soldiers for recruitment.
These were mostly things he could achieve on his own, however. If he was to ask for a boon that would benefit him and could not be easily gained except through connections… "Harbour rights," Steve said, looking between the high lords. "If my ships need a berth, you'll find one for them, along with all that comes with one."
It was not what they had been expecting, but as they considered it, they found themselves liking it.
"An easy thing to command done," Hoster mused.
"You have many ships, Lord Steve?" Jon asked, mentally marking down sums.
"Two, for now," Steve said. "There will be more." He didn't want to blindside them, after all.
"He picked up two on his journey from Gulltown to Storm's End," Robert said. "Pirates, slavers, both. Boarded and claimed them."
"A cheap purchase," Elbert cracked.
"There will be more," Steve said again.
"White Harbor will provide," Rickard said.
His words seemed to push the others into agreement.
"Gulltown, likewise, has many berths," Jon said. "We could also arrange for warehousing, as needed."
"Maidenpool and Saltpans may not be cities, but they will have berths for you," Hoster added. "Once we take Maidenpool, I will have some Mooton port properties deeded to you. Merchants are forever seeking such things, and it will serve you well."
"Your ships are at Tarth now, but I can offer you Weeping Town in the future," Robert said. "It's a busy little place, sees a lot of trade."
He hadn't asked for the harbour rights for trade, but he'd find a use for warehousing and other waterfront properties, he was sure. "I appreciate your generosity. I'll be sure to ask for it where I can be overheard."
"That will ease a number of concerns and jealousies," Jon said, and Hoster nodded with a grimace as he noted something down on a piece of parchment before him.
"Until the next battle, at least," Brandon said, lip curling up as he invited his friends to share the joke. Robert and Elbert huffed at him, but Ned and Brynden shook their heads, knowing truth when they heard it.
"We'd be about done then, wouldn't we?" Robert asked. One knee had been bouncing under the table for a few minutes now, and it was clear he was eager to get outside into the sun.
"No," Rickard said.
Robert frowned. "Did I forget - ah, you had that thing you wanted to talk about, right?"
"Edmure," Hoster said over his shoulder, "why don't you go fetch us a jug of applewater, there's a good lad. Don't forget cups."
"Yes father," Edmure said, quickly stepping away from the wall he had been trying to blend in with for much of the meeting.
When the door closed behind him, a more serious mood seemed to fall over the room. Steve was no longer the focus, and he noticed that the others were all looking to Robert. No one seemed to want to speak first.
"Ned," Rickard said, not looking towards him. "You asked for the right."
"I did," Ned said. His expression was still, and he turned to face his foster brother more fully. "Robert, there's something we've been keeping from you."
"What is it?" Robert asked, full of sudden caution and dread. "She's not dead. I'd know. You wouldn't be - I'd know."
"Three months ago," Ned said slowly, "we were sent a severed foot by Aerys that he claimed belonged to Lyanna."
Robert went still. "He. What."
Steve eased his chair out a touch. Maybe he had been invited to this meeting for reasons beyond casual conversation.
Modus_Tollens
SCREAMING.
- Location
- ALSO SCREAMING.
If somebody chucks a human being on top of the crest of the Iron Throne, what would it take to get them down again? Apropos of nothing...
*cough*
*cough*
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AHHHHH! Your back! Please be back...
- Location
- USA
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Woohoo! Another chapter of one of my current favorites! Thank you for that.
Steve handled that meeting surprisingly well. I was expecting him to cut it all short with a single "I don't care about your traditions or how you do things. I do what I think is right and I do not acknowledge anyone's authority over me. You can get over it or you can get your weapons, your choice."
Eh. In retrospect that's not Steve's style. He's always been good about politeness even when he's being obstinate.
*Research!*
Canonically, he was 26 when he went into the ice. He woke up in 2011 and then Endgame took us to 2023... Wow. He really is about 40 not counting the ice. Damn, nice job. Clearly, you do your research.
Steve handled that meeting surprisingly well. I was expecting him to cut it all short with a single "I don't care about your traditions or how you do things. I do what I think is right and I do not acknowledge anyone's authority over me. You can get over it or you can get your weapons, your choice."
Eh. In retrospect that's not Steve's style. He's always been good about politeness even when he's being obstinate.
??
*Research!*
Canonically, he was 26 when he went into the ice. He woke up in 2011 and then Endgame took us to 2023... Wow. He really is about 40 not counting the ice. Damn, nice job. Clearly, you do your research.
Fog of War 2
- Location
- Australia
He was not the only man in the chamber wary of Robert's response, but Ned seemed to spare little concern to any possible violence.
"Two months ago, we received a letter from Rhaegar claiming it to be a lie," Ned continued, not breaking eye contact. "He claims that she is not in the Red Keep, that she is kept elsewhere, far enough away that he could not have taken her foot and presented it to his court."
"Presented to his-." Rage robbed the Stormlord of further words, and his fingers squeezed the armrests of his chair, setting wood to groaning.
"One of them is lying," Ned said. He glanced at Rickard. "Father has claimed the liar for himself."
"Anger will not help you here Robert, remember our talks," Jon told him, concern in his eyes. "Focus on what you can achieve."
Slowly, Robert sought to master himself. "Where is she. Did Rhaegar lie. Is he working with Aerys." Despite his efforts, he still spoke from between grinding teeth.
"Rhaegar says he does not know, but that he has men loyal to him in her guard," Brandon said, his own anger worn openly. "He says he works to find her, but as he plays games, the war goes on."
"Connington is with him," Robert said suddenly, as if just remembering. "He said he worked to aid him in a task that would help the Stormlands. But why did he not…" he looked down at the table as he trailed off.
"War is not the time to trust in ravens," Hoster offered.
Robert only seemed to half hear the words, fists clenching and unclenching around his armrests. He blinked, looking up at Ned. "Three months," he said. "We have been riding together for weeks. You said nothing."
"Aye."
"Why."
"You already wanted to turn east," Ned told him. "The risk was too great."
There was a long pause as the two foster brothers stared each other down. At length, Robert broke it.
"You had no right," Robert said, low and quiet, like the last moment of silence before thunder.
"If I had told you when we met, you would have marched directly for King's Landing," Ned said flatly, uncowed. "With no supply line, no support, and Stannis likely already besieged."
Robert erupted from his seat, roaring. "IT WAS NOT YOUR CHOICE TO MAKE!" His lips were drawn back in a snarl, fury and hurt writ across his face. "My men are mine to command! Why, Ned?! Why didn't you tell me?!?"
"Because in your position, I would have marched on King's Landing."
Robert stared at him, still, and then the wind seemed to go out of his sails. He slumped back down into his chair. "You should have told me," he said, voice tired.
"It was wrong of me," Ned acknowledged, "but no, I shouldn't have."
The stormlord didn't react to Ned's words, and the tension in the room seemed to ease, at least slightly.
"If we had lost you, Robert, we would have lost the Stormlands, and possibly the war," Jon said, appealing to him.
Again the stormlord didn't seem to hear the words. "Aerys sends a foot he claims to be Lyanna's, and you do nothing," he said softly, eyes unseeing.
Rickard stirred, a fell sound rumbling in his throat. "You think I received what might have been my daughter's foot…and did nothing?"
The northman's words pierced the daze that had taken Robert, and his gaze latched onto him.
"Every defeated noble who fought for Aerys was given a choice," Rickard said. "They could abandon their oath to him, or they could lose the same foot he claimed to take from Lyanna."
"The heart trees were well watered," Brandon said, and a satisfied smile sprawled across his face.
For all he had been prepared to intervene, Steve knew with bitter experience that when friends were at odds, the last thing they wanted was outside interference, but as he absorbed what had been said he could no longer stay quiet. "You maimed prisoners?" he asked. "'Defeated nobles' that you captured - and you maimed them?"
Rickard inclined his head. "Their king claimed he hurt my daughter. If they were so loyal to him, they could share the consequences of his deed."
"And you were all on board with this?" Steve asked, looking around the room. Jon met his eyes steadily, but Hoster was frowning, shaking his head.
"It is not our place to tell our peer how to lead his men," Jon said. There was no indication of any approval or disapproval on his face. "Lord Rickard would have been within his rights to have them executed."
"Just because you can doesn't mean you should," Steve said, heat entering his voice. Elbert gave him a look of kinship, but he was the only one.
"Fine counsel that would be for them, before they chose to ride against me," Rickard said. In contrast, there was no heat in his voice, no investment at all in the disagreement he was faced with.
Steve leaned back, one finger tapping on the armrest of his chair as he fought a sigh. "What he did was terrible, even as a false threat, but you can't go down to their level. It says more about you than it does him."
"This is who we are. The Winter Kings did not become kings because we were 'honourable'."
"When you capture a foe, you have a responsibility to treat them well," Steve said. "You don't maim or torture. If they've done something terrible, you lock them up, you execute them if-" he made a cutting gesture with his hand, old memories bubbling up.
"They did do something terrible," Rickard said. "They supported the man who cut off my daughter's foot."
"Or so he claimed," Steve said. He crossed his arms, lips pressed in a thin line. The campaign through the Reach was not the first time he had given the order for executions, but the crimes he had punished in the War were far worse, had brought him closer to acting as the Starks had - but he still hadn't crossed that line, even with the victims of their crimes before him in a pit they'd been forced to dig themselves.
"Or so he claimed," Rickard agreed. "That was enough."
The soldier stared the northman down, unblinking, and the northman returned it. "Did you keep maiming prisoners, after Rhaegar told you it wasn't Lyanna?" he demanded.
"No," Rickard said, though from the way his sons shared a look it wasn't quite as clear cut as a decision to stop because the threat might have been a lie.
Steve lost the battle to keep from sighing. "...we have to be better," he said, knowing that he wasn't getting through to Rickard but unable to keep from trying. "If you fall to their level, eventually you're to someone else what they were to you." Even if Aerys had lied, there was still some poor girl out there who had lost a foot to the charade. Somehow he didn't think there would be any armies out for revenge on her behalf.
There was no agreement forthcoming, but nor did Rickard deny his words, only looking back to his hands, letting the conversation die.
Before the silence could grow sour, Hoster spoke. "There are some who would call you unwise to be so uncompromising with a Warden, especially one who has offered you so much," the riverlord said, probing.
Whatever response he was expecting, it was not a barked laugh. "Back home, I have a reputation," Steve said by way of explanation. "I've been accused of being a bit too stubborn for my own good when it would've been easier to let things lie."
"So we are starting to see," Jon said, and there was more than a hint of dryness to his tone.
"Forget about the dragon lovers," Robert said. He had taken the time to master his temper, his fury reduced to a harsh scowl. "What else has Rhaegar said about Lyanna? How close is he to finding her?"
Brandon scoffed, running a frustrated hand through his hair.
"Two nights past, another letter arrived speaking of his progress and of how the lack of fighting in the Crownlands had allowed him to confirm that she was not within them," Jon said. "However, he also made reference to another letter, one that we have not received."
"Then that means…" Robert said, trailing off as he sought to make sense of it.
"There's fuckery afoot," Brynden said bluntly.
Hoster elbowed his brother. "If Aerys has learned that Rhaegar is communicating with us, he would be…displeased," he said.
"Aye, and Varys isn't to be underestimated," Jon said. "Which means the King may well know, and be planning for Rhaegar's search."
"Not to mention whoever was behind the attempt to kill us as we escaped the Red Keep," Elbert added.
"There is much at work that we do not see," Hoster said. "Much that we need to discover if we are to avoid being used by those behind it."
The riverlord wasn't wrong, but Steve didn't like their chances of investigating in the middle of a war, even if the mention of intercepted mail had him wary.
"No, fuck it all," Robert said, shaking his head. "Fuck all of that. When do we march for Harrenhal? Their games won't matter when we have King's Landing besieged, and I'm not sitting here waiting for Rhaegar to find Lyanna."
Jon's forehead creased, but only for a moment. "Three days, as we discussed. We have regrouped from the last raids, and there have been no signs of more."
"With Hightower's gamble with the chevauchée failing, we completed our stockpiling of supplies as well," Hoster said. "We are ready."
"Then what are we waiting for?" Robert demanded. "You don't mean to tell me we're going to wait for Rhaegar."
"No," Rickard said.
"He did request it," Jon said, "but we are not inclined to grant such a request." He gave his more outspoken foster son a look. "Even if we were, I would doubt our ability to convince you of it."
Robert snorted, a glimmer of cheer returning to his face, even if only for an instant. "Then let's get at it."
Jon smiled at him, before glancing at Hoster and Rickard. Both men gave him a nod. "There is little left to deal with today that cannot be delegated," he said. "We would release the rest of you, if you do not wish to stay, Robert."
"Aye," Robert said, already rising. "The needful is done, and Ned owes me a round in the yard."
A more expressive man might have grimaced, but Ned only shook his head, rising with his friend. Brandon and Elbert were quick to follow, and Keladry was already getting the door.
Steve rose in turn, following them. He glanced back as he left, and more than one of the older lords were watching him. Even with everything else on their plates, it was clear that they weren't so foolish as to dismiss him, or take him for granted, despite the cultural tug of war going on between them and their disagreements.
He could live with that. He'd just have to remind them why once they reached Harrenhal.
X x X
If Steve had found the pace marching with eighteen thousand Stormlanders to be slow, it was downright torturous when they had to coordinate with another fifteen thousand Northerners, ten thousand Riverlanders, and ten thousand Valemen. The four armies marched implacably south, moving to besiege what some called the greatest fortress on the continent.
Not all would end up at Harrenhal itself - there would be more to the siege than simply setting up shop around the fortress. Supply lines had to be protected, nearby holdfasts had to be invested, and roads leading south had to be guarded, lest another royalist force think to break the siege. It was all planned and accounted for in an impressive display of logistics and organisation that put paid to any idea that war was simply a matter of riding up to the other guy and hitting him harder than he could hit back.
The ninth month of the year 282 AC began and dragged on as the rebels continued their march south, and for all that there was little to do but march, that did not mean that nothing was done. With so many bored men left to their own amusements, that meant that first and foremost amongst these was gossip. Steve was keenly aware of his exploits spreading through the armies, and the only fortune to be found was the fact that many seemed to think them at least somewhat exaggerated, regardless of those who swore to have witnessed them. Less fortunate was the spread and revival of the Peake limericks, followed by the marching songs that Steve was somehow at fault for. More than one village was terrorised by rank after rank of passing men singing of Thunder Gods and Scab King Aerys, and soon the men of the other armies had to have their own songs as well. The rivermen could not seem to agree on the lyrics, but Willem and Yorick had once again found themselves co conspirators, this time from the Vale, and created another offering.
"We come from the Mountains we come from the Vale,
We're hearty we're tough we're strong and we're hale,
Mad King Aerys what have you done,
Seven grant you mercy cause we have none,
You'll scream you'll shout you'll plead you'll yell,
When we're through with you it's straight to hell,
Who're we?
Men of the Vale,
What're we?
Hearty and hale,
No care for honour, no mercy for you,
It's the gallows on offer, swift and true.
Mad King Aerys your rule is through,
The debt you owe is now come due,
Ten thousand lances riding fast,
Lancing swift right up your arse,
Who're we?
Men of the Vale,
What're we?
Hearty and hale,
We come from the Mountains we come from the Vale,
We're hearty we're tough we're strong and we're hale."
Sometimes, Steve felt like he had made a huge mistake in introducing marching songs to Westeros, but at least the men seemed to be having fun. He could accept that.
What he was less able to accept, however, was a consequence of his actions against Peake. Perhaps it was the limericks that had spread, or perhaps someone had ratted him out, but apparently an old foe of the Peakes had heard of it all, and now they sought to reward him for it. Over the course of a week, Steve was forced to decline offers of gifts that he really didn't feel were warranted. They began with a finely made sword with a sapphire in the pommel and only escalated with each denial. Eventually, the lord responsible, one Wyman Manderly, was taken aside by Ned, and the offers stopped. Steve thought that was the end of it, and turned his attention to more important matters, such as his discussions with a man who had escaped a job as a tanner when he joined his lord's guard. He should have known better.
Ned had not been warning Manderly away. The delivery of a crate by a man with the Manderly colours of green and aquamarine stitched on his clothing put an end to Steve's polite refusals when he opened it to find within half a dozen richly bound books, a lovely dark leather quiver full of arrows fletched with the finest goosefeather, a pair of outrageously soft calfskin boots, and a fishing lure skilfully carved with horsehair fascinators. The pouch addressed to Steve holding jewellery flattering to a woman of Naerys' colouring was almost not worth mentioning. He accepted his defeat with grace, and wrote Wyman a thank you note which, after consultation with Ned, included a recipe for a pasta.
The march began to draw nearer to its goal, and Steve took care of what tasks needed doing. His troops were put through their paces, his shield was given a new cap for full coverage once more, and he sketched a charcoal image of Naerys with her nose buried in one of her new books. A final reconnaissance in force was sent out, and Steve began to finalise his thoughts on his approach to the coming siege. No fortress was impregnable, especially not one he had once been a guest within. It was thought the siege would be a long one, and he was determined to avoid it.
Then, as the ninth month began to wane, Brynden and his men returned with news.
Harrenhal was empty.
X
Harrenhal was as imposing as Steve remembered it, though there was something eerie about seeing such a large castle with its walls undefended and its gates wide open. The roads bore evidence of heavy traffic, though it was not fresh, and from their position on a nearby hill there seemed to be no banners flying from the enormous towers within.
"How did he manage this?" Robert was asking, waving a frustrated hand at the castle. "Where were our scouts? Napping?"
"Hightower was still screening us only last week," Brynden said, giving the younger man a side look. His mount stamped a hoof, snorting. "If you knew of a way to pass them, or to divine the future, you might have said something."
"Brother," Hoster said, warning, though he was also eyeing Robert.
Robert growled, but didn't argue further.
The group of knights and nobles continued to eye the fortress, suspicious and wary. Some were more concerned with the forest a ways behind them, as if it might suddenly disgorge the missing royalist army.
"How many men did he spend on raiding?" Elbert asked. "He lost ten and three thousand under the God's Eye, even if many were sellswords. Perhaps there were few men left to flee?"
"There are royalist river lords unaccounted for, and Crownlanders beside," Brynden said, not shying from the truth. "He must still have a considerable force. Eight thousand, at least."
"Enough to threaten any one army, but only if they wandered off," a lord with a silver eagle on his purple shield said. His face was gaunt, but there was strength in his shoulders, and Steve had met his nephew Jeffory at the Riverrun weddings.
"Hightower wouldn't," Hoster said. "He was always cautious."
"So is Ned, but he still had the stones to fight four battles in a day," Robert said, smirking at the one Stark that was with them.
"Ned always had sharper teeth than you'd think," Brandon said, returning the smirk.
The words restored some of the bravado and cheer that news of the deserted castle had banished, at least amongst the younger members of the twenty or so men on the hill. It did not change the situation they found themselves in, however.
"You don't think…Maidenpool?" a lord with a surcoat bearing a white tree on black asked.
"Abandon Harrenhal for Maidenpool?" another lord instantly retorted. This one wore a rampant red stallion on yellow and brown. "He would be a fool."
"Lord Blackwood, Lord Bracken," Hoster said in warning, and if Steve thought his voice was that of a weary school teacher, he kept that to himself.
The two lords were glaring at each other, but the first lord - Blackwood - soldiered on. "Harrenhal is mighty, but perhaps overmighty for a force of eight thousand, and isolated besides. Maidenpool would tax them less, and offer resupply by sea."
"Resupply means little when we could pen them in and have our way cleared to King's Landing," Bracken said. "Perhaps you should think of more than what lays directly before us before you speak."
"Enough," Hoster said, sterner this time, but still the men glared, Blackwood opening his mouth to return the insult.
"We can discuss this later," Brandon broke in. "We came to see the castle for ourselves, and now we waste time. The sooner we get on with it, the sooner we can plot our next steps, wherever they might lead us."
"Aye, let's go," Robert said, looking about a moment away from prodding his horse forward to ride straight at the castle.
"Should we not be wary of trickery?" a lord asked. "There are many here whose deaths would serve the foe greatly."
"Bah," Robert said.
"I can scout ahead," Steve volunteered, a few horses behind the front of the pack. "Make sure they haven't pulled anything since Brynden scouted it out."
Hoster made a considering sound. "That may be wise," he said. "Do you think to take some of your own men, or to work with my brother's scouts?"
"Nah, I'll go alone," Steve said. "Easier to get clear if they've got something clever planned."
"You don't mean to simply fight whatever force might be hidden within?" Beron asked. Like Steve, he was a ways back from the front of the group with all the more influential lords.
"I have to leave some fun for the rest of you," Steve said, straight faced, and more than one listener seemed to be unsure if he was joking.
"Hurry back Steve," Robert told him. "I want to know what's going on here."
"I would be satisfied if you went no further than the Flowstone Yard," Hoster added. "Once we know the way in is clear, we can consider inspecting the towers."
Steve wasted no more time, manoeuvering his mount free of the group and heading down the hill, towards the escort of retinues the lords had brought with them that day. The armies still marched, but news such as Brynden had brought demanded immediate investigation.
To the confusion of the lords he did not turn down the road towards the open castle gates, but continued on to the retinues. One rider saw him coming and rode to meet him.
"Ser?" Robin asked, coming to a halt. His new quiver and arrows were worn proudly across his back, his previous equipment adjusted to sit easily at his mount's shoulder.
"Keep Brooklyn company for me," Steve told him, hopping off his mount and handing over the reins. "I'm taking a look inside the walls and I don't want to risk her." If they had somehow rigged the gate tunnel to collapse, he liked his chances of getting out on foot better.
"Yes ser," Robin said. Brooklyn was already walking around to stand beside Scruffy, again showing the value of having Toby working with them. "Hell of a birthday present for Lyanna."
"Shame it couldn't be in better circumstances," Steve said, easing his hammer out of its harness, letting it slip down so he was holding it just below the head. "Did you finish your gift?"
"Last night; Walt helped me with some of the details," Robin said. He couldn't help but smile goofily, betraying his youth. "I think she'll like it."
"I'm sure she will," Steve said. He stretched his legs out, getting some blood flowing through his hamstrings.
"Good luck ser," Robin said, and then he was left behind.
Steve's jog quickly ate up the distance between their observation point and the walls, and in no time at all he was nearing the open gates. He stopped before them, bending his senses towards the thick walls and the gate tunnel that led through them. He could hear the beat of his heart, blood pulsing evenly, but that was all, save a nearby bird, flapping from spot to spot as it pecked for worms. There was no shifting of hidden men, no low conversations. Nor could he smell anything out of place, no oil waiting to be set alight, no fire to boil sand or water to dump on any who would approach.
Onwards he went, passing under the shadow of the wall and through it. The murder holes were dark and silent, no gates closed behind him and there was no sudden movement ahead. Perhaps Harrenhal really was as deserted as it seemed.
When he emerged into the interior, he found that it seemed even larger than his last visit, now that there was no hustle of tourney goers or tent village sprawling over the lawn. The Hunter's Hall was devoid of the cheer that he had found there, and the stables were still and empty. Deeper within, the towers were as tall and weathered as he remembered, their melted stone still speaking in testament to their history.
The stone and the emptiness and the history was not what held his attention, however. That was held by the lone marquee tent that waited on the lawn, under it a table and three men seated at it.
Steve approached it at a walk, seeing no need to rush. His ears were pricked for the sound of arrows in flight, and he stretched as he went, hiding a glance at the walls behind him, but they were as empty as the rest of the fortress seemed to be, save for the tent. The sept was still as he passed it, quiet as the grave was.
When he neared the tent, Steve found that he recognised the three men. One was Lord Walter Whent, the man who had hosted the tournament that had seen Steve profit so well, and given him the horn that still hung from his hip besides. The other was his steward, and the third was Maester Baldrich, who had overseen so many of the events and dealt with the aftermath of his ambush during the melee.
"Lord Whent," Steve said, looking him over as he entered the shadow of the marquee. He was not armoured, wearing a fine doublet of black and yellow, the only consideration to the situation a sword at his hip. "Nice day for it."
"Lord America," Whent said, looking him over in turn. "You are not who we were expecting."
Steve shrugged. "When the enemy does something you weren't expecting, it pays to be unpredictable."
Whent gave a huff that suggested amusement, but was completely lacking in humour. "Has your horn served you well?"
"It has," Steve said. "There's a few Reachmen who aren't too fond of it after my time there."
"Better Reachmen than Riverlanders," Whent said. He let out a sigh, setting aside pleasantries. "Will Lord Tully be joining us?"
Steve gave the place a final look around. There was no sign of any ambush, and the lawn was really starting to become more of a field, with no sign of any great number of men crossing it to hide atop or within the walls. Whatever was happening here, it wasn't a trap.
"Yeah," he decided. "Lord Baratheon, too. I'll warn you, he's not in a great mood."
"He would have reason," Whent said, not quite gloomy. He shook it off. "Perhaps the news I have to share will improve it."
Steve eyed the man, but neither he or the men with him seemed inclined to expand. He gave them all a nod, and made to return to the rebels.
X
There was not enough space for all the rebel lords at the table, and Steve was not offered a seat, though he was invited to stand menacingly behind those whose stature earned them one. Lord Whent was a lonely figure on his side of the table, supported only by his steward and Maester Baldrich, while across from him sat his Lord Paramount, the Lord Paramount of the Stormlords, Brandon Stark, Elbert Arryn, and half a handful of riverlords. Another half dozen stood as Steve did, watching over the proceedings.
"Lord Hoster Tully," Walter started formally. "I surrender my castle to you. Harrenhal is yours."
"Lord Walter Whent. I accept your surrender, good-cousin," Hoster said, just as formal. Then he leaned in, fixing Whent with a gimlet stare. "Where is your household?"
"I sent them to Maidenpool, alongside Lord Gerold," Walter said. "My wife and daughter will take a ship to Braavos from there."
Blackwood made a sound that had Bracken fuming, but both were ignored.
"He means to hold Maidenpool against us, then," Hoster said. The freely given information had him leaning back, reassessing Walter.
"Antlers and Loamhedge as well," Walter said. "He means to hold a line from Maidenpool to the Kingsroad against your armies."
"He hasn't the men," Brandon said. "We've been bleeding him for months."
"He has eight thousand riverlanders, twelve thousand crownlanders, and seven thousand sellswords," Walter said. "The Crownland garrisons to the south have been stripped near bare."
"A bluff," Robert accused.
"One you could call easily," Walter said, unbothered by the words. "Send your scouts, and you will see that I speak the truth."
"Why tell us this?" Elbert asked. "You could have left with them, and caught us off guard with your numbers. If you do speak the truth."
Again, Walter was unperturbed by the accusation. He retrieved a sealed letter from his jacket and slid it across the table to Hoster. "Both sides have their version of events," he said, glancing at Steve, "and we can only do as our oaths command. That does not mean I have enjoyed being set against my liege lord or my Riverland fellows."
Hoster had opened the letter and was reading it swiftly. It was not long, and after a moment of consideration, he handed it off to Robert.
"Prince Rhaegar has put out a call for a Great Council," Walter continued. "He would see this conflict end with reason, not further bloodshed."
The news was greeted with interest by most, murmured discussion covering the growl Robert made as he almost tore the letter with clenching fingers. Steve was able to glimpse a few words - received, amongst, Red, described, divine - but Robert wasn't exactly holding the letter still, and then he was handing it off to Brandon.
"This changes things, does it not?" Jason Mallister asked, from near to the end of the table. "King Aerys' position is weakened, and he holds only Maidenpool." His gaunt face was considering, turning over options.
"And the Stormlands," Beron said pointedly from his position standing near Steve.
"And the Stormlands," Jason admitted, "but if Rhaegar thinks diplomacy is possible, then surely Lady Lyanna has not come to further harm?" He glanced at Robert, but he didn't seem to have heard any of it, brow furrowed in deep thought.
Walter stirred at that. "Further harm?" he asked. "Did you not receive-?" he cut himself off at the look that Hoster was giving him, and winced as he looked over the various lesser lords who were part of the meeting.
"No," Hoster said, "though your son is of course unharmed. He is a guest at Darry, and soon Riverrun." His words received one or two strange looks from those not in the know about Rhaegar's claims of Lyanna's safety.
Steve was watching Whent, though. The man was in the know about Rhaegar's intentions, and he was suddenly more curious about the content of the letter he had handed over.
"Hightower wants to repeat his strategy," Robert said, interrupting as he set a heavy fist down on the table. "Only instead of Harrenhal, he wants to delay us with three smaller strongholds, force us to split up now that we've finally grouped up and marched."
"We would be vulnerable to any army coming from the south for as long as the sieges lasted," Elbert said, seated beside Brandon. "If we did not see them coming, we could lose an army. Likely Loamhedge, on the Kingsroad."
"Then is it not best to avoid the risk, and let them come to us?" Bracken asked. He was at one end of the table, next to Jason.
"And give the Dornish or the Reachmen time to march north? Let the Westerlands find their courage?" Blackwood demanded from his seat at the far end. "You would have us surrender the initiative, and our courage alongside it. I fear no siege."
"Of course a Blackwood would confuse vainglory with courage," Bracken snapped back, and for a moment it seemed they would rise so they could argue without shouting past half a dozen odd lords.
"No decision will be made without the presence of all rebel Wardens and Lord Paramounts," Hoster said sharply. "Until that time, you are welcome to discuss your thoughts with Lord Baratheon."
Both men looked to Robert, and on seeing his glower, decided to hold their tongues.
"I have had my remaining servants prepare lordly quarters, and I have bread and salt to offer if you would take it," Whent said to break the pause.
"Aye," Hoster said. "We would." He looked to his son-in-law. Brandon had squashed the letter in one fist, crumpling it something fierce. "There is much to consider, besides."
The meeting came to an abrupt end, the news Whent had shared giving them a great deal to react to. A rider was sent to share the word with the other rebel leaders so their armies could account for the change, and those that had ridden to Harrenhal set about making themselves and their men comfortable, bringing them within the walls and to the Kingspyre tower.
The other leaders would not be arriving until much later in the day, and there was little to do except wait until that time. Steve kept himself busy by putting Robin through his paces, martial and mental, and by doing some sightseeing, returning to this or that place that he and his companions had spent time at during the tournament.
It was almost dusk when Jon and Eddard arrived at Harrenhal, and they were immediately locked away in talks with Robert, Hoster, and Brandon. The rest of the rebels judged that such talks would last long into the night, and that their presence would not be needed. For the most part, they would be right.
As the moon rose, a thin, sickle thing, a servant came to Lord America's rooms, summoning him to the meeting. Higher up the tower, a solar had been commandeered, and a man taller and broader than Steve himself stood guard at the end of the hall that approached it, out of earshot. He recognised the man from the melee final, for all they hadn't fought, and the man, Walder, waved him onwards.
When Steve joined the lords in the solar, the mood was easily divined. Brandon was furious, pacing along a bookshelf by one wall, while Jon and Hoster were holding a rapid, hushed argument across the room. Ned was still seated at the central table, eyes blazing in silent anger, while Robert was slowly crushing a metal goblet to a misshapen block with a single hand. There was a tray on the table that had a collection of food on it, none of it touched. Steve's entrance drew their attention, breaking each man from what occupied them.
"What is it?" Steve asked, concerned. He had left Naerys surrounded by an army and protected by Kel and Walt and the rest of his company besides, but he knew better than most how unsafe war could be.
The lords seemed to share a glance, before reaffirming a decision already made. Jon stepped back to the table and pushed a scrap of parchment across it into Steve's reach. It appeared to have come from a larger bundle still across the table, but it seemed that that piece was the most important.
Giving them one last searching look, Steve took the paper and unfolded it. It was no letter, only a scant handful of words, but on reading them, Steve understood immediately why they had reacted as they had.
'He lied. It was always Rhaegar.'
"Two months ago, we received a letter from Rhaegar claiming it to be a lie," Ned continued, not breaking eye contact. "He claims that she is not in the Red Keep, that she is kept elsewhere, far enough away that he could not have taken her foot and presented it to his court."
"Presented to his-." Rage robbed the Stormlord of further words, and his fingers squeezed the armrests of his chair, setting wood to groaning.
"One of them is lying," Ned said. He glanced at Rickard. "Father has claimed the liar for himself."
"Anger will not help you here Robert, remember our talks," Jon told him, concern in his eyes. "Focus on what you can achieve."
Slowly, Robert sought to master himself. "Where is she. Did Rhaegar lie. Is he working with Aerys." Despite his efforts, he still spoke from between grinding teeth.
"Rhaegar says he does not know, but that he has men loyal to him in her guard," Brandon said, his own anger worn openly. "He says he works to find her, but as he plays games, the war goes on."
"Connington is with him," Robert said suddenly, as if just remembering. "He said he worked to aid him in a task that would help the Stormlands. But why did he not…" he looked down at the table as he trailed off.
"War is not the time to trust in ravens," Hoster offered.
Robert only seemed to half hear the words, fists clenching and unclenching around his armrests. He blinked, looking up at Ned. "Three months," he said. "We have been riding together for weeks. You said nothing."
"Aye."
"Why."
"You already wanted to turn east," Ned told him. "The risk was too great."
There was a long pause as the two foster brothers stared each other down. At length, Robert broke it.
"You had no right," Robert said, low and quiet, like the last moment of silence before thunder.
"If I had told you when we met, you would have marched directly for King's Landing," Ned said flatly, uncowed. "With no supply line, no support, and Stannis likely already besieged."
Robert erupted from his seat, roaring. "IT WAS NOT YOUR CHOICE TO MAKE!" His lips were drawn back in a snarl, fury and hurt writ across his face. "My men are mine to command! Why, Ned?! Why didn't you tell me?!?"
"Because in your position, I would have marched on King's Landing."
Robert stared at him, still, and then the wind seemed to go out of his sails. He slumped back down into his chair. "You should have told me," he said, voice tired.
"It was wrong of me," Ned acknowledged, "but no, I shouldn't have."
The stormlord didn't react to Ned's words, and the tension in the room seemed to ease, at least slightly.
"If we had lost you, Robert, we would have lost the Stormlands, and possibly the war," Jon said, appealing to him.
Again the stormlord didn't seem to hear the words. "Aerys sends a foot he claims to be Lyanna's, and you do nothing," he said softly, eyes unseeing.
Rickard stirred, a fell sound rumbling in his throat. "You think I received what might have been my daughter's foot…and did nothing?"
The northman's words pierced the daze that had taken Robert, and his gaze latched onto him.
"Every defeated noble who fought for Aerys was given a choice," Rickard said. "They could abandon their oath to him, or they could lose the same foot he claimed to take from Lyanna."
"The heart trees were well watered," Brandon said, and a satisfied smile sprawled across his face.
For all he had been prepared to intervene, Steve knew with bitter experience that when friends were at odds, the last thing they wanted was outside interference, but as he absorbed what had been said he could no longer stay quiet. "You maimed prisoners?" he asked. "'Defeated nobles' that you captured - and you maimed them?"
Rickard inclined his head. "Their king claimed he hurt my daughter. If they were so loyal to him, they could share the consequences of his deed."
"And you were all on board with this?" Steve asked, looking around the room. Jon met his eyes steadily, but Hoster was frowning, shaking his head.
"It is not our place to tell our peer how to lead his men," Jon said. There was no indication of any approval or disapproval on his face. "Lord Rickard would have been within his rights to have them executed."
"Just because you can doesn't mean you should," Steve said, heat entering his voice. Elbert gave him a look of kinship, but he was the only one.
"Fine counsel that would be for them, before they chose to ride against me," Rickard said. In contrast, there was no heat in his voice, no investment at all in the disagreement he was faced with.
Steve leaned back, one finger tapping on the armrest of his chair as he fought a sigh. "What he did was terrible, even as a false threat, but you can't go down to their level. It says more about you than it does him."
"This is who we are. The Winter Kings did not become kings because we were 'honourable'."
"When you capture a foe, you have a responsibility to treat them well," Steve said. "You don't maim or torture. If they've done something terrible, you lock them up, you execute them if-" he made a cutting gesture with his hand, old memories bubbling up.
"They did do something terrible," Rickard said. "They supported the man who cut off my daughter's foot."
"Or so he claimed," Steve said. He crossed his arms, lips pressed in a thin line. The campaign through the Reach was not the first time he had given the order for executions, but the crimes he had punished in the War were far worse, had brought him closer to acting as the Starks had - but he still hadn't crossed that line, even with the victims of their crimes before him in a pit they'd been forced to dig themselves.
"Or so he claimed," Rickard agreed. "That was enough."
The soldier stared the northman down, unblinking, and the northman returned it. "Did you keep maiming prisoners, after Rhaegar told you it wasn't Lyanna?" he demanded.
"No," Rickard said, though from the way his sons shared a look it wasn't quite as clear cut as a decision to stop because the threat might have been a lie.
Steve lost the battle to keep from sighing. "...we have to be better," he said, knowing that he wasn't getting through to Rickard but unable to keep from trying. "If you fall to their level, eventually you're to someone else what they were to you." Even if Aerys had lied, there was still some poor girl out there who had lost a foot to the charade. Somehow he didn't think there would be any armies out for revenge on her behalf.
There was no agreement forthcoming, but nor did Rickard deny his words, only looking back to his hands, letting the conversation die.
Before the silence could grow sour, Hoster spoke. "There are some who would call you unwise to be so uncompromising with a Warden, especially one who has offered you so much," the riverlord said, probing.
Whatever response he was expecting, it was not a barked laugh. "Back home, I have a reputation," Steve said by way of explanation. "I've been accused of being a bit too stubborn for my own good when it would've been easier to let things lie."
"So we are starting to see," Jon said, and there was more than a hint of dryness to his tone.
"Forget about the dragon lovers," Robert said. He had taken the time to master his temper, his fury reduced to a harsh scowl. "What else has Rhaegar said about Lyanna? How close is he to finding her?"
Brandon scoffed, running a frustrated hand through his hair.
"Two nights past, another letter arrived speaking of his progress and of how the lack of fighting in the Crownlands had allowed him to confirm that she was not within them," Jon said. "However, he also made reference to another letter, one that we have not received."
"Then that means…" Robert said, trailing off as he sought to make sense of it.
"There's fuckery afoot," Brynden said bluntly.
Hoster elbowed his brother. "If Aerys has learned that Rhaegar is communicating with us, he would be…displeased," he said.
"Aye, and Varys isn't to be underestimated," Jon said. "Which means the King may well know, and be planning for Rhaegar's search."
"Not to mention whoever was behind the attempt to kill us as we escaped the Red Keep," Elbert added.
"There is much at work that we do not see," Hoster said. "Much that we need to discover if we are to avoid being used by those behind it."
The riverlord wasn't wrong, but Steve didn't like their chances of investigating in the middle of a war, even if the mention of intercepted mail had him wary.
"No, fuck it all," Robert said, shaking his head. "Fuck all of that. When do we march for Harrenhal? Their games won't matter when we have King's Landing besieged, and I'm not sitting here waiting for Rhaegar to find Lyanna."
Jon's forehead creased, but only for a moment. "Three days, as we discussed. We have regrouped from the last raids, and there have been no signs of more."
"With Hightower's gamble with the chevauchée failing, we completed our stockpiling of supplies as well," Hoster said. "We are ready."
"Then what are we waiting for?" Robert demanded. "You don't mean to tell me we're going to wait for Rhaegar."
"No," Rickard said.
"He did request it," Jon said, "but we are not inclined to grant such a request." He gave his more outspoken foster son a look. "Even if we were, I would doubt our ability to convince you of it."
Robert snorted, a glimmer of cheer returning to his face, even if only for an instant. "Then let's get at it."
Jon smiled at him, before glancing at Hoster and Rickard. Both men gave him a nod. "There is little left to deal with today that cannot be delegated," he said. "We would release the rest of you, if you do not wish to stay, Robert."
"Aye," Robert said, already rising. "The needful is done, and Ned owes me a round in the yard."
A more expressive man might have grimaced, but Ned only shook his head, rising with his friend. Brandon and Elbert were quick to follow, and Keladry was already getting the door.
Steve rose in turn, following them. He glanced back as he left, and more than one of the older lords were watching him. Even with everything else on their plates, it was clear that they weren't so foolish as to dismiss him, or take him for granted, despite the cultural tug of war going on between them and their disagreements.
He could live with that. He'd just have to remind them why once they reached Harrenhal.
X x X
If Steve had found the pace marching with eighteen thousand Stormlanders to be slow, it was downright torturous when they had to coordinate with another fifteen thousand Northerners, ten thousand Riverlanders, and ten thousand Valemen. The four armies marched implacably south, moving to besiege what some called the greatest fortress on the continent.
Not all would end up at Harrenhal itself - there would be more to the siege than simply setting up shop around the fortress. Supply lines had to be protected, nearby holdfasts had to be invested, and roads leading south had to be guarded, lest another royalist force think to break the siege. It was all planned and accounted for in an impressive display of logistics and organisation that put paid to any idea that war was simply a matter of riding up to the other guy and hitting him harder than he could hit back.
The ninth month of the year 282 AC began and dragged on as the rebels continued their march south, and for all that there was little to do but march, that did not mean that nothing was done. With so many bored men left to their own amusements, that meant that first and foremost amongst these was gossip. Steve was keenly aware of his exploits spreading through the armies, and the only fortune to be found was the fact that many seemed to think them at least somewhat exaggerated, regardless of those who swore to have witnessed them. Less fortunate was the spread and revival of the Peake limericks, followed by the marching songs that Steve was somehow at fault for. More than one village was terrorised by rank after rank of passing men singing of Thunder Gods and Scab King Aerys, and soon the men of the other armies had to have their own songs as well. The rivermen could not seem to agree on the lyrics, but Willem and Yorick had once again found themselves co conspirators, this time from the Vale, and created another offering.
"We come from the Mountains we come from the Vale,
We're hearty we're tough we're strong and we're hale,
Mad King Aerys what have you done,
Seven grant you mercy cause we have none,
You'll scream you'll shout you'll plead you'll yell,
When we're through with you it's straight to hell,
Who're we?
Men of the Vale,
What're we?
Hearty and hale,
No care for honour, no mercy for you,
It's the gallows on offer, swift and true.
Mad King Aerys your rule is through,
The debt you owe is now come due,
Ten thousand lances riding fast,
Lancing swift right up your arse,
Who're we?
Men of the Vale,
What're we?
Hearty and hale,
We come from the Mountains we come from the Vale,
We're hearty we're tough we're strong and we're hale."
Sometimes, Steve felt like he had made a huge mistake in introducing marching songs to Westeros, but at least the men seemed to be having fun. He could accept that.
What he was less able to accept, however, was a consequence of his actions against Peake. Perhaps it was the limericks that had spread, or perhaps someone had ratted him out, but apparently an old foe of the Peakes had heard of it all, and now they sought to reward him for it. Over the course of a week, Steve was forced to decline offers of gifts that he really didn't feel were warranted. They began with a finely made sword with a sapphire in the pommel and only escalated with each denial. Eventually, the lord responsible, one Wyman Manderly, was taken aside by Ned, and the offers stopped. Steve thought that was the end of it, and turned his attention to more important matters, such as his discussions with a man who had escaped a job as a tanner when he joined his lord's guard. He should have known better.
Ned had not been warning Manderly away. The delivery of a crate by a man with the Manderly colours of green and aquamarine stitched on his clothing put an end to Steve's polite refusals when he opened it to find within half a dozen richly bound books, a lovely dark leather quiver full of arrows fletched with the finest goosefeather, a pair of outrageously soft calfskin boots, and a fishing lure skilfully carved with horsehair fascinators. The pouch addressed to Steve holding jewellery flattering to a woman of Naerys' colouring was almost not worth mentioning. He accepted his defeat with grace, and wrote Wyman a thank you note which, after consultation with Ned, included a recipe for a pasta.
The march began to draw nearer to its goal, and Steve took care of what tasks needed doing. His troops were put through their paces, his shield was given a new cap for full coverage once more, and he sketched a charcoal image of Naerys with her nose buried in one of her new books. A final reconnaissance in force was sent out, and Steve began to finalise his thoughts on his approach to the coming siege. No fortress was impregnable, especially not one he had once been a guest within. It was thought the siege would be a long one, and he was determined to avoid it.
Then, as the ninth month began to wane, Brynden and his men returned with news.
Harrenhal was empty.
X
Harrenhal was as imposing as Steve remembered it, though there was something eerie about seeing such a large castle with its walls undefended and its gates wide open. The roads bore evidence of heavy traffic, though it was not fresh, and from their position on a nearby hill there seemed to be no banners flying from the enormous towers within.
"How did he manage this?" Robert was asking, waving a frustrated hand at the castle. "Where were our scouts? Napping?"
"Hightower was still screening us only last week," Brynden said, giving the younger man a side look. His mount stamped a hoof, snorting. "If you knew of a way to pass them, or to divine the future, you might have said something."
"Brother," Hoster said, warning, though he was also eyeing Robert.
Robert growled, but didn't argue further.
The group of knights and nobles continued to eye the fortress, suspicious and wary. Some were more concerned with the forest a ways behind them, as if it might suddenly disgorge the missing royalist army.
"How many men did he spend on raiding?" Elbert asked. "He lost ten and three thousand under the God's Eye, even if many were sellswords. Perhaps there were few men left to flee?"
"There are royalist river lords unaccounted for, and Crownlanders beside," Brynden said, not shying from the truth. "He must still have a considerable force. Eight thousand, at least."
"Enough to threaten any one army, but only if they wandered off," a lord with a silver eagle on his purple shield said. His face was gaunt, but there was strength in his shoulders, and Steve had met his nephew Jeffory at the Riverrun weddings.
"Hightower wouldn't," Hoster said. "He was always cautious."
"So is Ned, but he still had the stones to fight four battles in a day," Robert said, smirking at the one Stark that was with them.
"Ned always had sharper teeth than you'd think," Brandon said, returning the smirk.
The words restored some of the bravado and cheer that news of the deserted castle had banished, at least amongst the younger members of the twenty or so men on the hill. It did not change the situation they found themselves in, however.
"You don't think…Maidenpool?" a lord with a surcoat bearing a white tree on black asked.
"Abandon Harrenhal for Maidenpool?" another lord instantly retorted. This one wore a rampant red stallion on yellow and brown. "He would be a fool."
"Lord Blackwood, Lord Bracken," Hoster said in warning, and if Steve thought his voice was that of a weary school teacher, he kept that to himself.
The two lords were glaring at each other, but the first lord - Blackwood - soldiered on. "Harrenhal is mighty, but perhaps overmighty for a force of eight thousand, and isolated besides. Maidenpool would tax them less, and offer resupply by sea."
"Resupply means little when we could pen them in and have our way cleared to King's Landing," Bracken said. "Perhaps you should think of more than what lays directly before us before you speak."
"Enough," Hoster said, sterner this time, but still the men glared, Blackwood opening his mouth to return the insult.
"We can discuss this later," Brandon broke in. "We came to see the castle for ourselves, and now we waste time. The sooner we get on with it, the sooner we can plot our next steps, wherever they might lead us."
"Aye, let's go," Robert said, looking about a moment away from prodding his horse forward to ride straight at the castle.
"Should we not be wary of trickery?" a lord asked. "There are many here whose deaths would serve the foe greatly."
"Bah," Robert said.
"I can scout ahead," Steve volunteered, a few horses behind the front of the pack. "Make sure they haven't pulled anything since Brynden scouted it out."
Hoster made a considering sound. "That may be wise," he said. "Do you think to take some of your own men, or to work with my brother's scouts?"
"Nah, I'll go alone," Steve said. "Easier to get clear if they've got something clever planned."
"You don't mean to simply fight whatever force might be hidden within?" Beron asked. Like Steve, he was a ways back from the front of the group with all the more influential lords.
"I have to leave some fun for the rest of you," Steve said, straight faced, and more than one listener seemed to be unsure if he was joking.
"Hurry back Steve," Robert told him. "I want to know what's going on here."
"I would be satisfied if you went no further than the Flowstone Yard," Hoster added. "Once we know the way in is clear, we can consider inspecting the towers."
Steve wasted no more time, manoeuvering his mount free of the group and heading down the hill, towards the escort of retinues the lords had brought with them that day. The armies still marched, but news such as Brynden had brought demanded immediate investigation.
To the confusion of the lords he did not turn down the road towards the open castle gates, but continued on to the retinues. One rider saw him coming and rode to meet him.
"Ser?" Robin asked, coming to a halt. His new quiver and arrows were worn proudly across his back, his previous equipment adjusted to sit easily at his mount's shoulder.
"Keep Brooklyn company for me," Steve told him, hopping off his mount and handing over the reins. "I'm taking a look inside the walls and I don't want to risk her." If they had somehow rigged the gate tunnel to collapse, he liked his chances of getting out on foot better.
"Yes ser," Robin said. Brooklyn was already walking around to stand beside Scruffy, again showing the value of having Toby working with them. "Hell of a birthday present for Lyanna."
"Shame it couldn't be in better circumstances," Steve said, easing his hammer out of its harness, letting it slip down so he was holding it just below the head. "Did you finish your gift?"
"Last night; Walt helped me with some of the details," Robin said. He couldn't help but smile goofily, betraying his youth. "I think she'll like it."
"I'm sure she will," Steve said. He stretched his legs out, getting some blood flowing through his hamstrings.
"Good luck ser," Robin said, and then he was left behind.
Steve's jog quickly ate up the distance between their observation point and the walls, and in no time at all he was nearing the open gates. He stopped before them, bending his senses towards the thick walls and the gate tunnel that led through them. He could hear the beat of his heart, blood pulsing evenly, but that was all, save a nearby bird, flapping from spot to spot as it pecked for worms. There was no shifting of hidden men, no low conversations. Nor could he smell anything out of place, no oil waiting to be set alight, no fire to boil sand or water to dump on any who would approach.
Onwards he went, passing under the shadow of the wall and through it. The murder holes were dark and silent, no gates closed behind him and there was no sudden movement ahead. Perhaps Harrenhal really was as deserted as it seemed.
When he emerged into the interior, he found that it seemed even larger than his last visit, now that there was no hustle of tourney goers or tent village sprawling over the lawn. The Hunter's Hall was devoid of the cheer that he had found there, and the stables were still and empty. Deeper within, the towers were as tall and weathered as he remembered, their melted stone still speaking in testament to their history.
The stone and the emptiness and the history was not what held his attention, however. That was held by the lone marquee tent that waited on the lawn, under it a table and three men seated at it.
Steve approached it at a walk, seeing no need to rush. His ears were pricked for the sound of arrows in flight, and he stretched as he went, hiding a glance at the walls behind him, but they were as empty as the rest of the fortress seemed to be, save for the tent. The sept was still as he passed it, quiet as the grave was.
When he neared the tent, Steve found that he recognised the three men. One was Lord Walter Whent, the man who had hosted the tournament that had seen Steve profit so well, and given him the horn that still hung from his hip besides. The other was his steward, and the third was Maester Baldrich, who had overseen so many of the events and dealt with the aftermath of his ambush during the melee.
"Lord Whent," Steve said, looking him over as he entered the shadow of the marquee. He was not armoured, wearing a fine doublet of black and yellow, the only consideration to the situation a sword at his hip. "Nice day for it."
"Lord America," Whent said, looking him over in turn. "You are not who we were expecting."
Steve shrugged. "When the enemy does something you weren't expecting, it pays to be unpredictable."
Whent gave a huff that suggested amusement, but was completely lacking in humour. "Has your horn served you well?"
"It has," Steve said. "There's a few Reachmen who aren't too fond of it after my time there."
"Better Reachmen than Riverlanders," Whent said. He let out a sigh, setting aside pleasantries. "Will Lord Tully be joining us?"
Steve gave the place a final look around. There was no sign of any ambush, and the lawn was really starting to become more of a field, with no sign of any great number of men crossing it to hide atop or within the walls. Whatever was happening here, it wasn't a trap.
"Yeah," he decided. "Lord Baratheon, too. I'll warn you, he's not in a great mood."
"He would have reason," Whent said, not quite gloomy. He shook it off. "Perhaps the news I have to share will improve it."
Steve eyed the man, but neither he or the men with him seemed inclined to expand. He gave them all a nod, and made to return to the rebels.
X
There was not enough space for all the rebel lords at the table, and Steve was not offered a seat, though he was invited to stand menacingly behind those whose stature earned them one. Lord Whent was a lonely figure on his side of the table, supported only by his steward and Maester Baldrich, while across from him sat his Lord Paramount, the Lord Paramount of the Stormlords, Brandon Stark, Elbert Arryn, and half a handful of riverlords. Another half dozen stood as Steve did, watching over the proceedings.
"Lord Hoster Tully," Walter started formally. "I surrender my castle to you. Harrenhal is yours."
"Lord Walter Whent. I accept your surrender, good-cousin," Hoster said, just as formal. Then he leaned in, fixing Whent with a gimlet stare. "Where is your household?"
"I sent them to Maidenpool, alongside Lord Gerold," Walter said. "My wife and daughter will take a ship to Braavos from there."
Blackwood made a sound that had Bracken fuming, but both were ignored.
"He means to hold Maidenpool against us, then," Hoster said. The freely given information had him leaning back, reassessing Walter.
"Antlers and Loamhedge as well," Walter said. "He means to hold a line from Maidenpool to the Kingsroad against your armies."
"He hasn't the men," Brandon said. "We've been bleeding him for months."
"He has eight thousand riverlanders, twelve thousand crownlanders, and seven thousand sellswords," Walter said. "The Crownland garrisons to the south have been stripped near bare."
"A bluff," Robert accused.
"One you could call easily," Walter said, unbothered by the words. "Send your scouts, and you will see that I speak the truth."
"Why tell us this?" Elbert asked. "You could have left with them, and caught us off guard with your numbers. If you do speak the truth."
Again, Walter was unperturbed by the accusation. He retrieved a sealed letter from his jacket and slid it across the table to Hoster. "Both sides have their version of events," he said, glancing at Steve, "and we can only do as our oaths command. That does not mean I have enjoyed being set against my liege lord or my Riverland fellows."
Hoster had opened the letter and was reading it swiftly. It was not long, and after a moment of consideration, he handed it off to Robert.
"Prince Rhaegar has put out a call for a Great Council," Walter continued. "He would see this conflict end with reason, not further bloodshed."
The news was greeted with interest by most, murmured discussion covering the growl Robert made as he almost tore the letter with clenching fingers. Steve was able to glimpse a few words - received, amongst, Red, described, divine - but Robert wasn't exactly holding the letter still, and then he was handing it off to Brandon.
"This changes things, does it not?" Jason Mallister asked, from near to the end of the table. "King Aerys' position is weakened, and he holds only Maidenpool." His gaunt face was considering, turning over options.
"And the Stormlands," Beron said pointedly from his position standing near Steve.
"And the Stormlands," Jason admitted, "but if Rhaegar thinks diplomacy is possible, then surely Lady Lyanna has not come to further harm?" He glanced at Robert, but he didn't seem to have heard any of it, brow furrowed in deep thought.
Walter stirred at that. "Further harm?" he asked. "Did you not receive-?" he cut himself off at the look that Hoster was giving him, and winced as he looked over the various lesser lords who were part of the meeting.
"No," Hoster said, "though your son is of course unharmed. He is a guest at Darry, and soon Riverrun." His words received one or two strange looks from those not in the know about Rhaegar's claims of Lyanna's safety.
Steve was watching Whent, though. The man was in the know about Rhaegar's intentions, and he was suddenly more curious about the content of the letter he had handed over.
"Hightower wants to repeat his strategy," Robert said, interrupting as he set a heavy fist down on the table. "Only instead of Harrenhal, he wants to delay us with three smaller strongholds, force us to split up now that we've finally grouped up and marched."
"We would be vulnerable to any army coming from the south for as long as the sieges lasted," Elbert said, seated beside Brandon. "If we did not see them coming, we could lose an army. Likely Loamhedge, on the Kingsroad."
"Then is it not best to avoid the risk, and let them come to us?" Bracken asked. He was at one end of the table, next to Jason.
"And give the Dornish or the Reachmen time to march north? Let the Westerlands find their courage?" Blackwood demanded from his seat at the far end. "You would have us surrender the initiative, and our courage alongside it. I fear no siege."
"Of course a Blackwood would confuse vainglory with courage," Bracken snapped back, and for a moment it seemed they would rise so they could argue without shouting past half a dozen odd lords.
"No decision will be made without the presence of all rebel Wardens and Lord Paramounts," Hoster said sharply. "Until that time, you are welcome to discuss your thoughts with Lord Baratheon."
Both men looked to Robert, and on seeing his glower, decided to hold their tongues.
"I have had my remaining servants prepare lordly quarters, and I have bread and salt to offer if you would take it," Whent said to break the pause.
"Aye," Hoster said. "We would." He looked to his son-in-law. Brandon had squashed the letter in one fist, crumpling it something fierce. "There is much to consider, besides."
The meeting came to an abrupt end, the news Whent had shared giving them a great deal to react to. A rider was sent to share the word with the other rebel leaders so their armies could account for the change, and those that had ridden to Harrenhal set about making themselves and their men comfortable, bringing them within the walls and to the Kingspyre tower.
The other leaders would not be arriving until much later in the day, and there was little to do except wait until that time. Steve kept himself busy by putting Robin through his paces, martial and mental, and by doing some sightseeing, returning to this or that place that he and his companions had spent time at during the tournament.
It was almost dusk when Jon and Eddard arrived at Harrenhal, and they were immediately locked away in talks with Robert, Hoster, and Brandon. The rest of the rebels judged that such talks would last long into the night, and that their presence would not be needed. For the most part, they would be right.
As the moon rose, a thin, sickle thing, a servant came to Lord America's rooms, summoning him to the meeting. Higher up the tower, a solar had been commandeered, and a man taller and broader than Steve himself stood guard at the end of the hall that approached it, out of earshot. He recognised the man from the melee final, for all they hadn't fought, and the man, Walder, waved him onwards.
When Steve joined the lords in the solar, the mood was easily divined. Brandon was furious, pacing along a bookshelf by one wall, while Jon and Hoster were holding a rapid, hushed argument across the room. Ned was still seated at the central table, eyes blazing in silent anger, while Robert was slowly crushing a metal goblet to a misshapen block with a single hand. There was a tray on the table that had a collection of food on it, none of it touched. Steve's entrance drew their attention, breaking each man from what occupied them.
"What is it?" Steve asked, concerned. He had left Naerys surrounded by an army and protected by Kel and Walt and the rest of his company besides, but he knew better than most how unsafe war could be.
The lords seemed to share a glance, before reaffirming a decision already made. Jon stepped back to the table and pushed a scrap of parchment across it into Steve's reach. It appeared to have come from a larger bundle still across the table, but it seemed that that piece was the most important.
Giving them one last searching look, Steve took the paper and unfolded it. It was no letter, only a scant handful of words, but on reading them, Steve understood immediately why they had reacted as they had.
'He lied. It was always Rhaegar.'